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buckiverse · 3 days ago

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Lessons

☆--- paring: zayne x reader

☆--- summary: Your childhood best friend, Zayne, had always been there for you, loyal, supportive, and understanding. So, when you realized you had a crush on Caleb, you turned to him for help. Taking it upon himself to be your guide, Zayne offered to teach you a few lessons in love. But as the lessons progress, you start to wonder... was Caleb really the one you wanted all along?

☆--- word count: 9.9k

☆--- warnings: mdni, oral sex, fingering, missionary, zayne is literally so jealous, caleb is kinda the boy best friend you tell your boyfriend not to worry about ngl, reader is inexperienced, soft!dom zayne, size kink if you squint, zayne knows you so fucking well it's sickening (he's just so sweet), no protection is used (wrap it before you tap it)

☆--- a/n: loosely based on nightly rendezvous (yes im doing a childhood best friend au for everyone... i fear im obsessed)

↳ xavier | sylus | caleb | rafayel

Some part of you felt like it was a bad idea—you knew better. Even after all these years, it felt surreal that Caleb was one of your closest friends. In your small town, there weren’t many people to bond with. The tight-knit community had shrunk over time, and most people you knew were just memories now. But you’d never forget the two boys who lived next door. One was more charming, the other more reserved, but both were just as kind and reliable.

Years later, that sense of community felt like a distant dream. It was why you jumped at the chance to move closer to Caleb and Zayne after they relocated to the city. The passing of your grandmother had made staying in the countryside unbearable. But as you stood ankle-deep in snow, staring at the truck piled high with your belongings, you wondered if you were in over your head.

The cold wind bit through your gloves as you trudged inside the apartment building. Your eyes darted nervously to the heavy furniture that needed to be moved. You shifted your weight, glancing at the door every few seconds. If any of the boys decided not to show up, you would be screwed.

“Y/N!” Caleb’s voice rang out, and your head snapped up. Relief surged through you as you saw him approaching. Without thinking, you rushed into his arms, your cheeks burning as his warm embrace enveloped you.

“It’s good to see you too,” he teased, his playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips. His hands rested lightly on your back as he pulled away, studying your face. “How long were you standing out there?”

“Not long,” you lied with an awkward laugh. “I just—got lost in thought.”

How he looked at you made it hard to breathe, as if he still saw the same girl from all those years ago. The creak of the lobby door saved you from spiraling further.

Zayne strode in, his dark coat dusted with snowflakes. His sharp gaze flicked from you to Caleb’s hands, still resting on your waist. For a moment, his jaw tightened, but he quickly smoothed his expression.

“You’re late,” Caleb called out, smirking.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” Zayne replied, his tone dry as his eyes settled on you. “I almost thought you forgot about me.”

“Never,” you said with a grin, stepping forward to hug him. His arms wrapped around you briefly, his touch warm but hesitant. You smiled before turning and walking over to the elevator. You missed your family, and now it felt a little closer to being pieced back together.

You gave a debrief of the plan for the day, as there was plenty you could do on your own later. Though you were grateful to Xavier for helping you get a place, it needed…tlc. The boys agreed to help you move bulky items and clean up the remnants of a bug treatment.

The boys retreated to the lobby—they had to move a couch and some other, far too heavy things. The three of you had been friends for years, bickering and fighting like siblings, but never with ill intent. Though Caleb and Zayne constantly teased each other more recently than anything, you weren’t sure what was a joke anymore.

Your body jolted. A sound of a shout came from the hallway, distracting you from sweeping.

“Damn—Zayne, pull up the couch—” Caleb strained and bit out.

“You’re the one who’s not paying attention,” Zayne shot back calmly.

You walked up to the unfolding scene, your hands resting on your hips when you approached them. The couch was now on the tile of the apartment hallway. You were glad they didn’t break your stuff while they messed around.

“And… Why is my couch on the ground?” you asked, your gaze shooting between them.

“It seems Caleb’s grip slipped,” Zayne quipped. You could feel the air quotes around the last portion of his statement. His hands were resting on his hips as his breathing slowed and evened out.

“I just need a second—I’m sweating over here,” Caleb said, a deep breath coming from his lips.

You watched as he lifted his shirt. His jeans rested low on his hips as he lifted the fabric, you could see faint trails of hair leading down his abdomen. He had a vein running above his hip to below his pants.

Your eyes betrayed you as you shamelessly traced his body. Fuck, he looked good.

Zayne watched you in silence, observing, watching the surprise on your face when Caleb lifted his shirt. And he did not like it. First, why did Caleb always do shit like that, but besides, why did you seem to like it so much.

The three of you worked together to tackle the chaos of the moving day. With the bulky items moved, Caleb helped you clean the kitchen while Zayne focused on the living room. You stood on your tippy toes, wiping the cabinet the best you could, stretching to reach the top shelf. Caleb moved in behind you, his body brushing against yours.

“Let me get that,” he said, his voice soft as he grabbed the cloth from your hand.

Your breath hitched as his warmth seeped through your back. His fingers brushed yours briefly, sending a jolt through you. You moved aside, trying to compose yourself. He stepped to the side after finishing, leaning onto the counter, “Why don’t I take over this part, since you’re so small?” a playful grin played on his lips, as he winked at you.

“Always picking on my size,” you joked, your voice shaky. “Maybe you’re just too tall.”

His grin widened, but something in his gaze lingered a moment too long. “...Maybe,” he murmured, his voice low.

From the corner of the room, Zayne’s gaze flicked toward the kitchen. His hand paused mid-swipe on the wall, his eyes narrowing at seeing Caleb leaning close to you. His grip on the rag tightened, but he quickly looked away. This wasn’t the time.

You noticed all his progress when you made your way to Zayne. He almost successfully cleared the living room. “Can I help?” you said, approaching his side.

Zayne’s lips quirked into a slight smirk. “I figured you’d be too busy with Caleb to remember me.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” you shot back, an uncomfortable laugh leaving your lips.

He attached the extended handle before handing you the mop, his fingers brushing yours slightly. “Guess I’ll have to remind you why I’m the favorite,” he said, his tone light but his eyes serious.

☆

You fell into a routine in the following weeks, trying to adjust to your new life. Weekly meetups with Caleb became a ritual, and today, you waited for him at a quaint coffee shop Zayne had introduced you to. The warm smell of coffee and pastries filled the air as you spotted Caleb walking in, his black coat framing his tall figure.

“Y/N!” he called out, his smile lighting up. He hugged you tightly, lifting you off the ground for a moment.

When he set you down, his eyes held yours for a beat too long. Your stomach flipped as you sat across from him, trying to steady your thoughts.

You began your catch-up over a coffee and some food. Your discussion filled the silence, and you shared a laugh while discussing the latest work drama. You clued Caleb into the details about your coworker, and how the Hunter’s Association locked his file.

It was pretty peculiar in your field; most hunters had a public record, released by the organization they resided under, but in his case, it wasn’t as easily accessible, making him a high-profile individual. Which just made you curious. As talented as you were you couldn’t help but notice the difference in skills between the two of you. It was so obvious he’d been at this longer than you.

Caleb listened intently as you shared the latest work news, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup.

“And what are you going to do about it?” he asked, his voice teasing. “Detective work?”

You shook your head, biting your lip. “I don’t know. It feels like I’d be invading his privacy. I guess—I’ll wait for him to tell me when he’s ready.”

Caleb’s gaze softened. “That’s just like you,” he said quietly, his purple eyes glinting in the light.

Before you could process his words, your watch buzzed with an alarm. “I gotta get back to work,” you said, grabbing your things in a rush.

“I’ll take care of this,” he said, gesturing to the table. “See you later.”

It was a lighter cold today, and no heavy snow blocked your path. As you walked back to work, you were honestly heavy in thought. You couldn’t stop thinking about Caleb. His smiles and touches felt deliberate, and you had no idea how to handle it. Dating had always been a mystery to you, and your nerves weren’t helping.

This wasn’t the first time these nerves graced your presence. When you were much younger, you recall the party, the smell of alcohol, the loud music, and unfamiliar faces. You knew Zayne and Caleb of course, but them being a bit older than you made this crowd—one you hadn’t been exposed to before.

Making your way through the door was the worst. Caleb knew everyone, saying “hellos,” “hi’s,” and “what’s up, dude,” as he led the way. Making your way through the moving bodies was a challenge. You were thankful for Zayne’s hand holding onto yours as you made the way. You scanned the crowd, and everyone was dancing. The number of people grinding on others was mesmerizing, and you wanted in.

The music thudded through the walls, pounding against your ears. You remember making your way up the stairs, following closely behind Caleb, as Zayne sandwiched in behind you, finally letting go of your hand. Honestly, this didn’t seem like Zayne’s type of crowd, and he wasn’t the most outgoing.

When you reached the room, it had fewer people than the rest of the house. You walked in, sitting on the couch while Zayne stood near the corner of the room. Some people sat in a circle with a bottle in the center, obviously playing a game. One of the girls asked if you and the boys wanted to join.

You could feel the eyes of two important men in your life shift to you. Both were curious about your response.

“...yeah.”

Caleb also joined the game, sitting directly across from you. A girl with blonde hair spun the bottle, and before you knew it, it was your turn.

Placing your hand on the bottleneck, you spun the bottle, watching its turning motion with curiosity. When it stopped on Caleb, the purple of his eyes glinted as he looked between you and the bottle.

You could hear the circle of people urging you both on. It was just a kiss. You could do this. He’s your friend. You sat up on your heels, your hands burning as they rested on your knees.

He got close to you and whispered, “Ready?” only for your ears to hear, and he kissed you, his lips connecting with yours softly, sweetly. Some people teased him for the gentleness at which his lips touched yours, but something shot through you when his lips touched yours. He softly bit your bottom lip before he pulled back from you.

He kissed you. Zayne saw, everyone saw, and you liked it.

You needed advice—something solid to guide your next move. You’d already admitted to yourself that you liked him, but how were you supposed to approach this? What did you even say? Zayne helped you through that kiss, reminding you it was just a game. But all these years later, you wanted to be more than a game to Caleb. Even in your shared youth, he had good advice for you, so why wouldn’t you trust him?

When you arrived at the office, your mind was still a tangled mess, buzzing with uncertainty. You decided it was no use overthinking it; it was better to rip the bandaid off.

You pulled out your phone, hesitating for a moment before texting Zayne:

You:

“Can I call you? I need some advice.”

When his reply came moments later—“I have a patient right now. I’ll call you after.”—you let out a relieved sigh. You trusted him, and you needed his help.

Relief washed over you as you read his reply, your heartbeat finally slowing to a steady rhythm. You let out a soft sigh, tucking your phone away. All you had to do now was organize your thoughts.

While you waited, you turned to your caseload, focusing on the profile you’d been compiling for a new wanderer-type you’d encountered during a hunt weeks earlier. Using old files as templates, you typed furiously, the steady rhythm of the keyboard pulling you into the zone. Minutes turned to hours as you worked, the world fading into the background.

The buzzing of your phone jolted you back to reality. You glanced at the screen and barely caught the call before it went to voicemail.

“You want me to teach you how to date?” Zayne’s voice drawled through the line, laced with amusement.

Heat rushed to your face as you groaned audibly. “That’s not—it’s not like that!” you blurted, but Zayne only chuckled softly.

You spent the next ten minutes stumbling through your explanation, your words tangling as you tried to paint a coherent picture of your situation. When you finally stopped, waiting anxiously for his response, all he said was:

“Okay.”

That one word was enough to knock the wind out of you. “Okay?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Okay,” he confirmed calmly.

Your heart soared. “Okay, then,” you echoed quickly, trying to mask your nervous excitement. You rushed to thank Zayne before ending the call, clutching the phone to your chest. Relief and joy bubbled inside you. You knew Zayne would come through for you. You trusted him completely.

On the other end of the call, Zayne set his phone on his desk, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. He began packing up for the day, shaking his head in amusement. The idea of you coming to him for dating advice was equal parts endearing and intriguing.

Of course, he would help you. That much was never in question. But who had caught your interest so suddenly? The thought gnawed at him, tempting him to ask outright, but he resisted. He’d figure it out eventually.

As he picked up his phone to draft a response, a quiet laugh escaped him. “Lessons,” he murmured, the word rolling off his tongue with amusement. He couldn’t help but smirk as he began typing out a plan. Lessons in dating and seduction? If anyone was going to help you succeed, it was him.

☆

Your phone buzzed with details for your first lesson. You had to admit you were quite excited. When you open the message, you read simple instructions:

Zayne:

“I’ll pick you up at 7 pm. Wear something nice, but comfortable.”

A quiet scoff escaped your lips as you gripped your phone, its cool metal grounding you—way to give me nothing, Zayne. Still, you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips as you typed back.

You:

“Got it.”

With a rare day off, you had more than enough time to overthink this date—or, well, lesson. You'd been on dates before, but this felt different—important. You wanted to impress Caleb later, but you also wanted to enjoy this with Zayne and learn from him.

Determined, you took your time getting ready—a long bath, smooth and refreshed skin, natural hairstyle, skipping the heat of flat irons. Your makeup was subtle, accentuating your best features—your eyes and lips. The outfit? Simple, with an effortless elegance: a black skirt, a beige sweater, and knee-high black boots. Something nice but comfortable, you echoed mockingly in your head.

The doorbell rang. Your pulse quickened. Taking a deep breath, you cracked the door open.

“I’m grabbing my bag—give me a sec,” you said quickly before shutting it again.

Zayne chuckled softly on the other side. You looked nervous, and he thought it was cute.

When you finally stepped out, his eyes swept over you, approval flashing in his gaze. “Ready?” His voice was warm, familiar.

You swallowed, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Yeah.”

Locking up, you stepped beside him, weaving through the apartment halls. The elevator was packed when it arrived, leaving just enough room for the two of you to squeeze in. When the doors slid shut, the crowd's pressure pushed you toward the back corner of the elevator.

Zayne stepped in after you, his body instinctively blocking the others from pressing too close. His warmth enveloped you, a wall of quiet protection. When his chest brushed against yours, your head shot up, startled by the contact—only to knock it against the cold metal wall behind you.

A low groan slipped from your lips, and Zayne chuckled. “Careful.” His hand came up, cupping the back of your head gently.

You stilled. Zayne’s touch was light but steady, fingers warm against your scalp. You let yourself settle into it for just a second, your cheeks heating.

Then, with a soft ding, the doors slid open. The moment was gone.

You followed him out quickly, slipping into his car. The silence was thick but not uncomfortable. Still, you were the first to break it.

“So… where are we going?” you asked, anticipation bubbling beneath your skin.

Zayne’s grip tightened subtly around the gear shift, veins visible against his skin. His lips curled into a faint smile. “You’ll see.”

—

You hadn’t expected this.

The setup was breathtaking—candles flickering softly, a picnic blanket spread on the grass by a lake, and wildflowers scattered around like nature’s own confetti. The crisp spring air carried the scent of earth and blooming petals, a reminder that winter’s grasp was finally loosening. The sun had just begun its descent, casting everything in golden light.

Zayne stood behind you, watching. He caught how your breath hitched and how awe softened your features. The faint flush that always seemed to bloom when he was near. He reveled in it.

“Lesson one,” he murmured. “A date.”

You turned to him, eyes wide. “Zayne, this is…” Your voice wavered with something close to wonder. “This is perfect.”

A small, knowing smile touched his lips.

You hesitated. “I’ve never really—” You exhaled. “So… what do we do now?”

He motioned for you to sit. “First? We eat.”

You obeyed, watching as he unpacked the meal. Your gaze flickered over the assortment of sweets tucked beside the entrees, and you bit your lip. He remembered your sweet tooth.

Your heart squeezed.

He handed you a sandwich—one of your childhood favorites. You took a bite, savoring the familiar flavors and the quiet thoughtfulness behind it.

The evening unfolded like something out of a dream. The conversation was easy and flowing, as it always was between you two. You talked about everything and nothing, letting the city fade away, and the wine in your glass disappeared far too quickly.

At some point, you made the mistake of looking at him.

The sunset bathed him in amber light, the gentle hues accentuating the sharp cut of his jaw and the faint green specks in his eyes. He looked beautiful—effortlessly so. The sleeves of his powder blue dress shirt rolled up, revealing strong forearms, veins pronounced as his fingers idly toyed with the rim of his glass.

His gaze lifted, catching yours.

You panicked. Tipped your head back, draining the last of your wine, pretending to admire the sky.

And so the night went on.

Laughter. Warmth. The kind of company that made the world feel a little less lonely. It had been too long since you’d felt this way.

Maybe that was why—

—why you ended up tipsy.

The last thing you remembered clearly was Zayne’s hands on your waist, steadying you as you stumbled at your door. His voice, amused and gentle, coaxing you inside.

And then—

"You're drunk."

His voice was strained.

Your skin burned. “N ‘m not,” you murmured, reaching up, fingers clumsily ruffling his hair. “I w’nted to kiss you, Z-Zayne…”

His breath hitched.

You wobbled onto your tiptoes, pressing a sleepy, featherlight kiss to his cheek. “G’night, Zayne~”

Darkness.

And then—morning.

Your head throbbed. You groaned, pressing your palm to your forehead, and then—

The memory came rushing back.

Your stomach dropped.

Shit.

What did you do?

You kissed Zayne—just a kiss on the cheek, but no less a kiss. And you didn’t know how you felt about it. Maybe you liked it. And when you checked your phone, your heart skipped a beat.

Zayne:

“Are you feeling better?”

It was a simple question, but your body felt warm, and a smile tugged at your lips as the cold metal burned your hand.

You:

“Yes, I’m still a bit warm, but much better :)”

And from there the conversation flowed.

Zayne:

“So you’re ready for your next lesson?”

You:

“Duh.”

☆

This lesson was set up differently—as a more casual experience. Zayne held the door open, allowing you to enter as the scent of perfumes and faint traces of liquor—something you planned to avoid tonight—filled your senses.

Zayne trailed closely behind you, his eyes drawn to your fitted black dress. It hugged your curves just right, and while you were always beautiful, tonight, you looked divine. His gaze lingered, but he didn’t say a word, instead committing the image to memory.

You settled into the plush velvet seat, crossing your legs as you waited for him to join you. The slight pressure of the fabric against your skin and the low hum of jazz music set a tone of subtle sophistication.

“Lesson two,” he murmured as he sat beside you. “Body language.”

A sly smile crept onto your lips. This time, you were ready. Beyond your carefully chosen outfit, you had mentally prepared to hold your ground. Tonight, you would stay in control.

“So, what’s the plan today, Zayne?” you drawled, leaning forward as your fingers lightly brushed his bicep. You pretended it was a casual touch, but the way his muscles flexed beneath your fingertips sent a jolt through you.

Zayne tilted his head slightly, studying your face. A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes. “You’re already ahead, princess,” he whispered, his voice low. The words felt like a direct hit to your resolve.

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, your lips parted as you scrambled to regain composure. “Head start?” you echoed, tilting your head and trying to sound nonchalant.

"I want to see what you've learned—think you can charm me?" he said simply.

The lounge was an upscale dream: dimly lit, lined with high-end paintings, and filled with the smooth rhythm of jazz. The swaying figures on the dance floor moved in tandem with the music, and for a moment, you let yourself get lost in the scene.

Leaning in closer to Zayne, you brushed your lips near his ear. “Should we dance?” you whispered, your hand steadying yourself on his knee.

The scent of his cologne—clean with a faint hint of jasmine—enveloped you. You felt his gaze sharpen, and when you pulled back slightly to meet his eyes, the faint green specks in them seemed to glow under the low light.

“Shall we?” he asked, his voice smooth, as he stood and offered you his hand.

On the dance floor, your movements flowed easily, the music guiding you. You pulled him closer, and your body pressed flush against his. His hands rested on your lower back, firm and grounding, while your fingers trailed up his chest. The hard muscle beneath your touch sent a thrill through you.

“You look so handsome tonight, Zayne,” you said softly, your lips curving into a small smile.

“Only tonight?” he teased, the corners of his mouth lifting.

Your finger traced lazy patterns on his chest. His heartbeat was steady initially, but you noticed the slight quickening as your touch lingered. You looked up at him, your gaze filled with something unspoken but deeply felt.

“You always do,” you whispered.

The air between you was charged, the tension pulling you closer. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, grounding you while simultaneously making you feel like you might float away.

When the tempo picked up, you spun away from him, creating a bit of distance as you swayed more freely. He matched your rhythm more stiffly than anything. You couldn’t help but smile—this was fun.

“You’re way too stiff,” you said, getting close to him. Watching him try to whine his hips to the upbeat tempo was amazing. A laugh left your lips as your hands gripped his hips. “Why are your feet so close together?!” you choked out.

“I was never a dancer,” he said flatly, unamused by the tears in your eyes.

“Move to the beat,” you said again, trying to show him the way, but he didn’t get it. If you asked him, he’d rather watch you move your body. You moved beautifully, rolling your hips with precision.

When the lounge prepared to close, your cheeks ached from grinning, and your legs were deliciously sore. You shivered slightly as you walked side by side through the chilly night air.

“You look cold,” Zayne said, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders before you could protest.

The warmth of the fabric—and his scent—wrapped around you. A soft, rich aroma of jasmine and something distinctly him made your heart flutter.

You nudged his arm, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “You know… I think this was the best night I’ve had in a long time.”

“I haven’t danced like that in forever.” you said.

“How could I forget?” he replied, his eyes briefly flicking to the stars above. “It’s your favorite thing.”

His fingers brushed against yours, tentative at first. You took the leap, intertwining your fingers with his. The warmth of his hand sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, and you caught the faint blush dusting his cheeks.

This man was everything.

☆

Later That Week

You had agreed to meet Caleb for a more eventful hangout—to meet downtown and do whatever caught your eye.

You spotted him easily. His tall figure towered over most people. You walked up to him, and he hugged you tightly. The warmth of his body covered yours, but it didn’t raise your heartbeat.

When he loosened his grip on you, his hands rested on your shoulders, “Long time no see, pipsqueak,” he said, his voice full of joy.

Your cheeks felt tight from smiling—you were happy to see him, but not for the same reasons as before.

“I know, it’s been a few weeks,” you said, pulling back from him and looking into the purple of his eyes. “Let’s get back on schedule,” you breathed, a light smile plastered on your lips.

Work had been busy, but the truth was that your lessons with Zayne had occupied your thoughts—and your time.

While you started your walk downtown, plenty of things caught your eye. The first thing you did was enter a record shop. The store was in the basement off of a side street. It was a little creepy, but it looked like an underground studio once you got inside. Records were all over the shop, on the wall, and in little baskets stacked in rows.

He browsed next to you, shuffling through the records occasionally showing you one he thought you’d like or an album you’d enjoyed. And in spending this time with him, you realized that you enjoyed this.

The simplicity between you, the light air, and the lack of expectations for anything more was all you needed. Caleb’s fingers softly brushed yours as he placed a vinyl behind the one you held up for him.

“Find anything good?” you asked, your feet planted evenly on the ground as you turned to face Caleb.

His eyes bore into yours, something flickering over them before he answered you.

“Nah—let's get some food,” he said quickly, his demeanor suddenly returning.

Exiting the store, you joined in step beside him, exploring the city's night scene. Your options were endless as you scanned the shops that lined the streets. You spotted a food truck and the smells coming from it were amazing.

Altering Caleb, you both sat at the outdoor seating, waiting for your orders. The chill of the evening air seeped through your clothes, making you shiver slightly.

“Do you want my jacket?” Caleb asked, his tone playful. “You look like you’re freezing.”

“Only if you have an extra,” you said, bouncing your leg under the table to keep warm.

With a smirk, he reached into his bag and handed you a spare coat. “You’re my best friend, You know I always do.”

You slipped it on, grateful for the warmth but… that was it. There was no spark, no flutter of excitement. You tried to convince yourself otherwise, adjusting the collar and wrapping it tighter around yourself, but it felt like just a jacket.

In the quiet moment that followed, your mind drifted back to Zayne. His jacket had enveloped you in warmth and scent, and your heart raced when he was near. You glanced at Caleb, who was busy watching the street outside.

Nothing. That kiss was—just a kiss. Years ago, you wouldn’t have believed anyone. Not even Zayne could have convinced you it was a fleeting crush. But it really was. You felt proper chemistry, companionship, and care and wanted to keep experiencing that with Zayne.

The weight of your realization was crushing. All the time you spent—wasted on this man. You cared for him, you truly did. But, what about you? Why were you so pent-up and focused on this person you didn't even really like? Was it really him you missed? Or just how he filled your time and made you feel small—safe, even?

That's the point. You’re not small. You're a grown woman who can stand independently, make her own decisions, and provide her own entertainment. Relief washed over you in waves because what were you even doing? Holding onto a version of the past that no longer fits?

But right behind it, sadness crept in. Not for Caleb, but for the time lost—chasing something never meant to be yours. But you didn’t truly waste time if it led you here—to someone real. To Zayne.

You forced a smile, staring down at your lap, and tried to push away the sinking feeling in your chest. You used to admire Caleb. It should feel special, especially his attention and time, but—it doesn’t.

Caleb was the person you had wanted—the reason for the lessons.

The contrast was stark, undeniable. And for the first time, you realized the answer had been clear.

☆

You had admitted to Zayne that you wanted a cozy evening. Work had drained you, but more than anything, your recent realization had knocked the wind out of you. It wasn’t just an idle thought—the truth that settled deep in your bones, undeniable yet terrifying.

You knew what you needed to say and do, but the effort of voicing it—of being honest with Zayne—made your nerves coil tight.

Your lessons have helped. You felt more confident, more self-assured. You understood what a date was supposed to be now, what it meant to be courted and wanted. But more than anything, you wanted something real.

With him.

So, he invited you over after work.

Zayne:

"How about I cook you dinner, and we watch a movie?"

You:

"How do you always know exactly what I need?"

…

Zayne:

"Make yourself at home. I just finished setting up."

When you arrived at his house, the living room instantly warmed you. The room glowed softly from the candles he had lined along the tables, their flickering light casting gentle shadows against the walls. The scent of something rich and savory drifted from the kitchen, mingling with the faint traces of his cologne.

But the sight of something familiar made your heart catch in your chest—small plushies, the ones you had won years ago, still resting on the couch.

He had kept them.

Your fingers grazed one absentmindedly as you took it all in, a lump forming in your throat.

You didn’t miss the sound of the shower running from the other room, and heat bloomed across your face. The thought of him stepping out—steam rising, droplets tracing the planes of his skin—sent your mind spiraling. He had just gotten off work, yet he still made time to set everything up for you.

As if on cue, the water stopped. A moment later, the door cracked open, and Zayne walked out, a towel slung low on his hips, another in his hands as he ruffled it through his damp black hair.

“Don’t be a stranger,” he said casually, his voice smooth. “Have a seat.”

Then, as if completely unaware of his effect on you, he strode into his bedroom and shut the door with a soft click.

You swallowed hard. That lasted less than a second, but it was enough.

His physique was unreal—his lean yet defined frame, the way his skin still glistened slightly, the tantalizing trail of hair disappearing beneath the towel… and God, you wanted to know where it led.

This was new. You had never felt this way before.

And he was making you crazy.

You forced yourself to move, settling onto the couch, trying to calm your racing heart as you waited for him. You distracted yourself with the snacks he had spread across the table, but your mind kept replaying that brief glimpse of him.

When he finally reappeared, dressed in a fitted shirt and sweatpants, looking effortlessly breathtaking, your breath caught in your throat.

Something about this moment—the candlelight, the scent of dinner lingering in the air, the sheer intimacy of being here with him—felt so real. So domestic. So much like something you wanted forever.

Zayne disappeared into the kitchen, leaving you in the glow of candlelight. A few moments later, he emerged with two plates in hand, setting them down on the dining table before motioning for you to sit.

“Did you make all of this?” you asked, raising a brow as you took in the spread before you.

“Of course,” he replied smoothly, settling across from you. “I figured you’d appreciate a home-cooked meal after the week you’ve had.”

Your heart ached at how thoughtful he was.

The meal was warm and comforting—just like him. You took a bite, letting the rich flavors settle on your tongue and savoring the moment. Zayne watched you carefully, his gaze flicking to your lips before he took a bite of his own food.

“This is really good,” you admitted, breaking the silence. “You’re full of surprises.”

He smirked slightly, tilting his head. “You act like you don’t already know I’m good with my hands.”

Your fork stalled mid-air. Heat crawled up your neck as your eyes snapped to his.

Zayne smirked slightly, taking another bite as if he hadn’t set your whole body on fire with that one sentence.

Your stomach twisted, and it had nothing to do with the food.

“I—” You cleared your throat, trying to regain composure. “I suppose I do.”

His gaze flickered with amusement before he leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly against the wood. Something was intoxicating about the way he watched you. It was like he was reading every thought running through your head.

The tension built slowly, lingering between every glance, every soft smile exchanged over the rim of your glasses.

At some point, his foot brushed against yours beneath the table. It was barely a touch—so light it could’ve been an accident. But when you met his gaze, you knew it wasn’t.

Neither of you spoke on it. Neither of you moved away.

It was almost unbearable, the weight of the moment, the way the air grew heavier, tighter.

After dinner, you both moved to the couch. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across his sharp features, making him look even more devastatingly handsome than usual.

You curled next to him as he flipped through the streaming options before settling on something. Not that it really mattered—you could barely focus because of how close he was.

The movie played, but you weren’t watching.

You were too aware of Zayne’s presence, the warmth of his arm resting along the back of the couch, fingers occasionally brushing against your shoulder. Every tiny touch sent a current through you.

Then, in the middle of a scene, Zayne suddenly reached for the remote.

Click.

Ring…Ring…Ring…

Your phone started ringing, now of all times, and you dropped your gaze to the device at the same time as Zayne.

Caleb calls all the time, but the timing of this was just—it couldn’t be a coincidence. And you weren’t sure if you should answer.

“Don’t pick it up,” was all you heard, as you gripped the metal of your phone tighter.

“Why,” you whispered, your voice small now. The confidence you had before flickered, unsteady—like a candle caught in the wind. You felt tender, exposed. Unsure if you had the strength to do what needed to be done.

“I know you wanted lessons, because of Caleb,” he started, his eyes meeting yours. The air felt cooler now, and goosebumps ran over your skin.

"I can’t do this if you’re still holding onto him," he murmured, his voice steady—but stretched thin, like he was barely holding himself together.

“I can’t bear to see you with him—now that your presence has graced me, I see small pieces of you everywhere I go,” he admitted, his voice soft and tortured.

Zayne exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his dark hair before finally speaking.

“I don’t want you to want Caleb—I want you to want me” he breathed.

The screen froze mid-ring. A silence stretched between you—thick, suffocating. Heavy with everything left unsaid.

Your brows furrowed as you turned to him, only to find his gaze already on you—serious, searching.

Your breath hitched.

The weight of his words settled deep in your chest, heavy and unshakable.

You swallowed. Say it.

“I thought I wanted to be with another man, Zayne…” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. He tensed slightly, his jaw tightening, but you reached for his hand, your fingers brushing against his.

“But I don’t,” you continued softly, eyes searching his. “I want this. I want you.”

The words left you in a breath, raw and real.

Zayne didn’t move, didn’t speak right away. But you saw how his eyes darkened, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“Please, Zayne,” you whispered, your voice breaking slightly as you leaned in.

Your breath stilled, heart hammering. He was too close—his scent, the warmth radiating from his skin, the slight tremor in his breath. And then… finally, you leaned in, and he met you halfway.

You pulled back slightly, your breaths intertwining in the room's dimness. Your eyes opened tentatively, and you saw Zayne staring at you, his chest heaving from the kiss you had just shared.

“Again,” you murmured, a silent plea because now that you were here you couldn’t let this pass. And Zayne obeyed, kissing you again. You could feel him shifting your position. His hands found your back, and he briefly disconnected your lips to lay you on the couch.

His knees straddled your hips, as he just watched you, “Beautiful,” he whispered before tasting your lips again, the weight of him on top of you was not only delicious but welcome. You gasped at the pressure, and he slipped his tongue in your mouth. A groan escaped your mouth when his tongue entered your lips.

“Wait,” you said, your hands resting on Zayne’s chest as he lay on you.

“I’ve never done this before,” you said, noticing the clench of his jaw, flushed face, and swollen lips.

He waited for a beat, watching you silently, “I’ll take care of you, princess,” he exhaled.

“I don’t have much experience,” he admitted, his gaze shifting from yours.

Your eyes widened with shock at his admission. You had assumed he was experienced, and that was part of the reason you asked him for help.

You took a breath, smiling at him. " Let's learn together,” you whispered in his ear before leaning your head back and resting it against the pillow.

You pulled him flush against you, his weight pressing you into the couch. He began his thorough search kissing your temple, to the crux of your ear, “Another lesson, …hm?” he whispered. And that caused you to writhe beneath him—the sound of his voice in your ear, and the soft vibrato of his confirmation.

He began his steady exploration with his lips and hands. Stroking up and down your body, though most of it covered, the cool of his hands made your skin get chills when he touched you.

“Can I take this off?” he asked, gesturing to your t-shirt.

“Yes,” you said too quickly, embarrassed by your eagerness.

You adjusted your body, allowing him to pull the fabric over your head. You lay there sitting up on your forearms, just watching his explorative touch. His pointer finger traced the outline of your bra, hovering just above your skin.

“You—” you started, biting the fat of your lip, “Zayne, I want you to take this off too.”

And those emerald eyes watched you. In his head, he couldn’t believe you would be his—already prepared to memorize your every reaction. His hand trembled before steadying against your skin. The contact of his hand caused you to arch away from the couch. Click.

The bra fell forward as you shrugged it off your arms. Your whole body felt warm as you guided Zayne’s hands to hold your breasts. Your hands rested on his before you moved them back to the couch. His thumbs felt the hardening peaks beneath his hands, and he gave them a tentative flick, watching your face. You squirmed beneath him.

Sensitive here. He made a mental note, before rubbing the hardened nub against his thumb at a steady pace.

He moved his mouth to your other breast kissing it, before watching your face as his tongue made contact with it. Your hips jerked forward gently when he flicked it with his tongue. You bit your lip watching him play with your nipples.

“Can—you touch me there?” you whimpered. His lips parted from your nipple.

“Where?” he asked, and both of you just looked at each other.

Before you took his hand and brought it between your legs. You held it there rubbing yourself on his hand through your pants, but you didn't miss the way Zayne trained his eyes on you. Watching each little reaction you had when he touched you. Even the lightest of touch made his lips part slightly even with the furious flush of his skin.

His cock was straining in his pants, but he waited, wanting to learn you first.

He laid you down, your hands threading into his hair. Pulling him close to you he buried his face in your neck. The smell of jasmine filled your senses, as he groaned beneath you, breathing in your scent. You leaned back into the couch, shaken by the idea of him on top of you.

Your breasts pressed against his chest, the cool fabric causing a shiver to roll through you. He ran his face up and down your neck leaving a trail of light kisses. It was as if he was savoring you, imprinting your smell, your presence in his mind—as if you’d be done with him after this.

“You’re beautiful,” he groaned against your throat.

Zayne steadied himself on his hands on either side of your head, his gaze trailing over your body to where he would find himself next. His eyes stopped between your thighs, he watched intently as you squirmed beneath him, your body shifting under his gaze.

Your heartbeat felt loud in your ears, and the cold stillness of the air sent a shiver through you. His lips found your jaw, kissing a slow line tracing to your throat. Each touch of his lips sent heat between your legs, and you tilted your head to give him more access, a whimper escaping your lips.

Zayne was just a friend, someone who supported and loved you but someone you felt you couldn’t have. Your change of heart made you act on a whim to take advantage of your time with him. You wanted him, and no one else could have him but you. He was a high you couldn't—didn't want to get rid of.

You grasped the blankets on the couch, trying to ground yourself somehow, while he worked slow kisses down your chest with light scrapes of his teeth.

His hands ran down your sides, caressing your breasts to your hips, his thumbs brushing the naked skin beneath your sweatpants. It was a maddening sensation, and you only wanted him to keep going.

You could see his erection pressed firmly against his pants, and you felt tempted to reach forward, to touch it. To pull him closer firmly against you, to feel him where you needed him most.

One of his hands left you cupping you over your pants. The pressure against your clit stole your breath. A quiet groan of approval left his lips, while you felt a pulse between your legs.

You ground your hips upwards into his hand. A breath left your lips as you moved your hips.

“Touch me, Zayne,” you breathed, you felt like you were in a dream.

He paused, his breath hitching at your words. His gaze darkened, the green of his eyes barely visible, as he searched your face. His jaw clenched, his voice dropping, rough with restraint. “Say that again.”

You observed him, grabbing the drawstrings of his pants. “Touch me Zayne, …Please” Your voice came out small, pleading.

He exhaled slowly, his fingers twitching against your skin. He traced your pussy through your pants, his fingers burning through your pants—that you wished he’d taken off already.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured, his thumb brushing over you, his touch reverent, like he was memorizing you.

You had never been undressed like this. And you wanted it, you wanted to be touched by him, to feel him grabbing you.

He gripped the waistband of your pants, adjusting his position to push them down your thighs, dropping them to the floor. You sat there in only black underwear while he sat across from you, still in his t-shirt and sweats.

His attention was all yours, and it was thrilling.

Your hands still gripped the blanket beneath you. Your feet were tucked next to your bottom.

“Let me see you.” His voice was low and deliberate. His fingertips grazed your knee before applying the faintest pressure. His eyes searched yours, waiting. “Spread your legs for me.”

You took in an unsteady breath, and you did it.

His hands ran up your legs, his fingers pressing into your thighs, making your stomach tighten unexpectedly. The cool of his hands felt good against your soft skin.

The cool air brushed against your panties making you aware of how wet your panties were. Zayne’s gaze met you there, shooting warmth through you.

Your breath hitched when his thumb pressed down on your clit through the fabric. His other hand was steady on your thigh, pressing your thighs open wider. The brush of his thumb up and down sparked a heat in your lower stomach.

You leaned your head back and started to rock under his touch. And then he kissed your nipple, sucking it into his mouth. He groaned, licking and sucking your breasts with a slight scrape of teeth. A high-pitched moan escaped your lips, one of your hands gripping his hair.

His mouth was so hot, and he kept licking you, how you’d never felt before. You felt like you could die. So, when he removed his mouth from your breasts, you thought you were going to scream.

He removed your underwear, leaving them in a pile with the rest of your clothes, spreading your legs once more as his gaze fell between your thighs.

His fingers glide gently along your inner thigh, his touch warm and deliberate, but never rushed. His gaze softens as he takes you in, his breathing slow, controlled—like he’s memorizing every part of you.

"Are you sure?" he murmured, his voice hushed, almost reverent. His thumb stroked lazy circles against your skin, a silent reassurance, a quiet promise that he won’t rush you.

When you nodded, his lips part slightly, his eyes locked onto yours, searching—making sure.

"Let me take care of you," he breathed, his hands smoothing up your thighs as he leaned in closer, pressing a lingering kiss just above your knee. "I want to make this good for you."

He wrapped his arms around the back of your thighs, pulling you closer to him, and his head lowered between them. You shuddered at the first touch of his tongue, pleasure running through you. Each soft lap of your clit rolled through you.

His arms held you so securely that you couldn’t move your hips while he licked you. As much as he said he wanted to take care of you, it felt like he was doing this for himself.

“Zayne,” you moaned, digging your hands into his thick black hair.

He swirled his tongue over your clit before sucking. His eyes were on you, watching you writhe beneath him. His finger filled you, sending a tremor through you, with his mouth on your clit, licking and sucking, while his fingers moved in and out of you. And he did it with such ease, deep noises of satisfaction falling from his lips.

He was taking his time, slowly working you out and the pressure was building up in you. You bucked your hips, feeling the heat growing throughout you.

“Zayne…I need more,” you cried out, your voice trembling with desperation.

His name fell from your lips like a prayer, and he answered it with slow, calculated movements—his pace steady, yet devastating. He added another finger, stretching you further, his touch unrelenting as he pressed deeper, curling just right. The pleasure was unbearable in the best way, a wave crashing over you with no hope of escape.

Your breath hitched as his dark, heated gaze met yours, watching, reading every reaction like it was the only thing that mattered. His free hand smoothed over your thigh, grounding you, soothing you—only to bring you higher moments later.

A choked-out plea left your lips, your body arching, back curving as the heat coursed through your veins, pooling low in your stomach. You clenched around him, muscles tightening as that sharp, dizzying pleasure built to a breaking point.

“That's it,” he murmured, voice thick with something unreadable, something possessive yet achingly tender. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss against the soft skin of your inner thigh, his breath hot and teasing, sending shivers up your spine.

And then—release.

Your body trembled, pleasure crashing into you in relentless waves. He didn't stop, not right away, working you through it, coaxing every last aftershock from your sensitive body until you were completely spent.

You collapsed against the couch, fully fucked out, limbs heavy, your mind hazy with bliss.

A shaky breath left your mouth, as you sat up slowly running your fingers through his hair.

Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to.

The air between you was charged, thick with something unspoken, something dangerous. Something real.

His jasmine scent invaded your senses as his body wrapped around yours. You closed your eyes, surprised by the sudden upward jerk of him holding your naked body. You held him close as he carried you to the closed bedroom door.

He laid you on the bed gently, holding your stare, he slipped off his shirt and sweatpants, your cheeks growing warmer even as he stood before you in his briefs. You glanced at his erection pressed through the fabric. He was so hard, and it was hot. And all for you.

Goose bumps spread across your skin, as he opened the nightstand drawer, pulling out a condom.

“Do you want me?” he whispered, his gaze meeting yours, as he dropped his briefs.

“Yes,” you breathed.

He crawled over you, kissing your stomach and breasts as he did. His body covered yours, so heavy. It made your skin sing with satisfaction. He kissed your neck, bracing his hands beside your head.

Your fingers trailed the line of hair, you'd been desperate to touch. You hesitated, unsure how to touch him.

Zayne felt your hesitation, and meeting your gaze, he whispered, “Your touch… I need it.”

Your heart fluttered with uncertainty, but you slid your hands down gripping his erection. His forehead fell on the side of your neck, encouraging you further.

You wrapped your hand around his length. And he groaned. You ran your hand down to the base and all the way back up.

"Don’t make me wait…please" you whispered in his ear, placing a kiss there.

"Tell me how much you need me,” he rasped, nipping at your neck.

"I’ve always needed you, Zayne," you said softly, dragging your hands through his hair. "I need you in every way… not just tonight."

His eyes met yours before kissing you while you stroked him again. Your breasts brushed against his chest, sending pleasure through you.

“...Please” you breathed.

He rolled onto the bed next to you, slipping off his briefs, the sound of the wrapper crinkling in his hands drawing your attention. You watched as he poised to tear it open, his gaze flicking to yours for confirmation.

“Wait,” you whispered, your voice soft but resolute. He paused instantly, his eyes searching yours.

“I want to feel all of you,” you said, vulnerability lacing your tone, the weight of your trust hanging in the air.

His expression softened, his brow furrowing with both tenderness and concern.

“If it’s too much, just say the word,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, a promise woven into each syllable. “I won’t do anything you don’t want.”

He leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering as though to reassure you. Positioning himself at your entrance, his movements were deliberate, his focus entirely on you.

He took the head of his erection and rubbed it against your pussy. The tip caught your clit, causing your breath to hitch. He started to slip the head inside you, and it stung. A shudder rolled through you as you exhaled. Your fingers curled on his chest as he stayed still inside you, watching your face.

He pushed deeper into you, his gaze dark and unwavering as he watched the way your lips parted, a soft whimper spilling free. The sound sent a shudder through his body, his breath coming out ragged as he struggled to hold himself together.

The stretch burned—a slow, intoxicating burn—one that sent heat rolling through your veins. You felt so full, every inch of him fitting into you as though he was meant to be there.

When he finally bottomed out, a cry tore from your throat, your back arching, pressing you flush against his chest. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, his weight solid, grounding, overwhelming in the best way.

He didn’t move right away.

Instead, he stayed buried deep, letting you adjust, letting you feel every inch of him. Your arms wound around his neck, and he exhaled against your skin, his breath warm and uneven.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your mingled breathing, the slow rise and fall of your chests as you both tried to catch air. He was everywhere, his presence consuming, intoxicating.

And then, he moved.

A slow, deliberate roll of his hips.

You gasped at the sensation, at the way he dragged against your walls with aching precision, each thrust filling you completely. Your nails raked down his back, and he shuddered at the sensation, his control fraying at the edges.

“You take it so good,” he praised, his voice thick, rough with something raw, something reverent.

Every time his pelvis ground against yours, his head spread throughout you. The friction sent sparks up your spine, every movement of his body against yours pulling a new sound from your lips.

He was watching you, utterly captivated by the way you unraveled beneath him. His thrusts remained slow, deliberate, as if savoring every reaction, every little gasp and moan that escaped you.

His fingers traced down your side, over the curve of your waist, gripping you tighter as his pace deepened, intensified. His gaze burned into yours, filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

His eyes locked onto yours, his thrusts slow and deliberate. “So beautiful for me,” he rasped, his voice low, dripping with need.

The words ran over your skin, filling you with warm satisfaction, your head tilting back as another moan escaped you. Zayne’s lips hovered above yours. With each slow thrust, they brushed yours lightly.

His pace faltered, his rhythm stuttering as he fought for control, his breath ragged against your skin. But he didn’t dare rush—he wanted to feel every second of this, every shudder, every tremor that wracked your body beneath him.

“You’re mine… all mine,” he groaned, voice thick with possession, his body tensing, muscles drawn taut as he drove his hips deep one last time.

A choked moan escaped you as you shattered beneath him, pleasure crashing over you in waves. His grip on you tightened as his own release followed, a deep, guttural sound leaving his lips as he buried himself fully, claiming every inch of you.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing, your hearts hammering in sync as he collapsed against you, his weight a comforting warmth pressing you into the mattress.

Neither of you spoke right away.

Zayne traced slow, lazy circles on your bare skin, grounding himself in the feel of you, the reality of you. His forehead rested against yours, his breath still uneven but calming, syncing with yours.

Then, in the quiet, his lips tipped into a smirk against your temple.

“So… does this mean I can finally call you my girlfriend?” His voice was lower now, teasing but laced with something real—something hopeful.

He pulled back slightly, eyes searching yours in the dim light. “Or do I have to seduce you all over again?”

His grin was cocky, but there was something vulnerable in the way he looked at you—like he needed this answer.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, a slow, tired smile spreading on your lips as you exhaled softly.

"I think you already have," you whispered.

The tension broke as he let out a satisfied hum, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before pulling you closer, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

And you didn’t want him to.

Not now.

Not ever.

958 notes · View notes

vettelsvee · 3 days ago

Text

SÍ... ESTAMOS SALIENDO | Oscar Piastri

Oscar Piastri x Pérez!Reader

SUMMARY: Scared of everyone to find out, Y/N Pérez and Oscar Piastri decide to hide their relationship from everyone until Checo starts wondering how Piastri learnt to speak Spanish so good... and specially why he has a Mexican accent ↳ REQUESTED BY ANON: Maybe one were she is checos daughter and they hide their relationship from him. And also maybe she teaches oscar some Spanish. At the end they end up telling checo about their relationship

WORD COUNT: 2399

WARNINGS: Use of Spanish. Important to say that even Spanish is my mother tongue, I may have some mistakes because it is Mexican Spanish and I don't know much about it, so I had to do some research. Otherwise, mentions of unwanted pregnancy, unprotected sex, drugs and alcohol

TAGLIST: @hc-dutch @raavadakedavra @coffeedestroyingperson @evey-kuznetskova @bowielovesyou @chaoswithus @isotopemylove @iceman-kazansky @gwginnyweasley @formula1-motogpfan @myescapefromthislife @regalbanshee [in case you wanna be tagged just tell me so i can add you!]

VEE'S NOTES: Not writing related but I’m obsessed with a K-Drama I started watching yesterday and I just wanna write Come What May series since the main characters’ personalities are the same as Seb and Y/N (Di in case you read the OC Version) there lmao. Anyways, missed a lot writing about Oscar (I definitely will be writing about him more as he's my second fave on the current grid) and this one got me so happy with how it turned out! Hope you like it as well, and remember that I'd love to see your comments <3 ↳ MAKE YOUR REQUESTS | LET'S TALK! | JANUARY UPDATE CALENDAR

“What if you taught me some Spanish?”

“Sorry, what did you just say?”

“That's it, Y/N. Teach me some Spanish.”

You, completely absorbed in looking at the pictures you had taken during the date you had with your boyfriend that same day, lifted your gaze from your phone and raised an eyebrow, fully taken aback by Oscar's proposal.

“Spanish? You? You already speak English! English is the only language that matters to you all…”

Oscar shrugged, nervously playing with the steering wheel. At that moment, he reconsidered what he had said, unsure now, and realized that maybe it had been a somewhat strange proposal on his part.

“I just want to understand you when you talk to your dad or your family. I know no one knows we’re together yet, but sometimes when you do video calls with them, I feel a bit lost. I also feel like sometimes you talk about me, and I’d like to know if I should worry,” he confessed, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“And why do you assume we talk about you, huh?”

“Well, because you always look at me out of the corner of your eye when you do.”

You couldn’t help but smile at how cute he looked with that unnecessary concern.

“Why do you have to be so chismoso?” You said, making Oscar give you a little tap on the shoulder. That just made you laugh more. “Alright, alright, fine! But I warn you in advance: if you laugh at me speaking Spanish or don’t take me seriously, I’ll break up with you.”

What started as a completely random proposal, with little prospect of a future or sense at first, eventually became one of your favorite routines. You took advantage of every moment together to practice, always hiding it from Checo or any member of the Pérez family when you were in the paddock. Moreover, whenever you were in your respective countries, you would watch Mexican movies and TV shows, and also some in their original version with English subtitles. You even started sending each other the occasional message in Spanish, thanks to the Australian’s initiative.

Oscar seemed to have, in your eyes, a natural talent for languages. Not only did he manage to learn greetings and basic words in less than a week, but after a month, he was already making the effort to use your Mexican accent and even incorporating words that seemed exclusive to your family’s vocabulary.

And that was exactly what, a few months later, turned into a real nightmare for the secrecy with which you kept your relationship.

While no one knew you were together as a couple, Oscar and you pretended to be just friends when you were in public. That’s why it was completely normal for Checo Pérez to see his daughter with the Australian, having coffee and chatting animatedly after a press conference.

“¡Buenos días, Checo!” Oscar said in almost perfect Spanish. “¿Cómo va, papá?”

You, hearing that last word, spat out the little coffee you had left in your mouth and opened your eyes, completely surprised. Checo, however, made a face and a frown, questioning his daughter’s friend.

“What did you say?” You asked, though you knew perfectly well that what your boyfriend had just said was something you hadn’t taught him, and he’d probably heard it from you.

“Well… ¿Cómo va, papá?” the guy repeated innocently. “Did I say it right?”

“Papá?” repeated the Red Bull driver, even more shocked. “Do you even know what that means, kid?”

“It’s an expression, right? Isn’t it like saying buddy?”

Checo stared at him for a few seconds that felt like an eternity to Oscar. Then, he turned his gaze to you, who was pretending to fiddle with your phone to avoid having to face an awkward conversation about why your secret boyfriend had just said that.

“¿Te importaría decirme por qué Oscar habla como tú?” Pérez asked quickly in Spanish, clearly aiming for Oscar not to understand.

“He doesn’t talk like me!” You quickly replied in English. “Oscar has been practicing Spanish, and well… he wants to fit in better so he’s trying. Duolingo isn’t the best app for learning, so he’s been watching YouTube videos... Right, Osc?”

The guy nodded, but that didn’t convince Checo. Still, he didn’t say anything else and, instead, coldly said goodbye to you both.

As soon as he was far enough away not to hear you, you turned to Oscar and started shaking him:

“Of all the things you could say, you call him papá?!”

“I didn’t do it on purpose, babe!” He rushed to reply, feeling bad for you. “I’ve heard it so many times that, well… I just said it without thinking. I honestly didn’t think it was anything bad.”

You huffed, knowing that it wasn’t Oscar’s fault or his curiosity and interest in learning your mother tongue, but yours for not setting boundaries or explaining the meaning of each word, as well as the context in which it should be used or who it was addressed to.

From that moment on, your father started paying more attention. He was an expert in discretion, but you knew him well enough to realize that, since the incident with Oscar, he had become much more alert and interested in you both, especially looking for clear signs that would confirm his suspicions that his daughter was dating one of the newest additions to the grid.

Unfortunately for you and Oscar, the Mexican didn’t need to investigate much, and he only did so for a month to confirm his theories.

During one of the briefings with all the drivers, Checo heard Oscar mumbling an “Órale, wey” followed by some insults in Spanish that you had made up when it had gotten pretty late and everyone was eager to return to their hotel. Also, instead of saying “sorry,” he let out a “¿mande?” which wouldn’t have been strange if he hadn’t continued speaking in English, as if nothing had happened.

You and Oscar seemed unaware of all your slip-ups; on the contrary, feeling like you weren’t arousing anyone’s suspicion, you lowered your guard. Displays of affection in public, though still cautious, became more frequent, especially when Checo wasn’t near you. Or at least, that’s what you thought.

The back of the McLaren garage, just a few meters away from Red Bull’s, as expected, wasn’t the most suitable place.

“We should go somewhere else,” you said softly while nervously fiddling with the collar of your boyfriend's shirt, who had his arm around your waist.

“Why? This place is perfect,” Oscar replied, unconcerned.

“Yeah, sure, perfect for my dad to catch us,” you muttered. “If he already suspects and looks like that doll from the red light, green light game on Squid Game, analyzing us so much to jump on us as soon as he catches us… imagine if he finds us. He’ll kill us, I swear.”

“Come on, Y/N, just try to relax. We’ve got it all under control. Seriously, there’s nothing to worry about, mi amor.”

You blushed at the compliment he had given you in Spanish, and couldn’t help but plant a chaste kiss on his lips, even though everything inside you felt chaotic.

“If you’re trying to convince me that everything’s fine by speaking to me in Spanish, just know that you’re doing it perfectly,” you declared. “But don’t forget, that doesn’t mean I don’t feel a tremendous anxiety and keep thinking that we’re literally one step away from getting caught. Do you know what he could do if he finds out that you and I… that?” You asked hesitantly.

“Is he going to give us a lecture on how we have to stay professional whenever we’re in public? Or is he going to tell me he’ll kill me if I even think about getting you pregnant?”

“He’ll probably make you come home to have lunch with my family and only speak Spanish,” you tried not to laugh but couldn’t help yourself. “And trust me, you don’t want to be in that position because you’ll have all my aunts, and there are quite a few of them, right next to you, asking you some very uncomfortable questions.”

“Then we’ll have to tell him as soon as possible so he can prepare. How about I tell him that I’m absolutely and completely in love with his daughter?”

You shot him a glare, panic flooding your insides at the thought of that happening.

“No, don’t you dare do that, Osc, and especially not here. You have no idea how my dad would react if…”

“Why not?” He interrupted. Then, he stopped, and after a few seconds that felt like an eternity to you, he seemed to finally find the courage to speak: “I could tell him something like… ¡Señor Pérez, estoy saliendo con su hija porque además de ser la mejor mujer de este mundo, me hace la persona más feliz del mundo!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, filled with emotion inside at Oscar’s sweet yet innocent declaration of love aloud.

However, a cough behind you made you snap back to reality.

“Can I know what you’re doing with my daughter, Piastri?”

You both slowly turned around. There, standing before you, was Checo, arms crossed, with a very unfriendly look on his face. You swore that if Oscar walked out of there alive and without a reprimand from your overprotective father, he could do whatever he wanted for the rest of the year.

“Well…” Oscar began, his confidence suddenly disappearing.

“Esto no es lo que parece, te lo juro,” you said in Spanish, trying to calm your father, even though you knew your attempts would be in vain.

“Oh, really?” Checo asked, raising an eyebrow, knowing you were both lying. “Then, what explanation do you have for this kid shouting to the four winds in almost perfect Spanish that he’s in love with you? At least that’s what I understood, if my Spanish doesn’t fail me.”

You were about to reply, but instead, Oscar gently took you by the wrist and stepped forward, surprisingly confident.

“Checo, I’m not playing around. Okay, I was joking about that, but not about what it means… like…” Piastri explained slowly, nerves eating at him as he couldn’t bring himself to look Checo in the face. “Your daughter matters to me, well, like… you know, like a boyfriend cares for his girlfriend.”

Checo tried not to laugh at the declaration of love from the man who had just confirmed he was his son-in-law and did his best to maintain the protective fatherly composure, thinking no guy would ever be good enough for his daughter.

“So you care about my daughter… You, one of my coworkers, a twenty-three-year-old kid, care about my eldest daughter enough to believe you can have a relationship with her…”

“It’s not that I believe it, it’s that I know I do.”

Not only you and Checo were surprised by the boy’s words, but Oscar himself too. He regretted it immediately, but before he could apologize to Checo, the man stepped forward, raising a hand and staring at him:

“So… are you two dating or not?”

“Yes, for almost six months now,” you answered, feeling a knot in your stomach, but much less pressure now that your father knew the truth.

Checo sighed, running a hand over his face as he tried to process the news his daughter, his little girl, had just told him. The girl he knew ever since she was born and now he had to imagine her spending, if not the rest of her life, at least part of it, with another man.

“And why didn’t you tell me before?” Checo asked, his voice tinged with disappointment but also some understanding. “Don’t you trust me?”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s that I knew you would react badly,” you answered, frustrated. “I trust you, and I know you want to protect me from any guy who could make me feel bad, but you have to understand that I’m twenty years old, and whether you like it or not, I’m not a little girl anymore.”

Checo looked at you and then turned his gaze to Oscar, who had his head down. Besides his nerves being pretty evident, so was his willingness to face any kind of dispute or reprimand from him just to stay with you.

That made Checo feel a bit bad, though it also gave him some relief seeing that the Australian was truly concerned and, why not say it, in love, willing to do anything for his little Y/N.

Finally, he let out a small sigh, trying to calm himself. He repeated your words over and over in his mind before saying anything else because if you had never disappointed him in your life, then he didn’t want to disappoint you just because you were in love.

I’m not a little girl anymore.

“Checo…” Piastri spoke, but Checo raised a finger, silencing him instantly.

“I’m only going to say this once: you better not hurt my daughter, or I’ll hurt you when I kick you off the track or crash into you accidentally. Is that clear?”

Oscar swallowed hard, feeling that Checo wasn’t joking.

“Understood…”

“And as for you,” Checo now spoke to you, completely stunned, “don’t think this is over. Your mother, you, and I will have a conversation about this and several other topics when we get home.”

Unprotected wild sex, alcohol, and drugs, for sure, you thought, forcing a smile to try to hide your worry.

“Now go on and keep loving each other, but be careful where and how you do it. I don’t want to be a grandfather just yet.”

With those words, Checo left, leaving you both.

“Well… now he knows. Finally,” Oscar said, letting out a sigh of relief.

“I told you he was intense. Do you believe me now?”

“Of course, mi amor,” the Australian replied, taking your hand and heading to your room in the McLaren motorhome, so, as Checo had said, you wouldn’t become grandparents just yet. “Your dad scared me, but I’m not going to lie to you, he gave me enough motivation to beat him in every race from now on.”

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vanteguccir · 2 days ago

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hi i hope you're having a wonderful day!!

im thinking about reader pranking matt by not calling him his nickname that she always uses for a whole day. he just follows her around like a lost puppy and keep asking "are you okay baby? are you mad at me? did i do something :(" aaa hes so cute. hope you can write this <3 tq!!

── ୨୧ !　TIKTOK BLURB

matt sturniolo x reader

where you decide to make the tiktok trend 'call your boyfriend by his name to see his reaction' with matt

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The soft hum of the computer filled the bedroom, mixing with the faint sound effects from Matt's favorite video game. The middle triplet sat at his computer desk, completely engrossed, his blue eyes darting across the screen as his fingers moved quickly over the keyboard. His headphones perched on his head, slightly askew to let one ear breathe.

Y/N lay sprawled across their shared bed, her legs lazily swinging in the air, phone in hand as she scrolled through TikTok. A grin curled on her lips when she stumbled across a trend she had seen earlier that week; call your boyfriend by his actual name to see his reaction.

Her eyes danced from her phone screen - with the video replaying again and again - to her boyfriend and back before shrugging.

Carefully, she clicked on the middle black button on the app and propped the device up against Matt's pillow, ensuring the camera had a clear view of him sitting at his desk. With his headset on, Matt was oblivious, muttering random things under his breath. Y/N pressed record, suppressing a giggle as she prepared to execute her plan.

"Hey, Matt, can you turn off the lights for me? Please." She asked casually.

Matt froze mid-action. His character on the screen stood idle for a moment, vulnerable to an oncoming enemy attack. He yanked his headphones off with one hand, letting them dangle around his neck, and swiveled his chair around to face her.

"Are... are you okay, sweetheart?" He asked, his brows furrowed, concern dripping from his voice.

Y/N bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

"Yeah, of course." She replied nonchalantly, still feigning innocence.

Matt tilted his head like a confused puppy, his lips slightly parted.

"Are you mad at me?" He asked hesitantly, his voice soft.

Her brow furrowed.

"Mad? No. Why would I be mad at you?"

He leaned forward, clutching the armrest of his chair with his hand.

"Did I do something? Like... do you not want me to play right now? 'Cause that's okay! We can do something else if you want."

The corners of Y/N's lips twitched, but she maintained her poker face.

"No, Matt, you’re fine. I don’t mind you playing."

Matt's brows seemed to furrow deeper, his eyes wandering from her to his computer and back. He hesitated for a beat before blurting out.

"Then stop calling me that! Why are you doing this?"

Y/N tilted her head, feigning confusion.

"Calling you what? Matt? That's your name."

"No." He said firmly, shaking his head like a child rejecting a ridiculous claim. His plump lips pressed into a pout, and he gestured toward her dramatically. "My name is baby."

Y/N couldn’t hold it in anymore. A snort escaped her, quickly followed by a cascade of laughter that had her clutching her stomach, her movements causing her phone to shake against the pillow.

"Matt, what are you even talking about?"

Matt leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms indignantly.

"You always call me baby. Or babe. Or honey. Never Matt! That's not my name to you."

Her laughter only grew louder, and she buried her face in the duvet by her feet to muffle the sound.

"I knew it!" He exclaimed, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation. "You’re mad at me! What did I do? Tell me so I can fix it!"

"Matt." She gasped between fits of laughter, sitting up and holding her arms out toward him. "I’m not mad at you! It’s a TikTok trend!"

"A trend?" His face scrunched in confusion.

"Yeah! You call your boyfriend by his name to see his reaction."

Realization dawned on him, and his pout deepened, his milky skin taking on a pink hue.

"So you were messing with me."

She nodded, still giggling.

"I was. And you fell for it."

Matt pushed off from his desk and crossed the room in long strides, flopping onto the bed beside her, messing the blue sheets. He grabbed her phone and locked it without even looking at the screen, tossing it onto the nightstand.

"You’re evil." He mumbled, burying his face into her neck while pressing her body against the mattress with his arm across her stomach.

"I am not!" She protested, squirming as he peppered her skin with quick kisses.

"You are. I was genuinely worried. And now you’re laughing at me. Do you see how cruel this is?"

"Okay, okay." She relented, wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing his more against herself. "I’m sorry. But, for the record, you calling yourself 'baby' was the best thing ever."

Matt lifted his head, squinting his eyes at her.

"Well... you should stick to the classics, okay? No more 'Matt.' It freaks me out."

"Deal." She agreed, leaning up to press a kiss to his chin, the groing stubble tickling her lips. "No more 'Matt.' I promise."

He huffed dramatically, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Good. Now, can I go back to my game?"

Y/N smiled.

"Yes, baby, you can."

Matt smirked, brushing a quick kiss against her lips before hopping back into his chair. As he slid his headphones on, he glanced over his shoulder.

"Just remember: it’s baby forever, yeah?"

"Got it." She replied with a laugh, already uploading the video to TikTok.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"!

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operahousebookworm · 2 days ago

Text

I was endeavoring to explain elsewhere why "13yo girls devouring the works of Stephen King" was such a common millennial experience, and I think a big part of it is his novels are ALL interiority. Yeah there's supernatural forces and creepy setpieces and all, but especially in his novels, it's all internal monologue and deep memory and so so much voice. And this is all fascinating as hell when you're just starting to realize there's an adult world out there and trying to sort out how people move through it. (Especially when packaged with the aforementioned horror elements.)

You really see it in the Kubrick film of The Shining vs. the book. The film is about an evil hotel. There's not really a rhyme or reason to why these specific creepy things are happening, they're just creepy and look cool. Its primary vibe is discomfort and there also just happen to be these people here who low-key hate each other. Stans try to talk about how it's all about the psychological effects of isolation but the characters are broken and shut-off from each other from the beginning.

(These people are all ready to draw blood right this second and you cannot convince me otherwise.)

The book, meanwhile, is an absolute masterpiece of interiority, consisting (mostly) of three interweaving internal monologues of very distinct people who desperately want to connect with each other and cannot manage it. Jack loves his wife and adores his kid so goddamn much but he cannot control his rage and addiction, which leaves him constantly trying to make up for things he barely remembers doing. Wendy sees that her son has a special bond with his father that she cannot replicate or share, even though she's been the dependable one taking care of him. She sees herself repeating a pattern from her own upbringing and she hates it so much but she cannot will the jealousy away. Danny sees his parents breaking and wants to fix things, thinks he could fix things if he were either more gifted or more normal. They are all struggling against the forces that shaped them, swimming upstream with everything they have even as they're inexorably pushed toward the sea.

The hotel is merely feeding on them. Not on their anger or paranoia, but on their frustrated and helpless love. The fact that they keep trying to connect and keep getting it exactly wrong is what creates the opportunities for the evil to slip in and amplify those things they all hate about themselves, widening the gaps between them. They refuse to give up on each other, their chapters all show how badly they want to make things work, and that makes the tragedy inevitable.

And I should probably shut up now BUT this is why so many people remember the topiary scene as the most terrifying part of the novel, and why it's not in the movie. Because in the novel it is a sloooooow build of dread as Jack faces their impending isolation and tries to fulfill his duties as caretaker. The wrongness is just lurking at the edges until it starts rapidly closing in, and the increased intensity is Jack working himself into an absolute panic at the thought that if he could just push his limits just a little further and see them all at once, he could render this whole threat harmless. Sure, a thing that only moves when you're not looking at it is scary, but it's terrifying to Jack because the sense of being millimeters shy of your own salvation and still falling short is his whole damage.

And on film it would die completely. Increasingly close-up shots of shrubbery, intercut with a dude losing his entire mind about it, is pure B-movie camp. Small wonder it didn't make it in.

A lot of fiction these days reads as if—as I saw Peter Raleigh put it the other day, and as I’ve discussed it before—the author is trying to describe a video playing in their mind. Often there is little or no interiority. Scenes play out in “real time” without summary. First-person POV stories describe things the character can’t see, but a distant camera could. There’s an overemphasis on characters’ outfits and facial expressions, including my personal pet peeve: the “reaction shot round-up” in which we get a description of every character’s reaction to something as if a camera was cutting between sitcom actors.

When I talk with other creative writing professors, we all seem to agree that interiority is disappearing. Even in first-person POV stories, younger writers often skip describing their character’s hopes, dreams, fears, thoughts, memories, or reactions. This trend is hardly limited to young writers though. I was speaking to an editor yesterday who agreed interiority has largely vanished from commercial fiction, and I think you increasingly notice its absence even in works shelved as “literary fiction.” When interiority does appear on the page, it is often brief and redundant with the dialogue and action. All of this is a great shame. Interiority is perhaps the prime example of an advantage prose as a medium holds over other artforms.

fascinated by this article, "Turning Off the TV in Your Mind," about the influences of visual narratives on writing prose narratives. i def notice the two things i excerpted above in fanfic, which i guess makes even more sense as most of the fic i read is for tv and film. i will also be thinking about its discussion of time in prose - i think that's something i often struggle with and i will try to be more conscious of the differences between screen and page next time i'm writing.

#oops a media studies essay #I do that sometimes #even when I haven't read/watched the works in years #I just had a really different experience reading the shining at 14 vs 34 is all #the novel is an absolute banger #and the movie is soulless rubbish #fite me #the miniseries tried with the topiaries #bless its heart #but they gave the scene to Danny and it didn't have the same weight #and also '90s miniseries cgi womp womp

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tojisun · 2 days ago

Text

price catches it first — that whiff spreading in the den, clogging up his throat like ratafia. it makes him pause, words failing him now, and he snaps his jaw shut at the start of a rumble pulsing from his chest.

he turns just as the others do, watching as you rub on your throat and grumble to yourself. it is bare, the first it’s ever been since you’ve arrived at the base, and his eyes drop to your collar in wonder.

he’s heard of those before — collars that conceal scents. they’ve become a privilege, not quite a necessity, so only a few are found with them. still, rarer are those who would wear them for hours on end, and in the base, you happened to be the only one to do so.

intriguing, if not at least worrying, because price had seen your file. you’re an alpha. an alpha prime, it seemed, based on your presentation records, and yet you came to him with a collar on your throat and your scent heavily suppressed. he didn’t ask, this is not the line of work where one can, and just demanded for your loyalty and skill.

so this is the first that they’re smelling of you. it is overwhelming, like all other alpha scents usually are, but it curls at the end. sweet but burnt. crackling firewood and smoke. it is pleasant but not just; like at every turn, there has to be something that gives. something unexpected; something unusual.

john breathes in sharply, his muscles going taut underneath the fatigues when he realizes what it is. the rest of the squad follow — they sit up straighter, their shoulders drawn higher, and their scents rap against each other, mixing in dizzying blends. the den becomes packed with worry, apprehension, horror, anger, protectiveness, protectiveness, protectiveness.

still, you only look at them with a cocked brow, daring them to go. to speak of what it is weighing down on their tongues.

it is kyle to do so. kyle who you trust more than anyone else.

“you’ve been bitched.”

he says it with no malice, but just as a fact rolling off his tongue, one that makes your fingers twitch while your face stays frozen, still a mask of normalcy. of measured strength and quiet fortitude.

“i have,” you reply, also void of emotion. any other day he would commend the control you have of your emotions to not even let it slip into your scent, especially after having relied on your collar so much, but tonight isn’t the right time. tonight, john’s mind swirls, his tongue heavy with the things he wants to say.

so he tries.

“was it—”

you blink at him. then, you laugh. “oh! yes, of course. i wanted it.”

your reply fills him up, stuffing him with cotton. he realizes that your tension was of worry; you were afraid that they would judge you. and john feels lighter, elated and calm now, but also he feels disjointed, like he is floating, and john, he–

he tries.

he tries not to imagine the weight of your words. he tries not to give them shape. but his mind is faster than his conscience, and john now thinks of you, alpha prime, begging for another alpha to turn you. to fill you up and drown your scent glands with their own before gnawing on your skin. biting. biting. biting. until it takes root, upending every fibre within you to make room for the submission. for the delicateness. for the heat.

john’s thoughts only grind to a halt when the new scent is snuffed out from the room, extinguished in its entirety, leaving no trail. his eyes find you fastening the collar on your neck again, your roughened fingers unlatching the buckle to loop the leather.

he swallows like he is a man parched, but his throat only grows dryer. there is nothing for him to feast on.

it goes by so slowly; your familiarity with the collar does not aid you in fastening its loose end, and john wonders if you might need help, after all. only, just as the question is building on the tip of his tongue, he realizes what you’re doing.

what teases you are leaving.

“so,” you say like you have not just presented an opportunity for them to latch onto. “can i be dismissed?”

john hums his ascent, and ends the meeting for tonight. they watch as you gather your files before waltzing away with only the sound of your boots following you. the rest of the squad stays, awashed by the… offering.

because it was everything and that.

it was a proof of your trust, and a question of their own, one that john knows that they will eagerly prove to you. but it was also an invitation; a revelation and now a question.

john watches the way simon’s knuckles turn white as he balls his hands into fists and wonders if his boys would allow him to be the first to you.

——

this is nothing and everything alike; experimenting on omegaverse in hopes that i’ll get out of my slump </3

#suns #john price x reader #task force 141 x reader #x reader #poly!141 x reader #john price #captain john price #cw omegaverse #<- non traditional alpha/beta/omega dynamics

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captain-bubble-wrap · 2 days ago

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Reader is late getting home???? Worried huggy bear????

I myself, was half-asleep when I wrote this! I hope it isn't a complete mess! 🫣

Quinn: It's after midnight, baby. Are you okay? (12:19am)

Quinn: Hello? (12:43am)

Quinn: Missed call. (12:46am)

Quinn: Missed call. (12:52am)

Quinn: Baby, you're worrying me. Please, text me. (12:54am)

Quinn: Missed call. (12:55am)

Quinn: Baby, please, call me. (12:58am)

Pacing the living room floor, Quinn kept checking his phone, the screen never turning off as he walked back and forth, endlessly. You had gone out with some girlfriends hours ago, and had told Quinn that you would be back before midnight. However, it was nearing one o'clock in the morning and there hadn't been word from you since slightly after eleven. Always one to keep your word, he never had reason to worry until now. Quinn hated messaging you repeatedly, and even worse, all of the missed calls. He never wanted you to feel smothered or like he was keeping tabs on you. Quinn trusted you fully, and he hoped that it would still remain that way after you saw everything.

Unsure of what to do, other than remain pacing his apartment, Quinn decided to return to where you and your friends had gone for the evening, in hopes that maybe you were still there. Outside, it had been storming, pouring rain since dawn. He'd put on a hat and jacket before grabbing his keys from the bowl by the door. His palms were damp and his fingers trembled out of worry of what could have happened to you.

It was so late, no one in the building was about and it was eerily quiet. He'd enter the elevator and select the wrong floor either due to nerves or exhaustion. The parking garage would be what he had wanted, but instead, Quinn would press the ground floor button. Each floor that ticked by, another scenario would cross his mind about where you could be, and each time it would pain his heart. The doors would open, and blindly, Quinn would walk out, his mind clouded. It would take several steps before he'd realize he wasn't on the right floor. That's when he noticed something,

There, in one of the lobby's chairs, you were coiled up, asleep. He could have fallen to his knees in relief at the sight of you.

"Oh, thank god," he muttered to himself, before exhaling the deepest breath. Making short work of the gap, Quinn rushed to your side while you remained asleep. There on the floor in front of you, was your phone. Had you still been holding it, it was possible all of his phone calls could have stirred you, however, that clearly hadn't been the case.

"Wake up, sweetheart," he whispered, gently caressing your cheek, hoping to wake you without scaring you, "Sweetheart?"

"Hmm?" You were completely out of it when you finally came to. Blinking several times in quick succession, you'd finally realize it was Quinn who was talking to you. "Quinn? What-- what's going..on?"

He couldn't help but chuckle, "Yes, it's me, babe. I've been wondering where you've been!"

"Wh-what do you mean?" Dropping your legs down from their tightly tucked position, you winced from the pain. "Oh, ow--!"

Quinn put his hand to your back, giving soft touches while you struggled to unfold yourself. "Take your time, you're okay," he smiled. "I was just about to come see if I could find you."

"Where's-- where's my, phone?"

"I have it, baby. It was on the floor."

You looked up at him so confused. "I fell asleep down here?"

Quinn would step in front of you and kneel down, putting his hands on your legs. His expression was so loving and caring, and trying to convey that everything was okay. He was just happy that he had found you. "Let's go home, sweetheart. Let's get you upstairs."

You nodded, taking his hand after he rose back to his feet. Quinn carried your clutch and phone as he wrapped his other arm around your waist, helping you steady yourself. He knew you had had a few drinks and just didn't want anything to happen to you while in his care or otherwise.

"I'm so sorry, baby," you apologized, laying your head on your shoulder once in the elevator. "I remember them dropping me off, then sitting down to fix the strap of my shoe... I guess I just somehow fell asleep. Your tone was that was shame and embarrassment, but Quinn harbored none of those feelings.

"I'm just glad you're safe. That's all that matters to me, alright?" He reassured, placing his lips to your temple for a long kiss.

"What time is it?"

"After one by now."

"One?" You whined. "Oh my gosh, Quinny! I'm sorry!"

"Shh, you're alright."

You wanted to cry! You remembered telling him you would have been home around eleven. Quinn tightened his grip on your waist slightly. His touch was warm, sending a wave of goosebumps cascading over your skin. He loved you so much; you were the most important thing in his life and he wanted nothing more than to protect you. You, however, in that moment, felt so ashamed at what you had done. You would stay quiet until he got you back inside his apartment.

"Safe and sound," he whispered in your ear, standing directly behind you. "Time for bed?"

Staggering slightly, you turned around to face him, your eyelids so heavy with exhaustion. "Yes, please."

Quinn smiled, "Good, I've been ready."

In one quick movement, he'd pick you up and carry you to his bedroom, your head falling against his chest. He was your white knight. He'd sit you down on the bed and you would slump forward slightly, not having him to support you.

"Here, let me help you," he said, kneeling again, but this time to remove your shoes. His touch was so soft and delicate, caressing every curve your body had to offer. "Can you stand for me, sweetheart?"

With his hands extended, Quinn would help get you to your feet one more time and you'd fall into him slightly. With his arms around you, he'd find the zipper of your dress and drag it down to expose your back. Every time he touched you, it was so gentle and careful. Quinn was the only guy you had been with, who treated you with such compassion and tenderness. It seemed a lost art these days.

From your shoulders, your dress would drop from your body and come to rest around your bare feet. You pulled him closer to you, more cold than exposed, and he was so warm.

"Let me go get you something to sleep in, okay?" Quinn spoke softly, nose buried in your perfumed hair.

"May I have one of your hoodies, please?"

He smiled, knowing just how much you loved to steal them. "Of course, baby, hold on one second okay?"

When he stepped away, you'd cross your arms across your chest to stay as warm as you could, standing there in only your underwear. The light in the room was dim and you'd kick the dress from your feet nearly tripping yourself up in the process, wobbly from the alcohol still lingering in your system.

"Careful, careful," he cooed, making sure you didn't fall. "Here, how about this one?"

He'd help you get the hoodie on and down over your body, his hands lingering at the hem, just below the curve of your ass. With your face in the curve of your neck, the two of you would share a laugh as Quinn wasn't always the most...handsy...type. When he was, he got embarrassed and flustered, but you thought it was always adorable.

"I need to take my makeup off," you mumbled, unwilling to part with him though you needed to.

"Do you need any help?"

"No, I'll be okay. Thank you."

"You go do that, and then we'll go to bed," he hummed, sending chills through your body. Eventually, you'd find the strength to wander off to the bathroom and remove your makeup, but after sometime, Quinn joined you, already changed out of his street clothes.

"You're beautiful," he said, coming up behind you and after you had a clean face. "You don't need all of that stuff."

His arms snaked around your waist, his lips near your ear. "I love you."

"I love you, too, baby," you replied, hand reaching up to touch his cheek. "You're too sweet."

"Come on, beautiful, time for bed?"

"Mhm."

After one more kiss, you'd follow him back to the bedroom where he had already pulled the covers back. You'd climb across his side of the bed to clumsily snuggle down into the covers.

"Comfy?" He'd ask after you were settled, joining you shortly after.

"I have the spins," you whined, feeling the room spin now that you were laying down.

"Come here, baby. You'll be okay once you relax."

Scooting over to Quinn, you'd put your hands against his chest and try to focus on his heartbeat rather than how your head was feeling. His warmth was so comforting and his touch addictive. Quinn's fingers trailed through your hair as your eyes finally fell closed.

"I'm sorry about making you worry, Quinny," you whispered, fingers coiled in his shirt.

"None of that matters now," he said, lips nearly touching your forehead. "I'm just glad I found you. I hate to sleep alone."

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes one shot #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes fic #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction #hockey fic

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diaryofawhoretbh · 2 days ago

Note

Hello. I saw you had your requests opened and wondered if you could please write some Nam gyu x reader who likes to call him cute after she saw him take his picture. I was just thinking about how ofter we see koreans say kiowo. thx

i really hope this is what you asked for, if not, please let me know, but enjoy!!!

kiyowo | nam-gyu (player 124)

the air felt thick with anxiety as you stood in line, your heart hammering against your chest. the players ahead of you moved forward one by one, the sound of the camera's flash echoing in the cold, yet colourful room. every step you took felt like it weighed a ton, and your palms were slick with sweat. yet, you couldn’t afford to show it. no one here could afford to show weakness.

you were just about to step up when you saw him. player 124. nam gyu. he was standing a few steps ahead, his expression as calm as ever, his posture straight, shoulders squared. he was... composed. maybe even too composed for a place like this. you didn’t know him, but there was something about the way he stood—so perfectly still and unwavering—that made you admire him.

the sound of a guard’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you realized it was your turn. you quickly stepped forward, keeping your gaze fixed on the camera ahead, trying not to let the overwhelming feeling of dread consume you. the guards were watching closely, their masked faces impossible to read. the flash of the camera was bright and sudden, blinding you for a split second, but you stayed still. just get through it, you told yourself.

as you walked away from the camera, trying to act like this was just another moment in your life, you noticed nam gyu stepping up for his photo. again, his posture was impeccable, as if he had been through this countless times before. you couldn’t help but think about how... cute he looked. the way his serious expression remained even in such an intense moment made him seem almost otherworldly. he was standing so still, like he was in control of everything around him, and for some reason, that made your heart flutter.

without thinking, the word slipped from your lips. “kiyowo,” you muttered softly, the word almost a reflex at this point, but it felt genuine. you weren’t expecting anyone to hear you—certainly not him. yet, the moment you said it, you saw his eyes flicker toward you, sharp and knowing.

“did you just call me... cute?” his voice was low, and the curiosity in it made your stomach flip. you froze, your heart skipping a beat. you hadn’t meant for him to hear that. your mind raced, unsure of how to react. should you apologize? ignore it? say something else?

he tilted his head slightly, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips, though it wasn’t a full smile. it was just enough to make your heart beat faster. he didn’t seem mad or surprised—just... intrigued.

“uh... yeah,” you stammered, feeling your cheeks warm. “i mean, you looked cute, standing there all serious. i wasn’t expecting that.”

his eyes narrowed slightly, but the way he looked at you wasn’t cold. in fact, it seemed almost... amused. he considered your words for a moment, and the brief silence between you felt heavier than it probably should have.

“serious, huh?” he said, almost like he was thinking out loud. then he glanced around, as if checking that no one else was listening, before speaking again, his tone more playful. “you’re not so bad yourself. i didn’t expect anyone to notice... but you do stand out a little.”

you blinked in surprise. what was he saying? was he complimenting you? you weren’t sure, but it made you feel strange in the best way.

“well, i’ve got to stand out somehow,” you replied, trying to keep the conversation going. “i mean, this place is terrifying. if you don’t show a little confidence, you might as well give up already.”

he looked at you for a long moment, his gaze never leaving yours. something in his eyes softened, just slightly. “confidence, huh? i guess i can see that. most people here would be shaking in their boots by now.”

you laughed nervously, trying not to let the tension of the moment weigh too heavily on you. “well, i don’t know about you, but i’m not planning to be the one who goes out first.”

his expression shifted again, just for a moment. there was something else behind his eyes now, something more genuine. “you’re not bad,” he said, almost as if he was acknowledging you as someone worth remembering. “we’ll see how long that confidence lasts.”

the guard behind him motioned for him to step forward, and nam gyu gave you one last look before moving on. you could have sworn you saw a small, knowing smile before he turned away.

as he disappeared into the next line of players, you felt a strange sense of warmth in your chest. the conversation had been brief, barely more than a few exchanged words, but something about it made you feel... seen. not bad, he’d said. for some reason, those words lingered in your mind as you moved forward, preparing for whatever came next.

despite everything—despite the terrifying reality of what was about to happen—you felt a little more confident than before. maybe you weren’t just another player in the game. maybe you could make it through this. and, just maybe, nam gyu would be someone you wouldn’t forget anytime soon, because little did you know, that one word, kiyowo, would become the foundation of your relationship with him.

#nam gyu #nam gyu x reader #player 124 #player 124 x reader #squid game #squid game season 2 #squid game s2 #squid game 2 #squid game x reader #squid game s2 x reader #squid game 2 x reader #squid game au #squid game fanfic #squid game imagine

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419jhat · 2 days ago

Text

Not Just Friends

Summary: Eddie flirts with Steve constantly, and Steve flirts back. The lines start to blur, and Eddie gets all in his head about it, until he sees Steve with another guy and realizes that their weird little game was never that special at all. Or...maybe Steve's just a dumbass.

Rating: T

Word Count: 5,230

***

“Family Video, this is Steve.”

“Hey, hot stuff, wanna make a big mistake?” Eddie asks.

“You sure it wouldn't be a small mistake?” Steve shoots back with zero hesitation.

“What- I'll have you know, it would be a very big mistake, Harrington. Extra large, ok? Ok maybe not extra large but definitely large,” Eddie insists.

“Eddie,” Steve sighs, “did you call me this morning for a specific reason or are you awake with the sun for once on accident?”

Eddie clears his throat. He’ll never get over how easily Steve accepts the flirting. It makes him wonder what's going on in that pretty little head. Did he think Eddie was joking? Did he secretly like it?

“Do you want a movie or something? I'm free tonight,” Eddie asks, fiddling with the phone cord.

“What makes you think I'm free tonight?”

“The fact that you're never doing anything?”

“Jesus, Munson. Or something.”

“What?” Eddie asks.

“I work at a movie store. I watch movies all day. No movies. I want the something.”

“It's a date,” Eddie dares to say.

“Whatever you say,” Steve says. Eddie can hear the smile in his voice just before the line goes dead. He feels a little accomplished, even if all he did was invite the guy over. Something he did every week at this point. But hey, this was progress, right?

He turns to look at the clutter in his bedroom and recalls the expression in Steve's face when he saw how dirty his old mattress was.

He starts cleaning.

About an hour later, when he's been thoroughly sidetracked with reorganizing the miniatures on his dresser, he hears a knock at the door. He flings the bedsheet into something nicer than the crumpled mess it had been and rushed to the door.

“Welcome to my humble abode, your highness,” he says with as he opens the door. Steve's fanning his shirt, sweat dripping down his forehead, but still waits patiently for Eddie to get out of the way like the perfect little houseguest. When he does, Steve beelines straight for Eddie's bedroom. He strips his shirt off and collapses on the bed under the window AC, basking in the cool air.

“Damn, Harrington, I see how it is,” Eddie says, then he squeaks when Steve balls up his shirt and tosses it at his head.

“Can’t you buy me dinner first? I'm feeling used,” Eddie jokes.

Steve pats the bed next to him. “Lay down next to me.”

Eddie listens, because he's a hopeless fool. He leaves some room between them, since he's already been coming on kind of strong today and doesn't want to scare Steve off for real. But then Steve closes the gap and rests his head on Eddie's chest.

He says something. Eddie's not sure what it is because he's too busy trying not to do something stupid like pulls steve on top of him and squeeze him as tight as he can.

“Hmm?” Eddie asks, when he realizes Steve is silent again.

“I said, do you want to turn on the radio?”

“Oh! Why didn't you say so?” Eddie asks with a nervous chuckle.

“I did,” Steve says.

Eddie balances on his elbow and awkwardly stretches to reach the radio without jostling Steve's head. He's starting to form a cramp in his wrist from twisting it all wrong just to reach the thing when the weight on his chest lifts and suddenly, a shirtless Steve Harrington has one arm braced by Eddie's head and the other reaching across him.

Eddie stares at the hair on his chest, the dusty nipples right within reach of his mouth, the little moles dotting across his skin, tanned from whatever it was he willingly did outside in the summer heat all day.

“Got it,” Steve says, and suddenly Madonna’s singing in the background.

“You changed the channel,” Eddie complains distractedly. His palms are sweaty. He's hoping and praying that Steve won't look at his face and see whatever expression he's making because just knows it's going to be embarrassing. And apparently the man upstairs is on his side because Steve just lowers himself right there, right onto Eddie's chest.

“Your heart is racing,” he says.

Eddie can feel it, just like he can feel the rise and fall of Steve's chest with every breath, and the way his fingers curl around the hem of Eddie's t-shirt.

“Because you're so heavy,” Eddie scolds lightly, using the opportunity to touch the bare skin on Steve's back. He lets his hands linger there, and then decides to take a bigger risk and indulges a little, running his hand down his spine and then back up again to the soft hair at the nape of his neck. It's gotten a little long. He wonders if Steve's planning on growing it out as he plays with it.

“You know, people make fun of her, but Madonna is actually really talented. Did you see her new music video on MTV? She really knows how to stick it to the conservatives,” Eddie rambles. He's not sure why he's saying it. He respects Madonna, but he's more nervous of Steve realizing how weirdly intimate this position is and punching him in retaliation, or something.

“Yeah?” Steve asks. Eddie can feel his mouth moving against him as he speaks. And then, just because Steve is for some reason compelled by the universe to drive Eddie insane, he says, “I bet you could do better.”

Eddie tries not to scream.

~.~.~

Steve calls him next time. Doesn't even introduce himself, like he knows that the mere sound of his voice commands Eddie to do his bidding.

“Hey, man. Want me to pick you up after work?”

Eddie's never been one to need a plan to agree to something, but obviously he's going to say yes. Steve could invite him to sit in the ocean as the tide went up and he'd be perfectly fine doing it.

“Sure,” he says casually. He tries to think of what else to say, but before he can, Steve's already hung up.

Eddie got a new job through Wayne's buddy at the local parks and rec center, cleaning up and maintaining their public spaces. It's outside, which practically burns his soul through the mandatory jumper he has to wear in the summer heat, but he likes that people leave him alone. The town still doesn't trust him, but he puts up with it for Wayne and the kids.

And Steve.

He stands outside and waits next to the tiny building his boss does all the paperwork in, blocking the sun from his face with his hand until he sees that familiar BMW rolling towards him.

“Did you have a good day?” Steve asks, because he's genuinely nice like that.

“Eh,” Eddie says as he climbs into the passenger seat, “I had to wash vomit off a slide from a kid's birthday party. I've had better.”

Steve's nose wrinkles with sympathy. He's got the windows down, probably because it's hot as balls outside, but it's whipping his hair all over the place. Eddie wants to reach over and fix it, but he's not so sure Steve would like that. He's so distracted by it all that he doesn't even notice they're pulling to a stop on the road that backs up to the quarry.

“What's going on?” Eddie asks.

Steve smiles wickedly.

“Wanna smoke?” he asks.

“Oh?” Eddie says, lifting an eyebrow. He didn't expect that. Especially since it's his weed Steve's asking to smoke.

“You asking or offering, Harrington?”

“Both,” he says coyly, pulling a spare joint from his box of cigarettes. It's one Eddie gave him a few days earlier. He lights up and passes it over, his hand hovering in the short space between them. Eddie stares, thinking about how Steve's lips were just on the end of it, and now his lips are going to be too. It's kind of like a kiss, in a way. The idea makes him blush.

“So…is this how you treat all the girls, big boy?” Eddie teases.

“What?” Steve asks. He doesn't sound angry, so Eddie keeps pushing.

“A secluded parking spot in the woods at dusk, some weed, windows down. All we're missing is a little music and it could make a guy fall in love,” Eddie says, holding a hand to his heart.

Steve turns the keys in the ignition, bringing the radio and AC back to life.

“One can only dream,” Steve says with a wink that has no business being as smooth as it is.

And God, how Eddie can dream. He wonders yet again, if Steve is really this oblivious to their little game.

Steve turns the car back off and runs a hand through his hair like he does when he's thinking hard about something. Eddie can only hope it's that he's suddenly realizing that he's into men. He takes the joint, willing himself to stop thinking of foolish things.

With the car off, and it's starting to get disgustingly warm, so he focuses on that instead. Focuses so much on it that he ends up peeling the top half of his jumper off revealing an old ripped Metallica shirt.

“I'm sorry we couldn't save your guitar,” Steve says suddenly.

“Hmm?” Eddie asks. He meets Steve's eyes in the rearview mirror. Steve's staring at his shirt. “Oh, it's ok. I mean, it isn't, actually. I'll miss that thing until the end of time. But that's kind of the point, right? I can miss it because you guys saved my life, so, it's fine.”

He's rambling, because it feels ungrateful to feel sad about the loss of his guitar. His baby. His one and only.

Steve places a comforting hand just above his knee. It's warm, and weirdly intimate enough that it shakes Eddie out of his mournful thoughts.

“It's ok to be sad, man. You were pretty cool with that thing,” he says.

Eddie can't process Steve Harrington telling him he looked cool and touching his thigh at the same time. It's simply too much for him to handle. He takes another hit, keeping his mouth too busy to say something embarrassing.

“I never got to see you perform. I mean, I saw a bit of your show in the upside down, but nothing else,” Steve says.

“I can play something for you sometime,” Eddie says, before he can think it through.

“You'd do that for me?” Steve asks. Which is a stupid question. Eddie would obviously do anything for Steve.

His hand is still on Eddie's thigh. Guys don't usually do that, do they? Was Steve flirting with him for once? Without provocation?

“Yeah, I've got another guitar. It's an acoustic, but it does the job.”

Steve's quiet for a moment. Long enough that Eddie focuses back on his fingers slowly tapping his knees, like he's thinking something through.

“You want to go swimming?” Steve asks.

“... really?” Eddie asks, surprised that Steve would even want to after everything that happened with the upside down. Steve seems to understand, because his expression softens and then he shrugs.

“I think it would be easier if someone went with me,” he says softly.

It occurs to Eddie that this must have been Steve's plan the whole time, and maybe the weed and talk of guitars was just a distraction. It's honest and vulnerable enough that it makes him feel a little honored that he held Steve’s trust. He can't say no to that, so he agrees before he can even ask about swimsuits.

Steve releases his knee and climbs out of the car, walking toward the Quarry with a look over his shoulder to check if Eddie's following. Eddie wipes the sweat from his brow and looks up just in time to see Steve removing his shirt.

He can't look away, and that's how he gets the shock of his life when Steve removes his jeans too.

“Oh- uh,” Eddie stutters.

Then, off goes the underwear and Eddie's got an eye full of a round, tan, Harrington ass.

At this point, the sun is setting and Eddie doubts anyone could see them in any amount of detail. But he doesn't know what to do with a naked hot dude right in front of him. Does he touch? He wants to touch. But Steve is confusing, and touching might not go well. Instead of standing around like a lovesick dumbass, Eddie wolf whistles and dramatically fans his face.

“Well, I'll be damned, Harrington. Maybe you're the extra large between the two of us!” he says, even though he can't actually see Steve's dick with him turned around. Steve completely ignores him.

“Come on!” he says, rushing toward the shoreline. Eddie quickly decides that he likes Steve enough to get naked with him, even if it's not in a sexy way. He kicks off his boots and leaps toward the water with a shout.

~.~.~

Steve’s got his head resting in the spot between Eddie's thigh and hip bone, competing for space next to his guitar as Eddie plucks away songs he knows he'd recognize.

“You're so talented,” Steve says, for the millionth time that night. He's repeating it over and over, pushing Eddie's ego sky high.

“I just play what I hear,” he says humbly.

“I can't even sing what I hear,” Steve says with a little laugh. He's got his legs hanging over the edge of the couch, feet tapping along to the best as Eddie plays.

“It's not that hard. I can show you, if you want,” Eddie says.

Steve looks up at him through his hair. “Really?”

“Get up, buttercup, and I'll give you a short lesson,” Eddie says.

Steve lifts himself away from Eddie and sits up on the couch, shoving Wayne's favorite pillow into the floor. Eddie decides the pillow can survive the disrespect and shoves the only remaining shard of his shattered musical soul into Steve's arms. Steve holds onto it like it's made of glass, which is a good first step in Eddie's opinion.

Eddie moves Steve's fingers into the correct position to play Yesterday, which is kind of setting a beginner up for failure with the bar chords.

“Move your other hand like this,” Eddie said, mimicking the strumming motion. Steve tries and fails. Eddie grabs his hand and tries to help, but he still doesn't get it. His brows are furrowed cutely as he focuses hard on the strings like they'll make it all work out for him.

“Let me show you,” Eddie says, pulling Steve so his back is pressed against Eddie's chest. He wraps his arms around him, pretending that being this close doesn't make him want to kiss the top of his shoulder and bear hug him until they fall asleep. He laces his fingers through Steve's, helping him feel exactly where to go.

“Your fingers go here, and your other hand moves like this,” he says over Steve's shoulder.

It's impractical and isn't teaching Steve anything. He just likes the feeling of Steve against him, the way he accepts Eddie's hands against his without any weird looks. Eddie hums the lyrics, a bit unable to stop himself because the song is a classic, until Steve lifts their hands away from the guitar and curls his fingers around Eddie's, looking at them closely. Steve pulls Eddie's hands close to his face and twists one of his rings, rubbing his thumb against the pad of Eddie's left pointer finger. He wishes he could see his expression.

“Is this what girls mean when they talk about guys that play guitar?” Steve finally asks.

Eddie laughs, sharp and loud, which makes Steve shoulder him away.

“Don't shout in my ear,” Steve complains.

Eddie scoots back on the couch, still laughing. Steve rolls his eyes and plucks at the guitar with his thumb.

“How often are girls telling you about guys that play guitar?”

“I mean, they talk,” Steve shrugs.

“Oh yeah? What do they say?” Eddie teases, “that you're not doing a good enough job?”

Steve looks up at him sharp. No smile.

“They tell me how it feels,” he says.

Eddie pauses, brains scrambled, because Now he's imagining Steve describing how it feels and it goes straight to his dick. Which is awkward because they're sharing the same couch and Eddie isn't exactly sitting with his legs crossed.

Still, he wants to know more.

“How- uh- what do they say? About how it feels?” he stammers, shifting a little further from Steve. He's feeling a little hot under the collar, and he knows he's really pushing the limits, but he can't help it. Not when Steve's right there, egging him on. Because that's what this is, right? He's not alone in this. Steve has to know what he's doing.

As if to answer Eddie's silent question, Steve scoots closer, squeezing the guitar between them as he leans in, face only a few inches from Eddie's. His knee is digging into Eddie's crotch. If he moves his hips, he's sure Steve would learn just how little Eddie’s playing around.

That makes him feel even hotter.

He can feel a puff of hair against his face as Steve laughs lightly, face splitting into a perfect, teasing smile. Steve grabs Eddie's hands and places them around the guitar, fingers brushing against his forehead a moment longer than necessary.

“I don't kiss and tell, Munson,” he says, and then he gets off the couch, leaving Eddie hard as a rock.

~.~.~

Sometimes, Steve spends the night. He falls asleep after an hour of whispering nonsense back and forth in the dark, with his back pressed against Eddie's chest, arms curled close to his body. Then Eddie wakes up to see that Steve is already gone, like the shared heat on the mattress is just a figment of his imagination.

He tries not to let himself think it means anything. He always stays awake a moment longer, always lingering on the man in bed next to him, wondering when he'll finally be sure enough to put himself out of his misery by leaning over for a kiss.

Then, at least he'll know what this is.

This time, Eddie wakes up and it's still dark out. Someone is touching him. He turns and sees a figure in his bed, the blankets pooled around their waist.

“Eddie?” Steve asks sleepily.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks.

Now that his eyes are adjusting to the dark, he can see the outline of the moon leaning through the window blinds, turning Steve's hair stark white where the light hits it.

“You were having a nightmare,” Steve says, placing a hand on Eddie's chest. Eddie can feel his heart, frantic and stressed, under Steve's hand. “Are you ok?”

“I'm fine. I don't even remember it,” Eddie says.

Steve slumps down next to him and leans in. Something brushes against Eddie's cheek, something soft and sweet, so quick that Eddie nearly thinks he's dreamt it up-

A kiss.

Steve just kissed him.

“Goodnight,” he says softly, rolling over like it was nothing. Like he didn't just steal Eddie's heart through his lips. Eddie roughly grabs Steve and hugs him from behind, pulling him as close as possible. He wants to merge into one with this man. He wants signs of Steve across every inch of his skin. Steve makes a sleepy noise of protest, but lets it all happen, and Eddie falls asleep happy with no room for nightmares anymore.

~.~.~

“Who the fuck is that?” Eddie asks, nose scrunched up with disgust. He's just entered Steve's house for some pool party the kids bullied him into hosting, and was instantly met with the most irritating sight he's ever laid eyes upon- a handsome stranger hanging off Steve's shoulder.

“Oh, it's Steve's friend from Italy. Gabriel,” Robin says with a roll of her eyes. “I didn't even know he had friends.”

“Hey, he has us! And the kids!” Eddie says, trying to pretend he isn't watching Steve like a hawk.

“You know what I mean,” Robins says.

Gabriel.

Fucking Gabriel.

Eddie watches as Steve lingers around this other man. This man and his curly brown hair, lightly tanned skin, muscular body, and soft blue eyes. This man and his touchy hands that linger along Steve's body like they're glued together, playfully grabbing at Steve's sunglasses.

“How long has he known him?” Eddie asks defensively. He crosses his arms across his cropped Dio shirt, suddenly feeling a little inadequate in the presence of fucking Michelangelo over there.

“Since they were kids,” Robin shrugs.

Eddie's heart feels tight. He's sure he's going to melt like the Wicked Witch of the West, or something equally dramatic. Because Steve is up and close in this random man's space, in a swimsuit nonetheless, showing off his hairy tits and chatting it up like it was totally normal to be practically in someone's lap.

Which, it was.

Between them.

Some girl Eddie doesn't recognize is laughing it up with Nancy and Jonathan off to the side. She's equally gorgeous and Eddie knows right away that she must have come from Italy too.

Since when did Steve go to Italy? Was this some rich boy shit he'd never learned about?

“Eddie's here!” Dustin yells from the pool. Eddie's saved from having to fake happiness around the kids by Mike tackling Dustin from behind. He's probably drowning or something, but Eddie's not too concerned because somewhere, music is getting louder and fucking Gabriel is pulling Steve up to dance. Steve and Gabriel move like it's second nature, laughing and a little too close, a little too much hip movement for it to be guys being guys.

Eddie didn't know Steve could dance. He didn't even know Steve liked disco.

Why does it suddenly feel like he doesn't know Steve at all?

“Whoo! Those two are always like that,” the pretty girl says with a lazy smile. Nancy and Jonathan don't seem too shocked to see Steve acting like this, which is another sign that Eddie is a gullible fool.

“Are you alright?” Robin asks. She sounds worried. Eddie's not looking at her. He's watching Steve plant a kiss on Gabriel's cheek after their stupid little dance stops.

Eddie isn't alright.

He feels like an idiot.

He thought they had something special, but it turns out that Steve is just…like that.

He turns and walks into the kitchen, so he can work through his shame in peace. That way, he can behave like a normal human long enough to make an excuse and leave in favor of crying into his ratty trailer pillow that probably still smells like Steve and his stupid hairspray.

“Whoa, what's wrong?” someone asks.

It's Steve, of course. He's standing at the kitchen door, looking at Eddie with genuine concern. His sunglasses are pushed into his hair, artfully keeping it out of his face. He looks behind himself and closes the door before walking up to Eddie, getting in his space.

Eddie steps back.

“I didn't see you get here. You look sick, are you ok?” he asks.

Eddie wants to say that he's fine, but looking into Steve's eyes makes everything worse. Much to his horror, he feels a lump forming in his throat and a familiar burn forming in his eyes. He tries to blink it away, but that just makes a premature tear roll down his cheek.

Fuck.

Steve steps even closer and lifts his hands to Eddie's face, gently holding him, brushing the tear away with his thumb. And now that it's started, he can't make it stop. Eddie starts to cry even harder.

“Is it Wayne? Did something happen at the trailer?” Steve's asking, appearing to genuinely care.

“No,” Eddie says.

“Are you hurt?”

“No!”

“Did someone-”

“No, no, no! Steve, just stop!” Eddie says, elbowing his way free from Steve's grasp. He feels a little bad about it, when he sees how hurt Steve looks. But he feels too shitty to care much about anything at the moment.

“You're crying, Eddie. Can't I help?”

“You've done enough, honestly,” Eddie says.

“What do you mean?” Steve asks.

“Dude, are you really that dense?”

Steve kind of shutters at that, and then Eddie really feels bad. He's made an ass of himself and now he's being an ass too.

“Just- stop, ok? Go back to your Italian boyfriend,” Eddie says.

“Huh? Gabe?” Steve asks.

Oh, so they have nicknames now?

“Whatever his name is,” Eddie grumbles, even though he knows it's going to be impossible for him to forget that name for the rest of his life.

Steve scoffs for a second and then shakes his head. “Are you mad that I have other friends?”

Eddie can't believe it. It's the worst case scenario. Steve didn't know. Somehow, Steve was completely oblivious to Eddie's feelings. There was no game between them. Eddie had made it all up in his head. Steve's just an oblivious flirt. He was matching Eddie's weird, lovesick energy.

God, how embarrassing.

“No, Steve,” Eddie says, already done with the conversation and ready for the consequences, “I'm mad that you're flirting with this dude after weeks of flirting with me!”

Steve looks shocked. Like he would've expected maybe a week after the upside down, back before this all began and he didn't know Steve that well. Turns out, he never knew Steve.

He just thought he did.

“I- I wasn't flirting with you,” Steve says with a nervous little laugh.

“You slept in my bed and kissed me on the cheek. You rubbed your knee against my dick during our guitar lesson.”

Steve's just staring at him like all of this was in Eddie's head, which makes him feel even more defensive.

“You said you knew how it felt to get fingered!” he hisses.

Steve's cheeks go bright red.

“Oh my God, I've been flirting with you,” he says. He lifts a hand to his forehead, like the information is too much for his head to handle.

“You also- well- I mean…yes?” Eddie says, not really sure what's happening anymore. He's so confused that his tears have stopped. Steve takes a step closer.

“You've been flirting with me,” he says, pointing at Eddie.

Eddie nods.

“And I've been flirting with you,” he says, pointing at himself.

Eddie nods again.

“I was flirting with Gabriel! Do you think he's into me?” he asks, pointing at the kitchen door.

Eddie's frown is severe.

“Sorry, no. Forget I said that. Eddie, I think I have a crush on you,” Steve says with wonder in his voice.

It's Eddie's turn to blush now. He's witnessing Steve realize he's into men. Specifically, that he's into Eddie. Steve paces around the kitchen, combing a hand through his hair in that way he always does when he's thinking hard about something. Eddie recognizes it because he does know Steve, after all. Maybe a little better than Steve knows himself. Steve's cheeks are still bright red and he's breathing kind of weird. It's very strange, to watch someone come out to themselves.

And then Steve starts to cry.

Eddie rushes forward just as Steve leans back against the countertop and curls into himself.

“Hey, no, no, no, it's ok. You're still you,” he says, pulling Steve into a hug.

What the fuck is happening?

“I made you cry,” Steve says.

“It's ok,” Eddie says, rubbing his back, “you'll get used to it.”

“I don't want to get used to making you cry!” Steve whisper-shouts.

“No, I mean that you'll get used to being into men,” Eddie says.

Steve pushes Eddie back a hair and looks him in the eyes.

“Why would I need to get used to it? It's obviously true. I'm upset because I've been such a dick to you,” he says softly.

Eddie just stares at him. He wonders if Steve is ok. Maybe this is what a breakdown looks like? Funny, how quick their mental states flipped during this conversation.

“Steve, it's ok to freak out a little. When I first realized I was into men, I cried until I threw up,” Eddie says.

Steve leans in and kisses him on the cheek, right at the corner of his mouth. It's so light and quick that for a moment, Eddie's not even sure that it happened. It makes his heart flip twice over.

“I'm not freaking out. I'm just trying to figure out how to make it up to you.”

Eddie lifts an eyebrow. Steve's fully serious. He's dried his face and is wrapping his arms around Eddie's back, brushing his hands against the belt loops in his jeans.

“Wow, you're serious. You genuinely-”

Eddie's cut off as Steve pulls him into a real kiss. The kind of kiss he'd seen in movies, sweet but also kind of hot. Eddie wants more. He crowds Steve against the countertop and runs his hands down over that ass he couldn't stop thinking about since seeing it in person, grabs his thighs just under his swim trunks and lifts, pushing their bodies as close as possible.

Steve has one hand tangled in Eddie's hair, steering his head to the side, and another gripping around his back pocket, pulling Eddie's hips right into his.

Eddie can't believe it. Steve's kissing him. He's rolling his hips into him.

Steve chose him over fucking Gabe!

Steve pulls their bodies even closer than Eddie thought possible, and Eddie can feel every detail of his dick hardening against him through his jeans. It leaves him breathless, desperate to drop his hands from Steve's warm torso and under that swimsuit so he can feel it in more detail. Steve's not so shy. He's driving Eddie crazy with his hand sliding around his zipper, lifting up to the hem and back down again.

“Eddie,” Steve gasps into his mouth as he starts fumbling with the button.

Eddie’s experiencing something religious with Steve's tongue when a shout breaks them apart.

Eddie leaps halfway across the room before bothering to look around to check that nobody is there. He turns back to Steve, who's watching him carefully.

“I think it's just the kids. We should probably go back outside,” he says.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees reluctantly. Based on the look Steve's sending his way, he feels the same. He jumps down from the counter and walks over to the door, then pauses.

He turns to Eddie and says, “You should sleep over tonight.”

“Ok,” Eddie says, feeling his cheeks go warm again as he tries not to assume anything after an afternoon of assuming things, “I like your guest room, it's got a really comfortable mattress-”

“In my bed,” Steve clarifies.

“Ok!” Eddie squeaks. “I could run home and grab something to sleep in-”

“Naked,” Steve says bluntly. Then he seems to realize something, because he looks away from Eddie like he's embarrassed. “I mean, unless you don't want that. No pressure. I have something you can borrow-”

“I want that,” Eddie interrupts.

Steve smiles. He flicks his sunglasses back over his eyes and leans in to kiss Eddie one last time, short, and promising more for later. As he opens the door, Eddie spots Gabe lounging around with that pretty girl and gets an idea. He shoves past Steve and smacks his ass on the way by, smiling at Gabe, just to cement his victory.

“Damn Harrington, feels as good as it looks,” he says. Gabe looks completely confused. Steve rolls his eyes.

“Don't get addicted,” Steve says.

#steve giving Eddie emotional whiplash #steve skipping the gay oanic and flying straight into gay sex #steddie #stranger things #steve x eddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic

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retiredteabag · 1 day ago

Text

Unknown Rivals

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader

Synopsis: There was only one thing worse than being paired with Sukuna for an important school project, and that was realizing the slacker somehow had a higher class standing than yourself.

Tags: Academic rivals, enemies to eventual lovers, type A reader, mentions on anxiety.

pt. 1 - pt. 2 - next part

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

You had been partnered with Sukuna for weeks now, and you were starting to lose it. After turning in your draft for the final presentation, you had learned of your classmates status as a student.

After having assumed that every meeting the two of you held was more of a free tutoring session for the lazy man, it would turn out Sukuna was the only student in class who was rivaling your own grades.

After this information had been absorbed, you left class without so much as a glace the boy's way.

It killed you to know that he was so nonchalant, that he barely put any effort into class and work yet he was up there with you.

He likely thought you a fool, all that time "teaching" him, he probably spent mocking you.

You couldn't help the flood of thoughts that overtook you, thoughts of him mocking you to his friends, thoughts of him screenshotting your messages to send to some group chat, thoughts of him making jeers at your intellect while you explain a concept ad nauseam.

Oh, how you hated him.

It didn't help that you so desperately craved approval from others. Teachers, friends, parents. You wanted it all. If you hadn't their validation, what did you have?

You worked tirelessly to earn the grades you maintained, even if people teased you, called you stuck up, or a sycophant. Was it so wrong to want to be liked?

And here he was, above it all, putting little to no effort into his work and still coming out on top.

He must have found it real funny. Probably had a good laugh every Friday when you met to "work" on your project.

That is why you found yourself writing up a short email, explaining how you no longer had an interest in meeting with him to prep. Requesting he develop his final presentation alone and informing him that from that day forward you would research, write, and present separately.

You hadn't even requested he send in his work for your review, though he had never done it before. No, you would do your part as far away from Sukuna as you possibly could and hope he never looked your way again.

This project was a big deal, you would be presenting it not just to your classmates and professors, no, but company stakeholders as well. They would be coming out to the auditorium to see students speak during finals. Some might even be looking for possible interns.

Apparently Sukuna knew what he was doing so maybe you didn’t need to monitor his work.

You were still going to stress about it though.

"UGH! I just cringe to think of every conversation. Why was he even meeting with me?"

You and your roommate had gone out for dinner and you were regaling her with the woes of your school project while she dipped her fries in a generous coating of milkshake.

"That boy looks like he's never held a coherent thought in his head, I doubt he cared to spare any consideration to something other than himself." She spoke with her mouth full, taking another bite, "He looks pretentious."

She wiped her fingers off on her jeans and reached for another handful of fries.

"But that's just the thing" You sigh, "he looks like he wouldn't handle complex thought but-" you're cut off by her giggle but you push onward, "-I'm serious! But he's apparently some wonder boy, a reeeeeal academic." You end your thought with a huff, dipping a nugget into some ketchup, and finishing your meal.

"Well now your Fridays are free, that's nice at least." She shrugs and all you can do is nod. "Who would have thought popular Sukuna is a nerd like you."

"He's not a nerd." You point a finger at her, "He doesn't even study! And I don't get why everyone likes him, he pays nobody the time of day."

"Are you kidding me?" She makes an incredulous laugh, raising her browns.

"What?"

"You haven't the slightest clue why he's so popular? Have you seen the man?"

As much as you hate to admit it... she was a little right. He was undeniably attractive. And his tattoos stretched across his body in a way that made him look like art. He wasn't a peacock either, flaunting himself, he seemed indifferent to the whole thing. He really was just one lucky bastard.

I seriously hate that guy.

The next week was filled with your typical busyness, avoiding your project partner didn't really occupy too much space in your mind, especially since he hadn't taken the curtesy to even respond to your email.

That was why, when you eventually saw him straighten his posture the second you entered the shared class, him stalking your movements carefully, you couldn't help but feel frustrated.

Did he say anything? No. Did he try to get your attention? No. But he kept looking at you, and every so often during the lecture, you could feel his gaze in your direction. Serving to annoy you further. He could pay no attention in class and still catch up to your academic level.

Stop being a distraction.

Ugh.

After the last fiasco with this professor, you weren't exactly looking forward to sharing a word so you found yourself packing up the moment class was over. It hadn't even taken you putting away your folder for you to feel a hand on your shoulder.

"Hey."

You narrowed your eyes in his direction. Sukuna spoke.

"We should probably discuss the presentation."

This might have been the most you had ever heard him say at a time. About school or otherwise.

"I sent you an email, you know?"

You shuffle your bag to fit everything comfortably and zip it up. Continuing on, "We already split everything up, if you'd like to see my slides so you can match my format you'll find them in the email I sent." You swung your bag over your shoulder, "Last week."

You were making your way to the classroom door, fully prepared for him to shrug it off, but he seemed to have kept up with your pace, speaking down into your ear as you made it to the threshold.

"I've looked over your slides. That's not what I'm talking about." He followed behind you, opening the classroom door wider to stand next to you.

"Sukuna. I emailed you. I've emailed you several times. What about our project do we need to discuss that you couldn't have just emailed me about?" You try to keep your voice down, your professor was still at his desk.

"Shouldn't we... I don't know, be practicing?" He shrugs.

"...What?"

"Practicing? For our presentation? I don't know, I figured you would be the type to want things to flow smoothly."

You pull back, "I do want things to flow smoothly, like I already stated in the email, I am going to present first, then wait for questions, and then you'll go and do the same."

He raises a brow, "I got that." The way he looks at you and speaks so patronizingly distinct as if to suggest you were the slow one. "I'm just saying, we should practice at least once, I want to make sure you can do it."

It took you a moment to understand what he had just said. No way, NO WAY he had just suggested that YOU didn't know what you were doing. You bark out a laugh. "I'm sorry? You want to make sure I can do it?"

He stands still, looks up at the ceiling, and hums, "Well, you're so anal about stuff, I figured you'd want to."

You can hear the blood pounding in your ears, "I'm sorry I like things to be done right." You swing your bag a little more aggressively. "I'll send you my presentation notes so you can make sure I can do it."

You start to march down the hall, offended by his lackadaisical insults when he swoops up to you in just a few strides. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm just saying.... wouldn't it soothe your anxiety to go over it together? I don't think it's wrong to suggest that we would do better after having gone over it at least once."

Oh sure, he was thinking about your anxiety, how kind. You roll your eyes.

You saw him out of your periphery and clutched your bag to your chest as he approached. When you turned to see him he had his arms raised in defense. "If you really care so much I'll add my slides to the presentation and send it to you."

"Good." You swung back. "I've only been asking for," you roll your eyes, walking backward to one of the campus exits, "oh, I don't know, weeks?"

"Fine." He huffed, squinting at you, "But we seriously should go over it so I can be sure you don't ruin my work with your public speaking." He was smirking at you, you had never seen that look on his face and you hoped never to see it again.

"Oh-" You gasp, "my gosh." You stomp away, whipping out your keys, "Thanks Sukuna, I'll try not to ruin all your hard work since you're such a team player."

That man was dead to you.

You would never say it to his face, but as finals approached, you were beginning to feel the typical sickness in your stomach. You made recordings of your note cards to listen to at night, practiced your speech endlessly, and changed the batteries in your clicker at least three times.

You had always been anxious, memories of puking before tests as a child still live on in the churning of your gut. This anxiety helped to motivate you but was unnecessarily intense, your own mother had told you to loosen up in the past but that was simply not something you were capable of controlling.

"Well, you're so anal about stuff-"

Oh, that man pissed you off. And after all that effort to seem cool and composed in all of your "tutoring" sessions, he could still tell that you cared. Cared more than you should.

You would never be the cool girl.

And this was why you were growing more upset with the understanding that you felt- you knew you really would feel better if you could just have the chance to practice your speeches.

But your pride had gotten in the way.

Couldn't he have just said that he wanted to practice instead of making it seem like he didn't believe in you?

His email did come, by the way. No words, just an attachment.

And damn him, the slides we good, not too crowded, and perfectly concise, he even had his speaker notes included and as you whispered them to yourself while sitting on your mattress you became determined.

You would not let this man outperform you. There would be employers present looking for interns and if you wanted to be noticed you could not be seen as the weak leak between the two of you. Especially not if it was Sukuna.

You started your email at 11 that night and rewrote for far too long.

Yes, you would practice your presentation with him, because and ONLY because you wouldn't allow him to drag you down.

It would also help settle your nerves, but he didn't need that confirmation.

It was on. Partner or not, you were fighting for the top spot in class and if your speaking ability fell short in comparison to his, you could not ever stand to look at him again.

But one thing you knew for sure as you sent the email, was that your advisor would be receiving some correspondence about avoiding a certain someone in future semesters.

It was past midnight. You started drafting a note about your class enrollment needs.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

Tags: @blueyesuguru @monimonster57

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bread-crum206 · 3 days ago

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A Game of Hearts

Chapter fifteen: The Game, The Silence, and The Weight of the World

Summary: Y/N’s father is a VIP for the games, he makes a deal with the Frontman that if he marries his only daughter that he will continue to sponsor the games. However, Y/N is not fond of this decision as she loathes the games and in turn, loathes the Frontman as well. Will she grow to love him? Will he let his walls down?

previous | 15 | next

The television flickered with muted violence as players in the arena scurried between barriers, their bodies moving with the desperation of those who knew that one misstep could mean the end. The air outside was thick with the promise of the storm, but inside the office, it was almost eerily calm. The hum of the screen and the occasional rustle of papers were the only sounds, and even those felt muted, distant, as though the world outside the walls of this small room had been left behind.

In-ho stood by the television, his body rigid, his eyes focused on the screen. He wasn’t really watching. Not anymore. His posture was tense, his hands behind his back, fingers slightly curled as if holding onto something that wasn’t there. He was always so controlled, so perfectly composed. But you could sense the weight he carried, the pressure of it all, buried beneath the mask of indifference he wore so well.

You shifted uncomfortably on the sleek black leather couch, the coolness of the material making you feel small against the vastness of the space. The luxurious, yet sterile, surroundings were a constant reminder of how trapped you both were—how the game played out beyond the walls of the office, and how, in a way, you were trapped in your own little game here, too. It didn’t matter that you weren’t out there in the arena. You were still part of it.

There was a question bubbling at the back of your throat—something you didn’t know if you wanted to ask, but it needed to be asked. You had spent days avoiding it, but you knew it was always there, like an itch that couldn’t be scratched.

“You still don’t sleep much, do you?” In-ho’s voice broke through, its low, measured tone drawing your attention. He wasn’t looking at you, but you could feel the weight of his words, the carefulness with which he said them. It was as though he was testing the waters—seeing if you would give him something, anything, to go on.

You hesitated before answering, unsure of what you were ready to admit. His eyes flicked to you, just for a moment, but long enough for you to feel the weight of his gaze, the way it searched you, studying you with that intensity only he seemed capable of. But it wasn’t the usual cold calculation. There was something… softer in it. Just a flicker, barely perceptible, but it was there.

“No,” you said quietly. “I guess I haven’t gotten used to it.”

He didn’t respond right away, and you wondered if you’d said the wrong thing. But before you could second-guess yourself, he spoke again.

“It never gets easier,” he said, his voice quieter this time, as though the words themselves carried a kind of weight that he wasn’t used to bearing. “You just… learn to block it out. Pretend it doesn’t affect you. But it always does. No matter how many times you see it.” With that he turned to face you. He stepped towards the couch to sit next to you.

You looked at him, the faintest flicker of understanding passing between you both. He wasn’t talking about the players. He was talking about himself. The man who ran this nightmare, who orchestrated it all from behind the scenes, he had to block it out too. And, somehow, that realization made it all the harder to bear.

A quiet, heavy silence fell over the room again. The game played on, the sounds of it muted by the soundproof walls, but you could feel the tension in the air like it was pressing down on your chest. You hadn’t been able to escape it. Not once. And neither had he.

“I still don’t understand why you do it,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. You weren’t sure if you were asking him to explain, or if you were simply voicing a question that had haunted you since you first arrived.

In-ho’s jaw tightened slightly, his posture stiffening as if your question had struck too close to something. His gaze never left the screen, but you could see the slight clench of his fists beneath his jacket sleeves, the subtle shift in his shoulders.

“I do what I have to do,” he said, his voice even, devoid of emotion. “It’s not about why anymore. It’s just… what’s needed.”

You nodded, though you weren’t sure if you understood. You didn’t think you would ever understand. How could you? How could anyone? But you knew that it didn’t matter what you understood. He had made his choice long ago—whether or not it was one he had wanted to make was another matter entirely.

There was a long pause as you both sat in silence, the only sound in the room, the faint hum of the television and the distant thunder of the storm outside. The tension between you two was thick, but neither of you said a word. Not yet.

And then, almost imperceptibly, something shifted.

You weren’t sure who moved first, but before you knew it, your fingers brushed lightly against his. It was a brief, accidental touch, but you both froze. The contact was electric, like a spark igniting something that had been lying dormant for far too long. It wasn’t a touch filled with intention, but it was enough to make your heart race, enough to make you aware of his presence in a way that you hadn’t been before.

And then, without thinking—without even fully realizing what you were doing—you let your pinkie finger curl gently against his. It wasn’t a strong grip, but it was there. A connection, fragile and fleeting, but undeniable.

You expected him to pull away. To draw back, to retreat into the distance that always seemed to keep you both apart. But he didn’t.

In fact, his finger shifted ever so slightly, locking around yours. It was as though he had made the conscious decision not to pull away. And you didn’t pull back either. You just stayed there, the two of you, pinkies entwined, the warmth of his hand seeping into yours. It was a strange, quiet moment—one that spoke volumes without either of you saying a word.

The moment lingered. For a second, you thought about pulling away, but you didn’t. You didn’t want to. The connection was so simple, so raw, so real, and you found yourself leaning into it. It wasn’t the kind of connection you had expected to find here, in this place of violence and brokenness. But it was there. Silent, but real. The weight of the game, the weight of the complex, the weight of everything that had come before—it all seemed to fade into the background, just for a moment.

Then, after a long beat, In-ho finally sat a little closer to you, the leather squeaking faintly under his weight. You watched, almost in slow motion, as he moved himself closer beside you. His body seemed to hesitate for a fraction of a second before he settled in, but the space between you didn’t feel as far as it had been before. He didn’t sit immediately close to you, but his proximity was unmistakable. The subtle movement of him next to you made the room feel different; it was closer, warmer.

The space between you now felt smaller, more personal, more intimate. He didn’t seem to be pulling away, either, which surprised you. He had always kept such distance—his walls as solid as the fortress he’d built around himself. But now, sitting beside you, his presence was quiet, a gentle weight against the quiet hum of the room.

He didn’t speak immediately, and you didn’t either. There was something unspoken in the way his body had shifted next to yours—an agreement of sorts that neither of you had to verbalize. The air between you both seemed charged now, a quiet energy settling in as his gaze flicked to the screen. He was still locked in, but you could see that his focus had shifted ever so slightly, a fraction of his attention now diverted to the connection between the two of you.

“You’re safe here,” he said, his voice low and steady, as though he were offering this truth in the most vulnerable way he knew how. You could sense the weight behind the words, the sincerity hidden beneath his usual calm exterior.

You turned to him, surprised by the softness in his tone, and met his gaze. For the first time, there was no coldness in his eyes, no distance—just something quiet, something unspoken, something that didn’t need to be said aloud.

“I know,” you whispered, and you realized it was true. In that moment, you felt something shift in your chest. It wasn’t the usual tension, the constant gnawing fear. It was something gentler. The connection between you, the pinky lock, the quiet way he sat beside you—it was enough.

For the first time, you didn’t feel alone in this place.

———————

Chapter fifteen!! Woo!! Lemme know what you think! Thank you!

Tag list:

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@lucinda-reads

@shakysif

@whoisbriannaa

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#arranged marriage #in ho x reader #marriage au #squid game #squid game x y/n #squid games x reader #x reader #frontman x reader #the front man #squid game x reader

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solxamber · 20 hours ago

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Can I get the dorm leaders with an Miku like Male Reader? Basically, (M/N) is super carefree and nice along with being a megastar idol in the music industry.

miku mentioned in the inbox, i've prayed for times like these!! It turned out gender neutral, i hope you don't mind!

Housewardens with a Miku! Reader

Riddle Rosehearts

At first, Riddle is baffled by your carefree attitude. You’re so nonchalant about everything, from your fame to the massive crowds you draw, that it’s almost incomprehensible to him. Doesn’t someone as successful as you need structure and discipline?

He respects your talent and hard work (once he understands how much effort goes into your performances), but your breezy approach makes him a little anxious. He might even lecture you about maintaining a schedule or not overextending yourself.

Your kindness and lack of ego eventually win him over. When you casually serenade the Heartslabyul students with a cheerful tune during an unbirthday party, even Riddle can’t help but smile.

If you invite him to one of your concerts, he’ll first attend out of courtesy but secretly marvel at the sheer joy you bring to your fans. Seeing you on stage makes him realize that your carefree demeanor isn’t laziness—it’s part of your charm.

He’d quietly admire your ability to bring happiness to others and might even ask for advice on how to better connect with his dormmates.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona initially pretends not to care about your fame or talent. He’s not easily impressed, and your cheerful energy feels a little too much for his laid-back personality.

However, your carefree attitude intrigues him. You’re a megastar, yet you don’t flaunt it or demand special treatment. In fact, you treat him like any other person, and he respects that.

He might grumble about your music being “too loud” or “too cheerful,” but he secretly listens to your songs when he’s alone. The upbeat tunes remind him of a world where things don’t feel so heavy.

If you casually hum a melody around him, he might mumble, “Tch, not bad,” which is as close to a compliment as you’ll get.

He won’t admit it, but he’d feel a sense of pride if you dedicate a song to Savanaclaw or include elements of his culture in your performances.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul sees you as a walking business opportunity at first. You’re a megastar with an enormous following, and the possibilities for collaboration are endless. Maybe a performance at the Mostro Lounge? A merchandise line?

When he realizes you’re too carefree to be manipulated, he’s equal parts frustrated and impressed. Despite his schemes, you remain kind and genuine, treating him as a friend rather than a business partner.

Your performances leave him in awe. He’s astonished by how effortlessly you captivate an audience, and he finds himself studying your stage presence, wondering if he could apply some of your charisma to his own endeavors.

Azul would eventually see you as a source of inspiration. “How do you make it look so easy?” he might ask, genuinely curious.

You’d be able to encourage him to focus less on overthinking and more on enjoying the process, which is advice he’d reluctantly take to heart.

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim immediately becomes your biggest fan. He’s already jumping up and down with excitement before you’ve even sung a note.

Your carefree and kind personality resonates with him deeply, and the two of you become fast friends. Kalim loves joining you in impromptu sing-alongs, whether it’s on stage or during casual moments in the dorm.

He’d insist on throwing grand parties to celebrate your success, complete with fireworks and extravagant decorations. “Your music deserves to be celebrated!” he’d say with a big grin.

Kalim admires how you make people happy through your music, and he’d try to emulate your positivity in his own interactions. He’d also want to learn some dance moves from you, even if he ends up tripping over his own feet.

Your presence brings out the best in Kalim, and he feels inspired to spread joy in his own way.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil is immediately aware of your status as a megastar and views you as a peer rather than a fan. He respects your success but is critical of your carefree attitude, wondering how you maintain such a polished image without a rigorous routine.

Your kindness and humility eventually disarm him. He appreciates that you don’t let fame go to your head and that you treat everyone with equal respect.

Vil might critique your performances at first, offering advice on how to improve your stage presence or vocal technique. However, he’s secretly impressed by how natural and effortless you make it all look.

He’d be a little envious of your ability to connect with your audience so easily, but he’d also feel motivated to push himself harder. “You have a gift,” he’d admit one day. “Don’t waste it.”

If you ever feel overwhelmed by the pressures of stardom, Vil would offer you surprisingly empathetic advice, drawing from his own experiences in the spotlight.

Idia Shroud

Idia is a fan before he even meets you. He’s watched all your music videos, memorized your lyrics, and even owns some limited-edition merchandise. However, meeting you in person is a completely different story.

He’s a nervous wreck, fumbling over his words and avoiding eye contact. “Y-You’re… amazing,” he might mumble, his face bright red.

Your carefree attitude puts him at ease, and he eventually opens up about his admiration for your work. He might even share some of his own ideas for collaborations.

Idia is amazed by how effortlessly you handle fame and social situations. He secretly wishes he could be as confident and outgoing as you.

If you ever perform in the Ignihyde dorm, he’d watch from the shadows, feeling a mix of awe and disbelief that someone as incredible as you considers him a friend.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus is intrigued by your carefree demeanor and megastar status. He’s used to people being intimidated by him, but you treat him with kindness and warmth, which he deeply appreciates.

He’s fascinated by your music and often listens to your performances in quiet awe. He’d describe your songs as “enchanting” and might even compare you to a bard of old.

Your kindness and positivity resonate with him, and he enjoys spending time with you, whether it’s walking through the campus or sharing stories late at night.

Malleus might request a private performance, not because he wants special treatment, but because he wants to experience the magic of your music in an intimate setting.

Your carefree attitude inspires Malleus to relax and enjoy life more. He values your friendship and sees you as a source of light in his otherwise lonely world.

Masterlist

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ceresun · 2 days ago

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hii queen i suck ass at creativity but i was wondering if u'd write some daeho hc's abt him and reader in the games tg? like maybe they dated before or smth but rekindle in the games? probably like angst ig or wtv 🙏

(i'm sorry i suck at writing requests 😣)

traces lost to time

pairing : kang daeho x gender neutral! reader

summary : Aware of those who had people they loved participating in these death games, he felt quite bad for them. But never once did he think he’d have to experience their reality of constant worry. At least not up until you show up.

extra : hai nonnie! thank you sososo much for the request :3!! ajebfkwbdka hopefully you like it!! I can feel like I wrote way more than just hcs but whatever.. daeho may be ooc ergh. this isn’t proofread and I’m bad at angst sorryz

⟢ A relationship with Daeho would have to be a strong one before he can think about someone in a romantic sense, so I see this being a childhood friends to lovers situation. Being this close with him means he’d naturally feel like he could tell you anything without any fear of judgement from you. Yet, this still didn’t stop him from keeping parts of himself hidden. This is genuinely one of the only reasons I can see a relationship with Daeho going downhill.

⟢ His father was always a traditional one. The constant reprimands of never being “a real man” and being too soft weren’t ones Daeho was unfamiliar with. Being childhood friends with him, you knew what his father was like. The younger you didn’t put much thought into his words, yet still comforted Daeho when he was visibly upset by his fathers words. But as you grew older and the times his father reprimanded him grew, you found it difficult to ignore how Daeho would get quieter and the way he’d try to stop his eyes from tearing up.

⟢ After his time in the marines, you couldn’t stop but notice the little difference in him. The way he’d tense up slightly when hearing a loud noise before going back to doing what he had been doing, or the way you’d wake up at random times in the night to hear his muffled cries, only stopping himself when he heard your shuffles. He had never been one to do those things, at least not before his time in the marines.

⟢ You, being Daeho’s closest friend and partner, would want to get him to open up with you about how he truly feels. Yet you’d only be faced with rejection. He didn’t necessarily mean to block you out, but he couldn’t stand to face you during this low period in his life. Thus causing you to leave.

⟢ At this point, Daeho kind of knew he had screwed up. It only hit him hard when he was able to regain some stability in his life. You were essentially his anchor yet he was still drifting and lost at sea. Following this, his life slowly starts getting worse and worse. He starts racking up a debt that he isn’t able to pay back. So, when a man comes up to him and offers him the ability to earn money while seemingly only having to play simple games, he takes him up on his offer.

⟢ It isn’t until everyone is waiting for the first game to start when he finally sees you. It’s been quite a while since he’s seen you, so he hesitates to come up and talk to you. It isn’t until he hears you talk to the woman next to you that he realizes it actually is you. He only gets to walk to where you stood before the games abruptly start. When people start getting killed, his first thought isn’t his safety, but instead yours. When gi-hun advises people to get behind those bigger than them he immediately pulls you behind him. It’s the first time you’ve seen him since you’d left, so seeing him shocked you quite a bit. As soon as you two cross that finish line he is all over you and making sure you weren’t hurt in any way. You have to practically yell at him to get his attention.

⟢ From there on, you’re not leaving his sight for even a second. Don't even think about trying to join a team without him because he will not let you. It’s not a want to have control over you but instead a fear of losing you that makes him like this. He tries his absolute hardest to make sure the both of you make it out of these games alive, yet it still wasn’t enough. During mingle, as soon as the number is called your group starts running towards a vacant room. In the midst of all the chaos, someone had pushed you out of the way in order to secure a spot themselves.

⟢ You had only a couple seconds left as you got up and ran towards the door. It wasn’t until the door had locked when Daeho realized you weren’t in the room with them. He didn’t exactly know what he felt at that moment. It was a big mix of anger, hurt, and emptiness. This would be one just one of the things that’d cause him to spiral. You best believe he is going insane on the person who had pushed you. He wouldn’t kill them, just beat them hard.

⟢ He’d ultimately be determined to make it out of the games alive for both of you. One of his biggest regrets is never really making up for what had happened between you two. He’ll never truly be able to get that closure. But there’s nothing he can do now.

#��𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐃! (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)#𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆! ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´#squid game #squid game x reader #kang daeho #dae ho #kang daeho x reader #dae ho x reader #daeho x reader #kang dae ho x reader #kang dae ho #player 388

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gyeomsweetgyeom · 2 days ago

Text

[5:11 pm]

(cw: f!reader)

You weren’t sure at exactly what point you’d become comfortable enough to shower at the Nu Chi Theta frat house. You know you’d put some hard work to make the bathroom that your boyfriend used look like it was used by humans and not raccoons. It took hours of scrubbing and letting chemicals sit and work their grime fighting power.

Yet, as you stood beneath the stream of hot water while you washed out your shampoo, you found yourself wondering exactly when this frat house became more like a frat home to you. There were the meals that you shared with the guys here, frat trips you were a part of, you helped clean after parties, and many other chores that you helped out with that made you feel like a part of the fraternity. Things that made you feel accepted and like you belonged even far beyond being fratboy!Jaehyun’s girlfriend.

You sighed, shaking your head as you washed the last of your shampoo out before squirting some of your conditioner into your palm. When had you even bought your usual toiletries for the frat house? Jaehyun must have bought them for you…

As you lathered the conditioner into your hair, you froze. The door, with the broken lock you’d asked Johnny to fix, creaked open. Then you heard, “yo, I’m popping in to take a leak. Stay in the shower, bro.”

You stuck your head out from behind the opaque shower curtain before the person could take any appendages out. It was Yuta. “I’ll be out in like 5 minutes if you want to use the bathroom downstairs,” you told him, making sure to keep your eyes on his face.

“Sweets! What’s up girl?” Yuta greets with a dazzling smile, “nah, it’s all good. You should uh, stick your head back in though unless you want to see my Johnson.”

Your face froze into one of shock as you slowly retreated to your privacy behind the curtain. When had this level of familiarity occurred?

Thankfully, over the stream of water you couldn’t hear him pee, but you did hear him laugh, “hey, just so you know. I was totally about to rag on whoever was using your shit without your permission.”

“Uh, thank you?” You replied while reaching for your body wash.

“Got you, girl. Alright, see you in a bit,” Yuta called out before you heard the door close again.

Just to be safe, you stuck your head out to make sure you were actually alone. “So weird…” you mutter to yourself while doing your last rinse.

As you stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around yourself, the door opened once again to reveal Haechan. “Oh there you are! I’ve been looking for you!” Haechan greets.

“Dude, I’m standing here in a towel. Do you mind?” You ask with a blank look.

“I actually don’t mind!” Haechan exclaims, squeezing past you to sit on the closed toilet lid, “anyway, we’re getting pizza for dinner and I wanted to ask if you were still into those little garlic knots you’ve been ordering. I can place a small order just for you, if you want. Taeyong is letting me order tonight so if you want some wings just for you I can order that too.”

“Haechan! I’m naked right now!” You yell, hoping that it would be obvious that he should not be in the bathroom with you right now.

“Sweetheart, it’s better if we get this awkwardness out of the way now and not on the wedding night. I’m totally body positive. The female body is the most exquisite form in all of mankind,” Haechan tells you with his hands held up in defense.

You roll your eyes with a scoff as you march back to Jaehyun’s room. Unfortunately for you, Johnny and Jaehyun are in the middle of a conversation as you enter the room. Johnny looks at you and sends you a nod while Jaehyun sends you a smile. Did he not notice that you were standing here in just a towel?

“And so I think if we just focus on the alumni for the winter-“ Johnny explains to Jaehyun before being interrupted.

“Oh shit! My girlfriend is naked right now!” Jaehyun exclaims, rushing over to you and pushing you behind him. It seems then that Johnny realizes as his eyes instinctively dart over to you. “Don’t look!” Jaehyun yells as Johnny leaves his room, “we’ll talk about the alumni later.”

Jaehyun shuts the door quickly and turns to you with flushed cheeks. You cross your arms across your chest, “I miss the novelty of being the girl around here. You guys are too comfortable around me.”

“It was just Johnny that saw you like this… right?” Jaehyun asks slowly.

“No! Yuta literally came in to pee and stayed even when I told him it wasn’t me! Then Haechan came in and started talking about dinner! And you told me they were all going out to play soccer!”

Jaehyun runs a tired hand down his face, “I really need Johnny to fix that lock, dude. No one… like saw anything, right?”

“No,” you sigh moving over to your clean clothes to get dressed.

“Good,” Jaehyun replies, wrapping his arms around your waist while pressing a kiss to the back of your neck, “this is for my eyes only, sweet girl.”

“Sure,” you snort, “until the next time I decide to shower here and Jungwoo walks in before I have my towel on.”

“Sweetheart, that’s not funny.”

#kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop reactions #kpop au #frat!jaehyun #fratboy!jaehyun #frat!nct #nct x reader #nct imagines #nct timestamp #nct drabbles #nct fluff #nct #jaehyun drabbles #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun fluff

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revelboo · 3 days ago

Note

Do you ever plan to write for EarthSpark Starscream? There's a strange lack of him. No pressure to, of course haha just thought I'd ask.

I like how he was portrayed in the first season before they nuked his character 😭 (and how you write the bots from ES ❤️)

Yeah, I was so hopeful with the first season that we were going to get some character development and growth and then… yeah. Nope.

I just updated the Masterlist and just realized I’m up to 94 links there and I’m only allowed 100, so you may see me making sub-masterlists for each continuity. This one makes 95 🥲

Disaster Hearts

Earthspark Starscream x Reader

• Venting softly, his face tips up toward the night sky outside the cave he’s been using as shelter to avoid tipping off Ghost. Unable to recharge for the nightmares. In his dreams, no matter how fast or how high he flies, that massive hand reaches after him. Those brutal servos always snaring him. And what was it all for? Everything he’s suffered only for Megatron to swap sides and betray them all. To be accepted by the Autobots with open arms even though Cybertron is a burned out husk because of Megatron’s actions. The future he’d believed in, had been promised just thrown away. Where is he now, he wonders? Playing house with those human pets of his?

• Can’t stay here as his anxiety begins to crank and his wings flare slightly before he throws himself off the cliff. Thrusters igniting as he launches himself skyward. He’d convinced his other Seekers to help in his vendetta against Megatron, but then it hadn’t taken much to gain their cooperation. They’d lost as much as he had. Betrayed just like he was. Rolling lazily in the air, he thinks of that human of Megatron’s. The soldier he’d thrown them all away for. That human too closely guarded by the Autobots to get at. And he can’t understand choosing a human over his own. Hates that soldier, because really, this is her fault isn’t it? They’re all much the same, though. Little insects waiting to be crushed under his ped.

• Exhausted, your fingers flex against the steering wheel. Telling yourself that it’s only for a bit longer. Only need to work two jobs for another year or so. That’s not so long. A bit longer to squirrel away enough to escape. Get as far as possible. Maybe try for the East Coast. You’re day dreaming about that as you drive. How the salty breeze off the ocean would taste. Would the sea spray be warm or cold? Salt drying on your skin and your hair and not caring. Finally free.

• Drifting through the cloudy night sky, he spots the headlights below on the empty road. And he normally ignores the humans. They’re beneath him, but right now? Angry and unsettled? Unable to take his frustration out on Megatron or his pet, he wants to lash out at someone. Punish someone for everything that’s been done to him. It’s what makes him drop from the sky and land in front of the little car. Hears the tires scream as the car brakes sharply and he lifts a ped and slams it down on the hood before the human can hit reverse. Watches the back of the car go airborne before slamming back down. Optics narrowing when the door is thrown open and a human throws themself out, running away.

• Decepticon. Heart racing, you run for the trees hoping the massive alien can’t follow you there. Screaming as the trees just explode, shards of wood and branches raining down on you as you fall on your hip. All the fight draining out of you to leave fear. Your head turns as you struggle to breathe, feeling those heavy peds hitting the road as he approaches you. And all you can think is it’s not fair. You’ve worked so hard to escape and it’s not even your tormentor that’s going to be the death of you, but one of the alien monsters.

• Baring his denta, he looms over the small form. One human is as good as another, aren’t they? He can’t get to Megatron’s human, but if he loves them so much, sacrificed his own kind for them, throwing another one’s broken body at his peds should be just as satisfying. Servos flexing, he bends to grab you and you don’t try to run again. Don’t scream or cry. Just stare at him, eyes closing as he curls his servos around you, unresisting. Just giving up as he frowns at your almost nonexistent weight in his palm. Why aren’t you begging for your life? “Just get it over with,” you whisper so softly he almost misses it.

• And the silence stretches out, takes on a weight. Flinching when a servo nudges your head his way. You open your eyes and stare up at that frowning, serious face. Those pretty, blue optics. “It’s not that I care at all,” he says, voice little more than a growl. “But do you want to talk about it?” What? Eyes drifting to that Decepticon badging on his wings, to his too human face, and you can’t even begin to respond.

#transformers x reader #starscream x reader #earthspark starscream

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nanamiscocksleeve · 3 days ago

Note

Hi just dropping by to say I really love your work and wanted to ask about a request. If it's not your style then please delete.

I want to see a fic with Geto and a priestess! reader where Geto has to sleep with her to get benefits of her jujutsu power but it has to be witnessed as a rite in front of other members of the temple.

What do you think?

Well hello there! You've come to the right place! Nothing more delicious than some exhibitionism and freaky power exchange as a plot device to get the brain running!

Inner Sanctum

Warnings: MDNI, sex, exhibitionism, oral (female receiving), slight dominance, degradation, and LOTS of dirty talk A/n: I'm glad to be writing for JJK again, I know it's been a while. This fic idea gave me life. Not really proofread.

The room is dimly lit, illuminated by candles as a throng of elderly sorcerers quietly watch what is happening on the bed placed in the center. A naked pair leisurely kiss, their limbs erotically tangled with each other.

You were the strongest jujutsu priestess of your order. It was no surprise when the leader of the Star Religious Group requested a meeting with you. He had discovered an ancient book on sorcery, one that spoke of how divine feminine cursed energy could fortify a man’s. And of course, no one else had come to his mind except you.

It helped that you and Geto were familiar with each other, that you’d had that teasing love-hate relationship all these years. Often, you’d joked about him eventually giving in and admitting he needed you; and what a delight it had been to see your prediction coming true. With Geto’s rise to power it became increasingly apparent that while his jujutsu abilities were formidable, it would become even more so when paired with feminine energy.

Geto nibbles at the hot skin on your throat and you comb your fingers through his luxurious black hair that falls over his shoulders in waves. You catch the eye of the Elder sitting nearest to you and though they don’t look away, their composure remains intact. You huff at the lack of reaction but then again, you’re not sure why you were expecting one.

The Elders were there only for the sake of making sure nothing went horribly wrong. The entire ritual was a nuance of minor instances that could ruin the whole process if any of them went wrong. Although Geto’s ability for curse absorption made this process easier, there were no guarantees that the energy not not destabilize since it momentarily wouldn’t have a vessel once drawn out of your body. Though rare, the aftermath could be gruesome, hence why this group of stuffy ancients presided over you.

You were aware that this tryst would be monitored, but the lack of enthusiasm made it almost pedestrian. Observing the look on your face, Geto grins from between your breasts. “Something wrong?”

“I was promised an audience but I wasn’t aware they would be so boring.” You gasp as Geto bites a perked nipple, soothing the sting with his tongue as he suckles it into his mouth. He releases it with a wet pop and scoffs as you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Come now, priestess. Surely my presence should be more interesting than theirs?”

You roll your eyes at the comment but you’d be lying if you said Geto’s physique wasn’t impressive. As you’d disrobed before getting into bed together you’d seen his hard, chiseled, chest and abs, and the trail of curly hair from his belly button leading down to his cock. Even semi-erect, it was spectacular to look at. His face wasn’t bad either. Handsome, with a straight nose that ended in a cute curve at the tip. Having broad shoulders was a plus too; it meant you had something to grab onto.

“I suppose you are. But I almost wonder if we’re not being interesting enough based on the lack of enthusiasm.” You pause, as though hoping one of the Elders would break the silence but all that can be heard is the chirping of birds from the outside. Geto chuckles darkly.

“Oh. I didn’t realize we had a little exhibitionist on our hands here. Who’d have guessed?”

“A lady must maintain some form of mystique.”

“A lady?” Geto’s calloused hands tighten on your waist, fingers indenting into the soft flesh. “Now why would a lady be complaining that no one seems happy to watch her get fucked like a 2-cent whore?”

You’re about to retort but the words die in your throat as your brain registers what you had just been called. Geto smirks as he sees your demeanor change. “Aha. Now I see. You’re not interested in being a meek, accommodating priestess. No, you want to be used like a little slut in front of all these people, don’t you?”

His words are a smooth purr in your ear and despite the crudeness of it, you feel yourself getting turned on, your body responding powerfully to the verbal humiliation. Geto’s face looks positively delighted. “All these years of knowing you…how did I miss this?” He rolls off you and sits on the bed, dragging you in between his legs.

“Geto!” You call his name and you hear a chair shuffle slightly in the background and still, remembering what you’d been told about this ritual. The transfer of power worked as long as the woman was consenting. Your willingness was what allowed the flow of cursed energy from your body into his, and Geto’s curse absorption ability allowed him to assimilate it as you had sex. However, the slightest notion of consent being withdrawn meant an elder intervening to prevent a disaster.

You gather yourself, then allow Geto to maneuver you so that your back is against his chest. “There there,” he coos reassuringly at you, and the silky, sinful way the words roll off his tongue causes your heartbeat to quicken. The room's atmosphere changes, and you feel attuned to Geto’s every small move, from how his hands graze your flanks, to the gentle tickle of his hair as it slips over your shoulders like it’s your own. “It’s going to be ok little priestess. Let a more experienced man guide you hmm?”

He cradles your breasts in his large hands and pushes them up so that they’re right on eye level with the elder seated directly in front of you. “The Elders are forbidden from speaking during this rite, in case they upset our flow,” he murmurs in a sultry whisper. “But do you want me to tell you what they’re thinking?” He skims the pads of his thumbs over the hard peaks and you let out a tiny gasp. You watch the impassive face of the Elder even as Geto continues his wicked seduction. “He was probably thinking what pretty tits these are. And how he wishes he could be the one holding them right now.” He kneads the soft mounds and you moan quietly.

Instantly, Geto feels a change in your body, that slow, uncertain transition into a state of tentative surrender. Satisfied, he continues his filthy descriptions in your ear. “And these nipples of yours…” He gives them a soft twist, sending a rush of heat straight into your loins. Your clit pulses in response, and it feels uncomfortable to sit with your legs together. “Look at how they perk up, so ready to be tasted.” Geto’s head drops and you feel a swift lick on one of your nipples before the tip of his tongue teases you by not quite drawing it into his mouth.

“That’s right…give in. You’re just a needy little priestess. You want to be naughty so badly.” His fingers stroke a line between the valley of your breasts and you feel his erection brush against the base of your spine, hot and hard. You try to buck against him, your ass falling a few inches too short to grind against him. A sinful chuckle resonates in your ear.

“Can you possibly be any more desperate?” He loosens his grip and pushes you forward so that you’re kneeling. A surprised yelp flies from your lips as Geto smacks the round globe of your ass, leaving it red and jiggling. “Perhaps…you’d like this better if someone could see how wet this is making you.”

He moves so that your rear is visible to the group of Elders sitting behind him. He strokes the tender flesh, pushing your head down into the mattress and raising your hips higher. “They must get the best view after all.” You bite down on your lip, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of knowing how arousing this was for you. Each spank echoed across the room, punctuated by a lewd comment from Geto each time.

“You know it’s not uncommon for an orgy to occur after the two main sorcerers have finished their rite?” Your resolve slips and you let out a whimper as his hand comes in contact with your skin again. “They fuck in the same room, sometimes even on the same bed, to try and absorb the last vestiges of the strong energy that was exchanged. But if you’re not gonna get wet enough for them to reap the benefits…then what’s the point? Maybe we should check? Show them you have enough for everyone?”

You pant, saliva dripping from your mouth onto the sheets as your mouth hangs open. Any sorcerer worth their salt could sense how much of your cursed energy was being willingly given to Geto right now; the energy almost thrummed in the room, passing vibrations, and you could sense his aura, a mix of him and you, completely unique. Your eyes widen as you feel Geto’s hands rest on your abused rear.

“Shall we take a peek?”

Utterly exposed, you bury your face into the mattress as Geto spreads your ass cheeks and reveals the whole of your drenched pussy to the other side of the audience. You can feel their stares now, and unlike earlier when their presence had disinterested you, you now can’t stop thinking about Geto’s taunting descriptions and they looped through your mind like a song on replay. Was everyone internally turned on and doing their best to hide it? Were they really going to take off their clothes and have an orgy here after you were done? On this bed, which would be covered in your sweat, and with Geto’s cum and your slick juice?

Your thoughts are disrupted as you feel Geto stroke a finger in between your folds, gathering wetness from your core and sliding it over your throbbing clit. You let out an unbidden whine, your hole already clenching from imagined anticipation.

“Oh, that’s plenty. What a good girl, getting ready to make a mess on the bed.” His finger circles your slick entrance, dipping the tip inside and withdrawing, the negligible friction making you yearn, your abdominal muscles tightening from the sensation. After a few teasing strokes, he inserts the whole digit into you and your head whips up, uninhibitedly vocalizing your pleasure. The crowd silently watches you, witnessing how embarrassingly easy it was for Geto to break you.

Your fingers fist the sheets as he curls inside you, stroking the upper spongy walls, creating a sensation that seemed to crawl from deep within into your legs and toes. Your limbs quiver as he builds up the rising wave of heat tempering in your belly, biting down on the mattress to stop yourself from crumbling into a pile of lust.

How was this man so unfazed? Wasn't he naked too? His cock was standing proudly, weeping precum from the slit, his tip engorged and pink, obviously wanting to be buried inside you but yet you were the one on the verge of losing sanity. An impatient growl emanates from your throat, and just when you thought you could find some semblance of control, Geto inserts a second finger into you, scissoring inside and pistoning his fingers in and out of your lewdly squelching flesh. The noises of slick wetness seem to grow louder within the silence of the room. Your voice keens as Geto continues to stroke your inner walls, finding the perfect rhythm and playing with that little patch of nerves inside you.

“You're leaking all over me priestess.” The raven-haired man taunts as he withdraws his fingers and you collapse on the bed in disappointment, feeling empty and pathetically unsatisfied. Fingers drag through your hair, gathering it at the base of your head and pulling it back so that you can glimpse what he's trying to show you. Geto's fingers glisten with your essence, sticking ever so slightly and forming strings in between his fingers. Your mouth hangs open as you try to catch your breath, the sight so perverted and yet arousing at the same time. He brings them up to your lips. “Taste yourself.” The fluid is smeared onto your tongue and you taste the tangy salt of your pussy, mouth closing around him to suck, coating his fingers with saliva. You see the Elders’ eyes flick briefly to Geto’s face before they fall back onto you, ever impassive once more.

“Ah, they’re jealous of me. Jealous of the effect I have on you.” Geto continues his deviant storytelling. “Bet they’ve never had a woman so wet and eager for them in their whole life.” Almost tenderly, he pushes away the hair obscuring the back of your neck and trails his lips down, leaving little ticklish sensations along your spine. You gasp as his teeth sink into your shoulder blade, then into your neck, his hand cupping your chin and directing it away so that he can leave a mark. He huffs in satisfaction as the little red hickey blooms on your skin. “You give the most sweetest reactions to me.”

You’re caught off guard as Geto suddenly flips you onto your back, gazing up at his face. He looms over you, a predator surveying its iitsprey. “I daresay you’ll never make the mistake of being more invested in the reactions of some stuffy old sorcerers than me from now on.” He straddles your hips and captures your wrists, pinning them over your head as you writhe underneath him.

“From now on?” You manage to ask.

“Yes. Is it audacious for me to say I don’t think any other sorcerer is worthy of this body after I’m done with it? Or that I don’t think anyone else will fuck you the way you want to be fucked?” His head dips to suckle at your breast. Moaning and unable to deny him, you part your legs, arching your body upwards to catch the tip of his cock between your folds, wantonly rubbing it against your sensitized flesh. The denied orgasm was still on your mind and you grind your worth on your clit, the soft friction doing barely anything to ease the ache. Soft laughter is heard against your breast.

“See? This is what I mean. You’re a woman of varied tastes. Can you live for the rest of your life always being fucked like a princess? Can you be satisfied knowing no one can draw out the whore in you like I do? Look at yourself, so desperate to cum and make a mess all over me.” Geto licks his way down to your bellybutton. “Can you sense how eager your body is to exude all this cursed energy for me? It’s responding to me, little priestess. The more I can bring you to the edge and drown you in your desire for me to fuck you, the better. Your aura is ripe with the scent of unmet need. Are you surprised?” He nibbles your pubic bone and you realize what he’s about to do, a jolt running through your body.

“You’re only doing this for your benefit,” you choke out unsteadily. “The more cursed energy I produce, the more that is available to fortify yourself.” Geto pauses, his eyes gleaming up at you hungrily from between your legs.

“Is that so? Well, then for my benefit, you better cum like your life depends on it. And trust me, priestess, I’m not letting you out of this bed until you’ve cried out my name begging for mercy.” His breath ghosts your soaking folds before his thumbs push them apart. Your clit throbbed with heat and need, your arousal staining the sheets as your hole fluttered. The first lick of his tongue has your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Your world is upside down, the order of Elders all flipped the wrong way as your hips rise in frantic need to meet his mouth. Those soft, wet, strokes were pushing you to the brink, a pleasant skitter accompanying each movement.

You sob and push against him, his flow unfaltering and consistent, and against your will, his name falls from your lips. “Geto…” you whimper as your hand tangles with his long hair, tugging hard enough to bring a tingling pain into his roots. He doesn’t stop but you could've sworn you heard a muffled growl of triumph before his lips seal around your clit, sucking possessively. The noise you make is positively animalistic, the fresh pull of tension coiling your belly like a snake waiting to strike. It was too much. Pops of color form behind your closed eyelids as Geto drives you to the peak. You feel yourself staring into the abyss, then with a final breath, leap off the edge.

The candles flicker as cursed energy pours from you, and Geto is enveloped by a purple aura as he continues to feast on your sweet flesh, power pouring into his veins at your submission. He feels each spasm and quiver of your clit in his mouth and sees the way your core trembles with the lack of being filled. When the tremors stop, he wastes no time.

You’re in a daze, floating on a cloud when Geto kneels in between your legs, sinking into the mattress as he draws your legs up under your knees, and brings them back up onto your chest. You look at him questioningly, and for the first time throughout this ritual, he offers you a reassuring smile. “Keep breathing for me.” He strokes your cheek before aligning himself with your entrance, holding back a hiss at how tight you feel as his tip notches into the empty space. With a groan, he sinks his cock into you, marveling at the way your part for him, the slick, heated velvet filling his senses. The aura surrounding him now enfolds you too joining your bodies as the cursed energy begins to flow freely.

Your sighs mix with his grunts as he sheathes himself, his hips lying flush against yours as he bottoms out, the invitation too tempting to not lose himself. He withdraws, then pushes forward, setting up a pattern that brings ecstasy into his veins. It was almost mind-numbingly painful to remember the point of this ritual. He struggles as he keeps his cursed technique active, swallowing the portion of power you’re sharing with him greedily. The overwhelming need to not have to focus on this task, to bury himself deep inside you and fuck you till he came gripped him like a beast, its claws digging into his being. Even as both energies mingle and resonate within him, he’s reduced to his base desires like a common man rather than a special-grade sorcerer.

“Fuck,” he bites out, his teeth gritted as sweat beads on his forehead. “Pussy sucking me in like that…sure you want me taking this energy?” His eyes darken as you whine and moan underneath him, then nod. The willingness displayed in your expression, and your body humbles him. “Shit priestess. Gonna make me lose my goddamn mind.” He gathers you to him, his hands holding onto you so tightly as the cursed energy surges. His nails dig into your flesh and you realize he’s on the verge of losing control, his technique barely maintained at its current level as he struggles with the raging desire inside him.

Even as his technique feeds on your offering, you can feel the fluctuations in his cursed energy. With a curse, Geto abandons his last attempt at trying to absorb more. His mouth covers yours as he kisses you, both your sounds of pleasure swallowed by the other as he chases his orgasm, his cock sliding smoothly in and out of your slick channel. Your hands slide up to hook over his shoulders and you cling to him, the only solid thing your senses could perceive. The noise of skin slapping on skin fills the room, the thump of his balls hitting your ass punctuating his movements as he tries to get himself to climax. His belly tightens, and he can feel his balls scrunching up in anticipation as he prepares to empty himself.

The candles snuff out, plunging the room into darkness, and a primal noise is all that can be heard as Geto finally succumbs, his cock twitching inside you as thick jets of cum paint your walls. You stay locked in his embrace, the purple aura glowing mysteriously around you both and as Geto starts to come down from his high, it flickers and eventually vanishes.

Your face is buried in his shoulder, your breathing unsteady, and then your eyes crack open at the sound of applause. The Elders are on their feet, clearly celebratory at the success of the ritual. You gaze up at Geto who seemed to be in a trance, his softening cock still buried inside you. His eyes glance at the elders before he issues a single command.

“Out.” The word rang sharply through the room and the Elders falter, clearly confused at his lack of excitement. But with the menacing look that appears on his face, they retreat, leaving the chamber and shutting the door behind them. Once the room is empty, Geto turns his attention back to you. He eases his body out of yours, and you feel the perverse slip of his cum trickling out of you. You lie back on the sheets, spent and exhausted.

“I thought the Elders were going to have an orgy now,” you tease as Geto flops onto the sheets. He grins lazily at you.

“Not yet. I’m not done.”

“Not done?” Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. “But the ritual was a success.”

“Practice makes perfect. I wasn’t quite prepared this time. Lots of energy to still be collected.”

“You want more?” you ask incredulously. “There’s a fine line between ambition and greed Geto.”

“It blurs with you.” He pulls you against his sweaty body. “Besides, it’s not like you’re lacking for cursed energy. You made plenty of it just now.”

You roll your eyes. “Do we have to bring those old geezers back in here again?”

Geto laughs nodding. “Unfortunately. But not today.” He kisses your hair. “Didn’t I say I wasn’t letting you out of this bed until you were begging for mercy?”

“But…what if something goes wrong and…” Comprehension suddenly dawns on you and you smirk. “Oh. I see. You don’t want to activate your technique again.” You giggle naughtily as Geto rolls onto his back and you rest your head on his chest. He looks amused at your realization.

“I just want to fuck you like the slut you deserve to be. And then maybe once like a princess too.”

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