#actually I’d settle for just getting to say the words locked inside me and settle this for good

[moonstruckme]

hi maeeee!! can i request a poly! marauders where maybe reader is fighting with only one them and the others are shocked when they find out and try their very best to fix it even though things are quite tense? thanks maeeeee ilyyyy💐💐💐

Thanks for your patience with this one angel! It's not as angsty as I planned when I started writing it, but I hope you enjoy it <3

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.8k words

It’s James who finds you this time. You’re curled up in a corner of the couch, pretending to read whilst secretly feeling sorry for yourself. Your boyfriend sits next to you, touching your shoulder so that you turn to him for a kiss. 

“Still upset?” he asks after a peck. 

You ignore the complicated, knotty feeling that makes itself known in your chest. “Not at you.” 

“No, I know.” James smiles a little, gifting you another kiss. “I’d be coming in here with my tail between my legs if you were. I’d hate to be on the wrong side of either you or Rem’s wrath.” 

You stay quiet. You wouldn’t go so far as to call what you’re feeling wrath—that seems a tad dramatic to describe the low flame of vexation you’ve been burning for your tallest boyfriend—but you don’t feel like opening yourself up to the subject with James. You’ve already heard it from Sirius this morning. 

“Angel.” James gives your shoulder a cajoling squeeze. “Come on, when are the two of you going to get past this? It’s very awkward sleeping in the same bed with two people who are quarreling, you know.” 

“We sleep exactly the same as every other night.” 

“There’s underlying tension,” he counters lightly. You roll your eyes, and James laughs. “Oi, don’t get cross with me now, too. I’m just telling you about my lived experience.” He leans his head on your shoulder, all sweetness and treachery. “You’re really not gonna forgive him? You know he’s gonna stick you with Sirius in the divorce.” 

You huff a laugh. James grins up at you hopefully. You know there’s some sense to what he’s saying; one of you has to be the bigger person eventually. It had started small, a stupid disagreement, but you and Remus are each stubborn and petty enough to not want to admit where you were wrong. Now you’re more angry with him for being angry with you than for anything else. 

When you think of his coldness to you—never mind the fact that you’ve been cold to him in turn—that flame of vexation burns a little brighter. 

“I don’t know why you’re over here trying to convince me,” you tell James. “I won’t have any problem forgiving him if he actually apologizes.” 

James sighs. You look down at your book to avoid his disappointment. 

“Okay, then. But he does feel really bad, so you know. He’s in the bedroom with one of his headaches, and he asked if you were still upset with him.” You look up. James levels you with a weighted look. “Could probably really use a cuddle, if you two were on good terms.” 

James is at least only somewhat smug when you abandon your book to go to the bedroom. You pass Sirius in the hall, who gives you a smile and a firm peck on the lips, likely having just left Remus himself. You enter the bedroom expecting to see the curtains drawn, lights off, and your poorly boyfriend in bed, but instead Remus is standing, well lit by the daylight streaming in through the windows, book tented on the bed still made from this morning. He appears as though he was just on his way out. 

“Erm, hi,” he says, brows pulled together in the middle. He looks to be studying you. “Are you alright?” 

“Fine,” you answer, bemused. “Are…are you?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

The door clicks shut behind you. You startle at the sound, not having closed it yourself. Then, you watch as a resigned sort of irritation comes over Remus’ features at the same time as it settles into you. 

“Pricks.” He moves past you to the door, jiggling the handle. “It only locks from the inside, you twats.” 

“Love you too,” comes Sirius’ voice. “You can come out after you kiss and make up.” 

“And say you’re sorry!” adds James. 

Remus scowls. 

“Open it,” you tell him. 

“What do you think I’m trying to do? One of them is holding it shut.” 

“Let me try.” 

“Be my guest.” Remus steps back, letting you have a go at the handle. By putting everything you have into it you manage to twist it, but you can’t get it open even an inch. 

“Don’t hurt yourself, gorgeous.” Sirius sounds smug enough to make your face feel hot. “James is holding it on the other side here, a few more minutes and you’ll make him break a sweat.” 

You let go of the handle with a huff, turning and stalking towards the bedroom window. You start moving the desk out of your way. 

“Would you really rather climb out the window than be in a room with me?” asks Remus. You look over your shoulder, and he’s sitting on the bed, side-eyeing you with his back propped against the pillows. 

“It’s not about you.” You shove your hip into the desk, budging it enough for you to get at the window latch. “They lied and made me feel all guilty just so they could lock us in here.” 

“What’d they tell you?”

You try to get your fingernail behind the latch. “It doesn’t matter.” 

“Sirius had me thinking you were quite upset.” 

“Yeah, and probably that I was asking after you, right? James told me you had a bad headache.” 

A chuckle. “That was enough to make you come in here looking so flustered?” 

“My mistake,” you huff, but it turns to a short whimper when your nail breaks. “Christ, you’d think they’d make these easier to open. What if there was a fire?” 

“Don’t go out the window,” Remus says calmly. “You’ll ruin your tights.” 

You work another nail behind the latch. “I can’t just let them win.” 

“Mm. That’s a bit of a problem for you, is it?” 

A bitter coolness settles over you. You turn, crossing your arms. “Something to say?” 

Remus picks up his book, cornering a page. “Just making an observation, is all.” 

“Remus,” you say sternly. “Don’t act like you’re any better. You could’ve apologized at any time.” 

Your boyfriend levels you with a look. “Would that really have made a difference?”

“Yes!” 

“Honestly?” He looks like he doesn’t believe you. “All I have to do is say I’m sorry, and you’ll forget about all of this and be completely happy with me?” 

You shake your head, bewildered. “…Yeah. I mean, I would want to know that you understood how you hurt my feelings, but yeah. Really, it’s not that complicated.” 

Remus’ expression softens. “I do understand that, dove. Do you understand how you hurt mine?” 

“I…” You find you can’t quite look at him. “I imagine it’s sort of similar. Because I’ve been cold to you.” 

“And because you wouldn’t hear me out,” he says. It doesn’t sound like I told you so, not smug so much as gentle. “But it was a small thing to begin with, wasn’t it? I’m ready to be past it.” 

You frown at him. “It’s not about the argument for me. I’m already past that, it’s just everything else.” 

Remus considers you. “Would you come here, please?” 

You swear you wouldn’t go if he didn’t sound so kind. But you find yourself with your legs curled underneath you on the bed in front of him, Remus coaxing your hands into his. 

“I’m sorry I hurt your feelings,” he says sincerely, looking you in the eyes. “It was a silly argument, and I shouldn’t have been so stubborn.” 

You chew the inside of your cheek, sizing up whether he means it. “I…also could have been less stubborn,” you admit begrudgingly. Your tone softens. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings, too. I didn’t mean to.” 

“I know, sweetheart.” Remus’ touch coasts from your hands up your arms as he pulls you closer to kiss your forehead. “Are we okay?” 

“Yeah,” you say, mollified. 

He smiles at you. “Hear that?” he says towards the door. “You can let us out now.” 

There’s no response. 

Remus frowns as you get out of bed, going to try the handle. The door comes open, revealing and empty hallway. 

“Pricks,” Remus mutters. 

You find your boyfriends in the living room, James flicking through channels on the telly while Sirius reads the back cover of your book. James notices you first. 

“Oh, hello.” He grins at you as Sirius looks over. “All sorted, then?” 

You’re half tempted to pretend you didn’t make up just to spite them. When you look over at Remus, you suspect he’s thinking the same thing. 

“That was sort of mean, lying to me like that,” you say to James instead. 

He looks a bit contrite, but Sirius says insouciantly, “You were never gonna do it by yourselves, babe. We weren’t ready to start divvying up the furniture because you wanted to have a row.” 

You kiss your teeth. “I think I might be having a row with you now.” 

“What, us?” James’ eyebrows rise above the frames of his glasses. “What for?” 

“You lied to us both to make us feel bad,” Remus reminds him, “and then locked us in the bedroom.” 

Sirius isn’t impressed. “Well, it wasn’t really locked, was it. If you’d gotten desperate, you could’ve taken it off the hinges. Or just checked again after a couple minutes.” 

“She broke her nail trying to get the window open.” 

You hold up your torn fingernail as proof. Sirius coos, reaching for your finger and bringing it to his lips while you scowl at him. 

“Sorry, lovie. We had a plan to bring you food in a couple hours,” says James. “We were even going to let you out for bathroom breaks if you needed to go.” 

“Really, you wrapped it up much quicker than we were expecting,” Sirius praises. He’s still holding your finger, drawing his thumb up and down the side in easy, consoling strokes. “We thought you’d ice each other out until supper at least. I’m quite proud of you.” 

Remus scoffs. 

“Oh, come now.” Sirius grins. “Give us a kiss.” 

You roll your eyes but turn to Remus, extricating your finger from Sirius’ grasp to meet him in a chaste kiss. 

The other boys cheer. “There we are!” James tilts his face up expectantly. “Now one for me.” 

You and Remus exchange a look. 

“No,” you say coolly, “I don’t think so.” The two of you go to sit on the far side of the couch, away from both Sirius and James with you curled against Remus’ side. He looks a tad smug as he puts his arm around you. 

“Oi!” says Sirius. “Look what you’ve done, you’ve made James pull his sad puppy face. What do you have to say for yourselves?” 

“You lied to us,” you say again, slowly, with emphasis, “and locked us in the bedroom.” 

Sirius scoffs. “So dramatic.” 

“Oh, that’s rich.” 

“Will it help if we say sorry?” James asks meekly. 

Remus looks at you. You shrug. 

“Maybe,” he says. “You’re more than welcome to try and find out.”

[jiminomenon]

what is jimin’s reaction to assistant yn threatening to quit?

from my series: the devil wears prada

the penthouse was silent—eerily so, considering the shouting match that had just taken place. the air between them was thick, charged with lingering frustration and unspoken words. jimin stood in the middle of the living room, arms crossed, expression locked in a stubborn scowl. y/n was a few feet away, breathing heavily, fists clenched at her sides.

neither of them had meant for it to escalate like this. it started with something minor—an argument over jimin’s impossible demands, her bratty attitude, the way she acted like y/n was hers to boss around twenty-four-seven. but then, words were thrown like knives, sharp and cutting.

and then y/n snapped.

“maybe i should just quit, then!”

the words ripped through the space between them. jimin stiffened instantly, her brows drawing together.

“what?” her voice was dangerously quiet.

y/n exhaled sharply, still fueled by frustration. “if you’re just gonna keep treating me like this, maybe i should just leave, huh? find another job where i’m actually respected.”

jimin scoffed, but there was a hint of uncertainty in her voice. “you wouldn’t dare.”

“why not?” y/n challenged, eyes blazing. “give me one good reason why i shouldn’t.”

jimin opened her mouth, but for once in her life, she had no comeback. no smug remarks, no bratty retorts. because the idea of y/n actually leaving—actually walking away—felt like a punch to the gut.

her jaw tightened. “you’re being dramatic.”

y/n let out a bitter laugh. “of course you’d say that.”

jimin hated this. hated the way y/n looked at her right now—like she was tired of her, like she was done.

“you’re not quitting,” jimin said firmly, like it was a fact, like she refused to acknowledge the possibility.

“and why not?”

“because—” jimin’s voice faltered. she wanted to say because i need you—because she couldn’t imagine her life without y/n constantly by her side, keeping her in check, understanding her in ways no one else did.

but that wasn’t how she worked. she didn’t admit things like that. she didn’t let people know how much they mattered.

“because i said so,” she settled on instead.

y/n’s expression darkened. “you don’t own me, jimin.”

“i never said i did.”

“but you act like it!”

the silence that followed was suffocating.

jimin hated the thought of y/n leaving, but she also hated feeling like this—out of control, vulnerable, on the verge of losing something she refused to name.

so she did what she did best.

she walked away.

but before she could fully disappear into her bedroom, y/n’s voice cut through the air.

“you don’t even care, do you?”

jimin froze.

“if i left, it wouldn’t even matter to you, right?” y/n’s voice was quieter now, but still laced with hurt. “you’d just find someone else to boss around.”

something snapped inside jimin. she turned around, storming back toward y/n, eyes burning with something unreadable.

“it would matter,” she said, voice low. “it would matter a lot.”

y/n blinked.

jimin exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair, frustrated—at y/n, at herself, at the entire situation.

“you think i don’t care?” jimin continued, tone softer now but still firm. “you think i’d just let you go that easily?”

y/n didn’t respond.

jimin sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “i’m sorry, alright?”

y/n’s brows shot up. “what?”

jimin groaned. “don’t make me say it again.”

y/n stared at her, searching for any sign of insincerity—but, for once, jimin actually meant it.

a small smirk tugged at y/n’s lips. “wow. never thought i’d hear those words come out of your mouth.”

jimin rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “don’t get used to it.”

y/n chuckled, shaking her head. her frustration wasn’t completely gone, but… jimin had apologized. and for someone as stubborn as her, that was a huge deal.

“you’re impossible,” y/n muttered.

jimin smirked. “and yet, here you are. still not quitting.”

y/n sighed dramatically. “unfortunately.”

but there was a warmth in her eyes now, and jimin—though she’d never say it out loud—felt like she could finally breathe again.

[inseobts]

Stubborn Hearts

takashi mitsuya x fem!reader

all you do is bickering, so everyone forces you to confess to each other.

a/n: aaaaaah hope this isn't cringe T.T

words count: 5.7k

tags: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst to fluff, teasing, bickering

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

You have exactly three problems in life:

1. Your friends are idiots.

2. Toman is full of gossiping middle schoolers disguised as delinquents.

3. Mitsuya Takashi exists.

The third one is the biggest problem.

Because, somehow, everyone in Toman has decided that you and Mitsuya are destined soulmates. Which is insane because he clearly hates you. He always sighs when you walk into the room, never laughs at your jokes, and acts like everything you do is some massive inconvenience.

So, naturally, you’ve made it your life’s mission to annoy the hell out of him.

And today? Today is no different.

The Toman hideout is as loud and chaotic as ever. You’re sitting on the couch with Emma and Hina, watching as Mitsuya helps Hakkai wrap a bandage around his arm. He’s focused, carefully tying the gauze, completely unbothered by the noise around him.

Which is unacceptable.

“Ugh.” You groan dramatically, slumping against Emma “Why is he always here?”

Hina snorts “Because he’s literally a vice-captain?”

“A vice-captain with an attitude problem.” You glance at Mitsuya, narrowing your eyes “I bet if he smiled too hard, his face would crack.”

Emma hums “Or maybe he doesn’t smile because someone keeps throwing french fries at his head.”

“That happened one time.”

“It happened yesterday.”

“Still a one time thing”

From across the room, Mitsuya sighs.

You whip around immediately “SEE?! He does it every time I talk!”

Pah chokes on his drink “This is painful to watch.”

“Yeah, this is getting ridiculous.” Smiley says, grinning “I mean, how long are they gonna keep this up?”

You frown “Keep what up?”

Before anyone can answer, Chifuyu suddenly drops onto the couch beside you, looking suspiciously smug “Hey, Y/N, quick question.”

You squint “What?”

“If you had to be stranded on a deserted island with one person, would you pick Mitsuya?”

“I’d rather drink seawater.”

“I’d rather swim into a shark’s mouth.” Mitsuya deadpans from across the room.

Baji nearly dies laughing “YEAH, SURE, OKAY.”

“See?!” You spin toward Emma and Hina, motioning wildly at Mitsuya “He hates me!”

They exchange a look. The same one they’ve been giving you for months. The one that makes you feel like you’re missing a really obvious joke.

“Right.” Hina says.

“Absolutely.” Emma agrees.

You narrow your eyes “…Why do I feel like you guys know something I don’t?”

Before either of them can respond, Draken suddenly clears his throat “Alright, enough. I can’t watch this disaster any longer.”

Mikey, who had been quietly eating dorayaki, finally speaks up “I say we lock them in a room.”

You freeze “Wait, what?”

Mitsuya’s head snaps up “Excuse me?”

Mikey shrugs, unbothered “Just until they confess.”

The room erupts.

“I love that idea.” Smiley howls.

“Let’s do it.” Baji grins.

Even Hakkai, the nice one, nods “It’d save us a lot of time.”

You shoot up from your seat “Confess what??”

Mitsuya groans, rubbing his temples “You guys are actual morons.”

“No, you two are morons,” Chifuyu corrects “We are just fixing it.”

You’re about to argue when Emma grabs your arm.

Hina grabs your other arm.

“WAIT—”

Before you can fight back, they drag you toward the nearest empty room.

You hear a loud thud as Mitsuya gets shoved inside with you, his voice sharp with irritation “Are you serious right now?”

The door slams shut.

Then they locked it.

“I’m going to murder them...” Mitsuya mutters.

You press your forehead against the door, horror settling in “Not if I do it first.”

The room is dead silent.

You and Mitsuya stand on opposite sides, both facing the door, both processing the absolute betrayal that just happened.

Your friends... your traitorous, nosy friends... have actually locked you inside a tiny room with Mitsuya.

And they’re not letting you out until one of you confesses.

Which is never happening since Mitsuya hates you.

After what feels like a full minute, you finally turn to him “…This is your fault.”

Mitsuya scoffs “My fault? You’re the one who keeps picking fights with me.”

“Because you hate me!”

He groans, rubbing his temples like you’re giving him a migraine “I don’t hate you.”

“You literally just said you’d rather get eaten by a shark than be stuck on an island with me.”

“Because you said you’d rather die first!”

You squint at him “So what? You just had to one-up me?”

“You started it!”

Before you can throw something at his stupidly calm face, you hear muffled voices outside the door.

“They’re fighting already.” Chifuyu says, laughing.

“Give it ten minutes,” Baji snickers “One of them’s gonna snap.”

You whip around and bang on the door “LET ME OUT, YOU BASTARDS.”

“Nope!” Emma’s voice is way too cheerful “Not until you confess~”

You can practically hear Hina smirking “Take your time, though. We’ve got all night.”

Oh, they are so dead.

You turn back to Mitsuya, eyes burning with pure rage “Okay. We need a plan.”

He raises an eyebrow “A plan?”

“Yes.” You cross your arms and whisper “We pretend to confess so they let us out.”

Mitsuya gives you a flat look “You want to fake confess?”

“Unless you have a better idea?”

He sighs, shaking his head “Fine. But they’re not gonna believe it if it sounds fake.”

You frown “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you can’t just say, ‘Oh wow, I actually love you so much, let me out now’” he deadpans “They’re expecting that.”

You blink “…Okay, that was actually a really good impression of me.”

“Yeah, because all you do is yell.”

“See?! You do hate me!”

Mitsuya groans “Oh my god.”

Outside, the entire Toman gang is eavesdropping, fully entertained.

“They’re hopeless.” Smiley laughs.

“We might be here for a whole while.” Hakkai mutters.

Mikey hums, finishing off his dorayaki “Nah. They’ll break soon.”

Baji grins “Wanna bet?”

Back inside, you take a deep breath “Okay, fine. If we have to make it believable, let’s just, ugh... compliment each other.”

Mitsuya leans against the wall, arms crossed “Alright. You go first.”

You narrow your eyes “…Why do I have to go first?”

“Because this was your dumb plan.”

“Fine.” You huff, crossing your arms “Ugh. I guess… you’re good at sewing or whatever.”

Mitsuya blinks “That’s it?”

“What, do you want me to write you a poem?”

He sighs dramatically “Okay, my turn. You’re… not completely unbearable.”

You glare “Wow. Romantic.”

“We’re fake confessing, not getting engaged.”

“Whatever. Now let’s just—”

Suddenly, you hear whispers outside.

“They’re faking it.” Hina says.

“Obviously.” Draken mutters.

Mikey sighs “Alright. Plan B.”

Before you can even ask what Plan B is, a vent above you suddenly opens...

AND A WATER BOTTLE COMES FLYING THROUGH.

Right into Mitsuya’s head.

The silence is deafening.

Then Baji starts screaming with laughter.

Mitsuya just closes his eyes, inhales slowly, and mutters, “I hate all of you.”

You’re wheezing on the floor.

Mitsuya stands perfectly still, eyes closed, jaw clenched. The water bottle that smacked him in the head rolls across the floor.

You, meanwhile, are dying.

Clutching your stomach, you collapse against the wall, gasping between wheezes “I—I can’t—They sniped you!”

From outside the door, Baji is howling with laughter.

“Did you see that shot?” Smiley cackles “Perfect headshot!”

“Who even threw that?!” Hakkai asks, struggling to breathe.

“…Me.” Mikey answers, sounding vaguely proud.

Mitsuya exhales slowly, rubbing his temples “I swear to god.”

You wipe tears from your eyes, still grinning “Hey, at least you’re hydrated.”

He shoots you a deadpan stare “Do you want to die?”

Before you can answer, Emma’s voice rings from outside “Alright, new plan! If you two don’t confess in the next five minutes, we’re dropping more stuff through the vent.”

Hina hums “What’s next? A shoe?”

“A chair?” Chifuyu suggests.

Baji snickers “I say we drop Takemichi.”

“WHAT?!” Takemichi’s panicked voice echoes from somewhere in the back.

Mitsuya pinches the bridge of his nose “I hate every single person outside this door.”

You sigh dramatically “Welcome to my world.”

He glances at you “You are part of the problem.”

You put a hand over your heart “Wow. Just say you hate me and go.”

“I said I don’t hate you.” he groans.

“Oh? Then why do you always sigh when I talk?”

“Because you never shut up.”

You gasp, utterly offended “Wow. I’m actually hurt. Crushed. I might cry.”

“Good.”

You glare “You know what? Maybe I will fake confess just to get out of here.”

Mitsuya shrugs “Be my guest.”

You pause. Then, smirking, you turn toward the door.

“OH MITSUYA,” you call dramatically “I HAVE BEEN IN LOVE WITH YOU FOR YEARS. YOUR SILVER HAIR SHINES LIKE THE MOON, YOUR SEWING SKILLS BRING TEARS TO MY EYES, AND EVERY TIME YOU IGNORE ME, IT MAKES ME FALL HARDER. PLEASE, TAKE ME NOW.”

The silence outside is deafening.

Then... Everyone BURSTS OUT LAUGHING.

Baji is SCREAMING. Smiley sounds like he’s choking. Chifuyu is wheezing.

Mikey hums “Sounds fake.”

Draken snorts “Zero emotion.”

Emma sighs “Yeah, that was a terrible confession.”

You scowl “Okay, rude.”

Mitsuya shakes his head “Told you they wouldn’t buy it.”

You cross your arms “Fine. You confess, then.”

He scoffs “Why the hell would I do that?”

“Because you got us into this mess!”

Mitsuya stares at you, incredulous “HOW is this my fault?!”

“You exist!”

“You threw a french fry at my head yesterday!”

You wave him off “That’s unrelated.”

Mitsuya groans, dragging a hand down his face “We are never getting out of here.”

Outside, the group listens with growing frustration.

“They’re actually so dumb.” Hina mutters.

Emma sighs “Alright, time for drastic measures.”

Chifuyu grins “Are we pulling the ‘fake love rival’ card?”

Pah nods “Yup.”

Baji smirks “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

Back inside, you’re still bickering when suddenly...

“HEY, Y/N!”

It’s Chifuyu.

You blink “Uh… what?”

“I just wanna say,” Chifuyu continues loudly, “if Mitsuya doesn’t like you, you could always date me instead.”

You freeze.

Mitsuya’s expression goes blank.

The room is dead silent.

Then...

“…Excuse me?” Mitsuya says flatly.

Baji immediately jumps in “Yeah! Y’know what? I’ve always thought Y/N was cute.”

“Same.” Smiley adds, way too enthusiastically.

Even Hakkai joins in “Y-Yeah! A-amazing!”

You blink rapidly “H-Hold on! Fake or not, this is embarassing!”

Mitsuya’s entire aura shifts.

His jaw tightens. His usual calm expression darkens. And when he speaks his voice is low.

“Not. Funny.”

The noise outside dies instantly.

You swallow. Mitsuya isn’t smiling anymore.

“…Mitsuya?” you say cautiously.

He turns toward you. And for the first time, he looks genuinely, actually pissed.

Then he takes a step closer.

You instinctively step back “H-Hey, let’s not murder anyone… I didn’t even say anything!”

But he just keeps walking.

And suddenly, you’re backed against the wall.

Trapped.

Mitsuya places a hand on the wall next to your head, leaning in just enough to make your breath hitch. His violet eyes lock onto yours, unreadable.

“…You really think I hate you?” he murmurs.

Your stomach flips.

“I—I mean, yeah?” you stammer “You never laugh at my jokes, you’re always sighing at me, and you just look like you hate me—”

Mitsuya exhales sharply, tilting his head “You’re actually so dumb.”

Your brain short-circuits “EXCUSE ME—”

Then before you can react he leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead.

Your entire soul leaves your body.

He just—MITSUYA TAKASHI JUST...........

Outside, you hear someone drop something.

“…WHAT?!” Baji’s scream shakes the walls.

“NO FREAKING WAY!” Chifuyu shouts.

Draken whistles “Well, damn.”

You, meanwhile, are still frozen.

Mitsuya pulls back, watching you carefully “…Still think I hate you?”

You stare at him, completely stunned. Your brain isn’t functioning. Your words aren’t working. Your body refuses to move.

You’re still processing the fact that Mitsuya just kissed you.

Mitsuya smirks, patting your head “Thought so.”

Then he turns toward the door.

“We’re done here,” he calls out “Let us out.”

Still in shock, you hear the click of the door unlocking.

Mitsuya steps out first, walking past a completely stunned Toman gang.

Baji looks betrayed. Emma and Hina are grinning like maniacs. Chifuyu has tears in his eyes.

You, meanwhile, are still standing in the room.

Mikey leans in “Hey, Y/N?”

You blink.

“…You good?”

Your mouth opens. Then closes.

Then you promptly drop to the floor.

Mitsuya’s stupid smirk is the last thing you see before you die inside.

And now you are malfunctioning.

You’re still sitting on the floor of the tiny room, staring at absolutely nothing while the entire Toman gang loses their minds.

Baji looks like someone personally betrayed him “ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?!”

Chifuyu clutches his chest, tears in his eyes “That was the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen.”

Draken just nods “Yeah. That was smooth.”

Mikey hums “Mm. Approved.”

Emma and Hina? Squealing.

Meanwhile, Mitsuya is just standing there like he didn’t just destroy your entire existence.

And you’re still not breathing.

Mikey waves a hand in front of your face “Oi, Y/N. Earth to Y/N.”

No response.

Smiley snickers “She’s broken.”

Mitsuya sighs, crossing his arms “Oh, come on.” He looks down at you, unimpressed “It was just a forehead kiss.”

You snap back to life.

“JUST a forehead kiss?!” You shoot up from the floor, absolutely unhinged “DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU JUST DID?!”

He shrugs “I got us out, didn’t I?”

“BY SHORT-CIRCUITING MY BRAIN?!”

Mitsuya smirks “Worked, didn’t it?”

You let out an ungodly noise, somewhere between a scream and a strangled sob.

Baji grabs you by the shoulders, looking deeply into your eyes “You cannot let this stand.”

You grip his arms “What do I do?”

Baji’s eyes darken “You fight.”

Chifuyu gasps “You flirt back.”

The entire gang nods, suddenly forming a revenge plan.

Mitsuya still completely calm “You guys are all idiots.”

You whip around dramatically “Fine. If this is war, then so be it.” You point at Mitsuya “From this moment forward, I will make you suffer.”

Mitsuya actually laughs at that “Good luck with that.”

You narrow your eyes “Oh, it’s on.”

The entire gang watches in pure excitement.

Baji claps you on the back “I believe in you.”

Hina grins “We will support this battle.”

Emma nods seriously “For justice.”

Mikey hums “This is gonna be fun.”

And Mitsuya just smirks.

“Go ahead,” he says smoothly “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Oh, he thinks he’s untouchable.

You crack your knuckles.

The war has begun.

The next day, Mitsuya strolls into the Toman hangout like nothing happened, all cool and collected, like he didn’t just completely wreck your brain with a forehead kiss.

“Morning.” he greets casually, looking around at the gang.

You smile sweetly, practically gloating as you walk up to him “Mitsuya, hey.”

He blinks at you, raising an eyebrow “What?”

You lean in, just close enough for him to feel the warmth of your breath on his cheek “You look good today.” you say smoothly, with a mischievous glint in your eye.

The entire room goes quiet. Even the usually chill Draken looks up, clearly interested in what’s going on.

Mitsuya freezes for a split second, before narrowing his eyes “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” you reply innocently, flipping your hair and walking past him with a sassy sway in your step.

You can feel his eyes on your back, and when you glance over your shoulder, you catch him blinking rapidly. Oh, this is going to be so much fun.

The gang is watching this entire exchange like it’s some kind of highly entertaining drama.

Chifuyu leans over to Baji, whispering loudly, “She’s really doing it. She’s flirting with him.”

Baji grins “Oh yeah, she is. This is going to be amazing.”

Mikey grins too “She’s not backing down. Mitsuya doesn’t even know how to respond.”

“Good. I’ve been waiting for this.” Draken mutters, a grin tugging at his lips.

The war is on.

Mitsuya, ever the cool guy, tries to act like he’s unbothered by your sudden flirty energy, but he’s not as cool as he thinks.

You notice his hand twitching every time you walk by him now. And when you catch him looking at you? He quickly looks away.

Perfect.

Later that day, you find yourself sitting on the couch, lazily flipping through the pages of a manga, when Mitsuya walks in, his usual calm demeanor slightly… off. His eyes flicker to you and then away, but he can’t seem to make up his mind.

You look up at him slowly, a coy smile on your lips “You know, Mitsuya…” You drag out his name, and you swear you see his eyes widen just a fraction “I was thinking… I could totally use someone like you in my life. You’re pretty handy with those sewing skills you have.”

Mitsuya tilts his head, trying to keep his cool “I’ve been sewing for years, Y/N.”

“I know,” you reply, leaning in a little, “and I’m sure I could come up with so many… ways to make use of you.” You say it so sweetly, almost like you’re not even trying “You could sew for me anytime.”

The room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Mitsuya doesn’t even flinch “You’re really playing this game, huh?”

You tilt your head, almost innocently as you look at him “You started it, didn’t you?”

By the next day, you’ve got the whole Toman gang in on the act. You’re working overtime to make Mitsuya squirm, and it’s working.

“Mitsuya,” you call sweetly as he walks by “Your jacket looks really nice today. I think I’m starting to have a thing for you in leather.”

He freezes mid-step. His face flushes just the tiniest bit, and it only makes you grin wider.

He looks back at you, eyes narrowed “You’re not serious.”

You smile even more “Maybe I am,” you reply with a wink “What if I told you I could get very serious? About you?”

The entire gang is watching again. They’re all dying from the tension.

Mitsuya stands still, visibly flustered, and you can almost see him thinking. He’s trying to stay calm, but you know it’s killing him on the inside.

“…Stop messing around, Y/N.” he mutters, his voice a little rougher than usual.

“Oh, I’m not messing around,” you reply smoothly “You want me to stop, but you don’t really want me to. You just like making me work for it.”

You pause “But I don’t mind. I’m patient. I can wait. I’m worth it.”

There’s a long pause. Mitsuya looks like he’s about to combust “You’re impossible.”

“I’m not impossible,” you say sweetly “I’m just… irresistible.”

That evening, the gang is once again hanging out in the main area of Toman’s HQ. You’re sitting on the couch next to Mitsuya, your legs casually brushing against his, and you’re making absolutely no attempt to move away. He’s clearly trying his hardest not to react, but you can feel the tension crackling between you two.

Finally, he speaks, and you can tell he’s struggling to keep it together “Y/N, you’re—you’re really pushing it, you know that?”

You turn to him, locking eyes, and then smile so sweetly it might as well be a challenge “Am I? I think I’m just giving you what you’ve wanted this whole time.”

For a moment, Mitsuya doesn’t say anything. He looks like he’s about to explode, and you’re getting a strange thrill out of it.

The entire gang is watching, and you can hear Baji mutter under his breath, “I don’t know how she does it…”

But Mitsuya looks like he’s finally had enough.

“Okay, fine,” he says, his voice much quieter than before “You want me to say it?”

You look at him, completely unbothered, but on the inside your heart is racing.

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck “Fine. I like you, okay? I don’t know how to handle it, but I do. Happy now?”

For a second, you freeze.

Did he just...?

But before you can react, Mitsuya looks at you with a half-smile “So, are you gonna stop flirting with me, or is this part of your strategy?”

The air is thick with tension, but now you’re the one left speechless.

You were so sure you had the upper hand in this war.

You were winning. Mitsuya was flustered, avoiding your gaze, tripping over his words. Everything was going perfectly.

And then, in a cruel twist of fate he confessed first.

You didn’t even get to enjoy your victory because now you’re the one malfunctioning.

Your brain is short-circuiting. Your heart is staging a full-on rebellion.

Mitsuya likes you. He likes you.

And he said it so casually, like it wasn’t the thing you’ve been avoiding this whole time.

Now, as you sit next to him, his words still hanging in the air, you realize something absolutely horrifying:

You have no idea how to respond.

The gang is dead silent.

Baji’s jaw is practically on the floor.

Chifuyu’s eyes are wide with pure betrayal.

Mikey is still munching on his snack, but even he looks impressed.

Emma and Hina are squeezing each other’s arms like they just witnessed the season finale of the best drama ever.

And Mitsuya is just watching you with a smug look, arms crossed, so much more confident now that the tables have turned.

“…Well?” he asks, tilting his head “Nothing to say?”

You narrow your eyes at him, even though your heart is currently going through every stage of grief.

Oh, he thinks he’s won.

Well, joke’s on him. You’re not going down that easily.

So, with every ounce of fake confidence you have left, you clear your throat and smirk “Huh. That’s cute. You like me? Should I be flattered?”

Mitsuya raises an eyebrow “You’re the one who’s been flirting with me for days.”

You wave a hand dismissively “Oh, Mitsuya, sweetie, I flirt with everyone.”

The room erupts.

Chifuyu gasps “Did she—did she just friendzone him?!”

Draken bursts out laughing.

Emma screams into her hands.

Meanwhile, Mitsuya is still watching you, his expression unreadable “Oh, really?”

“Really,” you say with a playful smirk “I mean, you’re cute and all, but you’re taking this way too seriously.”

There. That should put you back in control.

You expect Mitsuya to roll his eyes. To get flustered again. To suffer.

But instead, he leans in.

Closer.

Too close.

Dangerously close.

And suddenly, you are no longer in control.

You freeze.

The room goes silent again.

Mitsuya’s voice is low, his lips barely an inch away from yours “If I took it seriously…” His eyes are locked onto yours, amusement flickering in them “Would that be a problem for you?”

You cannot breathe.

Your entire soul leaves your body.

Hina is holding onto Emma like they’re watching a horror movie now.

Draken actually whistles.

Mikey grins.

“Ohhhh,” he hums “She’s losing.”

And you are.

Because your brain has completely shut down.

Mitsuya is still watching you, waiting for your next move, waiting to see if you’ll break first.

And the worst part is that you are.

Your face is burning. Your heart is racing.

You can’t even come up with a comeback, and that is the biggest loss of all.

You’ve played yourself.

And Mitsuya knows it.

Slowly, finally, he pulls back, looking so satisfied with himself “That’s what I thought.”

Then, like he didn’t just ruin your entire existence, he stands up and stretches “Alright, I’m heading home.”

And with that he leaves.

The door shuts behind him.

The silence is deafening.

And then the gang loses their minds.

“YOU LOST.” Baji howls, pointing at you like he just witnessed history.

“She broke first!” Chifuyu shrieks.

Mikey leans back with a smug look “Mitsuya just won this whole thing.”

Hina and Emma are literally shaking you.

Draken chuckles “Damn. That was smooth.”

And you just sit there, completely frozen, hands gripping your knees, re-evaluating your entire life.

Because for the first time ever…

You have absolutely no idea what to do next.

You sit there, frozen, while the rest of the gang absolutely loses their minds around you.

Baji is cackling like he’s just won the lottery. Chifuyu keeps repeating, “She lost! She lost!” like a damn sports commentator. Hina and Emma are shaking you like they’re trying to exorcise the embarrassment out of your soul.

And Mikey is just sitting there, smug as hell, casually sipping on his juice box like he knew this was going to happen the entire time.

Meanwhile, you are stuck in complete denial.

Because no. No way. Mitsuya did not just turn everything around on you. He did not just completely dismantle your entire game plan with one smug little smirk.

You refuse to accept this.

You refuse.

Which is why, before your brain can catch up with your actions, you’re already on your feet.

You barely hear Emma calling after you “Where are you going?!” as you storm out of the Toman hideout and straight after Mitsuya.

You catch up to him a few blocks away, walking casually down the dimly lit street like he didn’t just destroy your entire existence a few minutes ago.

“Mitsuya!” you call out, breathless.

He pauses mid-step and turns around, raising an eyebrow “Oh? What happened to ‘I flirt with everyone’?”

Your eye twitches “Shut up.”

He smirks.

Oh, he’s enjoying this.

And it’s pissing you off.

You stomp closer, standing right in front of him, hands clenched at your sides. You don’t even know why you ran after him. You don’t even know what you’re going to say.

All you know is that you’re flustered, frustrated, and maybe you like him more than you were ever willing to admit.

Mitsuya watches you, amusement flickering in his eyes “So?” he asks, tilting his head “Something you wanna say?”

Your heart is racing.

Your brain is a complete mess.

But your pride is still kicking and refusing to back down.

So, instead of saying something remotely sane or rational, you blurt out “You cheated!”

Mitsuya blinks “What?”

“That wasn’t fair!” you exclaim, pointing an accusing finger at him “You knew I was messing with you, and then you just—just flipped it on me!”

His smirk widens “You sound mad.”

“I am mad!” you huff “You...You can’t just say you like me and then pull that stupid smooth move and...and make me malfunction!”

Mitsuya just crosses his arms, watching you ramble “Huh. Sounds like you’re flustered.”

You scoff “Me? Flustered? Ha! Please. I’m just—I’m just calling out your dirty tactics!”

He steps closer.

Too close.

You stop breathing.

Mitsuya looks down at you, eyes glinting with something dangerous.

Oh no.

Not this again.

“You sure about that?” he murmurs.

You hate how your breath catches.

You hate how your face gets hotter.

But most of all, you hate how badly you want to close the distance between you two.

And maybe Mitsuya sees it too.

Because instead of teasing you more, instead of pressing further, he suddenly sighs and shakes his head “You’re impossible.”

Your heart sinks a little at that.

But before you can even react, before you can even think of something to say Mitsuya lifts a hand and flicks your forehead.

“OW—”

He smirks “That’s for running after me like a dramatic little idiot.”

You glare at him, rubbing your forehead “Excuse me for wanting to have the last word!”

Mitsuya chuckles “You never do get the last word with me.”

You narrow your eyes at him “Oh, you wish.”

But before the teasing can continue, a comfortable silence settles between you two. The streetlights cast a soft glow around you, the night air cool against your skin.

And suddenly, neither of you are talking.

Suddenly, you’re just… standing there.

You glance at Mitsuya, expecting to see his usual smug expression, but he’s not smirking anymore. He’s just looking at you, his face unreadable, his usual confident aura a little more… unsure.

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck “You really don’t know, do you?”

You blink “Know what?”

Mitsuya exhales through his nose, then mutters, almost to himself, “God, you really are stubborn.”

“Excuse me—”

And then, Mitsuya takes your hand.

Not roughly. Not playfully.

Just softly. Firmly.

Your breath catches.

Mitsuya looks down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing against your knuckles “You really think I hate you?”

Your mouth opens but no words come out.

Because, oh.

Oh.

This… This isn’t a game anymore.

Your heart is pounding. Your mind is spinning.

And all you can do is stand there, completely lost in the way Mitsuya is holding your hand like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“You’re an idiot,” he says, but his voice is gentle “I never hated you.”

You swallow thickly “I—”

Mitsuya sighs again, this time almost affectionately.

And then he laces his fingers with yours.

And you swear the world stops spinning.

You stare at your intertwined fingers.

Your brain has completely shut down.

Mitsuya... calm, cool, composed Mitsuya, is holding your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like this isn’t something that is completely rewriting everything you thought you knew about him. About yourself.

Your mouth opens, then closes. Then opens again. But no words come out because, for the first time in your entire life, you don’t have a comeback.

Mitsuya watches you, eyes glinting with something unreadable. His usual teasing smirk is gone.

This isn’t a joke anymore.

This isn’t a game.

This is real.

And it’s terrifying.

Finally, finally, Mitsuya sighs, giving your hand a light squeeze “You don’t have to say anything, you know.”

You blink “I—”

“I know,” he says, softer this time “You don’t have to say it. I already know.”

Your breath catches.

Because that’s the thing, isn’t it?

Even before all the flirting, even before the teasing, even before the war, Mitsuya has always known you better than anyone else.

And now, he’s looking at you with that same understanding, like he knows exactly what’s running through your head right now.

Like he knows you’re scared.

Like he knows you’ve spent so long convincing yourself this was just a joke, just a game, just another thing to mess with him about—because admitting it was real meant admitting that you’ve already lost.

That you’ve always lost.

Because the truth?

You were never really fighting him.

You were fighting yourself.

Mitsuya smiles faintly, tilting his head “So?” he murmurs “Are you done running yet?”

You suck in a sharp breath.

And then you do something completely reckless.

You step forward, drop his hand, grab his face and kiss him.

Mitsuya freezes for half a second before he melts into it, his hands instantly finding your waist, pulling you closer like he’s been waiting for this.

The kiss is soft. Slow.

But at the same time it’s everything.

Everything you’ve been avoiding. Everything you’ve been too afraid to say. Everything you’ve been pretending wasn’t there.

It’s Mitsuya.

And that’s the scariest part of all.

When you finally pull away, Mitsuya is looking at you like you’ve just completely ruined him.

His breath is uneven. His grip on your waist is still firm, like he’s making sure you’re real.

And then he grins.

Smug. Triumphant.

“Wow,” he breathes, amused “So you do like me.”

You groan, dropping your forehead onto his shoulder “You’re the worst.”

He laughs, wrapping his arms around you, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head “And you’re mine now”

Your heart stumbles.

You should fight him on that. You should.

But…

You don’t.

Because maybe you don’t mind losing after all.

You knew.

You knew walking into Toman’s usual meeting spot today was going to be a nightmare.

You considered not showing up. Just… disappearing from society. Moving to another country. Changing your name. Starting a new life.

But unfortunately, Mitsuya had dragged you here.

Literally.

“You can’t avoid them forever.” he had said this morning, looking way too smug for someone who also has to deal with the consequences of last night.

Now, as you step inside, every single pair of eyes snaps to you and Mitsuya, and...

Yeah. You should have faked an illness.

Because the entire gang loses their minds.

“OH MY GOD, IT HAPPENED.” Hina shrieks, nearly shaking Emma to death.

Emma, in turn, is crying “I—I knew it! I knew it! My ship—my beautiful ship—has sailed!”

Chifuyu stands up so fast his chair scrapes against the floor “WAIT. WAIT. WHEN? HOW?!”

Baji, of course, skips all rational responses and goes straight to chaos “HEY, WHO CONFESSED FIRST?!”

Mikey, still sitting in his usual lazy position, just grins “Didn’t even have to bet on it. Saw it coming from a mile away.”

Draken leans against the wall, shaking his head with a chuckle “Well, damn. Took you long enough.”

You groan, covering your face “Oh my god. I hate all of you.”

Mitsuya, the traitor, just slides his hands into his pockets, completely unfazed “See? Told you they wouldn’t shut up about it.”

You whip your head toward him “You knew this would happen, and you still dragged me here?!”

He grins, so damn smug “Of course.”

Baji slams his hand on the table “WAIT, WAIT, WAIT—SO WHO WON THE FLIRT WAR?”

Chifuyu immediately turns to you, eyes blazing with betrayal “It was him, wasn’t it?! You lost, didn’t you?!”

You refuse to answer.

Which is answer enough.

“OH MY GOD,” Baji howls with laughter “SHE LOST!”

Chifuyu grabs his head, devastated “I had so much faith in you!”

Emma sniffles dramatically “She lost the battle, but she won love.”

Hina nods, serious “It’s the best kind of loss.”

Takemichi just hums in satisfaction “Balance has been restored to the universe.”

Meanwhile, you are this close to throwing yourself out.

“I hate all of you.” you repeat.

Mitsuya leans down, voice way too smug “You love me, though.”

Your entire body malfunctions.

And everyone loses it again.

Baji actually falls off his chair.

Chifuyu looks personally attacked “Oh, this is painful.”

Draken claps Mitsuya on the back, laughing “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

And Mitsuya just smiles, absolutely thriving in your suffering.

Yeah.

Yeah, you’re never living this down.

But then, Mitsuya takes your hand, gives it a light squeeze and okay.

Maybe it’s not so bad.

[runningincircl3s]

Blood Sport

Noah Sebastian x Reader

Chapter Fourteen

masterlist

chapter warnings: nsfw!! noah getting cockblocked lmao, these idiots are so in love it hurts me

i say it every time but this was is one of my favourite chapters, i actually don't have any more pre-written chapters now so i'm locking in next week and writing some out cos i have sooooooo many ideas hehe :)

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

If someone would've told you three months ago that you would be here right now, you would've laughed in their face.

The quiet sound of birdsong was coming through the open windows, sunlight shone through the cracks in the curtains, casting a soft, golden glow over the end of the bed.

Noah's bed.

The sheets were tangled, the duvet half kicked off from the heat of the night, and somewhere beneath it all, your two bodies lied intertwined.

Your head rested on Noah’s chest, his arm looped around your bare waist, hand spread over the small of your back. Your legs were tangled with his, skin on skin, warmth on warmth. His breathing was deep, even and peaceful, but he wasn't asleep. You could feel the lazy pattern of his fingers drawing circles against your skin.

“You’re awake.” You mumbled into his chest.

“Mhm.” His voice was gravelly with sleep. “Didn’t wanna move. Didn’t wanna wake you.”

“You didn’t,” you whispered. “I’ve been awake a little while now too.”

He smiled against your hair, lifting his hand to gently brush it back from your face as you tilted your chin up to look at him. His eyes, dark and slow to focus in the morning light, found yours, and the corners crinkled. He was stupidly in love, and it showed.

“Morning, girlfriend.” He murmured, his voice still husky.

Your stomach did a flip, your cheeks heating.

“God, don’t say it like that.”

“Why not?” he laughed, tugging you impossibly closer, your bare chest pressed against his as he rolled slightly onto his side. “You said yes.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling.

“And you asked me during sex, Noah!”

“And?" He teased, nose brushing yours.

“You were literally inside me. At least we'll never forget how it happened.”

“Exactly,” he grinned, leaning in to kiss you slowly, like there was no rush in the world. “Felt like the right time, I think it was quite romantic.”

You groaned, burying your face in the crook of his neck as he laughed.

“You’re unbelievable, Noah.”

“And you're mine,” he murmured, voice turning softer. His hand ran up your spine, a delicate touch that made your breath hitch, "All mine."

There was a pause, and then he whispered again.

“I’m so in love with you.”

You pulled back enough to see his face. He wasn’t teasing now, not when he was looking at you like you held the entire universe in your hands.

Your throat tightened, and you suddenly forgot how to speak.

“Noah…”

“I’ve loved you for so long,” he said, brushing a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, then the edge of your mouth. “I used to think I’d get over it eventually. That you’d keep being this… beautiful, infuriating person in my life and I’d just learn to deal with it. But I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. Ever since I met you, ever since that night all those years ago, I knew I'd never want anybody else."

You pressed your hand against his cheek, eyes glossing over with tears.

“I felt exactly the same, Noah... I love you too.”

The words settled over the both of you, and Noah looked at you like he didn’t know what to do with himself, like he couldn’t believe he got to hear those words out loud.

He kissed you again, slower this time. Like he needed to seal it in.

And then soemthing within him shifted. His hand slipped to your hip, then lower, curving over your thigh to pull you closer. You felt the press of his hardening cock against you, and you reached down to touch him, still not quite believing this was real.

You rolled to your back, and he followed, hovering above you, eyes scanning your face like a man seeing the sunrise for the first time.

“Say it again." He whispered.

You smiled, brushing your fingers through his messy hair, pushing it out of his eyes so you could really look at him.

“I love you, Noah Sebastian.”

A soft, almost aching sound left his throat, and he kissed you again, deeper this time. His hips slotted between your thighs, and your breath caught when you felt him, the tip rubbing deliciously against your clit. The anticipation pooled in your belly, molten and impossible to ignore, making you rut your hips against him to feel more.

He kissed your neck, your shoulder, every part of you that he could reach. And then he finally pushed forward, just the tip easing in.

You gasped, hands clutching at his shoulders. You could feel tears starting to spill from your eyes, tears of pure pleasure, of knowing he was all you ever wanted, and now he was yours, knowing you could spend the rest of your life just like this. Tears of happiness.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, forehead resting against yours. “I’ve got you.”

And then, just as he began to move, to give you all of him.

BANG.

Noah stiffened, turnning his head towards the door as if that'd give him a clue as to what that sound was.

“What the fuck-”

Before either of you could react, Matt’s voice rang out from downstairs.

“Dude, you’ve been ignoring me all morning. You alive or what?”

You slapped a hand over your mouth, mortified. Noah flopped down on top of you with a groan, head buried in the crook of your neck.

“Un-fucking-believable,” he muttered. “He’s gonna walk in. I swear to god, he’s gonna-”

"Then move!" You pushed Noah off you in a blind scramble for the sheets as you heard the stairs creak. “Noah, he’s literally coming upstairs!”

“I KNOW!” Noah hissed, rushing up as he searched the floor for pants, boxers, anything!

“Noah, you better not be dead, man. We’ve gotta album release party to p-”

The bedroom door swung open.

Matt froze.

Noah froze.

Noah was standing, one leg in his boxers, very much naked otherwise. You were huddled beneath the sheet on the bed, hair wild, face flushed.

There was an excruciating moment of silence before Matt’s eyes went very wide.

“Oh my god..." Matt blurted, then slapped a hand over his eyes and spun around so fast he nearly whacked his face on the doorframe. “I KNEW IT. I fucking knew it. But I was not prepared to see it.”

Noah groaned, dragging his boxers all the way up and grabbing the nearest shirt from the floor.

“Could you maybe knock next time?!”

“Dude, I knocked, I called, I texted you!” Matt called from the hallway, still not facing the room. “You didn’t reply! You’ve been ignoring me for hours. I thought you were fucking dead or somethign!”

“Well, clearly not." You muttered under your breath, mortified.

Matt took a few steps backward, still facing away, arms up.

“I’ll be downstairs, making coffee. Pretending I didn’t just see your whole fucking ass.”

Once he was gone, you looked at Noah and burst out laughing.

“I cannot believe that just happened.”

He groaned, flopping back onto the bed beside you, hand over his eyes.

"I guess we should tell him the truth."

"And what's that?" You asked as you picked up your tshirt from the floor, throwing it over your head.

"That I'm the luckiest man in the world, that I now finally get to call you my girlfriend." He said with a soft smile.

"Okay... Just don't tell him how it happened."

"If he asks, can I tell it was romantic?"

You pretended to think for a moment.

"As long as that's all you tell him." You said, narrowing your eyes playfully.

"Deal." He said, sealing it with a kiss.

“Come on, babe. You’ve got a party to plan.” You said as you pulled back.

But he wouldn't let you go, he pulled you in again, kissing you softly and slowly, like he still couldn’t believe this was real. That after all this time, you both finally figured this out.

And you couldn’t either.

...

Once the two of you were finally dressed, you headed downstairs, ready to face Matt and the questions he was sure to have.

You found him in the kitchen, sat at the table with a cup of coffee in his hands. You both joined him, sitting opposite him.

"I'm gonna need to bleach my eyeballs." He didn't look up, he didn't look at either of you, he just stared blankly at the wall, sipping his coffee.

Noah cleared his throat, but Matt got there first.

"If you're about to say something about sex-"

“No, no,” Noah said quickly, holding his hands up in surrender. “Nothing like that. I just... think we should tell you something.”

Matt arched a brow and set his mug down, already suspicious.

“Okay?”

Noah rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at you, then back at Matt.

“We’re together.”

Matt blinked.

You bit your lip, waiting for his reaction.

"And I mean, it's official this time. We're dating." Noah clarified.

Another blink. Then Matt leaned back slightly on the chair, processing.

“Okay, yeah. I figured. I mean, I did just walk in on you both naked.”

“Right,” Noah nodded. “But it’s not just… a one time thing. Or like how it was last year.”

Matt looked between the two of you, slower this time.

Your heart was thudding so loud in your chest you swore you could hear it echo in the room.

“It’s real," Noah continued, his voice more serious now, "We’ve both feel the same way about each other, and I think we've been figuring it out for a while now, probably since the nigth we met, and… well, we've finally decided now.”

Matt’s expression softened just a little, and he nodded his head slowly.

“I kinda always knew it- that you two would end up like this,” he said eventually. “It always felt right, I just... I didn’t expect it to happen this soon, but…” He gave a dry laugh. “I mean you were basically married already. Just with more fighting and less sex... But I guess that part’s been corrected.”

“Matt!" You groaned, burying your face in your hands.

“Sorry,” he muttered, “Anyway. That’s cool, and I’m happy for you guys. You both seem happy, and I don't think I've ever seen Noah smile like that before."”

You smiled, looking over at Noah who was blushing a little at that comment.

“There’s, uh, one more thing.” He said.

“Oh god.” Matt shook his head.

“Don’t tell the others." You said, "Not yet.”

Matt blinked.

“Why?”

“We just wanna… keep it between us for now,” Noah said carefully. “Figure it all out without everyone’s opinions or teasing or whatever.”

"Yeah." You nodded, chiming in quietly, “We just want to keep it to ourselves for a little bit, until we find the right time to tell everyone. Because I'm sure they'll all have something to say about it.”

Matt gave a slow, considering nod.

“Alright. I can keep my mouth shut. But you do realise they’re gonna find out soon, right? You’re both terrible at being subtle, always have been.”

“We’ll deal with it when we have to,” Noah said, sliding his hand into yours under the table. His thumb brushed gently over your knuckles. “But for now, just us.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Matt smiled, taking another sip of coffee before pointing at Noah, "Now that's out of the way, we've got some plans to finalise! Y/n, I'm sorry I gotta steal your boyfriend for the afternoon."

You chuckled as Noah groaned, but nodded his head, following it up with a sigh.

"Did we manage to get the venue we wanted booked?" He asked.

As the two of them talked through plans, Matt pulled his laptop out and Noah went to collect his, you stood around, feeling almost a little out of place. Which was weird, you've never felt like that around the guys before.

Noah and Matt eventually moved to the living room, claiming they'll work better on the couch, so you stayed out in the kitchen, spotting the small pile of dishes by Noah's sink.

You busied yourself by washing them up, there were only a couple bowls, glasses and a small pan, but it gave you something to do.

It kept your mind busy.

Because, despite everything that's happened, you can't help but almost feel guilty. After everything that happened, Noah's taken you back. He's forgiven you, and you knew if roles were reversed, if Noah had been the one lying to you last year, you might not have done the same.

You tried to shake the thoughts, telling yourself you do deserve this, you do deserve his love. But a part of you, the evil part of your brain, told you that was a lie.

Once the dishes were done, you dried your hands on the towel and peeked toward the living room. Noah was sat at one end of the couch, laptop in his lap, one arm draped lazily over the back of the couch. Matt was leaning forward, pointing at something on his screen and talking. You didn’t want to interrupt.

Still, you stepped into the doorway, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I think I’m gonna head out. Let you guys focus.”

Noah looked up immediately, frowning.

“Wait- what? Why?”

You gave a small shrug.

“You’re busy. I’m not part of the band, I don’t want to get in the way.”

Matt looked up too then, brows knitting slightly.

“You basically are, though. I mean, come on. You’re already here, you’ve been with us through most of the hard part. Might as well help us plan the fun part.”

Noah closed his laptop halfway and tilted his head.

“Seriously, you should stay, I can take you home later?”

You hesitated.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” His tone was firm, but his eyes were warm. “You’re my girlfriend. I want you here.”

There it was again, that word. Girlfriend. It still felt so new and shiny, like something precious you weren’t too sure how to hold. But every time he said it, a little more of that guilt softened. A little more of the voice in your head lost its power.

You managed a smile.

“Okay. Yeah, I’ll stay.”

“Great!" Matt grinned, "We need someone to tell us if our ideas are terrible anyway.”

“I already do that.” Noah muttered.

“Yeah, but they are your ideas...”

You laughed, moving to sit on the floor in front of the coffee table as the guys spread their notes and documents out. Noah’s hand found your shoulder as he leaned over to show you the plan of the venue layout, fingers curling lightly around your collarbone.

As the afternoon went on, you joined him on the couch, and Noah nudged your knee with his, and when you looked over, he said, almost shyly.

“You know… this party’s gonna have all our closest friends…”

You blinked, heart skipping.

“What if we told them at the party?" He smiled, "It's only a couple weeks away."

You looked at him, and for a moment your throat felt tight.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “That’d be nice.”

Noah’s grin widened, and he bumped your knee again, gently this time.

You turned back to the notes on the table, forcing yourself to focus, even as your brain whirred.

You deserve this, you reminded yourself. He wants you here. He chose you.

...

The door shut with a quiet click behind Matt, and the silence that followed was loud, and full of anticipation.

You turned, eyes meeting Noah’s across the room.

His expression was unreadable at first, still and focused, like he was trying not to look at you the way he clearly wanted to. Like he’d been holding back all day, and now there was nothing stopping him.

Except maybe the last shred of his self control.

You stepped closer, and you watched his gaze drop to your mouth. Then lower.

And when he finally spoke, his voice was low, and rough with intent.

“Y'know, now he's gone, we can finish what we started this morning...”

That did it.

You barely had time to breathe before he was on you, one hand gripping your waist, the other sliding into your hair as he kissed you with hours of pent up heat. It wasn’t careful or slow. It was desperate, like he'd been starving.

You stumbled back together, half blind, until the backs of your knees hit the couch.

He broke the kiss just long enough to murmur.

“Sit.”

You obeyed instantly, thighs parted, heart pounding as he knelt in front of you.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he rasped, his hands already tugging down your shorts and underwear in one smooth motion. “Couldn’t fucking focus. Not with that little whimper you made when I touched you earlier.”

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, kissing the inside of your thigh. He looked up at you, pupils blown, lips curled into a soft, smug smile.

“Need you to keep your legs spread for me, baby. Can you do that?”

You nodded.

“Good girl.”

And then his mouth was on you, warm and wet. He licked and sucked and circled your clit, groaning softly every time your hips bucked toward his face.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, barely biting back a moan.

“Noah-”

"I don't think we've fucked on this couch yet... wanna change that?"

When you nodded, he slipped two fingers inside you, slow and deep, curling them just right while his mouth worked you over again. You were already close, shaking and a little breathless.

You came a little too quickly with a soft cry, clenching around him, thighs trembling. He stayed there through it, working you through the aftershocks until you began to squirm from the overstimulation.

He kissed his way back up your body, laying you down on the couch and settling between your legs, his shorts still on, but not for long.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” he muttered against your mouth as he pushed his shorts and boxers down just enough. “Shit, you already have.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist as he lined himself up, the fat head of his cock kissing your overstimulated clit before teasing your entrance.

And just as he finally slid into you, groaning your name like it was a blessing...

Your phone rang.

It was loud, cutting through the haze of heat in the air like a cold shower.

You gasped.

Noah froze, halfway in, his entire body tense as he groaned out a painful sound.

“You have got to be kidding me.” He couldn't catch a break.

You blinked at the screen.

Folio.

Your stomach dropped.

“Shit! I haven’t been home since yesterday.”

Noah dropped his head to your shoulder, still inside you but very, very still.

“Please don’t answer that.”

“But he’s probably freaking out,” you said, breathless, heart still hammering. “I left yesterday, and I never even texted to say where I was going-”

“Then text him now,” Noah growled, hips twitching like he was struggling not to move. “Just let him know you’re alive and you’ll call later. Please, baby. I’m gonna lose my mind.”

You hesitated, but the phone kept ringing. A voicemail notification popped up, and then it rang again.

Noah looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown.

“Just hang up so we can fuck,” he muttered darkly, kissing your neck with a frustrated groan. “Please, baby. Please. This has happened twice today now, and I swear to god, if this doesn’t happen right now-”

You were laughing, a little breathless, as you reached for your phone with shaky hands and finally answered.

“Nick?”

“Where the hell are you?!” He snapped on the other end. “It’s been twenty four hours, you haven’t texted, and your location’s off! I thought you got murdered or something!”

“I’m fine, I swear,” you said quickly, trying to keep your voice steady as Noah deliberately rocked his hips just the tiniest bit. “I... I just stayed at a friend’s house.”

“Who?!”

Noah grinned wickedly against your throat, teeth grazing skin as he thrust a little deeper, slow and silent, like he was testing you.

You smacked his shoulder.

“Someone you don't know,” you managed, voice climbing. “Can we talk when I'm home? I'll... I'll be like, an hour?”

“Wait... are you hooking up with someone right now?!”

Noah moaned dramatically against your skin, and you immediately slapped a hand over his mouth.

“I'll be home soon! Bye, Folio!” You said, hanging up before he could yell something else.

Silence followed, and you could feel Noah smirk against your shoulder.

“Oh my god.” You groaned, dropping your phone.

Noah pulled back just enough to look at you, smug and breathless.

“Where were we?”

And then he drove his hips forward, until he was buried to the hilt inside you.

“Third time’s the charm.” He smiled against your lips.

...

The drive was quiet but comfortable, the windows down, letting in the warm evening breeze, his hand holding yours, resting on your thigh. He was humming along to something on the radio, this was just one of those rare, peaceful Noah moments where he seemed completely content just existing next to you.

But that peace died the moment he turned onto your street.

Folio was standing outside the house like a fucking guard dog. Arms crossed. Jaw clenched. Face lit by the porch light.

“Oh shit.” You muttered.

“He’s gonna kill me.” Noah whispered.

“I mean… he might kill us.”

Noah eased the car to a stop outside your place, and glanced at you.

“We’re telling him, right?”

You sighed, then nodded.

"I don't think we have a choice, Noah."

You opened the car door slowly, stepping out like you were about to be arrested.

Folio’s eyes darted to Noah behind the wheel.

“Noah. Sebastian.” He said through gritted teeth.

“Hi…” You winced.

He crossed his arms tighter.

“You two wanna explain why you’re pulling into the driveway like you didn’t just disappear off the face of the planet for a full day?”

Noah cut the engine and got out, slowly, like approaching a wild animal.

“Hey, Folio.”

“Don’t ‘hey’ me. What the fuck is going on?”

You and Noah looked at each other, shared a small, exhausted smile, then turned back to him in unison.

“Okay,” you said. “So… there’s something we should probably tell you.”

You, Noah, and Folio moved inside, sitting on the couch.

Folio on one end, you and Noah on the other, like divorced parents trying to break the news to their child. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Folio looked between the two of you like he was waiting for someone to confess to murder.

Noah cleared his throat. You opened your mouth, then closed it again.

Finally, you both blurted at the same time:

“We’re dating.”

Folio blinked.

“...I knew it.”

You groaned.

“Wait, you knew?”

“No, I just kinda suspected,” he said, pointing between the two of you. “You were acting weird as hell yesterday. And then you disappear for a whole day? C’mon. I’m not an idiot.”

Noah rubbed the back of his neck, trying to be casual.

“This is only new, I asked her last night and… Well, here we are.”

Folio leaned back against the cushions and sighed, like someone who’d just aged five years.

“Look… I’m not mad. I’m just… concerned.”

You shifted in your seat.

“Because it’s Noah?” You asked.

“No,” he said, glancing at Noah. “Because it’s you and Noah.”

“What does that mean?” Noah asked, chuckling nervously.

Folio turned to him, serious now.

“You guys have history, and you hated each other three months ago! You’ve hurt each other in ways I never thought either of you would recover from. I don’t want to think about what might happen if this doesn’t work out.”

You looked down at your hands.

He wasn’t wrong.

“But,” Folio added, his tone softening, “This was also… kind of inevitable.”

That made your head snap up.

“You’d fight like enemies,” he shrugged, “But you look at each other like you’re already home. I don’t get it, but… I see it. The two of you... it just feels right.”

Noah leaned forward slightly.

“You trust us?”

Folio met his eyes.

“I trust her.”

You snorted, and Folio gave you a look.

“I trust you, too,” he said after a beat. “But if either of you do something stupid again, I’m not picking up the pieces again, or getting stuck in the middle, or picking sides!”

“I promise you, Folio, we’ve done enough fighting,” you said, “I love Noah, Noah… loves me. There’ll be no picking sides.”

...

Noah stood by the door, hands lingering at your waist, his forehead resting against yours like he could stall time with the weight of it. The porch light cast a faint halo around him, making the parting feel a little too dramatic for your liking.

“I really have to go.” He mumbled, even though he made no move toward his car.

“I know." You whispered.

“But I don’t want to.”

You kissed him softly, smiling against his mouth.

“We’ll see each other soon.”

“Tomorrow?”

“If I finish work early, and if you’re good.” You teased.

"I'm never good." He smirked.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

He finally, reluctantly pulled away, brushing his thumb over your cheek before stepping outside. You watched as he climbed into his car, saying one last "I love you", casting one last look at you through the windshield before he drove off.

You sighed, closing the door behind you.

Inside, Folio was already back on the couch, nachos in one hand, the TV remote in the other.

“You guys are already making me feel nauseous.” He muttered, though there was a faint grin tugging at his mouth.

"Don't worry, I'll make sure we don't kiss in front of you." You chuckled.

You flopped down beside him, stealing a nacho from his plate and curling up as the movie started. It was some kind of new sci-fi horror he insisted you watch with him, something you were supposed to watch last night.

You were ten minutes in when your phone buzzed.

You were curled up on the couch next to Folio, half-watching the movie while trying not to check your phone every thirty seconds. But the second it lit up, your heart jumped.

Noah: Just got home. Feels weird without you here.

You smiled down at the screen, typing a quick reply.

You: Miss me already?

Noah: Yeah. A lot more than I thought I would.

Buzz.

Noah: I keep thinking about how quiet it is now. How empty my bed feels, no you in my shirt, no you teasing me, no you stealing all the covers...

You bit your lip, heart softening.

Noah: You left your necklace on my bathroom counter. Guess that means you’ll have to come back.

You: Maybe I left it on purpose...

Noah: Is that so? A clever little excuse to come ruin me again?

You blushed, glancing at Folio beside you, who was obliviously focused on the movie.

Buzz.

Noah: I keep replaying that moment you were underneath me... how soft you sounded, how you clung to me like you never wanted to let go.

You shifted on the couch, suddenly way too warm.

You: Noah, Folio’s right next to me.

Noah: Then be quiet, baby. You’re cute when you’re trying not to moan.

Your stomach flipped.

Buzz.

Noah: Are you still aching a little from earlier? Bet you are. Bet if I slid my fingers between your thighs right now, you’d be soaked for me.

You inhaled sharply, trying to subtly squeeze your thighs together.

Folio turned slightly.

“You okay?”

“Yeah!” You squeaked. “All good.”

Buzz.

Noah: Can’t stop thinking about how tight you were around me. So warm and wet and soft. Wish I was still buried inside you right now.

You practically threw your phone under the blanket, face burning.

“You’re acting weird.” Folio side eyed you.

“I’m always weird!” You laughed, trying not to show how breathless you were from Noah's messaged.

Buzz.

You didn’t dare look, and Folio was quick as he reached over and snatched it from you.

“No!” You cried, twisting away, trying to protect the phone with your life.

But he was faster. And suddenly your whole soul left your body as he read the screen.

“…Nicole?” He frowned.

You blinked.

Nicole: Bridesmaid dress shopping this week? I need you and Alyson to help me pick out my wedding dress too! :)

You slumped in relief.

Folio raised an eyebrow.

“You were trying to hide this?”

“Yes! I didn't want you to uh... tell Jolly?”

“You’re unbelievable.” He shook his head, turning back to the movie.

-------------------------------------

@bloody-spades @death-ofpeace-ofmind @miss570 @dominuslunae @dontwantthemoney @amelia-acero @noahslutbastian @blade-dressed-in-red @super-btstrash-posts @kait16xo @oobleoob @sunshine-lvrr @lacy1986 @enemiestolovershoe @samanthasgone @superpiratecriminalchef @lukeevangelista @lunabuna991 @ami--gami @bluehairpunklol @darknightstarryeyes @xxkittenkissesxx @renegadebirch @ichoosetenderomens @formula1loversstuff @c0urt-0519 @animal4princess-blog @neeley1w @carrieontillmay @jesuisunchaton @0nlyethereal @ajordan2020 @jesuisunchaton @missduffsblog @lonelydragonlady @mayaslifeinabox @lonesomegrace

[casuallyimagining]

Two Hours || myg

otter hybrid yoongi x female reader

Summary: Your neighbor invites you to a work picnic that he's nervous to attend. You promise to only stay for two hours. Word Count: 2,870 Genre: slice of life, fake dating, friends to ???, fluff Warnings: none

Notes: Thank you to @park-jimin-isnt-real for the moodboard above, and to @rec-me-bts for the moodboard below that I used in the teaser. I had so much trouble deciding which one to use where. Also many many thanks to @oddinary4bts and @madbutgloriouspond for beta-ing this for me and for their endless sympathies while I basically had an existential crisis in their dms. Thank you for not telling me I am annoying 💙

The elevator dings and you step onto your floor. Your arm stings from carrying the grocery bags from the garage–they aren’t particularly full, but it’s just heavy enough and just long enough to get your out of shape muscles angry at you. The closer you get to your apartment, the more you notice a banging noise. And when you finally round the corner, you see its source.

Your across-the-hall neighbor, Yoongi, stands outside of his own apartment rattling his door angrily.

“Stuck again?” you ask, fishing out your keys with your free hand.

Yoongi grunts, the small ears on the top of his head pressing into his hair in frustration. Silently, he takes the bags out of your hand while you open your door. 

“You should call the landlord again,” you tell him. He follows you inside as if it’s natural. Which, really, it is. This is the fourth time this month his door has jammed, effectively locking him out of his home until a locksmith showed up.

“I’d fix it myself if he’d let me.” He sets the bags on your counter and starts to hand you items. Strawberries, a bottle of coffee creamer, cucumbers and celery. He picks up a box of frozen fish sticks and flips it around to read. “You know this stuff is garbage, right?”

You ignore his commentary on your groceries. “You know Krolmeir’s never going to let you fix it. He’d have to lower your rent.”

He hums, and you can hear the underlying ‘jackass’ in the tone. 

“Do you want me to call him?” you asked. Krolmeir–your landlord–likes you way more than he seems to like Yoongi. You’re almost positive you can guess why. But you aren’t afraid to use his skeeviness to your advantage.

“I called him just before you showed up.”

“And he said…?”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Yoongi imitates Krolmeir’s voice–a high-pitched nasally whine more than anything. He rolls his eyes. “So he’ll be here sometime between five minutes from now and next Tuesday.”

You hum sympathetically. “Hang out here until he comes? I’ll make dinner.”

“Are you making fish sticks?”

“Thought about it.” His face scrunches up in disgust, a massive frown parts his lips, revealing his longer than human canine teeth. You laugh and roll your eyes. “I was actually just going to order something. Want to get sushi?”

His eyes light up, but when he speaks, his tone doesn’t match how excited he looks. “Whatever you want to do. I’m the one crashing your evening.”

You wave him off. He should know by now that he’s not imposing. You’ve been neighbors for a few years now. You’d started off just going grocery shopping together–it’s easier to carry groceries when there are two of you–and quickly progressed to taking refuge in each other’s apartments when something went wrong in your own. First, it had been your air conditioning crapping out that had driven you to Yoongi’s apartment to avoid the late-summer heat. Then, his oven stopped working, and he’d hidden in your living room while the landlord and the handyman made the repairs. Back and forth until a friendship had formed.

The sushi arrives and you settle in together on your couch. You prop your door open so that you can hear if the landlord arrives. He takes two bites of his sashimi before Yoongi hums urgently, causing you to pause the show you’d turned on for background noise.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” he says, and you can tell he’s suddenly nervous. “So we’re having a potluck picnic thing at work, and someone decided it would be a great idea to make it mandatory.”

“Gross.”

“Yeah. But I get a plus one, so I was wondering if maybe you’d go with me? Make it a little more tolerable?”

“You want me to go to your dumb company picnic with you?”

“Well, when you say it like that…” Nervously, he pokes at a grain of rice that had fallen off one of his nigiri.

“Sounds like it’s going to be not a lot of fun.”

“Yeah.”

You shrug. “I’m in.”

Yoongi is a ball of nerves as you shift into park. You’re definitely not the first ones here–there’s like ten other cars in the gravel lot, and you can see a large-ish group of people milling about the pavilion just up the hill. He alternates between patting his thigh and picking at the skin around his thumbnail. His ears press into his hair so far you can’t even see them. You know he doesn’t care for his coworkers, but you didn’t know it was this bad. Maybe it’s the crowd, or the fact that so many of his coworkers will be here. You aren’t sure, but you don’t like how affected he is.

You reach over and gently cover his hands with your own. He freezes. “Let’s make a game plan,” you say softly. He hums. “We’ll stay for how long? Two hours? An hour and a half?”

“Two I think. Since it’s mandatory.”

You nod. “Stay for two hours. We’ll talk to people, but if it starts to be too much, let me know.” 

For a moment, he’s quiet. But then, he nods. “Let’s do this.”

You carry the dessert Yoongi made–partially because you’re a little worried he might drop it from nerves–and he sticks by your side. He’s got one hand in his pocket, but he’s so close that the other brushes against you every few steps.

The closer you get, the more the people in the pavilion notice you. You watch as one by one, then a few at a time, they watch you approach. And suddenly, you understand why Yoongi’s uncomfortable. Eventually, someone comes scuttling toward you.

“Hi Yoongi!” she calls, waving enthusiastically as she approaches.

“Oh. Hey Liz.” He presses closer. “We uh… we brought tiramisu.”

The woman–Liz–takes the container out of your hands. You make a small noise of protest, but she’s already gone, back up the hill to the pavilion and everyone else.

“Yoongi and his girlfriend brought dessert,” you hear her announce.

“Oh, tiramisu? Nice!” someone else–you can’t see who–says.

“No way. I thought he was going to bring something fishy.” Someone else, you can see them and you make a note that you hate them, laughs. A few others chuckle, too, and you also hate them.

They’re still laughing when you get to the pavilion. You’re introduced to each of them by finding out what they brought, and honestly, you don’t remember most of their names. It’s David that made the comment about the fish, so you’re sure to memorize his name so you can hate him fully. David’s dating Yoongi’s manager, Marcus, who apparently brought chicken that is very good. There’s Alison, who brought naan, and Rabia who brought chutney to go with it. And Donghyun brought some sort of seven layer dip.

For the most part, none of them talk to you. It quickly becomes clear that these people aren’t friends. Certainly, they aren’t friends with Yoongi, but they aren’t friends at all. They talk to each other, but it’s clear that this is just another mandatory work thing for them, and they don’t want to be here. You’re honestly a little glad that they leave you alone. None of them seem particularly nice. Or interesting.

So you grab food. And you sit together at a table far away from where the rest of the group is lingering.

“One hour, 45 minutes to go,” Yoongi mumbles, and you snort in laughter, almost choking on the naan you’d just taken a bite of.

“Maybe it won’t be so-”

“Mind if I sit?” You’re interrupted by a bright voice, and when you look, Liz is standing beside Yoongi, holding a plate of food.

You look to Yoongi and he makes a face that says he really doesn’t want her to sit with you. But he says nothing, simply gestures to the other side of the table. Which, of course, she takes as an invitation to sit right beside him. He practically squeaks in distress and scoots slightly over so that there’s a bit of space between them.

“I have to be honest,” Liz begins, oblivious. “No one really expected you to bring anyone. We kind of all just assumed you were single, you know?” He hums, but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge what she’s saying. Briefly, you consider correcting her–you aren’t dating–but she continues before you can even consider a polite way to address the situation. “How long have you known each other? How’d you meet?”

“Years.” He doesn’t even look at her to answer her, his focus on pushing his food around on his plate. His current victim is the seven layer dip he’s stabbing with a tortilla chip.

“We’re neighbors,” you add, hoping that maybe if you answer her questions, she’ll shut up and leave you alone.

Liz nods enthusiastically. “That’s so cute! You guys are cute.”

“I’m going to grab a drink,” Yoongi announces suddenly, standing up. “Do you want anything?”

“Surprise me.”

He nods and leaves you alone with Liz. “I’m serious,” she laughs. “When we were all told we could bring a plus-one, I don’t think anyone expected Yoongi to bring someone. He’s usually so quiet around everyone at work.”

You’ve lost patience with her quickly. You aren’t quite sure what it is, but every time she opens her mouth to speak, it grates on your nerves. “Sometimes, he only talks when he thinks it’s worth his time.” You shrug and make eye contact with her. 

Her smile falters very briefly, but then she recovers and it’s like nothing changed. “He talks to me, though,” she continues, as if you’d said nothing. “Mostly about new album releases and stuff.” You work at a music store, you think. But you let her keep talking. “He knows so much about music. He played the piano for me once.”

You hum and say nothing, craning your neck so you can look around her to see where Yoongi’s gotten to. He’s at the end of the pavilion, distracted by Marcus, his manager.

“He’s really good,” Liz gushes. “Like, really good. He used to want to be a music teacher–did you know that? He told me-”

You tune her out. Of course, you know that he plays the piano. You’ve seen the brown upright that sits in his living room, never dusty because he plays it too much. You often hear the soft melodies that travel through the walls at night when he can’t sleep. He’d even told you about wanting to be a music teacher–a long-dead dream that he’d abandoned in his early 20s. You wish he hadn’t, he had the patience of a saint and he was one of the smartest people you knew. But you also understand how needlessly cruel the world can be sometimes.

Finally, Yoongi returns, balancing a plate and two bottles of beer. He sits one of the bottles in front of you and, with a flourish, places the plate between you. “Someone made hotteok,” he says gleefully, nudging a pancake in your direction. “They aren’t hot, but Marcus said they were really good.”

He picks one up, gives it a satisfied pat. A wide, gummy smile spreads across his lips and his eyes crinkle in delight. He pats the pancake again a few more times, before nudging the plate toward you. It’s got one more hotteok on it, and a scoop of the tiramisu trifle Yoongi’d made. 

Liz makes a noise of annoyance, and the look on her face says that she’s not happy she’s being ignored. But she plasters on a smile when Yoongi looks over at her.

“Oh. Liz,” he says softly, one hand still gently patting his hotteok. “I didn’t realize you were still here.”

Her face falls. “I was just leaving.”

She leaves her plate behind.

He watches after her, eyes wide as she goes to join the group currently surrounding a bluetooth speaker. It’s blasting some sort of 90s pop song–you assume they’ve got a playlist going on someone’s phone. 

“That was weird,” Yoongi says finally. “She’s normally really nice.”

You hum and lie. “Maybe she’s having a bad day.”

And as tactless as you think Liz is, you want to believe that’s true. You’ve heard plenty of stories of her, how she’s the only coworker that Yoongi actually likes, how she’s nice to him, how she actually seems to be interested in what he has to say. You don’t trust her, but you hope for Yoongi’s sake that she’s just off her game today. 

Maybe if he clarified that you weren’t dating, it would help.

He doesn’t make any effort to do that, though, not even when Rabia brings around a QR code for you to scan to add songs to the playlist they’ve got going.

“Thought maybe you and your girlfriend would want to add some songs,” she says, offering a small smile. She waits patiently while Yoongi scans the code on her phone, and then she disappears again, back to the group over by the speaker.

“She seems nice,” you say, watching as he types into his phone and picks a couple songs.

Yoongi shrugs. “I’ve met her like twice? She works nights.”

After a second, he hands you his phone, open to some music website you’ve never heard of. You carefully consider what you might want to add. The site doesn’t let you see what else is in the playlist, so you aren’t sure what songs Yoongi picked, let alone what the others have queued up. But you pick two of your favorites that you think would be fun and hand him his phone back.

Apparently, the playlist is on shuffle, because a few songs later, you recognize the opening beats of one of the songs you chose. Immediately, Yoongi perks up, his little ears on alert as he listens. It takes all of about three seconds for him to break into a grin. 

He’d introduced you to this band back when you first started grocery shopping together. You were driving, he was playing music on his phone. They were his favorite, a small hip-hop group made up of three dog hybrids. It wasn’t common for hybrids to make it in really any industry, so the fact that these guys did and their music was good? You couldn’t deny they had quickly become some of your favorite artists, too.

He sways a little with the music, his eyes closed. He looks content. You smile watching him, rest your chin on his hands. You’re happy you came, you determine.

Two hours fly faster than you thought they would. And when you point out that you’ve hit your promised limit and ask if Yoongi’s ready to go, he immediately nods. So you stand, say your goodbyes. His coworkers make a big deal of you leaving so soon. Liz tries to hug Yoongi before you leave, but he dodges her by grabbing another hotteok–though whether it was a purposeful deflection or just a happy accident, you aren’t sure.

He barely speaks until you’re in the car and halfway back to your apartment building. He shifts around in his seat, digging around in his pocket. He pulls out a rock–his favorite rock, you note–and rolls it around in his hand.

“Thanks,” he says quietly. “For coming with me. I uh… I’m sorry I didn’t tell them we weren’t dating.”

You frown, and when you slow to a stop at the next redlight, you turn to look at him. “You don’t have to apologize for that. If it made the situation even a little easier, it’s totally fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I mean, when am I going to see these people again?” The light turns green and you hit the gas. “Let them think whatever they want. You wanna come back in eight months and tell them we’re married? Go for it.”

“I-I don’t…”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it.”

He nods. “I appreciate it.”

The car falls silent, the only sounds coming from the radio–Yoongi’s phone connected to the aux cord. He continues to toy with the rock, rubbing it between his fingers and tapping it against the armrest on the door. It takes only minutes to pull into the garage under your building, and even less to find a spot.

While you’re waiting for the elevator to return to the garage, he says your name so softly, you almost don’t hear it over the whirring of the cables and machinery.

“Here,” he says, reaching out and grabbing your hand. Carefully, he presses his rock into your palm.

You look at him, confused. “Yoongi, I…” He loves this rock. He’d never said exactly where he found it, but it’s a little round and very smooth, and you’ve seen him pat his pockets down on numerous occasions to make sure he has it with him.

“Take it. Please. I… As a thank you.” He doesn’t look at you, his face flushed a shade of light pink.

You nod and close your fingers around the rock. You’ll have to find somewhere nice to put it. And maybe, someday, you can find him a new one to replace it.

I'd love to know what you thought! I had been considering making this longer, but I thought leaving it open might be a little more fun. if you're interested, I may do a part two later? idk let me know if you're feeling a part two. thank you again to yav and jay for the moodboards. they're both so pretty.

[happyhauntt]

if my wish were granted — nikolai lantsov

series masterlist | writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: anya likes teasing nikolai. it’s far too easy to get under his skin. this time, enjoying some peace aboard the Volkvolny, anya claims that she prefers sturmhond’s rugged looks over nikolai’s princely features.

─── pairing: nikolai lantsov & anya kamenev (original character.)

─── warnings: fluff, a lil angst if you squint, this is steamy with sexual references but no actual smut, i'd still put it as 18+ just in case, pre-established relationship, this might be the closest to smut i've ever written and i need validation so please tell me i did a good job even if it's a lie, mentions of past injury. oh and krysa = rat.

─── word count: 1.4k.

     The gentle rocking of the ship is a soothing lullaby to Anya. Curled up and warm beneath silk blankets, she feels like she is small again and her mother is humming a sweet Old Ravkan song in her ear, familiar and strange all at once.

     Her mother, of course, did no such thing in Anya's youth — all those nursemaids and nannies — but the rhythm of it is still a balm on her soul. The rocking of the ship, the steady beat of Nikolai's heart beneath her cheek, the scent of saltwater on his skin. This is home, she thinks. She has never felt contentment like this before. She fears she never will again.

     Nikolai stirs beneath her. He toys absently with the loose locks of her hair, curling honey-coloured strands around his fingers. A soft smile stretches over his face, and when he speaks, his voice is low and husky with the remains of sleep. "What are you thinking about?"

     She looks up at him, so close she can feel the warmth of his breath on her face. His lips brush her hair as he speaks, and something lights up inside her chest. A spark she prays will never go out. A sense of safety that settles over her only when he is near.

     She doesn’t respond at first. She raises her hand, draws a gentle line down his face, from his brow to his chin. Nikolai shivers beneath her touch. Her finger lingers on his nose for a few moments, brushing lightly over the tailored crookedness of it. Nikolai tilts his chin and kisses her fingertip.

     “Not much,” she says, finally, and it’s the truth. Her mind feels fuzzy and warm, and the air in the cabin smells like candle wax and salt. Though their country is wartorn and her thoughts are forever occupied with other, more pressing matters — here and now, her mind is quiet. Anya will savour this bliss, these fleeting moments of peace between them, for as long as she can. It is the only time he belongs to her, and nobody else.

      His grin is wide and smug and edged with lovesickness. The tips of his fingers draw abstract shapes on the bare skin of her shoulder. “That’s quite an achievement. I must have done a fantastic job, if you’ve managed to lose your thoughts. I had worried it couldn’t be done.”

     Anya scowls mockingly at him, but she cannot fight the smile that curls at the edge of her lips. “Alright then, sobachka, you asked for it. I was just thinking that I quite prefer your nose like this. All rugged and handsome.”

     He chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that makes Anya’s stomach do somersaults. Muddy green eyes rove over her, as familiar to her now as Nikolai’s usual hazel. “I think I prefer when you used to call me krysa.”

     “Ah,” she says, “but I didn’t kiss you then, did I? I’d call you krysa and push you into the nearest puddle. And you certainly weren’t this handsome then. You were still a boy, prim and proper and clean-cut.”

     "But I was a soldier, darling, and you did manage to fall madly in love with me.” A muscle jumps in his jaw, and Anya feels like she’s won some kind of prize. “Is that not ruggedly handsome enough for you?"

     "I'm in love with you, am I? That's news to me."

     A low growl rolls through Nikolai’s chest and suddenly she's beneath him. He hovers over her like a Saint of all things unholy, propped up on his palms with a wicked grin slashed across his mouth, and he kisses her deeply, tongue lashing over hers before he trails lower, peppering open-mouthed kisses over her jaw, her chest, her stomach.

     A calloused hand wraps gently around her thigh. The rings studding his fingers are cold against her skin. He kisses her broken knee, softly, reverently. Looks up at her through heavy-lidded eyes. "How is it now?"

     "Much better." It had never healed right, but the pain of it doesn’t bother her much anymore. Anya is a soldier, after all. The salty breeze and the warmth of the air have eased the brittleness of her bones. Ravka's cold will be the death of her someday, she's sure.

     The scar that remains is little more than a puckered white line, disguising the sort of damage that will never go away, not completely. She had a cane made for when the pain is at its worst, when the chill makes her bones feel like knives beneath her skin and she can no longer put on a brave face. For the most part, it remains hidden out of sight. She despises feeling weak.

     "We're about an hour out from port," Anya murmurs, as Nikolai trails another line of kisses up her body. He ignores her for a moment, choosing to wrap her leg around his waist instead, humming against the column of her throat. "We should get dressed."

     His heart sinks at her words, and he buries his face in her neck. He feels her hand curling into his hair, stroking idly through tailored-red strands, and he wishes there was some way to stop time.

     He wants to press his lips to hers and kiss her until she's breathless. Wants to fuck her hard into the mattress until the rest of the world melts away and there's just this room and him. Wants to make her come so many times she can't remember her own name. Anything to keep her for a moment longer, soft and safe and happy, where the hell of reality can't touch her.

     But Nikolai has no such power, and in the next moment Anya is pushing him away, shimmying out from under him until she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, feet planted firmly on the floor. He reaches out with desperate hands, tries to latch them around her waist, but Anya merely casts an apologetic glance over her shoulder.

     The battle is lost, Nikolai knows, and so he sighs. Settling back on his elbows, he watches her retrieve some of their discarded clothes from the floor.

     “You look better in my clothes than I do,” he tells her as she tugs his shirt down over her head. She turns to face him, silhouetted against the golden light as it spills through the window. His shirt is long and loose on her, gaping at the chest where she’d pulled the ties undone. The hem just brushes the top of her thigh, leaving the rest of her long legs exposed in a way that leaves him breathless.

     She reaches up and sweeps her hair out of the collar, allowing it to fall in tangled curls down her back. “That’s because I’m wearing them, and you’re not. Up now, Kolya. Procrastinating will not make me stay longer; we both have schedules to keep.”

     When the Volkvolny finally docks in the port at Os Kervo, Nikolai kisses Anya just before she reaches the gangway. He keeps a tight grip on her waist but his lips are soft, tender, and Anya knows that if kisses could have a flavour, this one would taste of sadness.

     Saying goodbye is always the hardest part.

     When he pulls away, finally, he keeps her close. Their foreheads press together and his eyes are closed, as if he can keep her that way, as if the secret to making her stay is pretending she will always be there.

     She runs her thumb over the bridge of his nose, over the knots of ill-healed bone that Tolya put there, to disguise Nikolai’s true features. When he opens his eyes, they are green and not hazel, and a bolt of grief streaks through her. She misses them. She misses him, so much, and he is still here.

     She wonders if there will ever come a time when one of them isn’t always leaving.

     Two weeks after she leaves, a letter from Tamar appears, delivered with the rest of Anya’s correspondance. Her laughter peels out of her office and if her employees wonder what has made their boss, usually so stern and sober, sound so utterly giddy, then none of them mention it.

     Please tell the captain that you think he’s handsome as-is, Tamar writes. He keeps goading Tolya into actually trying to break his nose. Anya laughs until tears drip from her chin and the ink smears across the page. And if her next letter to Nikolai is a little more complimentary than usual, well, that’s a sacrifice she is willing to make.

[hyungseos-cafe]

Pairing: Boyfriend!Chanhee x GN!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Warning(s): Sunwoo continues to be an asshole 👿

Word count: 1k+

Summary: Picking up the broken pieces of your heart, Chanhee made a promise to himself to be by your side no matter how painful it was. Chanhee was your safe place, his arms held you together when you couldn't.

A/n: hi sana sorry this took me literal months to finish, but i did it thanks to your encouragement hehe

┊⋆ ˚✯✩. Songs to listen to while reading: Last Cigarette - Mothica, Au/Ra, Burn - Sinéd Harnett, Imperfect Love - Seventeen .✩✯⋆ ˚ ┊

Taglist: @deoboyznet @uwu0clock @sanaxo-o

“I got the postcards you ordered!” Chanhee announced cheerily as he entered your shared apartment. You had ordered custom postcards from a small business with pictures of you and Chanhee from your recent trip to Bali. 

“Thanks! I meant to stop by the mailroom on the way home, but I forgot”

“Ah, no that’s okay”

You turned to grab a pen from the cup of miscellaneous supplies from the counter. Sitting down, you addressed the card to none other than Sunwoo, your friend… Well, it was complicated but your friendship was not one to miss, unfortunately. You were at a point where there was mutual pinning from both parties, but he let his jealousy blind him from seeing what was in front of him. 

Chanhee, curious, looked over your shoulder as you wrote. Seeing your concentration piqued his interest, 

“Are you writing to Sunwoo?”

“Yeah”

“Ah, okay”

Chanhee met you at one of the most difficult times of your life. You had just gotten promoted to a new position and transferred into the city. At the same time, you had just walked away from a long friendship with Sunwoo. Things were great, wonderful even, but the feeling of jealousy was unfortunately brewing in him. He had every right to worry about your new group of friends, but they were the ones worried about Sunwoo as you told him. 

Your friends had your back since you initially started at the company and heard every high and low of your friendship with Sunwoo. Despite what Sunwoo was saying, your friends were the ones with their arms open ready for you to lean on them. 

My eyes suddenly darted to your hand as you dropped the pen. Your hand began cramping up and to alleviate the pain, you shook your hand… It seemed like you wrote letter after letter. Well more like writing a draft. The last and final draft was short and sweet as you explained your sudden absence, 

“Hey Sunwoo! Sorry I left so abruptly, but I got promoted to a new position and was transferred to a new branch in the company. I also met someone, they’re really sweet; kind of reminds me of you! I hope you’ve been well! I’m actually flying back to see some old friends and if you’re free, I’d love to see you”

I read your letter, nodding in approval as you capped your pen off and rummaged through your pile of stamps before settling on a stamp with baby racoons, an homage to Sunwoo’s childhood nickname. 

“Hey Chanhee, do you want to walk down to the post office with me? I need to send this postcard”

“Sure! Let me get my stuff and then we can head out. Maybe we can stop by and grab a quick bite from Cafe Horizon, I heard they have a new coffee menu” 

You stood to gather your bag, put on your sweater and slip on your shoes. Taking my hand in yours, we walked out of our shared apartment, but not without first turning let me lock the door. Hand in hand, we walked to the end of the street a few blocks from our apartment. The post office was one of the oldest ones in the city and held a certain warmth to it from the kind workers to the cozy florals surrounding the interior. 

While inside of the cafe, I went ahead to order you a classic matcha latte and a pistachio croissant with a raspberry filling. I got myself an americano with a blueberry muffin. Turning the corner to join you in the secluded corner of the cafe, I sat down, pushing your order towards you with a sense of unease due to your somber expression. 

“Hey, you okay? You haven’t said anything since we left the post office” I gently inquired while sipping on my coffee rubbing my thumb on the back of your hand. 

“Yeah, I just– I thought it would be easy moving on. Like don’t get me wrong, I have because I know I deserve better, but sometimes…”

“Sometimes you just feel like you’re not making the right decision?” I finished your thought.

“Exactly! I love you Chanhee, I really do and you mean the world to me, but I can’t help but feel bad for him” 

“I know love, but you can’t feel like this forever. He has to move on too”

“It’s hard, but I still care about him. I just can’t love him like I used to” 

“I know you can’t and that’s okay, I’m really proud you have come to acknowledge it”

As the sun began to set, coffees long forgotten and caught in warm conversation, a sudden thought came to my mind. 

“Wait, when are we scheduled to fly back to your hometown?”

“In two days, why?”

“We haven’t packed yet” I sheepishly smiled at you. 

“Well, it looks like we’ve got some packing to do. Let’s go” You stood up and led us out from the cafe back home to pack for our long awaited trip. 

It’s now the day of the trip and we just landed in your hometown, it’s as beautiful as you always told me in conversation and the pictures you’d show me. We were greeted by your coworker who met us at our gate and kindly dropped us off at our hotel. I know I should be excited, but I couldn’t help but be worried about you meeting up with Sunwoo. I trust you, it’s just him who left a sour taste in my mouth ever since he broke off your friendship. 

“Chanhee” I turned around to you looking at me with pleading eyes 

“Please tell me tomorrow's meet up Sunwoo will go well”

“It’ll be okay, love. I promise you’ll be fine and you have me on speed dial” 

It’s the next day and as much as I would like to have the meeting go well, you came back disheveled with tears running down your face. To say that I was angry was an understatement as I have a few choice words for Sunwoo. He was a coward, running away when things got rough. 

“Sun– Sunwoo was so terrible!” 

“Hey love, it’s okay” He pulled your shaking figure into his arms. 

“I’m here for you my love, I’m here for you” He pressed a soft kiss on the top of your head. 

It’s safe to say that Sunwoo was long forgotten.

[girldragongizzard]

Chapter 1: A battle without honor or humanity

And as I step up to him, I then notice his eyes.

And our eyes meet as I plod by, heads turning to maintain contact.

I can’t exactly say that we’re not transfixed, but we’ve both got lucid control of the rest of our bodies, despite how rigidly locked our gazes are.

“Hello, Meghan,” he says in an odd, almost mechanical male British voice.

It’s a strange tableau.

I am now standing fully outside the door with my body half turned toward him, raised onto my hind legs so that both my eyes can be level with his. And he stands just inside, half turned towards me, holding the door open with his body. And we’re at the Fairport branch of the Washington State Department of Licensing, or what people locally still call the DMV.

Inside, there are people waiting in chairs for their numbers or names to come up in an atmosphere of banal boredom and anticipation, and Daniel Säure in his best human disguise.

Outside, there are cars in a parking lot, glinting in the sunlight allowed by the parting of clouds, and me, a blue dragon with a magical flame orange purse.

And we’re not moving.

“Stay,” Säure says in that clear AI voice he’s imitating. “Please. We. Talk. First. Business.” He manages to tilt his head toward the inside.

He’s just slightly more articulate than I am.

I want to attack him. Bite him. Claw him. Engulf him in my coils and wings and drag him to the ground. Tear chunks off of him, and swallow them whole.

“Okay,” I say, and move to go back inside.

He takes a number and then finds a seat near the aisle where there’s a spot for me to settle down, breaking eye contact first. I follow, feeling slightly more relaxed, but more suspicious.

“I. Renew. License,” he says to me, quiet.

The whole atmosphere in here has changed with the two of us in it. People notice, but studiously do not look our way. Like they can feel the tension and want to be no part of it, but are stuck by their circumstances and their need to jump through bureaucratic hoops to satisfy the State of Washington and continue driving where they need to go.

I try a word just to see if it changes how everything feels. I do mean a different word, but I haven’t learned it yet, so I say the near synonym, “Peace.”

“Yes,” he says.

A few of the people around us do seem to relax a little.

“Coffee,” I say.

“Yes. After. This,” he replies with a human smile, flashing teeth. 

That’s not a friendly expression to a dragon. Especially with the number of pointy teeth he displays.

He’s playing human. It’s meant to look friendly to the humans around us, at least. I don’t let it escalate my own reactions. Though, that’s hard.

I’m imagining dragging his bloody corpse around the room and whipping my head to smash it into things. It’s what I actually want to do.

I calmly pull out my tablet, put it in my mouth, place it on the floor, turn it on, and pull up my app. We have the time.

“I have questions,” I say.

“Later,” he responds, speaking with his own syrinx again, showing off his vocabulary with every utterance. “This. First.” And he gestures at the counter. “I. Drive.”

I’d had the thought that conversing over coffee would be the civilized, non-combatant way for us to talk at length, and I’m thinking I might have to blow off therapy to do this. So I had said the word “coffee”. But now I’m wondering if I really want to drag this asshole into my coffee shop where I think I’ve left my own people, my friends, fairly traumatized about my own nature.

I did, yesterday, after all, tell them just exactly what I thought I was.

And, it’s pretty clear that this individual, this Daniel Säure as I’m sure he is, is the same kind of dragon that I am.

Two of us on my home turf is a bit much.

Perhaps a review of our situation is in order before it gets any more tense.

For starters, this is a billionaire I’m sitting next to.

He’s not on par with the hundred-billionaires, but he’s still got control of more money than the rest of the county can dream of.

With his land holding Morning Glory Corporation, if anyone can be said to own the county, it’s him.

But there’s more.

“You. Busy,” he says.

“Later,” I tell him by knuckling my tablet screen.

“Okay.”

—

A little over a month ago, dragons started roaming the Earth, and I’m one of them.

Before that, most of us, if not all of us, were still dragons. We just thought we were stuck looking like humans like the rest of humanity.

I was a 50 year old deeply closeted and deeply dysphoric disabled trans woman living in the Magnolia Apartments in Fairport, Washington.

The transformation into our true forms was involuntary and apparently irreversible. Even now, though I can choose to resemble a human, it’s not comfortable to stay that way and I don’t really look human. Same with Säure, whose truly emerald eyes with slits for pupils give him dead away. And we both are unusual in this ability. I haven’t heard of many dragons who can do this.

When I first dared to step out of my apartment as a full dragon, the people I knew somehow still recognized me. In fact, they recognized me even more readily than before, and congratulated me on obviously “feeling much better lately.” “You look good!” was a common phrase I heard.

Something metaphysical is at work there in the minds of the people. It seems like we dragons are supposed to be here.

I thought I was the only dragon until three days later when a fellow named Joel who looks like a cross between a bat, a hippo, and a velociraptor came crashing through my apartment wall in a direct challenge for my territory.

It turns out that maybe 1 in 2,000 people on Earth are actually dragons. That’s four million dragons out of 8 billion people.

And, because of the way population densities and demographics work, we dragons, like humans, are concentrated in cities.

This is stressful, and while it may go over well in little localized family and friends groups, it’s not great on a municipal, national, or global level. There’s been violence.

There’s a lot more to tell, but not a lot of time to divulge it.

Next important thing.

Through my intense first month of being out as a dragon, and conferring with my fellow dragon expert Chapman, here is what I learned and believe is happening.

Dragons have existed at least as long as humans. But maybe not physically. Maybe spiritually, if you believe in spiritual things. Or memetically, if you don’t. We’ve been an idea. We’ve been living and even thriving in human imaginations and in the deep, instinctual centers of the brains of maybe all vertebrates.

Humans helped us evolve into what we are today, and we have definitely shaped humans. It’s hard to say who parented whom, if you want to think in those terms.

And something happened on August 24 of 2024 that made us manifest physically from the human vessels we were inhabiting or using as disguises.

We don’t know what that is.

But what we do know is that dragons are not strictly governed by physics. Before we must obey the laws of physics, we must first obey the laws of narrative expectation. Or something like that. And if the laws of narrative expectation disagree with the laws of physics, the laws of physics lose.

I just learned this last Saturday, so I’m still ironing out exactly what it means.

I mean, I’ve sort of expected it since I was in college and reading about dragons in the university library every chance I got. But now I see it as a real thing, because I’m it.

It goes back to where we come from.

In the beginning, before there was even the word “dragon”, we were unique monsters or celestial spirits, each crafted to play a specific role in our own story. Originally, our stories were actually the stories of heroes. Human heroes. And we were usually there to teach the hero a lesson.

Skipping the details of that for expediency, what happened over time is that we dominated our stories.

Over time, the stories that were about human heroes began to be known as stories about dragons.

And, over the millennia, this apparently escalated to the point where we “hatched.” And now we walk the land, scream at each other every morning, and buy groceries.

Or renew our state IDs at the DMV.

But what this means is that, unlike with humans, you can tell a dragon’s story and purpose by looking at them.

This sounds like it is rooted in white supremacy, because white supremacy sure loves its phrenology, and it is probably heavily influenced by it. Especially in the case of Säure and I, unfortunately. We’re both “European dragons”, and fancy ones at that.

But the reality is that we’ve been heavily shaped by human imagination and expectations, and the roles we’ve played in their stories.

And the dragons that look more like what humans think of as nightmare monsters are nightmare monsters. The more unique a dragon is, the more creative their physiology, the closer to the subconscious needs of humanity they are.

I haven’t fully tested this theory, mind you. But it’s where my studies have taken me, and what little evidence I have has supported it. However, I’m willing to change my mind on this.

But, I’m thinking that, with dragons that look more standardized, that look like they may be part of a species, they are more connected to the social desires of humans. Such dragons are often tamed, mastered, ridden into battle, befriended, sought out for their wisdom, depicted in movies and role playing games, worshiped, married, and even successfully mated with. At least, in the stories.

But we are our stories. That’s where we actually come from.

And I look like one of these more modern dragons. And I think Säure probably does too.

But Säure and I share at least one other distinctive trait, and that’s that we can magically disguise ourselves as human.

There are obvious tells, of course, such as our eyes and tongues, and the fact that we speak with our syrinxes with limited vocabulary.

And while his human disguise comes with a very nice suit that would make any other billionaire’s eyes bleed with envy, mine comes with the gown and tiara of a fairy princess.

They’re conspicuous for disguises, and I think that’s a clue.

I don’t think that all of this means that we are special, on the global and historical scale of things.

But what I do think is that, here, now, locally, this means that Säure and I are destined to interact as if we’re royalty. Rivals, more than likely. I know we’re rivals now, and I like it that way.

But in some stories, we’d end up being married. Either politically or out of passion, depending on who’s writing it.

And that maybe has me on edge more than anything. I feel like that outcome would mean he wins.

Our hoards certainly don’t compare in any way, though.

He’s hoarded land and money, like a classic dragon.

I’ve hoarded garbage, books, and people. 

My people hoard is growing, and I’m pretty proud of it, but it’s slow going.

I think his hoard grows without him putting in any effort now.

And I want to plunder it.

For my people.

This isn’t a great footing on which to start the new phase of a story. The twists are likely to turn the wrong way.

—

I’m focusing on my growing sense of doom because I kind of think it might be my slim chance at salvation, actually. But I don’t want to jinx it.

It might be better to be less meta about my life and just embrace my draconinity.

I watch as Gavin, the clerk operating the camera, solemnly and professionally takes Säure’s photo and issues him his temporary diver’s license.

At one point Gavin said something about how it was good that Säure was using his human form for the photo, since he would be using that shape when driving. It was the kind of a statement that had the subtext that Gavin wished it was otherwise for some reason. Maybe just being slightly negative in the face of someone like Säure.

Gavin, with whom I shared moments of silent knowing trans solidarity and giddiness while I was getting my photo taken, doubtlessly knows who Säure is, and isn’t a sympathizer with the rich.

He might not be privy to Säure’s involvement in my kidnapping and very temporary relocation to the Pasayten Wilderness a couple weeks ago. Though, Säure did make a public statement about it, denouncing the action of his company before dissolving Equisetum Wildlife and firing its employees for the act. It’s always possible Gavin doesn’t pay attention to the local news or gossip.

I myself am hoping to learn something about all of that today.

I occupy myself with more visions of defeating Säure in physical combat to the detriment of the DMV, because my instincts demand it, and then he’s here with me and gesturing toward the door.

“My. Car,” he says. “Come.”

As imperiously as I can muster, I follow.

It’s a fucking Well Known Electric Vehicle.

Look. I’m not going to describe the car. I don’t want to advertise it. Suffice it to say, it is an unusual set of colors and very shiny. Obviously a custom job.

It does have a vanity plate, I notice. It reads “88MPH” and I spend a couple seconds wondering why this car, which is not a Delorian, has a Back to the Future reference on it. And I wonder if it could mean something else. It’s a weird plate.

I’m reluctant, for so many reasons, to get into the vehicle, and he stands with his door open, hand on the top of it, watching me impassively.

In order to get into the car, I’m going to have to put on my human disguise, which means tipping my hand to him. And I’m thinking about that.

My plan had been to hide how I do this, so that he might underestimate me.

In my purse, I have a magic pendant created by the Artist Chapman, that will turn me into a human if I wear it. I can’t talk at all with it on, because it gives me a larynx that I don’t know how to use anymore. And I will be naked if I wear it. And I’ll look quite a bit like Chapman.

Daniel Säure almost certainly knows I have it, but maybe doesn’t know exactly how it works.

My plan had been to make a public appearance with Mayor Chisholm in my own natural disguise, which makes me look like a 50 year old trans woman playing fairy princess. Which I do like. I’m reasonably comfortable in that outfit. And I was hoping he’d think, not seeing me transform, that I needed the pendant to do that.

Then I could, in an emergency, use the pendant to look like someone else.

If I use either disguise right now, he will learn how these things work with me, and I will lose that edge.

I expect the entire day may be filled with tests like this. And I’m hoping I can turn some of them to my advantage. Or even set one or two of them up. Though, like always, I don’t know how.

He tilts his head subtly toward the car, with the homeopathic presence of a smirk, indicating that he’s eager to see me get into it.

I take a step toward the repulsive-to-me vehicle and tilt my head.

Either I get in the car and reveal to my rival one of my secrets, or I fly away and lose this round entirely.

I could demand we take the bus, or that we both fly.

I don’t think he’d accept that. He’d take that the same as a retreat, shrug his shoulders, get in his car, and drive away.

I relent.

I choose the trans princess because she has clothes.

He watches me fold myself up and step into my protective coloring like I’m pretty sure he did before getting into his car this morning. And he smiles and presses a button and the door opens.

I have no idea if that’s standard with Well Known Electric Vehicles, and I don’t want to know.

I let the vehicle engulf me as I side step into it and sit down, and I dissociate a little, staring out the windshield.

(Girls, ladies, enbies, boys, gentlemen, everybody – don’t do this – it is occurring to me as I do this that I’m being extremely uncautious by getting into a strange person’s car, even if I’m pretty sure he is a locally well known billionaire. The fact that he recognizes me and knows my name makes it creepier. But, in my case, what’s done is done.)

“Mine. Or. Yours,” he says, after sitting down and letting both doors close. I’m certain he means choice of coffee shop.

I change my mind about something, and pull out my tablet to type out my response, “Flounder Sound Brewpub.”

“Oh. Beer. Yes,” he says, and pushes another button and starts driving. If this car has self-driving capabilities, he’s not using them.

And with my tablet in hand, I do realize that I momentarily have an advantage over him.

If he uses his phone to talk more eloquently, he can’t do that while he’s driving. He’s stuck with his animal mimickry of speech, like I am without my tablet.

At the moment, I can talk circles around him with my thumbs, and I can take command of the conversation.

“What is your favorite place to talk?” I ask.

He glances my direction suspiciously, obviously perturbed by being asked a question that requires more complicated words. Then he looks back at the road and says, “Top. Of. Tower.”

Either he’s lying, and The Top of the Tower isn’t his favorite place, just the easiest to say. Or, he’s memorized the name of his favorite place. I gain nothing but the momentary implication of my current social edge. Which he acknowledged.

This is kind of fun.

Maybe I can make him pay me back a little bit for making me transform in front of him.

“I like Flounder Sound Brewpub,” I say, tapping away cheerfully and hitting talk after every phrase. “Good people. I worked there for half a year and almost enjoyed it. Their food is filling and half their beer is too hoppy. But the other half is divine.”

Giving him useless tidbits about myself while showing off. Very petty, but I enjoy it.

“I feel very at home there. But it is not my territory,” I say. I look over at him and type, “Do you know Joel?”

Joel is the other dragon that Equisetum Wildlife kidnapped. I want to see his expression at the question. I don’t know if he’ll recognize the name. Not many people know it. But I think I'm clearly asking about a dragon, and there’s one other dragon besides me who has unfinished business with Säure. At least that I’m familiar with.

He glances at me and tilts his head up in acknowledgement.

It doesn’t take long to get to the brewpub from where we were, even though it’s literally across town. We’re maybe a third of the way already. I want to use my time as wisely as possible.

I think for a block about what to say next, but he beats me to the punch.

“Meghan Estragon Draconis,” he says my full legal name with his whole chest. I can’t even say his nickname. It is not lost on me the implications that he knows that name and can say it. He looks back at the road and engages with it through the wheel of his car, “Lets. Talk. Business.”

[nincompooprr]

I've been going to mass

My eyes do this really weird thing every time I walk inside a cathedral. Like they glaze over or something. I don’t know.

I haven’t thought about church or God or communion or receiving the body of Christ for a long time. ‘Body of Christ,” the priest will say once we bow our heads and approach for a wafer. Every single person. “Body of Christ.”

Nothing’s really dwelled with me since I was a kid and I was forced to go to Sunday school with my brothers. We grew up Catholic. We weren’t actually religious.

Three weeks ago I woke up one morning with the thought of potentially going the night prior. I took out my cracked phone, looked up the bus route, and calculated how much time it would take to get there. Maybe if I’m awake in time, I told myself. Why not.

So I went.

I don’t think I’ve ever sat through an adult service. That was my first thought. I walked to the middle towards the left where I thought I’d be inconspicuous enough to not be judged like hey, that girl obviously doesn’t belong here, but not too much so someone would nod and think wow, she’s got 2/3 of personal notations in The Book of Joshua.

My eyes always glaze over the moment the hymns begin. It’s nothing to do with being tired or bored. If I was bored I don't think I’d be there.

I imagine it like a fogged up camera. Or a mirror after you take a scalding shower. My eyes gloss over and I’m left staring all the way behind the altar where Jesus is hanging with his head slightly turned. He’s always looking away.

I’m comfortable. I remember asking my dad once in grade three why it felt so good to stare into space. He said it’s because you don’t have to worry about anything. You can just… Sit.

The stained glass is the only thing that isn’t sludged up like baby throw up. It’s pretty clear actually with Mary’s outstretched hands reaching for those around her. There’s a lot of people. I wonder if they feel what I’m feeling and if it’s because of her.

The glass becomes a point of clarity. If I stare intensely enough I can decipher what the choir is singing. I can get by what the priests are trying to say. There’s one guy who always reads straight from the scripture. Then another steps up to explain what he actually said.

My eyes aren’t like this the entire time. Today, the third week that I found myself there, I noticed I was squashed between two men, one on each side of me. Not actually but enough for me to notice that I didn’t like it. They breathe too loud, move too much, eyes wander. I hate it. Some of us, I told them in my head, are here for something. Some of us are in such deep shit that we’re praying for it.

The first one that sat down next to me was oddly quick at getting settled, sliding in without a word. The other? I don’t remember. I just know that I heard the most obnoxious way to clear one’s throat in the middle of the Lord’s Prayer.

Other times it’s stuff like a crying infant. Sometimes a phone buzzes or lights up. It’s always some teenager who has their message settings set to LED flash for alerts. It’s obviously for deaf people.

Things like this disrupt the experience. There’s a billion seats so why are you sitting here? Why would you bring your baby here he clearly can’t take the overwhelming incense stuffing his nose like a man coking out in a locked bathroom.

It doesn’t really matter I guess.

[kat-earnshaw]

hedgehogs

I drive the backroads, winding through streets I know by heart, waiting for your call. It’s like I’m caught in orbit, always circling, waiting to be pulled back into your gravity. Maybe it’s always been this way, this feeling of suspended time, just hanging there until I masochistically reach out. But I don’t mind it. I need it—the way I need air when I’m drowning. Just a fix, a few moments to get close enough to feel that strange, quiet calm that settles in whenever I’m near you. So I strangle my arm with a tourniquet, and I tap at the antecubital space until I hear a ping, and I brace myself for the inevitable slamming into my veins.

Out here, the world feels like it’s shifting, breaking apart in a thousand directions, pieces scattering and tumbling away. But you, somehow, you’re the one fixed thing in all that chaos. The one anchor that holds when everything else slides. A rock in a river. It’s late now, a quarter-life crisis under my belt and still somewhere in the back of my mind wondering if my parents might worry where I am, if they might look out the window and notice. But no one does. And you’re this secret I keep close, something I’d never let anyone else touch. And now that I’m older, I start to wonder if you’d keep me close too. Or maybe I’m a shadow you’d laugh off in the company of others. I wonder if I even know you now, if there’s some new edge to you I wouldn’t recognize.

But I still need to be near you, maybe because I don’t know what else there is. There’s a weight I carry around, this heaviness I can’t shake, but when I see you, it’s like a key turns, like something clicks open deep inside. I feel the lock slide back from the cage door, like I’ve been pulled up from dark stone walls into moonlight. It’s as if I’ve stepped out of some cement box where nothing grows, onto open ground where I can finally feel the earth under my feet, wet grass against my skin.

And I wonder what it is you want from this. If you actually mean it, when you say for me to get into the back seat, or if you’re saying it because anything else would be strange. But it’s never really been about that. I could count on one hand the times our lips have met, and that’s not what this is. But god damn, do I want you.

You’re pleading with me now, just once, just real quick, into the back seat. Your hand is a slow weight on my thigh, your muscles tensed just right, flexing in the dim light, and I look away, my words unraveling like loose thread. I’m talking to feel some tether, talking to keep the world from tilting, but the words come hollow. Between the sound of my voice I catch your real words, scattered like embers.

But I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not. I don’t know how many times a week you ask a girl to climb into the back seat. And I don’t want to be like any of them, but you talk about women like you expect me to be. And you’re charming in all the right ways that send me back to sixteen, where my mind’s spinning while I watch the clock, counting the seconds slipping forward, wishing I could just hold them still and figure out what the hell’s happening. And then there’s the faint sound of the radio, just a few notes slipping through the quiet, and I’m straining to make out the song, to catch some hint of your life outside this car, outside this moment. I wonder what it is you listen to these days, what songs you’re letting fill the silence when I’m not here. Who are you now, anyway, beneath all these practiced lines and casual touches? I want to know, but I only catch fragments, drifting through the dark, the clock pulling us forward whether I’m ready or not.

You pull my hand to your mouth so carefully, like you’re making a point you don’t need words to say. You reason with me, telling me time is a circle, that if we’ve done this once, we’re already doing it again, right now, so it’s happening anyway, what’s the difference? And I’m already in the car, we’re already holding hands, and if we’ve kissed before, what does it matter now? Let’s just make out, you say, but then you press my hand to your mouth and hold it there, not moving, just breathing against my fingers.

And I'm already gripping the handle on the car door when something unseen presses me toward you, and our lips barely meet, but it’s like we don’t kiss at all. The seconds drag out, or maybe they vanish, and nothing really happens in that space, only this strange feeling of reaching and pulling back. I'm frozen. And there’s no release, just a hollow ache, a thread pulled too tight. I wonder if this is your way with anyone, and I’m left with nothing but the weight of wanting, of the slow burn of reaching.

[viceofdionysus]

To the Mat

Frank Castle x F!reader (AO3) Rating: 18+ Word Count: 3.9K Contains: Some biting, nipple play, ass slapping, oral (F! receiving), P in V (unprotected), cumming inside, Frank Castle being a menace Summary: After a long week at work, Frank helps you work out your tensions.

There’s a cheerful chime as the clock rolls over to five. You sigh and push away from your computer, rubbing at the tension in the back of your neck. Taking a deep breath, you squeeze your eyes shut and try to set the day aside. Then you lock your computer and gather your things. You sling your backpack over your shoulder and join the crush of people leaving the building. 

The elevator descends so slowly that you start to wonder if it’s actually stopped. It finally reaches the first floor and the doors slide open to reveal how close you are to freedom. A few more steps and you’ll be able to revel in the crisp air and sunshine. You hadn’t realized that such a short distance could feel so vast. You can hear your dreaded coworker’s voice behind you over the sound of the music playing on your earbuds, so you duck your head and pick up your pace. Pushing through the door, New York City rushes to greet you. The smells, the sounds, the sights envelope you, offering comfort after a long day. But the best sight in the world is at the edge of the sidewalk. 

Frank leans against an old Chevy, his legs crossed in front of him, sunglasses guarding his gaze. Slimer has his head hanging out of the window, grinning a wide doggy grin. The tension in your neck starts to dissipate at the sight of them. Frank spots you and lowers his sunglasses so you can see his eyes slowly scanning over you before flicking back up to your face. He winks as a slow, devastating smile curls over his face. 

When you reach him, he immediately reaches out to tuck you against him. His arms wrap around you, his hands settling on your lower back. You take a moment to nuzzle his neck before resting your head on his shoulder. 

“I didn’t think I’d see you until later.” You say after a moment. 

“Decided to ditch poker night. Curtis has taken enough of my money recently and you’re more important.” At your questioning noise, he elaborates, “You said it was a crappy day, so I thought we could do something fun.” 

“I was just going to grab some Chinese on the way home and watch a cheesy movie.” 

Frank nods, “We could do that. Or,” He trails off, knowing you can’t resist the tease. 

“Or?” You prompt. 

“Do you want to hit something?” 

You lift your head to look at him and see he’s serious. You grin, “I really do.” 

He grins and brushes his knuckles over your chin before cupping your cheek. He kisses you slowly, thoroughly, making sure to taste every bit of your lips. He leaves a low, simmering heat in your belly. 

“Get in the car.” He says, voice low. 

Slimer jumps in the back when you open the door and waits until you're settled before resting his big head on your shoulder. 

“Hi baby.” You coo at the dog, “What’s he planning for us?” 

🥊

You find out what he’s planning when he pulls into the parking lot behind Bruised Knuckles. It’s surprisingly empty for a Friday night. When you express that, Frank just chuckles. 

“Told em that there is a private lesson tonight and they all needed to buzz off.” 

“Frank.” You sigh, affectionate and pleased. 

He just shrugs, “No point in owning a gym if my girl can’t beat the shit out of something after a crappy day.” 

You laugh, eyes crinkling shut. His answering laugh is low and slow. 

“I’ll get your bag,” He says as he shuts the car off, “You get Slimer.” 

“You packed a bag for me?” You feel like that shouldn’t make you swoon, but it does. 

You push open the door and Slimer jumps right out. He immediately sits and waits for you to get out of the car. Before you can step out, Frank's hand is in front of you. You take it and he pulls you to your feet. 

"C'mon slugger, let's get you suited up."

He swings your gym bag over one shoulder and takes your hand as you cross the parking lot. Slimer trots next to you, holding his own lease. At the door, Frank tucks you behind him while Slimer stands between you and the rest of the world. You smile softly at your boys and their protectiveness. Frank takes a moment after opening the door, to scan the hallway and listen for anything out of place. Then he ushers you inside, one large hand at the small of your back. You step into the shadows and immediately start down the hall towards Frank’s office. He follows while Slimer trots in front of you, panting happily. Frank sees you to the door and then steps back. 

“Get changed sweetheart. I’ll go set everything up.” He says, sliding the gym bag off his shoulder. 

“Be right there.” You answer, taking the gym bag from him.  

Inside the office, Slimer curls up in his dog bed as the door clicks shut. You drop your bag in one of the chairs and stretch your arms overhead. You moan softly and drop them back down. Quickly you strip off your work clothes and replace them with the leggings and sports bra Frank had picked out. While you’re pulling your hair up, you hear the stereo click on and a rock song thrums out. You pull on your socks, but leave your shoes in the bag. One final check and you nod to yourself, satisfied. 

“Come on Slimer!” 

He shoots to his feet and follows you out the door. He keeps close down, his claws making soft noises as you walk down the short hallway. You stop in the doorway to the gym and watch as Frank sets a dummy in place. He’d found time to switch to a tight black tank top and gym shorts. “We could have changed together.” 

He turns and shoots you a grin over his shoulder, “Didn’t want you getting distracted sweetheart.” 

You hum happily, grinning at him, “You think pretty highly of yourself.” 

Frank turns to face you fully and crosses the room. He presses in closely, forcing you back against the wall. Slowly he strokes his knuckles down your cheek before cupping your chin. 

“For good reason.” He nearly purrs. Heat stokes slowly in your belly. He grins at you and presses a kiss to your forehead. 

He steps back, leaving you overheated and breathless. You gape at him before your brain restarts and then you narrow your eyes at him. 

“That,” You inform him icily, “was mean.” 

He just chuckles. “Come on, I’ll wrap your hands.”

Eyes still narrowed, you push off the wall and follow him to the mats. He pulls a set of hand wraps out of his pocket and turns to you. You stop in front of him and he raises an eyebrow. Rolling your eyes, but unable to fight your smile, you offer one of your hands. Gently he takes it and starts to wrap your hands. It’s not a long process, but the press of his fingertips is distracting, the seconds elongating themselves. He keeps the wrap taunt, pausing every few wraps to double check that it’s not too tight. One hand cups your elbow to keep your arm steady, but all you can think about is the heat coming off it. When he finishes, you flex your hand and roll your wrist a few times and he nods. Then he takes your other hand and repeats the process. He secures the second wrap at your wrist and raises his gaze to wink at you. Slowly he trails his fingertips up your arm and then back to the edge of the wrap. Goosebumps follow in his wake. 

“You’re being mean again.” You say softly. 

“Just want to make sure you’re worked up sweetheart.” 

“Being around you works me up.” 

He smiles softly. “Sweetheart.” 

“It’s only fair that I get to work you up too.” You shoot him a wink and then step on to the mat. 

He takes a second to refocus, but he can’t help glancing down at your butt. 

“Let’s start with some jabs.” He steps up behind you, hands settling on your hips. “Keep your hips square and stay light on your feet.” He steps around you, sliding his hands into training hand pads. “Whenever you’re ready.” He raises his hands and sets his feet. 

You nod and roll your shoulders. The first hit vibrates up your arm and you quickly follow it with the second. It takes a few hits, but you find your rhythm. Frank watches, nodding. 

“Good.Cross.” 

At his command, you switch to a right cross followed by a left cross. He lets you throw out cross punches for a few moments. 

“Hook.” 

You switch again and he nods. “Good girl.” 

The heat in your core that started to dissipate flares back to life and you falter. You hear his low chuckle. 

“Mean.” You say, trying to force your focus back to the pads on his hands. 

“Mix it up.” 

Mentally swearing at him, you shift to a mix of punches. He lets you go for a few minutes and then stops you. 

“Alright slugger, good job. Why don’t you grab some water while I set up your next opponent.”

You start to step away, but his hand on your wrist stops you. You turn to look at him and he tugs you against him. He lowers his head and takes your mouth, sliding you slowly into pleasure. 

“Frank.” You sigh when he pulls aways. You can feel him smile against your mouth. 

“Water.”  

You can feel yourself smile as you turn away from him. You spot your water bottle near the edge of the mats and cross to it. You’ll never admit to him how good the first sip of water was. You take a moment to roll out your neck and shoulders as you look over the quiet gym. It’s come a long way from the half decrepit building that Frank had found two years ago, but you’d never doubted that he would make it into something great. Slimer regards you from his nearby bed and then stands and trots over to you. 

He offers you the other end of his rope and you wrap your hand around it, prepared for what happens next. He looks up at you and gently tugs it one way and then the other. Then his whole body wiggles and he yanks. If you weren’t used to this game, he would have taken you off your feet. Grinning at him, you tug back just enough to keep his interest. It goes on like that for a minute or two before he decides he’s had enough. He seems to wink up at you and then he yanks the rope while twisting his body away from you. Laughing, you surrender the rope and he pads back to his bed. 

“Almost had him that time.” 

“I would have won if he wasn’t such a cheater.” 

“Sure you would have.” 

A retort on the tip of your tongue, you turn to him. But the retort falters at the sight of him. The cut of the tank top shows off his broad shoulders and the curve of his muscles, the gym shorts are showing off his thighs like they were made to do it. 

“Frank.” You say softly, your desire to hit something shifting into desire for something else. For him. 

He grins at you like he knows what you’re thinking. “How are you feeling? Still tense?” 

You check in with yourself and feel that lingering tension across your shoulders. “Just a bit.” 

“We’ll work out the rest of it on the bag.” 

He follows you to the speed bag, taking the opportunity to admire the view. 

“Frank.” 

“Just appreciating a good thing.” He says and looks up to meet your gaze. 

He helps you into a pair of boxing gloves and then turns you to the mat. 

“You want to work on some kicks? Or would you rather just beat the shit out of the bag?” 

An image of your coworker flashes across your mind. “Beat the shit out of the bag.” 

“Bloodthirsty.” He says, “I like it.” Gently he kisses the back of your neck and then steps back. “Go for it. You have free reign.” 

Once again your coworker’s face materializes and you shoot out a strong right cross. You follow it up by left and right hooks. Your fists pound at the bag, setting a fast rhythm. You work through every snide remark, every passive aggressive email, every unnecessary explanation. Frank stands a few feet away, eyes on you. His hand drops to Slimer’s head when he leans against Frank’s leg. They watch you together, letting you work through all the shit from the week. 

When you finally step back from the bag, you’re panting hard, but you feel the best you’ve felt all week. You look up and find Frank’s dark eyes on you and you grin. He feels his cock twitch at the sight of you, sweaty and a feral light in your eyes. 

He’s moving before he realizes it. You step towards him, meeting him halfway. He shifts and scoops you into his arms. His kiss is searing. 

“Frank.” You moan. “Frank, please.” 

“Fuck, sweethart. Baby.” 

“I need you.” 

Those three words do him in. He pulls you back down, feasting on your mouth. He presses you tightly against him, feeling your hips shifting, seeking friction. Keeping his mouth on yours, he lowers his hand to grip your ass, kneading firmly. Your moan is low and pleased and you feel him smile. Then he grinds you down against his aching cock and you gasp. 

“Frank!” 

He takes the opening to nip your collar bones before sinking his teeth into your shoulder. 

“Fuck.” You whine, hands gripping his shoulders tightly. 

“Right here. I’m going to fuck you right here baby.” He growls before nibbling on your earlobe. 

“Yes!” 

There’s an inescapable inferno building in your core. You don’t even realize that your hips are rolling against him as he continues to knead your butt. 

He finds his control again long enough to sink to his knees on the mat. Gently he lowers you until you’re looking up at him. He locks eyes with you and grins. You wrap a hand in his shirt and drag him back down to you. You think that you’ll never get tired of his mouth on yours. He breaks away from your mouth and kisses down your neck to his bite mark. He places a gentle kiss in the middle of the bite. Your head falls back, an offering he is all too happy to accept. He has a brief moment to think that he would happily get lost in your kisses the rest of his life. Then he pulls back slowly. You watch him, chest heaving gently as your breath evens out. He shifts his weight so he can settle his hands on your waist. 

Slowly he slides his hands up your sides to the edge of your bra. Keeping his gaze on your face, he slips his fingertips under the band to softly run over the sensitive area. Shivers run down your spine. The inferno in your core is rapidly becoming a volcano. With a quick movement he shoves your bra up to free your breasts. You wiggle to help him pull it all the way off and he tosses it. Slimer goes running after it and then trots happily back to his bed. 

You settle on your elbows as Frank leans down and sucks a nipple into his mouth. He swirls his tongue over the sensitive bud and you moan softly. His dark gaze stays on your face as he licks and sucks and nips gently. He watches the pleasure shift over your face, your mouth falling open in a silent cry. Your eyes close as he switches breasts. 

“Frank.” You whisper, pleading with him without knowing what you’re pleading for.

He pulls back, eyes sliding over your body, taking in the marks he’s left. Your eyes open, gaze hazy. 

“Frank?” You ask softly. 

“On your knees sweetheart.” 

He lays a hand on your hip and helps guide you to your knees. You lower your weight to your forearms and wiggle your ass. Frank grins and slaps it. You moan and look over your shoulder at him. 

“What are you waiting for, big boy?” You smirk at him. 

In response he grips the crotch of your leggings in both hands and flexes. Your leggings come apart with a loud rip. 

“Frank!” 

“Oops.” He smirks and shoves the pieces to the side. He takes a moment and admires the view of your naked ass. Then he smacks your ass and watches it jiggle. 

He moves quickly and buries his face between your legs. You can feel his stubble brushing against your thighs, leaving a delicious trail behind.

He’s gentle with your clit, circling it with the flat of his tongue before flicking it. You gasp, pleasure soaring through you. Frank takes his time, slowly building up both the speed and pressure of his tongue. He makes sure to alternate in long licks through your folds, tasting every bit of you. You're sobbing into the mat, the pleasure coiling tightly in your core. And then it snaps, sending you careening over the edge. 

“Frank!” 

He sucks gently at your clit while you shake around him. His hands take a firm grasp on your ass, pulling your cheeks apart gently so he can admire your glistening folds. 

“Fuck sweetheart. Best damn thing I’ve ever tasted.” He murmurs before diving back in for more. 

He licks slowly through your folds, trying to catch every drop of your wetness. You can feel the heat starting to curl lazily in your core again. Then he slides his tongue into you and you gasp. 

“Fuck!” 

You can feel his answering chuckle rumble through your center. It leaves you moaning. He eats you out deep until you're seeing stars and screaming his name into the mat. 

“That’s it baby.” He says as he pulls back, “Who makes you feel good?” 

“You do!” 

“Say it!” He slaps your ass. 

“You do, Frank! You make me feel good!” 

“And I always will.” He presses a kiss to the middle of your lower back. 

You feel him pull away and you whine softly. But he’s back with you as soon as he leaves, the heat of him pressing against you. He drapes himself over you, bracing his weight on his hands, and kisses down your spine. Then he drags his tongue back up your spine until you're trembling. 

“Frank.” You whisper, not sure you can say anything besides his name.

“What do you want, baby?” He kisses behind your ear. 

“Frank.”

He smirks at you and ruts against your ass. “You want this? You want my cock?”

“Yes!” You sob, hips shifting back to press against him. 

“Ask nicely.” 

Your brain short circuits and then you’re begging, “Please! Frank, please! Need you!” You know you’re babbling, but you can’t seem to form a coherent thought. 

“Good.” He grips your ponytail and gently guides your head back. “Good girl.” 

You feel your cunt clench at the praise. And then he shifts again and you can feel his cock dragging through your folds. He spreads your wetness over his cock and when he’s satisfied, he presses the tip against your opening. 

“Patience.” He growls, when you try to press back against him. 

He grips your hips firmly and guides you back slowly onto his cock. The way he spreads you open leaves you breathless. 

“Oh, Frank, don’t stop.” 

“Baby,” You can hear the smirk in his words, “I haven’t even started yet.” 

When he’s fully sheathed in you, he pauses for a moment to enjoy the feeling of your clenched tightly around him. Then he pulls back slowly, angling his hips so he drags against your sweet spot. You’re not going to last long and you know it.

“Frank.” You can’t find the words, but he knows anyway. 

“It’s alright sweetheart. Come on my cock as much as you want baby.” 

He keeps fucking you like that, slow deep strokes until all you can do is chant his name. It’s a prayer, a mantra, a lifeline. He slides one hand underneath you and finds your clit. Your eyes fly open at the gentle pressure and you hadn’t realized you’d closed them. He starts softly, circling his fingers slowly over the bud. He picks up his pace, but keeps fucking into you slowly. 

“Frank!” You moan his name as you tumble over the edge again. 

He kisses your shoulder blade and smiles. He could fuck you like that forever, he thinks, savoring the wet heat of your pussy. And he knows that you would just keep coming for him, clenching tightly around him, sucking him in deep into your core, but he also knows that he wants to take you home and fuck you in the bed you share, making you scream until your voice is hoarse. 

Slowly he picks up his pace until he’s driving into you. Shallow, firm strokes send pleasure zipping through you. His own end is coming, but he wants you to come for him one more time. To hear you cry out his name in pleasure one more time. So he keeps fucking into you and he finds your clit again. His fingers move in tight, fast circles until he can feel you starting to come again. 

“That's it baby. One more for me. Give me one more right now.” 

It’s all you need. You go soaring, his name a cry of pleasure on your lips. He ruts into you until he’s filling you, his cock twitching softly within your walls. His hips still and he keeps you pressed tightly against him until he’s done. 

His hands still gripping your hips firmly, he slowly pulls back. You whine softly when he fully pulls out, his seed trailing after him. 

Gently he lifts you and cradles you against his chest. You nuzzle your nose against his neck and he presses a kiss to the top of your head. 

“You good sweetheart?” He asks softly. 

“Perfect, just perfect.” You sigh happily. 

“I’m going to lay you down so I can get you a towel.” 

You pout and he just chuckles. He lowers you gently to the mat and kisses your forehead. He’s about to rock to his feet when Slimer trots over. Before Frank can stop him, Slimer drops his very wet chew rope on top of your head. You squeal and jerk away even as Frank laughs, his whole body shaking with it. You turn and try to glare up at him, but you dissolve into laughter. 

Everytime you try to stop laughing, you catch his eye and it sends you into laughter all over again. It takes a while before you both calm down enough that Frank can get to his feet. He offers you a hand and helps you to unsteady legs. 

“How about I just take you with me?” He says, laughter still at the edge of his voice. 

He scoops you into his arms and carries you out of the gym area. Slimer watches you go, a proud doggy smile on his face. 

[moonstruckme]

Oh! Oh! I’m not the anon who asked about Jily x reader but your response made something spark in my brain. So picture a super cosy, soft scene where one of them comes home from a long and draining day of work to one of their loves in the kitchen baking, and then the third comes home with dinner and it’s all just soft and domestic. My heart! I think I can see the Jily x reader appeal

Thank you for requesting lovely! I feel like I'm still getting my sea legs under me with them but so far I'm really enjoying writing for them :)

poly!Jily x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

The front door opens, and you say “Hi,” with a question in your voice, unsure who’s made it home first. 

The answer comes in the quiet scrape of a chair being pulled out. Only one of your partners is given to actually sitting down to take their shoes off, rather than toeing them off and being shocked when the backs get scuffed. “Hi, love,” Lily replies. 

“Hi,” you say again, warmer now. “Hey, could you help me with something when you’re done?” 

“Yeah, with what?” 

“My hair won’t stop getting in my face.” You blow a strand away from your eye. It comes right back. “And my hands have dough on them.”

“Just a second.” You hear the chair being pushed back under your table, the quiet padding of socked feet as your girlfriend comes up behind you. As usual, she’s come prepared, a hair tie already on her wrist. Gentle fingers sweep strands away from your face and draw it all back into a loose ponytail. Lily presses a kiss to your nape once she’s done. 

“Thank you,” you say, and she hums, settling her arms around your waist. “How was your day?” 

Lily sighs and rests her chin on your shoulder. “Long.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, lovely. Anything in particular?” 

“Not really. Just one thing after another, you know.” She toys with the loose knit of your sweater, sticking her finger through a hole. “I’m happy to be home.” 

The fondness that bleeds through you feels warm and sticky. “I’m happy you’re home, too,” you say with a smile.

You feel her lips curve in kind as she kisses your shoulder. “What’re you making?” 

“Cinnamon roll cookies. They’re more complicated than I thought, but I figure even if I mess them up they’ll at least smell nice when they’re baking.” 

“Good thinking. You won’t mess them up, though.” 

You both hear a key being fitted into the lock outside, and Lily calls out, “It’s open!”

“What?” The voice is muffled through the door. The key retracts, the handle twists. “Why is it open?” James asks as he comes inside. “I could be a murderer.” 

“Because I knew you’d be right on my tail,” says Lily, at the same time as you say, “What makes you think someone would want to murder us?” 

“Well, I’d rather you not find out,” James replies. He toes off his shoes and sets a large paper bag on the table. “Especially when I’m not home.” 

“Oh, because surely we need a man to protect us? We could do just as well in a fight whether you were here or not.” 

Looking at your tall, muscled boyfriend, you have to admit privately that this may be factually untrue. By the look Lily gives you as she goes to give him a kiss, she also disagrees with your argument even if she respects it. 

“Let’s just keep the door locked and that way none of us ever have to fight,” James says as she steps into his arms. He smiles. “Hi.” 

“Hi.” Lily pecks him on the lips. “What’s in the bag?” 

“Dinner. I know I was meant to cook tonight, but I decided on the way home to pick up instead.” 

“Oh no,” you say mournfully. “Did you have a bad day, too?” 

“No.” James looks at you, confused. “Who had a bad day?” 

“Lily did.” 

“It wasn’t bad, it was just draining,” your girlfriend qualifies, though this doesn’t stop James from cooing and folding her into a hug. “I’m really fine.” Her voice is muffled against his chest. 

“I must’ve had a sixth sense, then.” James kisses her hair. “I got your favorite.” 

“No, did you really?” You can hear Lily perk up. She doesn’t completely remove herself from his embrace but frees one arm and cranes her neck to look inside the bag. “Thank you, love.” 

“Don’t thank me, thank my telepathy,” he says, letting her go so she can start grabbing forks and napkins for you all to eat with. 

James makes his way over to you, leaning against the counter so he can see your face while you work. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows, his hair fluffy like he’s been running his fingers through it or he rolled down the window on the drive home.

“And how was your day?” he asks you. 

“My day was good.” You grin at him. He returns it with twice the enthusiasm. “I finished my book, and I found this recipe for cinnamon roll cookies.” 

James’ gaze doesn’t dip to where you’re folding the cinnamon mixture into your dough. He nods as he keeps looking at your face, eyes warm. He’s still smiling. 

“What?” 

“Did you know you have a little bit of flour on your cheek?” 

“Oh, why’d you ruin it?” Lily asks, bustling through the kitchen to get you water for dinner. “I wasn’t going to tell her.” 

“What?” You look over your shoulder in betrayal. “Is it a lot? Why wouldn’t you tell me?” 

Lily turns off the tap, giving you a sheepish smile and a lift of her shoulders as she passes by you again. “It’s cute.” 

“It’s very cute,” James agrees. “Want me to get it for you?” 

“Yes.” You roll your eyes at your girlfriend. “Please.” 

James uses his thumb to brush off your cheek, holding your face in his hand while he does. His smile is still firmly in place, soft around the edges with a sweet fondness. He keeps rubbing until you’re sure the flour has to be long gone, until warmth kisses your cheeks and it’s just touching.

“Love you,” you say softly. 

James’ cheeks dimple. “Love you, sweetheart.” 

“Will you turn the tap on for me?” 

He does, and you wash your hands in the sink, leaving the rest of the baking for after dinner. 

“Oh, good.” Lily comes back into the kitchen. “Are you ready to eat? I’m worried it’s going to get cold.” 

“We’re ready,” James answers for you. “Just washing up.” 

“Jamie.” Lily smiles at you as you step away from the sink to let him have his turn. “You didn’t get it all.” 

“I got distracted,” says James. “Anyway, I thought you liked it there.” 

She beckons you closer. “I do, but if you’re going to get it, you may as well finish the job.” She brushes a fingertip over your cheek, pretty eyes crinkling. “There. Perfect.” 

“She’s always perfect.” James dries his hands on a towel. He kisses you when you smile bashfully.��

“The food’s getting cold,” you remind them. 

“Excuses, excuses.” 

[illicitlimerence-writes]

perfect | m. verstappen

pairing: max verstappen x reader word count: 3.8k words request: yes/no by anon: "first of all oh my god i love your writing so much. can I ask for a f1 fic where max thinks you might be cheating because your leaving the house and getting texts but it’s actually a tutor because your learning dutch for him and you wanted it to be a surprise, with loads of fluff at the end. your valentines fics have got me wanting so much fluff lol 💗💗💗" thank you so much!! i'm sorry this took so long! warnings: language, angst, fluff, sad!max:(, not really mentions of cheating but slight allusions to it(?) i think. not proofread! a/n: i really don't like posting stuff once a week. REQUESTS ARE CLOSED.

my masterlist

(bold is supposed to be what you say in dutch.)

"schat?" max called, locking the door to your shared apartment behind him. "(y/n)?" he tried again, setting the flower he picked for you down on the kitchen island. he frowned, you hadn't mentioned any plans you had for the day. he grabbed his phone and opened his chat with you, you hadn't texted him or anything.

he went to your bedroom, plugging in his phone so it could charge. he rids himself of his sweaty clothes to take a shower. he’s used to have a limited amount of time to get himself ready during the race weekends, but now that he’s home, he allows himself to relax under the water, hitting him like rain. he thinks back to the first time you met.

it was raining, and he’d found himself without an umbrella as he walked home. the rain had come from out of nowhere, one minute, he was inside the bakery getting his favorite cheat-day food, a sweet baked pastry with strawberries and cream cheese filling, the next, as he took three steps in the direction of the penthouse he called home, rain came pouring down, drenching his clothes. he held onto the brown paper bag a little tighter, now wrapping both hands around it to protect the sweet guilty pleasure he enjoyed so much.

the streets were empty, for once, and yet, max refused to go back and find shelter. if anything, it was because of his own stubbornness that he was now determined to get home, no matter what it took.

water hit his face from all directions, not only did the rain come unannounced, but it was accompanied by some nasty wind as well.

what a peculiar sight, he thought, the world champion walking alone, without an umbrella and only wearing a light t-shirt and jeans, protecting a paper bag as if his life depended on it.

one could sell that picture for a million dollars.

he rolled his eyes at his own thoughts, eyebrows slowly settling in a frown on his forehead, one that seemed to always be there lately. he raised his head a little, narrowing his eyes to avoid the small droplets of water that were now falling from his soft strands of hair to irritate his eyes and make his sight much blurrier that it already was.

the next second, he could still hear the rain, but he could not feel it anymore. he looked up, he could see the sky, and the rain falling, clashing against a plastic protection over his head.

“you’ll get sick,” he heard a soft voice. he turns his head, seeing a girl with a pretty smile on her face. “i mean, i don’t know how long you’ve been out here, but by the looks of your clothes i’d say a few minutes, you’ll have to take a warm shower when you get home. and take some medicines just in case,” she spoke rather quickly, meanwhile he stared at her like she grew a second head. he stopped walking abruptly, flinching slightly when the rain fell on him again.

she realized he wasn’t walking alongside her, so she walked back and placed the umbrella over their heads.

“do you actually want to get sick?” she asked, curious eyes scanning his face.

“who are you?” he asked.

“i’m (y/n),” she said, “now, do you want me to walk you home or would you rather keep walking in the rain?” she raised an eyebrow, catching the dutch by surprise. “well?” she pressed on.

“um- i- thanks?” his voice didn’t sound so convincing, but he took a step forward, and soon enough they were walking together side by side again. “i’m max, by the way,” he said, offering her a small smile.

they made small talk as she walked him home, whenever they had to take a turn he’d make sure to place a hand on her back, slowly directing her to the right direction. they took turns asking each other questions, about books they’ve read, about their hobbies, about the weather.

max verstappen had always been good with words, he was used to thinking before speaking, creating the perfect sentence in his mind and polishing it before letting it escape his lips. but with his new friend, he didn’t have to think twice. whatever crossed his mind was met by her ears, and she never seemed fazed by his strong opinions on a certain movie or book.

they’d been walking for what felt like eternity, but in reality were only about fifteen minutes. it wasn’t raining as hard now, so somewhere along the way, they slowed down their steps. max wasn’t startled by much, but he did find it funny how he nearly flinched when he thought the raindrops were going to hit him instead of the clear umbrella she was carrying.

“oh, wait, let me hold it,” he said, wrapping his fingers around the handle, “it’s the least i can do,” he gave her a small smile, holding the paper bag with his other hand, her eyes flew down as she saw the movement.

“have you tried their madeleines?” she asked, dropping her hand by her side, it was starting to cramp for being in the same position for a while.

“hmm?” he hummed, she lifted an eyebrow, looking at the bag he was holding, the logo and name of the bakery clearly visible, “oh! um, no, i don’t think i have,”

“they’re my favorites,” she explained, “with a warm cup of hot cocoa, weather just like today, an opened window and a good movie playing,” she smiled to herself, “i might just go back there to get one,” she giggled.

“um, i … we- we could share this, if you like,” he stuttered. he actually stuttered. she turned her head to look at him, and all the air left his lungs as he stared into her eyes.

and that was that, she spent the afternoon with him in his penthouse apartment, she even cracked open a window as he chose a movie.

now, six months later, max thinks back to that day, he sighs to himself as he thinks about how lucky he was that day under the rain. once he’s finished showering, he changes and dries his hair with a towel, he fixes it a little with his fingers, but not too much since he knows how much you love his hair when it’s just washed.

as he steps out of your room, he hears soft humming coming from the kitchen.

“hey, where were you?” he asks once he spots you.

you’re reading something on your laptop, that sits on the kitchen counter. as you hear him, you slam shut your computer, walking to him and wrapping your arms around his neck. you hum as you tangle your fingers in his hair.

“went for a walk,” you say, standing on your tiptoes to kiss the small freckle on his top lip. the one you loved so much. he chuckles against your lips.

“i could’ve joined you,” he slips his hands around your waist.

“it’s okay, i wanted some time to myself. plus, i didn’t want you to get too tired,” you sigh at the feeling of his hair against your fingers. “dinner and a movie?” you ask, changing the topic. he nods, kissing your cheek before sliding his hand down to your ass, grabbing your phone from the back pocket of your jeans. “want to order in?”

“ooh, max, you’re going to have to work out extra hard tomorrow, then,” you tease him. you watch him roll his eyes as he turns on your phone screen. his eyes scan over an unread text from an unknown number.

‘tomorrow at 5?’ it read, max frowns.

“what happens tomorrow at 5?” he asks, you turn your head, grabbing the phone from his hand.

“hmm… maybe they’ve got the wrong number,” you answer, deleting the message and locking your phone. “what do you say we go to ‘la vie est sucrée' after we're done eating?"

"you've read my mind, schat," max pecks your lips, your body relaxing as you realize you're safe for now.

weeks later, max slides his arms through the sleeves of his racing suit, zipping it up and sticking the velcro patches together. he's getting ready for the next race, an important one that might secure an advantage in the world championship.

he's in his driver's room, looking at his reflection in the mirror, and he can see the empty couch behind him, where you should be sitting.

max verstappen has never been a superstitious man, he's never had an official pre-race ritual other than the usual physical and mental preparation. but, since this season started, he's found himself needing one thing before every session. your phone number is always at the top, his most recent call, or text. so it's second nature by now, that when he opens his phone app, his thumb immediately taps the first contact that appears on his screen.

he lifts the phone up to his ear, hearing the annoying monotone beeping that connects the call, waiting for the moment he can finally hear your sweet voice again. but, it doesn't happen. it takes him a second to realize that you aren’t answering. he frowns at his phone, as if it were responsible for you not picking up. he tries again, only to be met by the same scenario one more time.

he takes a deep breath, choosing instead to open a voice memo you sent him a few weeks ago.

“hi, love, i know you’re probably asleep right now, and i probably will be by the time you wake up. but i just wanted to say that i just landed here, and i already miss you so much. i will try my best to get back home as soon as i can. i love you, and i can’t wait to see you again, max.”

he sighs, realizing that this will have to be enough for now. he’s used to hear his name, he once tried to count each time someone said it, but he lost count after 32, and it was only 8 am on a friday, where he only had to do two practice sessions and the press conference. he figured it’d be ten times worse on a race day. he’s so used to hearing his name that sometimes by the end of the day, it doesn’t even feel or sound like a word anymore.

but when you say his name, it somehow sounds different. maybe it’s the way you say it, or when you say it. since the start of your relationship, you were quick to find a nickname for him, asking him how to pronounce loving pet names in his mother tongue, which you used more often than his name. except for when he’s just about to get in his car. every time you talk, you always end the call with a sweet ‘good luck. i love you, and i can’t wait to see you again, max.’

his race doesn’t go as expected. he’s finally able to sit down after a demanding two hours in the car, and over thirty minutes of media. he locks himself in his room, placing his hands on his face as he lets out a sigh of frustration. all he wants to do is jump on a plane and fly home.

“max! we need you for the debrief!” someone knocks on his door, and max drops his shoulders, feeling a small ache forming in the back of his head.

“in a bit!” he yells back, grabbing his phone and tapping his screen. he runs a hand through his hair as he waits, but you don’t pick up again. he gets up, walking to the door and out of his room, he’d rather be over with this now and go home as soon as he can. the meeting doesn’t take too long, everyone already knows what went wrong in the race, max simply wasn’t focused. no one knew why. except him.

as he takes the elevator to the penthouse, he already has his keys in hand, ready to drop his bag next to the door and wrap his arms around you, hear you call his name, finally.

the moment his flight was about to take off, he texted you, and he did the same as soon as he landed. since it’s pretty late, it doesn’t surprise him that you haven’t answered or read the messages. but what does surprise him is seeing all the lights off once he opens the door. you always left the light in the hallway on, just in case.

after a quick inspection, he grabs his phone and calls you again, putting the call on speaker as he types a message at the same time as the irritating beeping flies to his ears again. he’s starting to get worried now, you haven’t answered all day, and you’re not home at almost 2 am.

he feels his heartbeat quickening in his chest, searching each room again, thinking that he probably missed you, for some reason. the beeping is driving him crazy now, and you’re still not answering.

‘where are you?’ he thinks, pacing back and forth as he’s met by the voicemail again.

the front door opens, you freeze as you see max standing there.

“max?” your voice is soft, a frown between your eyebrows. “what are you doing here? i-”

“where were you? are you okay?” he is quick to run to you and envelop you in a hug.

“yeah, i’m okay. but max, what are you doing here? you’re supposed to be-”

“i flew here straight after the race. i- i couldn’t focus, it was a shit show, and i- why weren’t you answering your phone?” his face is pure worry. you scold yourself internally, wrapping your arms around his neck and placing your hand on the back of his head, pushing his head toward the crook of your neck.

“i’m sorry, i was going to call you on my way here but i think i lost my phone and i- i’m sorry,” you mutter, feeling extremely guilty about not being there for him, “i didn’t call you,” you remember, “i’m so sorry, max.”

there it is. his name leaving your lips. that’s all he needs, all he needed all day long.

the tension that had been building on his shoulders throughout the day disappears, he drops his body weight, and you wrap your arms tightly around him, holding him up.

“you’re okay. i’m okay, come on. let’s go to bed, okay?” your voice is soft and careful, you turn your head and kiss his cheek. “come on,” you move your body, walking backward, still holding onto max, trusting the muscle memory as you make your way blindly to your bedroom.

he’s sleeping soundly when you wake up. soft snores leaving his parted lips as you lean on your side and press a kiss to his cheek, not wanting to disturb him too much. you walk to the bathroom and hop in the shower.

max wakes up to an empty bed, but he can still feel a little warmth on your side of the bed. he stretches, arching his back off the bed as he grunts and feels his bones cracking. he hears the shower running, and as much as he’d like to stay in bed and wait for you, his grumbling stomach makes him get up and prepare something to eat, since he didn’t eat anything after the race.

he puts on a light shirt, runs a hand through his hair, and walks to the kitchen. max opens the fridge, eyes scanning it but nothing catches his attention, same with the pantry. a thought runs through his head, he’ll allow himself one more cheat day, you both deserve it after yesterday.

he turns to go back to the bedroom, but a knock on the door makes him walk the other way. he finds a young man, probably about his age, standing on the other side.

“um, hi- is (y/n) here?” he asks, and max frowns immediately.

“who are you?” he questions.

“i’m finn, you-you’re max, right?” max nods once, stern eyes staring at the guy on the other side of the door, “can you give this to her? she left it at my house last night,” he lifts his hand, holding your phone.

“sure,” he says, his throat closing and his mouth going dry. the guy nods his head, turning his back to max and walking away. max closes the door, leaning against it as he looks at your phone.

he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s still feeling the stress from yesterday, or because he hasn’t eaten anything in over twelve hours, but his mind is running over a hundred miles an hour.

“max, what are you doing?” you ask him, walking to him. your hair is wet, obviously from the shower, and you’re wearing one of his shirts, a sight that never failed to comfort him.

“some… some guy named finn came by and dropped this off,” he hands you your phone, walking to your shared bedroom. “i thought you’d lost it,” his words are short, straight to the point.

“i-i did, i-” you start, trailing after him. “max, i-”

“is that why you didn’t pick up? why you didn’t answer any of my calls or texts yesterday?”

“it’s not- he’s not- it’s not what you think!” you say, wondering if he really is thinking what you think he is.

“my race was shit, (y/n), did you even see it? did i even cross your mind at all yesterday?” he turns around to look at you, “i don’t remember the last time i felt like this, all because i couldn’t talk to you before a race,” he chuckles humorlessly, “i feel pathetic now, knowing that i was having one of the worst days of my entire career because i let myself care too much about someone, and i don’t know what-”

“i love you!” you blurt out, cutting off his rant. the words feel foreign on your lips, even though you’ve practiced them too many times by now.

“what are you-”

“i love you,” you repeat, slowly, this time. letting him hear the soft struggle with the unfamiliar language. “i am sorry i wasn’t there for you yesterday. i truly am. you have no idea how bad i felt when i got home last night. seeing you, broken like that, it broke me. but max,” you switch to the more familiar language, “max it really is not what you think. finn has been teaching me how to speak dutch, like you probably noticed.”

he’s left stunned for a few seconds, simply staring at you, hearing what you have to say.

“and i am sorry that i wasn’t there for you, but we’d been practicing this… speech that i was going to tell you, and-”

“why? why are you… why do you want to learn dutch?” he asks.

“because it’s your first language, and i want to understand what you and your family speak about without you having to explain everything, and i want to understand the words that have no translation to other languages,” you start in english, switching to dutch for the next part, “and i want to understand all the curse words you yell and whisper when you’re mad,” you chuckle, taking a step toward him and gently grabbing his hands with yours, letting him slot his fingers between yours.

“and i want to tell you how much i love you. in every language that exists.” you continue, letting go of his hands and bringing yours up to his face, cupping his cheek. “so, ik hou van jou,” that one came easily, since you’d been saying it ever since you started dating, the very first dutch phrase max taught you, “je t’aime,” you feel his hands on your waist, “te amo,” you kiss his cheek, “i love you,” you say, your lips touching his. ”i love you, max verstappen.”

max verstappen had always been good with words, but right then, he was speechless. no words could explain how he felt at that moment, how much he loved you, completely. if the previous day was an example of what his life would be like without you by his side, he didn’t know how he’d survive if he lost you.

“i’m sorry,” he starts, but you shake your head.

“don’t worry, i know you trust me, and i trust you. and i know that this was because of everything that happened yesterday adding up.” he nods his head immediately, confirming your thoughts. “and i am really, truly sorry that i wasn’t there for you yesterday,”

“i’m not the superstitious kind, but i guess i… i got used to hearing you, and yesterday i- i didn’t feel like myself. i will need to work on that, i can’t keep bothering you in the middle of your day and your responsibilities, just because i-”

“what if you didn’t have to?” you ask, rubbing your thumb over his cheek. “what if you didn’t have to call me and- instead i… i could tell you how proud i am, how i am your biggest fan, perhaps even give you a kiss, before you jump in the car?”

“you mean- you- you’d like to-” his eyes go wide, and you feel him tightening his hold on your hips.

“if you want to, i just-”

he cut you off by pressing his lips against yours, moving in perfect sync, at a sweet, slow rhythm.

“i’ll take that as a yes?” you raise your eyebrows once he leans back a little.

“if you come with me to the paddock… there’s no turning back,” he’d been careful with keeping you safe, your relationship was the one thing he could have all for himself. and he knew how nasty things could get once you went public.

“i’m not afraid. and i want to be with you and support you in every way i can,”

“okay,” he says, smiling as he feels your hands in his hair.

“okay, then,” you’re grinning now, wrapping your fingers on his soft strands. “i like your hair like this,”

“i think i need a cut,” he says, but you shake your head.

“i think it’s perfect,”

“you are perfect,” he replies, making you smile and laugh softly.

“how does madeleines for breakfast sound?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“perfect.”

[kisskissbanggang]

Provocation pt. 2

[3.9k words/15min Read, Lee Know x Female Reader - Non-Idol!au - NSFW/Smut w/Plot - Pegging, Situationships, Light D/S, Minor Bondage, Unexpected Identity Panic, Hyung Kink, Suit Kink, Feelings are Hard]

[Part 1 | Come Say Hi!]

Minho called you hyung.

Minho called you hyung, and he was now currently locked in his bathroom in a mortified ball of nerves. You were both still only partially dressed as you tried to reason with him.

“Minho,” you half-sympathetically, half-sternly called through the door, “you need to let me in so we can talk about what just happened.”

“I promise you, we can talk about this later,” Minho barked back.

You sighed, stooping down to sit on the floor in front of the bathroom. Another sigh could be heard as Minho presumably joined you on the floor from where he sat inside.

“You can tell me if there’s someone else,” you gently offered.

Minho could be heard uncomfortably shifting behind the door. “There really isn’t.”

You paused for a beat, trying to decide what would be best, but instead coming up with two equally fine options that you couldn’t quite choose between at the moment. “Do you want me to leave?”

“... Yes, please. But not because you did anything.”

“I didn’t think I had,” you assured him, “but I’d appreciate it if we talk about this.”

“I’m already working on it.”

“Just… Call me, okay? Or text me…? Bye, Min.”

“Of course. Thanks. Bye.”

And, yeah, you didn’t think you’d done anything, but that didn’t stop you from freaking out once you quickly got dressed, grabbed your things, and rushed down to the parking garage to your car. You and Minho were not serious by any means. Minho was not expected to be committed to you whatsoever. And even though you thought you had a grip on this, finally had a grip on Minho and where the two of you stood, you still caught yourself so lost in thought that you ran a stoplight and nearly rear-ended the car in front of you. 

🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤

A husky, beleaguered sigh exposed how annoyed you were with yourself and all of this, and you pulled up to the one cafe on the street that appeared to be open. There was a rare parking spot and you took this as a sign. The cafe was familiar now. You’d been here once before you and Minho fooled around at the museum. Actually, you and Minho ran into each other here, accidentally ordering the same drink. The memory of getting so flustered over him gave you butterflies. 

Lovely Cup was appropriately cute, with a counter up front, some booths and tables, and another counter near the back. This counter was where you settled upon, collapsing onto a barstool. Your head fell into your hands after you took the empty mug from its spot in front of you and flipped it over. Thankfully, you watched as your mug was filled – except a compact mirror was also slid across the bar top to you. You picked up your head and sheepishly pointed at the small mirror, looking for your mystery benefactor. The waitress on the other side of the bar smiled sympathetically.

“Is this for me?” you asked. 

“You look like you’re having a rough night,” the waitress explained, “and I didn’t want to be the stranger to just fix your hair like some psycho.”

Embarrassed yet grateful, you flipped open the mirror and took a look. Sure enough, in your hurry to flee from Minho’s apartment, you hadn’t tended to your ruffled hair or smudged makeup. You quickly patted down and roughly brushed your fingers through your hair before grabbing a napkin to smear off what excess makeup you could. Once you were as content as you figured you would be, you closed the mirror and held it back out for the waitress to retrieve.

“I like your bracelet,” you meekly complimented when she reached for the compact.

“Thanks!” the waitress beamed, chipper, giving you a better look at the simple band holding an American penny as a charm. “What brings you in, then? Trouble in paradise?”

She jolted when your gaze shot back up at her. You must have been giving her a look. 

“Sorry,” she quickly apologized, “I know it’s rude to pry.”

“No no,” you reassured her, “I’m just… wondering if it was even paradise to begin with.”

“Have you been together long?”

You thought about this while you sipped on your coffee. “Like, together? Not really. We’ve been seeing each other for a bit, but I don’t necessarily think we’re together.”

“I don’t get it,” the waitress replied flatly. “So what do you do with him? Do you see each other, like… outside of the bedroom?”

“We, uh,” you stalled, trying to think about it. “We go to yoga together sometimes. We get drinks, we go dancing, we’ve been to Ikea a few times, nothing I haven’t done with casual dates before–” “Wait,” the waitress interrupted, flabbergasted. “I’m sorry, you’ve been to Ikea? Multiple times? With casual dates before?”

“Well, no, that one’s been exclusive to this one, but–”

“But did you just pick up some new dish towels, or a whole new dresser?”

“I helped him pick out a new bed frame,” you abashedly clarified while you recalled the one morning you both finally got a bit too rowdy for his wooden four-poster.

“And you were both civil about it?” the waitress carefully asked. “You pointed at one and said ‘that one’ and he just went with it? Or maybe he said ‘no, this one’ and that was that?”

“No,” you heatedly ranted as you recounted how it happened, “because Minho is exactly the kind of idiot that likes to coordinate materials in each room and the whole kitchen is already accented in iron and the whole bedroom is accented in oak, and I told him twenty times that an iron bed frame would look amazing with the color palate and–”

You paused now, catching the waitress expectantly leaning back against the counter, arms folded with an eyebrow raised.

“Oh my god,” you miserably grumbled once you dropped your head back into your hands, “I do actually really like him. I think we actually might be a thing.”

“I don’t think there’s such a thing as platonic Ikea dates,” she mused, “not ones where you’re asked to help pick something and then fight over it.” The waitress stepped forward, tentatively helping lift your head out of your hands and topping off your coffee. “Did you just now realize you might be a thing? Or, for that matter, that you might be serious about him?”

You chewed on your lip, thinking back to that first morning after, the one on Minho’s balcony you shared following your tryst at the museum. “No,” you decided, “but it’s the first time I’m really acknowledging it.”

“Because something happened tonight that made you doubt it?”

The waitress paused when you curiously wondered how she knew that.

“I'm guessing,” she awkwardly explained with a gesture towards you, from messy hair to blotchy face, “based on… You know.”

You sighed. “I think he wants something more than I can provide him and he doesn’t know how to tell me that.”

“Is he stubborn? The proud, bottle-it-up type?” She paused, waiting for your exhausted nod. “Then how do you usually get him to open up about it?”

“Honestly? I usually confront him about it so forwardly that he has to step up to the plate or walk away until he can.”

“Couldn’t have suggested a better plan myself,” the waitress contentedly nodded her head.

“You seem to know the type,” you grinned.

“My boyfriend apparently works in an office that breeds guys just like yours, that or they employ them exclusively.”

You sat up a little expectantly, your interest instantly piqued. “And you snapped him out of it?”

“God, no,” she wheezed, “I’m not a magician, and I’m definitely no saint myself. We’re learning we have to – god forbid – talk about things, so I think your confrontation method could help start that up.”

“As long as you’re sure,” you smirked.

“As long as you report back,” the waitress smiled. 

You dug into your purse and grabbed a couple bills to set on the bar before she slid them back. “My treat,” she insisted. “Pay when you have a better night.”

🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤

A confrontation seemed easy enough. You reviewed everything that had happened in the bedroom before Minho’s little slip. In the quest to cross things off both your lists in what you “brought out” in each other, you had finally found out how Minho enjoyed both giving and receiving. You were just warming Minho up when it happened, and your cleaned rubber member and harness had been sitting in your bag even while you bemoaned your woes to that waitress in the cafe by Minho’s apartment. 

And, now that you and Minho were hanging out again, even though you still had not talked about that night, you had a chance to try and start something.

Minho was getting ready at his dresser for another night out, checking his shave in the mirror while he spritzed some cologne onto his wrists to rub together and dot onto his neck. He jumped, but instantly melted into you when you came up from behind and nuzzled him behind his ear. 

“You smell good,” you softly murmured into his skin, “I love this cologne on you.”

This was going great. Minho even responded positively to you getting a hand on his hip and pressing up against him. You subtly grinded into him for a moment, savoring the way Minho was beginning to relax and roll his hips back against you, when you tried to take it a step further.

“You know,” you teased, letting the lilt in your voice make Minho shiver, “I brought something you may be interested in trying again–”

Minho disappeared from under your grasp so fast you were reeling.

“Hah, I knew it!” he triumphantly accused. “I knew you’d try to spook it out of me!”

“Minho,” you scolded, “we still haven’t–”

“I’m still not ready!” Minho excitedly countered. “You’ll either have to wait or try harder than that. Now come on, our reservations are in thirty minutes.” 

With that, Minho gleefully kissed you on the cheek and went to grab his keys while you stewed.

🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤

Try harder. 

You were currently going mad doing just that, laying in your bed and staring at your ceiling. What else happened that day that Minho slipped up? You had texted each other in the morning and you told him you’d pick him up for drinks after work. You had gone to Minho’s office, a ridiculously nice building with five receptionists just at his company’s front desk alone. Minho had been running a little late from his meeting and you saw him down the hall when he emerged, yukking it up with the guys on his team as they spilled out of the conference room.

They were still talking shop, laughing obnoxiously and swapping crude jokes when you self-consciously noticed maybe four sets of eyes had landed on you. One was Jisung, of course, who simply gave you a cheery wave while he bantered with the others. He was already fairly aware of what was going on between you and his brother, and even though it still wasn’t a conversation you’d really had yet, nothing seemed to be ruining their relationship. Not to mention that as the younger of the two, Jisung absolutely was not Minho’s hyung, regardless of whether or not they were fully brothers which they assuredly weren’t. 

The other set of eyes on you for a moment belonged to Seungmin, which made you both bashfully jump for a second. Seungmin did eventually explain himself and apologize profusely, just like he promised Minho after your run-in at the museum, but it wasn’t exactly like the two of you were friends all of a sudden. The last two sets of eyes on you were, of course, Minho, almost looking relieved to see you – and someone you’d never seen before. 

The young executive appeared to be in charge as, no matter how many times anyone glanced at you at the end of the hall, they were all listening intently to every word he said. This stranger was undeniably handsome, someone perhaps Minho’s age or a little older, unmistakably defined under his ludicrously nice suit, and very well taken care of, whether that was by himself or someone else. 

And Minho, particularly, had been paying careful attention to him, up until the moment this mystery man clapped a hand on Seungmin’s shoulder and led him down the hallway away from their group. 

With the exec gone, Minho had finally jogged over to you, almost in a rush to get going now. “Thank god,” he’d enthused with a devilish gleam in his eye, “that was torture. Meetings like that always get me so fired up, I could tear you apart right now.” He may have even looked a little flushed, now that you came to think about it.

So maybe it was the meeting? Made sense. Work probably got him all mixed up. 

You probed Minho about his job a little more diligently from that point on, waiting for just the right day when you finally got what you were looking for.

🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤

>>Ugh, today is torture. I’m not looking forward to my meeting this afternoon, but I’ll survive.

<<How about I pick you up and we can do something after? I’m sure you could blow off some steam.

Easy as that, you were back in the lobby of Minho’s office waiting for his meeting to get out, and it was the same dance all over again. A friendly wave from Jisung, a tepid glance and nod from Seungmin as he hurriedly excused himself to go badger some young intern, and a cryptic gaze you caught from the nameless executive before Minho jogged up to you, except he paused a few steps away this time. He really did seem frazzled again, maybe a little flushed again, and he was very aware of your outfit.

You’d gone with a suit, for the first time since you met him. It wasn’t particularly masculine by any means, you still had on a nice pair of heels and a cute cropped top under your suit jacket draped over your shoulders, but you’d gone with a suit nonetheless. The idea was to get under his skin in just the way he knew you liked to, maybe bring the meeting into the bedroom.

And it definitely felt like you struck the intended nerve when Minho accidentally slammed you into your dresser back at your apartment, having skipped drinks or a date whatsoever and going straight to afterwards. 

“Sorry, sorry– ow!” Minho grunted against your lips when you returned the favor, turning you both so you could back him up against the dresser.

“What’s got you all worked up, Min?” you sweetly asked, maintaining an alluring edge while you slipped off his tie and jacket.

“Just work stuff– fuck!” Minho gasped when you whipped his belt out from its loops. You dropped the belt on the bed behind you before you got his tie back between your fingers. He sucked in a sharp breath as you draped the neck tie over his eyes and knotted it in the back. Next, his belt was wrapped meticulously around his wrists. Minho jumped.

“This alright?” you carefully asked. Minho nodded adamantly, letting out a content sigh with a shiver of pleasure when he felt your fingers trace down his shirt, unbuttoning your way down his toned chest before you brazenly smoothed your palm over the rigid length in his slacks. “You know what I want to do to you?”

“I have a pretty good idea,” Minho taunted, cracking a grin at you, still flustering you even while he was blindfolded. You gently squeezed his hard-on again, making him involuntarily flex inward with a groan.

“So you do want to try again?”

“Please,” Minho nodded, quietly cursing as you ran a hand over his shoulders before you pushed him face first into your bed.

“Then be good and sit still. I’m right here.”

Minho shivered again when you stroked a hand down his back. With the relaxed and flared fit of your suit pants, you’d managed to wear a low-profile harness unannounced, making this a fairly easy transition as you picked out a non-threatening model from your modest collection of toys and a bottle of lube before you sat on the bed and dragged Minho closer by his bound wrists. He was so serenely compliant as you stroked his hair with one hand and fed your dildo between his lips with the other. Minho let out a groan, something you couldn’t stand to ignore until you reached over to push his slacks and briefs down. Now Minho was obediently bent over your bed before you knelt up to admire him, savoring the fake phallus in his mouth before you reached back with your other hand and began to soothe and caress your fingertips down to his ass.

“Baby,” Minho whined, “more–”

“No,” you gently tutted at him, “not baby. Tell hyung what you want.”

“Oh come on–!” Minho sputtered, backing up in your hold a second before he let out a sharp moan when you rubbed into his entrance. You momentarily relinquished the rubber cock while you coated your fingertips in lube before you returned to teasing him.

“Come on, Min,” you prodded, “you can do this. I know you love the way I get under your skin.” You knew you were being ruthless, punctuating your taunt with a thrust of your fingers. Minho shuddered and bent over more into the bed. “Tell your hyung what you want.” you encouraged him again.

“I–” Minho gasped as he rocked back against your fingers. “I want you to fuck me. Fuck me, hyung.”

“There we go,” you praised, “such a good boy for hyung.”

You slid the forefinger of your other hand under Minho’s chin, tilting his head around towards you so you could give him a deep kiss, the caress of your tongue on his making him whine even more against your fingers. This was, in fact, a million times easier – and maybe even better – than your previous attempt started out. Once you were satisfied with his stretch, you slid your cock of choice into your harness while you strode around behind Minho. You gently, sweetly swept his work shirt down his biceps but kept it on him, looking almost pretty slung off his shoulders like this as you took your time rocking your length into him.

“Oh fuck,” Minho whimpered, “it’s so good, hyung, it’s so fucking good.”

The sheer deviousness you felt from getting such a reaction out of Minho made you feel invincible, made you feel unstoppable and irresistible in a way you’d never experienced before in having your partner be so pliant and submissive. You gripped onto Minho’s hips as you fucked him. He was really putty in your hands, letting you work him over however you wanted. If you lightly slapped the soft skin of his firm ass or teased his nipples, he whined. If you hooked a finger or two into his lip, he hungrily lapped at the digits. It was so good, that just the small friction from thrusting against Minho was adding to the intense arousal coursing through you. When you reached down to play with his cock, you found his hot length was coated in precum.

“So wet for hyung, aren’t you,” you teased, “are you close?”

“Yes, hyung, fuck,” Minho cursed, “if you keep this up I’ll cum.”

“Good, baby,” you praised, “tell me how you want to do it.”

“Ah fuck, I don’t know,” Minho shook his head with a broken laugh, “just keep fucking me.”

“What if,” you grinned, pumping as deep as you could and getting a good cry out of him, “what if you fuck me?”

“What?”

Minho went rigid against you at your suggestion.

“Fuck your hyung, baby,” you cooed with a grin as you slipped his blindfold off, “fuck me and show me what you can do.”

Your exploratory remark worked amazingly as you tried to get a feeling for what exactly Minho wanted out of this. Maybe too amazingly as you slipped Minho’s improvised restraints and blindfold off before he immediately grappled you down onto the bed. Right away, he quickly stripped you of your suit pants. Your legs were roughly kicked apart and pinned up when Minho pulled the crotch of your harness aside to tease his length into you.

“Oh– fuck– Minho, show me what you want, give it to me,” you desperately goaded. It was almost cute, the way Minho grabbed your fake erection and stroked it while he sank into you. 

“You feel so good like this, hyung–” he choked out. 

“Close your eyes baby, really feel what you're giving me,” you instructed. Minho did as he was told, letting his eyes fall shut and soon enough, his hips fell into a smooth rhythm even while he had you practically bent in half. 

“Gonna wreck you, hyung, really show you what you’ve been missing,” Minho groaned under his breath as he fucked you harder. You bit into your lip, letting Minho fully fall into this fantasy the best that you could help him to do. It almost felt sinful, how much pleasure you got out of Minho living out whatever it was going through his mind. By now, Minho’s breaths were growing more ragged and you held down a moan, feeling your own orgasm coming soon, too. Minho’s hips rocked hard against you as he had you almost folded in half with your knees in your chest while he continued stroking your rubber cock, giving you just enough friction to finally ride off this high into a blissful orgasm. Your head pressed back into your sheets as you gasped and sighed around Minho’s length. He wasn't far behind, it seemed, and now you wrapped your legs tight around him. 

“Oh, fuck, hyung,” Minho hungrily moaned, groaning deep as you grabbed onto his arm for support, “I’m going to cum inside you so goddamn hard. Fuck, hyung – oh fuck, Chan, I'm gonna–”

Chan?

Minho's fingers clawed into your hips as he shuddered inside you, but your eyes had snapped wide open while his own stayed dazedly shut. 

Who?!

He shakily gathered his breath before he carefully withdrew from you, and ultimately collapsed on the bed beside you. 

“So…” 

“Hmm?” Minho asked, half lucid, face still in the sheets.

You were internally screaming.

But that was too fucking bad.

You steeled yourself with a composing breath.

“I was just wondering… just now… You said Chan.”

Minho’s eyes flew open now. He hadn’t even realized what he’d said. The bed rocked, the mattress squeaking with how fast Minho scrambled to sit up. Now he was internally screaming.

You both could only stare at each other for a minute. 

And all you could think to do was supportively hold his hand. 

Minho was mortified, staring at his hand in yours until he coughed out a miserable laugh. “I… Heh, I guess… You really do bring it out of me.”

“You don’t have to,” you carefully encouraged, “but can you tell me who that is?”

Minho had already assured you there was no one else, and you trusted him. There was no way it was actually so bad. It all had to be nerves. 

Right?

Minho clearly fought with himself, back and forth a few times, before grabbing a pillow. You watched as he pushed it into his face and got up off the bed, cursing into it while he walked back into the bathroom to lock himself in.

Square one.

Maybe it wasn’t just nerves.

[Who's Chan?]

[To be continued.]

[sugarylawliet]

May I pretty please have a nsfw Light x Fem!Reader fic where Light is horny af and tries to seduce the reader but since it’s so rare to see Light needy like that, the reader decides to use this and pretends like she’s busy etc. and drives Light crazy af which leads to angry Dom!Light sex ;)

WHEW i got outta breath just reading this req-

warnings: nsfw/smut, dom! light, degradation with slight praise, this one has more plot than usual i think

taglist: @ygm1slt

"Y/N, do you mind?"

You glanced up from the dozens of tan manilla folders you held in your hand, spread out like a hand of playing cards, each one filled with documents upon documents about the legend you and your coworkers were chasing. The stacks of papers felt like the scribblings of a child in your hand; useless to you, because you knew who Kira was already. Hidden in plain sight, he was the man who had just called your name from the front of the room where he sat, beckoning for you to come near.

You let out a long sigh under your breath, slowly placing the papers onto the desk you stood in front of. You and Light were not dating, no, in fact you could barely stand to be in the same room as the man. His aura was suffocating, despite the large and sprawling rooms of the headquarters building, you could always pinpoint just where Light was; you could feel his arrogant energy wafting off of him, making it clear who the superior one was in the room. It was asphyxiating, and his words were even worse. Everytime he called you to come closer to him, your heart skipped a beat- and though you were sure it was from disgust, you never denied any of his requests. Your love-hate relationship with him only made your interactions more intoxicating. You weren’t gonna deny yourself the excitement.

Your footsteps echo through the almost empty room as you walked towards Light, the only other people at the task force at the moment being L, Matsuda, and Soichiro, all of whom were working together on the right side of the room, their focus on L’s computer.

“What is it?” You ask as you approach Light, stopping next to him.

“I’d like to know your thoughts on this, a second opinion would be helpful.” He gestures towards his computer screen, which was packed with data you could barely read. As you attempt to decipher the text, Light places his hand on your upper thigh, gripping it horizontally. You hold back a gasp, trying not to draw attention to yourself. Light stares at you, your eyes unwavering from the screen in front of you.

“Umm, well, it’s....”

Light’s hand slides up your thigh, his fingers inching up your skirt and brushing the fabric of your panties. He moves his fingers slightly with the slowness of a lover brushing their thumb up and down your hand as you hold theirs. Your breath stutters as you found yourself craving a harder touch from the man you thought you hated.

You break your gaze from the computer screen and glance at Light- his eyebrows were turned downwards, and the image gave you an idea. You grab Light’s hand, peeling it from your leg and dropping it into his lap. “Actually, Light. I’m kind of busy with these documents right now, sorry.” You smile, walking away and returning to your spot at the other table.

You sort through the papers, your mind off of Light before you feel the vibration of your phone from the table. You check to make sure L wasn’t looking before checking your phone, opening the message notification.

Light Y.

brat.

You glance over your shoulder before typing a quick response.

                                                                                                                        Y/N

                            i’m sure i don’t know what you mean.

You place down your phone screen-first on the table and turn your ringer off, not bothering to see whatever quip Light would respond with. You catch him rolling his eyes out of the corner of your view before returning to his work. He places a hand over his mouth and throws one of his legs over the other, crossing them. You smirk to yourself.

This was a back and forth you and Light Yagami often shared ever since you joined the Japanese Task Force. Light, the esteemed man he is, never places doubt in his ability not only to seduce women, but to get what he wants, whatever that may be; in this case, it was you. You, on the other hand, prided yourself on being strong- a stubborn person with an unwavering will, someone who could out-work and out-show the men who thought they were better than you. Often you forgot the end goals of your little adventures to prove yourself better than, getting caught up in the chase of it all. You and Light’s relationship was a quite hectic blend of both of your guys’ stubborn behavioral habits, and neither of you would settle for losing.

-----------------

“Light-kun, it’s getting quite late. You two aren’t tired?” L asks, glancing at you and Light, as the three of you were the only ones remaining in the main area of task force headquarters. Everyone else had either gone home or gone to their designated rooms in the building.

“No, There’s a lot of work to be done so I’m fine with sacrificing a little sleep.” Light glances at you briefly. You knew he was expecting to be left alone with you, but you decide to push the envelope a little further. You refused to give into him; at this point, your ego and desire to not lose rivaled his.

“Actually, Ryuzaki, you’re right. I’m gonna head to bed.” You wave goodnight to the men, sending Light an innocent smile as you walk upstairs to your room. 

You made yourself comfortable in your bed, as surprisingly Light had taken several hours to come upstairs- he didn’t want to chase after you, you assumed. Though, you could see how desperate he was through his facade.

Eventually, though, the door to your room opens with a creek, as Light steps his way inside and locks it behind him.

“Oh, hi Light. Do you need something?”

“Don’t play stupid.” Light runs his fingers through his caramel hair, frustrated. He walks over to where you sat on the edge of the bed, taking your jaw in his tight grip and forcing you to look at him.

“What was that all about, huh?” He places his hand on your leg, sliding further and further upwards as he speaks. “Teasing me as if you have the right. Have you forgotten who you’re talking to? I don’t appreciate the bratty behavior.” His fingers return to the position they were earlier, softly brushing up and down over your clothed heat. You bite your lip, holding back a moan; you weren’t going to give into him this easily. No, this was a competition for pride, and you were determined to win.

“Actually, Light,” You push his hands away from you, standing up, “I’ve had quite a long day. I’m gonna go get some rest, maybe you should too?” You remark before leaving, shutting the door behind you and finding another room to sleep in. You were going to win.

----------------

“Are you guys coming with?”

You stand in the main hub of task force headquarters near Light, as L was on a seperate floor working and the rest of the task force was getting ready to leave for lunch.

“No, sorry, I wanna finish this work as soon as possible. But Matsuda, do you mind bringing Y/N and I something back?”

You whip your head towards him with a sour look as he volunteered you to stay with him- alone.

“Sure, text me what you want!” Matsuda exclaims cheerfully before leaving with the other detectives. 

The loud slam of the door echoing through the large half-vacant room did not draw your attention away from your work, as you were determined to remain focused.

“You know, Y/N,” Light stands up from his chair, approaching you from behind where you sat. You take in a breath, preparing yourself for the antics he was about to pull.

“You never did apologize to me.” He places his long slender hands on your shoulders from behind, slowly rubbing up and down.

“Apologize? What do I need to apologize for?”

“For being a fucking brat.”

Light abruptly grabs the sides of the chair and spins you around to face him, his nose almost poking yours and his hot breath tickling your face, flushing your cheeks red. You take the opportunity of your close proximity to lock eyes with him, slightly shaking your head no, your confidence unbreaking. 

With haste, Light knots a finger in your hair and roughly pulls you towards the nearest table, shoving you chest-first into it. He smacks your ass, earning a yelp from you. “How hard is it to follow fucking instructions? God, is your ego that big?”

He creeps his hand up your legs, dipping under your skirt and pulling your panties down to pool around your ankles. He runs his fingers up your slit, leaning down to whisper in your ear, “Just give into me...”

You shake your head as best you can with Light still gripping the roots of your hair and whine out a small “Nuh-uh.”

He dips two fingers inside you, curling his fingers upwords and making a beckoning motion inside of you. Quickly, he pulls his digits out, extending his hand to force you to suck on them. “Hmm, taste all that? It sure looks like you want to give into me...”

You pitifully whine around his fingers, pushing your backside to press against the bulge forming in his pants, asking for more.

“See? I knew you were needy for me.” He removes his fingers from your mouth and slips them back into your cunt, pumping in and out at a steady pace before adding a third finger. You pathetically squirm under his methodical movements; he was too good at this. You try to bite back your moans to save your confidence, but soon fail as Light scissors his fingers inside of you.

“Mm, I love the sounds you make, you sound like such a slut.”

Light increases his pace and depth, curling his fingers against your walls until his fingers were no longer visible. His manipulation of your senses drew your orgasam out quicker than you expected, causing you to clench against his digits. Light, sensing this, promptly removes his fingers from you, causing you to whine.

“Light...”

“What, you think I’m gonna let you finish?” He chuckles leaning down to speak in your ear, “Just say you’re sorry, Y/N. It’s not that hard, really.”

“I have nothing to apologize for.” You pant. 

He smacks your backside again, the hand-print stinging with the frustration building up inside the man. “Don’t talk back to me, brat. You know, you’re really being difficult and I don’t appreciate it. Maybe I should just leave you here...” He removes his grip from you and begins to walk away, and you’ve never felt more alone without your arch enemy.

“No, Light...” You bite your lip as you call him, the swing to your ego panging your chest.

“Hm, what’s that?”

“Light...” You look away, feeling embarrassment bubble inside your stomach.

“You only get what you beg for, Y/N. I can’t hear you...” He walks closer to you, a smirk forming on his lips as he backs you against the table, “C’mon, pet. Beg for me to fuck you, I know you want to.” He places a soft touch on your clit, rubbing it slowly in circles.

Against everything you’ve been fighting for this whole time, against your pride, your body was aching and obeyed, “Light, Kira, I need you so badly, please, please just fuck me already.”

“Hm, I don’t know. Are you sorry?”

“Yes, yes, I’m really sorry.”

“For what?” His tone grows more stern.

“For being a brat, for teasing you, for not listening to you, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, just please, touch me....”

Light hums in appreciation as he unbuckles his belt, tossing it on the floor and pulling himself out of his tan pants, “Mm, that’s Kira’s good girl, I knew you’d come around.” He pumps himself a few times, sliding the head of his cock up and down your slit, pushing slightly in every now and again just to evoke a mewl from you.

A slew of “please”s and begging whines spilled from your lips like a desperate prayer as Light continued his torturous teasing.

“You’re nothing but Kira’s pet, right?”

You nod rapidly.

“And you’d do anything for me? You’re mine, mine to use how I please and dispose of? Mine to use as a fucktoy?”

You nod again without question.

“Good, that’s what I like to hear.” Light rewards you, finally pushing himself inside of you after what felt like an eternity. He rocks his hips to meet yours as he stretches your walls out, the moans from both of you mixing in the echoey room.

“God, Y/N, you feel so good. All this time I’ve waited...”

“Fuck, Kira,” You cry, wrapping your legs around Light’s waist, pulling him as close as possible. Your fingers curl into the hard, cold desk beneath you in an attempt to grapple with the amount of stimulation you were receiving.

His forehead came to rest on yours as he pounded into you relentlessly, “God, you’re such a good little slut for me Y/N, yeah? Nothing but a dirty fucking slut for my cock, fuck you take me so well.”

“Light, I’m gonna cum...” Your loud moans were hiccuped by the rhythm of Light rocking into you.

“Cum for me Y/N, cum all over my cock like the slut you are, make a mess so everyone knows how good I make you feel, how you’re mine and only mine to use for my pleasure.”

The harsh words that tickled your face encouraged your on-coming orgasam as you soon came around Light. He continued to thrust into you until he threw his head back with a groan, cumming inside of you.

Light pulled himself out and tucked himself back into his pants, tidying up his appearance with still labored breath. “Don’t even bother to clean up,” He head tired at the sticky liquid that was leaking down your legs and dampening the table beneath you, “Everyone knows you’re just a slut anyways, might as well let them know you’re my slut.” He winks before leaving the main room, walking off into a seperate hallway presumably to collect himself.

You stood up from the table, still panting. The fight was over, you had lost. Lost. Lost to the man who always seemed to win despite being plagued by misfortune. You huff, pulling your clothes back on and allowing the sting of losing your pride battle with Light Yagami to overpower the pain you felt in your lower half.

[mxchellesworld]

Discuss!

Spencer Reid x Reader

Synopsis; Where the team discusses the question ‘do you kiss after head’, you find out Spencer has too little experience to answer the question so you help him out

Warnings; smut, oral (male receiving), sub!spencer, praise, slight degradation 

a/n; LMAO im so sorry for disappearing again life has been actually kicking my ass but anyways lately i’ve been thinking about subby early season spence so here we go,, hope you enjoy!

***

Another Friday night and the team was out bar crawling after an easy case. But this time all members were there as it reached 11pm which was rare. Usually Hotch and JJ would have been home by 10:30 and Spencer wouldn’t have been there at all. But there was something light in the air which had all parties concerned sitting packed in a booth, laughing after each sip of their drinks. 

Since it wasn’t your first rodeo together you knew how the night went. It started off with Rossi offering to buy the first few rounds, always whiskey but he made an exception for Penelope. Then again who would deny her anything. 

Once the drinks were flowing and lips got a little loose, the questions would start popping in at the top of your heads. However these were not your run of the mill, ‘hows so and so doing?’ ‘done your taxes yet?’ oh no. The name of the game was discuss where you would all think of a question which would help you dig just a tiny bit deeper into your coworkers sex lives. 

Maybe if you were all sober then you’d avoid thinking of each other in such positions, pun intended, yet in this state your prying minds were open and your stomachs were ready to grow abs from bending over in laughter. 

You raised the margarita glass up clinking it with a fork to get the tables attention. Everyone including Aaron had a smile on their face, ready to hear the intrusive question for the night. 

“Ok my fellow profilers, doctor, and tech genius,” you added pointing at Spencer then Pen, “Do you kiss your partner after they give you head? Discuss!” you finished in your most formal voice. 

Right as you took a swig of your drink the mixed responses of yes and no filled your small space. 

“Why wouldn’t you? You guys especially, if someones willingly trying to swallow then you damn well owe them a kiss,” Emily finished earning nods and ‘exactly’s from JJ, Pen, and yourself. 

“Ok but thats weird. I just can’t explain it but its a no go for me,” Morgan finished. This only gained him a scoff and raised voices, “Hotch man help me out here,” he said looking over to the man hiding his smirk behind the amber liquid. 

“I have to agree with the ladies here Derek,” he said curtly. 

The girls yelped and hooted at Hotch for siding with them while Morgan sat with his arms crossed being the singular person left out as even Rossi agreed. Meanwhile you noticed the presence next to you had shrunk back and wasn’t too active in the conversation. 

“So Spence do you kiss your partner after they,” you trailed off shaking your fist by your cheek and poking your tongue in the side. 

He coughed as he instantly sat up quicker. Even under the dim lights of the bar you could still see the blush creeping up from his neck to his ears and the slightest tint on his cheeks. 

“Oh I uh- I never-” he said looking anywhere but your eyes. 

“You don’t kiss them?” you said raising your brows. 

“No! I-i mean yes. I would I think b-but I haven’t had the chance to actually partake in such.. activities,” he finished finally taking a look into your eyes. 

You could tell he was waiting for you to laugh in his face for being so inexperienced but you felt far from it. If anything you wished you could be the one to show him things. 

That sweet boy had you wrapped around his finger and he didn’t even know it. Maybe it was his naivety considering how exceptionally smart he was. Or maybe it was the cute sweater vests he wore and now he nervously tucked his hair behind his ears. All you knew was that you wanted Spencer Reid and tonight was your night to make it happen. 

You hummed taking in the information, “Well that’s not a bad thing Spence. Everything takes time,” you said putting your hand on his arm for comfort and giving him a smile. 

Going to turn back to face the table you almost didn’t hear Spencer go to speak again, “Do you?” 

Got him.

“Why don’t you find out pretty boy,” you said with a wink as you downed the rest of your marg. In the corner of your eye you could see Spencer shifting in his seat, subtly moving his bag to cover the slowly growing tent in his slacks. 

As the night went by you couldn’t help but really give him a show. You had popped open a button or two on the long sleeve you had on, since it was getting stuffy in the booth. Though when you leaned forward and jutted your chest out, the soft inhale of a breath from the man next to you was just serving as motivation to get bolder. 

For the last hour you called it quits on the alcohol and drank a few glasses of water before you drove home. Spencer had been uncharacteristically quiet ever since your little interactions. 

The team had all gotten up to say their goodbyes. Rossi going by and giving everyone a kiss on each cheek. Derek having to quite literally rangle Penelope from talking to passing by groups on their way out. Then there were two. 

You turned to the side where Spencer was nursing on his coke, “Hey pretty boy, it’s late, let me give you a ride home,” you said grabbing your belongings. 

“Y-yeah ok. Thanks Y/n,” he said getting up. You’d noticed how he still had the burnt orange bag over his crotch. He couldn’t still be hard could he? Well you’d love to find out. 

As gentlemanly as he was, Spencer opened the door for you to exit the building first. The whip of fresh night air cooling on your exposed chest and legs under your skirt. 

You unlocked your car and stepped in, Spencer waiting to hear the little beep signaling his side was open. As he sat down you heard him let out a little whimper. Your head shot over to look at him, you could tell from the flush on his cheeks he didn’t mean to let the noise out. 

Holding in your chuckle you started the ignition and pulled out of the lot, “Can I put on some music?” 

“Yeah I don’t mind,” he said looking over at you with his lips in a line. If it was anyone else, they’d probably think he was uncomfortable but you loved his tiny awkward smiles. 

The ride to his apartment was mostly silent besides a rare quip from Spencer about paper work or fact about an older building you had passed by. It fascinated you to no end hearing him talk. Spencer was a hand speaker, meaning he always used his hands waving them around and making gestures. The pale digits had you captivated. Probably a driving hazard but you couldn’t help but let your mind wander. 

You pulled up into one of the visitor spots and put the car in park. You looked over to see Spencer almost contemplating something. You’d seen the look on his face before when he was looking over puzzles. 

“Somethin on your mind Doc?” you said with a small smile. As cute as he looked when he was nervous, you’d never want him to feel uncomfortable around you. 

“Would you-,” he cleared his throat, “Wo- Would you maybe want to c-come inside?” 

“Of course Spence I’d love to,” you finished with a reassuring nod. 

As he led you upstairs you were giddy with anticipation. So what if nothing happened. He was your friend first and you were glad he was letting you into his personal space. Even if you wanted nothing more than to have him writhi-

“Y/n?” 

The door closing snapped you out of your thoughts. You didn’t even realize you were in his living room. The dark green walls and shelves bursting with books put a grin on your face, “Sorry Doc, just caught up in my thoughts. What did you say hun?” 

His brows practically raised to his hairline from hearing the pet name. While he was used to the names coming from Garcia they took a whole different light coming from your lips. 

“I was asking if you wanted water or something,” he said fiddling with the keys in his hands. Eyes darting everywhere but your face so you wouldn’t be able to see the flush rising on his cheeks. 

“No I’m fine thanks for asking though,” you said taking a seat on the worn leather couch. 

You reached for the tv remote making a face at Spencer to ask for permission. He nodded and you settled back turning on an old sitcom that played late at night. 

As the episode ended you both sat in silence. Again you didn’t mind but you could practically hear the cogs moving in Spencer’s brain. 

You were about to speak when he cut you off before you could even get a word out, “What did you mean by ‘why don’t you find out’.”

Gaining confidence you moved closer to where he was on the couch, slow enough for him to stop you in case he wanted to back out. 

“Well you have options pretty boy,” you said moving a leg to straddle him. Your hands instinctively going to his brown locks. You could’ve sworn you heard a little moan leave his chapped lips. Noted. 

“W-what are the options,” lust blown eyes looked up to yours. 

“One, you can put that mouth to good use on me,” you said trailing your finger over his bottom lip, “and let me cum over that pretty face.” 

His eyes shut hearing your words and you weren’t having it, “Nuh uh eyes on me honey,” instantly they were back on yours. 

“Or number two. I can suck you off and let you cum down my throat, but,” you paused making sure to roll your hips on his growing length, “ you have to give me a nice big smooch after.” 

The hands on your hips pulled you closer as he bucked his hips into you as you finished the sentence. It was clear which option was preferred. 

You moved to slide down in between his legs. You let your hands trail down his clothed thighs, causing him to jump. 

“Tsk such a needy boy,” you said mockingly, “Am I not going fast enough baby?”

“Please Y/n,” he all but whimpered. It was like music to your ears. 

Your hands went to his belt, looking up in his eyes for a final sign of permission. Once he nodded you quickly undid it and he lifted his hips to help get his pants down. You palmed him over his boxers, feeling the wet patch where he was already leaking pre cum. 

“Is this all for me Spence? Does the thought of my lips around you make you this hard,” you said taking him out of the striped confines. 

“Oh god please just,” he cut himself off. You could see his hands curling fists besides his legs. 

“Please what baby? I can’t give you anything unless you ask.” Your hands continued their task of leisurely stroking his length. 

“Fuck please put your mouth on me,” he rushed out, hips bucking to prove his point. 

The answer was good enough for you so you wasted no time in leaning forward and taking him in your mouth. Both of you let out content sighs as you tried to take him further. 

You looked up to see him with his head leaned back, eyes scrunched closes in pleasure. 

You pulled off with a pop, letting your hand work him over. “Better keep those pretty eyes on me before I decide you can’t finish.”

He looked down with a flash of worry, that was quickly replaced by a loud moan as you spit down on his cock before taking him in your mouth again. 

For a germaphobe, Spencer loved how nasty it was. He was thanking god or whatever higher being there was for giving him his eidetic memory because the sight below him was something he’d never wanna forget. 

Your eyes were teary and you had spit dribbling down your chin but he wanted nothing more than to give you more than just a kiss after you finished. Or well after he finishes. 

You could tell he was close by the way he was throbbing on your tongue. Again taking him out of your mouth you used both hands to jerk him off. 

“You’re doing such a good job baby. So good for me. You wanna cum in my mouth pretty boy?”

“God Y/n I’m so close please please please,” he whimpered out. 

“Cum for me baby, be my good boy Spence,”  you said before taking him down your throat. He was big, not girthy but long and it was a struggle but you’d be damned if you didn’t try to take him all. 

Hollowing your cheeks you bobbed your head quickly, egging on his release further. His hands finally found a place in the back of your head. Pushing you down further as he came. 

“F-fuck Y/n I’m gonna”

His moans and whines were a symphony of sounds you’d have on repeat in your head forever. 

You swallowed the salty release but before you could even wipe your lips you were being pulled up by Spencer placing his lips on yours. You moaned into the kiss, his hands gripped the sides of your face not wanting to let you go. 

The need for air made you both pull back. You looked at one another, chests heaving and looking like you ran a marathon. 

Then a sad look came across his face. 

“Spencer what’s wrong?” 

“You didn’t get any pleasure,” he said looking like a hurt puppy. Oh your sweet boy. 

“It’s ok baby, I can take care of myself,” you tried to shrug off.

He was quick to push you back on the couch, taking the spot you were previously in. His warm lips trailing down your exposed thighs. 

“I wanna do it, but only if you kiss me after.”