#and he's so pathetic about it that Red who at this point can barely even remember the incident is just like 'I cant even be angry right now

[bunnieswithknives]

Imagine somehow David was killed and turned into a puppet, forced to spend eternity with his creations. How screwed would he be?

Ima be honest I really like this as a post-cannon idea, all the puppets escaping and David simultaneously getting to experience the same fate he condemned so many others to, while also kinda getting a new start.

[highvern]

Drive Me Crazy

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x f!reader

Genre: smut

warnings: strangers to lovers, virgin!JK, dry humping, oral sex, cum eating

Length: ~3.7k

Note: yes i'm insane. no i won't be taking further questions. thank u @gyuswhore for chaperoning my descent into JK madness

summary: You're not the only one with a shitty dating life. Your driver seems to be having a worse night than you can imagine. But things take a turn for the better in the backseat of his car.

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

“Uber for Y/N?” you ask, stumbling into the backseat. “Thanks. God, you wouldn’t believe the night I’ve had.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” the man, Ian according to the information on the app, gasps. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” You’re a wreck; makeup running, clothes damp from the rain peppering on the window. The last thing you want is some hot guy as your driver for the short journey back to your apartment but at this point you can’t muster the energy to care. 

“Uhhh—”

“You probably don’t want to hear about my shitty night.”

“Well that and—” he starts, cut off before he can say more by your tipsy motormouth. 

“Where does a man get off telling me he isn’t interested in gold diggers when he’s a public school teacher? No offense but what gold?” you ramble. “Not to mention, when I told the waiter to split the bill he asked if I thought he didn’t have any money. Like make up your mind dude.”

“What the fuck?” he asks lowly.

You nod in agreement, hands thrown wide in exasperation. “That’s what I’m saying!”

“That’s fucked up.”

The thickness of his voice doesn’t register in your mind, a broken edgy scratching at the edges of your brain but it doesn’t signal any significant interest “Oh, that's not even the worst part.”

“There’s more?”

“He said ‘I asked too many personal questions.’”

“Like?”

“What he liked to do for fun, if he’s originally from the city, do you like dogs or cats? Literally anything I could think of because apparently he’s allergic to carrying a conversation.” In your hand, your phone rings with an unsaved number. “Hello?”

“Hi, this is your Uber. Did you mean to cancel your ride?”

“What?”

“Ian from Uber? I’ve been circling the block and haven’t found you and you weren’t answering your phone.”

“Oh! I’m sorry I’ll just—cancel. Yep. Bye.” You stare at the equelly unease expression on Not-Uber Driver Ian’s face, muddled brain racing. If he isn’t your driver that means you got into the car with a random man. 

“Who the fuck are you?” you scream. 

“Who the fuck are you?” he yells back.

You fiddle with the door handle, unable to grab a hold with shaky hands. “Oh my god, you’re a kidnapper.”

“I’m not a kidnapper!”

“That’s what a kidnapper would say!” You fumble for the pepper spray in your bag only to find it absent. It’s not your usual bag. It’s the nicer one that barely fits your phone and chapstick. Damn it.

“YOU GOT IN MY CAR,” he argues.

He makes a good point. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I tried but you talk a lot.” 

Another good point.

“Oh my god, what the hell,” you gasp. “Why are you sitting here with the doors unlocked? I could have robbed you.”

“I used my last five bucks to buy this ice cream. Just kill me instead.”

You balk. “That’s so sad.” 

“Yeah, I’m aware.”

“You’re a horrible kidnapper.”

“And you’re a pretty shitty carjacker so I’d say we’re even.”

If he was dangerous he's had plenty of time to prove it. Instead, when he looks back over the center console, all you see is the red rimmed eyes of a kicked puppy with a bird nest for hair. A ridiculous expression for a man of his size but you pity him nonetheless. He’s harmless. Pathetic. But harmless. 

There’s a story about him and you’ve always been curious. “Okay, not-Ian, why are you sitting in a parking lot eating ice cream on a Friday night? Kidnapper thing aside, this is just sad.” 

He’s hot. Even in nothing but sweats and his own misery. The intimidating kind of handsome that people, men and women, pine over. Hand themselves over on a silver platter if he so much as asked.

“Thanks,” he grunts, going for another spoon of ice cream. 

“So why are you upset?” The rain outside intensifies, setting the scene to bare your souls in his cramped Toyota.

“Ugh…” he hesitates. 

“You don’t have to tell me, but I don’t think it can be any more embarrassing than what I just went through.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Why not? If it’s more embarrassing then I won’t steal a bite. Is that chocolate?”

“Cookie dough,” he corrects. “This girl I’ve been talking to ditched me.”

“Because?”

He prepares with a deep breath, steeling himself against whatever motive his fling had. “I’m a virgin.”

“What?” you ask dumbly. Virgin.

Chin tipped back, he swipes at his face in embarrassment. “I told you it's embarrassing.”

“You’re eating your feelings because you’re a virgin?”

“Yes.” He waits for your interjection. When it doesn’t come he hesitantly continues. “And the last person I told laughed in my face and started hooking up with my roommate. So…”

“What a bitch.”

“Yeah. People just assume I’m some kind of man whore.” He explains, head banging against the wheel. “But I’ve never done anything besides… ya know?”

“I have no idea, complete stranger.”

“Like hand stuff.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely a virgin,” you snort. “Move over, I’m coming up.”

Shimmying into the front seat takes more coordination than you’re prepared for. The hem of your dress rises to brazen heights, a draft curling around the edge of your panties. Its a feeling you assumed would be happening with your date and not in the car with a random stranger. But beggars can’t be choosers. At least it’s good ice cream.

He pointedly avoids looking anywhere close to your legs. Polite. Innocent. Virginal. How cute.

“Thank you. That makes me feel so much better.” His eyes roll as you settle into the passenger seat, snatching the container and taking a bite from the same spoon he’d been using. 

“Sorry,” you say after swallowing. “Is it because you don’t want to? Because that girl can go fuck herself then.”

“No, I just, I don’t know. I get nervous? They’re expecting someone who knows what they’re doing and I have no idea. And then all I can think about is what if I’m bad at it which makes me more nervous and then I feel like throwing up.”

“Please tell me you haven’t thrown up on a girl.” 

“Ew, no,” he laughs, taking a bite for himself. “I just make an excuse to slow down and then leave.”

“Okay. Well…” You try to think of something, anything, that could make him feel better. It’s not everyday a stranger spills their guts about lacking sexual experience. “So what if you’re bad? It’s not like you can’t get better.”

“Okay, but what girl wants to sleep with a guy who’s bad in bed?”

“How do you know you’re bad if you’ve never even tried? It’s different if you’re bad and you don’t care. Just tell whoever you're with you’ve never done it before. If they don’t jump at the chance to teach you then they can fuck off.”

“Well, Mina rubbed my face in it—”

“Oh fuck her. She seems like a bitch.”

“You’re not wrong,” he says. 

Rain drizzles on the windshield, obscuring the lights into messy streaks. A flood of memories surrounding your own virginity rush to the forefront.

Your college boyfriend, Jimin, wanted to wait. It was cute. High school sweethearts going to the same school, taking similar classes, holding hands in the library. You thought he wasn’t ready and you respected it, found it endearing that he wasn’t like most of the guys your friends dated that couldn’t wait to do it.

Or you did until you decided to surprise Jimin for his birthday with breakfast in bed and got your own surprise. A girl, naked in his bed, Jimin’s own clothes scattered around the room.

You broke up with him right there. Two days of crying later, you invited your lab partner, the one Jimin couldn’t stand, over.

It was Yoongi that sent a selfie of you two cuddled up in bed to Jimin. He still likes to cash in on that favor whenever he needs a dog sitter.

Yoongi knew there were no feelings involved. A simple favor in the form of revenge against a shitty ex. Maybe not-Ian is your chance to pay it forward. By the looks of things, you wouldn’t be suffering.

“Ya know, some girls like guys who are inexperienced. It’s hot knowing you can teach someone how to be good in bed. Like an ego boost.” You shrug. If he wasn’t looking at your legs before but he sure is now. Pink ears and round eyes, his fingers twitch in his lap as you suck the spoon clean. At least the hour spent shaving your legs isn’t going to waste. “Besides, you obviously care how the other person feels, which is more than some dudes.”

“Why would someone not care if the other person feels good?” he asks, tone laced with disgust. “That seems like the entire point.”

“The world is full of mysteries.”

“My name is Jungkook by the way.”

Jungkook. Fitting somehow. It tastes good on your tongue. Like the cookie dough ice cream.

“Y/N.”

You end up in his lap in true stereotypical fashion. A too long silence, his eyes on your mouth and yours on his. Someone leans forward and now you know Jungkook is a great kisser with even greater upper body strength.

His inexperience shows in the fine details: shaky hands, hesitant tongue, waiting for you to take the lead as not to offend. It’s endearing. Someone as big as him treating you with such gentleness. But it means he’s thinking about messing this up and that’s the opposite of what you want. 

You kiss him deeper, a grip on the side of his neck that he eagerly surrenders too. Your other hand wedges between your chests. Teeth nipping at his lip, you rock against him, palming against the soft cotton sweats until he’s plump in your hand. 

“God,” he chokes. His own hands busy themself on your body, one at the seat of your ass, teasing the edge of your dress where bare skin peaks out while the offers a tight grip at your chest, pinching your nipple in desperate retaliation.

“Feel good?” You rut again, a tease for your own pleasure in the form of Jungkook’s heavy breath. It’s decent contact on your core, not enough to get you off but plenty for right now.

Kissing is well in his realm of experience. Obvious from how quickly he finds his bearings, licking behind your teeth. It’s good. Better than dry humping his thigh in the front seat should be. Vision dark from his hands frantic at your ass, thighs rising to meet every torturous curl against the heat of his lap.

You fall into his shoulder, drool staining his sweater as you pant. “Ever had your dick sucked?”

“No.” 

A vein raises across his neck and becomes your new guidemap. Your hand at his crotch squeezes, his cock twitching at the action. “Do you want to?”

“You don’t have to,” he hisses. 

You squeeze his cock again, enough for a needy drive of his hips in response. “I want to.” 

“Seriously?” he marvels.

“If it’s cool with you.” You nose along his jaw, teeth scraping red over his skin. His stomach dips under your hand. “Get in the back, I don’t need to get caught with your dick in my mouth.”

“Holy shit, don’t say that.” He kisses you again, firmer this time. 

You crawl back through the narrow opening between the front seats, ass on full display for Jungkook’s eyes. The heat of his palm ghosts over your legs but he doesn’t touch. The deliberate arch in your spine isn’t enough to break his self control just yet.

He comes next. The struggle is endearing, half stuck between the seats and wiggling forward. “I think I’m stuck.”

“Why didn’t you just go around?” You snort, grabbing around his arms and pulling to no avail.

“Too late now.”

You're both laughing. Breathless because Jungkook is lodged between the seats with zero hope. “Why are you so heavy?”

He wiggles through with your help, nearly elbowing you in the head in the process. But he’s in the seat with his lap as prime real estate. You try to commandeer the space once again but Jungkook stops you. Instead, he settles between your legs, weight pinning you into the door. Broad shoulders block out the light but you take it in stride, fisting the back of his sweater as he finds your pulse.

“Can I go down on you?” He nuzzles down your throat, mouthing the spots he’s learning make you putty in his hands.

“Yeah, sure,” you hiccup. “That’s fine.” 

Jungkook crams between your legs, bending in half on the floor like a contortionist. The sparse kisses across your thighs would be a blatant tease if nervousness wasn’t rolling off him in waves. He’s eating pussy for the first time and acting like it’s open heart surgery.

“Calm down.” You brush a hand through his hair, attempting to be comforting. 

“I am calm.” A bold faced lie. Even in the darkness of the backseat the signs of his impending nerves are obvious. 

“You’re shaking,” you say. “I’ll tell you what feels good. You’re not gonna mess it up.”

An open mouth on your core kiss leaves you sweating with a weak hum. At least he knows where the clit is. Or has a vague idea of its presence. Jungkook presses his face further into the cotton, suffocating himself without realizing. 

“O-oh,” you hitch.

Humiliation brews from such a visceral reaction to something as basic as a kiss over your panties. But Jungkook is out of his depth here and any reaction will stroke his confidence. 

He ducks away, watching you with rapt attention. You’re the teacher and he’s a student eager for whatever validation that may fall from your lips. “Good?” 

“Yeah, do it again,” you praise. 

He nods before diving back in, throwing your legs over his shoulders for better reach. Your pulse jumps with juvenile eagerness. Like it’s the first time you’re left with a boy unsupervised and his hand is the first real thing to touch you between the legs. It makes you feel dirty. Has your hairline sweat and tongue go dry. A bold wash of his tongue couples the next kiss, hot and wet as he laps against the fabric until your own arousal mixes with spit. 

"You fucking liar,” you croak. The back of your head knocks against the window, hips rolling into his mouth.

"What?” Jungkook asks, leaning back but just barely. His breath fans over your skin, a shiver crawling up your spine. “Did I do something—" 

“It’s good. So good,” you praise. “Touch me more.”

He jumps at the chance. Your panties tear down your thighs, out of the way with some rough maneuvering. Bare for his eyes, Jungkook takes more than a fill before diving in for another taste. But not until he spits on your clit and rubs in the mess with his thumb. Your thighs spread wider to accommodate a hard pass of his mouth, more wet kisses burning your cheeks.

“Jungkook, fuck,” you sigh. “When you said ‘hand stuff’ what did you mean?”

“I’ve touched a vagina before if that's what you're asking.”

You swat his hand. “Don’t say vagina, it makes me feel like I’m at the gynecologist.”

“Sorry, a pussy.”

“Don’t say it like that either, weirdo. Have you fingered one?”

Pointed silence is answer enough.

“It’s okay. I’m not gonna make fun of you. Just don’t put a finger in my ass and you’ll be fine.”

He doesn't laugh at your poor attempt to cut the tension but he releases a weighted sigh, muscles sagging an inch. Better. Instead, he focuses on stroking you to life between your folds, fingertips nudging your bud teasingly. 

“Use your mouth some more and then finger me too,” you beg. 

“Uh—how many? I don't wanna hurt you." He’s unsure despite the obvious twitch in your thighs. It burns depravity through your veins. His innocence is hot. Jungkook doesn’t even realize how fucked up he has you from some softcore porn level touching.

"All of them. I don't care, I’ll tell you if it’s too much."

One hand firm on your stomach, keeping your dress out of the way as he spreads your insides with two. The first strokes are meek. Nothing to scream over but he’s learning and that’s what's important. Seconds tick by and Jungkook finds a hesitant rhythm. Wet noises echo with each slow sheath, reserved but stretching you all the same. The wet strokes of his tongue are there too, placating just in case. A soft curl of his fingers makes your hips cant into his mouth. 

The fogged windows are a dead give away to what's playing out in the backseat. If anyone stumbles down the sidewalk then you’re both dead but Jungkook’s mouth is distracting in the worst way.

And then he licks between his fingers, tongue slipping past his knuckles for a pure taste of your arousal. You go fuzzy at the edges, thighs squeezing tight until he’s forced to keep them spread or risk having his head crushed.

“Oh–fuck me, god.”

It’s not fair. For him to be good at this so quickly. To delude himself into thinking he could possibly be bad, trying to convince you he’d be bad. Complete unfair how ill prepared you were for Jungkook worshiping your pussy like he’s never tasted anything better.

He really needs to be more confident because, in the cramped back seat of his car, you’re losing your mind and it’s barely been ten minutes.

“Can I—” he asks around your clit.

“Do whatever you want, just don’t stop,” you ramble. “Jungkook, fuck.”

A hand of your own sinks into his hair, angling his chin for better access. Wet echoes fill the car, sharp mewls from your lips adding to the noise. Nerves blazing, your ride his mouth for all its worth. Eager slippery circles of his tongue against your clit intensify, built on praising moans of his name.

“Fuck. Tastes good,” he grunts. A squeeze of your hand, the one not pulling his hair and then he’s finding your chest, blind groping until you guide him to your nipple and curve into the sting of his grip. He twists it. Hard. 

You want to cry. The sweat suck of his mouth, fingers confidently curling it that spot that makes the air thinner in your lungs. Moans die between your teeth. Too quick into the next sensation to revel. There isn’t a thought other than Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook.

“Jungkook!” you cry, grinding into his fingers. Your teeth clench as a third one stretches that extra inch. Stiff in the thighs, you force yourself down into the friction. His tongue hardens, perfect for use as you hump his face weakly.

Your legs kick, scrambling under the sharp pleasure. He’s got you melting into nothing right on his carseat. Jungkook doesn’t lean back to ask for more confirmation; just takes the signs for what they are and keeps going with renewed stamina at the promise of your pleasure. 

“I’m gonna—oh, god. Yessss,” you hiss. Nails sharp against the back of his neck, Jungkook buries his face in your cunt. 

You go rigid, voice breaking into a desperate whimper. Jungkook has the sense to keep going, lashing at your clit over and over with each desperate pulse of pleasure through your veins. Flashes flare behind the darkness of your eyes squeezed tight. You make a few more desperate noises, lurching in his hold before falling lip and worn.

“Fuck, okay. Okay,” you whine, pushing him away from your core before the stimulation becomes too much.

His mouth is drenched, cheeks and chin smeared with your orgasm. A flash of tongue collects some of the mess but you drag him into a kiss before he can go for seconds. First time eating pussy and he’s one for one. If that doesn’t help his confidence then nothing else will. 

“Give me a second and I’ll blow you,” you pant into his lips. 

“I-it’s okay.”

You pout at the brush off, a deep kiss as you invade his space. “I promise I want to.”

Your hand goes for his pants just to be captured with his own. His fingers are still soaked from your insides. “No, I…I came too.”

“Really?” you ask in awe.

Jungkook is embarrassed again. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. That’s hot.” You kiss him again with a gentle suckle along the curve of his lower lip. Jungkook drinks it in, crowding you back into the door again like you aren’t a pile of mush. Your back hurts from hunching over for so long but you let him keep you tangled up for a little while longer just to feel the shuddering exhale from his nose across your cheek. “Can I see?”

He swallows thickly before rolling down his sweats. The thin fabric of his boxers are wet, sticky under your shaky hand. You dip below the waist band, fingers grazing the limp ridge of his cock. He’s stuck in the inbetween of soft and hard but still hot and heavy in your hold. Your core throbs in interest at the feeling. 

Jungkook shivers as you swipe at the slit, collecting a bead of cum. You want to get your mouth on him but he looks like he might cry if you keep playing with it.

When your hand retreats, rising to your lips for a taste, his eyes round, mouth gaping over silent words. The pink of your tongue comes out, lapping at the thick mess coating your thumb. 

“Is it okay if I get your number?” he asks after the initial shock wears away.

“Yeah,” you snort. “You can have my number. You can give me a ride home too. And we can do that again in my bed.”

The glee on his face is worth the disgusting mess between your thighs. “Hell yeah.”

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie

@gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire

@missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi @writingbarnes

@dokyeomkyeom @christinewithluv @minwonfairy @idkjustlovingbts @wobblewobble822 @futuristicenemychaos

@seungkw1 @horanghaezone @jespecially @scoupsjin @isabellah29

@luvseungcheol @crisle19

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[stllmnstr]

champagne problems: part one

pairing: jake sim x f reader

genre: enemies to lovers, rich kids au, fake dating au, college au, angst, fluff

part one word count: 15.6k

part one warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, family drama, a fatal case of second son syndrome

soundtrack: boom - dpr live / bad idea! - girl in red / blood on the floor - kuiper / calico - dpr ian / comme de garçons (like the boys) - rina sawayama / lust - chase atlantic

note: another reupload!! hope this hopeless romantic college boyfriend jake hits just as good the second time around. happy reading ♡

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

The second son of a wealthy family, Jake Sim has gotten used to always standing in the shadow of his older brother. From grades to girls to talks of becoming future CEO of the Sim Corporation, he’s no stranger to coming in second place. So when an opportunity arises for Jake to finally have the one thing his brother can’t and best him once and for all, he knows he’d be a fool not to take it.

There are only two problems. The first is that the thing his brother wants so badly isn’t a thing at all. It’s you, semi-estranged daughter of the Sims’ closest and most long-standing business partner.

The second is that Jake Sim can’t fucking stand you.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Fingers wrapping around the stem of your wine glass, you sigh. Punctuality may have been a steep order for someone who you suspect is running dangerously low on both common sense and regard for others, but twenty minutes? Really?

Your eyes land on the obnoxiously ornate grandfather clock next to the hostess stand. In a restaurant with ceilings so high you can barely see them and a carefully curated ambience that practically screams old money, it blends right in. It also gives you an updated timeframe on your would-be date’s tardiness. 

Scratch that – thirty minutes. 

Pulling out your phone, the absence of any new notifications is almost as annoying as whatever threadbare excuse you’re sure your date will offer you when he arrives. Glancing at the door, it remains devoid of any new patrons. Or perhaps rather if he arrives. 

You’re running near empty on both pinot noir and patience, and you use the distraction of your phone to make you seem a little less pathetic. As if this entire restaurant isn’t already privy to the fact that you’re actively being stood up. 

Well, you think wryly, at least you look good doing it. The off white ensemble you selected for the evening is Chanel, and vintage, at that. Usually you wouldn’t pull out all the stops like this for something as flimsy as a first date, but men like James Sim have an eye for this kind of thing. 

Four years your senior, he’s already carving out a name for himself at twenty-five. You suppose it is a little less impressive, though, when the name he was born with already carries a legacy of its own in the business world you usually do your very best to stay out of. Rumor has it he’s already a shoo-in for the next CEO of his father’s company. When nepotism is that blatant, you can’t do much but scoff and raise a glass to it. 

Scrambling for something to do to make your wasted time pass a bit quicker, you search up the social media profile of your would-be date. Honestly, you doubt you would learn anything more substantial about him if he actually bothered to show up than you will from scanning over his feed. In your experience, men like that tend to make up for their success on paper by lacking an actual personality and any sort of self-awareness. 

Gym selfie. Scroll. Gym selfie from a slightly different angle. Scroll. Dog photo. Pausing, you suppress a small smile. The dog in the picture is pretty cute, if nothing else. Zooming in slightly, your eyes crinkle at the way the dog’s tongue lolls out of its open mouth in a grin. Well, at least he’s got that going for him, you suppose. A cute dog is enough to bump any guy’s ranking up a few points in your book. 

If James Sim is nothing but a sum of his social media profile, it’s not like you expected anything else. After all, this is the heir to the Sim Corporation, a golden boy that was born with a crown on his head and a gold spoon in his mouth. Everything he’s earned has been laid out for him in painstakingly placed steps. His entire life has been guided by a heavy hand and the knowledge that he would one day inherit everything that makes his family worth knowing. 

You probably wouldn’t be too concerned with showing up to first dates on time, either. Especially since you doubt he’s ever been denied a second. 

Tonight is nothing but a blip on a radar, you’re sure. Something for a secretary to schedule and him to notice a day or five late. Maybe if you’re lucky, someone on his team will send a consolatory bouquet once he does realize the mistake. He is still building his reputation, after all, and you could use a fresh set of flowers for your apartment. 

With another slightly pitiful sigh and a final swig of wine, your glass is empty and your optimism is shot. A second glance at the clock says that thirty-eight minutes have now elapsed since your scheduled meeting time. And in your opinion, that’s thirty-nine too late for a first date. 

Retrieving your coat from the back of your chair, you figure tonight will be remembered as nothing but a waste of a good outfit. Besides, you suppose forty minutes of aimless scrolling is ultimately less painful than the inevitable headache this date surely would have been had he bothered to actually show up. 

Suddenly, you frown. You won’t complain if this date never actually happens, but you may end up with a slight problem. Although you haven’t been on the best of terms with your mother in a long time, tonight was meant to be the final bullet point on a list of favors you owe her. 

As you pull your coat on, you consider the best way to frame the events of the evening. Lean into the whole ‘getting stood up’ thing in an effort to earn some sympathy points? Lay out the facts in their most basic form, timestamps included? Emphasize the fact that you waited long past the obligatory twenty minutes for him to actually show up? Or leave your message chain as it currently is, tell her nothing at all, and let her assume what she wants?

They’re all equally iffy, you think. Risky in their own regard. 

Signing your name at the bottom of the check, you scribble in a generous tip for the waitress who did her best to check on you often without making it obvious that she knew you were expecting company that never arrived, expertly skirting that line between overbearing and empathetic. At least someone will go home happy, you think, adding an extra zero for good measure. 

Exiting the restaurant, you decide to make it two people. James Sim may be a hotshot at his father’s company, but you’ll be damned before you let him ruin your evening. Before you order the Uber back to your place, you add an extra stop at your favorite sushi place. Takeout in the comfort of your own home will certainly be easier to enjoy than whatever Michelin-Star concoction you would have ordered here anyway, eaten in small bites between forced conversation topics, awkward pauses, and too long sips of wine. 

And an hour later, you’re polishing off the last piece of an absolutely divine rainbow roll, wearing nothing but silk pajamas and a face mask, with old reruns of your favorite show playing on the TV when James Sim finally glances down at the Rolex on his wrist. He’s finally arrived at the tail end of a meeting that’s running so far behind schedule he has half a mind to just walk out of it. He would, too, if his father wouldn’t actually threaten his life for it. 

It’s late, James realizes. Stupid late. So late that he won’t have the time or energy to do anything but pass out by the time he gets home, which really sucks, because he was genuinely looking forward to his date tonight–

“Fuck.”

All he can do is curse, even as the shocked faces of a concerning number of top executives turn to look at him all at the same time. 

…

Jake Sim is about to fail his econ midterm. 

It will be at least a week before grades are released, but he already knows it. He can already feel it in the way the questions start to swim in his mind, making less and less sense the more he turns them over, in the way his gut fills with dread as the minute hand of the clock at the front of the lecture hall ticks closer and closer to the testing time limit. 

And it wouldn’t be that bad, if it weren’t his second time repeating this course. 

Oh, his father is going to have an absolute field day with this one. Jake can practically hear it now. 

“You failed your midterm? After already failing this course twice? You know, James was actually the top scoring student in his economic section. Dr. Jeong still mentions his term paper every time I see him at the university…”

And that’s if he’s in a good mood. Or rather, if things at the company are going well. Jake doesn’t even want to consider the comments he’ll be on the receiving end of if the news of his failure finds his father already agitated. 

Exhaling, he gives his exam one final once-over, scanning for completion more than accuracy. His brain is so fried that he knows it’s of little use to him now. For his own sake, the best thing to do at this point is turn his test in and send a silent prayer to whoever might be listening on his way out the door. 

Leaving the lecture hall behind him, Jake puts his phone out of airplane mode and frowns at the two notifications that pop up on his screen. The first is a missed call from his brother, and the second is a message from the same sender, requesting that he give him a call when he has the chance. 

Considering that it’s neither his birthday nor a major holiday, Jake is more than a little confused. Regardless, he honors the request, pressing his phone to his ear as he begins the walk back to his apartment. Although it’s significantly less spacious than his childhood home, he finds it far more welcoming in more ways than one. 

The outgoing call rings once, twice, three times. Jake is about to be annoyed at the missed connection, but his brother answers in the moments just before he’s sent to voicemail.

“Hey, Jake.” Shocking. He actually bothered to check the caller ID. 

“Hey.” Jake’s voice is careful, guarded. It’s not like his personal life is of any importance to his older brother, but he’s not in the mood to answer any questions. He won’t give James any reasons to ask. “I saw your message.”

“Right.” Jake can hear the shuffle of other voices, scattered movements coming from the other line. James sounds busy. Just like always. Usually, that would usually mean he’s distracted. But Jake has the odd feeling that he has his brother’s undivided attention when James adds, “I have a favor to ask you.”

Immediately, Jake’s stomach drops. There are very few things in this world that are not within James Sim’s grasp, and even less that are within Jake’s, relatively speaking. Whatever it is, he must be desperate, if he’s willing to enlist the help of his little brother. 

“Okay.” Jake’s voice betrays none of his sudden anxieties. “What is it?”

At least James spares him the agony of suspense. “You know ___, right?”

Jake frowns. Sure, he knows of you. Just like he has a vague idea of every one of his family’s business partners and their immediate kin. Particularly the ones that are the same age as him and attend the same university. But it’s not like he’s close with you, not like he’s ever had an actual conversation of any substance with you. 

Especially since the minimal interactions the two of you have had did not leave Jake wanting more. The only child of parents whose last name is on the front of the most successful law firm within a thousand mile radius, you strike him as everything he’d expect you to be. 

Spoiled. Entitled. Vapid. Out of touch with any version of reality that doesn’t consist of you getting everything you want at the exact moment you want it. He supposes it’s a bit like the pot calling the kettle black, considering his own upbringing, but he’d like to think that he’s earned what he’s been given, at least partially. Especially since most of it has been his brother’s hand-me-downs.  And it’s not like his father has ever been in the habit of doing him any favors that don’t come wrapped in criticism, comparison, and disdain.

Although rumor does have it you and your mother haven’t been on speaking terms since you left for university, Jake imagines it’s probably because you wanted to bring the limited edition Versace to campus with you, and she insisted it would be safer at home. 

Oh, well. Whatever designer dispute happened between you and your mother is no skin off his back. Jake has his own problems to worry about. 

One of them being his brother’s question that still lingers on the other line. 

Weighing responses in his head, Jake finally settles on, “I guess.” It’s his best attempt at being noncommittal. 

Unfortunately, it doesn’t do anything to dissuade his brother. “Do you have her number by chance? My secretary should have taken it down, but she can’t find it anywhere.”

Jake balks, footsteps faltering. An equally distracted student walking behind him nearly stumbles right into his back. Wordlessly, Jake sends them an apologetic look before clarifying, “Her number? Like, her personal phone number?”

“What other kind of number is there?” And there’s the James that Jake knows. Annoyed at the perceived incompetencies of his younger brother, just as always. 

Suddenly, Jake’s patience is running short too. James is the one asking for a favor and still has the gall to be annoyed with him. Typical. Jake’s words are clipped when he says, “No, I don’t have ___’s phone number.” 

Jake expects that to be the end of it, but his brother won’t let it go so easily. 

“Seriously? Don’t you two go to the same school?”

Jake rolls his eyes. “Right, because I have the entire student body on speed dial.”

There’s a pause on the other end. Jake half expects his brother to just hang up on him. After all, he’s never been able to take what he gets, to swallow what he dishes out. 

What Jake does not expect, however, is the way James sounds so tentative when he speaks again.  “Well…”

“Well what?” Patience already running thin, it’s all he can do not to snap. 

“Do you think you could get it for me?”

Jake must be dreaming. This must be a post-exam punishment, a hallucination brought on by over exerting his brain too far for too long. “Do I think I could get ___’s phone number for you?” he repeats flatly. 

“Is there an echo in here?” Asshole. At least he’s consistent. 

“Just an echo chamber,” Jake mutters away from the receiver. 

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Jake stops for a moment to fiddle with his keyring as he walks up the stairs to his apartment. “No, I can’t get her phone number for you.” 

“Why not?”

The key won’t line up quite right. Jake tries again, frustration seeping through. “Because I have better things to do than run stupid errands for you. Why don’t you drive here and get it yourself?”

“Trust me, if I thought she’d give it to me, I’d be there in an hour.”

The lock on his door finally clicks open, and Jake all but throws his bag down after kicking off his shoes. “And what the hell makes you think she’d give it to me?”

“Well, you didn’t accidentally stand her up, for one.” James doesn’t sound embarrassed by it. Just matter-of-fact. Like a date is nothing but a business deal. Something to be rescheduled and redone if negotiations go sour the first time around. 

It is enough to stir up some of Jake’s curiosity, though. “You went on a date with ___?” He supposes it makes sense. Even if the rumor mill and its rumblings about your rocky relationship with your mother ring true, you’re still your parents’ daughter. Still a perfect match on paper for the future CEO of the Sim Corporation. The king of a company and princess of a law firm. It’s a match made in heaven, he thinks ruefully. 

“No, I didn’t. That’s kind of the whole point here.”

“Whatever.” Jake still doesn’t see what the hell he has to do with all this. “Why don’t you just look up her parents’ number in the company database and get it from them?”

Jake can practically feel his brother’s exasperation through the phone. “Right, because that would go over really well. Hi there," he imitates. “I’d like to make your daughter the mother of my future children. Care to pass along her phone number so I can get started on that?”

Jake suppresses a wince. “Jesus. I see why she stood you up.”

“She didn’t. I stood her up,” James clarifies. “On accident.”

Semantics. And not ones that Jake is interested in. “Either way. I’m not getting her number for you.”

“Yeah?” Jake is unsettled by the way there’s still no trace of defeat in his brother’s voice. There’s something almost sinister when he suddenly switches topics. “How are classes going?”

Jake’s lips pull into a taut line, disaster of an econ midterm still fresh on his mind. “Fine.”

“Really? Even econ? Third time’s the charm and all that?” Well, at least his brother can be counted on to consistently be an asshole.

“Why do you care?” The only thing Jake wants to do is end this call and crawl into bed for a well-deserved afternoon nap. Let his subconscious spare him from thoughts of his older brother and econ and you for at least a little bit. 

James has other plans. “You must have taken the midterm recently, right?” Jake’s silence is confirmation enough. “You know, the only thing Dr. Jeong weighs more heavily than the midterm is the final paper at the end of the semester.”

A minute ago, Jake thought you were the last thing he wanted to talk about. The sudden shift in direction in this conversation is starting to prove him wrong. If there’s one thing Jake would rather discuss even less than his older brother’s dating life, it’s school. “What does that have to do with a–”

“And I think I still have my copy of the paper that earned me the top score in my entire section.” The smugness is practically palpable. “I might have to do some digging, but I’m sure it’s in my old files somewhere.”

Jake rolls his eyes, wishes the immediate comparison weren’t the first thing to rise to the forefront of his mind. Wishes it didn’t find him so lacking. Wishes it wasn’t narrated in the voice of his disappointed father. “If you’re trying to gloat, it’s n–”

“I’m trying to strike a deal. Jesus, no wonder you’re on track to be a super senior getting a business degree.”

“This is my third year,” Jake defends indignantly. 

“And your third attempt at econ, which I passed in my first year.” He sounds like he’s settling a little too well into the CEO role when he proposes, “I’m trying to make it your last attempt.” 

Jake would be lying if he said his curiosity weren’t piqued, even just slightly. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, little brother, that my term paper, my notes, all of it, are yours.” It sounds too good to be true. It has to be too good to be true. James is a lot of things, but generous and helpful are very rarely any of them. “As soon as you get me ___’s number.” And there it is. 

Jake hangs up without bothering to dignify that with a response and hopes it sends a strong enough signal of his refusal. Then, he falls into his bed face-first with a groan. 

And a week later, when his econ midterm results are finally posted, the first thing Jake does is let his head fall on his desk with an alarmingly loud thud that has Jay poking his head in the door to make sure everything’s okay. The second thing he does, a solid twenty minutes later, is send his older brother a text. 

Jake [7:21pm]: You better start digging through those old files. 

…

All things considered, you’re easier to track down than Jake expects. The university campus is big, and judging from the way he can’t remember ever seeing you in a class, the two of you don’t share a major. But the similarities in your social status mean you’re bound to run in some of the same circles, and Jake is able to use this to his advantage. 

Ultimately, it takes very little digging on his part. First, he mentions your name to Jay in the middle of an upper body superset in the university gym. Jay frowns, setting the weights back on the rack. 

“That name sounds familiar. I think maybe Heeseung knows her?”

That tidbit takes him to Wednesday night, which always finds Jake in the library at a statistics study group Heeseung also makes a habit of attending. On their way out for the evening, Jake stops him by the door. 

“___?” Heeseung pauses for a moment in contemplation. “I’m pretty sure she’s friends with Sunghoon.”

And the third piece of the puzzle proves a bit more difficult to click into place. Sunghoon is harder for Jake to find, at least in a way that comes across naturally. Much like yours, Park Sunghoon is a name Jake hears in passing more than anything. He’s a friend of friends, a mutual acquaintance that Jake has never really had a conversation with and certainly doesn’t know well enough to interrogate for your phone number. 

But his most recent midterm score is still looming over his head, and the thought of retaking econ again is so nightmarish it sends a shiver down his spine  every time he considers it. At this point, there isn’t much Jake wouldn’t put on the line to pass the damn class. Including his pride, apparently. 

So when Jake hears from Jay who hears from Heeseung that Sunghoon will probably be at the party Epsilon Nu Eta is throwing this Friday night, he starts to formulate a plan. 

And he starts to regret said plan less than twenty-four hours later when he finds himself on the doorstep of a frat party. A frat party. He can’t remember the last time he came to one of these things. At twenty-one, he already feels geriatric as he tugs self-consciously at the sleeves of the plan black long sleeve he put on for the occasion. Something that will hopefully hide the questionable stains he’ll inevitably leave with. 

Entering through the front door with hinges that don’t align quite right, Jake has one mission in mind: find Park Sunghoon. Find him and somehow convince him to pass along your number. There’s a fine line to be walked there, Jake thinks. If he comes across as too eager, it will just be creepy. Nonchalance is the name of the game, but he’s never been good at keeping his cards close to his chest. 

For Jake, it’s a tall order, which means the only detour he’ll allow himself is grabbing a cup of lukewarm beer from the kitchen before he sets out looking for Sunghoon. The alcohol is an effort to break the barrier of his inhibitions more than anything. To make what he’s about to do feel a little less painful. 

Making his way out of the kitchen, Jake wanders aimlessly for a few minutes. He doesn’t know much about Sunghoon, other than the fact that he competes for your university’s figure skating team and is undeniably handsome. A good-looking figure skater, Jake thinks as he turns down yet another crowded hallway, narrowly avoiding spilling his drink. Where would one of those be hiding? 

He spends a few more awkward minutes asking around to no avail. Just when he’s on the verge of saying fuck it and making some sort of sacrifice to the econ gods instead, Jake bumps into the man of the hour on his way to the bathroom. 

In the chaos, Jake doesn’t recognize him until it’s almost too late. “Hey,” Jake calls out, bladder all but forgotten for now. He’s trying to fake an air of coolness when he adds, “Sunghoon, right?”

“Yeah.” Jake thanks his lucky stars that Sunghoon must be at least two drinks in, because he doesn’t seem weirded out at all by the sudden question from a near stranger. 

“I’m Jake.” He reaches his arm out for a handshake. Blinking, Sunghoon just stares at his outstretched hand as long, awkward moments bleed into each other. Eventually, Jake just lets it fall back to his side. “I’m, uh, in a statistics class with Heeseung.”

“Right on,” Sunghoon nods, still unsure if this conversation has a point to it. Luckily, the pleasant haze clouding his thoughts means he doesn’t mind too much either way. 

Jake figures there’s no point in dragging this out by exchanging more pleasantries, and he has the feeling Sunghoon might start forgetting his own name, much less yours, if he lets this continue for too long. 

“Listen,” Jake starts, trying to sound as not creepy as possible. “I heard that you know ___ pretty well.”

Sunghoon just shrugs. Jake can’t tell if he’s succeeded. “You could say that.”

“I know this is a strange request, but, uh,” Jake scratches the side of his head, “is there any chance I could get her number? I promise not to do anything weird.” Word vomiting, the extra details are spilling out before he can stop them. “It’s not even for me, actually–”

Sunghoon spares him the rest of a rambling explanation. “Sorry, bud. No can do.”

Jake’s stomach tightens in panic. He really, really just needs your phone number. It has him forgetting his earlier inhibitions, throwing caution to the wind even if he’s making a bit of a fool of himself in the process. “It’s for something important, actually. I’m kind of desperate–”

Sunghoon just puts a consolatory hand on Jake’s shoulder, interrupting his train of thought. “Look, man, it’s nothing against you personally, but I have literally never met you in my life. Besides, if I gave out ___’s number to every random guy that asked, I’m pretty sure she’d shave my head.” Sunghoon leans in close, like he’s about to share a secret. Jake’s nose twists at the scent of alcohol on his breath. “And between you and me, I don’t think I could pull off being bald.” 

Jake kind of begs to differ, but that’s neither here nor there. He opens his mouth to plead his case again, but Sunghoon doesn’t even let him get a word out. 

“Sorry, man, but I really can’t help you.” Pausing for a moment, he considers. “You said your name was Jacob, though, right?” He doesn’t pause long enough for Jake to correct him. “I could ask her if she’s cool with giving you her number–”

“Whose number are you giving out?” And if Jake thought this conversation wasn’t enough of a train wreck already, trust the timing of your entrance to be more disastrous than divine. 

Eyes turning to you and your sudden intrusion on the conversation, Jake’s mind goes blank for a minute.  And yeah, he kinda gets why his brother’s so hellbent on having a second chance at your time. Dressed in all black, your hair is loose around your face. Even though it likely costs more than most people’s monthly paycheck, there’s nothing inherently special about what you’re wearing. Still, Jake is finding it exceedingly difficult to look away. 

It’s something in your aura, he thinks. In the way you carry yourself. Something that money can’t buy. Something that makes his gaze want to linger. 

“___!” Sunghoon grins, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, wobbling slightly. You jostle at the sudden impact, inching away from where the contents of his cup slosh dangerously close to the rim. “What a coincidence. We were just talking about you.”

Your brow creases in confusion. Jake tracks the miniscule movement with parted lips. 

“You were?”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon confirms, just at the same moment Jake shakes his head, “No.”

Turning your mildly concerned gaze away from your friend, you glance at Jake for the first time. Brow furrowing further, you cock your head to the side as your lips part in partial recognition. He looks oddly familiar, but you can’t quite place him. “Do I know you?”

“No.” Jake shakes his head again, a little too fervently. “I don’t think we’ve ever met. At least not properly.”

It’s an odd way of putting it. You’re about to ask him to clarify when Sunghoon cuts in, clearing up the confusion for you. “It’s Jacob,” he says, as if that should mean anything to you. Turning back to the boy across from him, he adds, “Jacob Sim, right?”

And that clicks things into place.  

“Sim?” you echo, realization dawning on your features.

“Yep,” Sunghoon confirms. 

Across from you, Jake says nothing. He doesn’t think he could if he wanted to. In fact, he’s pretty sure his life is flashing before his eyes. 

“Sim,” you repeat one final time, jaw ticking in agitation as everything starts to settle. “I do know you.”

“Oh, really?” Sunghoon asks at your side, oblivious to the way your tone betrays obvious animosity. A distaste so palpable Jake can practically feel it radiating off of you. Turning back to Jake, he’s apologetic. “Sorry, Jacob. I guess I could have given you her number, then.” Sunghoon smiles sheepishly, as if he hasn’t just made things a million times worse. “My bad.”

Jake’s eyes widen in horror as he scrambles for some sort of defense, an explanation that will dig him out of this rapidly deepening hole, but you beat him to it. 

“My number?” The look you give him has a concerning amount of venom in it. “Seriously? God, why are all you Sim men so obsessed with me?”

“That’s not–” 

“First your brother views my LinkedIn profile twenty-three times after standing me up, and now you’re harassing my friends for my phone number?”

“Hold on. I’m not harassing anyone–”

“No,” Sunghoon agrees, nodding diplomatically. “Jacob was perfectly pleasant–”

“It’s Jake, actually.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, just Jake.”

“Sorry,” Sunghoon apologizes. Turning to you, he tries mediating again. “Well, like I said, just Jake was perfectly pleasant–”

“I don’t care how pleasant he is.” Your glare somehow becomes icier. “Leave me alone, and tell your dickhead brother to do the same.” Muttering to yourself more than anything, you add, “The last thing I need right now is you practically stalking me–”

“Stalking you?” Jake flounders, an edge of annoyance creeping into his tone. He’s not surprised to learn that you really do think the world revolves around you, but really? Stalking?  “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s not like I’m enjoying this interaction any more than you are.”

You don’t back down, crossing your arms over your chest. The movement has Sunghoon teetering dangerously where he leans on you, but you pay him no mind, attention focused solely on the man in front of you. “Then why do you want my phone number so bad?”

“Like I was trying to say earlier when you wouldn’t let me get a word out sideways,” Jake bites, “it’s not for me. I made a deal with someone, and I told them I’d give them your number.”

Your gaze narrows. “Who?”

“What?”

“Who did you make a deal with?”

Jake hesitates, knowing how the truth will sound. Screw it – a lie would likely be just as damning. Still, it takes him another pregnant pause to eventually admit, “... My brother.”

Scoffing in disbelief, you double down on your ire. “Absolutely not.” Shaking Sunghoon off your shoulder, you turn to leave, dragging him with you. Jake’s eyes close; he can’t bear to watch his last chance at passing this semester leave him in the dust.  

So much so that he pleads again, “Wait, ___. Please.” Jake is begging now, and he feels a little pathetic for it. Still, he can’t help the way desperation drives him to continue. “You can block him for all I care. I can’t explain everything, but my life is quite literally in your hands right now. I just need–”

“No.” The single syllable vibrates with finality. “Do I have to spell it for you? N-” you bite, enunciating so sharply Jake thinks you might draw blood. “O. No. I’m not giving my number to you or your flake of  a brother or anyone else that so much as looks like they might have the name Sim.”

God, is the only think Jake can think as he miserably watches your retreating figure, Sunghoon stumbling along  as you drag him with you. I am so fucked. 

…

When Sunghoon finally emerges from your guest bedroom an hour before noon the next day, it’s to ask if you’d be kind enough to spare him some Advil. Even with a bad case of bedhead and the aftermath of overconsumption, he still manages to look good, albeit a little lifeless. 

“I’ll do you one better,” you tell him, but reach for the small white bottle anyway, shaking out a few tablets and offering them to your best friend along with a glass of cold water.

“Bagels and coffee?” Sunghoon asks over the rim of his glass, with a little more alertness in his eyes than there was moments before. 

“Bagels and coffee,” you confirm. A tried and true hangover cure, if there ever was one. And even though your head is feeling nice and clear, thanks to your trusty two drink limit that has yet to fail you, the local cafe a block from your apartment is very rarely something you turn down. 

Thirty minutes later and a change of clothes later, the two of you are trading gossip and stealing bites of each other’s orders when the other person isn’t looking at the table in the back corner of the cafe. Sunghoon is just about to stuff another piece of your bagel in his mouth when he notices yet another notification light up the screen of your phone. 

Sunghoon nods towards where it rests on the table, bagel suddenly forgotten. “Is that your mom again?”

“Yep.” Your lips stretch thin. You don’t even need to glance down at your phone to confirm. She’s been blowing up your notifications all weekend.  “She’s been on my ass about the upcoming fundraiser event for days now. And reminding me about the utmost importance of bringing an appropriate plus-one.”

Across from you, Sunghoon straightens his shoulders. “I suppose it is about time I bust out the trusty old prom suit again.”

You sigh, sending your half-eaten bagel a forlorn glance. “I wish. She told me if I ever bring you again, I lose half my trust fund.”

“What?” Sunghoon looks affronted. “Why?”

You level him with a look. “Does soap ring a bell?”

Sunghoon splutters in indignation. “That was one time,” he defends. “And anyone would have thought those were edible! They were shaped like candies, and they were on a platter–”

“Soap presentation aside, I don’t think that excuse will work on her.” The dejection in your voice is apparent. “Besides, she’s already made it very clear that you’re explicitly forbidden from attending any future family events as my plus-one.”

“Whatever,” Sunghoon grumbles. “Keep all your stupid inedible soaps.” Pausing for a moment, he realizes that still leaves a giant question hanging in the air. “Who are you gonna bring, then? You know, it kind of is too bad your date with Sim number one didn’t pan out.”

You shrug, pointedly ignoring the way your phone screen lights up yet again. It really is a bit of a shame James turned out to be an unreliable flake. One that still hasn’t bothered to apologize to you or even give any sort of indication that he remembered your scheduled date. Still, you can’t think of anyone that would earn your mother’s approval faster. “I’ll probably just fake a stomach flu.” After all, you’re kind of out of options. “I thought about asking Jungwon, but he’s got stuff going on for his internship that night. A big economics conference or something.”

“Speaking of economics,” Sunghoon leans in conspiratorially. “I think I might have some intel on our new friend from last night.”

“How was economics the segue you went with? We were literally just talking about his older brother.” Giving him a look of disbelief, you add, “And what about that interaction gave you the impression that we’re friends?”

“Whatever,” Sunghoon brushes you off before he continues, “Anyway, I heard from Heeseung who heard from Jay that apparently little Sim is hot garbage at economics. Rumor has it he’s already failed the class twice and is on track to do it again.”

You’re not sure why he’s deemed this information relevant to you, but you’d be lying if you said it weren’t a little amusing. 

“Really? Jungwon’s taking it now too, and he said that he sleeps through half the lectures and is still pulling an A.”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes. “Well, we can’t all be prodigies.”

Your lips flatten. “Pretty sure you don’t have to be a prodigy to not fail an entry level course three times.”

“Hey, cut him some slack,” Sunghoon argues. “He’s only failed it twice as of now.”

You scoff, entirely uninterested in the gory details of Jake Sim’s academic failures. “Whatever.”

“Either way,” Sunghoon says, “Jay told Heeseung who told me that’s why he’s so desperate for your number.” Confusion makes itself known on your features. You still don’t see the connection until Sunghoon adds, “Apparently he made some sort of deal with his brother that if he gets him your phone number, he’ll help him pass econ.”

A beat of silence passes between you. The barista at the counter calls out a customer’s name. It’s all you can do to not let your jaw physically drop open, mostly because–

“That is probably the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my life.” Glaring at Sunghoon, you can’t believe the theatrics of it all. “How many times have I told you to stop believing everything Heeseung says?”

“Technically, Jay said it,” Sunghoon corrects. “And I don’t know... It kind of makes sense when you think about it.”

You beg to differ. “It absolutely does not. What is this, middle school? Are we passing notes behind the teacher’s back and making our friends ask our crushes if they like us back?” It’s ridiculous. Absolutely, utterly ridiculous. 

There is no way. Absolutely no way that James Sim, heir to a multimillion dollar company, is wasting his time giving his little brother an economics cheat sheet in exchange for your phone number. 

Sunghoon raises his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger. I just thought you might be curious.”

And you hate to admit it, but you kind of are. Even though every ounce of logic you’ve accumulated in twenty-one years of life tells you that Heeseung is a notorious gossip whose stories are just as much fiction as reality and your best friend is no better. Even though the whole thing makes absolutely no sense at all. 

Even though you repeat it to yourself over and over for the rest of the day, that damn curiosity is still there. Pestering you and disturbing your sleep and leaving you wondering if maybe, just maybe, some things are entirely too ridiculous to be anything but true. 

…

On Wednesday night, Jake and Heeseung are in the middle of a particularly brutal probability set when a sudden shadow looms over their favorite corner table on the third floor of the library. 

Glancing up, Jake finds Heeseung’s gaze already trained somewhere over his shoulder. Jake can’t quite tell if the look on his face is confusion or terror. 

“Mind if I join?” The request comes from behind him, posed in an oddly familiar voice. Heeseung is nodding in agreement before Jake has the chance to so much as turn around and identify the intruder. 

All is revealed soon enough, though, when you slide down into the seat next to him, ignoring the way Heeseung scrambles to move his things and make room for you in the seat next to him. Instead, you busy yourself with setting your bag on the floor and pulling out your laptop. 

It’s all Jake can do to stare at you blankly. This evening, you’ve traded the all black outfit from the other night’s party for something a bit more casual, something comfortable that blends in better to the background of a university library. The sudden proximity also means that the scent of your perfume is quick to waft over towards him. 

Jake does his best to hold his breath before his brain can trick him into thinking he likes it. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” A bold request for someone who just hijacked a study session and sat down with no explanation, but Jake wouldn’t expect anything less from you. 

“Like what?” The words are out before he gives them permission. Across the table, Heeseung is staring too, but all three of you know the command isn’t for him. 

“I don’t know.” Glancing at the battery bar hovering just above empty, you dig around in your bag for a moment for your laptop charger. Jake notes that you still have yet to look at him. Instead, you begin to busy yourself with typing something on your computer. “Just stop it.”

He hopes you can feel the way his eyes burn holes into the side of your head as his blank stare shifts into a glare. 

Heeseung glances between the two of you. His outburst is sudden. “Oh! I just remembered.” He hits his head for good measure. The acting is wasted on this audience, though. Neither of you pay him any mind or even bother to glance in his direction. “I have to go, uh…” he trails off, finishing lamely with a rather flat, “somewhere else.”

“Great.” Your eyes don’t leave your screen, fingers still flying on your keyboard. “See you later.”

As Heeseung scrambles to pack up his unfinished statistics homework and high tail it out of the library, the air that has suddenly become stifling, Jake glances down at where your fingers are still moving. 

Distractedly, he wonders how you can type so fast with nails that long, how you never seem to need the backspace key. How none of the pastel pink that coats your fingernails seems to be so much as chipped. A projection of perfection, he thinks, down to every last detail.  

Moments pass, neither of you saying anything.

You still haven’t looked at him by the time you do eventually break the impasse. “I heard you suck at econ.”

And Jake actually cannot believe you. “Did you seriously hunt me down just to rub it in?”

“Rub it in?” That at least earns him some of your attention, even if it is just a brief, confused glance as your fingers pause in their typing. “It’s not like I’m the reason you can’t pass.”

“Believe it or not, you quite literally are.”

You sigh, removing your hands from your keyboard entirely. Then, before he can blink, you spin your entire body in your chair, eyes, shoulders, and knees all directly trained on him. Jake can’t help the way he flinches back a few inches at the sudden change in pace. 

“Look,” you start. He can already tell by the way you wrap the single syllable sound in patronization that he’s not going to appreciate whatever you’re about to say. “I can tell that you’re not used to, like, having conversations with people, but usually what happens is you give someone enough information so that they know what you’re talking about.” He’s right. 

And he’s quick to defend himself. “Maybe I could, if you’d let me get three words out without interr–”

But you’ve moved on already. “Is the whole ‘deal with your brother’ thing true?”

Jake lets the silence linger for a moment, looking at you in disbelief. “You literally just proved my point.”

You roll your eyes. “I knew what you were going to say, so I sped things along. Now answer my question.” You lay it out for him again. This time, even more directly. “Did you try to get my number because of some deal you made with your brother?”

He’s not sure why it sounds so ridiculous, narrated back to him in your voice. It’s not like it was a brilliant, foolproof plan to begin with, but the way you present it has him feeling about five inches tall. 

“I…”

“It’s a yes or no question.” You really don’t beat around the bush, he thinks. 

“Yes, okay?”

Looking behind you, you suddenly lean in a little closer. It’s all Jake can do not to flinch back again. Bringing your hand up to cup your mouth, it’s like you’re about to divulge a terrible secret when you whisper, “You’re that bad at econ?”

Jake just sighs. “Worse, probably.”

Frowning, you pull back a few inches. “Aren’t you a business major? Isn’t econ, like, pretty important for you?” If he were thinking clearly, Jake might wonder how you know that. But that only thing his mind has space for right now is annoyance. At you, at this exchange, at the way you so easily pick through his flaws and seem to have no problem laying them bare at his feet like he doesn't already know them intimately.

“Yeah, well, it’s not like I got any say in my major,” Jake counters. He might have more patience for this conversation if he were having it with anyone but you, if you weren’t throwing his own insecurities back in his face with every follow-up question.

At that, something flickers through your eyes. Sympathy, maybe. “Fair enough.” Whatever it is, it’s gone before he can identify it. And it’s not enough to make you pull your punches. “Still though, that’s probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Jake doesn’t need the reminder. “Just get a tutor like everyone else.”

The thing is, Jake has thought about it. On more than one occasion. He’s even gotten so far as filling out the university tutor request form. He just could never quite bring himself to complete the ‘Name’ field without all of the potential consequences forcing him to hit backspace. 

He might not be his brother, but he’s not stupid enough to think that his family would ever be okay with the Sim name anywhere near a tutor form. He tells you as much. “And listen to my dad tell me how much of a disappointment I am for not being able to even take a class on my own?” Jake laughs humorlessly. “No thanks.”

A beat passes. Two. You’re not done yet, but you at least have the decency to sound a little apologetic, a little tentative when you say, “Not to kick you while you’re down or anything, but I mean, that has to be better than failing twice.”

Jake just shakes his head. “You don’t know my father.”

You shrug but don’t press the matter further. Truth be told, you don’t know his father, but you do know fathers like him. You have one of your own. The third floor of the library doesn’t seem like the place for that conversation, though, even if you’ve already uncovered more than your fair share of each other’s secrets in the last ten minutes. “I guess not.”

…

Your phone is buzzing far too incessantly for a Saturday morning, much less this early on a Saturday morning. Internally, you curse Friday night you, who forgot to switch it into do not disturb before falling asleep. Face still buried in your pillow, you reach around your nightstand blindly with the intention of remedying that particular mistake and enjoying a few more moments of peace.

Before you can make good on your plan, you make the fatal mistake of reading the message preview before silencing your phone. And suddenly, to your neverending annoyance, you’re wide awake. 

Mom [7:36 am]: Looking forward to seeing you next Saturday at the fundraiser. 

Mom [7:37 am]: I also noticed that you haven’t indicated who you’ll be bringing yet. Please fill out the RSVP form when you have a moment. 

Mom [7:45 am]: James Sim hasn’t RSVP’d yet. Are you bringing him? You should invite him if you haven’t already.

Mom [7:53 am]: I also never heard the update after your date a few weeks ago. Hoping no news is good news. I just spoke with his father the other day, and it sounds like he’s doing great things over at their company. 

Mom [8:01 am]: I also heard that he volunteered a few summers ago rebuilding turtle habitats. Wow! I think you two would get along very well.

Groaning, you flip your phone back over. That about sums up how well she knows her only daughter, you think ruefully. If she thought wooing you with turtles was a good idea, she must have forgotten that you’ve had a lingering phobia of the freaky little reptiles since your friend from elementary school had a pet turtle that bit your finger when you were at her house. 

Besides, you have serious doubts that’s actually how James Sim spent his last summer in university. 

If memories from your social media scrolling serve correctly, rebuilding turtle habitats was code for partying on a yacht for a month straight. You don’t care how he spends his free time, but the way he already has your mother wrapped around his stupid finger is enough to annoy any lingering sleepiness out of your system. 

Whatever. James Sim’s white lies are the least of your concerns now, and they certainly won’t solve your problems. If anything, you’re starting to regret not telling your mother anything about your failed attempt at a first date with him. Now, trying to explain that disaster of an evening would only sound like an excuse at best and a flimsy lie at worst. 

And even if she did believe you, you still have the glaring issue of next Saturday and your lack of a pre-approved plus-one.

With one final groan, you pull your blanket over your face, trying and failing to banish any thoughts of your mother, James Sim, and the certain disaster next weekend will be. 

Despite your best efforts, your worries linger. They follow you into Sunday; they start to make you desperate on Monday. With a diminishing handful of days left until the fundraiser, your anxiety only surges. 

By the time Wednesday rolls around, you’re so stressed out that you can barely force your eyes to focus on the nearly blank Word document in front of you, all of the legalese and case details you can usually sort through in your sleep jumbling into one incomprehensible blob. 

Halfway through your third reread of a paragraph that details the basics of copyright law, it strikes you. The seedling of an idea so utterly ridiculous it just might be your saving grace.  

Your mother probably, definitely, couldn’t care less about James Sim’s so-called affinity for wildlife rescue. No, the only thing that makes him an appropriate candidate in her eyes for this Saturday has nothing to do with his personality at all. 

It’s his name that she likes. His family name specifically. 

In the middle of your favorite cafe, it hits you. The seedling of an idea sprouts roots, begins to bloom. 

If one Sim is good enough to be your plus-one, then surely the other one would be too. 

And you know exactly where he’ll be tonight. Glancing down at the time on your phone, you force your brain to think. Now, all you need is a plan. A way to convince him. Something he can’t refuse.  

Closing the lid of your laptop, you smile. You know exactly what it is he wants. 

Before you leave the cafe, you send a quick message to a friend. Set your plan in place so that the details are polished, irrefutable when you present it to him.

And then you set out for the university library. 

When you find Jake and Heeseung sitting at the same exact table on the third floor of the library, Heeseung doesn’t even bother to stick around for the customary greetings. Instead, he takes one single look at you before offering another flimsy excuse about having somewhere to be. Or maybe something to do. You can’t remember, and it doesn’t really matter. 

After all, the only reason you’re here is because–

“I have a way for you to pass econ.” Sliding into the seat next to Jake, the same one you sat in last time, you don’t waste any time before divulging the reason for your presence. 

If Jake is startled, he doesn’t show it. Statistics homework forgotten on the table, the only thing you see on his face is pure, obvious relief as his shoulders relax. 

“Thank god.” Reaching for his phone, he unlocks it, tapping and swiping until he’s ready to enter a new contact. “Give me your number, and I’ll–”

You shake your head, interrupting his train of thoughts. The way you smile makes him suddenly uneasy. He thought this was over, but now he’s not so sure. You confirm his fears when you say, “A different way.”

Now Jake just looks exasperated. If you keep up this habit, he’s about to start failing statistics too. Never mind the fact that he got his hopes up for what he is sure will turn out to be a giant pile of nothing. Still, he humors you. “What do you mean, a different way?”

“I mean,” you start, folding your hands across your lap. Jake has the distinct impression that you’re trying your best to be as convincing as possible. If nothing else, it does pique his curiosity. He’s never seen you be anything but annoyed or uninterested. It’s an interesting change of pace.“I have a friend who’s also taking econ right now and hasn’t scored below a 98 on a single assignment.” Jesus, Jake thinks. Must be nice. 

And then you drop the bomb on him. “He said he’s more than willing to tutor you. For money, of course.” you specify, moving on so quickly he hardly has the chance to process what you’re saying. “And it’s not like you can’t afford it, but I’ll split the cost with you. For the principle of it all.” There’s a beat of silence as what you’ve just said settles into the air. “Oh,” you add, remembering the most important detail. “And he’ll be discreet. Under the table tutoring, if you will. No chance of word getting back to Daddy Sim.” 

You do your best to give him your most trustworthy smile. Jake just stares back at you, mildly horrified.

When he finally speaks again, it’s to say, “... Please, and I mean this with every single bone in my body, please never refer to my father like that again.”

Not even bothering to look sheepish, the only agreement you offer is a mock salute. 

Your poor taste in nicknames aside, it does seem like a pretty sweet deal from where Jake is sitting. He cannot fail economics again, and getting a tutor would mean that his brother couldn’t hold his success over his head, couldn’t claim to be the sole reason for it. And a discreet tutor would be even better. Not going through the official university system would mean a much lower chance of his father ever finding out he got some help along the way.

All things considered, and very much to his surprise, Jake is having a hard time seeing any downsides. 

He goes through the list again. First, he gets to pass economics. Second, he doesn’t have to deal with his older brother in the process. Third, he gets a tutor that won’t pop up on his father’s radar, and all Jake has to do in return is–

Wait.

“Hold on a minute.” There’s an unmistakable edge of suspicion in Jake’s voice. There’s no way you went out of your way to find him a tutor, to help pay for it, without getting something in return. The wheels in his mind are starting to spin when he asks, “What’s in it for you?”

Next to him, you smile. It’s small, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think you almost look nervous. “It’s just a small favor, really.” The expression on your face is not reassuring in the slightest. Still, you insist, “It’ll be easy, I promise. Just a few hours of your time at most.”

Jake knows better than to agree without details. And especially to anything you’re proposing. He’s already preparing to kiss his dreams of passing econ goodbye when he asks slowly,“What is it?”

You sigh, pretenses dropping. If you’re going to convince him now, you might as well do it with honesty. “That annual charity fundraiser event my parents throw. Your parents are usually there, I think. I don’t know if you’ve ever gone?”

Jake shrugs, frowning as he tries to remember. He’s not entirely sure either. After a while, fundraisers and events and family obligations all start to blur together. Although the name does ring a bell, albeit a distant, faint one. 

“Anyway,” you continue, “my mother is insistent that I bring a date. Someone she considers appropriate company. You know, runs in the same circles and comes from what she would consider a good family.” Jake nods. He does know exactly what you mean. Picking up on his agreement, you add with a twinge of hopefulness, “Like I said, it would be easy. Especially for you, since you’re used to this kind of stuff. I wouldn’t have to train you–”

That has Jake rolling his eyes. “Let me guess. I get a treat for rolling over?”

The ice in your glare is half hearted. “You know what I mean. There are certain…” You weigh your words carefully. “expectations at these things.” Pausing for a moment, you add, “What I’m trying to say is that I don’t think you’ll eat the soap, even if it’s candy shaped and on a platter.”

If you were trying to clarify your point, you did a terrible job. Jake’s brow pulls downwards in confusion. “Is that supposed to be some kind of metaphor?”

“Unfortunately not.” You shake your head, but don’t explain any further. Sunghoon’s mishaps are not the point of this conversation. A mutually beneficial deal is. Which is why you ask him, “So, what do you say? Are you in or not?”

Is he? Jake says nothing, considering. Mentally, he goes through the list of pros and cons. Pros, he thinks. I get to finally pass econ, and I get to do it without my brother. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, gaze tracking the movement as you nervously bite at your lower lip. Also, I get to show up at an event with the girl he’s been trying to get for weeks now. 

He’d be lying if that didn't spark a certain warm feeling in his chest, if it didn’t inspire a sudden bout of preemptive vindication. But there are other things to consider.

Cons, he continues internally. I have to spend an entire evening at an event hosted by your family and make them believe you don’t annoy the ever-loving shit out of me.

Weighing his options, Jake has one more question. “How long would it be?” he asks, and you try to stifle a grin, as if he’s already told you yes. 

“The event is technically four hours,” you say carefully, “but I’m sure we could manage to sneak out after a solid two and a half.”

Jake nods, thinking it over a moment longer. 

“Okay,” he finally breathes, hoping this isn’t some kind of terrible, elaborate trick, that he isn’t about to sign his life away on a dotted line. 

For econ, he thinks. For what’s left of his struggling GPA. He can manage a single night at a mind-numbingly boring high society function. Even if it’s with you. “I’m in.”

And it feels a bit strange, he has to admit, as he watches you type your contact information into his contact list. It feels odd to have your number in his phone with no intention of passing it on. To know that he’s the one who will be using it to confirm the details of this Saturday. To know that his brother will be none the wiser and not at all closer to having any kind of access to you.  

And if that strange surge of smugness makes another sudden appearance, well, Jake just figures that no one ever has to know about it. 

…

Frowning, you give yourself another once over in the full length mirror that sits next to your vanity. A shimmering, pale gold, the evening gown that flows over your figure was hand-selected by you for this very event. For some reason, you’re having a hard time rediscovering the magic you’d felt trying it on in the showroom here in the soft, ambient light of your bedroom. 

Objectively, you’re sure you must look good. The compliments the store attendants had given you were more than just customary, and gold has always been your color. Still, a slew of sudden uncertainties simmer in your gut. Is the slight sparkle too garish? Does the gold wash you out? Your worries feel too big for your bedroom, at too stark an opposition with the peaceful ambience as soft, instrumental music plays from your speaker.

But this particular Saturday evening has its ways of making you feel jumbled where you’d typically be steadfast. Insecure where you’d usually find confidence.  

It’s true that your mother has always had a critical eye, and especially where you’re concerned. If you were to search deep enough, however, you’d find that she’s not the person you’re most concerned about making a lasting impression on tonight. 

With no small effort, you resist the urge to smooth out invisible wrinkles in the bodice of your dress. A nervous habit more than anything, it’s only exacerbated by the way your phone is still devoid of notifications. The clock on your nightstand is a reminder that your date for the evening should be here any minute, should be sending a message as confirmation of his arrival at your apartment. But your phone is still silent, even as the hour of the fundraiser draws nearer and nearer. 

Maybe this was a terrible mistake, you think, a new bout of uncertainties beginning to brew. It shouldn't be a surprise, really. Trust him to be just as flakey as his brother, with absolutely no regard for previous commitments or anyone else’s time. It’s just your luck that you get stood up again, this time by the other Sim. 

You're in the middle of disguising your fears and distracting yourself by cursing him and his future bloodline when your phone finally pings with an incoming notification. Well, you think, grabbing your coat, feeling a bit ridiculous for the slight overreaction, you’ll have to look into removing generational curses when you have the time.

For now, you settle with pulling on your heels for the evening, ignoring the way you feel a bit wobbly despite the fact that you’ve walked in far worse. Locking your apartment behind you and striking a slightly unsteady pace towards the elevator down the hall, you whisper a silent plea that tonight isn’t as much of a disaster as you’re afraid it could be. 

You watch as the numbers on the elevator screen tick lower and lower, a swirling mix of dread and excitement starting to swim in your stomach. When you finally reach the first floor, you’re surprised to see a familiar face waiting for you in the lobby. Something in you softens, albeit just slightly. You’d incorrectly assumed he would just wait for you in the comfort of his car and spent the whole ride down preparing to awkwardly check license plates in the near dark till you found the right one. 

An overwhelming sense of  self-consciousness returns to you under the brightness of the lobby lights. Unconsciously, you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, wondering how long it will take him to notice you as you begin to walk towards him. You’ve only made it a few steps when it strikes you that he’s already distracted by something else. 

Across the lobby, Jake Sim is engaged in a conversation with your doorman. One that looks slightly heated, by your judgment. 

As you get closer, their words become more audible. 

“Like I just told you,” The exasperation in your date’s voice is apparent. “I’m here to see ___.”

And you really should make your presence known, should step in and divert the brewing argument, especially since you seem to be the subject of it. 

But then you look at Jake. Really look at him. 

Realistically, you knew he would come well-dressed. That had been a big part of your reason for choosing him. The Sunghoon soap fiasco aside, you already knew Jake Sim wasn’t someone who needed you to put together a PowerPoint presentation on formal event dress code. He didn’t need you to explain the concept of complementary colors or the advantages of getting a suit tailored. Didn’t need you to explain that Converse were not an appropriate show or that no, a bolo tie is not acceptable attire. 

Up until now, you were grateful for his pre existing knowledge. It saved you a lot of time and effort that you could use to focus on other things, like getting ready yourself. But it also meant that you were entirely unprepared to see him like this. 

Eyes scanning him again, the immaculate fit of his suit is undeniable, as is the way his dark hair is perfectly mussed. It’s styled enough to avoid withering comments from elderly attendees who have the habit of asking how people see with their hair covering their eyes. But it’s also messy in a way that looks intentional, in a way that makes you want to run your fingers through it, tug at it just a little, just to tease. 

It’s not just that he’s dressed well, though, despite the fact that he undeniably is. 

No, what has you freezing in your footsteps is the fact that Jake looks good. 

“And like I just told you, you’re not on her guest list. So I’m sorry, sir.” There is not a single trace of apology in your doorman’s voice. “But I’m afraid I can’t let you up. You’ll have to contact her and ask her to add you to her guest list.” You’re not sure how he manages to do it without losing any professionality, but your doorman makes it very clear that he thinks that will happen just as soon as hell freezes over. 

Jake’s shoulders tense in visible frustration. You have to suppress an actual sigh at the way fabric stretches over the muscle there. “Again, I’m not asking you to. Could you please just let her know that I’m here? She’s not answering her messages–”

“How odd.” The sarcasm is unmistakable. 

Getting a little desperate, Jake ignores the slight and continues anyway. “And we’re on a bit of a time crunch, so–”

From here, you can see the way his features start to twist in panic. It’s sobering enough to snap you out of your trance.

Cutting in, you make your presence known. “It’s okay,” you tell your doorman first. “I know him.” Then, you turn to Jake, putting on an award-worthy performance of false nonchalance when you explain, “Sorry I didn’t respond to your message. I was just on my way down.”

You watch as some of the tension drains from his features. “That’s alright,” Jake concedes easily. “I just wanted to make sure we weren’t late.”

A funny feeling, a new one, stirs again. Something in you softens. “I appreciate that.” 

You can’t help the way you take another look at him. At his suit, his hair, his face. At him, at all of it. 

Mistaking your gaze for scrutiny, he asks, a bit self-consciously, “What do you think? Will your mother approve?”

She will. There’s no doubt in your mind. But you’re not looking at him through her eyes when you tell him, “Yeah, you look good. Really good.”

The last part probably wasn’t necessary, but the way he flushes makes it almost worth it. Casting your eyes downward in an effort to hide a smile, you notice a detail that you missed earlier. 

Jewelry. Gold jewelry. A handful of rings on his fingers and a delicate bracelet on his left wrist.  

Suddenly, his message from last night makes a little more sense.

Jake [9:02 pm]: What color is your dress for tomorrow?

You [9:08 pm]: Gold. Don’t worry about trying to match. A black suit will be just fine. 

Now, you’re grateful he didn’t fully listen to you, touched that he even bothered to ask.  

Across from you, Jake is suddenly having a bit of a hard time breathing. The earlier near-fiasco with your doorman all but forgotten, you’re still admiring his bracelet as his eyes scan the length of you, throat bobbing by the time his gaze makes its way back up to your face. 

“You, uh,” he coughs. “You look nice too.”

“Thank you.” You miss the way his gaze wanders, can’t seem to find a place to land that won’t dust the tops of his cheekbones an even deeper shade of crimson. “I’ve been looking forward to wearing this dress forever.”

And it is a nice dress, Jake thinks, but he’s not sure how to tell you that’s not what he meant. 

Eyes finally landing on your feet, or rather, on the stilettos you’re wearing, he frowns. “I had to park kind of far away.” Meeting your gaze, he adds, “Why don’t you wait here? I’ll pull the car around front.”

“Okay.” Something in you melts a bit at his consideration, at the fact that he even noticed. “Thank you.”

And it is nice, you think, to not be beginning the evening with your feet already sore. To have someone pick up on the little things, even if he’s being compensated for it in the form of half-price tutoring.

Sliding into the passenger seat, you try not to sigh like a lovesick schoolgirl when he opens the door for you, when he puts his hand on the back of your seat as he reverses the car out of its parking spot. Get it together, you think. You’ve turned up your nose at far more obvious attempts at wooing you, and it’s not like Jake is here with you out of his own volition. The thought is surprisingly disappointing, as he adjusts the stereo, soft music filling the silence.

The drive passes like that, in a quiet that’s only uncomfortable if you look at it too close. Eventually, the soft melodies filtering through the stereo become a pleasant sort of background noise as you watch the world blur outside the window. 

It would be smart, probably, to sort out your story for the evening and put together something coherent for when the two of you are inevitably asked invasive questions, but you can’t bring yourself to be the one to disturb the peace. 

So when you arrive at the fundraiser a handful of minutes later, you just have to hope that the image the two of you strike together will be enough to stave off any unwanted questions for the time being. 

Again, Jake opens your car door for you, offers a steadying hand as you step out of it. And when he gives you his arm as you enter through the front door of the venue, you take it, wrapping your fingers around his elbow. Pausing just outside the entrance, you watch as he takes a deep breath.  

“Ready?” You’re not sure if you’re asking him or yourself. 

Jake answers for the both of you. “Let’s do this.”

Walking through the lobby, you hand your jackets to the coat check attendant before entering the ballroom where the fundraiser is held. Despite your general distaste for this evening and everything it entails – you sneak a glance at your partner in crime. Well, mostly everything – you can’t help but admire the space around you.

Decorated immaculately down to every last element, your mother truly doesn’t spare any expense or detail when it comes to throwing parties. And like always, she somehow manages to have a sharp eye on everything and everyone, no matter how chaotic or busy. You’ve hardly taken two steps inside the ballroom when she finds you, approaches you will all the grace of a panther stalking its prey. 

Pulling you in for a quick hug, the warm greeting she gives you is more for the benefit of onlookers than for you. And it forces you to remove your hand from Jake’s arm.

Looking over your shoulder, her voice is sickeningly saccharine. “And this must be James,” she beams, making eye contact with the wrong brother. Directing her attention to him, she gushes, “My daughter has told me wonderful things about you.”

Your eyebrows raise in disbelief. Jake stifles a laugh, expertly turns it into a cough. 

Really? You think. She did all that digging on James’ so-called turtle philanthropy but never bothered to pull up a picture of the guy? And you mean, standard genetic similarities aside, it’s not like the two of them look that much alike.

“Actually, mom,” you spare him the expense of having to correct her mistake, “this is Jake Sim. James’ brother. We go to school together.”

“Oh,” her eyebrows fall at the slip, no doubt an unforgivable social faux pas in her mind. “You never filled out the RSVP form, sweetie,” she somehow makes the term of endearment sound like a curse, “so I wasn’t sure who you’d be bringing.” Trust her to find a way to make her mistake your fault. 

Turning back to your date, she tries to remedy her mistake. “Jake, then.” She offers him a smile so forced you’re surprised her cheeks aren’t aching. Looking back at you, she fishes, “And he’s your…?”

Her dangling bait goes untouched. “He’s my plus-one.” It’s an intentional choice of words on your part. In your mind, it’s a neutral enough term that will hopefully let you navigate the evening without too many rumors or invasive questions about your personal life from people you only speak to out of reluctant obligation.  

Jake is less used to the way your mother tends to poke and prod, the way she likes to examine the superficial details of your life with a microscope and make sure she can frame them in a way that will be pleasing for public perception. The way she doesn’t ask about your love life because it’s of any genuine interest to her, but because she wants sole control of the rumor mill’s production. 

Next to you, he stiffens, feels as though he’s already failed some kind of test he didn’t know he was taking, wasn’t given any materials to study for. 

There’s a lot to be said, probably, about the way you pick up on his discomfort so easily. The way your hand returns to the crook of his elbow wordlessly and gives a single, gentle squeeze. Reassuring him, putting his nerves at ease, as you begin to navigate your way out of this conversation. 

“We’d better find our seats,” you tell your mother. The only reason Jake can identify the icy edge hiding in the superficial sweetness of your voice is because he’s been on the receiving end of it. On multiple occasions. Directed at someone else, he finds it almost amusing. “Wouldn't want to miss anything.”

“Of course,” your mother concedes, but there’s an undertone there. Jake can tell that there’s a war being waged here, battles and skirmishes in subtext and stilted pauses. He’s no stranger to the way high society likes to wrap up insults in niceties and skirt around delicate topics, but his own family has never been anything but blunt when it comes to their distaste for him and his choices. 

He’s still not entirely sure what he just witnessed, but you’re dragging him by his arm to find your assigned table before he can sort through the offending slights and put on armor that may be of any use to you. 

Carefully arranged, the maze of tables is easy enough to navigate. Each seat has a white place card in front of it, embossed with a shimmery golden script that matches your dress and holds the name of the guest who’s been assigned to sit there. 

You drag Jake past a flurry of names and attendees he half recognizes, stopping only to grab two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter, handing one to Jake before you continue on your mission. After another minute of searching, you find your name at a table a few rows out from the far wall. Rolling your eyes, you can practically hear your mother’s reasoning: Not too close to the wall. Wouldn’t want people thinking I’m trying to hide her. But certainly not anywhere near the center of the room, in case she falls into that pesky habit of being an awful embarrassment.  

Standing behind your chair, your eyes find the place card stationed in front of the seat next to yours at the same time Jake’s do. 

“Oh my god.” The exasperation is apparent, even though your words are barely audible where you mutter them under your breath. 

Because of course this hasn’t already been enough of a train wreck. Because of course the place card next to yours doesn’t have Jake’s name on it. Nope, embossed in the same shimmery gold is the name of another person entirely. 

James Sim. 

You turn to your date, apologetic. “God, I’m sorry. I really didn’t fill out the RSVP form, but I didn’t think she’d just assume…”

“It’s okay.” Jake gives you some grace. “Really, it wouldn’t be the first time.” And all things considered, he kind of is in his brother’s seat tonight. Attending an event that’s better suited for the future head of the company than his forgotten younger brother. Accompanying the girl that public opinion surely dictates would be a better match for him. 

Still, you frown. Reaching for the small clutch that sits against your hip, you rummage for a moment before pulling out a black permanent marker. 

Jake glances at you sideways.Your bag of the evening is tiny, barely even big enough to hold your phone. He’s surprised you managed to fit the marker in there, much less prioritize it enough to bring it with you. “You carry that thing around with you all the time?”

You shrug. “Never know when you’ll need to do some DIY vandalism.”

It would be a lie if he said something in him doesn’t soften, just a bit, when he watches you reach for the place card in front of his seat and put a giant, bold X over his brother’s name. 

Your handwriting is no match for the computer-generated script, but Jake still likes the place card a little better when you’re done with it, likes the way his name looks next to yours when you set it back on the table, alterations completed. 

“There,” you say, looking entirely too satisfied with your handiwork. “All better.” This time, you slide down into your seat before Jake has the chance to pull it out for you. Turning to him as he tentatively takes the seat next to you, he finds a small frown on your lips. “Wait,” you pause, realization written across your features. “Your brother isn’t coming, right?”

Jake shakes his head. “I mean, I don’t know for sure, but I doubt it. He has no reason to come. My parents are on a business trip, so they won’t be here either. And that also probably means he’s more swamped than usual at the office.”

Nodding, you take a sip of champagne. “Good.” Pausing, your lips quirk. “Although it would be kind of funny if he–”

“I think you’re in my seat.” The sudden interruption is flat, leaves no room for arguments. 

Startled, the two of you spin in your chairs. 

James Sim, despite his brother’s predictions, is in fact not otherwise occupied at his office. Instead, he stands directly behind his younger sibling, strikes an imposing figure where his shadow blocks the chandelier light behind him and extends over his brother and his altered place card. 

Eyes flaming, he looks at where his name has been crossed out. Replaced. 

Next to Jake, you remain silent, figure that you’ll let Jake handle this one the way he let you handle your mother. Far be it from you to step in on a family matter.

But then you notice the way Jake shrinks a little in his seat, hides a little further in his brother’s shadow. Reaches for the place card like he wishes he could take it back.

Sliding your gaze back to your least favorite Sim sibling, your voice is even, albeit icy, when you point out the obvious, “It’s not actually. Can’t you read?” Jake’s hand stops in its tracks, falls back to his lap.

A quick look your way is the only indication James even hears you. Instead, he continues his one-sided conversation with his brother, a barely controlled sort of fury crossing over his expression. “Hm,” he muses, glancing between the two of you. “Sure seems like you two are awfully close.” Casting an accusatory glare at Jake, he adds, “That’s funny. I could have sworn you said you barely knew her.”

Her. You’re sitting right there, and you don’t even get a name. 

It doesn’t go unnoticed by Jake either. And it turns out to be just what he needs to find his voice. You’re almost proud of the sarcasm he manages to muster when he counters, “Yeah, well, this funny thing happens when you spend time together. You actually get to know each other.” Straightening his spine, there’s an unmistakable edge in his voice when he adds, “You know, when you actually bother to show up, that is.”

You hide a laugh behind your hand, albeit not very well. Glancing at Jake, a feeling swells in your chest that you can only identify as pride. You didn’t know he had it in him. 

Reassessing his strategy, James turns to you, forcing a nonchalance that is entirely contradicted by the way his cheeks are rapidly reddening. “Actually, ___,” he tries, acting as if the last thirty seconds faded out of existence at his will. “I was hoping to speak to you about something. I’d love to get you a drink if you–”

“Actually,” Jake cuts in, doubling down. “We already have drinks.” Behind you on the table, the two near full glasses of champagne are undeniable evidence. The laugh that spills out of you this time is impossible to hide. Yeah, you decide, between the two of them, you definitely hate James more. Entirely amused, the only thing you wish you had is a bowl of popcorn as you root for the underdog. Not that he needs it. Much to your satisfaction, he’s been landing his punches well. 

The giggle dies on your lips, though, when you feel the warmth of another hand suddenly cover the top of yours where it rests on your thigh. Gaze flaming, James follows the movement. Startled, your eyes fly to Jake. The only view you’re offered is of his profile as he keeps his gaze trained on his brother, the challenge in his features unmistakable. 

The only consolation he offers for your sudden shock is a small, reassuring squeeze against your knuckles. 

And then he says, “And I’d like to keep my girlfriend right here, actually.” At that, he does finally turn to you, eyes pleading, gaze imploring when he seeks your permission. Even though they’re performative in nature, his words aren’t solely for James’ benefit. “If that’s alright with you, that is.”

Girlfriend.

You were perfectly happy in the role of the observer, but now Jake has dragged you into the spotlight. Even though it pains you, you know you can’t leave him hanging. Not when that would mean a sure victory for his dickhead of a brother. 

Girlfriend. The word echoes in your head, has you feeling dizzy.

“Of course,” you return hollowly, barely recognizing the sound of your own voice over the sudden rushing in your ears. “Boyfriend.”

When you smile at him, you make sure it looks sickeningly sweet enough to deter James. Your eyes, however, flash with a warning only Jake can read. 

“You’re dating?” James can’t hide his shock, and his outrage is just as obvious. 

“Yep,” Jake passes you a panicked look. But you don’t need it, don’t need his convincing. You’ve already dug yourself a deep enough hole. Trying to climb out now would only mean everything crumbles. 

“Sure are,” you confirm with a tight smile. Turning back to Jake, you add, “Actually, sweetie, I need to talk to you about, uh…” you scramble for a moment. Finish vaguely with, “that thing.” 

“Right.” Jake picks up on the threat in your eyes seamlessly, knows there’s only one acceptable response. “That thing,” he echoes. 

“Yeah, so,” you turn back to James, barely acknowledging him as you start to stand. “We’re gonna step out for a minute.”

Jake is all but putty in your hands as you switch the positioning of your grip so that the hand that was resting on yours is now encased firmly between your fingers. 

“See you later,” are Jake’s breathless parting words to his brother. 

“Hopefully not, though,” you alter. 

And then you’re dragging him back through the crowd towards the exit, and it’s all Jake can do to not run into the other guests or knock over the delicately balanced trays of hors d’oeuvres waiters carry throughout the room. He’s at your mercy all the way through the double doors of the ballroom, and you pause only briefly to determine which hallway is less likely to have people in it before deciding on the one to the right, towing him along behind you.

Once you’re far enough away from unwanted eyes and ears, you start wiggling every door knob you come across, growing visibly more frustrated until you finally find an unlocked one. Huffing, you push Jake into the spare storage closet first. Following him in, you close the door behind you. 

The sudden change in space puts you in close proximity. Your nose is only a handful of inches away from his when you start laying out accusations. 

“What the hell?” With the same hand than just dragged him on a half marathon, you shove at his chest. “Boyfriend?” You have half a mind to grab the broom standing next to you and start whacking him with it. 

“I’m sorry!” Jake holds his hands up defensively. He doesn’t miss the way you’re eyeing every cleaning tool around you, no doubt deciding which would make the most effective weapon. “I panicked, okay? I just hate that smug little look he gets on his face–”

“Well you’re about to be seeing ‘that smug little look’ a lot more once he calls your bluff!” you half-shout, trying to convey your anger without alerting anyone to your presence.“The timeline barely lines up to begin with. It’s only been what, a few weeks since I was supposed to go on a date with him? And that’s not to mention the fact that there won’t be anyone to corroborate our story, because we don’t spend any time together, since, y’know, we’re not dating.”

Jake begs to differ. You’ve invaded more than one of his Wednesday night statistics study sessions. 

But before he can point this out, you’re continuing. “Which means you’re gonna have to come up with some sort of believable explanation for why we break up after, like, three days.”

“Ugh.” Jake drags an open palm down his face. He hates to admit it, but you do have a point there. 

Fingers running through his hair, his sudden stress is apparent. And you’re not trying to send him to an early grave, but would it have killed him to think before he spoke? Consider the consequences of starting the exact kind of rumor you’ve been hoping to dodge all evening? You get that his brother is not exactly an easy person to get along with, but was the short-lived victory really worth the potential fallout? 

Across from you, Jake seems to be having the same realizations. A million thoughts whirring through his brain, he’s not sure where to place his focus. 

After a moment, he settles on optimism. “Look, I think it will be fine.” The more he thinks about it, the more he convinces himself he believes it. “James has been up to his ass in company stuff since the second he graduated, so it’s not like he has extra time to check up on us or anything.” And even if he did, James would have no way of knowing who to ask. Jake has the sneaking suspicion his older brother couldn’t name a single one of his friends if his life depended on it. He would have no idea who to track down to corroborate your so-called romance. 

“We won’t have to do anything,” Jake reasons. “I’ll just mention you in passing for the next few weeks if he happens to ask.” Even that should be simple enough. After all, Jake seriously doubts he will. “And by the time the holidays roll around, I can just say things fizzled naturally.” Easy. Simple. Uncomplicated. Mutual, and your pride and his both remain intact. “No big deal.” 

Across from him, you weigh his words. It makes sense, yes, but there’s something starting to swirl in your gut that you don’t like. It feels a little too much like dread, like trepidation. Jake can read all of the uncertainty written across your face when you tell him, “I still don’t like it. My mother and your brother were both here tonight and already got different stories from us. This could get messy really quickly. I mean, what if our families start talking–”

“They won’t.” Jake shakes his head. “Your mom thinks I’m just a plus-one, and when my name comes up in James and my father’s conversations, it isn’t to discuss the ins and outs of my dating life.” Of this, at least, Jake is sure. His father couldn’t care less who he dates, as long as it’s not a liability to him, to the company. “Besides, we're university students.” Jake tries to lighten the mood, clear some of the tension. “Twenty-one and immature and all that.” For a moment, Jake imagines what life would feel like if that’s truly all he was, if that’s the only thing he got to be. No added pressure of a notorious last name and a reputation to maintain. Tucking that thought to the back of his mind, he decides he’ll mourn it later. “A short-lived relationship with a story that doesn’t quite add up is practically a right of passage. Not something to be suspicious of.” 

You remain silent for a moment, but your hand doesn’t get any closer to the broom.

“Okay.” Some of the tension seeps out of your shoulders as you turn his reasoning over in your brain, nodding as his logic starts to piece together. “Okay,” you reiterate. You still don’t like it, but he’s right about one thing: it is the best option you have. 

After all, there’s no way in hell you’re about to go tell your mother that your plus-one is actually your secret boyfriend, and you hate to admit it, but James’ little smirk is incredibly agitating. And it will all blow over, you’re sure. Like Jake said, James and your mother have no real reason to talk, and if Jake is convinced that his brother won’t be spreading this particular rumor, you’ll just have to believe him for the time being. 

Letting him out of the closet first, you only imitate hitting him upside the back of the head once before you catch up to him, linking arms again before reentering the ballroom. 

As the evening goes on, your worry starts to subside. Thankfully, every other part of the night goes perfectly to plan, even if you do have to force yourself to laugh a little too hard at one of Jake’s awful jokes when you catch James watching the two of you. The second glass of champagne you down helps, if nothing else. 

Exactly as you predicted, after two and a half hours have passed, you and Jake are sneaking out the back exit, tiptoeing to his car as the fourth speaker of the evening continues their droning speech inside the event. Your mother is none the wiser to your early departure, and you hope it’s the first in a series of victories for the evening. 

When Jake drops you off just outside the front doors of your apartment building, his smile is almost reassuring enough to put that lingering sense of unease to rest where it still sits in your gut. 

Makeup removed, hair washed, and evening gown traded for pajamas, sleep is slow to find you a handful of hours later. Eventually, though, it does, and your rest is undisturbed, dreamless. 

…

The next morning, with nothing but the pastel tones of sunrise and the sound of his brewing coffee maker to keep him company, Jake Sim stares at the message on his phone in abject horror. 

Mom [7:32 am]: I can’t believe I had to find out from your brother! Family dinner next weekend at our place. Bring your girlfriend. :) 

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

PART TWO IS UP AND LINKED ON MY MASTERLIST!

note: thank you for reading!! this is the version I had saved in my docs and it should be identical to what was posted before but in case there are any slight differences, that's why. I also sometimes make the fatal mistake of doing small grammatical edits in tumblr itself, so please excuse any minor errors as I didn't do a read through this time around. as always, I love to hear any thoughts you may have!

[vinjinssunglasses]

could you write something about Yamazaki shingen can be anything

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♯┆character yamazaki shingen

♯┆summary you are somi park, the woman who conceived. Strangely, you and Shingen get closer?

♯┆cw oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v, squirting, belly bulge, slight size kink (?)

♯┆w/c 4.4k

♯┆a/n first smut fic, i hope you guys enjoy!! <3 also I do not condone somi park’s actions, nor is anything in this fanfiction canon. none of this is an excuse for her actions ^-^

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The day you gave birth, you were filled with a mix of joy and emptiness. That warm feeling of joy wasn’t for yourself, it was for your own clan. Everyone cheered for you, so you should feel content too, right? Yet all you wanted to do was cry, let yourself loose with tears, hands soaking wet and makeup dripping. That child, the one who was too unworthy to bare the Yamazaki surname, was yours. And you hated it.

It reminded you of the day and nights of endless moaning from your parents, reminding over and over that you are one of the ten women to try to conceive that man’s child. Intercourse is only for those who are inlove, you firmly believe and stuck to your whole life. However there you were, taking in the ruthless thrusts of his man. His hands rest a firm grip on your hips, while his cock mercilessly spreads your hole. Yamazaki was indifferent; keeping his usual stern attitude and quietness, not sparing a sound.

It’s for your family, it’s for your clan. Those dreadful words ran through your mind endlessly. It felt like your perception of love and sex were being ripped to shreds right in front of your eyes. As soon as he finished, the room was dead silent. Not a word or a sound, other than him flipping the blanket over himself. Getting up to clean up, you only sighed as you felt it running down your leg. The mirror showed the pathetic sight of tears running down your face again. And there, the bathroom floor, you sat there curled into a ball, letting the tears run down your red cheeks while you silenced your own woeful cries.

Upon the announcement that you had conceived, you didn’t know what to feel. Relief, knowing you want to have to betray your own beliefs like that again? Or grief, knowing that the baby in your stomach could be deemed useless, and all your efforts to keep your mental state together has been futile? Everybody cheered and congratulated you nonetheless. If only somebody even cared.

That son of yours. Every time clan members reminded you, murder ran through your mind. However you were only allowed to smile and thank them. None of the idiots spared a second thought about how you felt, nor did they even ask.

‘THE HOPE OF YAMAZAKI’

As soon as that forsaken child was born, everyone seemed to take their judging eyes off of you, and onto that mistake. It was the birth of a being that was fuelled with all your grievances. All your hatred shifted onto that child, the one who was worthless enough to take up your last name, Park. Pitch black eyes and a tiny body that giggled when played with. He couldn’t even say ‘mama’, and his mere existence was worth more than yours.

The only ones by your side was the other nine women who also slept with that beast. You all made jokes to lighten the mood, yet the lingering feeling of ‘it’s all your fault’ lay deep inside your hearts. None of them congratulated you on that child, they all experienced similar to what you have. It felt as if they were your only safe space throughout this whole home.

If you were going to live here, you figured you may aswell call it home. Nothing about this place felt like home to you. It was your place of endless suffering, that felt like you were paying the price for your sins.

The first day you had to take your punishment, was the day you were scheduled to sleep with him. Everytime you even think of your last digit, you remember your trembling hand against the knife that pointed at your helpless finger.

Yubitsume, where severing a finger signifies an apology and loyalty to the clan. All of you trembled with sweat when holding that blade. Terrified gazes exchanged, you had to go through with the yakuza tradition. The reason was simple — the desire for his seed. All of you were considered lowlifes, therefore you weren’t allowed to express your opinion. As a result of these actions that were considered sins, the blood splattered over the tissues provided.

Afterwards, you were responsible for his daily tasks: bathing, cleaning, etc. It was an awkward silence, though you weren’t expecting much since he was never a speaker. Dark eyes rested on your curves as you went for a towel, in his eyes you were beautiful. The reincarnation of Aphrodite. While he would never let the words flow off his tongue, you noticed the way Shingen’s gaze rested on you for longer than it should. Though he only sat there, otherwise resting his gaze on the bathroom tiles while you scrubbed.

════════════════════════

You couldn’t help but feel bad for the boy. Gun was only young, unbeknownst of what was to happen. Born by unluckiness to serve the clan against his own will. It’ll be the only thing he knows from now on. To be a killing machine, just like his father, ‘Machine Gun’. To treat him like that, you felt terrible; absolutely ashamed.

Stopping him from having the childhood he was meant to, playing kendama with the friends he made, maybe you were part of the blame. You didn’t want to, but the vice-president presence looms over your shoulder, threatening that if you do not comply; it won’t go well. It’s not the child’s fault, he didn’t deserve any of this. If you had it your way, you’d him play kendama for as long as he pleased; never force him to fight. Still, you weren’t worth a dime to these people, therefore you were forced to your pesky mouth shut.

.

It’s strange. The contact with you two has always been the same — for the traditions of the Yamazaki clan. Then why does the air between you two feel a little lighter? It was odd enough being so casually naked around each other, even though you’ve already seen the other like this.

“How was your day?” Shingen muttered under his breath, and you paused in shock. The room fell silent as you stopped spreading the soap over his body. No, he’s not the type of guy to spare a moment of care for another. Ruthless, unforgiving and selfish is his nature; he tears his opponents limb by limb, not slowing them to spare a breath before they meet their demise. A man like Shingen doesn’t bother caring for his underlings, as they’re under him for one reason and one reason only: they’re weak, unable to reach his level.

Then why..?

“It.. It was okay.” You responded, mindlessly continuing with the task at hand. The room fell silent again, as per usual. It was a nerving stillness, one that has your heart racing. It was softer, less rough like his calloused, scarred skin, a result of all the treacheries he’s gone through. Shingen raises his brow as he studied his hands. You’d just realised — you had been staring at his hands for too long, and he had noticed.

“What is it?” Shingen spoke in a low tone as he inspected all the scars, callouses and rough texture of his hands, they were simply huge. One handshake could snap your wrist in two, not to mention the once soft knuckles that had hardened from the continuous strain from punching. The long, thick fingers which felt like rough sandpaper along his own skin, he had already gotten used to the sensation. So when your unfamiliarly soft hands run along his back, it successfully soothes him. Unlike his, your hands are slender and soft, with well-kept nails that are moisturised often to keep their ‘femininity’.

“Ah, it’s nothing.” You clear your throat, proceeding to grab the shower head. Even when you suddenly splashed water over his body, he never flinched, no matter the temperature. Most times you could never tell if the water was too hot, as he would just sit there in silence.

The next few days weren’t any better. When you were simply cleaning the house, he’ll take a seat near you, sipping at tea while minding his own business. When you moved rooms, he’d do the same, following along and silently observing. Occasionally he’d ask you questions, but that’s as far as conservations went. At first, you tried to ignore him, pretending his presence didn’t bother you and focusing on your work. But over time, the heavy silence between the two of you became more and more unbearable. Shingen’s eyes would follow your every move, his gaze felt heavy, as if he wanted something, yet he never spoke.

One afternoon, as you dusted the walls, you finally had enough. You turned around, forcing the words out of your throat in an attempt to find out what you really wanted to know.

“Is something the matter? These past couple days, you have been following me around.” Your hands become sweatier and you could barely maintain eye contact. Shingen withdrew the cup from his hand, resting it on the table before gazing right into your anxious eyes. He was surprised by your sudden outburst, yet he maintained his neutral exterior.

“Is it bothering you?” He simply spoke, waiting for your reply. Unsure of how to answer, you hesitated — one wrong word and he could snap you in half if he wanted to. But did it bother you? Perhaps at first, however it’s a feeling you can’t put your finger on. It was intrusive, but it left you curious. Why was he there? Is he hoping to see, or hear something?

“No…” You muttered, letting out a sigh you didn’t realise you had been holding. His eyes lingered in you for a moment longer than it should’ve, leaving you with a shiver running down your spine. Expression unreadable, as if he was weighing your answer. You shifted uneasily, wiping the sweat on your palms onto your clothes, trying to maintain your composure under the scrutiny of his deep gaze.

“I see.” He spoke, voice low like a well-tuned instrument. It was as if he learnt something from your hesitation. Unsure of what to think, you swallowed trying to understand his body language, yet it proved futile. You psychically can’t understand a man like him. What is even thinking right now? The air is thick, filled with words you wish you could say.

“Well, if you need anything..” your voice trailed off awkwardly, and he nodded as to acknowledge your attempt at conversation before turning his attention back to his cup of tea. You returned to your work, yet the question still gnawed at you. Everytime you moved, you could feel his unwavering gaze on the back of your neck.

“Why me?” The question slipped out of your mouth without thinking, and you started to silently panic. Turning back to face him, he simply looked down at his reflected expression from the ripples of the liquid. Now that it was in the open, it was too late to take it back. For a moment, Shingen didn’t answer. No matter how much you squinted to see a pinch of emotion, you couldn’t see past the barrier between the mask he wore and his raw emotions. Angry, sad, disdained — you couldn’t tell. It was like staring at a stone wall, unmovable and devoid of emotion. To your surprise, you notice his lips curve into a frown. Did you perhaps do something wrong?

After what felt like ages, he spared a few words. “You interest me.”

‘You interest me?’ Your breath caught in your throat. His words hung in the air between you, heavy with a meaning you can’t grasp. You tried to search his face for even a tiny hint, yet he remained unreadable, as always. Before anything else could be said, he stood and left with the room. The only thing you could do was watch him. He didn’t even look back, leaving you with the echo of his strange words replaying through your mind.

The following week, he personally invited you into his chambers. A cold shiver ran down your spine when he suddenly asked you to meet in his room that night. While you were cleaning the dishes, he quietly entered the room unbeknown to you. Suddenly speaking in a low tone, you flinched and raised your head to look at him. Those same, cold and dark eyes gazed down at you.

“Come to my room, tonight.” Simple, and sweet. Usually he’d keep a distance from his underlings, yet he was close enough that his arms brush yours. You dropped the sponge and took a moment to process the situation — his room? Tonight? What?

“Is there a reason?” You felt compelled to ask. What could he possibly be thinking? He’s unreadable, and you struggle to understand him.

“No.” Leaving no room for anymore questions, he turned around and left. Standing there, puzzled, you could once again only watch him walk away as you were forced to continue your task.

That night, the clock struck ten and you had just finished washing up. You got changed and put your old clothing into the laundry. It was bothering you, what was he doing to do? Did your parents do something outlandish again? The whole thought of it left you pacing around the hallways wondering if you should just say you forgot. But then you’d be going against his order, and who knows what your clan will shame you for now? Sighing, you took the chance and knocked at the door.

“Oyabun.” You called out, and he opened the door. He let you inside, and you took a seat on the bed where he sat beside you. The quiet of his chambers felt oppressive, the air thick with words unspoken. You shifted a little and fidgeted with your hands as your mind spun with questions. Were you over thinking? The silence stretched between you, his presence looming next to you, quiet and unyielding. You tried to shut these thoughts out, but you could only focus on how close he was sat, his body heat radiating against yours in the lamps dim light.

You cleared your throat. Hesitating, the question you’d been holding back forcing its way out. “… What did you mean by that?”

Shingen shifted his gaze from your fidgeting fingers to your jumbled expression that could barely maintain eye contact. “The other day, where you said..”

Did you say too much? You paused and instantly regretted saying anything.

For a moment that felt like ages, he didn’t say a word. You could feel his gaze on you, but he didn’t make a move to speak. Anxiety coiled in your chest, and just as you were about to apologise for saying anything in the first place…

“You think too much.” The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, and you pulled your head up to looked at him. For once, he showed an emotion you could make out — troubled. His brows creased with worry, lips pressed into a thin line before he spoke.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured, struggling to look you in the eye. “You..” Shingen paused, as if carefully choosing his choice of words. “…occupy my thoughts.”

What? It wasn’t as you expected ever coming out of his mouth. He’s a gruesome man who doesn’t hesitate to tear limbs apart, yet here he is, in front of you, weak and docile. Between the cracks of his yielding facades, a hint of emotion shone through. It was as if your hand moved by itself, curling his hair behind his ear.

“Why?” You whispered, trying to grasp onto any sort of reason. “I don’t understand you.”

“There’s no need.” Shingen replied, his voice low and soft. This time, his eyes gazed longingly into yours, filled with an unspoken desperation, like he was hoping for something he couldn’t put into words. In all honesty, you were speechless. Before entering this room, you had no expectations, wanting to leave as soon as possible. Now you want to stay here, in this moment, forever. Seeing his face so soft was a sight engraved in your mind, one that you wouldn’t get tired of seeing.

“Just.. stay. Stay with me.” He bit his lip, his expression tender, waiting for a response he desperately needed. These words were simple, yet they carried a weight that made your chest tighten. His words resonated deep inside of you, and you couldn’t explain his new feeling.

The silence returned, but it didn’t feel thick and heavy, nor suffocating. It felt as if something growing between you two, something fragile and real.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You spoke, voice barely above a whisper, as your hand lands on his. Stroking his thumb, you noticed a faint smile creep onto his lips as a wave of contentment washed over him. It was a side of him that you had never seen — no, nobody has even seen — and it made you feel so special. *I was the only one to see this monster oh-so vulnerable. You saw it — how his shoulders eased and body relaxed, leaning into yours. As if he’d been holding it in for so long, and only now, in this room that he bared his suffering alone, has he been able to express it.

He turned his hand over, lacing his with yours. The feeling of his weathered hands felt so warm against yours, and you embraced his imperfections for what they were. That simple gesture sent a warmth through your body that made your chest ache. His other hand lifted, hesitating for a moment before resting it against your cheek, thumb brushing softly across your skin.

Shamelessly, you almost couldn’t keep your eyes off of his lips. And he couldn’t either. An eagerness that rested in your heart hedged for you to kiss him. You shifted closer to him, taking the chance and pulling him closer while your lips met his, hesitant but eager. Shingen’s mouth was warm, a firm contrast from his cold exterior. Your eyelids flutter close as you let yourself melt into the tenderness of his embrace. Restless, your hands finding themself gripping the hem of his robe, unable to get enough of him. Straddling his lap, you felt his hands naturally settle upon your hips. You finally take this chance to take a breathe, and you look into his eyes — hungry.

For the first time in your life, you felt as if you were in control — his gazed lifted to you, not looking down. You cupped his face,, watching how his cheeks squish against his lips, before leaning in to kiss him again. This time, you didn’t dare part them.

It was a moment you never wanted to end.

Yamazaki lifted you by the hips, taking care to lay your body onto the bed before climbing in between your legs. Untying your robe, his hands eagerly explore each crevice of your body. From your breasts, to your hips, to your thighs — you were perfect. Shingen leaned towards your breasts, gently circling his finger around your areola. Your nipples ached to be touched, yet he only groped your tits, kissing at the sensitive regions of your neck.

His kisses travelled down your collarbone, chest and stomach, towards your dripping cunt. Shingen’s long hair draped along your thighs, his warm breath causing your pussy to tremble.

“Hurry.” Voice aching with anticipation, he complied; his tongue slurped up all your juices, taunting your clit with the feathery contact. Every glide of his tongue has you loosing control of your pesky mouth once more, moans carelessly spilling, making his own neglected cock throb. Moving the strands of hair from his forehead back, you can see the lust and hunger embedded in his eyes, as if he’s holding back from having his way with you. It’s so sexy, seeing those glaring eyes gazing right back at you. His fingers grip deep enough into your skin that it could bruise, pulling you in closer to ravenously lavish in the juices of your leaking cunt.

Shingen leaned in closer to circle your clit with his tongue. A pleasured gasp came from above, which encouraged him to keep going. What if someone heard? You tried your hardest to suppress your moans, covering your mouth. Why’d he stop? A hand grips onto your wrist, pulling them away from your panting mouth as he looks up into your eyes.

“Don’t hold back your moans. I want to hear them.” He slowly pushed a finger through, thrusting in a come hither motion. Those hands, they were fucking huge, and your cunt struggled to spread around them. The once rough, sandpaper like hands melted into your love juices, becoming soft and creamy. A smirk ran across his lips as he rubbed his own erection, watching your face contort into a slutty mess.

Oh, what’s that? He presses against your g-spot, and you shriek in pure bliss. Each thrust leaves you breathless, bolts of pleasure running through your spine. What’s worse is the view of your juices spilling all over the sheets, creating a pool under you. Shingen can’t help but love what he’s doing to you, enjoying every moment of your helpless self.

Oh gosh, you could feel yourself getting closer, while he leans in to circle his tongue around your nub. Shamelessly attacking your weakest spot, you grip onto his hair as you could feel the pool of pleasure inside your stomach hollowing, and your voice becoming louder. In three last plunges against your g-spot, a squeal escapes you as you squirt all over his abdomen. Vision hazy, you felt his fingers pulling out and him panting himself. Shingen lapped up the aftermath of your delighted orgasm, hungrily devouring every last drop.

Next thing you know, his cock is hugged between the wetness of your folds, lined up against your hole. How the fuck was that thing going to fit inside of you? No matter how wet your hole was, the tip could barely push its way in.

“Relax,” His hands rested on each side of your hips for support, while he tried to push it in slowly.

“It’ll fit.” He spoke as if he knew what you were thinking. Shingen groaned as in one final thrust of force, he abruptly dipped into your heat. You let out a surprised squeal, as you both pant. One hand finds its way to grip onto your thigh that nestled around his waist, while the other grips onto your hips. Only three inches has found its home in the depths of your pussy, yet you’re already panting for air. It’s only just begun. He doesn’t dare push any further, afraid that’ll hurt you.

“Give me more. I.. I can take it…” Your voice trembles, trailing off at the end.

Of course, he indulges; pushing his length on further, six inches in. Even further now, seven, eight.. just how big is he?! The girth of his cock makes your head spin as your cunt stretches to accommodate his girth. As he pulls out, you noticed the glistening of his cock dipped in the wetness of your pussy, yet the remaining few wasn’t. Giving slow thrusts, you could feel the motion of his cock hitting so deep, making your whole body shiver in pleasure.

“You feel so good..” He groans into the crook of your neck, hungrily kissing your neck to your lips. That spongy spot inside of you is being tortured by his fat tip, and your joke shudders every time he does. Shingen’s never been this loud — breathlessly loosing control of himself, his precum already leaking inside of you.

“Shingen,” You pulled him in closer with your legs, causing another inch or two to slip in. “Gi.. Give me all of it. I told you, I, I can take it..”

You whine as your eyes start to water, having your toes curling. An instant regret floods his body as he saw the tears running down your cheek, yet he was feeling way too good to acknowledge anything else. Reluctantly, the last few inches fill you up, and oh, you could see his cock bulging out on your stomach.

Shingen faintly smiled as he pushed down on that spot, his hips unapologetically moving faster. It was so sensitive — him pressing down on your womb only made you scream in ecstasy more. Your hole tightens and squeezes him, and you could feel every twitch and pulse his desperate dick let’s out. His strong hands grip onto your hips, squeezing them while thrusting as fast as he could — a bolt of cum building inside his balls.

“Shingen..!” Your voice wails in heavenly bliss, yet he’s too pussy-drunk to even listen to a word you’re saying. “Agh..! W-Wait, I…!”

The sinful sounds of his balls slapping against your cunt drowned out the noises of your moans, and a sheen sheet of seat drips down your bodies.

“I’m.. I’m cumming.. T-Take it all..” just a little bit more and..!

He’s filling you up, mumbling all sorts of profanities. As soon as he pulls out, a rush of juices land on his chest yet again. It made him satisfied to see your hole bubbling with his sperm, dripping onto the wet sheets. It was an achievement to see you trembling, gasping for air, gripping into the sheets for some resolve. He plants a kiss on your cheek, biting on your earlobe before whispering into your ear:

“One more time, please?” And you couldn’t refuse.

[msfantasy-comics]

The Teen Three - Social Rescue

Platonic!Jon Kent x WonderGirl!Reader x Platonic!Damian Wagne

Summary: Jon’s high school years were rough. Subject to nasty teasing, Damian and Y/n have devised plans to make Jon a little more popular.

A/n: this story is lame! Sorry! Maybe I should focus on some other bat boys for a while.

It only took a ‘promposal’ gone wrong to plummet Jon’s social credit.

At one point of time, Jon was the quite kid no one paid attention to. His presence masked by his rambunctious cohort. Now Jon is front and centre of his High Schools attention.

Jon is now known as the kid who was humiliatingly rejected by the prettiest and most popular girl in school.

“Pfft, you’ve got to be kidding… is this a joke?” Beverly’s cruel tone filling the air with heavy dread, her humourless laugh as she side eyes her friends who seem to also be snickering at Jon’s expense. The bouquet of flowers now limp in Jon’s outstretched hands. He wants to sprint away and hide under a rock, but he’s too humiliated to move a muscle. His cheeks burning red in embarrassment. God why did he ask out Beverly, so publicly? Everyone walking into the main entrance is now witnessing his promposal rejection. Beverly lips curl into a thin line, she sees his eyes becoming quickly glossy as he stares at the floor. “Um… so like… I’m not going to prom with you… honestly I don’t even know why you’d even ask. Like… we barely know each-other.” She looks towards her friends awkwardly, as if silently discussing how weird it is that Jon asked her to prom. Not knowing what else to say, Beverly just shuffles off with her group.

The circle of students that had slowly formed around, began to disperse at Beverlys departure, some feeling sorry, and some being amused at his expense.

————

Its prom night and it’s been long since Jon flopped onto his bed where he continued to limply exist.

His mind continues reeling at the humiliating rejection. His heart clenched painfully seeing his ‘promposal fail’ posted online. Many comments left under the video talking about what a looser he is for even asking the hottest girl in school out.

It’s been days since the incident and the teasing and passive remarks are not letting up.

Jon was feeling pathetic and embarrassed, there was no way on earth he would dare step foot into his high school gym.

But just like always, the door to Jon’s bedroom slams open.

“Get up looser, we’re going to prom.” Y/n’s voice rings out. Jon rolls away from the wall only to see his best friends Y/n and Damian standing in the doorway. Y/n stands statuesque in her WonderGirl uniform, whilst Damian leans against the frame with a laundered Armani suit slung over his shoulders.

“Are you mentally challenged? We are here to make him feel better, not to insult him. He already feels bad enough.” Damian reprimands Y/n, which she only shrugs off, snatching the suit from Damian’s hands and throws it on top of Jon.

“Either you can get yourself dress and get into Damian’s car or… Damian and I will dress you.” Jon only grunts rolling onto his back.

“Why? I don’t have a date. Everyone will just stare and gossip. I’m already embarrassed enough.” Y/n slowly sinks onto Jon’s bed and pokes him in the ribs.

“I will go to prom with you as WonderGirl. When everyone sees that your brought a super hero as your date, no one will even remember about your promposal fail!” She announces, buzzing in excitement which only makes Jon stare at her blankly.

“We are not meant to abuse our alter egos like this.” Jon drawls with only makes Damian roll his eyes. “I’m not going and that’s final. I’d rather just hang with you two.”

“Aw Jonny, love you too!” Y/n says, pulling Jon into a bone crushing hug that only a kryptonian could survive. “Okay so since you refuse, Damian and I will take matters into our own hands.”

Damian and Y/n share a look before nodding. “Wait - wait- not again! I’ll dress myself! I’ll dress myself!” Jon pleads, rearing from his bed and ripping open the suit protector.

————

Jon’s prom entrance was just filled with oh’s and ah’s.

Not only did Jon walk the carpet with a fresh Armani suit, he had the illustrious WonderGirl hanging off his arm. The teen beauty that was on every teens wall. She was every boys dream girl, and every girl wanted to be her. In the public’s eye, she was Americas sweetheart. The girl next door that had a dazzling smile and eyes that were enchanting.

WonderGirl behaved like the perfect date. Always smiling and giggling with Jon. But the hoard of students and teachers were all too keen for photos and autographs. Jon had to break away from the crowd to catch a breath.

“Hey Kent! How’d you score WonderGirl?! You have to tell me your secret man!” A boy that Jon had never spoken to before, claps Jon’s back as if they were familiar pals. Jon locks eyes onto Beverly, whom angrily has her arms crossed over her chest, she decidedly took strides forward

“Jon, can I speak to you for a moment?” Beverly asks pointedly. Beverly begins to stare down the random boy standing next to Jon, silently demanding he leaves the two alone. The boy only awkwardly steps back, leaving the two.

“I didn’t mean for my rejection to come across so cold. I saw the video online and I felt so bad about what others were saying. Just so you know, I’m not sorry I rejected you, because every woman has the right to say no without feeling bad, I’m just sorry you were publicly embarrassed and that people were mean about it.” Jon’s face scrutinised at Beverly’s apology. She’s sorry, but not really? “I didn’t want to go to prom with you because I don’t even know anything about you. I thought you were just asking me out for clout and it just made me angry to be used like that.”

“Okay… I wasn’t asking you out for ‘clout’, I had the biggest crush on you, so I decided to ask you out.” Jon vents, to which Beverly only continues to stare down at him.

“Yeah well…. Why do you like me?”

“What?” Jon sputters.

“What is it about me that you like?”

“Um, well you’re nice…”

“No I’m not, I’m blunt, there’s nothing nice about it. What else do you like about me that isn’t surface level?” He really couldn’t think of a single thing. He liked Beverly because she had a sweet smile, was always laughing, and just having a good time, never being concerned with how others felt.

“Um…” It was in this moment, Jon understood. Beverly wasn’t a cruel girl by any means, she was angry that someone was admitting their feelings, which Beverly believe was disingenuous. She’s right, Jon didn’t know her at all, he just liked the idea of her.

“You can’t think of a single thing can you? It’s because you don’t even know me. So why would I go to prom with you? You see what I’m saying?” Jon only nods solemnly, he was too caught up in his own devastation, he had already decided Beverly was a cruel and mean girl, but the reality was that Beverly was just getting asked on a date by a stranger. “Good I’m glad we got that clear…. So can you introduce me to WonderGirl? I’m literally obsessed with her- please?”

Jon only sighs and nods in agreement which causes Beverly to excitedly clap and jump on the spot.

It’s so unfair.

How does Y/n always win? She wasn’t even part of the drama to begin with.

————

[inmaki2]

luxiems reaction to a partner that’s loud in bed

req . pairing : luxiem x f!reader .

smut mdni . 2k est wc .

warnings : mocking in mystas . pull out method in lucas . uhh it’s just filth

posting b4 i sleep.. sry for taking so long with this im a slow writer + kpop blog shit LMAO

- mysta rias

your sounds are a one way ticket to shooting this man’s ego through the roof.

whenever he gets to be on top, mysta thrives in the fact that he can make you feel so good, to the point where volume has no consequence in your poor fucked out brain. of course, this doesn’t mean your boyfriend won’t be a little mean about it — it’s just how he is.

“uh, uh,” mocking the tone of your choked up sounds, mysta can’t help but snicker while his hips slam into yours. “so—“ he’s cut off when your walls squeeze him even tighter, “shit, such cute fuckin’ noises. my dick’s that good, huh slut?”

you don’t even have the strength to vocalize your embarrassment from the cruel imitation, much too preoccupied gripping the sheets for dear life. not to mention the pathetic string of drool falling from the corner of your swollen lips; open mouth allowing more squeals to escape with every thrust while the grip on your thighs tighten.

his pace never relents, even when your walls are practically suffocating him. “c-cum, please pl— ah! please, wanna cum, mysta,” you beg, voice cracking desperately.

the pleads coming from your sore throat only encourage the male to go rougher, one sleek finger rushing down to circle your puffed clit while the others lie sternly across your pelvis, harsh pressure preventing any attempts to squirm away while massaging the bulge his length leaves on your lower tummy in the process.

with you nearly spasming beneath him, mysta smiles wider. “hold it, kay? keep moaning my name louder n’ i’ll consider. let everyone know who’s fucking you this good.”

- shu yamino

it’s like a game for him — what can he do to make you even louder? theres no point in whining either, you can whimper and beg all you want, but your nerd of a boyfriend is rather strict in bed no matter how much he loves your pleas.

shu has your back pressed to his toned chest, a muscly bicep ensuring you’re immobilized by mimicking a seat belt across your waist. his free hand plunges two skillful fingers into your hole, purposely avoiding your clit for nothing but the fun of it.

even so, perhaps it’s the way he abuses that gummy spot so easily, or maybe the sloppy sounds coming from his mouth as he sucks on your shoulder — whatever it is, you simply can’t hold in your cries.

“want.. want your cock now, shu. please pl—!” a slap to your cunt along with the emptiness of his fingers’ absence has you crying out, and it takes everything in your boyfriend’s power to not groan as your ass rubs right on his bulge.

biting into your shoulder, shu tuts in disappointment. “this isn’t enough?” he lazily drags his pointer through your folds, huffing. “i thought you were my good girl.“

“i am, i am your—“ you’re cut off with another slap, yelping in a mix of delicious pleasure and pain while juices flow out from the contact.

“enough,” he spits. “good girls dont complain when they already have two fingers filling them up. they sit there, moan, and take it.” before you can reply, he’s already thrusting back into you, humming in approval when you let out a gutteral sound that can surely be heard outside the room.

“there you go, scream my name when you cum.”

though you can barely think, you use your last bit of strength to mumble out, “do— do i get your dick after?”

this has shu letting out a chuckle even while his fingers are curling into your walls, and you swear you see the tip of his ears turn a shy red. “sure, princess. s’long as you keep those pretty moans up.”

- ike eveland

yes, your boyfriend loves the variety of sounds he can emit from you, but god it stresses him out sometimes.

ike is not up for sharing nor exhibitionism, the mere thought of anyone else hearing or knowing what the two of you are up to has him pausing anxiously, even when the blissful feeling of your thighs suffocating him flourishes. he occasionally wonders how your throat manages such strain, even more so when you nearly howl from the way his lips suck around your most sensitive area.

despite your body weight crushing him, ike manages to pull off for a second to breathe. “no..” you complain, hands rushing to tug him back by the fluffy grey hair tickling your thighs.

“don’t worry, i’ll give you what you want, y/n,” he reassures, pretty face red and sweaty. “but try to stay quiet for me.”

“s’ hard..” almost teasingly, ike’s tongue is swiftly back to licking up your juices, two pale arms hooking around your thighs to ensure you’re fully sitting right on him. his prior request diminishes, in fact, the opposite only occurs.

everytime his tongue pushes into your hole, his nose bumps your clit so perfectly — not to mention the vibration coming from his own sounds against your cunt, hurriedly sending you over the edge. “geez, i say be quiet and you only get louder. bad girl.”

you’ve pretty much tuned him out at this point of your high, which ike catches onto rather quickly. though to your luck, your boyfriend is feeling merciful. “go on— mmh, just cum. as long as you’re ready to get gagged after while i fuck you.”

- vox akuma

well aren’t you just made for this man? being loud himself, vox very much appreciates your openness to matching his volume whether it be intentional or not. his ego is skyrocketing as is, but every time you scream his name, it feels as though something goes off in his brain, resembling a mental pat on the back that has his cock twitching.

“fuuuck, cunt’s squeezing me so damn tight. keep moaning like that, baby.” contradictingly, the man presses your face further into the mattress, plowing his length into you from behind at a dauntingly fast pace. it may sound strange, but vox thinks you look cute suffering underneath him like this.

you aren’t even sure if it’s tears or drool staining the sheets, but the bubbling feeling of embarrassment encourages you to finally purse your lips and stop the erotic noises circling your bedroom.

however, your boyfriend freezes, seemingly accepting this as a challenge.

his hips cease movement almost completely with only the tip poking your entrance, a graceful hand running up your sides as he whispers. “oh? what’s this?” suddenly, you feel yourself being pulled up, two fingers turning your chin to come face-to-face with a sinister sneer. “going quiet on me?”

“milord..” as you attempt to speak, your jaw is forced open wider before a glob of saliva is dropped onto your vulnerable tongue.

“swallow,” vox hisses. you comply seconds later even though your cheeks are burning red, body involuntarily squirming in pathetic attempts to run from the length slowly sheathing back inside. “good girl.”

when he’s an inch or two from bottoming out, he pulls your hips back onto him, ejecting a chocked yelp from your mouth at the feeling of him hitting that gummy spot. vox only laughs in response. “so cute.. thinking you can hide those pretty sounds from me.” an offended tch leaves his lips. “do that again and you’re not cumming tonight, m’kay darling?”

- luca kaneshiro

luca’s main goal in bed is just to please you as much as he can, so being loud does nothing but make him feel pride and act as a sign that he’s doing well — especially now when he’s putting all his strength into making you both reach bliss.

legs wrapped tightly around his waist, you let out a groan as his cock plunges into you harshly, the girth and length making your eyes squeeze shut by the fullness. “please luca..”

he grunts, sweat rolling down his face and onto yours. “what- what are you begging for now?” the blonde moves one hand down to your chest, pinching your nipple playfully.

“harder!”

“harder?” luca parrots, a mischievous smirk rising across his cheeks. who was he to say no? “don’t complain if you can’t walk tomorrow.”

regardless of his warning, he quickly obliges, snickering at how a strangled moan is forced out of you with each prod. luca is certainly aware of the racket you’re making, but noise complaints are his last concern when he gets a front row seat to your eyes rolling back into your skull. “jesus, you’re loud. gonna— shit, gonna squirt all over me babe?”

you can only nod in response, hands pathetically gripping strong biceps while his fingers move down to press the bulge on your tummy. before you can make another move he’s pulling you into a kiss, swallowing your sounds right as your impending orgasm washes over you. luca groans himself from the way your walls spasm, struggling to even pull out with your legs caging him in.

eventually he’s releasing all over your swollen cunt and stomach, groaning in satisfaction at his work while flopping down next to you. “hey y/n.”

“what, luca?”

“i think that’s one of the loudest i’ve ever got you. top three at least.”

you open one eye in disbelief, making eye contact with the same idiot who just fucked your insides up. “is everything a competition to you?”

“i’m just saying!”

if u want me to write more make sure to reblog/send asks and tell me if u enjoyed !!!!!

nkox 2023 - do not copy, translate, crosspost, etc.

[fangirl-dot-com]

Chapter 18 - All For You

Guys, I fear this one may be worse than the last angsty one I wrote. Am I getting better or worse? – I have no clue…I’m just in a super angsty mood rn 

Also, I know that it “Born to Break Records” I said that Max didn’t know about reader’s godfather passing. What I meant to say was that he didn’t know at the time when he gave reader the trophy after she won her debut f2 race. But, because reader has a special helmet for Imola since Lorenzo was Italian, she’d have to tell him about the helmet. 

TW: EMOTIONAL ABUSE, HARSH LANGUAGE, SHITTY PARENTS, AND PHYSICAL ABUSE

I am prepared for the therapy bills…

How does someone write “and they swapped spit” in a romantic way?? Asking for a friend 

Like always comments, questions, concerns, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated! 

TAG LIST IS CLOSED 

It couldn’t be them. 

You blinked and stared in the direction that you had been previously looking. Your eyes narrowed as you gazed at the small crack of the garage and where the gate was. You quickly placed your special helmet down on a table and dodged mechanics as you stepped out. Mitch barely glanced at your leaving as you often went to visit other drivers before the race if you had time. And today, the parade was a bit earlier, so most of the drivers used this time to destress a bit more than usual. 

As you got closer, two familiar people stood out to you. Right now, they were arguing with one of the Red Bull security guards. Your face grimaced as you could hear the shouting multiple feet away. 

As you got closer, your blood ran colder. You knew it was a bad idea to come out here, but it was like a moth to a flame or even a lamb to a slaughter. You couldn’t stop your feet until you were just a few steps away. 

“Mom? Dad?” 

The group of three’s heads swerved toward yours. The security guard, who you recognized to be Frederik, looked at you with a questioning face. The other two looked relieved but also angry at you. 

Your father rolled his eyes and pointed toward you before yelling at Fred. “See, I told you that we were her parents, now let us in,” he demanded. 

Your heart dropped a bit at the statement. You were never one to stand up to your father, especially when he was already angry. 

Your hear barely nodded, almost as if you were trying to even convince yourself that you were fine with them invading your life. 

Fred looked over with concern. 

“It’s ok Fred.” 

“Are you sure kid?” 

Your mother huffed. “She said it was fine. Now let us through.” 

Fred sure took his sweet time to unlock the gate, something that you could find some thankfulness for. 

Your mother came close to you first and wrapped you in an awkward hug: one that you did not return as it was too quick to reciprocate. Your father just stood there, with the same disappointing stare he always had. 

You put your hands to the side. “What are you two doing here? Last I knew is that you wanted nothing to do with me.” 

Your father rolled his eyes and your mother let out a squawk. “Is that what you’ve been telling your friends? Goodness gracious child, going around speaking lies.” 

You winced at her demeaning tone. 

Your father spoke next. “You make it into Formula 1 and forget everything that we did for you? How fucking pathetic.” He all but spit out the last word.

“Kid!” 

Your head whipped around at lightning speed. Mitch was waving at you from the garage, a curious look on your face.

You tried to give her a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your face. “Coming!” You turned toward your parents. “You can follow me, but please do not touch anything and just stand in the corner.” 

That earned another round of scoffs and groans. 

“Someone has gotten bratty I see,” you mother seethed. 

You paid no attention and walked back to the garage. You only knew that they followed you because you had memorized their footprints long ago when you were too scared to even get out of your room on multiple occasions. There was a difference between their normal strides, angry strides, and sneaky strides that they used when they tried to “catch” you doing something you shouldn’t have been doing – like getting an extra snack because they “forgot” to make you dinner. 

You had hoped that Max, Christian, Vito, or even Mitch would be right there when you walked in, but the universe definitely hated you today. The said four were standing in a little circle, probably going over some last minute data. You had stopped in the entrance and watched them, scared that they would ask questions.

While you were watching, a rough shove was directed toward your back, sending you to the floor and making a noise. Your knees were definitely bruised now and your hands were scraped on the concrete. Max, Christian, Mitch, and Vito all turned toward the noise. You had just gotten back up and continued walking, parents behind you. 

Some of the engineers had watched your father push you and were starting to question as to who he thought he was, pushing you around like that. 

“Oops, didn’t see you there,” your father said. 

Vito’s back straightened in defense when his eyes looked at your parents. You shot him a sorry look as he made eye contact with you. 

“Ah there you are kid. We were just going over some last minute notes. Who might this be?” Christian asked, walking toward you. Right now, he was thinking that they might be some older couple that you might have known from your childhood. 

Boy, was he wrong. 

Your eyes glanced back at your parents and sent Christian a look, trying to communicate to him that you really didn’t want these two in the garage. 

“Uh, Christian, these are my parents.” Your hands lightly raised in the air, as if to show them off. 

Christian’s eyes darkened as he looked at the couple. Max behind him was mentally killing them both. Mitch was just wondering about how she could get you out of this uncomfortable situation. 

“Y/n didn’t tell me that we’d be having personal guests today,” Christian said, folding his arms in a defensive pose. 

You prayed that your father wouldn’t roll his eyes at your boss. 

Your father only stared at the slightly taller Brit before looking at you, annoyance evident on his face. Your mother, once again, scoffed. 

“Wow,” your mother let off a very fake giggle, “our own daughter didn’t tell you that we were coming? Shows you how much appreciation kids have these days.” Another fake laugh followed. 

Max winced at the sight of your crest-fallen face. You looked absolutely miserable. 

“Hmmm, doesn’t sound like our kid.” Christian tried to back you up. 

Your mother had walked over to where you special Imola helmet was laying. She picked it up and twirled it around. 

It was a beautiful piece of work. The colors of the Italian flag blended beautifully. On the side you had Lorenzo’s crest with his birthdate and death-date underneath as a tribute to him. You watched as her lip curled in disgust. But, you also saw as one of the mechanics came up and took it directly from her, telling her that no one but you or authorized personelle should be touching it. 

Christian spoke up again, “Well, we are very busy right now and I need to speak to my drivers.”

But before Christian could get you away, Max stepped forward, a false smile on his lips and a hand stretched out. 

“Max Verstappen, three time World Champion.’ 

You knew this shpeel very well. Max only said the whole title when he was over someone’s bullshit, or he knew that they were just using him for his fame. 

Your father had some type of dumbstruck look as he took Max’s hand. The fuming Dutchman used this opportunity to tightly squeeze his hand, tighter than a normal handshake should have been. It made him happy to see your father wince at the grip. 

Your father’s hand then came and rested on your shoulder. You tensed as his grip got much harder and harder, probably leaving yet another bruise. “My daughter has a lot to accomplish if you’re her teammate. Good thing she doesn’t have the talent to outshine you.” 

You hated it when your father belittled you. He had done this multiple times in front of old friends. He was a manipulator and a narcissist. Your breath, that had been a bunch of harsh inhales and exhales, started to hitch. Clear signs of a panic attack were just around the corner. And your team could tell that you were about to possibly have a meltdown if you didn’t get out now. 

Mitch finally spoke up. “We have a race in just under 30 minutes and I need to privately go over something with my drivers. Max and Y/n, please follow me. Christian, I need you as well and Vito you know what to do, we’ll be in the main driver’s room (Max’s driver room).” 

Your manager gave your parents one last glare before rushing out of the Red Bull garage. 

Mitch was totally bullshitting them because it was actually closer to 45 full minutes rather than less than 30. 

Max held your shoulders, much lighter than your father had. He noticed your breathing had started to pick up. He sent a worried glance at the Team Principal who was currently clearing the way. 

To you, it felt like your head was underwater. Everything was blurry as you looked at the world through tears, and your head felt as though it was stuffed with cotton. Your skin felt tingly and it pricked where Max’s hands were now gently holding your elbows as he guided you to the room. You could barely hear them trying to get you to calm down. 

Once in the room, you had sunk to the floor and wrapped your arms around yourself, as a means of protection. Hands waved in front of your face, trying to get your attention as you stared numbly forward. Each wave shook a flinch out of your body. 

A sudden inhale brought on ugly sobs as you tried to breath out apologies for things you didn’t know. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again. Please, please don’t hurt…me.” 

Your speech was broken, along with the hearts of Max, Mitch, and Christian who watched their strong girl break down because of someone who should have loved you. Quick knocks on the door alerted the room of someone else. 

You suddenly froze, not breathing, as you were thinking that your parents were about to invade yet another safe space. Yet, your vision was filled with red and familiar cologne. 

Your body acted on autopilot as your arms wrapped around the familiar figure of your boyfriend. 

His voice was still fuzzy as he started to rock you back and forth. 

Arthur looked around at the pained faces of your teammate, race engineer, manager, and team principal as they all looked down at you. 

Christian kneeled down next to the younger Monegasque. “Is there anything we can do?” 

He thought for a moment. You were curled sideways in his lap. Your legs were scrunched in fetal position, arms wrapped around his bicep as you clung to him. Your head rested against his chest with your eyes still closed. 

“Her blood sugar gets low after an attack, can someone find some juice?” Vito and Christian all but bolted out the door. 

“Mitch can you turn off the light? And Max, please rub her back. I’d do it, but her arms are wrapped around mine.” 

The lights suddenly dimmed behind your eyelids and a hand gently touched your bad, trying to see if you’d flinch. When your back didn’t tense, Max continued to apply gentle pressure and his hand moved in small circles. 

A big sigh escaped your lips as you came down from your sobs. Your lungs burned with each ragged breath, but they were thankful for new oxygen. 

Your eyes remained closed as you took a minute to get your bearings in order. You tried to count down in your head starting from 100, which normally helped you calm down faster. You finally cracked your eyes open and sat up a bit straighter. The hand that was soothing on your back lifted away. A whine almost escaped your lips, but you reeled it in. 

Arthur took notice of your open eyes and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “How are you doing? You were out of it for a while. Much longer than usual.” 

You hummed. “I’m ok. A bit…” 

“Thirsty?” The voice of your manager sounded as he walked in with multiple juice boxes in his arms, Christian behind him with even more juice boxes, and a certain Monegasque driver carried a variety of snacks in his arms. 

Your eyes widened with excitement as your hand reached up to grab an apple juice from Vito. Arthur quickly took it from you and pressed the straw in and held it to your lips. 

“Small sips,” he reminded you. You wanted to roll your eyes, but you knew he was right. 

After a couple of sips, you asked, “How long was it this time.” 

Your legs finally stretched out from their crunched position. 

“Almost twenty minutes,” Mitch told you, handing you an icepack to put on your head. She guessed that you may be prone to migraines after panic attacks and got you one just in case. Mitch was glad to see you take it and put it on your head immediately. 

The room was silent for a moment, before Max spoke. 

“Kid, what were they doing here?” 

You sighed. “I thought I saw them and I went to go check it out. Turns out it was them, and I really can’t speak up against my dad when he’s angry.” 

Arthur concluded, “So he bullied you into getting what he wanted?”

You winced at the word, but nodded just the same. 

Christian spoke up. “I couldn’t get them kicked out of the grand prix since they had tickets, but they aren’t going to be in the garage. Do you feel all right to race today?” 

“You don’t have to kid if you aren’t feeling well,” Mitch also added on. 

You shook your head. “No, I want to race.” 

The room knew what this weekend meant for you. When you had happily shown them your new helmet, their eyes had welled with tears as you talked about the man who loved you more than life itself. 

Max, who hadn’t known until Wednesday, had given you the biggest hug when it was a good moment. You didn’t know who was comforting who at that moment, but the hug would go down in your list of top 5 hugs ever. 

Arthur sensed that you wanted to stand by the way you were wiggling. He slowly helped you to his feet as he pressed another juice box into your hands. Charles quickly opened a bag of Cheetos as you stared at the orange bag. 

“I ran to Logan,” he simply stated. He knew that the American was the one who always had your favorite snacks on hand. One, because it was a big American brand, and two, the blond had a soft spot for you and always kept them stocked. 

You took the orange twist and happily munched on the snack. The digital clock on Max’s desk showed that there was about 10 minutes left until you needed to get into the car. You quickly finished the small bag and chugged the rest of the juice. 

Christian had to step out and start heading to the pit wall. Mitch followed the older Brit so that she could get to her spot inside the garage. Max and Charles left because Max needed to go over some things with GP, while Charles had to run back to Ferrari to get into his own car. 

Vito stayed behind to check on you for just a few more moments. He knew first-hand how scared your dad and mom made you feel.

Then it was just you and Arthur for a couple of minutes. Your forehead pressed against his. 

“Thank you, for coming to help.” 

Arthur chuckled. “You really need to stop scaring me. No flipping today, ok?” 

You nodded before he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips this time. He tried his best not to smile into the kiss, but he couldn’t help it. 

You gently punched his chest. “Thur, you do that every single time.” 

Arthur brought you back closer. “It’s just because you make me so happy chéri.”  

You gave him another peck, before you led him out of the room. He helped you put your helmet on, and did his ritual “forehead kiss” to the top of it. With your handshake also done, you climbed into your car. The mechanics who had seen you with your parents made sure that you were all right. They were met with a bright smile and a thumbs up from you.

For this race, you qualified rather high. Max had pouted because today had been a Ferrari front-row lock out. You had to remind him that he had beaten Charles before from starting father back. It seemed to pacify the Dutchman. 

Starting Grid 

Charles Leclerc  

Carlos Sainz 

Max Verstappen 

Lando Norris 

Y/n L/n 

George Russell 

Lewis Hamilton 

Daniel Ricciardo 

Logan Sargeant 

Alex Albon 

Oscar Piastri 

Lance Stroll 

Fernando Alonso 

Yuki Tsunoda 

Nico Hulkenberg 

Pierre Gasly 

Esteban Ocon 

Valtteri Bottas 

Zhou Guanyu 

Kevin Magnussen 

To say this would be one of your worst races (and you'd DNF-ed before), would be an understatement. Your migraine had come back and your water was completely out by the last quarter of the race. You hadn’t been able to keep Charles off for long for Max to catch up, which made Charles take the lead in the second half. 

Max had also been confused as you had dropped behind him as well when you should have been your strongest. 

You loved racing, but today you hated it. Your brain felt as though it was pounding with a sledge hammer against your skull. 

“For the first time in almost two years, Charles Leclerc has grabbed a victory. Charles Leclerc is the winner of the 2024 Imola Grand Prix. Max Verstappen clinches second with his rookie teammate Y/n L/n right behind him to make it a 2-3 for Red Bull. They are followed by Lando Norris and Lewis Hamilton…” 

Race Results 

Charles Leclerc – 25 points 

Max Verstappen – 18 points 

Y/n L/n – 15 points 

Lando Norris – 12 points 

Lewis Hamilton – 11 points 

Oscar Piastri – 8 points 

Alex Albon – 6 points 

George Russell – 4 points 

Logan Sargeant – 2 points 

Carlos Sainz – 1 point 

Fernando Alonso 

Yuki Tsunoda 

Pierre Gasly 

Kevin Magnussen 

Nico Hulkenberg 

Zhou Guanyu 

Valtteri Bottas 

Esteban Ocon 

Lance Stroll 

Daniel Ricciardo 

Standings After Imola 

Max Verstappen – 168 points 

Charles Leclerc – 120 points 

Y/n L/n – 80 points 

Lando Norris – 73 points 

Lewis Hamilton – 60 points 

Oscar Piastri – 53 points 

George Russell – 35 points

Carlos Sainz – 34 points  

Alex Albon – 26 points 

Fernando Alonso – 23 points 

Daniel Ricciardo – 21 points 

Logan Sargeant – 19 points 

Lance Stroll

Pierre Galsy 

Yuki Tsunoda

Zhou Guanyu 

Kevin Magnussen 

Nico Hulkenberg 

Valtteri Bottas 

Esteban Ocon 

Constructors Standings 

Red Bull – 248 points 

Ferrari – 153 points 

McLaren – 126 points 

Mercedes – 95 points 

Williams – 45 points 

Aston Martin – 23 points 

Racing Bulls – 21 points 

Alpha Romeo 

Haas

Alpine 

When you pulled into Parc Ferme, you barely had the strength to get out of the car. You only found out that you needed to get out was when Max lightly tapped your helmet and held out a hand. You gratefully grabbed it and Max hauled you out. 

“Are you ok?” he asked, with concern storming in his blue eyes. A nod of your head pacified him for now. 

Your headache only got worse when you spotted your parents standing at the wall. You tried to send the team apologetic looks when you walked right past them, something you never did even if you didn’t even podium for a race. You always ran to their open arms. 

You’d send them lots of coffee and gifts for their families to make up for it. 

You kept your helmet on for as long as you could. It helped to damper all the loud noise of the paddock. 

Max and Charles both recognized that you wanted little to no noise if possible, so they kept quiet or spoke in soft whispers if they did speak. You immediately sat down in a corner, trying to cool off and will your migraine away. 

You only opened your eyes once again when you were called to the podium. You were thankful that you didn’t feel any panic as you walked out and stood on the lowest step. You watched as Max walked out and stood on the second place step before watching Charles almost skip to the top step. You giggled as you watched the Ferrari driver subtly stick his tongue out at Max. For a moment, you were scared at the repercussions but Max only smiled and rolled his eyes.  

You took off your cap for the Monegasque anthem along with the Italian one. When you were handed your trophy, you gently kissed it (even though it didn’t light up) and held it to the sky while also pointing. The two older drivers watched as you looked so happy. Deep down, they wanted you to be on the top step, but your time was coming. 

Max was then handed his trophy. His lips were a bit tight, but he’d get over it. 

Charles was quite the opposite. You guessed that he was finally happy that his dry spell was over. A sixth career win and first in almost two years. You clapped as the red-clad driver held his trophy proudly. 

Your head was still pounding, but the migraine was slowly going away. You didn’t have much strength to do your usual champagne cannon, but you still sprayed Charles as much as you could. When there wasn’t anything else to spray, you poured the rest on your teammate. 

You had a giant smile on your face as you looked down at the crowd. Yet, it slowly disappeared as your eyes found your parents, looking up at you with distain clearly written on their faces. You turned to Max, who was already looking down as well. 

He pointed down, though, right next to them where Christian and Geri were both standing, proud smiles on their faces as they looked up at you. 

Geri was trying to communicate for you and Max to stand closer and to smile for her camera. You quickly put your hand around his waist to bring him in closer. With trophies raised and bright smiles, she held a thumbs up when she took the picture. Christian just continued to look at the two of you as though you had just won him every single race possible. 

You were then assured off the podium and back to the garage. 

“I promise, I’ll find you after. You know how much I hate wearing my clothes after they get sticky,” you told Max as you walked toward your drivers room. 

You had barely just gotten you shirt on when your door opened and closed. 

Your rolled your eyes. “You couldn’t have just waited?” 

You turned, expecting either Max or your boyfriend. Yet, you were met with a slap across the face. Your cheek stung as you shakily raised a hand to touch it. A hiss left your lips when your fingers glazed your reddening cheek.

You barely had time to get try to get away, before another hand hit the side of your head, making your migraine slowly creep up again. 

This time, a sob slipped through your lips as you looked at your parents, who were fuming.

“What did I do?” you tried to get out, voice cracking. 

“After everything we did for you, you can only get a shitty third place?” your mother spit. 

“Seriously, how fucking pathetic do you have to be. Offering up the trophy to someone who is dead?” your father questioned. 

It was your turn to suddenly seethe. You pointed a finger at your dad. “He loved me. He taught me everything I know.” You knew you were pressing his buttons, and you were about to press the big red one that says Do Not Press. “He was the man that you’d never be.” 

Another hit to the face had your head swinging. You knew that there would be a big bruise in the morning. But you were proud for finally standing up to him. 

Your mother’s hand hit the other side of your face, sending you staggering back to your dad. You braced yourself for another hit, but it didn’t come. Your eyes opened and widened at the sight of your teammate with murder in his eyes. 

Christian was behind him, on the phone, with your manager to the right, boyfriend and his brother on the left.

“You touch her one more time and you’re fucking dead,” Max spoke, scarily calm. Your father jerked to hit him, and that was game over.  

Security came quickly after Max had some more colorful words and quite possibly a hit to his face so that your father’s matched yours. 

Arthur had come to wrap his arms around you, as a protective barrier. 

As you watched your mother and father be led out by cuffs, the news coming that they had been banned for life from any Formula 1 activity, and that Vito had now gotten you a restraining order (something he said that he should have done years ago just in case) – you knew that you had finally found the family that you had always wanted. 

The family that you had always needed.   

And you’d keep racing and winning, because 4 years ago, you made a promise. 

To keep going and to keep fighting. 

As you walked out of the garage, with a third place trophy and your helmet, you gently pressed your own kiss to the top of it. 

“You’d be proud of me,” you whispered, “and it’s all for you. Because you were everything that I needed.” 

y/n.89 has posted

y/n.89 Imola was an experience. Glad I could podium in my late godfather's country to make him proud. I wish he could have been standing there to watch me today, but I have three other men who are enough for me. To Christian, Max, and Vito - I love you three, thanks for always watching my back. Oh, and my boyfriend is pretty great too, he's just shy. Thank you for an amazing experience, I'll be back next year to win (Charlie move over)

tagged: christianhorner, maxverstappen1, and vito_official

liked by christianhorner, maxverstappen1, vito_official, and 94,294 others

y/n_nation I'm not sobbing, you're sobbing

kid_y/n geri and christian both smiling like proud parents killed me

maxverstappen1 why would you do this?

y/n.89 ?? charles_leclerc he's crying right now y/n.89 oh, sorry not sorry?? maxverstappen1 you will be

christianhorner I know I can't speak for him, but he'd be so proud of you kid

gerihalliwellhorner we love you sweetie! can't wait for the next family dinner! maxverstappen1 family dinner? sebastianvettel you didn't get the invite?? y/n.89 oh no christianhorner uhhhhhh charles_leclerc he's crying again

mad_max the way that in every picture, they're looking at y/n

y/n_updates aahhhh the boyfriend has been mentioned!!!

y/n.89 I can't believe we're going to the track that THEE lightning mcqueen drove on

arthur_leclerc you mean...the Monaco Grand Prix....where you live...my hometown...Charles's home race... liamlawson she said what she said - lightning mcqueen's race charles_leclerc I'm done y/n.89 LIGHTNING MCQUEEN RESPONDED TO ME???? LIAM LOOK AT THIS liamlawson I'M LOOKING charles_leclerc goodbye y/n.89 DON'T GO

f1 see you all in Monaco!

author can everyone forgive me now?

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[whaleofatjme1920]

Kinktober Day 9: False God [Jeff the Killer X F!Reader]

Warnings: Degradation, rough sex, loss of virginity and breeding MINORS DNI

AN: Virginity is just a concept reminder <3

Kinktober Masterlist

Reblogs are appreciated!

It's criminal that you sit on the lap of a god that you, and everyone has ever seen is coveting. Your hips are positioned in line with his, and your flesh is warm from his lustful touch. Your god wants you to please him, he asked you himself.

"Did you know that some kinds of gods feel an almost biological desire to sow their oats?" He asked you. His lidless eyes peer at you like a seer who knows and sees all. His grin, much too wide, leathery skin that's been kissed by the sun itself - possibly burned by it at one point - and dark hair frame him perfectly in the dim light. Your god is tall as he looms over you and demands your attention.

His skin is beautifully pale, like the skin of the moon. The only pops of color adorning his face is the slight redness that frames his eyes and his mouth like imperfect halos. He's beautiful in his own right, a pure figure that demands a certain lust for blood from all those who follow him and give their love to him.

You didn't even know that your god could touch your imperfect body as he hooks his long, spindly fingers under your chin and forces you to look up at him. He commands your attention with his gaze alone.

Timidly, you shake your head as he positions you further over him. The head of his cock presses against your fragile opening, like he wants to be the first and only man inside you. He chose you for this reason. Your god demanded to know some of the most beautiful virgins available to him, flowers waiting to be picked, and chose you out of the line up.

A coupling like this was seen as a blessing. To be touched by his holy seed was what you, and so many wished for within your pathetic lifetimes. To be touched and loved by him was to be lifted from your mortal shell to that of an angel on earth.

"Talk to me," he says curtly. "Use your words, or are you too fucking starstruck to even try?"

You internally wince. You did not mean to upset your god. You softly apologize to him and pause when you feel the tip of his cock start to press at the lips of your pussy. He's getting closer and closer to deflowering you.

"I was not aware of such an urge," you meekly reply. You keep your voice low and humble in his presence.

He nods and then grins at you, his gaze and his leer not too dissimilar to that of the men you'd call pigs. He grabs your hips roughly and then slams you down to his bed. He chuckles, fingers dug into your strong thighs and he wraps them up around his shoulders. Your calves just barely deign to touch his neck.

Your god's fingers touch your pussy and spread you open as he repositions himself. "You'll be a little cumslut before you know it," he murmurs, "nothing but a wanton whore that needs my cum and not much else to function." He says it like a joke and laughs accordingly, loving how heat spreads over your body. He can just barely hear your heart as it hammers in your chest.

"Y'nervous?"

You nod ever so slightly. "Yes."

He coos softly like he cares about you before his hips rut forwards. He groans lowly at how tight your cunt is, how you struggle to open up and take his large girth. Every inch splits you open deeper and deeper for him. "Fuck, you're tight," he sighs in contentment as he pulls his hips back again just for a second before slamming them back in again.

Tears well in your eyes and you dare grasp at him. Your eyes are wide and your mouth gapes. Your body trembles. You try to relax and show your god you're capable of handling him lest he changes his mind and decides to curse you and your loved ones for you failing to meet his standards, but you can't help it. He's deflowered you in such a crass way, tearing your petals open and shoving himself inside of you.

You suppose you shouldn't really expect much else. He's a god and you're just a human toy being used for his pleasure, but goodness you expected different.

"C'mon," he whispers in your ear as he feels your pussy start to wet around him the longer he stays hilted inside of you, "just relax and take it, slut," he giggles childishly. He pulls his hips back and starts to thrust a bit harder, his lidless eyes gazing at how your body bounces for him with every rough thrust. You have such beautiful skin, and your form is impeccable. Out of all the virgins lined up for him, you were the one that really caught his attention. He stares down at your body further and gleefully grins at how well you seem to take him.

He grunts as he folds you with his chest pressing against yours. You can just barely feel his heart speeding up too. Uncharacteristic of a god to feel tired, isn't it? You feel his sharp, unevenly cut nails dig into your skin and draw blood from how hard he holds you.

"Just a fuckin' fleshlight," he mumbles, "a fleshlight to breed. My breeding bitch," he rambles further. His thrusts get harder and harder. You feel every inch of his thick cock plunge inside of you, filling you to the brim. His veins are deliciously throbbing and rubbing you in all the right places. Your pussy makes those noises he loves so much, and his balls smack against your ass. He pants softly in your ear as he rambles on about breeding.

He draws blood blood when he grasps your waist and holds you down, loving the tensing of your muscles when he ruts into you, "your cunt is gonna take all of my cum," he says, "fill you to the fucking brim and then I'll keep fucking going," he pants. "Keep going and going until your filled, used up pussy can't take any goddamn more."

His brows furrow as he hears moans spill from your lips. You're feeding his ego the more you give into him. Your pussy squeezes his cock tightly and your nails rake long, crimson lines up and down his back. At this moment, you don't seem to care that he's your god, only that he's bringing you such unearthly pleasure. You lightly are able to buck your hips against his before he holds you down even harder, slamming his full weight into you. Every stroke is overwhelming. You can feel him all the way up in your body, certainly rearranging parts of you.

Your head falls back and you barely arch your back from the mating press he keeps you in. The tears that welled in your eyes are now streaming down your cheeks as you take him again and again. He's getting close though. You were never too well versed on matters of sex but you can tell he's getting close.

He bites into your neck. His shark-like teeth cause you to bleed and you gasp much to his enjoyment. "Gonna get you pregnant," he huffs, "all round with my fuckin' kid," he continues as he rams into you, "come on, take it, you fucking breeding bitch-" he breathes out before laying his full weight into you. He watches your eyes go wide in delight as his cock finally spills inside of you. Thick, heavy ropes of cum splash against your cervix and flood your womb.

You gasp loudly and claw wildly at his back. Your heart and your pussy flutter around him, sweat dripping all over your body as you feel him empty his balls inside of you. You pant while your thoughts drift off. You feel just a bit dizzy as he continues to grind himself against you, barely able to form a conscious thought as you realize you made your god orgasm.

His lips get close to your ear and you swear you feel the ghost of a kiss before he whispers to you.

"You're not gonna let anyone else inside of you like this, understand?" He asks curtly before you nod in response, too floaty to even begin to form proper words for him. "You're not gonna carry anyone else's children but mine."

A part of you feels joy that your god is this possessive over you. You hide it, lest you come off as haughty and full of yourself, and nod.

"Thank you," you whisper back to him while your legs tremble around him. You're able to peel off and feel your lower half unceremoniously tumble down to the bed. You feel like jelly, still shaky and trembling after he deflowered you like he did. "Thank you for the blessings you have given me."

Your god laughs. "You're welcome. Now, shut up and spread your legs again."

[iid-smile]

maybe us being extremely stressed with work / overload of responsibilities and husband!nanami seeing us break down and comforting us? 🤍 + love ur work sm i love ur writing 🌸

devotion , nanami kento

x gn!stressed!reader ! nanami is the biggest green flag, he calls you 'love' and 'darling', the reader calls him 'baby', very short kissy moment at the end (spoilers!!!!1!2)

author's note: writers block has been hitting me hard but i wanted this to be the best it could and ive been like "why is this taking so long to finish???" i scroll down the notes app from the top... this feels like SO much more than how much i would usually write 😭 never mind that, but thank you for your request and the compliment! i actually squealed of joy when i first read it!

i hope you like this and it fits well with what you envisioned 🫶

─────────────୨ৎ─────────────

another sleepless night. the piles of papers were all just too blank, too white, it made your brain dizzy. not the mention the screen of your laptop blaring into your eyes, even on the lowest brightness. everything was just too much. you had too much to do.

it all seemed to be stacking up, each one more complex than the next. the house would've been in complete disarray if you hadn't forced yourself to clean every morning, and the black trash bag by your feet was definitely more than full at this point, overflowing, filled to the brim with take out that you never finish. offering advice to others was a mistake, considering you couldn't listen to them yourself, and your phone was unread messages, and some whom are left on seen. who the hell lives a life like this? built on lies and hiding it from your husband... and did you even pay the bills? or was that on auto-pay?

you're constantly checking the clock, waiting for the time where six o'clock hits. your eyes are barely open, but they just manage to glance over at the ring on your finger. pretty. it only has to sit there, be a sign of devotion and loyalty, and do nothing else. would it be pathetic to say you envy it? perhaps.

oh, how desperately you want to close your eyes. to drift away, not have any weight on your shoulders. maybe on a beach...

"darling?"

you're close to gasping, but two large hands resting on your upper arms just about cuts it off. warm, and a familiar warmth too. "kento?" was the only thing you could squeeze out, your body making an effort to turn your head towards him.

"it's nearly midnight. why are you still awake?" nanami's voice is as soothing as always. you swear you nearly fell asleep right then and there.

"it's not—" you glance at the clock. five minutes to midnight. how did you miss six? "oh... why did you come home so late? i was waiting for you."

nanami doesn't say anything. your excuse was silly, really, your prominent eyebags and red eyes making a clear point.

he turns the chair around. "i don't like it when you lie, love."

"what? no, no. i just—" no matter how much you lie, nothing could hide what was welling up in your eyes. "i..." a shaky sigh leaves your lips, and you avoid his gaze.

"you can be honest with me. it's okay." one of his hands come to cup your jaw, his fingertips tickling your hair. in a soothing motion, his thumb rubs light circles on your cheek. you can't look away. "what's wrong?"

"nothing. nothing. please, it's nothing." it's growing difficult to speak. "there's nothing— nothing—"

"you're stressed."

"i'm not." the tears streaming down your face are saying otherwise. you couldn't hide, no, you didn't want to hide it anymore. "...kento..."

"i hear you." his hands drift down to yours, a firm grip around them, and he crouches further down than the level you're sitting at. through your tears, you can see nanami taking off his glasses, setting them down ok the ground. the love and concern his eyes when he looks up at you was almost too much to handle. "talk to me."

"i can cope with it, baby." you whisper, an involuntary sniffle being added on at the end. clearly, that was the wrong answer.

he sighs, and his fingers twist the ring on your left hand and he lifts it up a bit. "do you see this?"

you nod.

"this is physical proof that my mind, body and soul will always love you." he shifts a little, his gaze returning back to yours. "i remember what i said at the alter, and i always will. 'in sickness and in health', and i promised that. if i don't hold up what i promised, would i really be a good husband?"

for a while, it was silent. it was like he was waiting for an answer, but he knew he didn't need one. you felt different, like something inside of you was telling you to give in. telling you that you're safe, and in the comfort of your loved one's arms. you hadn't even realised that your arms were wrapped tight around nanami's neck, sobs you never thought would come out of your own mouth being more frequent than you'd like.

"i'm here, love." he pulls you closer by the waist, and his hold is tender. "can i carry you?"

you don't give him a verbal answer, just silently clinging onto him as he slowly lifts you off the chair. then, he makes his way towards the bed, sitting down on the edge with you curled up on his lap. "you can tell me about it when you calm down. or do you want to sleep first?"

"no... 'm just stressed, kento. i've been so worried about us, the future, other things... i just— i'm doing too much." "i need a breather or something. it's all too much."

"is there anything i can do to help?"

"i don't know. i really don't." naturally, your eyes start to close.

"get some rest."

the next time your eyes open, it's bright outside, and you're lightly tangled up in the blankets on the bed. one thing that didn't change however, is your husband's face in front of yours, his affectionate gaze remaining on you and you only. you miss this. you miss appreciating this.

nanami admires you, tugging down the comforter so your arms had a bit more freedom. "good morning, love."

"morning, baby." immediately, you eye the blond strands that somewhat disrupt his vision, there's a soft smile on your face, and your fingers run through his blond locks, feeling a bit of his undercut. "your hair isn't styled."

he hums quietly, his crossed arms on the mattress moving closer to your figure. "i'm not going into work today."

your eyes widen. "why not?"

"you're always my first priority. the last thing i'd want is you to be handling hard situations without me." his voice is just above a mutter. "i need to take care of the person i love."

"you don't have to." you whisper, pangs of conscience fizzing up in your mind.

to match your volume, he whispers back. "i want to."

so doting, it makes you feel guilty. would you feel more bad for taking his help or rejecting it? "when you're ready to wake up, i can get a bath ready and..." he takes a breath. "i'll cook you some breakfast. your favourite."

sitting up a little, you glance over at your desk. the papers were piled on the sides of the surface and significantly reduced in size, the trash bag was gone, and only a few of your favourite trinkets are presented in the middle. "my work—"

"we can talk about work after you feel better, okay?"

you turn your head towards him again and nod. slowly, you bring both of your hands up to his cheeks, focus shifting from his eyes to his lips. "can i have a kiss?"

"of course you can." and nanami smiles, his lips coming to close the distance and press against yours.

─────────────୨ৎ─────────────

[kenyummy]

DEVOID — YUKIMIYA KENYU

[NSFW] SYNOPSIS : you and yukimiya kenyu are fuck buddies. even the term friends stretches the relationship you two have... or so you think. it seems all this time spent together wasn't so devoid of feelings after all.

note: guys im going to be dead serious with you all right now this is 4k words of complete and utter FILTH this is like horrid. purely smut theres little to no plot... um... motivation to post this was from FINALLY getting the yuki bot to love me guys we all cheered in unison. YUKIBEL CANON!!!

wc ;; 4.2k

Yukimiya crashes his lips against yours with so much ferocity you wonder if this is truly the cool headed, kind pretty boy that everyone seems to fawn over. His glasses bump into your nose but you don't pay it any mind, and you can't help yourself. You kiss him back with just as much intensity, fire licking in your stonach and spreading down to the tips of your toes.

The way his tongue slips against yours—he almost feels experienced, with how easily he swallows the whines you let out and how simply he groans against your teeth. You don't like the thought of that, so you don't entertain it. All you want to think about is right here, in front if you—Kenyu Yukimiya, who's currently kissing you like it's his last time to do so.

The way he kisses—so firey hot and overwhelming, you knees buckle when his tough fingers find their home on your waist, blunt nails digging into your clothes and squeezing the fat around your hips.

His knee was placed right between your legs, from where you're pressed up against the cool, slightly dusty wall of the soccer storage room. He jerks his knee upwards with his tongue runs against the smoothness of your teeth, and your breath gets caught in your throat. Fuck.

He's criminally good, you deduced. His hands run along the side of your body—along your school shirt and skirt, hard and rough like he was waiting for his moment. The thought makes your heart race.

Your fingers thread through Yukimiya's brown locks and you tug, hard, when you need air. He groans hard, deep and sultry, against your lips, and pulls his tongue out of your god damn throat to pull your lips apart, ever so slightly. There's barely an inch of a gap between you two, but you still greedily gasp up all the air you can get, panting against his mouth like a damn mutt.

The sight of you-he thanks God that he brought his glasses with him, with such a wonderful sight—all red-faced and panting. Tell me, [name], who's the fool now? He smiles, wide, and he's sure you can feel the pull of his facial muscles with how close you're pressed together, as if leaving a gap between you both would kill you.

At this point, with his shorts straining against his hardening cock, he thinks it would kill him. You're burning hot, like a wildfire that he should not dare touch—but Yukimiya's always had a knack for going against the weak man's route out.

If he were a weaker man, perhaps with less self control, he'd have you crying on his dick already, babbling nonsense and clutching his shoulders like he was the only comfort you could find during these harsh woes. The thought does sound appealing to him—Yukimiya was never a liar—but he finds far more enjoyment in this process, rather than the result.

This process, the one that would lead to you begging for him—a warmth blooms in his chest—was one he was sure he'd enjoy, immensely.

"Yukki..." Your voice is light and airy, like you're already on the clouds—and you haven't even done anything yet. You're pathetic, desperate and needy, and Yukimiya loves every part of it. Feeling like, for once, he was in control-the brash, confident persona had disappeared, and all that was left in its place was a whiny girl who doesn't have the energy to get herself off. "Puh... Please..."

You don't even know what you're begging for—but with this unquenchable thirst bubbling in your throat, you know you want more.

"What?" He smiles-not his strained, clearly—pissed-off smile, but his model-worthy, drop dead gorgeous smile that is so rarely ever shown to you. From the way he's twinkling right now, teeth pearly white, it's so abundantly clear that he's enjoying this.

"T..." You swallow thickly, removing your nails from his scalp and grabbing onto his larger hands, pressing them right under your chest. "Touch me... please..."

Fuck. What a fucking asshole. He's getting hard from you asking this. You can see his soccer shorts straining upwards, and his cock is practically outlined in the material. Those shorts were always a bother to get off, anyway.

Yukimiya doesn't let your mind wander any farther, and slips his deft fingers underneath your white button-up. First, his lined fingertips trace your stomach, flitting over any odd lines and creases. The gentleness of his touch makes your heart leap in your chest.

He trails his fingers up until they come into contact with the lace of your bra. His brows furrowed slightly, a motion you find cute, and he wastes no time in slipping his arms around you and unclasping your bra, so swift and smooth you're sure he's done this before.

"You're a real pro at this," Your stomach twists in anticipation when he sends you a smile. He allows you to shimmy off your bra and quickly unbutton the first few of your shirt. Your cleavage is on full display for him, and his eyes practically sparkle behind his glasses' lens.

"Always so pretty," murmured Yukimiya under his breath, greedy fingers digging into your shirt and tugging your tits out the dip in the front, kneading and squeezing the fat once he got a good hold of them. "Pretty face n' tits," he shines you a pearly white grin once more.

You feel your face grow hot. The room must have gone from ice cold to at least thirty degrees hotter, with how your breath fogs slightly and a bead of sweat drips down the side of your face.

His pointer finger and thumb start to tweak at your nipples—shooting sparks of electricity down your veins, fingers trembling against his wrists. Your nails dig into his skin-perhaps marking him as yours, and Yukimiya can't complain with that.

You let out little gasps and whines that go straight to his dick-he can hardly feel how hard it is, though, when his entire, undivided attention is focused solely on you. How could he not? Your mouth is parted slightly in heavy breaths, and you have some sort of angelic glow to you that's impossible to ignore.

His lips meet yours once more, swallowing your breathy voice and entangling his tongue with you. Yukimiya can't get enough. He isn't sure he ever will.

After feeling your nipples grow hard and pebbly within his touch, he finally pulls away his assault and you can finally breathe again. At the same time, he also leans his head back from the breath-taking kiss, orange eyes flitted downwards at where your skirt creases just above your mid thigh.

Before he can do anything, however, you grasp at the ends of his shirt and tug slightly—the thought that that's all you can manage in this state somehow fuels his ego—with a pout on your reddened, thoroughly kissed lips, "Take... it off... please."

Yukimiya's no stranger to people liking how he looks-he is a model, after all—but the thought of you loving his looks so much your whiny voice is pleading for him to just take it off—it makes his cheeks grow pink. His heart churns in his chest when he shoves the end of his shirt over the head and slips it off with ease, revealing his slim, yet toned body to you and your eyes. It feels oddly romantic.

Yukimiya wastes not a single second, after slipping his glasses back on his nose, in dipping his head back down and kissing you once more, softer now. With feather-light kisses that make you feel like you're on a cloud, it almost does its job in distracting you from the hand that inches beneath your skirt.

It's embarrassing—practically humiliating to say—but you're seriously soaked. Yukimiya realises this when he rubs his pointer finger over your underwear and feels the wetness pooling—he smiles, wide.

All of this is because of him.

It somehow makes him a little more confident knowing you're just as aroused as he is right now. Sure—it was pretty obvious, but confirmation is always nice. He knows this better than anybody.

His fingertips grazes against the fabric covering your clit and the sound you let out is downright sinful—a broken, wanting moan that fills his eardrums-he thinks its about the prettiest sound he's ever heard.

"You're so insatiable," He grins, like a Cheshire cat, and lithe fingers slide your underwear to the side. Slowly, he traces the wetness that drips around your hole and clings to his fingers—dipping in the two middle fingers on his hand slowly, but surely.

Stretching you out was always an activity Yukimiya enjoyed. He dips his two fingers even furthur inside you, relishing in each hitch of your breath as he slowly pulls them out—then back in. It doesn't take too long before your whimpers pick up in both frequency and noise, when he starts scissoring your cunt open and touching every soft, squishy spot that makes your head spin.

You're so lost in the pleasure Yukimiya is gracefully offering you, that you don't even notice when he drops down to his knees—digging into the dusty floorboards of the soccer storage room—and tucks his head safe underneath your skirt, and pulls your panties down so they pool around your ankles.

He nearly drools when he sees the string of slick that connects his fingers to your pussy when he pulls them out. He can't see your face right now, from where his head is covered by the fabric of your school skirt—but he can practically envision the cute, confused expression you must have. He loves those expressions that you make—when you're at the peak of your pleasure and you're about to come, he doesn't think any sight in the world can compare to that.

That's why Yukimiya dips his head further and licks a flat, kitten-lick across the dip of your pussy. He hears you whimper—it makes him grin when he realises you can't even predict what he's going to do next because you can't even see him-he only feels you lightly grab the top of his head with your nails, still separated by the thick fabric of your skirt.

"Such a pretty pussy," He murmured, seeing your hole clench around nothing and making him smile. He absolutely loves it when only his words have such a big effect on you. "I could die down here."

Yukimiya nudges his head up, and presses a light kiss to your clit. He can feel the twitch of your legs when he does so. He does it again. Then again. Then once more. He's enjoying your small, minuscule reactions to his teasing. Until, you jerk his head forward with your hand—his nose is forced to nudge into your clit and his lips are practically buried in you already—and you groan, through heavy breaths.

"Yukki... stop bein' annoying! I'll punch you if you don't do it already, so stop—!!!"

Your words die in your throat when he immediantly starts eating you out like you're his last meal without any form of warning, tongue dipping against your hole and fingers moving upwards to help you get off. The cacophony of whimpers that leave your mouth fuel Yukimiya's want to just make you cum already, and the way you leave such a taste on his tongue is so addicting.

With his head buried underneath your skirt and the breathy moans that escape your bruised lips—it's abundantly easy to tell what's going on in here if anybody happened to walk into the very un-locked soccer storage room, but all it did was give you a sense of excitement.

You had to be quick, otherwise someone might walk in, and see you moaning like a cheap whore while Yukimiya, the popular, perfect pretty boy, has his head underneath your skirt and nose dug into your cunt.

Your stomach tightens like a coil, and your breathing suddenly intensifies. Your legs feel all jittery and your recognise this feeling just as much as Yukimiya does—you grasp onto the back of his head and dig yourself farther into his face, "I—I'm...!!! C... Close... !!!" You can hardly finish your sentence without a breathy yelp interrupting.

Thankfully—it seems Yukimiya knows your body just as well as you do—he speeds up his subtle ministrations and thrusts his fingers inside even deeper, thighs clenching around his head and you're rocking your cunt into his face and his glasses are all foggy so he can hardly see—he moans against your pussy from the overwhelming sensation, free hand gripping the fat of your ass.

You're unfathomably embarrassed that his deep moan was enough to set you off, coil snapping instantly and sending a flurry of pleasure coursing through every part of you. You're tearing up, lips trembling and you're babbling absolute nonsense, but Yukimiya slurps up every bit of the clear liquid that spills out of you. The lewd sounds make you slap your hands over your burning hot face.

You finally realise, after you ride out your high and slumped against the wall—you're not too sure Yukki has air down there, with how hard your thighs are clenching around him. You peer down when he slowly starts trying to stand up, skirt fluttering against the front of your thigh when he removes himself from the haven underneath your skirt.

You snicker weakly, hand slowly reaching up and covering your mouth, "You... okay?"

He looks like he just came himself. His face is burning hot and red, his perfectly styled brown locks have been tousled everywhere—stands falling all over his forehead and cheeks. His glasses are tilted to the side—sliding down his nose bridge and are completely foggy and hot. You wonder how they didn't fall off once you practically started riding his face.

"Great, actually." The charming laugh that escapes his lips doesn't match the wild expression on his face right now.

His pupils are dark and wide and blown with mind-numbing pleasure, sweat drips down his perfectly smooth face and his entire lower mouth to jaw is drenched in what seems to be a mix of your juices and his own drool. A thin line of it still trails out of his pink lips, and with how pathetic he looks right now, you can't help the smile that creeps up.

He looks so, so happy, you can't help but indulge him, just a little. When he sticks his drenched fingers into your mouth, you obediently suck them, tongue swirling around his fingertips and closing your lips around the base of his knuckle.

"You're gorgeous," he presses a light kiss to the top of your head, and removes his fingers from your lips with a pop. "My pretty, pretty girl..."

He's never felt so loving towards you before. It almost freaks you out. He wipes the wetness off of his face with the back of his hand.

You hate how much his nicknames have an effect on you. You can feel yourself clench around nothing—even though you just came-and Yukimiya easily notices the way you rub your thighs together underneath your skirt.

"Already?" He raises a brow, but looks evidently pleased. You don't wish to say a word, so you keep your embarrassment to yourself. "You're perfect."

He strokes the side of your face so lovingly—as if an apology of some sort for the harsh way he grabs your tits once more, kneading so hard it almost hurts in his palm.

"Mmm..." You hum—clearly in content, but wanting more—pushing back at his wrists. "We don't... have much time before they'll start looking..."

Right. For a good second, Yukimiya truly forgot where you two were. In the middle of the soccer club's storage room, after school hours and if you stay any longer you'll be practically asking for his teammates to find you two here.

Yukimiya sighs, like he's disappointed. "Alright. We'll go quick." He says the word with so much disdain. "But you'll have to keep it down."

A confident, knowing tone—god, does it piss you off, but you heed his warning with a roll of your eyes and begrudging nod.

Sucking in a deep breath, Yukki finally reaches down and slips a thumb underneath the waistband of his soccer shorts. He pulls the last piece of fabric he's wearing down, alongside his boxers, and just enough so that finally, there stands his painfully erect, pretty dick.

His cock is so pretty, just like he is. Pre practically drooling and flushed a cute pink at the tip—there's a freckle you love to kiss when you give him head and make him all starry-eyed. Despite how slim Yukki was, he did not lack one bit in this kind of thing.

You waste no time in reaching your hand down and cupping his cock in your palms-he hisses through his teeth and you smile at this. Finally, even if just for a moment, you feel as if you've gained the upper hand.

"Just..." He sucks in a deep, shaky breath. "Lemme..." He removes your hand-though, it seemed with much hesitation—and pushed you even harder against the pale blue wall.

He flips your skirt up and sneaks a hand underneath your thigh—lifting it up and you instinctively wrap it around his waist, like so many times you had before—he leans his hips forward, and his tip makes contact with your clit.

It makes you jump, and him smile. Yukimiya grabs his cock in his hand and guides it down the slit of your pussy—using your slick as makeshift lube and wetting his dick. With each stroke, his head caught on the hood of your clit and made you gasp.

Fuck. You're not too sure you can hold out for much longer without jumping him and sitting on his dick yourself.

Luckily—perhaps some higher being blessed you—Yukimiya finally deems you ready enough, and with one shaky sigh, he slips his tip into your flexing hole, making your stomach twist.

"Y... Yukki..." You pull him closer, so that your chest is pressed up right against his.

"[name]..." He mumbles, lips right next to your ear. His voice sounds like a soothing melody compared to the hotness between your legs that slowly made you unable to think. "Can I keep going... ??"

What a gentleman, anyone who didn't know him as well as you do would think. In reality, he just wants to hear you say it yourself, Yes, Yukki, I want you so bad, just put it in me already.

Well, unluckily for him, you're a strong, independent woman who won't bend to anyone's will except her own—

"Yes, God, I need you, Yukki..." Your voice comes out in a breathy whine while you stare up at him, eyes half lidded and hazy from lustful pleasure. Your words make him smile shiftily, pleased with your response.

As a reward for your obedience to his unspoken request, Yukimiya does exactly as asked and slips his cock in further and further until your hips are pressed right together, and he's bottomed out.

In this way, you and him have never felt closer. You've never felt such love bursting out of your chest when staring so deeply into his amber eyes. They sparkle, and it makes you wish to glimmer in his eyes, too.

Your heart nearly beats out of your chest when he gives a shallow thrust, testing the waters. "Mmm... Yukki..."

The way you say his name—lazy and drawn out, something so unlike you—drives him crazy. It gets him worked up enough that he gives a harder, more put-together push into your cunt.

It elicits another whine from you, so he keeps going. It doesn't take too long before he's set a steady pace and you're pushed back against the wall with each hard movement of his hips.

In and out of you—you think you may as well explode here and now. Your face is flushed so red and your lips are parted in a constant cacophony of moans, "Yukki...!" Is the only word he can coherently make out with your blubber of noises.

You're so quiet now—he thinks you should be like this all the time.

Well, not exactly quiet—but he likes these noises a lot more than the passive-aggressive insults, anyway. You sound so pretty—if he could, he'd record your singing for him and listen to it every chance he gets.

Yukimiya Kenyu is so undoubtedly, unfathomably infatuated with you that it scares him.

So, he chooses not to think about the underlying feelings that he may feel towards you—and instead, let himself get lost within this pleasurable feeling of you—and pretend for a second, you really are his.

He leans his forehead down and presses it against yours, eyes closed with grunts escaping his reddened lips. You're getting louder. The whines pooling out of your lips are like honey—but he can't possibly allow those that are unworthy to bear witness to them.

So, he does the only viable option, and presses his lips against yours—swallowing your moans and they reverberate down his throat. You're barely even kissing him—your lips are parted wide open even as his tongue slips between them. Drool pours down the side of your mouth and it's so messy and gross and Yukki can't get enough.

"Y—Yukki...!!!" He can barely hear you whine from the way his lips muffle yours. His lower stomach starts to tighten and he can feel your thighs tense up around his waist. You're close. He is, too.

It's as if instinct takes over and suddenly, he's groaning so heavily, pulling away from your lips and leaking down to connect his mouth in the crook of your neck.

He sucks bruises into your skin—purple blotches decorating the smooth expanse of your neck, but it only makes you louder. Yukimiya can't even find it within himself to care anymore. He wants to hear your voice blessing his ears—he couldn't care less if one of his teammates heard.

At least then, they'd back the fuck off.

"Yukki...! I'm so.... ugh...!! Yukki..." You repeat his name countless times, each time sounding sweeter as he approaches his soul ripping orgasm. His thrusts grow less precise and more sloppy—he's practically rutting into you while chasing his high.

You don't even get a chance to scream when his hand is abruptly shoved down your skirt and he starts rubbing at your clit. Your lips parted in shock and you're panting like a dog in heat—he rubs ferocious circles on your sensitive nub and it leads to the elastic band inside your stomach snapping upon contact.

Suddenly, the short-lived silence is shattered and you're mewling into his ears, tears streaking down your cheeks so pathetically that he removes himself from your bruised neck to kiss them away.

Salt stains his lips, and his brain when he realises what he's doing.

Fuck.

It hits him, hard. Both his orgasm, and the realisation that dawns upon him.

He's in love with you.

Yukimiya Kenyu is terrifyingly and irrevocably in love with you.

He thinks this as white spurts from the tip of his cock and shoots inside you—his thrusts grow rapid and eccentric as he desperately chases his high.

You feel so good—so warm, so snug, so you-that it makes his head spin with warmness and he can't help the words that utter out of his lips alongside heavy breathing and whorish whines that do not suit such a perfect boy like Yukimiya Kenyu, "I love you—IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouloveyou—"

He can hardly hear himself as he fucks his own cum back into you—dragging you both to the edges of overstimulation-but he can't stop. You sob even harder—you can't tell whether from his words, the confession that came with it, your painfully pulsing pussy or a combination of all three, "I love you! I fucking love you, Kenyu—I love you, I love you!"

The words spill out of your lips so naturally, like you had said it a hundred times before. This seems to calm his erratic mind, and he sucks in a deep and heavy breath of air.

Finally, after his cock softens inside you, he pulls out—a trail of his white cum drips out of your empty hole. It feels gross when you lift up your damp panties and slip them on. You shiver, but to say you hated the feeling of him being inside you would be a lie.

Yukimiya is silent as he bends down and picks up his discarded shirt, tucking himself back in and fixing up his shorts while you readjust your skirt.

After a little while of you twiddling your fingers like an idiot, you finally speak, "So... You wanna... talk about that? I mean... a whole lotta feelings were poured out there..."

The awkward tone you set instantly vanished when a boyish chuckle escapes his lips, and it makes you smile at him fondly. "Guess so."

His post-orgasmic glow made him look even more ethereal than ever before, and the thought that you would be the only one to ever see the perfect pretty model like this makes you feel all warm inside.

"Not very devoid of feelings anymore, is it?" Yukimiya manages to crack his first light-hearted joke towards you, and it positively melts your heart. "You... feel the same... right? You weren't just saying that... because you were feeling everything too much...?"

He sounds so scared. You wrap your arms around him, uncaring you're both sweaty and that the room smells of sex, it's a loving action that he immediantly reciprocates, "Duh. Why else would I say it, stupid? I didn't know... if you really meant it..."

I was scared you didn't.

"Of course I do," He presses a kiss behind your ear. It feels so intimate, even more than how he fucked you. Such a small action, yet it felt so meaningful. "I think... I always have."

You reach up, and clear the fog that's gathered on the lens of his glasses. He smiles at the gesture, and says, "Let's go. Our teammates are probably worried sick."

"Probably heard how good you were making me feel, actually," And there it is—the snarky, dirty comment he was anticipating yet not prepared for—and the evil smile on your thorougly-kissed lips confirms his thoughts. "I mean, gosh, I didn't even know I could be that loud. Just proves how good that dick is."

He stomach squeezes and his face grows red. "Fuck..." He groans, eyes half-lidded and clouded with a familiar emotion. "Why do you have to talk so filthily? Do you want me to take you again?"

The devilish—yet strangely innocent gleam in your squinted eyes say much more than words ever could. His cock twitches in his shorts—and all it takes is some languid rubbing and more vivid descriptions on how he made you feel, and Yukki is fully hard once more.

The sight makes you grin wickedly.

You reach your hand inside his shorts, deciding this time, you're going to take the initiative, while he can sit back and look all pretty.

Feelings can come later, all you can focus on right now is fanning the burning need within you—that can only be satiated by the whimpering man right here in front of you.

© ILIVERAEE 2024

[justauthoring]

and i wonder... who? [3]

somehow, you find yourself torn between the two hottest guys at your school and you have no idea who to choose. loosely based off of operation: true love where geto is eunhyeuk and gojo is dohwa :)

a/n: operation true love is back and im back with this series :)))))))) (also apologies if you asked to be tagged and you're not tagged in this post, im sure im missing a few... just message me or comment on this if you still want to be tagged!)

pairing: geto suguru x f!reader, gojo satoru x f!reader

tag list: @username23345 - @anxious-chick - @novacaneformybrain - @mandysfanfics - @rottmntrulesall - @voiceofnoreturn - @rh-tg1 - @ky0mybeloved - @black-swan-blog27 - @ladytamayolover - @the8ate - @maybe-a-bi-witch - @dudalo100 - @reese-is-right - @6lonely-town6 - @its-a-dam-blue-brick - @kimi01985 - @dorusken - @siimp4youu let me know if you'd like to be added! please make sure your settings allow you to be tagged! (also tags show up when i edit but don't when i post??? if anyone knows how to fix this let me know)

you can find the masterlist here!

You could not believe your eyes.

The second you’d read that text, you’d convinced yourself you’d imagined it; blinking rapidly, rubbing at your eyes, even pinching yourself because there was just no way he’d actually texted you. Even if it was from an unknown number, it was clear who it was – seconds after bumping into him, him rudely blaming you and then calling you by that god-awful nickname, you get a text right after?

With the same nickname?

Yeah, it was clear who it was.

The past two days alone have been more than confusing. If it wasn’t Sukuna cheating on you, it was Geto suddenly acting like he cared about you even though for as long as you’ve known him, he’s done nothing but ignore you. And if he wasn’t ignoring you, he was glaring at you; giving you those eyes that made it clear what he thought of you. You were oblivious and you weren’t as dumb as you came across, it had been abundantly clear to you that Geto didn’t like you and even more, he probably thought you were pathetic.

And now? Now you had Gojo Satoru texting you? And why? Because you’d accidentally bumped into him in the hall? When, really, if anyone bothered to ask you, you’d guarantee it had been him who’d walked right into you – couldn’t a guy see when a girl was upset and needed a moment to herself?

Clearly, Gojo couldn’t.

The worst part was that Sukuna cheating on you seemed like the least shocking thing and that in of itself just seemed so cruel. It wasn’t like you weren’t aware – Sukuna treated you horribly. Sure, you were positive that at one point he really truly had liked you and maybe there was a way to get him to again, but that didn’t erase the fact that for the past few months he’s been nothing short of terrible to you. 

Dismissive of you, blatantly ignoring you, you can’t count on one hand how many times he’s laughed with his friends at you when you’ve wanted nothing more than him to defend you or at the very least comfort you.

So, yeah… him cheating on you? Wasn’t all that surprising. And you’re still not really sure how to feel about that.

Your mind is a jumbled mess throughout the entirety of class that you barely pay attention. When the teacher calls for lunch, you’re blinking yourself out of your stupor, jumping in your seat as everyone around you excitedly packs up their things. You probably look like an idiot sitting there watching everyone, stunned, face red when you realize you did not listen to a single thing your teacher was saying, until a hand falls on your arm.

Your eyes meet Shoko’s concerned ones.

“Y/N?”

You feel a buzz from your phone in your back pocket and the stupor is quickly replaced by anger.

There’s no way I’m letting him get away with calling me ‘sweet cheeks’.

You push yourself to a sudden stand, startling Shoko who lets out a tiny shriek in response, head jerking back to avoid being smacked by yours. Then, you’re grabbing your backpack and promptly turning around, making your way towards the door with a determined expression.

All while Shoko gapes at you; “Y-Y/N?!”

You’ll apologize later but you don’t have time to answer her distressed call. The second you’re outside the class, you’re pulling your phone from your pocket, glowering as you read the text.

Ignoring me? :(((

“Jerk,” you mumble to yourself, fingers moving quickly to reply.

Where are you?

And the reply comes almost instantly.

Why? Already missing me?

Jesus. What an egotistical guy.

Shaking your head, you focus on replying.

Just tell me where you are.

Your finger taps impatiently on the side of the phone while you wait.

In the hall outside the cafeteria.

The second you read those words, you start walking. Students eye you weirdly as you walk by, sending you confused looks and mumbling to each other in wonder of what your problem is; you’re not even aware that you’re practically stomping through the halls, footsteps echoing with each step you take. It only takes you three minutes before you spot Gojo, easily identifying him by his bright white-hair that sticks out like a sore thumb against all the blacks and browns.

He’s already looking in your direction the second you turn down the hall, and your glare darkens on the smirk on his face.

The second you reach him, you go to tell him off, but he cuts in before you can;

“Not gonna lose your footing this time because of how dashing I am?”

And his words are so shocking to you that you completely lose your train of thought, blinking as your lips part in disbelief and you gape up at him with your mouth left wide open. Gojo lets out a loud laugh in response to that, head thrown back in amusement as you feel your face burn.

“Wh-What!” You practically cry, “you’re the one who bumped into me! And I didn’t fall because of how you looked! I fell because you slammed into me!”

Raising a brow, Gojo simply crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the wall, the smirk on his face never faltering.

You huff; “you’re infuriating.”

He snorts; “I've been told.”

Shaking your head, you focus on the reason why you wanted to see him in the first place. “How exactly did you even get my number, by the way?” You ask, holding your phone up for emphasis as you tilt your head at him accusingly. “And I want a real answer.”

Shuffling on his feet, Gojo shrugs; “just asked someone from my class. Some girl.”

Pausing, you sigh; “people need to learn not to just give my number out to anyone,” you mumble to yourself, annoyed. Gojo watches you with a raised brow and amused glance, enjoying the way your face twists expressively while you talk to yourself.

Then, your eyes focus back on his. You try not to lose your train of thought when you remember just how blue they are. 

“Whatever,” you brush off, lowering your hand. “Just don’t call me ‘sweet cheeks’ and don’t text me either.”

“But why else would I have got your number?” Gojo asks, the question is genuine.

You just stare up at him. “Fine. Don’t text me unless you need something,” you concede before lowering your gaze. Your voice lowers and Gojo smiles as you start mumbling to yourself once more, moving to pocket your phone away. “Although, I don’t know why you would need to text me in the first place since—”

You halt at the feeling of a hand around your wrist, stopping you from putting your phone away as you stare up at Gojo in disbelief, lips left parted. He doesn’t bother to explain, simply using his other hand to pull your phone from your grasp and turn it towards him. You watch him with a stunned expression, mind not working quick enough to even ask him what he’s doing because all you can focus on is the way his fingers had felt against the skin of your wrist. His grip was so gentle, even if it had been enough to halt your movements, and his fingers were smooth and long.

The touch had sent shivers down your spine.

“There,” Gojo calls, smiling brightly as he turns your phone screen towards you. It takes you a moment, blinking, before you realize what he’d done.

He’d added himself as a contact, naming himself; Satoru <3

First name too?!?!

“That way you always know it’s me.” 

You flush, body jerking as you snatch your phone from his grasp, shaking your head. “Wh-what! Don’t…! Don’t just add a heart next to your name like that!”

“Why not?” Gojo asks, face in a pout as he genuinely asks you like he doesn’t understand. Your frazzled movements halt when you realize, arms falling to your sides with a huff before his pout is fading and being replaced by another shit-eating grin. You watch as Gojo goes to grab his own phone from his coat pocket, opening it and tapping at a few things before turning it to show you again.

There you see the both of yours short message threads before your eyes wander higher and then you see that he’s added you as a contact on his phone as well.

And….

Sweet Cheeks <3

That was it. You were confident. You’re going to kill him.

You feel hot and you know you probably look like a mess, wide eyed and lips parted once more as you turn to look at Gojo. Of course, he’s smiling–because why wouldn’t he be–and looks completely unbothered by it all. In fact, you’d reckon he even looks proud of himself.

But yet, when your lips part to argue, you find no words to say. You know you’re embarrassed, a little peeved at the annoying pet name, but you think about the way his hand had felt on you and the way that despite how he was too cocky for his own good, you liked the thought of having him as contact in your phone.

Even if that was the name he’d given himself.

Even if that was the name he’d given you. 

And even if there was a heart next to both of your names.

Shoulders falling, you submit; “fine,” you huff. “But just don’t think this means—”

“Y/N.”

You halt, instantly recognizing that voice.

You miss the way Gojo’s eyes zone in on your reaction, shoulders tensing and the expression on your face turning just slightly afraid as you let the words you’d been about to say disappear. The air suddenly grows tense, or maybe you’re imagining it–you’re not sure–but you feel your body stiffly moving to turn, meeting Sukuna’s eyes from across the hall.

His brows furrow when he meets your gaze, eyes hardening at the sight of Gojo behind you.

“What’re you doing talking to Gojo?”

You freeze, and you realize somewhere distant you should say something, but you don’t know what.

Then, an arm falls around your shoulder and a weight is pressed against your back.

“We were exchanging numbers,” Gojo calls out with a singing voice, lips stretched into that familiar wide grin. Though, and you think you might be imagining it, you swear it seems a bit more tight and forced than it had before. “Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

You don’t miss the way he calls you by your first name.

Sukuna doesn’t either.

“Uh… y-yeah,” you force out, letting out an airy laugh that sounds more like a cough than anything. 

Sukuna’s face hardens, but the anger in his eyes is passing. With a simple shake of his head, he brushes off your words, before focusing back on meeting your gaze; “come on, Y/N. Let’s have lunch together.”

Oh.

Oh.

That’s right.

Maybe he will again. 

You’d been trying to win back Sukuna. Sukuna, your boyfriend. The boyfriend that had cheated on you with a girl who has had it out for you since middle school… Sukuna, whose hands have never felt as warm as the way Gojo’s had against yours just a few minutes ago; nor as soft, nor have they ever made you feel the way Gojo’s had.

“You should break up with him.”

Eyes squeezing shut, you force yourself to block out Geto’s words.

No, this was just silly. You’d already decided – you were going to win back Sukuna and that was that. Geto’s words didn’t matter and neither did Gojo’s hands; it was all just silly distractions you’d let yourself sink into because of your hurt.

You wanted to be with Sukuna and you wanted to win his feelings back.

And here he was inviting you for lunch. You’d be stupid to pass up the opportunity.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you nod, gently shrugging Gojo’s arm off of your shoulder and taking a step forward. “Okay,” you call out sweetly, smiling at Sukuna, it strengthens the second you see Sukuna instantly ease at your agreement. 

You offer Gojo a smile over your shoulder as you make your way to Sukuna, ignoring the frown on his face as you wave.

Then, you beam up at Sukuna.

He glances at Gojo behind you for a moment longer, before meeting your eyes. You try to make sure you don’t smile too wide or obnoxiously, trying to make sure you look pretty, head tilted as you bat your lashes at him and reach for his hand.

Reluctantly, Sukuna slips his hand into your own, not bothering to return your smile as he leads you into the cafeteria.

-

You watch Sukuna and Mei Mei with a barely concealed frown. 

When Sukuna had first invited you out, you’d thought he meant a date. You’d practically squealed of excitement in your bedroom, kicking your feet before hurriedly getting ready. You’d done your hair, made sure your makeup looked flawless, and dressed exactly how you knew Sukuna liked you to dress. The two of you hadn’t been on a date just the two of you in a long time, and the last time you’d tried… well. It hadn’t ended the way you thought you would.

Operation get Sukuna to fall for Y/N again seemed like it was going well if Sukuna was inviting you out for a date and you knew tonight was the perfect opportunity to up your charm and flirting to remind Sukuna why he’d asked you out in the first place.

Then, you’d shown up at the arcade only to see Sukuna already there with Mei Mei, Mahito and a few of his other friends.

And quickly, you realized your plan was already starting to be a complete and utter failure.

With nothing more than a simple ‘hey’, Sukuna had barely acknowledged your presence nor had he tried to hang with you at all since you’d arrived. You’d been here for an hour and the most attention you got from anyone was Mahito when he’d asked you if you’d watch his stuff for him; you believe his exact words had been ‘if you’re going to sit there like a loser all night, can you at least be helpful and watch my stuff?’.

So that’s what you’d done.

Honestly, you were impressed you were as collected as you were. You knew you should’ve just left, but the small hope that maybe Sukuna would notice you kept you there even as it got harder and harder not to cry. You didn’t want to seem like more of a loser though, so you forced the tears back; trying to ignore the racing thoughts that ran through your mind as you sat there, all dolled up for a guy who didn’t care about you at all.

You were starting to think you’d been wrong all along and maybe he never had.

Were you that undesirable? You’d thought you were a good girlfriend… you’d tried not to be too clingy, even if Sukuna said otherwise and you’d always tried to help him and support him in anything he needed. You tried to wear the things he liked and get into the stuff he was interested in. You went to every one of his games and cheered him on every time. And yet, he’d only ever seemed annoyed at everything you did.

Maybe you were that undesirable.

Maybe you’d never realized just how annoying and insufferable you really were.

Biting your lip, you decide that that’s all you can take for one night and if you don’t leave now, you’re going to cry in the middle of this arcade and that’ll only fuel your embarrassment more.

With one more longing look Sukuna’s way, to which you’re ignored again, you move to stand, grabbing your purse and pulling it over your shoulder as you move to walk away.

Except, the second you turn, you bump aggressively into someone and something cold pours over you.

Your lips part, eyes widening as you realize that it’s some sort of soda, most likely coke, that is now seeping into your blouse and sticking to your skin. Gasping, you glance up to see who you bumped into since it’s clearly becoming a habit of yours, only for your embarrassment to deepen the second you meet a familiar pair of dark eyes.

Geto Suguru stands in front of you, looking just as shocked as you. In his hands is an empty cup, the lid now on the ground by your feet.

You stare at him for a moment before you hear laughter.

It’s loud and piercing. Body stilling and muscles tensing, you glance over your shoulder only to see Sukuna, Mahito, Mei Mei and the rest of his friends all laughing at you. Mahito’s got a hand pressed to his stomach as he doubles over in laughter, the look in Mei Mei’s eyes is nothing short of cruel and when you finally turn to Sukuna, you feel like your heart breaks a little.

Even though you’re not surprised.

Of course he’d laugh at you.

You can’t stand to see the look on Geto’s face, already knowing what he must be thinking, as you quickly shove your way past him. Your feet work quickly to make your way out of the arcade, not hearing the sound of your name being called as you feel your eyes finally well up with the tears you’ve desperately tried to hold back all day. 

The second you’re out of the arcade, it all becomes too much. 

You don’t care at that moment that you’re no more covered than you would’ve been inside the arcade; it’s better than crying in front of Sukuna and… and Geto. 

Pressing your hands to your face, the reality of everything catches up to you and a sob pulls past your lips as your shoulders shake. You’re cold, sticky, you’re pretty sure your blouse is now see through thanks to the soda that had spilled all over you and you’re standing outside an arcade crying because of your boyfriend who cheated on you.

Everything was just so cruel.

You stand there for a moment more, lost in your own world you don’t hear the ding of the arcade doors open behind you or the footsteps that follow. It isn’t until something warm falls around your shoulders do you finally look up, turning your head to the right and blinking at the sight of Geto’s concerned eyes staring back at you. 

“Are you okay?” He asks gently, voice soft in the mix of silence and your sniffles. “I didn’t mean to spill my drink all over you like that.”

Swallowing thickly, you brush the tears on your cheeks, confused; “wh-what?”

“You ran out so quick,” he continues on, moving in front of you to grab the hoodie he’d draped around you and pull it tighter around you in the front. You watch as his hands reach for your own, taking your arms and tugging them through the sleeves of the hoodie before zipping it up until it hits the bottom of your chin. “I’m sorry I ruined your shirt.”

You’re stunned. Confused. You hadn’t expected him to run out after you nor did you expect sympathy. Sure, you didn’t know Geto that well, but you didn’t expect him to apologize for spilling his soda on you, especially when you bumped into him, nor did you expect him to give you his hoodie to cover and warm yourself up.

You stare back at him blankly.

Geto frowns at the tears in your eyes. “Ignore them. They’re idiots.”

He’s gesturing behind you at the arcade — to Sukuna and the rest of them.

You don’t glance back. You don’t want to see them still laughing.

“Why… why are you here?” You ask, voice small.

“I was babysitting,” he explains, “but their parents picked them up just before I bumped into you. I was… actually going to talk to you when you stood up suddenly.”

Oh. So that’s why he’d been right behind you.

“I’m sorry I bumped into you,” you mumble, selfishly enjoying the warmth his hoodie gives as you hug yourself. “And split your drink.”

Geto shakes his head. “You’re the one that got covered in it.”

And oddly, the comment makes you smile. You’re not sure why–maybe you’re losing your mind–but the way he says it so nonchalantly pulls a smile to your lips and a snot-filled giggle that is anything but attractive and you’re too upset to even care. 

Geto just laughs at himself; “you think it’s funny my drink spilled all over you?”

Meeting his eyes, you shrug; “I dunno.” Then, faltering, you glance at your feet. “I didn’t before. But maybe a little now.”

“Well… good,” Geto shrugs. “It was a little funny if I’m being honest.”

And the smile on his face tells you he’s just joking.

“Shut up,” you laugh.

An air of silence falls over the two of you then, and you shuffle on your feet.

“I’m gonna go home now,” you point to your left, the direction you’ll be walking. “I’ll wash and return your hoodie on Monday. Th… Thank you for giving it to me.” And you smile warmly, wanting him to know just how much you appreciate the favour.

Geto’s smile fades as he blinks down at you.

You offer a small wave and move to walk, but then a hand catches your arm.

Surprised, you glance back at Geto.

“I’ll walk you,” he offers.

Your eyes widen. “Oh! You… you don’t have to—”

“It’s okay,” he assures, somewhat urgently. “I don’t mind.”

“Okay…” you say slowly, not seeing the point in arguing. Besides, not walking home alone in the dark seemed like the better option anyway and if he was offering… still, why was he offering? “But… why?”

“Because,” he shrugs once more. And he hesitates and your heart twists because you don’t know if you can handle the answer if it’s because he feels pity for you.

And then he just smiles and it’s soft and gentle and it takes your breath away as you stare up at him.

“It’s late.”

[inumkii]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ idiots to lovers - yuta okkotsu x reader

bullet point scenario

genre: fluff!! idiots to lovers (obviousllyyy)

wc: 1.3k

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ a/n: i figured it was better if i posted this instead of letting it sit in the dungeon (my collection of drafts that’ll never see the light of day)

okiee yuta timeee

i love annoying misconceptions and (falsely) heartbroken pining

the way i see it is that yuta strongly admires maki’s strength and resolve that, to you (who’s hopelessly pining after him), it can get mistaken as romantic ..

and it doesn't help that panda likes to be annoying about the two of them together ,,, it just all deflates your mood a little bit whenever you see them together 

and you know you have no right to be sulking about this,, maki and yuta are your friends.. it shouldn't matter if they did like each other,, it's not something you could control

but you just desperately wish that yuta could look at you with the same level of admiration that he has when he talks to maki about sparring or whatever it may be

hell, he could barely look you in the eyes

it makes you a little sad seeing everyone’s friendship with yuta develope rapidly throughout his time at jujutsu tech,, but when it comes to conversing with you, things still feel a little different 

its not like you two are merely acquaintances! you wouldn't hesitate to call okkutsu yuta a friend of yours,, but it's a simple relationship. not much complexity beyond your conversations during missions or gojo’s lessons

unfortunately for the both of you, you’re unaware of yuta’s affection for you

the reason why he doesn’t look at you with the admiration you wish for is because he can’t even look you in the eyes without getting too flustered ….

poor boy

he’s definitely gained a lot more confidence after joining jujutsu high, but it's still not enough to muster up enough courage to ask you to lunch or even have an in depth conversation without him getting too red in the face

he doesn’t know why you have this affect on him,, his previous relationship had been so easy- then again the carelessness of childhood was not a luxury he has anymore. though it was simpler, he knew he didn't have the mental capacity at such a young age to be overthinking shit like he does now

to add on, your friendship with toge has him struck with the familiar worries that you experience with maki

catching a glimpse of the spectators during his spar from the field, he can’t help but feel a little disappointed when he sees you seated a little too close to inumaki up on the bleachers. 

“how long have yn and toge been friends?” he questions maki in the midst of their spar as he blocks her oncoming attack

“oh those two? just as long as we all joined jujustu high” maki switches to the defensive as yuta charges forward. yuta moves to strike her but maki smirks, “though i think they oughta start dating sooner later”

her words cause yuta to freeze for a split second and she shoves him to the ground, effectively placing herself on top of him. she holds her staff to his neck, signaling her win. one point for maki

she laughs in victory before lowering her voice back to her previous volume.

“i was kidding, by the way. there’s definitely no feelings between them” she helps the defeated (and visibly embarrassed) boy off his feet, “clearly there are for the two of you, however”

she struts back toward you, panda, and toge to retrieve her water, leaving yuta a flustered mess on the ground

and in that whole instance, you hadn’t heard any of that conversation 

you had been leaned up against toge murmuring your complaints so panda, mediating the fight ahead, couldn't hear you

“they look good together” you say in self sabotaging pity

toge only shakes his head and disagrees

“okaka”

you’re sure he’s just doing this to make you feel better about yourself

“shes so pretty,, how couldnt he like her” you wail pathetically. toge is so fed up with this but its not he can just tell the other side how you felt (he would never rat you out like that though),, but hes certain yuta likes you back and that you're over analyzing him too much

he places a hand on your shoulder and waits for you to look up at him

the expression on his face tells you clearly, ‘you need to stop’

you sigh. toges right, he always is- but it still doesn’t do anything to quell your fears

and low and behold! your thoughts are interrupted by maki’s victory laugh. she was on top of him, rendering him unable to move

god you wished that was you………

you bury your head in your hands in utter frustration and groan. this is the worst feeling- you know you’re being stupid but jealousy is a disease and you’re dying over here!!

yuta swaps out with panda, who was waiting eagerly to fight the victor 

he joins you guys up on the bleachers, seating himself beside toge. he quickly notices your distressed figure

“is,, everything alrigjt?” he asks tentatively 

to his dismay, toge answers for you with a hum. this causes yuta to be a little peeved when it's him answering in your place- he tries to ignore it

you and inumaki seem way closer than you would ever be with him,,

but to yuta’s delight and your demise, toge stands up from between you (he doesn’t think he can stand to be sandwiched between the pining idiots anymore)

your blonde friend lets out a noise, motions to the line of water bottles at the bottom of the bleachers, and promptly leaves

yuta takes this opportunity to scoot himself closer to you, who’s still slumped over + wallowing away

“what were you two talking about?” he asks, trying to gauge why you’re sulking

you have to choose your words carefully. you couldn't just tell him you’re upset over something trivial like his spar with maki

“i’ve just been frustrated” you mumble vaguely

“frustrated?” he inches closer to you, trying to mimic toge’s proximity from before. he questions you with the utmost sincerity

“yeah. sorry i dont really know how to elaborate” you lift your head, deciding to stop staring holes into your shoes. you’re trying so hard to make this conversation not awkward- but your short answers don’t help your case at all.

“its alright, you dont have to talk about it if you dont want to” 

if there's one thing you love about okkotsu yuta, it was how sweet he is

for the first time in the last hour or however long you had all been out on the field, you let out a genuine smile

“thank you yuta, i appreciate you” 

his ears turn pink within a split second but nevertheless, he reciprocates your smile

the problem with conversing with you is that most of your conversations were too short

he could get so lost in your smile at times he finds himself silent, forgetting to carry on whatever you were talking to him about

this time he manages to snap himself out of it

“did you wanna hang out after practice? i mean- if you’d rather be alone right now that's fine to!” he knows he left the option to decline open but he hopes you didn't take him up on the latter,,

“that sounds nice.” you’re biting back a stupidly large grin 

neither of you notice that maki and pandas fight had already concluded or that inumaki had been gone a suspiciously large amount of time to just grab a drink of water 

makis smiling at the two of you up in your own world while toge almost sighs in exhaustion, 

“sujiko” 

(finally)

being around the two of you was quite a taxing event for them both

panda, on the other hand, is finally catching on- eyes shifting back and forth between you and yuta and his friends at the bottom of the bleachers in disbelief

it was an unspoken understanding between toge and maki that they should avoid panda becoming aware of the sprouting couple to avoid some- awkward comments, though he meant well

well, there’s no hiding it anymore with the two of you hopelessly blushing at each other + toge and maki’s shared smirks

before panda could say anything to disrupt the moment, his two friends were already dragging him off the field to avoid him opening his big mouth

“they wont notice we’ve left” maki says with a chuckle

“salmon”

[asvtrials]

Let me show you how sorry I am

Bjorn x Fem!Reader

minors dni!

summary: Bjorn made you cry and he's very sorry about it. So sorry that he buries his head between your legs... warnings: smut, oral (fem! receiving), toxic relationship, plot? what plot?, ooc maybe?, not proof-read a/n: Guess who's back?! I wrote this in like two hours so if it's shit yk why. Bjorn eating his gf out after he fucked up is very real to me this man will avoid the consequences of being a dick like it's the plague. ANYWAYS, something small for you! w/c: 819

Bjorn is always saying shit he doesn’t mean. It’s just how he is.

In the heat of the moment, he will say the most outrageous shit and cause you to storm out in tears.

At first, he thinks you’re being dramatic until he calms down and realizes what a dickhead he was. And that’s when the guilt comes and he’s calling you, texting you, begging you to hear him out.

When you ignore him, he goes to your trailer. When you open the door and send him a venomous look, he looks all desperate, like a kicked puppy.

He cups your face, keeps saying how sorry he is and how much of an asshole he is all the time and you let him, because you know what comes next.

You’re weak, so weak you hated it. Especially when he starts kissing your cheeks, testing the waters, seeing if you’ll push him away. You never do, always melting in his arms as he slowly kisses your jaw and neck.

His lips move with yours in a slow, deep rhythm, leading you to your bedroom.

You fall on the bed with a soft groan, pulling him on top of you.

You don’t stop him when he takes off your pants. Why would you? 

Oh right, you’re mad at him…

Then he starts whispering “You know I don’t mean all’at shit, right?” and “I love you, I dunno what I was sayin’, baby.” between kisses. 

You barely hear him, too drunk on the taste of his tongue yet you nodded, no longer caring about the fight. Hell, you barely remember it.

And he knows it.

A small smirk tugs at his lips when you chase his lips after he pulls away.

“My perfect girl deserves better.” He purrs against your neck whilst leaving a trail of red marks from your neck to your collarbone.

You reach for his soft hair when he reaches your panties, lips inches away from where you desperately need him.

His finger lightly grazes the wet spot on the fabric as he looks up at you through his lashes and asks you “Lemme show ya how sorry I am, yeah?”

It’s embarrassing how fast you nod.

He drags the underwear down your legs, torturously slow to the point where you whine for him to hurry up.

Bjorn is rarely patient. He usually fucks you fast and hard, like a starved man. But not tonight.

Tonight he wanted to show you how sorry he is. And why you always end up forgiving him.

Watching him position himself between your spread legs is enough to knock the air out of your lungs.

You watched the spit abandon his lips and fall on your core, mixing with your juices. 

His eyes meet yours once again as he flattens his tongue against your pussy, sending shivers down your spine.

His name falls from your lips in desperate, pathetic moans as he dives between your legs.

He sucked and slurped on your essence, spreading your folds with his fingers. He didn’t stop even when your thighs were squeezing his head, not even when he felt like his lungs were going to explode from the lack of oxygen.

How could he? When his girl was begging him to ‘not stop’ when she was so sweet to let him show her how remorseful he was.

Almost as sweet as her juices that drive him crazy with every lick. 

“Ah! Fuck!” You moan, thighs trembling with the sensation of your nearing release.

He threw your legs over his shoulders and lifted your hips to bring you closer, needing to be as close as possible, to lick every last drop you had to offer him.

His tongue feverishly lapped your soaked cunt, your loud moans only fueling him to go faster, to ruin you completely so that the only thing you can remember is the feeling of your tongue between your folds.

The last straw was Bjorn’s moan against your clit. You come with a scream, not caring about your neighbors.

You squeezed his head with your quivering thighs, the earthshattering orgasm you just experienced left you a shaking, breathless mess.

And you swear you almost came again when Bjorn finally pulled his head back, admiring his work before meeting your hazy gaze. His slick-coated lips moved but you didn’t hear him.

You nod regardless.

“You really forgive me, baby?” He asks again, his smile turning into a smirk when you weakly reply ‘yeah’.

You were sure you’d feel at least a little pathetic with how easy it was for him but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Especially with the way he looked right now. Chin glistening with your taste, a small victorious grin tugging at his bruised lips as he looked at you.

You knew this wouldn’t be your last orgasm, it never was. After all, Bjorn was very sorry and you were very weak.

[nilolemillion]

Okay, so here’s this Batfamily headcanon I’ve been thinking about.

Jason Todd takes Fridays as his ‘day off’ to ‘rest,’ (because of course, none of the Batfamily actually rests). Tim Drake, on the other hand, claims Wednesdays as his day off, mainly to balance out his detective work with tactical planning. But here’s the twist: no matter what their schedule looks like, every Thursday, without fail, they all come together for brunch.

And when I say brunch, I don’t mean a peaceful, chill, serene break. No, it’s basically their weekly therapy session, except it’s filled with prime shit-talking. They spend the time roasting each other, complaining about Bruce, dragging the villain of the week, or venting about how their respective teams are ‘a bunch of dumbasses’ (even though they’d probably die for them).

Now picture this:

Bruce needs Tim to sign some important Wayne Enterprises paperwork- Tim’s the one leading the project. So Bruce heads over to his office, expecting to just drop the papers off and get it done. But when he arrives, Tim’s secretary politely informs him, “It’s Thursday, sir.” And Bruce just has to smile, play it cool, and respond with, “Oh, right! Silly me. Almost forgot. Thanks, Margaret!” as he walks away.

But inside? Bruce is dying. The best detective in the world, and he has no idea what ‘It’s Thursday’ even means?! He’s fucking pissed. How did he miss something so obvious? But of course, he doesn’t ask- he would rather dive off a rooftop than admit he doesn’t know something. Obviously.

Meanwhile, over in Roy Harper’s world, Roy is losing his mind trying to find Jason. He’s checked everywhere. Everywhere. He knows Jason can be sneaky when he wants to be, but this is different. Usually, Jason’s more chill when it comes to Roy. At some point, Roy’s genuinely wondering if Jason’s turned this into a really unannounced, fucking terrible game of hide-and-seek.

How on earth do you lose a guy who’s 6’0”, loaded with guns, and wearing that ridiculously bold red helmet? Seriously, how?! Roy eventually gives up and leaves a voicemail: “Okay man, I’m out. I’m done playing, I’m not giving you the victory tho.”

And yet, right at that very moment, there’s Jason. Sitting across from Tim in a small coffee shop in New York. They’re completely at ease, sipping espresso and eating waffles, chocolate cupcakes, and all the sweet stuff Jason can barely handle because he’s clogged up from all the sugar.

Jason, mid-rant, says, “I swear to God, Dickhead needs to learn how to set some boundaries. The way he lets everyone be so co-dependent on him is both impressive and pathetic.”

Without missing a beat, Tim, sipping his coffee like he didn’t just call Dick a dozen times three days ago because he’d had six espressos and was spiraling from anxiety, responds with the most sarcastic tone: “Tell me about it. I was thinking of giving him a ‘How to Set Limits’ book for his birthday.”

And don’t even start with “ugh that so not canon” stfu bitch. Here you go. The comic is Red Hood and the Outlaws (2011), which is probably in my top ten from all time, even tho I love the 2016 one. This is the issue #8, 10/10 totally recommended.

[sixosix]

( a/n ) light angst, hurt/comfort, PROFANITY WARNING, guys im so sorry this is so short but its all im capable of rn

special mention TYSM @earthtooz for proofreading i owe u my soul

he’s always been a little sensitive to people caring for him. he’s used to taking care of others, to have his parents let him get away with everything, and he’s spent his life isolating himself from people who would see him past what he is but for who he is.

reo rolls his shoulder to shove your hand off of him, frowning at the wall. “you know me well enough already, don’t you? you know that i hate it when you get like this.”

“this isn’t good for you, reo. you’re destroying yourself,” you snarl, jabbing at his back. “i’m sick of seeing you like this. i’m not a babysitter, nor your therapist.”

“i’m not asking you to worry about me, am i?” he snaps, finally turning to meet your eyes.

anger boils in your chest, but you let it simmer with a few deep breaths. reo isn’t thinking properly right now, raving on and on about not working hard enough, and how he isn’t catching up. “there isn’t a professional boundary between us, i care for you because i love you. right now, when you say shit like that? i can barely give a fuck about you anymore.”

reo’s sharp scowl falters around the edges, giving way to confusion. “where are you going?” he demands when you make your way to the door.

“away,” you say, slipping your shoes on and refusing to look at him. “you said you need space, right? then i’ll give it to you. we’re over.”

“fine.” his tone is biting, but his voice sounds strange. “fine…”

he’s still lethargic, you tell yourself; he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, and he’ll regret it later. but he doesn’t stop you.

maybe if you were to glance back at him one last time, you’d see the broken expression on his face hitting him right after.

from the start, reo’s always been expecting you would leave him. everyone does that to him, anyway. even nagi, who he still considers his best friend. it was a little too good to be true with you, so he tells himself that this was bound to happen. that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt when it finally happens.

reo groans, shoving his face into his pillow. his friends snicker at his misery, so reo does what he needs to and flips them off with two hands. but as a groveling man with his face hidden by his sheets, it does not paint the intimidating picture he wanted.

“it hasn’t even been that long,” nagi remarks. he doesn’t spare reo a glance so unfortunately, he doesn’t get see reo flashing him with his middle finger.

“mmrgh,” reo says, still pressed against his bed.

isagi pats him on the shoulder, which doesn’t help anyone, but it’s the thought that counts.

“record him, record him, do it,” bachira says, clapping nagi on the back repeatedly, his strength enough to jostle him back and forth. obediently, nagi follows, pointing his phone camera right at a moping reo.

“day two without y/n,” nagi says to his future audience. “barely holding on.”

“i feel awful,” reo groans. “y/n blocked me.”

“do you regret what you said?” isagi asks.

“‘course i do,” reo hisses, offended that he would even ask that. “i was an asshole. y/n was right—y/n’s always right. i’m stupid.”

bachira snorts, “keep fighting, reo!” and barely manages to dodge the pillow thrown his way.

the camera pans back to reo, who’s looking red in the face, awfully pathetic. “fuck off. don’t post that. y/n’s gonna see it and make fun of me when we’re back again.”

nagi posts it anyway.

chigiri hums thoughtfully, waving a hand in front of your face. “you don’t look like you moved on to me.”

you splutter, shoving his phone back onto him. you feel your heart pound in your ears and with the way chigiri smiles knowingly, you almost wonder if he can hear it, too. “shut up! why did he say that? i hate him.”

“sure you do. say what?”

“‘when we’re back together again’ like he’s so sure about it,” you try to say it like you’re angry, but your expression resembles reo from that video. it doesn’t come out as you want it.

reo looks much better now. nagi says that reo religiously followed your advice right after and has been faring better, which is a real shame since you can’t even see it for yourself. he looks less pale and much brighter, but instead of the anger you last saw him with, he’s just become a carbon copy of a wet blanket.

“aren’t you?” chigiri watches the post again, just to torment you with your sniveling ex. “getting back together again, i mean.”

“i’m leaving.”

“yeah? and go where? reo’s bed?”

“i’ll strangle you!”

[kneelingshadowsalome]

i KNOW i might sound insane, but what if vampire! Engel sets up traps around her isolated dark castle to capture any animal that is unfortunate enough to step on one of them, because she swears to not ever consume human blood and swore to only consume animal blood

and vampire hunter! König unluckily (luckily??) stepped on one of the bear traps, and she heard a scream from outside, so she went out to check and SHE SMELLED the smell she tried so hard to hide herself from

And she just kinda stood there, drooling and saw a very big BIG man, she thought it was a bear until he pulled out her dagger and pointed it at her, while panting in pain

IDKKK ITS GIVING ENEMIES TO LOVERS? STRANGERS TO LOVERS????? I worte this ina hirry because im about to cry thinking about it

Oh god the angst exploded in this one… sorry not sorry but these two are just UGHHH

König thought he was getting rescued when he heard the sound of soft footsteps. His stomach sinks when he sees this is not the case: his situation is far more dire than he thought. Not only is he stuck in an old trap and about to lose a foot: he's being hunted by the most dangerous, most beautiful little predator he has ever seen.

She's prowling, hungry and keen, crawling barely ten feet away from his sorry corpse-to-be. Her eyes glow in the darkness as she licks her lips; she's looking at her prey like a cute little house cat, dark and treacherous and extremely curious. He can't understand how those perfect hands could've managed to set all these traps: they look so dainty and frail. But looks can be deceiving when it comes to vampires. She's probably stronger than an average human male.

He can't hear her thoughts, which must be filled with the desire to drink. He doesn't have to: any vampire hunter can see that this one hasn't eaten properly in a while. Her lips are pale, she's breathing fast, she even moves on all fours like she's either too afraid or too weak to stand. Her fingers curl around the moss as she looks at him; her body almost trembles with anticipation.

When he draws his blade, she lets out a hiss and recoils further into the shadows. He's a pathetic mortal and a weak man for mourning the loss of that pretty little face and those lovely, enchanting eyes. He knows that she's a vampire, she's supposed to seduce her victims, but he can't help his sinful thoughts.

No woman has ever looked at him like that…

No woman has ever prowled upon him, it's usually the other way around. It won't take tremendous strength to kill this lovely little creature, but it will take a tremendous amount of willpower, a thing he used to have in abundance before he met her.

"Shy one. Did you set all these traps?" He asks and lowers his blade. The woman slinks back into a beam of moonlight, now standing on her own two feet. Her hips sway like in a dream, her red little tongue darts across the pale, bloodless lips.

"Who else if not me?"

Her voice is cool, cascading silk. It's calling him in like a siren song, forcing him to lower his dagger even more. She's dressed like an angel, in the purest white. A cruel joke from a vampire, or a desperate attempt to recall who she used to be when she was alive.

But her eyes are innocent – she's either the most cunning vampire he's ever met or then she's trapped, far more badly than him.

"You like to torture your victims?"

His question leaves the creature blinking. Then the curious eyes narrow to slits, the confused, hungry little mouth begins to pout.

"No. The traps are not meant for humans."

"No…? Why am I caught in one then?"

"Perhaps because you're clumsy."

She's cute when she's annoyed. Vampire charms or no, she lashes out so tactfully and elegantly that he cannot help but smile. What a proud, stubborn little creature… She's a sad, lonely little thing, just like he is. He would love to take her home as a pet.

His eyes must be softer when he smiles because it throws the vampire off guard. She takes a curious step towards him.

"If I set you free… will you leave me in peace?"

Her eyes are big and pleading now, free of any deceit, and he curses in his mind. If she's trying to allure him into another trap, it's working far too well.

"Ja," he tries to keep his voice even, "But if you try to drink from me–"

"I don't drink from humans."

"...Why not?"

There's no answer. But she takes another step, then another, then floats down to help him out of the huge trap meant for game. Her suspicious eyes dart to his blade every now and then until he decides to sheathe his weapon. The old hunters would deem him dead after this, but he can only concentrate on the woman before him. Her weak frame summons an immense amount of strength to open the trap.

The scent of blood must be like opium to her as the fresh wound on his leg becomes exposed. Her nostrils quiver and flare, her eyes flutter closed as she sighs softly. For that sweet, soft sound alone, he would open his veins for her himself.

"Fräulein… Are you alright?" He asks while bleeding profusely all over the ground. If she attacks him now, the culling would be well earned. No man should be this weak-willed.

"You… You smell good," she moans, her voice filled with so much longing that he can't take it anymore.

"Scheisse... Listen. One bite. Ja? You can have one bite and then I'll–"

Darkness and light envelop him all at once.

She dives forward like an eager lover, her body cold and frail and yet, so demanding when it hits him like the softest tide. He falls back, taking her with him, the vampire woman who is everything he ever wanted.

Her lips tremble on his neck for a while before she opens her mouth and sinks her tiny little teeth in. What else can he do but clutch her – in pleasure and in pain as she drinks and drinks and drinks until he's hard and groaning under her. The pain in his leg turns into full, ecstatic pangs of rushing blood, his ears are ringing with the song of it.

All he can feel is her. He can feel her relief and her hunger and the quick but quenching thirst, it makes him so happy his heart is about to burst.

The shy little lady is all but fearful now. She doesn't seem to care that his hands are roaming across her back and all over her waist. No: she hums and purrs with delight, attaches to him like she's in desperate need of a release too. She hasn't had a hearty drink in ages, then. He's glad to provide it for her: death is a small price to pay if he gets to hold her like this. If she kills him in these woods, it will be a good way to go.

"You don't… drink from humans, ja?"

He tries to laugh, but his voice comes out as a dry croak. The body above him goes tense like a bowstring.

"Don't be shy, kleine Engel," he rumbles when a pitiful sob disrupts the drinking. He only holds her closer: if these are his last minutes alive, he will spend them with this woman in his arms. The reassurance works, in a way: she draws breath so fast that the last gulp turns into a suck. It forces his whole body rigid; nothing has ever felt so good. But then she stops, and lets him go with an agonized, heartbroken look.

Vampires can't cry, that's what he was taught long ago in the academy. The demons of the night are to be hunted because they can never shed a tear for their sins. But this angelic creature, now warm and full and lush in his embrace, has tears streaming down her face.

"What did you call me?" She asks with a frail, thin voice. The white shadow above him is made of pure light as his senses begin to fail. He barely discerns that she looks more healthy, even more mesmerizing than before now that she has had her fill. He whispers his last words into the night air, just before losing consciousness.

"An angel…"

It's dawn when he wakes up without ever expecting to do so.

Someone has kept the beasts away during the dark, dangerous hours of the night. His wound is treated and his water can is full when he comes to. She has even brought her some bread and cheese on the forest floor. Stolen, no doubt, from some local homestead. The only evidence of him holding her in his arms last night are the two little punctures he finds on his neck. Small, neat and cute, just like her.

It doesn't help to know that vampires rarely leave their victims alive unless they wish to come back to them. It doesn't help to know that the reason for their return is usually the desire to turn the victim into a vampire – into a companion.

He should pursue and hunt her, but he's too weak. Or that's what he tells himself, at least. Deep down he knows he wouldn't do it even if he was in his prime.

After all, he could never kill an angel.