#Trendy T-Shirt Pairings

[primalgray01]

Explore the perfect pink t-shirt pairings for men and women, curated for the fashion-forward enthusiast. Elevate your wardrobe with these stylish combinations that blend versatility and trendiness effortlessly.

[sencrose]

— COUNT YOUR BLESSINGS, I’LL COUNT MY SINS

pairing: suguru geto x f!reader

tags: DUBCON, coercion/heavy manipulation, stalking by proxy, fingering, cunnilingus, breeding, power imbalance, reader can see curses but is not a sorcerer/curse user, one mention of making reader into a mother lol

wc: 4.9k

a/n: idk what to say lol this has been in my drafts for 3 years and i’ve been working on it on and off since ‘21 so if the writing style feels all over the place it’s because it is. ao3 link here

summary: suguru usually doesn't pay any mind non-sorcerers, but when he realizes you can see the cursed spirit wrapped around him, his interest is piqued. he'll bring you to him, using less than savory methods.

To no one’s surprise, Suguru Geto, the most wanted curse user in Jujutsu society, is not a big fan of outings. Especially those in Tokyo. Then again, he promised the girls that he would take them on a day out. Nanako and Mimiko being the trendy teens they are, insisted on a day in the city. So he finds himself in some trendy cafe with overpriced drinks and photogenic food. The girls are excited of course, saying it’s something they’ve been eyeing out on Instagram for the past few months.

As soon as he steps into the cafe, he’s greeted with the sickly-sweet aroma of baked goods wafting through the air. It’s decadent and overwhelming, as if the simple act of inhaling will coat the back of his throat with syrup. It’s safe to say he won’t be ordering anything for himself but a black coffee. The walls are a rosy pink, decorated with frames of dried flowers and neon light fixtures of faux-inspirational quotes. The glass case at the front of the store has various arrays of grandiose drinks and picture-perfect desserts on display.

While the girls are dressed for the occasion, Suguru sticks out like a sore thumb in his casual attire of a loose t-shirt and jeans. He could have dressed up a bit more, but something about matching outfits with a dessert he’s not going to order doesn’t sit right with him. More importantly, the thing that sticks out most about him isn’t his outfit or the lack of photos he’s taking on his phone; it’s the unsightly worm sitting around his shoulder.

It’s for protection. Any regular citizen won’t be able to see it and if he were to be spotted by a sorcerer, it’s good to have a weapon on hand.

As he waits at a table with the girls, he can’t help but notice someone staring at him. Upon another glance, your stare isn’t necessarily aimed at him, but the creature on his shoulder. An alarm in his head is ringing, but he maintains his cool composure, not wanting to worry the girls. He can never be too careful. It may have been nearly a decade since he’s been cast aside by Jujutsu society, but he still has a death warrant above his head.

There are three options. First, you’re a jujutsu sorcerer sent to kill him. You haven’t made a move or shown any signs of calling for help, so he could rule that out. Second, you’re a curse user. Then again, you haven’t hidden your gaze. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. He can feel your eyes burn a hole into his shoulder. Any curse user worth their salt wouldn’t be so obvious. So that leaves the last option: you’re an unfortunate civilian who was born with the ability to see cursed spirits. It may be a curse to some, but to Suguru’s eyes, this was a blessing. An opportunity.

He should be disgusted with this intrigue; you aren’t a sorcerer after all. But this is different. 

Your lingering stare has nothing to do with his status as one of the most despicable sorcerers of all time, nor does it have anything to do with the false religion he runs. It has everything to do with the deformed worm wrapped around him. Suguru excuses himself from the table, as he makes his way towards you. His steps are careful, calculated, with his shoes gently tapping against the linoleum floor.

“Is something the matter?” He wears a smile on his face, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, feigning politeness. His sudden question causes you to jump, briefly taking you out of your staring contest with the creature wrapped around him.

“N-no, sorry.” You can’t bear to look him in the eye, your gaze going back and forth between the worm on his shoulder and the half-eaten dessert on your plate.

“Is there something on my shoulder?” He looks past the creature resting so casually on him. You immediately ball your hands into fists, knuckles white with how tight you’re squeezing. Regret blooms in your chest, your heart pounding so hard you can feel it in your ears. You never should have looked in his direction.

“No, I’m just… just spacing out a little. My bad.” you lie through your teeth, hoping the explanation is enough for him to leave you alone.

“No, my apologies. Enjoy your meal.” he leaves it at that, offering a wave as he walks away.

He walks back to his table with his hands in his pockets, an air of nonchalance to him. He leaves you alone, for now. That doesn’t stop him from stealing a look or two on occasion. He finds it cute, how flustered you get when your eyes match his for a split second. He can see your heart skip a beat when your body jolts a bit out of your seat.

You remind him of a helpless rabbit, the way your hand slightly trembles as you bring up your fork for a bite of your pastry. He ponders the idea of taking you apart, piece by piece, savoring your pleas and cries as if they’re part of a decadent three course meal.

A soft chuckle escapes his lips as he takes a sip of his black coffee, looking at you through half-lidded eyes.

Maybe the girls could use a mother.

—

You’re used to strange sights every now and then. It’s something nobody around you ever seemed to understand, dismissing your long-winded descriptions of horrors as an overactive imagination. You’ve since given up on explaining your visions to others, but they haven’t given up on you.

They sit on people’s shoulders, hover around their heads, and stare into your soul, as if they’re aware that their existence is a dirty little secret kept between the two of you.

Over the years, you’ve learned that the easiest way to deal with them is to treat them like an unsightly drunk: leave them alone and you’ll be left alone. Do not, under any circumstances, make eye contact. Do not acknowledge its existence no matter how scared you are. Of course, you’re not perfect; sometimes you see something so strange you can’t help but look. Especially as of late, it’s been becoming more and more difficult to hold yourself to your self-imposed standards.

It started with a small beige creature, with unsightly bulging eyes and translucent wings. It followed you everywhere, wings humming incessantly in your ear as it hovered around your shoulder. It eventually left after you refused to give it any attention, only to return with a swarm of its friends. Silence was a rarity. The noise only got louder as night approached, depriving you of a good night’s sleep.

It would be one thing if it ended there, but it only seemed to get worse as time passed by. If it wasn’t the constant buzzing, it’d be the strange things you’d find in front of your apartment door. Another deformed and wretched looking creature, sitting innocently on your welcome mat as if it has every right to be there. It burns a hole into your chest with its stare, presenting an toothy grin as it looks up to you.

By the time morning comes, it’s gone, leaving a single note in its place. It’s neatly folded in half, crisp black ink displaying a message that raises more questions than answers.

“Doesn’t it get tiring seeing them all the time? It’s only going to get worse the longer you wait. Why don’t you help me help you?”

Reading the note only adds to your sleep-deprived headache and dwelling on it isn’t going to make it better. Your eyes pass over the neat handwriting a few times before you fold it back up and leave it on your desk.

Truth be told, running on fumes for the last couple of weeks has taken a toll on you. You’ve fumbled simple tasks you’ve never messed up before;  dropping items while restocking, giving the wrong amount of change, handing over the wrong pack of smokes. It doesn’t help that your manager is quick to reprimand you, yelling his head off until his face turns red. There’s no use explaining or drawing up excuses. It’s not like he’d understand. It’s not like anyone would understand.

Your walk home is an exhausting one. Your steps and sighs are heavy, unsure how else you’re supposed to get this pressure off your chest. You would close your eyes for some relief if you weren’t convinced you’d fall asleep while walking. 

You can’t help but feel like something is watching you, or worse— following you. It’s different from the winged creatures. There’s no noise to accompany its presence but you can feel it in your bones – in the way your breath hitches, the way you're constantly looking over your shoulder for relief, but relief never comes.

A single street light flickers along the otherwise well lit street. It doesn’t feel right. It feels out of place compared to the rest of the road, but it is your normal walk home, and nothing’s ever gone wrong before.

Yet as you approach the light, the flickering becomes more erratic. It buzzes incessantly, growing louder, louder, nearly trembling until the bulb bursts into pieces.

Even with the absence of one streetlight, it shouldn’t be this dark. The road ahead fades into blackness as you walk forward. The darkness swallows everything whole. You try to walk back from where you came but the road you were walking on just seconds ago, is gone. Your hands tremble as you reach for your phone. You turn on the flashlight in an attempt to see anything. It doesn’t do much to help. 

Your heart is starting to race now as you try not to let panic set in. In all your days taking this commute, you’ve never experienced something like this before. Your fingers shake as you attempt to go through your contacts and text your coworker. You’re not too far from the store, they’re probably close by. As your finger presses on the arrow to send the message, a red exclamation point pops next to your text. Unable to send.

Was this always a dead zone?

You take a deep breath but it does little to soothe your nerves. You flash your light forward, attempting to continue your walk home, hoping that you can rest in the comfort of your bed soon. With each step you take, the air becomes uncomfortably cold as it fills your lungs. The darkness seems to be everlasting until you can barely make out a figure in the distance.

The sigh of relief seems to leave your body too soon as you start running towards it, desperate for help only for your steps to diminish upon a closer look.

A woman stands in front of you, long black hair obscuring her face with some features peeking out between the strands. Her smile looks inhuman, jagged sharp fangs unnaturally stretching out her mouth with drool leaking out of the corners. She stands disturbingly still in her disheveled white robe, her left hand bandaged and holding a pair of rusty snips.

“Am I beautiful?” she asks.

You open your mouth to attempt to answer, but fear takes over. It’s as if cotton blooms in your throat, choking you out of a proper response. Your hesitation only agitates her, as the grip around her snips tighten. The moment you’re able to blurt out an answer, the blade flies past you, grazing your cheek to draw blood.

Before you can muster a reaction, the street returns as swiftly as it disappeared, the previously flickering street lamp returned to its former glory. The woman is nowhere to be found, but you can feel the burn from the cut she’s left behind on your face.

The silence cradles you, chills you with its embrace. You turn your head, left, right, take a few steps back before looking around again. 

Any idea of a calm walk back is quickly thrown out the window. Desperation and dry air rushes into your lungs, harsh tramps slap against the pavement with a twinge of ache in your knees. Your legs burn as you push them to their absolute limit until you make it back to your apartment, clumsily scrambling through your key ring. You shake as you slam the key into the lock and turn. 

As soon as you get inside your apartment, you turn the lock with a heavy clack before collapsing onto the floor. You take a moment to recollect yourself, hand on your chest to steady your heaving as you swallow to alleviate the dryness in your throat. 

You jolt back into a panic when the sound of footsteps pass by, stopping right in front of your apartment. 

Knock. 

Your heart stills as you stare at the door. For a moment you swear it stares back.

Knock.

Time stands still as you hold your breath, desperately hoping that whoever’s outside leaves. 

A pen scribbles on your door for a moment, before the crisp sound of paper folding flits past your ears. With a gentle glide, a note slides under your door, landing right at your feet. 

“That looks like a rough cut. Are you sure you can keep living like this? What if it only gets worse? Help me help you. I can make them all disappear.” On the back is an address, which upon a quick search, leads to a monastery on the outskirts of Tokyo. 

You look back at your door, trembling as you contemplate looking through the peephole. 

With the gentlest steps you can muster, you approach the door, pressing your hand against it for balance as you look into the peephole. 

Nobody’s there. Still, you tremble. 

— 

You spend hours scouring the web to find anything about the monastery, which ends up with you on some seedy forums. Other users post about their experiences with spirits possessing them, all healed by a monk who goes by Geto-sama.

“I couldn’t get any sleep for months and Geto-sama healed me in a moment’s time!”

“This spirit was following me for weeks and I thought I was losing my mind. Geto-sama’s the only person who believed me and gave me the help I needed.”

“Geto-sama truly is a saint sent from above. He was kind and reassuring throughout the entire spirit removal process, and it was completely painless. I can finally feel like myself again.”

It’s nothing but pages upon pages of reviews saying how this Geto-sama is a miracle worker, nothing short of a God. The more you read, the more uneasy you feel. It seems too good to be true. You do your best to find something, anything resembling a bad or even neutral review, but your search is fruitless.

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, maybe it’s the burning desire for a day of peace, but after reading countless testimonials you start to believe he can help you.

Maybe you could be convinced.

—

The heel of your shoes clack louder with each step you take up the stairs leading to the monastery. A heavy sigh leaves your lips as you stare at the large wooden doors in front of you. It takes a decent amount of effort to push it open, creaking slightly as it reveals a dimly lit room.

You’re not too sure what to expect of this so-called savior. No matter how hard you looked, you couldn’t find any pictures of the man in question. None of the reviews went much into detail about the process, just that all their problems were solved. He is supposedly kind, but it doesn’t seem to dull your nerves as you stand in the dark room.

You can make out a few things: pale bamboo flooring, intricate latticework windows with dark mahogany accents, and a man wearing a Buddhist robe standing at the back of the room.

He steps towards you, his face becoming clearer as he gets closer.

“What brings you here, little one?”

You know why you’re here, but the words dissipate in your throat as it sinks in that you recognize this man. The memory rushes back into your head; the cafe, the strange worm, his confrontation, the stolen glances.

Your mind races a million miles a minute, your heart beating a little harder, a little faster. Every nerve in your body is telling you to run but fear keeps you frozen. You’re barely able to mutter a weak plea,

“P-please don’t hurt me.”

Gentle fingertips hold your chin, tilting your head up to face him.

“I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to save you.” His thumb delicately brushes against your bottom lip as he repeats himself. “Now tell me, why are you trembling so much?” Your lip quivers as he tilts your chin to meet his gaze. 

“Y-You. You’re the one that sent them after me, aren’t you? You’ve been leaving those notes at my door. I-I don’t know how but-”

He interrupts you with a melodramatic sigh.

“And what if I did?” A ball forms in your throat as you struggle to string your thoughts into cohesive sentences, only able to let out a meek, 

“Why?” Your body trembles as you take a step back. 

“Why not?” he retorts with a sly smile that sends a chill down your spine. 

“W-what do you want?” You take long steps back until your body is pressed against the door. Geto follows, making slow strides until he’s right in front of you. He’s so close you can see the rise and fall of his chest, the individual strands of obsidian that frame his face.

You try to open the door but it’s locked shut. He slowly steps towards you, your back pressing against the door.

His expression shifts, looking displeased as you struggle to escape.

“Are you leaving now?” He asks in a tone that is clearly meant to mock you, pouting his lips to feign concern. He grabs your hand as you continue your failed attempts to pull the door open. “And what are you going to do when you get home?” 

He doesn’t need to hear your answer; he can see it written on your face as your eyes shift between him and the grip on your wrist. A mix of uncertainty, fear, and helplessness. He knows he holds all the power. Who’s going to believe you? Who else can you turn to?

“Don’t you want to be saved from these evil spirits?” His hand gently caresses your cheek before sliding carefully down your neck. 

“Don’t you want to have a full night’s rest?” His hand continues to wander down, his arm wrapping around your waist. His face gets dangerously close to your face before he whispers, “To not live in fear?”

His gaze holds you still. When you can find it in yourself to look away, his hand holds your chin and forces your eyes to meet his. You shouldn’t be here – a realization you’ve made far too late. Like a snake wrapping around his prey, you’re well into his trap, ripe for the taking. There is no escape. So with a tightness in your chest, and a tremble in your voice, you let out a soft,

“Y-yes.”

“Then help me,” His fingers grab onto the zipper of your skirt before pulling it down, “help you.”

His hand slips into your underwear, slowly stroking your folds before drawing languid circles on your clit.

You try to push him away, grab his arm to move him off of you, which only causes him to tease you more. There’s nowhere to escape with Geto imposing his body onto yours, pushing you further against the wall.

“Just take what I give you and I can make them all go away.” The warmth of his breath lingers by your ear. Tension builds in your chest as you grow unsure of what to do, but there is one thing you are sure of.

You’re tired of fighting, tired of persevering. 

Your grip on his arm loosens, which he takes as an answer. 

“Don’t worry, you’re in good hands.” He looks pleased with himself, looking through you with heavy lidded eyes.

His hand moves painfully slow, his fingers occasionally slipping into your hole just to slide back out.  Your legs squeeze together at the intrusion, your breaths becoming labored the more he plays with your cunt. A soft moan escapes you, and Geto perks up upon hearing.

“Oh?” His lips form a devilish grin before slipping his fingers in all the way. “Let me hear more of you.” 

He scissors his fingers inside you, his thumb reaching to play with your clit. The stretch drives you insane as you lean your head back to let out a shaky moan. He slowly starts to pump his fingers inside, lewd sounds of his fingers pumping your wet cunt echoing in the empty room. 

You hate how good it feels. His fingers reach places you never could, fill you up more, and hit that special spot that has you seeing stars with startling accuracy. You cover your mouth with your hand, embarrassed at the obscene noises escaping you only for Geto to move it away.

“Don’t make me repeat myself. I want to hear more of your cute voice.” He looks into your eyes with a piercing gaze before picking up the pace. You can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, but Geto’s hand grips your cheeks before turning your head to face him.

The debauched expression on your face sends blood flowing to his cock. He wants to see more: your face contorting from pleasure, the bounce of your tits as he fucks you, his cum leaking out of your poor quivering hole. Just the thought is enough to drive him crazy. His other hand makes its way to your clit, drawing tight circles. You can’t hold back your moans, the tension in your core building as he continues to fuck you with his fingers. 

“G-Geto-sama!” Your hands clench into the fabric of his robe, desperate for balance as your orgasm washes over your body.

“That’s more like it.”

Once his fingers are out of you, you slide against the wall before dropping onto the floor. Your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest; you’re not sure if you can take any more. 

“There’s more work to be done.” Geto smirks as he looks at his hands, admiring the way your arousal glistens on his fingers. 

He slides the top of his robe off his shoulders, revealing his toned arms and hints of a chiseled body. His hands press on your inner thighs to spread your legs before him. Heat rushes to your face as you try to close them shut, only for him to spread them apart further. 

“Don’t be shy.”

With the grace, or lack of, that’s unbecoming of a monk, he buries his face into your cunt. His tongue feels foreign as he licks your folds before making his way to your clit. Unlike the cool and composed air he had when he was fingering you, the way he eats you out is primal. It’s filthy, how he spits on your cunt before going back in with a grin on his face.

Your back arches off the floor as he continues, tension building in your stomach with each passing moment. His hands spread your folds apart as he gets a better look at your cunt before twirling his tongue around your clit.

Your hand hesitantly hovers over his head before his hand grasps yours and presses it against his head. 

“Eager now, are we?” He laps at your juices before pressing a finger into your hole, achingly slow.

Your labored breaths become soft moans as he indulges further. His tongue makes lewd noises as he traces your folds before sucking on your clit. Tension builds in your core as he gradually picks up the pace, his fingers going faster and hitting deeper, his tongue drawing tighter circles. 

“G-Geto-sama, please I’m getting close!”

He abruptly pulls away, heavy breaths escaping him as he wipes the mixture of your arousal and his spit off his face with his sleeve.

“Then beg.”

“H-huh?” His response sends blood rushing to your face, your cheeks feel like they’re on fire.

His fingers tease your hole, shallowly inserting one in before removing it. He’s agonizingly slow and he knows it’s driving you crazy. He takes great pleasure in seeing the embarrassment strung across your face.

“G-Geto-sama… Please, please-”

“Please…?”

“Let me cum.” you whimper pathetically, attempting to rut your hips against his hands for some much needed release.

“What was that? I didn’t hear you.” He takes his hand away from your body, staring you down with a smile.

“P-please let me cum!” The words slide off your tongue with ease this time around, desperation riddling your voice.

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” The sound of shifting fabric fills your ears as he removes the rest of his garments and tosses them off to the side.

Nothing could have prepared you to see his body in its entirety. His robes did him a disservice, hiding his toned muscles, slightly glistening with a sheen of sweat. Your eyes trail over his stomach, wandering lower until they reach the base of his cock. A chill crawls up your spine, trying to fathom how something so large is going inside of you.

He catches your expression as his hand wraps around his cock, giving it a couple of pumps before lining it up with your hole. 

“Don’t be scared, little one. I promise you’ll feel good soon.” It enters you slowly, filling you up inch by inch. You’ve never felt this full, there’s no way your toys could ever compare to the real thing. The size, the warmth, the way it throbs inside you.

Geto lets out a breathy groan once he bottoms out. Your walls wrap around him so tightly, as if your body is begging him to cum inside you.

It takes every ounce of self control in his body to not rut into you at a dizzying pace. He wants to savor this, building you up only to have you fall apart in his arms. The desire to ruin you, to keep you wrapped around his finger burns hot in his chest. He steels himself before starting with slow strokes, his breathing labored. 

His hands reach for your blouse, ripping the buttons off their threads as they scatter across the floor. Deft fingers make their way to your bra, tugging down to reveal your chest. His hands are warm, almost like they’re melting into your skin as he plays with your breasts, fingers drawing circles around your nipples. Your moans only get louder as he continues to explore your body. His fingers pinch your nipples and an involuntary squeal escapes your lips. 

He leans in towards your ear before slyly whispering, “You need to be louder if you wish to be saved.”

You don’t have a chance to respond as he rams his hips into you, striking a spot that has you seeing stars. His pace is relentless, heat building in your stomach with each stroke. It’s hard to form any cohesive thoughts, much less sentences, when you’re chasing a high on his cock.

“Work harder for your salvation, little one.” he teases.  

And you do. 

You moan his name like a mantra, press your hips harder into him, chasing your own high. You bring him into an embrace, your nails scratching his back as an offering. 

“You’re holding me so tight- it’s like you want to bear my child.”

“W-wait-” Panic strikes your chest but Geto strikes his hips harder into you, cutting you off.

“Is that what you want?” he coos, gently tracing your jaw with the back of his hand before tilting your chin to face him. “That’s why you came here, right?”

You want to say no, that you came here to stop being haunted by spirits, but every part of your body is melting in pleasure, screaming yes. It’s impossible to even articulate an answer, your mouth only speaking in slurred moans and pants.

The sound of your moans is music to his ears. His lips press against your neck before biting down, earning a yelp from you in surprise. 

“I’ll give you exactly what you want.” he whispers in your ear, his hips striking into you harder. 

“W-wait, Geto-sama, please!” you attempt to plead, only to sound more like a sultry moan. 

“I’ve waited long enough,” he groans into your ear. 

His dizzying pace is hard to resist, as you feel yourself getting close. With a few more thrusts you feel your walls clamp around him, waves of ecstasy washing over your body. Geto follows soon after with a choked moan, warmth filling your insides. 

Geto removes himself from you shortly after, admiring the way his seed leaks from your hole. 

As he revels in the mess he’s made of you, he’s already conjuring up plans to bring you back to him. How should he torture you next? What pathetic expression will you wear when you seek his help? 

You’ll be back soon enough. He’ll make sure of it.

[savkirschtein]

AOT character & their personal fashion styles

characters : Eren Jaeger, Mikasa Ackerman, Armin Arlert, Jean Kirschtein, Connie Springer, Sasha Braus, Marco Bodt

warning: all of these are just purely based off of my personal insight and views of the characters and how i think they’d dress today

🪩🥡🪐🎸🎧

Eren Jaeger: 🎱🌪️🩻⛓️

based off of season 4 Eren

i picture Eren in todays world really rocking with a minimalist street style

he’s all for comfort and breathability in his clothing and his style reflects that

a closet full of loose fitting boxy t-shirts

LOVES the cold months so he can layer his hoodies and leather jackets

while also sporting the slutty tightly fitted black shirt grey sweat pant combo every now and then

maybe even just walking out his apartment with a wife pleaser and baggy jeans on as a fit alone

all paired with sneakers, small silver hoops, and a chain of some sort

Mikasa Ackerman: 🍒💿📷🃏

we all know for a fact that Mikasa can DRESS

she just has an eye for fashion and has a unique style of her own

one that isn’t over the top, in terms of being a spectacle, but just well put together and tailored to HER. a girl you 110% give a second glance

she is a girlie who LOVES wearing any skirt whether it be long, midi, mini or knee length she LOVES them

most of her pieces are pretty free flowing with lots of different silhouettes

absolutely loves a good leather boot, pair of mary janes, or platform loafers

she literally could wear a trash bag and make it look like it’s the next trend

and has a huge collection of baggus

Armin Arlert: 🎧📘🍵☁️

Armin will literally never be free of the soft light academia aesthetic

the cable knit sweaters, soft cardigans, and sweater vests will forever have a hold on him

but what college boy Armin loves more than anything is a good quarter zip or quarter button up

or a nice casual white and blue striped button up

almost all of his clothing is soft and warm materials

definitely withholds the cute boy in the library title

Jean Kirschtein: 🪐👁️‍🗨️⚡️🌉

will live and die on the hill that Jean is a Carthartt guy

his look is a casual-relaxed but clean one

he’s all for clothing that is durable and will last him forever

Jean’s style is honestly super basic but NOT boring

although Jean’s style isn’t one that is made to make it hard to look away from its one that really just compliments him well

loves a good hefty Dickies or Carthartt jacket, basic white t-shirt, or a loose button up over a tank top

while wearing a variety of rings, with small hoops and a chain

his clothes compliment his strongly built and lengthy body well, which is why although they are basic, it isn’t boring

Connie Springer: 🎧💽☄️🩻

Connie is a literal fashionista

he probably is tiktok famous for his fit check videos and adventures at the thrift stores

the street style aesthetic was MADE for Connie

knows how to put pieces that may not look ideal together into a cohesive fit

LOVES JORTS and swears he made them trendy again

and wearing jerseys of teams he has no clue of , but it’s for the fit so who cares

Sasha Braus: 🍰🪩🗽🧸

the DEFINITION of downtown girl or coming of age movie in a city aesthetic

Sasha lives for the nostalgia of 90s pieces and it shows in her clothing

comfort is also a huge factor that plays into Sasha’s outfits

color is another component that makes Sasha’s outfits HER outfits

LOVES a good brown leather jacket

Sasha honestly though has a hard time sticking to just ONE specific style and will wear whatever feels good for her

Marco Bodt: 🍙🪴♠️🍊

Marco is a soft boy at heart but he’s traded in the traditional sweaters vests for hardy collared jackets

he absolutely LOVES PLAID

and loves layering his button ups with his worn out thrifted jackets

has a more warm palette in terms of colors and leans more towards earthy tones

super casual in his shoes though sticking to good tried and true high top converse, sambas, or loafers if he's feeling fancy

[jo-harrington]

Standard Operating Procedures 1.05 (Eddie Munson x Store Manager!Reader)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: It's a normal Sunday night. You're just going over to have dinner, smoke, and listen to music. It's not a date. What could possibly go wrong?

Previous Part: Standard Operating Procedures 1.04

Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. Reader works at the Claire's at StarCourt. Eddie works at TapeWorld. Mutual pining, alcohol and drug use (wine, beer, and weed), R has a minor panic attack while high, fluff, lighthearted smut (petting/groping/dry humping), minor angst, misunderstandings and miscommunication, driving probably a little under the influence, slight anachronism (slapping the bag)

Note: Big note for this one if you've read the most recent installations of SMVerse that I've posted...this is NOT in chronological order. SM and Eddie are not together in this one, we are rewinding back before Closing Time. This chapter and the next one are both a little longer and have been lingering in my head for quite a long time. Almost a year. So without further ado, please enjoy SOP 1.05.

You can find my masterlist here for more featuring our resident Store Manager and all of my other writing.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

Sundays were your favorite days, hands down.

They sort of always had been, even before moving to Hawkins. Now, though, you had an extra special reason why they were your favorite.

Sundays meant that you could be yourself after you clocked out. They meant standing in the mirror and wiping away the layers of glitter eyeshadow and scented nail polish off. They meant shedding the overly sparkly jewelry from work and the trendy clothes from the JCPenney or Madigan's Juniors department that were definitely cut for a teenage body.

No matter how young you still were, you just weren't sixteen anymore.

You could finally breathe a little easier.

No more Dress to Impress, no more preppy popular girl, no more customer service voice.

Sundays meant freedom.

Lately, part of that freedom meant walking out of the store, taking the most freeing breath you could, and walking right up to your crush best friend so you could spend those last few dying hours of the weekend together.

Shooting the breeze, laughing, and getting to know one another. Getting to really see one another.

Tonight, though, there was just this cloud hanging over you as you stood in the store's bathroom after hours and shucked off the plaid vest and fashionably unmatched skirt you'd chosen for the day in favor of a t-shirt and comfy stirrup pants.

Summer was over, school was back in session, and you hadn't gotten to see Eddie as much as you normally did.

Which, in the grander scheme of things, a lot of things changed with the new school year starting: a bunch of your associate's schedules changed, a few of them even left town for college, and business started to slow a little during the week for the first time since the store opened.

Still, you missed him.

It felt weird from practically seeing him every day to only seeing him in passing or on the weekends.

What if he didn't want to be friends anymore?

Well, that was just silly. Some remnant of fear about the fickleness of your friends memories in childhood. Besides, the first shift after school started back up, he immediately came running to your store and talked your ear off about the new kids that he forced to join Hellfire.

"God, they're such losers," he reminisced with a sparkle in his eye and a smile on his lips. "They have so much potential. I can't wait for you to meet them."

Tonight though...

Tonight was like any normal night; you were getting together after the mall closed and picking up pizza.

However, instead of any of your usual haunts or shenanigans in and around Hawkins, Eddie insisted you come over to his place. Totally normal.

"And we can smoke," he added as an afterthought.

"You know I don't smoke Eddie," you reminded him. "My grandpa and his crackly lungs? I've taken him to enough doctor's appointments."

"Doesn't stop you from sucking up the air around me when I'm having a cigarette on break. No. I mean smoke. Reefer. Weed. Jesus, don't act ignorant Miss Goody Two Shoes."

"Excuse me," you choked. "How am I Miss Goody Two Shoes?"

"Because," he began with dramatic emphasis. "For all of your stories about garage beers and parties that your work friends dragged you to, you've never mentioned partaking in any sort of illicit substances. You're being obtuse on purpose or you're afraid."

You were caught like a deer in the headlights.

"I...I'm not."

And you weren't; it wasn't fear. It was just...inexperience.

Back home you were always careful, even when you hung around friends from school or work; with your overprotective father and uptight mother and two brothers who wouldn't hesitate to rat you out if they found out you broke some kind of rule? It would be over.

So you never got too wild at parties. Disheveled clothes could be straightened, and you could pretend that swollen lips were just a side effect of getting a little sick. You never drank more beer than whatever made you feel a little floaty if you weren't sleeping over at a friends. And you never smoked weed.

Ok so it was fear, in a way; residual fear. Just not the way Eddie thought.

"Hey, don't worry," Eddie said in the most understanding way he could. "You just tell me and I'll drop it, if you're afraid."

You wanted to tell him, wanted to explain it, but in a moment of reflection and wanting to assuage his worries, defiance got the better of you and you told him that you weren't afraid and it would all be fine.

You were going to be with him; you never needed to be afraid when you were with him.

Now though, staring at yourself in the mirror as you got ready to go and meet Eddie you realized you might have made a mistake.

Hanging out with your crush friend alone at his place? Fine. Sitting close on the couch as you ate pizza and listened to music? Cool. Drinking and smoking together, knowing that you got a little bit chatty when you loosened up a little bit under the influence? Uhm.

What could possibly go wrong?

---

The spread that you and Eddie had created was impressive.

Pizza and a six pack and red vines and...and...and...

Eddie was usually very thorough when it came to providing snacks or planning outings where you could get a nice little treat together. Tonight it was partially your fault.

You'd originally planned just to drive to his place after work and the pizza would be delivered, but he said that when he'd called to place the order at Lou's--large pepperoni and a box of cannoli--they told him that the delivery driver was out. Takeout only.

But then he also forgot to stop at Bradley's for soda.

So you offered to go to Bradley's while he picked up the pizza, and you might have gone overboard.

Soda and a box of wine and peanut m&m's and...and...and...

"And you say that I'm bad," Eddie scoffed as you walked in, arms laden with shopping bags.

"Excuse me, this is the once in a blue moon you let me pay for anything, I'm gonna take advantage of it."

Wayne was still home getting ready for his shift when you got there and he simply shook his head at your bickering with a fond smile, then pilfered a little of everything for his own dinner before leaving you both to it.

Once he was gone, the festivities began.

You were both overzealous, talking a mile a minute over each other about your days as you set up for the night. Eddie divvied out food--creating a plate that reminded you of the Peanuts' Thanksgiving feast, overflowing with multicolored candies and popcorn and pizza slices--as you took care of the drinks.

You were a little smug that you got to teach Eddie something during these little Sunday night not-dates for once.

"Where did you learn this?" he asked skeptically as you ripped into the cardboard box. "What even is Franzia? Sounds fancy."

"It is the least fancy thing you can get," you grinned maniacally and freed the floppy plastic bag full of pink liquid from its confines. "Honestly I should have thrown it in the fridge but it's fine. You can put it with some coke; it'd probably taste better anyway."

He made a face.

"I'll just have a beer."

"Oh my--Eddie! Live a little." You settled the bag on the coffee table and gestured to it. "You don't have to drink it...chug a beer, I don't care...but you need to slap it."

He huffed and shuffled across the carpet on his knees to settle beside you.

"Is this a Claire's thing?" he asked, he looked up at you through his bangs.

"No it's not a--well...no. It doesn't matter! My old store manager, Jen, made us do it whenever we went to parties and hung out at her place. It's fun."

"Why does this feel like a lie?"

You reached out and smacked your hand against the plastic, listened to the liquid slosh inside. He let out a long suffering sigh but gestured for you to go ahead and he settled on the floor as you squealed with glee.

Eddie popped the little tab on the spout and the cheap wine poured freely into his mouth; he maintained eye contact with you the whole time, even as he choked on the unfamiliar taste of the pink zinfandel.

When you'd hung out with Jen and your coworkers and friends, it was just...a silly thing. Now, though, it was just you and Eddie; you stood over him with the bag gently held in your hands over his mouth and his hand rested on your calf as he drank. It was tense and intimate and as you started feeling a little hot under the collar, you wondered if this was a mistake.

Regardless, when he'd had his fill, he shut the spout and raised his hand and slapped the bag so hard it soared out of your grasp and across the living room.

You both burst out laughing as it swished and sloshed with a pronounced glorp on impact with the floor, and Eddie collapsed against your legs as the giddiness got the better of him.

"Ok, that's better than a keg stand." He looked up at you and wiped a hand over his mouth. "Blagh...probably gonna need that coke if I have any more though. Your turn, sweetheart."

Then the tables were turned, but unlike Eddie, you stood toe to toe with him as he held the bag for you.

To avoid the tense eye contact, you kept yours closed as you pulled mouthful after mouthful from the bag. You almost felt a little smug; you'd always been good at this, despite how awful the wine burps were gonna get after. You knew Eddie's competitive nature--always seeing who could finish a blizzard from DQ first and giving himself a brain freeze in the process--so you were hoping to last a little longer, hit the bag a little harder, and get him to concede.

You counted down in your head and finally when you couldn't take the heartburn the wine caused any longer, you shut the spout and released it, ready for victory.

Of course, opening your eyes provided nothing of the sort.

Eddie stood there, inches away from you; his pupils were blown and he was breathing a little heavily and for a split second you thought to ask if he was ok.

Until he leaned a little closer.

Close enough where you could smell the laundry detergent and the general amalgamation of mall scents coming off of him.

Then you noticed that his eyes were locked onto…your lips?

Was he gonna kiss you?

You already thought…well…and in the van the other week? When he licked frosting off your hand? You'd thought...

Except that was the thing, you always thought, you never acted. Too stuck in your head weighing and judging the options and if you could just do something about it. If you could just lean forward a little, you could stop worrying and have your answer right?

And if it wasn't meant to be and things were weird? If he didn't actually mean to try and kiss you? You worked retail; you could bullshit with the best of them if worse came to worse.

Then you'd just pretend that your heart didn't ache from rejection for the duration of your friendship. You were already familiar with disappointment; this would be no different.

Alright, that's it, you weren't gonna chance it anymore. All the worrying you did back at the store was enough. You were just gonna kiss him. Just lean forward; just go. Just go. One, two...two and a half...

Eddie's eyelids fluttered a little bit, and your heart clenched in hope, until he leaned away and cleared his throat.

The wine bag was tossed onto the coffee table and Eddie gestured to the plates he'd prepared.

"So, pizza?"

---

Music was the next event of the night.

And the weed.

Funny how all of your anxiety over smoking flew out the window when you were anxious about something else.

Because you just couldn't get your feelings out of your head after Eddie walked away from a kiss like that.

Was it even going to be a kiss? Or was it just the awkwardness of your positions in that situation? Were you overthinking the overthinking?

On and on those thoughts spiraled.

Until Eddie said he was going to get his stereo to start your comprehensive education of metal.

"We really don't have all night Eddie," you said and threw a balled up napkin at him as he fiddled with his tapes.

"Ok, maybe not fully comprehensive," he held his hands up in surrender. "Nothing sounds better than vinyl and I have all of that at Rick's. And my mom's records. You wanna talk about classics? We've gotta spend a whole weekend there."

He put a tape into the slot and hit play and the room was immediately filled with guitar riffs and singing and shouting; he turned the volume down immediately.

"I've gotta give you the whole history sweetheart," he explained. "So you've gotta hear me too. This song's not so important...I'll turn it up when we get to the good part."

Of course, Eddie's music history lesson...started with him.

"Picture this," he said, arms waving as he walked over to his school things that had been haphazardly thrown in a corner of the room: a wilted canvas backpack, a black binder, and a dented metal lunchbox. "11-year old me, fresh after my mom's funeral and everyone she knew was coming up to us but I refused to talk. Wayne kept making excuse after excuse. But Rick, bless him, said 'gotta make him cry.'"

And on he went as he spilled the contents of the dented lunchbox on the coffee table and began the fine work of rolling a joint.

"Took me to the record store, let me pick out whatever I wanted. Of course I chose Sad Wings of Destiny because the art was cool. Little did I know that would change the course of my life forever."

You didn’t know what to focus on and that made you spiral a little bit further. The words, the music, his lips and his fingers as he followed steps that he seemed to know but didn't feel the need to elaborate on were all very appealing targets; the music and his story was what was important here though and you made the attempt.

He told his story in a way that only Eddie Munson knew how to—arms flailing, minute details, expressions and voices and everything you loved admired about him. He took a moment to swap cassettes and crank up the volume before he fell onto the couch beside you in a mess of cushions and limbs and hair.

"I would say ladies first," he began as he presented the joint to you. He then stuck it between his lips and continued talking around it. "But I'm nothing if not a gentleman and I need to teach you how to do this. It's a little different than cigarettes."

It was a comprehensive lesson and you'd gotten the hang of it quickly, but the proximity did nothing to help calm your nerves; Eddie's knee touching yours, his face and hands so close to yours as he held the joint to your lips, then one hand your shoulder as he soothed the cough that escaped you after your first hit, and finally the way he inhaled along with you as you took another.

Want burned in your lungs along with the smoke, but it didn't leave you when you finally exhaled.

You were very much looking forward to the light and mellow feeling that Eddie promised once the weed hit your system.

"Until then," he grinned and took another hit himself before dropping the smoldering stick into a nearby ashtray. "We just dive into the mind of the great Ronnie James Dio."

You rested back against the cushions and turned your head to really watch him; it was strange just...observing him. You had never done it like this before, close and quiet at this distance. Your time together was always spent with conversation and laughter, your observations and mental notes about him done in little snapshots as he moved through life like a blur.

Now you got to experience the simplicity of his presence in private and the addictive frequency that he emitted.

It was nice.

You watched the way his lashes brushed against his skin as he melted into the sofa beside you and closed his eyes. The way his plush lips pursed and then stretched as he hummed along to the music. You closed your own eyes for a second as he matched the sharpness of the lyrics with his voice, hushed and then shrill, and then hushed again.

And when you opened them back up to watch him some more, he was watching you and practically vibrating.

Your heart skipped a beat...

"Sweetheart," he reached out and touched your wrist. "You ok?"

Wait...he wasn't vibrating.

You were.

Then you noticed that your heart skipped many beats, then the beats suddenly tripled, and then it all slowed again, pounding harder and faster in your chest than you believed to be possible.

Did your chest hurt? Or were you imagining it?

It felt like the few times you ran the mile back in high school, but you hadn't run.

Had you?

Your legs felt like jelly. Your arms too.

So you must have run...but when?

No wait, you were forgetting something. Your chest, your heart, your lungs. You had to focus on them first, you needed them to live.

You tried to fix it all by taking a great gulp of air in--if you felt like you'd just run the mile, surely catching your breath would fix it--but you found that it didn't fix anything. In fact, you seemed to lose even more control of your body. You floundered, breathing heavily over and over, quicker and quicker to try and get a hold of yourself.

And the panic set in, unlike anything you'd ever experienced before in your life.

Your consciousness became untethered from your body and you sank deep within yourself. Like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. Only instead of a rabbit hole, the you that existed in your mind fell away from your eyes and deeper into your skull then out the back of it and into the so-soft cushions of the couch.

But this wasn't sinking, this wasn't melting. This was being buried alive.

You remembered Eddie’s taunting before, about being afraid of smoking. Why hadn’t you told him that you didn’t want to do this? Why hadn’t you told him you were afraid? You were a stubborn idiot and now you’d die here, buried amongst pilling fabric and lost change and lint and a few cheerios that were stuck between the cushions.

You would die here on Eddie's couch...

"Eddie!" you practically sobbed and reached out for him, remembering suddenly that he was there with you. Why wasn't he doing anything to keep you from sinking? "Help!"

"It's ok hey!" He grabbed your hands now and pulled you back from the void, hooked the tether back onto you and saved you from the depths. "It's ok, breathe. No, not like that. Slowly, deep breaths with me. In and hold it and out. Whoooooo."

You focused on the whooshing sound of the air that escaped his lips and you tried to make the same sound yourself. Over and over, slowly as he guided you.

"That's it," he smiled. "Good girl."

You slowly grounded yourself through Eddie, escaping whatever horrible clutches had just grasped at you. You began to feel better, lighter; more centered within yourself but…nicer?

Had that awful feeling been the high? Or was this?

Maybe everyone got caught by a demon when they smoked and then if they escaped they felt a nice light flutter and instead of a heavy beating heart that threatened to burst out of their chests, they felt...silly. Happy. Bubbly.

Like you did whenever you were around Eddie.

Only now it was better, and it was all getting better as he spoke to you and smiled and wiped at the few tears that had escaped your eyes.

Breathe in, breathe out. Good girl.

You kept breathing and staring at his lips.

Breathe in.

Lips.

Breathe out.

Eddie's lips.

Good girl.

You thought about earlier...minutes or hours you couldn't tell for sure...about the way Eddie leaned close to you and almost kissed you. All the worry you'd had about not being able to make a move because you were thinking so much you couldn't act. Here you were now, thinking again. When his lips were right there and you could do something about it.

With one last shaky breath, bubbly infatuation flooded your body; you smiled and said one final farewell to your nervous thoughts, and you surged forward. Your hands shook his away and grabbed at his face, as your lips slid clumsily against his.

Your noses bumped and teeth clacked painfully but it didn't quite matter because the sparks that emanated from your joined lips shot through your limbs and made you both feel tingly and pleasant. At least, you assumed they did for Eddie because he let out a sound that was somewhere in between a giggle and a moan.

But he didn't push you away; in fact, his hands clapped over yours and smushed them further into his cheeks.

He wanted you to kiss him. He wanted to kiss you. He...liked you.

It was a euphoric moment of joy and realization, but your need to put your lips on him outweighed that. So you tried again. Gentler this time.

Eddie followed your lead for a little while as you pulled him towards you; one of his hands found your waist as the other arm rounded your shoulders, and he became your anchor to prevent you from being buried by the sofa again. As thanks for his chivalry, you gifted him with soft caresses, quick pecks, and sharp little nips.

Your fingers developed a mind of their own, and seemed to love his cheekbones and getting tangled in his hair, although they couldn't quite decide which they loved more so back and forth they went.

The rest of you, though--mind and body--just basked in the kissing.

You were good at kissing; you liked kissing. And you liked kissing Eddie, more than you ever thought you would. Kissing under the light, buzzy influence of a beer or two was nice, and it might have been the weed or it could have just been Eddie himself, but this was nicer. Floaty and tingly and transcendent.

The music itself had stopped, but Eddie himself continued to provide the soundtrack to the night. Instead of guitars and vocals and pounding drums, it was a symphony of soft hums and sweet sighs.

Eddie, who often pilfered bites and nibbles off your plate and cited that he was a "growing boy," seemed to prove that his hunger was greater than yours the way he bit and nibbled at you too, appetite growing the longer you kissed. The pace you set no longer fed him the way he wanted and he started to feast a little more; that was a side-effect of being high, right? Hunger. Insatiable hunger?

His mouth pulled away from yours and started to explore your jaw, the column of your neck, the junction between your neck and shoulder. You let yourself get lost in the feeling of his attention, of his lips and hands as he gave and took, of the floaty feeling that settled comfortably in your limbs now, all the nerves of the day forgotten.

Before you knew it, your own hunger grew as well. You wanted him closer, needed more of him now that you had him.

You let yourself drift back along the pillows until you were laying comfortably and pulled Eddie along with you; one hand still lingered in his hair as the other fisted the collar of his shirt and got him right where you needed him to be.

Of course, you couldn't just take without giving as well, and as he settled onto you, your hips bucked up into him. You both moaned--savoring the proximity and delicious friction that his jeans and your leggings provided--and then giggled together as he collapsed on top of you, unprepared for the sudden surge of delight.

His breath fanned across your neck and jaw as he laughed breathlessly, and your hands caressed his head and shoulders fondly as you mirrored him.

He strained his neck a little to look you in the eye; his grin accentuated all the lines in his face, and for a second he struggled to form words. His mouth opened and closed silently and then he licked his lips to compose himself. The next thing you knew, his hand was coming up and squeezing one of your breasts with an exaggerated "honk" as he fell back against the other one and pressed his mouth to the swell over your shirt.

Back into the throes of unadulterated giggles you both went as he continued to honk and kiss and suck at exposed skin.

One of the highlights of the whole night was when he blew a raspberry against your neck; the feeling of goosebumps that erupted along your body and the spittle that sprayed across your skin would be a sensation you would remember and cherish forever.

"No fair," you whined and shifted against him again, both to protest the fact that you currently couldn't return the favor of all the attention he was giving you. Nevertheless, you treated him to the attention that you could, and you bucked your hips up again, only to be met with the feeling of him grinding down onto you.

Giggles began to mingle with desperate pants as he began to shift against you and settled into the cradle of your thighs; he grew harder and ground and rutted against the covered softness of you, faster and sharper, and your body eagerly responded, wanting to be as close to him as you could. As close as either of you could honestly fathom at this point, feeling too good like this to consider that there was more pleasure to be had if time went on and clothes came off.

Sunday nights together were truly gleeful and hedonistic, and tonight was no different. However, instead of snacks and arguments accentuated by the sounds of light-hearted talk and laughter, it was your writhing bodies and mingled breaths that took center stage; the two of you never stopped, only paused for your lips to smack wetly against one another, for your nails to rake through his hair and scratch against his scalp, and for him to grasp at your hips to pull you closer and closer as he drove you higher and higher.

"Eddie, I'm--" you broke away from him and keened, and he responded with a husky "uh-huh" and pressed his forehead against yours. Both of your eyes closed as you felt the pleasure building between the two of you, as he moaned and your toes curled...

As keys jingled in the lock of the front door of the trailer.

...and suddenly it was like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over the both of you and you froze, all thought of completion forgotten.

Your eyes shot open and you stared into Eddie's panic-filled, pleasure-blown pupils. He shifted sharply and then paused, almost like a glitch, and then he was off you, across to the other side of the couch in the blink of an eye. You watched, dumbstruck, as he panted heavily to control his breathing, and he held his head in shaking hands.

"No, no," he muttered. "Shit. Shit."

You reacted quickly as the door started to squeak open--throwing your legs over the edge of the sofa to sit upright as your hands clumsily fixed your disheveled clothes--and Wayne walked in. You took the extra second as he grumbled at the threshold and fiddled with his keys to look at Eddie, hoping for some kind of...secret conspiratorial smile or...or heated gaze...just something but he refused to look at you.

Suddenly, all of the good feelings that had flooded you since the moment that Eddie had chased your panic away...they vanished. The sweet giggles and shared pleasure were gone; even the love bites you were sure Eddie had left behind stung instead of blissfully buzzed.

And in their place, an acute clarity of what the two of you had just done.

"You wouldn't believe the mess I walked into tonight," Wayne chuckled with disbelief as he finally shut the door.

No kidding Wayne, you thought bitterly.

"Some of the machines were down when I got there and it took a few hours to figure out the problem. Some rusted old part..." On and on he chattered as you spiraled, stuck in your thoughts once again.

You and Eddie, Eddie and you. You and your secret crush...had just...on his couch. You and your best friend, your only friend in town...got high and kissed and canoodled and now he refused to even look at you.

You didn't know if it was the weed again or if it was just you, but you could see stars in the corners of your eyes and you felt lightheaded as the panic settled back in. And it only got worse the longer you sat there and tried to get some kind of sign from Eddie, only to be left with nothing. Such a stark contrast from just moments ago where you were giving and taking and responding to one another so freely.

Giving and taking...was that really what it was? Or did you just...do this to him? Do this to the both of you? Effectively tank your friendship the way you'd worried about since the first time you'd hung out and Eddie had specifically said it wasn't a date?

You abruptly got to your feet and Wayne stopped his chatter and looked at you questioningly.

"I..." you felt your throat closing up with emotion. "I just forgot I have a really important call first thing tomorrow. I...need to go!"

Eddie finally looked at you with wide, shocked eyes.

Were those tears? Oh god...

"I...it was nice to see you Wayne, sorry..." you scrambled to grab your bag from where you'd tossed it by the door and then looked back at both Munsons. Back and forth at Wayne's curious expression...and Eddie's devastated one. "I'm...sorry."

And you bolted out the door, into your car, and back across town to the lonely confines of your apartment, where you would wish for a second chance at Sunday all over again.

Because until tonight, Sundays had always been your favorite days.

Next Part: Leave of Absence

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Id love to see how DOG! Konig actually first saw Reader or even when he knew he fell in love with her <3

König saw reader first time on TV :)

It was one of those boring moments when the latest mission was done and he was coming down from his adrenaline/testosterone/cortisol high, channel surfing at the base with a blank stare.

He passed this one channel that never had anything worthwhile to watch, except this time—wait a minute—there’s some cute girl whipping egg whites there. He changed the channel out of habit but immediately changed it back again, his eyes boring to the screen where this woman was making lemon tartlets.

He pays attention to the nice voice… Nice lips… Her hands, very delicate when she decorates each tart with raspberries and mint leaves. It’s always hot in his opinion when a girl prepares dinner or dessert, and this cutie is doing both. She has a sad smile and a pair of depressed eyes, her body language reminds him of tortured prisoners on the brink of confession. The despair in her eyes resembles the look on women just before they cum, and it drives him fucking nuts.

She’s fucking perfect… So weak, just a poor little thing who’s trying to hide, probably hates the camera and her audience, every small prick she has to work for and with.

König binges her whole show within a few days from some streaming service, even faps during or after watching – just a few times because in a few episodes, they filmed her breasts and hands a lot, although it must be said it’s that helpless look in her eyes that truly makes him cum hard… He fantasizes about arriving at her studio with his guns blazing, wondering how she would react when he stains her cute little tarts with blood. How she would react when she sees a big, able man come to take what’s his – would she kneel and beg him to save her life, or would she gasp and look like a stupefied goldfish when he pulls his dick out after the bloodbath and tells her to give it a kiss?

Next thing he does is he googles her, finds a few articles in some lousy girl magazine where she mentions she has “learned to make peace with solitude” and that “time spent alone feels good nowadays”. Ja, sicher! Poor little thing is lying her eyes out, anyone can see that. She tries so hard to be brave, looks so fuckable when she sighs and looks down at the food she just made like it’s the only thing in this world she can do right. Just cook some food and decorate dumb pastries, looking like a spoiled little princess while she’s doing it.

He gets his hands on the actual, physical articles and keeps them in his locker because they include pictures of her. Finds her on social media and looks at her Instagram feed first time in the morning and last time before bed, chuckling to himself from how pathetic she is, so fucking desperate to get attention... He has a collection of screenshots on his phone: one of his favourites is, surprisingly, not a picture of her delicious ass, trying another dumb hobby that’s supposed to be trendy. It’s the one where she’s smiling at a big mug of coffee in front of her, looking like a cute little kitten who’s been offered a treat. Or her on the beach with a big straw hat on her head, looking at the waves and smiling a big, silly smile, her worries forgotten for a moment. Her at a party, all dolled up and practically begging to get fucked, holding the waist of some weak civilian he could kill with one punch.

But his ultimate favourite is a selfie she took while she was out on a walk. She’s without her makeup, wearing a simple old faded t-shirt, looking up at the camera with a fake smile and those sad, pleading eyes, silently begging for someone to take the pain away. She’s unprotected, and lonely, so pitiful that König would do anything to teleport beside her right now and haul her away like a sack of whimpering potatoes thrown over his shoulder.

Is no one going to fucking come to her rescue and spoil her to bits, is no one going to fuck those dumb little thoughts out of her head? What the fuck is wrong with men these days, he doesn’t understand, but he’s not going to watch this ridiculous shit for a moment longer…

(If you asked König when he realized he was in love with her, he would answer it was love at first sight. Or… maybe… that one time when she asked where she put the cream. She was talking to herself while the cameras were rolling, looking helpless, lost, and dumb because she literally had one job... König found that very endearing.)

[captain-hawks]

Happy spicy, sweaty sleepover!

I just know you’ll write something so, so delightful for band!AU Jean with a broken AC. Like, I know know it.

💋mojogojocasahouse

jean kirstein x f!reader

c: 18+ only, exes to lovers speed run, band!au jean, masturbation, fingering, oral sex, anal fingering, squirting, unprotected p in v, creampie

SPICY SLEEPOVER WEEKEND — HEAT WAVE EDITION

There has to be correlation, somewhere, between one’s innate penchant for masochism and the subsequently awful, irresponsible, downright terrible decision to call one’s ex-boyfriend to help fix a busted appliance.

But alas, here you are, sweating to death in the midst of the worst heat wave the city’s seen in years with no qualified, local repairman available any time in the foreseeable future—because clearly your broken air conditioner is somehow considered fucking trendy right now. 

The thing is, it’s not the first time the machine has let out an ominous death rattle before the motor inside fell into an ominous silence. It’s not even the second time it’s happened, or the third.

But every other goddamn time it did, Jean still lived here in your shared apartment. And his deft fingers, paired with years of tinkering with guitars, amps, speakers, and pedal boards, somehow led him to find the fix time and time again. 

It’s been three months since your messy breakup, three months of deafening silence and empty space in your one-bedroom apartment. He’s been living with Eren and Conny, though half of his clothes are still strewn about in your closet—until he finds his own place. 

You have half a mind to drag the pile out shirts out and toss them at him one by one, if only to cover up the torturous sight you’ve been subjected to for the better part of an hour.

Jean Kirstein, for all intents and purposes, is an attractive man. And you were prepared for it, the slight inconvenience of the sight of his soft brown hair, sharp jaw, intense eyes, and tall form standing in the hallway when you opened the front door.

But Jean Kirstein standing in the middle of your living room, muttering a string of expletives under his breath as he swiftly bats a hand against the temperamental air conditioner before standing up straight to peel off his soaked t-shirt? The reminder of the way the tattoos covering his arms and chest and back look when they’re coated in a slick sheen of sweat? The ripple of his muscles as he twists a wrench? 

That’s another fucking problem entirely.

“You don’t look too hot.”

Jean’s voice spears through your thoughts, and you look up from where your hands are folded in your lap to see him standing in front of you in the kitchen. Seated atop the kitchen counter if only for the relief of the cool marble beneath you, one of your idly swinging feet nudges his knee. 

His voice is a bit rough, and you can only assume that he came right to your apartment from band practice. 

(You try not to think too hard about how he knows exactly what that voice does to you—the way you barely made it past the entryway most times coming home after his shows, your skirt shoved up as he fucked you up against the wall beside the coat rack.)

(The way he’d call you late at night while he was away on tour, his voice a low rasp as you hung on to his every word and touched yourself for him.)

“I’m very hot, actually,” you reply with a raised brow, though you’re well aware you probably do look like an overheated, exhausted mess—you’ve hardly gotten any sleep all week, even with a fan right beside your bed. 

Jean steps closer and leans in, standing between your spread legs, and your heart feels like its lodged in your throat as he holds your gaze. Slowly, he brings his hand up to rest against the side of your neck, fingers easing their way against your damp skin one by one in a way that makes your breath catch. 

“You should take a cool shower,” he suggests, his thumb ghosting over the front of your throat before he swiftly steps back and walks away, heading back into the living room.

Fingers clasping the edge of the countertop, you inhale sharply.

Admittedly, Jean was right about the shower—you feel a bit more steady on your feet as the water washes over your face and trickles down your naked body, washing away the uncomfortable, sticky layer of sweat. 

Maybe it’s a little misguided, the way you let your thoughts get away from you as you glance down at your soapy tits, remembering how much Jean used to love how sensitive they are. How he’d groan and curse over the way you’d writhe when he toyed with your pebbled nipples, the way you’d whimper and moan as he sucked on them.

Running your hands over the swell of your breasts, you sigh, letting your back rest against the cool tiles as you stroke and tease the tender buds until they’re rock hard beneath your touch. You grope and caress yourself, imagining that it’s Jean in the shower with you.

You're tempted to make a mad dash for your room, to lock the door and stuff the fat dildo in your bedside table into your wet cunt, to quickly fuck yourself on it until you’re sated enough to face the shirtless man in your living room without being distracted by stray thoughts of laving your tongue against the hollow of his throat.

It’s a half-baked plan seasoned with nothing but the delirious power of your lust-driven thoughts.

It's stupid.

It’s reckless.

And it almost fucking works, almost, until Jean suddenly comes barging into the bedroom in the middle of you face down on the bed, frantically humping the dildo like your life depends on it, the slick silicone lubricated on nothing but your gushing arousal. 

Jean stops dead in his tracks and stares at you, speechless for what may very well be the first time in his life.

You stare back at him, shaken from your stupor only when the dildo suddenly slides out of your pussy with a lewd popping sound. 

“Jean, what the fuck are you doing?” you ask, some part of you almost proud of how steady your voice comes out.

He blinks several times. “I needed a new shirt,” he gestures toward the door, “and the bathroom door is shut, I thought you were still in there.”

You blink back at him, all too aware of the filthy, slick arousal dripping down the inside of your thighs. “Oh.”

He glances up at the ceiling for a moment, toward the closet, and then back to you. “Do you…” he trails off.

��Do I…”

“—need a hand?”

You could probably blame it on the heat, the way you almost robotically nod. The way you hardly bat an eye when Jean climbs up on the bed behind you.

It’s surely a symptom of heat exhaustion, perching on all fours atop your mattress as your ex-boyfriend presses a hand into the small of your back while he thrusts a dildo in and out of your sopping wet cunt.

That stupid fucking air conditioner is definitely, absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt to blame for what happens next—when you flip over onto your back and spread your legs wide, gazing up at Jean’s lust-blown pupils as he continues to fuck you with the toy.

Your breakup was so goddamn stupid and petty and shortsighted—and you were both too stubborn to admit it in the aftermath. 

“Please let me eat you out,” Jean exhales, dragging a hand through his messy brown hair to push it out of his face.

You nod, fervently, though you’re still tempted to drag his hips flush against yours, to tell him how badly you need to be fucked instead. 

But when he laps a broad, firm stroke through your slick, creamy folds with his dexterous tongue, your mind goes blank in a haze of pleasure. 

Jean has always been far too good at this.

He alternates between lapping at your slit and licking his way into your tight entrance, and sucking on your clit as he plunges two long digits in and out of your wet hole, one hand splayed across your abdomen to hold you down as you whimper and buck your hips.

“You taste so good,” Jean groans, his own hips jerking into the mattress as you gasp, your entire body arching up off of the bed when one of his slick fingers slides beneath you and begins to stroke the rim of your ass.

He eases your other tight hole open, saliva and your sticky arousal running down his chin as he messily fucks your cunt with his tongue.

“Jean,” you gasp when he finally sinks a finger deep in your ass, your gut engulfed in a wave of white-hot pleasure.

“Come for me, baby,” he murmurs, tongue tracing firm circles against your clit while he curls his fingers and strokes the spongy, sensitive wall atop your tight channel.

You come with a shout as the coil of pleasure inside of you snaps, clear liquid spraying from your cunt as you tremble and shake and gush all over Jean’s fingers and face. 

“Holy shit,” Jean groans, hips rocking even harder into the bed—it always did drive him out of his mind when you squirted.

As you come down from your orgasm, Jean leans back into a sitting position, unzipping his pants and letting his throbbing, hard cock spring free from the confines of his boxers. He crudely spits into the palm of his hand, groaning your name as he tosses his head back and begins to fuck his fist, spreading the precum leaking from his tip with his thumb. 

You don’t think twice about the way you scramble forward and climb into his lap, nudging away his hand and wrapping your fingers around his length. 

Waiting a beat, you meet his gaze, somehow still not entirely sure if he actually wants to fuck you.

Jean chokes out a laugh, reading the uncertainty in your eyes and reaching up to cup the side of your face before he leans in to rest his forehead against yours.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, words he stubbornly couldn’t bring himself to say months ago.

“I’m sorry, too,” you murmur, and you mean it.

And then all it takes is the familiar grip of his hands on your hips to guide you down onto his cock, your cunt rapidly pulsing and contracting at the searing, intoxicating stretch, and both of you moan in unison.

Jean kisses you hard, his mouth engulfing yours and swallowing down the gasping, whimpering sounds you make as he fucks up into you, bullying his cock as deep as your greedy, needy pussy will take.

“I fucking missed you so much,” he rasps, catching your bottom lip between his teeth, one hand reaching up to grasp your tits.

It’s so goddamn hot in your bedroom, and it’s downright filthy, the slick slide of Jean’s sweat-soaked skin against yours, the way his hair is damp with it, the salt you taste on your tongue as you press hot, open-mouthed kisses against the tattoo that wraps around the side of his neck.

It’s hot and filthy and sweaty and you’re not sure if you’ve ever been so turned on in your life, so ridiculously wet, each plunge of Jean’s cock punctuated by the lewd squelch of your soaked pussy. 

“Jean—” you whine, dizzy with desperation and need.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, cradling your body as he switches your position, laying you down flat on your back as he continues to thrust in and out of you.

And maybe it’s the way he begins to toy with your clit again.

Maybe it’s the sight of the creamy ring of your arousal coating the base of his cock.

Maybe it’s the look in his eyes as he stares down at you beneath him.

—either way, you’re helpless to do anything but cry out and moan as another orgasm breaks through the heady dam of pleasure flowing inside of you, your vision nearly going black as he fucks you through it.

And you can tell he’s close, too, you can feel it in the way his thrusts suddenly grow sloppy, the way his breathing goes ragged.

“Inside,” you breathe out.

Jean’s answering groan is absolutely wrecked as he slams his cock in you to the hilt, spilling rope after rope of thick, hot cum in your fucked out cunt until it’s overflowing and dripping onto the sheets below.

When he eventually collapses beside you on the bed, you’re not sure if it’s intentional—the fact that he ends up on the side that was always his. 

But you don’t question it, not now.

Not later when the morning sun is peeking through the blinds and he’s snoring softly beside you.

Not even when you wake again to the sound of the air conditioner sputtering to life in the living room, the mattress dipping beside you as Jean pulls back the sheet and tugs you back against his chest.

[reallyromealone]

Title: end of beginning

Fandom: Yuuri on ice

Characters: Yuuri on ice ensemble

Fic type: series

Pairings: Chris x male reader

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, angst, reader is dense, slight fluff, reader has features technically but that's for plot, reader is in love but doesn't realize

Notes: you are going to look like Yuuri, you're siblings but reader will have some differences to make up for it for plot purposes

🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

Every few months, the two brothers would schedule to meet up for lunch, Yuuri moving to Russia and (name) living in Canada made things hard but the two made it work.

"This is Chris and you remember Phichit!" Yuuri introduced them as (name) shook their hands, Yuuri always teasing about how westernized his brother had become but (name) knew he was happy for him.

"Pleasure to meet you, how are you enjoying Canada?" He asked as they sat down and Yuuri grinned "everytime I visit, it's like it's completely changed but hasn't at the same time!" He liked Toronto, he associated it with his brother so therefore it was perfect.

"Very loud! And the lake smells" Phichit said simply and (name) chuckled "yeah, it smells really bad... Apparently it's because of pollution" (name) was so casual and calm as he spoke, body covered in tattoos and looking at them they were obviously siblings, same smile... Though (name) looked considerably more wild and trendy where Yuuri looked more refined and conservative.

"An artist?" Chris seemed curious as (name) beamed and pulled out his phone to show all his work on Instagram "I work with all sorts of mediums-- I always try new things" Chris could see the passion in his words and his art spoke for him, it was genuinely quite impressive as Phichit was already looking through it and liking every photo "whoa! You made a sculpture of (insert celebrity)!" He gawked as he showed the photo to the others "yeah, it was for an auction..." (Name) Said shyly, Chris could now see the personality similarity.

Both were very bad with compliments.

The four chatted for about skating and life and by the end, (name) had two new numbers in his contacts as Chris kept getting closer to him "you got good cologne..." (Name) Said bluntly as he sniffed the others jacket, Yuuri sighing at the fact that Chris was clearly flirting with his brother and (name) was a dense fucker who had no qualms with getting closer to people.

"You can come to my hotel and smell it better if you like~" Chris teased and (name) raised an eyebrow and tilted his head "maybe when I see Yuuri again you can give it to me" he said simply and smiled at the other, Chris was a little shocked at how dense he was "anyways, I better get going! It was nice seeing you!" (Name) And Yuuri hugged and the other two watched how tightly they hugged, clearly missing one another.

Yuuri always worried for (name), the man tended to isolate himself in his art as he and Viktor went back to Canada two months later to check on him "(name)?" Yuuri called as he looked around the large apartment, his brothers works giving him the finances to afford this place. "Wow..." Yuuri said as he walked into the livingroom area where (name) stood in a messy t-shirt and joggers, feet bare as he painted with his bare hands on a large canvas..." Is that Chris?" Viktor asked his husband who nodded, the two looking around to see that the Japanese man had painted and drew amongst other forms of media, works of Chris everywhere.

"(Name), what the fuck" Yuuri said in Japanese, looking around in shock "oh... Hey" (name) said casually, exhausted but somehow still standing and painting "want to explain ALL THESE PAINTINGS" Yuuri waved his arms around to the paintings as Viktor let the siblings to at it "great dimension, (name)!" Viktor said pointing to a landscape painting and (name) looked proud of himself "he has excellent facial proportions, like drawing Aphrodite..." (Name) Smiled as he looked around "I don't know why... He's just perfect for painting... He's a muse"

Yuuri and Viktor looked at each other, the two knew (name) well enough to know what this was, Viktor only a few years but Yuuri... He knew what this was.

(Name) Never really shown interest in others, always in his own world and tended to do his own thing.

He was in love, even if he didn't know he was.

Yuuri ordered food for his brother, knowing the fucker didn't know how to cook for the life of him.

"How do you survive without being able to cook" Viktor said slightly horrified and (name) huffed "I can cook the important stuff! Like rice!" He said indignantly as Yuuri rolled his eyes "yes yes, you can cook the thing you ate everyday" the two siblings bickered as Viktor drank his coffee and watched, his brother in law being a shitling (fondly) as Yuuri scolded him "ordering party servings of food and eating it over a week isn't good!"

"It's called efficiency!"

It was nice despite the bickering, to see the love between the two.

"Do you even talk to him?"

"We talk like daily" (name) said crossing his arms "he's quite a chatter, though he keeps talking in cryptic messages" he said showing the texts where Chris was just blatantly flirting "I don't understand it at all!"

"(Name), never change" Yuuri said simply and his brother looked confused before looking at the messages with a squint.

Yuuri and Viktor looked at the paintings, they were detailed now to the light freckles on the Swiss man's face during the summer, (name) must have been looking at those photos intently as Yuuri set down drinks "how much was that one painting again?" Viktor asked and (name) shrugged "you can just have it if you want" he said simply and Viktor was gonna leave a few hundred, he was not taking that painting for free.

"So what brings you back so soon?" (Name) Asked curiously, sipping his iced coffee as he sat incorrectly on a chair "you have been radio silent for two months, you sent me a single picture of a snail and said 'hes for rizz' and nothing else" Yuuri said incredulously and (name) nodded "lil man had mad game with the lady snails" he said like he was inspired by the snail and Viktor felt the need for a drink with his brother in law "(name) you basically dropped off the face of the earth, you don't do that.. Im worried"

(Name) Sighed and closed his eyes for a moment before opening them "I don't know, genuinely... I got lost in my art and... Mari messaged me... I'm just freaking out" he said softly and looked at his brother "sorry for ghosting... I'm just --- mari wants me to visit and I have been putting it off for forever and I just don't want to deal with mom and dad"

It was no secret to Yuuri and Viktor that (name) had a complicated relationship with the Katsuki parents, it was partly why he moved to Canada.

"We can go together next month, how about that?"

"...fine..." He said simply and Yuuri hugged him, the conversation moving to other topics and the two ended the visit with a photo taken by Viktor who smiled at the brothers, no one realizing the painting of Chris in the background as it was posted.

"It's like looking in a mirror" Chris said simply as he stared at the photo of his friends.

He needed to call Viktor.

[ugh-yoongi]

can i request Yoongi drabble? where a random member is Y/N's brother and Yoon is his best friend, but Y/N has a big fat crush on him

hiii, thank you so much for the request! it gave me an excuse to get rockstar yoongi out of my system (and make an actual banner for once), so i hope you enjoy. <3

playing with fire

pairing: yoongi x f. reader genre: brother's best friend au, rockstar au; suggestive warnings: extreme thirsting. a moshpit and moshpit-related injury. mentions of blood, alcohol, and weed/cigarettes. swearing. an unrequited crush (or is it). tension. unedited. rating: this is slightly suggestive but not explicit so 16+ wordcount: 1k listen to: i'm on fire by bruce springsteen

with this, i am finally done with bee's birthday drabbles! a huge thank you to everyone who sent in requests. i did save a few, so if i didn't get to yours this time, hopefully some inspo strikes in the future.

see all beeday drabbles here

have a favorite? let's talk about it!

It’s been a while since your brother’s band played in a nice venue.

Been a while since your boots didn’t stick to the floor, each step feeling like a glue trap. Since you could go home at the end of the night and pull a t-shirt over your head that didn’t reek of weed and cigarettes and someone else’s body odor. Been a while since you could just exist in peace; not feel like you were taking up room in a space that didn’t belong to you.

Been a while since you’ve seen Yoongi, too.

His hair is longer—half-formed curls framing his face, some trendy kind of shag. Chipped black lacquer on his nails. Fresh ink up and down his arms. Silver hoop through his nostril. A leather jacket and heeled boots, because he doesn’t have a thing to prove to anyone who might have something to say about it.

(You, least of all.)

Somehow, you’d forgotten that some people are magnetic. Some people are meant to be looked at, put on all those impossibly high pedestals, and that Yoongi is one of them. False idols be damned, everyone in this fucking room is wrapped around his finger. Even as he screams into a mic, shoots a sleazy grin at your brother to his left, every single person in this place would drop to their knees as soon as he gave the order.

(You, most of all.)

And you know it’s dangerous; know where that particular road dead-ends. You know that if you try to reach out and touch him all you’ll do is scar, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to quell the urge. There’s still just Yoongi and you and the millions of daydreams that have played out in the dead of night and the boundless distance between you.

The haze makes him beautiful, ethereal, like some kind of demi-god. Imposing, you think, because Yoongi’s up there looking down on you, as stable and immovable as all those shrines they built centuries ago. Places where people would gather to worship, just like now.

You’re distracted. Don’t hear Yoongi when he commands the crowd to move, and there’s a split-second just before the chaos where he finds you—sets his siren gaze on you and smirks out of the corner of his mouth, presses his tongue into the fat of cheek—and then there’s a searing pain blooming in your skull.

It’s hard to say what happens after. Hard to see through the fog and the frenzy, let alone make sense of amorphic shapes. There’s just the aching in your head and the jarring, dissonant ringing in your ears, and someone’s arms wrapped tight around your shoulders.

You come to in a bathroom.

Stinks of piss and disinfectant. Has one flickering, fluorescent light strung above the sink. Dingy tile on the floor and the walls. Paper towels overflowing from a trash can by the door.

“You with me, darlin’?”

Yoongi’s voice. He’s the only one who calls you that. Puts some exaggerated twang on it because he thinks it makes him sound cool. Doesn’t give a fuck about anything, especially what people might think, and he doesn’t have to.

“Not sure,” you answer truthfully. “What happened?”

“Some piece of shit elbowed you pretty good in the side of your head. Got a nasty gash—don’t look, doll. Got fuckin’ blood all over the fuckin’ place.”

You exhale. Nod your head as best you can. Unsteady. Find it hard to breathe when Yoongi’s fussing over you like this, calling you these little pet names. When he gently cradles your face in his ink-stained hands and says, eyes on me. Like you could look anywhere else. As if you’ve looked at anything else in years.

“Wha—what’re you doing?”

“Cleaning you up. Deep breath, darlin’, this is probably gonna sting.”

You barely react, still too dazed by the feel of his hands on you. You wish, briefly, that whoever had hit you had done so harder. Just enough to rewire a few things. Get rid of this juvenile crush you’ve let go unchecked for far too long. “Where’s Hoseok?”

“Went after that guy.”

You scoff. Roll your eyes. “Hoseok can’t fight.”

“Nah,” Yoongi agrees. Bites his lip as he concentrates. “But Jungkook can.”

Another press of an alcohol pad. This one stings, has you sucking in a breath through your teeth. “Don’t you think this is a bit much? I’m sure it was an accident.”

Yoongi is so close. Fits himself in the space between your thighs, presses you further into the sink, the faucet digging into your back. Doesn’t matter. Not when he’s close enough for you to count each individual eyelash, the scars that dot his face. Yoongi’s close enough for you to smell the nicotine that clings to his clothes, his skin, his hair. Close enough to smell the cheap beer lingering on his breath.

“Too much?” His brows knit together, head tilts like a confused puppy. “Why would it be too much?”

“S’not the first time I’ve nearly got my teeth kicked in at one of your shows. I just—is it worth all this fuss? My brother’s gonna get all fucking weird about it, and fuck knows what Jungkook’s gonna do to that guy.”

Yoongi’s close enough that you nearly speak the words against his mouth. Fuck, it’d be so easy to kiss him. So easy to give in and let the world burn down around you, the consequences be damned. It’d be so easy to be ruined by him that it has your hands twitching at your sides, wanting so badly to reach out and touch. Grab him by the belt loops and learn how he feels when he’s pressed flush against you. Learn what he sounds like when he moans, whimpers. What he looks like when he’s hurried and desperate.

"Stupid girl." But Yoongi doesn’t look hurried and desperate—he looks like he wants to devour you. “I would’ve done much worse.”

[davesbigwhirlwind]

My forced formal transformation story - the things we do for love...

Sam was the love of my life. She was more stylish, more cultured, more intelligent. I had a reasonable job and was a fairly popular and trendy guy, but I was punching above my weight and I knew it. But we clicked. There was a connection and it just worked. I'd do anything for her. 

We'd been going out for about 5 months when she suggested I should move in to her family home. She lived with her father in a large house alongside their 2 staff. Now her father was a traditionalist, and, like her, was very well educated and informed, and I liked the fact he was very direct. He was a successful business owner and by default seemed to be in business mode, and always wore a somber suit and a serious expression on his face. His wife had sadly passed, but I respected the great job they had done in raising Sam into the fine woman she was. 

He told me that he'd be glad of me to move in - separate rooms of course - but as our relationship was clearly serious he wanted to help us, but emphasised that he wanted to help me develop both intellectually and physically, and while he would take things slowly, he would require me to embrace both the learnings and recommendations he made to help guide me towards being a good husband, should we reach that point. 

I readily agreed. 

A month later and I moved in. Stephen started straight away teaching me much of his knowledge on everything from etiquette to literature, and the art of being a good partner. He explained the man's place was not about fashion, beauty and flamboyancy, but, rather about masculinity, dependability and stability, and being understated, while allowing Sam to take the limelight. He explained that the correct appearance was every bit as important as how you act and how would help guide me through these factors over the months ahead. 

The first change came the following Monday. I woke to find in my wardrobe that all my t shirts had been replaced by good quality white formal shirts, and accompanying white vests to wear under them. And I was gutted to see that my entire trainer collection had disappeared and been replaced by 3 pairs of, very traditional, formal lace up black leather Oxford shoes. Even when selecting my smartest dark jeans, they still looked very out of keeping with the formal white shirt, and pulling on the shoes the leather creaked as my feet adjusted to being wedged into the pointy toes. I tied the laces and saw my face reflecting in the incredibly highly polished leather uppers. Walking in these shoes was a challenge, as the smooth soles meant I had to walk much more slowly and with poise, in order to not skid. 

I would never have chosen these clothes but went along with it, with Sam encouraging me. I got a few wise cracks about shiny shoes at work but that was about it. I worked in IT so it had a fair variety of oddballs, from geeks wearing cartoon t shirts, to goths, so while my change in style was out of character for me, it wasn't a major issue. 

I also needn't have worried about the jeans not looking right, as, by the end of the week, these had all been removed, to be replaced by heavy, pale grey wool trousers, tightly tailored and with razor sharp creases that hung straight down with just a small break above the seam which grazed the top of my Oxfords. A shiny black formal belt was also provided. 

This became what I wore every single day. It felt particularly strange wearing this at weekends when seeing friends, and the wise cracks at work focused on it being my school uniform, but Sam kept me up, telling me how handsome I looked. If she was happy, then I'd cope. I no longer worked out at the gym, and I controlled the time I spent with friends to ensure I committed the time to my new family and to this process.

The following Saturday Stephen announced we'd be making a trip to his barber. 

I was straight into Anthony's chair, and with a glance on the mirror I got a last look at my prized hair. Everyone loved my hair. I got lots of great comments about it. it was long, luscious, tousled and framed my face beautifully being roughly parted to drape down and across my forehead and feel flowing to lying on my collar. 

There was no discussion as Anthony combed through my hair. For years my shoulder length hair has been roughly parted above my right eye, but now a very severe straight part was created on the far left side of my head with the hair scraped to either side of this stark white line. 

Without ceremony the clippers were powered up and ploughed up the left side of my head towards the part, while Anthony used his comb to angle out the hair so that the clippers left a slightly longer length at the top, but otherwise a fine pelt of military length hair was left three quarters of the way up. This continued round my head as my ears became uncovered for the first time. And boy are my ears massive. Alarmingly so. Jug ears without a doubt, and definitely having benefited from the hair that had very satisfactorily covered them for over 20 years. Next Anthony took his scissors and was cutting the top down with massive chunks. Nothing longer than an inch and a half remained. The next shock was just what a big forehead I had. With so little hair, my facial features were really standing out. A razor then took off the hairs at the back of my neck, that had never caused an issue before, but were now clearly too scruffy to remain, while my sideburns were removed to the top of ears.

Pomade was then rubbed into my hair and a comb carefully pulled the hair across my head, while Anthony styles a small quiff at the front and showed me how to re-create this. 

He showed me in the mirror the remains of my hair. The uniformly clipped hair ran over half way up the back of my head before tapering to a slightly longer length leading to a small ridge ran round my head at the point that the clipped hair met the wet-looking slicked hair on top. This ridge dipped slightly at the back, but still remained high up my head, allowing the virgin scalp to shine through across most of my head. This was very much a short, no-nsense business man's haircut

I went to sit with my cold - and much lighter - head, while Stephen got a trim. I realised he had an identical cut. Same left part, clipping, ridge, slicked quiff. Though Stephen wore the cut far better as he had far less expanse of clipped scale due to having a much lower hairline and smaller, rounder head. While my head was very clearly very elongated and egg-like. He also had small ears that sat neatly tucked into the side of his head, unlike my satellite dishes. I ran my hand down the back of my head, which sent a shiver down my spine from the bristles that were an alien feeling. 

Sam looked genuinely shocked when she saw me. I couldn't blame her as my features seemed to have moved round my face from this brutal cut. My massive pale gleaming forehead and giant ears exposed for the first time, and the brutality of the cut showing the elongated oval shaped head that had been hidden for so many years. I felt shell shocked, but Stephen offered a rare word of encouragement by saying how positive it was that the men of the house were now setting a clear standard on grooming. I truly hated this haircut and how it made me feel and look, but a part of me also really felt proud that Stephen wanted me to take on part of his style. This really was a defining moment of moving from fashionable to formal. 

Friends and colleagues either looked in horror or laughed but told me it would soon grow. However I very much doubted this would be allowed to happen. It was the second haircut 2 weeks later that got the worst response, as no one could begin to fathom why I would inflict this same style on myself for a second time. But this became routine that ever 2 weeks we'd both be shaved, trimmed and slicked to ensure the stubble remained short enough to pass muster. 

I think even Stephen realised I needed to get used to my new look as the next few weeks were more about using my new skills, such as Sam and I attending small dinners at home with close friends and associates of Stephen.

Then, an upgrade came. A plethora of very sombre ties in shades of navy, burgundies and dark green appeared alongside a navy double breasted blazer with rows of gold buttons running down the front sides. This became standard attire, as my heavily starched shirt collars now became buttoned to the top and digging into my neck, with a Windsor knotted tie, together with tie clip as standard from morning to night and the blazer whenever with company, and fully buttoned whenever I wasn't seated. I now looked like an off duty naval officer, but it did too make me sit up straight and hold myself taller as a result. 

A couple of other hurdles came over the next month. First I was taken to the opticians for the fitting of my new glasses. It was a surprise to me I was getting glasses, as I lived constantly in contact lenses, having only a small pair of rimless frames for emergencies. However the frames that had been chosen for me were big gold framed aviator glasses that filled the width of my face, and the frames glinted in the light as I moved. However as I was so myopic the lenses were extremely thick, and the lenses shrunk down my eyes (one of my best features, which now looked weirdly small and watery and hidden by these large rectangular fishbowl lenses, with strong reflections) as well as creating a very visible cut in the side of the lenses meaning my head looked like it had had chunks taken out of it. My contact lenses were removed and these became a daily dominating feature on my face, as the world now saw me as a bespectacled man for the first time. Due to the weight of the large panes of glass that now sat across my face, they kept sliding down my nose. They were adjusted, but the result meant the arms of the glasses dug into the side of my face, creating permanent creases in the temples of my head.

I also had my tattoo on my arm removed by Lazer. It wasn't appropriate. It was a painful correction. Both in the emotional loss of something I loved and the physical agony of it being eradicated. 

This was me now, this was my daily uniform. I didn't now need to spend time thinking about what to wear or what to buy, as it was already a given. When I stood beside Sam, she looked radiant and beautiful as ever, while I remain dependable and reliable beside her. Ultimately I was grey. Yes I looked very smart and could be very charming, but no one would give me a second look beyond my formal and traditional appearance. I admit that the old me used to like the glances I'd get from women checking me out, and I would flirt with women and preen myself to be as attractive as possible. Now no one I would have found attractive would give me the time of day, and if people stared, it was now for very different reasons This was me now. Formal, nerdy, a bit ugly. From my smartly quiffed hair and geeky big glasses and smart outfit. But I was fully committed to Sam, as it should be, and that was what mattered. 

[sinofwriting]

Can I amend a thought I sent a bit ago? This is not me being pushy for you to read/respond. It's the thought about how stressful the week between Imola and Monaco would be for Charles' wife. There's a good chance there wouldn't be time to fly internationally to move all her stuff. So she's just rewearing the same few outfits and it's another thing adding to her severe stress/dread because none of it is nice enough to blend in with the people dripping in luxury she'll be spending the weekend in proximity with (especially the shirts of the team she interned with which would certainly receive judgement in the Ferrari garage). One day Charles comes in with a bag of designer (he surmised something was off with her clothes based on how often she examined them with furrowed brows). Her anxiety (this specific one within the immense stress pressing down on her chest) leaves her barely able to breathe on them lest she destroy the plain t-shirt that costs more than anything she's ever owned. In comes another gut punch (which she's felt frequently over the last few days) that the rest of her life is to be spent with people who could buy her whole life without a second look at the price; what else does this obscene wealth make them capable of? -🦢

Okay, I still have the original ask in my inbox but this kind of hits.

Because clothes I think when you go somewhere (for more than just the day) are such an essential and I feel like the first thing you panic about when you do have them/enough of them. And that doesn't even begin to cover not having the "correct" clothes for certain occasions/places. (Rest under the cut, cause I rambled... again)

And I think day two she feels this. She's looking at her suitcase (which is just sleep stuff, work shirts, pants, underwear) and trying to figure out how she's suppose to dress to meet Charles' family, because there is nothing in there that works. Not unless she wants to pretend her bra is just a trendy top with a pair of her work pants.

But she doesn't get to worry about clothes for long, because as we've (I've) established, Charles is unhinged.

He has been watching her, waiting for the right time, she already has a walk in closet of clothes, it's not full, still room for her to add stuff, but it's over the half way mark for clothes just for her.

He sees her worriedly looking at her suitcase and isn't it cute that she's worried about meeting his family and god isn't she just so pretty in her worn t-shirt and sleep pants? He pulls her away from her suitcase, once again mentally tutting at how worn and small it is, it just wouldn't do for his wife, and leads her to two double doors and pushes them open and gently pushes her into it. Telling her that everything in there is for her and it should all fit, but if not too tell him and he'll call a tailor that owes him a favor to get them to fit her.

Everything is all nice, brands that he is partnered with or likes, the tags still all on, and it's as she looks at everything in there, all in her correct sizes, even the shoes, she realizes that Charles didn't pick her at random.

[silentpaint12]

Philipp's Day at the Construction Site

Philipp's story is a testament to the power of trying new things and pursuing one's dreams, even in the most unexpected ways.

Once upon a time, in a quiet suburban neighborhood, lived a teenager named Philipp. He was known for his casual attire and a spirit of curiosity. One day, while strolling through a park, Philipp, dressed in his favorite trendy t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers, came across a market. His eyes were drawn to a stall selling old boilersuits in various styles, including high-visibility, polyester/cotton blends, and PVC.

Philipp's interest peaked when he spotted an orange high-visibility boilersuit. He examined it closely and asked the seller, a friendly person of Middle-Eastern descent, about the price. After a moment of thought, Philipp purchased it, envisioning how perfectly it would fit into his wardrobe.

Back at home, Philipp decided to explore the basement, where he discovered a pair of old, dirty black rubber boots. He brought them to his room, thinking how well they would go with the boilersuit he had just bought. Standing in front of his mirror, Philipp tried on the boilersuit and boots, contemplating his reflection. He imagined himself working on a construction site, a profession he had always admired.

The very next day, dressed in his new attire, Philipp stepped outside and to his surprise, found a construction site right in front of his house. He approached the construction site manager, a person of Hispanic descent, and asked if he could help. The manager, surprised but impressed by Philipp's enthusiasm, agreed.

Philipp worked tirelessly, learning new skills and performing tasks with care and concentration. He felt a sense of accomplishment and joy as he worked alongside the other construction workers. His day at the site was hard but fulfilling.

Exhausted but content, Philipp returned home in the evening. He was covered in dirt, a testament to his hard work. He lay down on his couch, still wearing his boilersuit and boots, reflecting on the day's experiences. Despite the exhaustion, Philipp felt a deep sense of satisfaction, having taken a step towards a dream he cherished.

[fayes-fics]

It Had To Be You: Chapter 1 - A brand-new start

Masterpost PREV | NEXT

Pairings: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (also features Benedict Bridgerton x Genevieve Delacroix), Modern AU

Chapter Summary: A long drive from St Andrew’s to London with a virtual stranger

artwork credit: @colettebronte

Warnings: none really… some language, bickering and flirting.

Word Count: 2.9k

Authors Note: Welcome to Chapter 1 of my next multi-chapter. A modern romcom heavily inspired by When Harry Met Sally. Thank you to @makaylan and @colettebronte for reading through. I hope to update this fic every couple of weeks. Please enjoy! <3

12 Years Ago

When you pull up outside her halls of residence, she has her tongue down some man’s throat—typical Gen. 

She finally acknowledges your presence when you lower the window and cough pointedly. A few days ago, when she said her latest boyfriend needed a lift from St Andrews to London, you didn't offer; she volunteered him to join you before you could conjure a believable excuse. Someone to talk to on the long journey wouldn't be such a bad thing; you tried to convince yourself reluctantly. You were slightly worried about who he might be. Gen’s taste in men could be best described as random. Or questionable if you were feeling less charitable. But as he turns towards you, something in your chest flutters. 

Oh. 

He looks different to her usual choices. He appears rich, just from a glance. But the sort of rich that dresses in ratty clothes as a style choice rather than out of economic necessity. His jeans are distressed around the knees, and there’s an almost threadbare patch right around his rather shapely - don't look there, you admonish yourself - arse. He wears a faded grey t-shirt and converse that are speckled with paint.

“Y/n, meet Ben,” he nods briefly before she pulls him back for another completely inappropriate kiss.

Ben...? Really, Gen? Matching names is a bit too fucking twee.

As they break away, he tosses his bags in the boot of your car and, after another round of tonsil tennis, climbs into your passenger seat. He smiles crookedly, and you see his blueish eyes catch a ray of late Spring sun; his voice instantly makes you shift in your seat as you exchange hellos. Definitely a posh boy. Definitely a playboy. Definitely not the type to keep his bed empty for long. You already dislike him. You especially dislike how attractive your body seems to find him, despite yourself.

This is going to be a long journey.

“You want to drive the first shift?” you ask politely.

“You are already there,” he shrugs, “go right ahead.”

As Gen becomes a waving figure in your rearview mirror, something tells you you will likely never see her again. It's that time when life goes in a million different directions—the end of university. You've been here for your undergraduate course. Apparently, he has been here for his master's in Fine Arts. 

“What takes you to London?” he asks as you pull out of the university grounds.

“I'm going to be a journalist,” you state proudly.

He laughs. “You and the rest of the world.” 

You bristle at his amusement. You are a talented writer; you know it will happen for you someday. You have a summer internship at the Guardian. Okay, it's unpaid, but it's a start.

“You?” you shoot back, squinting in the sun.

“Artist. I’m setting up a studio in Hoxton.”

Urgh. That's so achingly trendy you actually want to smack him.

Your phone buzzes, and you check it discreetly at the next traffic light. It's from Gen.

Yep, I know exactly what you are thinking. Posh boy twat. His cock is amazing though. Safe travels x

You squeak and drop your phone into the footwell. Ben cuts you a curious sideways glance. 

“I can grab it,” he offers rather chivalrously as he sees you groping blindly around your feet as the light turns green.

“No!” you startle, “it's fine, just uhh leave it there, I don't need it. I know the way to Edinburgh from here.” your voice takes on a high-pitched quality that sounds ridiculous even to your own ears.

He seems to stare at your profile for an inordinate amount of time.

“Gen said you were a little high-strung,” he says drolly.

You frown over at him. “I'm just particular,” you argue back.

He laughs and looks out the window. “Mind if I smoke?”

“Yes, I do,” you prickle, “that’s a disgusting habit, and you should give it up.”

“She said you were opinionated too,” he adds, his tone so casual and laid back it just makes you more wound up.

“My car, my rules,” you retort, glancing irritated in your rearview at the lorry getting far too familiar with your rear bumper.

“That's fair enough.” 

He suddenly lunges for something in the backseat, twisting so his t-shirt rides up, his whole body thrust towards you. You see a flash of toned abdominal muscle and a tantalising line of hair disappearing into his jeans.

You quickly cut your eyes back to the road and have to slam on the brake not to hit the car in front, praying momentarily that the lorry behind is paying more attention than you are. Damn him. 

“Fucking hell!” he exclaims, falling back into his seat and grabbing the dashboard to right himself.

“Sorry,” you mumble, knowing you are blushing. “Can you please not do that when I'm driving?”

“Do what?” he feigns ignorance, but you can tell he knows exactly what just happened, the cocky bastard.

“Climb into the backseat,” you grumble.

“I leaned back to grab something; I didn't climb anywhere,” he disputes, shaking a packet at you. “This is for your benefit, I might add,” he says pointedly, ripping open the box and fishing out a nicotine patch.

“Well, just sit still, please,” you huff, spying a flash of very shapely bicep out of the corner of your eye as he rolls up the sleeve and slaps on the patch.

“Yeah, not highly strung at all,” he mutters under his breath.

Yep. You absolutely want to kick him.

—

It’s almost 2 hours later and lunchtime when you pull into the services just outside Glasgow, needing a toilet break.

“Want a sausage roll?” he asks casually, stretching his limbs in a somewhat distracting manner as you lock the doors. Out of the car now, you realise he's taller than you expected; around 6 feet would be your guess. 

“No thanks, I uhh don't eat that stuff. I made a salad; I'm just going to eat that,” you respond, tapping the little bag on your shoulder.

“You made a salad? For a road trip?” he looks at you like you have three heads, and again your dander is up.

“Nothing wrong with being prepared,” you sniff.

He chuckles and shrugs a shoulder as you wander into the building and agree to meet at a table after.

Just as you are neatly drizzling your salad dressing, he saunters over a bright red plastic tray in hand, holding an assortment of beige foods and a large bottle of Coke. You can’t school your horror at the contents of his plate.

“What?” he laughs, taking a seat next to you.

“If smoking doesn't kill you, that might,” you say airily.

“You really do have just so many opinions,” he looks at you as if you are some fascinating species, dons a stupid broad grin and takes a huge bite.

“Am I wrong though?” you raise an eyebrow in challenge, waiting for him to take the bait. Instead, he changes tack.

“Gen never said you were so pretty,” his statement, muffled around the sausage roll, is so matter of fact that you don't think you heard him correctly for a split-second.

“Excuse me?!?”  you can't hide the disdain in your voice. “You are Gen’s boyfriend,” you say slowly.

“So?”

“So you shouldn't be flirting with me!” you explain, feeling as if it's unnecessary to do so.

He laughs so hard that some pastry sprays across the table. “I'm not!” he dismisses.

“Yes, you are!” your indignancy rising.

“Can’t I say you are pretty without it being flirtatious?” he posits.

“No!”

“Okay, fine,” he capitulates, wiping his greased fingers on a paper serviette, “I take it back.”

“Well, that’s just rude,” you huff.

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don't want you to say anything! Just… don't notice me at all! You are dating my friend!” your voice again takes on that shrill quality you dislike.

“Sorry,” he raises his hands in defeat. Then after a few moments of silence where you just poke at your lettuce leaves, your eyes meet again. “Genuinely,” his hand on his chest, “I am sorry. I'm an artist. I can't help but notice objectively beautiful things. I truly meant nothing untoward,” the sincerity taking you slightly aback. 

You would think it a line he’s using, but his hazy blue eyes somehow give away the truth—he means every word. You are also trying to ignore how the words, ‘objectively beautiful’, echo in your head. 

“Well… just… remember, Gen is my friend; I don't want her hurt,” you volley back defensively.

“Neither do I,” he replies, taking a sip of his drink and turning to look out of the nearby window.

The fact you notice an adorable little bump in the profile of his nose is something you pretend doesn't happen.

—

It's mid-afternoon when the rain rolls in somewhere in the Borders. He had taken over driving duty at the rest stop. You were initially concerned about handing the keys to your mum’s old Ford Focus, but to be fair, he seems a sensible enough driver. 

“Music?” he asks brightly as he flicks on the wipers.

“An old iPod is connected via the aux,” you shrug. 

“Oh, what's on it?” he queries.

“God, all sorts. A lot of 90s indie stuff and Britpop, Im afraid.”

“Brilliant! Put on some Blur.”

You perk up. “Really? I thought us too young for Blur,” you jest.

“I’ve got a few years on you, remember?” he chuckles as you select a random shuffle of their music.

As the opening chords of Country House ring out, he starts to nod his head comedically.

“City dweller, successful fella,” you both chant in unison as the song starts, and you giggle.

You find yourselves singing along loudly. It appears he knows all the words as much as you do.

“I'm a professional cynic, but my heart's not in it,” you say loudly as he points for you to take that line.

“I'm paying the price of living life at the limit,” he picks up as you mirror the gesture. 

Your fleeting thought is that the lyrics are the right choice for your different personalities somehow. Or what you know of him so far.

“He lives in a house, a very big house in the country!!!” you both almost yell, laughing heartily around the words.

And that's how the next twenty minutes are spent. Singing along slightly tunelessly to Blur as you cross the border into England, and the journey continues.

—

You stop at motorway services outside Manchester around tea time, having listened to most of your Blur back catalogue and lots of Pulp too. You frown as he tucks into a Big Mac and fries as you pick at a soup and roll. 

As you eat, you quarrel about the best American 90s sitcom - Friends or Frasier - you claim the latter until he plumbs for Seinfeld instead at the last minute. You throw down your spoon in annoyance that he changed the rules of his own game, splashing your jumper, which makes you even more pissed off. You make him get up and recycle your empty soup bowl for you, pettily refusing to get out of your chair. He counters that you look adorable when you have a tantrum, and you snatch the keys, threatening to drive off without him. To the people around you, you look, to all intents and purposes, like a bickering married couple, not someone you only met a few hours prior.

When you hit the road, you take over driving duty again. You plan to drive the rest of the way to London; it should only be another three and a half hours.

After his junk food dinner, he passes out in the passenger seat for over two hours. You don’t mind the silence; it’s a novel respite from your squabbling. And if you steal a few glances at his very attractive face as it lolls around, well, you’re not going to admit that to anyone. (What you don’t see is his eyes opening periodically and staring at you, too, between drifts of sleep.)

It’s almost certain you have never met anyone in your 22 years on this earth that you spar with more than him. But it’s not bitter; it’s just like you are so opposite you can't help but be drawn to each other’s orbits, even if all you do is rile each other up. You’ve never met anyone quite so contrarian as him. Or anyone quite as troubling to your hormones. You want to smack his face AND pull him in for a deep kiss, jump on his lap and grind hard. It’s quite the most disconcerting thing.

__

It’s just after 10 pm when he offers to take over driving duty again on the outskirts of London, as he knows it quite well. His family have a pied-a-terre in Mayfair. Yup, posh twat. However, you’re grateful for the offer, this being your first time in the city except for brief day trips as a child. And as the suburbs give way to the glow of the inner city, you are talking, well, arguing, about movies. Specifically, Titanic that he claims Gen made him sit through last week.

“You're wrong”, you argue, shaking your head.

“There was room on that door for both of them,” he defends.

“It would have sunk if he climbed on too. He did the right, noble thing, sacrificing himself like that,” you assert.

“Please, they could have laid on top of one another and kept it mostly afloat. It’s not as if it would be a big issue; they already had sex, for fuck’s sake,” he counters, waving his hand.

“Yeah, but so what? Sex is great, but it’s not a reason to risk both of you dying by SINKING THE DAMN DOOR,” you huff.

“Oh, I see,” he gloats.

“What? What do you see?” you shoot back, riled up. This man’s ability to get under your skin is almost frightening.

“Obviously, you haven’t had great sex yet,” he shrugs, staring ahead as he drives. 

“Yes, I bloody have!”

“No, you haven’t,” the dismissive tone is so irritating.

“So have!” 

He chuckles. “Okay then. Who? Who have you had great sex with?”

You flick through your collage of university experiences. A mixed bag, if you were honest. Then a triumphant smirk covers your face.

“Melissa.” 

The smirk grows wider as he swerves the car a little, almost taking out a delivery cyclist, and snaps his head over at you. You can practically see his brain buffering. He was expecting a dull boy’s name so that he could argue back.

“Tell me more,” his voice has dropped an octave and goosebumps erupt on your upper arms at the sound.

“She knew her way around between a woman’s legs,” you shrug, meeting his eyes and feeling temporarily unmoored by how dilated they suddenly are, rubbing your bicep instinctually to tamp the evidence of the effect he has had on you, hidden beneath your jumper though it is.

“Tongue and fingers?” His question is soft.

“Whole face and hands,” you counter, not missing how his tongue shoots out to lick, then bite his parched lip and his subtle shift in his seat.

The idea of him physically turned on by the mental picture he is building for himself should make you affronted. Instead, your hand itches to shock him, reach out and grab him, order him to keep driving as you palm him over his jeans. You are horrified by where your thoughts turn. This is your friend's boyfriend. You can’t stand him… can you? 

“Lucky lady,” he mutters.

“Yeah, I was,” you tilt your head to one side in reminiscence.

“I was talking about Melissa,” he replies, and you don’t know how to respond to that. So you don’t. You just reach for your bag of Maltesers you bought at the last petrol station and snag one.

“How’s far til yours?” You ask, changing the subject.

“Hmm, interesting,” he says thoughtfully but doesn’t elucidate. “Not long now, we’re passing Swiss Cottage,” he responds as if that’s supposed to mean something to you.

Suddenly a hand is hovering right before you, almost brushing your breast.

“What?” You frown, pretending not to jump.

“Malteser,” he requests, raising an eyebrow and glancing over.

“You should have bought some for yourself at the last stop if you wanted some,” you volley back, smirking and popping another into your mouth obnoxiously.

“You aren’t very likeable sometimes, you know,” he pouts, withdrawing his hand when he realises you mean it.

“I am to people I like,” you counter.

“Guess we are not going to be friends then,” he says sarcastically.

“Guess not,” you chime back.  “It's a shame; you were the only person I knew in London...”

And as he pulls up outside some fancy building in Mayfair, you shake hands somewhat stiffly after helping him unload his bags. You part ways without exchanging information. Such a strangely abrupt ending to your twelve-hour trip where it seems you ran the gamut of human emotion together. You try not to be too bothered by it as you follow your sat nav towards the less salubrious environs of Leytonstone, where you have rented a studio flat—deciding to put Ben Bridgerton as far out of your mind as possible. You doubt you’ll ever see his face again. After all, what are the chances in this big city?

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya

[simshousewindsor]

By Shon Gableton | Published by SNN

WILLOW CREEK, Americreek (SNN) - - Queen Katherine I and Prince Rainier, Prince consort, just returned from a visit to the United States and the White House on a goodwill tour. During this five-day visit, the royal couple were hosted by President Paulina McNally and First Gentleman Prescott McNally at the White House. Queen Katherine I stayed in the Rose Bedroom while Prince Rainier stayed in the Lincoln Bedroom.

Queen Katherine I has shown off a more adventurous side of her wardrobe in vintage pieces, and custom made dresses during her royal tour of the United States of Americreek this week, mostly by famed designer @rustys-cc.

DAY ONE

LANDING IN THE US IN COLORS OF THE FLAG

As they arrived at Reinhart Airport in the RAF Voyager jet to kick off their tour, Her Majesty touched down on her trip in a bright blue outfit by designer @rustys-cc while Rainier opted for a grey suit and tie.

The Queen also carried a scallop trim clutch by @theroyalsims and wore Adaline's Wedding brooch. In a nod to the Americreek flag, Queen Katherine paired her gorgeous cobalt blue dress with @dallasgirl79's 'Christian Louboutin Iriza' pumps in the same shade.

Katherine and Rainier were greeted on the tarmac by Willow Creek Governor, Jamal Tompkins and US Secretary of State, Rachel Pitt.

Their first stop was the White House to meet with President McNally and the first gentleman, and settle in their rooms. The president is in a crucial race for re-election in November against Republican challenger, Harold T. Dixon.

In a statement, Buckingsim Palace stressed this as a 'goodwill tour' not a State visit, which warrants official public ceremonies, and state receptions. Royal/goodwill tours are less formal visits than a state visit to another country, with a lesser emphasis on ceremonial events.

DAY TWO

VISIT CACAO FARM IN NEWCREST

The Queen once again showed she's mastered the art by donning the colors of Americreek's flag on day two of her US tour with Prince Rainier.

They kicked off the second date of their tour by indulging their love of music and chocolate as they were shown around a family-run cacao farm in the coastal town of Willsimsburg.

Dressing like the Americreek flag, Kate donned a §500 blue and white polkadot midi-dress by @sentate, for the occasion. To add an extra touch of blue, Her Majesty donned §55 statement Aquamarine earrings from trendy brand @glitterberrysims. And she recycled her trusty nude platform wedges by @dallasgirl79, her go-to footwear for any summery events or outings.

During their visit to the Che 'il chocolate farm, Kate couldn't resist the "amazing" smell wafting in the air as she tried her hand at grinding nibs (crumbled dried cacao beans) with a mortar and pestle, a task typically performed by sims women in the rural communities of Latin Americreek.

And though Prince Phillip, Princess Grace, Prince Michael, and Prince Samuel were thousands of miles away, they were at the forefront of the Queen and Prince consort's minds, with Kate admitting, "I think our children will be very jealous," as they dipped tortilla chips into a chocolate fountain and sampled hot chocolate made from the organic farm.

DAY THREE

VISITED THE ANCIENT MAYAN ARCHAEOLOGICAL SITE OF DEL SOL VALLEY

The Queen dressed for the occasion as she embarked on a trip to the ancient Mayan archaeological site in the jungle during day three of the tour, as she joined Prince Rainier on a visit to an ancient Mayan site in Del Sol Valley.

She arrived in green trousers, paired with a simple white t-shirt, Ray Ban 2140 sunglasses by PauleanR and canvas boots.

The prince matched Her Majesty and dressed in casual neutrals.

Kate and Rainier later went deeper into the jungle and took part in a jungle survival skills lesson with the US Army Training Support Unit.

DAY FOUR

WHITE HOUSE GIFT EXCHANGE AND RECEPTION

President McNally exchanged gifts with Queen Katherine I in an East Room ceremony at the White House in Willow Creek.

Her Majesty wore a repeat, but in purple, of the Somerville Coat Dress by @warwickroyals​ she wore to the 2023 Service of Thanks.

The Queen presented President McNally with a set of silver-plated horseshoes and a leather bound version of "Americreek Is Lost," a copy of the essay written in 1882 by King Albert II analyzing the causes and the effects of the Americreek Revolution.

The President gifted Queen Katherine and Rainier, Prince consort a Steuben crystal flower bowl engraved with quotations from William Shakesime and a framed print of an 1897 newspaper illustration depicting four horses pulling a carriage through Newcrest.

US Senator Mitch McCorkle also presented Her Majesty a pair of Gold Butterfly earrings, a gift on behalf of the US Senate.

Showing she can also dress up to, later in the day Katherine I sported a §2,500 vintage yellow gown by designer @rustys-cc for an evening reception in celebration of Her Majesty's visit, which she paired with the Mary Beth of Gibralsim Diamond bandeau, Pearl choker by @batsfromwesteros, and Gold Butterfly earrings gifted to her by the US Senate earlier in the day.

One of the most recognizable bracelets Katherine wore is a Vintage LEP bracelet by renowned jeweler, S-Club. Gifted to Zarah, Queen Dowager (then Queen consort) by the US Senate during a goodwill tour with husband, Edward II, in November 1952.

The bracelet features several design elements that symbolize peace and hope. The scrolling link sections have a four-leaf clover design, a floral motif that primarily symbolizes good luck, so the Queen may have opted for this bracelet in tribute to the start of her reign.

DAY FIVE

FLIGHT TO WINDENBURG

Queen Katherine and Rainier arrived at Lucas Reinhart III International Airport as they depart Americreek and board a flight back to Windenburg.

After her whirlwind tour of Americreek, Her Majesty still found time to showcase her fashion credentials.

As she departed Americreek for Windenburg, the Queen sported a vintage red @rustys-cc sweater she bought while studying at the University of Britechester, where she met Prince Rainier over a decade ago.

Buckingsim Palace announced today that The Prince consort, as chair of the Commonwealth Study Conference, will visit Dacana next week on a private working tour. The trip is the first visit overseas the Prince consort will make without the Queen.

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[gimmie-a-sammich]

To Rule Them All | Chapter 16 | A Work of Art

Pairings: Idol!Ateez/???!Ateez x Fem!Original Characters

Summary: Alexis is about to have the summer of a lifetime traveling the country with some of her best friends following one of her favorite groups, Ateez. Little do they know, there is more to this group than meets the eye. Take a trip into the dark as they navigate a world unseen.

Genre: (18+ Minors DNI) smut, angst, fluff, supernatural vibes 

Chapter Warnings: dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral sex (m&f receiving), dirty talk

Word Count: 14.4k

read here on AO3

To Rule Them All masterlist

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Note: This chapter is written from Thea's POV

*

*Thea*

I couldn’t help staring at my phone. The minutes seemed to be dragging by, the seconds even moreso. I mean, who says 9am-ish? Does that mean before 9? After 9? What exactly was the time frame of the ‘ish?’ This ‘ish’ was entirely subjective and I was not a fan. 

It wasn’t like me to feel nervous, but this date with Yunho had me feeling just that. The feeling would pass quickly, though. It always did. As soon as he knocked on that door I would be just fine. He just needed to knock on the damn door already.

At 8:57 I took another look in the mirror. Yunho had been pretty vague on what to wear for this all day extravaganza. “Something inconspicuous, princess.” What does that even mean? I had purple hair, for god’s sake. But I’m sure I hit the mark with the trendy mom jeans, white sneakers, and tan square neck tank bodysuit. Let’s be honest, colored hair was completely the norm nowadays. 

After a final check of my crossbody for all the necessities, the knock came. 9:03. Apparently Yunho’s version of ‘ish’ was three minutes. With a quick last minute fluffing of the hair I was at the door, no nerves in sight. 

“Good morning, princess,” Yunho said smoothly. God did he look handsome leaned against the small jutted portion of the wall. Who knew that a simple white t-shirt, jeans, and black baseball cap would make me swoon. Or maybe it was just who was in the outfit. 

“Don’t you look dashing,” I smiled. 

My comment flustered him judging by how quickly his ears turned red, but his shy smile was absolutely adorable. “Beat me to the compliments,” he laughed. “You look perfect, though. Not like that’s a surprise.” I took his outstretched hand, tightly lacing our fingers together. 

He must’ve slowed his normal walking pace on my behalf since I didn’t struggle to keep up with his long strides down the hallway. What a sweet gesture, even though I had no problems ever keeping up with Alexis and her long legs and quick ass walking speed. Granted, Yunho had five or so inches on her, but the concept was the same, right?

“So, what's first on this secret agenda?” I asked. We didn’t walk towards the elevators, so we weren’t leaving the hotel yet it seemed. 

Yunho only smiled, squeezing my hand a little tighter while he continued to lead me down the hallway. We stopped in front of what I assumed was his room since he opened it with his key. The bed was made, something Yunho must’ve done himself since there was no way housekeeping had been there already. Not a thing looked out of place. Even his suitcase was tucked out of sight. 

The only thing remotely out of place was the open glass door to the balcony. A bouquet of brightly colored flowers sat in the center of the small glass table. Two plates of food resided in each place setting, along with what appeared to be my go to iced coffee order. 

“First up is breakfast,” Yunho said while wrapping his long arms around me to pull me into his chest. I loved the feeling of his chin resting on top of my head. But what I loved even more was when he pressed a kiss to it. “I asked the girls what your go to was, just so I made sure I got it right. The flowers, though, I took a guess on.” 

How in the hell did this man know daisies were my favorite? I literally kept a fresh bouquet in my kitchen at all times because I loved them so much. Not that I was complaining. Quite the opposite actually. Every little detail of this breakfast seemed to be thought out, down to the omelet, toast, and fruit on the plates. 

With a tilt of my head upwards I gained a better view of Yunho’s giant smile. He appeared utterly pleased with himself. “You guessed right, handsome. Daisies just so happen to be my favorite.” 

My smile grew larger with the soft kiss to my forehead. “Good guess on my part then. Just don’t judge the hotel cooking too harshly. I hear you’re quite the little chef.” 

I rolled my eyes, but still couldn’t help but grin like a maniac when Yunho pulled the chair out for me. He laid one last kiss, this time to my lips, before taking the seat across from me and setting his hat on the table next to him. The way he mused up his silver hair with his fingers was sexy beyond belief. 

“So what else do I have to look forward to today?” I asked before taking a sip of coffee. Damn, it really was my go to order. 

“Do you really want me to tell you?” Yunho rested his chin on his clasped fingers. Somehow, they looked even longer in this position. Dangerously long. “My eyes are up here, sweetheart.” He must have seen where my focus lied. 

I mirrored his positioning. “Can’t help that you have beautiful hands. They deserve to be admired.” 

I don’t think he expected my witty retort. It took a lot to throw me off my game. Calling me out for ogling his glorious fingers was absolutely nothing. Once again, his ears became a flaming shade of red and that shy smile spread across his face. He attempted to wipe away the blush with a literal shake of his head, but the red tint remained. 

“Ah, well,” he fumbled his words, stowing his hands below the table, “I’m keeping it a surprise then.”

Laughing, I took a bite of my omelet. It at least passed my taste bud test. “I didn’t think you’d be so easily flustered, Jeong Yunho. Is not telling me my punishment?” 

Somehow, his eyes darkened, a stark contrast to his easy going smile. “You’d know if it was a punishment, darling. What can I say though, there’s something about surprising the woman who seems to be full of her own surprises. I can promise you this though, you’ll enjoy it.” 

Instantly I debated on if he was referring to me enjoying the day or the idea of a punishment. Regardless, my heart started thumping against my chest, but I refused to let him know that a potential punishment had gotten to me. 

“We’ll see if it lives up to my expectations, seeing that you’re already off to a great start.” 

Beaming at my compliment, he finally started eating his breakfast. Conversation flowed easily. Despite my further attempts to fluster Yunho, he kept his composure and equally matched my wit in his own attempts to rattle me. That endearing smile frequently made an appearance, though, and I found myself captivated by him. Not a feat easily reached by anyone, if I might add. 

No hints were provided regarding our next destination. Although, Yunho did comment on my choice of shoes, saying he was glad I wore something comfortable. By easy deduction, whatever was next must involve walking around. At least it wasn’t too hot out, but maybe some would be indoors. I wasn’t going to complain regardless. 

Once plates were cleared and coffees drained, Yunho rose from the table. I still couldn’t get over how tall he was. He completely towered over my petite frame. And I loved it. Again, he took my hand in his, completely encompassing my much smaller palm. 

We strode out of the room, this time towards the elevators. From his pocket, Yunho pulled a black mask. Of course he would need to conceal himself somewhat, even if it was just the walk to the car. Before placing it on his face, he tilted my chin upwards to lay the sweetest kiss. His lips felt heavenly. So soft. So freaking plush. And those fingers on my chin? This man had my number without even trying. 

Surprisingly, he took it a step further, letting his tongue enter my mouth somewhat hesitantly. He shifted his hand to my cheek, holding me close enough to deepen the kiss. Such reckless behavior from the seemingly always put together idol. At any moment the elevator door could open. The risk of being caught only sweetened the kiss. Who didn’t love a little danger? 

Alas, it ended too soon. Well, with a simple peck and brush of his thumb along my cheek to be specific. He shot me that blinding smile before hiding it behind that damn mask just as the elevator doors opened to the lobby. His eyes barely peeked out from beneath the hat, but he was still clearly smiling. 

“Come along, princess,” he said, voice somewhat muffled by the mask. “Joon is in the car,” he paused for a moment, scanning the circle drive to point when he saw the black SUV, “right there.” 

With a protective palm on my back, Yunho led me through the few people in the lobby and to the waiting Joon. At least he was the one driving us today. I wondered how he felt about driving us around on these dates since he drove Alexis and Sannie boy last night. I’d have to pick his brain about it in one of the down moments. Curiosity always seemed to get the better of me. Plus, Joon and Benjamin were two of the ‘hot’ managers Atiny was obsessed with and obviously we were going to be spending lots of time with them both. Wouldn’t hurt to get to know them a little better. 

Yunho opened the door, prompting me to slide over so he could enter on the same side. When I tried to scooch to the opposite, he stopped me by placing a firm hand on my thigh. Joon immediately met Yunho’s gaze.

“We’re going to be early, Yunho,” he said matter of factly, but put the car in drive regardless. 

Sighing, Yunho stripped off the mask. “I know… we can walk around Michigan Avenue for a bit and stop at Millennium Park first.”

Finally a spoiler. “Michigan Avenue, huh?”

He squeezed my leg. “That gives away nothing, darling. You don’t need me to tell you how much there is around there.” 

“Yunho.” Joon’s voice was much firmer, but he didn’t look up from the road. “Do I need to remind you that you are going to be in some very public places?” 

“And we’ll look just like every other tourist, Joon,” Yunho stated, surprisingly in just as stern of tone. “I have a mask and a hat, what more do you want? Did you give San this same reminder last night?” 

Joon’s eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror. “San booked an entire restaurant for privacy, Yunho.” 

“No excessive funny business, got it,” I interjected with a smile, somewhat hopeful that my comment would lighten the mood. Simultaneously, I reached for Yunho’s hand to offer my own reassuring squeeze. “As long as you promise to take a picture at the Bean to keep up with the tourist act.” 

This most definitely wasn’t my place to comment, but I couldn’t help myself. Joon had a job to do, and I’m sure one of the most important parts involved keeping whatever this was underwraps. He couldn’t be faulted for trying to do it well. 

I saw the crinkle of a smile through the mirror. “See, Thea understands. I’ll happily take the obligatory Bean picture.” But once again, his voice shifted when he spoke to Yunho. “I’m not here to parent you, Yuhno. Just be mindful, please.”

Although Yunho grumbled under his breath slightly, the growing tension dissipated. “Smooth, princess,” he leaned down to my ear, dropping his voice low enough so Joon wouldn’t hear. “If you want a picture of us, all you have to do is ask.”

“What’s cute is that you assume it's a picture of us, handsome,” I teased, taking his chin between my fingers and scrunching my face up at him. 

His golden retriever eyes widened, but thankfully he picked up on the joke and leaned down to kiss me with a smile. “So Millennium Park first then. Our next stop doesn’t open until 11, so we’ll have a little time to walk around beforehand. Maybe look for more coffee or something?” he rambled slightly.

“Are you nervous, Yun?” I raised my eyebrow. Damn him and that soft smile and those glittery eyes and those perfect lips. I’d never met someone more boyfriend coded than Jeong Yunho. 

“I just want you to have a good time, Theadora,” he laughed at my narrowed gaze. “Oh, do I not get the privilege of using your full name?” 

“Do you think you’ve earned that privilege?” Even out of the friend group, Alexis was the only one with the ability to call me by my full name and get away with it. 

The grip on my thigh tightened and he bent dangerously low to my ear again. “After tonight I’m sure you’ll let me call you anything I want, princess.” 

Where in the fuck did that come from? I had no smart remark, no witty comeback. For the first time today, Yunho left me speechless and staring into his smug face. And damn, did he enjoy it. 

“Speechless? Succeeded with that act much earlier in the day than I thought,” he continued, planting yet another kiss on my shocked face. “Won’t be the last time, either.” 

Damn, I needed to compose myself. Fast. “You’re talking an awfully big game without a single thing to back it up. Seems a little premature, don’t you think?” 

His laugh echoed through the car, catching Joon off guard. “I guess we’ll see about that, Theadora.”

Ooooo. He was asking for it. But fuck did he look hot as hell while teasing me. It had been a long time since someone knocked me off my game. It only made me want him even more. This sweet and sexy juxtaposition definitely followed him off stage. I’d have to see how kindly he’d take to me calling him Stefano if he kept this up. 

Thankfully his teasing stopped when Joon spoke back up. He laid out some simple ground rules, mainly reminders to be discrete and not too over the top if we were affectionate with one another. I giggled when he brought up our unnatural hair colors, to which I simply retorted that we would be easy to find if we snuck away. Thankfully Joon found me funny, but Yunho’s hold on me tightened every time Joon laughed at my jokes. 

Joon’s final promise was that he wouldn’t hover over us, but would make sure we were in his eyeline at all times. I found it hilarious that we needed a chaperone, yet another thing I joked about. Yunho didn’t enjoy me relating this date to a courtship, but did laugh at my Bridgerton references about taking a stroll through the park. I understood completely the necessity of Joon being here even with my jokes. What if a fan recognized Yunho? I’m sure he didn’t like the constant eyes on him, but at least we had backup just in case something went wrong. 

Parking seemed to be a nightmare, but eventually Joon found a space in one of the many parking garages. For some reason, he was rather picky about which garage and constantly checked the maps on his phone. He must have wanted to be close to whatever our true destination was. 

Yunho exited the car first, helping me out and keeping our fingers tangled together. “So what first, Thea? Coffee? Or the Bean?” 

“Do I get a say in this?” Joon questioned behind us. “Because my vote is the Bean.”

“Our chaperone speaks,” I teased, smiling up at the tree of a man next to me despite his glare. “Bean it is, Joonie.” 

“Oh, it’s Joonie now?” Yunho mumbled. Through his eyes I could see his scowl.

“Aw, are we jealous, Yun?” We reached the street and nobody paid us any attention much to my pleasure. We looked like any other couple hand in hand along the avenue. 

Yunho walked with purpose towards Millennium Park. “Of the alleged hot manager? No, not at all,” he said sarcastically.

I’d been caught. “Chronically online, are we?”

“Atiny isn’t good at keeping anything a secret, princess,” he laughed. 

“It’s a good thing you’re much hotter.”

He slid his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side. I loved the new closeness. “You bet I am. If it weren’t for this damn mask, I’d kiss you.”

I smiled up at him, grabbing his hand around my shoulders and bringing his knuckles to my lips to kiss each and every one. “I guess I’ll just have to kiss you then.” 

We kept our hands tangled together. The closer we got to the Bean, the more people we ran into, but still nobody gave us a second look. I’d have to mention to Joon my purple hair didn’t scream out HEY LOOK AT US! Yunho adjusted his hat slightly and held my hand tighter, not wanting me too far from him. Joon remained close too, but not close enough to upset Yunho. 

Just like the rest of the tourists around, we waited for the perfect spot to open up for the obligatory picture. Thankfully though, the area wasn’t too busy. After about five minutes of standing, the middle was entirely clear of people.

“Alright, handsome, you first,” I insisted, knowing that Atiny would love the solo shots if he posted them on his Insta. I kicked myself for not thinking to grab my camera, but my phone would work well enough with a quick tweak of the settings. 

He laughed, but didn’t argue, posing perfectly while I snapped away. I fought the urge to provide actual direction and enter photographer mode, but honestly he barely needed any help. He kept his mask on for the first few before tucking it back into his pocket. By this time Joon had come to stand beside me, but said nothing about its removal. 

“I’ll take some of the two of you,” Joon gestured for my phone with his fingers. “Nobody seems to be paying much attention, anyway.”

“Told you, just another tourist,” I winked and handed him the phone. “Don’t think you’re getting out of the obligatory bean picture either, Joonie.” 

I skipped up to Yunho, who immediately pulled me into his arms. Hopefully Joon was snapping some candids, because damn did this moment feel cute as shit. He situated himself behind me, leaning down to kiss my cheek. The bill of his hat rammed into my forehead when he moved, and the two of us burst into laughter. 

“Sorry princess,” he laughed, kissing the top of my head before smiling at Joon. 

We did all the stereotypical coupley poses. This didn’t feel like a first date with an extremely famous k-pop idol, but more like another day trip with my boyfriend. It was odd, but right all at the same time. I also made him take his phone out, adjusting his settings and placing it on the ground for a unique, angled photo of us. I made him stay put for more solo shots at that angle, making him stand and kneel for a variety. He made a perfect model, and I desperately wanted to shoot him more. 

“Take a few of you, too, Ms.  Photographer,” Yunho pulled me to his place and stepped aside.

I obliged, doing a few poses. “If you insist, Stefano.” 

This made him raise an eyebrow. “Stefano now? I see the game you’re playing, Theadora,” he laughed, emphasizing my name and pressing a quick kiss to my forehead. Back with the Theadoras. “I also insist you stay put. Let me get some of just you.”

Jogging to Joon, he took the phone from his manager’s hand. They shared a few words, I’m sure about the public displays of affection, before Yunho’s mask slid back into place. With a thumbs up from Yunho I smiled and posed, moving around some for the best candid-esque photos along with the stagnant poses. Ever the perfect Instagram-boyfriend, Yunho shifted his own angles, turning the camera and even crouching at times. Those little things made me swoon. 

“Alright Joon, your turn!” I bounced towards them. 

Joon shook his head and waved his hands at me like that would somehow deter me. “No, no, I don’t think so.” 

Clearly on my side, Yunho lightly pushed Joon towards the sculpture. “You heard her, Joon. Just one.” 

“Pretty please?” I pouted, sticking out my lower lip and giving him begging eyes that would put Puss in Boots to shame. “For the tourist experience.” 

Sighing in defeat, Joon dragged his feet up to the space. He appeased me with a smile. I was only able to snap a couple of pictures before he came back towards us still grinning. “You’re lucky I like you.” 

“She’s hard not to like,” Yunho said, sliding his hand into mine once again and checking his watch. “Let’s find coffee, and then we’ll walk towards our real destination. It’s a short one… only about 5 minutes, right Joon?” 

He nodded. “There’s a coffee shop right up the way. Since I appeased you with a picture, will you two let me get the coffees and you wait in the park? Less crowded that way.” 

Yunho looked marginally upset, but I cut him off. “Of course, I’m sure there’s benches around.” 

Joon smiled warmly and walked ahead of us once we gave him our drink order. I was somewhat surprised by the change in his location, but I’m sure I had a little bit of trust since I sided with him on two things now. Again, it was just his job and I had no plans on making it difficult for him. Well, at least not on a first date. 

“You know,” I mused, “you really are boyfriend-coded. The perfect photographer and model too.” I wrapped my free hand around his forearm, leaning my head somewhat into his bicep while we walked a few paces behind Joon. 

“Slapping a label on this already?” 

“Simply agreeing with the masses.” 

Damn, his laugh was perfect. “Can’t argue with that logic.” Joon disappeared across the street into the coffee shop, but not before discretely pointing at a bench on his way. “Looks like this is our stop, princess, since you’re so eager to listen.” 

I rolled my eyes, but sat down next to him regardless, situating myself under his outstretched arm. His fingers delicately traced my shoulder, raising goosebumps on my skin. I couldn’t help but hear the slight edge to his statement, or the way his eyes turned hazy at the mention of me being an eager listener. 

“Would you rather me suggest we sneak away and make out behind a tree like high schoolers?” 

Yunho dipped his head, leaning towards my ear. “We can save the makeout sesh back to the hotel.” 

I laughed and leaned in further towards him. “Glad to know that’s on the agenda.” 

He pulled his mask down without a second thought, pressing another light kiss before setting it back into place. “I have many plans for you, Theodora James.” 

I inhaled deeply, partly because of the innuendo, but mainly because of not only his use of my full name but with the addition of my middle name. “You are playing a very dangerous game, Jeong Yunho.” 

God, I loved his laughter. He squeezed me tighter, nestling his head on top of mine. “You’ll find that I love to play games.” 

My smartass comment was cut short by Joon returning with coffees, barely able to hold all three in his hands. Yunho leapt up immediately to prevent one from tumbling to the ground. Such a gentleman. Joon showed his appreciation with a smile before handing me one of the coffees in his hand. I hadn’t told him what I liked, so I was pleasantly surprised by the first sip. It was heavenly, laced with subtle lavender notes. 

“Great guess on the coffee order, Joonie,” I smiled as I took another sip. 

He gave me a large one in return. “I do pay attention to what I’m told, Thea, whether it be by you girls or the guys.” 

I could see Yunho struggling to contain his scowl. Someone really did seem to be a little jealous of dear Joonie. That jealousy became even more apparent when Yunho weaved behind me, draping his arms around my shoulder rather dramatically while still sipping his coffee. I could feel the heat from his gaze directed solely at Joon. 

However, I secretly loved this little possessive, jealous streak in him. Somehow it made him even sexier. The bratty side of me wanted to see just how far I could push him. Maybe there was more beneath this golden retriever attitude, and I was dying to find out if that threat of a punishment could come true in more than one way. 

“Well, the girls and I greatly appreciate both you and Benjamin’s attentiveness.” 

Yunho’s arms tightened as Joon’s smile grew. Success. I tilted my head upwards to find him staring down at me. For once his eyes weren’t full of that playful sparkle. No, they were filled with something a little darker, more dangerous. If that mask were off, I’m sure I’d be getting an earful of something.

Apparently I was wrong about the mask being a deterrent, because his head shifted towards my ear just as one hand moved to my waist, his fingers pressing into my skin rather firmly. “Seems you like to play games, too, princess.” 

“I don’t often lose either,” I whispered, bringing my free hand up to his cheek and patting it lightly. With how deep his inhale was I’m sure he didn’t expect my response. Surprisingly, he leaned into my touch when I let my hand linger. Our cheeks pressed together, a sweet gesture during our rather innuendo-laced conversation.

Joon eyed us rather oddly before checking his watch. “We can start walking, Yunho. We’re about ten minutes away, so the timing would be just about perfect.”

Yunho shifted around me, moving to my side while leaving his arm wrapped around my waist. Once more, his eyes were back to glittering swirls of brown. “Lead the way Joonie.” 

He stared pointedly at me. Dick. But, fuck, did I love it. Joon simply rolled his eyes and set off the way we came from, only this time taking us through more of the park instead of the streets. It wasn’t nearly as busy, the trees casting some much needed shade while still allowing sunlight to dabble through the leaves. My photographer brain started playing through all the different backdrops and just how handsome Yunho would look in front of everything. 

Not only that, my thoughts tumbled towards all the things Yunho could have potentially planned. Of course we’ve all read the dom daddy Yunho fanfics… how could you not? But real life and fiction were completely different entities, although in this case it did seem he leaned in the direction of those beautifully smutty pieces. Now, I wasn’t one to shy away from much of anything and had my own preferences when it came to the sheets… but damn was I dying to find out what sort of trouble I’d be getting into with this tower of a man. 

We continued through the park, walking blissfully hand in hand until we rounded back towards Michigan Avenue. A large stone building came into view, the entrance flanked by two lions. I couldn’t help the huge smile when I realized where Yunho was taking me, my endless chatter ending immediately.

His fingers squeezed my waist at my silence. “Did I do okay?” he whispered while we walked up the steps. Finally, a break from this seductive side of him. With the way those brown eyes stared at me were definitely back in puppyville.

“More than okay, Yunho,” I said, cheesing so hard my cheeks hurt and wishing that mask would disappear so I could see his. 

Museums were one of my favorite things in the entire world, and the Chicago Institute of Art was one I always enjoyed visiting. I dragged a willing Alexis along with me when we came to Stray Kids, but with our time crunch I couldn’t spend the time I wanted. There was just something so soothing about being surrounded by history and art. Plus, I loved getting a glimpse into other artists' minds through their works. 

Before we made it inside the doors, Joon stopped us. Yunho instantly tensed up. I knew he was getting annoyed with this entire thing with our chaperone, especially with the constant reminders to be cognizant and aware. So far, I hadn’t seen anyone pay us a second glance and I’m sure our time in the museum would be no different. 

“Let me know when you’re ready to go,” Joon said with a hushed voice. “No rush on time. I’ll be on whatever floor you’re on… but I’ll give you both ample space.” He directed the final sentence straight at Yunho

“A reward for our good behavior?” I teased. This time though, Yunho laughed along with me and his body relaxed. 

“We can call it that,” Joon chuckled. “Have fun.” 

Smiling, Yunho maneuvered his hand to my back, ushering me through the main entrance, Joon following behind us. I was absolutely giddy when the worker scanned our tickets. It opened straight into the Grand Staircase, but I had no desire to move beyond this floor. 

“Do we need a map-” I started to ask, only to find Yunho showing me the virtual guide on his phone. “Thought of everything, now didn’t you?” 

Surprisingly, Yunho slipped his mask off and stowed it into his pocket. At my questioning look, he smiled meekly. “I don’t think anyone is going to be paying attention to me with all the exhibits,” he said quietly. Still, he looked back towards Joon with a smirk. “Alright princess, lead the way.” 

He laced his fingers with mine. Damn was I happy to be able to see the entirety of his face. I led him towards the Japanese prints first since it was the closest exhibit to us. Thankfully, Yunho seemed to enjoy my happy ramblings about the history and the beauty of it. He listened so intently, going between looking down at me at whatever piece we were on. In both cases his expression was filled with nothing but endearment and curiosity. 

Surprisingly, he had a lot of input on the history of all the ancient Asian artwork and pieces. He didn’t strike me as a history buff, but he rattled off some facts I didn’t even know. Each time he beamed with pride at my surprise. Clearly he had made it his mission to somehow keep me on my toes, and he was succeeding effortlessly. All the while he had a hand somewhere on me. My waist, my shoulder, my back, or perpetually within my own. It was just as sweet as he was. 

But it was the second level when I truly became engrossed and my ramblings over the art increased tenfold. While I loved the history and the meaning behind the ancient artwork, vases, and sculptures, paintings and photography were where my heart really lied. 

“Having fun, princess?” Yunho asked softly, once again draping his long body around mine while I studied one of Alma Thomas’s pieces. His shin settled atop my head after he kissed it.

My hands settled on his forearms as I leaned into him softly. “I’m having the best time, handsome. What do you think about this though?” I asked, subtly gesturing towards the painting in front of us. 

“Is there a wrong answer?” 

“There’s never a wrong answer when it comes to art, Yu,” I laughed. 

Regardless of my assurance, he shifted behind me in preparation for his answer. “Well, it’s beautiful, like the night sky. I don’t know…”

I squeezed his arms for a bit of reassurance. “You’re doing great.” I could tell he didn’t want to say something wrong or something too superficial. But honestly I just wanted him to try and immerse himself in it while we were here. So, maybe a little bit of support would do wonders. “Like, when I look at this, I feel a sense of searching, whether you view the piece as space or an ocean. But what are we looking for?” 

Yunho’s lips pressed against my temple. “Do you feel like you’re looking for something in the great expanse of space?”

My brow furrowed. “Are you trying to get philosophical now?” 

Now he squeezed me tightly, swaying me slightly side to side. “I think you made it philosophical. So, Theadora, what are you looking for?”

I pondered my own thoughts so intensely for a moment that my vision unfocused on the painting. I tried to push him yet he somehow turned the table on me. “Well… I think deep down we’re all just looking for our place in the world.”

“Have you found that, princess?” 

“I’ll let you know when I do,” I sighed. Inadvertently I tensed up in his embrace. When I opened up this discussion I didn’t want it to turn into this. Art is personal, but despite our connection I wasn’t ready to share about my feeling of aimlessly wandering through life. 

His fingers gently made their way beneath my chin, coaxing my face upwards to look at him. “Hey… did I say something wrong?” He looked utterly concerned at my change in body language, his face scrunched up as he studied my expression. 

“Not at all, Yu,” I said with a soft smile. “Just didn’t expect that question.”

“Well I-“ he began, but suddenly stopped with a huge sigh. “I think we all feel we’re looking for something that might seem unattainable. But, I think part of the beauty in it is the search… because sometimes you stumble upon something absolutely amazing.” 

His eyes stared fiercely into mine, but not in annoyance or frustration. They were filled with something much deeper than those trivial emotions. It made my heart race realizing that he was speaking about me. Or, at least that was my assumption based on how he looked at me. 

I couldn’t help myself. My palm moved to his cheek, pulling his lips to mine tenderly. The kiss was oh so sweet. I could hear Joon’s voice in the back of my head about PDA, but even that silenced once Yunho’s tongue slid into my mouth. His hands migrated to waist, fingers digging into my skin when he pulled me deeper into his chest. 

“Look at you, breaking the rules,” he murmured, pulling my hand off his cheek and bringing it to his lips to kiss my knuckles. 

“I couldn’t help myself, you’re just so kissable,” I smiled, happy that he somehow found a way to recenter me. Typically I didn’t get too in my head, but unfortunately he hit one of my few softspots. 

Squeezing my hand, Yunho pulled me towards the next painting. “Well, we still have lots left to see.” His endearing smile returned, but I could still see a bit of lingering worry in his eyes. “But, I will gladly kiss you whenever you want.” 

For the first time, our walk was a little more silent. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just off. I didn’t want to press things too much right now. Eventually he’d bounce back to normal. Or at least I hoped he would. To do my part, I went back to my incessant chattering, giving him reassuring squeezes whenever his hand laced within mine or having a hand on him in some way. 

After a few more pieces, Yunho was back with his light hearted banter and quick wit. I was glad the normalcy returned. And so we continued on, discussing our favorite pieces along the way. Yunho didn’t ask more probing questions like before, and while we had some semi-deep conversations I could tell he was being cognizant of what he asked now. It hurt my heart just a little bit knowing that he was probably overthinking the earlier conversation. Maybe we would need to have a talk, but this wasn’t the place to do it. 

So we continued up to the third level to look at the final pieces. I had barely checked my watch the entire time we’d been here, and I was so surprised to see that it already neared four. Food hadn’t even crossed my mind, but my stomach started grumbling softly. 

“Ah, that reminds me,” Yunho laughed, pulling out his phone. “Since I’m assuming we’re almost done here, I need to order dinner since we’ve somehow forgotten lunch. Let’s go outside real quick, babe.” 

The sculpture garden was right outside with a few places around to sit. It wasn’t busy at all and we settled ourselves on one of the furthest ones. For the first time, I saw Joon sneaking behind us. He gave me a little wave, but continued keeping his distance. He didn’t seem upset at all by how we were acting, which was a major win for us. 

“Do I get to know the dinner plans?” I asked, snuggling into him on the bench. 

His arm wrapped around me, fingers caressing my arm. “Nope.” He kept his phone screen tilted away from me. With the way he had it angled, there was no potential way I could see anything.

“Not even a hint?” I batted my eyelashes at him, puffing out my lower lip.

“We’re eating at the hotel,” he tucked his phone back into his pocket. “All the info you’re getting out of me. But, when we get back I suggest we change into something more comfortable.” 

“Seems you have nefarious intentions,” I laughed. 

“I guess that depends on how you look at it, princess.” I could feel his smile against my temple as he kissed me. 

These ‘nefarious’ intentions I suggested intrigued me, especially since I didn’t think he would go along with my joke so seriously. Between that and now both our stomachs’ growling becoming louder, I quickly made a very easy decision. 

“Well then, Stefano, since we’ve seen everything there is to see and clearly our stomachs are telling us something, I think it's time we progress to the unchaperoned portion of our date.” 

Yunho’s smile was ginormous, but laced with a bit of teasing. “Oh, are you finally ready to be away from dear Joonie?”

“I mean I’m down for an audience,” I said nonchalantly as I rose from the bench. When I turned around I was met by Yunho's bright red face and ears. With how flustered he looked, I simply smiled a little smugly and offered him my hand. 

His brown eyes widened, but he took my hand firmly. Once he stood he towered over me and that red hue quickly faded to a more domineering aura. His grip tightened over my fingers while his free hand moved to tuck some of my hair behind my ear.

“Ah, princess…” he smirked. “If you want an audience, all you have to do is ask.”

Despite wanting to crumble, I kept my eyes firmly locked on his. “Oh do we reward using our words?” 

God damn that laugh. He threw his head back slightly with the intensity of it before kissing my forehead. “Only when I ask for them.” 

Good golly heaven’s above. Whatever I was getting myself into was getting juicier by the second. Still, I kept my composure. Little did he know, I could be just as dominating when I wanted to be. Maybe I was getting too ahead of myself by thinking something sexual could happen this evening. Or, maybe I wasn’t. Either way I was enjoying every single second with Yunho, even with our couple of bumps. 

Pulling out his phone again, Yunho sent Joon a text letting him know we were ready to go. We made eye contact and he nodded briefly before disappearing back into the building. Yunho placed his hand on my back to guide me. We went down the grand staircase hand in hand and giggling while keeping Joon in our eyeline. 

Joon waited for us outside the museum at the bottom of the stairs. Once he saw us, he started walking towards the parking garage, beckoning us with a jerk of his head to follow. Michigan Avenue was busier at this time of day and Yuhno’s hand slid protectively into mine after placing the dreaded black mask over his face. Noticing the amount of people between us, Joon hung back for a moment to let us catch up so he could walk beside us. For once, Yunho didn’t complain and only gripped my hand tighter. 

I wrapped my free hand around his bicep to hold myself even closer to his tall body. Easily he steered us through people with Joon near us at all times. Once we hit the parking garage, the mask disappeared again and both Joon and Yunho seemed to breathe a little easier. 

“Back to the hotel?” Joon questioned when we situated ourselves in the car. 

Yunho nodded. “Yes, please.” 

“We’re going to hit some traffic… is that going to impact your dinner plans?”

“Not significantly. I enlisted some help on that so everything should be fine.”

Smiling through the rearview mirror, Joon started the engine to begin our drive back. Chicago traffic was a nightmare, and while we wouldn’t be hitting the thick of it, we would definitely hit some of it. Before we left the garage entirely, my phone vibrated with a message from none other than Joon. It confused me for a moment. Why would he text me when I was literally sitting behind him?

But when I opened the message I understood why. I caught his eye again, smiling widely before swiping through the pictures Joon took of us in the museum. They were absolutely adorable. My favorite, though, was one from when he was draped over my shoulders, chin resting on top of my head while we studied one of the paintings. All were candids, perfectly taken with nothing but genuine smiles. In one he caught Yunho staring at me while I was clearly talking, even though my back was to the camera. The way he looked at me with so much adoration made my stomach flutter and a smile, toothless smile creep onto my face. The expression seemed much too emotional and invested for two people on a first date.

“Cute, baby,” Yunho muttered, tilting his head towards mine. 

“Yeah, we are, aren’t we?” I said offhandedly in my daydream, making Yunho wrap his arm around me more securely. Being snuggled up against him felt right, and to be honest it scared the shit out of me just how comfortable I felt with him and how quickly it happened. Once I snapped myself out of my head, I opened up my photos app “Let’s go through those photos… Atiny is going to love them.”

“You’re going to send me all of those, right?” he asked. 

“Airdropping them to you as we speak, Yun.” 

Together, we swiped through the photos. It was the perfect way to pass the time since we hit some of the traffic. Like I’d anticipated, it wasn’t heavy, but enough to cause a bit of a delay. The solo pictures of Yunho were perfection. He looked every bit the boyfriend Atiny adored and adorable as shit. We picked out his favorites to post to his instagram and I quickly edited them with my professional app on my phone, not that they needed much finessing at all. 

Yunho snuggled even closer when we looked at the pictures of us from the Bean. Just as I hoped, Joon captured the moment of Yunho knocking my head with his hat and our laughter perfectly. All the pictures turned out fantastically. Even the posed ones didn’t seem forced. Somehow we were at ease with each other, and that was evident in our smiles and body language. I’d love to share them, especially one where our backs were to the camera so no one would know who the tall, handsome drink of water was exactly. But, Atiny are crafty as shit and somehow that picture would get out. 

“You know, princess” Yunho began with a sweep of my hair off my shoulders, “it’s a shame that the best pictures have to stay hidden.” Pulling out his phone, Yunho showed me the photos he sneakily took of me throughout the day. “Because you are beautiful, Thea, and I would love nothing more than to show you off to the world. But… I’ll settle for helping you pick out which ones you’re posting, including this one.”

The photo in question was a half plandid. He held my hand, although he was entirely absent from the frame. We faced each other, my arm outstretched and face scrunched up in the widest grin. Although you couldn’t tell who was holding my hand, there was no question someone was. 

“Who am I to deny you?” I teased. 

Instantly his eyes darkened, lips moving millimeters away from my ear. “Such a good girl, Theadora James.” 

Fuck was I done for. My annoyance at him using my full name faded each time he used it, especially when he said it so damn smoothly. But that lustful haze disappeared just as quickly as it appeared. He transitioned between these two sides of him so fluidly it made my head spin in the best way possible. Clearly he knew the effect he had on me, at least judging by his smirk. 

The rest of the drive went smoothly with no other not-so-subtle innuendos. Joon eventually rejoined the conversation, asking about what we thought of the museum and what not. He even shared his favorite pieces and what he thought, going as far to thank Yunho for planning such a fun date. The blush on his cheeks from the praise made me smile with a fondness I didn’t expect. How could I be down so bad for this man already? 

Once we were off the interstate, the drive flew by with the lack of traffic. Before I knew it, we were pulling up to the hotel entrance. For hopefully the last time today, Yunho put the mask on. The hotel looked busier at this hour, and I worried about him getting recognized. I knew he would want to hold my hand or pull me in close, but something in my gut said that we would need to walk with some distance between us. 

“Thank you for today, Joon,” I said before we got out of the car. “I’m sure that taking us out on dates like this isn’t your favorite part of your job.”

Joon laughed. “Well, it's the first time my job has consisted of something like this. But, I’m not complaining about it one bit. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Yunho opened the car door, offering his hand to help me out and seemingly to keep our fingers laced together, but I shook my head. Beneath the cap, I saw his eyebrows furrow. “Thea?”

I slid out to stand next to him, but moving quickly to keep ample space between us. “There’s a shit ton of people right now, babes. The last thing I want is for a fan to recognize you.” I knew Atiny were staying in the hotel thanks to decorations on the windows. 

Sighing, Yunho nodded. “Walk a few steps in front of me… But we’re going in the elevator together.” 

I offered him a toothless smile. “You just want to stare at my ass.” 

Not giving him the chance to respond, I started walking towards the front doors. I heard his laugh, though, making the smile he couldn’t see grow even wider. I’m glad I mentioned that there was a potential for fans to be there, because I noticed a couple milling about the lobby. As much as I wanted to, I didn’t turn around to check on him. Hopefully he would get by undetected. 

Pressing the elevator button, I held my breath. Nobody was waiting along with me, and a few moments later I felt Yunho’s body come beside me, a tentative finger reaching out to brush along mine. I didn’t dare look at him, but the smile was immediate. When the elevator opened, we rushed inside and Yunho smashed the close button repeatedly in an effort to speed up the doors. Once they were, Yunho’s hand found mine and he tugged me in front of me, hands splayed across my waist. 

“I didn’t like that… one bit,” Yunho mumbled. “But, staring at your ass was at least a decent consolation.” His fingers squeezed slightly. “Now, princess. I need to get the last part of our date set up while you get changed. I’ll text you when to come back to my room… sound good?” 

The door pinged open on our floor and I reluctantly peeled his hands off me so we could go our separate ways, if only for a moment. “See you soon, handsome.” 

He smiled as he walked away, pulling out his phone to make a call. He kept his voice hushed even though he spoke in Korean, making sure I didn’t overhear anything. It was a quick walk back to my room. Unsurprisingly, Nikki was still absent. What I wasn’t certain of was if Alexis and Christie had finally dragged her out for dinner or if she was still hiding out with Mingi or Seonghwa. 

I hurriedly sent them a text in our group chat, briefly telling them what happened and that they would get a full recap tomorrow. I’m sure Alexis was giving them the lowdown of her date last night with San, but I’d get that information tomorrow. I followed Yunho’s direction of changing into something more comfortable, throwing on a pair of comfy joggers and crop top. I threw my glasses, skincare, and a toothbrush in my purse just in case things progressed far enough that I would spend the night. 

Now came the waiting game again, although this time it didn’t take long before my phone lit up with a text from Yunho asking me to come to his room. I headed there immediately. The walk seemed to take forever with my anticipation since I had no clue what I would be stepping into.

My knuckles barely tapped the door before it swung open and I was met with Yunho’s wide grin and large body blocking me from seeing into the room. He too had changed into sweats and a yet another baggy t-shirt. “Alright… you ready?” 

His excitement was intoxicating. “Let’s see if you keep up your hot streak,” I joked.

He stepped aside, allowing me inside. He’d blacked out the entire room, leaving it completely dark except for the sweet smelling candle in the center of the coffee table. The first Alien movie was prepped on the TV, the menacing music from the title menu ringing through the space. Through the dimness, I saw a couple bottles of my favorite bougie wine and a pizza box. 

“So? Does part two live up to your expectations?” Yunho asked sweetly, coming to stand behind me. 

“Exceeding every single one I had,” I hummed, leaning into his embrace. “How did you know pizza and wine was my guilty pleasure meal? And that I have an insane obsession with the Alien franchise?” 

Yunho’s laugh rumbled through his chest. “I can’t share all my secrets, princess.”

It was a little scary how well he seemed to know me, but I assumed that he asked one of the girls some questions to make sure he planned everything perfectly. And planned everything perfectly he did. He gently pushed me towards the couch, breath ruffling my hair. We sat close to one another and Yunho opened one of the bottles of wine, pouring each of us a generous glass. 

“I got Chicago style… deep dish,” Yunho said. “I hope that’s okay.”

“We are in Chicago, aren’t we?”

I leaned into his shoulder as he put a giant ass piece of pizza on each of our plates. The amount of cheese on it made my mouth water and it smelled heavenly. Thankfully he had a roll of paper towels and silverware, because I had no clue how to eat it. 

“Yunho, this is absolutely perfect.” I stretched myself as best I could to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.” 

He turned to place his lips on mine, smiling through the kiss. “I’m glad you like it, princess.” 

“Before we start the movie, can we talk about something?” I asked, pausing Yunho when he reached for the remote.

He sat up straighter, angling himself to face me better and placing a hand on bent leg. “Is something wrong?” 

I shook my head, placing my hand over top of his and running my thumb along it softly. “No, baby, not in the slightest. But I know we had a little hiccup at the museum, and I just thought it would be better to clear up whatever was going through both our heads.” 

“Well, I know whatever I said upset you, even if it was just for a little bit,” Yunho said quietly, dropping his gaze to look at our intertwined fingers.  

I squeezed his hand, forcing him to look back into my eyes. Despite my earlier reservations about sharing my inner thoughts, something in my gut told me that I needed to be completely open and honest with him. “I just… have this thing with feeling like I’m just wandering through life. So your question caught me a little off guard, that’s all.” 

Yunho’s palm moved to my cheek. “The steely Theadora has a soft spot?” 

“Don’t get used to them,” I scrunched my face up at him. “But you didn’t do anything wrong, I hope you know. I’m sorry that was my reaction… but you handled it wonderfully if I might add.” 

“Well, I stand by my statement… I think everyone has those moments, even me,” his thumb ran soothingly across my cheek. “But god damn am I glad this journey led me to you.” 

My cheeks felt like they were on fire. So rarely did I feel like this with someone, and so quickly too. Words left me again. The only thing that felt right was to lean to kiss his plush lips for the umpteenth time today. His hand shifted backwards, tangling in my hair to hold us close together. Quickly the kiss deepened, his tongue entering my mouth smoothly. It was easy to get lost in him. His hand shifted to my waist, pulling our bodies together while mine moved to his sides. 

We kept up the leisurely makeout. It had every possibility of moving further, but the smell of pizza and wine continued to roll through our noses. When Yunho’s stomach gurgled loudly we broke apart in a fit of giggles.

“Eat first, makeout after?” I giggled at his red ears. 

“Be nice,” Yunho laughed. “Like you’re not just as hungry as I am.” 

“My stomach isn’t the one that decided to yell.”

With a quick peck and more laughs, our attention turned back to the food and movie. Yunho finally started it, making the room even darker for the briefest moment. The opening scene began, and instead of losing ourselves in a kiss we lost ourselves in some of the best damn pizza and wine I’d ever had in my entire life. Maybe that had something to do with the company, though.

Speaking of the wine, it went down smoothly, so smoothly in fact that Yunho and I both refilled our glasses before the xenomorph burst out of Kane’s chest. Once we had our fill of pizza and Yunho cleared off everything but the candle and the last bottle of wine, we resituated ourselves comfortably on the couch beneath a blanket. I could definitely get used to being snuggled against his chest and between his long legs. He held me easily, his tall frame completely enveloping my much smaller one. 

“Comfy?” he asked, nuzzling into my neck and pressing a quick kiss. 

In response I nestled myself deeper, resting a hand on his thigh. “Extremely.” 

Those long ass fingers began drawing lines on the exposed portion of my torso, making me shiver. Behind me Yunho laughed somewhat dangerously, his voice teasing. “Sensitive, baby?” 

Only huffing, I did my best to keep my focus on the movie. The little bit of wine definitely added to the haze Yunho induced, especially when his lips returned to my neck. My hand on his thigh clenched from his seductive sucks and nips, tongue quickly going to soothe where his teeth bit into my skin more firmly. All focus went to the feeling of his lips and how his finger dipped lower until it grazed just beneath the waistband of my joggers. 

“Already up to these nefarious intentions, I see,” I said quietly. 

I squirmed slightly, especially when I began to feel him growing hard. Yunho’s index finger trailed down my face to my chin to tilt my face to meet his heady gaze. My breath hitched. I was already putty in this man’s hands, something else that didn’t happen often. 

“Princess,” his voice was firm, commanding my attention. 

“Oh, you think you’re going to be in charge?” I knew my comment was dangerous, but I didn’t care in the slightest. Even though my body was screaming to let him have control, I was not one to give it up so easily. 

Yunho tilted my head up further, a teasing smirk spreading across his face. “I know you’re used to having all the power in your hands, darling… but tonight you’re going to be the good girl I know you can be. My good girl.” 

Ah fuck. I wanted to argue, to tell him no, but he had completely melted my brain to the point I needed to see where this went. Not only that, he had me dripping to the point I was desperate for some sort of friction. 

“So, what do you say?” Yunho’s finger slid lower towards my pussy, but only to delicately run his fingers along the lace of my thong to rile me up further, a feat he easily achieved with how my hips rolled into his hand. “Remember… I reward when we use our words.” 

His stare was intense, but I could see just a teeny bit of nervousness while he waited for my answer. Consent was important, especially in the type of activities I foresaw us partaking in. 

“If I’m going to be a good girl for anyone, it’s going to be you, Jeong Yunho. Just don’t expect me to be an angel.” 

With the clear answer the nerves faded from his eyes, but his fingers still teased around where I needed him. “I wouldn’t expect anything less. Are you familiar with the color system?” 

“Green means go, yellow slow down, red stop.” 

“Hard and soft limits?” 

Of course we would need to run through this part before anything went further, but I couldn’t help but laugh internally at the fact Atiny really pinned him as a dom so easily. Being wrapped up in his embrace and hearing how effortlessly these questions rolled off his tongue made it easy to tell this wasn’t his first rodeo. Nor was it mine, but normally I didn’t lean into the submissive side of things so quickly or easily with a partner. Yunho was easy to trust, something that once again scared the ever living shit out of me. But, I was down for the ride as long as it was with him.

“Hard, bodily fluids outside of saliva and cum, anything with knives, needles, that jazz. Nothing that I can name off the top of my head for soft, but anything that I’m uncomfortable with I’ll let you know immediately, and I expect the same from you.” 

“Already on the same page, princess,” he kissed me softly, fingers still teasing. “Safe word?” 

I thought for a moment, my eyes settling on the movie still rolling on the screen. “Alien.”

Laughing, Yunho’s eyes darkened even more. “Alien it is.” 

His lips moved to mine sensually just as a single finger slid through my folds lightly. It was enough to make me jolt, but did nothing to alleviate my growing need. He continued teasing, lightly brushing around my entrance and clit. I moaned into his mouth, fingers digging into his firm thigh to ground myself. 

“So wet already,” he mused, nipping at my lip. “Are we already getting desperate?” 

I rolled my hips again, trying to get some pressure. “Do I need to compliment your hands again?” 

“You’ll get my fingers soon enough, princess. Promise. But right now, I want you naked and on your knees.” 

I scowled when his fingers left my body entirely. With a slight push to my shoulders he urged me to my feet. The blanket pooled to the ground, and when I looked back to look at him my eyes widened. 

Not only was the dom daddy theory correct…  but so was big dick yunho. He looked utterly delicious sprawled out on the couch with a massive tent struggling to be contained by his sweats. I nearly lost it when he licked his finger and grabbed his bulge, lustful eyes never leaving my body. 

“I knew you’d taste good,” his eyes closed, sucking the digit and palming himself. “But I’m getting distracted. Clothes off, on your knees, Theadora.”

I stepped backwards and Yunho sat up, watching me intently. Might as well give him a bit of a show. Biting my lip, I played with the loose strings of my joggers, barely pulling them down enough to expose the black lace of my thong. 

Yunho was on me in an instant, scrambling up from the couch. His fingers dug into my hips possessively, the same aura radiating through his eyes. “Now’s not the time to tease. I don’t want to have to punish you further tonight.” 

“Further?” I asked cautiously, even though I had an inclination of what he would be referring to.

“Your little flirtation with our ‘hot’ manager… because of that we’re going to put that flirty mouth of yours to good use. So, princess, clothes off, on your knees.” 

Releasing my hips, Yunho situated himself on the bed, legs spread open in an invitation for me to sit between them. This time I didn’t tease and stripped off my crop top, throwing it carelessly to the side. My pants came off in a similar fashion with no preamble. You would think that standing completely naked in front of Yunho would be nerve racking, yet it was anything but that. With how he looked at me and drank me in I felt nothing but confidence. 

When I dropped to my knees, placing my hands in my lap, and looked up at him through my eyelashes I thought he was going to lose it. His tongue poked out between his teeth, his gaze filled with nothing but hazy lust for me. A sole finger ran down my cheek to my chin.

“God, Thea,” he hummed, taking in every inch of my body before him. “This image deserves to be in the museum. You, my darling, are a real work of art- a masterpiece to be admired by me alone.”

His thumb rubbed along my lower lip, pulling it down slightly. Unprompted, I took it in my mouth, sucking it softly and swirling my tongue around. Yunho groaned, head lolling to the side slightly to watch. He pulled it out with a pop, a string of saliva leaving it connected to my mouth. 

“Now… you're going to let me use that pretty mouth of yours.” That commanding tone was back and it only made the ache in my stomach grow. “Answer me.”

“Yes.” My voice came out in a rushed whisper. To be honest, I was dying to see exactly what hid inside those sweats. 

“That’s my girl.” 

The praise made me weak, a new wave of arousal surging through me. Without rising from the bed, he pulled off his t-shirt, throwing it to join my clothes somewhere on the floor. His chest looked exactly like the toned dancer he was, lean and strong, his ab lines prominent with the tension. When he finally pulled down his sweats I had to keep my jaw from dropping to the floor.

He was massive, long and thick with prominent veins on the underside. The tip already leaked precum, which he quickly spread down the length with a couple smooth strokes. I rubbed my thighs together in an effort to get some relief. Yunho must have enjoyed that view based on the longing moan. My hands slid upwards on his thighs when I raised myself in preparation to take him in my mouth. 

One of his hands slid over top of mine, squeezing softly while the other continued stroking himself. “One tap means you're good, two slow down, three stop.” 

I nodded in understanding, but that wasn’t enough for him. 

“Say it back, princess.” 

I tapped my finger once. “I’m good.” Twice. “Slow down.” Three times. “Stop.” 

With a smile he captured my lips in a heated kiss, tongue quickly entering my mouth. It was messy, full of teeth and lust. It ended when Yunho pulled away to tap the tip of his dick to my cheek. 

“Open up.” 

And I did so eagerly, taking just the tip into my mouth, suckling it and running my tongue along his slit to collect the fresh precum. Taking him entirely was going to be a struggle, but I was up for the challenge. I hadn’t spent years training my gag reflex for nothing. 

Eventually, his fingers wound through my hair, gripping it tightly. I popped off to lick from his base to tip, making sure to press my tongue firmly along the vein. When I reached for his length to stroke him, Yunho’s hand snatched my wrist firmly and he tugged on my hair, angling me to look him in the eyes.

“On my thighs,” his eyes narrowed. “I want to fuck your mouth, not your hand. This is your one warning.”

With my eyes still fixed on his, I placed my hands just where he asked, nails digging into his skin in a small act of defiance. He hissed slightly, but that quickly turned into sounds of pleasure when my mouth enveloped his cock again, head rolling back when I took him in further than before.

The thickness stretched the corners of my mouth, the weight heavy on my tongue. But god, did it feel so good. Relaxing my throat, I lowered myself further before slowly bobbing my head. Each time I made sure to take a little bit more, fighting through the slight gag when he hit the back of my throat. 

His fingers tightened. I made sure to tap his thigh once, assuring him that the hair pulling and tugging was welcome. “Fuck, baby. Your mouth is heavenly.” 

I was surprised by how long he’d let me control the pace, moaning and cursing slightly when I pressed my tongue firmly on the underside or hollowed out my cheeks. Clearly, he was letting me get adjusted to his girth and length, something I appreciated. In my soul I knew that the switch would flip any moment, especially with the promise of this being a punishment. That could only mean roughness was to come. 

Unable to respond, I could only moan around him. That made him completely lose all semblance of control, my name coming from his lips in a garbled rush when he slammed my head down, nearly smashing into his pelvis  With the sudden loss of air I choked, nails digging even more harshly into his thighs. But I tapped his thigh once nonetheless to check in. 

“See- fuck- I knew you could be a good little cocksleeve,” his thrusts became quicker and harder, drawing tears from my eyes, “letting me fuck that smart mouth of yours with no complaints.” 

His hand held my head steady, making it impossible for me to move. There was nothing I could do but take everything he gave me. The lack of oxygen was dizzying despite doing my best to breathe through my nose in time with his thrusts, especially when his other hand wrapped softly around my throat. It never tightened to cut it off further, just simply rested there.

Now his breaths became more ragged and his dick twitched more frequently while he abused my throat. He had to be close judging by the ferocity he thrusted into me. Tears ran from my eyes now, joining the precum and saliva on my face.

“Shit, Thea,” he moaned, thumb caressing my throat to feel the bulge of himself sliding in and out. “I can feel how deep you’re taking me. You’re so fucking good too me, my perfect little princess.” 

Somehow he sped up and the room filled with wet and garbled moans. It almost became too much, my vision getting blurry from the assault. But I was bound and determined to get him off and be the good girl he asked me to be. 

“Fu- FUCK” He moaned, stilling himself in my mouth for hot strings of cum to fill it. 

The load was huge, some of it spilling from the corners of my lips. I swallowed down everything I could, taking the time to suckle on his sensitive tip before he pulled himself from my mouth completely. My throat burned and the sudden rush of air made my head spin. I had enough sense to wipe the lingering fluids off my face and lips, sucking it from fingertips before opening my mouth and sticking out my tongue to show Yunho there was nothing left.

I was met with Yunho’s blown out pupils, mouth partially open in a smirk while he breathed heavily. His hand loosened in my hair, quickly going to my cheek to rub away the tear marks. He kissed me deeply, completely ignoring the taste of our debauchery on my tongue.

“Color?” he asked between slow pecks, ghosting his fingertips across my side softly. 

I moved my hands forward to hold onto his waist, pulling us closer together. My entire body felt achy, needing something to take the edge off. The feeling of his slick skin on mine helped slightly, but did little to soothe the throbbing in my pussy. 

“Green. Very, very green.” My voice was a little hoarse, but my answer was truthful. 

He smiled, eyes still hazy. “C’mere.” 

Easily, Yunho pulled me up onto the bed, quickly shifting our positioning so I was settled comfortably beneath him on the pillows. From this angle he looked even hotter, if that was something even possible. His biceps flexed slightly when he brushed back pieces of hair from my face. Those lips I adored attached to my neck once more, dragging along every single pulse point and nipping lightly enough to sting but not leave any marks. 

“You did so well for me,” he said softly, lips dragging lower in conjunction with his hands. My back arched when they wrapped around a nipple, tongue flicking it firmly. “And for that, princess, you deserve a reward.”

After he provided similar treatment to my other nipple, he peppered kisses further down my body until he his head hovered above my soaked center. He hummed in approval, tongue moving to wet his lips while those perfect hands of his spread my thighs apart, exposing me to him further. 

I lied. This was the hottest, most to die for view. I ran my hand through his sweaty, silver locks, smiling down at the man between my thighs. “Do I finally get to experience those beautiful hands of yours?” 

His laugh blew air directly onto my clit and I squirmed in his grasp, craving something more. “Ah, Theadora, you’ll get to experience much more than my hands.” 

The anticipation was killing me. He didn’t give into my wanton desires just yet. Instead he kissed all along my thighs, slowly going between them after he hooked his hands around them. My legs looked so small beneath his splayed palms. 

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” Yunho mumbled between kisses, shifting his gaze to my eyes. “I can’t wait to make you mine…” 

At that statement his mouth finally connected to my cunt, licking firmly from my entrance to clit. It sent a shockwave through my body and my fingers clenched in his hair, the other in the sheets. His tongue moved perfectly through my folds, finding each and every spot that made me shudder against him. 

“Just like that, Yun,” I whimpered after a particular flick against my clit

Yunho’s hands held me in place and he continued that same motion again and again, sending me closer to the edge. He ate me out with precision, his little moans sending vibrations that only amplified what his tongue was doing. My back arched, hips going bucking into his mouth when the wave finally crashed over me. 

“So sweet,” he mused, thumbs rubbing firmly on thighs while he teasingly kissed and flicked my clit to ride me through my orgasm, but still making sure I didn’t come completely back down. One hand left its home on my thigh, fingernail dragging seductively towards my center. “Are you ready to come on my fingers now, princess? I know how badly you want them.”

The teasing edge in his voice nearly sent my spiraling again. He kissed up my body again, lips and tongue dragging seductively until they reconnected with my lips. Fuck, did I feel needy, craving for those long fingers of his to fill me up. 

The sudden absence of his body made my eyes fling back open, lips chasing the empty space. Yunho was now nestled next to me on the pillows, legs open while he languidly stroked his semi hard, still massive length. “Right here, princess,” he tapped the space between his thighs, “back against me.” 

Once I moved where he asked, he hooked my legs over his, bending his knees slightly to lock me in place. His giant ass hands moved to my breasts, pinching and rolling my nipples while his lips latched onto my neck. My head flung back against his shoulders, exposing more of it to him. 

“Beg, princess.” 

The command had me clenching around nothing. 

I tangled my hand in his hair just for his teeth to nibble on my earlobe. “What exactly would you like me to beg for, Yunho?” I breathed.

His breath was hot against my skin when he laughed. Both hands left my breasts entirely, one coming grab onto my throat, the other skating down to once again tease my folds. “I won’t ask again.” His grip on my throat tightened. “Beg.” 

I held out for as long as I could, squirming beneath the ghost brushing. I don’t know what inspired me to be a brat, but I tugged hard on his messy hair. Growling, he bit down on my neck, just barely letting the tip of his finger pressed into my entrance. Fucking tease. Yunho quickly soothed where he bit down, sucking and licking until the sharp pain went away. It was maddening. Too maddening. 

“Yunho,” my voice trembled. “Please.”

His lips quirked into a smile. “Please what?” 

“Your fingers… please… I need more.”

“Where?” 

I sighed in frustration, which only made him laugh more. Flexing his fingers slightly, his voice turned even more menacing. “I asked where.” 

Fucking hell. He had me pinned to him so tightly I couldn’t move, couldn’t roll my hips in a last ditch effort to get more than just these teasing touches. God, did I want to know how those long ass fingers would feel inside me. I just knew they would hit everywhere I needed, even places I didn’t know existed. And so, I caved. 

“Inside me Yunho, please,” I whined. “I need your fingers inside me, baby.” 

Finally, he obliged and slid his index finger in entirely. That single finger filled me up so well and the angle at which he moved in and out applied the tiniest bit of pressure on my clit. His chin settled onto my shoulder, watching as his finger disappeared inside me. 

“Look at you, greedily sucking up my finger,” he moaned, gaze not breaking from pussy when he added his middle finger, already pumping them both knuckle deep. I clenched around them, and his dick twitched against my back in conjunction with his fingers flexing against my throat. “That good, princess? I didn’t realize you’d be such a slut for my fingers.” 

I was entirely correct about how his fingers hit every single place I needed and more. He had the perfect pace and angles that had me keening. The noises coming from my mouth were nothing but embarrassing, needy little whimpers and breathy moans of his name. They only egged him on further.

“You’re so tight,” he teased, beginning to scissor his fingers to open me up. “I can’t wait to really fill you up…” To emphasize his point, he rolled his hips into my back, letting me feel just how long and hard his cock was. 

Taking him in entirely would be daunting, no doubt, but the care he was taking to prep me calmed what little nerves I did have. I trusted him, clearly, and if anything felt remotely unpleasant I wouldn’t hesitate to slow it down. My wandering thoughts didn’t last long, especially when he began really circling my clit, spreading my arousal around it with enough pressure to have my legs shaking. 

“All this… just for me? My perfect girl… going to give me another one? Then let me split you open and have my way with you?” He increased the pace of his fingers and the pressure on my clit, the pad of his finger rubbing deliciously on my g-spot, ignoring my futile attempts at moving. 

My back attempted to arch off his chest, but he held me in place for my second orgasm to roll through my body. Those fingers of his really were magical, and I knew I’d find myself admiring those beautiful hands of his even more frequently. Yunho barely let me catch my breath before manhandling me, effortlessly putting me on my hands and knees.

Without him moving me, I dropped to my elbows for a little bit more stability, arching my back at the same time. My legs were shaking, but Yunho’s firm handle on my hips helped keep me steady. One hand slid soothingly up my back and I dropped my head into the mattress at the feeling. Stars still swirled through my vision, but Yunho steadily brought me back to reality. 

“Still with me, Thea?”

I nodded, sighing with pleasure when he ran his cock through my folds, coating it with my arousal. I loved the way he checked in on me, my wellbeing clearly on the forefront of his thoughts. “Yes, Yunho, and still very very green.” 

He lined himself up, stroking himself. “Don’t move.” 

“Holy-” I bit my lip the instant I felt the stretch. Thank god he’d taken time to prep me or else it would have been unbearable. He eased in slowly, letting me adjust while his thumbs rubbed reassuringly. 

It stung, but fuck did it feel good. Yunho continued with these small, steady thrusts, inching himself in. I couldn’t help but lean into it, trying to get him deeper. 

A sharp slap to my ass stopped me with a yelp.. “I told you not to move, Theadora.”

“And you promised to fill me up, Stefano,” I huffed, not caring in the slightest about any potential repercussions. 

His fingers dug in hard enough to leave bruises. “Careful what you ask for, princess,” Yunho hissed. 

With a force I wasn’t expecting, Yunho’s hips snapped into me, bottoming out completely. It knocked the breath out of me, tears forming again in my eyes. Not only would my hips be bruised, but so would my cervix because fuck was he hitting it with every thrust. He pounded into me relentlessly and all I could do was take it, hands gripping the sheets like my life depended on it. The initial pain from the suddenness quickly subsided into pleasure. I thought his fingers reached new places inside of me… boy was I wrong, because his dick was sending me to heaven. The room filled with lewd noises and a symphony of moans and praises. 

The pleasure amplified further when Yunho wrapped an arm around my stomach, bending into me and somehow thrusting deeper. His breaths came out in rushed pants and growls, hot on my ear. “God Thea, for being so fucking small you take all of so well. You are my good girl, aren’t you? My beautiful little cockslut.” 

His words had me going off the deep end, the coil in my stomach tightening up once again. My walls clenched around him and he grazed his teeth along my back before kissing between my shoulder blades. 

“Fuck Yunho,” I moaned, barely able to form the sentence coherently. “I’m close- so fucking-” 

Before I could finish the thought Yunho pulled out and flipped me onto my stomach. One of his snatched up my wrists when I lunged for his sides, locking them together and pinning them above my head. Smoothly, he reentered me, and feeling him from this angle made any other thought other than being fucked into the mattress disappear. 

“Look at you,” Yunho directed, flicking his eyes downward. I looked where his gaze was fixed- where his dick completely disappeared inside me with each fluid roll of his hips. With each one you could see the faint outline in my stomach. “Taking every single inch of me.” 

My only response was a broken plea of his name. A devilish smirk appeared on his face and he dropped my wrists to press his hand softly against my stomach. The added pressure made my brain reel, my already spotty vision going completely black with the force of my orgasm. 

Yunho moaned when he felt my walls fluttering around him, his thrusts increasing in intensity but becoming choppy. “That’s right, baby, come on my cock.” 

His pace never slowed and I was on the verge of overstimulation, stray tears trailing down my cheeks. I knew he had to be close, and my speculation was correct when he pulled out of me, jerking himself off quickly. Warm, white streaks of cum painted my stomach and chest, his lips spewing my name mixed with even more praises. 

Holding himself up with shaky arms, Yunho placed his sweaty forehead on mine. Both of us were out of breath, the short pants mixing together from the lack of space between us. My entire body tingled, and although I wanted to wrap my arms around him and hold him close I settled for cupping his cheek. 

“How’s it going up there, handsome?” I laughed, cracking a small smile. 

Sighing, Yunho pressed a chaste kiss to my lips. “Stay right here, princess. I’ll be right back.” 

With another quick peck he stumbled off the bed, searching for his boxers before heading towards the bathroom. He returned with a wet washcloth and a bottle of water, settling himself on the bed next to me. 

“How’s your throat?” he asked softly, handing me the bottle of water before carefully cleaning up the mess on my stomach. 

I took a massive drink, the coldness soothing the dryness for a brief moment. “Achey, like the rest of my body. But in a good way.” 

“I can make you some tea, baby. That’ll at least help your throat a little bit.” The lustful intensity he’d had disappeared, replaced by the soft, sweet Yunho he always was. “As for your body… a hot shower will surely do the trick.”

“Only if it's with you,” I reached for his freehand, linking our fingers. 

“I wasn’t too much, was it?” he asked cautiously, still focusing on the last remnants of cum on my stomach. “We didn’t talk much beforehand, and I didn’t want to push you too far or say something wrong.” 

Once I was sure the bulk of cum was gone, I leaned up. Using my fingers, I tilted his chin to look me in the eyes. There was a glimmer of worry in his, something that made my heartache. “Baby, everything about this was perfect. You didn’t go too far, and it most definitely wasn’t too much. Hell, we can go further next time. There wasn’t a single thing you said that I wasn’t comfortable with.” 

That hint of worry was replaced with excitement. “Ah, so you like being called my slutty little cocksleeve, huh?”

I smacked his chest, but smiled nonetheless. “Maybe a little too much.” 

He brushed back the pieces of hair sticking to my face, letting his hand linger on my cheek. “Well, Theadora James. I think we both liked this a little too much. Now, how about you let me finish cleaning you up in the shower, and we fall asleep watching Aliens.” 

Beaming, I leaned in for another sweet kiss. “Sounds like a perfect end to the evening.”

Before I had a chance to move, Yunho pulled me towards the side of the bed, picking me up bridal style with a laugh. I could easily get used to this type of treatment, both in and out of the sheets. It wasn’t like me to really let someone in this easily, but whatever this was with Yunho had me breaking all of my self-imposed rules. 

Not a single part of me wanted to consider how everything would play out. Thinking too far ahead hurt my brain and heart, hurting much more than I thought it should after a single date. I shoved the thoughts down just as quickly as it formed. 

I had been saying all along to enjoy whatever this brought. And I wasn’t about to let that change now just because I had… feelings. 

What a scary fucking thought.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading so far! I'm having a lot of fun writing this one, and I've barely scratched the surface of what's to come for this group!

[cowboyjen68]

Heya Jen,

So I feel like if I were a dude, people wouldn't look down on my clothing choices so much. Maybe it's just because people tend to, quite frankly, give less of a shit about what men wear and how they look in general while, and by contrast, focus a lot on a womans appearance.

I'm not quite butch in my own opinion, but I do tend to wear a lot of men's clothes, and even the women's clothes I wear tend to be quite practical. I like having my own sense of style. I like what I wear, but it doesn't seem to matter to other people, I guess it just seems like I throw on any old clothes to them.

I definitely tend to get this attitude more from women and, more specifically, my aunt. She's told me that I look like I've walked right off of a farm before, and while if anything I took it as a compliment, she certainly didn't mean it that way. In the past, her comments were more harsh, so it's an improvement. At least now it's not outright homophobic, i.e """asking""" me if I want to look like a lesbian or a boy in a rather condescending tone. It's more so a "THAT'S what you're wearing?" Thing. I even get the impression my queer friends just think I don't care about my clothes at all, and while I'm no fashionista, I do like putting together what I consider nice outfits.

Also, admittedly, like most people I do some days, just throw on clean clothes, I just don't see why, regardless of how I dress, it seems more worthy of comment and criticism. I don't see men's outfits commented on or criticized half as much, if at all, and we basically wear the same things.

This is just a very long-winded way of asking if you've gotten this sort of attitude too and how you deal with it? It's not like when I was younger and pushed me to try and wear more feminine clothes, though it still irritates me though I wish it didn't.

Thanks in advance for reading this whole long thing and being an open and out older lesbian who is willing to take time out of her busy day to answer so many questions from young lesbians and queer people alike.

I was never very well tapped into the fashion of the day. In my younger years I would put on what I wanted with no regards to what others might find proper. My mom gave up after on getting me to wear matching dresses and shoes or shirt and shorts outfits. Dad was fine when I came out of my Raggedy Ann themed bedroom in red cowboy boots, jean shorts and an orange shirt (with the bottom cut off) that said "10-4 Good Buddy".

In high school the one think my mom would not let me have was a three quarter length sleeved white shirt with a rainbow. She said I would get it too dirty and my shoulders were too wide for the fit. (she was not wrong in either case). So I tended to go with sweatshirts, t shirts and jeans. I was HORRIBLE at trendy clothing because I mixed and match too many things that just did not go together. I wanted overalls but knew that they were too "manly" for me, a girl. I went to the mall and spent my hard earned money on the closest girl thing, a peach colored pair of overalls for girls that were also kind of pedal pushers. It was NOT a good look.

Whenever I tried to be trendy I would bed it to be more what I wanted but not committing to "boys" clothes and it always went sideways in the worst way.

College saw me stick with t shirt and jeans but it was the 80's and everyone wore just that. Finally, a time in fashion where fashion was the same for everyone. Utilitarian and simple, at least in small midwestern college towns.

My mom would say to my young self. "are you sure that is what you want to wear?" or "Do you want help picking out clothes?" In retrospect she was trying to save me from drawing attention or getting picked on but just eventually figured I would either learn or live with it.

I know exactly what you mean about people assuming that me wearing what I was comfortable in as an adult was me just tossing any old thing on. My first girlfriend helped me by expanding my confidence and wardrobe. Custom made suspenders, men's dress pants and white button down for men instead of women's clothing that sort of mimicked men's style. After we broke up (7 years later) I still struggled a bit but slowly learned that the important thing was I felt good in what I wore and not what others had to say about it.

Men get a pass because I think is it often assumed they just don't have the need or capacity to dress themselves beyond simple and what is on the floor. This is, of course, also an unfair stereotype. Many men lack the confidence to stop out of the easy and simple to try and dress better for public consumption so they get in a routine. AND women are assumed to always want to look good for others so when we don't fit the expectation of our culture we "just don't care".

NOW I rarely dress up because of my jobs. I wear "work clothes" most days because I know within an hour of getting dressed I will be dirty. But I am most confident and comfortable in my work clothes. When I do dress up to go out I finally am like my young self (wear what I want) with a little more awareness of what others see. I shop at estate sales and find vintage western style shirts and unique belt buckles to wear. I feel good, have my own style and i think others see my confidence because I am less concerned about what others think and just happy to be wearing what I love.

People start to see confidence over aesthetics as you become more comfortable in clothes you love.

Hope this help. You are not alone and i think many women (even some men) will understand this feeling you have.

[blondeboyfriend]

𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐒

[ PAIRING ] Zeke Yeager x f!reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] Another repost from 2021. I'll always have a soft spot for this fic. [ SYNOPSIS ] You're a talented, hot mess of a screenwriter. Zeke is a beloved actor/writer/director that seemingly has his shit together. What better way to repair your reputation than by fake dating him at the behest of your agent? [ WORD COUNT ] 8.8k [ CONTENT ] Film industry AU, fake dating, tall!reader, y/n has a personality, drug use, alcohol, sexual harassment (Don't fret! Zeke is not the harasser!), misogyny, depression, cigarettes, y/n is neurotic and doesn't like eating in front of people, existential angst, swimming pools, Floch is your agent, hungover!Zeke. [ PLAYLIST ] Here's the link.

A car barreled down the street, a puff of dark exhaust spewing out like a specter. The wind carried it off, now nothing more than a grey stain in the air. Still, the noxious smell made its way over to you and buried itself in your nose, seemingly singeing every hair. You sneezed and wiped your nose with the back of your hand, hoping no one saw you. In any other moment, you wouldn’t care.

But unfortunately today was a day different from the rest. You had to present and composed. Dignified. The exact opposite of how you were two weeks ago…

You’d been dragged to one of those gaudy industry parties: a grandiloquent​​ celebration for the cast and crew of a film you co-wrote.

You wore an understated, black sheath dress much too short for the occasion. On the model, the bottom hem rested gracefully above the knee, thighs mostly obscured by the cotton-polyester fabric. But you spent most of the night tugging on your dress and dissociating.

Your conversations were stilted. Your words tinged with uncertainty and distaste. Men licked their lips as they eyed your exposed thighs, occasionally winking if you caught them. The longer you stayed, the more your humiliation bloomed into an unspeakable rage.

Unable to contain yourself, you took to the stage and aired out your grievances. You pointed directly at a studio head, one that had been ogling you all night, and told him he probably had a “fucked-up looking, duck dick.”

It was no surprise the industry didn’t hold such high regard for your blatant disrespect. 

Proverbial water filled your lungs with every attempt to mend the situation. You nearly ruined a press junket with an impromptu apology, your hand gripping the microphone like a lifebuoy. Writers and script doctors, people you once considered friends, retreated and left you in their wake. You weren’t worthy of the insurance the studios had to take out to employ you. They’d rather watch you drown.

But for whatever reason your agency believed your talent was worth going through hell for.

“You can’t fuck this up!” your agent shouted through the phone. “Act normal. Smile or something. That’s not outside of your skill set, is it? ‘Cause if it is, you can go fuck off right now and continue ruining your career on your own dime.” His tone changed to a calmer fury. “Act like you are sociable and reliable. Please. For me.”

“Hate to break it to you, but I’m a writer. Acting’s definitely outta my skill set.”

“I am going to wring your little neck on our therapeutic, nature walk tomorrow. I swear to fucking god.”

You struggled to stifle a laugh as he berated you about how to position yourself in your chair and what food to order. He even told you what clothes to wear: a gauzy, light pink sundress that barely covered your ass and a trendy pair of chunky sandals. But instead you showed up at the restaurant in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. You looked positively pedestrian.

“Alright. Fine. I’ll be cordial.”

“For the love of—Act like you’re interested in him! You’re lucky he agreed to this. Flirt, be coy. ‘Oh wow, you look soooooo good.’”

“Is that how you woo the boys and girls?”

“Do you ever want to have a job again? Do you want opportunities?” 

“I mean… Duh.”

“Then make this believable. We need people to think you’re stable. And who knows? Maybe you’ll actually like him.”

You rolled your eyes. The idea of “dating” a man to make yourself seem even-keeled and hireable was laughable. Sure, he was rather popular with the masses and industry folk. A beloved actor. A clever screenwriter. A visionary director or some shit. And yeah, maybe he was one of the more dependable men to work with. He was seemingly the exact opposite of you.

He was the industry’s golden boy.

Floch seethed through the phone. “Listen. To. Me. You are going to act like you’re having the fucking time of your stupid life out there, got it? You’re going to ham it up for the paparazzi.”

“Why would they give a shit about this? We’re not A-listers.”

“I fucking hired them, that’s why. Also I’d argue Zeke’s pretty A-list; he’s just boring as fuck… Shit. My daughter’s teacher is telling me I’m making the other parents uncomfortable. I gotta go.”

“Wha—where are you?”

“A PTA meeting.”

And with that Floch hung up.

“Okay,” you muttered.

You stood outside the restaurant, waiting for this Zeke Yeager. Part of you considered running off and finding refuge in the cutlery store across the street. But no, that would make you even more unappealing. You were being watched after all. Suddenly you were suspicious of every person around. Every car, every pedestrian, could have been a paid pair of lingering eyes. In a panic you tried to call Floch only to get his voicemail.

“You’ve reached Floch Forster. I can’t answer the phone right now becau—Louisa quit biting your brother! Jesus fucking… Leave a message and I’ll get back to you when I feel like it.”

You opted not to leave a voicemail.

As aggressive as Floch could be, he always was your biggest cheerleader. When he took you on as a client he made it clear you were his main focus. The only other person he represented was a surrealist director from Chile he had never spoken to directly.

You sighed and looked at your phone, hoping you’d find solace in your barrage of notifications. But none of them were particularly interesting. Still, you scrolled mindlessly, entering some sort of trance. The smell of cigarette smoke was what brought you back to the trappings of reality. You turned around to see Zeke.

“I thought you’d be shorter,” he quipped, taking a drag. “I don’t know why; don’t ask.”

“Is this how you say hello to people?” you asked, voice bristling with irritation.

“Yeah. You want one?” He held out his pack of expensive, imported cigarettes.

“Nah. I quit years ago. The taste makes me nauseous now.”

“How tragic.” He narrowed his eyes and took another drag. “You know I think I’ve met you before.”

“I don’t think so. I’d remember that.”

He wore a dark green flannel with a few buttons undone, his blonde chest hair peeking out. His beard wasn’t as neat as it was on camera; it was a tad longer, a little bushier. You preferred it over the perfectly manicured one. His long legs were clothed in dark blue denim, with a sizable hole in the knee. It was a relief that he hadn’t dressed up either.

“No, no. I definitely have. It was at—what’s her name—Yelena’s. You were with all those coked out girls. I tried to introduce myself, but you ignored me.” He laughed nervously. “But it’s fine. Do you still run around with them?”

You rolled your eyes and sighed. That gaggle of starlets hadn’t crossed your mind in a year.

“No. I got sick of babysitting adult children with perpetual nosebleeds.”

“It does get old after a while. I knew I was done with that whole scene after I gave a guy naloxone behind a Scientology Celebrity Centre.”

“Can’t say I ever had something like that happen.”

“I don’t recommend it.”

He took a few steps closer and wrapped his arms around you, cigarette precariously resting between his fingers. He smelled like fresh laundry and tobacco. You swallowed hard, unable to recall the last time you let someone hug you. The only downside of it all was the potential of your hair getting singed.

“What the fuck, dude?” You asked, trying to act like you weren’t enjoying this.

“I’m supposed to be your boyfriend, aren’t I?”

“This just seems like a lot.”

“This is nothing,” he said.

He kissed your forehead and ruffled your hair. You hated him for taking on the role of your love interest with such ease. For you it was like putting a cat in a sweater.

“Relax,” he said, dropping his arms. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

You stared out into the street, over his shoulder. Your eyes followed a crowded bus as it puttered by. Anything to not look directly at Zeke. His whole person was overwhelming. You had seen him on the screen a handful of times and found him to be unremarkable, but seeing him in person was, again, a lot.

“Wish it was over now,” you muttered, finally stepping away from him. You immediately missed the warmth radiating from his body.

“We can make it fun. I promise.”

“Doubt it. Like don’t take it personally, but yeah. No.”

He grinned and tossed his cigarette out into the street, nearly missing a meter maid.

“What? You don’t trust me?”

“You’re an actor. Of course I don’t trust you.”

“Oh, come on.”

He opened the door to the restaurant. The smell of garlic and basil wafted into your nose.

“After you,” he said.

The restaurant was small. The walls were paneled with Pepto Bismol pink painted wood and decorated with aging photos of what appeared to be a sizable Italian family. Vases of wildflowers were scattered about. It was a level of hominess and familiarity that left you a little unnerved.

“I hate it here,” you whispered.

Zeke lightly elbowed you. “We haven’t even sat down yet.”

“Sometimes you just kn—”

“Wheredyawannasit?” a lackadaisical host asked.

“What?”

“By a window,” Zeke said coolly.

You hated how easily he navigated social situations. Granted he was an actor; it was basically in the job description.

“A window, huh?” you said, cocking an eyebrow.

The bastard winked at you.

You both took a seat. The table was covered with a powder blue tablecloth and a pane of glass, and it was right by a large window. You felt on display. A waiter traipsed by and wordlessly dropped menus on the table. Everything felt unnatural.

“I hate how easy this is for you,” you said, opening a menu.

“That’s only because I’m at least making an attempt to have a decent time.”

“You don’t find this humiliating?”

“Why would this be humiliating?” he asked. “We’re having lunch.”

Why? Because it made you feel vulnerable, like you were tearing open a wound. You were sick of putting yourself out there. So many years you spent with a smile plastered on your face, eager to please, and for what?

“Because I’m over this shit, okay? I’m sick of appeasing people.”

“You’re in the wrong business then.”

The waiter came by and placed two glasses of water on the table.

“You think I don’t know that?” you groaned. “I just wanna write. That’s all.”

“What’s stopping you from doing that?”

“My reputation. Misogyny. Capitalism. That time I accidentally stepped on a service dog at a premiere,” you exasperated.

He laughed. “You’re too hung up on the past.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Don’t think about it then. That’s what I do.”

“You say that like it’s so fuckin’ easy,” you hissed.

The waiter returned and took your orders. You were surprised and mildly disturbed to see that Zeke only ordered a cappuccino and some amaretto. He noticed the face you made and shrugged. You found yourself intrigued and repulsed by him. He managed to be disarming and utterly intimidating at the same time. It was disorienting.

“So why did you have your little tantrum?”

“Which one?” you scoffed.

“The one that made a very drunk Floch call me at two in the morning, begging me to make you look ‘normal.’”

Floch’s fascination with you coming off as normal amused you to no end.

“Oh, right… Uh, like, I was just over it. Like doing all that dumb shit. Smiling even though I wanna die. Wearing uncomfortable clothes to uncomfortable events. Being friends with people I despise, like those fuckin’ girls I used to hang out with. Not being taken seriously unless I co-wrote with someone else. I don’t know.”

“It got old.”

“Yeah. I used to be fine with it, going with the flow or whatever. But recently, I don’t know. I can’t be bothered. Like I straight up do not care. I spent way too much time giving a shit about what people thought about me. I’m done with that.”

You found yourself clenching your fists and took a deep breath to dull your rage.

“Fair enough,” he said nervously.

Your voice softened, hoping to put him at ease if only a little.

“I’m not really sure where it leaves me but… Fuck it. I’m past the point of caring,” you said before quickly shoving a piece of bread in your mouth.

The rest of the lunch was awkward and unremarkable. You hated how together Zeke’s life was. He was working on a short film inspired by his salad days filming skate videos. He played in a celebrity baseball tournament for charity. He planned on spending a few months in Aotearoa because he hated wintering in California. And he footed the bill even though you wanted to go halfsies.

“Alright. Well, this was weird. I’ll see you around I guess.”

You started to walk off, but he grabbed your wrist. His calloused hands revealed his past in the minor leagues. You turned to look at him and immediately regretted your decision. He looked so dreamy. His eyes exuded kindness. You didn’t deserve it.

“When can I see you again?”

You glanced to the side and tried to concoct an answer.

“I don’t know. Have your guy call Floch and they can set something up.”

“I—I’d rather us do the planning.”

“Why?”

This was a business transaction; there was no reason to make it personal.

“I want to get to know you without that guy up our asses.”

Zeke pointed out a paparazzo in an inconspicuous silver Tesla. He hauled ass down the street once he realized that Zeke spotted him.

He continued. “If you don’t want to, it’s fine.”

It was strange to see him so bashful. You desperately tried to recall the night you apparently blew him off, but that part of your life was a blur. A haze of cigarette smoke, maxed out credit cards, and ketamine. Too many nights spent flanked by socialites with fake voices and wannabe Kerouacs. That period of your life was one long night. A party you desperately wanted to leave. Something as angelic as him would have stood out amongst the filth and depravity you waded through. You would have followed him out of all that muck.

“I’ll think about it. DM me on Insta or something.”

You went to give him a hug goodbye, but he brushed you off.

“Guy’s gone. You don’t have to pretend anymore,” he said.

A sad, little smile had laid claim to his face.

“Oh, right. Anyway, I'll see ya.”

You turned away as he quietly said goodbye. You hated yourself for your vague cruelness, but this was humiliating. Here was this great guy who was willing to put his career on the line and be seen with you, and yet you were a total downer.

But you weren’t surprised. This was your modus operandi: torching bridges while they’re being built, you standing alone on the smoldering beams.

You were incredibly thankful for the “therapeutic, nature walk.” The morning was calm. The sun drifted through the window, painting your walls with a creamy orange. You sipped coffee, scrolled through your emails, and slowly prepared yourself for your jaunt in the woods. Floch picked you up at eight o’clock in the morning. The drive up was peaceful. You kept the window down and relished in the needley wind pricking your skin.

“He only ordered espresso and fucking booze?” Floch asked, helping you up a particularly steep hill.

“It was a cappuccino. But yeah. Not like I did much better though. I just slyly ate bread, didn’t even bother touching the tortellini I ordered.”

Once you crested the hill you were greeted by a sea of ponderosa pines. Nature had a way of calming your soul, quelling the disdain that seemed to permeate your being. You fantasized about leaving the city and losing yourself in the woods. The further you were removed from the industry the better you’d feel. Maybe you wouldn’t be so neurotic.

“Why?!” He exclaimed.

“I hate eating in public. Let alone in front of someone I don’t know and a guy with a camera. I did grab a bánh mì after.”

Floch sighed.

“I guess that makes sense, but it’s still fucking ridiculous. Think about the food waste.”

You rubbed your temples and took a deep breath. You weren’t in the mood for such a conversation. You were aware of how odd your behavior was and didn’t need to be reminded of its environmental ramifications.

“Are you going to see him again?” he asked, taking a seat on a stump.

“He mentioned wanting to meet up again but on our, like, own accord.”

“Oh, so fuck me then?”

“Exactly,” you laughed.

He rolled his eyes. “What’s the plan?”

You plopped down on the ground next to Floch.

“No idea. But probably something stupid and pretentious. He hasn’t reached out to me yet though. Maybe I scared him off.”

Floch flicked your temple with his thumb and middle finger.

“Stop overthinking it. Call him right now and make plans.”

You stuck your tongue out like a child. “Gross. I’ll just text him… Wait, do you have his number? I didn’t ask for it.”

“I thought you wanted to do this on your own accord,” he said, pulling out his phone.

“I’m adding a teeny addendum to that,” you snickered.

Getting a hold of Zeke ended up being more of a struggle than you anticipated. His voicemail was full and your texts were never read. The lack of response made a pit open up in your stomach. You tried to fill it with coffee and the occasional blunt, but nothing sufficed. He had no reason to get back to you anyway. You weren’t particularly friendly during your lunch.

That was always the worst part. The hangover from your behavior. You used to think nothing beat the shame of waking up after a night of binge drinking, cursed with only a vague recollection of the awful things you did. But when waking up stone cold sober there was nothing to hide behind.

It was a great relief when Zeke finally called you back. He apologized for being so busy, but his words felt rather hollow. You didn’t think he was lying, but you questioned how genuine he was being.

“Meet me at the skate park on 16th and Sequoia. I have some filming to take care of and I’m trying to work with natural lighting,” he rambled.

“Shots’ll look good,” you said, trying to sound knowledgeable even though you didn’t know much about filming.

You agreed to meet him on the grounds that he let you pay for coffee.

Once at the park you were greeted by a sea of teenagers and their cacophonous choir of expletives and shrieks. You waded through them until you found Zeke sitting on the floor, fiddling with a Sony Handycam.

“You seem a little old to be hangin’ with this crowd.”

“The whole point is that they’re young. Tell me, does that kid read late-2000s, maybe early 2010s?” he asked before standing up and grabbing a worn out board.

You stared at a boy dressed like an extra from an early Odd Future video.

“I guess. Please tell me you’re not gonna skate.”

“Of course I am! That’s how it’s done.”

“So I’m just supposed to sit here and watch you do this?”

He sighed. “When you say it like that, it’s going to sound boring. It’ll just be an hour and then we can get coffee.”

A kid interrupted your conversation by kicking Zeke in the shin.

The kid barked, “Is Eren coming?”

Zeke shook his head to the kid’s disappointment. They dejectedly skated off without a word.

“You should have hit me up later. I could be at home right now and diving into the depths of Vine compilations.”

You pantomimed diving into a pool much to Zeke’s amusement.

Zeke skated off and exchanged pleasantries with the pack of hormone-addled youths. One of the girls set off and he trailed after her. It was a rather boring experience as a spectator. Zeke skated alongside her, crouching on his board, camera angled at her feet.

“Impressive,” you called out as Zeke reviewed what he filmed.

“Please, that was nothing.”

“Do something cool then. Do a trick.”

What happened next should have been expected, but somehow ended up being a complete surprise. Zeke attempted what you later learned was a heel flip. All you saw was him skate past you and then suddenly he was a mess of tangled limbs on the concrete, his board rolling off into a bowl. You ran to him while the kids keeled over with laughter.

“Shit,” was all he could say.

“Are you okay?” you asked, knowing damn well he was not okay.

“Help,” he coughed.

He looked so pathetic and small on the ground. You reached out and hoisted him up. Now that he was upright the extent of his injuries seemed to be reduced to a few raspberries and torn jeans.

“I keep bandaids in my kånken,” he winced.

“Knew you’d have one of these fuckin’ stupid ass, expensive backpacks,” you muttered.

You tended to his scraped knee, borrowing some bactine wipes one of the teens had on her person. Dabbing Zeke’s knee you looked up and found him gazing down at you, eyes teeming with longing. You instinctively glared at him like an asocial idiot.

“You look like you're proposing to him,” a boy slurred.

It didn’t take much to clean Zeke up, but his ripped jeans revealed his hubris. The walk to the coffee shop was spent with him slightly limping with his arm around your shoulder. You wondered if there were any paparazzi around to document this sad sight. Though maybe Floch decided he had better things to spend money on. You were left with only a wisp of paranoia.

“This is what I get for trying to show off,” he said, easing himself down onto a bench.

You took a seat next to him and couldn’t help but laugh as he iced his knee with his cold brew.

“Is that actually helping?”

“Kind of?” he replied with an eyebrow raised.

“Well, like you said, it’s what you get for showing off.”

“Come on. I’m injured. You should be nice to me.”

“I don’t have to be anything to you.”

He gulped and quickly let out a nervous laugh. You took a long sip of your drink and shifted your eyes to the side, staring into a rose bush.

Zeke sighed. “I hate to use an idiom, but you really are a tough nut to crack.”

You shut your eyes tight and fought the urge to spill all your secrets. Something about Zeke lent himself to it. Or rather you were looking for the opportunity to let it all out and projecting it on him out of sheer convenience.

He continued. “I’m not saying you need to bare your soul to me, but I’d like to get to know you. I want to get to know you.”

“I’m not worth knowing,” you droned.

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“I can and I am. Like not to be super fuckin’ dramatic, but getting to know people, letting them in and shit… It’s not worth the hassle.”

“Hassle? I’m not asking you to do hard labor,” he laughed.

“You don’t get it. I can’t just ‘get to know people.’ I—if you get to know me it’s like I’ve torn myself open.”

“What if I told you I just wanted to know your favorite color?”

You gritted your teeth and seethed, “You’re not getting it.”

He turned to look at you. You cut your staring contest with the rose bush short and gathered as much false bravado as you could. Gazing into his grey eyes would weaken you. You knew it for a fact and had to be prepared.

“You’re not really giving me a chance to.”

Damn. It. There was no preparing yourself for his patience, his kindness, even if it seemed a little phony. You held his gaze for a while before finally breaking the silence.

“It's like a piece of me is being ripped away… when I let people in... It feels like a weight. Or a void. Or both? I don’t know. I try to talk about it, but I fuck it up every time. 99% of the time I say something cruel or like dumb.” You took a deep breath. “And it’s… it’s not like I can actually be there for people, if I were to let them know me or whatever the fuck. Like what do I do? I gore myself for these people and leave them with… what? Viscera and trash?” Your thoughts were growing hazy, your anger obscuring your thoughts. “I don’t know. I’m a disease. My heart is a worn down mountain. I’m nothing more than the smoking, smoldering mine under that fucked up town that inspired, uh, Silent Hill.”

Saliva pooled in your mouth. Your inability to explain yourself was making you ill.

“Your heart is an eroded landform. And also, somehow, Centralia, Pennsylvania.”

“That is so reductive.”

“Listen. You’re not making much sense, but I think I want to underst—”

“I don’t need to fucking make sense! I… I’m just so sick of feeling like shit and not knowing what to do. Do I keep shutting myself off? Acting like a fuckin’ demon hermit that shrivels in the spotlight? Spitting and hissing at my contemporaries? Or do I go back to painting my face like a whore clown? Do I go back to making people feel vaguely at ease?! Or do I keep pushing against it?! How many hands are gonna crawl up my skirt if I go back to smiling and acting like I’m proud of the fuckin’ Kate Hudson vehicle I co-wrote with five other people? I can’t do that shit anymore. I’d rather throw myself down a flight of stairs.”

“Okay, Zelda Fitzgerald, take a breather,” he consoled or rather attempted to.

His arm hovered around your shoulder before finally patting it with his weighty hand. A small but welcome gesture. You snorted and wiped away the tears that had been collecting in the corners of your eyes.

You knew nothing you spewed made sense, but it needed to be said. It had been festering inside you. You still felt terrible, but lighter. You didn’t feel like Atlas carrying a bounty of self loathing and misanthropy on your back. For once you exhaled and there was relief.

“It’s green,” you said quietly.

“What?”

You spoke up. “My favorite color. It’s green.”

“You seem in good spirits,” Floch noted. “It’s weird. Are you sure you’re not ill?”

“What?! No! I just, I don’t know, I feel decent.”

“Are you on drugs?”

“Ugh. No. I legit feel okay… esque.”

The park was crowded for a Wednesday morning. Usually your weekly walk around the lake was a calmer affair. Granted the park was dotted with everchanging oak trees and it was fall.

“All because of some guy. Wow.”

“That’s not why. But you know, he is pretty fun.”

“Uh huh.”

“Though maybe I only think that because he’s hot.”

You happened to glance at Floch and the cat-like grin on his face. Being embarrassed and saying “just kidding” crossed your mind, but it was true. You did find Zeke amusing and attractive.

“You like hiiiiiiiim,” he teased.

“I said he’s hot. That’s hardly… Shit. Fuck. Okay, maybe I like him a little.”

“This is great! Now all you have to do is make him fall in love with you and hopefully have that convince every stupid fucking studio to suck your figurative dick,” he cheered.

You frowned. You had momentarily forgotten about the transactional nature of this relationship. Floch immediately caught onto your disappointment.

“That doesn’t necessarily mean you can’t pursue this seriously. You could probably be his girlfriend or boyfriend or whatever.”

You froze, wide-eyed, letting a rogue jogger bump into you.

“I—I never said anything about that.”

“Your reaction just did the talking for you,” Floch said, punctuating his sentence with a smirk.

“It’s not like I stand a chance anyway.”

You didn’t consider yourself desirable, let alone Zeke’s type even though you honestly had no idea what that was. Your self confidence had been in shambles for months; anything was possible.

“Hm. Now that I think about it I don’t think I’ve ever heard of him dating anyone.”

“Hopefully his type is whatever all this is,” you sighed, looking down at your body.

“People seem to think you two are cute together.”

“Great, but what do the people that matter think?”

“Well… They kind of think a little less of him now that you two are dating.”

“Nothing ‘bout me though?” you asked flatly.

“Nada.”

“I mean that’s not too bad.”

“When are you seeing him next?”

“He invited me to some party at some guy’s house. All I know is there’s a pool and Zeke intends on pushing his brother into it.”

“Oh wow, sounds super romantic,” he snarked.

You stomped on a crunchy leaf. The party could end up being romantic if you tried. So far you made little attempt to impress Zeke and he was still drawn to you. If you actually did something, who knows what you could accomplish?

That night the driver Zeke hired to pick you up plucked you from your home and dropped you off at a glass windowed monstrosity nestled in the hills. It was owned by the editor of a marginally popular skateboarding magazine.

You were irked that he decided to go to the party early and not extend the invite. You hated shit like this and even more when you were forced to do it on your own.

You exhaled and your fist hovered parallel to the door.

“Just knock, dumb ass.”

Before you could the door was ripped open by a tanned, green-eyed man. He was wearing a red cut-off shirt, a pair of sweatpants, and checkerboard slip-ons.

“You’re not the weed guy,” he said, frowning.

“No. I mean, I have weed. Bu—but I’m not, like, the designated weed guy. I wish I was though. Like that’d be dope.”

He looked you up and down, and hollered over his shoulder, “False alarm.”

You heard a choir of groans and sighs from behind him.

“Uh… so, can I come in? Zeke invited me.”

You introduced yourself and quickly found out the man you were talking to was Eren, a professional skater and Zeke’s brother. He slid out of the way, granting you permission to enter. You stepped inside and stared up at the enormous foyer. A twinkling chandelier hung from the ceiling, illuminating the vacuous space. It was sterile and everything blindingly white.

He led you into a room filled to the brim with people. You found yourself wanting to cling to him even though he was as much a stranger as everyone else.

“So yeah, I don’t know where Zeke is but I’m sure you’ll find him. Let me know if you don’t!”

And with that Eren disappeared. You were happy to see no one looked particularly glamorous, but it did little to quell your nerves. A Yaeji song seemed to blare from every corner of the house; it was inescapable. Doing this shit sober was never your forte.

“Hey! Over here,” you heard a familiar voice emanate from the crowd.

You pushed through and found Zeke surrounded by actors. You plastered on a sickly grin and hoped no one could discern your disdain.

“Hiiiiiiiiiiii,” you sneered unintentionally.

Zeke slipped his arm around your waist, pulling you next to him. You wanted to puke.

“I’m glad you found your way here.”

“You had a dude come pick me up which, you know, made it pretty easy.”

He smiled at you like he didn’t even catch your snarkiness.

A guy you didn’t recognize asked, “You’ve always had a bit of a mouth on you, haven’t you?”

“I was literally born with one.”

“Do you know how to shut it?” he followed up.

“Nah, but I know how to shut yours.”

Zeke dug his fingers into your waist, his face still smiling. You held your tongue while the guy continued being an absolute asshole. This was the kind of nonsense you couldn’t stand. You zoned out, eyes looking outside at the pool. The voices around you melded into a singular drone you tuned out.

“Hey,” he said, snapping his fingers in front of your face. “I asked you a question.”

You looked at Zeke for reassurance and saw that his attention was elsewhere. Your stomach dropped. He may have been standing next to you but he felt miles away.

“What?” you finally replied.

“Did you really fuck Magath to get a writing credit for that Jennifer Aniston movie?”

Your skin felt like it was on fire. Holding back wasn’t an option.

“It was a Kate Hudson movie. Why the actual fuck would I sleep with someone to say I helped write a Kate Hudson movie? Are you stupid or just trying to start shit? Because if your only way to make me feel bad is by implying I slept with someone to further my mediocre career, you need to try again because that ain’t gonna cut it.”

You freed yourself from Zeke’s grasp and got in the guy’s face, towering over him. He gave you nothing but stunned silence.

“Let’s get some air,” Zeke said a little too cheerfully.

Once outside you held your head in your hands, fighting the urge to scream. You should have acted unbothered, but weren’t good at faking. You kicked the air in frustration.

“What was that back there?”

“What was what?” you spat out. “You mean the dumb fuck inside?”

You dug through your bag for a joint and a lighter, sighing in relief when you found them with ease. 

“You should have had my back,” you said, using the joint to point at Zeke.

“I didn’t even know what was going on,” he lied.

“You were right fucking there! You were literally right beside me,” you said, lighting the joint.

“What was I supposed to say?”

You took a hit and exhaled.

“Fucking anything,” you suggested. “Could’ve changed the subject. Could’ve said, like, ‘Go fuck yourself. Don’t talk to my fake girlfriend that way.’”

“Once that guy gets going there’s no stopping him.”

“You noncommittal piece of shit. You fucking Judas.”

“Don’t let something that inconsequential ruin your night.”

“Maybe it was inconsequential to you...” you said, taking another hit.

Zeke reached out for the joint, but you didn’t hand it over. He didn’t deserve it.

“But it wasn’t to me. Do you know how often I deal with shit like that?”

“You should be used to it then.”

You were rendered silent. You couldn’t even verbalize your rage. Words were incapable of capturing the essence of it.

So you opted to push him in the pool.

You stormed off back inside, lit joint hanging out of your mouth. The house felt like a maze, you could’ve sworn it got bigger, vaster. Everyone’s faces blended together. You felt like you were gradually traveling back in time, like you’d been here too many times before. This wasn’t the person you wanted to be. This wasn’t any better than the old you.

You glanced over your shoulder and saw a couple people tending to a soaking wet Zeke, briefly making eye contact with him. Instead of glaring at you he smiled. You were happy he didn’t seem to hate you but it was infuriating all the same. He never dropped his facade. For the longest time you admired this ability but now it was a glaring flaw.

The relief that washed over you once outside was immense. You found yourself sitting on the curb, finishing off your joint. It was a clear night, colder than anticipated. The stars made your discomfort worth it even if most were drowned out by civilization.

“You’re lucky I didn’t have anything important in my pockets.”

Zeke stood behind you, his wet clothes clinging to his body. He was shivering.

“Bummer. I was kinda hoping I’d fuck up your phone at least.”

He laughed and sat next to you.

“I realize I could have probably been a bit more sympathetic.”

“I didn’t want sympathy. I wanted you to have my back. Toss out a witty retort that defended my honor or some shit,” you replied dejectedly.

“You held your own though.”

“That’s not the point,” you called out in exasperation. “I know I can hold my own. But… fuck, I don’t know. I needed you!”

He cleared his throat, his nerves revealing themselves.

“I’m sorry. Next time I’ll—”

“Ugh. Please. I’d rather fucking die than have a next time. I cannot keep doing this shit.”

You looked at Zeke and his pathetic form. You took off your jacket and put it over his shoulders.

“It gets so exhausting. Defending myself. It’s almost as bad as pretending everything is fine, like nothing is wrong,” you said sadly. “I feel like I’m talking in circles sometimes. Don’t mind me.”

“I’m going to mind. You pushed me into a pool about it.”

You groaned and stared up at the night sky.

“All of my self worth used to come from how fuckable I was because I thought that’s all I had to offer. I was made to believe that was the extent of my purpose. The writing was auxiliary. A nice surprise. And I cultivated that notion because I bought into it.” You felt yourself getting frustrated. “Do you know what that’s like?”

“No. I never had to concern myself with something like that.” He paused. “I suspect that was a rhetorical question.”

“It was, but I appreciate you being honest.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you. I’m too afraid to,” he laughed.

You rolled your eyes. “I am not that scary.”

“That guy nearly shit his pants when you got in his face.”

“Oh my god! I hardly got in his face.”

“Just own up to it. You’re a little intense. It’s par for the course in this industry. Nothing wrong with it.”

“Fuck. Fine. Whatever. I’m a little intense.”

Both of you fell silent. You scooched closer to Zeke, hoping maybe your body would warm him. You wanted to make up for acting so childish.

“I could never be like that,” he muttered. “Though I'd like to be.”

“There’s nothing stopping you.”

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“It’s just not my nature.”

“Ah yes, I forgot you’re such a gentle boy,” you teased.

He grinned. “Exactly. I’m too delicate.”

You hated how cute he was when he smiled; you wanted to kiss his crow’s feet.

“Do you need a ride?” he asked smoothly.

“Yeah,” you mumbled.

Zeke drove you home in his black Polestar 2. He cranked the heater as he sped down the freeway, still shivering. He tried to keep the conversation light by asking if you had been working on anything.

“I can’t even remember the last time I wrote.”

The realization made you nauseous.

“Why haven’t you been writing?”

You hung your head and struggled to articulate your vague, creative block. “I don’t know. Like why bother if no one wants to work with me?”

“Don’t you enjoy doing it?”

“Yeah…”

“There’s a reason to bother.”

“... True. It’s not like I need permission from anyone.”

“Just yourself.”

He had a point. Whether you wrote or not was one of the things in your life you controlled. There was no reason to hold your ideas hostage. You had every right to free them and let them wander the page.

When you finally reached your home you hesitated to get out of the car. For whatever reason you wanted to remain around the damp man beside you. The hearty yawn he let out though helped you make your exit.

You took your seatbelt off and turned to face him.

“Thanks for the ride. I would not have been as kind to you had you pushed me into a… pool.”

“I know,” he said wistfully.

“Well, uh, get home safe.”

“I’ll try. I hope you feel better.”

“Me too,” you sighed, stepping out of his car.

“When can I see you next?” he asked dreamily, his rough hand latching onto your wrist.

“I don’t know.”

“Ballpark it for me.”

His grey eyes were trained on your lips.

“Soon I guess. Go home, sleepyhead. You look damp and miserable.”

Zeke bid you a weak farewell before driving off. You couldn’t figure out why he put up with you. Why did he want to see you again? You, who had dented his reputation with such ease. All you seemed to do was make his life worse. And yet he kept coming back.

Floch wanted to wring your neck for the pool incident. Someone managed to film it and the footage went viral. The narrative surrounding it all was that Zeke tried to dump you and you simply could not cope with it. You were painted as a hysterical, scorned lover that couldn’t take a hint.

You had to laugh. You wished it was that simple

“You ruined everything. It’s fine. I don’t care, but I need you to know that,” he said over the phone.

Hanging up on him crossed your mind but you wanted to be mature.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I fucked it all up. But it can’t get any worse.”

“Don’t! It absolutely can!”

“Fine. I don’t think I can feel any worse. I think I had a breakthrough honestly.”

“Oh, thank goodness! Will this breakthrough translate into people trusting you?”

“Nah. But it did make me realize, like, I don’t have to do studio shit. I can just write whatever I want. Fuck my reputation. I mean, I know I won’t make money, but I’ll figure that out later.”

“As your friend, I’m happy for you. That’s fabulous. But as your agent, are you kidding me?!”

“Nope!”

Floch groaned and muttered a few indecipherable expletives before saying, “If this is what you really want, I’m up for it.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. I think you got the talent to pull it off. I would have kicked your sorry ass to the curb if I thought otherwise.”

“Wasn’t expecting you to be so accepting,” you demurred.

“Listen I may be a fucking bastard, but I believe in you. I always have. If you don’t fuck around and get your head out of your ass, you can do it. I know you can.”

Elation couldn’t even begin to describe how you felt. All the unnecessary pressure you put on yourself dissipated. You were free, lighter than a feather. You looked out your window at the soft, warm light of the moon. The oak trees’ autumnal leaves ebbed as a cold wind swept through them.

“Th—that really means a lot to me.”

“Alright, alright. I gotta go. Louisa and Reed are running around like wild animals when they were supposed to be in bed at 9pm which was… Three fucking hours ago?!”

He hung up before you could say anything.

“Dude has no phone etiquette.”

Just as you went to set your phone down you received another call. This time from Zeke. You couldn’t imagine why he’d be calling you at such an hour.

“What’s good?” you asked.

“Can I come over?!” he bellowed through the phone.

“You don’t need to yell.”

“I’m sorry. Can I come over?” he slurred.

“It’s a little late. I was gonna crawl into bed.”

“Ah, fuck. Well, I’m already here.”

You peeked out your window and saw him swaying in front of your home. He was drunk, practically wasted.

“Yeah, I see you. Uh… Hold on,” you said before hanging up.

You threw on a robe and greeted him at the door.

“How did you get here?”

“Whoa, whoa. One question at a time,” he leaned against the door frame, “cutie pie.”

“... How did you get he—”

“Caaaaab. Old school. Called ‘em up. That’s how I’m doin’ shit now. New year, new me.”

“It’s… It’s November.”

“I’m pregaming. Can I come in? You owe me.”

“Yeah, c’mon in.”

You let him inside, stifling a laugh as he stumbled through the door.

“I meant to do that.”

“Sure you did,” you replied, patting him on the back.

You led him into your living room and gestured for him to sit on your couch. He happily collapsed face down on it. You winced and decided to get him a glass of water. When you returned he was sitting up, his forehead a little pink from where it made contact with the cushion.

“Can I be honest with you?” he asked, now holding his head in his hands.

“Yeah, dude.”

“You hurt my feelings.”

“Is this about the pool? See, I knew you were fuckin’ mad at me!”

“What? No. I don’t care about that.” He stared up at you over his glasses. “That party. The one where I tried to introduce myself. And you blew me off.”

You held the glass of water out to him. He snatched it out of your hands like a little gremlin.

“I don’t even remember that. Are you sure it was even me?”

He took a sip of water. “You’re very hard to forget for better or worse.”

“Oh.”

“Why do you think I agreed to do any of this shit anyway? My agent’s been on me about dive bombing my career, which that’s him being a drama queen, but that’s not my point. I, fuck… I like you so much. And I want you to like me too, but I get that you don’t and that’s fine. I don’t like me either. I’m fake.”

“You’re not fake,” you said, taking a seat next to him. “You’re not like… the most genuine person, but I wouldn’t say you’re fake.”

“No. Don’t. I’m a phony.”

“Oh my god.”

He groaned and took another sip of water.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he whined. “I just… I hate that I can’t find it in me to be like you. You refuse to take anyone’s shit and have no problem sticking up for yourself. A director literally told me to ‘get the stick out of my himbo ass’ when I said he should treat his cinematographer with more respect. And you know what I did? I fucking did it… Not… No, I didn’t pull a stick out of my ass.”

“I figured,” you snorted.

“But I smiled and said, ‘I guess it’s not my place.’ Not a hint of sarcasm. I rolled over, showed that man my belly, and begged him to slice me open as a way to repent.”

“Belly? What belly? You mean your abs? Come the fuck on. Belly? Ha.”

Zeke lifted his shirt and examined his abdominal muscles. He shrugged.

“You know what I mean,” he said, pathetically leaning over and resting his head on your shoulder. “You wouldn’t have done that. You would’ve been said, ‘I’m about to pull the stick out of my ass and beat you with it if you don’t start treating them better.’”

“You’re not allowed to do that good of an impersonation of me. Not this early in our fake relationship.”

It was hard to hear Zeke being so drunk and vulnerable. You didn’t know how to handle him. Jokes and asides seemed to be the only thing flowing from your mouth.

“You are on my mind a lot,” he lamented.

“Trust me. I’m not exactly someone to admire.”

“Stop. You don’t get to decide that for me. You don’t get to decide if you’re worth knowing, or worth admiring, or worth loving. I get to. Not you.”

“Okay,” you mumbled.

Zeke exhaled deeply.

“I’m not saying I’m in love with you. I’m not that delusional, but… Fuck, just let me like you? Let me get to know you? I need to be close to you.”

His drunk ramblings were bathed in anguish with a tinge of hilarity. You felt bad for him, but it was an unexpected surprise for him to be so forthcoming about his pining. Never before had you considered anyone aching over your perceived indifference. You had to admit it boosted your ego a little bit.

“You’re practically sitting on me right now so we’ve crossed that bridge.”

He sniffled.

You kept speaking. “I’m gonna be real. I’m not exactly used to, uh, hearing shit like this so I don’t know how to—”

Zeke grabbed ahold of your face and kissed you; it was ripe with desperation. You momentarily reciprocated the kiss, leaning into him and his embrace. He tasted like tequila and cigarettes. His teeth clinking against yours pulled you out of the moment, letting you assess the situation. You pulled away and cleared your throat.

He was wasted and, as much as you wanted to kiss him, he was in no position to be doing anything of the sort.

“You’re drunk, Zeke.”

“I know. I should go. Do—don’t tell me about anything I said tonight.”

He tried to stand up before quickly resuming his previous position.

“Stay the night. We can get you home in the morning, alright?”

“Yeah?” he asked, taking off his glasses and rubbing his red rimmed eyes.

You nodded. “You can even sleep in my bed as long as you don’t act like a fuckin’ weird ass.”

“I assure you I will not be a fucking weird ass. I’m very anti-weird ass.”

“Good.”

“I’d—I would even say I’m bigoted towards them,” he slurred as you helped him up. “Weird asses have too many rights. We let them out in the world? They’re just skittering around, weird assing it up?!”

You started to crack up. He sounded so serious and intense. It was like he got possessed by Daniel Day-Lewis for a brief moment.

“Hush. Don’t get yourself all riled up.”

A faint smile crossed his face. It was markedly different from the ones he had worn before.

You couldn’t help but ask, “Are you smiling because you’re happy or are you compulsively masking your feelings again?”

“It’s a real one,” he said, his words all melting into one.

Regardless of their decipherability, you liked having verbal proof that Zeke genuinely smiled in front of you. The second you got him into bed he passed out. You crawled in on the other side, careful to keep some distance between your bodies.

When you woke up the next morning you found him cuddled up next to you. You slept on your back so you wouldn’t have felt compelled to curl up next to Zeke. But somehow in the middle of the night he managed to embrace you. His head rested on your shoulder and his arm was lazily draped across your chest.

You ruffled his hair and gently sang his name. He groaned and held you closer.

“Hungover?” you asked.

He yawned. “Just a tad.”

He rolled over onto his back and slowly sat up, his shoulders slumping forward. His eyes were barely open, protecting themselves from the harsh, autumn sun.

“Is your career really tanking because you traipse around with my dumb ass?”

His shoulders heaved as he gruffly chuckled.

“If I were a hyperbolic man, I’d say yes. Alas, I am but a normal guy so no.” He was interrupted by a hearty yawn. “People give me shit about it, but that’s hardly an issue. And, hypothetically, if chasing after you did take a massive shit on my career, I don’t think I’d care. Or I’d at least try really hard not to.”

“I guess that’s… admirable.”

“You know what would be admirable?” he asked flirtatiously.

He glanced over at you, clearly admiring your sprawled out limbs as the sunlight danced along your skin.

“What?”

Zeke’s face fell into despair. He froze and swallowed hard. His pallor took on a sickly greenish hue.

“I was going to say you should kiss me, but I don’t feel good at the moment.”

“Fuck. That’s so sexy,” you teased.

He gave you a wink before softly moaning as waves of nausea overtook him

“So, uh, now that you’re not wasted…”

Your words struggled to form sentences. You wanted to make sure Zeke meant the shit he said last night.

“Can I… Am I still worth loving? Wait! Or knowing or whatever you said? I can’t remember.”

You remembered everything. There was no use in pretending.

Zeke was quiet for a moment before a sly grin crept across his face. He fixed his gaze on you and simply said, “Absolutely.”

“Really?” you croaked out.

“Yes. I have one request though. I don’t want our agents involved or any industry people. We do this on our terms,” he orated.

You nodded and poked his cheek much to his chagrin. “Got it. We do it for us.”

He laid back down next to you, resting his head on your chest.

 “Exactly. For us,” he replied softly.