#I hope this isn’t too ungodly long

[jezebelblues]

I just started following you a while ago and I love your work so much, I was even considering restarting my blog to write!

I was wondering, can I request something about the reader being a college student? And maybe harry is taking a break from touring and writing music. He’d probably try to make jokes and distract her sometimes, but he’d also want her to teach him stuff and debrief after class. He might even get serious about her study sessions and be super quiet, but also bring her snacks here and there.

If you get to write this, thank you sm!! 😊

lady grinning soul | h.s

summary: see request ^ basically that, but it’s a slight au because harry isn’t tooooo famous in this

| thank u anon <3 ur too sweet. i hope u got back into writing

cw: fem!reader, unedited. bf!harry, lhh

word count: approx 4.4k

| sorry this took so long to get to! i’ve been in a slump. i hope you don’t mind either that i made him more of an up-and-coming artist rather than the fame he has today :^) lhh just felt right for this too he’s so bf

masterlist

"you did what?" YN laughed, her fingers coated in the smooth, familiar feel of one of harry's leave-in conditioners as she worked it into his damp curls, gently coaxing through knots and tangles that told stories of long nights and late shows.

harry sat on on leg while the other hung lazily off her bed, shirtless, his skin glistening faintly under the dim dorm lights, still cool and damp from his shower. a well-worn towel hung low on his hips, clinging to him in soft folds, and he twisted the silver ring on his index finger, flashing that crooked, boyish grin that still managed to make her heart skip.

"yes—water," he said, a hint of pride in his voice as he looked up at her through dark lashes. "poured it right into the crowd. they went mental."

she chuckled, focusing on a particularly stubborn knot as his head tipped back, giving her a better angle. "do i even want to know why you did that?"

"beer," he replied simply, with a lazy shrug and a mischievous glint in his eye. he shifted, turning to face her fully, the mattress giving a soft creak under his weight as he adjusted. "they were flinging beer at me, so i figured it was fair game. bit of payback," he said with a smirk, his voice deepening in that low, conspiratorial way that she adored.

her lips tugged into a soft smile as she leaned in, her eyes tracing the ink on his skin, pausing over the small mermaid tail curling near his elbow. she felt the room go still for a beat, her fingers just barely grazing his tattooed arm. "tell me more?" she murmured, barely above a whisper.

but instead of answering, he caught her hand in his own, his thumb brushing over her knuckles as he brought her palm up, pressing it gently against the warm, bare skin just below his left breastbone. his expression softened, and his voice dipped, tender and a little unsteady. "was thinking–right here. your initial." his gaze searched hers, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes that made her heart skip, lingering between them in a way that left her breathless.

a small, breathy laugh escaped her as she drew her hand back, fingers trailing down his chest as she settled back on the bed, her heart fluttering with that same familiar warmth that only he could draw out of her. "about the show, styles," she chided, though her cheeks had warmed at the idea. it was all she could do to keep her voice steady, even as that look in his eyes held her captive, that glimmer of something deeper, something unspoken.

with a lazy grin, he slumped back on her bed, folding his arms behind his head as if he owned every inch of this tiny dorm room. he was still her harry—the one who'd lean against her door at ungodly hours after a gig, smelling faintly of stale smoke and beer, his voice barely a murmur as he recounted the night's little victories and mishaps. but there was something else in his eyes tonight, an edge softened by the dim light, his hand inching toward hers, fingers grazing against hers.

he gave her a dramatic sigh, pretending to be exasperated, but she could see the way his eyes lit up, the pride he tried to hide. "alright, picture this—tiny, cramped stage, lights barely working, and a crowd that's already three drinks too deep."

she chuckled, already seeing it. "sounds like your crowd."

"my exact type.” he hummed, eyes glimmering. "i was halfway through kiwi when this guy in the front row starts singing louder than me. like, absolutely shouting every word—more like repeating guess, i don’t think he knew the lyrics—didn't care if he was off-key or not."

"oh no," she gasped, theatrics, biting back a grin. "how did you handle that?"

"well, first i tried to ignore him. y'know, be professional and all." he raised his chin, like he was already picturing himself on a real stage. "but then he threw his beer in the air, and half of it hit me, so i thought, why not join him?"

she felt the words settle over her, a quiet intimacy that wrapped around them, thick and warm. she let herself lean into him, their knees brushing, her hand finding his and lacing their fingers together. here, in this cocoon of her dimly lit dorm room, the outside world faded. it was just him-her’s, with his rough edges, inked skin, and soulful eyes that held a thousand unspoken promises.

"so," she murmured, her thumb tracing slow circles over his knuckles, "it was a good show then?"

a soft laugh escaped his lips, his eyes dancing as he looked at her. "good? better than good, baby." he said, a certain fire in his voice as he recalled the night. "place was packed-should've seen it. they might've only been there for the drink deals, but by the time we hit the first chorus, they were in it." he paused, a flicker of excitement lighting up his face as he leaned closer. "even had this one bloke shouting for an encore, practically begged us not t’leave."

she could see the pride, the kind that was so uniquely his—modest, but bursting at the seams, a quiet confidence that only she got to witness in moments like this. her heart swelled, and she squeezed his hand. "sounds like a big deal," she teased, her voice softening as she held his gaze. "next thing i know, you'll be playing to actual crowds, not just randoms at pubs."

"don't tease me," he chuckled, nudging her gently with his shoulder. "could happen. could be my big break, y'know? today, it's a back alley pub with sticky floors—tomorrow, a real venue." he looked at her, his expression shifting from playful to something quieter, almost vulnerable. "maybe even a place you'd be proud to be seen at."

she shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "h, i'm already proud of you." and she meant it—down to the core of her. there was a strength in his persistence, his dreams kept alive by late nights and small crowds, his music spilling into the shadows of empty bars and dim lights. it was the kind of resilience most people never understood, but it was something she loved about him, something that made him feel like home.

his hand shifted, cupping her face gently, his thumb brushing over her cheek as he searched her eyes. "how'd i get so lucky, yeah?" he murmured, almost as if to himself. he looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time, the weight of the night lingering between them, the quiet promise of everything they'd built together.

she tilted her face into his touch, eyes fluttering closed as she breathed him in-the faint smell of his shampoo, mingling with the scent of rain from outside and something warm, something distinctly him. her hand found his chest, fingertips resting over the steady beat of his heart.

"can i stay tonight?" he asked softly, his voice a low murmur against the backdrop of their shared silence.

she nodded, her lips brushing over his knuckles as she squeezed his hand. "wouldn't want you anywhere else."

with that, he leaned forward, capturing her lips in a kiss that felt like a thousand words, soft and slow, as if they had all the time in the world. harry's hand slid from her cheek down to her neck, his fingertips tracing a delicate line along her collarbone, sending a soft shiver through her. the playful glint in his eye had shifted, replaced by something deeper, a heat she felt all the way down to her toes. he inched closer, the rough rasp of his stubble brushing her jaw as his lips found the soft skin just below her ear.

"you're staring," she murmured, voice low, a smile on her lips as her fingers traced along his shoulder, her touch grazing the edge of his tattoo.

"can't help it." he whispered, his voice low and rough, leaving no question about what he wanted. his fingers trailed down her back, pulling her just a little closer as his towel slipped dangerously low on his hips, clinging to him in a way that left little to the imagination. "s'not every day i get my girl all to myself, undistracted." his fingers slipped just beneath the hem of her shirt, his thumb stroking slow, lazy circles along her hipbone, sending a faint shiver up her spine.

she felt herself melting into him, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw before wandering down to rest on his chest. his skin was warm, firm beneath her touch, and she felt the steady beat of his heart thrumming under her fingertips. just for a moment, she let herself get lost in it-the way his hands roamed, slow and sure, his lips brushing her neck, her jaw, her shoulder, each kiss igniting a trail of warmth.

but as his hands started to wander lower, his towel barely hanging on, she bit back a smile and placed her hand flat on his abdomen, feeling the firm, taut muscles tense under her touch. she let her fingers linger for a moment before giving him a light flick, snapping him out of the haze that had taken over.

he kissed his teeth, head snapping up, a shocked, slightly betrayed expression crossing his face as he met her gaze. she smirked, letting her eyes trail up and down him with a playful glint before meeting his eyes, her voice light and teasing.

"don't get too excited, styles. i've got an essay to write, remember?"

he blinked, looking adorably lost for a second, then let out a groan, throwing himself back on the bed in dramatic defeat, one arm flung over his face. "an essay, bunny? now?" he peeked at her from under his arm, a playful pout tugging at his lips. "you're really gonna make me lie here in agony while you write about... what? politics? shakespeare?"

"modern lit," she corrected, grabbing her laptop from the bedside table with a grin. she settled beside him, nudging his leg with her knee as he sighed in exaggerated frustration. "i'll make it up to you," she added, her voice sweet but her expression mischievous.

"is that right?" he asked, raising a brow, his mood instantly lightening as he leaned up on one elbow to watch her type. "what kind of 'make it up' are we talking, then?"

she rolled her eyes, though her smile softened.

"you're ridiculous, you know that?"

“mm-hm, i know,” he chuckled, unbothered. he kept his eyes trained on her as she adjusted the computer in her lap, fingers flying across the keys as she tried to ignore his gaze.

but she could already feel his fingers tracing idle patterns along her thigh, his head resting on her shoulder as he sighed dramatically, determined to make her work for it. “fine,” he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to her shoulder, knowing she wasn’t going to let up. “but don’t say i didn’t warn you when i’m too tortured to focus on my next gig.”

she shook her head, grinning. “i think you’ll survive.” and despite his protests, she felt him settle beside her, his hand wrapped loosely around hers as he waited, patient and easy, for the essay to be done—and for the night to be theirs again.

after a few more minutes of him sighing and shifting beside her, nudging her leg with his knee, or letting his fingers brush distractingly over her shoulder, she finally gave him a pointed look. “lovey, come on. at least put some pants on,” she said, biting back a laugh as he gazed up at her with an exaggerated look of betrayal.

“y’sure baby?” he mumbled, the corners of his mouth tugging into a cheeky grin as he adjusted the towel around his waist, letting it dip low enough to reveal the line of his hip bones. he leaned in close, his face just inches from hers. “last chance to give up on that essay.”

she rolled her eyes, shoving him lightly as she tried to suppress a smile. “h. pants. now.”

he sighed dramatically, rolling off the bed and muttering under his breath as he crossed the room, as if she’d asked him to do something outrageous. “you’re cruel, you know that?” he grumbled, pulling on a pair of briefs, followed by his well-worn grey sweatpants. he shot her a mock glare as he snapped the waistband into place. “i hope that essay’s worth it,” he teased, flopping back down on the bed with another exaggerated groan.

but he couldn’t keep up the act for long. settling beside her, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her snug against him as he leaned over her, his gaze shifting to the screen of her laptop. she felt him press a quick kiss to the side of her head, and then he tilted his head curiously, reading the words on her screen. “alright, genius. what’re we working on?”

she grinned, knowing his curiosity was genuine—harry was the only person who ever asked about her classes, who remembered the details of her projects, who even stayed up late to help her brainstorm ideas when she got stuck. “it’s for my modern lit paper,” she said, turning the laptop slightly so he could see the opening lines. “i’m writing about identity in contemporary poetry.”

his brow furrowed, and he gave a thoughtful hum. “identity, huh?” his fingers started playing with a strand of her hair, twisting it absently as he thought. it still smelt like her lavender shampoo. “so, like–how people see themselves? or how they think they should be seen?”

she nodded, feeling a warm flutter in her chest at the way he genuinely tried to understand. “yeah, lovey, exactly. it’s about how people present different versions of themselves, depending on the world around them. how sometimes people feel like they have to hide who they really are, or adapt, to fit in.”

he was quiet for a moment, his eyes thoughtful as he took that in, a small crease forming between his brows. “guess i know a bit about that,” he murmured, almost to himself, then gave her a soft smile. “makes sense, though. we’re all trying t’figure it out, right?”

she looked at him, her heart swelling at the way he always found a way to connect with her world, to show up and care. he wasn’t just the guy who played guitar in pubs and poured water over the crowd—he was thoughtful and reflective, her safe place and her biggest support. she reached out, brushing a stray curl away from his forehead, her gaze softening.

he met her eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watched her type a few lines, completely relaxed against her side. “y’really like this stuff, don’t you?”

she nodded, feeling her cheeks warm. “i do. and i like that you care enough to ask.”

he grinned, his hand resting over hers on the keyboard. “wouldn’t miss it, bunny. i want to know it all. even the boring bits,” he teased, pressing another kiss to her temple. “so… what’s next? how do y’wrap this thing up?”

as she dove into her explanation, she felt him settle in closer, his head resting on her shoulder, eyes flicking back and forth between her face and the screen. and even though he’d begun the night wrapped in little more than that towel and mischief, there was something about the way he lay beside her now—calm, engaged, just there for her.

after a while, she tried to concentrate on the closing argument of her essay, but harry’s hand found a lock of her hair again, twirling it lazily around his finger, his touch warm and gentle. every so often, he’d place a quick, messy kiss on her cheek, or the side of her head, each one more dramatic than the last, until she couldn’t help but huff out a laugh, nudging him back.

“alright, enough with the distractions,” she muttered, shooting him a mock-stern look as he grinned back, clearly pleased with himself.

but he was relentless. when she referenced another poet, he piped up, a mischievous look in his eyes. “ah, yes, that guy,” he said, tone teasing as he tapped his chin as though he were deep in thought. “big fan. wrote that one poem about… feeling feelings, right?”

she rolled her eyes, biting back a laugh. “harry, i’m serious.”

“hey, i am too!” he replied, the grin on his face only widening. “poetry’s got layers, YN. all about emotions and metaphors.” he lifted an eyebrow, giving her a wink that made her want to laugh and push him off the bed all at once.

she groaned, turning back to her screen, though the smile tugging at her lips gave her away. despite his teasing, she knew he respected her work and thought she was smart, even if he pretended to be clueless just to get a rise out of her.

a few minutes passed, and she found herself stuck, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she struggled to find the right words to tie everything together. she could feel harry’s gaze on her, his eyes flicking between her face and the screen, and right then, her stomach gave a loud, unmistakable growl.

harry’s eyebrows shot up, and a playful, knowing smirk crossed his face. “oh, is that how it is, then?” he said, nudging her gently. “i’m over here pouring my heart and soul into supporting you, and you’re starving yourself for art.”

she laughed, rolling her eyes as she tried to wave him off. “it’s fine, i just need to—”

but he was already halfway across the room, grabbing his phone with a sense of purpose, tapping away with single-minded determination. “nope, not happening. i’m ordering us food. you’re no good to me fainting on the job,” he teased, tossing her a grin as he started scrolling through options on doordash.

she watched him, warmth blooming in her chest at the sight of his focused expression as he debated between a few late-night favorites. his finger paused on the screen, and he shot her a look over his shoulder. “what are we feeling? i know goodfella’s is open late.”

she hummed, folding her arms and pretending to think. “their pizza sounds good.”

“perfect. what kind?” he asked, giving her that soft, endearing look that always managed to make her heart skip.

“surprise me,” she said, her eyes crinkling with a smile as he turned back to his phone, murmuring thoughtfully to himself as he made his selections.

once he’d ordered, he slid back beside her, his arm slipping around her shoulders, pulling her close as he planted a quick kiss on her forehead. “alright, aristotle. you’ve got about twenty minutes to wrap this up before the pizza gets here.”

she grinned, feeling a rush of renewed energy as she settled back into her laptop, his warmth beside her and the promise of food on the way. and as she typed out her final thoughts, she felt his hand come up to her hair again, his fingers working through her locks in a gentle rhythm as he leaned his chin on her shoulder, watching her with a soft smile.

“think you’re about to blow the rest of the class outta the water.” he muttered, his voice low and genuine, cutting through the playful teasing of earlier.

she paused, glancing over at him, her cheeks warming under his gaze. “you think so?”

he nodded, brushing his nose gently against her cheek. “definitely. i knew you were brilliant the first time i met you. just, you know, don’t forget me when you’re off being some lit professor with a fancy office and your own bookshelf in every bookstore.”

she laughed, shaking her head. “you’ll be playing stadiums by then, styles. i think you’ll be just fine.”

once harry met the driver outside of the dorm and made his way back up the stairwell to the second floor of her building, they sat cross-legged on the bed, the pizza box open between them, warm and smelling faintly of melted cheese and marinara. YN took a bite, savoring the comfort of it as they eased into the rhythm of their usual conversations. she told him stories about her classes—about the professor who insisted everyone call him by his first name and the girl who always argued with the readings in ways that both amused and baffled her. he listened intently, his eyes focused on her like she was the most fascinating person in the world, laughing at all the right moments, nodding as if every small detail mattered. and for harry, it did.

soon enough, the conversation shifted, and he told her stories from his recent gigs—how the second-to-last venue had practically been held together with duct tape, how he’d overheard some guy loudly claim he could “totally play guitar better than that dude.” she laughed at the way he imitated the voice, rolling his eyes in good-natured frustration. “seriously,” he groaned, grinning through a bite of pizza, “the heckling never stops, even when you’re playing to like, fifteen people.”

she nudged him with her knee, a smirk tugging at her lips. “just you wait, one day those fifteen people are going to turn into fifteen thousand, and that guy will still be standing there with his pint, going on about how he should be the one on stage.”

harry’s face softened, his gaze lingering on her. “you’re just saying that because you’re in love with me.”

“maybe,” she said with a wink, brushing a crumb off his cheek.

they fell into their easy banter, and soon enough, poetry came back up. she was telling him about one of the poets she was analyzing, the language they used and the intricate metaphors she was supposed to decipher, when harry raised a brow, an amused look crossing his face. “you’re talking like i don’t write poetry myself, you know.”

“oh, really?” she teased, leaning back with her arms folded, a skeptical look on her face. “let’s hear it, shakespeare.”

with a grin, he pulled out his phone, scrolling through his notes until he stopped on something, looking a bit sheepish but handing it over to her with a small smile. “here. latest masterpiece.” he joked with a shrug, though he seemed a bit nervous. “study it in your lit classes ‘n all that.”

she took his phone, her heart skipping a beat as she saw the title: adore you. her chest warmed as she started reading through the words. it wasn’t like the love poems she read for lectures, full of flowery language and convoluted metaphors. no, this was simple, but sincere—lines that felt raw, real, and vulnerable in a way that only he could make them. each line felt like a glimpse into him, into the parts of himself that he shared only with her, the quiet moments, the late nights, the laughter and gentle touches that only they knew.

when she finished, she looked up at him, unable to hide the wide smile spreading across her face. “harry, this is—you’re so cute.” she said, her voice soft with genuine awe. “forget those old poets i read about. they’ve got nothing on you.” she squeezed his hand, her thumb brushing over his knuckles as she looked back down at the lyrics, rereading her favorite lines.

a blush crept up his cheeks, and he gave a little shrug, pretending to brush off her praise, but she could see the way his eyes shone, how much her words really meant to him. he nudged her playfully, leaning in with a grin. “you know it’s about you, yeah?”

she felt her heart flutter, her smile growing even wider as she met his gaze. “is it now?”

“obviously,” he chuckled, shaking his head as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “i mean, who else am i going to write about? you’re the one i can’t stop thinking about. the one who makes every line worth writing.”

she felt warmth bloom in her chest, reaching out to lace her fingers with his. “well,” she said softly, “then i think i’m the luckiest girl alive.”

he squeezed her hand, his expression softening as he leaned in, his forehead resting gently against hers. for a moment, they stayed like that, their hands intertwined, the world outside her tiny dorm room slipping away. it was just him, his steady heartbeat under her palm, his soft gaze that held a world of promises, and the quiet knowledge that he’d put it all into words just for her.

“so, poetry and pizza,” he murmured, his lips curving into a contented smile as he leaned back, pulling her into his chest. “didn’t think my night could get any better.”

“oh, really?” she teased, settling against him, her head resting just under his chin. “not even if i let you watch me struggle through the rest of my essay?”

“thrilling stuff,” he joked, his hand trailing gentle patterns along her arm. “actually, it’s all kind of perfect, YN. you, me, pizza, some poetry… maybe the start of a terrible song i’ll write when i can’t sleep tonight.”

“a song about pizza and poetry?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“why not?” he grinned, his eyes sparkling. “everyone needs a little inspiration, hm?”

she laughed, and the sound seemed to brighten the whole room, making everything feel light and carefree. “i’d listen to it.”

“i’ll dedicate it to you,” he replied, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head, his voice softening. “after all, you’re my favorite muse.”

they sat like that for a while, the remnants of their pizza scattered around them, the warmth of his arms wrapped around her. she felt her eyes growing heavy, lulled by the steady rise and fall of his chest, the soothing hum of his voice as he mumbled quiet words of nonsense, half-asleep, just for her.

“hey,” she whispered after a while, her voice soft, almost a breath. “thank you for being here. for everything.”

“always,” he murmured, his voice a low, sleepy rumble. “wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

[dimity-lawn]

So I have some potentially big news, at least in my world: After over a year of desperately longing for something I thought impossible, I am now on the waiting list for a ticket to the Discworld Convention!!!!!*

This happened about this time yesterday, and I still haven’t fully absorbed this information. I have yet to think one complete coherent thought, because my thoughts keep being interrupted by new ones. Last night I was too excited to sleep, and, as you might expect, the lack of sleep isn’t helping matters. And while I’m thrilled by this, I’m also kind of in a state of “oh no, there’s so much to figure out and do and so little time!”, including several sewing projects, especially my scaled up to adult size reproduction of an 18th century pocket in the collections of the V&A, because if I’m going to Birmingham for the convention, I’ll have to go to the V&A.** I’m afraid of getting my hopes up, but 🤞.

Rattle your drawers for me!

*Yes, five exclamation points is a sure sign of an insane mind, but in my defense, reread the part before the five exclamation points. **This project has reached a surprising and ungodly extent of procrastination.

[bambiimutt]

Hello, I loved your writing, and I wanted to request some relationship headcons with Masky

Relationship Head cannons

I wanted to do this for everyone I write for cuz I want them to get some attention too!! I hope that’s okay!

TW!! Mentions of stalking, talking of perverts but not super heavy, possessiveness, if I missed anyway let me know!!

Masky/Tim Wright

-Honestly at first he’s a bit awkward, i see him as socially awkward in general so him being in a relationship? Oh my fuck. And it’s not the Awh such a cutie patootie he’s so awkward. No like he’s so awkward he doesn’t know what to do with you. He’s so awkward he goes silent. Awkward babe.

-once the relationship grows into something deeper he’s better. He definitely still has his moments, but it’s now more how he landed you. How he was able to find someone that cares for him and puts up with him. He’s not much honestly just his random outbursts and waking up with no memory of his nights before.

-speaking of. A lot of trauma lays on his shoulders. After jays death who you don’t know much about and everything leading up to the events of marble hornets. All you knew was that he was supposed to be in this student film.. but shit happened. And he refuses to talk about it. You’ll ask him sometimes if you can watch the tapes but he tells you time and time again. No. More because he knows what he is and he doesn’t what you running from him. He’s with you yea but he doesn’t want to expose you to the operator.

-as mentioned in a few of my other posts. He’ll leave for weeks on end and if it’s not for weeks its almost every night. He’s leaving and coming back at ungodly hours. Most of the time you’re asleep and he waits till your asleep to do this. There’s been a few times his mask is left out because he comes home so drained that he kinda forgets to hide it.. and when you question it sometimes he does remember, and most times he doesn’t. But when you ask he’s stammering. He knows why he has it but doesn’t know how to tell you, doesn’t want to.

-he’s not the date night kind of guy but he doesn’t mind spending some time with you from time to time. He doesn’t want you to think he’s ignoring you or just not care for you because he leaves for weeks.. he wants you to know he loves having you around. It’s just. He can’t tell you about his life fully. When it comes to a date night it’s probably lots of time at home, watching a movie on his couch, cuddled up against him. If you fall asleep he’ll make sure you have all of the blanket. He can fully not be as tense, relaxing into you as you sleep against him.

-very very very sarcastic, it earns him smacks to the arm like 10 times a day.

-he’s alright with public affection but again he’s awkward.. sooo maybe don’t be so affectionate in public. But at home, he’s all over you, sleepy man, cuddled up to you, following you around the house. He seems so big and tough but he hates being away from you.

-Tim’s not crazily over protective. Maybe insecure at times but deep down he knows that you are with him because you truly love him. So if anyone ever approaches you he trusts that you can handle it yourself, if not he will 100% help you.. by torturing the guy the same night, and he’ll come back having that be his only memory.

Tobias Rogers

-ARF ARF ARF BITCH IS A FUCKING DOG. I’m telling you that mother fucker IS ALL OVER YOU. Now I’m not saying he isn’t one scary mother fucker. But he tries to keep his shitty ass fucking life out of his love life. Because really.. this isn’t what he wanted ever. He didn’t want to be part of this operator shit. So he tries to be normal? As normal as Toby can get.

-you actually help him a lot with his tics. If he can focus on something for long enough they don’t get as bad as they can get, they actually become more tame, so if he ever has a really bad tic attack, you’re always the one to talk him through it, to calm him down and to focus on your voice. And he’s better in no time.

-TALK ABOUT BEING A PRETTY MOTHER FUCKER.. YOU NEVER GET OVER HOW PRETTY THIS BITCH IS. messy brown hair, brown tired eyes, nicely shaped face, pretty fucking smile. He never used to have one but he ended up growing a semi beard. More of a patch on his chin. And what does he love the most? Hearing you tell him how pretty he is. Running your hands through his hair, kissing his face all over. God he could eat you right up.

-he’s a closeted pervert. But like not to the point where it’s unbearable but like he’s all over you. He’s grabbing your thighs.. he’s leaving hickeys all over. He’s a boob/chest guy. He just wants you close. So close you could fuse into one. He likes you in panties.. he also likes taking them whenever he has to be on a mission for weeks.. and we all know what he’s using them for.

-socially awkward mf. When you’re both out in public he’s so quiet. And he can’t do it alone anymore, not since he’s met you. If you’re ever on the bus, he’s as close as possible, hands fidgeting with your fingers, and staring down at them so he doesn’t have to make eye contact with others. Though there’s been a few times he’s had to interact with the people who complain about how much space he takes. He’s tall and lanky but the man manspreads like there’s no tomorrow. You have to grab his leg and pull it in because he’s just glaring.

-he kinda forgets that you can feel pain. Because he grew up not feeling pain he’s learned to be gentle with the things he cares about. But if you ever want to play fight he can sometimes forget, and get a little rough. So when you get hurt he’s pulling away instantly. “Fuck.. i.. I didn’t t-think that would h-hurt. Baby let me see it..” he’s babying you the rest of the night.

-now even though he’s a pretty good boyfriend he can be a bit much.. at times. He doesn’t mean to trust me. But he can get agitated quite easily. Certain tones can make him start to overthink, he can grow angered, upset. Just try to be reassuring and he should be okay.

-Toby is one of the overprotective ones. He will do anything and everything to go make sure whoever was all over you is not longer waking the fuck up. He might even steal you a little gift to make you feel better.

Ben Lawman/Drowned

-you might wanna buy some shit to keep the house from smelling like weed. And I mean it. He tries not to go crazy because he knows you don’t want the apartment smelling like it, but he can’t help himself sometimes.

-I’m not gonna lie to you, he most definitely watches you through cameras and your computer and shit. He’ll send pop up messages to you just to freak you out, etc. he thinks it’s so silly seeing you get so spooked out.

-he’s typically at home often. He doesn’t really go anywhere, aside from chilling in the fucking computer. So you get to have him around a lot.

-except it can get so fucking annoying. All in all he’s a really calm person, and keeps to himself but when you come along.. he’s all over you. Like suffocating. He wants you on his lap, he wants you sitting between his legs, cuddled up underneath his shirt, please just BE CLOSE. He’s much like Toby in that aspect. He just likes the physical love. Anything physical. I think it kinda brings him comfort too to be honest.. finally feeling the touch of someone. Something.

-like Toby he’s a fucking pervert. But like it’s hella known. He doesn’t keep that a secret. He’s a dirty motherfucker. Like I’m talking footjobs, cosplay.. but like that gamer girl, slutty look.. you name it he likes it.

-he likes to game so a lot of your time is probably spent watching him or playing with him. If you play with him though, be warned he’s a sore loser. He doesn’t rage but more or so finds excuses to show he should have won. But all in all, he’s just fooling around.. he enjoys that you can play with him, he likes that you like what he likes.

-immature. Not all the time but most definitely immature at times. To be fair when he died, he was still fairly young so sometimes his humour can be a bit.. questionable. Even if you aren’t laughing, he’s slapping his knee and pissing himself laughing, looking at you so that he can see your reaction. Just smile.

-he’s not overprotective. Like Tim he’s just really fucking insecure and I mean really. Really insecure. He sees other couples. How normal they are. How alive they are. And he can’t be that. He feels bad that he can never keep you warm because he’s an actual freezer. He feels like compared to others.. you could do so much better. So when someone hits on you.. he’s sulking. He’s walking further away from you. He’s just insecure. And scared to lose you. But these boys are also.. murderers. So knowing Ben.. well. That person shouldn’t have done that.

Jeffery Hodex/Jeff The Killer

-Asshole. Asshole. Asshole. Dickhead. Did I mention he’s a fucking asshole. He may seem like he doesn’t care about you. But I promise you he does. He just has weird ways of showing it..

-an actual fucking bully. I’m sure he’s made you cry time and time again, but you don’t do it in front of him, you don’t want him to think it hurts. Oh but if he knew.. if he knew how much it hurt you he’d beat himself up over it.

-he may seem like a fucking hard ass but he hates when you cry..he’s never one to show his emotions but it’s when those tears fall that he could break right there.

-hates public affection.. but at home? Different story. “Play with my hair.” “Jeff no, I’m busy.” “Please.. pretty please” there’s a moment of silence before you’re rolling your eyes and his head is on your lap.

-talk about sec when he’s angry. It’s a good way for him to get out his pent up anger, or if something happened he just needs you. So really what I’m trying to say is underneath all that hard exterior.. he does need you in many ways. Wether he likes to admit that or not.

-even though he’s an asshole.. he makes up for it with his rare sweet moments. To me. Jeff is.. not like others? I just mean, look wise he was always the odd one out not that he was ugly but like because he didn’t look like every other normal kid there. So having a metal head boyfriend..? With some kinda cool scaring by his lips in the form of a slight smile. Pale skin long black hair, tall and fit…. You know he’s playing the guitar to you. Yknow the room is gonna be filled with a bunch of black shit, band stuff, his weird collection of knives. On the note of he makes up for it with his sweet moments. Sometimes he’ll go through his collections with you. He will play the guitar for you, he’s also quite a good singer so expect some of that. (He most definitely sings you to sleep.. but he makes sure you’re half asleep first so you don’t remember it.)

-he’s not as horrible as he seems, he just.. doesn’t like showing his true emotions. He likes to look like the big bad tough guy. But really.. that scared little kid that hates the world is still in there. So what he needs is comfort. And you provide that. Just give him some time.

-overprotective. And if that was an understatement it would be far more then that. He is wayyyy too overprotective, possessive. You’re his. And his only. Nobody should speak to you in any form of flirting, nobody should look at you, touch you. You. Are. His. Now he keeps the killing out of your knowledge… as much as possible. Sometimes almost getting caught by you.. anyway. The person that looked at your ass and you didn’t even know? Yeah dead by 11 pm. You most definitely find out.

-type of motherfucker to have pictures of you on his phone with his hands around your throat, sitting on his lap, etc. post it. He wants you to. He’ll send them to you just to do it. He likes to show off what’s his.

-when I mentioned he was an asshole. I meant it. Because he doesn’t know how to handle his own emotions he can’t handle yours either. He internally freaks out. So what does he do? Does what he does best. Shuts you out and gets angry at you for showing your emotions

-please don’t be too upset.. he’ll be wandering in some point that night to hold you. He just doesn’t know how to tell what he’s going through.. so just hold him. It’s his way of being vulnerable with you.

Brian/Hoodie

-to be honest. He may be One of the more normal ones. Though when he leaves for weeks on end and comes back for a good while he’s just not himself. He’s quiet. He wants to be alone. He hates being touched, he snaps so much easier. But other then that. Brian tries to completely forget about everything he does and focuses on you.

-a lot of the time, he likes to spend quality time with you. Walking in the local park, doing art, helping him edit his “silly” little videos as you call them. Oh how oblivious you are. He’s a sweetheart, kind, caring. He’s gentle. He knows your likes and dislikes like the back of his hand. He knows what makes you tic, what makes you sulk, what makes you smile. You can thank him stalking you for that.

-yeah remember what I said about him being the most normal, he may have a few quirks. He stalks you from time to time. Not that he doesn’t trust you.. he just. Can’t take his eyes off of you. Ever. Because he doesn’t know what the operator could do.. and well. He just wants to see you, but more to keep you safe.

-he can’t sit still unless he knows where you are at, if you’re okay. And once he knows he can be at peace. So you can only imagine how fucking hard it is for him to be gone for weeks. He ignores all text messages he gets aside from yours. He’s constantly talking to you, making sure you’re okay. he just needs some reassurance and he’ll be okay.

-his camera is full of videos of you. He likes to take these home styles videos of you. Cooking in the kitchen in you’re underwear and his hoodie, you dancing in the living room, sleeping. He likes to look back at them from time to time.

-he makes sure to keep his pills and if you take any medication, organized and separated. He’d freak the fuck out if you accidentally took some of his. That and he needs a specific dosage.. one a doctor didn’t prescribe for him. Ahem. More his dosage of what he pleases. Don’t worry he claims he’s okay time and time again.

-he’s not like Tim with his memory loss, but he can forget things from Time to time. So if you can, if you were there just try and sit with him to help him remember. All he needs is to know that you’ll be patient.

-he likes kisses. Give them to him. Immediately. He wants them all over. His lips, cheeks, forehead. He’s such a sweet man.

[satorusugurugurl]

My Wedding Date is an Escort!

Summary: When invited to your best friend's wedding, you panic. One of the groomsmen, Toji Fushiguro, is your ex-fiancè. Not wanting to deal with probing questions and the embarrassment of being single, your friend Haibara recommends using an Escort! Taking a leap of faith, you book one my, the hottest one. Gojo Satoru is hot, sweet, and funny! The package deal! Men and Women pay thousands to go on a date with him (even more, which he doesn't do often). So when your request comes in, the desperation and pleading tone of your voice. Gojo’s heartthrobs, even more so when you tell him you don't want to have sex.

Pairing: Escort!Gojo x FAB Reader

Word Count: 5,115

Warning: cursing, apologies, fingering, handjobs, smut 🥹, fluff

A/N: Well everyone, we have one more part of this series. 🥲 But I plan on taking requests for our sweet, complicated couple! !! If you want to be included in the tag list, YOU MUST HAVE AGE LISTED! Thank you!!

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Seven Part Eight

“You want what?” Satoru stared blankly at you, blinking ever so slowly like a cat. Your words seemed to have short-circuited his brain.

“I said I want a refund.” your tone is stoic, “I am not happy with the services I was provided.” Satoru’s shocked expression twists into a wide grin as you stick your bottom lip out in a pout. “High-end escort, my ass.”

Satoru laughs, throwing his head back as a faint flush grazes over his cheeks. “Yeah? Not happy at all, huh?” His eyes dance over your features.

“Nope! This jerk got up and left me after I paid him.” You shrug your shoulders dramatically. “Not only am I out an ungodly amount of money, but I’m also dateless for this wedding.”

“He sounds like a class-A-asshole.” Satoru’s hand gently reaches out, cupping your cheek.

“Yeah, he was.” His heart flutters at ‘was’ instead of ‘is,’ an ember of hope flickers to life in his chest. “Then again, he said sorry, and punched the hell out of my asshole ex, so I guess he isn’t that bad.”

Satoru’s fingers are so warm and gentle against your face. His thumb brushed over tear-stained cheeks as he pulled you in, closing the distance between you. His forehead presses gently against your own as he shuts his eyes.

“I’ll make sure you get every last cent back.” White lashes life, pools of breathtaking blue peek through them, meeting you. “It’s the least I could do.”

“Cool,” you sighed, leaning into his touch, “I would like to use that money to take a few pastry classes.”

God, hearing you say that makes Satoru’s heart leap with joy. “Money well spent, not that you need it. Your pastries are the absolute best.” your hand reaches up, gently holding Gojo’s firmly against your cheek, not allowing him to move. He swallows thickly at the regret forming in his throat. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

“How long did it take you to figure out it wasn't me after you left?”

“Maybe an hour,” he scoffed, his breath hot against your lips, “I honestly have to give Suguru the credit. He knocked the sense into my head.”

“Thank God for Suguru.”

“Yeah, he called me a fucking idiot.”

“Well—.”

“I know, I was the biggest fuckin’ idiot.”

Silence washed through the room. It wasn't uncomfortable in the silence, reminding you of the first night you two spent together. Things had been so smooth and natural with him, and they still were. Satoru hadn't believed you at first. He said some fucked up shit, but he had apologized for them. He had told you himself that he wanted to make your relationship work.

Staying angry and pushing him away would be too easy. You could quickly write this off as another failed relationship. Or you could do one of the hardest things a person could do.

You could fight.

Fight for what could be a relationship that only comes once in a lifetime. Fight for a future. You could fight to see this through, to see where it took you both.

You sat back, sighing dramatically. “I guess I owe Suguru a drink when you introduce us.” Cerulean eyes were the size of peas as your words washed over Satoru.

“What?”

“Or maybe I’ll take him to lunch for his help.” Heart thundering, you did your best to keep cool, examining your nails boredly. “Or better yet, I could make us three dinner. I may be a professional baker who works with confectioners sugar, but my curry is to die for.”

“S-Sweetheart—”

You grabbed Satoru’s face, pulling him as close to you as possible. “Toru,” The man stiffened at the use of his nickname, “you said what we have is worth fighting for. That you want to be with me.” You inched closer to his face, your fingers brushing over his cheekbones.

“I did say that, and I meant every word.” He leaned into your touch, his hands caressing your bruising knuckles.

“Are you positive?”

“I wouldn't have said it if I wasn't.”

“How can you be so sure? How will we make this work when you're an escort?” Dread worked its way through your stomach, settling over your chest. “I—I don't think I could just wait at home for you to come back from work. But I also don't want to keep you from doing something you love. You do it to help people; it makes you happy. I don't want to take that away from you.”

From the mere silence, you weren't sure what was going through Satoru’s mind. He just stayed stoic, glancing over you with an unreadable expression. God, maybe this was something he didn't want to give up.

What felt like an eternity of silence ended as Satoru moved. Your hands fell onto your lap as he ran his hands over your upper arms in smooth, gentle strokes. You had been so uncertain of what he would say or do, how he would react to your hesitancy. The way his crystalline blue eyes burned with a fiery passion told you everything you needed to know without the use of words.

“Sweetheart, I would rather fight with you than take on another client.”

His words felt like they’d stolen your soul. Your bottom lip quivered just as a trembling sob had your body shaking. Satoru pulled you into his lap, toned arms wrapping around you as you straddled him. His large palm stroked the back of your head as your chest pressed firmly against his.

You tried not to cry, but the relief was too much. Soft sobs vibrated in your chest as your head buried itself deep into the crook of Satoru’s neck, your hot, joyful tears staining his shirt. Not once did Satoru attempt to move you. He did the opposite, pulling you tighter against him, his fingers curled into your hair, stroking your scalp as you sobbed.

Those few words meant the entire world to you. The doubts and fears eating away at you like moths on cloth ceased to exist. They were replaced with a swarm of multi-colored butterflies that flutter in your stomach and heart.

You could make this work.

Pulling away from Satoru’s neck, you reached up to wipe at your eyes, but Satoru gently batted your hands away. His thumbs brushed against your flushed skin, wiping away the tears of joy. His touch, much like his words, embodied his affection for you. That sweet gesture made you want to cry more, but you were confident that all the crying you'd done in the last eighteen hours had dried up your tear ducts.

“I want to make this work with you.” Satoru gently cupped the back of your head. “Thank you for giving me another chance.”

”Thank you for apologizing.” You gently ran your fingers over the fabric of his shirt. “And for punching Toji, it was so hot seeing you get all mad.”

Satoru held you tight, flopping down onto the futon with a chuckle. “You thought I was hot? Imagine me coming back to get my sunglasses with my tail between my legs to see kitchen utensils being flung through the kitchen.” He took his bottom lip between his teeth. “Seeing you going feral, slapping and kicking at a man twice your size, got me all hot and bothered.” He nuzzled your neck with a very phony bad prono moan. “I’d let you hit me all you want; just tell me I’m a good boy when you do.” His lips peppered kisses up your neck before pressing against the corner of your mouth, winning a series of giggles from you.

“Toru, you’re crazy.” Your words held no heat as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Mhmm, I’m crazy about you.”

You ran your fingers through his hair before you pulled him in, kissing him softly. The tension in his muscles relaxed as he kissed back. His smooth lips gently moved against yours. Maybe your lips tingle because of the taste of his mint toothpaste, or it could be the spark between you. Little fireworks exploded over your lips, deep in your chest, and even further between your legs.

The same embers that had burned hot and bright inside of you last night began to glow red hot with need. Your hands roamed down from his hair to grip his shirt, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss as you turned your head. Satoru’s eyes opened, focusing on your face. The way your eyebrows knitted together, how flushed your face and chest were, and the subtle way you rocked your hips up against him.

He pulled back, panting heavily against your slightly ajared mouth. “Sweetie.” He breathed out.

“Sorry,” you released him, “sorry.” Now might not be the right time to lose yourself into passion. But before you could spiral into your thoughts, Satoru followed your retreating hands, gently holding them.

”I don’t want you to stop.” He placed one of your hands back on his shirt, and you instantly grabbed a hold of the fabric. “Just be aware of the effect that you have on me.” He took your free hand, pressing it against his semi-hard cock that was twitching to life in his pants.

A sudden burst of confidence took over you. Licking your lips, you gently began stroking him while you gripped his shirt as tight as you could. Satoru shuddered, pressing both his hands on either side of your head caging you underneath him. A string of soft, murmured cries of your name slipped through his lips as he bucked into your hand.

”You’re twitching so hard.”

”Can’t help it, a beautiful woman is rubbing my cock.”

Releasing his shirt, you ran your hand over his arm, gently grabbing his wrist. He perked up, putting all his weight on his left hand as you gently led his other past your breasts, down your stomach, before you pressed him firmly over your clothed pussy. “I'm twitching, too.” Satoru’s cock throbbed hard underneath your palm. “You okay?” an aching growl rose in his throat as his fingers rubbed circles around your clit.

“Y-Yeah, I think I just almost came in my pants.”

“Over touching my pussy?”

“No, it's because of you.” Your hips jerked as he increased the pressure of his fingers. “You're so goddamn irresistible. I want to please you.” fingers rubbed faster, his lips trailing down your neck in open-mouthed kisses.”I want you to call out my name, to make you cum so hard you think you're about to ascend.”

“Oooh, oooh fuck.” Satoru sucked in a breath as you slid your hand into his boxers. “Toru~ Feels good.”

“Yeah, it d-does.” He choked out, sliding his hand under your panties. “Fuuck, you weren't kidding.” Thick long fingers ran over your clit, spreading your slick arousal over the tiny bundle of nerves. “You’re so wet.”

You shifted, facing him, “I wanna try something.” Satoru nodded, kissing you deeply as you both tugged your pants and underwear off, followed by shirts. Once you were bare, you slotted your hips over his legs, resting your legs on either side of him. “This way, I can kiss and touch you.” Your words cut off as Satoru slammed his lips against yours in a starved, searing kiss.

You kiss his back, moaning and gasping against his lips. He used the opportunity of you gasping to shove his tongue into your mouth. His tongue searched for yours, wrapping and massaging it with his own as his fingers groped your breasts. He still tasted like mint, and the smell of musk overwhelmed you as his fingers gently kneaded you. His hands are so warm and gentle against the softness of your breasts; it's a bold contrast to the way his mouth roughly moves against yours.

He’s devouring you, making you melt against his body. You wanted to make him feel the same way you did, warm and fuzzy. You desired for Satoru to be desperate, like a thirsty man dehydrated in the desert, and you were his oasis. Reaching between your bodies, you rubbed your fingers up and down your pussy, collecting your slick over them. Hering the pitch change in your voice, Satoru followed your hand. The instant he saw your pretty fingers rubbing yourself, he growled into your mouth before breaking the kiss.

”A-Are you that desperate for relief?” Satoru sighed heavily against your lips, tongue flicking out, licking at the drool dripping from the corner of your mouth. “All you have to do is ask, and I’ll rub that perfect pussy~”

“I-I—oooh god,” you rubbed your clit in a short circle before dipping your hand back down, collecting more of your slick. “n-not doing it for my sake.”

”No?” Satoru nipped gently at your bottom lip, his hands massaging the fat of your ass, pulling you tighter against him. “Then please tell me whose sake you’re doing it for.”

”Yours.”

Before Satoru could ask what you meant, he jumped as you wrapped your slick fingers around his thick throbbing cock. His head falls back as you begin rubbing your hand up and down his shaft, jerking him off, using your slick as lube. Feeling the heat from your juices and hand had Satoru losing himself, just like you wanted. He melted, his hands shakily grabbed you in order to ground himself as you jerked your wrist up and down faster.

”Feels good,” He groaned out, his hand dipping between your legs, fingers finding your clit. “but it’s not fair if I’m the only one feeling good now.” The tiniest moan passes through your pursed lips; your eyes meet him as you try to focus on keeping your hand moving up and down over his cock. But damn, his hands were too talented, it was hard to keep up with him. “God, you’re so wet just for me. If it feels this amazing on my fingers,” His hand dips further, two of his fingers pressing their way past your tight entrance and into your dripping cunt. “I can’t imagine how good it feels to be buried inside you.”

His fingers curl, rubbing your spongy sweet spot. They massage it, not stopping as you cry out softly against his mouth, your eyes narrowing as you stare into his eyes. They were usually full of light, but with his fingers buried inside of you and your hand wrapped around his cock, they were full of dark, desperate desire. If you were to move a certain way or make a single sound, he would be inside of you in the blink of an eye.

Which wasn’t a bad thing.

His lips were on yours, his moans flooding inside your mouth as you teased the tip of his dick with your thumb. Rubbing the pre-cum beading at the slit around the red swollen tip. Satoru’s eyebrows furrowed at the intense pleasure, his thumb mimicking the same pattern and strokes of your hand against your twitching clit. It didn’t take long for you to start rocking your hips against his hand, chasing your orgasm. Noticing the way you greedily fucked yourself on his fingers, Satoru pulled back, watching your hips rolling against him, desperately chasing the high you felt coming.

”What a good girl you are, taking what you want, what you need. I fucking love that.” A deep sigh escaped him, his breath fanning against your lips. “I love it, watching you lose all fucking control, it gets me off.” His cock twitched in your hand, emphasizing his point. “If you make yourself cum hard, I promise you I’ll make you cum ten times harder on my dick.” Satoru feels your walls flutter around his fingers. “You like the idea of that? Your pretty cunt seems to, she’s squeezing around me.”

”Y-Yeah, I want you, Satoru, want to feel you inside of me so back.”

”Cum for me first, then I’ll be sure to give you everything you want.”

You press your lips messily over his. “You promise? Promise you’ll give me everything I want?” His forehead presses against yours, his bangs sticking against your sweet sheen skin. “Promise?” You whine out desperately.

”Sweetheart, I promise I’ll give you everything you want and then some.”

Those positive affirmations were all you needed to have you gushing over his fingers. You silently scream against his lips, eyes clenched tight as you rocked and roll your hips against him. Satoru takes note of how your lips quiver and the way your back arches, pressing your breasts against his bare chest. Noting the way you sounded, how pretty you looked when you shattered and trembled in his lap as your hand squeezed his dick almost too hard as you let the waves of your orgasm hit you one after another.

Watching you cum in his lap would be a memory he’d look back on on lonely nights. God, he wanted to cum with you, to paint your tummy white with his hot seed. But the urge to pin you underneath him, you fuck you slowly, was stronger. Satoru wanted to have you cum that hard around his cock. To watch as you lose yourself in pure bliss because you deserve to. God, you deserved more than that, but this would be a good start.

He fully intended to make you feel this good as long as you would allow him.

When you found the strength to open your eyes slowly, you caught a glimpse of blue. Satoru had you pushed back on the futon, his fingers sliding out of you. His lips gently roamed over your breasts, kissing the mounds before his hands forced your legs apart. “Please tell me you still have that party favor bag.” He breathed out over your skin.

”You seriously think I would throw my terrible cheap penis candy away?” Satoru chuckled, lifting his head to watch you snatch a pink bag lying off to the side of you. “You'd be right; I fully intend on throwing it away once we use the condoms.”

“I have to admit, knowing you won’t be eating penis candy makes me feel pretty good.” He opened the bag, pulling out the six condoms shoved inside of it.

“I’m not opposed to eating penis candy if it tastes good.” A white brow arches at you. “I mean, I sucked yours last night, didn’t I?” You smirk as he fumbles, nearly dropping the foil packages in his hand. “I clearly remember just how sweet you tasted. Although I may need a reminder soon to confirm.”

”Babe, please, you’re going to make me blow my load before I even get inside of you.”

You watch as he tosses the other condoms to the side before ripping open the gold foil of a magnum condom with his teeth. ”Oooh, right, yeah.” Swallowing hard, you gape when Satoru rolls the condom over his cock with ease.

He slowly pushed his hips against yours, grinding his cock over your entrance to your clit. “Do you remember what I said to you our first night here at the inn?” Your soft moans are music to his ears as he grinds against you faster. “After you told me why you didn’t need to have sex?” Right now wasn't the time you wanted to be quizzed over things he said four days ago.

“Haah, fuck—uhm, you said you hoped that I would be able to recover soon?” His cock head pressed firmly against your entrance. “Nggh, I—I can’t remember. It’s hard to think when you’re teasing me like this.”

” No, you’re right. I did say I hoped you would recover.” His tip pressed harder against you, making your legs shake. “But I also said I wanted you to be able to have the most mind-blowing sex of your life.” The world seemed to slow as the gentleness of his words had you blinking. “I never thought I would be the one you’d be with.”

Something about the softness of his voice and the way he lovingly brushed his thumb over your bottom lip had your heart racing. This moment felt surreal as you replayed that first night again in your head. How you had cried in front of the escort you had hired to be your wedding date. He could have easily pushed you away, cringed over your complicated past, or not given a shit.

Instead, he hugged you and stroked your hair as you cried. He listened to you and allowed you to vent. This man went as far as defending you, siding with you. Satoru had held you close, bringing a certain comfort to your life you'd never felt before. It was a perfect full circle.

“I wouldn't want to be with anyone but you, Toru.” Gently cupping his face in your hands, you pulled him down, kissing him as passionately as you could. The warmth of your touch and the brush of your lips against his own made Satoru swell with excitement before shifting into a calmness that worked through him. “I need you.” You gasped out against his swollen lips.

“Then you’ll have me.”

Not wanting to waste another moment, Satoru gently pushed the head of his cock past the tight ring of muscles of your entrance. You gasped against his lips, eyes wide as he stretched you. His ab’s clenched as he held himself back, giving you a moment to adjust to his size, as his lips gently moved over your cheeks. Only when he felt your walls unclench and your legs wrap around did he begin pushing back inside of you.

Satoru couldn't get over how tight you felt wrapped around him, how warm you were. He'd slept with his fair share of people, but this, the feeling of slowly slipping inside of you for the first time, was a moment he'd never forget. From the way you smelt and how your hot breath tickled his ear. The sensation of your finger scratching gently over his undercut would forever linger because he didn't want this to be the first or last time he buried himself inside of you.

No, he wanted you to be the only person he was this intimate with again. He could easily see himself feeling this profound, this drunk off of joy and excitement each time you slept together. Satoru wanted to only hear his name on your tongue from now on.

While you couldn't read his mind or feel the emotions that course through every being of his soul, you felt the same way. Being with Satoru like this just felt right. No doubt, no uncertainty sat at the pit of your stomach. Just excitement and joy. Like you were walking a tightrope without the fear of falling.

This was perfection.

“Y-You're so tight.” Satoru choked out with a laugh as he pushed further inside of you with a whine. “Oooh, so fucking tight, baby.”

“Y-Yeah~ you're so big, really big.” Your breath chokes out as he slides deeper inside. “Haaa-haaah.” You dig your heels into his ass, pushing him further inside of your tight heat.

“N-Nnngh fuck, someone's getting impatient.”

“I can't help it, I-I want it, I want you so fucking bad.”

Satoru grunts softly, his tongue flicking over your bottom lip before hems slowly pulling out of you. “I want it too, baby.” He slowly slides back in, angling his hips to rub perfectly over that sweet spot inside of you. “And I’m going to give you exactly what you want.” His tongue gently slid past your slightly parted lips as he set a smooth and gentle pace.

You kiss back softly, flicking your tongue over his as his cock fucks you gently into the bedding. Your mind is reeling, taking over every one of your five senses, from his taste and smell. How his groans and grunts sound in your ears. You could feel his muscles twitching as his cock slowly bullied its way over your g-spot before pressing gently over your cervix. But it was the way he looked at you that genuinely had your heart stammering. Satoru was looking at you with a certain softness as his face contorted with pleasure.

You whimpered as he smiled, planting kisses down your neck, gently suckling at it. Satoru put all the emotions in his chest into those gentle, tender kisses. Savoring the way you jerked and squirmed as he gently fucked into your cunt. He suffocates on the delectable addictive air that was you. You take his breath away with every tear-filled glance into his eyes; every gasp and cry is music to his ears. So, of course, he’s lost his grip of control. Grabbing both your hands, he pinned them on either side of your head, his fingers interlacing with them as he moved at a faster pace.

“Ah—hah Toru,” you squeeze his hands, “Satorru~!” Crying out against Satoru’s mouth, you squeeze your thighs around him. Seeing you this fucked out of your mind as he fucked his thick cock deeper inside of you, only had Satoru moving faster.

“Ooh baby~ fuck~ fuuuuck~ you're getting close. I can feel it.” He grunts through gritted teeth. “You’re squeezing my cock just like you were squeezing my fingers.”

“Mmm yeah, M’ close Toru~!” You almost lose it as he grinds into you, his hips rubbing over your sensitive clit as his cock massages your sweet spots deep inside of you.

His grip on your hand tightens as he hisses, cock throbbing. “Oooh fuck, yeah baby, make a mess, make a fucking mess all over me.” One messy kiss followed by another. “Fuck~! Fuuuuck, I'm close too, gonna cum inside your tight hole~!” Nails dig into the back of his hands as your pussy clenched and twitches around him. “Yeah~ your pussy is so good~ telling me she likes what I’m saying. You want me to cum, yeah~?” Throw your head back, and you cry softly at the coil forming in your stomach.

“Y-Yeah wanna, wanna cum together~! Wanna—-ooooh god fuck me!” Satoru watched your eyes shut, tight eyebrows knitting together. He grinds his hips harder against your clit, buffs of deep growls leaving his mouth as his balls clench.

“Cum on my cock sweetheart~ yeah~ oooh fuck me yes!”

“Cu—” A scream of unfiltered ecstasy cuts off your words. Satoru watches you as you squirt over his crotch and the sheets beneath you both. “Ah!! Haaah!!”

Your trashing and shaking drives Satoru up the fucking wall. He frees your hands, gripping your hips, lifting them slightly so he can continuously fuck into your g-spot. Your legs shake aggressively as you fist the sheets. Your body was vibrating, eyes watering as you cum for a third time, watching as clear liquid soaks Satoru’s hips before you see white.

“Haa, fuck~ fuck~ fuck—” his head tips forward, watching his cock disappear inside of your convulsing pussy. “Cu-Cummin!” He bit out. “Cumming! Cumming!!” He doesn't scream like you, but he roars like a fucking beast. “Graahk! Fuuuck! Fuck!! Take it! Take all of my cum!”

You’re so sensitive it almost hurts to have Satoru thrusting himself inside you. He doesn't stop until his hips stop moving on their own, and the condom between you is filled to the brim. Only at that point does he gently pull out of you, grimacing as you wince in pained pleasure.

“Are you okay?” he gently asks as he takes the condom off, tying it to throw it in the trash can near the bed.

“I-I’m so good.” You drunkenly slur, but you haven't had a sip of alcohol. “Oh my god, I don't think I've ever cum that hard in my entire life.”

You could see Satoru swell with pride as he headed to the bathroom. “I guess my wish for you did come true.” You can hear the water running before he comes back. “How was the mind-blowing sex?”

“Confident in yourself?”

“I don't mean to come off as an arrogant ass.” He shrugs a shoulder as he drops to his knees gently, wiping your thighs and pussy clean with the warm rag in his hand. “But I'm ninety-five percent sure I saw your soul leave your body.”

“Okay! Okay!” You sputtered out a laugh as he wiped himself clean before lying beside you, pulling you into his side with a satisfied hum. “Okay, the mind-blowing sex was—” your eyes trailed up to his face, “well mind-blowing!”

“Ah~” he blows against his trimmed nails, “way to go, Satoru~” and rubs nails over his pectoral muscle.

“You dork!” you playfully smack his arm, “that was so uncool. Like the uncoolest thing to do.”

Satoru was beaming with joy as he cupped your cheek, pulling you in for a deep kiss. You sighed, missing him back roughly before pulling away with a happy hum. “Still uncool?”

“Super uncool.”

“Worth a shot.”

You lay there, tracing shapes over Satoru’s chest. “Hey, Toru?” you asked, turning your head to study his perfect face. You were surprised to see him watching you, his blue eyes tracing over the curves of your body, to the way your finger drew invisible hearts over him.

“Yeah, sweetie?”

“What are you doing this Saturday?” You swore the man underneath you twisted faster than the speed of light. There was a certain glimmer of excitement in his eyes that had your heart fluttering like the butterflies in your stomach.

“Well, I did have this client, but I was dumb enough to cancel on them, so my Saturday is free!”

“Good,” you kissed the tip of his nose, “would you like to be my wedding date?”

“I would love to be your wedding date.”

Tag List (AGE MUST BE IN BIO)

@arminloverlol l @jamzywiththejam28 @gojoful @maskedpacific @ahseyy @kash77 @sadmonke @ari-maccha @sugurubabe e @hyori2 @bluechocolatemint @itsinherited @dellappatca @therealestpussyeater @dead-at-tokyo @nvrgojover @drakenswifeyy @nealeart t @yunho-leeknow @fire-child-kira @faeryminnyx @tqd4455 5 @harmonyflora @volkins181-blog @noukstmblr @lovley212 @stinkinstuffie @desihopelessromantic @witchbybirth @sonicsolos @lilbiguy @supsiii @rentheannihilator r @bloopsstuff @pepepepepopopopo @pandoness @sw33cadav3r @rixo-19 @meguvmii @sxnkuna @mmeerraa @lemonintrovert01 @bunny-lily @kibananya @kamastar39 @rjreins @lzaj19 @tiredflame132 @manyno @oliiper @rengokushair @simp-plague @matchalatte06 @haesify @majanggeum @solarrexplosion N@tbzzluvr @username23345 @demonboyssss @sakui1

[jinx-xxed]

Supreme Leader

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; The motivation for this one legit came out of nowhere but I can’t even complain 🫶 this is the best smut I’ve done to date I think

Part of Written in the Stars

Summary; You come back to find Snoke gone… and Kylo Ren has taken his place.

Content; NSFW 18+, AFAB reader, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Commander Reader, aftermath of TLJ, angst to sad fluff, original characters, you get promoted!!!, Kylo’s mean, Kylo gets a lightsaber pulled on him, you have a saberstaff, throne room confrontation turns into throne room sex, fucking on the throne, tension, you’re still not Kylo’s biggest fan lol, helmet on, gloves on, calling Kylo by his proper title, orgasm denial, overstimulation, inappropriate use of the Force, very dominant Kylo, fingering, unprotected piv sex, riding Kylo, humiliation, degradation, praise, talking about feelings

Wc; 6.2k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

There’s a sharp ping that comes from the device imbedded into your metal arm cuffs, overriding the silence mode you have it set on and making you startle. You grumble to yourself, pausing your work to tap a few things on the screen and project a smaller screen above it. There it reads the message: all troops involved with mission-76653 cease operations and return to base immediately. There’s coordinates to the Steadfast attached and not the Supremacy, you note.

“Are you serious?” You snap to yourself. The members of Fleet 74 who came along with you on this expedition stop at your voice, looking back at you curiously. You sigh, lifting a hand and making a circular motion with a finger. “We’re heading back to base, I guess. Direct orders.”

Jaharah begins to protest. “Now? But we haven’t finished-“

“I know. I’m not happy about it either.” You say, a scowl settling nicely onto your features. You traveled all the way out to some planet in the Outer Rim to basically have to go right back. You turn, starting the journey to the speeders you’d left behind that’ll return you to your ship that’s even farther away. The others reluctantly follow. “I hope whatever bastard demanded this realizes we’re still two weeks out.”

Lyra’s hands wring together nervously. “Do you think something bad happened? Maybe the resistance-“

You scoff sharply. “The resistance couldn’t hope to do anything against Snoke’s ship, not as things stand now. This is something else.” Or you’d think so.

You won’t admit that you’re worried about what that ‘something else’ could be.

» ☆ «

The trip back to base was just as annoying as the trip out to the assigned planet was. Traveling in a cramped transport ship for two weeks isn’t the most pleasant thing in the world. But finally, there’s a familiar beeping of the sensors and the filter of hyperspace fades away to reveal the massive Star Destroyer that is the Steadfast sitting amongst the blankness of space.

The ship is brought into the hangar and you immediately get the feeling that something is off. A tension in the atmosphere, a shiver running up your arms beneath your uniform. Stormtroopers stand about in a more stiff manner than usual, and the lower workers of the Steadfast seem to have become as meek as mice. There’s also a tinge of leftover smoke in the air, like something blew up within the Star Destroyer. You glance back at your Fleet members as they exit their ships; they feel it too, but Jaharah shrugs, just as lost as you are.

“General,” comes a sudden voice. You snap back around to see a trooper standing before you. “Your presence is requested in the throne room immediately. And the Fleet’s.”

The throne room? What would Snoke want with you now? And what would he want with your Fleet?

You nod, following the Stormtrooper as he acts like some guide through the Steadfast. You’re sure you could find your way faster than he ever could, but you follow along to be nice. The walk there is long, of course, since the ship is so ungodly huge. The hall turns colder as the throne room doors come into view, and it’s like the tension you felt in the air before becomes about ten times heavier, threatening to weigh you down and prevent you from going forward. There’s Sith Troopers guarding the doors, and you see the members of Fleet 74 who stayed behind waiting there as well.

You look to Chief, your second in command. “What is this about?” You demand in a whisper.

“You’ll see.” She mutters. You don’t like that.

The Fleet gets in to a close formation with yourself at the head. The doors open and you’re led inside. You nearly freeze in your tracks with the sight you’re met with.

Snoke is no more. Instead, sitting in a newly made, imposing throne, is Kylo Ren.

He wears his full uniform, hood pulled over his helmet adorned with the red veins that stick the shattered pieces back together coursing through the black metal. His Knights fan out on either side of the throne, still as statues with their weapons held tightly in their hands. Kylo himself is clearly trying to be every bit as intimidating as Snoke was, with his boots firmly planted on the ground, gloved hands clutching the arm rests, back straight as a board.

You kneel before he even gets the chance to tell you to because somehow, initiating it yourself is less humiliating. You hear the Fleet follow suit behind you. The cold, reflective metal of the floor bites into your knee as you stare at it.

There’s an unnerving silence and you feel his eyes on you. Then, “welcome back, Commander.”

You perk at the title, your head shooting up. “Commander?”

“It seems we’ve both gotten promotions.” Kylo drawls. “Snoke is dead, killed by the Jedi girl in his own ship.”

Liar.

He knows that you know, and he also knows that you know it’s better to keep your mouth firmly shut. The discussion you’ll have later should be interesting.

“I’ve taken his place, and I believe it’s most logical to make you my Commander. Fleet 74 will remain as it is. I’m sure you can handle the extra duties, correct?” He asks.

You dip your head again. “Yes, of course. I’m honored, Com-“ you clear your throat, correcting yourself, “Supreme Leader.” It feels wrong.

He taps a finger against the arm rest. “Then you’re dismissed. You and I will talk later.”

You nod. “Yes, sir.”

You rise with the Fleet, leading them out of the throne room with tense muscles. As soon as the doors close behind you, a few of them clap you on the back, congratulating you on the new position. You can’t share in the celebration, unable to ignore the itch in the back of your mind that you can’t quite get rid of.

What the hell happened while you were gone?

» ☆ «

You’re called back to the throne room an hour later.

You know you don’t have a choice in the matter, the message was very clear in that sense. You either go willingly or you’re sure someone will come along to drag you there. So you put away the report you were filing on your forcefully failed mission and push yourself from your chair. You walk down familiar halls, you try to ignore the tremor in your hands by clenching them into fists.

The path to the throne room is void of life, as if it’s a radioactive zone that nobody wants to enter. The description isn’t far off; it feels like you enter into a cloud of smog that chokes you when you get near and it sends a shiver down your spine. The Dark is heavy, threatening, and thick in the area. It parts for you when you pass through, ever so willing to obey your commands even if it doesn’t belong to you, but you feel it pressing in on every side. You take a deep breath when you see the doors leading into the throne room finally appear around a corner, looming like a beast waiting to pounce.

You push them open without pause, steeling yourself and the nerves that buzz beneath your skin. Your face is set with hard lines, your brows slightly drawn over your eyes and your lips positioned with a small downturn. Cold air and the sharp tang of polished metal hits you when you step inside, the click of your heels against the ever-so shiny floor the only sound.

You quickly take note of the fact that the room is empty. There are no Guards, no Stormtroopers, no Knights. Only him.

There is only Kylo Ren, sitting on a false throne.

You feel his eyes behind that mask trained on you as soon as you enter, crawling along your form and taking in every bit of you. He looks as he did before, his body cloaked in black robes with his hood framing his helmet, hiding it from the light. The throne isn’t the same as Snoke’s, this one has had to be built from scratch like many things after the utter obliteration of the Supremacy. This new chair has clearly taken inspiration given its size, but the energy surrounding it has changed. It isn’t as Dark as people would believe it to be.

You stop a healthy distance away from the dais, your perfect reflection along the floor mirroring your movements. “You requested me, Supreme Leader?” The title feels wrong and foreign on your tongue when referring to him and you struggle to hide the mockery in your tone, though he hears it all the same. There’s a seed of unease that burrows itself in your gut, eager to bloom into something bigger as you stare at the man you’ve worked with for most of your life. All of this was unexpected, and that’s where your problem lies. Kylo did this, he got himself to this position—and you don’t understand it.

His gloved hands brace against the armrests as he stands. You watch him intensely, your body feeling like it’s pulled taut as a bowstring, ready for something that you don’t know about yet. Your breathing stutters in your chest, it quickens with your heartbeat. He walks down those steps, one after another with the grace and power of a leader that knows his strength. There’s a brush against the shields in your mind, a familiar Force signature that’s taunting you, playing a game that you’re not interested in. You recoil from the touch, quickly forcing it away from you and out of your head. It can’t be trusted.

He reaches the same level you’re on but when he tries to take another inch of the space between you, you find your lightsaber in front of you. It screams to life, red beams of plasma coming from either end. It lets out a steady hum through the handle clenched in your palm—a threat, a promise. Kylo pauses where he is and you glare at him over the weapon, the red bouncing off the silver on his helmet.

“What did you do?” You demand, words spat from between your teeth.

“Don’t be stupid.” He sneers, deep voice crackling through the vocoder.

He moves towards you again, unfazed by the deadly lightsaber you have pointed directly at him. His pace is unrelenting and you move yourself backwards, eager to keep the same distance. You bare your teeth, twisting to follow him as he circles you like a predator. “What happened to Snoke?”

There’s a minuscule shake of his head as he observes you. “I told you-“

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Kylo. What did you do?” You say again. You want a straight answer, you want to know what the fuck happened when you were gone. You want to know what happened to the man you were beginning to trust. You remember the hunger he’d had in his eyes when you’d first met him, the insatiable desire for power and to prove himself to whoever dared doubt him. You wonder how that young man would feel seeing himself now like this, standing at the top of the galaxy. And you wonder how much farther he’ll go, if this is where you make the stand for your life because you’re a threat.

“I did what I had to.” He says coldly with nothing but conviction. “You’ll understand.” He got himself behind you, now forcing you to walk in the opposite direction to stay away from him. There’s ripples in the Force, the darkness swirling around you both. You feel him at the shields you keep up, but he’s not trying like he should be to get in. He’s basically just sitting there, occasionally reaching forward to remind you that he’s waiting. It’s a silent plea to be let in, but you won’t listen.

“Snoke was a worthless coward. He was incapable of fighting his own battles. Why do you feel such remorse for him when he’s the one who’s caused you so much pain?” Kylo demands, angry at the idea of you sympathizing with Snoke. You don’t. You never would. You’re glad to see that he’s gone, that you’ll never again have to experience dread when returning back to base. Snoke tortured you both but after knowing of him ever since you were a child, hearing him in your head, that seed of unease blooms into fear. What will happen now? What kind of leader could Kylo Ren possibly be?

You don’t have the chance to ponder it further. The backs of your legs hit the seat of the throne after having been forced up the dais by Kylo who now comes so close it causes you to fall unceremoniously into the chair. Your lightsaber is still active, poised at his throat even as he slams both hands on either armrest, caging you in. “I saved us,” he snarls, “and this is how you thank me?”

Even as Kylo’s presence threatens to rob you of breath, his darkness trying to choke you, you don’t cower. Your lightsaber reflects in your eyes in the same way it does his helmet, the heat from the plasma an uncomfortable presence between you. “How am I supposed to trust you?” You practically throw the words in his face, and you can see the way they make him recoil. It’s barely there, so very slight, but he draws back just a fraction of a centimeter and you hear the creak of his gloves as he grips the armrests tighter. It hurts him, it brings you satisfaction. You feel the flinch in the Force, betraying his true emotions to someone like you who’s more attuned than he realizes.

And then it’s gone. He brushes it aside and replaces that emotion with bristling anger. He reaches past your arm, past your lightsaber without a care, and he grips your chin. You want to thrash against him, want to fight against his hold; it would be so easy with the saber you have against his neck. But you can’t bring yourself to. You let him hold you there as he makes sure you’re looking at him, his fingers digging into your jaw.

“He was going to have me kill you.” Kylo says, tone quiet and blunt as he brings forth information he’d been holding inside of himself for so long, letting it consume him. “That’s why I sent you away.” Scenes flash in your mind, brought to you by Kylo so that you can see exactly what terrified him, to see what caused that sense of fear he had that day he gave you your mission.

Snoke would’ve had you both come to the throne room, and you would’ve thought nothing was amiss. But then he would reveal that he wished to further Kylo’s training after his recent failures, and that you were the key to making him stronger. That key was your own death. Snoke would admit as such, that he wants Kylo to kill you. You could feel it—the rage inside of you, the despair. Snoke had always favored Kylo over you because Kylo had a name behind him, he had a legacy. You were just a kid with a meaningless family that he picked up off a worthless planet that turned out to have more potential than anyone could’ve ever dreamed. You’d surpassed Kylo in more than enough trials to prove that and yet… it didn’t matter. You were to die to push someone else forward.

“You would’ve fought,” Kylo murmurs, briefly breaking you from the vision, “but you would’ve lost.”

You see what he means. You turned on Snoke, you lashed out with everything you had in you as the Praetorian Guards advanced. You killed all of them, your will to live greater than their own strength, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough against Snoke, who forced you to your knees even as he struggled to do so from your protesting. You could’ve been something, you could’ve been more, but you were just fodder for the machine. You at least looked Kylo in the eyes with your chin held high when he lifted the hilt of his lightsaber. The vision cut out directly after that, and you find yourself heaving for breath.

Your own lightsaber is gone, taken from your grip by Kylo while you watched your death play out. The anger that boils in your gut almost feels misplaced because that future never came to pass, and it never will. Because of what Kylo did. He sent you on a convenient mission to the Outer Rim, as far away from Snoke as possible. Then he took his chances back here, trying to figure out some way to save you, and then the perfect opportunity was laid at his feet.

He keeps his hold on you, forcing you to watch through his own eyes and learn of what he’d gone through. Rey had shown up. The young Jedi girl actually had the gall to deliver herself right to her enemy. She definitely has guts, you’d give her that. She tried and failed to get Kylo to turn away from the Dark Side, trying to make him see the Light. But it didn’t work when his thoughts remained on you and keeping you from Snoke’s grasp. He was too focused on the fact that if the future he saw came to fruition, he knew he’d lose himself entirely. He wouldn’t be able to bear it.

So he used Rey in his schemes, used her as a distraction of sorts. He used her to finally kill Snoke, to free himself and you from his reign. He couldn’t believe it actually worked, that Snoke was truly lying on the floor severed in half. It was like a weight was lifted off his shoulders, a ghoul finally banished from the corners of his mind. It was peaceful, but only for a moment. Him and Rey fought the Guards, and then he tried to get back his grandfather’s lightsaber once more to no avail. The memories from then on are bright flashes, fuzzy images, and explosions—nothing you can make out.

You’re pulled from Kylo’s memories, your jaw slack and your heart racing. It feels unreal, something you can’t believe because you weren’t here to witness it. But if you had been here, you would’ve died. “Now you see, don’t you? I told you that you’d understand. Yet you still can’t bring yourself to trust me. It just disgusts you, doesn’t it?” He says lowly, jabbing at you. “How could you ever bear to trust someone like me?” Someone who saved your life, he wants to add with his mocking tone.

There’s a moments pause where you stare at each other, unsure of what to think or say. You wish you could see him, could see his eyes and his face. Your nervous hand reaches up, attempting to get the latch on his helmet to take it off, but he stops you abruptly. He grips your wrist firmly in a leather-clad hand. You try and fumble for words. “Kylo, I-“

“No. You’ll address me as Supreme Leader. You need to get used to that title.” He snaps, forcing you all the way back into the throne as he comes even closer, his boot sliding between your own and forcing your legs apart. Your breath hitches when he takes both your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head so you can’t do anything stupid like trying to shove him off or drawing your lightsaber on him again.

The rise and fall of your chest quickens when cold air kisses the skin of your stomach, your layers shoved up by his free hand. The leather of his glove is rough as it skates along the newly exposed area on its way further down. His fingers catch on the waistband of your pants and they don’t hesitate to slip beneath the fabric. Your body feels like it’s been set on fire, your spine pressed so firmly against the back of the throne that there’s nowhere else for you to go, even as you try to scoot away from his burning touch.

You jolt when he grazes your clit, your teeth digging so sharply into your lip that you think you taste blood. He’s moves slow and with purpose, knowing exactly what he’s doing when a low groan rumbles from the back of your throat. You can tell by the way he’s so willing to taunt and tease, by the way his huge body covers your own and boxes you in, that this isn’t going to be good for you. The pad of his index finger traces slow, tortuous circles around your entrance while the heel of his palm makes occasional, light taps against your clit to keep you aware, to keep you anticipating.

“You love to say how much you hate me, and yet you’re always so eager for me.” Kylo spits, his voice guttural when it comes through his helmet, struggling to get past the vocoder as more than just lustful static. He can feel how wet you are, how easily the dark leather of his gloves slides between your folds. His finger finally plunges into your waiting cunt not a second later, a gasp rattling your body. It’s a welcome feeling, one that finally gives the throbbing of your walls something to focus on instead of just aching, empty space.

The thrusts of his finger are lazy, staying at the same easy pace even as you squirm. He’s more generous to your clit now at least, his palm staying firmly against it, providing the friction of rough leather and stitched seams with each in and out of your hole. You whine in pleasure when he finally adds a second finger, the thick digits filling you more completely. They go farther, sink deeper into your heat, finding and pressing against the spot you’re never able to get on your own. Your hands struggle against the hold he has on them, your attempts at freeing yourself as your body writhes having been unsuccessful. You know you’ll have bruises in the shapes of his fingers across your wrists from the strength of his grip.

Kylo enjoys seeing you like this, completely under his mercy and so, so very compliant. It’s rare when he gets what he wants from you—your submission—so he’s relishing in it now while it lasts. His enjoyment is obvious from the erection creating a tent in his pants. You have to avert your eyes from it, trying not to think of the way he’d use it, the way he’d ram into you again and again and fill you with his desire. You can feel your own mounting, a knot in your gut that grows bigger with his ministrations, threatening to come undone.

You’re almost there. You’re standing on the ledge, leaning over the side, ready to fall off into bliss. Just a few more thrusts of his fingers, a few more circles around your clit, and your orgasm will be washing through you. But it never comes despite the way he continues to fingerfuck you, despite the way you can feel it right there and so ready to burst. It’s like something’s blocking it on purpose, a dam built with the sole mission of denying your release. Your eyes snap open, finding Kylo. He huffs a laugh. “What, you think I’d let you cum that easily?” It pisses you off how much he’s liking this. “I’ve barely even started.”

You practically growl at him, lip drawing up to reveal your sharp teeth, but you know he just finds it amusing. Especially when you try to grind your hips down onto his fingers as if that’ll be enough to break the Force hold he has on your body. You can’t move much beyond that with the way he looms over the throne, his legs pinning yours and your hands still stuck above your head. An involuntary whimper rips from your throat when he moves his thumb to your clit, rubbing at it with more purpose and ferocity and a third finger managing to slip into your eager cunt. Your feet scrabble against the floor, trying to find some kind of purchase as the denial of an orgasm makes you dizzy. You try and swallow the drool pooling in your mouth, the breath of your panting fogging the metal panels on Kylo’s helmet from your proximity.

You give in to begging once tears prick your eyes. Your words are barely more than a whisper. “Please- please, Kylo, just-“

There’s a harsh thrust up into your cunt that has your words falling silent, instead replaced by a sharp, high pitched yelp. “What did I fucking tell you?” He demands, pressing even harder against that spot along your walls that has you seeing stars. You feel like you’re about to explode from the built up tension in your body. “What did I tell you to call me?”

You glare at him, your eyes full of all the fury you can’t manage to get out with your voice. You don’t want to say it. You don’t want to bend to this man who’s held such a ridiculous amount of power over you for what feels like your entire life. Your teeth grind together in defiance, even as your face burns. He hums at that and seems almost happy that you’re going against him. He does love a good fight.

His fingers stall and begin to slowly slide out of you, ready to leave you completely empty and with a simmering need that won’t be taken care of. You jolt, eyes widening. It’s in that moment you find you don’t actually give a fuck about defying him, you just need him to stay in you. “Supreme Leader!” You practically shout, so sudden it even startles yourself. Your next words are quieter, more restrained. “Supreme Leader, please..”

You moan in relief when his fingers take back their positions deep inside your cunt, the sounds of your slick sloshing around filling the empty throne room. “Good,” Kylo says roughly, clearly struggling himself. Your obedience is music to his ears and it does nothing to soothe the ache of his cock still restrained by his pants. It just makes it worse. “Say it again.”

You hate him. You’re probably going to kill him. “Supreme Leader, please-“ you have to choke back your humiliation and death threats, “please let me cum.”

This time Kylo groans, the desperate sound crackling through his helmet. He thrusts his fingers one more time, swiping his thumb along your clit, before he lets you go. The release is instant. Something akin to a scream comes from you with your orgasm, the world around you feeling like it’s shattering. You can barely breathe, pure pleasure wracking your body and sending lightning through your limbs. The dam finally broke, and it feels so fucking good. The unbearable pressure is gone, bliss washing through you like a wave from the ocean as you cum around his hand. “See how nice I am?” Kylo says with heavy breath, barely able to contain himself. His eyes are locked on to where his hand disappears into your pants; he can feel your cum pooling on his glove. “How well I reward you when you’re good?”

It’s all you can do to nod dumbly, too blissed out with your ears still ringing to really comprehend what he’s saying. You don’t resist when your pants are pulled off, your underwear entirely soaked through and baring your sensitive, wet cunt to the cold air. You shiver. Your cloak is tossed aside, your top layers undone to reveal your upper body. You’re barely more than a rag doll when Kylo braces an arm against your back, using it to scoop you out of the throne so he can take your spot. His zipper is pulled down, his boxers lowered so his cock is finally freed, painfully erect and dribbling precum.

He sinks you down to the hilt without hesitation. All the air is punched from your lungs, your body tensing as his length fills you to capacity. Kylo’s appreciative groan is loud and throaty, his fingers digging bruises into your hips. You have to pause for a moment to adjust to the sudden intrusion, feeling so full it’s like you’re not allowed to breathe. Your lips are parted, your nails digging into the ribbed sleeves on his forearms for purchase. His body is warm and muscular beneath your hands.

You struggle to move, still feeling the after effects of your orgasm, your limbs weak and trembling. Kylo makes no effort to help you, his helmet instead tilted up towards you expectantly. “If you want it you’ll have to work for it, Commander.” He says with some twisted amusement. You briefly consider how easy it’d be to reach forward and wring his neck.

But you put that aside, swallowing your broken pride. You unfortunately want his cock more than that. The first thrust is bliss, pleasure filled shocks coursing through you like a live wire. You and Kylo moan in tandem, both of you finally getting some form of relief. Your movements are slow at first, trying desperately to get used to the feeling of his cock splitting you open. His hands travel up your sides, his left glove still soaked in your juices and leaving a trail along your skin. He finds your breasts, encompassing them with large, warm palms that have your head tilting back and your eyes closing. He pinches your stiffened nipples between his fingers, rolling them experimentally as you whine and arch into his touch. Your pace on his cock is steady now, finally having figured out a rhythm.

“Touch yourself.” Kylo orders suddenly, words sounding choked.

Your gaze snaps to him, brows furrowing slightly. “What?”

“Touch yourself.” He snaps again. “If you’re smart, you’ll listen to what I say.”

You glower, your face burning even hotter. He knows you don’t enjoy doing it, which is giving him all the more reason to make you. You hesitate, both not wanting to do as he demands and also not wanting to see whatever repercussions will come if you don’t. Your shaking fingers reach down and find your clit, the bud still sensitive and aching from Kylo’s earlier abuse. Your lip is between your teeth, trying to keep back your moans as you run circles over your clit. The stimulation quickly builds and you can feel that familiar knot forming in your gut again.

Kylo’s helmet tilts up and you can feel his eyes on you. You try not to meet them. “You look pretty like this, you know? Finally fucking listening to me.” He rumbles, giving your nipple a particularly hard pinch and making you writhe in his grip. “Say my name.”

You try to ignore him, ignore his stupid power trip and ego boost. But then he makes his move—one hand comes down to grip your wrist and the other is firm on your hip, completely stalling your movements and messing up your concentration. Your climax steadily begins to fade, a loud and frustrated groan coming from you. “This is stupid.” You snarl at him.

He doesn’t back down. “Say it.”

A harsh breath blows through your nose. You move your head so you can look past him, not wanting to admit that this is what he’s bringing you to. “Supreme Leader.” You mutter, your hips shifting to try and get friction with his cock still hard inside your cunt. He puts a stop to that quickly with a harsh squeeze.

Kylo lets go of your wrist to instead grab your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Again.”

“Supreme Leader.” You grit out.

“One more time.”

You grab his forearm, your nails digging deep enough and with such fury that they’ll leave marks. It’s the least you can do. “Supreme Leader.”

“Good girl.” He murmurs, thumb running along your lower lip. You want nothing more than to sink your teeth into it until you taste blood. “You’ve done so well.”

His following thrust up into you has you forgetting what insult you were going to say. Both of his hands rest on your hips now, keeping you steady as he fucks you mercilessly. You bend forward, gripping his shoulders as some kind of anchor, punctuated moans spilling endlessly from your mouth. His helmet is downturned, the forehead of it resting against your sternum as he watches his cock disappear inside of your cunt, slick smearing along the front of his pants. He uses his Force to swirl against your clit, creating a sort of buzzing sensation that quickly brings that knot back and sets your blood ablaze.

“A commander reduced to a fucking cocksleeve. So good for my dick, aren’t you?” He breathes, words made even more gravelly by his vocoder. “Fuck.” You can only nod along and whimper, your brain fucked into useless mush.

You grip him tighter when your second orgasm finally bursts, your walls spasming around his cock and making him curse even louder. Cum gushes from you, dripping along your folds and making a further mess of Kylo’s pants. You cry out when he keeps thrusting into you, everything throbbing and overly sensitive for his harsh pace. You can’t think straight, you can only dig your teeth into the padded armor of his shoulder as tears well and threaten to fall.

His cock twitches, his hips stuttering. He gets in a few more thrusts before he’s cumming at last, a slew of cusses mixed with grunts and groans falling from his mouth. You hum in pleasure when you feel his warm spend filling your cunt to the brim, effectively coating your walls white.

Neither of you can move for a couple of minutes after. You don’t know how long you sit there for, your body finally relaxing and your eyes closing. He doesn’t pull out, his cock softening inside you and making sure you stay plugged full of his cum. You’re tempted to fall asleep before Kylo’s hands are leaving your hips and instead coming up to undo the latches on his helmet. There’s a hiss of air as the mechanisms slide out of place and he’s able to take it off. His black hair falls around his face, sweat drenching the ends.

You struggle to lift yourself up, but you want to see him. Your hands shake from exhaustion when they reach forward, taking his cheeks in your palms. He looks so tired. His sigh tickles your skin, his eyes closing at your touch. He seems significantly more relaxed now, his body letting go of its tension and his Force signature becoming something calmer. You can feel the weight shift as he leans into your right hand. His arms circle around your back, somehow pulling you even closer.

He swallows before speaking. “I was… afraid.” He mutters. “Afraid without you here… and yet I had to do it. Otherwise I’d lose you.”

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his lips gentle as they brush along your collarbone. “I was afraid that I would fail. That it would’ve all been for nothing.” He continues. He sounds so quiet, quieter than you’ve heard him in a while. You run your fingers through his hair. “I just… I’m glad I sent you away.”

“Me too.” You mumble, your eyes trained on the back wall as your mind runs. You’re finally coming to terms with the fact that your death had almost been set in stone at the hands of Snoke. Coming to terms with the fact that your lifelong teacher was going to have you executed by his star pupil, and the fact that Kylo decided to save you and possibly get himself killed instead. The fact he did everything he could to make sure you wouldn’t come back to a death sentence. You swallow thickly. “Thank you.”

He stills at those words. They’re the last thing he expected to hear from you and it makes him uneasy. He doesn’t say anything, and that’s okay. You know he can’t. Besides, it’s easy to gather what he wants to say from his Force in this moment of vulnerability. An apology is at the forefront; an apology for taking things out on you again. He doesn’t regret it, but he didn’t mean for it to happen. Then underneath that there’s longing that’s still lingering from when you were gone. He wanted nothing more than to see you, to know you were okay. He’s more than happy to have you in his arms now.

You pull yourself out of his thoughts, blowing out a tired sigh and resting your head on his shoulder. He wraps his cape around you to protect your mostly-naked form from the chill of the throne room, his warmth bleeding into you. You’re content to just sit here in his lap, and he seems content to let you. He relaxes back into the throne, cradling you against him with his soft breathing ruffling the hairs on the top of your head.

You’re together. You’re alive. That’s all you need in this moment.

[padfootagain]

Blackout

Hi everyone! Here comes another fic for Hozier! Hope you like it! It isn’t an enemies to lovers, honestly, more like an… annoyed to lovers.

Hope you like this! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x reader

Warnings: none, it’s cute! Adorable even. Lots of interrupted kisses. Annoyed to lovers instead of a real enemies to lovers

Summary: Your new neighbour is insufferable with his music-making and his pretty face and his unbearably tall frame. Or is he? Maybe a blackout through your neighbourhood will make you change your mind about him.

Word Count: 5568

Hozier’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

It wasn’t that you hated him, really. You reckoned that you didn’t know the guy enough to hate him.

It was just that… he simply… got on your nerves.

Why? Well, the fact that your new neighbour was blasting electric guitar and wailing at 2am was a good start. And then there was just… something… something off. You couldn’t explain it. You just saw him and you went nope.

And that was probably mean, and uncalled for, to be fair. He seemed nice enough, during the day, when he was not waking you up at an ungodly hour. He was good-looking too, and he had a nice soothing voice, quiet and surprisingly gentle considering that he was a fucking giant…

Still, you couldn’t forgive him for ruining your nights and never even apologising. Or actually, he did apologise. Every time. And then, he went ahead and did it all over again the next day. The fact that he was a famous musician (that you had obviously recognised, you did not live under a rock, after all) was no excuse to bother your neighbours when they had jobs to go to in the morning.

What a jerk…

Still, you did need some flour to bake these cookies due for your friend tomorrow, now that your little demon of a black cat had dropped the whole thing on the floor… and then decided to roll in it so he could paint your entire kitchen with powder.

What a day…

So, that was the reason why you were now knocking on your neighbour’s door. It was a small building you lived in, with only three flats, and you knew that the couple upstairs were away, gone on vacation somewhere hot and sunny to drink fancy colourful cocktails, the lucky bastards. Meanwhile, you remained in your small town, while it was freezing cold outside, sky as grey as your mood, forced to see this unbearably annoying neighbour of yours…

You knocked a second time, perhaps he had not heard you. You knew he was in, there was light coming out from underneath his door. The shop in your village was closed today. He was your only hope to get these cookies of yours, sadly…

Finally, the door opened. Or well, it was flung open, actually. A grumpy look on handsome features appeared, towering you with his full height, long brown curls messily tied in a bun.

“Hi!” you forced a smile. “Sorry to bother you, but I… have a small flour issue. Could I borrow you some?”

Andrew raised a surprised eyebrow, but nodded anyway.

“Need anything else?” he asked, and his voice was softer than the look on his face would have suggested.

“No, thanks. Just flour.”

He seemed unsure of what to do with his long limbs for a moment, staring at you before he turned in a jolt, hurried back inside. You noticed that he hadn’t bothered with a hello.

What a je…

“I don’t have much left, I hope you’ll have enough.”

He handed you his half-empty bag of flour with a smile. It was pretty, even if it was unmistakeably polite more than anything else.

Why on earth were you thinking that, by the way?

“Thanks! I’ll bring this back quickly, promise.”

He merely gave you another smile, clearly uncomfortable.

“Okay, bye!”

You spun around before he could do anything but mumble a ‘goodbye’, and disappeared in your flat, just across the hall.

Leaning against your front door after closing it, you tried to remember how much of a jerk that man was. How annoying he was. And most of all, you tried not to think of how gorgeous his hazel eyes were…

There was a noise before you, and when you lifted your eyes, Salem was staring at you, paws and fur still partially covered in white flour.

Damn…

It wasn’t that he hated you, really. Andrew reckoned that he didn’t know you enough to hate you.

It was just… simply that you… made him nervous.

There was something about you that just made him struggle to breathe all of a sudden. The fact that the first conversation you had was you not-so-politely telling him to shut up already might have something to do with that. The fact that your cat had been peeing right before his front door on several occasions also played in your disfavour. And perhaps there was also the fact that he found you breathtaking, that he loved the sound of your voice, and that every time he saw you he was torn between an urge to snap at you and another to kiss you to finally make you shut up already. He also sometimes wanted to throw your cat out of the building, but he was too kind-hearted for this to ever fall into the ‘feasible’ category.

The other ones of his urges though…

He shook himself, focused on his guitar again, reached for the cup of tea by his side, sliding the two teabags to the side to take a sip. He needed to focus. He had a song to finish, damn it…

But then again, writing in this small flat he was renting wasn’t ideal. The roof of his home needed to be fixed, he couldn’t stay there for several weeks in a row while people were working on it. And as he was in desperate need for a place to stay while his roof was being repaired, and unwilling to simply stay at a friend’s house for weeks, he wasn’t picky when it came to the choice of flat for this short rental. He would be staying only for a few weeks anyway. He saw the flat on Air BnB, figured it would do, and moved in for six weeks.

The paper-thin walls were a challenge though. And being the night-owl he was, it was tough working only throughout the day.

He took a look at the clock on the wall. 9pm… surely he could make a little bit of noise still. No adult was going to sleep so early these days, lives were too busy for that, workdays too long.

He started recording, trying to get a few back-up vocals in. He could record some guitar quietly later, but he did need some strong vocals to get a feeling of the song. Perhaps it would help him finish this bunch of lyrics he was stuck with.

He had been working for around twenty minutes when he heard someone knocking on his door.

He stopped mid-note, cursing at the interruption. Your interruption, without a doubt…

He needed to work, it was still early, and you were getting on his nerves so fucking much…

He opened his door a little too hard, a dark expression adorning his features. And he was even angrier at you when he found you wearing casual clothes, a warm oversized hoodie and some sweatpants. He was infuriated by your messy hair and the way he wanted to run his fingers through it. He was so frustrated by the white traces of flour splattered across your cheek and sleeves and fingers, and how adorable they made you look. Cosy and comfortable and making him feel lonely like this, on his own, recording alone and singing to no one, making him want to hold you through the night…

“Hi!” you spoke first, but he noticed at once how forced your smile was. “Sorry to bother you, but I… have a small flour issue. Could I borrow you some?”

He was so surprised, he had to raise an eyebrow at that. No complaints about his singing? No… complaints in general? Were you alright?

He wondered why he was so surprised by that, anyway. You seemed to be lovely. He simply had never had the occasion to properly talk to you, that was all…

He nodded.

“Need anything else?” he asked, making his voice softer, knowing he had been a little rough as he had opened the door.

And for God’s sake, he had not even said hello! You would think he was an absolute knob… Was it too late to say hello? Yeah, of course, it was too late, he was pathetic, and there it was again, you were making him so damn nervous, staring at him with these beautiful eyes of yours…

“No, thanks. Just flour.”

He wasn’t sure what to do. For some reason, he was reluctant to walk in again. He didn’t dare question why.

Eventually, though, he did hurry to his kitchen, foraging for his flour. He had barely half a bag left…

“I don’t have much left, I hope you’ll have enough.”

He handed you his half-empty bag of flour and forced a smile. He hoped you wouldn’t notice that his hands had turned clammy, that he was struggling for breath a little… or a lot, actually. He didn’t know what to make of his long limbs, of his tall frame, he didn’t know what to tell you…

“Thanks! I’ll bring this back quickly, promise,” you told him, smiling too, although yours was more relaxed and he found it a little too bright, it made it dangerous.

He wondered if he should tell you about the white streak on your cheek, but decided against it. He didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, he was awkward enough for the two of you. God, it had been years since he had been that shy in front of someone.

Before he could find something to say (and he was trying hard to find something interesting to say), you were pressing your lips tightly together.

“Okay, bye!”

It was over already? Andrew was a little stunned by it, he mumbled a ‘goodbye’, brain functioning at full speed to find an excuse to make you stay, but found nothing, reaching to grasp only at air. A second later, you were spinning around, hurrying across the corridor and back to the safety of your door. He watched you disappear, and walked back inside with a sigh.

He sat back in his chair, picked up his guitar again. Damn, he needed to get a grip. He was supposed to hate you, for God’s sake…

“Oh, this got to be a joke…”

Andrew mumbled under his breath, heaving a deep sigh. As if things weren’t complicated enough already in this tiny flat…

The light had just gone out. In this wintery season, even though it was still fairly early, the sky was already wearing its nightly colours, although any traces of moon or stars were hidden behind heavy clouds. Without electricity, the whole room was drenched in darkness…

Andrew checked the battery level of his laptop, resting before him on the small desk where he had been working on a new song. Luckily, none of his music equipment was plugged in, so no damage from a power surge could have happened. He had about 35% battery left…

“Great…”

He saved his files, and used the light of the screen to look for his phone. He checked the battery there too, at the corner of the screen.

12%...

“Fuck…”

He turned the torchlight on anyway, having no other source of light in the room but for his electronical devices. He headed for the cupboard by the door, feet making the wooden floor creak quietly in the dark. He checked the fuses on the hidden electrical panel there, but everything was normal.

It wasn’t coming from his flat. In fact, it wasn’t coming from his building. As he peered into the street, all the streetlights had gone out. It was complete darkness, except for the distant lights of a car, that disappeared after a few seconds.

Andrew heaved another sigh, wondering what to do. It was 6pm, he had not eaten dinner, he had not showered – both vital needs that could not be fulfilled without electricity, unless he wanted to opt for a freezingly cold shower, and he was clearly not in the mood for that – and his phone, aka only source of light, was about to die.

Great… fucking great…

He reckoned that he had a few biscuits tugged somewhere, that would make dinner. He could still quickly wash up with cold water and take a proper shower tomorrow. He only needed a proper torchlight, or at least a candle to see something.

He foraged through the cupboards, drawers and every corner of the flat. No candle, no light, nothing…

His phone was down to 7% battery.

Damn…

There was, however, a solution to his problem. He could go and ask you if you could lend him any source of light…

God, he hated his bloody romantic brain for the line that immediately popped into his head.

She’s a source of light…

“Oh, just shut up, already…” he cursed at himself out loud.

He still opened the door, and walked over to your flat. He only hesitated once he was facing the wooden surface, hand raised in a fist and about to knock. He could feel his throat tightening, and some excited butterflies mingle in his stomach with something anxious and not quite nice. He could feel his palms becoming clammy. He bit down on his cheek.

Did he really want to do that? Knock on your door? See you? You could tell him to fuck off. You could be mean. Or worse, you could give him an earnest smile, what would he do with himself if you did?

But Andrew shook himself and finally knocked. He wasn’t a bloody teenager to be this intimidated by someone. He was an accomplished musician, in his thirties, who owned a home, bees and an awful lot of guitars. He had talked to many people who were way more intimidating than you, including the fucking president! He had sung in front of thousands of people! Tens of thousands! He could totally ask you for a torchlight and be cool about it.

His breath staggered when your face appeared, opening the door and looking up at him with these gorgeous eyes of yours, and his heart skipped several beats, and his brain simply ceased to function altogether…

Bloody hell…

“Oh, hi!” you spoke in an annoyed voice, but he somehow knew the feeling wasn’t aimed at him. “I was about to go over to your place, Andrew. There’s no power in my flat.”

“None in mine either. And nothing in the street. It seems the whole area is in the dark.”

You heaved a frustrated sigh, a long exhale through your nose, and Andrew couldn’t help but find you adorable like this, all frustration and annoyance. He wanted to kiss that frown of yours away…

But he shook himself instead.

She’s annoying as fuck. And you’ve interviewed your fucking president, you can ask your neighbour for a candle…

“I’m sorry to bother you,” he said, his voice more hesitant than usual, but steady all the same. “But there’s nothing we can do to get the lights back on, and there’s no candle or torchlight in the flat. And my phone is about to die. Do you have anything you could lend me for the night?”

But you shook your head.

“Sorry, got only one candle, and I’m using it. My phone is about to die too.”

“Oh… okay, nevermind then. Thanks anyway.”

“Oh wait! Your flour!”

You rushed inside, reappeared seconds later with the bag you had borrowed that morning.

“Thanks,” Andrew gave you a smile, one that he tried to make brighter than the ones he usually offered you. “Hope the cooking went well.”

“Yep! I now have lots of cookies! Luckily, they were finished before the power went out. The oven runs on electricity.”

“Yeah, mine too. Everything in the flat does, actually,” he answered with a wince.

“You’ve got some food for tonight?”

“Some snacks, yeah. It will simply not be a night for my infamous pastas.”

Andrew didn’t know how to react when you actually chuckled at his joke, a genuine smile now adorning your lips. It was all butterflies and leaping heart and air leaving his lungs.

Fuck… this was so much more intimidating than talking to the president…

“I’ve got some stuff ready, if you want. Nothing fancy, just a salad.”

You opened your door wider, a silent invitation, one he was too surprised by to seize right away, too busy raising an eyebrow.

“Oh… erhmmm… thanks… you don’t have to bother, though…”

“I’m not! I prepare most of my meals in advance, during the weekend. I have enough for you, if you want.”

“Erhmmm… it won’t bother you?”

“No, I…”

But you were interrupted by sudden darkness as Andrew’s phone decided to give up on life…

“Fuck! Bloody hell…” he cursed under his breath, tapping on the screen, but to no avail.

“Wait, the candle…”

You walked back into your flat, a dim light coming from the other end of the hall. He could only guess your form in the dark, but he noticed that you were stumbling as you cursed.

“Bloody… Salem! No! Andrew, close the door! The cat!”

Andrew didn’t think. He didn’t fully realize what he was doing as he stepped inside your flat and closed the door in a hurry. A soft brush against his ankle told him that your cat had not managed to escape.

“Did he run off?” you asked, reappearing with the candle in your hand, your features bathed in the warm light; something so ethereal, Andrew thought he was dreaming all of this.

But then he felt claws digging into his jeans in an attempt to climb up his leg, and he was reminded that he was not dreaming, indeed.

“No, he’s decided to use me as his personal tree instead,” he joked, bending to gently push the animal away, who mewed in discontent.

You laughed at that, sound clear and blinding, making him a little dizzy.

“For his defence, that’s an easy mistake to make.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Very funny…”

Still, he couldn’t refrain an amused smile, and yours brightened too.

“So, now that you’re in… want some of my brilliant chicken salad?”

You had no idea what had gone through your brain when you invited Andrew to come in and share a meal with you.

You were supposed to hate the guy. He was supposed to be the annoying musician next door who kept on yelling into some microphone when you tried to sleep.

It was difficult to remind yourself of that though, when the annoying musician turned out to be so soft-spoken and sweet. Sweet. Yeah, that was the most fitting word to describe how your evening was going with him so far. He seemed nervous as well, an unexpected reaction to your modest flat and perfectly ordinary self. The guy had sung in front of audiences of thousands and probably met an awful lot of people who were everything but ordinary… and yet he was shifting his weight now from one foot to the other, as if he didn’t know what to make of his long limbs. You found that adorable…

The fact that he looked stunning in the warm light of the candle, with his hazel eyes looking almost black in the dimly lit room, his hair held in a messy bun, the photons caught in his beard and long eyelashes… yeah, that was not helping at all, either.

You cleared your throat while handing him a glass of water, which he quietly thanked you for. There was nothing special about your meal, but he complimented you anyway. He stole a couple extra cookies for dessert, and you smiled at the sight.

“Sweet tooth?” you asked, nodding towards the crumbs in his plate, the last remnants of the fourth cookie he had been devouring.

He looked sheepishly at you.

“Kind of… sorry…”

“Don’t apologise! I’m glad you like them.”

“Well, you did make them with my flour, so I guess I’ve partly paid for them,” he joked, successfully making you laugh.

He was funny, which didn’t help you reminding yourself that you ought to despise him either.

If you had both struggled a little to start a proper conversation at the beginning, you were more relaxed now, and Andrew seemed to be feeling the same. You had barely talked to each other before, your interactions limited to polite chit-chat typical of neighbourhood, and you being annoyed at him, and him being annoyed at you.

It turned out that he was nice, that he was kind, that he was funny and smart and that he had an awful lot of anecdotes to tell. Time flew by, the night deepening faster than expected, and you remained sitting around your dinner table even after your plates were empty, talking about your lives and discovering that you had quite a lot in common, after all.

Alright, he wasn’t as insufferable as you had first thought, and for sure your heart leapt every time he smiled, and you couldn’t deny that he was gorgeous…

… still, you were supposed to hate him.

He helped you wash the dishes, joking and making you laugh, and hell, it was hard to stop your heart from beating too fast.

Out of annoyance, of course! You were annoyed… that was why your stomach made some crazy flip-flops when he bent closer to you to secure a plate in the cupboard above your head. It wasn’t at all because his shoulder was touching yours, because he stood so close you could smell his earthy perfume and it made you dizzy…

Nope! None of that… of course…

And when he looked down at you, remaining just as close, and you caught him staring, caught the bopping of his Adam’s apple and the tensing of the muscle in his jaw, the sudden urge you felt to reach up for his collar and pull him down until you could kiss his lips was a reflection of your frustration against him, nothing more.

Nothing more…

His eyes left yours, blinked a couple of times and landed on your lips, and you were certain that the sound of his breathing had disappeared. And you both remained there, standing still, staring at the other and you wondered if he was thinking the same thought as you did, having the same surprising longing to close the space between your bodies. You weren’t sure why you had invited him when you thought you disliked him. But then did you really dislike him? Or did you simply smell danger in his bright smile, saw risks in his pretty eyes, and the fear of falling in his deep voice? Yeah… yeah, perhaps there was a little bit of that, too… You tilted your head up, and he lowered his head, just a little bit, the ghost of a movement, you could almost have dreamt it…

But then he moved away, in a jolt, blinking and clearing his throat as if catching himself doing something mad and wrong and stopping before he actually performed the sin. You disliked him once again, then, hating that he elicited disappointment…

You finished washing the dishes in silence, and you hated the feeling of discomfort that suddenly replaced the warmth he had brought before. He was back at shuffling around, clearly uncomfortable. And yet, when he looked at you again and caught your gaze with his, his expression softened.

“Can I confess something?” he asked out of the blue, but you nodded in encouragement despite your surprise.

He sounded serious all of a sudden, and he took a moment to look for the right words. His eyes seemed to search for something in yours, and you couldn’t look away while he looked so intensely at you.

“I… I’m sorry we kind of… hit it off in a bad way. Cause I… you’re not as bad as I thought you were,” he added with a tinge of humour and lopsided smile, which made you smile too.

“Yeah… you’re not as insufferable as I thought you were either,” you admitted despite yourself. And yet, as soon as the confession passed your lips, you couldn’t deny that you truly meant it.

He grinned, the sight making your heart skip a few beats.

“Is there a way that I can repay you for your amazing chicken salad?” he asked, his tone more playful again, eliciting warmth across your frame.

You couldn’t refrain a laugh.

“I mean, it was an amazing salad,” you leaned into his joking tone.

“Spectacular. It deserves some kind of retribution, somehow…”

“Well, you’re a musician aren’t you? I’m sure you can find something.”

He laughed at that, clearly taken aback by your answer, but if he blushed and rubbed his neck in a mark of sudden shyness, he didn’t back down.

“You’re aiming straight for the serious topics,” he teased.

“For the free concert tickets, if we’re being fully honest…” you joked, making both of you laugh.

“Oh, I see! That’s where the sudden kindness comes from! You want to exchange a chicken salad for a show!”

“Absolutely! Do you have any idea how much time and energy I’ve put in that salad?!”

“A tremendous amount, no doubt! Well… sorry to disappoint, but I’m not on tour at the moment.”

“Good, cause I was aiming for that other artist you might know.”

He broke into a loud laughter, one that filled your apartment and your frame alike with joy.

“What a well-thought plan! I’m afraid you might make me more important than I truly am, though.”

“If I give you an extra-cookie, I’m sure you’ll find a way to get me the show I want.”

“And here you go, using my weaknesses already, you clever lass!”

“A genius, that’s what I am!”

You laughed again, before you would grow more serious again.

“Seriously though, don’t mention it. It was nice to have dinner with you.”

His smile grew more tender, his gaze softened.

“Yeah… it was nice for me too. And perhaps you… perhaps we could do that again? Next time I could be doing the cooking.”

“And with actual lights on, that could be good too,” you joked, making him chuckle as he nodded.

“And well… I’ll have my guitar with me, perhaps I can repay you with some music then.”

“Wow… are you offering a free concert, or a form of serenading?”

You were joking, but you noticed the way his cheeks reddened, and he averted his eyes for a few seconds, before capturing your stare with his once more.

“Rather the second option, I reckon.”

You tried very hard to hide your reaction: the way your heart skipped a few beats and then became absolutely erratic, so much so that you wondered if it could beat hard enough to break your ribs and escape your chest altogether; the butterflies that flew across your stomach; the breath that got caught in your throat…

Damn, you hadn’t felt like that in years…

He averted his eyes once more to speak again.

“Ermmm… unless you wouldn’t like that, of course.”

“I… Actually, I think I would like that. Quite a lot.”

He looked at you then, his smile turning into a grin. And he blinked, eyes falling to your lips a second time this evening…

You reached for your kitchen counter, hesitating in taking the first step and leaning into your urge to pull him down to kiss him. How crazy was that thought? That you could be kissing Hozier, of all people; that you wanted to kiss the neighbour you had categorized as annoying for weeks; that you felt exhilarated like a teenager at the mere thought of touching his cheek…

He seemed to be hesitating too, and you heard him take a sharp intake of breath, blink again, and then he slowly leant down…

… and then it was complete darkness in the room, as the candle died out.

You jumped in surprise, taking a step back involuntarily and letting out a squeal as you felt your heel brushing your cat’s tail. Salem hissed, although you stopped your step before you could hurt him. You started to lose your balance though, when a pair of hands reached blindly in the dark for you, grabbing both of your upper arms and pulling you forward. You collided with something warm, hard and steady, and the earthy scent that enveloped your senses and made your head spin told you that you were pressed against Andrew’s chest.

“You’re alright?” he asked, worry audible in his tone.

“Yeah, just… almost stepped on my cat.”

“Is he alright?”

“Yeah, I almost stepped on him.”

He let out a low hum, almost a rumble, the vibrations echoing through your cheek and you had to close your eyes at the reassuring feeling. You reached up to hold him without thinking; there was something so safe and soft about his embrace…

His left hand moved from your arm to your back, a soothing caress as he pressed you closer. Meanwhile, his other hand was slowly moving up your arm, torturingly slow, making its way from your arm to your shoulder, and then it was time for a brush of long fingers across your neck that made your whole body tremble, and he kept on going until you moved your face so he could cup your cheek in his palm, his thumb brushing delicate circles into your cheekbone. You didn’t dare to move, afraid he would leave your arms, afraid you wouldn’t feel the warmth of his body sipping into your clothes anymore. But then, you felt his warm breath fan over your forehead, near your hairline, and you looked up to see nothing but shadows, your hair brushed against the tip of his nose.

But then you were blinded, as the power was back on, the lights now turned on again.

You both jolted backwards, blinking hard against the outburst of light, and you heard him cursing under his breath.

And just like that he was gone, and you could have cried from the cold that replaced his body in your arms.

It took both of you a moment to regain your composure, to realize what was happening, where you were, what had almost happened.

Almost…

When you caught his gaze again, you couldn’t make out what his hazel eyes were saying, pupils still dilated after spending so long in a dimly lit room and then in complete darkness.

You struggled to swallow, unsure what to do next. Were you supposed to act like you had not been close to kissing a second ago? Were you supposed to joke around again? Were you supposed to talk about it? Were you supposed to ask him on a date?

You read the same hesitations in Andrew’s eyes, although something soon shifted in his gaze. Something determined appeared, and a little scared, but lovely all the same. And before you could react, he had taken a step forward to close back the space between your bodies, had reached up to hold your face in both his hands, and was crushing his lips to yours.

Your brain ceased to function altogether, you were too stunned to realize fully what was happening. But then your braincells caught on, and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders to bring his even closer as you kissed him, sighing in his mouth as he parted his lips to taste you.

For how long did you remain like this, standing in your kitchen, untangled and kissing? Hard to tell, impossible even. But when you broke apart, both of you out of breath, you rested your forehead against his shoulder, and he held you close, as if he were afraid you could leave.

“What the fuck was that?” you asked, your voice full of shock.

He chuckled at your reaction.

“You know, when a man and a woman really like each other, sometimes…”

“Don’t,” you warned him, but couldn’t refrain a smile all the same.

“Sorry, bad timing.”

You looked up at him, and by the look he gave you, you guessed that you weren’t very good at hiding your sudden nervousness.

“I’m not the ‘one-night stand’ type,” you warned him.

Andrew slowly nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Okay.”

“Besides, I’m supposed to hate you so…”

“Hate me?”

“You’re supposed to be the hot but very annoying neighbour who I blame for all of my life’s problems.”

He laughed at that, a smirk forming on his lips.

“You think I’m hot?”

It was your time to laugh.

“You’re not too bad,” you answered, but the look you gave him made him blush.

“Well, you’re not too bad either. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“I’m sure you can do better than that.”

A spark of mischief appeared in his eyes.

“If you want, I can get going with the serenading.”

You laughed again, shaking your head, but playing along all the same.

“Tempting. I won’t give myself away for less than that.”

“Dully noted. I’ll make efforts to woo you properly, I promise.”

You shied away a little, but he held you a little more tightly against him.

“What about a proper date though?” he asked, all traces of humour now gone from his voice. “Tomorrow night?”

You smiled up at him, nodding your head, before burying your face in his shoulder again, and he held you tightly against him in response.

Yeah, he truly was insufferable, without a doubt…

[vettelsdarling]

Hi El!! I hope I can call you that haha

could you do an angst-smut where Verstappen!reader and Lando used to be friends but they weren’t anymore (you can decide why). But then he tells her he likes her. She acts and tries to make herself think that she doesn’t want him back, but it gets too much in the end and they end up doing it. Then she realizes she made a mistake and they both go through stuff and she tells him it isn’t right to be together. But a month later, Lando gets action anywhere he can get it and reader is jealous. They hook up again and he tries hard to win reader over.

I don’t know if it’s too long… but I would appreciate if you could do it!!!!! If it’s too long, maybe a series?

𝑮𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝑻𝒐𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓

➪Hey there :) It’s totally fine to call me El!

➪I really like this prompt<3

➪This will most likely be a 2-part fic just because of the length and more plot that I incorporated into it, but here’s the first part.

Things to note:

❥You are the younger sister of Max and Victoria

❥You’re a law student

Pairing: Lando Norris x Verstappen!Fem!Reader (x Carlos but not rly)

Warnings: (18+ content) smut, really smutty, oral (both receiving), praise k!nk, swearing, toxicity, kind of angsty, unprotected

Word count: 6.5k+

Lando Norris. The famous McLaren driver. Being the sister of Max, you’d always had to endure being around the guy whenever you decided to visit Max.

You got used to seeing him at your brother's place, which blossomed into a friendship that mainly consisted of endless teasing. Lando would make fun of your single lifestyle, whilst you threw harmless jokes around about his girlfriend.

The two of you had a great relationship, and you’d even started to develop slight feelings for Lando until he started being distant. He never texted and only ever acknowledged your existence whenever he came over to your brother’s place. Admittedly, you were hurt. Your heart clenched every time you saw him. You couldn’t help but wonder if you’d done something to set him off. There was nothing left for you to do but take a hint. Even if that meant you’d carve out your heart even more than it had already been by him. You didn’t bother telling Max. He always seemed to be in an elevated mood whenever Lando came around. The two were best friends, and even if he wasn’t your friend anymore— you couldn’t risk what he had with your brother.

Around the same time Lando had announced the split from his girlfriend, you’d gotten cosy with Carlos. He was there for you. Always. You could call him crying at ungodly hours and he’d do whatever he could to help you out. He was there for you when Lando wasn’t. Carlos asked you out on several dates before finally asking you to make it official. The two of you took things slow and kept your relationship a secret from the public. You were pretty much set though. You’d even gotten your brother’s approval.

Your boyfriend would often come to visit you whenever he had the chance. Max didn’t seem to mind, but someone else did.

One fateful evening, Max had invited Lando over for dinner. You, on the other hand, had invited Carlos. He’d arrived a few minutes early and helped you with the cooking. When the doorbell rang, you asked Max to open it whilst you peeled some potatoes.

“Hey mate, my sister and Carlos are just finishing off some potatoes, you can wait in the living room. Lando raised an eyebrow. He had no idea why Carlos would be there.

“Okay, sure.” He took a seat in the living room, trying to come up with different scenarios as to why Carlos was there too. Surely, he thought, it had nothing to do with you? You weren’t dating anyone. He’d know if you were, right?

It didn’t take long before he got his answer. It wasn’t tasteful in the slightest. Max had called him in for dinner and upon entering the dining room, he saw Carlos’ arms wrapped around your waist. The sight confirmed that all his scenarios were just that; scenarios. Pointless delusions that he’d hoped were real. It made his stomach churn with melancholy. His heart felt tight in his chest.

“Oh yeah, Lando, they’re dating but it’s sort of secret. You can keep it that way, right?” Your brother asked him. He couldn’t say no. He wasn’t in any position to.

“Oh… yeah I won’t say anything.” He felt awkward being there. He felt the need to come between you and Carlos, but he knew you’d never even look at him again if he did. You were in an untouchable position. Carlos was his friend and so was Max. They’d both resent him if he ever did anything to hurt you.

After eating, your brother took him to the living room to watch a movie. You sat in your room with Carlos beside you in your bed. He’d fallen asleep, as he’d been busy all day. Recently, the media was all over anything they could get from him. His schedule was filled to the brim. It was a miracle he was able to come over.

Just as you were about to cuddle into him, your phone buzzed. For the first time in a year— there was a new message from Lando.

‘Can we talk? Max fell asleep on the couch.’ You didn’t want to reply, but he could see that you’d seen his message.

‘What do you want, Lando? We don’t have anything to talk about.’ You’d gotten over him with time, but a part of you wanted the closure you never got. The fact that he’d never even given you that, only made you want it that much more.

‘Please? Meet me in the kitchen.’ You didn’t bother replying and got out of bed. You took one last look at your sleeping boyfriend before you left for the kitchen. It almost felt as if you were betraying Carlos.

“Hey… thanks for meeting me here,” said Lando with a fake smile. Everything about him was fake to you. There was nothing authentic about him.

“Just hurry up and tell me what you want.” The truth was, you just wanted him to give you closure as fast as possible, so you could properly get over him. Once and for all. You knew you’d still hold him in a special place, but it wouldn’t be as evident.

“I miss you…” You kind of just stood there in shock for a moment.

“I don’t know what you mean by that, Lando. We haven’t talked in more than a year. You’re the one who refused to speak to me, and now you suddenly want to? Why are you being so bipolar with me?” You didn’t expect to go off like that as soon as you realized what he said, but you just couldn’t help it. You wanted him to fight back, you wanted him to tell you why he did it. You deserved to know, you deserved the peace.

“I don’t know where to start—“

“Maybe from the top? I want to know why you left me like that. You know I didn’t have anyone else but you. Why would you do something like that to me? Just tell me everything.” You saw him moving closer to you, which subconsciously made you back away from him.

“I know it was an asshole move. Especially with my friendship with Max, but there’s a perfectly good explanation for this.” He was stalling. You figured he wanted to get his story right before telling you.

“So then tell me. Explain.”

“I’m in love with you. Madly. I have been for the past year. It’s the reason why I broke up with Luisa. I tried, really I tried to repress my feelings in the beginning. But seeing you laugh and make jokes and smile the way you do… I knew I had to cut you out to get over you. I didn’t want to cheat on Luisa, and I didn’t know if you even felt the same. Look, I feel horrible about it. I should’ve said something, I know, but I was a coward,” he admitted. He took you for a rollercoaster of emotions. You didn’t know what to say. You were speechless. It didn’t seem real.

“All this time… I blamed myself. I spent nights crying myself to sleep. You’re so fucking pathetic, Lando. How could you do this to me? Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve told you how I felt. I actually felt the same way, you stupid piece of—” You were cut off with a kiss and the back of your neck being pushed forward. You slowly melted into it, intertwining your fingers with his hair. When you finally pulled away from him, you saw a small tug on his lip.

“I can’t deal with this right now. Please leave me alone,” you whispered and left him in a daze. Luckily, Carlos was still asleep when you got back. You got in bed with him and curled up close to him. You were rattled with guilt. The lips your lips last touched weren’t his, but Lando’s. How could you ever kiss your sweet boyfriend again?

You woke up the next morning, feeling the aftermath of your kiss with Lando. Your stomach clenched with guilt. Carlos was already awake. You could tell by the empty space beside you, and the noises coming from the kitchen.

Going in, you saw everyone helping out with breakfast. Including Lando. He tried to make eye contact with you, but you were able to turn away the second he did. There was no way you could ever look him in the eyes again.

“Morning, want some French toast? We made plenty so far, but Carlos is still going at it,” said your brother and handed you a plate of toast. You had no other choice, but to sit next to Lando. The kitchen island only offered three stools by it, and your brother had taken up one already.

When you sat down, you could feel the uncomfortable air growing much heavier. You swallowed thickly and tried to ease your heartbeat. The toast was wonderful. You already knew Carlos made a mean French toast, but biting into the bread, your tongue was met with all of the wonderful cinnamon and sugary flavours. It tasted different from his usual toast though. He usually included other ingredients and he didn’t add cinnamon either.

“Lando, your recipe is really great. I should’ve asked you to cook earlier,” your brother clapped his back. You felt sick. It was delicious, but the fact that you almost put it above Carlos’ was insanity. Were you going insane? Did it stem from the kiss?

“How do you like it?” Lando asked, with somewhat of a devious smirk.

“Excuse me?” You nearly choked on your food.

“The toast, is it any good?” You hated yourself and your mind. How could you think he meant something else? With the context too. Being absolutely embarrassed, you just gave him a thumbs up.

You finished your plate and placed it to be washed. Carlos had finished cooking and as you were about to leave the kitchen, you were pulled into a bear hug by him. However, when he tried to kiss you— you pulled away. This, of course, left the Spaniard more than just puzzled.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ummm… morning breath. I’d rather brush my teeth first,” you rushed and left. It felt gutting to leave him there, but you had no other choice, really. Besides, you were running late for your court case. Your internship had just started, and you were in your first year of law school, dubbed the hardest year of them all.

“Do you need a lift?” You saw Lando in the doorway to your room. It was easy to tell just how desperate he was to talk to you. About anything at all.

“No thanks, I’ll have Carlos drive me.” You didn’t even bother looking at him, as you gathered your things.

“Carlos didn’t get here by car, you know?” You forgot he always biked whenever he came to see you. Lando looked you up and down with yet another smirk smeared across his smug face.

“I’ll call a cab. You don’t need to drive me,” you scoffed and pushed him out of the doorway.

“Hey Max, see you later!” You yelled out to your brother, who was in the living room. When Carlos heard you, he rushed to go see you off. You managed to get it together and kiss him goodbye.

Your own apartment was closer to the firm where you interned, but it wasn’t anything fancy. It was a two-room apartment with little to no sunlight coming through the windows. That’s why you mainly lived with Max. Carlos offered to have you come stay with him instead of your apartment, but you refused. For the same reason, you didn’t live with Max full-time. You didn’t want to leech off of them. It would feel wrong to you.

When you got out, you tried calling a cab, but the company made it clear that it would take a while before it could get to you. You had to admit defeat, but when you turned around; Lando was already in his car, waiting for you to join him. With a sigh and a roll of your eyes, you got in.

“You’re so full of shit, Lando.” You fastened your seatbelt and put your bag between your legs. He didn’t reply. He merely chuckled and pulled out of Max’s driveway. You hated the effect he had on you. Just those small chuckles and smirks sent you orbiting.

“Why can’t we be together? Tell me.” Lando sounded absolutely deluded. As if he was expecting you to come running into his arms whenever you needed to. It was as if he didn’t even know who Carlos was.

“Well, for starters, I’m dating Carlos.”

“Break up with him. It’s easy,” he replied with a happy-go-lucky and innocent voice. It drove you up and down the walls.

“Apparently it isn’t easy, since you couldn’t break up with Luisa.” It was a low blow but he deserved it.

“Well—”

“Besides, you can’t expect me to suddenly like you back after you ruined me. Do you even know what you sound like?” You were getting heated, more aggressive, and you didn’t know what your limit was.

“I apologized, okay? I still do. I can tell you so many times that I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you I love—”

“Shut up, Lando! Shut up…” The pressure you felt from him was too much for you. The harsh reality of your feelings was starting to hit you. Carlos was special to you, sure he was, but Lando was something else entirely. Even though he’d been so horrible to you, a part of you was desperate to come back for a second kiss. One that didn’t have to be so rushed like the one in the kitchen.

“Why can’t you just accept that I’m in love with someone else?” Your heart was beating faster than it had ever done before.

“You can’t be serious. You and Carlos? You might be fooling yourself, but you can’t fool me. You’re not in love with him. Open your eyes, Verstappen. Can’t you see? You’re just trying to push me away.” You hated hearing the truth from none other than Lando. But was it really the truth? Did you not love Carlos? Thinking about it, it was hard to imagine getting married to the guy. As much as it pained you to acknowledge it, maybe Lando was right.

“Either way, we can’t. You know the media. You know what they’d do to me,” you sighed.

“So you do feel the same way?” The burning question. Did you? Your heart was telling you one thing, but your brain was telling you another. Being a student of law, you were more on the rational side. You were used to listening to your brain.

“No. I didn’t mean it like that, Lando. What I’m saying is that even if I did, the media would scrutinize me for all I’m worth.” You saw Lando’s face turn bitter, but luckily you didn’t have to deal with that at the moment; because he pulled into the parking lot of the courthouse.

“The media doesn’t even know you and Carlos are together.” You stayed silent. You had nothing to say.

“Kiss me.” You heard as you got out of the car. Lando had a desperate look on his face. Your brain was fighting your heart. It only escalated when he also got out and made his way to your side.

“Lando, you know I can’t…”

“Please?” He grabbed both your arms, caressing them gently.

“I’ll see you later, Lando…” You pulled away from him and got into the courthouse to meet your coworkers. But during the entire hearing, you could only think of the Brit. The way he spoke as softly as he possibly could with you, to the way he’d look at you as if he worshipped you.

When you got home, you realized Kelly and Penelope had come home from their trip to Paris. You didn't mind Kelly at all, she was supportive of Max and kept him happy. She would occasionally bring you with her to go shopping and whatnot. Penelope was a sweet angel. You loved babysitting her whenever you had the time to do so.

“There's the law student! How've you been, darling?” Kelly came up to you and hugged you tightly. Penelope followed suit but hugged your leg instead.

“Umm, we’ll you know, I’ve been okay. Carlos and I are actually dating now,” you admitted. Kelly’s eyes flew open in excitement,

“Really?! I would’ve thought Lando stepped up! That’s so great, I’m happy for the two of you.” Even when Lando wasn’t present, he was still an active subject in your life. You couldn’t hear the end of it.

Dinner was great. Kelly decided to cook some pasta and gave you a hearty portion. Even she, who’d been away for some time, could tell that you were going through something. You didn’t have the heart to dump everything onto her, as she looked so happy with your brother. To forget about your troubles, you decided to investigate your ongoing case. Your room was more or less an organized mess. There were pages upon pages of testimonies scattered on your bed. It wasn’t until you got a phone call, that you slipped out of your trance.

“Hi corazón, you know how the Monaco Grand Prix is starting tomorrow, right? I just wanted to ask if you want to come with me…” You’d been busy trying to run away from your problems, but this truly made you spiral. Not only did that mean you’d go public with Carlos, it meant that the media would sink its hooks into you even more than it already did.

“Carlos… are you sure you want to go public? I mean… we started dating only a few months ago. What if the media makes up some outrageous story about me?” Was it a selfish question? Maybe, but it was definitely something to take into consideration. Tabloids and blogs had every reason to make it a big deal. It’s what they thrived off of.

“I’ll make sure they don’t. I just feel like we’re ready for this, no?” You could hear the thumping of your own heart. His voice was soft and sweet. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t bring yourself to give in. You hated the effect Lando had on you. You hated that he came in the way of a perfectly happy relationship.

“I… I don’t know, Carlos. Can I sleep on it and tell you tomorrow?” Procrastination had always been a bad habit of yours. It meant that you were able to hold off your problems. Even for just a few minutes longer.

“Okay, mi amor, I’ll see you tomorrow. Get some sleep, okay?”

“I will. Good night, babe.” After hanging up, you came to the disturbing realization that he’d never told you he loved you. Neither had you. Lando had. He told you multiple times earlier.

That night you didn’t get the sleep you were hoping to get. Your thoughts and scenarios kept you up for longer than you would’ve liked.

The sun had risen. You’d caved and told Carlos you’d go with him. He and Charles picked you up from your less-than-par apartment and headed straight to the track. You felt a pit in your stomach grow larger and larger the closer you got. The paparazzi made things worse. As soon as your boyfriend opened the door for you, they started asking questions. They were everywhere. The flashing lights blinded you and made your head hurt. You’d gone with your brother before, but it had never been that intense. Luckily, you were able to get through to the Ferrari motorhome. The two drivers had to go prepare for the practice race, so you waited there.

It took a while, but practice finally ended and you were met with Carlos again. You saw the practice itself and nearly jumped into his arms, congratulating him. He finished pole, third, and fourth.

“It was all for you, corazón.” You felt the guilt you had earlier creep up on you again. It was insatiable and eating you alive. Your heart was hitting your head hard.

“You’re amazing, babe,” Despite the right time and place to say it, you couldn’t bring yourself to say the three words Lando had no problem telling you.

Lando looked more or less depressed. You saw him talk to some interviewers, as they asked him a bunch of questions about the upgrades on his car. He’d tried his best to impress you, but the realization hit him. You were going to go running into Carlos’ arms and not his. He missed the domestic feeling of being with you. The times you’d joke around with his finishes and comfort him if he placed poorly or didn’t finish his race.

The way he looked at you whilst you were smiling for cameras with Carlos was noticeable. The tabloids had picked up on it, and before anyone knew of it; a new story broke out.

“Formula One Love Triangle: Lando looks bitter. This Friday, heartthrob and Ferrari driver, Carlos Sainz, held his new girlfriend, the sister of the one and only: Max Verstappen, by the waist to pose for paparazzi and media outlets. Rising mid-field McLaren driver, Lando Norris, was spotted sending frustrated looks the couple’s way. Could something be going on between the three of them behind the scenes?” Your brother read out loud at the dinner table. You just wanted to sit and soak in your misery at that point. Once again, Lando was the source of your problems.

“Are you kidding me right now? You can’t actually be serious. Darling, don’t worry. It’s just baseless slander.” As much as Kelly tried to comfort you, it was to no avail. You’d already lost your appetite. The motivation to work on your case was gone too.

“It’s fine Kelly, I just think I’ll take some time for myself. Thanks for the dinner though,” you sulked and got up from your chair. Penelope was the only one still eating heartily. As soon as you got to your room, your body felt heavy and you immediately collapsed into the soft duvet that covered your bed. You just wanted to sleep it off.

The next morning was the day of qualifying. You decided to go with Max and Kelly instead of with Carlos, as you needed a bit of time to process things. You didn’t even know what you’d tell him regarding the article. He’d probably seen it around the same time as Max. What made matters worse was that he hadn’t called or texted, meaning there was a possibility he hadn’t seen it. That meant you’d either have to act as if it was never written or tell him about it. Carlos already knew that you used to have feelings for Lando. You’d never known him to be the jealous type, but with a scandal like that… anyone would be. Even someone as mellow as Carlos.

“Kelly, sis, you guys can just stay and wait for qualifying to start. I have to go, see you girls!” Your brother left the two of you in the motor home. This gave Kelly the perfect opportunity to interrogate you about the whole love triangle article. She had prior knowledge of your relationship with Lando, which only made her even more curious.

“So, tell me. I’m here for you. You know that,” she said with a gentle voice. She didn’t want to pressure you into telling her anything, but you always told her most of your problems and vice versa.

“I guess… I just don’t know anymore, Kelly. What should I do? I don’t even know if I still have feelings for Carlos,” you sighed and buried your face in your hands. You felt Kelly rub your back with soft strokes.

“Maybe… you should talk to him? Tell him that you’re not feeling it anymore?” She was right, but you didn’t have the heart to tell him. You so desperately wanted to hang onto him. He was supposed to be your salvation. Lando wasn’t good for you, and you knew that.

“But Kelly, you know how Lando is…”

“I do, I know how much it broke you… but doesn’t that make it even clearer? You were so heartbroken because you actually loved him.” The possibility that she was right was near 100%, but you didn’t want to accept that fact. Lando made you feel like a second choice after Luisa.

“Okay, look. I have an idea. You should go talk to Carlos after qualifying. I think he needs to hear it.” Kelly was a voice of reason you hated accepting, but she wanted nothing but the best for you. Especially if you were on the path to cheating. You’d never forgive yourself if you ever actually cheated on Carlos. The kiss in the kitchen with Lando was a slip. You didn’t expect it and it was all Lando… right?

“Thanks, Kelly… I really owe you.” She pulled you in for a warm hug. Even if the media blew up about your brother dating Kelly, you didn’t really mind her all that much. She made him happy and she was so supportive of the both of you.

It was only a matter of time before qualifying came to an end. Carlos managed to place 5th on the grid for the race. He wasn’t able to find you near Ferrari, so he decided to go see if you were in Red Bull’s motorhome. When he entered, Kelly immediately took the hint and made up an excuse to leave. Your heart was beating out of your chest. You were really about to break things off with the nicest partner you’d ever had before.

“Hey… are you okay? You don’t look well, corazón.” Your heart only sank deeper when you heard the nickname, but you didn’t want to lie to him anymore. You didn’t want to lie to yourself anymore.

“Actually, I’m not okay. Carlos… I think we should talk.” Those words are the most dreaded in any relationship, and you were springing it on the sweetest guy you’d ever known.

“What is it?” He asked and took a seat next to you. It was hard for you to say anything without having to hold tears back.

“I don’t think we should be together anymore…” The look on his face was that of pure shock. After all, just the day before, you were in the tabloids with him. People knew you as his girlfriend.

“I-I don’t understand. Why?” You heard the obvious pain in his voice. It broke your heart to know that you were breaking his.

“I’m sorry, Carlos. I’m so sorry. I just don’t think I’m fully over Lando… I don’t want to be fake to you, so I think it’s best if we call it quits before anything happens.” Carlos glided his hands through his hair in frustration, trying not to get too upset.

“We can’t resolve this somehow?” He asked.

“I don’t think so, Carlos… I don’t see how we can be together when I have feelings for someone else. I’m so sorry… I really am.” You started shedding a few tears, but quickly wiped them away as they ran down your cheeks.

“I don’t know what to say right now. I really don’t. I mean, I respect your decision… I’m glad you told me before anything happened. I just don’t know what to feel right now. I think I’m going to go home.” He didn’t even let you get a final word in before heading off. Judging by his heavy breathing, you were afraid he wasn’t in any state to drive home safely… but there was nothing you could do about it.

A few minutes later, Kelly came back with Max. Immediately upon seeing your red eyes and puffy cheeks, he embraced you. Nothing beat the feeling of your brother reassuring you everything would be okay.

Max took you home that day, to your apartment. You’d asked him to, as you wanted some time to yourself. Your misery was something you wanted to deal with alone.

The bed in your own apartment wasn’t as luxurious as the one you had at Max’s place, but it was enough for you. There was a pit in your stomach that you tried hard to forget about. You’d blown off your case and asked to be reassigned to an upcoming one since you barely had any energy to do research of any kind.

Your silence and wallowing in self-pity were disturbed by the sound of your doorbell. You clicked the screen and saw Lando standing in the doorway.

“Lando? What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” You hissed into the intercom.

“I tried going to Max’s place, but he said you were here. Let me in, please?” You knew opening the door would lead to instant regret. It was Lando after all.

“I don’t know, you shouldn’t be here right now.” Your eyes were still red from crying, although your face wasn’t puffy anymore.

“Please, I really need to talk to you.” You sighed and opened the door for him. You opened your front door and could hear him climbing the marble stairs leading up to it.

“Hey…” he said as he approached you. The door closed behind him and you invited him to your small living room with a single couch and tv in it.

“Why are you here, Lando?”

“Carlos came to me. You know how we’re friends and all? Yeah, I think you can guess what he told me.” You stayed silent.

“So is it true?” He asked with a serious but pleasing look on his face.

“I’m not sure what you’re—“

“You have feelings for me? Tell me honestly, do you have feelings for me?” He pushed you against the exposed brick wall behind you.

“Lando…” You whispered. He wrapped both his hands around your ears gently and forced you to look him in the eyes,

“Tell me.”

“It’s just… ever since you suddenly came back into my life and with the kiss; I couldn’t help it—“ his lips feverishly met yours. It was as if his thirst for you simply couldn’t be sated. He grabbed your back and pulled you closer to him, feeling your tits mash against his chest. You tried to reciprocate as much as you could, but the way he was moving so fast gave you no time to think. In a matter of seconds, he was buried in the crook of your neck. He was sucking all the right spots and it sent chills down your spine.

“Fuck, Lando,” you sighed and pulled at his hair, earning a groan from him. Your body grew hotter and your lower region wetter. With newfound confidence, you started grinding against him, eventually pushing him down on your couch. You felt him grow harder and harder the more you moved your hips against his. He didn’t even have to say the word, your top was already gone. He admired the lingerie you were wearing. You usually didn’t wear anything fancy under your clothes, but you thanked the past version of yourself for going bold. Lando took the liberty of unclasping your bra and throwing it into a corner. His hands immediately found your breasts, and his thumbs played sensually with your nipples. They hardened much like his dick. Your head was thrown back due to your sensitivity. You’d only ever had a one-night stand and it was a quickie. Foreplay was completely new to you, but you followed Lando’s flow.

He moved his hands to your hips and started sucking your nipples whilst he undid your pants. You discarded them along with your panties and went on to get his clothes off. His black t-shirt was off in seconds, but when you pulled down his grey sweatpants you saw that he’d gone commando.

“Something tells me you didn’t come here to talk.” You smirked into a kiss with him. It was sloppy and when he pulled away to speak, a string of saliva was connecting your mouths,

“Maybe I didn’t. What are you going to do about it? Cry?” He smirked. For once, you were actually able to enjoy the smug look on his face, as his dick was brushing against your pussy.

“You think I’ll cry?” You chuckled.

“Think? No, I know. I know you’ll be crying my name out loud when we really get started, baby.” You never thought you’d fold over something so vulgar, but you couldn’t wait for him to prove his words.

“Now be a good girl and kneel.” You obliged, getting on your knees. He stroked himself a couple of times before placing his tip on your lips. The man was big. Much bigger than average, and he wasn’t even fully hard. You weren’t sure if you’d be able to take all of him without choking. Perhaps that was the point?

You let your tongue dance around his pink tip, letting it slide further down. You could feel a particularly prominent vein. He twitched in anticipation, and finally, he was rock hard. You’d even managed to get him to drip precum. It was salty, but you relished in the flavour. It was Michelin.

When you finally started to suck, his hands gathered all your hair in a ponytail. You were just over halfway when you felt his tip hit the back of your throat. Lando, however, didn’t care. He kept pushing, giving you soft praises here and there. When your nose was able to touch his abdomen, you had to keep yourself from choking, but it was hard. Making it harder yet, he encouraged you to take the last bit of him; which you did. For a price. You choked with tears prickling the corners of your eyes. Lando wasn’t one to cum early, but the look on your face was enough to send him over the edge. You felt him blow his load into your mouth and you sucked him for all he was worth.

Once you’d finished, he pulled you off him and threw you on the couch. You were too dazed to register his next move, but when you felt his breath by your entrance, you knew what he was planning on doing. He shoved his tongue inside of you, whilst simultaneously rubbing your clit with his thumb. You instantly squeezed your thighs around his head in pleasure, which he didn’t seem to mind. You'd never been eaten out before. It was a completely new feeling, but you couldn't get enough. Your moans bounced off the walls and you were sure your neighbours were able to hear you. The walls weren't very thick.

“Fuck, you taste like heaven.” Lando pulled away and replaced his tongue with his finger. The foreign feeling made your walls clench down on him.

“You're so tight, love,” he breathed out. You could barely take it anymore. The constant rubbing of your clit, the praise, and the shoving of his finger was the ultimate trifecta that brought you closer and closer to the edge. When he added another finger, your knot came undone and you came all over his fingers.

The scene in front of you was beyond erotic. You watched as the Brit cleaned his fingers with his tongue, savouring every last bit of your essence. Upon scanning his built body, you realized he was hard again. He’d been turned on by the pleasure he gave you.

“Are you ready? I'll take it slow if you want me to.” You simply nodded, bucking your hips in response. That wasn't the way he wanted to go though.

“Get on all fours.” You'd never done anything but missionary, but you welcome the idea. With one hand, he held your hip whilst the other guided his dick to your entrance. He teased you by gliding it up and down your folds, most likely also to be completely sure that you were ready to take all of him. You were just about to tell him to hurry when— without warning, he thrust into you with no remorse. You coughed out at the sudden intrusion.

“You… Said… You'd take it… Slow!” You gasped. Your face felt hot and your eyes felt like they were about to pop out of your skull.

“Shhh, baby, I know it hurts. Tell me when you want me to move, yeah?” His sweet and mellow voice was a stark contrast to his actions. The way his dick was stretching your walls was unreal. He wasn't even fully inside and you still felt like he'd filled you to the brim. The pain luckily subsided and melted into pleasure, which alluded to you giving him the green light.

He almost pulled all the way out, leaving just the tip inside, before shoving himself into you with incredible force. You felt like your body was going to be split in half. With each thrust came a moan followed by an exasperated sigh. It was music to his ears. He was truly in love.

He craved more and pulled your hair back, whilst still holding onto your hip. The pace was starting to become brutal, but being slutted out by him was all you could think of at that moment. You wanted nothing else.

“Scream my name. Let all of Monaco know who you really belong to. Let the tabloids know you're screaming my name, baby girl,” grunted Lando. You did exactly as you were told. His name spilt out of your mouth like a holy mantra. Your eyes were blurry and you were seeing stars. There was no way you could go on for much longer.

It seemed like Lando was at his edge too, as his thrusts grew sloppy but harder. Your insides were being all mixed up by his dick. Eventually, you clamped down on him, cumming with yet another moan of his name. This time, you screamed it louder and for longer. Your walls became too tight for him to move, and it pushed him over the edge as well. Even without having pulled out, his cum was leaking down your legs and dripping onto the couch. You heard Lando seething through his teeth and sighing, as he somehow was able to blow multiple loads into you, before finally finishing.

After he pulled out, you passed out from exhaustion. Lando was no uncivilized person. He carried you to your shower and placed you on the floor, rubbing a loofah full of soap all over your body. The water was just the right temperature to keep you asleep. He then dried you off and gave you his t-shirt to sleep in, as he got his sweatpants and helped you get into bed.

As the two of you got in, he pulled you into his chest, which you subconsciously snuggled into. This was what he’d been missing out on for so long because of his cowardice. He didn't regret anything. Only that he hadn't asked you out sooner.

(To be continued…)

𝗥𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻...

𝘾𝙝𝙚𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚!

𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

©vettelsdarling

𝗣𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗱𝗮𝗽𝘁 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 𝗶𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝘄𝗮𝘆, 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗲, 𝗼𝗿 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺— 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗺𝘆 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻.

[sinvilles]

Alterations

Sobriety AU Drabble. Clay/Danielle, 15+ for language.

Clay finds his mother’s recipe cards.

Special thanks to @khanumshahrzad and @cheonsa-n for feedback!

Dear Orel,

I hope you and your family are well. It’s great that you’re traveling. I think your father would be happy about that, but he’s in a volatile mental space at this time so I have yet to share the news with him— that and he doesn’t know I’m writing you about him, and would probably be embarrassed to find out. To answer your question, I don’t think he’s emotionally ready to see you again just yet, but he is getting there.

This month your father has made an amusing foray into the world of domestic labor. Since he ceased drinking he has been plagued with the horrors of puerile boredom. This lack of stimulation has made him so antsy that last week he just about blew up the farm mixing the wrong cleaning chemicals. He insisted that he didn’t need my help, yet he has consistently called for it on a daily basis since beginning his journey into the frigid waters of sobriety. 

I don’t begrudge this of him; if it were me that was vulnerable, then I would also hope for someone with a conscience to look out for me in my time of need. Sadly, my conscience has its limitations. I will admit— and you know this, Orel— his quirks can be exhausting beyond human comprehension. For one, he is not apt to admit he’s mistaken. But let me start at the beginning.

The smell of something savory punctuated the afternoon. As Danielle closed the front door behind him, he felt a homey sense of peace swirl alongside him and hoped it would mean a nice dinner wasn’t too far ahead. He followed the scent into the kitchen, only to remember whose house he was in. 

Clay, by some ungodly means, had managed to pile six crusty ceramic and aluminum pans into the sink. He was working on defiling a seventh on the stove, stirring at his hearty smelling concoction with a look of pure concentration and a zeal that was almost religious.

Rather than interrupt him, Danielle was compelled to observe him a little longer, just to see what he would do. And what he did was lift the ladle to his lips, take a quick taste, and pause with a blank expression.

He grabbed the pot and dumped its still bubbling contents in the trash.

Danielle coughed, which caught his attention. His concentration broke into a grin.

“Oh, didn’t hear you come in.” His wild eyes sparkled as he piled another pot in the sink. “You’ll never guess what I found.”

“You’re right. I’m stumped.” He stares at the mess.

Clay shoves a little wooden box in his face, which he accepts from him. He fingers through the dozens of cards in it, daintily handwritten in cursive.

“Recipes?”

“My mother’s recipes.”

This man and his goddamn mother. Danielle recalled the obsessive detail with which he had described her long-gone presence in the house the second time he had come to see him. Pointing out how and where she had liked to sit in the living room, her favorite bible reading spot— even where she had fallen cold and dead in his fathers study. For all he knew, Clay could still see her ghost walking around, carrying on her chores, haunting him.

“So, I don’t mean to pry…”

“Pry away, buddy.” He stared lovingly at the recipe card in hand.

“I was only wondering why you’ve thrown out all this wonderful smelling Brunswick stew.” Danielle glanced into the trash.

Clay turned to face him, a very serious expression on his face.

“I just can’t get it to taste like she made it.”

“Uh-huh.”

You see, Orel, your father’s obsession with “getting it right” borders on the comical. I say “borders” because it slams face-first into the grotesque. I’ll be the first to admit to my own obsessive nature, but this is ridiculous.

Danielle swipes his finger along the edge of the last pot, gathering what’s left of the stew and gives it a taste.

“This tastes fine. Good, even.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t good, it’s just not right.”

“I see.” Danielle sighed. “But isn’t it a sin to let all this food go to waste?”

“It’s also a sin not to honor your mother.” He mumbled. “And that one actually is a commandment so it ranks above waste.”

“Right.” Danielle considered the merits of walking out on him right there and then, but paused as he remembered that he promised this man’s son he’d look out for him. 

“So, Clay… what makes yours different from hers?”

“It’s just not the same!” Clay whips around to face him. “I’m following the recipe to the milligram, as she wrote it and something about it is off and I just don’t get it!”

Danielle looks at the recipe card.

“This one uses ground pork. You know, I always had it with pulled pork.”

“Hah! Shows what YOU know.”

"Show's what you know," he said to me. What else could I do? I pulled my sleeves up like a man and did the dishes. I admired his commitment, at least. That night I helped him try two more variations of the same ingredient combination. I had at least managed to convince him to waste his food in smaller batches, and I ended up eating the last one myself when he wouldn't touch it. I thought he'd given up, but lo and behold, three days later, he sent me on a shopping trip with the exact same list of ingredients.

"Have you considered trying a different recipe?"

"No. I'm getting it right this time, I know it." There was a feverish gleam in his eye. "It's got to be that she used canned corn and not frozen corn."

So he tried several times again, varying the order in which he put in the ingredients: 

Chicken stock, canned tomatoes, ketchup, canned corn, Worcestershire sauce, barbecue sauce, hot sauce,  salt, pepper.

Canned tomatoes, canned corn, salt, pepper, chicken stock, hot sauce, Worcestershire sauce, ketchup.

Hot sauce, barbecue sauce, ketchup, Worcestershire sauce-

"That probably isn't it, Clay." He just barely held back his exasperation. "Maybe it's a different cut of meat -"

"IT IS NOT A DIFFERENT CUT OF MEAT!" He snarled, dumping another stew into the sink, this time slamming the pot in after it with a clang. "If the recipe card says ground pork, then it's ground pork. She would NEVER-"

When he turned to face him, his anger evaporated.

"I'm sorry."

"If you yell at me again, I'm not helping you any more."

"No, no, no, wait. You know, it might be something in the sautée."

Danielle sighed and pulled out another onion.

This farce went on for another two days. I don't know what compels me to indulge him like this. I suppose it wasn't really about the stew at all, and that being in his childhood home again just made him miss his mother. 

Did your father ever tell you about your grandmother? She seemed a remarkable woman. Before she had your dad, she was adventurous and lively, but she had a drinking problem that she gave up because she wanted a baby so badly. You see, because she drank she kept losing them. Once she quit, your dad finally came into the world. In a way, since he stopped drinking, your father is trying to do a similar thing for you. Adults can be complicated, and you can't always explain when or why they choose to do things. 

I think his problem is that he thinks, or rather insists, that she was perfect. I think maybe when he hears the voice of God chastising him in his head, it sounds like her.

On the fifth day, Clay had surrendered to the wave of hopelessness that washed over him. There was no recreating that distant memory of his mother's cooking. As he lay on the couch, he stared up at the ceiling.

"I'm a total failure. I couldn't even get this right..."

"Your mother would have been proud of you for trying." Danielle said flatly as he held out a box of tissues. "Let's eat out."

"I'm not hungry." 

"You can't NOT be hungry." He dropped the tissue box on Clay's chest and gritted his teeth. "You have eaten nothing but spoonfuls of the same damn stew for a week. We are going to a restaurant and you are going put food in your mouth and chew it and swallow it— or so help me I will tie you up and force feed you myself."

He glanced at his jailer-slash-life coach-slash-only-friend-left-in-the-world and blinked at him.

"You promise?"

They wound up at a diner that they often found themselves in. The dinner hour wasn't too crowded— most people didn't come to sit along the edge of Sinville during the evening hours, as they much preferred to dive right into the nightlife and what it had to offer. For Clay, who had to avoid even thinking about alcohol, the pickings were much slimmer.

The waitress brought them waters. Danielle ordered a soup and salad, and when his somber date wouldn't look at the menu he ordered him the special without looking at it.

He watched him as he stared into his water.

"Clay..." he sighed. "I know this is hard."

He looked up to meet his eye.

"No, you don't." 

"I can see it. All of this is hard for you. Physically and emotionally." He rubbed his forehead, too stressed to meet his gaze directly. "You have... a lot to grieve."

"Oh, no, you have it all wrong. I'm glad I'm rid of it. All of it." He laughed, sounding broken. "I have NEVER been more free than I am right now. Isn't that crazy?"

He pulled up the left pant of his slacks and stuck his leg out, pointing at the alcohol monitor bracelet on his ankle.

"Even with this thing threatening to call the cops on me if I slip up even once— I'm finally free!" He slammed his fist on the table, sending a tremor through his water glass. "I got what I wanted. I'm liberated now. Now all I need is to just be happy!”

What few heads were in the diner had quietly turned to look at him. Danielle glared around, daring them to eavesdrop— very quickly they went back to minding their business.

"You don't have to rush it. Any of it." 

His expression softened and returned to the state of a sad watery-eyed kitten.

Danielle's gaze fell to the table and rested on a pair of shakey hands. He closed his eyes and pushed down the urge reach out and squeeze them.

"I just need you to eat something. That's all I'm asking."

The waitress returned as if on cue and put down the minetrone soup, greek salad— and a bowl of brunswick stew in front of Clay.

Danielle buried his face in his hands.

"We can send it bac-"

"Whatever, I don't care." He muttered, shoving a heaping spoon into his mouth

He stared as if transfixed. Slowly, he chewed, swallowed, and took another bite. He chewed even slower.

Opposite him, Danielle watched his reaction as he let the mouthful linger.

He swallowed.

"This is it." His eyes darted around.

"What?"

"This is her stew!" He stood up and turned to the waitress. "I need to know what the cook put in this!"

"Um, sir!" She started as he ran past her. "You can't go into the kitchen!"

"Jesus fucking Christ..." 

Danielle followed, swinging doors hitting him as his poor, wretched friend barreled into the kitchen to solve a mystery that had been driving him crazy for a week.

He appeared to argue with the line cook for a second before he shoved a piece of paper in his chest and told him to get out of his kitchen. They were both promptly escorted out of the diner.

When he read the recipe he fell silent. They were in the car and Clay must have read the paper for the dozenth time before Danielle finally bit.

"So? What's different?"

"It's the same thing."

He went quiet for a beat.

"Except..."

"Except what?"

He mumbled something.

"Didn't catch that."

"They use pulled pork."

"You mean your mother used pulled pork."

"I don't understand it." His voice quivered.

"It's not that hard. She did what everyone else does. Everyone makes it that way. My family made it that way. And now you know that she also‐"

"But why did she lie on the recipe card?" He was in tears at this point, holding his head in his hands. "I believed her..."

Whatever schadenfreude he had left leaked out of him like a deflating balloon— once again he could see the wounded little boy in him.

"You know… maybe when she wrote it, that was what she believed it should be…and then when she saw you liked the other version better..."

He trailed off as Clay's sobs began to reverberate in his ear. It was time to take him home.

You should never idolize anyone too much, Orel. Not even me. People are only human, as you are, as am I, as is your mother, and as is your poor old dad. But you can always try to believe in them, and have faith in them, even if they do disappoint you— and they will. That is up to you, though.

Truthfully,

Coach Stopframe

[cyberrose2001]

Hi!!! I love your works! 🥰 I was wondering if I could request a Tfp bots (Op/wheelJack/knockout) reaction to their s/o who is very sweet and shy normally who’s in uni but what they don’t know is that she’s a stripper/exotic dancer late night to pay her tuition and they see her perform and later they make her do a performance for them only and gets smutty 😏😳🤭 sorry if it doesn’t make sense my English isn’t the best 😭 (also totally not projecting at all I am a pole dancer to pay for uni and damn well I treat myself well hehe, if you ever do commissions I’ll be ready 🤣)

TFP Optimus, Wheeljack, Knockout w/ Stripper Reader

I'm so sorry that this took forever! My brain may be fried but this was still so fun to write! I'm sorry if I got some things wrong, I'm still learning how to translate choreography into words (and I know very little about being a stripper oop).

As much as I wanted these to be short, my fingers slipped and I wrote whole ass fics for each of them. So be warned, this post is VERY long! I hope you enjoy! <3

18 + ONLY MINORS DO NOT READ

Warnings: Stripper reader, mentions of alcohol use, small mention of blood, smut/valveplug, blow jobs, sticky sexual interfacing.

Word count (combined): 5,981

Optimus

Was this a bad idea? Maybe, but you'll worry about the consequences in the future. For now, you slowly approach a mass-displaced Optimus Prime sitting on a metal stool that is still far too small for his frame, who still towers over your body by a solid two feet. He's watching every step you take in every click-clack of your six-inch pleaser heels. The small portable speaker you set up begins to play a bassy remix of 'Dirrty' and 'Talk Dirty', respectively called 'Talk Dirrty'—a fitting song since you're about to lay down the dirtiest heat onto the flustered mech burlesque style.

This was Optimus' idea, after he had followed you on your lonesome to a local nightclub on the outskirts of Jasper, duffle bag in your hand. He wanted to ensure you were safe, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he watched your little… performance for the locals from a side window. Safe to say, you were embarrassed once you had returned to the base at an ungodly hour, and he was, of course, still awake. But he had politely asked to see a performance of yours first-hand. And that's how you both ended up in this situation, in Optimus' quarters, door locked.

The first bassy note fills the room, accompanied by Christina's melodic voice as you flick your hair back, shaky hands dragging down your chest to your hips. A little taste of what's to come. Your hands come to rest on your fishnet-covered knees and shamelessly slut-drop a few metres before Optimus, who watches with bated breath. And in the sexiest way you could think of, place your hands down the floor in front of you and slide your body towards the floor, arching your back as you do so. It's a raunchy move, but the look on his faceplates is priceless as his optics flicker to your ass in the air.

You then move your knees forward and crawl towards his pedes, akin to a predator stalking its prey. He hitches his breath as you straddle the floor between his legs and slowly drag your hands up his pedes to his knees, and to his utter shock, you pry them open. Moving from his knees, your trail your hands up his silvery thighs, past his hips' blue plating and to his abdomen's plating, fingers lightly dipping into the crevices between them.

You can feel him shutter against your touch as you tease him, arching his back into your hands. In a smug move, you withdraw your hands from him and trail them back down to his knees, using them as leverage to push you upright. Arching your chest forward, you come within inches of his own until he has a frontal view of your barely covered cleavage. It's revitalising your confidence as you watch Optimus ogle. His frame shivering and servos twitching with a restrained desire, to which you would need to praise him for respecting the etiquette of lap dances.

"You look like you're enjoying yourself," You lean to whisper into his audio receptor before you lift your legs over one of his thighs, then the other, now straddling his waist, "Remember what I said before… no touching."

Optimus gives you a restrained whimper as you grind against his lap to the music, whipping your hair around with a hand on his shoulder for balance. The other hand moved meticulously across his chassis. This dance was supposed to be for Optimus, but you're enjoying this far more than anticipated. His broad shoulders were undeniably attractive, and his neck cabling, Primus, you could lean forward and tease the trembling mech with your tongue, but you knock back that thought. Instead, you lift yourself from his lap and flip yourself around, near bare ass making direct contact with his painfully bowed-out interface plating, and you can feel his engine rev at the move, and he makes a low groan from behind you.

"Primus," He growls as he watches you grind your ass on him. It's taking the strength of a thousand tugboats to keep him from shoving you onto the floor and ploughing into you like the out-of-control cargo ship he is. Whether those tugboats are strong enough is a matter of what your next move is.

And when you stand up to bend over, fingertips brushing the floor, he is greeted with a direct view of your backside, slick arousal and all. And within three seconds, his servos are on your ass, and he pushes you to the ground with the force of a cargo ship slamming into the shoreline. It knocks the wind out of you, forcing you to take sharp breaths.

Optimus flips your body around and settles himself atop you. The bump-and-grind music is drowned out by his harsh invents, and you can feel the roar of his engine in your bones as he lowers his helm to the nape of your flushed neck.

"I apologise for my abruptness, but I can no longer contain myself." He growls against the pulse of your neck, hammering against your skin at a speed you never thought was possible. Optimus losing his restraint and going against the rule book of lap dances was not expected, but a warm and hot welcome nonetheless.

The chair is long forgotten, tipped over when Optimus pounced on you like a big cat. And you don't care about the dance anymore. Your mind solely focuses on how his hands rip your bottoms and fishnets away. Note to self, add new pair of fishnets to the shopping list.

"I'm obliged to ask," He brings a hand to cup your chin, the gentle action contrasting his fiery optics boring holes into your own, "Do I have your consent?"

You bite your lip, an attempt to ignore the feeling of his knee bumping against your heat, which is currently wetter than the Everglades. You'd be crazy not to consent.

"Yes." You finally breathe out. That seems to satisfy Optimus as he begins to assault your neck with kisses, and you hold back a moan. So gentle yet firm as he trails them across your jawline and finishes with a drawn-out kiss to your lips.

He pushes his glossa into your mouth as he dips a servo in-between your thighs, prying them open gently. Optimus only had to press the tip of his digit for you to let out a breathy whimper against his intake, thighs already shaking, and Primus, you're wondering what his dick could possibly feel like inside you if he's already dragging you to heaven with just his hands. And you're eager to find out.

You break the kiss and struggle to keep your composure as he moves his digit gently within you, "Optimus- ah- no offence, but I think I'm - oooh - already wet enough."

He flickers his optics to your face, then back down to the hand working between your thighs. It's already soaked with your arousal, running down the palm of his hand and wrist.

"I see," Optimus says, prying his hand away from your slick. And with the same hand, he disengages his modesty panel with a grunt, letting his spike lay heavy in his hand, "However, I need to take necessary precautions of my own to ensure this encounter goes smoothly."

Now it's your turn to ogle at his junk as he uses the remainder of your fluids on his hand to pump the length a few times, and it's the hottest thing you've seen to date, despite you being a stripper. You've seen some shit, and Optimus' dick tops all of them. And he's about to top you with it.

Finished with lubing himself, he leans his helm down to the side of your head and presses the tip of his length against the folds of your pussy. Optimus uses his other hand to curl behind your head gently.

"Please, if you cannot handle me at any point, tell me."

And with a shaky vent against your ear, he pushes himself inside you. Even if you could scream, the bassy background music would down it out. But you're rendered speechless as your jaw slips once he reaches the innermost part of you. You're shaking and squirming underneath Optimus, and he gently squeezes your head as he cocoons himself around you, whispering sweet nothings and reassurances. You're already on the cusp of an orgasm, and he hasn't even moved.

Once Optimus has also regained somewhat composure, he draws his hips back and rolls them back into you. And your vision dots with stars, supernovas even, which would be a more fitting term as he grinds his hips against your own at an even swiftness. Your voice doesn't hold back this time as you let out a filthy cry against Optimus' audial fin.

"Optimus! Ahah!" You wrap your quivering arms around his helm as he pounds you into the floor. It's unrelenting, overwhelming all your senses. You're stretching beyond human limits. The music no longer exists according to you; the only melody your mushy brain desires to hear is his growls and groans against your ear as he ruts into you.

"I'm - ahh - closer to finishing than I thought," Optimus grunts, then nips the shell of your ear with his dentae, "You're… quite tight."

Despite being mass-displaced, you were about to respond with a sarcastic comment about the obvious size difference between you and him. Yet, all that comes out of your drooling mouth is a high-pitched squeal as Optimus delivers a harsh thrust to your G-Spot. To which he continues to abuse and grind his tip against.

"P-Please…" Another short thrust, and he's purring into the side of your neck, "Overload with - hgghn - me."

That's it. You're at the finish line, and you throw your head back and buck your hips up as your orgasm wreaks havoc over your sweaty frame. You're digging your fingertips into the crevasses of his shoulder plating as you let out a fluttery cry. Optimus, currently experiencing a religious experience from the sheer force of your velvet walls squeezing his spike, lets out a gravelly moan into your neck. His hips wildly buck as he experiences his overload, spilling himself inside you. It's everywhere, dripping down your thighs, transferring onto his thighs and the cold floor beneath you both.

A few glorious moments pass, a mold of flesh and metal entangled on the floor. With all the multicoloured lights cascading off your bodies, you could create an oil painting and make Da Vinci cry with how beautiful this moment is. Optimus slowly pulls out, craning his helm down to watch his transfluids spill from you. Then, like the gentle giant, he scoops his hands under your body and rolls onto his back with you lying on his chassis. You let your head come to rest against where his spark chamber is, hearing tiny little zaps and whirls as his spark slows down its beats. He places a servo on your lower back, and you crane your head just in time to see a mushy smile on his face. And you can't help but let one encompass your own.

"What are you smiling at?"

You give him a soft chuckle, "You. And also because I didn't even get to finish my dance for you."

"I suppose there will have to be a next time then, hm?" Optimus nonchalantly says before he pulls you to his face to kiss you deeply.

Wheeljack

"Thanks for the lift, Jackie." As you pick up your duffle bag from the passenger seat, you mutter and crack the door open, "I owe you one."

"Hey, anything for my favourite squishy," Wheejack replies, albeit slightly hesitant at the current location he was dropping you off, "Say, why'd ya want me to take ya here this time of night? It's kinda… unexpected."

"I uh…" You stammer, closing the door and hoisting the duffle over your shoulder, trying to think of some excuse for asking him to drop you off at a nightclub and not telling him that you were a stripper, "I work here. Yeah, I'm on the late shift."

"Oh, like a bartender? I never knew you were the one to pour out the drinks." He revs his engine, "Just com the base when you're ready, kid. I'll come an' pick ya up."

You nod and give his roof a few pats before you sundered off to the back entrance to the nightclub, hoping and praying that the rich guys were here tonight so you could get paid the big bucks. You're so caught up in your money-hazed vision that you overlook your Cybertronian Uber parking next to the building.

Gonna see what you're really up to, Wheeljack thinks, scouting the area for other humans before returning to his alt mode and settling down under a window.

-

It's times like this when you're grateful for your job. Yeah, the flow of money is hit-and-miss at times, but a night like tonight is what every stripper dreams of. Bands and bands of fresh cash stuffed half-hazard into your duffle. You could treat yourself, go all out and buy a new pair of lingerie. You could wander into the liquor store across the road and purchase a nice top-shelf bottle of vodka. But alas, most of this dough will be funding your university fees. A sad reality, but you'll do whatever it takes to graduate.

Stuffing the rest of the money into the duffle, you hear a familiar rev of a sports car and make your way to the front entrance. Most patrons had left, leaving you relatively safe to walk out alone. Not that you had to worry in the first place, not when you've always got Wheeljack looking out for you. You've grown on him, and he's grown on you. There's no denying that you've got some feelings for the wrecker, but you'll keep that to yourself for now. He opens the door for you, and you slide in. A soft sigh of relief escapes you, and you slump into the eerily warm seat. After you're safely bucked in, he pulls away from the kerb. The silence that drowns the cabin is… awkward.

"Hey," Wheeljack begins after a while, a slight edge to his voice. He then clears his vocaliser, "How was your, uh… shift."

"It was pretty alright," You fold your arms across your tank top, "Just the usual."

"The usual, eh?" You can hear a little cockiness show through like he's trying so hard not to smile, "Does your line of work usually result in a dollar bill getting stuck in your… What's that thing you females wear again? Uh, bra?"

You freeze, eyes burning holes into his dash before you glance down at your chest. It appears you missed one; the corner of a dollar bill is peeking out from the bra you wore on stage. There's no way Wheeljack would've noticed if he wasn't staring at your tits, which there's no denying because his rearview mirror is pointed downwards, reflecting your cleavage.

"I know you humans get up t'some strange things, but ya could've at least told me you were a stripteaser."

You bury your head in your hands, a pathetic attempt to squeeze yourself into a ball and hide your rosy face, but you can't because he's everywhere. There's no escaping, so you let out a muffled whine.

"Ok, you got me," You huff, any shred of dignity thrown out the window, "But if you tell anyone, and I mean anyone, that I'm a stripper, I'm coming for your aft."

"Oh, I don't intend to, sweetheart," He growls, and you can feel it in your bones, "Not if I can have ya all to myself."

"Wait wha-" There's no finishing your sentence as Wheeljack veers into an abandoned gas station, almost taking the wind out of you. He rolls to a stop and opens his door to let you out, or for a better term, stumble out, "What the hell?"

You watch Wheeljack transform into his bot mode, mass displacing himself so that he towers just a head above you, and you can see every little detail, every wrinkle and scratch. Oh my god, you need to stop staring.

"I quite liked your little routine, kid," He begins, poking a digit at one of the straps of your tank top, "But I'd like ta experience it first hand if ya catch my drift, right here, right now."

Your jaw drops, "You want me to… give you a dance?"

"I didn't stutter, did I?" And before you knew it, Wheeljack sits propped up against the gas station wall, a digit beckoning you over, "C'mere an' give me a show."

Well, there's no time like the present, you think to yourself. You cross your arms over your stomach and swiftly pull off your tank top before moving to your tracksuit pants, throwing both articles of clothing behind you. Your outfit was not modest in any regard, and you can feel Wheeljack's optics clawing at your exposed skin already. As you shakily rummaged through your duffle for your pleaser heels, Wheeljack switched on his radio, and you could hear the first beats of 'You Shook Me All Night Long' by AC/DC. You roll your eyes as you slip on your heels.

"What? Ya don't like this song?" Wheeljack chuckles, "I think it fits perfectly."

"It's the meaning behind it," You stand, the satisfying click-clack of your heels echoes off the walls, "I'd say you're looking for more than just a lap dance if I'm right in my suspicions."

"Cheeky, I like it," Wheeljack says with a shit-eating grin, "Go on then, show me what ya got."

And so, you do. You stand a few metres before the wrecker and swivel your hips to the drum beat, flicking your hair in the same motion as your hips, running your fingers through your hair as you do. As the first lyrics start, you take a few drawn-out steps closer to Wheeljack, running your hands over your breasts and down your bare stomach finishing off with a twirl. He's facing your back now as he watches you squat to the ground, hands dragging down your thighs, swivelling your hips as you do. While crouched down, you turn on the balls of your feet and give him a wink before arching your back and returning to a standing position. You high-kick and finish with another twirl, standing directly between his spread pedes. You repeat the crouch move, but you're facing him this time. In time with the main chorus, you slide to your knees to straddle the ground, bouncing your hips a few times, dragging your hands through your hair, and flipping it in a circle. You then slide your hands down your thighs and to the ground before you, slowly crawling closer to his thighs. Wheeljacks' optics had not left your frame during all this time, a small smile tugging on his dermas.

"That was impressive, kid," He nods before reaching for your hands and tugging them closer to his interfacing panel, "But I'm not blown away jus' yet. Do ya think you can help me with this?"

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you nod, hands ghosting across the bulging panel. Wheeljack seems rather impatient, so he slips away the cover for you, and the sight that meets your eyes makes you drool.

You knew Wheeljack was riled up from your performance, but this was the icing on the robot dick cake. He's thick, blue biolights run down the underside of the silver member and already dripping with precum. Half-naked, you're both out in the open at an abandoned gas station, and your dignity has already been thrown out the window. You were willing to indulge in him just for a short while.

Running your palm up the underside of his spike, you feel Wheeljack shiver. The textures and patterns are so foreign, like nothing you've experienced. Tentatively, you wrap your hands around the base of his spike and give him a few experimental pumps, drawing a few low moans from the mech above you. Feeling more confident, you squeeze him tighter and pump him faster.

"Scrap," He mutters, placing a hand on your shoulder, "You're good at that."

Smiling, you lean down and cautiously lick the tip of his spike, drawing even more delicious moans from the wrecker. And when you wrap your lips around it, he has to restrain himself from pushing you down further onto him. Living up to your 'cheekiness', you flicker your eyes to his face and stare at him right in his optics as you give him a harsh suck.

"Ah - frag - Y/n, stop!" Wheeljack half whines and laughs as he pulls you off him upon feeling a premature overload, "Sheesh, ya nearly got me there."

Placing a departing kiss on his tip, you crawl onto his lap, six-inch pleaser heels digging into his metal thighs. The music is louder from here, and you can feel it vibrating your bones, "I guess you're not satisfied just yet."

His vents hitch as you move your underwear to the side and press your very wet pussy lips against the tip of his spike, "Maybe not, sweetheart. Ya gonna change that?"

You slowly sink onto his spike, maintaining eye contact. You watch his face turn from a smug look into one you could frame on a wall. His face scrunches in pure pleasure as you stuff as much of him as physically possible in you. He may be mass-displaced, but his sheer thickness makes it a tight squeeze. You feel your own breath hitch as you take him to the hilt. He fills you up amazingly.

"Yes."

You roll your hips forward once, and you're already seeing white. The combination of Wheeljacks' spike dragging against your velvet walls and the vibrations from the electric guitar still playing on the radio strums your nervous system like an instrument. You're craving more, and he is, too, because his hands are on your hips now, and he's guiding you. He's the maestro, and you're the entire orchestra.

"F-Fuck." You whimper out, bracing yourself against his chassis as you start to bounce on his spike. Your thighs are starting to ache from the lactic acid built up from all the dancing you've done tonight, and thankfully, Wheeljack notices your struggle.

"Don't worry, cutie. I'll take it from here." He huskily breathes out before his grip on your hips tightens, and he bucks up into you. As he does, you fall forward flat on his chassis, cheek squishing against him as he proceeds to fuck you like his spark depends on it.

"Oh fuck!" You cry out, bringing a hand to cover your mouth in a pathetic attempt to muffle your moans. But nothing can silence the lewd sound of metal slapping against skin, not even the rock music, which has now clicked over to 'Pour Some Sugar On Me', and you'll never think of this song again without getting absolutely turned on.

"Take your - hggff - hand off. I wanna hear ya," Wheeljack growls as he grips the hand covering your mouth and forcefully removes it, "Y'know, maybe I can taste ya instead."

Within what seems like a nano-second, he wraps his arms around your midsection and smashes his dermas into yours. He presses his glossa against your tongue in a fight for dominance, and you're forced to surrender as he slams his spike so deep in your pussy you see galaxies, crying out into his intake.

"Oh, frag-"He murmurs into your mouth, keeping a death grip on your midsection, "Keep squeezing me like that kid, and I'm gonna-"

He's gone. Thrown into the deep end of his overload, he presses himself as deeply as physically possible and releases his transfluids inside you. You choke on his glossa at the delicious sensation of being stuffed full, and it triggers your own orgasm. You break the kiss and bury your head in the crook of his neck as your body shakes, crying out in utter euphoria as he bucks his hips to help ride out the shared orgasm. You can hear Wheeljacks' spark spasming in rhythm with his throbbing spike gushing in your tight walls.

"Frag…" He shakily ex-vents, holding you against his chassis, "You've certainly impressed me now, kid."

You're too exhausted to give him a cohesive reply, opting for a string of whines. You're also too focused on the sheer amount of fluids you can feel dripping between your thighs. He gives you a chuckle and presses a loving kiss to your temple, utterly amused at your dopey post-orgasmic bliss.

"You're so fraggin' adorable."

Knockout

There was nothing more refreshing to Knockout than clocking up speeds that could blow up a regular v8 engine along the winding rural roads of Jasper. It's freeing. It's elating. All heightened by the fact that he knows he shouldn't be out here in the first place. But there's nothing a little manipulation and the tugging of a few strings can't do to convince Megatron that he had good reason to be zipping around.

In the distance, he notices a peculiar establishment with bright neon lights surrounding the exterior. Strange, he's never seen such a place before. Knockout slows down, rolls into the parking lot, and is greeted with the muted sounds of music coming from inside. All the humans seem to be in there, so he transforms into his bot mode and crouches down to a window to take a peek. He notices some usual human behaviour, some drunk people, some cheering and throwing bits of paper at what seems to be a stage with a metal pole in the centre.

But it's not just the metal pole they're throwing currency at. No, they're tossing it towards a very under-dressed human hugging the pole, swinging around like an erotic firefighter he's seen in a movie once. Although, he's never seen a firefighter do that with their near bare ass. Conflicting feelings start to arise in Knockout, knowing that he shouldn't be out here and definitely should not be this fascinated by a human. But a part of him needs to meddle with this… alluring human.

-

"Wait, you want me to do what?"

It had been a regular night for you. You went to work, danced in front of an eager crowd, collected your cash and went home, is what you would say if a two-story alien robot hadn't grabbed you with a pair of extra sharp talons and transported you to god knows where. All you know so far is that through your screeching and thrashing around, you noticed that you were on a ship of some kind in a small room that was freezing cold. You had zero time to change out of your stripper wear and into something warmer before you were zipped away. And this red metal bastard sitting in front of you dares to ask you to perform for him, even though you find him mildly attractive in an unorthodox way.

"I know you heard me, squishy," The giant says with a toothy sneer, "Usually, I find your species rather obnoxious. Pityfull even, especially those other humans fawning over you like a scraplet in heat."

You have no idea what a scrapet is, but you ignore the strange synonym and probe him further, "If you hate us so much, why kidnap one? Wouldn't you prefer not to have a human here in your… quarters, I'm assuming?"

"That doesn't concern you." You swear you could see his face tint a slight blue, "Besides, wouldn't you prefer a little more excitement in your minuscule lifespan?"

Ok, he's got you there. Not every day you get to be kidnapped by an alien robot, let alone a hot one that wants you to give him a lap dance. You weigh your options, give him a dance, or he may step on you. Preferring not to be butchered today, you sigh in defeat.

"Alright, I'll give you what you want," You cross your arms and tap your heel on the floor, "But after, are you gonna let me go or…"

He holds his talons to his face as if checking his non-existent manicure before giving you the most sultry stare with his glowing red eyes, "That, my dear fleshy, entirely depends on whether you deliver or not."

You choose to ignore the heat that instantly pooled into your lower stomach and whip out your phone. No cell signal… even if you wanted to call for help, there's no way to do so. Glancing up at the mech still seated before you, you shakily scroll through your playlist and press play. 'I'm A Slave 4 U' pretty much sums up your current circumstance. How ironic.

You do what you know best, scrapping together any little confidence from the bottom of the barrel and just going for it because your life is potentially on the line. Your sway your hips, exaggerating your movements as much as possible. Hands exploring your own body and running them through your hair. You feel sexy as fuck, and you most likely look like it, too, because the look this robot is giving you is enough to sear holes into the surface of the sun. His eyes drag over every exposed inch of your body, and his lips are pressed in a line with a slight tug at one of the corners.

You finish with a dramatic split to the floor, then slide to your hands and knees and crawl towards the red mech. For some reason, he appears smaller than when you had started, but you decide not to dwell on it and regard it as a strange quirk of an alien.

"My, that was very entertaining," He grins, bringing a pointy digit to drag under your chin, the sensation making your eyes water, "But I seem to have a little… problem if you are willing to indulge me."

You quirk your head, "Uh… what kind of problem?"

With a smirk, he brings his other hand to the plating between his spread legs and fiddles underneath them. With a clang, the plating falls away. It reveals a very erect phallic object resembling a dick if it were created from metal.

Oh, that kind of problem.

He leans back against the wall and rests his forearm on a bent knee, looking like a poser straight out of a porn mag. You swallow heavily as it's your turn to rake your eyes over his frame, wide eyes landing on the throbbing silver mass resting on his hip. This is wrong on so many levels, but you don't seem to resist as you extend your hand to brush your fingertips on the underside of his cock. His breath hitches as you do so.

"Eager already. I knew you wouldn't be able to resist. You humans are all the same," He pinches your cheeks with the hand still touching your face, "Go on, I don't have all night."

Bastard. It seems to you that he's the eager one because he draws your face closer to his cock that it now pokes into your cheek. It's oddly warm with a slight metallic smell, and now all you're thinking about is how it tastes. This is wrong. You grip his cock in your hand and slip the tip into your mouth, circling the tip a few times to collect the tiny drops of precum on your tongue. So very wrong.

He shivers, his grip moving from your cheeks to the top of your head. His fingers are sharp against your scalp, but you don't care. You're going to give this alien what he wanted and more. You want to blow his circuits for kidnapping you. With this in mind, you push his dick past your throat and take him to the hilt, causing him to buck into your mouth. Your eyes are watering again, threatening to spill out onto your cheeks.

"Scrap!" He whines before gripping your hair and ripping you off his dick. Harsh ex-vents blow onto your body, "You almost caused an overload!"

You're assuming that's the robot equivalent of an orgasm. You smirk, "That was the plan."

He huffs, "Well if that's how you want to play, I'll have to make you overload first."

He pounces, and you fall on your back with an oof, sharp talons clawing at your pants, ripping them clean off. He moves one hand and pins your arms above your head, and the other drags across your thighs to your embarrassingly wet folds. You pray to god he doesn't poke you.

"Pfft, by the amount of fluids accumulating down there, it seems like you are enjoying this." He scoffs, rolling his thumb around your clit, sending jolts of electric shocks up your spine, "I'm right, aren't I?"

Your head lulls to the side, allowing the mech to give you direct access to your neck. He hums, leaning down to give you pecks and love bites. How strangely gentle of him, "Just - guh - hurry up."

You can feel him smile against your collarbone, "Alright, if you say so~"

He removes his thumb and replaces it with something much more significant in size. It's pressing right against your entrance, and oh my god, it's pushing inside you. You throw your head back and clench your hands in his grip as he pushes the rest of his length inside you. It's throbbing against your walls as he seems to display some restraint to not fuck you into the floor at the first instance.

"My, you feel… very tight, dearie." His hips are flush against your own now, and all you can do is squirm as you feel him pressing against your cervix, which you're sure is about to be ruined.

He draws his hips back and re-enters you, and your vision goes white. It's slow pace at first, an agonisingly slow pace. Most likely to prevent his own orgasm and to draw you as close to the edge as possible. The bumps and ridges along his cock drag across your walls mind-numbingly, and you're not sure how long you will last.

The pace picks up until he slams you into the floor with every rut of his hips, abusing your G-Spot un relentlessly. The hand that wasn't trapping your arms is now gripping the plush flesh of your hip, aiding him in his thrusts. His little mewls and praises were unexpected but delightful against your ear, and they only drew you closer to finishing.

"I - haAHH - never got your - hggnh - name." You stutter out as he send a particularly harsh thrust, arching your back into his chassis.

"Knockout, dearie." He grunts, claws digging into your hips deep enough to draw blood, "And I - hffgh - expect you to scream it."

That was it. Knockout only had to slam into your aching pussy a few more times before your orgasm knocks you off the cliff. You cry out his name, as ordered, as your walls strangle his cock. He yelps against your neck as he unleashes a disturbing amount of cum inside you, rutting into you in jagged thrusts as he rides out his own. You can feel it dripping down your inner thighs as your soft body fails to accommodate even a fraction of the amount. Legs quivering, he slowly draws his cock out, admiring your hole as the rest gushes out.

"Well, wasn't that exciting?" Knockout gives you a toothy smirk, lazily grinding his cock across your folds, "I think I'll keep you around, sweetheart."

No average person would be happy with that. Still, after tonight, you're very welcome to the idea of being a personal strip teaser for a devilishly hot alien robot.

[wileys-russo]

i have LOTS of questions so i decided to write them all at once (hope you don’t mind)😭

1. where do they go to their first vacation? i can imagine eli being okay with it but how do ale, alba, mapi and ingrid react? i can imagine alba and mapi being like all calm and like “ahh just let them be young and have fun” and alexia and ingrid all stressed out thinking about everything that could go wrong😭

2. not a question but kind of a question? (and also this is more for @girlgenius1111 but since she is recovering from surgery and you will have free time i decided to write to you) but, I need a fic with fresa is looking after scout. like is this happening when fresa and sol still don’t know each other (and mapi just asks fresa to look after scout for sol)? like when they met while mapi was giving fresa the car tattoo? and is sol still incredibly shy when handing over scout? like when they first met? or are they friends already? or maybe even girlfriends? i NEED to know the tea!!

3. do you know the olive theory? like the one that hates olives and the other that loves them so they take them? (in the end both hate olives) is this applicable to sol and fresa (maybe with other foods)??

4 what is their absolute favorite thing to watch together? and similarly do they show each other some cliché Tv shows in spanish/norwegian? (in my country we have a tv show called family affairs and tbh it’s the cringiest thing i have ever seen, and if i ever have a girlfriend this is the first thing i am going to show her because she NEEDS to experience the cringe of other cultures)

5. who is the one to wake up super early and who is to one to go to sleep at an ungodly hour?

6. another question that very much involves @girlgenius1111 but let’s suppose that sol makes up with her mom and wants to meet with her, how does fresa react? is she super protective? is she supportive? is she a mix of both? does she freak out? is she ready to take out box gloves and beat everyone?

7. once again the opinion of the queen herself @girlgenius1111 is needed but how does sol react to finding out that the relationship between fresa and alexia/alba is very stranded? obviously sol likes alexia but she doesn’t know her on a personal level super well, what does she do when she finds out that it’s not as perfect as it seems? that they may have more in common that she initially thought? the same goes for fresa finding out about sol’s relationship with ingrid, like it’s different but in some ways very similar. i suppose both feel very abandoned? how do they get through that?

ok i have even more questions but i need to stop now or i may yap till the end of the day. anyway sorry for such a long ask. feel free to not answer (if i were you i would just ignore this tbh) or “not answering, find out later” is just as acceptable. whatever you feel like tbh!!!

anyway i love this story that you and k! have created together, you both are very special writers and i VERY much appreciate what you do and write, anyway take care and lots of love🍓☀️❤️ (if anything i have written doesn’t make sense i had a bottle of wine and my first language isn’t english���)

idk if it counts as a vacation but early on into knowing one another but not yet quite dating they go to madrid together alone for a concert! you are absolutely correct lmao alba and mapi help them get their train tickets and drive them to the station, meanwhile alexia and ingrid are too busy stressing they're too young to go alone and they'll wind up kidnapped or something dramatic

K and I were talking about this literally yesterday and trying to work out a timeline for all the blurb ideas we have for Sol and Fres + how it all ties into filling the void and family line! but yes fresa looks after scout for a week (he comes to stay with her and Eli) when Sol goes to Norway with Ingrid and Mapi, but thats after they've been dating for awhile. the first time Fresa meets Scout its before she even realises she likes Sol, but Sol is shocked at how much Scout seems to love Fresa (aka dog whisperer putellas)

they actually both like pickles on burgers but pretend not to when they think the other doesn't, so neither of them end up eating the pickles despite actually having a mutual love for them (same goes for olives)

mmm i don't know a whole lot about tv shows outside of where i'm from but i imagine both Sol and Fres have a mutual love of trashy reality tv shows. specifically the kardashians and any sort of dating show like love island, too hot to handle etc. they both spend the entire time complaining about how awful the show is but also, never miss an episode. they also love to binge true crime dramas together, and Fresa loves medical programs but she knows she can't watch them around Sol because Sol faints at even the slightest sign of blood

Fresa is a morning person (Alexia's influence) and Sol is a night owl!

Fresa is very cautious how she speaks about Sol and Ingrids mum, obviously she knows whats happened and it breaks her heart that anyone could treat such a perfect human like that. but she also knows theres parts of Sol that still love her mum and Fresa doesn't want to go too hard on the 'your mum is such a piece of shit for treating you like that' train and upset her girlfriend. so she lets Sol take the lead in conversations about her mum and is careful how she responds!

By the time Sol and Fresa start to properly interact its after everything has gone down between Fresa and her sisters and they're well on track back to being as close as they used to be. But when Sol first opens up to Fresa about how she ended up in Spain living with her sister and the strains of their relationship early on in her stay, Fresa opens up about her own struggles with that and they bond over it. Fresa is a lot more forthcoming with information but Sol doesn't trust as easily so it takes a little longer for Fresa to really understand the extent of the struggles in her life when she lived in Norway thank you for all of these they really made me (and K) think!! i know some people might think its stupid to go so in depth about creating a life for a made up character but it really is a fun escape and i love creating Fresa's little universe, and its nice to write about a wholesome queer teenage relationship because they get done so dirty in tv shows most of the time! 🍓🍓 @girlgenius1111

[semisgroupie]

A LITTLE DISTRACTION

hanma shuji x fem. reader

wc: 1.7k

warnings: college au, public sex, fingering (f!receiving), exhibitionism, voyeurism, unprotected sex, finger sucking, creampie, denied orgasm (once), dubcon, tears, reader is called “sweetheart”, threat of getting caught, he’s very condescending and a big tease

synopsis: your boyfriend thinks you’ve been studying too much

a/n: this is my first time venturing into the world of present tense writing, don’t judge

Finals are the worst time to be on campus, everyone is cramming for all their exams and staying at the library at ungodly hours since it worked as an optimal studying space.

Everyone inside is cramming for their finals except your boyfriend, who decided to join you for moral support. He just didn’t know how long this moral support had to go on for.

He is seated next to you, watching you as your eyes scan over the text of your notes before you pick up your pen and write down what’s important to remember in your study guide. He lifts his arm to check the time then sets it down, “you’ve been studying nonstop for the past three hours.” His observation falls on deaf ears as you continue your movements, he lets out a sigh and places his hand on top of yours, halting your movements for a brief second.

“Shuji, this exam will be 35% of my grade. I wasn’t lucky enough to be in classes like yours where the final was a presentation during the semester.” You lift your eyes from your notebook and look at him, deep pools of gold are calling you in but you can’t afford to let yourself drown in them, not yet. “If you want to go back to the apartment then you should go without me, I’ll meet you back there once I’m done.”

“Like hell, there’s no way I’d let you walk back to the apartment alone this late at night. I’m staying here with you for however long it takes, I was just saying that because you haven’t touched anything I bought you from the vending machines downstairs.” He points to the untouched snacks and water he bought when you first walked into the library. You frown at the sight of them then turn your attention back to him, “I’m not hungry.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose then reaches over to grab the granola bar, he opens the packaging and holds it to your mouth. “Take a bite. If you don’t, I won’t leave you alone and I’ll get us kicked out. I’ll scream really loudly.” You raise an eyebrow at his threat but you don’t want to take the chance to determine if he’ll follow through or not. You lean in and take a bite of it then pull back as you chew it and swallow. “Good girl, now I’ll leave you alone.”

As the time passes he busies himself with games on his phone, watching some episodes of a show he downloaded and stealing your snacks. As each minute passes he also takes note of how empty the floor of the library you’re in is getting. He watches the last person leave then looks over at you, still writing down little notes in your study guide. He leans in close to your ear and places his hand on your leg, “sweetheart, everyone has gone home or back to their dorms. Don’t you think you need to do the same? Your test isn’t happening until next week so you can finish the study guide tomorrow.”

You force yourself to ignore the warm feeling of his hand on your leg and shake your head. “I can’t, this exam has some repeated questions from our midterm so I have to go over all my notes, all over again. We’ll go home soon, I promise.” You offer him a small smile, hoping that it’s enough to distract him while you stretch your fingers and hands to relieve the ache that’s building in them. But it’s not enough. His eyes travel to your hands and he watches how you massage them.

“Your hands are cramping, you’re writing too much. You need to take a break from this and just give your hands a rest.” You open your mouth to protest, to try to give him whatever excuse you can conjure on the fly but he beats you to the punch. His hand that had so conveniently rested itself on your leg has now moved up your thigh and is now grazing your slit over your panties. “If you won’t take a break yourself, I’ll just have to force you myself.”

He pulls your dampening panties to the side and lets his fingers explore your slit, collecting the juices that gather along his slender digits. Your shaky hand grabs your pen and your mind tries to focus on the words on the pages of your notebook. His fingers slide up and down your glistening slit and you can faintly hear the wet noises his movements make. You try your hardest to focus but the task is becoming nearly impossible as he slips his fingers inside you. A shaky breath leaves your lips as you feel the slight stretch and as his fingers start moving, you both curse and thank yourself for wearing a skirt.

He leans in close as he starts pumping his fingers faster, “seems like you just needed this all along, sweetheart. Why would you deny yourself when I’m right here? You know I’ll help you whenever you need it.” He coos mockingly in your ear as his palm presses against your clit. You cover your mouth with one of your hands to keep your moans to a minimum and you finally turn away from your notes to look at him. You can finally allow yourself to drown in the golden pools that have been waiting for you.

You silently plead for him to continue, to let you cum as the feeling builds in the pit of your stomach. You feel slightly light-headed from how skilled his fingers are, the warmth spreads throughout your entire body as it waits for that release you’re craving. “Are you gonna cum for me? Oh I feel it sweetheart, poor thing you’re just so close, aren’t you?” You nod as best as you can at his words, you don’t trust your voice enough to actually vocalize your want and desire. He continues his movements, curling his fingers up to touch the sweet spot that makes your toes curl.

You can feel it, you can taste the orgasm on your tongue. You’re so close, like a runner that sees the finish line after a marathon. All you need to do is cross it, you’re right there. Just a few more steps and it’s gone? It’s gone, the sensation, the feeling of his fingers, it’s no longer there. Your chest rises and falls with each heavy breath you take and you look at your boyfriend with big pitiful eyes. A smirk dances along his lips before he brings his wet fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean.

“What? Are you gonna cry for me just because of a denied orgasm? Look at the tattoo on my hand sweetheart, this is your punishment. But don’t worry, I’m not that mean, I’ll give you what you need, okay?” You have to blink away your tears before he starts teasing you about that some more and then you watch how he undoes his pants. His movements are swift and his cock quickly springs out, all hard and leaking precum. You lick your lips at the sight of it but your boyfriend has other plans.

His hands grip your hips and he pulls you onto his lap. He moves one hand from you to grip the base of his cock while the other guides you to sit down on his aching length. “There we go.” He groans as he watches you take his cock and once you’re seated on it completely you can’t help the moan of pleasure that leaves your lips. But it’s a little too loud for his liking. His left hand with sin tattooed on it goes up to your mouth and he pushes two of his fingers inside, pressing down against your tongue.

“I know you can’t help it but I need you to be quiet, I know you don’t want the librarian to see what a needy little slut you are, do you?” You shake your head and let out a muffled “no” in response.

“Good girl, now get to bouncing.” You lean forward and grip the table in front of you as you start bouncing. You have to force yourself to fight against your natural instinct of slamming down on him so you don’t end up making too much noise. His other hand flips your skirt up so he can watch his cock disappear inside you. “Fuck, I love when you ride me like this sweetheart, your ass looks even more perfect than usual. You just drive me insane.” His hand smooths over your ass while he presses down on your tongue more to muffle all your sounds that threaten to escape.

You feel the burn in your legs as you continue bouncing on his cock but it’s all worth it once you get what you need. You need to cum, you feel the sensation building again, your body is getting even hotter than the last time and you shut your eyes to savor it. His hand moves from your ass to grip your waist as he thrusts up into you. You’re pushed over the edge, diving headfirst into the sweet bliss of your orgasm. He pushes his fingers further into your mouth, making you gag on them so he could keep you quiet. He grits his teeth as he thrusts up a few more times until he reaches the precipice of his own orgasm. His cum fills you up as he pulls you back against him.

Both of your bodies twitch against each other as you both come down from the highs of your orgasms. Heavy breaths leave you both and he pulls his fingers out of your mouth. Once he feels you’ve relaxed around him enough, he pulls you off his cock and quickly covers your cum filled pussy with your panties. He helps you fix yourself up a bit before tucking his cock back into his pants.

“Now let’s put all these away and head back to the apartment. We’re not done yet.” Your eyes widen a bit at his words and you let out a breathy laugh. “You’re insatiable Shuji.”

He helps you gather your papers and leans down to press a kiss to the corner of your lips, “what I should be hearing is, ‘thank you for the distraction’.” You turn your head to face him and press your lips to his for a short moment before pulling away.

“Thank you for the distraction, Shuji.”

taglist: @litepowee @suyacho @satmitsuplanet @benkeibear @watyousayin

[rascal-xo]

Ghost fanfic idea!!

He is in love with reader and has expressed it to her on multiple occasions but they discuss it and realise that their line of work isn’t ideal to have a relationship. So they keep at this game with flirting and just barely being sexual with each other

Until! Konig comes into the picture and she genuinely falls in love with him too. He shows her another way to be treated (we all know Ghost is stiff and gruff) as in all soft and puts flowers in her hair. ONLY THEN GHOST GOES CRAZY, LIKE EYE TWITCHING CRAZY AND STARTS TRYING DOING THE SAME THINGS AS KONIG TO GET HER BACK. READER THEN DECIDES WHO SHE WANTS TO GIVE HER HEART TO — you make that call cos I cannot choose between those 2 hunks.

Just an idea 😌 I’m a lil crazy so ignore if none of this makes sense

Unspoken Love | Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader

A/N: I love this request omg. I hope I was able to do your vision justice :) Part 2

Chapter Summary: So many things are left unsaid between you and the Lieutenant, but one way or another they’ll come out.

Warnings: Angst, cursing, SMUT, fluff, smoking, injuries, violence, ghost being hostile at times

Word Count: 1.3K (Its a long one, i’m sorry 😭)

For a soldier, love is war.

For Simon Riley, love is you. It’s the way you look at him in the plane when he’s giving orders, the way you accidentally kick his boot under the table during a meeting, without even realizing it.

For Simon, love is the way sunlight filters through the windows and casts a warm glow on your face. But Simon Riley is the man underneath the skull balaclava, the man you don’t know.

You know Ghost. Ghost whose name falls from your mouth like a prayer when his hands are tightly grasping onto your hips, hard enough to leave bruises as you ride him, chasing after the coil that begins to form in your stomach, as you cry out for him while his cock slams into your, causing you to deathly grip the duvet.

Ghost is who you glance at only when you have to during briefings. But Simon Riley, the man behind the mask, the man who watches you from across the room, with a yearning in his eyes that you don't see, are eyes you look into when Ghost tells you “We can’t go farther than this.” And you agree, pushing down your feelings you almost had, knowing it probably wouldn’t work out anyway.

That’s what you tell yourself when you lay in his arms with a leg over his stomach, as his fingers run gently through your hair. All the while so many words go unspoken from underneath the skull mask.

In the moment it only seems like a task, maybe even a ploy you think, to keep you coming back to each other for more release. But again, that’s what you tell yourself, because it probably wouldn’t work out anyway.

As the weeks go by, the tension between you and Ghost is practically yelling for no strings attached. It’s what you repeat in your head as you find yourself at his bedroom door during the ungodly hours of night, after the others have long gone elsewhere.

But when a new member is recruited to 141, the rules begin to change. You meet Konïg. The soldier in the sniper hood and the reaper build that are no match for the kind and soft voice soul underneath. You end up working together on multiple missions, learning each others crafts.

You find yourself no longer aching to find your release, but unbeknownst to you Ghost has found a reason to push you away, when all Simon underneath is wants you to himself, to feel the way you feel tucked in his arms. He finds himself doing the worst. Telling Price you’re not in the right state of mind to be fighting leads you to find yourself at his door again, but this time making yourself known.

“You took me off of the fucking mission!?” You yell, not wanting to but feeling the need to. Knowing whatever it is has nothing to do with your performance in the field.

“You're a liability, Sergeant." he says, his voice low and menacing. "You let your emotions get in the way of your judgment, and thats get you or your teammates killed." You bristle at his words, feeling the anger and hurt rising within you.

"You had no right to bring my job into your hands." you shoot back. Ghost walks closer up, towering over you with his intimidating. "It’s not up for debate. That’s a direct order." he says, and for the first time you can see his eyes blazing with intensity. You can see Simon.

After a few more weeks, the late night visits become a distant memory. As you come in the pub with the team after a victorious mission, Konïg finds his seat next to you. “Look what I found, Schön.” (Beauty) He calls you, capturing your attention. It’s one of the many endearments you hear from him as you two get closer, and Ghost drifts away farther.

He listens to the conversation, only sitting a few seats away next to Soap. He doesn’t want to but he does, only hurting himself more. His knuckles turn white around the class of liquor, seeing the way Konïg makes you smile.

Did Konïg see you the way he did? Simon thinks to himself under the mask. Did Konïg fuck you like he did?

His blood boils at the sight of his hand resting on your arm, playfully. Ghost finishes his drink, but Simon is the one who leaves the pub without saying a word, beginning to resent himself for not telling you what you are to him when he had the chance.

A week later, you're back in the field with Ghost and the rest of the team, determined to prove to him that you belong. The mission is a covert operation to take out a high-value target, and everything is going smoothly at first.

But then, as you're moving through the enemy stronghold, a hostile sneaks up on you from behind. You don't see him coming, but Ghost does. Without hesitation, he pushes you to the ground and in a flash the bullet hits him in the one spot his vest doesn’t cover. “GHOST NO!”

In a haste attempt you cover against the remaining hostiles in your zone quickly getting on the radio,

“This is Delta 6-2, Ghost is shot, I repeat we need Evac NOW.” telling your team over the comms confirms your worst fear; Losing him. You’re rushing towards the extraction point, heart pounding not sure what to think, how to think. It all becomes a blur.

Blood stains your clothes as you realize you have been badly cut. Medics take you away as soon as you step foot on base, not even getting a chance to see him. The thought of him dead almost eats you alive.

You spent the a day waiting anxiously for news about his condition. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you received word from Captain Price that he had made it through surgery and was stable back at base.

You were discharged from the med bay the next day, and as soon as you were able to, you made your way to a place you knew too well. Without even bothering to knock, you pushed open the door and walked in. And there he was, sitting at the edge of his bed with his back facing you.

He instantly turns around, causing you to stop dead in your tracks. “Simon…” For a moment, you were frozen in place. The stone cold man you had been so intimate with, the man you had shared so many nights with only to avoid in the mornings, is now right in front of you, exposed and vulnerable. He puts out the cigarette between his fingers, on the ashtray next to him.

His eyes are full of emotion you can so clearly see looking right back at you. “I thought you died.” Your voice breaks, as you try to compose yourself, but it’s no use, the tears now falling from your face.

“How could you put yourself in that position? You could’ve died!” You started, moving closer. You can resent me all you want Lieutenant but-“

“I love you.” The world ceases to move. You're stunned, unsure of how to respond. All the words you'd been too afraid to say, all the feelings you'd been too afraid to reveal, are suddenly laid out in front of you. And now, standing before you, is the the man who had been there all along.

You had finally come face to face with the man underneath the mask. “I’ve loved you since the day we met, Y/N. I’ve loved you through every mission, every bullet we’ve dodged.” You forget how to simply breathe. “Everytime you have walked through that door, I have loved you. And I cant stop.”

Without another thought, he takes takes your face in his hands, his bruised knuckles gently on your skin, as you meet his lips. His lips are soft and tender, yet urgent and passionate. It’s a kiss that conveys all the unsaid words and phrases.

As you pull away, he look into your eyes, searching for any hint of doubt or hesitation, but instead he sees the very same love looking right back.

For a soldier, love is war.

For Simon Riley, love is you.

A/N: Any comments for future fic suggestions?

[pikachu78109]

General Lance Headcanons

((These are some general headcanons that I came up with for Lance that I wanted to include earlier in my initial headcanon entry for him, but didn’t))

I see him in his late twenties to early thirties, honestly. Like, maybe 28 or nearing 30 at least. Despite his looks, Lance appears far more older than what others think initially. He’s told he looks like he’s twenty or eighteen, which is such a common assumption that amuses Lance.

His relationship with Clair can be tumultuous. They get along fine, but there are moments when Clair’s overly competitive and sore loser mentality wears Lance down. He can handle her outbursts like a pro; he’s got the patience of a saint, but he does find himself nearing the end of his rope whenever Clair gets too defensive. I think it helps that at one point in his childhood Lance has been in Clair’s shoes, but has managed to keep calm thanks to the Dragon Master’s guidance. Whenever Clair challenges Lance to battle at the Pokémon League and loses, she throws another one of her outbursts, much to Lance’s dismay. He’s often asked by League members, Gym Leaders included, why Clair still has a Gym Leader position. Part of him hopes that whenever Clair faces a Trainer and loses to them that it will make her more humble. That’s yet to happen as her pride is so high that it takes the Dragon Master to threaten her by telling Lance what’s up that she relents the Gym Badge. Regardless, Lance understands Clair’s position but he does not condone her ill behavior.

Lance didn’t grow up with a lot of friends outside of Blackthorn, so it was mainly just him and Clair. When he got old enough to go on his journey, Lance didn’t know what to expect. He was made aware of the different towns and cities across Johto and Kanto as well, so he wasn’t completely sheltered. However, his lack of social skills and stoic exterior has led people to be, let’s say, intimidated by him. It doesn’t help that Lance traveled the two regions with his trusty Dragons, which are far more intimidating than just him alone. This made Lance feel like an outcast, which he kind of was, therefore he ends up keeping to himself. However, all it took for him to come out of his shell was for a couple of little kids to curiously ask him about his cape, which did lighten Lance’s spirits.

His three Dragonites are all different, personality wise. One is a big softie who loves being cuddled and enjoys wearing Lance’s cape. They are the equivalent to a Golden Retriever and the youngest. The second Dragonite, the “middle child” so to speak, keeps to themselves. They enjoy lying around and dozing off, but are quite capable of getting shit done when told by Lance. And, lastly, the third Dragonite, the oldest. This one has been with Lance the longest, making them the “leader” of the pact. They are a ride or die with Lance, partners til the end, and has zero tolerance for BS (also much like Lance). This Dragonite was gifted to Lance when it was a newly hatched Dratini when Lance was around eleven (the ripe age for upcoming Dragon Tamers to receive their first Dragon Pokémon). Lance loves and cares for his Dragonites deeply and will, without question, lay down his life to protect them as all three are his closest companions.

Despite his stoic demeanor, Lance is a sweetheart. He’s polite, helpful, friendly, and just wants to enjoy life being around both people and Pokémon. He understands that he’s an intimidating presence but he strives to be more approachable. He tries to find some common ground, although it’s still difficult for him, but he TRIES.

Not much a movie person. Lance doesn’t like sitting for long periods of time while watching a television screen. He likes moving around, so sitting still for an hour just isn’t his forte.

For some reason, I see Lance having a shitty sleep schedule. I mean, he’s constantly on the move and doesn’t stay in place for longer than a minute. One moment he’s getting up at an ungodly hour, say 3AM, training. And then, before you know it, he’s passed out on the couch until 5PM or at noon. At times, he’ll go two or three days without sleep. His sleep schedule is in such shambles that the Johto Elite Four have had to set up alert reminders for him to go to bed at around 9PM and get up at 7AM. They nearly have had to do an intervention just to get Lance to sleep properly.

When not wearing his usual uniform, Lance likes to put on a simple black turtleneck or V-neck T-shirt. Usually this is rare, but whenever Lance has free time that isn’t being swallowed up by the League or other pressing matters, Lance likes to dress casually.

Prone to getting into physical altercations, either with people or with Pokémon. Lance can hold his own in a fight (not a Pokémon battle, mind you) and has thrown hands before. While he is nowhere near Bruno’s level of strength, Lance can get a few hits in and can take his fair share of bruises and cuts. These fights are usually provoked by Lance interfering in illegal activities, which causes escalation to ensue. Luckily, Lance has never had a weapon pulled on him.

Gets cold pretty easily. Living near the Ice Path, the winters in Blackthorn can be pretty brutal, so Lance has never truly adapted to being cold. People think it’s funny that the Dragon Tamer Lance gets cold easily since, you know, Ice beats Dragon types. But, truth is, winters in Blackthorn can be deadly under the right conditions. Lance has spent many winters in the Dragon’s Den, caring for the Dragon types there so he has little need (or desire) to venture out into the wild wintry whiteout.

Not a public transportation kind of guy. If Lance wants to go anywhere, it’s either on foot or on his Dragonite’s back.

Enjoys domestic living, like cooking and cleaning. When he was younger, he was raised by his single mother who did a lot around the home, so that homely influence affected him greatly. He likes keeping things in order and has kept a lot of his mother’s recipes after she passed.

Lance holds onto his relationships very, VERY closely. If anyone dares to harm any one of his friends or family, they are in for a bad time (cue Megalovania).

Keeps in contact with some of the other Champions, like Cynthia and Steven. They all would meet up to discuss news about their respective regions and other events/issues. Isn’t so much political as it rather focuses on the Pokémon League aspect of each region and how each League is being cared for and how they are upholding their foundation. Still, these meetings allow Lance to catch up with other Champions, more than anything.

[hoonven]

POV ⸺ YANG JUNGWON

genres! fluff, song fic, established relationship

word count! 489

playlist! pov by ariana grande

mimi’s note! the first paragraph is inspired by a post i read on here a while back but i don’t remember the user

Yang Jungwon isn’t the kind of person to love halfheartedly, he’ll give you everything he has: his heart, his body, his mind, his soul. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do, wouldn’t lose, wouldn’t trade or give for you and it’s this unspoken rule, this ubiquitous notion that his love for you was wholehearted and unconditional.

With Jungwon you were receiving the kind of love you dreamt of as a little girl, gifting you small trinkets that reminded him of you, always making time for you despite his busy schedule, taking on the task of doing a chore he knows you hate, handwritten love letters, giving you genuine compliments—not out of obligation but because he truly admires you, holding you in his arms as he rubs your back in hopes to melt away your stress, slow dancing in ungodly hours of the night, coming home with your favorite drink and snacks if he was out too long as a show of appreciation for being so patient and understanding with him, invariably putting you first no matter the consequences he would face afterwards because your safety and comfort is his main priority.

He was the kind of lover to unknowingly fulfill those romantic scenarios in your head you never thought would come true, his every word and every action never failing to envelop you in his deepest affections.

Loving came easy with him, never needing arguments or stimuli to keep the passion alive. A “We’ll figure this out together” kind of love, an “Are you okay? Wanna talk about it?” love, an “Let me take care of that for you” love.

He knew you better than you knew yourself at times, the way his gentle yet perceptive eyes always see right through you as though you’re made of glass, never being able to keep anything from him, he was your peace, the way his presence alone could offer you a sense of tranquility, he was your confidant, the way your lips could only admit the thoughts you didn’t want to acknowledge to his unjudgemental ears.

You weren’t quite used to all this yet, having rotten luck in past relationships had wholly convinced you love like this was simply not written in the stars for you, or worse, maybe you were not deserving of this love, but somewhere along the way Jungwon must have realigned those luminous points in the night sky because you were learning differently now, because of Jungwon you’ve learned to love yourself, be grateful for yourself, to trust yourself, be gentle and kind towards yourself like he is. You were learning to see yourself from his point of view.

Relationships can be scary and being with the right person didn’t mean it would be any less frightening but rather it would make you braver to face the daunting parts because you know you have each other, so even though you were scared you were gonna love him anyway.

© 2023 hoonven, all rights reserved. i do not give permission to alter, repost, translate, or plagiarize my works on any platform.

[persphonesorchid]

Lovin' On You - MYG

Summary: After what happened at the fair, Yoongi is plagued with a re-occurring nightmare of a life that was once his. For a reason that escapes him, he's held on to the Lover's card.

Genre: Enemies to lovers, fluff, angst.

Warnings: talking about nightmares, Yoongi and Mc still don't know what to do with themselves. They're honestly so annoying oml. Yoongi bites his nail and it bleeds just a little bit :(. Mc has a nightmare, but don't worry! Yoongi's there :) Unbeta'd

Wordcount:7.8k

Masterlist - Here

Read Hatin' On You - Here

If you like my content, please consider supporting me - Here

Notes: It's HERE YAY! Finally wrapped this up at 2am this morning! :))) I hope the wait wasn't too annoying, and I really hope you guys enjoy this!! Feedback is appreciated and encouraged! Let me know what you think! I hope after the long wait that this is okay for you all! Have a good day! :))

Yoongi’s standing in a doorway. There’s a storm raging behind him. It rattles the wooden panes of a house that’s cold, the wind blows and leaves and rain follow. His heart is at his feet, scattering in the breeze that blows in from outside. He’s cold and soaked from the rain but he doesn’t even have it in him to shiver.

The first beat of his heart then is harsh, it stalls his breath, catching it his throat where it stifles him. The other kicks so hard he thinks it’d burst right through his ribs.

There’s a woman on the floor, and he says a name he doesn’t know. A name he could barely hear over the thunder that claps, a name that clings to his throat with the way he chokes on it. She stares right through him, eyes dimmed and dull. He stumbles forward and drops to his knees before he reaches her. The floor is hard, digging into the silk of his clothes and the cold, soaked skin beneath.

Her blood is cold and his hand slips as he grabs for her, pressing his hands against the wound that still bleeds.

“N-no. Why...why are you laying here?” He sits in the blood, and it stains his clothes. She’s heavy as he lifts her, staring into her eyes that can no longer see. “Why are you laying here? Wake up. Wake up!”

Yoongi startles awake, sitting up in his too warm sheets, gasping for air. His heart pounds in his chest like he’s been running, his throat feels raw like he’s been screaming at the top of his lungs. He kicks the tangled covers off and stumbles out of bed. With a hand pressed over his mouth he runs to the bathroom across the hall.

He spills the dinner he had into the toilet, sitting on the cold tiled floor. When he’s done, he sits there and sobs, and he wishes he knew why he was crying. Why the sadness he felt sealed him in this little corner, closing around his throat in a way that makes him gasp for air. And the guilt, there’s so much that Yoongi feels as though he could reach into his chest and scoop it all out.

It isn’t his.

These emotions do not belong to him, and Yoongi wishes he could leave them alone. But every night - or ungodly hour of the morning - for the past week, he’s here. Reeling from the too vivid fragments of a dream, a memory that doesn’t belong to him either.

It was his, maybe, a couple lifetimes ago. Where a man and a woman met a tragic end.

He squeezes his eyes shut, wiping his face with the collar of his tee-shirt. He’s tired of this and in general, he’s not gotten much sleep since that night at the fair. Yoongi sighs, long and drawn out, standing on shaky legs to flush the toilet and wobble over to the sink to brush his teeth. He stares at himself in the mirror, toothbrush hanging from his mouth, the mess of his hair and his tired, red eyes.

He wonders how you’re doing. If you’re asleep right now, all warm and cosy in your sheets. Or if you’re in the same predicament as he is. The thought of you going through the same thing doesn’t bring him comfort, instead, worry draws his brows together.

He remembers well the panic you were in, standing in the middle of a storm looking through him. Your fingers were cold when they wrapped around his wrist then, calling his name so softly he’d barely heard you.

He’s been suffering, constantly reliving a moment that wasn’t his. He’d hate if you had to do the same. He’d had to make sure you stayed grounded there with him, in the middle of whatever insane shared subconscious acid trip you’d both went on. He couldn’t let you fall into whatever you were feeling.

Yoongi sighs, flipping the light switch as he walks out the bathroom. He stands at the open door of his bedroom, staring at the rumpled sheets of his bed and wonders if getting back into it would be worth the tossing and turning. Sleep is already long gone and the furthest thing from his mind, so Yoongi walks to his kitchen instead.

He feels a little lost, not quite sure what he’s doing standing there in the dark at four in the morning. Tired of this seemingly endless loop of the past week, but too restless to attempt putting an end to it. He does the same he’s done all week when he wakes up at ass ‘o clock; make a cup of coffee, sit at the table and stare into the swirling pool of liquid.

“Fucking hell.” He presses his palms into his eyes and sighs.

Yoongi sits there until his white ceramic cup is empty, and he makes another, and the sun is scattering orange and pinks, coming up between the clouds. His phone chimes where he’d brought it and left it on the table, a short vibration and a brief glow of his lock screen shows a text alert.

He stares at it for a moment, noting the time to be just a bit after six am. He wonders who it could be at this hour, if it’s Seokjin or Jungkook after staying up too long, playing video games. Or maybe, Namjoon, owning up to that broken mug still sitting in his trash that Yoongi knows he broke.

He unlocks the phone with a press of his thumb. It’s neither of the people he thought of, but a short string of words in a good morning text from you.

Yoongi’s a little surprised.

Even after that night at the fair, after he’d said you should both start over, and you agreed; nothing much has happened. It’s a bit hard, to break out of the habit of not keeping up with you simply because he has no reason to.

His finger hovers over the text box, mind mulling over what exactly to say. A simple good morning back, after not much thought, and then, asking why you were awake this early.

 As soon as the text was sent and received by you, you’re calling him. For a second, his heart races as he fumbles to swipe at the pick-up prompt. The same way it did when that lost kid at the fair mistook you both for a couple.

Yoongi didn’t let the thought linger, storing it in a little box to mull over another time when his palms aren’t sweating. Or when he isn’t stumbling through a greeting like he’s never spoken to you before. Well, he has...but never in a way that doesn’t send you two bickering.

“Hey...” Your voice is soft, and he barely hears you over what he assumes is you shuffling about in your sheets. “Sorry, I know this is random, ‘cause we don’t really talk...”

“It’s okay, what’s up?” Yoongi presses his phone between his ear and shoulder, getting up to refill his cup with more steaming coffee. You go quiet for a moment, long enough that Yoongi has to check to see if the call is still connected. “Y/n?”

“This is gonna sound weird...but I don’t think anything can be weirder than what happened last week. Honestly, nothing’s ever gonna top that ev- “

He calls your name again, as he catches on that you’re rambling and not actually getting anywhere close to telling him why you called. “What’s wrong?”

You sigh, whispering something that he doesn’t catch before speaking up, “I’ve...Have you...” you trail off, groaning.

“Take your time, I’ve got all day.” Yoongi didn’t actually mean it in the way it sounded, he really does have all day.

“Okay, let’s talk about the weather then. Cause you clearly don’t wanna hear what I have to say. What if it’s something really important? What if I was dying? Bet you wouldn’t sass me then.” You go off in a tangent, and Yoongi lets you get all your words out. There’s a little smile tugging on the corners of his mouth, which, all in his lonesome, he doesn’t bother to hide. This feels familiar, a tug backwards to where you both were before that night last week.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Yoongi can’t help the soft chuckle he hopes you didn’t catch, and that’s because he’s stirring a spoonful of sugar into his coffee very loudly to cover it. He shuffles back to the chair at the dining table, slumping into it, tracing the handle of his mug with a finger. “And besides, if you were dying, I’d be the last person you call. Matter of fact, I’d probably hear it from Seokjin.”

“I wouldn’t even have the time to call him.” You laugh, it’s a nice sound, and before, for reasons he couldn’t understand, it was like nails on a blackboard. It’s pleasant, makes him smile again for no reason at all.

“...Anyway. I’ve been having dreams...” You finally say, and despite the way it warrants the concern from earlier, he keeps quiet. You saying that to him can only mean one thing, and its exactly what Yoongi was afraid of.

“We all have dreams, Y/n.” Is what he says instead, because he’d be damned if you knew he’s been worried about you. Not right now when nothing between you both has gone further than a handshake and an attempt to move forward. You’re barely friends.

“Yoongi.” The way you say his name has him pursing his lips and relenting. “This is serious.”

“Okay.” Yoongi sighs, he was hoping you wouldn’t say that. He sets his mug down, not quite feeling for the coffee anymore; he’s had more than enough of it anyway. He’d be lucky if he would be able to sit still in a couple of hours. You’re quiet again, but Yoongi knows to give you a moment, so he waits, getting up instead to poke through his fridge.

He’s studying the left-over rice and the eggs on the top shelf when you find your voice.

“Do you think...are you busy? Can I come over?” You ask softly.

Yoongi hums, a little distracted, reaching for a small container of garlic butter he’s sure was Seokjin’s idea. He squints at the yellow and blue label before shaking his head and putting it back, “You don’t know where I live, though.”

“.... I was there last month, remember? Hobi dragged me over there for that get together thing...”

“Ah.” Yoongi nods, pulling out the rice he tucked in a Tupperware bowl and a couple eggs. “I don’t even remember seeing you then...” He’s lying; he does. He remembers that he told Hoseok to not bring you along, but all the little shit did was roll his eyes and brought you anyway. Yoongi’s anything but rude, so he had no choice but to suck it up and stay as far away from you as possible.

Everyone acted nicely and pretended not to notice the tension.

“I heard there’s pills for that you know? I got some for my Grandad some time ago, works miracles.”

“Fuck off.” Yoongi grumbles but doesn’t do much else as you continue to tell him how good it would be to get them. He doesn’t mind this, there’s a sense of normalcy in your banter and he finds comfort in it. “Get here before I change my mind.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

There's a beep and then you’re gone and Yoongi’s wondering if he should make more rice.

A half hour later, there’s a knock on the door, and Yoongi turns the heat of the stovetop off to answer it. You’re standing on the other side, a nervous air about you as he lets you in. He closes the door behind you, giving you a moment to take your shoes off and trail behind him to the kitchen.

He'd fussed a bit over the fried rice he made, that still sits in the pot, cooling on the table, and Yoongi bites the inside of his cheek.

“Have...Have you eaten?” He asks softly, not quite sure what to do with himself now that you’re here. You shake your head, and he silently nods and moves to the cabinets to grab bowls and utensils, he sits opposite you when he finished serving the bowls, setting one down in front of you.

You eat silently for a moment and Yoongi doesn’t want to rush you, so he eats too, a little awkwardly. It’s hard when it’s just the both of you, without your friends to act as a buffer, and Yoongi studies you as you eat, pointedly avoiding his gaze.

“Are you okay?” He ignores the urge to reach for your hand and curls his free one against his thigh.

You finally look at him, raising a brow, “Are you? You look like shit.”

Yoongi’s quite aware of how he looks, he’s not been getting enough rest and it shows. He chuckles though, a brief shake of his shoulders and he shakes his head, looking down at the fried rice in his bowl, “Wow. Thanks, you really know how to compliment a guy.”

“You’re welcome.” You smile, and Yoongi’s lost in it, almost blinded. You let your spoon rest in the bowl, a small furrow between your brows and concern in your eyes. Yoongi’s a bit surprised at that, though, he thinks he should try to get used to it... if you’re gonna be friends and all. “Seriously though, are you?”

Yoongi lets out a breath, tongue poking into his cheek, “Could be better, honestly.” He raises a shoulder in a shrug, “Sleep’s hard to come by.”

You hum softly, sighing, “You too, huh?”

“The dreams...?” You suddenly look as tired as Yoongi feels, nodding your head quietly.

Your eyes shift to somewhere above his head, and something cracks in Yoongi’s chest at the sadness in them. It’s the same as that night, out in the storm, and he doesn’t hesitate to take your hand this time. He reaches across the table, fingers brushing yours first before he draws them closer and into his hand. “Hey, talk to me.”

You let out a soft laugh that sounds sardonic to Yoongi’s ears, but he doesn’t pull his hand away and instead tightens his grip and calls your name softly. You take a breath, something he sees more than he hears, your eyes meet his and there’s a shine to them that makes Yoongi uncomfortable. It burrows into his chest and stays there, gnawing at the strings. He doesn’t want to see you cry so he looks away first and sighs softly.

“I’ve been getting them, too.” He says, still not looking at you, he focuses on the warmth of your hand in his, “Just one, every time.”

The sadness from this morning returns, and Yoongi feels as though he’s standing in that doorway, staring at the woman on the floor with a grief that isn’t his. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, as though it would stop the image from flashing behind them. It doesn’t, and he sees it anyway, like if his eyes are open. He drums the fingers of his free hand against the tabletop in a rhythm and focuses on that for a moment.

“It’s always...” he sighs, “just her...on the floor...” He doesn’t want to say more and he’s glad when you don’t ask him to. He tries not to look at you, because looking at you makes him remember. You’re not her, he reminds himself, though, there’s some similarity in your presence. The feeling of the air in the space you occupy that doesn’t allow him to let it go.

He almost rolls his eyes, really, because why is he so caught up in this? Part of him still believes that what happened that night never did.

But you’re here, you, who just this time last week, he’d wanted nothing to do with. You didn’t matter enough for him to spare a thought if it wasn’t for complaining or trying to rinse Seokjin’s ears out with a few choice words because yes, you - absolutely, most definitely - had to be at the fair with them.

Yoongi still thinks Seokjin traded spots with Jimin to pick you up on purpose. Just out of spite.

He doesn’t think it’s too much of a bad thing now, since really, you’re all he thought of in the days following, and, under no good circumstance, this past week.

You, who shared the same weird moment with him, and that stupid card is sitting on his dresser, still. He’d said that you both should start over, and he meant it. He’d like to backtrack a bit, he thinks, figure out the when and why you both had started out the way you had.

Maybe you were laughing too loudly, or maybe you tried too hard to be nice meeting him for the first time. Whatever it was...now that Yoongi’s taking a moment to think about it – albeit, a terrible moment, he’s sure he’s been silent for a while now – he didn’t like you.

He wonders what it was now, why it was mutual...he doesn’t know. And he probably wouldn’t know for a while.

Maybe it’ll come to him later, when all this is done, he’ll figure it out.

“Hey.” Your fingers wiggle against his palm but you don’t pull them away. Turning your hand just a bit to hold his and squeeze softly, “Where’d you go?”

“Sorry.” Yoongi offers a faint smile and not much else, and goes quiet again, watching you watch him with a slight frown and something he can’t put a name to in your eyes. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m okay.”

He listens as you tell him about your dream, just one that reoccurs, stuck in a loop like he’s been for the past week. In your dream you’re no longer standing on the outskirts of a memory, but right in the middle of it playing the part of the woman that met her end.

Once the food was finished you both stay at the table, not quite sure what to do now.

“Have any idea what it might be?” You ask softly and Yoongi can only shake his head.

“Trauma response, maybe.” He mutters, leaning back into his chair, “...What if we check the fair? It’s supposed to be here still, we might be able to find something out. Or at least a way to stop the dreams?”

You perk up, “Yeah, I think that would be a good idea...” then you pause, “But...She disappeared, remember? The whole place was gone when we woke up...I’m not even sure if it was there to begin with...”

Yoongi hums, rubbing his fingers against his bottom lip in thought. That’s true, and even now it still confuses him how everything disappeared as though it was never there. It makes everything feel as though it was just a dream. With a plan in mind, both you and Yoongi leave his apartment, heading down the stairs together to his car.

Once settled in, Yoongi turns the radio on, he has a feeling you won’t be doing much talking and needs something to fill the silence before it gets awkward. The drive is a long as he remembers, out of the city and a couple miles or so before he could see the tops of the fair attractions. It’s void of fair-goers, considering it’s only eight in the morning, and the little ticket booth just outside the entrance is empty.

Yoongi shuts off the engine, setting his hands on the wheel and peers through the windshield. Further inside, from where he could see, there’s a few people – most likely staff – going about their businesses’. They don’t seem to notice you both, too busy setting up for what would probably be the last and busiest night of the fair. “Don’t suppose we could just walk through the gate, huh?”

There’s a sigh from you, “We could just be normal people and ask, you know.”

“They’re closed, they won’t let us in.” Yoongi hums, not to mention, they’d probably think you’re both crazy with the story you’d have to explain. “Or...” he unbuckles his seatbelt and steps out of the car, “C’mon.”

Around the perimeter of the fair, there’s a sparse smattering of trees. It’s not much to hide a person, much less two sneaking around, but if Yoongi remembers correctly; that strange woman’s tent was just at the edge of it. He waits until you’re out of the car, expression a little distrusting – your slightly narrowed eyes giving him a once over. He thinks nothing of taking your hand, tugging you long behind him as he moves around to the corner of the entrance, he peeks around the booth and through the chain-linked fencing. Everyone on the compound seems far enough away, no one close enough to see you two act like teenagers up to no good, one bad step away from getting arrested for trespassing. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, loud enough to make Yoongi falter the step he was about to take. He turns to you slightly, lips in a flat line, you stare at him expectantly and Yoongi wave his hand.

“I don’t know, what does it look like we’re doing?” He asks, shaking his head at you before turning around again. The first booth that’s closet to the entrance has people milling about it now, two of them carrying boxes and the other person fumbling with something in their hands.

“I am so not climbing this fence, Yoongi.” You say, and Yoongi feels the finger of your free hand poking his back.

“Obviously, shithead. You wanna get arrested?” Yoongi rolls his eyes skyward and stares for a moment, sighing. “We’re going around, now keep quiet, you’re talking too loud.”

You grumble something to yourself, and Yoongi ignores you, waiting until the folks at the booth seem busy enough not to notice you both; backs to you. He pulls you along beside him, crossing over some shrubbery and into the trees, as you both move further along, there’s more people. The trees do a good job at hiding you both, and Yoongi knows it’s not much further when he sees the bathroom’s chipping paint.     

This is a terrible idea, but Yoongi’s had worse. Though, this is very high on his list of bad decisions.

Eventually there’s a break in the chain link fence, where the shrubbery and the sparse trees meet the edge of the compound. The space where he clearly remembers the tent being, is unsurprisingly empty.

“Now what?” You murmur next to him, quietly even though there’s no reason for you to be whispering.

Yoongi lifts a shoulder in a shrug, “Can’t say we didn’t try...Hey-” He reaches for you as you walk past him and onto the compound. He follows – of course he does – grabbing your wrist and tugging you back a little before you can get too far. “There’s nothing here.”

Yoongi scans the area anxiously, knowing his luck, someone’s bound to see you both standing here in broad daylight. It’s unnervingly quiet, save for the faint sounds of people around the compound doing their jobs.

Something settles in your expression that Yoongi doesn’t like, as you stare at the empty lot. There’s a furrow between your brows, teeth worrying at your bottom lip. Yoongi understands, he wants this over with as much as you do. He wants a night where his dreams don’t disturb the little sleep he can catch on a normal day. Not stuck in some endless loop of mishaps.

Yoongi releases his hold, keeping an eye out while you figure out whatever is going on in your head. He wants to ask, not let you sink too far, but shakes his head instead, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

It took a second to realise there was something more in there than his car keys. Small and sleek and making the hair on the back of his neck raise. Yoongi takes a breath, settling his nerves before pulling the item out of his pocket. By now, he’s used to it – stranger things have happened – but it doesn’t change the fact that he left the stupid card on his dresser.

The gold letters and design of the Lover’s card glimmers against the sunlight. The couple on the card stands in a beautiful, fertile landscape, reminiscent of the Garden of Eden. Behind the woman stands a tall apple tree, with a snake winding its way up the trunk. Behind the man is a bare tree in flames, and above them both is an Angel.

Yoongi doesn’t know if he expects the depictions on the card would shift the more he studies it. Or maybe, if he was really lucky, it would burst into flames in the direct sunlight and he can be rid of it. Unfortunately, Yoongi’s never that lucky. He wonders if it’s cursed, and given his luck it might as well be. Isn’t that how those silly horror movies go? Someone always ends up with a cursed object somehow.

There’s something unsettling curling in his stomach as he stares at it, and when you turn to him, he quickly tosses it. He sees it flutter to the grassy ground in the corner of his eye, and he’s certain you’d notice, too. So, he takes a wide step to reach you, offering a smile. “We should go...”

Maybe the tent would be here if you both return later. Yoongi wouldn’t be shocked if the strange woman only comes out at night.

There’s a faraway look in your eyes when Yoongi reaches for your hand, he hooks a finger into the sleeve of your sweater and tugs lightly. You blink quietly at him and Yoongi sighs softly, taking a step closer to take your hand. “We’ll come back later, okay?”

You nod minutely, and Yoongi takes the small smile you offer as a victory. Your fingers curl into his, and they’re a little cold, so Yoongi gently rubs his thumb against the back of your hand.

It takes a few steps forward before the hair on the back of his neck raises. The wind that blows by is certainly too cold for the dead end of Spring and Yoongi falters in his next step, he squeezes your hand lightly and stands still.

“Young man.”

The voice is one he remembers faintly, and he turns, tugging you behind him slightly. He’s ready to tell you to make a run for it, hand almost slipping out of yours to push you if he must.

The woman looks older in the natural light, she has more wrinkles than Yoongi remembers. Her silver hair hangs in ringlets, the dark robe like dress is the same as the last he saw her in, only now he notices the glimmering silver pattern that runs along the fabric. She still dons her many rings and dreamcatcher earrings, and a displeased frown directed at Yoongi. Behind her sits the little tent.

Despite her being the person you’d both been hoping to see; you don’t say anything and neither does Yoongi.

He glances at you for a second before looking back at the woman.

“It’s very rude to throw away what was given so graciously.” She waves a hand at the card that lies face down on the grass.

Yoongi narrows his eyes at the card and sucks his teeth before his gaze returns to the woman. “Yeah? Well, we don’t want it, so, graciously take it back.”

The woman narrows her eyes right back, not looking all too pleased, but Yoongi doesn’t care. He throws the card away and she suddenly appears? Nothing screams cursed more than that.

“.... Please.” Yoongi adds after a thought, his hand tightening around yours.

The shaman gives him a once over, eyes still narrowed before she sighs and waves a hand, beckoning you both forward. She bends down to pick up the card, straightening up to glare at Yoongi before she walks over and into her tent.

Yoongi takes a moment before following, turning to face you.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly, eyes searching your face, and he calls your name, equally as soft, squeezing your hand lightly. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“I’m okay.” You say, finally meeting his gaze with a small smile. “Let’s get this over with.”

You lead the way forward, and Yoongi watches the way your hand fits in his, smaller in every sense of the word, your fingers slotted perfectly in the spaces between his. Your hand is warmer now, and Yoongi smiles to himself.

The woman waits patiently at the tent’s entrance, holding the flap open for Yoongi and you to duck under. Like before, you both remove your shoes before stepping up onto the raised carpeted platform. Yoongi only releases your hand once you’re both seated.

“Well then.” The woman begins, sighing through her nose. She places a small cup on the table along with a small white teapot. Yoongi is immediately apprehensive, which the woman notices, “This isn’t for you, child.”

The water she pours is clear and steaming, and all is quiet as she does so. She sips her tea quietly, eyes darting between you both. She places her cup down, smiling, “You two have come quite a long way.” She says with a slight raise of her silver brow.

“We’ve been having dreams.” Yoongi says, not in any way amused, “We want them to stop.”

The dreams have been nothing but a disruption to his daily life, haunting the little hours of sleep he gets and even his waking hours he can’t escape it. He’s noticed that you’re a lot less yourself than he remembers, he doesn’t blame you, after everything, but he’s starting to miss the banter. He misses the normality.

Some days he feels guilty about it, if he hadn’t stopped then, if he wasn’t so unnervingly curious about what this woman had to say, you’d both be well as rain and stuck in the normal routine.

“The dreams aren’t my doing.” The woman says, “Souls hold onto things: regrets, anger, guilt; unfinished business.”

“I thought souls with unfinished business don’t cross over?” You finally speak up, throwing Yoongi a small glance.

Yoongi’s never really believed in that type of stuff, ghosts and things of the like, but you’re right, he knows that much.

“Sometimes.” The woman says, “Like I’ve said, this isn’t the first time for you both. Your souls are just destined to be.” She says this a little too gleefully, clapping her hands together.

Yoongi coughs, trying his best not to choke on air, and he’s quick to say something before it gets awkward. “Right…How do we get the dreams to stop?”

“That’s up to you both. There’s nothing I can do to help you.” She says seriously, picking up her cup and sipping from the tea.

Yoongi opens his mouth to say something, but your hand on top of his stops him, and he calms.

“What do you mean by it’s up to us? Is there something we have to do?”

The woman smiles at your question, a twinkle in her eyes. She lifts her hand, the Lover’s card between her fingers, and places it on the table, sliding it back over to Yoongi.

“As I’ve said; souls hold onto things.” She says, “The dreams will stop once you’ve figured it out.”

As it be, the shaman was way less helpful that Yoongi hoped. Her cryptic words had you both silent on the drive back to his apartment, and he mulls over them as he pulls two bottles of water from his refrigerator.

It’s frustrating enough to think about, and Yoongi decides to think on it later, walking back to the living room where he left you.

“I think I understand what she meant...”

Ah, later is now, he supposes.

You look up at him from your spot on the couch, brows slightly furrowed.

“Oh yeah?” He passed you one of the bottles, “what, then?”

You hum, taking the bottle from him and looking off to the side in thought, “Their deaths...I remember feeling really sad and angry, but mostly sad.”

A sudden, unexpected wave of guilt washes over Yoongi. It’s something that doesn’t belong to him, but it affects him all the same.

“She didn’t want him to leave and he did.”

“...Yeah.” Yoongi mutters, sitting next to you. He lifts his thumb to lips, biting through the nail. He pulls too hard and hisses, looking down at his now bleeding finger. He picks at the nail that just hangs there, trying to pull the little strip off the flesh it clings to.

“Stop that.” You smack his hand away, “You’ll make it worse.”

Yoongi watches as you fish out your keychain, a small nail clipper hanging with the keys.

“It’s my fingernail.” Yoongi rolls his eyes, but lets you take his hand anyway.

You carefully clip the offending piece of nail away, and examine the rest of his fingers. You click your tongue against your teeth. “You barely have nails to bite on, you’re not doing yourself any favours.”

Shaking your head you tuck your keychain back into your pocket, “Do you have band aids?”

Yoongi stares at you while you take his other hand to look at, muttering about his terrible habit. The warm sunlight streaming in through the window makes you glow and he can’t look away, even when you lift your head and meets his gaze.

“It doesn’t need a band aid.” You’re quiet for a moment as you stare back, and Yoongi realises that right at this moment, there’s a shift.

Something that wasn’t there before – or perhaps he hadn’t taken notice – pokes a finger into his heart and tugs.

“Yes, it does...” You say softly, sounding a little distracted.

“That’s a waste of a band aid.”

“It isn’t. I’ll put one on so you don’t go at it again.” You release his hand and Yoongi feels like he’s been pulled out of a daydream, blinking up at you as you stand and stare at him expectantly.

“I have nine other fingers, you know.” He can’t help the small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, and you take his teasing in stride.

“Well, let’s hope you have nine more band aids.” Your smile is all teeth and Yoongi rolls his eyes, telling you he keeps the first aid kit in the bathroom.

“What do you think they’re holding onto?” You ask from the living room two hours later. The TV is a soft murmur in the background, and Yoongi stands in the kitchen making sandwiches because he doesn’t feel like cooking is worth slaving over the stove right now.

He’s making sandwiches.

“How do you usually feel after your dream?” He asks back, “Also, what kind of sandwich do you want?”

“Whatever’s fine,” There’s some shuffling, “And, I don’t know. I’d say sad, but I’m usually terrified, like I’m waking up from a nightmare.” Your voice is softer now and Yoongi can barely hear you, but he catches on pretty quickly.

Between the both of you, Yoongi would say he got off easy. He thinks he’d be much worse if he’d been dreaming the death of his past self on repeat. He honestly wonders how you do it; you’re as strong as they come.

Yoongi spends a few more minutes putting the sandwiches together and cutting them in halves. He puts the plate on a tray with two glasses of apple juice and walks back to the living room. “You said whatever’s fine, so don’t give me any shit for—”

You’re curled up on his couch, hands tucked under your head; asleep. Yoongi sets the tray down on the coffee table and then goes to his room for a blanket. You look peaceful, and Yoongi can only hope you stay that way. He can’t see the sadness in your eyes with them closed and recent, your expression calm and for the first time today you actually look like you’re here. Not off in your head somewhere else.

He throws the blanket over you, making sure you’re well covered before sitting on the floor. He’s finishing his portion of the sandwiches and reaching for a glass of juice when you suddenly jerk.

Yoongi pauses to look at you, and you seem fine for a moment, and then in the next there’s an expression of pain and you’re breathing too harshly.

Yoongi reaches for you, grasps your arm and gently shakes. “Y/n.” He calls, you don’t respond, and he tries again, “Y/n, wake up.”

He’s careful not to lean over you like the last time, lest you spring upwards and he’d be left nursing a headache. He’s at your side, shaking you a little harder now. “Y/n! Wak—”

Your eyes open and then you’re panicking. Your other arm wriggles out of the blanket, Yoongi’s unable to catch it before your hand smacks him right on the nose, forcing him to let go of the other one as you raise to sit up.

“Y—hey! Relax, relax! It’s just me.”  He grabs your flailing hands, pinning them at your sides, “Y/n. It’s me.”

You still look like you’re asleep as you watch him with some confusion, eyes glazed and glossy, and Yoongi’s not sure what to do when you call his name softly and the first tear falls. He’s up on his knees and pulling you towards him in an instant.

You cry and Yoongi feels his throat tighten and the telling sting behind his eyes. He holds you to him with a gentle hand at the back of your neck and the other rubbing circles against your back.

“I’m sorry.” He says, and he isn’t sure why, he has nothing to apologize for. There’s that guilt again, swelling in his chest and he can only tighten the hold he has on you. “I’m sorry.”

When you pull away the collar of his shirt is damp, and you muster a smile that looks tired. Yoongi’s looking at you, but he swears he doesn’t see you. Instead, there’s a young woman in silk, she’s sad but she’s smiling.

“Its okay.”

Yoongi blinks and she’s gone, and you’re fussing over his bruised nose and damp shirt. He catches your hand before you can poke at his nose again, he’s not even registering the dull throbbing of it. “Are you okay?”

You don’t meet his gaze and your other hand is wiping at the wet spot you left in his shirt. “There’s snot on your shirt.”

“That’s what soap and water is for; I’ll wash it. Answer the question.”

You nod slowly, “I’m okay.”

Yoongi stares for a moment, fingers tensing just slightly at the back of your neck as he realises that this is how you wake in your apartment – alone. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Your gaze flicker downwards, looking at his nose again, though he’s not quite certain.

“Okay.”

His phone chimes from where he left it on the floor, and he makes sure you’re fine before he turns to retrieve it.

Seokjin: I’m coming over.

“Oh great.” Yoongi mutters, unlocking his phone to send a reply back when the sound of his door unlocking fills the quiet space.

“I’ve been trying to get through to you for days, Yoongi.” Seokjin says from the entryway and Yoongi’s trying to process the fact that he was already outside when he texted. “You don’t call for love or money, you don’t even text! And I thought: Hey, maybe I should check on him so I know he isn’t dea—”

Seokjin pauses at the living room entrance, quiet now, blinking silently at you for a long moment before he looks at Yoongi, and back to you again.

“Am I interrupting?” Yoongi could see the smile he’s failing to hide, before it falls completely, expression shifting. “Were you two fighting again? Why are you crying, Y/n? And you, what happened to your nose?”

“We weren’t fighting.” Yoongi says, and turns to find that you did start crying again. “You said you were okay.”

Neither of you see it, but Seokjin is simply standing there, not too sure what he’s looking at. Eyes darting between the both of you, he feels like he’s missed something.

“I’m fine.” You say softly, smiling.

Seokjin is quiet for a moment longer, then clears his throat. You and Yoongi both look at him, “I’m glad you’re here, though, Y/n. As weird as that is to say...” He whispers the last part more to himself and then shakes his head, “Anyway, get changed! We’re going somewhere!”

“At least it’s not a fair.” You mutter, and Yoongi nods sleepily; the day’s finally catching up to him. He thinks he’d best stay away from those for a long time.

Yoongi’s not too sure why Seokjin insisted you both come out only to drag you two all around the mall for half of the afternoon, where the others had appeared, saying something about you both needing fresh air.

You all sat through a movie— Yoongi barely remembers it – with too salty popcorn and drinks, and now you’re at a table outside the arcade centre in the mall. He could see Jungkook running around the arcade with Taehyung and Jimin at his heels, with an armful of plushies from the claw machine.

Yoongi’s sharing a pizza with you, Seokjin is somewhere about, and Hoseok and Namjoon are laughing at something on the latter’s phone.

Yoongi leans his head against your shoulder, pizza slice still in his hand and chewing lazily.  He’s tired, and he’d sleep right there if you’d let him.

“Tired?”

Yoongi answers with a soft grunt, lifting his head to bite at the pizza. Hoseok and Namjoon are quiet amidst the noise of the arcade and the other mall goers.

“Are you guys dating now?” Hoseok asks and Namjoon smacks him, “What? I’m just asking what everyone is thinking! We don’t see them for two weeks and they’re all buddy-buddy!”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Jungkook dumps a large clear plastic bag with prizes on the table, “They’ve been like that since they disappeared at the fair.”

“They are right here.” Yoongi grumbles, dropping the pizza crust into the box. “You guys assume too much.”

“Assumptions are possibilities!” Seokjin takes the seat next to you, poking at Jungkook’s bag, “Did you rob the machine or something?”

Yoongi groans, “I’m going home. I’m too tired for this.”

He takes your hand and pulls you after him when he stands, waving to the boys. “See you guys.”

Taehyung and Jimin come out of the arcade as you both pass by.

“I’m sure there’s an explanation for that, one that makes sense.”

“Yeah, we stepped into an alternate universe.”

Yoongi takes you back to his apartment, because he doesn’t want you to be alone, and he tells you as much. It’s the reason you give back to him when he told you he’d sleep on the couch.

Now Yoongi’s laying in his bed with his heart somewhere in his throat. You’re an inch and a half away from him and you smell like his shampoo.

“Yoongi, are you awake?”

“No.”

He’s wide awake actually. Sleep just ran away and left him staring at his ceiling. He hears you chuckle softly.

“If I wake you later, I’m sorry.”

Yoongi turns on his side, he can’t see you in the dark and he searches for your hand with his. When he finds it, he squeezes gently, running his thumb softly over your knuckles. “That’ll be okay.”

You shift closer and Yoongi holds his breath. You tuck yourself against him and Yoongi’s heart does a thing; it stalls for a second and then it kicks. He’s not sure what to do with his free hand, so he takes a breath and settles it against the back of your neck, fingers playing with the soft hair at your nape.

“Thank you.” You mutter.

“For what?” Yoongi mutters back.

“For not letting me be alone.” You say, and Yoongi softly squeezes your hand. He tilts his head down, pressing a gentle kiss to your hairline that lingers. Despite everything, laying like this with you feels natural, like something he’s missed and he wonders which part of him missed it.

“Thank you for doing the same.” Yoongi smiles, “You don’t have to be, ever. We can do this every night if you want to.”

“Really?” You ask, and Yoongi feels you laughing, “Guess we’ll never beat the assumptions.”

Yoongi snorts, “Guess not.”

You’re quiet for a moment and Yoongi thinks you’ve fallen asleep, but you speak quietly again.

“You didn’t tell me what you feel after your dreams.”

“That’s because you fell asleep before I could.” Yoongi closes his eyes, “Do you want to know?”

“I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.” Yoongi pokes his finger into the side of your neck in warning; he’s too tired for your snark right now.

“Sadness and a lot of guilt.” He feels light a weight lifted off his shoulders as the words leave him, and he sighs, “Y/n?”

You hum and Yoongi squints at the darkness behind you. “Do you think she was right? About our souls, I mean.”

“Which part?” You chuckle, and Yoongi feels you shift. His eyes are adjusted enough to the dark that he can see you.

“About our souls being destined.” It feels silly to ask, considering everything that’s been happening. It makes him think about why you both started out the way you had.

Perhaps, your minds hadn’t been able to process what your souls were feeling, and somewhere, confused it. Maybe that’s why all you both had done was step on each other’s toes.

You hum softly, “It would explain a few things.”

Yoongi gets the feeling that you’re not actually talking to him, but he nods anyway.

“Where does that leave us then?”

“We can see where it takes us?” Yoongi says after a moment, hand moving from the back of your neck to cup your cheek, “Only if that’s okay...”

“Mhm, that’s okay.” He feels you smile and then you’re whispering, “Yoongi?”

“Why are you whispering?” Yoongi whispers back, smiling too. “What is it?”

“Is it okay if I kiss you?”

When he swallows then it’s audible even to him, “twenty minutes into cuddling and you want to kiss me? What am I gonna do with you?”

You whine his name softly, Yoongi finds it endearing and he relents, “Yes, that’s okay.”

When your lips meet his, it feels as though the earth stopped spinning for a second, and something inside Yoongi had finally returned to the place it was supposed to be.

When Yoongi falls asleep not five minutes afterwards, his sleep was dreamless.

Tagging: @blog-name-idk @euphoricfilter @luaspersona @eoieopda @bangtansmauyeondan @taestefully-in-luv @mssukeyna @madbutgloriouspond @dontstoptime @allhobbitstoisengard @eren-fall @xpeachesncream

Sequel tag: @potazaas @yourmomis14eh @petalsofink @princxssly82 @olyd @secfir @borareadsfic @jjkreads

[kaelohver]

Omg i love your work<333

Can i request a Chuuya x reader but the reader is dazai's relative or smthgg

Awh thank you! Ofc, hope u enjoy and don’t mind them being hcs. I decided to make the reader Dazai’s sibling but if you’d like another version just request another one that’s more specified ^^

@KAELOHVER

CHUUYA WITH A S/O THAT’S DAZAI’S SIBLING

•CHUUYA NAKAHARA

-Chuuya isn’t particularly one to judge but If you’re Dazai’s sibling he may be a bit sceptical of you at first.

-It depends on your personality on how well you get on but if you’re like Dazai, he’ll be a bit more tolerant of you despite your personality thanks to him being used to the idiot that you call your brother.

-He’s quite polite; he won’t just insult someone unless it’s justifiable in his eyes so being Dazai’s sibling could mean you’re either just like each other or the opposite so partly as I said earlier, it really does depend on you as a person if he’ll start calling you weird nicknames as insults.

-If he likes you, he’s not gonna be in denial but he’ll be hesitant to make romantic advances at first.

-He’s not a coward, by all means, so he will ask you out eventually but he’d try to keep it from your brother as well as he could.

-But being Dazai, he’ll find out pretty fast.

-Dazai would probably follow you whilst you’re on a date then pop out of nowhere and say “You guys are hanging out? Why didn’t you invite me?” as if he doesn’t know damn well you’re on a date.

-Very, very awkward time..

-He just acts oblivious but you both know he’s studying every part of what’s going on and won’t forget.

-When he makes some excuse for going to find someone to commit suicide with, Chuuya lets out a sigh of relief immediately.

-You probably stayed at Chuuya’s house or yours a bit more after that instead of always going out, just for safety.

-The topic can be avoided for a while but Dazai will definitely bring it up in the most out of pocket way ever.

-I wouldn’t be surprised if he was just there, sitting down and waiting for you in your home at an ungodly hour as you walk in after being with your boyfriend.

-He’d probably mess with your stuff or look around and find some hat that looks like something Chuuya would wear and place it on the counter as he waits for you.

-Scare of your life as you walk in and Dazai is just sitting on some chair with a grin (He definitely grinned when he heard you coming because he was waiting too long to keep it the whole time).

-Would start off casually but then he’d suddenly ask why you chose ‘a shortie’ for a boyfriend, somehow ignoring the way Chuuya is a mafioso too.

-Another awkward moment as Dazai gets you to admit your boyfriend being his somewhat-enemy.

-It’s sort of like a fever dream because you don’t even remember to ask how he got into your house and don’t question when he just walks out after asking tons of questions with a ‘Bye, dearest sibling!’.

-He confronts Chuuya next whilst you’re sleeping peacefully after a long day of doing things.

-You know those silly arguments they have? It’s more like that then a confrontation.

-Dazai would say something like “can you not fuck around with my sibling? They might tolerate short gingers but I totally don’t!” And Chuuya would reply with one of his signature insults which causes more chaos.

-They probably argue for like 2 hours before you pull up and drag Dazai’s ass out with an apology to your boyfriend.

-Your brother is now very sulky and will nag you all night, there is no escape.

-He’ll eventually get over it but he guesses it’s not as bad as Fyodor or something like that.

-If you have some random dinner with all three of you, Dazai will say that it’s not fair to leave him as a third-wheeler the whole time until Chuuya kicks him.

-Overall, Dazai is a big baby over it and Chuuya’s only issue is your brother. They’ll get over it but don’t expect it to stop them fighting all day.