#and now back to my regular writing playlists

[hoseoksluna]

LIFE | jhs

pairing: military!hobi x f. reader (ft. namjoon)

genre: slow burn ; tension ; converse high trope / smut, tiny fluff

word count: 8.6k

summary: hoseok has always had a secret thing for you and once he learns you're single, he doesn't waste time and knocks on your door. 

pinterest board: life / playlist: listen / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: mutual pining, hobi is a feet guy, mentions of a partner giving you a cold shoulder and silent treatment, strong tension, praise kink, petting, nipple play, oral sex (f. receiving), overstimulation, slight dd/lg, raw and rough sex, size kink.

note: SHE'S BACK. HOSEOKSLUNA IS BACCKKKKKKKK. HELLO, MY BABIES. I MISSED YOU ALLLLL SOOOO MUCH AND I MISSED WRITING SO MUCH THAT THIS IS SOMETHING I WROTE IN MY YEARNING TOWARDS THE END OF MY HIATUS. fuck, this is way too hot. and i, again, had to take breaks to do something :D actually, i was inspired to write this at 4 am when i landed in my country after my vacation in dubai and got the weverse notification from hobi. :) yep. he ruined me, destroyed me, and i had to start writing. ENJOY THIS FILTHHHHHH. i missed writing abt dd/lg, too.... hehe. let me know what you think. and if you mayhappsss want part two? I LOVE YOU, MY BABIES. MWAH.

Hoseok, at your doorstep bringing in the moonlight before the midnight hour, was not something you quite expected to see when you heard the bell ring. You were lounging around on your couch, clothed in your new silky pajamas that you bought to heal your wounded heart a little, along with a peachy Korean face mask, a banana vape and a vanilla candle that you lit up as soon as you exited the shower. The creamy white sheet is what you were still wearing on the planes on your face when you stood there, taken aback because the man, clad in his military uniform, was certainly not your friend that visited you often. 

Hoseok was a mutual friend. A friend of your best friend Karina… and a friend of your now ex-boyfriend Namjoon. A friend that hated your guts—a friend that could not stand you. 

A friend that would let his eyes linger a little while longer on you upon seeing you on regular night outs and then ignore you for the rest of the event. A friend that would lock his gaze on your intertwined hand with Namjoon’s before narrowing it and scoffing in a private way that you invariably saw through. 

You weren’t stupid. You knew what his deal was—it’s only that you couldn’t do anything about it. You were Namjoon’s for eight wonderful months that were splotchy with the depth of poetry. Words from his heart that would give your life meaning, keep your head up above the surface. You needed those words as you spent your whole girlhood drowning in the sea of FOMO, rowing your arms through the waves of life that never got you anywhere. Seeing the little beauty of day and night of Seoul with your friends paled in comparison with what Namjoon showed you. You always believed that your life would begin with a man by your side—you prayed for it, you waited for it and it became reality. 

But it was not the reality that your body sought in the long run. 

Yes, the sex was great. Significant to your mental development, especially to your female one as you truly did become a woman in his hands, letting the lush girlish version of you die in his palms. As well as the museums, the hikes, the dinner dates that let you in on the complexity of Namjoon’s intellect that you found so profound and full of beauty. 

But as you nearly reached a year with him, your body began to seek more. The flowers beyond the box of your relationship with him—and you knew that those petals carried the scent of Hoseok. 

He liked you. You saw it in the extremity of his purposeful ignorance towards you, in the forced hatefulness he put across, and in the distance he set as a boundary. You saw it, too, in the way he would entertain other women in the bars and glance at you every now and then to make sure you’re seeing what he wants you to see. And it excited you, his interest in you that he kept at bay. 

It was a forbidden fruit that you smelt and smelt, but could never bite into—and it drove you insane. And when he got enlisted in the military, it drove you off a cliff. 

Missing him made you search for him. Not in Namjoon, but in other men. Privately, in your soul. And it cost you your relationship. 

Namjoon was a jealous, possessive man. He would fight with you if you looked at a guy for a beat longer than is necessary and if a half of a smile crept up upon the corner of your lips, he would give you the cold shoulder. An action that cut through you deep enough to make you bleed and you had to put a stop to it. 

You thought talking to him about it like an adult would straighten the road you were walking upon, but like the intelligent man Namjoon is—he knew that what he was giving to you was no longer what you needed. He threw it back at you, using the poetry of his words, and all you could do was be honest with him. Nod your head, tell him he was right, that you were seeking something more. And what surprised you was that Namjoon wasn’t willing to go the extra mile. 

He didn’t consider it. Didn’t mention it. 

He nodded his head, too. And you parted your ways as friends who loved each other and lived an artistic life together. 

And at that moment, a door to your mind opened and Hoseok stepped in. Made a bed, fluffed the pillows, and rested. 

It seems now he has awoken. Rang your doorbell, bashed his fist against the wood and narrowed his eyes at you in his normal fashion. 

An action that weaves a rhythm into that flat, bruised heart of yours. 

His military jacket is slung over his arm. His two black dog tags, hung by a silver chain around his long neck, rattles as the breath of the fresh, autumn evening breezes past, scattering goosebumps along your chocolate-buttered skin. You notice, within the brief silence while you look at each other and exchange words long overdue, that his hair is way shorter. Not buzzed anymore like Namjoon showed you on Hoseok’s first day in the military six months ago, but tousled and sticking out in different directions as if he raked his fingers through the strands a million times over. Your own itch, wrapped around your vape, his beauty heightened by his evident newly-gained manliness washing over you like an icy stream of water. 

You shiver, blaming it internally on the wind, and not on the lightness of the attraction that you feel sinking beneath your skin, overpowering you. 

And that small movement of your body propels Hoseok to speak, at last. 

“I come home to find you single,” he scoffs, his voice deep and raspy, marked possibly by his job in the military. And you feel it marking you just the same, opening windows in the house of your body for that wind to blow in and exhilarate you, help you breathe. “He’s drunk out of his mind, crawling on Jungkook’s lap and you’re here. In your pajamas with a fucking face mask on.” 

Briefly, you furrow your brows, not understanding the meaning of his words. Is he bashing you for not crying your heart out? Or is he bashing his brother for doing whatever it was. Your heart turns halfway, painfully. Those days are gone—those you spent in bed while that broken muscle wept while your body used that time to repose from all the stress it went through, being in an environment it grew out of. 

You sigh, weary of the recollection of that peculiar pain, and show no sight of the turbulence happening within you. “Jungkook must be happy about that.” 

Hoseok chuckles, humorlessly. A chilling noise that erects your bare nipples beneath your pajama button down. Awkwardness slinks down your sternum and you shift your weight on your other foot as Hoseok deepens his gaze down on you. 

Tension settles between you and you use it. You use it, wholeheartedly, as you should have all those months ago. The only thing you ever took advantage of were the touches Namjoon graced your skin with. You’d grab his hand, while Hoseok watched, and bring it underneath the table. Part your mouth, pretending he was touching a sensitive, private place while he was merely drifting his fingers along your thigh. Hoseok would gulp, but he would keep his gaze locked on yours, very much like he’s doing now. It’s the only form of intimate interaction you ever had, save for the heated debates about different things you two did not have in common. 

All else remained hidden in the silence shared between you. 

And it no longer shall. 

If he came all the way here, unannounced, then you shall let fate, one that is enamored with your body, have her way in your life. 

“If you came here to talk about him, then I’m not interested,” you say, letting go of the door and slipping off your face mask, ignoring the hurtful pinpricks along the perimeters of your heart. “If you came here for me, then the door is open.” 

And with that bravery, you pivot on your heel and walk back into the living room, not expecting him to follow you and not expecting him to walk away. You let fate do her thing, and you begin to tap in the essence of the peachy face mask into your skin with quick, gentle slaps. 

You toss the sheet, along with the packaging, into the trash, your hair clipped away from your face whooshing around you with your movement. Kicking off your slides, you hear them bump into something stable, and when you turn around to seek that strange sound, you see Hoseok standing by your armchair near your couch. 

So he did come here for you. You tremble in a different manner, filled with sparks of excitement, and, turning around to sit on the couch, you flush, smiling happily to yourself. 

But all those feelings turn to dust when Hobi kneels by the edge of your couch and fixes your home slippers. Aligns them rightly in front of you so you can comfortably slide your feet into them once you get up. 

Your stomach drops and your fingertips tingle, all of your nerve endings set on blazing fire by that one act of service. 

The first kind thing he’s ever done for you. 

He throws his military jacket over the backrest of the armchair, where he nestles himself. Legs spread, elbows propped on his knees. His long dog tag chain swings back and forth in the sudden, atypical calmness of the atmosphere that you cannot adapt to fully. Not when your mind creates an image of that chain hanging over your face, your neck and your chest when you’re bare and ready for him, laying on your back, all for him to take. 

You bite your lip, tracing the band of your sleep sock with your fingers, and Hoseok’s eyes fall to it. You quickly lift them, sheepish. Distract your mind by opening a package of eye patches and placing them on your dark circles that just won’t leave. His gaze skims over each motion, studying it, wordlessly, and you can’t take it anymore. 

You can’t be the only one who’s brave this evening. 

You take a puff of your vape, inhaling its sweetness, and stare right back at him. A smile, a foolish girlish smile quivers upon your lips. One that you dislike because you did grow out of it, but it seems as though the more you swallow the intensity of his shadowed, violent sea-charged energy, the more you transform back into that little girl you were. 

And the process soaks your panties. 

So much is said in the silence, always has been, but you can’t stand it anymore. 

“You should start talking before I go to bed,” you bite, willing your smile to flatten, and Hoseok kneads his hands. His knuckles bear a faint memory of yellow bruises, veiny and strong as they are, and for a moment you wonder how far his ferocity reaches. 

He showed you little of it. You know he’s capable of doing things that would change you for all eternity, give you a new form that would not wither with age. 

And you yearn for it. Have yearned for it all those months without knowing that was the thing your body sought. The thing Namjoon could never give you. 

Violence. Roughness. The licks of an outraged sea. 

You’re a witness to it sloshing in the pools of his darkened eyes as he chews the provocation you uttered his way. And you can bet he likes the taste. 

“Did he break your heart?” he asks amidst the banana-flavored smoke, his knuckles whitening for a split second as he clenches his fist before relaxing—as if the thought of Namjoon breaking your heart angers him. 

It rouses you, and the way your chest lifts with each breath stimulates your stiffened nipples. The candlelight sways, casting shadows on his worn features, and you’d much rather sit on them than talk about your ex. 

“Did you not hear what I said?” you spit, throwing your vape on the cushion of your couch. Hoseok’s façade splits as he smirks, dropping his gaze for a moment before lifting it back to you. 

He leans back, slouching in the chair. “Answer the question.” 

The sedatedness of his tone stuns you. Your heart begins to thump as well as the bundle of nerves between your folded legs. It has been too long since you had your release. Months upon months. And you’re too weak to not get carried away by these new feelings you’ve shamefully forgotten about. 

The veins from his knuckles travel all the way back to his arms and your brain empties out. Too, too fucking long. You should’ve fooled around with every guy you found attractive, use them for orgasms, make the best of your womanly years, but instead you dwelled at home—in and out of your misery. And now, now it feels as though you’re a virgin, alone for the first time with an older man that enlivens your body. 

And you might as well give him what he asks of you. 

Sucking on your vape for a puff of bravery, you don’t blink as you stare at him through the smoke. You elongate your legs, placing them on the coffee table next to him, your toes facing his outstretched knee, and his eyes, once again, plummet to them. 

“He didn’t break my heart, I broke his,” you say, your words shrouded by that white mist curling out of your mouth, and you watch as his eyes widen en route to yours. 

He didn’t expect that. 

Something about that satisfies you. Selfishly. 

Hoseok runs the pad of his finger across his bottom lip, his head tilted to the side a little bit. “It was about time you did.” 

The searing heat that rushes forward in your cheeks forces your gaze away from him, begs you to look away, but you don’t. A bead of perspiration trickles down your cleavage, one that is visible to him as you couldn’t be bothered to do all the buttons after your shower. But Hoseok’s eyes don’t flick to it. No, he can’t miss this. He can’t miss the gravity of the moment, of the spoken confirmation of the fact that what went on between the two of you for so long is real. You squeeze your thighs together, the thumping in between unbearable, and the longer you bask in his brave words, in the masculinity of his initiative, the more your own poetry begins to rise in you.

If it drags, it’s not meant for you. If it’s fast, it couldn’t wait to meet you. 

And Hoseok notices. It is only when you let out a little, barely hearable sigh that his eyes do travel down to scrutinize your bodily reaction. To your nipples poking through, the shine of your sweat in between your bare breasts, to the friction you’re rubbing—the miniscule grinding movements that you make in order to alleviate yourself of the ache of desperation that you feel. And because you’re baring yourself out for him, he does the unthinkable. 

He lets you see his true face, his façade collapsing at his big, sock-clad feet. 

Hoseok lifts his hips, hides behind the pretense that he’s just making himself more comfortable, but in reality he did it to turn your attention to his lower region. His length, semi-hard yet still long, stands out, protruding from the camo of his pants and you’re hot, hot all over. 

The thumping worsens—and you need him, all of him, to make it better. 

Perceiving that he’s succeeded in his strategy by the way you just won’t stop ogling him, he blushes and hides it, in vain, with outstretched fingers spread across his face. As if he was doing his signature idol move. It’s a riveting sight to behold, a seemingly cold person growing warm from you gaping at that private part of him. 

And you want more. You want to see more places of his body that are flushed. And you want it now. 

“It was about time you and I talked alone, don’t you think?” you ask, following on from his previous statement. All that pining, those stolen glances, that distance—all that tension advances forward now, stronger than ever.

Hoseok can feel it, too. At your words, his manhood grows harder and his breathing quickens. He tries to stabilize it, but he fails. He fails even when he returns to his original position with his elbows propped on his knees. That chain of his swings with more momentum, teasing you, and you place your legs even closer towards him, and upon witnessing the light flash in his eyes, you realize that you teased him right back. 

The man likes feet.

You draw in a sharp breath when he fists both of your feet in one hand, brushing his thumb over the tips of your toes. The first touch in this lifetime, the first time upon your new virgin body, so intimate, private; he might as well have wrapped a blanket around them with how warm his hand is, secure and trustful. Goosebumps flood your skin, bringing in the iciness that you felt when you took in his beauty against the background of the trees and the moonlight. And its beams must be stitched around his fingers because daintiness clasps you close, the notion that you’re taken care of, in good hands, descending upon you like the most delicate feather tickling you, and you let it—you let it consume you. 

And you let his following question consume you just as much. 

“Were you in love with him?” 

It’s a question you never had the bravery to ask yourself in the two months you’ve been single, but it is here and you welcome it. You hear it whisper to you the hint of your answer and your body is smart enough, capable enough to figure it out. 

No need for long nights of overthinking. 

No need for long hours of listening to your heart crack.

“No, I was used to him—that’s different,” you hush out and the moon lowers herself, spilling through your windows, bathing you in a milky light that feels as welcoming, as right as your confession. And maybe, just maybe it’s the way the shining stream submerges in your neediness that drives you to be bratty. And briefly, before you do, you ponder over the fact how in your life shared with this person drives, moves forward. There’s never a still time—and you find that mesmerizing. Enough for you to simply brood in greed. “What’s it to you?” 

Hoseok flinches. Parts his mouth. His chain rattles and his fingers squeeze the balls of your feet, coaxing a hum out of you that is immediately silenced by his sudden outburst. 

“What’s it to me?” 

There it is. Another plot point. Your heart hammers. 

Hoseok lets go of your feet and you lament the absence. Stands up and towers over you, the moonshine soaking him in divine light that causes your breath to hitch in your throat. A faint layer of sweat has coasted along his hairline and settled there—and you long to swim in his bodily fluids. In the persona of his, in the tumultuous sea of the tension locked within him. 

“You’re genuinely asking me this question?” he pressures, lifting your legs in order to step in between them, and the unthinkable visits you once again. He props his hands on either side of your head and those two dog tags swing in your face. 

A wet patch forms in the center of your pajamas. Your breath mirrors his—hasty, deep and strained—and you can’t take it anymore. 

How far into this road of bravery until the moon averts its opaque eyes away from your sin? 

You arch your spine, hook your fingers on his dog tags and pull him a little closer. Breathe his air, breathe in his masculine, musky scent that intoxicates your senses to the point that there is absolutely nothing stopping you from getting dragged in the natural flow of this situation. 

“Yes, Hoseok. What’s it to you?” 

He pants. Glides, delicately, his fingers along your arm until he winds up at your small fist, clutching it in his as if it was his. And that warmth, you want to dip your head in it. 

“I had to watch you sit in that chair and not crack a smile. Sit next to him like an obedient girl, not allowed to speak. To me,” he grunts, tightening his lips, and that anger of his seeps into you, becoming yours. “He didn’t deserve you. You’re not a pretty toy. You’re a person.” 

He straightens but, panicking, you draw him right back by that chain. “Don’t fucking walk away from me.” 

He seethes and you feel your essence trickling down your thigh. That sea, inching forward, you whimper. And then he spreads that warmth over the crown of your head, rubbing your hairline just once with his thumb before he peels off your eye patches that you have forgotten about. 

And this is when your brows curl. This is the time that says there’s no going back. 

“I talked to you. We fought, don’t you remember?” 

He sweeps that digit over that soaked dark circle of yours underneath your eye. “What do you think would’ve happened to you if I talked to you nicely?” 

Cold shoulder. Uncomfortable time of forced aloneness, filled with the abyss of guilt that you had done something wrong. A toy that didn’t move its lifeless limbs right by his will. 

“I’ve known him for far longer than you. I know how he treats those he thinks he loves. I brushed it away with the others, but with you… I couldn’t. You were so full of life that was stuck in you because of him. Because he didn’t let you let it out. And I can’t forgive him for that.” 

What life? The one you searched for all your girlhood, the one Namjoon molded with his own hands until it no longer recognized the once-familiar lines of his palm? The one that yearned for Hoseok instead? 

A film of tears clouds your eyes and as hard as you try to blink them away, they linger, pooling at your waterline like sea foam. You need your vape, you need him inside you—you can’t face the mirror of the reality of that unfair treatment. 

How blind you were; how Hoseok has become that guiding stick. 

“Don’t forgive him,” you utter, grasping his chain tighter, drawing him even closer, making his breath tremble. The first tear that pours out leaks into the print of his thumb and at the sound of your soft cry, Hoseok topples. Kneels on the couch with your legs on either side of him and you pull, you pull him closer. 

“Do you want me?” he asks—a foolish, foolish question. Presses his forehead against yours, cups your face with both hands now while his back shakes and you touch it, you drag your fingernails down those prominent muscles. And he sighs, so desperately, so tenderly. “Do you want me to let out that life in you?” 

“Yes,” you whisper, sliding your hands underneath his black shirt, scratching the lowest part of his warm, warm waist before hooking your fingers on the waistband of his pants. It’s his—it always belonged to him. “Take me. Here.” 

He brushes his nose against yours, your breath and his singular. “You’re so feisty.” Lips nearly touch yours and your lungs give out on you, your air coming out in pathetic staccatos that make him growl, subduedly. Muscles rigid, bundle of nerves devoutly pulsing. Please, please. “But no.” 

The world implodes, the mocking shimmer of that planetary light gushing through—hand in hand with sobriety. 

But Hoseok, the prince of the unthinkable, dips your head back into that darkness. Lifts you by your armpits and sets you down on his lap, his hard length against your core uprearing your need for release. 

A hand sailing down your neck, your sternum, acknowledging itself with your respiration. “Don’t give it to me that easily.” 

Your own cages him there, right at the apex of the fleshiness of your breasts. “Jebal, Hobi.” 

Please, Hobi. You drive, in his fashion, your hips forward—ever so slightly. His eyes round at the mellow variation of his name wandering out of your mouth and wrapping around his neck, as if the gentleness you give him pains him, transforms into a noose around his vocal cords and he can’t speak. 

He sighs, the noise melting into a soft, low-pitched moan. “Don’t beg me,” he croaks out, so terribly strung out. “I’m-I’m—”

You lengthen your spine, closing your mouth over that one spot on the side of his throat that you can reach, silencing him. He doesn’t need to speak—you’re fine with the tacit language of his hands. And the taste of his skin, that fucking warmth dissolving upon your tongue, you can’t help but to moan just the same against him like that, rocking your hips awfully, awfully slowly, driving him to the point of madness that he stood at the edge of for so long. 

“I want you to touch me,” you murmur, tugging his hand lower to the first done button of your silky shirt and it’s him who hooks his fingers over that fabric now. You lick a stripe across the thick vein of his throat, grinding a little harder when you hear him suck in a pained breath. “I want you to feel that life in me and know it’s yours. Jebal, Hoseokie.” 

He grunts, ripping you away from him. You expect his eyes to be narrowed in that typical manner of his, but they’re not. They’re soft, round and glossy, looking down at you, unblinking. A face you’ve never seen before, that feels too, too significant—and you’re not sure if you deserve to get a load of it. Of his pinkish cheeks and downturned mouth, of his fingers agonizingly sluggishly undoing the first button of your shirt. 

Of his sentimentality that you never thought he was so efficient at. 

The sea that has remotely stilled—but you’re still riding the lenient waves, your torso curving with each button popping off as he engraves his warmth into your cold, cold skin. And once he reaches the very last one, he stops. Holds your shirt together, squishing your breasts, waiting for you to lift your head out of the sea water. 

And you do. 

He inches forward, grazing his lips against yours, making you feebly cry out. 

“Did you cry for him?” 

Your cry prolongs, vexation splattering over your arousal, and you’ve had enough of it. You flick your eyes between his, drawing back, flattening your lips in that anger of his that seems to be still flowing in you somewhere. No more, no more Namjoon; no more talk of your past relationship. It’s over, it’s over.

“Stop fucking—”

Hoseok doesn’t relent. Sinks his fingers into the roots of your hair at the nape of your neck to make you listen. “Did you cry for him?” 

Your heart wept, but your eyes didn’t. The tear you shed in front of him was the only liquid emotion that spilled out of you since the day of the break up. “No.” 

He blows a heavy breath of relief that oddly validates you—and light opens in your sensitive bosom. “Good girl.” 

And it is now that Hoseok presses his chest, his dog tags against that light of yours and clamps his mouth down on your top lip, hoisting you a tiny bit to sit you right down on his manhood. His strong arm wraps around your back while the other floats down and curls around your bum, growling into the kiss that he deepens. And then he parts your lips with his, slipping his tongue inside, and the dam breaks between your legs—as well as the quick little whines and squeaks that begin to leak out of your mouth and into his. 

The life in you throbs. 

His cock hardens even more underneath you and he pushes your clit against it, his noises and yours growing louder and louder in tandem until he’s breathless, panting so vivaciously that he needs a moment. A moment to focus on the mess he’s created of you, a glowing ball of rosiness, the prettiest of all flowers—and you feel like it, being looked at like that. 

“I knew you were smart,” he coos, peppering feathery kisses upon your cheek, jaw and chin, descending to the base of your neck. You moan out, fisting his shirt below his collarbones, the continuation of his validation for you nesting in your core. “That life in you will always win. No matter what.” 

You believe him—in fact, there’s nothing left for you to do, but to submit, submit and submit. And it feels like entering a dream that is kind, a reality that appears to be a dream, but is better. An existence smeared with clemency, where you can be a little girl again. 

“Touch it, please.” 

Hoseok hums, kissing the cleft between your clavicles. Shifts forward on the couch so you can rest your spine on the backrest, your head against the wall, and he slides his palms upward from your tummy to the apex of your breasts. You whine, torturously, at the contact, and you shudder and double over when he swipes his thumbs over your still stiffened nipples, buzzing shocks of acute pleasure coursing down your body, rooting in your clit that asks for his fingers, his tongue, but he remains where he is. Transfixed, starving, ravaged. 

He kneads your breasts like he kneaded his hands, with overpowering strength that quickens your blood flow, your body submitting to him and flushing like his does. A sliver of skin that your shirt exposes catches his attention—and at the sight of the flesh of your breasts spilling through, his cock twitches, his breath ragged, eyes droopy and so, so drunk. He pinches your nipples, still through that silken fabric, as if he was punishing you for causing him this unfair pain. 

Knead, flick, pinch. Your noises are obnoxious, his heat in you rising and rising, and you can’t take it anymore. The drum in your clit thuds and you push him away, the pleasure too overwhelming, too good and too arousing. 

And he pushes away the fabric, revealing your perky breasts. A glint settles on the edge of his irises and he gives you a coy smile before he smashes his mouth against yours, moving it in a rhythm that reflects the one in your bundle of nerves. And you grind, you grind like your life depends on it, your nipples and your pussy rubbing against him, against his icy dog tags, getting you closer and closer to your orgasm. And you would come like this had he not physically ripped you away from him. 

Heaving, he focuses, all over again, on the ruination he makes of you. The warmth in you flits so invitingly that you have to touch the places he did—your stomach, your sternum, your breasts. And as you do, you watch his gaze darken, you watch him nod his head, and wipe the corner of his mouth clean, catching his drool. 

“You feel it, don’t you?” he rasps, following the invisible traces you left on your body. Your stomach, your sternum, your breasts. “Right here. Life. Beautiful life.” He teases your hardened nub, circling it with the pads of his fingers, sliding it between his knuckles and squeezing, his smile growing with each shudder of your chest, with each response. “It’s time to make you come and let it out, you ready? Let’s take these off.” 

He tugs off your pajama pants, throws it behind his shoulder, examines the large wet stain on your panties that he coos at, raspily, petting it with his thumb—and you’re so turned on that even such faint touch like that brings you pleasure. You hold onto his arms for dear life, depending on him, trembling when the panties and the shirt are next, tossed upon the pile of your pants. 

You’re bare and he’s still fully dressed. Such titillating unfairness that turns you unhinged, maddened by liveliness your body is diffused with. 

Hoseok pins your legs back. Takes one hand and glides his fingers across your entire femininity, soaking them in the dew he has coaxed out of you, moaning gutturally. 

“He never made you wet like this, did he?” he asks, pride dripping out of him like his masculine pheromones, and with his wet fingers he palms himself. “You don’t even have to answer that. I know. I need to taste you, baby.” 

You don’t even get to fill a lungful of the stuffed, vanilla-scented air and he dives in, keeping your legs glued to your shoulders as he seizes your clit in his mouth, sucking on it briefly before he flattens his tongue all over you. He licks you like a lost man finding an oasis, humming into your heat while he tastes your personal slickness, swallowing everything he sowed. You bang your head on the wall, a numbed pang expanding all throughout your scalp by your claw clip, taking it all, moaning so loudly the whole of Seoul must be hearing you. Even Namjoon in his drunkenness, shameful that he never managed to eat you like this in the eight months you were his to consume. 

Your orgasm inches to you quickly. With half-lidded eyes, you watch the candlelight create sublime, eccentric images on his back. And as if he couldn’t handle the warmth anymore, he peels himself away from you just to take off his shirt, adding it to the pile. He doesn’t let you see his muscular body—he plunges back down, tongue outstretched, flicking the muscle on your swollen clit. He pinches your thigh, your mound, your folds, whimpering onto your flesh, hurrying to close his mouth over you to suck your clit. 

And within that divine suction, you come apart. The beautiful images on his back advance, fluttering on his smooth skin, and you hold him to yourself. The life in you explodes, saturating him in a dimmed, soft-hued, colorful light that he himself must be sensing because he moans, loudly, sinking his index finger inside your clenching hole. You can’t speak, you can’t breathe—you can only feel, you can only take. Your orgasm continues on, a ceaseless stream of delight untwisting in every part of your body. 

And when he begins to fuck you with that finger of his and hits that good spot, your orgasm melts into another one. And this time, you can’t take it. 

You shake so vivaciously that you fall off the edge of the couch, but he catches you. Hoseok unclips your hair and lays you down, propping your hips on the armrest instead and when he bends at the waist and opens his mouth, you scream out your disagreement, pushing him away. 

He blinks at you, mouth sopping wet. “I wasn’t finished.” 

Your oxygen is stuck in your throat, one that gets bespeckled with the beads of your dew. “Hoseokie—”

He traces it, wiping it off, holding you there. Presses his hard, clothed length against your bare pussy, rocking slowly, casting a private, affection-filled shadow with the arch of his body over yours. Hoseok kisses you once, a nasty kiss perfumed with your tangy scent, and you cry out. 

“The fact you can’t take the bare minimum personally offends me. He had you all to himself and he didn’t do his job well,” he mutters, squeezing your throat once. Drags his wet hand down your sternum, grasping a hold of both of your breasts, clenching them until they flush, again, like him. 

There it is, the saltiness of his sea. You yearn for the physical principle of it coating your tongue—for his cum to trickle out of the tip of it like your dew is off of his. And his words, his anger towards his best friend because of you—it heals you in a way you could never heal yourself. Another person seeing you and telling you that you deserve better, it is the most pristine form of remedy there is and you splutter on the whole beauty and compassion of it all, too weak to accept it at once. 

“That’s right,” you agree, as enthusiastically as your dopeness allows you, smiling lopsidedly, heart pounding. “Go slow on me.”

He croons, squeezing his eyes. “My little girl.” 

He buries his face in your neck, kissing you there, and along with the life in you—your heart explodes, too. The finality of your detransformation. Tears of joy ache in the corners of your eyes, the rawness of human fulfillment housing in you for all eternity. 

He kisses his way down to your breasts. “I’ll go slow on you,” he promises, darting out his tongue and flicking it over your nub, making you tremble. He straightens and dances his fingers along your thighs—up to your knees. “Do you want to stop here?” 

You shake your head. Place your feet flat on his toned stomach while you feel your dew dribble down your bum. Hoseok smiles, his mouth curving in that way of his that causes your own stomach to drop. He holds your heels, hooking his finger under the band of your socks and yanking them off. 

And his grin blooms at the sight of your dusty-pink toes, an endeared look thawing his eyes. He rubs them like he did at the beginning of this journey, keeps one at his stomach while he lifts the other one to his mouth. 

Your poor heart skips a beat. 

“Do you want me to fuck you like a little girl like you deserves?” 

He kisses the ball of your foot, doesn’t break the eye contact. Watches your mouth part in absolute astonishment and your cheeks deepen in their hue. And when he kisses it again, slower this time, it wakes you up from your stupefaction, and you lower your free foot down to his clothed cock. Hoseok groans, the sound muffled against your tootsie, shutting his eyes at the impact. Your chest flickers with a sense of pride that you made him react like that—and you want it again. You trail your toes across that length of his, but before you could reach the most sensitive part of him, he stops you. 

Sucks in that pained breath of his, red all over. 

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna come.” 

You mirror him, the idea of being capable of doing that to him pleasuring you. You leak onto the couch. Your blood boils. 

“That’s so hot.” 

He chuckles, anchoring your foot upon his heart, tapping it with your big toe. “It’s because you have my heart.” 

Your body ceases all work, as well as time. Even the candlelight pauses its dance, concentrating its caressing radiance on that chain of his. 

And you don’t think as you scurry onto your knees and embrace him, his dog tags no longer icy. He plants his nose into your hair, inhaling you, sealing you into the hug with both of his arms. Your heart reaches its own towards his and they cling to each other, too. 

And you’re not afraid to reciprocate his feelings—they’re as clear to you as that very luminescence of the vanilla candle. 

“You have me,” you whisper into his ear, his body not quivering but stable, safe. “You have my life. It’s more of a treasure than my heart.” 

He had you the moment he so evidently disapproved of your past relationship. He had you the moment he was curious to see if you were jealous when he was entertaining other women. He had you the moment he purposefully put a distance between you and him because he didn’t want you to get hurt by Namjoon. 

You just didn’t know it yet, not until clarity arose in front of you in the form of his honesty. 

Hoseok kisses your own ear, lingers there. “I want both.” 

“Then, have it.”

And he kisses your forehead. “Thank you. I’ll take care of it.” 

You can see in the ivory mist of his eyes that he means it—and so you tug off his military belt as you begin to pepper kisses down the column of his neck because he deserves it, because he cares for you, because he came to you as soon as he heard that you were single. And when you reach those dog tags, the words of his title imprinting themselves onto the surface of your lips, you clasp his cock in your hand. Too big for your small fist, too warm for you to handle—

“Lay back down.” 

You bite into the flesh right above that first steel pendant while keeping your eyes locked on his. “Yes, Sergeant.” 

Hoseok curses. Wrings a sharp gasp out of you when he pulls on your hair, giving you a nasty kiss full of tongue. “Don’t call me that when I need to be gentle with you,” he scolds, sucking on your bottom lip to make it better and you disintegrate. “Right now I would bend you over this couch and fuck you until Sergeant and Sir was all you knew, but I can’t do that. Not when you’re not used to me yet.” 

Yes, the promise of the sea—you convulse from head to toe, pining after it. 

“I want that so bad.” 

He nods, marking you on your neck. You whimper and he groans in response. “And I’ll give it to you, you just need to be good now. Lay down.” 

You comply, but you take him with you—grabbing him by that chain as you arch your back on the couch. He lets you, grins at you like the utmost sunshine, but that expression of delight breaks when a certain realization dawns upon him. 

“I didn’t bring any condoms.” 

You huff out a soft noise. “Good. I want you to come all over me.” 

Hoseok hangs his head low, sighing, on all fours above you. His chain swings, drawing the memory of this very night on your breasts. He looks up at you from this position, his eyes thin slits that cause you to clench around nothing. 

“I’ll give you a big load.” 

You beam like the purest angel, in spite of the context. “Yes, please.” 

Hoseok rolls his eyes back, his façade cracking, and he beams just the same, his mouth widening in the shape of a heart that moves through you. He kisses you deeply, a long peck that breaks you down into a putty, and when he withdraws, you can still see that smile plastered on his glowing face. 

“Good girl. Such good manners.” 

And with that praise, he sheathes himself inside you. You both gasp in union, entering a paradise no other human will ever witness in the afterlife. He stretches you out, slowly, careful not to hurt you as he waits it out, petting your hair in the meantime. 

“I can feel you stretching around me, fuck. You’re so warm, so tight for me,” he rasps, panting, that smile trembling on his lips as he tries to keep it together. He straightens, pinches your nipple and you feel yourself accommodating him quicker at that sudden electricity of pleasure, at the sight of his toned body and that chain. The shine of sweat, the dance of the candlelight, the width of his shoulders and carmine chest as it heaves in desperate hums and groans. You could come just from that—and the sensation is so dizzying that your eyes droop. Hoseok notices, grappling the crook between your neck and shoulder. “Stay with me, baby, you can take this. I’m gonna make you feel so good and you’re gonna come on this cock.” 

Those hums of his cruise all the way to your mouth as he sinks that encouragement into it, kissing you deeply, pinning your hands back above your head and sliding his fingers into a celestial intertwinement with yours. They throb within you, those words of his, where they disperse all around, helping you believe that you truly can take the whole manliness of him. Your mind spins, the pressure of your shared atmosphere ringing in your ears, and he knows, he knows that you’re ready for him.

“I’m gonna start moving now. Talk to me, baby. Tell me everything you’re feeling as I fuck you,” he murmurs, unsheathing himself a tiny bit before he curls his hips forward and upwards, creating a languid, spine-tingling rhythm that replicates the waves of his sea. They slosh to and fro with every slow stroke and he kisses your good spot with the tip of his cock. Your eyes flutter open and close, rolling like those waves, but you can still see the way his jaw is clenched, his gums on full show as he seethes in his self-control, the flush of his neck and the flexing of his abdomen that you can’t help but to touch in your otherworldly daze. He stares down at you, intensely, narrows his eyelids and furrows his brows when he feels your touch, and you discover that the spot, where his V-lines lead to your antidote, is one of uttermost sensitivity. 

He moans, burying himself deep in you, and stopping there. Mound to mound, soul to soul.

“Fuck, baby, you just know where all my spots are, don’t you?” he asks, his voice so terribly strained, torso doubled over, and you grin. 

“I think I was born already knowing them,” you flirt and Hoseok pounds into you for it—a singular thrust that scrambles all your brain cells. Your smile falls, your brows crunch, your throat utters such whiny noise that he himself grunts at the sound of it, and when you lift yourself onto your elbows to see his length driving in and out of you, he pushes you right down by your throat, kissing you hard enough that it hurts.

And he alleviates the lip lock by licking over your tongue, toying with it—all while he, little by little, picks up the rhythm, fucking into you with a force that coaxes your rawest moans out of you. 

“You can’t handle my tongue and I can’t handle it when you flirt with me,” he scoffs, smacking his mouth as he turns his head, claiming your mouth, claiming you. “God, I wanna destroy you so bad.” 

Your cry is cut out by another savage thrust and you claw at that sensitive spot of his, inciting him to do it again and again. “I’m yours to destroy.” 

He pauses, the crown of his cock teasing the beginning of your heat. Sweat drips down his temple and he runs a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that makes your heart twitch in absolute sensuality and relish. 

“Say that again.” 

Your breath hitches. “I’m yours to destroy.” 

Hoseok curses, driving into you all the way. You whine out, clenching your fists, feeling every ridge and every vein of his cock glide forwards and backwards along your walls. And by tensing your body and focusing on the delight he’s gracing your body with, the build-up of your orgasm announces its presence.

“Fuck, Hobi, you feel so good,” you cry, gripping his forearms as he begins to hold your waist steady. He jackhammers into you so viciously that your vision scatters with a creamy hue of ivory, moaning in ragged staccatos that influence you so much that you naturally imitate them, fading into him, becoming one. 

“Whose are you?” he growls without interfering with the gracefulness of his sadism, moving back only an inch before slamming back into you, bruising your cervix—and you lose all brain cells, the synapses blanking out. 

But only one thing is clear. 

“I’m yours.” 

And the following snap of his hips drives you out of this world and out of this universe. The gravity keeps your muscles tense, confining your pleasure and the closeness of your orgasm within. The ringing grows in volume and you’re on the cusp. 

Hoseok is, too, because he begins to beg. 

“Please, please, baby. Come for me. I’m so fucking close for you. Please, I’m gonna come all over you.” 

And with a scream that vibrates through the walls of your living room, you comply. Your core grips him, your skin prickles and you levitate—your back arches off the couch, aching to be closer to him, and Hoseok whines. 

Pulls out, straddles you, and fist-fucks his shaft with frantic, frenzied motions. Covers you with ropes and ropes of his cum that ripple on your stomach, your sternum and your breasts as you drift in and out of consciousness. Warm, warm essence of his masculinity that is warmer than the rest of him. 

Blood-hot. 

And you feel as though you deserved every drop. 

Deserved to see the beauty of his orgasm. The flush of his lower regions, especially. The sight you longed to see. 

Hoseok lets go of his manhood, his hand shiny and wet, though he’s still hard, reaching the beginning of your parting lungs with how big he is. Bigger than Namjoon, bigger than anyone you ever dated. Their names wither in your mind, decomposing. And they lose all meaning. 

They cease to exist. 

You’re not his best friend’s ex. You’re not anyone’s ex—

“Look at how little you are,” Hoseok comments, interrupting the surge of your maddened thoughts. He smears the puddle of cum on your stomach that his cock can reach and your pussy flutters in constant motions that ask for him again. “So little under me and all mine, aren’t you?” 

His avowal brings a fresh dose of oxygen into your lungs and you breathe it in. Want to breathe it in for the rest of your life with him. 

But Hoseok doesn’t stop there. Once you agree with him by the nod of your head and a dopey, gratified grin that casts an affirming light on him, he bends over you, his fists on either side of your head. 

“I’ll show you what true possessiveness looks like. The world will burn if it hurts you and if people say one bad word to you, it will be the last one they ever said. But they will talk to you and you will talk to them. You will learn about this life of yours. What it holds, what it looks like. And I’ll be standing beside you and I’ll watch over you. Learn it, live it with you.” 

He rubs your forehead with his thumb in a fond gesture. Looks at you with a mute meaning that touches your heart and crawls inside before he kisses you, relaxes his lips against yours, and kisses you again. 

Again and again. 

Again in the shower. Again in your bed when you’re riding him, tasting the life he let out of you, because you blazed up with desire after you washed his body. And the sex is quiet, smothered with those kisses until your mouth and his is numb. 

And again throughout the years you acknowledge yourself with that life and realize that you understand it more profoundly and clearly in the process of getting to know Hoseok than this world. 

Hoseok is that life. 

And you kiss him and whisper those words onto his mouth when you marry him at the altar, years and years later, connecting your life and his forever. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[yuujispinkhair]

I WANNA BE YOUR ENDGAME – Chapter 03

🏒❤️ A Hockey Romance feat. modern!Sukuna

Pairing: HockeyPlayer!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: College AU, Hockey AU, fluff + smut Playlist: I wanna be your Endgame Word Count: 3.6k Warnings: 18+, smut. Fuckbuddies to lovers. Mentions of masturbation in this chapter and Reader has some dirty fantasies about our favorite hockey player. Reader is a creative writing student. Sukuna is an ice hockey player + history student. This story will have approximately 10 chapters. Minors don't interact. Header by me. Divider @/benkeibear

MASTERLIST

You are at the Tigers' next home game, too, watching and cheering from the stands, having fun just like the last time, but now you also understand the rules, thanks to your private lesson with Sukuna. You still grin anytime you look at the hockey rules written in his elegant handwriting and the little drawing with the tattooed stick figure.

The Tigers win, thanks to Sukuna scoring several goals. You congratulate him after the game, when he once again skates next to you as you walk past the plexiglass. And Sukuna smiles one of his rare dazzling smiles at you, which makes you feel giddy for the rest of the evening.

But Sukuna isn't just on your mind when you are at one of his hockey games. You catch yourself looking for pink hair anytime you walk over campus. And more often than not, when you eventually spot Sukuna, he is somehow already looking at you with his boyish grin and a raised eyebrow, as if he was looking for you, too.

You run into him in front of the dining hall several times, and he tells you to join him, leading you to his table again. You are surprised to realize that, apparently, it's a regular occurrence for Sukuna to sit on his own, or if someone is with him, it is only his brother or the team's kit manager, Uraume, who somehow seems to be on friendly terms with Sukuna, too.

It makes you wonder because you always assumed the star player would be surrounded by his teammates or admirers, basking in their attention.

It's one of those days when it's only Sukuna and you who have lunch together, when you blurt out,

"Why are you always sitting here alone or with your brother or Uraume? Why don't you sit with your teammates?"

Sukuna huffs at your question,

"Most of my teammates bore me to death or piss me off. They know better than to sit with me. In the beginning, they tried to tell me that the team always shares a table, but I told them to fuck off and not get on my dick. They got the message. They do as I say on the ice, and they also do what I say off the ice."

You don't doubt it. Anyone who seeks a fight with Sukuna must be crazy. This charming version of Sukuna you meet isn't the version he is for most people. He can be an asshole, and you don't doubt for a second that he doesn't hesitate to throw some punches off the ice too.

But the bad boy doesn't seem that bad when he has lunch with you. Sukuna is actually a charming lunch companion and full of surprises.

You put the novel you are currently reading on the table, and Sukuna jerks his chin toward the book, commenting on one of the characters in a way that tells you he knows what he is talking about. You look at him curiously,

"You read it, too?"

Sukuna leans back in his chair, one arm casually resting on the backrest of the chair next to him, his thighs spread under the table, his long legs brushing against yours, and a smug grin spreading over his handsome face.

"Yeah. Believe it or not, princess. I read a lot in my free time and for my classes, too."

And you suddenly realize that you have no idea what Sukuna's major is. You always assumed it was something obvious, like kinesiology or sports management. But his comment about reading makes you curious.

"What is your major, Sukuna?"

You didn't think it was possible, but Sukuna seems to look even more smug when he answers you,

"History."

Your hand that was bringing your spoon to your mouth stops mid-air, and you blink at Sukuna.

"History? Okay, wow, I didn't expect that."

Sukuna's grin is shit-eating by now, his eyes sparkling in amusement.

"Why not? You think I'm some dumb jock? I am offended, princess."

"No... I.. I don't know. I guess I pictured history majors differently. And isn't it kind of boring? All that old stuff?"

Sukuna raises an eyebrow at you,

"I analize past events to see what we can learn from them for modern times. It's about critical thinking and evaluating human actions. What is boring about that?"

"When you put it like that it doesn't sound so bad, I guess."

"Exactly. You are a creative writing major, right princess? You have all your fictional stories that you read or write yourself. They aren't boring to you, right? Now, I, on the other hand, have all those stories that actually happened. And many of them are first-class novel material. All that old stuff, as you call it, is very interesting. All the drama, the betrayal, the political intrigues."

You nod solemnly,

"Yeah, if I want to write a story set in the past I have to do research, too, to see how life worked at that time. How lucky that I have an expert to ask for help now!"

Sukuna grins at you,

"You're such a lucky girl indeed. But don't think I will just share my knowledge for free."

You give Sukuna a blank look,

"What? You gonna charge money for it?"

"Who said anything about money?"

He grins teasingly at you and you roll your eyes, throwing your hands up as you grin back at Sukuna,

"So, what kind of payment do you have in mind?"

"Maybe I am talking about this," Sukuna gestures to the table and your plate, "Keeping me company for lunch, coming to my games, being an enthusiastic enjoyer of my cigarette smoke. By the way, I need one after we are finished eating. You coming with me, princess? Consider it a payment in advance for gaining acess to all the amazing history knowledge in my mind."

Sukuna winks at you, and you can't help but laugh.

"Okay, I think that sounds fair."

You're on your way to your dorm after class when you hear your name getting called by a very familiar, smooth, low voice. You turn around, only to almost drop the stack of books you are carrying in your arms.

Sukuna is jogging toward you, apparently going for a run as part of his daily workout, and there is definitely too much of his tattooed skin and buff muscles on display.

You stare at him, probably looking like a complete fool, as your eyes trail over Sukuna's tall, muscular figure. He's only wearing a black tank top and red shorts with the Tigers logo. It's far too little clothing to cover up how gorgeous he is.

You gulp hard. Sukuna looks so sexy, with his muscles all buff, the veins on his arms standing out from his workout, and a thin layer of glistening sweat coating his tattooed skin and muscles.

He asks you how your day was, and you manage to give him an answer that sounds halfway sane while your gaze travels up and down his body.

You don't know where to look. There is just so much of him, and it makes you feel so flustered! Sukuna makes you feel things you aren't ready to admit, but the fluttery feeling in your stomach grows more intense by the second.

Your heart jumps to your throat when you glimpse a pair of black bands peeking out from under Sukuna's shorts.

Oh my god. Does he have upper thigh tattoos?

You stare at those tempting black lines on Sukuna's muscular thighs a moment too long before you catch yourself, and your head quickly snaps up again, eyes wide, looking at Sukuna's face with an expression that does nothing to hide how affected you are by him and his stupid gorgeous body.

A cocky smirk spreads over Sukuna's tattooed face. The face of someone who knows exactly how sexy he is.

"Do you like my tattoos, princess?"

"Yeah, um... they look very cool," you manage to say, and before you can stop yourself, you add, "How many do you have in total?"

You silently curse yourself the moment the words have left your mouth because you know you just presented Sukuna with an open goal. And, of course, he doesn't even let a second go by before he grins at you with a devilish glint in his eyes, his voice dropping to a seductive timbre,

"I'll let you count them if you want."

You make a sound of complaint, but Sukuna's words send your pulse racing, and you are sure he knows it. You are saved from further embarrassment though by the beeping sound Sukuna's heart rate monitor makes to inform him something is off. He laughs softly and jerks his chin toward you,

"I have to keep going. See you at my game!"

And with that said, Sukuna runs past you, but not without reaching out to ruffle your hair, making you yell after him to stop ruining your hairstyle.

It's a busy weekend for you, with several deadlines for assignments and a birthday party in your dorm that you help organize, so you decide not to go to the hockey game.

You don't even think about it until Monday morning when you get practically cornered by a scowling Sukuna.

You turn around after getting some books from your locker only to gasp because Sukuna is standing in front of you, tall and buff, effectively blocking your way.

He takes a step closer, his tall, broad body blocking out the light and the other people in the hallway, making it seem like it is only you and him. One of his large tattooed hands comes to rest on your locker, right next to your face, and Sukuna leans down so he is on eye-level with you, stopping only centimeters from your face.

"I didn't see you at my game."

You hug the books you just got out of your locker to your chest as you tilt your head to smile nervously up at Sukuna.

"Yeah, I was too busy and couldn't make it."

Sukuna curls his lips, and you feel the need to shrug apologetically and add a soft,

"Sorry."

Sukuna sighs and straightens up again, running his hand through his pink hair, slicking it back while fixing you with a sulky look out of his beautiful maroon eyes. It almost looks like he is pouting.

"You know that's a problem, right, princess? We lost the game."

You blink up at him in slight alarm before you see the mischievous sparkle in Sukuna's maroon eyes and see the corners of his lips twitch.

And so you play along and stare at him with comically big eyes, pressing a hand to your mouth that is opened in a fake shocked expression.

"Oh no! Forgive me, Your Majesty, King Sukuna The First! I wasn't aware that my absence would lead to your men's defeat on the icy battlefield."

Sukuna chuckles softly and leans closer again, both of his large hands placed on each side of your head now, his voice a low whisper, as if he is sharing a secret with you,

"I like it when you are there to watch me play. You are my personal lucky charm, princess. We haven't lost a single game since you started coming. But we lost this Saturday. Call me superstitious, but as a responsible player, I must demand your presence at all future home games."

You look at his beautiful face, so close to you that you can make out every little detail of the second pair of eyes tattooed into his skin. You feel your heart beat faster and a smile spreads over your face as you tilt your head, coming even closer to Sukuna,

"Well, I guess then it's my duty to come to every game. I promise I will take my job as your personal lucky charm seriously from now on."

Your voice has also dropped to a flirty whisper, and your pulse flutters wildly with Sukuna standing so close to you. You can feel the warmth radiating off his tall, muscular body. Can smell his sexy cologne again and a hint of cherry, maybe from his hair gel.

Your gaze meets Sukuna's maroon eyes. A lazy but contented smile spreads over his beautiful face. His voice is still barely a whisper, low and seductive, almost a purr,

"Good girl. That's what I wanted to hear."

You can feel his warm breath on your cheek, and you instinctively feel your lashes flutter and tilt your head back even more, your lips parting slightly as if preparing for a kiss.

For a moment, the two of you are locked in your own little universe, where it's only the star player and his lucky charm. Only Sukuna and you, so close to each other that you feel each other's body heat and your breaths brush over each other's lips.

So close.

You gaze deeply into each other's eyes, and Sukuna leans even closer. You think he is really going to kiss you. Your eyes close as your heart beats like crazy.

But a loud yell of "Sukuna! Coach is looking for you!" interrupts the moment, and both your and Sukuna's eyes fly wide open.

He pulls away, rolling his pretty eyes in annoyance as he yells over his broad shoulder at his teammate,

"And what the fuck is so important? I would have come to his office after class anyway! It's not my fucking fault that we lost!"

Sukuna's maroon eyes snap to yours again, and he huffs and grins, cupping your cheek with his large hand and brushing his thumb over your lower lip, adding in his typical velvety voice,

"Neither your fault, princess. Even though you should have really been in the arena. But you can double the good luck at the next game by cheering extra enthusiastically for me. Will you do that for me?"

You barely manage a nod and murmur a breathless "Okay," making your lips move against Sukuna's thumb, almost like a little kiss, before he pulls his hand away and grabs his backpack to sling it casually over his broad shoulder and wink at you one last time before he leaves to see his coach.

You let your head fall against the locker, hug your books tightly to your chest where your heart is beating like crazy, and stare dumbfounded after Sukuna's tall figure. Your knees feel weak, and there is heat pulsing between your thighs from all the sexual tension that was between you and Sukuna just seconds ago.

You let out a long breath and chuckle softly to yourself.

Sukuna's lucky charm, huh?

You like the sound of that.

You find yourself in the hockey arena sooner than expected. But not for a hockey game. One of the girls from your classic literature class is on the figure skater team, and she asked if you could meet her after her training to do the assignment you have together.

You thought you would leave again and go to the coffee shop to work there, but your assignment partner scrunches her face apologetically,

"I'm so sorry, but I can't leave yet. I have to stay here and wait for my teammate to give me the keys to the team room, but she is still in the back talking to our coach. But we can do the assignment here. We can just get comfy on the stands and work there. Is that okay with you?"

You tell her it's okay and follow her, letting her lead you to the otherwise completely empty stands. Just when you sit down, you hear several voices coming from the direction of the ice, and when you turn your head to look what's going on, you see the hockey team entering the rink now for their training. And, of course, there he is.

Sukuna.

He looks gorgeous as always, smiling broadly about something Yuuji said to him as he skates casually over the ice, his helmet still off and under his arm, unaware that you are here to watch him. He isn't yet wearing his usual hockey jersey but a tight, black, long-sleeved compression shirt and his shoulder pads. It looks sinful on him, accentuating every muscle on his gorgeous body. Even from this distance, you can count his abs.

He looks beautiful. Especially with that genuine smile lighting up his face as he laughs with his brother.

You stare at him, following his every move, while trying to listen to your assignment partner's ideas. But she stops mid-sentence, and when you take it as a clue to look at her, she is grinning at you like the Cheshire Cat.

"So, Sukuna, huh?"

She jerks her chin toward the hockey team down on the ice, and you shake your head quickly, making a dismissive hand gesture.

"No, it's not like that."

She raises a skeptical eyebrow but leaves it at that. For a few minutes, the two of you work on the assignment while you steal the occasional glance at the rink.

The problem with the hockey arena is that it is cold as the ninth circle of hell. You hug yourself and rub your arms, shuddering in the chilly air of the arena. You didn't think you would work on the assignment here, or you would have brought a jacket.

It's right then that you suddenly hear your name called in that familiar, sexy, low voice.

You turn your head, unable to stop the big grin from spreading over your face, as you see Sukuna leaning against the boards beneath your seats, touching the plexiglass that separates the rink from the stands, and looking up at you.

"Are you here to bring me luck during training, too? You really take your job seriously, princess. I approve of that eagerness."

You laugh, playing along and making a salute gesture,

"Of course. I am always on duty, sir!"

Your little salute gets messed up by how violently you tremble from the cold, though. Sukuna raises an eyebrow, and his eyes travel over your body, over the thin t-shirt you are wearing.

"You're not dressed for the job, though. What are you doing, freezing your pretty ass off?"

You laugh,

"I didn't know I would spend an hour in here."

Sukuna huffs, brushing a stray strand of pink hair out of his forehead,

"Wait a sec."

He pushes himself off the boards and casually skates to the other side of the ice. You see him grab something from the bench where his stuff is. And then he glides back over the ice toward you with his sexy smirk on his tattooed face and his white team hoodie in his hand.

The sight makes your stomach flutter. You grin from ear to ear as Sukuna skates over to you, stopping at the boards and grinning up at you.

"Come down here and put that on, princess! I don't want my good luck charm to get a cold!"

You chuckle as you hurry down the stairs to the boards. Sukuna throws his hoodie over the plexiglass, and you catch it and quickly slip into it.

A blissful sigh leaves your lips. Sukuna's hoodie is so soft and warm, and it smells just like him, making your stomach tingle when you smell his fresh, sexy, boyish scent mixed with cigarette smoke and cherries.

You smile gratefully at the star player, who can actually be pretty nice contrary to his bad boy reputaion.

"Thank you, Sukuna."

Sukuna stands there, resting his chin on the back of his hand on his hockey stick as his beautiful maroon eyes slowly wander over you. There is something in his eyes that you haven't seen in his gaze before, but you can't quite name it.

All you know is that Sukuna's gaze lingers a lot longer than necessary on your body, which is now clad in his hoodie. He looks happy somehow, pleased, but there is also something darker in his eyes, almost like some primal hunger.

It makes you lick your lips nervously, but then Sukuna seems to shake himself out of it, and he smirks at you again, just as cocky as always, flirty and sweet-talking like a champ,

"You're welcome, princess. Anything for my lucky charm."

He skates back to where his teammates are doing practice shots, joining them immediately in full hockey star mode.

You feel oddly light-headed from the encounter with Sukuna and the feeling of his warm, comfy hoodie on your body, and his sexy scent in your nose as you walk back to your classmate.

She looks at you with an amused expression on her face and a "see, I told you so" attitude written all over her face.

"Oh yeah, it's clearly not like that at all, huh?"

You leave the arena huddled comfortably into Sukuna's hoodie, your hands shoved deep into the soft front pocket, smiling at how the hoodie looks more like a dress on you because of the height difference between you and Sukuna. It's making your tummy flutter a bit to imagine him wearing it before he gave it to you. Almost like you get an indirect feel of his tall, strong body. You bite your lip and try to chase that thought away. This is dangerous territory.

But the thing is, even when you are back in your dorm, you can't bring yourself to take off Sukuna's hoodie.

It's far too comfy and warm, and so you just stay in it the rest of the evening while preparing dinner and working on your assignment. It also smells so good. You catch yourself bringing the soft fabric up to your nose several times to inhale the fresh and seductive scent that is Itadori Sukuna. Fresh cologne, cigarette smoke, and cherries.

You tell yourself you will take the hoodie off before bed. It will be too warm to sleep in it anyway. Yes, definitely, you will change into one of your usual T-shirts!

Just five more minutes.

In the end, you stay in Sukuna's hoodie. But it is a bad idea, as you soon realize when you lie in your bed, and your mind gets flooded with images of Sukuna's sexy grin and his gorgeous tattooed body. You feel a bit guilty when your hand slips into your panties while you are still wearing the hoodie that smells like Sukuna. You don't want to be into him like that!

But you can't stop yourself, even though it feels kind of wrong to give in to the sudden urge to push your panties down so you can feel Sukuna's hoodie brush over your wet pussy, soaking the soft fabric with your arousal as a needy moan falls from your lips.

You imagine Sukuna lying in his bed with a hand down his pants, too, while he thinks of you in his hoodie and nothing else. And that thought leads to an all too sexy fantasy of you riding Sukuna on his bed while you're wearing his hoodie, and his large hands slip under it and wrap around your waist. And he's smirking at you and calling you princess and his lucky charm while you bounce on his lap until you cum all over his gorgeous cock.

You curse yourself a little for whispering his name when you cum so hard that your vision goes black for a moment.

I would SQUEAL internally if Sukuna gave me his hoodie ❤️❤️ And being his personal lucky charm sounds like the best job ever to me! AAAHH he just drives me insane!

Thank you so much for all the love for this AU!! I hope you enjoyed Chapter 3, too. Comments and reblogs would be very sweet ❤️

In Chapter 4, Reader and Sukuna end up in the locker room together. Let's see what that leads to ;)

[taintandviolent]

Regular ; Oz Cobb x Reader

summary: You live in Gotham City and are a waitress at a little hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant. Oz is a regular and you've developed quite the crush on him.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 6.4K | older man/younger woman, semi-established history, making out, cockwarming, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, fingering (female receiving, dirty talk, smut with a teensy bit of plot (but not really).

a/n: to the 99.9999% of my followers... I'm so sorry but I am begging you guys to hear me out about him!!!! I thoroughly expect this to flop, but I needed to write it for my own sanity. absolutely massive thank you to @redravenblogs for beta-reading! banner by @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / playlist here / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

Ah, Tuesday night. 

In Gotham City, every night is a good night for an Italian restaurant. Especially one that’s been in business since 1964 and acquired a hefty lot of aging locals that know the food is good, and a possibly even longer list of trendy, younger foodies that have heard that food is good because of the aging locals. 

There’s also the�� criminal side of the patrons. Have a place with delicious food and wine, and Gotham’s elite underground is sure to follow. You’ve seen your fair share of men who look like they’re here to discuss a deal over a good meal, and a number of elected officials with them. You know better than to meddle, though. You just do your job, and hope for a good tip. Usually, you get one. 

Tonight, it’s raining. Heavily. Surprise, surprise. People flock in from the street as an escape from the deluge outside and the restaurant is filling up quickly. Your section is about three quarters of the way full, and you’re busy. You hear the door open again, followed by the momentary rush of the sound of tires on wet pavement outside. You straighten up, throwing your glance in the way of the entrance. 

There he is. A warm smile spreads across your face as you watch him amble in, shaking the rain from his leather coat. Though his appearances aren’t regular, his habits are. He always sits at the same table in your section, towards the back and next to the corner window. Once he figured out it was in an area you attended to, he never sat anywhere else. 

You only know him as Oz, the big sweetheart of a man who comes in and always orders the chicken parmigiana. Says it’s the best in town. After seeing him a few times, and sneakily taking note of his last name, you took it upon yourself to do a little digging and found out that he’s known for running with Falcone’s gang and that he’s also the owner of the elite Iceberg Lounge. You never bring those things up to him in fear of starting a conversation he doesn’t want to finish. It’s really none of your business, anyway. You give him a moment to settle into the booth, but once he does – you’re immediately headed that way. 

“There she is,” he starts with a smile, watching you as you make your way over to the table, pulling your order notebook from your apron pocket. “There’s my girl.” 

A blush hits your cheek – it does every time. From day one, he flirted with you, harmlessly and has continued it ever since. You’re used to patrons being a little flirtatious, but something about the way Oz does it makes your stomach tighten. 

“Buonasera, Oz…” you say, your lips curling into a warm smile. In the year you’ve worked here, you’ve picked up a little Italian, but the appropriate greetings are mandated by management. “How you doin’?” 

“Better now.” 

You smile again and dip your chin to your chest shyly. He’s always so affectionate, so warm. For being a guy who meddles in Gotham’s seedy underbelly, he’s one of the nicest guys you’ve ever met.

“The usual?” 

He nods. “The usual, sweetheart. But gimme’ a side of fettuccine tonight, huh?” 

You scribble the order down, and snap your book shut. “You got it.”

“What time you off tonight, doll?” 

“Same as every night, Oz. In about an hour.”

“They keepin’ you late every night, huh?” 

“Yeah, but a girl’s gotta’ eat.” 

He scoffs, shaking his head and shifts in the booth before looking up at you. “I keep tellin’ ya, I could take care uh ya, baby.”

The running joke, but sometimes you wonder if he’s serious. He always tips you generously, alarmingly so, and it’s always put directly in your hand, as though he doesn’t want anyone else knowing that he takes care of your groceries for the week.

“And I keep sayin’ I couldn’t do that to you.” 

“Ahh–!” He jerks his head to the side, dismissing those words. 

You reach forward to touch his broad shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. “Let me put your order in, honey. I’ll be right back with your wine.” 

With that, you walk proudly off towards the back, swaying your hips. You can feel Oz’s eyes on you as you go and maybe the way you move is intentional, because you know he’s watching. So, what if it was? Can you really blame a girl for liking the attention?

As you round the corner to the kitchen, you clear your throat and call out to the cooks. Angelo is working tonight, and he’s one of the few guys who knows about your little affinity for Oz. As soon as you pin the ticket, Angelo spins the wheel around, looking at the order. He recognizes it, and gives you a knowing smile. 

“Oh, look who’s back, eh?” 

“Quiet,” you hush, looking back towards the table. You can’t see it from this angle, but you know he’s there, sitting, probably on his phone, or tapping his big knuckles on the wood of the table. 

He looks at the sheet again, noticing the addition, and raises an eyebrow. “Boyfriend’s hungry tonight.” 

“Angelo, will you quit it? He’s not my boyfriend.” 

“Sugar daddy then, eh?” 

You scoff, giving him the finger before reaching for one of the bottles of wine – Oz’s favorite.

You return to his table with a skip in your step. It’s been about a week since you’ve seen him, and you can’t help the giddiness in your gait. As you bump your plush hip into the corner of the table, Oz grins crookedly at you, his gold teeth glinting in the low lighting of the restaurant. You reach into your apron, pulling out a corkscrew. 

“So, whatcha’ been up to, Oz?” You say, as you twist the prong into the cork. “Haven’t seen you in a while.” 

“Ah, y’know… business as usual.”

He usually gives you an answer like that – something that doesn’t reveal too much about what he does. You wonder if he knows that you’ve looked into him. You suddenly furrow your brow at the cork – it’s being stubborn – and quickly situate the bottle between your legs, squeezing it tight between your thighs. This action isn’t lost on Oz, who watches you with a deeply interested grin, watching how your skirt rides up just slightly at the front, not enough to reveal anything aside from some of your creamy soft thigh flesh. Everything you do is done with such innocence, but there’s no way you don’t know what you’re doing to him, he thinks. After a moment of yanking, the cork finally gives way with a hollow POP and you grip the bottle, bringing it up to the table. You mutter a quiet apology and fill the glass, pulling the bottle back to wipe the edge on your apron.

“Well, it’s good to see you. Always is.” 

Someone calls your name from behind you, and it’s one of the other tables, looking for refills. You offer Oz an apologetic smile, and head in that direction. Sadly, you don’t return until his food is ready.  He’s extra present tonight; your eyes meet every time you look in his direction, giving him a timid smile and going about your tasks, but your heart flutters with an adoration for the older man. You’re attentive too, and go over to his table a million and a half times to ask how the food is, if he needs anything else. 

“Only you, doll.” 

You swat playfully at his shoulder, though the little quip has heat pooling in your core. You’d be lying if you hadn’t thought about him taking you over the table a handful of times; lustfully imagining what his hips would feel like rutting against your ass as he sunk himself inside of you. You constantly wondered what his cock looked like. He was a big man, and you assumed that rang true for all parts of him – but the hunger to find out was terrible.  

He’s one of the last ones to leave, lingering as long as he can before it’s considered rude. Tonight, something’s different about him, like something is on his mind, something he wants to say. Each time you’re at his table, he looks like he’s about to ask, but never does. Finally, as you return to clear his table, reaching for the empty plates on his table, he downs the rest of his wine and clears his throat. 

“Listen, sweetheart,” he says, pivoting slightly in the booth with some effort. “You uh, you busy after work?” 

“N-no.” Your heart is pounding in your chest. You straighten up, holding the stacked plates with one flattened palm.

“Why don’t you come down to the Iceberg Lounge? Unwind a little.”

“Oh, Oz, I’m not much of a clubbing girl.” 

There’s a glimmer of disappointment in those dark eyes of his, but he sets his jaw, and gets to his feet. This puts him in your proximity, and you can feel the heat rolling off his large body. Your stomach aches to lean into him, press yourself into his gut, and lace your arms around his neck.

“Just think ‘bout it.” He reaches in his pocket. 

The tip he gives you tonight almost makes your knees give way. It feels thicker than usual in your left hand and when your fingers close around the bills, you swallow down the protests. You don’t dare count it, not in front of him or anyone else. You’ve stopped telling him no, or that he doesn’t have to, because it’s almost like it offends him. He always hushes you, and acts like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You tuck it in the pocket of your apron, and swallow hard again. 

He smiles and steps around you. Your eyes are glued to the visual of him leaving, watching him through the windows as he limps down the sidewalk. God, you want him. It��s a lethal hunger, something that claws and rips at your insides. 

Once the restaurant is empty, you and the rest of the crew make quick work of cleaning up and closing up shop. It’s about forty-five minutes later when you’re slipping your arms into the sleeves of your black, wool overcoat and heading through the door. The rain hasn’t stopped. If anything, it’s gotten worse. You heave a sigh. You’ve got a walk ahead of you, but it’s something you’re used to. 

“Doll!” 

You stop walking, poised just at the end of the sidewalk. You hoist your bag up on your shoulder and pull your jacket right around your neck, squinting into the rain. 

“Oz? That you?” You take a step in that direction, knowing full well it is. Your casual act is embarrassing to you, but you persist, pretending you’re surprised to see him getting out of his car. It’s a nice one, too… a Maserati. Was he… waiting for you?

“Yeah,” he grumbles. “You ain’t walkin’ home in this, are ya?”

“Just to the station,” You defend. 

“Nah. C’mon.” He limps around the front of his car, rain splattering against his leather coat. “Lemme’ give ya’ a ride.” 

He doesn’t have to ask you twice. What’s the worst thing that could happen? Really. The rain is brutal and you’re cold, a chill settling into your bones. You hurry towards the plum-coloured car, your high heels clacking against the wet pavement as you do. Oz opens and holds the door for you, waiting patiently for you to make your way over. You get in the car gracefully, making sure not to flash him, though, you doubt he’d mind if you did. It’s warm inside, the heat is on, and the leather interior has absorbed some of that heat. You snuggle into the seat, watching in the rearview as Oz makes his way back around the car, and for a moment you’re surrounded by nothing but the sound of rain on the roof and the shlick of the wiper blades as they whisk the droplets off the windshield. The driver’s side door opens, and he tucks himself in. Droplets of rain decorate his shoulders, and he smears his hand over his hair. 

“Where to, sweetheart?” He asks, a familiarity in his voice. He’s used to driving people around, but he’d drive you around the whole city if you asked. 

“The complex on the corner of 7th and Onyx…” you say, almost sheepishly. Sure, it’s not the best part of town, but your little apartment is cozy, overlooking the city. You imagine he’s used to much nicer, and is probably silently judging the location. 

“Oz,” you start, looking at the girth of his fingers as they wrap around the steering wheel. Your mind starts to wander, but you quickly reign it in with a hard blink and an inhalation of breath. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure, doll. Anything you want.” 

“Were you waiting for me to get off work?”

 “Gotta’ look out for my favorite girl, y’know?” 

It’s an indirect answer, but an answer all the same. You smile to yourself as he eases his foot into the gas pedal, the car moving forward. His right hand departs from the steering wheel to turn on the radio. Frank Sinatra’s crooning voice fills the inside, and for the rest of the drive, you’re silent, occasionally stealing looks at Oz as he drives. He handles the car beautifully, and you wonder if he handles a woman as well. 

Oz is sweet. You know this. Despite his constant heavy flirting at the restaurant, he’s sweet, charming and at times, awkward. Endearingly so. But you aren’t taking pity on him. Your interest in him is purely selfish, driven by your lust for older, dangerous men. You inhale a deep breath and turn your attention to the road. You’re close to home. A few minutes later, he pulls up next to your building and puts the car in park. 

You reposition yourself to face him, shifting your feet underneath you. He’s watching you, those smoldering, dark eyes following your every move. Carefully, you lean over the center console, enough to close in the distance between you two and press your lips against his warm, scarred cheek. His aftershave wafts into your nose, and you take a deep breath of it, remembering it. You think you hear his breath hitching. 

“That’s for the ride, Oz.” 

“Shit, I oughta’ drive you ‘round more often if that’s what it gets me, huh?” 

You hesitate a moment, looking into his eyes. There’s that look again –  like he wants to ask something. You fill the void with another question. 

“Is our chicken parm really the best, or do you just come for me?” 

Oz’s thick brows flick up on his forehead and he lets out a throaty chuckle. “Sweetheart...” 

“Do you come for me?” 

Now he’s really looking at you, squinting at you. Hearing that question repeated has him twitching in his goddamn slacks. He looks out to the rain, then back to you and you’re still staring at him, waiting for an answer. 

“If you only fuckin’ knew,” he chokes out.

“Well.. what if I wanna’ know?” 

“Doll,” he grins and laughs, almost nervously. It’s loveable and you can’t help but smile, your gaze fixated on his scarred mouth as he speaks. You aren’t staring negatively, quite the contrary. Like everything else unusual about him, you find his scars sexy. 

“You don’t gotta’... y’know, do that.”

You smile again, letting your lids close slightly. He thinks you’re doing this because you’re what? Paying him back for all the tips? Treating him like a charity case? Hysterical. If he only knew.

“Answer my question, Oz. What if I wanna’ know?”

He shifts in his seat. Uncomfortable? You can’t tell. 

“Then uh… I ain’t gonna’ deny you that. Find out.”

You lean back over, and instead of kissing his cheek, you tilt your head and go for his mouth, your soft, plush lips pressing against his. He doesn’t respond… not right away, at least. He’s stunned, but also trying not to devour you like some goddamned hungry animal. Finally, his lips twitch to life, pressing back against yours. 

He ain’t used to this. But, fuck, it feels good. 

As his mouth opens, his large hand comes up to the side of your face, holding you where you’re at. The cool chill of the band of his ring is a stark contrast against the warmth of his digits. His fingertips graze the edge of your hairline, massaging gently. The taste of his tongue in your mouth is intoxicating, the wine lingering on his breath mingles with his own personal notes. You let an open-mouthed moan fall from your throat, into his, and he reciprocates, moving his body slightly towards you. Your tongue slips along his bottom lip, pausing to nibble at it softly. He groans deep, his eyes rolling back in his head. You’re getting him stiff, worked up and all you’re fuckin’ doin’ is kissin’ him.   

This is getting heavy. You feel your own arousal burning between your legs, a fiery, throbbing heartbeat that gets more incessant the longer his tongue is in your mouth, tasting you. Oz is practically taking you in mouthfuls, and your hand crawls over the center console, just far enough that your fingernails scrape against the fabric of his slacks, over his thigh. A desperate attempt to get closer to him without just straddling him in his front seat. 

A deep rumble of thunder and a crack of lightning pulls you two from each other. You lurch away, panting, and look out through the front windshield. The rain comes down harder, and you can hardly make out the outlines of the buildings in front of you. 

“I should… probably go inside before this gets any worse.”

You aren’t sure if you’re talking about the rain or the mutual arousal. Maybe both. He clears his throat in response; he wants to tell you that you’re a cruel woman, leaving him like this, but with the taste of you still on his tongue, he ain’t about to push his luck and get greedy. He unlocks the doors from the panel on his left. You open the door and get out, dragging your bag with you. You lean back inside, looking at him with dreamy, half-lidded eyes. 

“I’ll see you, Oz. Thanks for the ride.” 

But not the kiss? You cringe at your words. There’s that look again – but this time, you know he wants to ask you if you’re coming down to the Lounge later. You know it, and you’ve already made up your mind. 

Instead, he shrugs with both of his shoulders. “Sure, sweetheart. Any time. I mean that.” 

With butterflies in your stomach, you exit the car, and shut the door, careful not to slam it. You hold your purse above your head as you run to the front door and you hear the roar of Oz’s engine as he speeds off. The second you’re inside, you kick off your heels at the door and hurry to the back of the apartment. You flip the lightswitch, illuminating the modest bedroom. You pull the dress from the back of your closet, half expecting a cloud of dust to come with it.  

Thank god it still fits. 

You catch a cab downtown, which is much less luxurious than your previous ride. It drops you off in front, and the line to get in stretches down the length of the building. You knew it was a popular place, but you hadn’t expected this. The rain, nor the fact that it’s a Tuesday evening, deters these patrons – whatever’s inside must really be something. You pull your dress down your thighs, and walk carefully up onto the sidewalk. Deciding to try your luck with the bouncers, you bypass the line, trying not to look at anyone to your right. If you stand in line, you won’t be inside for hours. 

Two men – identical twins – stand in front of the door.

“Can we help you?” One of them asks, sternly. You don’t take offense, they’re only doing their job. 

“Um…” You blurt out your name, adding, “Oz asked me to come.” 

One of the men speaks into a small mic attached to the lapel of his jacket, covering it with his hand. It’s only a moment before one of them opens the door and the music goes from muffled to booming, vibrating your bones. You mutter a quick thanks, and step inside, feeling like you’ve just cheated the system. The visual that meets you truly overwhelms you at first, and you hesitate. 

It’s a staggeringly massive venue, filled with undulating bodies. The building itself is industrial in nature, all steel and flashing red lights. The dance floor stretches as far as your eyes can see, a literal sea of human beings, all grinding against each other, feeling the music in their veins. You stand, stunned at the start of the crowd, unsure of where to go.

After a moment, you lift your gaze and your eyes meet for the hundredth time that night. Oz stands on the second floor, on almost a catwalk above the crowds. He looks like he did at the restaurant, save for the leather jacket which was replaced by a white suit jacket; he’s wearing the same purple shirt and black slacks. Your shoulders relax, knowing that whatever happens next will be something you remember for the rest of your life.

He doesn’t make it a secret of how he’s checking you out, a devilish sneer on his face. He’s only ever seen you in your waitress outfit, which let it be known, is sexy enough on its own, but this plunging number that gives him a peek at your cleavage, and hugs your hips in ways he could only dream of… He deepens his grin and jerks his head to the side, urging you up. You follow his gaze and clock the staircase to your left. You make a beeline for it, holding the chain of your purse in a fist and climb the steel staircase carefully, until you get to the platform that Oz is standing on. 

“Hi!” You shout over the pulsing music. You’re giddy, like a schoolgirl. It’s embarrassing, really. 

“I gotta’ be honest, doll, I didn’t think I’d see you.” he confesses, leaning into your ear. His voice is rough, but enticing. He pulls back, gauging your reaction. You stare at him for a moment, saying nothing, prolonging the moment and torturing him. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and your eyes flick down to watch. Something he does a lot, you notice. 

“What?” you ask, leaning into him. “After what happened in the car?” 

When you pull back to look at him, there’s a bemused smile on your face. Confident. Cocky. Like there was an unspoken contest of who would mention it first and you won. He shrugs lightly, huffing out a laugh. You reach for his cheek, palming it softly. Oz keeps his composure, even though inside, he wants to lean into it and whimper like a dog. He’s glad he doesn’t though. 

“I’m the one who kissed you, remember? It’s not like you did anything to offend me, Oz.” you coo.

“I ‘spose not, huh?” 

You nod, slowly, coyly. 

“The chicken parm,” he says suddenly, shrugging with his hands. “It ain’t bad. But I guess you’ve figured out the real reason why I come there, huh?”  

You laugh brightly, looking over the railing at the throngs of people below you, neon red lights washing over them in time with the music. You smile softly, feeling special. It’s not every day that you get private access to an elite club in Gotham City and get to schmooze with the owner. 

“Come upstairs with me.” Feeling like your attention is drifting from him, Oz takes your hand, guiding you in the direction of yet another flight of stairs. Your eyes trail up the steps; they lead to a loft, glass windows on every side. 

You’re stone cold sober, so you can’t blame the alcohol, but the second you’re in his office, above the crowds, above it all, you’re on him like a bear on honey. Your hands smear over his chest, fingers grazing through the hair that peeks out from his open shirt. He smells like cigars and an expensive cologne that you take lungfuls of. 

“You're an eager girl, aren’t ya?” 

“Yeah, Oz… I am.” You reply breathlessly, kissing a path along his bottom lip and chin. 

“How long have you felt this way, huh?” 

You finally pull back, and lick your lips, watching him intently. You knew he was a talker from the restaurant, always chatting. But right now, you wanted nothing more than to kiss him. “Uhm…” Your chest heaves visibly, and Oz has to fight to keep his eyes on yours. “The first or second time you came into Bellini…” 

“Ah, c’moooon!” he says, incredulously. 

“No, I’m serious!” You laugh a little, moving your head to try and keep Oz’s gaze. He looks off behind you for a moment, and when he returns his attention to you, his expression is serious.

“Chicks like you don’t go after guys like me –”

You bristle and take his face in your hands. “Chicks like me? What do you know about chicks like me, Oz? You think you’ve got it all figured out, huh?” 

He sidesteps that with another question. “What, you like older guys or somethin’?” 

“They’re better…” You say in between tiny kisses. “They know better. They’re more experienced. Guys my age…” You pause to run a finger along his lip. “They don’t know how to take care of women.”

Oz smiles. It’s a dirty, devious smile, and it sends a pulse to your core. There’s a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, and he brings his hand up to the curve of your shoulder. “You want me to take care of ya, baby? Is that what you’re sayin’?” 

You nod. A little too enthusiastically, maybe. 

“It’s a busy club, sweetheart.” He says, almost nonchalantly, as though his slacks aren’t tenting in between both of you. 

But… he has a point. You hum quietly. 

“Later, then? Give me a tour of the club and – “ Your voice trails off because Oz looks like he’s just gotten an idea. He smirks, and his hand grips your hip, pulling you close to his gut. “What?” 

“How’s about you sit on it, huh?” 

Your head turns, gaze heavily resting on the room across the way. You assume it’s for the dancers of the club. Whatever it is – it’s right there. You glance at it nervously, and your expression reads strong, apparently, because Oz chuckles next to you, and brings his hand to your jaw, forcing it back in his direction. 

“Hey, hey, hey. Look at me. It’s okay. They ain’t gonna’ know a thing.” 

His hand drops from your jaw to your waist, where his thumb swipes circles over your dress. His hand sweeps around to the back, where your skin is exposed, and begins stroking patterns over the skin, igniting tiny fires wherever he touches. You lean forward, pressing your mouth against his again, hungry for his taste again. After a few minutes, Oz pulls away, ending the foreplay. He turns and ambles to the leather sofa angled in front of the window and you follow, taking slow, careful steps. One foot in front of the other. 

Once he’s seated, you lift your dress just enough to grip the delicately stretchy lace of your panties on either side, and carefully pull them down the curve of your ass. Oz is watching, his brown eyes locked on the tantalizing visual in front of him. You discard them on the sofa cushion, not thinking about where they land. Oz watches though, and his large hand snakes out, fisting them and discreetly tucking them into the pocket of his slacks. If you asked, he would’ve told you that he didn’t want anyone fuckin’ seein’ ‘em. The reality was that his perversions were too loud, and he was going to take a token of this dream he was experiencing.  

Oz reaches down, unlatching his slacks, and pulling the zip down just enough to reach in and pull his aching cock free. As you lower yourself, he lines it up, watching intently. You whimper his name, feeling the cockhead nudge your entrance. 

“Easy, sweetheart, easy. That’s it, nice n’ slow.” He licks his lips. 

At first, you nestle yourself down onto his thick cock gradually. The fat, leaking head pops in first, sending a shockwave through your core. Your breath hitches in your throat, and instead of sliding yourself down his shaft slowly, with a huff, you slam your ass down hard. You’re sitting all the way down on Oz’s wide lap, stuffing the rest of him in. He’s thicker than he is long, but god, it’s everything you thought it would be. He vocalizes, surprised at your determination. You still, letting your walls accommodate the girth of the man beneath you. 

“Hoo, baby...” 

The tiniest little movements have him clenching his jaw, hissing through his teeth. And then… with his hand casually holding onto your hip, Oz starts to rut his hips up into you. It’s just enough to rock your body up and down and move his cock inside you. 

He grunts underneath you, his grasp tightening on the satin of your dress. He craves skin, and his hand slides into the space between your dress and your back. You can’t help but let out the tiniest of whimpers at the feeling of being so full – you don’t remember the last time you were stretched like that. Your dress pools, hanging heavy between your legs and concealing your leaking core. 

Abruptly, the collective sound of high heels approaches, and your eyes snap up to the glass windows. A group of girls crowds the room parallel, and the second one of them spots you two, they’re heading your way. Oz stops moving. 

“Alright… quiet, doll.” He slaps your hip a few times. It’s a warning, and one you immediately heed, straightening up, tucking your hips into a more natural sitting position. His cock twitches inside you, and you swallow back the noise that bubbles up your throat. 

“Ozzy,” the girls coo in unison. One of them has a martini in her hand and asks who you are. God, they’re all so beautiful, you think. Insecurity threatens, but the stretching between your legs calms it.

Leaning to the side to meet their gaze, he tells them your name, proudly – the bastard – and you wave, sheepishly, trying not to allude to the fact that Oz’s girthy cock is buried inside you. Maybe they know. Maybe he’s done this before. You swallow hard, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

“We was just havin’ a meeting. She’s thinkin’ of workin’ here.” A bold faced lie, but it distracts the women from looking too hard at the scene in front of them. They all titter excitedly, delighted by the prospect of having another friend to play with.  

“Oz takes real good care of us,” one of them chimes in, earnestly. “You’d love it here.” 

You clench around his cock as hard as you can, your internal muscles squeezing him in a vice. You smile as naturally as you can at the girls as Oz continues speaking casually. The man’s poker face must be insane because he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t give away a single thing. 

“Alright, alright. Girls, what am I payin’ ya for, huh? Get down there.” 

In a flurry of nods and apologies, the women disperse, heading back down to the throbbing club below them. The sound of their high heels clicking down the stairs fades away, replaced by the dull, muffled thrumming of the music below. As soon as you two are alone again, Oz bucks his hips up into you hard, almost painfully, pulling a low groan from your throat.

“Tell me how good that feels, sweetheart. Tell me.” The roughness of his voice, the harshness of his accent makes everything sound intense, but the desperation in which he asks that isn’t lost on you. He’s practically begging you to tell him, revealing a deep-rooted hunger for praise. You wet your throat, and lean your head back onto his shoulder, bringing your hand up around to the back of his wide neck; the flesh is warm and damp with sweat.

“It feels so good.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Y-yeah…” You close your eyes, wincing slightly at the way his cock bullies you and stretches you open. “So good, Oz. I’ve thought about this… so many times.”

His hips rut up into you, finding a hungry, incessant rhythm and your slick walls clench around him. The action brings a choking grunt from his mouth, and your ego swells with the control. An idea blossoms. You straighten up; setting your hips and grinding them back and forth on his lap. Beneath you, Oz moans, his grip on you tightening. You feel his large body shudder, and a cocky smile curls its way around your lips. 

“You like that, Oz? You like me fucking you like that?” 

He nods, breathlessly, reaching up to palm the sweat that drips into his brow. 

“Tell me,” you whisper, arching your body against his. 

“I l-like the way you’re fuckin’ me. It feels real fuckin’ good… ” He grumbles, pleased. “Feelin’ that tight pussy uh yours… like heaven, doll.” 

You whine at that, loving the way it sounds coming from his mouth. Your hips gyrate, continuing their ruthless pattern on his cock. His hand strays from your hip and juts between your legs, finding your cunt. His thick fingers slip between your folds, stroking you just enough to drive your orgasm closer to the edge. You whimper, tossing your head back. 

Oz’s gaze drops from your back to your ass, watching as the flesh swells when you push back against him. God damn. It’s a perfect fuckin’ view, and he sucks in a deep breath. Every muscle in his body tightens, even if he ain’t ready for that.  

“Aw, fuck–” he grunts, low. Deep in his stomach, his muscles clench, trying hard to stave off the oncoming orgasm. His eyes open, focusing on the ceiling, the sound of the music, anything except for the way you’re ridin’ him. It ain’t workin’, because he feels his whole body tense up. Fuck. 

His hand goes slack between your legs and you grit your teeth, bringing your brows together in a pained expression. The dual stimulation was nice, but the way his cock massages your walls, stretching them out and filling you in a way that has you gasping is enough to drive you mad. You’re thankful that the music is so loud beneath you, because your desperate mewls and whines are getting higher and higher in pitch. Oz mutters something, something filthy about filling you and you drive your hips back against him. And with that, he loses it. He thrusts his hips up into you a few times, with a frenzied sort of desperation. You feel the heat painting your insides, coating your walls in his ecstasy. Underneath you, Oz’s thrusts have turned languid and lazy. He’s silently justifying the too-quick orgasm with the fact that he had to; anyone could’ve walked in at any time. It had nothing to do with the fact that he’s been like a slobbering dog for you for months. 

Chest heaving, your hips continue rutting back and forth, and Oz shifts underneath you, still panting heavily. It’s tender, but he doesn’t complain. His thrusts continue to slow and you desperately reach between your legs, tapping his hand back to life. “D-don’t stop Oz, please… don’t stop…” 

Behind you, Oz chuckles under his breath and straightens up, having sunk back into the sofa a little too far when he lost it. His thick index finger strokes your clit upwards, and a shiver rips through your body. The coil in your stomach winds tighter as you settle into the oncoming feeling. Still full of him, your slick walls shudder around his cock as the first wave hits. The coil snaps, your thighs clamp shut around his hand, and you look down, sighing loud as he continues flicking between your folds. One of your hands is situated on his thigh, and the other comes to grip his wrist, feeling the cuban link chain beneath your palm.

“That’s it, sweetheart… that’s it…” As you ride it out, bucking your hips against his groin, he coaxes you through your orgasm, both vocally and with the way he massages your clit, the pad of his index finger pressing into it. You can hear the pride in his voice, it’s absolutely dripping with it. “Atta’ girl. Feels fuckin’ good, don’t it?”

You try to speak, but nothing comes out. You furiously nod your head as your legs begin to tremble. He doesn’t stop, and your immediate reaction is to dig your nails into the flesh of his hand, silently begging. 

“You good, doll?” 

“Y-yeah. I’m… wow.” 

Oz removes his hand from between your legs, and strokes the side of your thigh, gently. Tenderly. For a moment, you stay like that, just enjoying all of the post-coital sensations. Eventually, you get to your feet, curious about how the patrons downstairs are faring. Speaking of dripping… You swallow hard, and press your thighs together. 

While still in front of Oz, you straighten yourself out, pulling your dress back down over your hips. Now, you’re suddenly aware of the throbbing beat beneath your feet and make your way over to the window. 

“How about that tour?” You ask, running a nail along the glass that overlooks the dancefloor below you. After a few moments, you feel Oz’s presence behind you, his stomach pressing into the curve of your back. 

“I thought you weren’t a clubbin’ girl…” he murmurs throatily, in between kisses to your neck. You tilt your head, allowing more space for him to smother. 

“Well,” you confess, honesty tinging your voice. “I’m not. But it’s not every day you get invited to the most elite nightclub in Gotham City.” You shrug. “Might as well.”

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

The Return

Batter Up Chapter 7

Pairing: Baseball player Joel Miller x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: After a month of being away from the game and the girl he loves, Joel Miller is back and ready to play. Warnings: smut, making a sex tape, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (reader has an IUD), cream pie, also regular pie, joel miller's dirty mouth, wine. Words: 5,000

A/N: Thank you to my dearest @devineconjuring and her beautiful brain for beta'ing and being my grammar goddess.

Masterlist Playlist

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The crowd chants Joel’s name, lights flicker through the stadium, the ground feels like it’s shaking beneath his feet. He loves this feeling—the rush of adrenaline coursing through him, the loud crowd drowning out every doubt he’s ever felt. After three weeks on the injured list and another week rehabbing in the minors–a month away from the big leagues–Joel Miller is back.

He walks to the plate, digging his heels into the dirt and tapping his bat against the plate as he soaks in the moment. 

“Miller, good to see you back,” the catcher says.

Joel nods, and grunts an acknowledgment back.

His eyes settle on the pitcher, some young phenom throwing 99-mph with almost every pitch. Don’t worry kid, you’ll get old like me.

The first pitch whooshes past him—ball one. 

Ball two.

Strike one.

The pitcher’s keeping it a little outside, Joel inches closer to the plate, squaring up. The pitcher winds up again, Joel takes a deep breath, feeling the vibration of the bat as it connects with the ball. The crack of the bat reverberates through the stadium as the ball soars past the infield, over the outfield, and disappears beyond the right-field fence.

Home run.

The crowd erupts, the celebratory bell tolls as he rounds the bases. His eyes scan the club box above third base, finding you amidst the cheering fans, your arms raised high, that smile of yours lighting up his heart.

Joel Miller is back, doing what he loves, and now in front of the woman he loves.

__

You’re so proud of him. You wipe the tears from your eyes as Joel’s feet touch home base. His recovery wasn’t easy. Every week away from the game for someone as old as him means double the work versus a young kid just in the game. Forty year olds aren’t known for being pro athletes. 

With the long Labor Day weekend, you were able to take time off from work and travel by train to Philadelphia to witness Joel's celebrated comeback, which had turned into a legend after his grand slam. Suddenly, all of your worries are lifted away. The stress of telling your families that you're a couple, your demanding job as a column writer at Sporting Digest that revolves around the ebb and flow of games, trades, and record breaking moments–none of it matters now.

Your responsibilities at work have been stacking up over the past few weeks. Churning out articles on everything from college football predictions to analyses of NBA draft picks. When you were hired you agreed to not cover baseball, what with the conflict of interest and all. Now, you dream of the headlines you could write about your boyfriend’s triumphant return. 

You’ve barely been able to leave your laptop. Last week, you spent three days shadowing a tennis star at the US Open, scribbling notes on her training and the pressure of being labeled the “next big thing.” You’ve barely had time to breathe, let alone do laundry, go grocery shopping, and, most importantly, be there for Joel. You put in countless hours of work to make this long weekend possible, just so you could witness his big comeback firsthand. 

“Heck of a player that Miller is,” you hear the TV in the corner say. “He sure knows how to show everyone he’s still got it, doesn’t he?” 

You clutch his number dangling from your neck, you’re so proud of him, always proving everybody wrong. Well worth every sacrifice. 

__

The Liberties win, 4-0, all thanks to Joel’s grand slam in the first inning. Sports radio is going to have a field day with this. 

You make your way down to the stadium’s corridors, where staff rush around with more important tasks than yours. 

The Liberties clubhouse sits just ahead of you, the two large blue doors stay closed to onlookers. You rest your back against the cold cinder block wall and send Joel a text, telling him to take his time.

A year ago, you never could’ve imagined this. Joel Miller—rugged, no-nonsense baseball star, the man who occupied your teenage dreams—now your boyfriend. The man who keeps your favorite pasta sauce in his pantry. The man who goes mattress shopping with you. It feels surreal, yet so real at the same time.

Every time that damn blue door opens your heart skips a beat, hoping you’ll find Joel walking out. False alarm after false alarm. 

Until…

Joel emerges, hair slicked back, wearing a gray Liberties shirt, khaki pants, and those cheesy white New Balance sneakers you tease him relentlessly about. Joel, you’re way too rich to be wearing these damn ragged shoes. 

“Hi baby,” he smiles as he wraps his arms around you, pushing you further against the wall. 

“Hi,” you breathlessly respond, smelling the body wash on his skin. Damn, he showered. “Good game.”

“It was, wasn’t it?”

You can’t help but smile at how happy he is, back where he belongs, doing what he loves.

“Come on,” he says, pulling you close. “Let’s go celebrate.” His arm stays around your waist as he leads you through the corridors to his car.

It’s so freeing now, being able to cheer for—and love—Joel out in the open, for all eyes to see.

__

“You know you made me cry today, right?” you say, reaching for his hand resting on your thigh.

“I did, huh?” he replies with a smirk on his face.

He always looks so confident as he drives. Philly’s narrow streets, filled with potholes and pedestrians, are nothing like Austin’s, but he navigates them as effortlessly as he does everything else—injuries, tough teammates, media storms. He handles it all like he handles a fastball: with ease.

“Yeah, I’m really proud of you,” you tell him softly, grabbing his hand harder. “I know I’ve said it a hundred times, but I’m just so happy to be here for you.”

He smiles that quiet Joel smile. “That’s how I feel watching you handle everything too.”

"So, where are we headed?" you ask, noticing you're not on the route to his apartment. “I hope I’m dressed okay,” you say, looking down at your simple red gingham dress. 

"It’s a surprise. You’ll be fine, you look beautiful baby," he says.

The car winds through the city. You glance over, watching the city lights flicker across his face as the car turns off the main road, slipping into a quieter neighborhood.

The car pulls up to a small, unassuming brick building tucked away on a quiet side street. No flashy sign, no valet—just a discreet, vintage lantern hangs above the door. It’s definitely a place Joel prefers. 

He turns off the car and turns to you, his hand still resting on your thigh. “Thought we’d keep it low-key,” his deep voice rumbles in the quiet of the car.

You nod, your smile widening. “Perfect.”

He steps out of the car and, ever the gentleman, comes around to open your door before guiding you toward the entrance. You wrap your arm around his, leaning into his warmth as he leads you inside.

—

“Mr. Miller, welcome to Vetri Cucina. We’re happy to have you here. Let me show you to your table.”

“Silvio," Joel says with a firm handshake. "Good to see you. Thanks."

Your eyes scan the cozy space. Shiny worn floorboards, warm amber walls, a glistening chandelier that hangs from the low ceiling–you’ve never seen a place like this before. Little did you know that behind the unassuming brick row home exterior there would be a whole functional restaurant. It feels like the perfect mix of a place for the two of you, rustic and intimate.

Silvio leads you both up a narrow staircase to a private room on the second floor. A table for two sits in the center of the room. A red glass chandelier hangs above it, candlelights flickering shadows across the golden walls.. 

“So, we’re still hiding our dinners with each other away from prying eyes?” you tease as Joel pulls the chair out for you and you take a seat.  

“Not exactly,” he says, taking your hand in his. “I just wanted to show off that I can get us a private table at one of the best restaurants in Philly.”

You laugh. “I’m sure there’s a Golden Corral around here.”

Joel chuckles. “Very funny. But trust me—you’ll love it here. They’ve got all the fancy dishes with those French words you like.”

“You know me too well.”

“Better than you think,” he says, his eyes gleaming under the golden light.

—

A waiter approaches, a polished smile on his face. “Good evening, and welcome. My name is Royal, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. We have a special tasting menu prepared just for you, personally selected by our chef. It’ll start with an appetizer, followed by a pasta course, a main, and dessert.” 

Your mouth waters as Royal pours you a glass of wine. 

”Each course will be paired with a wine from our grand collection. Your first course will be out shortly. In the meantime, is there anything else I can bring you?”

Joel shakes his head. “We’re all set, thanks.”

“Wow,” you say once the waiter leaves, glancing around the elegantly set table. “I feel a little underdressed for a tasting menu.”

Joel shrugs. “I have a feeling they won’t care what we’re wearing once I pay the bill. Besides,” he says with a smile, “I like you in that red dress.”

“Atta boy, Texas,” you say, smiling as you sip your wine.

—

After a couple courses of delicious appetizers that you happily eat, but Joel barely touches, the water returns, presenting the main course with a flourish. 

"For your entrée, we have our signature dish: salt-crusted tilapia with a bread salad of parsley and tomatoes, alongside grilled artichokes on a bed of smoked squash puree."

You glance at Joel as the waiter expertly cracks the salt crust, revealing the perfectly cooked fish underneath. You know Joel hates fish and artichokes. The waiter sets down two glasses of white wine and disappears, leaving you both alone with the dish.

"Baby, what are you going to do?" you ask, eyes wide as Joel picks up his fork.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m here to impress you,” he says with determination before spearing a piece of the fish. He takes a bite, his nose crinkling ever so slightly as he chews.

“How is it?” you ask, biting back a smile.

Joel grimaces. “I’ve had better.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Please don’t eat it. I know the only fish you like is fried.”

“Always been more of a Filet O Fish man myself.”

“I don’t think they’ve got tartar sauce here, so please, for me, don’t force yourself.”

He sets down his fork with a relieved sigh, his hand finding yours again. “Anything for you.”

When the waiter returns, he doesn’t comment on Joel’s barely touched plate, but you notice a subtle, appreciative smile as he clears away your empty dish.

“Well,” you say, leaning back, happy and full from dinner. “At least there’s dessert.”

“Never said no to dessert,” he chuckles, before looking you in the eyes with adoration. 

"You know," he begins, his voice low and serious, "I couldn't have done this without you. Coming back after my injury—”

Joel's voice trails off as he searches for the right words. His eyes stare into yours. You squeeze his hand encouragingly, needing to hear more. 

“It wasn’t just physical,” he continues. “It was mental. Wondering if I still had it within me, if I was too old, if it was time for me to hang up my cleats. But you—you never doubted me for a second.”

Tears pool in your eyes as his thumb brushes back and forth against your knuckles. 

"I’ve always been your fan, Joel. I’ll always believe in you.”

He nods, a small smile lighting his face. “I know, and that’s what got me through. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you smile through tears. 

The waiter approaches with dessert, you silently thank the interruption so you’re not left sobbing in the middle of this beautiful restaurant over how much you love your boyfriend. 

A familiar slice of pie is placed in front of you and Joel.

“Uppercrust?” you excitedly ask, your eyes widening at the large, glazed pecans laying atop the golden crust. 

Joel gives a shy, satisfied nod, his lips curving into that familiar, gentle smile. "Thought we’d end the night with our favorite. Had Sarah overnight it to the restaurant."

“Jooooel,” you breathe out, overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness. You stare at the pie, stunned by how deeply he cares for you.

“All for you baby,” he says softly as he lifts his fork and cheers with a playful smile. “Cheers to Austin and that hotel bar.”

You laugh, grabbing your own fork and tapping it against his. “Cheers,” you whisper, trying to steady your voice. 

“Oh my god,” you moan around the fork at the first taste of sweet pie. “I can’t believe you got this. You’re too good to me.”

He barks a laugh. “Baby, this is nothing, I owe you so much.” 

The pie is sweet, but your boyfriend is sweeter. 

The sweet wine served with the pie warms your body, Joel’s smile from across the table warms you even more. You sneakily slip your foot out of its sandal, and run it up his leg, making your way up to his crotch. He jumps in surprise, his eyes leer at you as he takes a sip of wine. Your foot finds its target, against the soft fabric of his pants, thankful for the white tablecloth that hangs from the table. He places a hand on your foot, pushing it closer to his crotch. You giggle as your toes wiggle back and forth, teasing him. 

“So, what’s next?” you ask, with a mischievous grin.

"Well, after we finish dinner, I'll pay the bill, grab some leftover pie for later...and then take you home and fuck you," he responds confidently.

A small hmph escapes your lips at the promise. “Is that so?”

“Oh, it absolutely is,” he replies, a sly grin spreading across his face. He leans in close, his voice lowering to a secretive whisper. “Just think about it—my place, those fancy sheets of mine you love so much…”

His hand wraps around your foot, pressing it harder against him. 

“Now you’re just making me impatient,” you tease. 

—-

The plates are cleared, the leftover pie is boxed up, Joel settles the bill and rises from his seat, extending his hand to help you up. 

Your fingers lace together as you step out into the warm summer night. Joel leads you to his car, unlocking it and opening the door for you. You lean over and seal your mouth over his, relishing in being able to kiss him out in the open. You pull away and give him a smirk before getting in and sliding across the passenger seat, your heart racing with anticipation for the next stop—Joel’s apartment. 

Your time together has been precious and few. Your career keeps you north in New York, Joel’s training and rehabilitation game have kept him busy and all over the states. But now, you finally have three nights together—the most time you've had since his injury a month ago. 

He glances over at you and winks before he adjusts the rearview mirror. You miss his truck back in Austin, the front bench seat allowing you to slide over and cuddle him close. You curse the existence of the center console. 

“Buckle up, baby,” he says with a grin. Your heart races at the double entendre. 

—-

Taking the elevator up to Joel's penthouse brings back memories of that first night together, when you couldn't believe how handsome he looked in that golden elevator at the hotel, not believing you were about to sleep with Joel Miller. Now, his body presses against yours as you lean on him, his head nestled in the crook of your neck as he leaves sweet kisses down your skin to the matching pendant of his number you wear, leaving a kiss against it before his eyes meet yours. 

“I can’t tell you how much I love seeing this on you, baby,” he says before licking his way up to your mouth, sealing his over yours. He grabs your ass, lifting you into his hold, your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, your arms wrap around his wide shoulders. 

The elevator doors open and he carries you into his penthouse, crowding you against the entryway wall. His mouth moves against yours with fervor, deepening the kiss as your fingers tangle in his hair. You gasp against his mouth, the cool wall chilling your overheated skin. 

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs between kisses, his breath warm and sweet against your lips. “I’ve missed this—missed you.”

He turns and carries you to the living room. The ambient city lights shining in from the floor-to-ceiling windows light Joel’s way. He gently sets you down on the couch and slides his hand to the back of your neck, pulling you closer for another kiss.

“Let me show you how much I’ve missed you, baby,” he whispers against your lips, pausing to look into your eyes.

You nod, breathless and eyes wide. “Please,” you whisper. 

He grins, standing back slightly, taking in the sight of you sprawled on his couch, dress askew. “You look so damn good.” 

His hands rest on the hem of your dress and, with a cocky grin, he slowly lifts it up, exposing the soft skin of your thighs. 

“God, this is all I’ve been thinking about. Drove to the ballpark thinking about you, stepped up to the plate thinking about you, and, baby,when I saw you in the stands… all I could think about was you naked in my arms.” 

“Joel…” you struggle to find the words, already lust-drunk on his words. 

“I need to taste you.” 

He drops down to his knees in front of you, his large fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear and sliding them off.

You bite your lip as he grips your thighs and spreads them apart.

He breathes out a deep sigh at the sight of you. A low whistle leaves his lips. “There she is, she’s so fuckin’ pretty.”

He leans closer and places soft kisses along your inner thighs, teasingly slow, making your heart race even faster.

“Joel…” you plead.

He spreads you wider, warm breath teasing against your core. He licks a long, slow line from bottom to top, humming appreciatively at the first taste of you. 

Your back arches, a gasp escaping your lips. "Oh my God," you breathe.

His rough palms grip your thighs, thick fingers digging into the flesh as he holds you steady. His hot breath tickles your skin as he licks you. "God, you taste so good," he murmurs against you, his voice vibrating against your cunt. “Missed this taste.” 

His tongue explores you as your fingers tangle in his hair, gripping the soft waves of his dark strands.

Two thick fingers slide inside you, stretching you perfectly. Plush lips close around your clit, sucking and lapping at your sensitive nub.

It's been almost a month since he last touched you like this, and now with his skilled mouth and fingers all over you, your body is ready to let go.

“Joel,” you moan. “C-close.”

He enthusiastically hums against you, deep brown eyes staring into yours from under furrowed brows. His fingers pumping in and out of you as his tongue flicks rapidly over your clit. Your pussy pulses against his thick fingers, squeezing them as you bloom under the pleasure of finally feeling his touch. Goosebumps rise all over your skin, cheeks heating, legs trembling, and your eyes tightly shut… and when he curls his fingers upwards inside you, your orgasm crashes into you, your pussy soaking his hand and your voice screaming his name. He doesn't stop, continuing to lick and tease you through your orgasm until it's all too much and you're pulling at his hair.

He pulls back with a satisfied smile and kisses your inner thigh before standing and placing a kiss on your lips. You taste yourself as he licks into your mouth. His plush lips sucking against yours. 

Before you can catch your breath, Joel scoops you up in his strong arms, throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you into his bedroom. You giggle as he smacks your ass and growls. 

He sets you on the edge of his bed, the crisp white sheets cool against your overheated skin. He steps back, his eyes roaming over your body. 

“Stay right there,” he says as he moves to the closet, rummaging around for a moment before returning with a black camera and tripod in hand. 

Your breath catches at the sight as he sets them up, carefully adjusting the angle. 

The tiny red recording light blinks on and the little screen lights up. There you are, all disheveled—dress hiked up, your lips full and swollen from Joel’s mouth. 

His eyes meet yours. “Is this okay?” he asks softly.

You nod, excitement running through your body. “Yes,” you breathe. 

He grins as he removes his shirt, tossing it to the side before he steps out of his pants. He stays behind the camera, standing in the shadows like a director. “Go ahead baby, take it all off.”

You stand slowly, your heart racing at Joel and the camera’s attention. Dark brown eyes watch you intently from behind the camera, his eyes never leaving your every movement. You reach back and unzip your dress, pulling it down, as you slowly slip the straps off, letting the dress fall to the floor, the red gingham fabric pooling at your feet. 

"God, you're gorgeous,” he whispers.

You reach behind to unclasp your bra, staring at Joel as you let it fall away. Your breasts are exposed to his eyes and the camera, your nipples hardening in the cool air. You’re completely bare now except for the necklace with his number. 

"Touch yourself for me, baby," he instructs softly.

You smile, running your hands slowly up your sides, cupping your breasts. Your fingers glide over your nipples, teasing them to stiff peaks before you back up against the bed and lay across it, spreading your legs wide for the camera and Joel. Your hand snakes down your body, across your stomach, down to the apex of your thighs. 

You lock eyes with Joel as you slowly circle your clit, your breath hitching. His gaze is dark from behind the camera, his chest rising and falling rapidly. You can see the outline of his cock straining against his boxer briefs as he watches you pleasure yourself. Your fingers dip lower, sliding into your wet heat.

"That's it, baby," he groans. "Show me how you like to be touched."

Your other hand kneads your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple.

Joel steps out from behind the camera, moving to the edge of the bed. He strips off his boxers, his thick cock springing free. He strokes himself slowly as he watches you.

"You're so fucking sexy," he growls.

You whimper at his words, your fingers moving faster. "Please, baby,” you whine, “I need you."

He grabs your foot and turns you on the cool, slick sheets. Glancing over at the camera’s small display screen to check the angle of your body.  

He climbs on the bed and you instantly welcome the warmth of his presence and his broad body. He positions himself between your legs, gripping his cock and running the head through your folds, coating himself in your wetness. Your breath catches as he slowly pushes inside, a smile lighting your face at finally feeling him inside you.

"Fuck," he groans, his eyes fluttering closed as he bottoms out. "You feel so good, baby. So tight and wet for me."

You moan as he starts to move, his hips rolling against yours in a steady rhythm. Your hands glide over the expanse of his shoulders and down his muscular back, relishing in feeling the flex of his strong muscles with each thrust.

He leans down, capturing your lips. His tongue tangles with yours as he picks up the pace, fucking you harder. 

"Look at the camera, baby," Joel murmurs against your neck. "Let's show it how good I make you feel."

You tilt your head, looking directly at the camera lens with heavy-lidded eyes. The knowledge that you are being recorded, that Joel will watch this later, that the two of you will get off while watching yourselves… it’s a new thrill for you. You moan louder, arching your back higher as Joel fucks you. 

"Touch yourself for me," he commands.

Your hand snakes between your bodies, fingers finding your clit. 

"Oh god, baby," you moan, your fingers working furiously at your clit as he pounds into you. "I'm so close."

Joel's rhythm falters slightly as he watches you touch yourself, sweat glistening on his brow. "That's it. Cum for me. Let me feel you."

Your voice echoes through the room as you cry out Joel’s name, your body trembling as your walls clench tightly around him. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, his hips snapping against yours. “So fucking good, you cum so fucking good for me. So fucking tight.”

He pulls your body towards him, sitting up on the bed, his cock still buried deep inside of you. You take control and ride him, your legs wrapping around his waist as you grind down on him. His hands grip your hips firmly, guiding you.

“That’s it baby. Take what you need from me,” he growls.

Your hands tangle in the short waves of his hair, pulling him in for a kiss. Your tongues exploring each other’s mouths, bodies glistening with sweat.

He breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, his nose bumping against yours. “I love you. God damn baby, I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you moan as he thrusts up into you.  

He captures your lips again. “I’m close,” he groans against your mouth. “Cum with me baby. Give me one more.”

His hand snakes down between your bodies, his thumb finds your clit, rubbing firm circles against it as you bounce on his cock. 

You cry out his name as you orgasm, Joel’s fingers and cock working in tandem to push you over the ledge. You turn your head to the camera, staring into it as you chant Joel’s name while your walls clench around his cock. 

“Oh fuck baby,” Joel groans, his hips stuttering. “I’m gonna cum for you.”

In one swift motion, he flips you onto your back, your legs instinctively wrap around his waist as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, his hot breath fanning across your skin as he chases his own release. Your hands run down his back, feeling the flex of his muscles with each thrust.

"Cum for me, Joel, I want to feel you cum inside me."

With a final and deep thrust, Joel stills above you. He groans your name as he empties himself inside you, his cock pulsing with each spurt. He fills you with his release, still gently fucking you with soft thrusts, pushing his seed deeper inside you. 

He leans over and grabs the camera, his cock still plunged deep inside you. With a sly smile, he films your face, capturing the bliss across it.

“Look at you,” he admires, “smiling all sweetly, all drunk on my cock and cum, aren’t you baby?”

You moan a response and nod eagerly. 

He chuckles as he pulls out, shuffling his body down to settle in between your legs. Joel positions the camera between your thighs, spreading them apart and running a finger through your cunt, swollen and slick with his spend pulsating out of you.

“Look at you, leakin’ everywhere,” he groans, collecting himself across his fingers and sticking it inside you. “Can’t have that, now can we?” 

His eyes stay focused on the little screen, watching his fingers pump in and out of your overworked cunt. 

“Fuckin’ filthy baby,” he angles his fingers, your slick squelches loudly across the room. 

Writhing and whining under his touch, your skin is overheated, your pussy radiating heat across your body. 

He pulls his soaked finger out, wiping it across your folds. “Show me how you drip baby, let me see.” 

A gush of his cum leaks out of you, the warm liquid runs down your ass, pooling on the bed. 

“Fucccccccccck,” he growls. “Can’t stop looking at this.” 

He zooms out, capturing your whole body in the frame. 

“Tell me whose pussy this is,” he instructs.

“Yours,” you breathlessly respond.

“That’s it baby,” he growls, before his eyes lift from the camera and into yours. “I love you,” he softly says, his eyes rounding in reverence. 

“I love you too.”

He grins, standing up from the bed and switching off the camera before placing it down on the bedside table.

“That was incredible,” you sigh. “I can’t believe we just did that.” 

A smile spreads across his face as he leans down to give you a tender kiss on the lips. "We'll have to watch it later," he says before heading to the bathroom. He returns with a damp towel and gently wipes between your legs, before planting a kiss on your forehead and turning to leave the room.

“Where are you going?” you slur, too blissed out of your mind. 

“To get pie. I’m starving.”

⚾️⚾️⚾️

Series Masterlist

[fushiguruuzzzz]

࣪ ִֶָ☾. For Emma

𝄞 “Saw death on a sunny snow || for every life || forgo the parable || seek the light || my knees are cold || … || for Emma, forever ago” — Bon Iver

Playlist — Rainy Day Lovin’ | Moodboard

Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader

Words — 7.1k

Cw — reader highkey doesn’t fw Gojo at first, why do I always make the reader like this am I projecting (yes), death, angst, grief, brief descriptions of gore(?), use of y/n, I can’t write this stuff for shit I’m so sorry DONT BASE UR OPINION ON MY WRITING OFF OF THIS PLSPLSPLS, mentions/use of alcohol (reader picks up gojo from a party; he’s drunk), what is it with me and drunk stupid men omg, not proofread, lmk if I missed any!!

Working in a quiet little bookshop, your life consists of only crumpled pages of novels and the weight of your classes resting on your shoulders. When a certain white haired man one year your senior comes by, you’ve already decided you don’t like him. Unfortunately, you’ve always had a tendency to rebel against your own wants. You give yourself to what felt like your beginning and was eventually your end, Satoru Gojo. OR Satoru Gojo hates the rain, but he loved you more.

a/n — ughhhhhdhdhh I spent half of my time writing this procrastinating the ending I’m ngl. This was so difficult to write and then I had a random burst of energy and wrote like half of it in one night like hello???? But it’s probably still blegh idk. Um I’m sorry for this please don’t doxx me. No spoilers but aha…!!!!! I lwk teared up I fear. BLAME SIA FOR THIS NOT ME THIS WAS REVENGE

The very moment you set eyes on Satoru Gojo, you knew he was trouble.

It was a brisk autumn day, shades of brown and orange blanketing the streets and casting a warm, cozy mood over the city. Your little book store was in its element, acutely so. The vintage wood and gold accents strewn throughout the shop reflected the dim light seeping in through the windows, surrounding you in a soft glow.

You were immersed in the newest stock of books, placing each one on the shelf with delicate precision when you heard a bell chime. The dainty little bell at the entrance made only a small noise, but one you’d learned to recognize in your months working here. Stepping down from the stool you’d been balancing on, your foot had barely touched the ground when a whiny voice broke through the silence.

“Suguru,” he drawled, all too pitiful for the time and place. “Can’t you come back later? You keep dragging me into these boring places, I just wanna get mochi,” he groaned. That was when you rounded the corner, entering the line of sight of the two men who had just arrived. One of them was a tall, white haired individual whose face was pulled up in what seemed to be dramatic irritation; the other, ravenette man looking all too fed up at his side. You assumed that the former had been the one complaining, considering the stark contrast in how comfortable the other looked compared to him. Suguru, that was his name. At least, that was what the man-child had said (or rather: howled). Suguru was somewhat a regular here, though you hadn’t caught his name until then. You didn’t recognize his companion. Something about him felt familiar, but you couldn’t put your finger on exactly what that was.

It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that your first impression wasn’t positive. Your thoughts of him changed, but not so much for the better, upon meeting his eye. Something in him seemed to shift then. His eyes lit up as they did a once over on you, posture straightening and a crooked grin tugging at his lips.

“Hush, Satoru. You dragged me into like, four different dessert stores today. You’ll survive five minutes of being surrounded by literature,” the other boy, Suguru, grumbled. Satoru Gojo?.. Oh, you got it now. They went to school with you, that’s why they seemed familiar before. You hadn’t recognized them at first glance because while you were only in your first year of university, they’d been in their second. But you knew that name, everyone did. He was rather known around campus, though not for bad reasons, not exactly ones you’d consider great either. You knew little of the blue eyed man, only a few (three, to be exact) traits burrowing into the depths of your mind. 1. Prodigy 2. Charming (disgusting so) 3. Cocky asshole.

So when he was silent for a beat too long, eyes only flickering back to his friend when he turned to him, you knew he was trouble.

That sly smile still residing on his lips, he nodded at Suguru. “Well…” he said. “I guess I’ll let it slide for now.”

Geto glanced at him, then to you, unimpressed. With a small nod, a polite greeting to you, he rolled his eyes. As he grabbed Gojo by the material of his expensive looking jacket, he grumbled.

“Just look at the damn books.”

Situating yourself behind the cash register, you let out a sigh. It was only you on the shift at the moment, your tiny little establishment usually lacking the amount of customers to require more. You tried to make yourself look less bored than you were, mindlessly tapping your fingers against the leather cover of a novel sitting near the cash register. Courtesy of your boss, going on your phone whilst customers were around was strictly forbidden. You were sure that the college kids were too exhausted to care, nor would they anyway, but rules were rules. You could keep yourself busy, the little voice in your head was enough.

You’d only barely begun to let your mind wander when the soft clunk of elbows meeting the structure you leaned on met your ears. You looked up to see Satoru Gojo staring down at you, winter blue eyes sparkling with a determined curiosity.

“Hey there,” he said, snowy hair shifting as he tilted his head. He was leaned forward lazily, as if preparing for a conversation that was yet to happen. You quirked a brow, feeling the effortless charisma roll off of him in waves. You didn’t allow yourself to be tricked, though, you refused to be like the rest of his little fans fawning and kissing his shoes. Five minutes in and you’d already decided you disliked him, and all he’d said was a greeting. You tried not to judge a book by its cover, but inside you was a need to stick out that overran the compassion.

Your reply was short, a simple “Hi,” all that you felt was necessary. It wasn’t like you really knew the guy at all, you owed him nothing but the service given to every customer that had ever stepped into your humble little shop.

His grin seemed to falter for a split second, b it was quickly plastered back onto that face of his. How long had he been smirking like that? It seemed more habit than amusement at this point.

“Do I know you?” he asked.

You let out a hum under your breath, shrugging. “I don’t think so. Do you?”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you were sure he could see right through you. Every bone in your body felt all too exposed to his prying eyes, every concealed bit of you shining through the cracks. But then he smiled, and everything else washed away. “You’re in uni, aren’t you?”

In return to your soft, approving nod, he clicked his tongue as if proud of himself. “Ah, that’s where. I knew I wouldn’t forget a face like yours.”

You were about to ask him to elaborate when a deeper, more annoyed voice cut through. “I leave you alone for five seconds and you’re already trying to charm the employee?” He rolled his eyes, looking between you and Satoru with a quirked brow. Gojo stood up a little straighter, a dorky, sideways grin adorning his face.

“Little ol’ me? Never.”

Amusement hinted at Geto’s face, but he was good at hiding it. He took up the empty space between Gojo and the counter, placing two books down before you. As you gently picked them up and scanned, the soft red glow accompanied by a soft beep echoing through the room, he watched.

“Nice to see you. How’ve you been?” you asked the black haired man standing across the counter, eyes kept on your nimble hands as they bagged up the paperbacks he’d been purchasing. He responded with a polite smile and a nod, radiating an air of nonchalance, far in contrast to the radiant man beside him.

“Likewise. I’ve been well, you?”

You opened your mouth to speak but were swiftly interrupted, Gojo’s mouth agape as he spoke. “Hold on hold on,” he said, picking his jaw off of the floor. Dramatic much? “You didn’t tell me you knew the cashier.”

“Maybe because you whine every time I even utter the word ‘book’,” Suguru rolled his eyes.

“I am the most intellectual person to ever roam the earth, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Watching them go back and forth, you had to suppress a laugh. They argued in a way that radiated ‘I’ve been dealing with him for years too many’, or something of the sort. You chose to ignore Satoru’s dramatic yearning for your attention, handing Suguru his books and bidding them farewell.

Freedom.

Or… for the next two days, at least.

The bell over the door chimed, quick and soft above the door. It only took a quick glance, a split second for you to recognize who exactly that was. His porcelain hair stuck out against the rustic wood bookshelves like a sore thumb, his bright eyes already shining the moment they met yours.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he grinned.

“…I work here?”

He rolled his eyes, brushing off your dismissal of his attempt at being sly. He took the few short strides from the door to the checkout, and the two of you found yourself exactly where you’d been a few days prior. Except this time there was no Suguru to interrupt (aka save you), and he was all the more annoying.

You let out a breath, already anticipating his behaviour. “I don’t take you for much of a reader.” He shrugged in response, a dorky, grossly pretty grin crossing his face.

“Paying that much attention to me?”

“Your whining is pretty hard to ignore.”

“Ouch,” he placed a hand over his heart, feigning hurt. His brows furrowed, a crease deepening between them. If you didn’t know exactly what type of man he was, you might’ve genuinely thought he looked like a kicked puppy. He strode over to you, his long legs stretching over the distance with ease. He was tall, very. Not that it mattered. You didn’t care. You didn’t even bother to notice his long limbs, the way his biceps flexed beneath his long sleeve as he reached down, grabbing a book sitting between you. It wasn’t like your eyes lingered for a moment too long, it wasn’t like you suddenly felt oddly uncomfortable being so close to him. The counter separated you, but it did little to keep the distance. The small width of it was to thank for that, you made a mental note to get a stool or something—anything that was a rightful excuse to scoot away.

He placed the novel down. “So, what’s your name?” he asked. He radiated confidence, like he didn’t mind pushing into your space. The only indication that he knew if your disinterest was the way his eyes flickered over your face, all too observant to miss the way it contorted.

“You gonna buy something?” you moved past his question, making a point to glance down at the disregarded item, now placed gently upon a stack of a few others.

He sniggered. “Yeah, but tell me your name.” He didn’t break eye contact with you as he slid it over the counter, the cover making a rough noise with the friction of the wood.

You gave no response, the only noise in the place being the scanning of his book (which you were sure he hadn’t even read the title of) and the dull sound of the constant chatter along the streets. It seeped in through the cracked windows, like a buzzing hive of bees.

“1700 yen,” you said. Your voice held a sort of boredom, but you didn’t care to actually be rude. You just weren’t going to be pinky pie from my little pony whenever you saw the man, and he surely couldn’t blame you for that.

That stupid damn grin never faltered under the weight of your gaze. He tapped his card against the machine like it was second nature, took the bag from you smoothly, hand brushing against yours. “I’ll be back,” he said. And he fully intended to keep that promise.

⋆

“No name, long time no see!”

You suppressed a groan, the all too energetic voice cutting through the quiet of the store like a knife. By the first word, you’d have known who it was. This guy never gave up, did he? And for the record, it had not been a long time since you last saw him. A day and a half, 34 hours to be exact. Though it wasn’t like you were counting or anything, in fact, you dreaded the moment he’d walk through those doors.

He made it his mission to visit you daily. Every day he’d buy a book you were certain would do nothing but collect dust on his shelf, seemingly never going over his budget. That only pissed you off further. How much money did he have to blow it all just to see you? You hated how endearing it was. You hated him.

“‘Afternoon, Gojo,” you sighed, emerging from the depths of the shelves and into the light. It was a sunny day, at least, compared to the rest of the dull winter grey that had found home in the heart of Tokyo.

“You know, I’m starting to get the impression that you don’t like me,” he said.

You attempted to look surprised, though the both of you knew very well that you weren’t. “Wow, what would ever make you think that?”

“You won’t even tell me your name? Am I really that bad?” he huffed, tossing his head back in an exaggerated show of frustration.

“You want the honest answer?”

“Hush.”

He straightened his neck, now craning it slightly down to gaze at you. He was a little ways away, but he might as well have been one with you with the way his eyes bored into you. It was intense in an anticipating way, if that made sense.

“Go out with me.”

You blinked, a little dumbfounded for a moment before gathering the bits and pieces of your brain that had just been scattered across the country. Be logical. Obviously he was kidding, obviously he didn’t mean it. I mean, he barely knew you. He didn’t even know your name, and it was your coldness to thank for that. Surely he wouldn’t want you, not genuinely at least. “You’re ridiculous,” you rolled your eyes.

“Aw, come on!” he whined, and you could’ve sworn you saw a hint of real disappointment behind those cerulean orbs of his.

You suppressed a grin. Maybe his pestering had some perks, maybe it was even entertaining. That wasn’t to say you appreciated the mockery of him “asking you out,” but you figured it was funny as long as you didn’t allow yourself to be deceived. “You making a purchase or not?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, lazily snatching a book from the rack nearest to him. He didn’t even look at the cover. “This one.”

It was pride and prejudice.

⋆

Your first time seeing Satoru outside of your workplace other than fleeting glances around campus, you were drinking coffee. You were sat on a barstool, chunky sweater loosely slung over your body as you tried to manage both typing an essay and sipping your drink. You were stuck on the first sentence, the text cursor staring impatiently up at you as you begged your mind to conjure something up.

‘If I could change one thing about my past, I would change…’

And that was it. That was all you could think of, the unfinished phrase being the farthest you could dive into the depths of your conscious. You didn’t know. It felt as though you had no answer, and yet a million all at once. You let out an annoyed groan, shoving your face into your hands. The frustration was a good enough distraction, considering you failed to notice the figure sliding into the seat next to you.

“Lookin’ a little stressed, mystery girl. You okay?” he teased, though there was more to it. An underlying softness, what you might even say is genuine concern.

You wanted to quip back, to keep up that consistently annoyed facade you’d managed to keep for the past few weeks. But everything was so overwhelming, you were running on a few hours of sleep, and you felt like your brain would implode if you tried to pack another thought in there. So instead of groaning or shooing him away, you peeked out over your hands and replied softly. “No.”

His playful grin twitched, threatening to disappear. The moment you opened your mouth and instead of an insult he was met with something near vulnerability. “…what’s up?”

“Stuff,” you replied curtly, before softening. “Right now I just… I don’t know what to do for this stupid assignment.”

“Hm,” he said, a crease forming between his brows. “What’s the question?”

You gently nudged your laptop, rotating it on the countertop so that he could real the half-sentence you’d left off at. He stared at it for a moment, eyes flickering back to you. “What, you don’t have anything you regret?”

Your voice was soft and smooth like butter, but it held a sort of shake, almost fearful. “Quite the opposite.”

A beat of silence passed, understanding swirling through the air as well as the bits and pieces of the layer that he felt he’d broken through. Whether you liked it or not, he knew you. Maybe not your name, but you. He’d promised himself that he would, and he was a man of his word when it mattered.

“How would you answer?” you asked, growing shifty from how exposed you felt.

He paused, contemplating whether to tell you the truth or not. He bit his cheek, eyes unfocused. “I think I would want to be born someone else.”

That shocked you more than anything else. He was Satoru Gojo, smart and charismatic and confident. He was the last person you’d expect to wish he were another. Everyone else wished they were him, so why did he long for the opposite? But every bit of wit was a layer encasing the deeper parts, the ones that hurt to look at. You knew that all too well.

Conversation flowed much better after that, and it was the first time you had allowed yourself to indulge in his presence as much as you wanted to. He was… nice. Nice to talk to, a nice person, generally. You got to see another side of him, not just the silly man who spent disgusting amounts of money to see you and kept begging you to go out with him—which you still thought was derisive. He was just Satoru, laughing and smiling and helping you figure things out in the midst of what seemed to be dark clouds surrounding you. He was the light.

You were just about to part ways, the sun setting over the horizon and casting a warm glow in its wake. You reached out, taking him by the elbow to get his attention. “Y/n,” you said. “My name is y/n.”

You swore his grin couldn’t have gotten any wider. “Nice to meet you y/n, I’m Satoru Gojo.”

⋆

Gojo surrounded you nearly as much as the sky did from then on. It seemed that was the way things were for the next… what was it, month? 30 days, 30 visits from Gojo, save for the occasional day of absence. Unfortunately, you’d caught yourself warming up to him. You longed to deny it, to believe yourself when you did. You just couldn’t. He started popping up everywhere; along the streets as you walked from one class to another, “just passing by” your class (which you still wondered how he knew), he was everywhere. Usually you managed to duck out before he could embarrass you, taking full advantage of knowing your name and choosing to shout it at every possible opportunity.

This was one of those times.

“Y/n!” he shouted, momentarily turning away from his two best friends to get your attention.

You gave him a sidelong glance before looking away, avoiding him in a dramatic, almost cartoonish manner. Before you knew it, he was by your side. He had a way of making sure you couldn’t avoid him even if you wanted to.

“Am I gonna see you tonight?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Considering I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m going to say no.”

“Come on,” he drawled with a pout, tilting his head to the side. “Party. That big fancy house down the street. You should come.”

“Uh… no.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Just once? For me?”

You hesitated with your next attempt to shut him down, and that was when he knew he’d gotten you. He’d won, yet again. With a wolfish smirk as he retreated, he called back, “I’ll see you there!”

You grumbled under your breath about how you didn’t know why you agreed to these things, and how annoying he was. Deep down, you knew it was all lies. You were sure you’d go anywhere if he asked nicely enough, maybe even the ends of the universe. You just weren’t ready for that conversation, not yet. He was a shining star, proud and bright, and you were nothing but an emotionally stunted mortal basking in his beauty. Him and his disgustingly beautiful eyes, the way people did a double take every time he passed them. He was everything, and he’d only recently learned your name.

That very same night you found yourself feeling utterly ridiculous as you walked up to the front door, wondering whether you should knock or not. It took another group of people walking straight in to give you that answer, pushing through the door and immediately being hit in the face with the sweaty heat of the party. Why were you even doing this for him? Last month, if given the same pleads as you had earlier that day you would’ve shot him down without a second thought. Why did that change? Why had you fallen for his tricks, just as you promised yourself you wouldn’t?

“Y/nnnn,” slurred an all too familiar voice from behind you. You turned to see Satoru Gojo stumbling out from the kitchen, a red solo cup in hand. Some of it sloshed out as he approached you, the liquid falling on the floor and looking like something radioactive.

“Gojo,” you said, instinctively placing a hand under his arm as he almost fell over you. “I see you’ve gotten started.”

His lower lip was pushed out into a pout, his eyes heavy and lazy as they looked you over. “I don’t… usually drink,” he swallowed thickly, eyes landing on yours once again. “But you were taking too long… I had to pass the time,” he explained, the corner of his mouth quirked up. You rolled your eyes, letting go of him with an unimpressed glance. He wished you hadn’t, he liked the way your hand felt on him. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was the alcohol or just how much he yearned for your touch, but it was unlike anything he had ever felt before. You made him feel those things rather often, it seemed you were a capsule of new emotions. Ones he hadn’t opened up to prior, ones he wasn’t sure were meant for him. Honestly, he didn’t know what was meant for him, but as he looked at you in the dim yellow lights of the frat party he had a pretty good idea. It was muggy and gross and sweat was already starting to create a soft sheen over your hairline, but to him you’d never looked more beautiful. Because you were here for him, you’d come for him and that was enough.

You glanced around the party, the one you hadn’t wanted to attend in the first place (which definitely had not changed upon arrival), and then at your disgustingly drunk, lightweight loser of a man standing next to you. Your friend? Maybe.

“Did you come with friends?” you asked, but the answer was fairly obvious. Satoru Gojo was rarely found without the people he loved… but now he was with you. Was that a switch up on his end, or was it sticking to his pattern? You couldn’t tell, and that wasn’t something you wanted to work out.

“Mm…” he hummed, as if he’d forgotten. “Yeah, but I don’ wanna be with them… wanna see you…”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart sped up embarrassingly and the face only grew warmer. His friends were nowhere to be found, and you may have seemed like you lacked an ounce of compassion to anyone else, but you couldn’t leave him.

With a sigh and eyes that avoided his all too much, you took him by the hand and led him towards the door. He was all too pleased, barely even bothered asking where you were going. “Let’s get you out of here, yeah? You’ve done enough partying.”

He offered a protesting whine in return, but didn’t dare to pull his hand from yours or even let his steps falter. Well, not voluntarily. He wasn’t the most coordinated drunk.

“Mmh- yeah, there ya’ go.” You guided his arm around your shoulder, and though your hand had parted from his, he didn’t mind the replacement. The nights air was cool in comparison to the interior of the house, refreshing against your flushed skin. It was momentarily silent as you walked down the sidewalk, choosing to save the money you would’ve spent on an uber for the drive two blocks away.

“Y/n?”

You could fill up an entire pad of paper if you tallied every time he said your name. He couldn’t help himself, it tasted so sweet on his tongue.

You responded with a hum, not wasting too much air on what you assumed would be some form of delirious, intoxicated thoughts.

“Why don’t you like me?”

You stopped in your tracks, and you swore your head had never whipped around faster. “What?”

He let out a sigh as if it was a great inconvenience to explain. His arm was still wrapped around you loosely, though there wasn’t much purpose to it now that you’d stopped walking. He glanced at you, and you were met with a rare flicker of something akin to hurt in his eyes.

“I… why don’t you like me? I come ‘round your little shop ‘nd I buy books… I don’t read any of them… and… and I beg you to go out with me, to just look at me, and you don’t. Why?” His voice was surprisingly even for his state. “Somethin’ wrong with me?”

All you could do was stand there and blink for a moment. He’d meant it. All of it. No mockery, nothing. Honestly, in the moment, he couldn’t have phrased it any better? Made it sound like he really wanted you, without that teasing tone underlying his voice? “I… I didn’t think you were being serious, Gojo.”

At the formal name he glared, but he didn’t comment. “I don’t even go for other girls,” he mumbled. “Why would I ask you if I wasn’t?”

Even in his slurred, tipsy condition, he had a point. You had never seen him with a woman, save for Shoko and when the need came, like schoolwork or helping out or anything of the nature. The point was, he didn’t pursue others romantically. You knew this, he knew you knew this, so he didn’t understand why you felt as though he was deceiving you.

“You’re right.”

“So…?” he said, a little more cheeky now.

With a huff and a few begrudging steps forward, you responded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll go out with you.”

⋆

Your laughter rang out over the half empty streets, loud and unguarded. You’d spent the day visiting various places; the arcade, lunch, sipping hot chocolate as you walked through the park. More than you’d dreamed of, honestly, and to think you’d rejected him so many times. It felt as if your vision had been freed of the foggy lenses you’d been looking at him through before, seeing him for the kind (although a little cocky) man he was. The man he’d been trying to prove was there all this time.

“And then-“ you were cut off, the feeling of a small, wet droplet landing on your face pulling you from the conversation. You brought a finger up, wiping it and examining it for a second, long enough to come to the conclusion that it was raining. You looked upwards, as did he. The clouds were dark and gray, swirling with the threat of thunder and downpour. Your reactions were completely different, to say the least. While your eyes twinkled with awe and subtle anticipation, his nose crinkled in disdain. For once you were the bright eyed one, and he was just as gloomy as the sky above.

“It’s raining!”

“…it’s raining.”

You looked down from the somber atmosphere, met with the picture of his annoyance. “You don’t like the rain?”

He shook his head, meeting your eye. You almost gasped, but the singular nonchalant bone in your body made you refrain. “But it’s the best weather!”

“It’s dark and gloomy and wet,” he said, looking at you like you had spoken another language. He was utterly dumbfounded by your simple opinion.

More raindrops began to fall, decorating the concrete with dark, tiny spots. It was only then that you realized nearly everyone head cleared, leaving only the two of you and a few others as well as the passing vehicles. You smiled, wider than he’d ever seen you smile before. Your head was thrown back as you backed away from him, your arms outstretched at your side as you took in every bit of the rain. “Come on!” you said, a short laugh leaving your lips. Your eyes were closed now, but he was sure they’d be crinkling if they were open. “You can’t tell me this isn’t beautiful.”

“Hmm, yeah… I guess you’re right,” he agreed, but he wasn’t looking at the rain.

Satoru hated the rain, but he figured than the dampness of his bones and the way his vision blurred was all just fine as long as he could make out your foggy figure in the midst of it. Though his body hated the storms, his soul was unaffected, and all it did was long for you. So when your own spirit basked so happily in the wet weather, he couldn’t help but be content.

⋆

Satoru Gojo was a good boyfriend. Had you dared to tell yourself from a few months in the past, she would laugh in your face and send you away. But you were you now, and you knew all too well how good of a man yours was.

He opened doors for you, he cracked cheesy jokes when he knew you needed a laugh (they were so unfunny that you couldn’t even help it, he knew that), he gave you jackets when you were cold and he loved to guess your flavour of lipgloss before dropping you off at class every morning. He opened jars for you and braided your hair on tense, quiet nights when you didn’t have any words left to speak. He loved you more than someone who’s only known you for a handful months should, but you were not planning on complaining about that part. Some may say it was the honeymoon phase, some would argue it was love at first sight. You couldn’t be sure. All you knew was that you were happy, and that couldn’t be changed.

You felt a certain surge of bliss flow through you the moment you woke up, not because it was a particularly great day, but because of the first thing you were blessed with the sight of. Satoru was curled up in your bed, mouth agape as he slept on your chest. His white hair was fuzzy and strewn in gentle spikes surrounding his head, a hint of drool collecting at the corners of his lips. He looked so stupid, yet so absolutely peaceful that you were convinced he was beauty in its highest form. Screw whatever Greek mythology said, nothing blessed the eyes as greatly as the face of Satoru at ease.

A low grumble fell from his lips, though neither of you knew what words they were. His pale lashes blinked open, bleary eyes meeting yours. “Hey there,” he cheesed, mouth already forming into that cocky smirk. You hated it, hated the way you felt like every other one of his crazy fangirls every time he flashed it at you. Except it was just you, only for you.

“Morning, Satoru.”

He snuggled further into your chest, the fabric of your (his?) shirt crinkling beneath his nose as it nudged it. “Dream of me?”

You rolled your eyes, gently flicking him in the side of his head. His head shot up, looking cartoonishly offended. “That’s not nice!”

You grinned. “I’m not nice.”

He moved his face closer to yours, your features level as he looked into your eyes. “But you’re supposed to be nice to me,” he said, though no real emotion lied in the sentence. His were eyes flitting down to your lips, looking almost like some sort of deer in headlights. His head dipped down, just millimetres from you. He barely thought as he pressed his own to yours, lips meeting in a soft, sleepy way.

You parted for breath, a soft “satoruuuu,” tumbling from you before he was shutting you up with another kiss.

“Shh, I didn’t spend weeks begging for you to like me for you to not let me kiss you. Boyfriend privilege,” he tutted against your lips, and any protest you’d begun to shoot back was swallowed by him once again. You sassed, but he felt the way your hands tightened in his hair and your throat bobbed every time his teeth ran over your bottom lip. You loved him, and you hated it. It only made him like it all the much more.

⋆

The day was sunny, beating down on heaps of smiling faces as they took in all its warmth. The sky was clear and blue, you’d made a comment about how it looked similar to his eyes. He liked that, but he hoped you liked looking into his eyes better. The streets were busy, the sound of overlapping conversations and gas engines almost overwhelming. The only thing that grounded you was your hand wrapped around his bicep, his gentle guide through the crowd bringing you back to earth. You liked to act so big and tough, but there were moments like these where you were reminded that you were human too. Sometimes, you needed him. Needed your toru. You smiled bashfully when you came to the realization, to which he only smirked. It was as if he could read your mind, as if you were so in sync that he didn’t need to hear you voice it to know what you were thinking about.

But Satoru didn’t remember any of that. No, not clearly, at least. Looking back felt like trying to watch a video on a scratched disk, like there had been an old cameras lens’s blocking his vision.

All he remembered was screeching wheels and the sound of you being nudged just a little too close to the road, the way you tripped and fell seeming to be in slow motion. He remembered blood, too. A lot of it. It was yours. There were people screaming and the person behind the wheel crying, but by then it had all been tuned out by his ringing ears. He suddenly felt dizzy, all too dizzy. He’d zeroed in on your crumpled figure, hadn’t even noticed himself falling until his knees thudded against the rough road. His hands reached out to you, he was shaking. He nudged you once. A second time. No response.

“Y/n?” he asked weakly, as if a whisper only to you, avoiding the hundreds of eyes crowing around. He could hear distant police sirens, flashing lights bleeding in the corners of his vision. No. No. No no no no no. He could only think of one word then, the stubborn denial that this wasn’t happening. He was dreaming, he would wake up cuddled next to you and you’d wipe his tears, remind him that you weren’t going anywhere. But it wasn’t, the blood that stained his hands as he reached out to you was warm and wet and crimson, equally as real as the love you shared had been. The tears collecting in his eyes were real, too. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even think, he could barely cry.

He cradled you, and he felt no pulse as he placed his fingers on your neck. Your hair was stained ruby, leaving a trail of haunting colour in its wake as it dragged along his finger. You were being pulled from him, he tried to resist, but his arms felt weak and his mind numb. This couldn’t possibly be happening. You couldn’t go so soon, not when you had so many regrets, not when you’d finally gotten over it all and loved and lived with him. He needed more time, he needed to show you that everything was okay. But now he couldn’t, and he was left sitting on the side of the road as what used to be you was driven away. He lost you twice that day.

Once the road was empty and he was left with nothing but your looming absence, it started raining. Your favourite weather. Usually he’d be delighted, he’d bring you outside by the hand and watch as your heart was filled by every drop of water. Not this time. Now every bit of the liquid was wasted on a soul that could no longer be filled, what would only ever be a leaking shell of a man who loved foolishly. While the rain was what healed you, you were what healed him. Without you he was left a wounded man without aid, filled with cracks and chips that would reside with him forever. It was his fault. His fault for bringing you, his fault for loving you at all. After all, there was no curse more twisted than love.

Satoru Gojo hated the rain. Now and forever.

⋆

He wished you lived to see how much you mattered. He knew you tended to doubt it, didn’t value yourself nearly as much as you should have.

The bookstore you worked at closed not long after your passing. The only other worker there was a good friend of yours, she quit. She couldn’t handle your loss. Nobody could. Every time Gojo passed the empty building he was reminded of you, the old store just as lifeless as your body had been in that casket. You lingered everywhere, in every old book and cup of coffee and stupid philosophical question his professor would ask. You lingered in the sheets of his that you once slept in, your legs tangled with his as you laughed in the piercing bright of the morning. The clothes you’d scattered around his room untouched since the day you died, moving them felt like erasing you. Even washing his sheets was hard. He got a whiff of your perfume in one of his hoodies and he just broke, started ugly sobbing on the floor of his bedroom right then and there. Tears soaked the sweater, and he couldn’t help but notice that they looked like raindrops. Your favourite type of day was the one most similar to the picture of his despair, the way he curled into a ball and wailed to himself as he mourned your death. He figured that wasn’t too much of a surprise. You’d always appreciated the gloomier things, after all.

Sometimes he’d convince himself you were still there. He’d tell himself that you were right beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder and your voice ringing out in what was undoubtedly a sassy quip, but every time he turned to search for you he was met with nothing but a gaping emptiness, the hollow walls you haunted. You were no longer, you wouldn’t come back. You never would. He didn’t even get you tell you he loved you once more, kiss the soft, untouched expanse of your skin, remind you that you were delicate and precious and all his. Every day, the hatred inside of him grew and swallowed every bit of who he used to be. The man you loved was gone, his vessel unrecognizable. Satoru died that day too, but nobody mourned him because he wasn’t the one bleeding.

He sat on the roof of your bookshop, gazing out over the skyline. Buildings stuck up, jagged and irregular as they made tough lines over the horizon. You would’ve liked this view, but you simply hadn’t thought of coming up here before. Only he had, and by then it was far too late.

He looked down at his hand, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. It shouldn’t have been you. It should have been him. Maybe then he’d be reincarnated and born as someone else, hopefully reunited with you in the next lifetime. He had a feeling you would, your souls seemed to dance around each other in that sort of rhythm. But no, it had to be you. Did his suffering ever end? Tears fell and wet his skin, but suddenly, there were too many. Too many, too far.

He looked up, and he didn’t know if it was a cruel reminder or a gift sent by you, but it was raining.

He couldn’t bring himself to get up and go home that time. He embraced it, lying on the ground and imagining that if he closed his eyes tight enough, he’d open them and be able to see you again. When his eyelids parted, he was met with gloomy clouds and dim skies. In the midst of the darkness, he caught a glimpse of what he swore to be your silhouette. You were sly, even in the afterlife.

That day he didn’t lay in the rain; Satoru Gojo would never be caught dead doing that. He lied beneath you, raindrops that soaked into every part of him and sent chills up his spine. He knew you wanted him to. You didn’t come back as a sunset, you didn’t paint the skies with pink and orange. You were a chilly, rainy day that reminded him of your hands in his and your wide smile as you willingly gave yourself a cold, because with the sickness came a moment of joy. There was more truth to that than let on. Yes, now he grieved and lied in a puddle of tears and rainwater, but not long ago he’d been with you. He’d held you and felt the warmth of you on his fingertips, heard your voice ring through his ears, been granted the bliss that was your lips on his. He’d gotten the greatest joy of all, and he knew that if he died in this moment his only regret would be not embracing it more than he had, if that was even possible. He’d loved you, he’d felt your love. He’d been blessed with the softness of your gaze and the twinkle in your smile, seen the soft parts of you that would forever remain a secret between him and the rain. The knowledge of that, the feeling of bits of your soul returning with every rumbling thunder crash and strike of lightning was enough for him to know that you hadn’t died. You never would, because you loved, and nothing that loves ever truly dies. You would live on through him and everyone else you came by, his family for years to come would hear the story of a stubborn girl who healed someone she hated without even knowing it. Even after you were long gone, you healed him, one dollop of water at a time.

For years after that, though begrudgingly, Satoru was never inside during a storm. His opinion of rain hadn’t altered in the slightest, no. Satoru still hated the rain, but he loved you far more.

tags: @anotherwriternamedclara @adoresia @sh0ot1ngst4r @azinniyaa @kashee-h @ruruisru @lizbix

note — why does he never catch a break omds… but on a real note I hate this real bad but wtvvvvvv I promised something and I’m a girl of my word. I don’t know how to write death I fear… and also the ending wasn’t even decided until very late into the story so it might’ve been a little sudden idkkkkkkuhhhhb

[streetlight11]

The Boy Next Door

Summary: Being friends with a regular customer is great. But finding out that their cute friend turns out to live right next door to you? Sounds like fate to me...

Theme: neighbours au, strangers to lovers

Genre: fluffy

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, drunk people, clubbing, an elderly falling down but no major injury or death

W/C: 7k

Pairing: Kim Seungmin x Fem!Reader

a/n: Hihi! I got bored and wrote this with no particular reason. Just saw him on my phone screen one day and felt like writing a fic about him 😅 This wasn't proof read so my apologies if there's any mistakes in my writing. Hope you enjoy! ✨

Today was another day at work as it was a Thursday afternoon. You were just making the coffee orders when your manager said she was going to bank in yesterday’s profits. She would probably take about 2 hours before she comes back so you would be left alone to mend the cafe. She’s done this multiple times because she trusts you and that she knows you are well capable of running the cafe alone.

Although that sounds horrible on your end, you did feel glad that you are indeed able to make all the drinks and foods on your own after working here for almost 4 years. After you had just finished making the order, you pressed the buzzer number. Once the girl had taken her drink and returned the buzzer to you, you went over to the cashier only to see a familiar face.

“Hey… You’re early today?” You asked as Chris smiled at you. Chris is a regular customer here at the cafe you worked at for a few months now and he even became friends with you and your co-worker.

“Hey, yeah. My friends and I wanted to sit somewhere and discuss our next song. Are you alone?”

“Yeah. My manager went to the bank so I’m assuming she won’t be back for quite a while.” You shrugged as he passed you his phone with a whole list of orders. You began to key in the orders while he continued to talk to you.

“Does she do that often? Leave you to mend the cafe alone?"

“Sometimes, yeah.” You sighed.

“But that’s staff abuse, isn’t it?” Chris looked genuinely concerned for you.

“If you think about it, yeah.”

“Aren’t you gonna do anything about it?”

“No? Must I remind you that I need this job?” You chuckled softly and he sighed.

“You can search for other places, Y/N.”

“I know but… I’ve grown to like it here. Minus my manager of course.” You said with a sad frown on your face and he sighed yet again.

“It’s just that… I think you should reconsider changing-” Chris was about to finish his sentence when a guy with dirty blonde hair came over to cut him off.

“Hyung, can I add something to our order?” He asked as you looked back and forth between them.

“Yeah, of course. What do you wanna add?” The guy glances over to you briefly before he whispers into Chris’ ear with his hand covering it and you stifle a laugh. Then, Chris cracks a smile and relays the message to you.

“Can you add one chocolate muffin please?”

“That’ll be an additional $5 charge to the final bill.” You teased, only for the guy to look surprised.

“Just kidding.” You giggled, hearing Chris chuckle while his friend relaxed a little.

“O-Oh…” He whispered quietly to himself.

“He’s cute…” You thought to yourself.

Just then, another guy rushes over to make a change to the order.

“Hi, sorry but can you change the Ice Blended Hazelnut Latte to Iced Mocha? Thank you!” The purple haired guy with adorable cheeks and muscular arms directed his words to you and this made you smile.

“Hi. And sure.” You said, making the change before looking back up to ask, “Any last changes before we proceed to make payment?”

The 3 of them looked at each other before Chris shook his head to you.

“Great.” You smiled at all of them and told Chris the total price. Once he was done paying, you gave the buzzer and receipt to Chris before they went back to their tables. You prepared their drinks while humming to the song on your playlist that was playing through the speakers in the cafe. Meanwhile, Seungmin kept glancing over behind the counter where you were by the espresso machine making the drinks.

Chan noticed this since he was sitting opposite Seungmin so he smiled as he nudged Seungmin’s arm and nodded his head towards you.

“What’s wrong, Seungmo?”

“H-Huh? Nothing, hyung. Was wondering if I should get some pastries to go.” Seungmin made up an excuse as he pretends to listen to the conversation. However, a couple of minutes later, Chan caught him looking over at you again. Suddenly, their buzzer began to buzz indicating that their orders were ready for collection. Changbin was about to stand when Chan stopped him.

“Hey Seungmin? Maybe you should go.” Chan said as the rest began to pick up the situation.

Minho then poked Seungmin’s side to tease him.

“Yeah, go talk to your new crush while you’re at it.” Minho said. Seungmin hissed at him but got up nonetheless. You were just wiping the collection counter when Seungmin came up to you.

“Uh… Here you go. Thanks.” Seungmin said as you smiled at him and took the buzzer from him. The only thing is, there’s two trays for them but only one person to carry. So you decided to offer some help.

“I’ll help you with this tray.” You said as he opened his mouth to say something but you were already leaving the back counter with their second tray. Both of you made your way to the table as Seungmin began to distribute the drinks while Chris helped with the ones on your tray. Once all the drinks and dessert had been placed on the table, you tapped Seungmin’s arm softly to get his attention.

“I can take the tray.” You said and he passed it to you.

“Um, thank you.” Seungmin gave you a small smile which you couldn’t help but return.

“No worries. Enjoy your drinks.” You politely said before you walked off.

The minute Seungmin sits down, Hyunjin and Changbin began to tease him in a good way. Seungmin could only brush them off and occasionally threaten them to shut up and it worked. They stayed at the cafe for about two hours or so, discussing their new song.

You were busy the entire two hours with the cleaning and making orders but it was still manageable.

About 10 minutes ago, your manager came back when there was a queue at the cashier. She didn’t bother to help as she went directly into the back room to do god knows what. You handled the orders as best as you could without her help. Not like she’s ever been much help all these while anyways. Not too long after, your co-workers who were working the evening shift just came and they both quickly put their bags down on top of the fridge and helped to make the drinks before they could even take their aprons.

After all the orders were completed and the last customer had taken her drink, only then did they let out a sigh and talked to you.

“Where’s Manager-nim?” Jimin asked, looking around.

“In the back room. She went to the bank 2 hours ago and she just came back like 15 minutes before you guys arrived?” You explained and they scoffed.

“She’s a nightmare. I don’t understand how she’s even a manager.” Jungkook said with a disgusted face and you laughed.

“Well, while you’re both taking your aprons, you can go say hi to her.” You teased them, only for Jungkook to pinch your side and you squeaked.

Another 30 minutes passed, your shift had just ended. Your manager had already left work unusually early, not like you guys cared anyway. You went to the back to change out of your uniform and wore the clothes you did when you came to work this morning. After you’ve kept your uniform in your bag, you leave the back room to say bye to your colleagues. Jimin was making his iced tea while Jungkook was just leaning against the counter and talking to Jimin.

You walked over to steal a bite of Jungkook’s apple pie and he scoffed at you.

“Excuse me, Missy? Go get your own pie.” Jungkook said with a growing smile on his face.

“Nah. I love stealing yours.” He laughed as Jimin poured the tea into the cup filled with ice cubes.

“You’re working tomorrow right?” Jimin asked.

“Yeah, morning shift again.”

“Are you doing anything at night?”

“Hmm, I don’t have any plans if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Jungkook and I are planning to go to the club tomorrow night. Wanna come?”

“Why should I? You’re both just gonna get drunk and go hook up with someone halfway through, leaving me all alone.”

“Nah. I don’t do hookups anymore. I’ve changed.” Jungkook says proudly but you could only giggle.

“Yeah right.” You said as Jungkook rolled his eyes jokingly to you.

“Fine. I’ll let you know if I change my mind.” You said before turning to leave, not forgetting to wave goodbye to them. As you were leaving the back counter, Chris and his friends were leaving the cafe as well.

“Oh Y/N. You’re leaving too?” Chris asked.

“Yeap.” You smiled at him, only for your eyes to naturally glide over to the blonde guy from earlier who was just behind Chris.

“So I’m guessing you’re heading home right now?” Chris asked, making you nod.

“Yeah. Gotta feed my parrot.”

“You have a parrot?” Seungmin asks curiously and you nod.

“Mhm! I’ve had him for 3 years now.”

“Oh, that’s nice. What’s the breed?”

“He’s an Indian Ringneck parrot.” You said as you showed them your phone wallpaper which was a picture of your parrot.

“Oh, he’s so cute!” Chris squeaked.

“Does he have a name?” Seungmin asked.

“His name is Zico! You guys should meet him one day.” You naturally blurt out this suggestion which kind of surprises him a little. Chris, not so much since he’s known you a little longer than Seungmin did.

“That would be nice. Maybe one day.” Chris smiled at you. Just then, you turned to Seungmin who had a soft smile on his face.

“I’d love to meet your parrot some day.” He said softly which made you smile. You then bid them goodbye since you would be parting ways now. You didn’t forget to say goodbye directly to Seungmin before you left and this woke the butterflies in his stomach.

The following day after work, you went home and suddenly remembered the proposal Jimin had offered you yesterday. It would be nice to just relax and cuddle up on your sofa alone at home, watching your favourite movies. However, going out to spend the night with two of your close buddies from work also sounds nice. Therefore, you decided to go ahead with the plan. You told them you’ll meet them there and so they got excited. You picked out your outfit which was a simple black sleeveless dress with strings to hold the back material together.

You paired it with a simple 3 inch heel so your feet don't hurt. When you made it to the club, you struggled to find your friends at first. But when you did, you caught them chilling at the bar. So you slinged your arms over the outer shoulders so that you would be in between them.

“Hi, handsome. Ready to party?” You asked and they smirked. Jungkook openly checks you out as he winked at you playfully.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Jimin said and you cheered. For the next 40 minutes, you drank a whole glass of Daiquiri and were now dancing on the dancefloor with them both. Jimin was standing in front of you while Jungkook was behind you.

They were your human shields from other drunk people who prey on drunk girls in the club. You held both Jimin’s hands as you danced with him to the song. Meanwhile, Jungkook was just moving to the beat behind you when suddenly, the song changed into a romantic but slightly slower beat. Jimin let go of your hands while he slowly got immersed in the song. You were just closing your eyes, allowing your body to move with the rhythm of the song when you felt a pair of hands sliding onto your waist and over your stomach.

You glance down to see Jungkook’s full right sleeve tattooed arm wrapping around your body while he pulls you into a back hug. He pressed his cheek against the side of your head only to say something in your ear.

“Whoever you date next, will be the luckiest guy on this earth.” You smiled as you pulled away only to find him smiling at you. He danced with you for a bit before the song changed again. After another hour or so, all 3 of you decided to go home and call it a night. Jungkook made sure to send you back home to your doorstep which you appreciated so much.

He unlocked your apartment door for you and brought you inside, removing your heels by the door and led you to your bedroom. Jungkook made sure to tuck you in before he wished you goodnight softly and made his way out of your apartment. He had just locked your front door just before he slammed your door shut and twisted the knob to make sure it was really locked when he turned around to find a guy walking past him. The guy flashed him a small smile and Jungkook did the same. Jungkook strolls slowly back to the lift lobby, stumbling a bit in his walk but was quick to recover.

Seungmin watched him walk to the lift lobby as he then glanced over at your door, not knowing that you lived there. Nevertheless, Seungmin enters his apartment which is right next to yours.

A week had passed and it was a Sunday afternoon. You were going to run some errands so you prepared to leave. You had just opened your door to leave when Chris shocked you.

“Y/N?! You live here?” Chris asked.

“Apparently…” You laughed as the rest of his friends were behind him only to walk around him while exchanging their hellos with you.

“What are you doing here?” You asked as you locked your door.

“We were going to just hang out at Seungmin’s place today.” Upon hearing that name, you turned around confused.

“Seungmin?”

As soon as you said his name, the door next to you opened and Seungmin peeked his head out from the doorway. He was surprised to see you but still greeted you nonetheless.

“Y-You… Hi?”

“Uh, hey!” You said with a smile on your face.

“She lives here, Seungmo. Didn’t you know?” Chris asked, only for him to shake his head.

“We’ve never bumped into each other before, hyung.”

“Really?! That’s so weird.” Chris said but then Felix joins in.

“Well, it seems like it’s fate.” Felix giggled as he rushed into his friend’s apartment while Seungmin was left standing there awkwardly blushing. You couldn’t help but giggle at how cute he looked.

“Since you guys live right next to each other, you guys can hang out more often.” Chris wiggles his eyebrows at you and Seungmin cheekily.

“Yeah. That would be nice.” You said while Seungmin glared at his friend.

“Okay then. I shall leave you guys to it. See you around Seungmin… And I’ll see you at the cafe, Chris.” You laughed as he did the same but nodded to your words. They briefly watched you leave before Seungmin grabbed Chan by his arm and forced him into his apartment.

“What are you doing, hyung?! Are you crazy?” Seungmin grumbles while Chan removes his shoes to join the others in the living room.

“Relax Seungmin, I’m doing you a favour.”

“What favour is there to do if she already has a boyfriend?” Seungmin asked and the rest of them went silent.

“Boyfriend? What are you talking about?” Chan asked, slightly confused. Seungmin sighed, feeling a little hesitant to tell them but he did anyway.

“Last weekend, when I was about to reach my apartment, I caught that guy who works with her leaving her apartment. He looked a little tipsy when he left too.” Seungmin sighed as he plops down next to Jeongin.

“Which guy?” Chan asks since he knows a lot about you at this point.

“He’s the one with the full sleeve tattoo on his right arm.” Immediately, Chan lets out a relieved sigh.

“Oh, Jungkookie… They’re just friends. He’s quite touchy with almost everyone he’s close with. But Y/N once told me that Jungkook and her are just very close friends, nothing more. So don’t worry. He’s not her boyfriend. You’re still safe to continue.” Chan encouraged Seungmin while the others did the same as well.

“W-What if you’re wrong? What if they decided to date each other now? What if she’s not telling you the truth? What if-” Seungmin was about to go on about his questions when Hyunjin stopped him.

“Kim Seungmin… Just ask her out. You can’t just assume things without getting a proper answer. Ask her out and see what she says. If she rejects you then maybe she is dating someone. If she accepts then hey? That’s one step closer for you.”

“Yeah, Seungmin ah. Just go for it. You wouldn’t know if you haven’t tried.” Jisung said as Seungmin let out a soft sigh, knowing his friends were right. He was afraid of getting rejected but at least he’ll get his answer on whether you’re single or unavailable. Then from there he could decide whether to go on or not.

A couple of days later, you were working as usual when you saw Seungmin enter the cafe alone. You didn’t expect to see him here because normally, it would be Chris who walks into the cafe at this hour. Nonetheless, when he meets your eyes, you flash him a warm smile.

“Hi.” You greeted softly and he grins at you adorably.

“H-Hi.”

“What can I get for you today?” You asked as he glanced over at the fridge to point at one of the cakes before looking back at you.

“I’ll have a cheesecake and one iced vanilla latte to go, please? Thank you.” Seungmin said and you keyed in his order.

“Anything else?”

He shook his head and you proceeded with the payment. After he had paid for his order, you gave him the receipt and he went over to wait by the collection counter. While you were preparing his order, Seungmin couldn’t hide his nervousness so he texted Chan.

Seungmin [sent at 2:13 pm]: I can’t do it

Chanie Hyung [read at 2:13 pm]: What?!

Chanie Hyung [read at 2:13 pm]: Don’t you dare back out now, Kim Seungmin >:(

Seungmin [sent at 2:14 pm]: What if she says no?

Chanie Hyung [read at 2:14 pm]: You haven’t even tried asking, how would you know she’ll say no?

Seungmin [sent at 2:15 pm]: Shit, she’s almost done. Hyung I can’t do it…

Chanie Hyung [read at 2:16 pm]: Seungmo, you’re gonna regret not asking her out afterwards… Trust me. There’s no harm in asking…

As Seungmin tries to process Chan’s last message, you gently call his name to get his attention. You slide the bag which has his drink and the cake in a small box towards him with a smile.

“Thanks for coming. Have a good weekend.” You said to him.

Seungmin simply flashed you a small shy smile before he thanked you and took the bag from you. Seungmin was about to open his mouth but then he saw Jungkook leaving the back room while tying his apron string around his back. With that being said, Seungmin left without a second thought and this somehow disappoints you a little. After he left in a rush, Jungkook pokes your side and questions.

“Who was that? Your friend?” Jungkook asked casually as he removed the portafilter from the coffee machine and gently slammed it upside down by the handle to remove the used ground coffee into the bin.

“He’s Chris’ friend actually and apparently my neighbour too.” You chuckled while he wiped the filter with a towel to clean the leftover coffee grounds.

“Oh right. He lives right next to you. I think I bumped into him that night when I sent you home after we went to the club with Jimin hyung.”

“You did?” Your voice was soft now as he nodded.

“He probably thinks I’m your boyfriend or date.”

“Well, if you saw a random guy leaving your crush’s place and is slightly tipsy, you would assume they at least hooked up.”

“Fair point. But hey, I can tell him we aren’t a thing if he ever swings by again. He probably has a crush on you.” Jungkook teased with a cheeky smirk on his face. You could say something but you didn’t wanna sound like a fool so you opted to continue with your work. You were currently seated on the floor in front of the bottom fridge, keeping the new stock of milk cartons when Jungkook’s voice catches your attention.

“Hey Cinderella, someone’s looking for you.” Jungkook said from the coffee machine with a smirk and this terrifies you. So you closed the fridge and stood up, only to be met with Seungmin.

“Hey? Did I make a mistake with your order?” You asked, only for him to shake his head.

“A-Actually, no. I um… I came back cause I wanted to… Well, I was wondering if you were free later tonight. I-It’s okay if you’re not. You don’t have to say yes.” Seungmin stuttered and from his shaky voice, you could tell he was nervous. But his simple courage to even come back and ask you this was really admirable.

“Yeah. I’m free tonight. I end at 5.” You said and he seemed shocked.

“Oh.” He paused as if to process your answer.

“Uh… Great? I’ll knock on your door at 8?” He continued from where he left off.

“Sure.” You smiled.

Finally, his lips curled up into a smile that leaves your heart fluttering.

“Alright then… See you later.” He said as you bid him goodbye. After he left, Jungkook squeaked whilst turning off the steaming wand.

“Finally! You scored a date!” Jungkook said happily as you laughed.

“Shut up, silly.” You said before going back to what you were doing previously.

Hours later, you were getting nervous for your date. You tried to pull up a nice outfit to wear instead of your usual jeans and hoodie. It took you almost an hour to decide on what to wear. In which you finally chose a black denim mid thigh skirt, a white long sleeve fitting top and a pair of white sneakers to finish off your look. This wasn’t your usual outfit so you think it was somewhat decent. When the clock strikes 8 o’clock, your door receives a few knocks and this triggers your nervous heart. Nevertheless, you went to the door and opened it, only to find Seungmin standing there looking twice as handsome as he normally does.

He wore a black shirt, a varsity jacket, a pair of jeans and a pair of sneakers. His hair was blonde and long enough to fall past his eyes. The minute you opened the door, Seungmin couldn’t help but give you one quick glance from head to toe before meeting your eyes again shyly.

“Hi… Y-You look really nice.” He said, making you blush.

“Thanks. I could say the same for you too.” You said and this time, it was his turn to blush.

“Shall we go?”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” Seungmin said and this sparked your curiosity. You locked your door and soon left with him. He brought you to his car as he drove off without telling you the destination. In the car, you bonded with him and got to know more about each other. Everything was going smoothly so far and you were so happy. He brought you to a Korean BBQ restaurant and you were excited for the beef.

Dinner went well as you found yourself being comfortable around him. He was very gentle and calm around you, making you relax and not have to pretend to like being with him. After dinner, he drove you to a lookout point where you both sat on the hood of his car, admiring the stars in the night sky while you talked to him more. Though you never really opened up to him completely about your private life, he never forced it out of you also.

Simply out of respect since you two were only just starting to get to know each other anyway. About an hour or so, both of you decided to call it a night. When you made it outside your door, he made sure to thank you for tonight.

“Thank you for agreeing to hang out with me tonight. I really enjoyed it.” He says.

“No worries. I really like it too… And I don’t mind doing this again.” You gave him the hint which thankfully, he caught.

“Really?” He asked and so you nod.

“Then in that case… Do you have any plans next Saturday?” You asked.

“Hmm, that depends… Do you wanna schedule a plan for us next week?”

“I’d love to.”

“Great. I’ll see you next week then. Does 2pm sound good to you?” He asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Alright then. I’ll see you next week at 2pm. Goodnight Y/N.” He smiles.

“Goodnight Seungmin.” You smiled, turning to unlock your door and enter your apartment. He internally cheers for himself before heading into his apartment. He made sure to update his friends about his date and also the upcoming one. Only for his friends to freak out and encourage him to keep pushing forward.

For the next few weeks, you’ve been on a couple of dates with Seungmin but neither one of you have actually gone past the simple hand holding and slight cuddles. No one has been brave enough to kiss the other. The feelings were mutual and they were there. However, kissing the other person was just too nerve wracking to think about, let alone do it. Today was going to be your 8th date with Seungmin and you planned to somehow kiss him. Maybe just a peck at least. You had planned it all in your head, playing out the scenario to see if it would turn out okay or weird.

It’s been about 2 hours into your date where you were just chilling on his sofa when you received a phone call from your mum. So you picked it up instantly without a doubt.

“Hi mum!” You said cheerily into the call but all you heard was your mum’s frantic voice.

“Y/N. Come home quick. Grandma just fell in the toilet and we’re heading to the hospital now. She’s not in good shape…”

“What? O-Okay! I’ll come now.” You said as you had a tear roll down your cheek and he saw.

“Y/N? What’s wrong? Is everything okay?” Seungmin asked and you quickly got up to leave but he stopped you.

“Hey? Is everything okay?” Seungmin asked as he gently held your wrist and caressed it with his thumb.

“Y-Yeah. I’m so sorry but we have to postpone the date. I’m really sorry, Seungmin.”

“No, no, it’s fine. You don’t have to apologise. But, you sound like you’re heading somewhere. Do you need a ride?”

“I-I… I can get an uber. I don’t wanna trouble you.”

“No, please. I insist.” He said kindly and you were hesitant.

“But it’s a 2 hour drive from here…” You said and he smiled.

“At least you won’t be alone on your way there.” Seungmin said and your heart instantly melts for him.

“A-Are you sure?” You asked just to double confirm since you weren’t forcing him to take you to your destination.

“Absolutely. Come on. Go grab whatever you need and we’ll head out.” Seungmin says and you couldn’t help but lunge yourself onto him. You wrapped your arms around his waist as you buried your head in his chest.

“Thank you so much…” You whispered and he heard you. So he gently wrapped his arms around your shoulders to hold you for a bit before letting you go.

“Don’t mention it.” Seungmin smiles down at you as you both leave his apartment.

You went back to yours to quickly grab your belongings and soon left after locking your apartment door. Half an hour into the drive, neither of you were talking while the music played softly in the background. You have been texting your mum for the past few minutes to get an update on your grandma. Which he gave you the privacy to do so. When suddenly, you spoke up and Seungmin glanced at you briefly before he focused his eyes back on the road.

“My grandma fell down earlier and my parents are rushing her to the hospital…” Your voice was soft.

“I’m so sorry… Did they make it to the hospital?”

“Yeah. She’s in the A&E now, with the doctors.” You stared at your phone, unable to hide your emotions. Seungmin gently reaches over to scoop one of your hands. He tangles his fingers with yours while he rubs soft circles into the back of your hand with his thumbs.

“She’ll be okay.” Seungmin said, looking at you briefly only to catch a growing small smile on your face despite the tears in your eyes.

“I hope so.” You whispered and he turned back to the road. Through the entire drive, you held his hand in yours on your lap for comfort. The drive was surprisingly faster than you thought but thankful to have made it to the hospital safely. You rushed into the building after texting your mum for updates. When you make it to the ward, Seungmin trails behind you as you open the isolation ward door to find your parents on either side of the bed while your grandma lays there with a hip brace.

“Grandma!” You called as you rushed over to them. You cried upon seeing her there with a weak smile on her face.

“Hi my dear. How are you?” She asked.

“Why are you asking me? I should be the one asking you that question.” You said sadly and she chuckled.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m perfectly fine, sweetheart.” She says, making you sigh. Just then, your dad spoke up to acknowledge Seungmin as he came to stand next to your dad after bowing to him politely.

“Oh, hello son. You are?” You dad asked.

“Hi Sir. Um, I’m Seungmin. Y/N’s friend.”

“We were hanging out when mum called and he kindly offered to drive me here.” You explained to your parents only for them to feel thankful.

“Really? Oh how nice of you, dear. So sorry to trouble you to come all the way here.” Your mum said.

“It’s fine, Ma’am. I saw how shaken up she got after she received the call so I didn’t feel good to leave her on her own.” Seungmin said.

“Thank you for being here for my daughter.” Your dad said and Seungmin smiled.

The four of you spent the next hour there before your parents told you to head home. You frowned as you said you wanted to stay over back at your old home with them so you could come and visit your grandma for the next few days.

“What about Seungmin?” Your mum asked as you both turned to look at your dad talking to Seungmin by the door, a few metres away from you and your mum.

Seungmin did send you all the way here on a 2 hour drive because he didn’t want to let you be alone. So wouldn’t it be selfish if you told him to drive back home for 2 hours on his own now?

“Will you and dad be okay if he stayed with us for a couple days more before we head back?” You asked and she smiled.

“Of course sweetie. Besides, it wouldn’t be nice if you sent him home now after all that he’s done for you.”

“I know… Okay, I'll go and ask him.” You said as you got up and made your way over to him and your dad.

“Hey dad? I was thinking of staying with you and mum for a couple of days so I could come here and visit grandma.”

“Of course you can sweetie.” Your dad said before you glanced at Seungmin and then back at your dad.

“And I was wondering if you’ll be okay with Seungmin staying with us too before we head back together?”

Seungmin’s jaw drops slightly while your dad smiles, “Definitely.”

“B-But I-” Seungmin didn't finish his sentence when you cut him off.

“You offered to drive me here for 2 hours just so I wouldn’t be alone. I can’t just tell you to drive back home for another 2 hours on your own now. That’s unfair.” You smiled at him.

Meanwhile, your dad was just silently watching from the side with a fond smile on his face. Seungmin was shy but he knew you had a valid point. So he decided to agree with your offer. With that being said, you stayed for a little while more before all 4 of you made your way back to your old home. Your mum prepared the guest room quickly before she showed him to the room on the ground level next to the laundry room. Seungmin thanked your mum as he went inside to make himself comfortable.

In the meantime, you went through your closet to try and dig out whatever mens clothing that you bought for yourself to lend to him during his stay here. You came back down to find him sitting on the bed just staring at the window. So you knocked on the door softly to not startle him.

“Hey… You okay?” You asked and he smiled.

“Yeah. I’m okay.” Seungmin said before you walked in to pass him the clothes. He carefully took them from you and placed it next to him. You sat down beside him as you softly spoke up.

“You don’t have to stay if you have important things to do back home like work. I just felt bad if I told you to go back now after you’ve driven me all the way here.”

“It’s okay. I can just call in sick. They’ll understand.”

“Are you sure? I really don’t want to hold you back.”

“Don’t worry. I want to stay.” Seungmin said, awakening the butterflies in your stomach.

“Okay…” You whispered to him.

He glanced down at your lips briefly and you caught him. Seungmin then looked back into your eyes and gave you a gentle smile.

“You should get some rest.” He said, making you nod.

With that being said, you wished him goodnight and was on your way back to your room upstairs. A few hours went by and you couldn’t really sleep. You had a lot on your mind, especially thinking about your grandma. You sighed as you turned to the clock on your bedside table to see that it was half past midnight. You wondered if Seungmin was already asleep but you didn’t want to text him. So you got out of bed and tip-toed your way down the stairs. You carefully walked over to the guest room to see the door closed.

You hesitate at first, knowing you shouldn’t disturb him. But at that moment, you were yearning for his comfort so you decided to try your luck. You went up to his door and gave it two very soft knocks. You told yourself to wait for 3 seconds and if you got no reply, then you should just head back upstairs. However, before you could count to 2, the door swung open slightly and he looked wide awake.

“Y/N? Why aren’t you asleep yet?” He asked gently to which you bashfully smiled at him.

“U-Uh, I can’t sleep… Was I disturbing you? I’m so sorry.” You said but he shook his head and pulled the door open wider.

“No, you weren’t actually. Do you wanna come inside?” He asked and so you nodded. You walked towards his bed while he closed the door quietly before joining you.

“What were you doing before I came?” You asked.

“I was actually about to text you to ask if you had any spare charger that I could borrow.”

“Oh. I do. Let me go get it. It’s in the living room.” You said and he patiently waits for you. 2 minutes later, you came back with a charger in your hand and plugged it to the socket next to his bed.

“Thanks.” He says before plugging his phone in. You were about to leave, thinking you'd already disturbed him enough when he spoke up.

“I know you have trouble sleeping but do you maybe wanna lay down and at least try to fall asleep?” He asked.

“But, what if I end up falling asleep here?"

“I can just sleep here too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah? Why not?”

“Okay.” You whispered softly as he pulled the cover back so that he could climb in and you followed after. Once you were both snuggled in the guest bed, he turned to you with a gentle look on his face.

“Come here.” Seungmin said and so you took this chance to scoot over. You snuggled into his side, resting your head on his chest while he held you close. Seungmin’s lips brushed over your forehead and you could feel it. He caressed your wrist with his thumb that was resting on top of his chest. The room fell silent for a good minute or so. With him just softly running his fingers through your hair to smoothen the tangles out. Your eyelids finally began to droop down . Suddenly, Seungmin began to sing sweetly above you. His voice was sultry and smooth.

If he was a supernatural being, he could be a siren.

This works like a charm and you slowly begin to drift off to sleep. The next morning, you woke up to the feeling of someone hugging you from behind. You let out a soft sound from trying to stretch, only to hear him whine behind you.

“What time is it?” His raspy morning voice says from behind you.

You grabbed your phone to check the time and it was just a quarter to 8 in the morning, “It’s 7:45 am.”

“Mmm, more sleep then.” Seungmin hums as he nuzzles his face deeper into your neck while hugging you tightly. You fell asleep for another hour or two before you got woken up by your mother’s voice at the door.

“Kids, I’ve made breakfast.”

Seungmin groans softly before he responds to your mum, “Okay. Thank you.”

A few seconds later, you jolted up when it finally hit you.

“Shit… She knows I’m here.” You panicked, only for him to look at you and finally caught on.

“Oh…”

With that being said, you quickly got out of bed and left his room in hopes you don’t bump into your parents. However, when you were about to dash past the kitchen to head to the staircase, your mother caught you just in time.

“Oh good, you’re up. Where’s Seungmin?” She asks with a smile on her face while she pours fresh orange juice into the glasses.

“U-Uh… He’s awake, I think?” You replied and she simply laughed.

So you excused yourself to head back upstairs and wash up. You ended up spending another two more days there to visit your grandma before deciding to head back. While you were saying goodbye to your parents on the front porch, your mum said, “Seungmin is a sweet boy. It’s still not too late, you know?”

You knew what she was saying so all you did was smile at her. After you left, you never spoke about it throughout the drive. Instead, you talked about other things so that he does not get suspicious. When you finally arrived outside at your apartment unit, you turned to say thanks to him.

“Thank you again for everything.”

“You’re welcome.” Seungmin smiled as you were running out of words to say purely out of nerves. Just then, you wanted to cut the awkwardness so you excused yourself.

“Yeah, I’ll just head back inside. Thanks Seungmin.” You quickly said before rushing in.

You let out a heavy breath while leaning against your door. You wanted to get up and move on with your day but a huge part of you was screaming at you for leaving him out there.

Maybe he already went back into his apartment.

Maybe he went back downstairs to go for a drive.

Maybe he left because you abruptly left.

However, all your assumptions were false because when you decided to open the door and find him, you were surprised to find him standing outside your door with a sad frown on his face.

“Y/N?” He whispered your name.

With that being said, you threw yourself forward to wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him in for a passionate kiss. You used both hands to gently hold his face while his hands slid around your lower back. When you pulled away to breath, he looked at you with a growing smile on his face.

“T-That um… Wow t-that was really nice.” Seungmin said softly and you blushed. He gently tugs you back in to kiss you again. You felt him smile against your lips, squeezing your waist softly. This time when he pulled away, he guided you back into your apartment as you giggled.

“I like you, Y/N.” He confessed to which you pushed your front door closed and smiled.

“Good… Because I like you too.”

Once you confessed your feelings, Seungmin kissed you again, more passionately as that would be the start of your relationship.

[sparklysung]

✨MEDDLE ABOUT – s.j.y.✨

© sparklysung – 2024. all rights reserved. no reposts, modifications and/or translations allowed.

pairing – sim jaeyun x female!reader

genre – smut | non-idol!au, university!au, strangers to lovers!au

warnings – kinda dom!reader (?), awkward!jake, oral (f. receiving), a bit of grinding maybe (?), mentions of alcohol and weed, pet names (mainly pup or puppy), physics major!jake, chemistry major!reader, reader calls jake a nerd lol. lmk if i forgot something!

word count – 2.370 words

summary – the one where jake ends up on his knees, eating you out after meeting you in a crowded bar. 

note – so i guess i’m back? from the dead? i’m so sorry if anyone cares that i literally for like a hot minute:’) i’m approaching the end of my university program so i’ve been super busy in the past couple years. stressed? all day every day. wanting to graduate asap? hell yeah. anyway, this was obviously inspired by meddle about – chase atlantic since i’ve been obsessed with them lately. pls lmk what you guys think, i’m trying to get back into writing and this is the first piece i’ve been able to finish so far lol. but pls be kind with me or i’ll cry lol i’m really anxious about posting again but fuck it we ball. this was also not proofread so ignore the errors if you find any lol. also lmk what y’all think about maybe starting a playlist type of series? with different idols and songs?

well, come and get it now,

when jake agreed to go bar hopping on a regular wednesday night with his friend group, he was not expecting the chain of events that would lead to where he was now. 

sure, he was hoping for a good time, especially since wednesdays were designated ‘dollar beers’ and the usually expensive alcoholic drinks were at a more accessible price. it was the perfect opportunity for broke college students to go out and get drunk while on a budget. 

that was why he did not put up much of a fight when jay let him know about their plan for the night, quickly coming to terms with the idea that he was going to have to show up to class horribly hungover. he knew no matter how many excuses he offered, jay was not going to take no for an answer. 

so, at 8 pm, jake took one last look at himself in the mirror, psyching himself up for what the night had prepared for him, before heading to jay’s place. 

come and get it now. 

“you made it.”

jay commented as soon as he propped the door to his apartment open, a satisfied smirk adorning his face. 

jake trailed behind his friend like a lost puppy, a bit anxious and painfully sober. once they reached the nicely decorated living room, the group was finally complete. 

by the look of it –if the others’ flushed cheeks were something to go by–, the night had already begun. 

his friends were chatting loudly, the sound of laughter and alcoholic beverages being passed around filled the otherwise neat area. the cold night air made him shudder as he joined the group, the smell of weed coming from the balcony making his lungs burn. 

baby, show me what you’re doing, 

before he knew it, jake found himself surrounded by sweaty bodies, the stuffy air enhancing the effect of the weed he had smoked earlier. the music blasting out of the multiple speakers scattered around the bar, the bass making his body feel numb. 

jake joined his friends, dancing with not a single care in the world, the concerns about school quickly slipping out of his intoxicated mind. 

it felt great to finally be able to relax for once. 

however, just as he was starting to enjoy the night, he somehow managed to make a fool of himself. 

“fuck,” jake yelp, utterly embarrassed. “i’m so sorry, i swear i didn’t mean to spill your drink!”

come and turn around. 

“you can make it up to me by getting me a new one?”

the sound of your melodic voice made his head tilt upwards, following the source, shame washing over his body when he got a look at you. 

you were hot. 

a little stunned by your pretty face, he struggled to say something. 

“o-of course!” he blurted out a little too loudly for comfort, and jake’s cheeks grew hot when you giggled at his awkwardness. 

we only met each other just the other day,

“i take it this is not your scene?” you wondered out loud, obviously trying to start a conversation with the cute boy. 

“uh, something like that,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his head, visibly nervous. “i don’t usually go out on weekdays, especially when i have class morning classes the next day.”

“i see,” you hummed, thinking about your own morning classes tomorrow. but who cared, right? have fun now and deal with the consequences later. 

“so, uh, what’s your program?” you smiled to yourself at his attempt at keeping the conversation alive, relieved to know he interested in you enough to engage with you.  

“chemistry.”

his eyebrows shot up at your words, impressed. 

“no way, i wasn’t expecting that.”

“yeah? what’s yours?”

“physics.”

you gasped loudly, feigning shock, and he smiled abashedly. 

“good thing i’m into nerds.”

but you already got me feeling some type of way. 

you were so bold with your words, so smooth with the way you flirted with him. your honey-like voice had him blindly agreeing with you, almost in a trance-like state. you could be asking him to trade his soul for a chicken nugget and he would instantly agree, no questions asked. 

the way you blinked at him, long lashes fluttering so innocently as your glazed over eyes stared straight through him, spiking up his heart rate. your body leaned closer with his every word, fingers toying with a loose strand of your silky hair in such an endearing way his fuzzy mind could not comprehend. 

it had to be illegal to be this attractive. 

and you were guilty as charged. 

now, if i could figure it out,

one thing led to another and soon your lips were on his plush ones, leaving a kiss that felt like a cup of hot chocolate in the winter. warm and sweet. 

jake was able to shake off the initial surprise and deepened the kiss. one hand found its way into the nape of your head, pulling you closer, and the other to the small of your back. his touch was hot and reassuring, allowing you to get lost in the feeling of his mouth on yours. 

your short dress rode up revealing more of your thighs as you reached for his broad, strong shoulders for support, your weight leaning on his athletic body. and to your delight, you could already feel the hardening bulge in his pants. 

he pulled away, his breathing uneven and lips swollen, appearing dazed. 

“wanna get out of here?”

i’d take you back to my house so we can meddle about. 

jake barely managed to lock the door before you were pushing him against it, arms going to wrap around his neck to bring him in for a kiss. your hungry lips on his, your hot body against him, the scent of your perfume. the combination of sensations overwhelming his senses and leaving him panting for air. 

he couldn’t get enough of you. 

jake noted to thank jay later for almost dragging him out of his house. 

your ministrations, the gentle but eager touch of your hands and your searing lips on his sensitive neck had jake struggling to keep up, far too aroused to think straight. his pants had become considerably tighter since he met you earlier. and he couldn’t help but push his hips into yours, searching for some much needed relief. 

the giggle you let out at his desperate attempt at humping you had a frustrated whimper almost escaping the poor boy. 

so pretty.

“aw, is my puppy getting impatient?” you asked in the most taunting tone, getting off on teasing him. 

“y/n, please, i need something,” jake pleaded, cock throbbing in his jeans. “anything.”

and who were you to deny such a polite boy?

somehow you both managed to stumble into his room, hands never leaving the other. 

‘cause it’s not just a figure of speech,

jake’s body fully sprawled on the bed trembled when you brought a hand to cup the tent in his jeans. his groans only grew louder, raw with desire as you slipped your hand under the fabric and made direct contact with his length. 

jake thought he was having a fever dream from how stupidly hot his body felt. each caress of your soft hands had him weak on the knees, hips bucking to follow your touch, not caring about how needy he seemed. 

your panties were drenched as you felt him up, mouth watering at the thought of his dick fucking your throat until you choked. 

but that could wait. what you needed right now was his mouth on your dripping core. 

you got me down on my knees. 

“fuck, please,” he whined, “let me taste you.”

jake looked at you from his place on the floor, looking all desperate to get his hands on you. you could see his pretty eyes shining even in the darkness, a glint of need letting you know just how much he wanted you. 

slowly, you lifted your dress to reveal your underwear, your fingers teasing the hem of the garment. 

he swallowed, his mouth uncomfortably dry. his own fingers itched to reach for you and get your panties off himself, too eager to get more of you to wait.

your eyes scanned the boy in front of you, eyebrows scrunched together, a bead of sweat dripping down his temple. despite your limited vision, you could easily make out the outline of his cock in his pants. you almost wanted to jump straight into business just to get a look, wondering what shade of pink it was.

key word: almost. 

“what’s wrong, puppy?” you teased, biting back a smirk. when he only huffed in response, you decided to push further. “speak up, sim, i asked you a question.”

his hard cock twitched from the confines of his jeans at your tone. 

you looked annoyed, tapping your foot impatiently as you waited for an answer. 

“i need you, please,” his words came out slurred, too horny to care. 

you nodded, raising a brow at him. “it wasn’t that hard now, was it?”

his body almost vibrated with excitement when you pulled your panties down your legs. you stepped closer to him once they hit the floor, and his eyes immediately shot to the discarded piece of clothing, breathing getting heavier when he found the wet patch at the crotch. 

among the wide range of traits you possessed, liar wasn’t one of them. the sight of him, on his knees, begging to please you, had you rubbing your thighs together. your neglected core dripping with arousal. 

“be a good pup and eat me out.”

jake perked up as soon as his brain processed your words, scooting closer without a care for his knees. he hummed when you gasped at the feeling of his tongue licking a stripe up your slit. 

it’s getting harder to breathe out. 

jake groaned when you pushed his head closer, his nose digging into your pussy and putting pressure on your clit. his hands immediately went to grab at your thighs, gripping them for dear life. 

he was enamoured with the way your hips bucked into his mouth, your plush lips letting moans escape. it was like music to his ears. 

girl, just scream it out,

jake could barely breathe but he didn’t care. all he could think about was the intoxicating scent of your arousal, how sweet you tasted on his tongue. he could feel a mixture of your juices and his saliva drip down his neck, and he felt like he was about to cum in his pants like a bitch in heat. 

his hips desperately humped the air, too engrossed in making you cum all over his face to feel embarrassed. your fingers tangled in his soft locks, tugging at the roots whenever his tongue swiped just right only egging him on to work harder. 

tell me what you’re thinking about. 

“j-jake,” you whined, feeling the knot in your stomach tightening at the speed of light. “don’t stop.”

bet, he thought. 

if the way your thighs were trembling around his head was something to go by, he knew you were close. 

feeling you fall apart just from his mouth only was driving him insane. he couldn’t wait to see you take his cock, velvety walls stretched around his thickness. he wanted to hear your sweet moans as you struggled to fit him whole, pussy too tight for such a big dick. 

hell, just the idea if it had jake eating you out like he would never get pussy ever again. his skilled tongue poked at your entrance, trying to push it as far as he could, relishing in the squelching sounds filling the room. 

“fuck,” he moan into your pussy when you pulled his hair a little harsher than before, the vibrations directly against your clit sending you over the edge. 

you swore your mind blanked out for a second there. your orgasm washed over you like a tsunami, leaving you light headed. your body convulsed as if you were experiencing a demonic possession first hand, hips humping jake’s face like a rabid dog, riding out your high. and if it weren’t for jake���s grip on you, you would’ve hit the floor. 

once you regained a hint of control over your body, you pushed his head away from your sensitive core. 

to your satisfaction, jake looked as equally as fucked out as you. his once pristine shirt was now clinging to his toned body due to the sweat, his dark hair disheveled and sticking to his forehead. his pupils were blown out, chest heaving up and down at a concerningly fast pace. 

you had him exactly how you liked men, utterly ruined. 

with a sly grin on your face, you pulled him back up on his feet by his shirt. before he could yelp, your lips crashed against his in a heated kiss. jake stumbled towards you, unintentionally pressing your body into the cold wall behind you.

his hands grabbed your hips to pull you impossibly closer, need to feel more of you. your fingers wandered back to his hair, playing with the strands of silky hair and hissing against your lips when you pulled a little too hard. 

his body felt like it had been lit on fire, the touch of his large hands almost burning you, leaving behind an invisible outline of his hand on your skin. the kiss you shared grew more passionate, more desperate with each passing moment, your tongues waltzing to the pace of your fast-beating hearts. 

although you were enjoying the heated exchange, you both needed more. 

no, i wanna see you undress now. 

you hastily removed your clothes, tossing them somewhere in the room. jake followed suit, matching your eagerness, ready to pounce on you the moment he got the chance. 

soon you found yourselves all over each other once again, hands touching and feeling up the other’s body, lips finding each other with a growing intensity. 

jake placed you on his bed, looking down at you like you just escaped his wildest dreams. 

i wanna hear you confess now. 

“i want you to fuck me, jake.”

–lia:)

[shurisgf]

ECSTASY — A. ARETAS ✩ (1)

ೃ⁀➷ SUMMARY; in which , armando can’t keep his eyes off of his favorite dancer. So he takes matters into his own hands. | FEAT. Armando Aretas x BLACK!fem!reader | TROPE situationship ish? | FORMAT series | WARNINGS strip club, cursing, use of the n word | NOTES AYE WE IN THE STRIP CLUB YAWLLL 😜 thank you to the sweet soul who requested this!! literally had the time of my life writing this

🎧 for an enhanced experience , listen to the playlist selected below ;

` The Motto — Drake

` Truffle Butter —Nicki Minaj

` My n***a — YG

` What We Doin’ — City Girls

` Run Away — Chris Brown

` Pressurelicious — Megan Thee Stallion

` Throw Sum Mo — Rae Sremmurd

` FTCU — Latto

` Thooties — Dee Bills & Jenn Carter

` Ride — YK Osiris

` Cut ‘Em Off — Femme It Forward & Kiana Ledé

` No Frauds — Nicki Minaj

` Point Me 2 — FendiDa Rappa & Cardi B

` FTCU — Nicki Minaj

11:30 PM

“It’s packed tonight y’all. Make sure to keep it cute,” You announced, walking into the back room where everyone was getting ready. Your friends laughed at your statement as they continued their last minute touches, “Listen to her please. Last time it was packed Mercedes tripped and knocked over like 6 bottles of Casamigos.” Jade side eyed Mercedes from where she was standing. Earning a chuckle from you, who was now sitting at your station, finishing up last minute makeup, and making sure you had on the right heels. The loud music blaring through the club vibrated the walls, creating a muffled sound inside of the room.

Finally satisfied with how you looked, you walked over to the table with the other girls, while Jade came in with a round of shots, “It’s showtime bitches!” She smiled brightly as everyone took a shot from the tray. You threw your head back and drank the shot fast, feeling the alcohol hitting the back of your throat. Shaking off the feeling, you took one last glance in the mirror and began to walk out of the room with the rest of the girls.

The lights were a mix of purple and punk hues, music blaring through the speakers as you walked over to the stage and signaled to the dj that you were ready for your set.

“Aight now, we got one of our most fabulous girls ready to get on stage,” the dj announced whilst still controlling the music. “Show ‘em what you got Star!” He shouted, hyping you up as you entered the stage. You decided to dance to Run Away by Chris Brown, swaying your hips effortlessly as you walked towards the pole. That’s where you noticed the fine ass man you’d never seen in the club before. It looked like he was paying close attention to your movements as you mounted the pole gracefully, doing a couple turns, and making sure to keep your movements loose and fluid. Your neon pink bralet and matching thong glowed in the led lights, highlighting your body’s movements on the pole. You swirled down the pole in a hypnotizing motion and slapped your ass once you got to the bottom, looking out at the crowd. The man was still there, biting his lips as he eyed you up and down. You were used to men looking at you that way, but something about the way he stared made you feel like he was staring into your soul. Men were throwing 20’s and 50’s at you, so you made an effort to bend down and pick up the money in a seductive manner. A sweet lesbian couple also gave you a couple 100’s, which always made your day, because they were regulars. When you turned your attention back to the crowd, the man was gone. So you shrugged it off and continued to dance.

Finishing your set, you swayed your hips and walked off of stage so that the next dancer could do her set. Before you could make it to the back, your shift manager told you that a guy paid for a private 30-minute session with you, and to do what you do best, make him come back. You told her that you would head over there after counting the tips you made on stage and putting it away. To which she nodded, and told you to hurry and don’t keep him waiting.

You thought that it was just a random man, maybe a regular that bought private sessions with you before. Walking into the room, you could obviously tell that you were wrong. It was that fine ass man that was sitting in the crowd earlier. He sipped his drink as you walked into the room, closing the door behind you. He was manspreading on the couch, the tent in his pants telling you all you needed to know. You made him hard while you were on stage earlier, which is why he wanted a private session. Men were too easy to figure out. “Ven aquí, sexy.” He spoke up, wanting you to come over to him. So you did as he said, swaying your hips as you walked to him, knowing exactly what he wanted. When you reached him, you straddled him on the couch, beginning to give him a lap dance. Rocking your hips against his, he groaned out, clearly enjoying himself, throwing his head back in pleasure before speaking up. He gently held your hips, causing you to stop your motions. Looking up at you with those sexy ass eyes of his. “Let me see that pretty ass, mama.” He spoke in a calm, but weirdly menacing tone that made you feel flustered on the inside. You stood up and twerked in front of him, moving your ass in all the right ways, as you bent down and continued your motions. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful mama, why haven’t I come here sooner.” He scoffed, his comment making you laugh a bit. You turned around and bent down to his knees, looking up at him in his eyes. Rubbing on his thighs as you continued to move your body sensually. “I don’t know, but I’d love to see your face in the crowd more often.” You playfully flirted with him, as he smirked at your comment. “C’mere pretty girl,” he spoke in that same tone. Taking a hold of your hips and gently turning you around, pulling you back against him, where he wanted you to be. You can’t lie, it was hot as fuck. So you complied and passionately moved your ass against his lap once again, earning yet another satisfied groan from his lips. You were enjoying yourself, before your security knocked and opened the door, telling you that your 30 minutes were over. A part of you was disappointed, but you were on the clock and had no time to play games. So you got up and made sure to look back at him, whispering “Sorry handsome,” before leaving the room.

2:23 AM

By the end of the night, you and the other girls were in the back, counting money, when you saw a paper tucked into your thong band. Taking it out, you opened it to find a note from the man you had a private session with. It read; “Let me return the favor.” along with his name and number at the bottom. You smiled and chuckled to yourself before tucking the note away in your belongings, he must’ve slipped the note there when he grabbed your hips. “Y’all know that fine ass nigga that was sitting in section 5?” You questioned your friends who were still busy counting cash. “You talkin’ bout the one with the fresh haircut and that sexy ass goatee?” Mercedes questioned you. Everyone laughing at her comment. “Yeah, him.” You continued to count the rest of your money, “What about him?” Coco chimed in, wanting to know the tea. “His name is Armando.” You spoke out, your simple reply confusing everyone in the room. “And how the fuck do you know that?” Mercedes protested, confused as to how you managed to get the dude’s name. “The slick bitch got a private session with him, that’s how.” Jade aired out all your business, the room erupting in shock. You smiled to yourself, continuing to count your cash from the rest of the night. “What the fuck?,” Mercedes walked over to your station, eyeing you down, waiting for you to tell her what happened. But when she saw you still focused on counting your money, she spoke up again. “Well what the hell happened?”

“Just a lap dance, that’s all.” You lied straight through your teeth, not bothering to tell the girls that he was hard as a rock while you danced on him.

“You gave that fine mothafucka’ a lap dance?” Mercedes’s questioned, looking back at the other girls, making sure they heard the same damn thing she just heard.

“You lucky bitch”, “I been plotting on that nigga all night,” Coco added. Everyone turning to glare at her. “What?” She said in a shocked tone, placing her hand on her chest as if she felt offended.

“We all know you wanted that nigga, you a hoe,” Jade damn near spit out her drink as Mercedes rolled her eyes, turning her attention back to you after making her comment.

“She got a point though, last time you had a private session, the security said you was tryna’ do more than dance.” You spoke up, counting the last of your cash and putting it away.

“Girl fuck the security guard, he won’t talkin’ bout nothing.” Coco expressed, rolling her eyes at the both of you.

“Aight, I’m finna go, I don’t got time to play with y’all.” You spoke, grabbing your jacket and bag, getting ready to leave for the night. Before you walked out the door, Mercedes added, “Let us know if he come back.”

“I will.” You laughed, walking out the door saying bye to everyone.

As you walked out, you could still hear Mercedes’s loud voice, “Can’t believe she got to give that nigga a lap dance.” Laughing to yourself as you walked out of the front door.

What a fucking night.

GLOSSARY !

Ven aquí — Come here.

©2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED — SHURI'S GF. Do not modify, repost, plagiarize, translate or claim any work posted on this blog without my permission !

TAGLIST; @ghettogirly @milliumizoomi @loakswifesworld @dyttomori

part 2

reblogs are greatly appreciated !

[fairyysoup]

cowboy like me

part two: takes one to know one

pairing(s): wild west outlaw!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: The strange man who stumbled into your hiding place is an idiot and also really pretty. It turns out trouble is something you have in common.

cw: mature themes, cowboy/wild west au, slow burn, enemies to lovers-ish?, past eddie x chrissy mention, guns, implied outlaw!reader, death threats, gunshot wounds, definitely inaccurate descriptions of frontier medicine, blood, some dark comedy.

word count: 2.7k

a/n: Behold the newest installment of Rose playing with barbies: cowboy edition. This is a continuation of an initial chapter I posted nearly a year ago now. I want to thank everyone who has been patient with me, since this year has been really terrible for my inspiration and creativity. I do my best to write when I can, but shit's been real hard if I'm honest. So thank you for sticking with me, even when I haven't been all that active on the writing front.

THIS ENTIRE FIC IS EXPLICIT. ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

part one | fic playlist for your listening pleasure

Once he loses consciousness, Eddie’s wound is fairly easy to dress. You find three old bottles of whisky hidden behind a false back to a cabinet, and uncork one to use as antiseptic. 

He hasn’t lost a lot of blood, to be fair. His blouse is ruined, but the blood had barely begun to saturate his coat, and the wound isn't more than a deep gash in his side. It seems that the bullet had only grazed him. 

It doesn’t help your predicament that Eddie is very, very handsome when he’s not actively creating an extreme inconvenience. The shadows make his cheeks look more sunken than they actually are, but his eyelashes flutter like he’s seeing a pleasant dream behind them. They touch his cheeks and make him look like a prince from a fairytale book you had as a girl. 

M’just doing whatever you tell me to, princess. 

He’s a regular damsel in distress, this Eddie character. You wonder what his end goal is. You wonder what he did to be on the run from Jason Carver and his goons. 

But this isn’t a fairy tale, you remember, and nor are you any kind of a princess, despite what he calls you. Nothing is more apparent when you look down at Eddie’s blood on your hands and dress, and you have to use a cut piece of your underskirt to tie against the stitches you gave him with a sewing needle you found at the bottom of a desk drawer. Sterilized with fire and a bit of liquor, of course.

By the time that Eddie finally stirs, night has fallen. You’ve already shed your bloody day dress and soaked it in some cold water from the well out back; which you harvested in the dark, mind you, because you don’t know if Jason Carver’s buddies are still hanging around to see if you actually are hiding a fugitive in here. The last thing you needed was someone seeing you come conspicuously wandering out of a cabin covered in blood, for no discernible reason. 

There’ll be a stain on the dress, but that’s nothing you can’t tie an apron over and call it a day. What you really wish is that the well was a bit more of a river, so you could jump into it and let it pull you downstream, away from all this mess, and take all the blood and grime of the day with it. What you wouldn’t give for some proper soap. 

Eddie groans, and for the first time in hours you find yourself genuinely scared. Scared that maybe his wound was worse than you expected. Scared that he’s gonna die of sepsis right in front of you. Worse, scared that he’s gonna ask you questions, and you don’t know what you’ll even say. 

Your gaze falls on the leather satchel by the door– the one that holds everything you have to your name inside of it. Everything that put you in this predicament in the first place. You have a mind to burn it on the fire, but you hesitate. There’s still hope for you yet, if you can just get out of here.

Eddie’s eyes blink open just as soon as you’ve turned toward your soaking dress, hanging from a pin on the mantle, and you reach to turn the wetter side toward the flames. There was just enough old wood in the cabin to build a half-assed fire, which is about the only thing you can be thankful for at the minute, considering the wind rips through the canyon quicker than a mustang and the cabin gets the brunt of it.

Behind you, Eddie coughs. And then he says something– or, he tries, but it comes out about as pretty as a braying donkey with laryngitis. 

“Hush,” you tell him, and hurry to pour him a cup of leftover clean well water. ‘Clean’ being a term used loosely. It’s water and it wasn’t used to clean your dirty clothes, but that’s about what you can say for it. 

He takes it graciously all the same. After he’s drained the cup, his head flops back onto the pillow in another cloud of dust, and he scrunches his nose up in a way that shouldn’t be as cute as it is. “How long was I out for?”

It’s the first thing he’s said that you can make out, but it’s a question that doesn’t make you cringe to answer it. “Couple hours. Patched your wound.”

“Oh, y’did?” Eddie cracks an eye open and peers down toward his hip– which is when he realizes the gravity of his state of undress. 

You see, the thing about hip injuries is that it’s really difficult to deal with them when there’s fabric blocking your access. And the thing about fabric on a hip is that it’s usually connected to a garment, which on men is usually a pair of trousers, which usually need to come off if you’re going to get anything done. 

Eddie yelps suddenly and yanks a pillow across his groin as a crimson blush blasts over his face. The torn piece of your underskirt is wrapped around his torso– but to get it to stay put, you had to take an extra length and fasten it around his thigh as well. Which means you got very familiar with his anatomy in the process. 

“Well, you, ah–” Eddie shivers, avoiding your eye like the plague. “You’ve been thorough.”

You snort. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s not the first time I’ve seen a naked man. At least your bandages won’t go anywhere when you move.”

“You a nurse?”

The question makes you scowl, but you’re not sure why it does. Maybe because you don’t want him asking any questions about your life, but you can answer this one. “No. So thank Christ it wasn’t worse than that.”

Eddie chuckles, creases forming in the corners of his eyes. His eyes rake over you, taking in your corset and cotton skirt, now missing a few inches off the hem. The lacey bottoms of your combinations poke out from beneath the cut-off hem of the petticoat. 

“You’re real pretty, y’know that?” he murmurs sweetly, meeting your eye finally. 

You scoff at that, turning away from him finally. It feels a little like admitting defeat. “You’re just sayin’ that ‘cause I’ve taken your pants.”

“Well, I got your underwear around my waist, so I think we’re even.” 

He grunts as he struggles into a sitting position, still clutching the pillow against his pelvis. It doesn’t do much to cover him; when you turn, you can still see the trail of hair leading from his belly-button to his crotch, his thighs spread apart on either side of it. His legs splayed out across the old mattress, its sheets rumpled and dust covered beyond usability. 

“So, you’re not a nurse but you know pretty well how to dress a wound. So… what do you do?”

You bristle at that. “You shouldn’t move too much, you’ll tear your stitches.”

“Ah– avoiding the question. Okay, I know this one.” He’s overly pleased with himself, flashing you a sardonic grin. “You think I’m a pissing sonofabitch who’ll use anything you say against you, so you’re not gonna tell me anything about yourself, even though we’re gonna be stuck together for god knows how long–”

“And whose fault is that?” You snap. He looks taken aback by your biting tone, even though you held him at gunpoint just hours ago. “I could be miles away from here if you hadn’t fuckin’ waltzed in with all your trouble. I could be moving on. I wouldn’t be stuck here playing house with you. And you’re hogging the fuckin’ bed, so thanks for that, too.”

You huff and turn back towards the fire, smacking it with a poker a few times just for good measure. Sparks fly from the burning wood, emitting a cloud of smoke that billows out a bit, but then gets sucked up the floo. 

“Hey,” Eddie says gently now, like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “Look, I’m sorry, all right? I didn’t know that anyone was here. I wouldn’t have broken in if that was the case, y’know? Usually when you’re on the run, you try to avoid people. I mean, what the hell kinda good is someone else…”

Eddie trails off as he’s talking, and your heart starts beating hard enough to reverberate in your ears. You’re still prodding the fire, kicking up sparks, even though it’s about as stoked as it’ll get. 

“You’re on the run.”

His voice is low. Hesitant, like he’s afraid of the answer. 

You nearly roll your eyes at how long it took him to come to that conclusion. You told him you were hiding, after all. “Don’t fuckin’ worry yourself about it now.”

“Aw, hell. Shit.” The bed frame squeaks. He’s trying to get up. “Fuck. Shit shit shit–”

“What are you doing?” You hiss, getting up to plant a hand firmly on his shoulder before he entirely gets off the bed. “Are you insane? You’re gonna tear those stitches and then I’ll have to fix them right back up. Stay. Still.”

“You’re on the run,” he repeats, gazing up at you wildly.

“We both are,” you tell him. “So don’t make it harder on the both of us, all right?”

“But what are you running from?”

You don’t answer him. You’re too busy fussing over the makeshift bandage around his waist, trying to tighten it even though you tied it rather well to begin with, and it hasn’t moved much. 

“What did you take from Jason Carver?” you ask him mildly instead. “He said that you took something from him.”

“Well. First of all, she wasn’t his property.”

“Oh.” You pause, eyeing him closely. 

“And second, I didn’t take anything. I only did what she asked me to.” Eddie looks away from you sheepishly. “And I loved her. Which is more than he can say, anyways.”

You don’t say anything, keeping your eyes downcast at the bandage around his middle. You feel your cheeks heating up in spite of yourself. 

“Not that there’s anythin’ to do about it now, y’know,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “He’s got her locked down in some pre-matrimonial agreement and she’s not gonna leave that big bad oil tycoon for some good for nothin’ piece-a-shit outlaw who can’t give her nothing no-how, so.” 

“You clearly have a high opinion of yourself. I’m sure you must have given her something she wanted, or else you wouldn’t be here,” you remark, and you pretend not to notice the crimson blush cresting his cheeks. 

Eddie takes a shuddering breath, his eyes roving around the room rather than looking at you. “Nah… I was just a good time for her. But– but Jason’s got it in his head that I forced her, y’know. That Chrissy didn’t… she wouldn’t have done it willingly. Which I didn’t. I would never.”

“Okay,” you tell him gently, pushing one hand on his bare shoulder to ease him back against the dusty pillows. “Don’t get worked up trying to sell your story, darling. As far as I’m concerned, if you’re not gonna throw yourself at me, that’s one less thing I have to worry about.”

“Who says I’m not gonna throw myself at you, sugar?” He fixes you with a wide grin, but it doesn’t really reach his eyes. They’re too sad for that. “I’ve been known to be real loose in my time.”

You give him a deadpan look, and then reach down to gently flick his hip with your middle finger. He jumps, yelps, and then readjusts the pillow against his crotch. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. No good times for you, slick.” 

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” Eddie sighs in defeat, laying back like a martyr. “Well, I showed you mine. What’re you running from? Pretty thing like you… can’t imagine what kind of skeletons you’ve got hidden in that corset.”

“Closet, you mean.”

“If you insist.”

You stare down at him, breathing one long exhale through your nose. He’s infuriating, even when he’s just covering up his raw emotions. 

You think for a long moment. He may not be a direct threat to you right now, but that doesn’t mean he won’t turn you in when the fancy strikes for a good enough bounty. 

“Someone… close to me. Made some people angry. And now they’re after me, too. That’s all.” Your halting speech doesn’t lend much credence to your words, but it’s just succinct enough that it doesn’t really matter. Your eyes flit nervously around the room, the satchel in the corner over your shoulder nearly buzzing like it wants to get up and tell the story itself. 

That your brother is dead. That he left you a gun and some papers that could make or break you. And right now, all it seems to be doing is breaking you. 

Eddie doesn’t bat an eye. “Who made who angry?”

“That’s not really your business, now, is it?”

“It is if they’re comin’ after me, too, sugar.” He tilts his pretty head against the pillows, and the fire gleams in his eyes. “Why do they want you?”

“The details don’t matter,” you snap at him. “I’ve told you enough. Now you know. Everything else is personal, and frankly, I don’t trust you.” 

Eddie clicks his tongue. “Shucks. That really smarts, y’know. And here I thought, what with you playing house and seeing my junk and all, maybe we were on the way to some kind of understanding.”

You suck on your teeth. He grins at you like he’s just caught you bluffing in a game of cards. You’ve spent too much time in saloons to not know a grifter when you see one. He has all the personality of a gambler without any of the subtlety.

I play dice real good. Yeah, you bet.

“Go to hell, Munson,” you grumble, turning away from him spitefully. 

“Whatever you want, sweetheart. But what’s in it for me?”

You’re halfway to figuring out exactly what would be in hell for him, when a bullet bursts through the front door and past your shoulder, hitting the back wall of the cabin. It takes you half a second to register it at all, but by that time, three more shots have taken out the left window.

“Get down!” 

Eddie’s hand snatches your wrist tightly, and the room tilts. You gasp and find yourself on the floor, in a heap, with Eddie’s weight pressing down on you. 

A bullet hits the pillow where his head just was. You can’t help the scream that rips out of you, while feathers drift through the air and bullets fly overhead. Eddie’s hand cradles the back of your head, tucking your own against his neck. Your legs are tangled in his, which is tangled in the dusty sheets from the bed and your torn petticoat. In the madness, it barely even occurs to you that he’s shielding you with his body.

“Where’s my gun?” Eddie pants in your ear.

“What?”

“The gun!”

You swivel your head to the side and spit out a strand of his curly hair that had weaseled it’s way into your mouth in the ruckus. You’d put both his guns in your satchel, and the rifle by the door. You gesture in the general direction of it.

“Motherfuck-!” Eddie’s colorful retort is drowned out by another bullet ripping into the wall just over your heads, spraying wood chips across your face.

The gunfire stops abruptly, following several shouts from outside. Masculine voices ring out in the night beyond the now-broken window. 

Suddenly, a clear voice rings out over the uproar. “Eddie?” 

Eddie turns his head in the direction of the young man’s voice. There’s nothing but darkness beyond the window, but he seems to recognize whoever it is by the sound alone.

“Henderson?” There’s a murmur of laughter from several other voices besides the one that Eddie identifies.

“What’re you doing?” the one supposed to be Henderson calls.

Eddie shifts on top of you and grunts in pain. You turn your head to look at him and see the sweat on his brow. You figure his wound must be hurting him. You lay a gentle hand on his bare shoulder, and he almost flinches when he remembers that you’re underneath him. His skin burns hot against your palm.

“Uh,” Eddie calls, his eyes flicking between you and the window. “Trying not to get shot. What’re you doing?” 

More laughter. There must be four or five voices coming from all around the cabin. With a loud, humorous gasp, Henderson calls back jovially, “Tryn’a shoot you, of course.”

[koqabear]

Nights Like These

☆ Playlist! ☆

“It was tradition between you and your roommates to relax and drink together once a month. One day a month where you could forget about all your responsibilities and speak about whatever was on your mind. Confronting your undeniable attraction to said roommates was not what you were expecting on a night like this.”

Yeonjun x fem! reader x Taehyun

Genre: and they were roommates, a whopping 2k of “plot”, smut 

word count: 7.7K

Warnings: use of alcohol, mentions of food (they get tipsy at most) 

Smut warnings: dom! Yeonjun, Dom!taehyun, sub!mc, threesome, tae is packing !! (who else is shocked), exhibitionism/ voyeurism, teasing, reader is mentioned to be more vanilla / inexperienced, corruption (?), degrading, praise, pet names, (pretty girl, baby, cutie, etc.) masturbating, (fem) manhandling, biting, marking, grinding, oral, (fem rec.) breast play, fingering, hair pulling, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, messy handjobs, strength kink, dacryphilia, double vaginal penetration, scratching, bulge kink, size kink, possessiveness, dumbification, creampies , cockwarming (lemme know if I missed anything!)

Notes: How bizarre is it to have two regular warnings then a whole fucking paragraph of smut warnings? Only on my blog, I suppose. Listen to me, I’ve been meaning to write about double penetration on this godforsaken app but have been too scared to— I refuse to be silenced!! Enjoy while you can before it disappears from the tags!!

Nothing good came from nights like these. 

That still didn’t stop you from doing it, feeling yourself sink back more into the couch cushions as your grip tightens on your wine glass; you feel tipsy at most, and the drink in your hand is tamer in comparison to the nights where you and your roommates would go through bottles of soju and order takeout after a particularly stressful day.

On nights like those, where you were too drunk to properly clean up after yourselves, nothing good ever happened. There are too many incidents of you spilling your drinks all over the floor, waking up to a sticky floor that would have you scolded badly by your friends— not to mention the number of drunk rambles your two roommates have gone on, confessing things that would change your perception of them if you were lucky enough to remember it. 

Tonight was one of those nights. 

“Well, it wasn’t ever anything serious,” Yeonjun said, pausing to take another sip of his drink. Tonight wasn’t as bad as the other nights, and you’d like to chalk it all up to the fact that you haven’t really drunk much. But it was enough to loosen Yeonjun’s tongue, sitting back in amusement as you listened to him tell you two stories of his delinquent days, “But I seriously stressed out my mom back then. I feel so bad for her honestly, I don’t know how she put up with me.” 

“I guess that makes sense,” Taehyun says, sitting on the floor and leaning on the coffee table as he grabs a slice of pizza— it’s probably gone cold now, given the fact that the two can never stop talking whenever they drink, “no wonder you’re such a freak.” 

Yeonjun seems to bristle at his friend’s comments, crossing his arms defensively as he glares down at Taehyun. “What the hell do you mean by that?” 

They seem to be communicating as Taehyun gives him a knowing look. It only serves to make you curious as Yeonjun’s ears turn red, clearly defeated as he chooses to take a sip from his drink. The sight is enough to make you laugh, giggly as always as you lean forward clumsily. 

“What?” You say, looking between your two friends to see if you can pry out any information from them, “What’re you guys talking about?”

“Nothing just,” Yeonjun clears his throat, downing his glass as he leans forward to place it down on the table, “just some embarrassing shit I used to do, I don’t think you’d wanna hear about it.”

“Oh, but Taehyun would?” You say, raising a brow as you look towards the said man; he’s smiling, mischievous and tempting as his eyes sparkle cutely under the lights— almost giving him an aura of innocence, if you didn’t know any better, “come on, try me. We’ve known each other long enough, right?” 

“Mmm. It’s just this one time,” Taehyun starts, pausing to take a bite of pizza as he tries to gauge Yeonjun’s reaction; you glance at him, but he refuses to look at you, covering his face in embarrassment as you’re still able to pick up on the red tinge of his cheeks, “I caught Yeonjun and one of his girls fucking, that’s all… It happened multiple times actually, had me thinking it wasn’t an accident at some point. Weird time, honestly.”

“She was really into it, okay?” Yeonjun admits, attempting poorly to defend himself as his hands come away from his face. He’s clearly flustered, his hair a mess with how much he’s been running his hands through it as he listened to Taehyun tell you his story.

“Yeah? Was it because of me? Because I’ve never heard this happening with any of our other friends,” Taehyun is clearly provoking Yeonjun as the two begin to bicker, casually spilling truths that have your eyes widening in surprise. 

There he goes again— Yeonjun has dropped a fact on you so casually as you try to pretend that it doesn’t affect you at all; this time, it seems to have been revealed that Yeonjun is quite the exhibitionist. 

“Don’t act like you were quick to leave, either,” Yeonjun says, words beginning to slur slightly as he points an accusing finger at the younger man. 

“I won’t deny that,” Taehyun is the definition of evil as he grins, biting his lip slightly as he glances at you, “I won’t deny that she was cute— and who am I to refuse a free show?”

Okay, this is all taking a strange turn; you knew the two men before you knew each other way longer than they knew you, and had a very close relationship in turn, but this seemed a little too much for you— you really hadn’t been expecting Taehyun to confess that he was into watching when you pressured him into telling Yeonjun’s secret. 

It’s not like you’ve never talked about your little sexcapades, as Yeonjun likes to call them, but you never truly feel ready for them as you usually find them on the more intense side, your experiences put to shame as it all usually ranges on the more vanilla side. 

Maybe that’s why you find yourself feeling a bit hot— that, and the copious amount you’ve drunk tonight, you tell yourself, gulping nervously as you try to ignore that the way they’ve begun to go into detail isn’t affecting you. At all. 

“Dude, do you have any idea how many times she would ask to invite you?” Yeonjun groaned, throwing his head back against the couch at the very thought, “I seriously thought she was into you instead of me.” 

“I wouldn’t mind sharing,” Taehyun says, the cheeky comment immediately getting a shut the fuck up, in return from Yeonjun. It’s a bit embarrassing when you jump as Taehyun’s eyes land on you again, trying to pretend it didn’t happen as Taehyun only chuckles at your state, “What’s wrong, why are you so quiet? Did we freak you out?”

“No, just…” you clear your throat attempting to not let your flustered state show as you shrug casually, “Just didn’t think you guys would be into that.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t be?” If you didn’t know better, you’d think Yeonjun was genuinely curious as he leans forward, laying on the opposite end of the couch as he tilts his head like a puppy. He’s well beyond tipsy, his pouty lips stained and his eyes lidded as his bangs fall into his eyes; a reminder of how good he looks with long hair hits you suddenly, your stomach churning as you desperately try to keep these thoughts under lock and key. 

“I— I don’t know,” you say, biting your lip at the stutter you accidentally let slip through, “what kind of question is that?” 

“Well, we’ve told you a bit about us,” Taehyun says, his foot tapping rhythmically at the table leg as his gaze doesn’t break away from yours, “just think it’d be fair to hear a bit about you, no?”

This was dangerous territory. This type of conversation was usually only breached when you knew you wouldn’t be able to remember it the next day, but men before you are way too experienced to let a few glasses of wine get to them— they were definitely teasing you. 

Was this a normal thing to talk about between friends? Usually, you wouldn’t think much of it; you can think of plenty of times when you’ve all expressed your own stories, unadulterated and light-hearted as you all shared a laugh about it. But this, it definitely felt different; you’re not sure why, but maybe it’s because of the way you can’t help pressing your legs together, your mind beginning to stray as you take in the intensity of their eyes— dark, dangerous, still waiting for an answer as you clear your throat shyly. 

“I dunno, I’m pretty open to trying new things,” you say, trying to change the subject as you stare down at your empty glass, “Tae, could you pass me the bottle?”

Taehyun is quick to heed your request, scooting closer to you to pass you the bottle; you think you might just be going insane when he takes this chance to grab onto your hand, tugging at it slightly so you’re leaning towards him. The way you gulp nervously isn’t lost on Taehyun as he smiles tenderly, his chest pressing against your bare thigh as you try to ignore the way he’s practically laying on you.

“Are you drunk already?” Taehyun asks, ever a tease as he leans in closer to take a closer look at your face, “You’re usually a lot more talkative than this.”

“No,” you say, oddly defensive as you pull away from him; curling up in the corner of the couch, you huff, pouring yourself another glass as you ignore the way the two men grin at your shy state, “what do you expect me to say?” 

“You usually contribute a lot more to our conversations,” Yeonjun muses, scooting closer to you as he watches you avoid his eyes, opting to take another sip from your glass instead, “plus, weren’t you the one that was so eager to hear about my past?”

“When I asked, I was expecting crime stories or something,” you say, your tongue loosened as you look at your friend directly in his eyes, “not stories about you two sharing a girl.” 

There’s something in Yeonjun’s gaze that darkens as he hears you say that. You can practically feel the stares of your two friends burning into your skin as you clear your throat awkwardly, trying to not shift as Yeonjun only scoots closer to you; he’s sitting at your feet now, his arm thrown over the couch as he makes himself comfortable, a cocky smile slowly growing on his face as he speaks.

“Oh, we never shared her,” Yeonjun drawls, tilting his head at the very thought. Below you, Taehyun shakes his head, resting his chin on your thigh as he stares up at you with sparkling doe eyes, clearly tipsy by the way his cheekbones are flushed pink, “she wasn’t special enough for that.”

“You practically did,” you say, shivering at the way Yeonjun runs a hand up your thigh, stopping as he begins to play with the hem of your sweater— the same sweater that Yeonjun and Taehyun are matching with you now, a stupid gift you got them for Christmas and never really expected them to wear. 

Yeonjun can only huff out a laugh at your little comment. You look so cute as you’re cradling your glass, unsure of what else to do as you take another drink out of nervous habit, eventually downing the rest of it. Despite your tense demeanor, your eyes give you away, a dim curiosity showing through as you allow the two men to get closer still. 

“What, you don’t like the idea?” Yeonjun whispers, feeling the way you’re shifting underneath his touch as he gets closer to you, “Would it be too much for someone like you?” 

Someone like you. Someone who wasn’t as experienced or active as them, who preferred to stay with what you knew instead of trying something dangerous and experimenting. 

“No,” you bluffed, refusing to back down as you listened to the two men before you chuckle at your words, “I could handle it.”

“Could you really?” Yeonjun asks, pulling away as you feel your body yearning for his warm presence again, “I don’t believe you.” 

There are so many ways things could go now— a single choice could change the way you see your roommates forever, your heart pounding against your chest as you let out a shaky sigh. 

“What am I supposed to do?” You sigh out shakily, watching the way the remaining droplets in your glass swish around, averting your eyes to avoid their reactions, “prove it to you?” 

“Show us.” 

Your head practically snaps up at Yeonjun’s words. Your mouth has gone dry and you feel as though your tongue has gone numb, unable to articulate any words as you simply give your friend a dumbfounded stare. 

A pause ensues; they wait patiently, giving you a moment to back out and leave if you want to. But even then, they can’t ignore the way your thighs press together impatiently, your throat bobbing as you finally part your lips to speak. 

“Show you?”

The way the men chuckle at your state is downright degrading— and it makes you stifle a whine that threatens to creep up your throat, feeling insanely aroused the longer they take to say or do anything. It’s like they’re trapping you in, feeling small under their gaze as Yeonjun glances down at the pathetic excuse of shorts that cover your legs. 

“Show us you can take it, baby.” Slowly, you nod, allowing Taehyun to take your empty glass from you as your fingers slowly slip under the waistband of your shorts, proceeding to pull them off you. You feel so exposed as you watch the way their eyes follow your every move, gulping for the nth time tonight as you keep your panties on; the way they eye the cute lace has you clenching your legs nervously, unsure of what to do before Yeonjun is reaching out to pry your legs open gently.

“Come on cutie, don’t be shy,” Yeonjun smiles, an action ever so sweet and tempting as he spots the way you’ve made a wet spot on your panties. Taehyun is encouraging as he slowly takes your hand, allowing him to lead you down and place it right over your core before he’s placing his hand over your own, practically engulfing it as he forces you to apply pressure to your pussy.

“Can you show us how you touch yourself, pretty?” 

Their cute nicknames for you are enough to have you melting under their every command, feeling the way your legs open on their own, eager to follow their orders as your hand practically disappears under Taehyun’s. You still can’t help but feel shy under their watchful gaze as you slide your hand under your waistband, your eyes meeting with Yeonjun’s as the pad of your fingertips meets your clit; you jump at the sudden feeling, your mouth falling open as you slowly begin to circle the bud. 

You feel so powerful as you watch the two men become infatuated with you, unable to take their eyes off you for a second as you allow your middle and ring finger to run over your slit— the wet noises that come from it have Yeonjun biting his lip tensely, shifting in his seat as his eyes dart down to where your hand has disappeared. 

Your chest juts out at a particularly harsh touch on your clit— the material of your sweater is thin and pastel, and it allows both your friends to watch the way your nipples poke through, unable to help the way their eyes widen at the fact that you haven’t been wearing a bra all night. 

Yeonjun thinks he might go insane; the sight of you is so sweet and fragile as he watches the way you slowly fuck yourself, a broken whimper escaping you as your fingertips begin to tease your entrance. Beneath you, Taehyun is doing no better, able to get a closer look at your pussy as he watches the material dampen, wanting nothing more than to rip the material off and get a proper view of you toying with your pretty cunt.

After a moment, you decide it’s not enough. Your eyes can’t help but stray as you take in how big the hands of the two men before you are in comparison to yours, feeling your pussy clench uncontrollably at the thought of having either of them touch you instead. The moan you let out is weak and pathetic as you reach your free hand to Yeonjun, tugging at his sleeve until he’s scooting closer to you, eyes hazed and lips parted as he takes in your broken face.

“More,” you whine out, tugging at his sleeve as you bring him closer, until you can feel his breath fan against your face and graze your lips against his, “need more. Please.”

You can taste the wine on Yeonjun’s lips as you finally gather the strength to close the gap between the two of you. The taste only becomes more prominent as he pushes his tongue past your lips, allowing you to tangle your free hand into his hair as you begin bucking your hips uselessly into your hands— you can only whine weakly at the way Yeonjun leaves you messy and breathless, pulling away as his swollen and shiny lips come into view. 

“Fuck, come here,” he breathes out, grabbing onto your hand and tugging you roughly as you allow him to situate you however he likes— it ends with you seated comfortably on his lap, your ass pressing against his clear erection as he drapes your legs over his thighs; you’re practically spread open as Taehyun situates himself between the two of you, on his knees and staring up with you with such a dark and dangerous gaze that has your cunt clenching around nothing. 

“God, look at you,” Yeonjun breathes out into your ear, resting his chin on your shoulder as his hands rub teasingly on your thighs. You jump at the sensitive feeling, trying to close your legs on instinct, only for it to fail as Yeonjun’s strong thighs keep you spread open. Taehyun is only able to laugh at your pathetic state, leaning in closer to your pussy as his eyes never leave yours— he’s so close, almost able to touch you as you rock your hips toward him subtly. 

“Dripping all over me when we’ve barely even started,” Yeonjun’s words are lazy and slurred together as he leaves kisses on the column of your neck, sloppy and wet as he goes to leave marks all over you. 

Wordlessly, Taehyun reaches forward to plant a soft kiss on your panty-covered cunt. The feeling is enough to have you throwing your head back against Yeonjun’s shoulder, your panties practically stuck to you with how needy you are. With every rock of your hips, Yeonjun groans into your ear, feeling your ass press perfectly against his cock, unable to help the way he thrusts up into you, enjoying the way you yelp cutely at the feeling, jolting in his lap from the sheer action. 

Your eyes are fluttering shut the moment Taehyun’s mouth connects with your cunt. He’s making a mess of the pretty lace panties you have on, practically making out with your pussy as he presses his warm tongue on your slit, pushing against the fabric and dragging it up before he’s stopping at your clit. You’re a whining and moaning mess by now, unable to control the way your face contorts with pleasure as Taehyun sucks your clit, hearing the way your moans pick up as he runs his tongue over the fabric teasingly. 

Your panties are an absolute mess by the time he’s pulling away, and Taehyun can’t hide the way the sight is clearly affecting him— your pussy is practically outlined against the fabric, the garment skewed as the pretty bow by your navel practically begs him to unwrap you like a present. 

He does so gladly; both men are groaning weakly as they watch the way as a string of your arousal remains connected to your panties, a weak whimper escaping you as you feel Yeonjun lift your hips with no effort— you’re practically staining his sweatpants the moment he’s sitting you back down, and it certainly doesn’t help that you can still feel his hip rutting into the swell of your ass occasionally, wrapping a secure arm around your waist before he’s pulling you flush against his chest. 

“So soft,” Yeonjun mutters, his hand that was wrapped around your waist sneaking under the hem of your sweater and moving up to grope your beasts; you can’t help the way you mewl as you feel his cold hands on your nipples, sensitive to the way he plays with them, as though he knows your body like the back of his hand.

His other hand is reaching down to your pussy, his deep chuckle hitting your ears as you jump when his fingers come in contact with your cunt; before you realize what he’s doing, you feel him spreading you open with his two fingers, a glob of arousal escaping you as you feel his other hand reach down and tug your sweater over your chest— you’re left displayed perfectly to Taehyun, spread out prettily for him as he’s left to enjoy the sight.

“Isn’t she pretty?” Yeonjun hums out softly, rubbing his fingers up and down your slit as the wet sounds ring around the room. Taehyun can only groan at the sight, ever so weak for your pussy as he finally leans in to get a taste. 

Yeonjun’s other hand has left your breasts. Instead, it traveled up to get a hold of your chin, forcing you to look down and gaze at the way Taehyun’s head was stuck between your thighs; Yeonjun keeping you spread open for him, feeling the way Taehyun’s tongue lapped at you teasingly. 

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Yeonjun whispers in your ear, like a dirty secret no one else should know as he begins humping against you at a steady pace, “Love being our cute little attention whore?” 

The way you agree to his words without hesitation should be embarrassing— but it’s not, especially with the way Taehyun is leaving you speechless, his tongue teasing at your entrance before he’s finally fucking it into you. 

He’s so sloppy and eager as he allows your arousal to coat his face, moving it side to side and listening to the way you moan whenever his nose bumps against your clit. Yeonjun holds you open all the while, and the way Taehyun pulls away to slurp lewdly at your arousal leaves you warm and flustered as you tuck your head into Yeonjun’s neck. 

It doesn’t take you long before the said man is pulling you back away, keeping his hold on your face firm as he watches the way your face changes intently, his hand moving away from your pussy to rub your thigh soothingly. 

“Look at you, such a pretty thing, letting yourself get used by us,” Yeonjun mutters, his voice dark as he places soft kisses all over your face; it’s a stark contrast to the way Taehyun only becomes more eager to hear you cum, his swollen lips sucking eagerly at your clit as you feel his tongue run ruthlessly over it all the while. 

“You have no idea how much I’ve thought of you. How hard it was to ignore these feelings, to pretend like I wouldn’t love to fuck you senseless,” Yeonjun’s confessions have a fire of desire licking all throughout your body, hearing the way he stumbles over his words, unable to take his eyes away from the scene before him, “I felt so guilty when I saw you, so cute and perfect, innocent to the fact that we’ve wanted you for so long.”

You’re a mess under their hands as the sudden confessions take you by surprise, whimpering out weakly that you’ve felt the same— Taehyun’s eyes flick up to meet yours for a second, tilting his head before he’s practically making out with your pussy slowly, the feeling of his tongue all over you making you reach down and tug his hair thoughtlessly; the moan he lets out from the feeling is enough to bring you close to your climax, unable to control yourself as you begin to roll your hips against his face. 

“Yeah? Do you think about us a lot?” Yeonjun whines teasingly in your ear, mimicking you and smiling as you moan out a weak y-yes! 

“Do you touch yourself to the thought of us?” Yeonjun’s questions are dangerous to your fuzzy mind as you nod frantically, weak to his voice as you find yourself confessing things you never thought you ever would. 

“God, I do too,” Yeonjun groans, his cock pressing against you as he reaches down to keep your hips still, bringing you back against him as you remain victim to the way Taehyun licks your pussy mercilessly. You think your mind has gone blank the moment his fingers sneak in to prod at your entrance, the way he messily kisses and sucks at your clit your downfall as you let out one last moan— you’re stilling against his face as he lets you ride out your orgasm, weak whimpers and cries streaming from your lips as you weakly cry out that it’s too much. 

Taehyun only listens to your commands once he feels you pushing at his face weakly, your eyes fluttering open weakly and your chest heaving as you lock gazes with Taehyun— you feel beyond flustered at the way his lips and chin shine with your arousal, his tongue slowly darting out to lick it all off before he’s leaning in to place a gentle, feather-like kiss at your inner knee. 

“I’ve thought about having you like this for so long,” Yeonjun breathes out, his hand reaching down to play with your pussy teasingly; he ignores the way you keen softly at his touch, still sensitive from your previous orgasm as he begins to put on a show for Taehyun— the said man only sits back on his heels, hands on your knees as he watches your face with a dark expression. 

Yeonjun’s fingers are long and cool against your walls; the stretch is enough to make you moan out weakly, falling limp against Yeonjun as you let him set up a gentle pace. You shiver with every motion he does, flinching when he curls his fingers to press against your sweet spot cruelly, focusing on it as he immediately notices your reaction. 

His lips that were once soothing against your neck have now become harsh, leaving bites and marks that bloom on your skin prettily— the sight of you marked up and leaking desperately for him is enough to have him trying to not fuck you senselessly right that second— instead, you can feel him beginning to thrust against you, his cock fully hard as he nuzzles his head into your neck.

“Please,” you beg, breathy and useless as Taehyun stands up to tower over you; his cock is straining against his sweats as he places careful hands on your waist, his chest heaving as he leans in to kiss you— you’re pulling him in desperately, hopelessly lost in the feeling of his plush lips and sharp teeth that dig into your flesh as Yeonjun begins to pick up the pace. 

You’re a mess at this point, unable to keep up with Taehyun as your mouth is left open, moans swallowed up by Taehyun as you let him kiss you senselessly, feeling Yeonjun still nibbling at your neck as you try to ignore the fact that you’re practically drooling at the way he’s fingering you, his palm rubbing against your clit as he brings you closer to your second orgasm of the night.

Nothing is piecing itself together in your mind at this point— Taehyun is panting against your mouth, and you realized that it’s because you’ve managed to slip a hand through his sweats, guided by him as you finally got a hold of his cock. You don’t remember doing such a thing, but your mind is nothing but a haze as you take in the way he’s continuously dripping precum from his head, your hand sticky as you feel him straining against the fabric of his boxers. 

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop,” you manage to whine out, unsure of who you may be talking to as your mouth is swallowed up by Taehyun’s kiss again— your free hand reaches down to grip Yeonjun’s forearm, your hips stuttering against his movements as you feel your brain going fuzzy. You know it’s more than the alcohol at this point as you feel Taehyun pulling away from you, watching as you fall apart on Yeonjun’s fingers and cum for the second time tonight. 

Your hand has gone limp against Taehyun’s cock; it isn’t until you’re regaining your breath that you’re pulling your hand out from the confines of his sweats, staring at the sticky mess on your fingers before you lock eyes with Taehyun— he thinks he could come untouched as he watches the way your tongue begins to clean up the mess, circling the muscle around your delicate fingers until there’s nothing left. 

“Shit, you’re so fucking dirty,” Yeonjun sighs out, hips still rutting against you as his fingers have yet to leave your cunt; you might just start crying when you feel him beginning to stretch you out, scissoring you slowly as he grins at the wet sounds your pussy is making for him. 

“Need you to fuck me,” you find yourself whining, your back arching at the way Yeonjun continues to toy with you, the feeling agonizing as he begins to tease the tips of his fingers at your entrance, “want both of you.” 

“Both of us?” Taehyun laughs, finally speaking to you after being a bystander for so long, “Baby, I don’t think you could handle that.” 

“No, I can, I really can,” you cry out, tugging his sweater softly and pawing his chest as you begin to beg weakly, “wanna feel you both, I can take it.” 

Yeonjun and Taehyun are exchanging silent looks— they’re communicating, it seems, unsure of what to do as you continue to ramble on weakly, unable to get your eyes off of Taehyun’s cock that clearly strains against his sweats. It takes a second before they’re finally coming to a conclusion, your body erupting in shivers as they turn their attention back on you. 

“Can you really take it sweet thing?” Yeonjun is mumbling against your skin, placing gentle kisses along your shoulder as Taehyun goes to sit down beside you; you’re nodding, hazy and clumsy as you run your hands down Taehyun’s chest, sneaking under the hem before you’re tugging his shirt up and exposing his perfect muscles. 

It’s no secret Taehyun loved to work out— but seeing him here, tan skin and rippling muscles ready to be marked by your lips, made you so incredibly needy, enjoying the way he shivers as you run a curious hand over his abdomen and biceps. 

“Curious?” Taehyun asks, shifting so that he’s sitting back against the couch; he looks so attractive as he looks up at you, hair splayed out on the end armrest of the couch while his legs remain spread out like a tempting seat— you can’t help the way your face feels hot as he pulls you towards him, his strength easily allowing him to manhandle you into position as you’re straddling his lap, right above his cock as your sweater falls back over your chest messily. 

“So damn pretty,” Taehyun mutters, breathless as he stares up at your fucked out form; you could say the same thing about him, but you’d rather express it in your actions as you attempt to grind down against him, only for it to be stopped by his firm grip on your hips. 

“Don’t you wanna feel the real thing, pretty?” Taehyun grins, shifting around so he’s able to take off the rest of his clothes, left bare under you as watches you nod needily, feeling a whine escape you as you finally get to see his cock; for a second, you understand why Taehyun had been so doubtful of your ability, eyeing the sheer size and girth of him as you inevitably feel yourself clenching around nothing. His tip is leaking from the sight of you, red and throbbing as his mind begs nothing more than to be inside you and fuck you senseless. 

Instead, he waits for you to make a move, biting his lip as he watches the way your hand looks small as you wrap it around his shaft; he hisses as you slowly align him with your entrance, rubbing him against your slit as you whimper at the way your cum runs down his cock. 

“Jesus, you’re so…” Taehyun is unable to finish his thought as you’re sinking down on him, the hiss you two share at the feeling lethal as he feels the way your walls flutter around his cock uncontrollably. 

Tight. Warm. Wet. Taehyun’s mind is racing as he lets out a loud groan the moment you’re touching the base of his cock, eyes shutting as he tries to focus on not coming inside you immediately. You’re doing no better than him, whining uncontrollably as you grind on him softly, unable to help yourself as you take in the way he stretches you out so well. 

“Shit, I don’t think I’ll last if you keep squeezing me like this pretty girl,” Taehyun breathes out, a sweat forming on his forehead as his hair begins to stick to his skin. All you can do is whine in return, slowly picking up your hips before you’re slamming back down on him— you can’t help but be loud at the feeling, Taehyun sharing the same feelings as you as he lets out a choked moan; your pace is brutally slow as you begin adjusting to his size, the wet sounds of skin on skin and your pathetic sounds driving Taehyun mad as he does his best to thrust up into you in return.

“Cute little pussy is so loud,” Yeonjun says, emerging behind you as he wraps his arms around you, your legs tiring out as you’ve slowed down to nothing but a pathetic grind. His hands find their way under your sweater again before he’s pulling it off you, your pretty tits finally revealed to them as Yeonjun doesn’t waste a second to palm at them. 

“Want you,” you mutter, breathless as you lean back against Yeonjun’s chest, “want you right now.” 

“Oh baby, I don’t think you could handle that,” Yeonjun coos in your ear, pitying the way your eyes shine with needy tears as you shake your head in refusal, “you can barely handle Taehyun as it is.”

“N…no,  I can—!” Taehyun is teasing as he thrusts up into you, jolting your body as you cry out pitifully. You can’t seem to back down though, dead set on feeling both your roommates inside you at once as you reach behind to grab Yeonjun’s bulge, “please? Please please please, I can take it, I promise I can…” 

You know Yeonjun is only teasing you as he takes a moment to think, enjoying the way your clumsy hand attempts to palm him, much too distracted by the way Taehyun has begun to roll his hips up into you. Gently, he takes a hold of your face, turning you to look at him as he captures you in a slow kiss; you feel as though you’re being devoured when you can feel Yeonjun shifting behind you, finally pulling away before he’s smiling at you sweetly. 

You’re forced to face forward again as Yeonjun places firm hands on your shoulders, pushing you forward until you’re chest to chest with Taehyun; the new position has you whimpering softly, burying your face in Taehyun’s neck as you feel him rocking his hips up into you subtly. 

“Since you asked so nicely…” Yeonjun trails off, enjoying the way you flinch as he prods his tip at your already stuffed entrance, a long moan drawn out of you as he begins to push in.

The stretch is enough to have your eyes rolling to the back of your head, clawing at Taehyun’s shoulders as he grunts at the feeling— both of your scratches and Yeonjun situating himself beside Taehyun. You’re incredibly tight as Yeonjun pushes forward, going inch by inch as he watches you intently for any signs of discomfort. He’s almost bottomed out when you squeeze the two of them, your grip like a vice as the two men let out loud moans, filling your ears like music and causing you to clench again. 

The pleasure is enough to make you dizzy as you slowly push yourself up on your hands, hovering over Taehyun who simply looks at you with hungry eyes. You can feel yourself going in for another kiss, only to crash down against Taehyun’s chest as Yeonjun thrusts the rest of himself in, his hips meeting yours as you yelp against Taehyun’s collarbones. 

Your whines and whimpers don’t seem to cease for a second as the two men begin to grind into you, shakily trying to push yourself up again before you find your strength failing you; it’s Taehyun who pushes you up gently, cupping your face with such tenderness that you can’t help the way you grow teary-eyed, overwhelmed with pleasure yet still wanting more as you allow Taehyun to direct you into a sweet kiss. 

It doesn’t take long before you grow lax against him, feeling Yeonjun slowly pull out before he’s beginning to thrust shallowly into you. Taehyun remains still all the while, his breathy moans and quiet groans of pleasure barely reaching your ears as you rock against his body, your clit being stimulated as you cry at the pleasure. 

“Look at you, barely able to handle it,” Yeonjun moans breathily, sneaking a hand between your and Taehyun’s bodies as he’s pressing against your stomach, able to feel the bulge that’s formed as both he and Taehyun groan, “are we too big for you baby?”

In a daze, you nod. You feel so full. So, so so full and stretched out as Yeonjun’s other hand goes on your hip, guiding you back into him as praises and filth exit his mouth in a continuous stream. You can’t help the way your pussy flutters with every word, his moans only riling you up more as you wish you could feel him more against you; your wish comes true as he hovers over you, his chest against your back as he slowly grinds into you, placing feather-like kisses along your shoulder blades as he drinks up your sounds of pleasure. 

Beneath you, Taehyun slowly begins to pull out; your eyes squeeze shut at the feeling, your grip on him tightening for a second as he slowly thrusts back into you. The two men slowly begin to find their pace as you grow accustomed to them, your body relaxed and pliant as they fuck you dumb. 

“So perfect, so good,” Yeonjun pants behind you, shutting his eyes tight at the way it feels to be inside you, to be able to feel Taehyun’s cock rubbing against his as well, “god, such a good girl, looks like you really can take it.”

His praise is unrelenting as he watches the way your body rocks from the way they fuck you; there’s a white ring that’s beginning to form on his cock as his eyes fall down to your stretched hole, brows furrowing at the sight of you leaking uncontrollably, the liquid running all over Taehyun’s cock and onto the couch. The sight alone is enough to have him fucking into you rougher, taking both you and Taehyun by surprise as you weakly fall apart under him.

Taehyun isn’t able to kiss you anymore— there’s not a single thought in your mind as your mouth falls open, face screwing up in pleasure as you tuck your head into the crook of Taehyun’s neck, finding solace in the space as you absentmindedly begin to suck and bite marks onto his skin. The thought of seeing the aftermath of everything you did to him later has Taehyun thrusting up into you with more desperation, eager to hear you fall apart on them as you begin to babble about how good it all feels. 

“Yeah? Feels good? I know pretty, I know,” Taehyun coos, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing you flat against him as he kisses your shoulder. You’re practically being pushed around as Taehyun begins to shift under you, their movements ceasing as he begins to adjust his position, your tiny whines about not wanting them to stop being shushed by Taehyun as he tugs on your hair softly. 

“Be quiet baby, before you regret it,” Taehyun whispers in your ear, his heels digging into the sofa as you ignore him and continue to complain; as a result, he begins to thrust into you harshly, able to jackhammer into you as Yeonjun begins to do the same— it’s hard to go as fast as he wants to when you’re stuffed full, but Taehyun knows it’s enough by the way you grab onto him desperately, your mouth falling open as unabashed moans begin to fall from you. 

“Shit, our pretty girl,” Yeonjun groans, feeling himself twitch inside you as you blindly reach back to him, searching for his hand as he finally takes it; his fingers interlock with yours, pulling you back into him and Taehyun as he laughs at your pitiful state, “All ours. Won’t be able to get fucked again unless it’s by us.”

“We ruined you for anyone else,” Taehyun continues, reaching for your face as he’s forcing you to look at him; you’re unstable, a hand planted on his chest and the other holding onto his shoulder as you’re rocked back and forth by them, your face a mess as drool escapes the corner of your lips— you’ve been fucked absolutely stupid as you clench at their words, feeling your high approaching again as you feel hot tears escaping your eyes. 

“Holy shit Yeonjun, wish you could see this right now,” Taehyun laughs, slowing his pace down as he turns your face to look at Yeonjun; the said man only grins at you, cooing mockingly as he chases a stray tear away— he can’t help but be endeared at the way they pool at your eyes, running quickly down your cheeks and clinging onto your chin before they’re falling on your tits and Taehyun’s chest; you’re a complete mess as you choke back on a sob, head hanging at the way they keep fucking you throughout it. 

“We fucked her stupid,” Taehyun breathes out, bouncing you on him as he thrusts up harshly, listening to the way your cries pick up as you approach your orgasm. 

“Completely ruined,” Yeonjun breathes out, never thinking that he’d be able to see you like this. Laughing, he picks up his pace again, able to feel the way his cock begs for release as you clench down mercilessly against the two of them— you’re so close and they can feel it, your cunt a vice as you practically push them out with every clench of your walls. 

“You won’t fuck anyone else but us,” Yeonjun growls out, his hands turning possessive as his fingers dig into your hips, “ruined for everyone else but us. Isn’t that right, pretty?”

Clumsily, you nod, the action barely visible from how much your body is already rocking from his thrusts. But Yeonjun is still able to see it, feeling the way Taehyun picks up his pace as well as he chokes back a loud groan. 

“Say it. Say you’re ruined for us, that you’re all ours now.” 

“I— I’m—“ you’re barely able to get out a coherent word with how well you’re being fucked, your voice quivering pathetically as Taehyun cranes his neck to be able to suck on your pretty skin, biting onto your neck harshly and leaving bruises he’ll definitely be admiring later.

“Come on, we know you can do it pretty,” Taehyun encourages, his brows furrowed as he can feel his cock begin to twitch inside you, the feeling of Yeonjun’s tip brushing against his own making him sensitive as it becomes harder to keep his pace. 

“I’m yours!” You cry out, babbling uselessly as you feel like you’ll snap at any moment, “I’m yours, only yours— don’t want anyone else’s cock, you both fuck me so good, I’m only yours— all ruined—“ 

Your rambles are enough to set Yeonjun off, feeling him thrust into you harshly before he’s bottoming out, his chest pressed flush against your back as he rests his forehead between your shoulder blades; his moans are breathy and ticklish against your skin as you feel him filling you with his cum, an endless stream as his cock continues to spurt inside you ruthlessly. 

The action is enough to set you and Taehyun off like a chain reaction, feeling the band in your stomach snap before you’re practically seeing white, falling limp on top of Taehyun who quickly comes after you— he’s moaning loudly against the crown of your head as he bottoms out as well, still feeling Yeonjun coming inside you as he becomes next; you’re practically stuffed as their cum begins to leak out of you, your hole fluttering pathetically around them as they groan weakly at the action. 

“Shit…” you’re unsure of who it is that breathes that out, on the verge of blacking out as you try to regain your breath. You still feel as though none of it has settled in your mind yet, the tipsy feeling of the alcohol in your bloodstream rendering you entirely useless after being fucked into oblivion. 

You trust Yeonjun and Taehyun to be the ones to come back to their senses and clean up, but you’re unsure if that should be the case as you’re beginning to feel Taehyun’s breath even out under you— a weak smack on his chest is enough to startle him awake, barely conscious yourself as you try to pretend that Taehyun’s strong arms that wrap around your middle and Yeonjun’s kisses that span along your back isn’t enough to lull you to sleep. 

It definitely is. You have yet to feel either of them pull out of you yet, but all you can do is hope and pray that you won’t be having another spilled drink incident when you wake up again. 

As you said, nothing good came from nights like these. 

(At least, tomorrow will be the judge of that.)

[glowettee]

°❀⋆executing your comeback plan (the actual doing part) - part 4/5 °❀⋆

1st post 2nd post 3rd post

posted by: glowettee

hey study angels! ♡

okay so we have this gorgeous plan, but now comes the real tea - actually making it happen! don't worry though, i'm going to break down exactly how to execute your academic glow-up strategy. this little guide will help you make this comeback actually stick!

♡ week one survival guide

this is literally the most important week:

day 1:

set up your study space (make it cute but functional!)

organize all materials by subject

create your new schedule in your planner

gather all missing notes/materials

reach out to study buddies

first week priorities:

stick to your new schedule (even when it's hard!)

document everything in your progress journal

identify early challenges

celebrate small wins

adjust as needed

♡ making the daily grind actually work

consistency is literally everything:

morning routine:

wake up 30 mins earlier than usual (i know it's tough but trust me)

quick review of today's goals

prepare your study space

get in the right mindset (i do positive affirmations in my mirror)

organize materials for the day

during study sessions:

start with the hardest subject (when your brain is fresh!)

use the pomodoro technique (25 mins study, 5 mins break)

actively engage with material (no passive reading!)

take aesthetic but useful notes

check understanding after each session

evening wrap-up:

review what you learned

prep for tomorrow

update your progress tracker

clean your study space

set intentions for tomorrow

♡ active learning techniques that actually work

just reading isn't it, bestie:

the explain-it method:

teach concepts to your stuffed animals, family or friends

record voice memos explaining topics

write explanations in simple terms

create examples from real life

make connections to things you know

practice makes perfect:

solve problems without looking at notes

create your own practice questions

do past exam questions

explain concepts to study buddies

make concept maps

♡ dealing with motivation dips

because they're gonna happen:

when you're feeling unmotivated:

look at your progress tracker

remind yourself why you started

take a cute study break

change your study location

reach out to your study support squad

do something small but productive

emergency motivation boosters:

change up your study playlist

try a new study spot

use different colored pens

take a short walk

message your study accountability partner

reward yourself for small wins

♡ handling setbacks

they're part of the process:

when things go wrong:

take a deep breath (seriously, do it)

identify what happened

adjust your strategy

reach out for help if needed

remember this is temporary

get back on track immediately

prevention strategies:

regular progress checks

weekly schedule reviews

maintaining backup plans

keeping support contacts ready

staying ahead of deadlines

♡ progress tracking system

make it cute but keep it real:

daily tracking:

concepts mastered

time spent studying

questions/confusion points

wins (big and small!)

areas needing more work

weekly review:

compare to previous week

adjust study methods

celebrate improvements

plan next week's focus

update long-term goals

execution is where most plans succeed or fail. it might feel weird at first, but stick with it and you'll see the glow-up!

xoxo, mindy 🎀

[milliesfishes]

Enchanted𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

[fem reader] contains: nudity, talk of male anatomy pairing: billy the kid x fem reader summary: pirate billy x mermaid reader author’s note: based on my love @francixoxoxo 's pirate billy au- leaving the tag below. (thank you lovey for letting me write for this!) I have a mermaid special interest and it's been a delight. Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

The sea was a home in and of itself, but it was lonely all the same.

Sitting on the rocks and looking out at the moonlight reflected on the water, Billy pondered this thought, but came to no conclusion from it. The crew of the ship was docked here for the night, on a regular supply run. It was also a chance for the men to stretch their legs, flirt with local women, blow off steam; gear up for the next bit on the ship.

It had been a long night of drinking and roughhousing, and truly, Billy was exhausted by it all. The usual distractions hadn’t sufficed, and now he couldn’t sleep, plagued by the thoughts he’d previously stuffed into the recesses of his mind.

Piracy was far from his first choice in lifestyle, but he’d had little choice in the matter. Growing up by the sea meant he’d taken to the work easily, and he got along with the crew well enough, but his inner voice irked him. It wasn’t honest work, he knew. And sometimes when he was tying a knot or leaning over the railing, he saw his life stretched out before him if he continued on this path. An endless path of mopping, sailing, robbing. He hated how it played out before his eyes. 

Shaking his head slightly, Billy began to strip his clothes off, deciding maybe a night swim would clear his head and get it back to normal. It was never good when he got too deep into thought- it only made things worse for a future version of himself. 

Summertime made the water warmer than it would have been otherwise, and he left all his clothes on the rock, sliding down into the water. The slight chill sent his thoughts scattering back into the dark from whence they came, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, some peace. A little while in the ocean and they ought to stay where he wanted them for a good while, maybe even until the next time the crew came to port.

Since it was dark, he floated on his back, unashamed of his nude state. He was definitely far enough away from the village that nobody would be able to see him without coming real close. Relishing in the quiet of it, he breathed the salt air and closed his eyes briefly.

While some found the sea terrifying due to the unknown of it all, Billy was comforted by the mystery. His mother had told him young that the water was like a woman; an untamable enigma. One could only fully appreciate it if they leaned into the secrecy. Regarding both women and the sea, the message had served him well.

There was a sudden splash behind him, and he shifted so he was treading water. It was probably just a fish, but he’d learned quickly in his days as a sailor to keep his guard up at the first hint of danger.

Turning in a full circle, Billy saw nothing. Just the moonlit water. The waves lapped gently at his chest as he surveyed his surroundings. A human wouldn’t have been able to hide this easily. An animal would have swum far from him by now.

He moved a little closer to the rocks just in case, keeping an eye on the horizon. Putting one hand on the rough surface of the boulder that held his clothes, he peered at the water below. Nothing, as expected. It was stupid to think he’d be able to see even a foot under.

Another splash. Billy jolted, whipping his head around. He was getting suspicious. “Anyone near?” he called, squinting as if that would make the visage of darkness clearer.

There was the sound of a body in water. A human body. Reaching up for his pistol on the rock, he half-shouted, “I know you’re there! I can hear ya.” Billy stretched his arm. The gun was just out of reach. “Come about!”

Just as he was convinced he’d made the whole thing up, there was a movement in the shadow of the rock a little ways from him, maybe ten feet. Something was hiding.

Intrigued, he stopped trying to grab his pistol. A feeling told him his unknown companion wasn’t a threat. Billy cocked his head, focusing on the spot. “I ain’t gonna hurtcha.”

Slowly, the creature revealed itself from the shadows. The pale light of the moon revealed more than he thought it would. He saw it wasn’t a creature at all. It was a woman. And a stunning one at that.

You were unlike anything he’d ever seen.

Beauty so rare it felt otherworldly. Long, wet hair sticking to your breasts, and he could tell they were bare under that. Your shoulders were uncovered, except by spiderwebs of hair.

He knew he was staring, but he couldn’t help it. There was a magnetic quality to you that he couldn’t shy away from, that he wouldn’t if he had a choice. You blinked at him owlishly, innocently. “Are you a human?”

Oh, your voice. Lilting and light and only comparable to music. He regained his bearings, realizing the odd question. “‘Course. Were ya expectin’ the kraken?”

You tilted your head, gliding closer to him. He felt his heart palpitate as he got a better view. Now he could see the water clinging to your skin and eyelashes, your goosebumps from the night air. It felt like he was being studied, but somehow he didn’t mind. With anyone else it would have been bothersome. With you…he was happy to have caught your attention.

Reaching out, you took one of his hands in your smooth ones and examined it, turning it over once. You traced a finger over the veins, the bones. It was as if you’d never seen one before. Your touch set him on fire.

He realized the oddity of the situation. “What…what’re ya doin’?”

“It’s just the same as mine,” you held out one of your hands for comparison, flexing the fingers.

“I’d imagine it is.” His mind was half and half. One part grounded, the other transfixed by you, hanging onto your every move. 

Shifting closer to him, your eyes wandered over his chest, his face, his hair, as if you were looking for something. Billy swallowed. “Is…is everything okay?”

“You’re just like the men we’ve got,” you said distractedly, not answering his question. 

“How different are the fellas where you come from?” Billy asked, a thousand unasked questions on his tongue. 

“Not much, apparently,” you said as your eyes roved over him. “Except-” your gaze fell below the water, and he got the distinct impression that you were looking between his legs. Suddenly remembering he was nude, Billy reached a hand down to cover himself, cheeks flushing even though it was dark. 

“I…uh…” he stuttered, then remembered the water was pitch black. You wouldn’t be able to see him. He removed his hand, shifting a little closer to you now. “What’re ya doin’ out here so late?”

“I like night swimming,” you explained, not providing a reason for your state of undress. Billy wasn’t in any place to judge, since he was in the same way, but it was just so rare for women to be so unashamedly naked like this. Not the women he’d met anyways; you were clearly something different. Something special. 

Still peering down into the water, you were squinting a bit. Again, he felt like you were looking at a bit of him he didn’t normally show just anyone. “It’s dark…maybe if I got a closer look-” You made like you were going to dive down, and Billy quickly caught you by the shoulders.

“Ah…let’s not get so close, dontcha think?” he smiled boyishly, slightly distracted by how silky your hair was even though it was wet. 

You seemed to understand. “Maybe another time.” As he was holding your shoulders, Billy sunk a little deeper, and you perked up. “Here, let me help you.” Gently, you pushed him against the rock, just holding him there. He was surprised by your strength. Not that women couldn’t be that way, but he was a fully grown man. Yet another strange thing to categorize. But the more unconventional you were, the more of a desire he felt to know you.

“Do ya…do ya come here often?” he asked, trying to learn something about the strange woman by the rocks. 

“Not nearly as much as I’d like,” you smiled, and his heart stuttered. “My father doesn’t like it when I stray too far.”

“Especially when you’re meetin’ strange men after dark I’ll bet,” Billy grinned, and you laughed, pretty and clear.

“I don’t imagine he’d like that very much, no,” you sighed. “Especially since you’re…you know…” you nodded at his body.

He nodded back, his grin still evident. “Ah, yeah. Ain’t imaginin’ he’d be too pleased if he knew I wasn’t wearin’ anythin’ either.”

You frowned confusedly. “It’d probably be more about you being human.”

Now he was lost. “Now…why’d that be an issue? You’re…”

There was a beat of silence. You drew back a little, fidgeting with your fingers. Lips rounding in an oh shape, you swam back further, shyly. Leaning back a little and biting your lip nervously, you lifted your tail out of the water. A long, shimmery fish tail.

Billy’s eyes widened in surprise. And suddenly your fascination with his anatomy made sense. He moved closer curiously, but you drew back, looking slightly frightened.

Recognizing it, he stayed where he was, instead outstretching a hand. “I’m not gonna hurt ya. I was just…surprised is all.” Some of the men on the crew had spoken of dangerous women with tails who sang sailors to their deaths and made them mad with lust, and he hadn’t known whether to believe them. But here you were in front of him…harmless, shy and inquisitive.

Reemphasizing his hand, he gave you a smile. “I just ain’t never seen any merfolk before, not in person. But I ain’t gonna do nothin’ bad.”

Looking from his face to his hand, you cautiously moved closer. Billy nodded encouragingly, trying to coax you over. An idea struck him. “I’ll letcha look at my…” he looked down between his legs. “...sometime.”

Your eyes lit up at that. Cautiously, you reached your hand over to his, your soft meeting his rough. He brought you closer, so your stomachs were a breath’s width from touching. 

Now that he had you here he was even more enchanted. He knew why he’d been so drawn to you; no doubt it was a part of your mermish characteristics. But there was something else here, something sparkling. Your eyes were like the sea, tumultuous and secretive, and he liked that.

Lean into it.

Billy dipped his head and caught your lips in a brief kiss. You tasted like salt, which only made him thirsty for more. When he pulled back, he saw your eyes were wide like the full moon behind him. “What was that?”

He smiled. “A kiss.” Reaching up, he thumbed the side of your cheek, tucking some of your hair behind your ear.

You searched his eyes. “We don’t do that where I come from.”

“Ah,” he watched your expression. “Did you like it?”

Adorably, your brow furrowed slightly in thought. Then you slowly nodded, lips parting slightly as you looked up at him. “Yes.”

Billy hummed, his fingers finding the spot under your chin. “Do ya…wanna do it again?”

A slow smile came to your face, and you nodded again, tilting your head up and waiting, looking expectantly at him. He chuckled slightly, the hand that had been holding yours sliding around your waist and pulling you into him. Now he could feel the line where your skin ended and your tail began. Soft and sleek, all of you was.

“Close your eyes,” he said warmly, and you obeyed, your chin still lifted. Smiling at the sight of you, waiting to be kissed, he committed the image to memory. Your eyelashes were touching your skin, causing a pearl of water to fall from one of them, looking like a tear. Skin glowing from the light of the moon, hair wet and curling over your torso, you were a vision.

Then he leaned down and moved his lips against yours again, feeling like every star in the sky had decided to smile upon him that night.

Maybe he’d imagined he could be captivated by a mermaid, but he never dreamed he’d be kissing one.

Billy felt your hands slide up his chest, seemingly testing the waters. He smiled against your lips, nuzzling his nose on your cheek. His hand lifted to slide into your hair, holding the back of your head and pushing your mouth onto his.

You seemed unsure what to do with your hands as they were settled on his shoulders. Billy sensed it and took his other hand off your waist, fingers grasping your hand and dragging it into his hair. It seemed that instinct took over, and your fingers combed through his curls, eliciting a quiet groan from him. 

Pressing your chest into his, you folded your arms around his neck, your hand remaining in his hair. The action lifted your body further up, and he lowered his hand to where your bottom would be if you had legs, making you shiver against him.

Pulling back slightly, he ended the kiss with a few gentle pecks, slowly easing you out of it.

Your smile when he opened his eyes was radiant. Billy traced his hand up your bare back, stringing through your salt strewn locks.

“Why do humans do that?” you asked in a hazy way, smiling sweetly up at him. 

He returned it, feeling happy in a carefree, foolish way. “To…show other people ya…ya like ‘em. Cause it feels nice.” He stroked the apple of your cheek. “Did it feel nice for ya?” That part was asked in a whisper.

Your eyes were soft, slightly stormy in the best way. “I liked it.”

Billy smiled and leaned in for another kiss, but you lifted your head suddenly, as if you’d heard something. He frowned. “Are you-?”

“I have to go,” you said hurriedly, fixing your eyes back on his. Carefully, you pressed your lips to his for a slow kiss goodbye, and he felt like he was floating.

Before he knew it, you had slipped out of his arms and the last thing he saw was the glimmer of your tail on the horizon. 

Billy didn’t move for a moment, dazed by you. He took in a breath, laughing slightly in disbelief.

A mermaid. He’d kissed a mermaid. And it had been like fireworks.

Next part

[pepperonijem]

II. the song's about to start (can you feel it?) || to.you

"... I'm about to fall for you."

summary: Creative constipation. That's what Levi calls the feeling he gets when he realizes he wants to write about how he feels about you. What does he feel about you? That's... inconclusive, he thinks. pairing: Levi Ackerman x gn!reader content: alcohol consumption, levi is a bumbling mess of feelings, cursing songs mentioned: partners in crime - finneas, (only) about love -grentperez, buzz - niki || the title of this chapter comes from the song buzz

A/N: I've never written anything that made me blush and twirl my hair the way this chapter did. why am I the one catching feelings rn. should I post the playlist?

let me know if you'd like to be tagged! comments and rb's are appreciated :)

previous chapter || masterlist || next chapter

Hange Zoe is the worst person to have in the car when all you want to do is think.

The thought popped into Levi’s mind as he swatted at a wandering hand reaching for the volume dial on his dashboard. A groan sounded from beside him and Levi rolled his eyes in return. Hange was a regular in the front seat of his car, and to his dismay, felt much too comfortable touching everything they could on the dashboard. Their chair was leaned back absurdly far and the vents on the air conditioning seemed pointed in every which direction. 

“Levi, I like this song,” they huffed as they reached forward to mess with the volume again. With a sigh Levi gave in and looked forward to the drive home in silence.

He tapped his fingers against the wheel as Hange sang along. Croaked, more like. Hange had a melodic singing voice, but that wouldn’t be obvious to anyone hearing them right now. But Levi was used to this, and although he pretended to be annoyed by it, he really didn’t mind. He liked this song too and he hummed along, quiet enough that Hange wouldn’t notice.

“You couldn’t look any more like a lover Or a partner in crime Or something of mine”

The song ended and Hange reached over to turn the volume down. Levi was thankful, but realized if the radio volume went down, Hange’s would have an inverse effect. They looked over at Levi whose eyes were trained on the dark and empty 3 a.m. freeway ahead of him.

“You know,” Hange began with a smirk in their voice and Levi tensed, steeling himself for whatever nonsense would escape his friend’s lips. “Miche said he saw you dragging Eren’s friend upstairs earlier.” Levi’s hands grew tighter on the wheel and Hange didn’t miss the flush of red that appeared on his cheeks as Levi remembered the brief feeling of your skin on his. Hange’s laugh is grating, Levi thought.

He chose not to say anything. A mistake, really, as now Hange had found an opportunity to fill in the blanks on their own.

“Mr. Ackerman, I never took you for the frat-party quickie type,” Hange continued, laughing to themselves. “Especially not with people you write songs about.”

“Shut up,” Levi huffed. “It wasn’t a quickie, I was–”

“Oh so you took your time,” Hange cut him off with a playful slap to his shoulder. Somehow he felt his face heat up some more. Thankfully, they weren’t too far from Hange’s home.

“We were looking for those two other brats that hang around Eren,” Levi tried to speak up over the sound of his friend’s guffaws.

“I’m just teasing, you grump,” Hange finally relented. They waited a beat before continuing. “But that new song of yours was definitely about them right?”

Levi thought for a second before answering, even though he knew Hange already knew what he’d say. He simply nodded in response.

“Knew it,” They spoke again. The teasing lilt in their voice was replaced by something softer. “It’s been a while since you’ve written anything new. It felt new.” 

“What do you mean?” Levi asked curiously. He’d always had a particular style when it came to writing songs, and Hange had known him long enough to see it become what it was. He didn’t particularly intend to write anything different, he just… wrote as he always did.

Hange leaned against the window, thinking to themself. “I’m not really sure myself,” they finally answered after a beat. “It just felt more like you, I guess.” 

The last time Levi wrote a new song was when Erwin was still part of their band. 

Last spring, right as the trees were beginning to turn into various shades of light pinks and pastels, Erwin asked them all to stay after practice to talk. It was an unusual rehearsal from the start, and Erwin seemed nervous much unlike his usual calm and collected self. His blonde hair was ever so slightly disheveled and he wore sweatpants instead of his nicer trousers that he usually wore to save time before heading to his office internship after practice.

Erwin clumsily missed notes that he had never missed before, and Levi was more shocked than anyone else to see the founder of their band fumble around like he’d never held a bass before. So when it came time for them to talk, Levi was intrigued and surprised again when he finally spoke.

“I’m getting married,” Erwin blurted out without his usual level of tact.

“You’re–”

“What–”

“Married–”

Hange, Miche, and Levi all spoke at once and Erwin let out a sigh of relief that melted into a soft laugh, as if a weight had finally been lifted off his shoulders.

“Married?” Levi asked again.

Erwin nodded with a sheepish smile before explaining. “You’ve all met my girlfr— fiance before. We’re both graduating next semester. She got accepted to a music conservatory overseas and my internship offered me a position at their branch in the same city, it just feels like the stars were aligning. It all feels like a sign.” In the many years he’d made music with Erwin, learned his cues and learned his melodies, he saw that Erwin spoke with a twinkle in his eye that Levi had only ever seen when he spoke about his fiance.

“I’m sorry to announce I’m leaving the band like this,” Erwin continued. “But I’ll help you find a replacement before I leave. In fact, I already have someone in mind.”

That’s how they found Eren, a friend of Erwin’s fiance who played in the university orchestra with her. They watched his end of year recital and sat through his flawless performance of a cello concerto by Saint-Saëns.  It all happened rather quickly after that and without even auditioning, the passionate but impulsive brat had become their new bassist.

After going out for a round of drinks at the local pub to celebrate Erwin’s news, Levi found himself outside on the patio, resting his elbows against the railing and thinking about all of this until a voice cut through his thoughts.

“Levi,” Erwin called as he moved to stand beside him. “What’s on your mind?”

He turned around to glance over at his friend. Erwin looked happier now, like he was constantly basking in the glow of something bright, and Levi supposed that in a way, he was. “What does it feel like?” Levi asked vaguely, but Erwin knew, as he usually did.

“It’s… hard to explain,” Erwin replied. Levi looked at him and waited for him to continue. “At first, it felt like… well you know, right before a show when we first turn on the amps? There’s a buzz, but it feels electric. It’s a little bit like that, anticipation because you know something good is about to happen.” Levi nodded thoughtfully at Erwin’s response as he continued. “Now it feels so big… like exploring space, if space was safe and warm.” 

After a slight chuckle, a wave of silence washed over the two of them until Erwin spoke again. “Are you going to be okay?” Erwin glanced over at his friend.

“I will be,” Levi answered. “Will you?”

Erwin turned around to face the window and smiled to himself as he watched his fiance laugh at something Hange was saying. “I think so,” he said quietly. “But I’m happy to be here right now.”

“Yeah,” Levi agreed. “Me too.”

When Levi came home to his apartment that night, he reached for his guitar. He strummed quietly as he felt the familiar wash of inspiration take over him. A soft melody seemed to untangle itself into something that made sense in his head and soon, lyrics came along with it.

“Take my hand and come with me to another place We can walk around the universe tonight.”

He hoped he understood what Erwin had told him. Love as a concept was simple enough to put into an analogy, but difficult to really get, but for his friend, he’d try. He sent Erwin off later that spring with the lyrics and sheet music folded neatly in an envelope, a gift from Levi to the happy couple and felt satisfied leaving it at that between the two of them. And so it was, until Erwin asked him to play it at his wedding six months later. It was his first time singing a song without the rest of the band, but it didn’t feel as scary as he imagined it to be. It was like having a conversation, or writing a letter to his best friend. To Erwin.

He hadn’t written a song since then, not until he met you. Hange was right and the realization had heat seeping into his cheeks.

“Something something Halloween party,” Hange recalled the lyrics to his song. “That line about living in a VHS was pretty cute, what did you say to them to make you think of that one?”

“Nothing,” Levi replied and that was an answer enough on its own.

“Oh Levi,” Hange cooed as they pulled their glasses to sit on top of their hair to find a more comfortable way to drift off for the last few minutes of the ride, content to let Levi have a reprieve from the teasing.

After dropping off a drunk Hange and driving the hour back to his apartment, he couldn’t decide whether to grab his notebook and pen or his guitar. This was a rather frustrating dilemma to have. Usually, he’d feel something akin to lightning and either a simple line or a melody would come to him and he’d grab whatever vessel he needed to bring it alive. 

The song he wrote about you two weeks ago began as lyrics first. He had watched you walk down the sidewalk in your pumpkin costume and groaned to himself as he realized half of your entire conversation was him saying, “cool.” He walked back into the party and through a sea of stupid costumes to find his guitar case and fished out the worn brown leather notebook that he always kept with him and grabbed a pen.

“I want to erase the things I said, but I’ll probably say them again. Wish I could hit rewind and not be so in my head.”

With a few tweaks and a chorus, it had become a song, and Levi was proud of himself. It wasn’t until after he had finally set his pen down and saw he’d written the words “I wouldn’t have let you go leave me,” that he wondered if he really felt that way or if it was just a good line.

At the next party, when you told him you liked the song, the song he wrote about you, he felt something else, and he wondered what to call the flutter he felt in his chest. Attraction, maybe? He learned about the feeling of attraction in class, how the spike in your heart rate and cortisol levels can be read as attraction in the right circumstances… or stress in the wrong ones. With his adrenaline running high after his performance, he decided that the evidence presented was too inconclusive to be labeled one way or another.

Now, he decided to grab his notebook to look back at the page he’d scribbled on, to see if something could give that final push for lightning to strike. He scoured the margins, looking through the various doodles and squiggles and crossed out words. It was incredibly frustrating, Levi thought, to have the desperate urge to write, but not know what to write. It’s probably because he still couldn’t figure out how he felt about you. Anxiety? Attraction? It was something new, but not something he knew how to explain. All he knew was that he wanted to write about you.

Nothing came to him even after flipping through his book, so with a sigh, he gave up and flopped onto his bed. His eyes fluttered shut and hoped inspiration would find him in his dreams.

The next morning, Levi woke up feeling unrested and uninspired. He was expecting to wake up with that familiar whisper of a new melody or a new lyric in his ear, but instead he woke up to the sound of thunder outside. He ran a frustrated hand down his face. Creative constipation, he thought to himself.

Then as he settled into his seat for his psych class, he found himself so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice you call his name until you reached out and tentatively put your hand on his shoulder. The contact snapped his attention towards you and he felt a haze begin to clear.

“Levi?” you said his name with concern.

“Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking,” he explained. “Did you need something?”

“I was going to ask if I could sit next to you,” you began before leaning in towards him and lowering your voice conspiratorially. He could smell your shampoo and the perfume you sprayed on this morning. He felt that flutter again. “Some rando took my seat beside Jean. I think they heard we were picking our partners for the project today.” You subtly gestured over to the girl in your usual seat who was staring intently at Jean who was staring intently at a Fortnite stream on his laptop.

Levi let out an amused chuckle before sliding his backpack off from the seat next to him and pulling it out for you to take. He watched you curiously as you sat down, trying to figure you out. Trying to figure out why he wanted to figure you out so desperately. He resisted the urge to look away when you smiled at him. All he could muster up to do was nod back and hope you didn’t notice him staring.

“So what is it that had you thinking so deeply,” you asked as you pulled your laptop out of your bag. Levi paused for a beat, wondering how to reply. He wasn’t particularly fond of letting people into his writing process. It felt too intimate. Even Hange and Miche had only ever looked into his notebook once and then decided it wasn’t worth being on the receiving end of Levi’s death glare (not to be confused with his usual resting neutral glare). For some reason, he felt as though you wouldn’t be too much of a threat to his creative process.

“I have to write about a feeling,” he began tentatively. “But I can’t really figure out what it is.”

“Oh is this for, like, an essay?” You asked. You tapped on your chin as you thought about what to say.

“Yeah, something like that.” “What’s the feeling?” you continued to ask. Levi found himself intrigued at your willingness to help him, but remembered how quickly you relent to offering your notes to Jean and Eren when they miss something. He figured it’s probably second nature for you.

“Honestly, I’m not too sure myself,” Levi answered, nervous that you’d see through his flimsy details. But this was the closest thing he could tell you without divulging his thoughts. He wasn’t even sure how much of a help you’d actually be. Songwriting, Levi recognized, was not something that everyone could do, but it was something he did well. He had a knack for being able to step into someone else’s shoes and write about their feelings. Like some sort of twisted empath, he could write a damn good love song without ever having been in love. He figured whatever higher being created him thought it would be funny to have such a stoic man only be able to express himself through a melody, like he was in some goddamn musical. 

The other members of his band had a bit of experience writing as well, but their styles were different from Levi’s. They had a special knack for writing songs that sounded like them. Hange’s songs were always more upbeat and catchy, good for parties, and a little quirky. Miche’s songs were much more focused on the rhythm and had fewer lyrics. Eren, although only having written a couple of songs so far, definitely had a more angsty, grungy vibe. It was only from Erwin’s leadership that they all learned to blend their styles into something cohesive.

Most people outside of the band assumed that the majority of songs were written by Hange or Miche or even Eren now that he was part of it. But surprisingly, Levi was the real lyrical mastermind behind No Name, although he never opts to correct anyone who thinks otherwise.

“Just write it down,” you replied as if it was the most simple answer. “Even if the feeling doesn’t have a name, you’ll get the point across.” When you looked over to see Levi eyeing you skeptically, you continued.

“Not all feelings have a name,” you went on. “Like the feeling when you’re about to turn a door handle into a surprise party you knew about, or like when you get the first cup of hot coffee for the season because it’s finally cold enough outside for it. It’s like you know it’s the start of something new, something good.” 

Levi could see warmth flashing in your eyes as he watched you list these feelings. It reminded him of Erwin’s words that night. Something about anticipation…

There it was. Lightning. His head shot up as you spoke and you turned to him with wide eyes. You watched as he reached for his notebook and began scribbling into his notebook. Before you could ask him more about it, the sound of the professor’s voice filled the room. Levi, however, did not lift his head.

“It’s the feeling of the first coffee run in autumn – can you feel it?”

The last part was a question  for himself.

Sure enough, today was the day project partners were being assigned and although Levi spent the majority of the class writing madly into his journal, his ears perked up at the announcement.

“Since you’re all adults and there’s over 60 of you in this class, it’s easier for everyone to just partner up with their current desk partner.” Levi turned and met your eyes and you both let out a sigh of relief. He was glad it was you.

He managed to set his pen down as the professor continued to explain the assignment. “This project is about relationships,” he announced as he walked down the aisle to hand papers out to the class. “For the rest of the semester, you’re going to be getting to know your partner and hopefully yourself, quite well. Hopefully, if nothing else, you can leave the class with a new friend.”

The both of you turned your heads at the sound of Eren groaning as he looked over at Jean. Jean looked wistfully at the girl who stole your seat – unfortunately, she was in a separate desk cluster. Levi was thankful that things worked out the way they did.

Levi watched you stifle a chuckle and pass him the worksheet. He scanned over the paper. It was mostly blank, save for a few sentences of instructions and two sections of items to note. 

Under the first section were three items: First impressions of your partner? Who do you think you are? How do you think others see you?

The second section simply stated: At the end of this project, reflect on your earlier impressions and see how they’ve changed. What’s changed about how you see your partner? How they see you? How you see yourself? What social theories or effects do you believe may have affected this change?

“You get out of this project what you put into it,” the professor stated. “The more time you spend with your partner, the more change you’ll see in any or all of the criteria. However, if you decide not to spend any time with them after the initial meeting, you still have some theories to write about.” He chuckled to himself as he scanned the students’ faces.

He continued on. “There’s no criteria for how much or how you spend time with your partner outside of being safe and respectful. But I suggest you do things together that mean something to you. Be intentional with the time you spend together.”

Levi’s previous feelings of relief had suddenly dissipated as quickly as they came. This was a rather intimate project, and although the questions seemed simple enough, being in this class for the semester taught him nothing was ever psychologically simple. He snuck a quick glance over at you, busy writing your name on the top of your paper and writing down quick reminders to yourself in the margins of your notebook where you had neatly organized your notes from class. Your cheeks were pink, and so were the tips of your ears. He was sure his were too.

He looked down at his own notebook, filled with nothing that could help him on an exam. But he had half a song written down. 

It wasn’t until the professor had dismissed the class and Levi was setting his things back in his bag that you finally turned up to look at him with your phone out towards him. “Before you head out, can I get your number?” you asked.

“Sure thing,” Levi reached out for your phone, accidentally brushing his fingers against yours in the process. There was that flutter again, but Levi was ready to chalk this one up to stress. Until he caught a glimpse of your tinted cheeks and suddenly he was at a loss once again. He focused back on the phone long enough to put his number in before handing it back to you, letting his fingers brush yours once again. For research purposes, he had said to himself. Results still inconclusive.

That afternoon, Levi sat at his desk with the worksheet in front of him. The first question seemed easy enough to answer. He didn’t need to think too hard before writing a response.

First impressions of your partner: 

He thought back to his first time seeing you in class. Did that even count? All he ever saw was the back of your head and the way you would raise your hands to rub at your temples at the end of class as you slid your notebook for Jean to take pictures of. He picked up his pen anyway. Begrudgingly kind, he wrote.

The first time he really saw you was that night at Eren’s party. You were quick to laugh at his jokes, and quicker to add on. And later, he watched as you danced with Jean, who Levi watched get shot down by a blonde girl who was clearly more interested in the girl with her, even in your stupid pumpkin costume that stood out like a sore thumb. There was something about you that drew people in, he realized. Charming, good friend, obnoxious.

He thought about when you finally left that evening to go study. Hard-working, warm.

The next questions were a lot more difficult to answer.

Who do you think you are?

“Annoyed, mostly,” he muttered aloud as he forced himself to try to think. Although he had a knack for writing about other people, he wasn’t a huge fan of introspection. A musician, he wrote simply. I’m good at what I do, and I do what I’m good at. Simple. Blunt. Clean. It wasn’t much, but it was enough, he thought.

How do you think others see you?

This was such a dumb question, Levi thought to himself. He never really cared about how other people saw him. Hange always said it was one of his charms, especially on stage, and he agreed. His Twitter DMs seemed to agree as well. But a question was a question, and he wasn’t going to hurt his stellar grade over a dumb question. Charismatic, quiet, intense, cold. 

He finally set his pen down and picked up his phone to see a text from an unknown number.

Unknown: Hey Levi, are you free this evening?

Before Levi could feel confused at who the hell would be so bold as to message him like this, you quickly sent a follow up text with your name and Levi scoffed. He was amused. He saved your number before replying to you.

Levi: Sure Levi: Did you want to do something?

He didn’t wait long for a response as you quickly texted him an address and a time. The campus cafe, which thankfully was near his apartment, at 7 p.m. so he still had a few hours before he had to meet you. He pulled out his lyrics notebook and looked back at what he’d written during class. It felt like it was coming together and Levi felt content as he grabbed his acoustic and began to strum absentmindedly, trying to figure out what his words sounded like in a melody. It was something simple, but he was happy with it. Hange was right, this song felt like him.

For the first time in a long time, he was writing about himself.

When Levi walked into the cafe promptly at 7 p.m., he let out a soft sigh. The smell of pastries, cinnamon, and coffee wrapped around him like a comforting embrace and he took a moment to appreciate the smells of autumn. He scanned around the cafe and found you sitting at a booth by the window, staring out at the street. Now that October had passed, the jack-o-lanterns and skeletons had been replaced with the warm glow of fairy lights and other various holiday decor. As he walked towards you, he found himself catching his breath at the warm glow the lights left on your skin. Pretty, he thought to himself. When you finally turned your head and caught his eye, you smiled at him with a wave. As pretty as he thought you were looking away from him, it had nothing on the way your eyes lit up at the sight of him. 

“Hey Levi,” you greeted as he finally made it to your table. He unwrapped his scarf from his neck and slipped out from his coat, setting them both neatly beside him on the leather seat of the booth. “I went ahead and ordered a little bit before you got here. Figured you’d look forward to something warm to fight the cold.” You gestured at the cream colored mugs that sat on the table and Levi cautiously inspected the one in front of him. The steam still rose from its contents and the smell of Earl Grey tea made his shoulders relax. He wasn’t a coffee person.

“Thanks,” Levi replied softly. “How’d you uh, how’d you know I prefer tea?”

You blushed as you looked away. “I was a little nervous,” you began, your attention once again on the sights outside. “I texted Eren on the way here and asked what kind of drink you preferred.” 

Levi felt himself blush and was thankful that you weren’t looking directly at him. He scoffed before taking a sip of his tea. Seems like Eren pays attention. “Nervous, huh?” He didn’t mean for it to come out as teasing as it did.

You finally turned your attention back to him. “Yeah,” you chewed your lip. “This is kind of an intimate project. Did you see the questions? It felt like some sort of first date survey.”

He nearly choked on his next sip. You were right, and now that you had pointed it out, Levi couldn’t help but fixate on the idea. A first date, he repeated to himself. He hoped the mug hid his blush.

“We don’t have to think of it that way,” you quickly added. Levi let out a soft chuckle at your panic. “I mean, not that it would be terrible, but this is for class so I think we can keep it professional and then be friends, which I guess would not really be prof-” 

“You’re rambling,” Levi cut you off. He felt relieved that he wasn’t the only one who was nervous about all of this, but he also took note of how you said it wouldn’t be terrible for this to be a date. He let out a sigh and set his mug down. “There’s no pressure at all. We can spend as much or as little time together as you’re comfortable with, and how we spend that time doesn’t have to be anything in particular. We could study, talk, or just sit here in silence too, if you wanted.” He hoped of course, that he’d see you more often, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t. He knew people saw him as somewhat unapproachable. Even people who scream his name at performances seem to tense up and freeze when they see him on campus. He didn’t want you to be one of them.

To his credit, his words did seem to have an effect on you and he watched your shoulders begin to relax as you reached for your own mug to take a sip. “Thanks,” you began. “Sometimes I get too in my own head. But you’re right. No pressure.”

Glad that you were finally more relaxed, he let a beat of silence sit comfortably between the two of you. When he first met you at that party, you seemed a lot more sure of yourself, not that you seemed unconfident now, but more that you handled interactions with new people in a charming, easy way that he couldn’t. It made him relax knowing he wasn’t the only one who tends to overthink things. He made a mental note to write that down for his assignment later.

It was much easier to just talk after that. Levi felt he had finally redeemed himself after that night where all he could say was “cool.” He was a man of few words… but not that few.

You told Levi about how you’d met Eren, Armin, and Mikasa. How Armin had come up to you at recess in elementary school after you had just moved to town and asked about the book you were reading. He was the first to speak to you, and Mikasa was the first to drag you along to their adventures. Eren, who was your next door neighbor, had declared himself your older brother when he found out you didn’t have one. “Everyone should have a big brother,” he had decided at 9 years old.

Levi told you about the band, why it was called No Name in the first place. He had started the band in high school with his best friends and kept it going since they somehow ended up at the same university. Hange wanted to call themselves The Titans “because it’s funny. Because you’re short.” And when Levi pounced across the table, Miche suggested The Walls which Levi hated even more. It wasn’t until Erwin dragged him back to his seat on the couch of Erwin’s apartment that Erwin decided, “If we can’t decide on a name, then we go with No Name.” And that was that.

Levi had found himself smiling at the memory, and chuckled at how long ago that was. Now, somehow, he had become the leader of the band, filling in Erwin’s role as a singer and at times, a mediator.

It was easy to be nostalgic with you, but maybe it was the tea, or the fairy lights that set him up. It wasn’t until both your mugs were halfway empty after a refill that Levi remembered to ask. “So why a cafe?” he asked curiously. 

Your eyes lit up as you began to speak. “Oh, right,” you began. “Remember how we were talking earlier about feelings that don’t have a name and I mentioned the first coffee run in autumn?” Levi nodded. “Well, I finally had some time today, and I thought I’d invite you to join me so you could feel it firsthand.”

Now that it was November, it was well past Levi’s first run to the cafe. In fact, he’d been here at least twice a week since September.

“I know that it’s really late into the season,” you spoke again as if you knew what he was thinking. “And I’ve had plenty of coffee since September. But I’d just been so busy that I hadn’t had a chance to actually sit down inside a cafe and enjoy a cup of coffee.” You smiled as you looked down into your mug.

This is nice, Levi thought to himself. “So what are you feeling?” Levi probed as he recalled your words from earlier. Something new, something good. This was definitely that.

“Like life is about to fall into place.”

Later that evening, Levi found himself itching for his phone to text you.

It had only been an hour since the two of you parted ways after he walked you to your car, but he already found himself thinking about when he would see you again. You were easy to talk to but you didn’t mind when he only had a few words to say either. It felt easy. He hadn’t been on many first dates but he knew that none of them had him feeling this way afterwards.

Levi: Hey Levi: Are you free tomorrow? We can meet again if you want.

Tomorrow? My place??  Levi had sent the message before he could think too hard about it. He shoved his phone under his pillow and walked out to the kitchen of his apartment. He grabbed a glass of water and leaned against the island, running a hand down his face. He took a sip and began to pace back and forth.

“Like a phone toss when it's risky and you hit send.”

He ran to his desk, momentarily forgetting about the phone, and wrote down the line. And another one. And another one. Until finally, he had a song. He took a deep breath before reaching under his pillow for his phone.

Coffee Addict (psych): I’m not busy :) where do you want to meet?

He thought for a second before an idea popped into his head.

Levi: You know the music studies building? Meet me on the basement floor.

And so the next day he found himself sitting on the floor across from you in a cramped practice room with his hands clasped on his lap. He’s not really sure what had come over him last night after asking you to meet him, but he can’t say he regretted inviting you either. In fact, he woke up bright and early, feeling that flutter again as he thought of seeing you.

“This is cozy,” you joked as you looked around. The room really was cramped, and with a standing piano against one wall of the room, it made it feel even smaller. He wasn’t used to sharing this space with other people, but he didn’t really mind sharing it with you.

He chuckled and shook his head. “Sorry it’s cramped, I know,” he acknowledged. “I just… I wanted to show you something.”

“Oh?” you asked. “What is it?”

Levi looked up at the piano before standing up and offering his hand out to you. A buzz in his fingertips. A flutter in his stomach. He sat down on the piano bench and patted the space beside him to his right. The bench was wide enough to fit both of you, but Levi didn’t miss the feeling of your leg pressed against his. Before he could overthink himself into a panic, he stretched his fingers over the keys and began to play.

“It’s the anticipation when the amps turn on Just cables and crackle. It’s the first flicker of the neon sign It’s the words stuck in your Adam’s apple.”

He glanced over at you before continuing on to the next verse. Your hands fidgeted in your lap, but you watched as his fingers moved across the keys.

“It’s a bumblebee on a blossom The first coffee shop run in autumn.”

You looked up at him, eyes wide as you recognized your own words.

“The song’s about to start, can you hear it? The door’s about to open, can you feel it? The flower’s about to fruit, can you see it? I’m about to fall for you.”

A buzz. A flutter. He knew what this was.

“About to fall for you.”

a/n: some more fun facts! This chapter was so fun to write. 1) Eren, who'd never admit it out loud, actually knows all his friends' go-to drinks. He often brings his bandmates drinks as apology for being late to practice 2) Armin is the biggest social butterfly of the group. He's just really kind and disarming. 3) I gave myself butterflies writing the scene where Levi is playing on the piano with you beside him.

[amyoffline]

In Defense of the Phandom (Mostly): Dan, Phil, and Our Parasocial Social Club

Refer to my previous pinned post for an explanation of and outline for this project. Now that I'm done going through my old reblogs (god, it took forever), it's time to actually research and write this script! Finally, my favorite part of any project. This will be my pinned post for the foreseeable future, so you can come back to by clicking on my blog for the current status of this part of the process. There will be a similar post for filming and editing once I get to that point, but for now, you can glance at how "full" the bar below each section is for a quick idea of where the script is. Or you can expand the post to see more details.

Script word count: 2,350 | Last updated: January 9, 2025

Research

Peer-reviewed or published literature: ⚫︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ Social media, forum archives, and fanwork: ⚫︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ The great rewatch: ⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ Discussions with other phannies (hey! that could be you, if you want!): ⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎

Writing

Introduction, background, and conclusion sections: ⚫︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ 2009-2013: ⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ 2014-2018: ⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ 2019-2025: ⚫︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ Long tangents (fandom, RPF, and PSIs/PSRs): ⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ Editing: ⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎

More details below the cut!

Research → peer reviewed or published literature:

I read a few things (like Haidt's The Anxious Generation) while I was in the process of searching academic databases, but most of the 403 works I have saved to Zotero for this are currently unread. They're not all the same length or will take the same amount of time to read, so the completion proportion is just getting updated based on vibes. I'm absolutely not referencing all 403 of these things in the script - I just cast a wide net for materials I thought might be relevant. Furthermore, there are some things I didn't save that I know I'll be referencing, like some of the Pew Research Center's work in the early to mid 2010s on teenagers and technology, or the journalistic coverage of what got my school district in huge trouble in 2011.

Research → Social media and forum archives:

The collection of posts, art, and fic (other than mine) to reference in the video. For regular posts and art, especially by people who have long since abandoned their accounts or whose content went pretty viral, I feel comfortable just showing things in the video with credit as examples. For fic, I intend to just discuss trends more broadly and vaguely since, as a fic writer myself, I know we tend to get more flack and less acclaim for our work and therefore prefer to stay out of the spotlight. Let me know if you think I should handle this differently - the academic impulse is to credit sources and reproducible searches for every single thing you do, but that's definitely not best practice for phandom history since we have so much "forbidden" lore. I'll also be reading the IDB forum front-to-back, listening to things like the phandom podcast, reading the current generation of phanzines, and looking at recent (and historical, if anyone has any) surveys done of phannies within the community. I'm assuming those folks would appreciate credit and/or a shoutout.

Research → The great rewatch:

Rewatching everything DNP-related so I can talk about it from more recent memory (and read what's left of the original comments for DNP videos that are still up at their original locations). I know there's a playlist for this but I also know it's incomplete, so I have been doing some poking around myself and will probably continue to.

Research → Discussions with other phannies:

I read a few things (like Haidt's The Anxious Generation) while I was in the process of searching academic databases, but most of the 403 works I have saved to Zotero for this are currently unread. They're not all the same length or will take the same amount of time to read, so the completion proportion is just getting updated based on vibes. I'm absolutely not referencing all 403 of these things in the script - I just cast a wide net for materials I thought might be relevant. Furthermore, there are some things I didn't save that I know I'll be referencing, like some of the Pew Research Center's work in the early to mid 2010s on teenagers and technology, or the journalistic coverage of what got my school district in huge trouble in 2011. The first task is to sort that whole Zotero collection into more manageable sub-collections (on PSR on PSIs, on mental health, on YouTube platform history, etc), which is what I'm currently working on.

Writing → Introduction, background, and conclusion sections

See old pinned post for the outline. Will expand details here once research is mostly done (I plan to read and watch everything in the research section aside from talking to other phannies, then complete the script's rough draft, then talk to others on call, then integrate that with and finalize the script).

Writing → 2009-2013

See above.

Writing → 2014-2018

See above.

Writing → 2019-2025

See above.

Writing → Long tangents (fandom, RPF, and PSRs/PSIs)

See above. These tangents are kind of mini video essays in and olf themselves, so I may write them while I'm reading through my saved stuff in Zotero and before I rewatch all the DNP videos.

[sotwk]

How I have been officially infected with Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers brainrot:

I'm about to complete and post my second Bucky one-shot in four days. In case you didn't know, that is record-breaking fic writing speed for me.

Within those same 4 days, I gained 7 new followers that are all Bucky/Sebastian blogs. Hello, New Friends!

Last night, after I slept off a low-grade fever, I woke up with two new fully-fleshed ideas for Steve x Reader one-shots.

I'm listening to Love Song playlists these days, and I swear every other song I hear sparks another Bucky or Steve romance idea. Like, what even is this?!

It's not like this MCU obsession is unprecedented; before returning to Tolkien, I did Marvel roleplay for a solid 10 years. My total creative output would have been hundreds of thousands of words written, just not in fic format.

What does that mean for this blog and my writing?

Let's be absolutely clear that this is still and will remain a Tolkien-centric blog! I'm just running with the inspiration and writing energy I'm getting from these two blorbos. I haven't made any real progress on my Tolkien fics for many weeks, and I just need to write. I'm sure you all get it. :)

I'm sure the brainrot will calm down and I will make it back to Tolkien "regular programming".

My MCU Masterlist is going to grow, and I would really appreciate it if any of my Mutuals who are in the MCU fandom could show the fics a little love. (and thank you to those who already have!)

If I can somehow convert some Mutuals into loving these two characters, that would just be the BEST ACHIEVEMENT!

PS. I've been wanting to get a Corkcicle coffee mug for a while now, and THIS design happened to be on sale, so I snagged it! If that's not a Sign, I don't know what is.

[tessabennet]

Hello my friends

So. It's been five years, give or take. There was a worldwide pandemic, I got two and a half-ish degrees, I got diagnosed with epilepsy, I lost my dad and my grandpa, I worked various jobs, international politics have been nothing short of awful for a long time now... Yeah. It's been stressful, the whole time I was writing What I'm Looking For.

And in all this time, in between all of that, working on this massive project has been a comfort that I can't even begin to describe. This was something I could dive into when I was at my worst, in all this time, even when it felt like this series was the only thing that I was doing well. It was something that kept me going and that I'm proud of having finished.

Having said this much, I don't want to make some stupid kind of speech about being done with posting now. For most people, this is probably not as big a deal as it is for me. But I totally will make this a speech, because I have some things to say that mean too much to me to leave them unsaid.

You may already know that I first started writing These City Walls as an excercise to practice writing dialogue. At the time, a lot of what I did came from a place of frustration, with myself and especially with the MCU. But the more I worked on it, the more I realised that this fanfic stuff wasn't going to be a one-time thing, and I'm glad I decided to make this a longer series. And it kept getting longer, the more I thought about, outlined, and finally wrote it.

And throughout this whole journey, there were people that I want to mention, now that we're at the end of it. Starting with girlbookwrm, whose Hundred Year Playlist was the initial inspiration for huge chunks of this series (please go read it, it'samazing). And then, I have to mention @jesuschristtakethewheel, who was my beta reader for the first two parts of the series, and who encouraged me to start publishing it in the first place. I also have to say a huge thank you to @the-littlefangirl, who I've only gotten to know because of this series, who occasionally served as my test audience, and who, I can honestly say, is one of my best friends today.

There's a lot more people I want to thank, and those are my amazing, incredible, wonderful, and lovely regular commenters. You guys have been a rock for me to hold on to for so long. There's @haluton with their excited (and at times incoherent) screaming at me, there's @numberonestuckyshipper with her never-ending kindness to me and my writing, there's @smlmsworld who never gets tired of recommending my work, there's @hipsterdiva who approaches my fanfic like it's an actual piece of literature that deserves analysing, there's @mythicalmxyhem who's been with my series from so early on, and there's @radicalpeachie who made amazing fanart for me. I only know a lot of people here because this fic made me part of the stucky community. And then on AO3, there's PanamaRed, Jo_Dee, kawherp, saturns_moons, SaphDragon494, helloilovefanfiction, TylOcephale, AlwaysAkin, shakleton2, dxzei, Shinigami24, thisisalright, theearthisntflatatall, kingandlionheart, crazyjane, machka, and many, many more that I'm really, really scared of forgetting here. If you guys are here on tumblr, please let me know so I can follow you. And to anyone else reading this: if somehow you aren't on this list but feel like you should be, I agree that you should and apologise. Believe me, I recognised your name in my emails every time and I love you very, very much!

I can never thank you guys enough for the praise and support I've gotten from you over the years. Every single comment still means the world to me, and I'll no doubt always go back to them when I'm feeling bad or need a boost in confidenc. My life will definitely change now that I probably won't wake up to all those lovely comments as often anymore.

This is exactly why I'll be selfish and ask anyone who might still read or reread the series to consider leaving more comments and kudos. Or if you want to, feel free to create fanart and link it to the fic. Consider this my blanket statement: you can translate it, podfic it (you'll be my hero if you do that actually), make playlists, write your own spin-off based on it - just please link it to the series and let me know so I can share it too. It would mean the world to me if you don't let this fic die just yet.

(Also, just as a shot in the dark: In case you know someone who works at Disney or Marvel or happens to be a talent scout for publishers, please recommend me and my writing to them. That would be the cooles possible thing to come out of all this.)

In the meantime, I'll keep writing. I've been working more on original stuff this whole year, and if I ever publish a "real" book, I'll be sure to let you know. And more recently I've also been toying with some ideas for possible spin-off stories in the What I'm Looking For universe, so who knows? Whatever they could be, those fics probably wouldn't me stucky-centric. But maybe I'll write and publish them at some point - you never know.

For now, this is it anyway. And I don't want to be didactic or patronizing about this in any way. It's just, if there's even one thing you can take away from my version of this story and these characters, I hope it's that there's nuance in the world. Perspective matters, empathy matters, and so does understanding. And with that in mind, I think there's hope. I have to believe that, no matter how dark and dire the world seems at times. Steve and Bucky managed to go back to Brooklyn. We'll be fine too.

So yes, for now this is it. And for a while now I've been thinking about how to say goodbye to this fic. I still don't know. I'm not sure I want to. And I definitely don't want to say goodbye to all the lovely people I got to know, all the amazing friends I made because of it. And if you want to, you can come talk to me whenever you like, I really mean that. My asks are open and you can dm me any time. You guys have been the greatest audience I could've asked for. I wasn't expecting anything when I started posting - never could I have imagined that one day my stupid writing exercise would mean so much to some people. I love you all, each and every one. I'll miss you.

And finally, now that I'm all emotional about this anyway, I'll say this last thing: next year's gonna be different, but that doesn't mean it can't be a good year. I hope it will be, for all of us. Please stick around. I love you so much, and you mean the world to me. So - goodbye, guys. And, from all my heart: Happy New Year 💜