#and that comes with exactly the same things

[k0mmari]

Hello so i saw this post about an au idea where without a cure being more deadly and i humbly request if you could draw jinlin arc binghe and others(gongi-xiao, lpm, opm) reaction to peak lord shen (who looks like Kagaya Ubuyashiki from demon slayer because of without a cure)

This has entered my brain in ways I cannot describe, so I had to cook something up. First and foremost, the reactions:

Basically, Without a Cure here is quite deadly, but only if a person has Heart Demons. Shen Qingqiu doesn't remember exactly the explantion Airplane had bullshited - something something the poison eats away at your body and then your soul, and Heart Demons only aggravate it - but it didn't really concern him. In fact, he was quite satisfied with life when he was poisoned anyways, and he could deal with sitting with Liu-shidi every so often for qi transfers.

That is, until the Immortal Alliance Conference happened, and he had to...

Anyways, suddenly Without a Cure got a bit more... violent. A week after the whole Conference thing, Shen Qingqiu's hand started to show some weird bruises where he'd been poisoned, and no matter how much qi transfer Liu Qingge, or Mu Qingfang (or even Yue Qingyuan) tried, it wouldn't go away, and no medicine or herb would help him either.

A few months later and the bruising had swalowed up his whole forearm, now dry and brittle, and whatever muscle he had there seemed to begin to atrophy. So. That's not good.

Well, whatever! Shen Qingqiu wasn't about to let Mu Qingfang waste any more herbs on him, and it's not like he has any Heart Demons to figure out; and anyways, Binghe was going to come back from the Abyss and kill him anyways, so who cares! He'd just started to wear a golden metal gauntlet over his messed up hand and called it a day, and when Yue Qingyuan mentioned Jin Lang City, he was more than happy to get out of the Peak for a little bit.

Things went mostly the same as you know, up until when Shen Qingqiu got infected: this time he just... didn't. Whoever tried to infect him touched the gauntlet instead of his skin, and when Binghe cornered him, he obviously noticed the new addition of the gauntlet.

Once again, the story continues normally until the accusations started to get thrown Shen Qingqiu's way, though this time, a Huan Hua disciple accuses him of siding with a demon because he was unnafected when one of demons touched him, they saw it all! And when Shen Qingqiu explains it was because of the gauntlet, people get even more suspecious. Why does he need to use it in the first place? Is he trying to hide some demonic marks or something?

Mu Qingfang tries to step in and say it's for medical reasons, because of Without a Cure, but when the Old Palace Master says he'd seen Shen Qingqiu after he was poisoned in the Immortal Alliance Conference, his hand had been normal then.

It becomes chaos, weirder and weirder accusations start to sprout (and Qiu Haitang hasn't even said anything yet), and Shen Qingqiu takes it upon himself to at least try to free himself from one accusation he isn't guilty of. So, he takes everything off, the gauntlet, his outer layers, and shows everyone the state of Without a Cure.

Silence falls for one long minute. All eyes are on Shen Qingqiu's rotten body, and he kinda wants to cry.

And then Qiu Haitang steps forward, and it all goes back to normal. Maybe. When the Old Palace Master says that Shen Qingqiu should be locked in the Water Prison, Mu Qingfang steps forward: they all saw him, he is in no condition to stay in a harsh environment! It takes a bit more back and forth, but eventually, finally, Luo Binghe steps forward and agrees with Mu Qingfang's accessment.

Shizun should not be locked in the Water Prison while his health is in such a fragile state. Instead, Shizun shall stay with him.

[bibliomatcha]

𝐁𝐎𝐁𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐏 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 𖹭.ᐟ

synopsis: reader is a host for a youtube interview show where the premise is a fake date with idols in a boba tea shop. (inspired by chicken shop date)

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐍 the opportunity to interview south korea’s most popular and attractive boyband, the saja boys!

a week before the interview, you did extensive research on the saturated boyband to avoid asking the same repetitive, and borderline shady, questions that most interviewers asked celebrities.

well, you tried to, anyway.

“what the hell…?” you rubbed your temple as you sat slouched and annoyed in front of your computer. the blue light not doing any favors for your tired, burning eyes.

surprisingly, any backgroud information about the saja boys’ past or even uprising is either vague or entirely nonexistent. it’s as if the boys didn’t even exist before their debut, like they just spawned out of thin air one day.

for three days, you pulled all-nighter after all-nighter trying to find reliable sources about each member’s past, only to find headcanons made by pride, shipping wars, and nasty rumors made up by anti-stans.

you let out a defeated groan.

at this point, i’m beginning to question if they’re industry plants…

you looked at your notebook on the side of your desk. what was supposed to be a page or two of good questions to ask the saja boys was instead filled with: where the fuck did ya’ll come from? are ya’ll aware you’re being shipped with each other? know anything about industry plants?, etc.

yup. a clear cry for help.

the only thing you really had going for you were questions about their music and lyricism, specifically on why all of their songs are about consumption.

there’ve been many theories by pride on why all of their songs involved consuming, that the lyrics could be hinting at something deeper. some fans even noted that if you just read the lyrics of each saja boy song without listening to the music, the tone changes from bubblegum to…ominous.

of course, there’s the other half of the pride that chalks it all up to the boys just being really into cunnilingus. so there’s that.

𖹭

meeting the saja boys for the first time was…an experience.

before you could even introduce yourself, mystery was in your face, barking at you like he was a stray dog whose tail you just stepped on. he got snatched back so fast by jinu, their leader.

“we’re so sorry!" he bent over 90 degrees in apology, forcing mystery to do the same. you could tell jinu had a vice grip on the back of mystery’s neck by the way his veins were protruding on his hand.

before you could recover from the shock, romance was then in your face, cooing at how pretty you were.

“never met a girl as pretty as you. what’s your name, angel?”

“i-"

once again, jinu snatched romance by the neck and gripped his head down in apology just like mystery before him.

“please excuse him!"

“ow! watch the hair!"

abby looked like he was about to act a fool, too, but froze when he caught sight of jinu side-eyeing him with a look that threatened a brutal murder.

𖹭

the interview itself was even more chaotic and it wasn’t entirely because of the saja boys.

your interviewing style wasn’t exactly conventional. celebrities are often treated like spectacles or descended deities by hosts’, but you ran your show by treating guests like old friends on a unserious date. in addition, you refused to invite or accept requests of celebs you didn’t like onto your show. you’ve even been cancelled by parasocial fans for deleting your interviews with celebs who were later exposed for being either bigots or criminals.

jinu was a gentlemen throughout the entire interview. during the bands introduction, he thanked you sincerely for having them on your show. he offered his full, undivided attention to you and praised you on how good your questions were. a skill you felt very prideful about.

you did notice something odd, however.

"as the composer and co-producer of the group, i'm curious about when your journey with music began? would you mind sharing, jinu?"

that's when you noticed it.

despite it being so subtle that you could miss it with a blink. you saw how his face twitched. how his eyes darkened as they glazed over for just a second. it may have been a trick of the light, but in that second, you swore you saw his eyes glow. the air of the room shifted, too.

it didn't help that the other boys suddenly fell quiet. it felt like you were being were being given a silent warning to not ask the wrong thing. but what was the wrong thing to ask?

you attempted to correct your mistake.

"i apologize if it's a sensitive topic, we'll cut this ou-"

"no." jinu snapped from his daze and swiftly switched back into his idol persona. "it's okay, i don't mind answering." he smiled, but it hardly reached his eyes.

the air in the room felt lighter again, though.

many pressing questions swirled in your mind, and your curiousty only grew when jinu's answer felt so vague and fabricated.

seriously, are these guys industry plants?

𖹭

romance was staring at you the entire time as if you were a painting in the louvre. you noticed that whenever you asked him question, he took a long sip of his milk tea while making prolonged eye contact. his aim was obviously to fluster you, so you decided to match his energy.

“you know, romance, out of all members, you’re the one i did the most research on?”

“oh?" he raised a brow, tilting his head on his palm. "you find me that interesting?"

“of course, it’s important to know things about my future husband.”

romance felt his cold heart take a screenshot. hosts' were usually flustered just by his presence alone, but none were ever so bold to flirt back. he turned his head to the side, covering his face with the back of his hand.

abby whistled. “damn, that was smooth."

𖹭

as usual during interviews, baby was polite and acting cute, but you noticed that there was an air of disinterest emitting from him. wanting to change that, you presented him with a twelve pack of the spiciest hot sauce in south korea and told him that if he could drink a whole boba tea version of the sauce in five minutes, he could keep the pack.

immediately, his demeanor switched from cute to daredevil.

you watched in equal horror and awe as he chugged the hellish boba down in a single minute. the boys cheered for him, minus jinu, who just looked done with everything.

afterwards, baby became engaged in the interview, even asking you questions about yourself and your show, all of which you happily answered.

𖹭

you don't know how it happened, but somehow, as you were interviewing the muscle of the group...you winded up sitting on abby's back as he did twenty sets of pushups while the rest of the boys were trying to break him as a challenge.

out all the boys, romance was oddly putting in the most effort to make abby fail.

if someone had told you that becoming a host would lead you to sitting on a handsome rich mans back, you would've laughed in their face. but, atlast, here you are doing just that.

"you know," abby grunted. "i've never held a girl like this before."

"are you saying i'm special?" you joked.

you shifted a bit when abby chuckled. you quickly adjusted yourself to avoid a nasty fall.

"don't worry, i won't drop you."

"good," you sat up straight. "this is the greatest moment of my whole career. i don't want it to be ruined."

you could've sworn you heard romance mutter something under his breath, but chose to ignore it.

as much fun as you were having though, you definitely felt anxiety building up.

should i keep this in the video? my sasaeng senses are tingling like crazy.

𖹭

you had a slight beef with mystery that you couldn’t shake off since your first interaction. when he was in the middle of answering your question, you felt the sudden urge to hiss at him for revenge...so you did. mystery, as well as the other boys, fell silent as he stared at you with his mouth agape.

“yea, how do you like it?" you smirked, starring him down with a challenging look in your eyes.

jinu side-eyed mystery with tight lips. “mystery, don-"

“GRRR!!!"

the last few minutes of the interview was you and mystery trying to assert dominance on the other with hisses, growls, barking, and evening roaring. this continued for awhile with most of it edited out of the video.

“uh, should we stop this.” abby cringed.

“nah, i wanna see who wins.” baby leaned forward on the table, drinking the last of his boba.

romance held a hand to his heart. “even when she’s growling, she’s angelic."

fuck my life. jinu facepalmed.

thank you for reading, ya'll ₍₍⚞(˶˃ ꒳ ˂˶)⚟⁾⁾ it's been so much fun FINALLY writing for these dorks !! it feels so good to be a part of a new fandom with rich content aaaa !!!

[dark-magician-girl-meets-world]

It's worth going a little into why this way of talking about art is fascist. Fascists have a complicated relationship with freedom. On the one hand, they love to portray themselves as powerful, vigorous, tearing through opposition that seeks to hold them down and asserting themselves above all. On the other hand, they want to be told exactly what to do at all times. They want a cultural tradition enforced by violence that will guide every major decision of their lives down to their personal appearance and spiritual beliefs. Are these contradictory? Yes, to some extent, though it's worth remembering that fascists always imagine themselves as the ones in charge of the oppressive political violence, not, as they are much more likely to be, the ones subjected to it. With that in mind, they fit together a lot better. Now, apply that to art. On the one hand, art has to make you feel powerful and free. On the other hand, it can't actually come from a place of freedom. Artists can't be allowed to experiment and disagree. The artistic world must all speak with one aesthetic and one message, so that fascists can be led by it. It has to be their GPS, and it has to be shackled to a simple rhythm so that they are never confused by what it's telling them to do. The ball here is only ever so slightly hidden, as this person pretends to be okay with any art being produced so long as we reach total agreement on what art is good. But that's also impossible in an actual free world. People not only make different art but value art differently, and fascists can't stand that. It scares and disgusts them, and they have to pretend that there is a universal instinct underneath that difference that's been corrupted somehow. There isn't. Fascists like freedom as a catchphrase, but they hate it in practice, because freedom leads to variety and richness and exploration, and all of those things are against the fascist love of conformity, for movement in one single, lockstep forward motion. All of that leads them to this awful, sterile view of art, where art has to be always the same, always simple, and always flattering them for their fascism. If it was anything else, it would make them feel uncomfortable and they are too rigid and immature to feel uncomfortable.

Tag yourself as this list of “bad art” features, according to a twitter fascist

[brokenengene]

✩ ‧ ₊˚ share one seat - y.jw

He won the race. But when she takes control in the backseat? That’s when he learns what winning really feels like.

pairing: racecar driver!jungwon x pit crew!fem reader

genre: NASCAR au, smut, sports romance

This content is only for readers 18+

content warning: strong language, explicit sexual content, car sex (obviously), oral sex (f + m receiving), subby!jungwon, angst, emotional tension, power dynamic themes, suggestive dialogue, light dom/sub, dirty talk, car innuendos,

word count: 11k

soundtrack: sports car-tate mcrae/ dear god- tate mcrae/ collide(solo version) - justine skye

The last thing you needed was a last-minute switch-up. 

You bend over the open hood of one of Toyota's fastest race cars. Your arms are already elbow-deep in grease and grime. The familiar smell of oil and grime fills the air of the cold garage.

 There's race tonight, and you were tasked with making sure every detail was perfect. 

This job is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Especially for a woman, even more so for a woman like you. 

It wasn’t easy, it seemed like every day there was another backhanded compliment, another guy staring too hard at your boobs. You didn’t take shit, and soon the whole crew knew exactly the type of woman you were. 

You got word this morning that there’s a new rookie in town. Flown in straight from South Korea last night. 

Bold move.

To say the least, you're not excited to meet him. You’ve seen it enough times. Boys all talk, no real bite. Cocky and reckless.

You were sure this new rookie was the same. 

You’ve seen it time and time again how quick they ruin their image.

He probably won’t last a month before the sponsors pull him out.

You check the racecar's oil before taking a dirty rag to clean your hands from the grease. To be sure, you take one last look under the car hood.

Looks perfect, so you shut the front hood with a loud slam that echoes off the walls.

You step back, admiring the car. You truly do have a love for them. It’s sexy the way it sits low to the ground, ready to take off at max speed across the startling line.

The way the body is welded to curve against the wind. The deep crimson is decorated with vinyls from sponsors. 

And his name is already there, freshly painted in white onto the side of the racecar—

Y.Jungwon

You roll your eyes. 

You open the garage door, letting the sunlight in through the cracks. In the distance, you see the figure of a young man approaching the door. Helmet held loosely at his side, fireproof suit already zipped to his collar. 

Jungwon. 

You cross your arms and lean against the car as he comes into view. He’s prettier than you expected. Too pretty.

His eyes are big and round, dark pools that reflected the harsh rays of the sun. His skin a smooth, glassy porcelain.

Guess he is hot shit. 

None of the other rookies were this pretty, you'll give him that. 

Your eyes linger as he steps closer. His suit hugged his figure perfectly, the leather settling into every curve of his muscles. 

Shit…

He walks into the garage like he’s already won the damn race. A smirk on his lips and confidence in his stride.

You’re already sick of it. 

“That’s all for me?” Jungwon asks with a playful smirk as he steps into the garage, his eyes flicking between you and the car. 

“Wow, not even an introduction, typical,” you say, rolling your eyes again.

The things you would give for this season to be over already.

“Name's Jungwon, figured you already knew since it’s you know painted on the side of the car?” He teases as he lets a gloved hand trace across the edges of his new racecar, right across his painted name.

“By any chance, do you know where I could find my Crew Chief?” Jungwon asks, tearing his gaze away from the car to glance at you. 

Here you are standing in front of him covered in oil. Your mechanic's uniform is tied loosely around your waist to keep you cool.

You’re just left in a grimy white tank, showing off your collarbone and cleavage. Again, you weren’t expecting to meet him so soon.

You let the question hang thick in the air. His eyes drag shamelessly down your figure, gaze lingering on your waist and hips before your voice snaps him back to reality. 

“You’re looking right at her—“

If Jungwon had a drink in his mouth, he would’ve spit it out. His eyes go wide. No way. You? Crew Chief? 

“Y–you? M–my?.” He says a voice frantically stuttering... He wasn’t expecting a woman, let alone one just his type, to be his new track guide. 

“Here to make sure you step off that track in one piece,” you say playfully. Clapping your hands together to remove the rest of the dirt.

Jungwon chuckles before rounding the car to stand right in front of you.

He extends a gloved leather hand. You glance down at it, hesitating.

Of course, you want to win; if you want a good season, you know the two of you need to work together.

So you push down the hard feelings for now. For your sake and Toyota's. 

Your heart skips a beat as you take his hand, feeling how warm it is underneath the leather. It’s just a handshake, but the gesture feels like so much more. 

Hell, this boy's life is in your hands now. 

Guess the stakes are high. 

Later that night, you arrive at the racetrack. The stands are illuminated with bright white lights. The crowd thumping and cheering loudly.

You’ve changed out of your mechanical attire into your uniform. The same crimson red that was also painted across the racecar. 

You immediately snap into work mode, barking orders to your crew. Checking that extra tires are in place, and that there’s plenty of fuel on standby. 

You watch as Jungwon slips into his gear. Cheeks flushing as you glance at how the leather holds his body.

Too bad that cocky smirk ruins his whole build.

“Jungwon, you’ve got 15 minutes before countdown —“ you stay sternly through your headset. 

It cuts into silence as you drag your boots across the scorching asphalt toward the loading dock where Jungwon and the car are stationed.

Jungwon fixes his posture as he sees you approaching. Like he’s trying to cover up jet lag and nerves all at once. 

You chuckle to yourself as you approach him with a confident smile. 

“You ready for this?” You ask breathlessly as you glance at his expression. Jaw tight, shoulders tense, chipping at his confidence. 

You step closer to him, and the smell of leather and cologne makes your head spin. He lets you in his space until there are only a few inches between you. 

“Never been more ready.” He replies with a cocky tone. Lips curving into a smile.

But you heard it, that tremble in his voice. 

Jungwon dips low into the driver's side of the car. Exhaling sharply as he leans back against the seat.

His hands already trembling and he doesn’t exactly know why. 

You bend down, leaning across him to grab the harness straps. His breath hitches as your warm body presses up against the hard planes of his own. He nearly moans at the scent of you. Motor oil mixed with citrus—enough to drive a man crazy. 

“Just breathe for me,” you say, your voice is the softest it’s been all night.

You can tell he’s nervous even if he tries to cover it up. The way his breath catches in his throat, the way his hands are glued to his side.

You pull the harness gently, glancing up to look into his eyes. 

Jungwon nods. His cheeks flushed as he looked down at you. His chest rises and falls, and his heart races in his chest.

You're convinced it’s not entirely because of the adrenaline of the race. 

“I’m not that nervous…” he says even though his tone of voice betrayed his words. 

You bite back laughter as you pull the straps tighter, biting your lip as you hear him gasp sweetly beneath you. 

“Jungwon, you listen to me. You follow my orders, okay? No tricks, no showing off. You come out of that race in one piece. You hear me?” You say, voice dropping low as you let your fingertips shamelessly rest on his sides.  

“Y-yes ma’am…” Jungwon chokes out. His cheeks are red, bright red. His breath is shaky with nerves and heat. He shifts awkwardly in his seat as he feels himself strangely turned on by the gesture.

Your fingertips slide up his sides, brushing across his muscles and chest to adjust the radio cord dangerously close to the pale skin of his neck. 

He flinches at your touch, heart thumping, cheeks burning. Eyes lingering on every place of your body that they shouldn’t. 

His lips parted as he looked down at you, scanning your collarbone and chest. His breath is hot against your skin as he noticed the way that crimson suit hugs the curves of your body.

“My tits make a better view when I ride—trust me.” You say with a playful tone before letting your palm playfully thump against his hard chest. A slick smile on your lips as you see his reaction.

“What?! I wasn’t, you–I didn’t mean–“ Jungwon stutters out. Like he wants to snap back, retaliate—anything. 

But you’ve already completely wrecked him with your words. 

You watch his jaw visibly drop as you pull away with a soft chuckle the corners of your lips tugged up.

You look at him strapped into the driver's seat, obviously, painfully hard. 

“You do good out there, and maybe I’ll help you with some of that tension,” you say, voice dripping with promise as you gesturing playfully to his more than obvious boner.

His breathing is heavy, thighs parted on the leather seat. The fireproof covering his skin all of a sudden, feeling too hot and tight.

You shut the car door before he can respond. Jungwon looks like he’s going to pass out through the window.

He swiftly pulls on his helmet in an attempt to spare him from any more embarrassment before he turns on his radio. Your voice rings in his ear as you stride back towards your pit box.

“Don’t fuck this up rookie..comm check in five.”

✩ ✩ ✩

You get situated back in your communication tower overlooking the racetrack. You glance down at the rainbow of cars lining up at the starting line as you adjust the headset over your hair.

The adrenaline of the race is already starting to affect you. The engines rumble beneath the track, and the crowd roars with cheering fans.

This is it.

“Radio check…” You say into the mic as you spot Jungwon’s crimson Toyota lined up by the starting line.

“Check,” Jungwon gasps, his voice cutting sharply through the static. His hands grip the steering wheel with bruising strength as he fights the ache you left in his pants. 

“You nervous?” You ask, voice low and teasing. You know you shouldn’t toy with him, but you’re enjoying his reactions a little too much.

“A little, mostly excited though,”  Jungwon answers comfortably as he waits at the starting line, the engine roaring beneath him as he stalls for the green light.

“Mhmm, I could tell,” you say playfully. 

Jungwon almost whimpers into the other side of the headset.

The ref starts to count down, and Jungwon locks his focus on the track ahead. His head swims with the purr of the engine, the roar of the crowd, and the sound of your voice in his ear.

And the memory of your promise to relieve the tension, if he’s good. 

“Remember the plan, stay low on the first two laps, stay on the inside then—”

“Strike from the back—got it.” Jungwon finishes confidently as he settles into the driver's seat. He puts all his focus on the race.

He knows Toyota is taking a chance on him. He can’t screw this up.

On the count of three, the red light turns green, and he doesn’t waste a second before slamming on the gas pedal. The engine roars as his car shoots forward across the starting line.

“Good pace…” You mutter into the microphone, hands gripping the edge of your desk, as you try to keep your heart from racing. You watch as he stays centered on the track just like you planned. 

“Brake, don't blow your load on the first round—” You command deeply into the mic. 

Jungwon gasps, gripping the wheel even tighter, his racecar slightly falling out of line.

“Shit—god I'm driving 200 miles an hour, you can’t—“He gasps as he's nearly pushed into the steel barrier lining the racetrack by the other cars.

He grips the wheel tight, pulling it sharply to the left to fall back in line, finding his rhythm in the middle of the race. 

“Come on, left Jungwon, left.” You pant into the microphone as you watch him clear the first lap. 

Two more to go.

Your adrenaline is pumping. Ears ringing, and palms clammy as you watch the race from above.

Even though it’s just a qualifying race, it’s his chance to prove he’s worth the shot.

And a win tonight would prove you’re more than just a mechanic with a pretty face.

Jungwon grips the wheel tighter, pushing back towards the inside. 

You smile down at the track as you watch. He's good, real good. Just watching him drive is already proving your initial assumptions wrong.

You’re starting to like this rookie.

“Fuck Jungwon," you whisper into the headset as you watch him take fifth place, then fourth.

“You enjoying this?” He gasps, his cocky tone returning to his voice now that he's got a shot at the win.

“Hell yeah, I’m enjoying this. Come on, show me what you’ve got on this last lap.” You say calmly. 

“If you win, maybe I'll show you what I can do on yours.” You say into the headset with a dangerous smirk, cheeks flushing as you imagine the moment.

The second your voice hits his ears, Jungwon slams on the gas, riding tight in third place.

It’s risky.

Cold sweat already runs down his neck and chest as he holds his position.

You stutter, there he goes, being reckless.

“Fall back, don’t—” You say firmly into the mic as he pushes up close behind the winning cars.

“There's an opening, I'm fucking taking it,” Jungwon grunts as he aggressively slams on the gas. Gritting his teeth as he keeps his body tight against the seat.

“Jungwon, don’t! There's not enough space!” you yell into the microphone.

God, maybe you spoke too soon. This idiot is going to get himself killed before he even has a shot at the Daytona 500.

Your words are no use, his car engine roars as he takes the opening. His racecar nearly spiraled and clipped another. You wince as you open your eyes to glance at the board.

Y. Jungwon.

Second place.

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. Your grip on your headset immediately loosens.

He’s almost to the finish line.

Jungwon pushes his car to the limit, holding his place. Adrenaline is racing between both of you.

You grip your headset to the ground yourself, leaning on the desk, watching the white finish line painted below.

He’s tight in second, neck and neck with first. You hold your breath as he rounds the corner and crosses the finish line. 

His car flies across. It’s close. 

So close.

You don’t even want to look, but you force your eyes to look back up at the screen. Your jaw nearly drops. 

Y.Jungwon 

First Place. 

You can hardly believe it.

You rip the headset off your head and run down the pit tower's stairs. Boots hitting the asphalt hard as you finally reach the track. 

Jungwon’s car comes to a halt right in front of the winner's box. The door opens, and he struggles to stumble out hazy and breathless. Adrenaline still pumping through his veins. 

Immediately cameras flash and reporters swarm him. Jungwon flinches as he pulls the helmet off his head. His dark hair sticking to his forehead from the sweat.

He winces at the camera's flashing before he can even process what happened.

“Yang Jungwon has just won his first qualifying race with NASCAR! One of the youngest in history! How do you feel!?”

“Yang Jungwon has blown it out of the water tonight. Could he be NASCAR’s biggest new star?”

The overwhelming chatter surrounds Jungwon as cameras and microphones are shoved into his face.

He holds his helmet at his side, swiftly answering the reporters and posing for the photographers like it’s second nature. 

You push through the reporters and television crew in an attempt to get to him. Bumping shoulders and weaving through the crowd as fast as you can. 

“Excuse me! I need to get through!” You gasp as you weave through the crowd, no one paying any attention to your pleas. 

Everyone besides Jungwon.

His eyes light up as he hears your voice in the crowd. You’re almost there when he reaches out and grabs your wrist and pulling you through the barricade of reporters. 

“Jungwon! I told you no stunts.” You say firmly. Brows furrowing in an attempt to fake anger. 

Jungwon signals for the reporters to turn away. Reluctantly all the camera shutters come to a stop. 

Before you know it, it’s just you and him leaning up against the racecar, engine still burning hot. 

“It wasn’t a stunt. I had a clear opening, you just need to trust me more.” Jungwon says, almost breathless, like he’s still winded by the intensity of the race. 

The rest of the world seems to fade into the background. The cool night air blows around you, and the lights start to dim as more and more people start to exit the stands. 

“Not bad for a rookie…” you say softly. Your tone is no longer mocking or antagonizing. Without the press, it’s sweet and truthful. 

Jungwon holds his helmet in his other free hand, hesitating as he reaches out. Is this too fast? Too soon? 

You step closer, the space between you dissolving by the minute. Jungwon glances into your eyes, his dark eyes scan over the features of your face. 

There it goes again, heat rushing to flush his cheeks and ears.

He’s only just arrived in America, he’s just won his first race—

And his new Crew Chief is making his heart flutter. 

With a sharp breath, he rips off his driving glove with his teeth, tossing it to the ground without care. 

If he’s going to touch you, he wants to feel it.

Skin on skin. 

His hand gently closes the distance without a word, cupping the side of your face, his thumb sliding across your cheek, over your soft lips. 

Jungwon licks his lips, his mind racing with thoughts, you can see it in his eyes.

He leans in, just a few millimeters enough for you to smell the faint scent of his cologne. 

Masculine yet sweet. Just like him.

Even though no words are said, the two of you have confessed enough. 

More of the stadium lights go out around the track as the press packs up to leave. The stands are now empty. The other racers retreated to their trailers for the night.

It gives you a false sense of privacy. In that moment it truly does feel he’s the only man in the world. 

“You’re one hell of a Crew Chief…” Jungwon whispers. His voice was heavy, cracking with want. A tone you’ve yet to hear, but you love it. 

“Well you’re the one risking your life out there, you did good. Better than good.” You say your voice a gentle whisper. Your eyes unintentionally lock on the wide brown of his. 

You notice the shape of them in the dark, how big and round and wide they are like you could be swallowed up in them forever.

Your heart flutters as you notice the upturned angle of his eyes, the slope of his nose, and how his dark hair contrasts against his pale skin. 

Jungwon chuckles deeply as he notices your gaze admiring his features. His breath is soft like he can’t believe that this is real and not a dream.

You can’t look away from him, the sound of his voice making your stomach flip as he steps even closer. The cool summer air blew more of his messy hair out of his face. 

You glance down, cheeks burning as you take in the shape of his lips as he smiles.

Shit. He has dimples. 

Your heart nearly stops completely. You can’t hide your smile and neither can he.

You can’t pull away from him and he can’t pull away from you. It feels like there's a magnet holding the space between you together.

And out here on the empty track, and there's no one to shut down what you're feeling.

“I’m sorry if this is crazy…but…”

“Can I kiss you right now?” Jungwon whispers.

Your heart races in your chest. You can hardly even think. 

The look on his face isn’t cocky or arrogant. It’s hopeful, soft—even wanting.

Maybe it’s just post-win adrenaline but the way he's looking at you, you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Yeah…you can.” You whisper, voice just loud enough for Jungwon to hear. 

He hesitates, stalling, only for a moment.

Then his helmet drops to the floor with a loud thump. Both of his hands gently cup the sides of your face, fingertips brushing against your soft skin. 

You’re not entirely sure who leaned in first. But your breath hitches as his lips capture yours. Soft yet hot. Moving like he wants to savor every inch of you. 

His lips are hesitant like they’re still learning as he moves against you. One of his hands cupping your face the other sliding down to your lower back. Pulling your warmth closer into the hardness of his muscled body.

Jungwon gasps against your mouth as his back hits the warm metal of his racecar.

He pulls you into him. Gasping for air between kisses as they only grow more heated. 

Jungwon swallows your weak breaths as he keeps his mouth hot against yours. You smirk against his lips as you feel his confidence growing. Breath hitching at the way he sucks lightly at your bottom lip before barely pulling away.

“You’re…really pretty.” He says his voice a low whisper. Lips ghosting against the heat of your own. Barely holding back like he needs to lean in for more.

He does, swollen lips finding yours again.

He moves slowly, intimately only to break away for another shared breath. 

“I’ve wanted to tell you all day—just didn’t know how…“ Jungwon murmurs as he smiles into another kiss. His heart fluttered at the confession. 

He pulls away only to rest his sweaty forehead on your own. Exhaling, blood pumping fast as he takes in the faint scent of citrus from you.

You don’t move, in fact, you push into him more. Your lips brush against the sharp edge of his jaw as you pin him to the side of his car.

He laughs under his breath with disbelief that this is real. That he’s won his first race, that he’s really kissing you and you're kissing him back.

This is the part of the dream where he usually wakes up—

But he doesn’t.

“I thought you were going to be a cocky, arrogant asshole…” you say softly with a breathy laugh.

The truth. 

Warmth pools in your stomach as you push into him more, nearly moaning as you feel his hard planes against your softness.

Jungwon laughs as he pulls you closer. His fingertips rub small circles into your back. There's not a single millimeter of space between you now.

Your brain is screaming at you to stop this, to pull away.

You can’t.

Instead, you gently drag your lips across the perfect angle of his jawline. You kiss his soft skin, mind flooding back with the sound of his beneath you as you strapped him in before the race. How he bit his lip, the whimper that escaped unintentionally.

“This is usually the part where I prove you right with a—fuck…a smart-ass comment,” Jungwon says, his voice shaking as you kiss his sensitive skin again.

His grip on the outside of your suit tightens as his body rolls against your own with need.

You take control, mouth open, and hot against his skin and neck. Your hands push his suit over his shoulders letting the top pool at his hips. 

Jungwon whimpers, his chest violently rising and falling like he’s two seconds away from hyperventilating. 

“How about this time…you listen to my orders—“ you say seductively as your lips find his neck, dragging down to his collarbone. 

“Y—yes mm—ma’am” Jungwon stutters as he starts to break out into a sweat beneath you. 

Your fingertips push the soft fabric of his undershirt to the side, letting your lips latch onto his sharp collarbone. 

You gently suck on the porcelain skin, leaving a faint mark behind and out of sight.

Jungwon whimpers. His body jerks against your own with need. 

“You still okay?” You ask softly, your mouth leaving his collarbone to place a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

He can’t even speak. All he does is lock eyes with you and nod. Letting out another soft whimper as his hips shamelessly press into yours. 

You kiss him again, putting a flat palm to his hard chest, pushing him harder into the side of his racecar. 

Jungwon moans as he feels your thighs pressed up between his, chest on chest. Everything is hot from your fireproof uniforms. 

You let a soft moan slip from your lips as you feel how hard he is beneath you again…your hips grind lightly into his, and fuck you can feel just how large he is already. It’s almost painful against the zipper of his suit.

“Do you fuck like you drive? Fast? A little reckless? Like you need me to talk you through it—Just like I did during the race?” You say, voice dripping with seduction. 

Jungwon whimpers again. Fuck you could get used to having him like this.

You kiss him again, tasting the saltiness of sweat on his skin. 

Jungwon can’t even speak, he just nods, eyes wide like he’s begging, pleading for you to take care of him. 

You grind harder against his cock, feeling the outline of it aching behind the tight leather. You both let out a shameless moan. Your hands grip him harder.

Jungwons eyes roll back at the sensation. He bites his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood as he grips at the side of the car for support. 

“Holy shit—“ he says voice cracking, out of breath, like he’s on the verge of tears and you haven’t even undressed him yet. 

You bite your lip as your fingertips slip between the sweaty heat of your bodies still covered by leather.

You find the cold metal zipper of his suit, you pull it down just slightly, glancing at him for consent.

Jungwon nods, and right as you pull away to drop to your knees—

“Hey! Track is closed for the night! You two need to get this car out of here…” A voice calls out from the distance

Jungwon groans, his forehead falling against your shoulder to hide just how flushed he is. Like maybe if he doesn't look it'll go away.

“You're holding up track cleaning protocol.” The man says with obvious annoyance as he steps closer, clipboard gripped tight at his side.

“Shit—” You mumble under your breath, still trying to process the thought of what almost just happened between you two.

With a deep sigh, you reluctantly pull away.

“I apologize! Moving the car now—to the garage…” Jungwon stutters awkwardly as he adjusts his suit to cover up how hard he still is, not sure that he could handle any more embarrassment tonight.

“Hurry up kid! We don’t need a lawsuit filed tonight…” The man says his voice dripping with disgust as he turns away. Muttering more unpleasant things under his breath.

You nervously fix your suit, brushing off tension like you weren't about to blow the new rookie on his first night.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow maybe?” Jungwon asks his eyes wide and hopeful.

You pause.

“Well, depends if your car needs any work done before the next race—” 

“Tires! Tires need to be rotated, like soon…like tomorrow soon—” Jungwon interrupts, nervously chewing on his bottom lip.

You glance at the car illuminated in the dim safety light of the stadium. Your eyes looking at the front set, then the back…you’ve been here long enough to know…

Racecars don’t even need tire rotations.

You chuckle to yourself as Jungwon sits back in the driver's seat. Looking up at you with those big sharp eyes.

“My shop tomorrow, don't be late…” You say with a soft smile.

Jungwons face lights up, and it makes your heart flutter again. You can’t help but lean down and give him a soft kiss goodbye.

✩ ✩ ✩

The next morning, you hear the rumble of an unfamiliar car pulling up to the open garage door.

You’re elbows deep under the hood of a Chevy Camaro you’ve commissioned to work on for weeks.

You hear the engine cut. Your eyes widening as Jungwon rounds the corner to the garage. 

“Didn’t think you’d actually show…since you know—” You tease.

“Racecars don’t get their tires rotated? I know, I know.” Jungwon chuckles as he runs his hand through his dark hair. 

He’s dressed casually now, jeans and a tight shirt paired with a leather jacket. You can’t deny he looks good. 

“Well, my Stinger just got in yesterday…I was thinking we could maybe work on it together?” Jungwon asks with a weak smile. His voice is desperate but terrified that he’s crossing a line. 

Your eyes light up at his words. A Stinger? Fuck—there’s no way he has good taste in cars too.

“A Stinger? Shit Jungwon let’s bring her in—“

Hours go by as the two of you work on the details. Hands covered in grime, smudges of dirt across your face as you lean over the hood. 

He helps you rotate the tires, hands you a wrench when you need.

But for the most part he just watches you with a stupid grin on his face as you’re arms deep in one of most prized possessions. 

And you look so damn good doing it. 

Jungwon's mind wandered to last night, the race, the kiss, all of it.

He bites his lip as he replays the memory again. Your lips on his, the way your hands felt on him as you spoke. 

“Hey, so, about last night—“ Jungwon blurts out unexpectedly.

You stop. The noise of metal against metal fades in an instant as you come up from beneath the hood. 

“What about it?” You ask casually as you grab a towel from your workbench to wipe your hands clean like it’s second nature. 

“I just…was I crazy or was that definitely more than a heat of the winning moment thing—“ Jungwon confesses. 

There it goes again, your heart rate picking up. You wipe the sweat from your brow as you subconsciously take another step closer to him. The sound of your footsteps echoes off the walls as you close the distance.

“No, I liked it. It felt better than it should.” You say softly, your voice almost rigid like you're holding back. 

“Would you punch me in the face if I asked to do it again?” Jungwon says softly, his eyes glancing at your grease-stained figure like it's the only thing he wants to see.

He steps closer, boots echoing on the concrete as he closes the distance. His fingertips caress your face again, just like he did last night on the empty track.

Your breath catches as he licks his thumb, before gently wiping a streak of black from your cheek. 

“Jungwon…” you gasp, voice shaky at just how soft and intimate his touch is. 

 You don’t even realize you’re glancing at his lips and he’s glancing at yours.

Hungry, craving more of the taste he had last night. 

You close your eyes and lean in, this time the kiss is gentle, his lips caressing your own softly like you’re made of glass.

This time there’s air to breathe. 

He pulls away, trembling. Praying he didn’t cross another uncrossable line. 

“Will you go out with me tonight? Like on a date?” Jungwon winces as he confesses before he has a chance to change his mind. 

You look up at Jungwon in shock. Maybe all the loud engines got to you—because you aren’t hearing things right. You open your mouth to respond but words just can’t fall out. 

Jungwon just stands there, trembling, softly stroking the skin on your face.

You just nod, completely breathless like you can’t believe this is happening. 

“I’d like that…” you whisper enough for the words not to echo off the walls. 

“Yeah?” Jungwon asks his voice breathy as his shoulders drop all the tension with your response. 

“There’s an old diner off Main Street. It’s a little bit of a drive but…maybe we can get you your first real American meal.” You say with a smile.

Jungwon can’t hold back his excitement and relief. Grinning ear to ear as he pulls you closer. His lips ghosting against your own as he speaks. 

“I’ll pick you up at seven.” 

✩ ✩ ✩

Once you're back in your apartment you realize it’s been years since you were last asked on a date.

A real date not just a hook-up or a link.

The thought alone makes you giddy.

You decide to keep it simple tonight. Wear a plain black tank that hugs all your curves and pair it with your favorite pair of jeans. You throw on your brother's old racing jacket to pull the whole look together. 

You glance in the mirror, adjusting your makeup and hair how you like.

And that’s when you hear a knock at the door. 

You run to answer it, knowing exactly who you were expecting.

Jungwon stands in the doorway. His hair is styled out of his face, letting you see his forehead and eyebrows.

He’s wearing nearly the same thing as earlier. A pair of jeans and a tight shirt, tied together with a leather jacket. 

He has a small bouquet in his hand as he nervously rubs the back of his neck with the other. His expression lights up the second you open the door and he sees your face.

God you look perfect, those jeans, that jacket. He almost has to pinch himself to see if this is real, if you’re real.

He nervously shakes his head clearing his throat. 

“These are for you…you look stunning,” Jungwon says his voice almost shaky with disbelief as he hands you the small bouquet. 

“Thank you…” you say softly cheeks heating up from the kind gesture. No one’s ever done anything like this for you. Your heart races as you look over the flowers he picked out in your favorite color. 

You step into your kitchen and place them in a small vase of water. Before you know it, you're grabbing your keys and heading out the door.

The drive to the diner is comfortably quiet. The hum of the engine cuts through the air, and the radio plays softly in the background as the two of you talk.

Conversation comes easy, you talk about racing, music, the town. He drives slowly. For the first time, he’s savoring the moment instead of racing towards a finish line. 

The neon lights and cracked parking lot pavement signal you’ve made it. Jungwon opens the door for you and offers his hand as the two of you walk into the old diner. 

Immediately you’re hit with the smell of grease and coffee. It’s comforting in a way. The bell rings as you step in the door.

One of the waitresses greets you before leading you across the checkered tile to a small booth in the back of the restaurant. 

Jungwon sits across from you, fingertips holding the sticky menu in his hand. Glancing over the top to smile at you. 

You help him pick something off the menu. The air between you isn’t nerves, there’s no pressure to perform with him.

For once you feel like you can just be you.

The waitress brings the two of you your meals. A plate of burgers and fries and two milkshakes, one strawberry and one chocolate.

Jungwon throws a few more fries into his mouth before breaking the silence. He asks the question that’s been lingering on his tongue since he met you. 

“So…how did you get into all of this? Racing and cars I mean.” He asks curiously. 

You exhale, taking another sip of your milkshake and slouching against the sticky leather of the booth. Your throat tightens and you glance out the window. The memories already starting to come back. 

“It was my brother. He used to race..” you say with a soft whisper, voice heavy from holding back.

“He was older…always took care of me you know? He loved cars since we were kids. Would watch reruns of NASCAR every weekend on our shitty TV.” You say with a warm smile as you start to open up. 

You gesture to your racing jacket. Patched with yellow and black and your last name is embroidered on the front pocket. 

“This was his. He only got to race a few times before he passed. I know if he was still here he’d be one of the best.” You say softly as tears swell in your eyes. 

Jungwon just listens. He reaches out across the table, taking your hand in his. Rubbing small circles across your knuckles in an attempt comfort you. 

“The racing and cars? That’s the last piece I have left of him. And I just can’t let it go—even if I have to fight twice as hard for my spot.“ you whisper. 

There’s a beat of comfortable silence before Jungwon softly speaks up. 

“It’s hard, you know...being the foreigner, people never really take me seriously,” Jungwon confesses. 

“They take one look at me and hear my accent and just—I know what it’s like to fight twice as hard for a spot,” Jungwon says, his hand tightening around yours. 

“It’s like no matter how good I drive or how fast my lap times are they just see me as the kid from Korea with bad English,” Jungwon confesses, his voice heavy. 

“You know Jungwon…you don’t have to prove anything for me, you don’t have to change anything. I like you the way you are—like really like you.” You confess voice barely above a whisper. Like saying it softly would soften the impact. 

Jungwon squeezes your hand a little tighter with a soft smile. He lets the tension drop from his shoulders at your words. 

“You have no idea what that means to me…” 

The two of you continue to drink your shakes and munch on the plate of fries between you. The air is charged, like there’s still so much left to say.

“You know I usually don’t do the whole dating thing…” Jungwon confesses, his ears flushing red. 

“You know it’s always been racing, practice, training, that type of thing. He adds softly. 

“No I totally get it…most guys don’t want to date a girl who can change a tire faster than them.” You say with a weak self-deprecating chuckle. 

“Their loss,” Jungwon says with a soft breathily laugh.

 “I like women who know how to lead and take control,” Jungwon confesses, biting his bottom lip at the thought. Trying to hide the massive smirk threatening to form on his face.

“Oh yeah? That’s why you were all whiny last night after the race?” You tease, raising an eyebrow. 

“You have no idea what you did to me after the race…I almost came in my suit—“ Jungwon confesses his breath sharp as he locks eyes with you. 

And you know his words are nothing but the truth. 

Jungwon takes care of the check and walks you back to the car. The drive back to your apartment is quiet and charged. Like there’s so much both of you need to say but can’t. 

Jungwon pulls into the garage, swiftly backing into an empty space in a dark corner. There’s hardly anyone else around. 

“I—uh, really had a good time with you tonight.” He says softly, his eyes still scanning your features in the dark light. Lingering on how the light cast highlights your best features.

There’s still so much tension simmering beneath you two. 

“I don’t want this to be over…” you blurt out before you can even process the words leaving your mouth. But between the kiss last night, and the way he’s looking at you now, you can’t pass this up…

Jungwon swallows hard, throat bobbing at your words. His eyes flicker to yours, then down to your lips again. 

“Y—you don’t?” Jungwon chokes out breathlessly. Tense like he wants to reach out but he doesn’t know if he should. 

You shake your head. Smiling softly as you lean across the center console. He puts the car in park, letting the engine softly rumble beneath your seat. 

“I can’t stop thinking about you, Jungwon…” you confess, leaning even closer into his space. Eyes half-lidded with desire. 

Jungwon can’t even respond. He just closes the distance, kissing you again. 

It’s heated, hot, fast. He breathes hot against your lips swallowing your breath as you kiss him back. Your fingertips roughly tangling in his dark hair.

You break apart, barely to whisper against his lips.

“I think I should fulfill that promise I made you yesterday…” you whisper voice hoarse with need. 

“Want some help with that tension, rookie?” You ask, but this time it’s not teasing. It’s just as mutually desperate. 

Jungwon just nods, eyes locked on yours just like the night before on the track. He’s begging, pleading for you to take care of him. 

“Backseat?” You ask as you lean in, kissing him once more before pulling away with a dangerous look on your face. 

“F—fuck…fuck yeah, I’m coming…” Jungwon stutters as he removes his seatbelt with a quick click before the two of you climb into the backseat. 

The minute the doors lock your hands are on him. He pushes your racing jacket off your shoulders as you climb onto his lap. 

You gasp against his lips, he’s already hard, trying to bite back another moan as your hands slide up and down his heated body. 

Your lips drag down his throat, messy and hot as you leave wet kisses across his warm skin. The windows are already fogging from the warmth. 

You moan as you grind down on him again. The roughness of your clothes causes friction that drives you both crazy with need.

You gasp, feeling your thighs twitch with the anticipation. 

Jungwon's head hits the window as he gasps back. Soft whimpers fall from his lips as he lets you take control. His cock throbs hard in his pants, hands gently resting on your thighs. 

You glance at how wrecked he is already, still completely dressed just like back on the empty track. You bite your lip as you grab the bottom of your tank to pull it up and over your head. 

Jungwon moans at the sight of you. His eyes are half-lidded as he looks at you straddling him. His fingertips softly trace your sides, feeling the soft warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips. 

Your breath hitches as his hand slides across your sides and the underwire of your bra. You flinch at his reverent touch. 

“You okay?” He whispers intimately as his fingertips drag across the curves of your breasts, your stance faltering at the softness of his touch. 

“Yeah I’m just not used to this—this feeling…” you gasp, the confession slipping past all logic in the moment. 

But there’s something about the way he looks at you. The way he looks beneath you and you can’t hide behind a mask anymore. 

“It’s okay, I’m not used to it either…” Jungwon coaxes softly, his hands gently find your bare back, and he pulls you down to lie on top of him chest to chest. 

There’s a quiet pause, the sound of your harsh breathing feels loud in the quiet backseat of the car. The air is already thick and steamy. 

“Do you want this? Want me?” Jungwon asks, his voice cracking with emotion. He looks up at you with those wide round eyes.

You want him, you really do, all parts of him. From the cocky attitude on the race track to the quiet whispered confessions.

You want every single part.

“I want you Jungwon…you don’t even know what you’ve done to me—“ you say a little breathless. 

Jungwon gently grabs you by the back of your neck, pulling you down, capturing your lips in a soft reverent kiss like he’s trying to pour every unspoken confession into your mouth. 

You break away panting, thighs trembling as heat builds in between them. 

You gently kiss the side of his face, slowly dragging your lips back down his neck and over the faint mark left from last night. 

Jungwons hands still at his side like he doesn’t know exactly what to do. 

“You can touch me…please Jungwon touch me.” You mumble into his skin, taking in the faint scent of his sweet cologne. 

Jungwon hesitates, freezing underneath you. You can’t help but chuckle deeply. 

You’re going to have to talk him through this. 

You gently slip your hand between the heat of your bodies, popping the button on your jeans and pulling the zipper down. 

Jungwon’s still panting beneath you, hands trembling. Scared he’ll somehow fuck this up. 

“Breathe for me…” you coax sweetly as you grab his wrist, gently guiding it to the heat between your thighs. 

Jungwon catches the hint, his hand slips inside your jeans, pushing your panties aside. He moans as he feels how wet you already are. 

His fingertips are still trembling, a little unsure as he moves his wrist, dragging his fingertips through your folds like he wants to memorize every part of it. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet…” Jungwon whispers, cheeks flushing hot as he gently slips his index finger into your heat, gently pumping in and out moaning as he feels you clench around him.

“That’s all for you—“ you gasp, completely breathless as the feeling of his finger inside you sends waves of pleasure through your body. 

Jungwon bites his lip when he sees your reaction, he pushes your panties aside even more, gently pushing in another finger. Stretching you out even further.

Your head falls to his shoulder as he fingers you at steady pace. Your hips chase his fingers and he pumps and curls them hitting spots that only make you wetter. 

“Fuck—can I taste you?” You ask the words stumbling out shamelessly as your hips buck against his fingers.

“Hell yes—hell fucking yes…” Jungwon stutters his hands retreating from between your thighs as you awkwardly try to shift positions in the tightness of the backseat of the car. 

Jungwon brings his fingertips to his lips, reluctantly tasting you. He lets out a deep moan as the sweet taste hits his tongue. 

“Holy fuck…you taste so fucking good—“ he murmurs completely breathless as you pull down the zipper of his jeans, pulling them down with his boxers enough to let his cock spring free. 

“Holy shit—let me taste you too…” Jungwon mumbles as he grabs your hips, pushing down your jeans and your soaked panties, before tossing them to the car floor. 

He awkwardly manuevers himself underneath you, hands gripping at your ass, knees cramped on either side of his face. 

You position yourself to be at eye level with his cock. Hard, twitching, and already leaking. 

You kiss his swollen tip, gripping the leather edge car seats to keep yourself up. 

The top of Jungwon’s head hits the side door as he kisses the inside of your thighs, already slick with arousal.

He lets out a shaky moan as your tongue slides across his sensitive tip teasing him before sucking a few more inches into your mouth. 

Jungwon pulls you down, hands gripping your ass as his tongue slides through your folds. He closes his eyes, hips bucking up into your mouth for more.

You close your lips around his cock, hand gripping the base to pump the inches you can’t take inside your mouth. You moan around his hard cock, hips twitching each time Jungwon flicks your clit with his tongue. 

 Your spit pools at the base of his cock, and you tactfully use it to lubricate your movements. He’s already twitching, hips arching off the leather car seat into your mouth. 

Jungwon pulls away to gasp for air…mumbling under his breath. 

“Shit…shit I’m gonna come—“ he whines as he lazily drags his mouth across your pussy with no coordination. 

You immediately slow down your movements, earning a strangled moan from the back of his throat. His cock twitches with need as you slide your lips off of it. Licking the salty pre cum from your lips with a satisfied groan. 

You slide off his chest, flipping back around in the cramped backseat. Jungwons hips buck up into the air as he whines—actually whines. 

“Please...oh God I need to come—I fuck…please just ride me til I come..” Jungwon begs beneath you shamelessly. 

You bite your lip. Feeling more wetness slip down your inner thighs as you watch him squirm and beg for you to take him. 

You line yourself up with his cock, his pants still pushed down to his knees. You reach between your bodies to grab his twitching slick cock, guiding it to your entrance. 

Jungwon cries out painfully as you touch him. Sweat runs down his brow as he feels his swollen tip pushing into your aching walls.

He grips the side of the leather seat hard. Crying out your name you finally sink into him. 

You let out a breathless sigh as you finally take him. His girth stretches you with a pleasurable sting. You gasp for air as everything inside the car feels too small and hot all at once. 

“Fuck you’re so deep Jungwon...” you moan as you finally sink completely down. You rock your hips back and forth, slowly chasing your pleasure as his cock drags deliciously against the front of your walls. 

Jungwon can’t even conjure up real words. There are tears in his eyes as he whimpers and groans beneath you almost like he’s in pain. His hands are shaky as they rest on your waist. Your thighs burning as you do all the work. 

The slick sounds of skin on skin fills the inside of the car. You bite your lip as you look down at Jungwon, riding him with a steady pace. 

His hips buck up into you every time you slam down onto his cock punctuated by a breathless moan. 

Jungwon’s cock twitches inside you and you know he’s close. Barely holding on, but he’s holding out. Waiting for you to permit him. 

You pleasure yourself on top of him, gently letting your hand cup his soft face as it contorts with pained pleasure. His cheeks flushed, hair stuck to his forehead from the sweat.

You let your fingertips slide across his cheek, across his lips as he murmurs and moans beneath you. Tears fall down his soft cheeks as he painfully tries to hold back his release. 

“Please, I can’t—I fucking can’t…let me come...please just let me come…” Jungwon begs beneath you. Sniffling between sharp breaths as his cock twitches painfully inside you.

“You’ve been such a good boy…” you say softly as you push more of his dark hair out of his face. Gently using your thumbs to wipe the tears from his cheeks. 

“Fill me up Jungwon…” you whisper. 

Jungwon breaks—sobbing your name as he shamelessly spills his load into you. Painting you with his cum as he lets out a strangled cry. His hips jerk as he comes hard. 

You help him ride it out. Hips rolling satisfying circles on his dick as you milk every drop he has to give. 

Jungwon falls against the door, panting for breath on the verge of hyperventilating. He can’t even speak as his chest rises and falls as he struggles to regain his breath. 

“You did so good Jungwon…” you whisper against him as you slide off his cock, cum dripping onto the leather seat as you gently cup his face. Kissing him slowly. 

His eyes flutter shut, too weak to really even kiss you back or move his hands. 

“You fucking wrecked me…I need a goddam inhaler—“ Jungwon stutters out against your lips. 

“You did good rookie..” you mumble against his lips as you intimately kiss him one more time. 

He chuckles softly, eyes still shut, mind still dazed.

“Jungwon…” you choke out, heart racing in your chest, fingertips trembling. 

“Yes?” He chokes out between sharp breaths. 

“Stay—please stay the night with me.” You whisper so softly it can barely be heard over the sharpness of his breathing. 

“Of course…I’d love to.” Jungwon says beneath you. A lazy smile spreads across his lips as he looks you up and down. 

“Plus, I think I still have a job to do—” Jungwon smirks as he gently holds your hips again. Noticing the aching heat still building between your thighs. 

“Fuck yeah, you do…” you mumble against his lips. 

And later that night you find out, Jungwon truly is a man of his word. 

He stays. 

And to you that means everything. 

✩ ✩ ✩

The next morning, you wake up completely enveloped in warmth. Jungwon is in bed with you, breath soft against the back of your neck, his arms draped across your naked body.

Jungwon stirs awake as you shuffle through the sheets. The cool fabric brushes against your skin as Jungwon pulls you closer.

“Morning…” Jungwon mumbles into your skin, his lips placing a soft kiss on your shoulder as his legs tangle with yours.

“How’d you sleep?” You ask softly, leaning into his warm, comforting touch.

“The best I have in years, thanks to you…” Jungwon mumbles as he pulls you closer, hands across your chest.

He gently runs his fingertips across the fullness of your breasts, across the curve of your waist. He's not trying to arouse you; he's genuinely worshiping you.

Every curve and inch…

You hum softly as you let his hands slowly roam over you underneath the sheets. Between your legs, over your stomach, and hips. You tilt your head back, letting his lips find yours.

“Breakfast? Or another round of pussy first?” You ask playfully.

Jungwon groans, pulling you closer to him, his lips dragging across your jawline, stopping just underneath your ear.

“Have you learned nothing about me?” Jungwon teases, his hand already slipping lower between your thighs, across your folds.

“Let me taste you again…” Jungwon mumbles into your hair from behind, his fingertips pushing through your folds to find your clit, rubbing small tight circles across it.

“You didn’t have your fill last night?” You ask with a soft groan, feeling that warmth between your thighs again with each circle of your sensitive clit.

“Mhmm, never,” Jungwon groans into your skin. He slowly pulls his body away from the warmth of yours, letting you rest flat on your back.

He doesn’t waste any time; he lazily pushes your thighs apart, licking a slow, wet stripe from hole to clit. You let your head fall back against the pillows as he starts to tease you with soft licks to your folds.

You’re still sensitive from last night, hands tangling loosely in his hair as he makes out with your pussy at a lazy pace.

He's in no rush to make you come—and it's driving you crazy.

His tongue lazily fucks into your hole, and you clench around him, moaning shamelessly as you pull him closer by the hair. Your thighs are already shaking, pulsing with need.

Jungwon closes his eyes, dragging his tongue across you until he finds your clit again. Your back arches off the mattress and he holds your thighs apart. Flicking at your clit before sucking on it.

“Fuck—” You curse as your grip on his hair tightens. Your thighs shake and deep moans escape from your throat signaling that you're close.

Jungwon doubles down on your clit, pressing the tip of his tongue against your fast and firm. It draws you right to the edge.

“Shit—I'm coming” You gasp as Jungwon coaxes you through another orgasm with his tongue. You grip his hair tight, heat pulsing with pleasure as wave after wave of arousal spills onto his lips and chin.

He laps up every drop shamelessly as you lie limp beneath him completely spent.

“Fuck I don’t think I'll ever get tired of eating you out—” Jungwon mumbles as he places another soft kiss on the folds of your pussy before pulling away.

“That's one hell of a way to wake up—” You say, completely spent already, basking in the afterglow of your orgasm.

“Fuck breakfast…let me just have some more of your pussy for real—” Jungwon mumbles as he puts his hands on either side of your head, leaning down to kiss you, slow and deep.

“God I'm never letting you go—” You mumble against his lips.

✩ ✩ ✩

Over the next few weeks, long training days turn into sleepless nights of pleasure. Jungwon is picking up skills fast, on the track, in the garage, and inside your bed.

Somewhere, as weeks bleed into months, Jungwon becomes something you never expected. He’s become your strength and weakness all wrapped into one. 

He stays. Every night.

And you wake up in his arms every morning. 

After all the qualifying races, Jungwon was selected as a stand-by-driver for the Daytona 500. And Toyota has made it clear time and time again.

This rookie? He’s still a gamble.

No matter how many seconds he cuts off his lap time. No matter how fast he drove in the qualifying races. 

You’ve been tasked with making sure his car is in pristine condition for the race, should he need to step in. You had been sure that wouldn’t happen. 

You’ve watched the Daytona for years. You know it's the biggest, most nerve-racking race of the year. Of course it is, the big prize is on the line.

It's a race even seasoned veterans can only dream about competing in. It is long, tough, and something people train decades for.

But not Jungwon.

He nearly drops his phone out of his hand when he gets the call. One of Toyota's veteran drivers had a collision during practice. He’s got a concussion, and he’s out. 

Which means you're now guiding him through the Daytona 500.

You could say there was a little bit of nerves on the day of the race. 

Trailers line the track, fans fill the stadium, and national television is on every single corner.

Your hands are clammy as you step onto the track, going over the usual checklist, plenty of extra tires, and a large stash of fuel. Extra pit crew and mechanics on standby for the intensity and length of the race.

Your heart stops as Jungwon appears, cameras flashing from every angle as he makes his way onto the track. He was pale, so pale, trembling as he tried to hide his shaking hands behind his back as cameras flashed relentlessly.

You’re breathless as you watch him approach the side of the car, you can’t help but feel your heart overflow with emotion for this man you've come to love.

You meant what you said back at the diner. You don’t just like every part of him.

You’ve fallen in love with every part.

Your eyes are glassy with tears as you climb over the pit wall to the loading station. Jungwon's crimson red Toyota rumbles, hot and ready to conquer the track. The press soon moves to another racer, just in time for you to reach him.

Your boots drag against the asphalt as you walk towards him, slowly savoring every moment of his big day. You’ve watched him push past his limit in training.

And you know from the bottom of your heart, no matter what happens out there on that racetrack. Nothing can change what's grown between the two of you now.

Jungwon’s heart beats in his chest as you approach him, the roar of the crowd and announcers fades into background noise the second he lays eyes on you. His hands tremble as he reaches out, grabbing your waist like it's second nature.

He breathes you in, that same citrus scent from your shampoo that drives him crazy. He pulls your body into him, letting his face bury in your hand, hands shaking as he holds you.

“Breathe, Jungwon…you’ve got this, we’ve got this…” You whisper into his chest as he holds you close.

Your words do help slow the frantic racing of his heart. He swallows a sharp breath, throat bobbing with nerves as he chokes out a whisper.

“I don’t know if I’m ready, I'm definitely not ready for this…” Jungwon confesses.

“Trust me, you are. No matter what happens out on that track, you're making history, baby—” You say with a weak chuckle of disbelief.

Here’s the man you love, about to race in the most important race of his life. The race you grew up in, the race that bonds you to your late brother.

You can't help but let silent tears fall down your face as you remember the times you spent in your living room watching the Daytona on your shitty boxed screen TV. Your older brother right by your side for every lap of the way.

He would be proud of you, so proud.

So proud of the woman you became, so proud of all the things you've overcome.

Jungwon can't help but let silent tears fall down his cheeks, he knows how much this race means to you. He knows how much this means to your very soul. 

He pulls you closer, letting the rest of your tears fall without a single word.

You inhale sharply as you pull away, letting his gloved hands wipe the rest of the tears off your face.

“You come back to me, rookie—promise me you will…” You gasp, your forehead falling against the warmth of his own.

He kisses you, for good luck, before pulling away, panting, completely breathless. 

“I promise you I will…” 

You watch from your pit tower as Jungwon's red car lines up in the starting position. The crowd roars as the countdown begins. 

“You’ve got this Jungwon, just like we practiced” You breathe out into your microphone. Hands trembling as you look down at the racetrack and the rainbow of cars behind that white finish line.

“Copy that—” Jungwon replies, his voice still low and shaky. He shifts in his seat, gripping the wheel tightly as he watches the 

Those three seconds are the longest of his life. Once he gets the green light, he's off into the race.

He keeps a steady speed as he pulls into the race, taking lap after lap. The nerves wear off slightly with each mile he takes. 

Your voice over the headset grounds him as you talk him through the race. The two of you have become a good team, and here is your moment to prove it.

“That’s it, stay outside,” You say professionally as you watch the track below. 

“Copy that,” Jungwon says confidently, sliding his car to the outside of the track as you navigate him through the congestion.

“Watch 53 on your left coming up fast—” You command through the mic. 

Jungwon immediately reacts. Checking his mirrors as he weaves in and out of the sea of rainbow-painted cars.

The crowd roars, and he continues to take lap after lap, mile after mile, holding his center spot in the race.

After about 100 laps, things start to heat up. He pumps the gas harder, fighting to keep up with the rest of the racers.

“100 more to go. Keep it steady,” You say, shoulders relaxing as you watch him take 18th place, then 17th, steadying at 16th on the leaderboard.

Jungwon fights, 25 laps, 25 more on the last 50; he gives it his all.

This is the moment he's trained for. He grips the steering wheel tightly, hands sweating underneath his gloves, hair sticking to his forehead underneath his helmet.

The adrenaline kicks in as he picks up speed, taking 15th place.

The crowd cheers as the race gets closer and closer to the end. Jungwon fights, holding off 15th place as his own.

You bite your fingertips as you watch the leaderboard. Watching his speed below.

On the last five laps, Jungwon pushes his car to the limit, the engine roars as he floors the gas, and the finish line in sight right in front of him.

He pushes and pushes, as fast as his car can go. You can hardly breathe as he crosses the finish line.

Not first but not last.

You're already crying as you throw off your headset and run to the track.

Your boots slam against the track as you run straight to him. Pushing through the usual crowd of reporters and journalists. 

Tears start to fall as Jungwon removes his helmet to see you running through the crowd straight towards him.

You crash into him, wrapping your arms around him like a lifeline. He hugs you back, sobbing as he lifts you off your feet to spin you around in the chaos. 

Just as the winner is announced, he leans in and cups your face, kissing you like there's no tomorrow.

You pull away completely breathless, his slick forehead resting against yours as you struggle for breath.

“I'm so fucking proud of you…” You gasp before crashing your lips into his again. Jungwon chuckles with disbelief as he kisses you back, dipping you without a care in the world.

“I didn’t win…” Jungwon chokes out weakly as he pulls you up, holding your thighs as you settle yourself back on your feet.

“You came back to me…and that's everything,” You say, voice getting caught in your throat as you hold back more tears.

“I always will, every time—” Jungwon mutters, the cheer of the crowd and the crowning of the winner becoming background noise to the charged moment between the two of you.

“I love you…” You say, strained, raw, completely real.

Jungwon wipes another tear from his cheek as he fights off more of your words. 

“I love you too.” He whispers back, voice cracking and deep, tears on the verge of spilling over.

He didn’t cross the finish line first, and it doesn’t even matter.

For the first time in his life, he doesn’t have to chase the finish lines.

You love him. He’s enough.

And he'll come back to you.

Every lap. Every race. Every time.

And that's the only finish line that matters.

© brokenengene

note: I hope you guys enjoyed this fic! I've been dying to write for Jungwon...the fact that I outlined even more for this fic, but it ended still being 11k with the cuts is insane. Let me know if you are as obsessed with this as I am. It was so much fun to write a little out of my comfort zone!

I'm truly grateful for every reblog, like, and comment. It truly means the world to me. Thank you for reading! I wish you guys all the best!

Written with love,

xoxo kate <3

masterlist!

taglist: @yenienha @meowwons @svquon @won1yoiz @nishimura-mimura @cutehoons02 @nics-fxy @aggarwaldrishti @seokjinthescientist @enhastargirl @kyunlov @yang-garden0906 @won4me @shaysimpss @bestboileeknow @kristynaaah @onlywwon @k1ttyjwon @pr3ttyf4ce

[sabrina-senpai]

Let's go with steamy headcannons for the demons shall we? Manager reader (no specified gender)🧍‍♀️🙌

Saja boys x gn!manager reader

Character/s: Jinu, Romance, Abby, Baby & Mystery

Character pairings: Jinu/you, Romance/you, Abby/you, Baby/you & Mystery/you

A/N: I wrote this purely out of boredom so don't come after me thanks 🥱🫰

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

Jinu

• his gaze alone makes you shiver, it's dark, it's hot and it's unfiltered. Scary sometimes, glowing eyes observing you from what feels like everywhere all at the same time.

• He doesn't flirt, not directly anyway. He hunts- and you're his chosen prey. And he watches, even when you don't think he does. He watches everything with a sly smirk.

• He'd deliberately bump into you on set just to watch you flinch under his gaze. Lifting your chin up with his slender fingers making you stare at his mesmerizing eyes..

• Whispering things into your ear at completely random times just to watch your throat gulp down his words, making his absolute goal to have you shivering and completely under his mercy.

"You look at me like you're trying to decipher me, I can help with that..all you have to do, is say please"

• When you fix his mic pack backstage, your gaze and in turn your touch, lingers. And he noticed, of course he did..

"Don't start now angel, otherwise no one will be able to stop us."

• When helping around set, he walks up to you from behind, an arm wrapping around your waist as he hums "Your Idol" on the crook of your neck, whispering the line "I'll be your idol" like it's a declaration.

• ...yeah I don't know how you survived either

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Romance

• relentless, would not stop at a small reaction

• He wanted you to squirm, to feel so seen that every small action of yours would cause a reaction out of him

"you're so cute, ma..na..ger..-nim!"

• When you hand them their water bottles, he doesn't take his from your hand.

• He would instead place both hands around yours, cupping both your hand and the bottle, and lifting it all the way up to his mouth. Gulping it down like a parched man in the desert all while maintaining heavy eye contact with you.

• And to mess with you even more, he'd inch his face closer to yours, noses touching at some point.

• He'd lift your hand up, to wipe his jaw from the spilled water

"Ahhh kamsamnida~ I was so thirsty dear manager"

• He doesn't break eye contact as he kisses your palm before jogging to go back on stage.

• But of course, it wouldn't be romantic of him not to blow you, what feels like a very sensual, kiss! Followed by a teasing wink.

• You may or may not have collapsed under your knees

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Abby

• He's the type to flex when you’re mad, lean extra close when you're frustrated, and weaponize his body like it’s second nature.

• Because for him, it is.

• you walk in l, clipboard in hand only to drop it when you bump into.. abs.?

• you've learned not to question the peculiar idols anymore but before you could walk off, he holds you in place and keeps you trapped in his arms, squeezing ever so slightly to flex.

• and when you ask why his shirt is off

"It's humid in here" the AC is blasting..the staff are freezing

"well I have body heat, and I don't mind sharing if it's with you.."

• proceeds to flex like it's part of his job description to be fair it kinda is..

"like what you see? c'mon manager-nim I know you like it"

• Whenever you carry something remotely heavy looking, he's already by your side, grabbing at whatever despite your protests.

• "you really shouldn't carry heavy things like this manager.. don't worry, you'll have better use for your hands later"

• kisses your hand while maintaining eye contact and a growing smirk

• He walks off with a wink and a flex, the cocky smirk never leaving his face

• you definitely locked yourself in the bathroom or in the closet to avoid him a few times before..

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Baby

• He doesn’t tease loudly.

• He knows exactly how to get under your skin without lifting a finger.

• will absolutely grab your water bottle mid sip and take a long messy sip as well, handing it back to you with his famous baby like smile but a devilish glint in his eyes

His entire shtick is acting like he’s innocent while utterly destroying your composure in five seconds flat.

"what? I was thirsty" before walking away like it was a normal day at work

• would 100% open a lollipop he doesn't like, stick it in his mouth and take it out just to squeeze open your mouth and plop it in, already moving to grab a flavor he actually likes

"ah much better, right manager-nim?"

• Would go up behind you and cling to you like a cat, nuzzling every so often into your neck as you try to focus on work

• you pretended to be busy everytime they come back (back)stage

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Mystery

• He's an enigma

• He likes to randomly get behind you, breathing down your neck, sniffing you as if wanting to inhale- ravish every part of you.

• He doesn't speak no, but just the pace of his breath beating against the surface of your neck you can tell. He wants you. He wants to devour you, keep you all for himself. Like a dragon hoarding his treasure, and you are his.

• Would take any chance he could to wrap his arms around your waist just to feel your breath hitch and your body shiver.

• He would lick long wet stripes from your neck to the bottom of your ear, and when he's feeling extra possessive? He'd bite you, a nibble really.

Even as a human his canines remain sharp, sharper than most at least.

His bites rarely left a mark, because it's not his intention. But he could if he wanted to. He just wanted to make sure you know, that you're his, and him, yours

• you make sure to carry extra bandaids and restocked your concealer in case he did..

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

A/N: can you tell i gave up on Baby's and Abby's parts?

Note: I might edit this even after posting so uh yeah

[goldfades]

no thoughts—just munch joe

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine | FREE PALESTINE!

ᝰ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | compilation of munch joe burrow thoughts... need i say more?

ᝰ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | smut! oral (fem. receiving), praise, unedited, third person and no use of y/n, cumming in his pants... um 🙂‍↕️🤗

ᝰ 𝒆𝒗'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 | im ovulating. no comment. i hope yall enjoy this compilation of munch joe <3

it starts off as a joke.

just a throwaway comment joe said once on a mic’d up game day video when a media guy asks him what his pregame meal is:

“pregame meal?” he repeats with a smirk. “my girl.”

(followed by a shoulder shrug and a sly little “what?” when the guys around him start clowning.)

everyone loses it.

it becomes an inside joke on the team—guys are always side-eyeing him pregame like

“yo, joey—did you eat?”

and he’s always straight-faced: “yep. full plate. my girl special.”

but the thing is… it’s not a joke. not really. he’s deadass.

joe swears by it—swears his best games, the ones where he’s locked in, extra aggressive without breaking a sweat—they all have one thing in common: he got a taste of his girl that morning.

like this man has it down to a routine.

home games? he wakes her up early, rolls her over and eats her like it’s brunch service and he’s on shift.

road games? if she’s there with him, even better—he’s lifting her up onto the hotel sink or laying her across the bed, jersey pushed up, her legs over his shoulders while he mutters something about

“can’t play hungry.” or like, “this is the real carb load.”

even if he can’t finish (like they’re pressed for time or he doesn’t want to be late), he still makes it a point to at least get his “appetizer” in. just a couple minutes of her thighs shaking around his head and his hands gripping her tighter than he does a ball.

he’s so convinced it works that when he has a bad game, he’ll literally go back and say:

“i didn’t eat.”

and the guys know exactly what he means.

his girl is mortified every time he says it out loud—and he says it a LOT. interviews? podcasts? casually in the locker room?

if anyone asks about superstition or game prep, he’s like:

“oh yeah. i got a secret pregame routine. tastes better than anything on the team menu.”

so now it’s canon.

“my girl is my pregame meal.”

he says it proudly. smugly. and his girl hates it and loves it at the same time.

because it’s funny—but also he means it with his whole chest.

--

the first time joe had came from eating you out, it was rare—accidental, even. the first time, he didn’t even notice. joe was just locked in, deep in the zone, her thighs around his head and hands in his curls and her voice shaking in his echoing in his ears like—

“j–joe, i’m gonna—”

“good.”

“baby i—”

“i said good.”

and that was all it took. he came in his boxers. fully.

like he didn’t even process it until a few minutes later, when he finally sat up, pupils blown, chest heaving and he realized he was soaked.

she thought it was hot as hell—kept teasing him like,

“damn… didn’t even need me to touch you, huh?”

but joe was literally stunned. like his whole life changed that day. he was already obsessed with eating her out before—but now? now he had proof it was enough.

that he could get off just from her reactions, just from the way she tasted, just from her body trembling under his.

so it kept happening. more and more frequently.

especially when:

she’s pulling his hair while whispering filthy encouragement

she’s being bratty earlier and he’s “shutting her up”

she’s overstimmed and begging and he wants to watch her come undone again

she’s riding his face with both hands in his curls and he’s moaning into her

those are the dangerous combos. he’ll finish in sweats, in tight compression shorts, sometimes even while holding himself back from fully grinding into the bed ora pillow.

like he’ll try to keep it under control but it’s just too much sometimes.

and she knows, she always knows. like her favorite thing to say afterwards is:

“you came again, huh?”

“jesus, joey, you’re actually sick in the head.”

and he just wipes his mouth and shrugs like,

“told you i didn’t need anything else.”

“you’re the whole damn meal.”

(he’s not joking either.)

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[heartzfromlizzy]

answering these fun questions! tw: mentions of mental health and serious stuff! don't read if you don't like it when people get serious! *ੈ✩‧₊˚

1. i don't hate them, but sunsets sometimes make me sad. maybe because the idea of a fun day ending just hurts me a little bit. (sometimes my brain is negative and stupid and likes to think of everything good in my life ending so.. that's fun.) when my brain is NOT torturing me, sunsets are very pretty to watch. i love just being out and about and seeing the sky slowly go dimmer. its so pretty, although i do like sunrises more!

2. oh gosh.. when i was younger, i had a huge lying problem, but at the same time, i was also delusional due to my mental health disorder, schizophrenia. so sadly, yes. i started many rumors mainly about myself to feel better about my life and to pretend things weren't the way they were. i am now mentally doing so much better, and i know what's real and what's not and i'm okay with it!

3. caseoh. literally caseoh. for those who don't know, caseoh is a twitch streamer, and he is hilarious. he just has a certain ability to just light up everybody in chat and make them all smile and laugh. i watch him SO MUCH. i encourage watching his re-uploads on youtube rather than watching them on twitch because twitch is annoying and not very safe.

4. HAA. i'm broke and i have not been to concerts.

5. right now, id want to be a dolphin!

6. what? im sorry im dumb and don't understand this question.

7. a black and grey shirt with the words "let me sleep" in white on it. there's also a pair of sleepy eyes. its kinda messed up, and the words are coming off but its still cozy.

8. ngl food.

9. i love these gold and white sandals. they look fancy and have flowers on them, but i do not wear them all day due to it being uncomfty.

10. taking me out to a restaurant of my choice. 😭

11. trying, caring, Christian!

12. one time i was at this outside festival and there were these booths and stands of people, y'know selling stuff and advertising things. well, one of them had these pretzels and stuff out, and i literally, for some reason, without asking, just grabbed a pretzel because i thought they were samples and everyone was basically staring at me and i was very embarrassed. my parents were prob embarrassed the most. also, no, the pretzel wasn't good, obvi it was stale. (;_;)

13. lol, no, i don't happen to drink!

14. dialysis boxes in my room for storage as a teen. :,)

15. well, i do happen to believe in God, and i practice Christianity! i don't know if that's exactly the same as a superstition? i could be wrong, lolz!

16. listening to asmrs. :,))

17. talk to myself, reenact/movie scenes/show scenes/youtube videos, dance randomly.

18. wasabi. does that count as a food or more of a dip? IT'S DISGUSTING.

19. HA.. ha.. i love so many fictional characters, so idk. maybe baymax from big hero 6? he's sweet and he's a doctor, also he's huggable!

20. to work at this local restaurant in my area called, "juniors!"

21. God, music, my loved ones, food, thinking of fun stuff to do!

22. rambley review by uniqueness! (its a song from a game!)

23. AT the top of my head, im not sure, but ik me and one of my closest friends have so many inside jokes.

24. probably one of my bracelets! i have so many..

25. doctor who!! depending on where i am or what app im using its not very talked about!

26. so many.. wow. here, i'll list a few! indigo park, fnaf, doctor who, rwby, attack on titan, demon slayer, disney, pixar, kung fu panda, marble hornets, marvel, undertale, omori!

27. ahh id rather just sit this one out but here's a lil joke controversial take, RORY FROM DOCTOR WHO DESERVED BETTER CHANGE MY MIND.

28. ive been watching rwby a lot lately so I'll list some of my favorite ships from the show! blacksun, arkos, renora, emery!

29. i do have ear piercings! i do not have any tattoos!

30. worst is probably that i struggle with self-control. the best is probably that i strive to be good, kind, and loving.

Deep/Fun Questions to Ask!

Do you like watching sunsets?

Have you ever started a rumor?

What makes you laugh hard?

What's the last concert you went to?

If you believed in it, what would you be reincarnated to?

What's your current vocal stim?

What shirt are you wearing?

Who or what is on your mind?

What are your favorite pair of shoes?

What would easily win you over if someone gave you it?

What three words describe you?

What's a funny memory you have?

Do you have any drunk stories?

What's one thing you own that you're sure no one else has?

Do you have any superstitions?

What is your guilty pleasure?

What weird thing do you do when you're alone?

What is the worst food you've ever had?

What fictional character would you bring to life if you could?

If you could join a career immediately, what would it be?

What keeps you going during the day?

Current song on repeat?

Funniest inside joke?

What's your favorite piece of jewelry you own?

Favorite niche topic?

What fandom are you currently in?

Most controversial take?

Favorite ship and why?

Do you have any piercings or tattoos, and what are they?

What is your worst & best quality?

[retiredteabag]

A Sweetness That Pursues

Pairing: Nanami x Vampire!Reader

Synopsis: You’ve always had a thing for Nanami, even when you were in school together. Your dynamic has remained the same for years: comfortable avoidance. What are you to do when he finds out just how delicious he smells one night? And how exactly are you to react when your attempts to dissuade him just don’t work?

Tags: reader is a vampire as well as a sorcerer, Haibara is alive, and Nanami took a break but never really left Jujutsu. Otherwise, canon compliant? The first half is written in limited third-person past perfect tense, sorry if you hate that. Jealousy, marking (and some other weird stuff), angst, comfort, fluff, suggestiveness.

Word count: 12.5k artist is @z.oot on Instagram

coming soon…. :P

[jupiterpiss]

Remmick x reader who is blind, she traces his face with her hands learning him in the only way she can. And Remmick nearly breaks. It’s the first time in what feels like forever that someone has touched him with love, not fear. It becomes their quiet ritual a language spoken only between their hands and silence.

AHHH AHHHH AHHH AHHH AHHH AHH.

Yeah. I screamed in my car while reading this ITS SO SWEET AHHHH SAVE ME SAVE ME.

Also I was gonna make something else for the 200 follower special but this is really nice, so here you go!! Thank you so so so so much for the support, I love all of you!!

Warnings: no smut. Hahahah. Uh.. terrible writing of an Irish accent, I watched a few YouTube videos of it but I’m literally SHIT at writing accents.. especially Irish or British like it’s sad. So.. sorry. Just really soft stuff.. mentions of teeth and claws but nothing crazy. I ain’t a Remmick apologist.. matter of fact I want him to suffer.. however, I do find this idea very interesting. Reader is nice to him for once that’s all I’m saying.Also they are blind. It says in the fucking ask so ur blind in this. Remmick is also lowkey ooc.. he’s never THIS nice.

He’s been showing up for months now. Before, when the silence was still loud and jarring, when the lingering of a cold body was still confusing, he would watch from outside. Didn’t say anything, didn’t approach, just watched.

Watched as you would trail through your home, eyes open but unfocused.

Easy prey. That’s what it was at first.

He didn’t feel the need to plan his attack, not like he had done in the past. A sweet accent, a few kind words.. he’ll have you under his thumb easily.

That couldn’t be further from what actually occurred.

You caught onto his bullshit easily. Didn’t allow him in at all despite how nice he sounded, or how kind he was, it was still a stranger at night. Someone who could easily cause danger to you, and you weren’t stupid. Maybe vulnerable, maybe, but not stupid.

So you kept him out, but that didn’t mean you were any less kind. He came under the front of needing some help with the area, that he didn’t quite know where he was.

“North Carolina,” that’s where he said he was from. Deep in there alone, but he had to travel out to see some family. But how he said it, how he explained his whole situation and dynamic with said family.. just felt wrong. Detached. His tone was more dead, like it was from a script. Just speaking to speak.

It scared you. So, you sent him on his way, told him exactly where everything would be based entirely on your own experience with the travel, from memory.

He later checked, after you had closed the door and went off to bed, he walked the same directions you gave. Everything was to the T, just as you said.

Hell.. he knew your town like the back of his hand from your directions alone.

So he watched you some more. How you just knew the home, knew where everything was, and if something was out of place you would simply go around it or fix it quickly. Not entirely phased, the world wasn’t going to accommodate for you, so you worked around it.

Even outside your home, though it was always late out and you weren’t exactly going far just a few feet, you would still trek around like you knew everything.

Like the roots, dirt, leaves, wind and trees were one with you. Things you’ve come to long understand and form mutual respect with. Like they lead and you only followed.

Eventually, he grew antsy with the space, with the distance that lied between the two of you. It became less of mindless stalking and more obsessive, more curious.

He found himself jealous of inanimate objects. Jealous of the fact they could feel the soft traces of your touch, the care you put into everything. How you feel everything to remember it, understand it.

He wanted to be remembered.

Understood.

So he would find a way in. Find a way to break that barrier and to get you to welcome him into your space. Into your life.

Found a way under your nails and beneath your touch. And he fucking thrived under it.

Thrived under how soft you were, how kind you were.

You touched him with so much emotion, so much energy. Fingers threading through hair, breath against his back as you would help him out of his jacket, or the edge of your nail as you lightly scratch shapes into his arms.

He found that you were just as curious as he was. Not just for who he is, but for what he was. He would tell whole stories about his past life, stringing in some from his current one— about how he once had a dog, or that he sucked the blood from a lamb once and it became a vampire. He would explain all of this while you trace your fingers along his claws, tapping the pointed ends of cold skin wrapped around solid bone.

You would eventually come to share your own stories, about anything and everything. Explain that no, blind people don’t magically have impeccable hearing just because they can’t see while your thumb would be tapping the edge of his fangs, other hand busy sliding against his golden chain.

His fangs were another thing, something he was certain would frighten you to death upon first feeling them. And they did, sorta. Of course, not to death, but enough to flinch before ripping your hand away.

“The fuck are those.”

He closes his mouth, quiet for only a second before muttering, “my teeth.”

Your nose twitches, face scrunching in confusion, “they always like that?”

“No., only when I want them to be.”

He slowly grabs back your hand, doesn’t guide it back towards his mouth but just holds it. He can’t go too long without your touch or he feels himself slowly dying

(He isn’t.. but he far too nervous and weird to really care whether he’s going to actually die or not. He thinks he is, and that’s all that matters.)

“Don’t gotta touch them if you don’t wanna, won’t hurt me.” It will, actually, if you don’t fully accept this bit of him. But he doesn’t add that.

You don’t say anything in return, don’t need to. Just slowly reach out your hand again, tap it against his face to get him to open up. Your nail lightly scratches against the sharp tip of one is his jagged teeth, the sound unsettling but not quite unwelcomed.

His teeth later become your most favourite thing to trace on him.

His whole face is, really.

Your fingers are always so so soft, they trace up and down his features, soothing soft patterns into his skin. His flesh isn’t warm, it hasn’t been for centuries.. but for tonight, now, it seems to heat in a way that is only coaxed out through your touch.

He shivers each time, has yet to get use to this. The softness, the gentle hands and the gentle voice. It almost makes him sleepy, another thing found impossible since he’s been dead. He softly rocks you two back and forth, his arms wrapped tight around your waist as you both stand in the middle of your room.

It’s quiet, save for a few steady breathes and the occasional whisp of the breeze against the leaves outside. The floor boards creak under your shared weight as you sway slowly, a silent dance.

You trace your fingers over the ridge of his nose, feel the cartilage underneath, nails lightly scratching against his flesh. Not that it bothers him, nothing could. Not from you.

You give a small hm, puzzled. He isn’t sure, his eyes flickering open to look at you, though your eyes remained closed. As if you’re focused.

He mimics you, giving a small hum in response.

“Broke your nose?” You ask, whispered. Quiet.

Your breath tingles against his skin, curls its way around his skin and beard. Smells like peppermint and sugar.

“Aye, few times,” here, he speaks in his usual accent. Thick with unspoken Gaelic, words jumbled into traces of an olden tongue, long clipped from his people.

You only nod, continuing your admiration further down, over to his lips that luckily aren’t chapped. Haven’t been for a while now. You’ve mentioned it before, the first time.

When you traced your fingers over his skin, pointer softly tapping against his lips, you muttered, “rough skin.. you should drink more water.”

He only gave a small frown then, tongue darting out to give some moisture to his otherwise cracked skin. He didn’t drink any water, but he kept a chapstick on him from there out, one he would use anytime he needed to visit you.

From there, your fingers work down to his chin, the rough stubble of determined hair scratchy at you a tiny bit.

A small smile tugs at your lips, teeth faintly shining against the light of the oil lamp. His eyes stick to it, mouth slowly falling agape. Adoration written all over his face, so bold and loud, one would feel the same adoration from his expression alone. As if the sight of your smile alone can melt even the strongest of men.

He thinks it could.

“Gonna’ shave?”

He shakes his head. You smile wider, “Good, don’t. Feels nice.”

He plans to never shave his beard again.

[sugxto]

shared frequency - eddie x volt

⋆syn: The morning after the reset, Volt and Eddie have a conversation about your new dynamic.

⋆wc: 2.2k

⋆cw: m/m blowjobs, cum eating/swallowing, another where they’re kinda fantasizing about you while they fuck

⋆notes: takes place the morning after “brutalizer(s)” within power dynamics, but can be read as a standalone “they fucked after the reset” independent one shot. the person eddie and volt are discussing is completely gender neutral. they're referred to as "human," with they/them pronouns, and no descriptions of genitalia or features. e/v masterlist.

⋆snippet:

Eddie has to be sure. “I’d never do anything that could ever mean losing you.”

“You’ll never lose me, Eddie.” Volt’s touch is warm again, and it floods through Eddie’s circuits like a whiskey sour. “I’ve only ever known how to love you.”

Sometime, in the early morning hours, the human had slipped away from Volt and Eddie’s bed, had given them kisses on their cheeks and said they had to go, they had to make sure something had enough charge, but they’d be back soon, they promised.

It was the norm for Volt and Eddie to wake up beside each other, and never, in their years sharing existence, had either of them woken up feeling lonely - until this morning, when the feeling of only one body in his bed makes Eddie feel… off.

He shoves the thought aside, though, when Volt’s lips find his ear, and the ends of his hair spark by his ear.

“Good morning, my darling.”

Eddie fucking loves Volt’s morning voice - but hey, keep that a secret.

He hums as he rolls over, finds Volt already propped up on his elbow, leaning over him. Eddie knows that look in his eyes, that sparkle, and he cocks an eyebrow. “Someone looks happy.”

Volt smiles, runs his fingers along Eddie’s arm. “Well, we had a good night, didn’t we?”

Yeah, Eddie thinks, after Volt almost fucking died.

But instead, he says, “I remember.”

“I told you they wanted us.”

He sighs. Maybe if he closes his eyes again, sleep will come, very very fast. “You did.”

“And wasn’t it exactly what we’d hoped for?” 

The downside of your partner being electricity incarnate, Eddie thinks, is that he’s always switched to on. Which wasn’t always Eddie’s favorite mode in the mornings, especially not after last night.

“It was,” he grumbles.

“We said we loved them.”

“I -” he pauses, because yeah, he can’t deny that. But they had said it first, and it seemed… right, in the moment. “Yeah, fine, we did.”

Volt’s twinkling eyes rake over his face. “Did we mean it?” As he says it, his hand comes to find Eddie’s resting on his chest, and with the touch comes a wave, a surge of indescribable warmth that flows between them, connects them not just through skin, but through their very hearts.  

They’re both quiet for a moment, only breathing together, but they know. They know that when they touch, their emotions become theirs, no longer separate, like they see things through each other’s eyes. 

And this warmth…

They both know what it means. It’s the same certainty they feel when they’re here, in their bed, sharing kisses and touches and breath and thoughts.

And it must be love.

Eddie feels it in Volt’s touch, in the current he shared, but he also knows that he feels it inside himself, that he reciprocates this certainly that Volt is sharing with him. 

They know they don’t have to say anything, their eyes never leaving each other, understanding without words, without complications. But still, Eddie says, with the smallest smile on his lips and voice barely above a whisper, “I guess we did, didn’t we?”

He cups Volt’s face when he leans down to kiss him, and Volt’s hand on his chest climbs up, up, to tangle itself in Eddie’s hair. Eddie welcomes his little breaths, deepening the kiss and pressing his tongue inside his mouth, and it’s like he recharges at the sounds of the moan Volt makes. 

When they part, it’s only enough for Volt to speak, his lips still ghosting over Eddie’s as he does. “Are you alright with that?”

Eddie’s grey eyes search white ones, and he sighs softly. “I… yes. I am. But I just…” he swallows, feels his heart thrum with excitement, contentment, want, “I can’t quite believe it.”

Volt strokes the top of Eddie’s head with his thumb, tugs slightly on his hair, and he pecks another kiss to his lips. “I can’t either, my darling.”

“I didn’t plan it.”

“I know we didn’t.”

He holds Volt’s face a little tighter, and knows his voice gets a little faster. “And this isn’t - fuck, Volt, it’s always been you -”

“And it’s always been you, Eddie -”

“You know it’s - that it’s not because -”

“I do, Eddie,” Volt says, warmly, lovingly, as his hand slips down to Eddie’s cheek. “My darling, you have nothing to worry about. We have nothing to worry about. I know I’m… protective of you.” He says it with a smirk that, in another conversation, may make Eddie roll his eyes. “But I owe you everything, and I am yours, just like you’re mine. And the human doesn’t want you, or me - they want us. Only us, and isn’t that what we’ve always wanted? To not have to be apart?”

He’s right, Eddie thinks, he usually is, the bastard. And it sparks something in Eddie’s heart that feels like he’s at full power, able to conquer anything, and it feels complete. Because he couldn’t, wouldn’t, be away from Volt. He’d let himself deplete and die before he was alone again, and the human… 

They’d seen that. Not only that, but they’d helped ensure that wouldn’t happen. Showed that they would do everything they could to save both of them. 

So how could Volt and Eddie do anything but love them? 

But still, Eddie has to be sure. “I’d never do anything that could ever mean losing you.”

“You’ll never lose me, Eddie.” Volt’s touch is warm again, and it floods through Eddie’s circuits like a whiskey sour. “I’ve only ever known how to love you.”

Grey eyes flick to soft lips, back up to white eyes, and Eddie can only nod, only hold Volt’s buzzing skin tighter in his hands, because he’s never been good at saying it, but everyday, he knows Volt feels it. And in response, Volt kisses him again, sweet, lush kisses that are better than words, and their arms are around each other, chests pressed together. 

Volt’s lips move to Eddie’s jaw, his neck, his shoulder, as Eddie’s hands find his hair, controlling the bolts with practiced touch. Between kisses on Eddie’s skin, Volt says, his smirk audible, “And it makes it easy that they’re a fantastic fuck.”

Eddie groans, and his cock makes a twitch at the memory, how hot, how wet, how needy they’d been. How they felt like they’d been made to fit around their cocks. All the gorgeous, filthy sounds they’d made, because Volt was right, and he needed to hear them again. 

“Next time,” Volt teases, his tongue on his neck, and Eddie gasps when he grinds their hips together, “you have to taste them for yourself. Tell me,” another roll of his hips, another twitch of their cocks, “how was their mouth?”

Eddie tightens his hands on Volt’s hair, relishes the resulting moan, and his voice is raw when he says, “It was fucking perfect.”

He feels Volt’s chuckle in his neck, feels his cock grow against his own. “Mm. Is that so? Am I going to have some competition?”

Eddie turns his head to press his lips close to Volt’s ear, holds him still, waiting, before he responds. “You wanna give me something to compare it to?”

Faster than light, Volt is between his legs, stomach on the bed and firey, bright white eyes staring up at him, excited, hungry.

Eddie settles himself further up the bed, leans against the pillows, props himself on his elbows for the best view, but he breathes out a curse when, without warning, his cock is swallowed up by Volt’s warm, greedy mouth. He nearly loses his balance when he hits the back of his throat, and Volt makes a hum of satisfaction that vibrates around him. 

God, he feels so fucking good, hot and wet and right - like home, like all he’s ever wanted, all he only ever hoped for in the nights he spent alone. 

He feels Volt’s tongue expertly twist around him, follow the veins of his cock like it’s in his nature, and Eddie’s eyes flutter closed when he leans his head back, letting this warmth consume him.

Volt digs his fingers into the flesh of his thighs, and their currents hum together where they touch. His lips wrap around the head before his tongue trails down the shaft, wetting Eddie more with his spit. His breath is hot, electric, when he purrs, “Imagine if they were here too, sitting on your mouth while I took my time with you.”

“Fuck,” Eddie groans, seeing the image so clearly in his mind, reminiscing on the taste of them that he’d found in Volt’s mouth. “You, fuck, baby, just wanna show off for them.”

“Hmm, maybe I do.” Volt wraps his hand around him, strokes him up, down, and kisses the head. “Show them how good I can make you feel.”

Eddie, through heavy lidded eyes, finds Volt’s hair again, wraps it around his fist, and yanks, Volt’s resulting gasp making him smirk. “You wanna be good?”

Volt nods, limited in his movement, sparks dancing in his wide eyes. 

“Then don’t take your fucking mouth off me again.” He bucks his hips up as he pulls Volt’s lips back to his cock, and they open, effortlessly, and Volt takes. 

He takes Eddie entirely, takes his moans, his tight hold on his hair, all the way to the back of his throat, and swallows, and he glows at the sound Eddie makes - guttural and low, dripping with want. He preens at the “good boy, you feel so fucking good, baby” that fall from Eddie’s lips, and he ruts his hips, his aching cock, into the mattress beneath him. 

Through the haze of his pleasure, Eddie notices (he always notices, Volt thinks), and he hums. “Fucks sake, you can’t get enough, can you?” His voice is wry, and it goes straight to Volt’s cock. “My cock in your mouth and still needing more?”

Volt whines around him, his hips bucking into the bed again, because yes, yes, he needed more, and Eddie knows it, knows how it makes him feel when he pulls at his hair again.

“What - fuuck - what did you say, in the office? You want me inside you w- god - while they ride you?” Eddie’s voice is mean, with just enough bite that he knows shorts the circuits in Volt’s brain. “You, you think that’d finally fucking satisfy you?”

Volt’s eyes are pleading as he grinds into the sheets, his mouth working Eddie’s cock so fast, so well, that the resulting sounds are slick, sinful, coupled by the groan of the mattress beneath Volt’s hips. His fingers singe Eddie’s skin from the death grip he’s keeping on his thighs, trying to take as much as he’s physically allowed. 

Eddie’s chuckle is gruff as he adds a second hand to Volt’s hair, holding him still, and he thrusts his hips up into Volt’s hot throat, making his white eyes practically flicker. “I’m not sure it would. You’re so,” he thrusts again, “fucking,” again, “greedy.”

Yes, Volt thinks, able only to moan, to drool as Eddie fucks his mouth, give me everything, everything, Eddie.

“So you’re gonna take, fuck yes, what I give you, yeah? Gonna be good?” Eddie’s voice is hurried now, his breath labored, and Volt just knows he’s close. He hisses through his teeth, says, “Gonna fuck yourself while you take it?”

Volt hums around him, tries to tell him he can, he will, because yes, he’s so greedy, he needs it, wants it, and lets his jaw go as slack as he can while he ruts, hopelessly, into the friction of the sheets. It’s nothing compared to Eddie, any part of him - his mouth, his hands, his hole - but it’s something, and more than anything, he wants to be good for him. 

Eddie’s hips are losing stability, his thrusts erratic into Volt’s mouth, and he groans, tightens his hands around white hair - he’s so close, fuck he feels so good, and he opens his eyes, finds Volt’s gaze, and -

His climax hits him like lightning, a familiar white flash behind his eyes, and he curses through his teeth as his cum fills Volt’s mouth with small twitches from his cock. Volt’s hips are pounding into the bed, chasing exactly what Eddie told him to, and it’s the soft “that’s it, you did so good,” that Eddie whispers as he swallows, that pushes Volt over the edge as well. His hips shake, his cock sensitive, as he feels the slick of his cum pool on the sheets and stick to his stomach.

Ever greedy, ever proud, Volt savors the ache in his jaw when they finally separate, and he makes a show of licking his lips when Eddie finally releases his hair, his heart swelling with love at the resulting eye roll that he knew would come. 

They both sit up, limbs heavy, warm contentment in their veins, when Eddie says, in a tired voice with a curve to his lips, “Maybe having two of us to wear you out will do you good.”

Volt chuckles, and he notices his throat feeling a bit raw as he does it. “Never, darling. I’m always fully charged.”

Eddie huffs, steel eyes hiding a hint of amusement. “Don’t I fucking know it. But, ya know,” he shuffles his weight, comes to sit on his knees in front of Volt, and runs his finger down Volt’s chest until he finds the remnants of his climax stuck to his skin above white coils, meeting Volt’s gaze as he scoops some onto his fingertip, and brings it to his lips, “I think we can be up to the challenge.”

When he takes his finger out of his mouth, Volt’s lips find him, his tongue swiping into Eddie’s, hungry for him, for more, for everything, and they fall back to the ruined sheets, hands and tongues tangled around each other as tight as they can manage.

[bottledfool]

I don't see any point to you getting pedantic over the word "galaxy," since you used it in the post I was replying to, but yes, you're right, Union doesn't actually control an entire galaxy, not that it actually matters for the sake of the discussion. There also isn't a frame called the Infant Immolater, either, but you didn't seem to care as much about that one.

Anyway, to clarify, when I said "despite what the lore insists," I was referring to the fact that the lore's extremely whitewashed description of Union's actions post Sec-com is ridiculous to the point that it can easily be interpreted as in-universe propaganda. Despite verbally renouncing Sec-Comm's actions, Third Comm still benefits from and continues many of their colonialist projects from that era.

The fact that they have a really good reason for why they definitely need to keep working with slavers does not make integrating slavery into their economy any less evil. Sec-Comm undoubtedly had just as many reasons for why they had to do the same thing, and those reasons would have been just as valid. Instead of just accepting that it's a necessary evil, it might be more productive to consider what sort of government considers slavery to be acceptable as long as it doesn't have to look at it very often. In fact, I'm willing to bet the average Union official personally despises slavery (or at least they'd say they do), but they're not losing any sleep over the fact that Third Committee is allowing it to happen as long as it benefits the economy.

This is what I mean when I say they're Sec-Comm "with the visible edges sanded off:" They still do most of the awful things Sec-Comm did - they're still a neoliberal government entity who rules through the use of a corpo state, so unless one were to throw absolutely all logic out of the setting, it's undeniable that they do - but they no longer have the appearance of an overtly-fascistic government. They're palatable to the average citizen and maybe even to some of the people outside Union. But the long arm of Union colonization still very much exists, and the moment someone doesn't fall in line, it'll reach out and crush them.

The core issue with arguing that Third-Comm are good is that they have an extremely clear real-world equivalent: The EU. On the surface, the EU does a very good job of appearing reasonable and good, but anyone who has paid attention to the history of European politics understands that the EU was formed largely by colonial powers, and despite (frustratingly) gradual efforts at decolonization across the world, the EU's laws were still originally drafted with a colonialist mindset and designed to benefit the countries that formed it. Even setting all that aside, the EU has done some pretty reprehensible things over its lifespan, largely by funding and enabling smaller world powers to conduct these atrocities for them, thereby exporting political violence to a place where they can benefit from it but don't have to look at it.

When I say the lore insists otherwise, I mean that it lists multiple examples of exactly this sort of thing happening under Third-Comm, but just sort of handwaves it away as necessary and tragic. Despite the lore's insistence that these are unimportant when characterizing Union, I would argue that the actions of a government are, in fact, the most important thing to consider when characterizing a government.

And to your final point, yes, my point was that the government owns one of the four corpo states that rule just about everything in the setting. So, like I said, whether you prefer to think of the power structure in Lancer being four corpo states or one corpo states that three others rely on, it doesn't actually matter, because neither is good.

At the end of the day, you can come up with whatever interpretation you would like to use. But if you're planning on discussing the political messaging in a setting, you may want to take a look at what others have said about government entities that function very similarly to the one we're talking about. Look beyond the words the author wrote about their future utopia, especially when their idea of a future utopia is the EU. It might annoy you when some people characterize Lancer that way, but there are a lot of very good reasons for why they do that.

Armored Core: you're a cog in the death machine of capitalism and freedom lies in the hands of those strong enough jam the gears and break the apparatus. you should def use the Baby Flayer 9000 to achieve that goal btw

Gundam: war is fucked man, so much senselss death and killing all in the name of lofty ideals. anyway we'll be rolling out the orphan thresher as soon as next quarter

[snapscube]

i am a certified gamecube controller fanatic, so what is it you aren’t particularly fond of about them?

a few things!! general build quality is too toy-like for my tastes these days especially, though that’s something you’d find with really any controller of that era and prior so i don’t hold it against it too much. i don’t like the grip shape, i feel like the handles are way too thin and they create this sort of pronounced edge that i find digs into my palm more than i prefer. the c-stick being a shitty little nub instead of having a full joystick cap makes zero sense to me to this day, and it’s bad. it’s the kind of decision that comes from having clear mental limits on the types of games you assume people will be playing on your controller, which is not a great way to build a foundation. as much as i enjoy the face button layout for being unique i also feel like they suffer the same problem. “A is the button you use most so let’s put it in the middle!” is like, an idea you can say out loud and it sounds correct but in practice i feel like it can fall apart a little cause that’s just not how games work all of the time. i also don’t like how there’s only one shoulder button. again, just a strange and unnecessary limitation as there is clearly space for another one on the opposing side and the DualShock had already figured this one out. for the triggers: i appreciate that they innovated by making them analog and i do enjoy the idea of the analog input leading into a final confirmation click, but i do not like how they actually feel to press at all. this could kinda just circle back to the build quality thing that i said i wouldn’t hold against it too much, but even on official gamecube controllers ive played with i just feel like the triggers feel way too loose and rickety and kinda… creaky??? in a way that i really dislike. maybe if i were to have one in like-new condition that wouldn’t be the case, ive considered buying one of the new bluetooth models for nintendo switch cause i assume those are just exactly as previously built but with added features so its probably the closest i could get to buying a “new gamecube controller”, but i digress.

of course let it be known that these are all opinions i have developed as someone who 1. grew up with a PS2 and 2. never used a gamecube controller for an extended period of time until well after i had played with more modern options like the 360 controller that had already (imo) vastly improved on the formula. i have zero nostalgia for the gamecube controller and most gamecube games i have been able to play with zero need for it to facilitate my doing so and thus i dont have reverence for it either.

[playg0d]

about you | a carmen berzatto x reader songfic

summary: you’re the one carmen can never let go of, no matter how hard he tries. based on the 1975 song.

wc: 8k

warnings and tags: angst, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, swearing, claire mentions, some spoilers for s4

a/n: hello everyone! this is my first work in a long long time so i took it as a pen exercise, trying to write for the biggest tv crush i've had in a while to one of my favorite songs. i got so carried away with it beware 💀 i had to get my feelings out after watching s4 y'all!!

i know a place. it's somewhere i go when i need to remember your face.

he opens his eyes in the middle of his dark room. just like that. no reason, no sound. just awake.

it’s been happening a lot lately. so often that he doesn’t even get annoyed anymore. waking up before the alarm, his body already heavy with the weight of the day ahead. tired in a way that no sleep seems to fix. his muscles ache from another late night at the restaurant, a few hours of rest never enough to undo the strain. and he hasn’t even moved yet.

carmen blinks hard, trying to shake the sleep from his eyes, gaze settling on the window. it’s still dark out. only the orange streetlights casting vague shapes across his room, giving the shadows some kind of meaning.

his brain starts doing that thing again. jumping ahead, building the day's list before he can stop it. the stress creeps in before he even leaves the bed. he’s already forgotten something, he knows it. already late for something, even if the clock says otherwise. he can hear sugar’s voice in his head like it never left: did you check the budget i sent last week? how are we supposed to keep paying all these people if you won’t even sit down and read it? did you know jimmy’s supposed to come this week to talk about—

his alarm cuts in.

too loud. too sharp. especially in all this quiet.

he grabs the phone from the nightstand, silences it before it can ring more than a few seconds.

once the room goes still again, a bit of clarity returns. not peace, exactly, but something close. he exhales slowly through his nose, thumb still resting on the phone, and unlocks it. his fingers move without thinking. open messages, scroll down. the screen lights up, casting a cold glow across his face. it’s your thread.

this. this is another thing he’s been doing too much lately. and he doesn’t really know how to stop. at this point, he’s pretty sure it’s veering into something unhinged. obsessive. like he’s clinging to something that’s not there anymore and pretending it is.

you: the future looks bright chef!

that was the last message. weeks ago.

he frowns, but scrolls anyway. because this small, digital space, this ghost of a connection, is all he has right now. and somehow, it brings him a weird kind of comfort. not the real thing. not even close. it’ll never be the same as seeing you walk into the restaurant every day, laughing at something richie said, your perfume hanging in the air like a memory he doesn’t know how to let go of. but it’s something. and he’ll take something.

he stops on a selfie you sent from that birthday party. friend-of-a-friend. he remembers you whining about it the day before, pouting in that way that always made something in his chest loosen. you’d told him you didn’t want to go, that your friend had begged you to come so she wouldn’t be alone.

trying to hang on to any kind of connection outside of work, he’d boldly and very stupidly, asked you to send a selfie. for proof, he’d texted. he cringes now just thinking about it. what the hell was he doing? trying to be smooth? that wasn’t him. it never would be. he’d freaked out for a full half hour, especially when the word seen sat quietly under his message, taunting him.

until your reply came in. a photo of your face. cheeks flushed, a mischievous smile aimed straight at him, eyes shining.

you looked so pretty. all dolled up for your night out with your friends. and he wanted to say just that. god, he almost did.

but he didn’t.

too much of a coward. too afraid of saying the wrong thing, of being rejected. of crossing a line. because at the end of the day, you were still one of his employees.

so instead, he reacted with a thumbs-up emoji and went to bed, heart racing, already half dreaming of you.

he keeps beating himself up in the shower, replaying everything he could’ve done differently. wishing he’d kept the conversation going. asked you what the hell you meant, talking about the future like you weren’t planning to be in it. it follows him through the morning. into the chill of the city streets, the L train, the walk to work. chicago isn’t fully awake yet and neither is he. just noise in his head and cold in his lungs.

he tries not to think too hard about the fact that you’re still on his mind.

but you are.

we get married in our heads. something to do while we try to recall how he met.

if richie knew, he probably would’ve laughed and called you a dumbass. after having a heart attack.

you knew richie loved carmen. despite all the shit he talked, all the complaints about his insane work ethic and the new way he ran the restaurant. you knew it. but you also remembered the way he used to go off about how carmen needed to get a fucking grip if he ever wanted to let someone close. because no way in hell that was gonna end well. not with how he was. that person would probably end up running for the hills. 

so yeah, you did start to feel a little worried when you noticed how your palms got sweaty anytime carmen leaned in to talk to you about something completely mundane at work. how the tiny hairs on your neck would stand up when he passed behind you, muttering “behind,” and placed a light hand on your back. 

you’d always felt so far removed from all the mushy romantic shit, so it was kind of shocking how your body kept reacting to this guy. it made you feel ridiculous, like some schoolgirl with a silly crush.

until time passed. and you started noticing how carmen watched you just as much as you watched him. how his voice would soften when he talked to you, how he’d leave his bad attitude at the door whenever he had to face you. how that hand on your back? it started lingering a little longer each time.

it didn't take long before you started to realize just how much carmy was your type. you hadn’t even known you had a type. but there he was. hard-working. completely focused on his craft. someone who actually cared about people. you saw it in the way he kept pushing syd, little by little, to be her best. in the way marcus lit up just listening to his stories about the insane dishes he’d worked on in those spectacular restaurants before he came here. how he was trying to turn that run-down sandwich shop into something meaningful for the sake of everyone who showed up every day to keep it alive.

and, yeah, it didn’t hurt that he was hot as all hell: wild curls, strong arms, that whole constantly-stressed-out genius thing. and those eyes.

falling in love with carmy had been so easy. you hadn’t meant to. richie’s voice echoed in your head from time to time, but honestly, you didn’t really care to listen. not once the two of you started to talk. really talk. 

he opened up about his brother. someone you only knew in pieces, through the fragments richie had shared. his own memories.

but one night, carm gave you his memories. he told you how much he looked up to mikey. how much he missed him.

to this day, you’re still not sure why he told you what he did, but he said it anyway. that he did go to mikey’s funeral. something richie never lets go. he’s always throwing it in carmen's face: you weren’t there, you fucking baby, you didn’t show up when it counted.

but carmen had shown up.

and you never told anyone.

he was intense, sure, but he could be so sweet. charming in that unintentional way that made it even worse. like how he thought you didn’t notice when he started changing up his schedule. taking breaks when you did. hanging around just long enough to keep the conversation going from the day before.

or maybe just to be there. to have those rare, quiet moments where it was only the two of you. no yelling, no tickets, no chaos. just silence and the way it wrapped around you both like it knew something neither of you had said out loud.

he made you feel too much.

and what made it even harder was how he kept responding to you. bar for bar. matching every glance, every shift, every subtle move. like he was just as caught up in it as you were.

you didn’t realize it until you were in too deep.

a night you still carry with you, when it was just you and carmy, the restaurant quiet after everyone had gone home. you were so drained from the long day, you couldn’t help flopping down on the bench in front of the lockers. carmy came out of the office and found you there, eyes closed, still sitting.

you thought he would grab his things and call it a night. but he didn’t move. maybe he didn’t want to disturb your peace.

when you opened your eyes, he froze.

you felt him watching you. of course you did. but you didn’t want him to stop. you wanted his eyes on you. always. you wanted him.

so when it was just the two of you, sitting in that quiet, feeling the tension like it was something alive between you, you reached out and took his hands.

his hands. god, how often had you thought about them? in passing, in silence, in the lonely hush of nights you didn’t want to spend alone. you ran your thumbs gently across his tattoos, the ink marking him with stories you hadn’t heard yet. you wanted to ask. you wanted to know all of it. but not now. not if it meant breaking the spell of this moment.

carmen looked down, confused at first. then he shifted, taking your hands this time, his fingers curling around yours.

but he didn’t say anything. just looked at you. his eyes held something you couldn’t read, like he was trying to tell you what he didn’t know how to express with words.

your heart was pounding so loud you swore he could hear it. 

and when he reached up, touched your face with the hand inked with the chef’s knife through the palm, you forgot how to breathe.

you didn’t even realize it until it was too late.

you shouldn’t have let it get this far. shouldn’t have let it consume you like this.

you should’ve listened to richie.

you and i (don’t let go) we’re alive (don’t let go). with nothing to do, i could lay and just look in your eyes.

it started as a little comment here and there. a name you’d never heard before slipping out of fak’s mouth.

then came a conversation you overheard while working alongside richie, with fak buzzing around the place like always. they were talking about an old family friend. a girl. how she turned out amazing (“a doctor, can you believe it, man?”). how fak saw her again recently. how he wished things could go back to the way they were. back when all of them had the best times. the bestest times. with claire.

claire.

you had no idea who she was. you’d never seen her around the restaurant, and sugar had never mentioned her. neither had carmy.

if you hadn’t been so intrigued, you probably would’ve felt annoyed. all this talk, putting her on a pedestal. it couldn’t be that deep, right? still, you couldn’t deny the jealousy creeping in as you listened to richie go on about claire as well. how she’d helped him through… something. honestly, you’d tuned out halfway through. something from back before he and tiff split.

you didn’t want to care. you really didn’t. but eventually, curiosity got the better of you. you even asked sydney if she knew who this claire person was.

she didn’t. she was just as lost as you.

meanwhile carmy was in peak stress, trying to change his family restaurant to a high dining establishment. you could see how much it was weighing on him, so you did what you could to be there, even in that weird, undefined place where you both were. trying to see through the fuzzy lines of your relationship. you didn’t know what it was and how to call it. but you remained supportive, in the form of listening to him rant or go to the nearest home depot when the paint ran out.

he still gave you butterflies, even with everything he had on his plate. the pressure, the stress, the weight of trying to rebuild something from the ground up. it never kept him from making you feel seen. important. like you mattered.

you could still feel his eyes on you when he thought you weren’t looking and that alone was enough to set your heart racing.

and your conversations, they didn’t just continue, they evolved. they became deeper, more intimate. he wanted to know you, really know you. not just the surface-level stuff, but your dreams, your fears, the things you’d kept tucked away for years, unsure if anyone would ever really want to hear them.

so you let him in. slowly. carefully. but you did. and with every shared secret, every charged late-night exchange, you started to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was something real growing between you. something worth holding on to.

it happened on a random day. nothing special about it. syd walked in with that look on her face, the one you’d come to recognize: frustration bubbling just beneath the surface, begging for a place to land. she didn’t even say hi before diving in, words spilling fast like they’d been waiting to escape her all morning.

“i finally figured out who claire is,” she said, tossing her tote bag onto a stool. “turns out she’s carmy’s sort-of childhood friend slash first love, which, by the way, i don’t even know what the hell's going on with them and they're already getting on my nerves. because now he’s distracted and i need him focused on this right here.” she waved her arms around the empty space to drive her point home.

you blinked, trying to process her words, but it felt like they hit you all at once.

you just stood there, frozen in the middle of the gutted kitchen, stripped bare for renovations.

your heart dropped.

you hadn’t seen that one coming.

wait (don’t let go) and pretend (don’t let go). hold on and hope that we’ll find our way back in the end.

he curses himself for telling fak he ran into claire at the grocery store. like fak was ever going to keep that to himself. now everyone knows. and everyone’s being weird. asking him a million questions about her, like he’s supposed to have some kind of plan. but he doesn’t. he hasn’t seen her in years. people expect him to pick up where they left off, but he doesn’t even know what that was, let alone what it’s supposed to be now.

carmy was painfully shy back then. when claire was around, always orbiting, always close but just out of reach. he never acted on how he felt. he just… pined, like a stupid kid. kept it all to himself. mikey used to tease him when he found those sketches in his notebooks. half-finished portraits of claire he never meant anyone to see. sugar would roll her eyes and tell him to man up, tell claire how he felt.

but he never did. and now, all these years later, people are acting like nothing’s changed. like he's supposed to feel the same. be the same. like some nice story about rekindled young love, which sounds great in theory, but in his case? those memories are laced with chaos. with the noise and mess of his old life. his life, period. it doesn't feel like something worth revisiting. he's not sure.

seeing claire again was nice. she was happy to see him, she remembered things he hadn’t even realized he’d forgotten. that part felt good. he won’t deny it. but this whole thing? it’s just one more thing added to the pile.

the renovations are behind schedule. jimmy’s breathing down his neck about the money. he can’t seem to get on the same page with syd. sugar’s riding his ass about everything from schedules to invoices.

and then there’s you. drifting further away from him every single day.

and that is what really stings. more than any of the rest of it.

he feels it all the time. in the little things. the small gaps where you used to be. the way your breaks never seem to line up with his anymore. how he used to find you already outside when he stepped into the alley, and now he just runs into you at the door, your break already over. he tries to catch your eyes in those moments, but you look down and walk past him like it’s nothing. like he’s nothing.

he watches you throughout the day, desperate for a sliver of connection. trying to catch you in conversation, even if it’s just something small. but you’re always busy. always somewhere else. always anywhere but with him.

and it’s killing him. he wonders if you’ve already figured it out, how fucked up he is. if you’ve seen too much and decided to back off before it’s too late. or maybe he overwhelmed you with the way he felt. crowded you, hovered over every little moment the two of you had. like he was one of those gross dudes who only came in to try and chat you up, get a peek at your ass and pretend it was about the food.

yeah. if you ever saw what was inside his head, you’d probably run.

because he craves you. constantly. and he’s done lying to himself about it. he likes you. likes being around you, likes how your mind works, the way you talk about things that matter. he loves that you don’t take yourself too seriously, but always seem to have the right words when someone’s in need. how you show up for your people without hesitation, no questions asked.

he loves your voice. your laugh. the way you look at him when you’re teasing, or when you’re serious. your silky hair, your pretty eyes, those pouty lips, and yeah, your body. that incredible body.

fuck. he’s lost count of how many times he’s imagined you underneath him, imagined how you’d sound, how you’d move, what it would be like to make you feel everything he’s been feeling.

he wants to give you that. all of it.

carmen hasn’t felt this way, this deep, this insane about anyone since… claire, maybe.

and he knows you felt it too. the something between you. it wasn’t just him. even if it was unspoken, it was there.

if he’s this wrapped up in you, then why did he catch tina and his sister talking like it’s obvious? like it’s real? 

“have you seen him? he follows her around like a lost puppy,” he remembers sugar laughing, sounding embarrassed.

“she’s not far behind,” tina has said, not missing a beat.

so why were you pulling away?

the answer became even harder to grasp the afternoon you walked into the office, clearly expecting to find just natalie. you startled slightly when you saw him sitting there too, then quickly masked it with a polite smile and a too-casual tone. said you had something to tell them both.

you were quitting.

a new opportunity had come up. sudden, unexpected, but too good to pass on. you said it aligned better with your professional goals, that it made more sense for where you were heading. your voice was soft, almost apologetic, sweet in that way that made it sting more. like you were trying to spare them, spare him, but still walking out the door.

his mind stopped registering your words after that. his body went still. mind blank. he kept his eyes down, too afraid to look up and see whatever expression was on your face. he just stared at the floor while you and sugar kept talking like everything wasn’t shifting underneath him. everything in him had gone still, cold.

he wanted to speak. to ask why. to understand. but the words sat heavy in his throat, unmoving. and as your voice trailed off and you turned to leave, his face flushed hot, his hands began to tremble. those early signs of panic tightening around his chest.

he should’ve followed you. should’ve asked what changed, what went wrong. why it suddenly wasn’t enough.

but he didn’t.

instead, he ended up in the back of the restaurant, alone, heart racing and breath caught in his lungs, trying to keep it together. hoping, praying, you’d show up like you always did. like you always had.

but this time, you didn’t.

and there was something about you that now i can’t remember. it’s the same damn thing that made my heart surrender.

you couldn’t forget the restaurant even if you tried.

richie had been on your case for days after you quit. texting, calling, refusing to believe it. it blindsided everyone, but it hit him harder than most. because it was you. you had each other’s backs in there. if something had been off, why hadn’t you said anything?

you did your best to ease his worry. said there was nothing wrong, nothing dramatic. gave him the same explanation you’d given sugar. and carmy, though you weren’t sure how much of it he’d heard.

you were moving on.

the restaurant had been good to you. more than good, sometimes. you met people who felt like family, and for a while, it really felt like you belonged. but you had to think about yourself too. your goals, your growth. and the new job? it was a step forward. a better fit for the direction you wanted to go. you kept reminding yourself of that.

still, you couldn’t ignore the way things had shifted in those final days. how often claire’s name came up. how often you saw carmy tense at the mention of it, even if he tried to hide it.

fak, richie, even people you’d never seen in the restaurant before were suddenly showing up, nudging him toward her. pushing him to give it another shot. telling him she was good for him, that he’d be crazy to let her go, that this was his chance.

and every time you heard it, something in you sank.

because no matter what you and carmen had shared in the quiet, in the glances, in the almosts... you didn’t have a history like that with him. not old memories tied up in childhood and old neighborhoods. maybe that’s what it came down to.

syd and marcus were still your friends, even outside of the restaurant, and you thanked the heavens for that. you’d found something real with them: true friendship. if the restaurant left you with anything, it was that.

they kept you updated, told you everything with bright eyes and proud smiles. how the new place was coming together. how different it all felt from where you started. not just the food, but the energy. the ambition. the chaos.

you loved hearing their stories. the quirky guests, the impossible nights, the small wins that made it all worth it. you could tell how much they loved it, even when it was hard. and you were happy for them.

they told you about richie too. how much he’d changed. you told them you’d seen it too, because you still saw richie. he was too special a person to let go of.

then they’d mention carmy. how his meltdowns were getting more frequent. how things had shifted. you didn’t know much about him after you left. you hadn’t asked. they told you how he was seeing claire more seriously now. how marcus had casually dropped the word girlfriend when talking about her.

it stung. more than you let on. but you didn’t flinch. you nodded and smiled. you told yourself you’d moved on. you’d removed yourself from that world.

still, every time they talked about the bear, its struggles, its wins, the people inside it, it felt like hearing about a life you no longer lived.

and it was particularly hard because the bear wasn’t just a restaurant.

it was carmy, and after all this time everything still felt like him.

you might’ve felt completely defeated by that thought if it weren’t for syd.

over coffee one afternoon, she said it like it was nothing.

“he asked about you,” she uttered, her words cutting deep. “wanted to know if you were okay, if you’d ever come by.”

and i’ll miss you on a train. i’ll miss you in the mornin’. i never know what to think about.

carmen still wakes up before the alarm, long before the world stirs. the sky outside is dark, the streets quiet. that part hasn’t changed.

but he’s not alone in his bed anymore.

claire has started staying over sometimes, says it’s easier after her shifts, more convenient. he tells himself he doesn’t mind.

he slips out of bed carefully, trying not to wake her as he begins the ritual of getting ready. his movements automatic.

lately, the days have felt heavier. long, restless weeks stacking on top of each other. he’s been going through the motions, but the certainty that once drove him, the feeling that he was building something meaningful, has started to fade.

he used to believe that cooking was his purpose. that the kitchen was where he belonged. but now he isn’t so sure. maybe it was never really about the food. maybe it was just his way of holding onto mikey, of staying close to the memory of someone who once made him feel like there was something worth chasing.

and now that he’s here, with everything he thought he wanted, it still feels like something’s missing.

he’d had a really tough conversation with syd about it. one of those that left him feeling raw, exposed. richie had walked in halfway through and joined in, adding his own thoughts, his own frustration. by the end of it, carmy felt like he was letting everyone down, yet again. stepping back from the restaurant felt like the right call, perhaps the only way the bear could truly thrive free from his constant micromanaging and inevitable screw-ups. maybe, just maybe, he could rediscover the spark he'd lost, the part of him that used to love this.

he takes the train like he does every morning. the platform’s nearly empty, and when the car doors slide open, he steps into a quiet space with only a few scattered passengers. it's a small relief. no eyes on him, no one who knows his name or expects anything from him. just a few minutes of anonymity. a little room to breathe. maybe even think. maybe relax, though that's a stretch.

he had hoped that being with claire would help. that now, finally with her by his side, he’d start to feel more like himself again. like the younger version of him. that the shy, quiet kid who once thought having her would fix everything—was finally getting what he’d dreamed about for so long. but it doesn’t feel like that. not really.

and carm hates himself for it. because claire is wonderful. kind and patient. she jokes about the heavy things, tries to lighten the weight he carries, even if just for a second. she’s trying to help him heal, to pull him out of the worst parts of himself. and he knows that. but still, something feels off.

and that’s when he wonders… does that last message in the thread need a reply from him? should he beg richie for his phone again, like some desperate teenager, just to sneak another look at your instagram profile? should he face sydney, after everything he’s put her through, and ask once more if she’s heard from you? i think about you.

sometimes he lets himself imagine it. running into you. what he’d do. if he could get past the initial punch of seeing you again. really seeing you, after all this time. would he shrink back like he always used to, hide behind silence so he can keep pretending your absence hasn’t hollowed him out? or would he finally say something? ask for the truth. demand it, maybe. not to make you feel bad, but just to know. to confirm that it wasn’t all in his head. that everything you shared, everything he felt, wasn’t just one-sided. that thinking about you this much still means something.

as if that could ever actually happen. still…

he’s been secretly holding out hope all this time. clinging to the stupid fantasy of a chance encounter with you. on the L. on the street. some accidental moment that would change everything. he’s even taken the long way home more than once, just because he knew it passed near where you used to live. just for the slim chance of seeing you. but it never happened.

and as much as he tries to keep moving, your absence still lingers in the spaces he exists in.

tina still sighs about not having her dance partner during breaks and how no one laughs at her neighborhood gossip like you did. natalie wishes you were around so she could finally introduce you to sophie, her voice going soft every time she says your name. and richie? richie never shuts up about you, still clinging to the version of life where you and he had each other’s backs in the thick of it. he holds onto that chapter fiercely, and part of him is just waiting for you to walk back in and see how far he’s come and be proud.

but for carmy it’s different.

he didn’t just miss you.

he fell in love with you.

(don't let go)

he never said it, but it’s the truth.

it’s in how he still checks the door without realizing, expecting you to walk in. in how your voice still echoes in his head during the quietest parts of the day. in how nothing has felt right since you’ve been gone.

you didn’t just leave the restaurant. you took something with you when you walked out. and no matter how hard he tries, he can't seem to get that part of him back.

do you think i have forgotten about you?

carmen’s no stranger to guilt. it’s been living inside him for years, settled deep in his bones. he remembers the feeling in new york, thinking of sugar and mikey, how he left them to deal with their mom and all her turmoil and unpredictability. remembers the guilt curling in his gut when he got that phone call, sugar barely able to get the words out between sobs: mikey's dead. guilt again, heavy and paralyzing, when he couldn’t get out of the car at his own brother's funeral.

and now it’s back. except it’s different. not the same restaurant stress that eats at his stomach on the regular. it’s outside of that. beyond it.

it’s every time he looks at claire.

it shows up in moments that are supposed to be soft. like when claire’s curled into him, warm and willing, tracing her fingers over his chest. saying something sweet, being provocative. trying to love him. telling him how good he is, and all he can think about is how much of a lie that is. how he doesn’t deserve this version of her. 

because his mind drifts, like it always does.

to you.

he’s not proud of it. he hates himself for it.

she’s here, she’s trying. she’s giving him something real. and you’re still in his head. still there when he closes his eyes, still the one he wishes he could see when he opens them.

he’s tried to snap out of it. thrown himself into his new role in the kitchen, started mending his relationship with his mom, tried being the kind of boyfriend claire deserves: one who listens, who shows up, who holds her when she falls asleep.

but none of it’s working.

and it’s not fair to claire. she doesn’t deserve to be the one holding the weight of something that was never hers to carry. so he did something he’s never really done before. not like this.

trying, really trying, to follow through on this whole doing things differently thing, carmen sat richie down and told him the truth. about how things with claire had started to fall apart. how it wasn’t her fault. how he couldn’t keep pretending anymore.

richie, being the closest person he had left, felt like the right one to tell, to get it out. and carmen took responsibility, fully. said it straight: he was the one messing things up. he’s the reason it’s falling apart.

but richie wouldn’t hear it.

“what the fuck are you talkin’ about?” richie’s already pacing, eyes wide, hands flailing. “you’re done with claire? now? jesus christ, cousin.”

“i didn’t say i was done, i just–i don’t know. it’s not working,” carmen shifts, trying to stay calm. 

“not working?” richie snaps. “what the fuck does that even mean? you finally got her and now you’re just what–bored?”

“it’s not about that,” carmy mutters, jaw tight.

“bullshit,” richie throws back. “you know how many guys would kill to be where you are right now?”

“i-i’m tellin’ you, it’s me. it’s not her,” carmen tries again, voice low.

richie scoffs, shaking his head. 

“you already pulled this shit once, carmen. you already broke her heart. and now you’re doin’ it again?!”

carmen looks away, but richie doesn’t let up.

“you serious right now? after everything she’s done for you? you’re the problem? oh wow, man, what a revelation.”

“i am the problem, richie. that’s what i’m saying!” carmen’s voice rises a little, frustrated. 

“then fix it!” richie shouts. “don’t throw her away just ‘cause you’re all fucked up inside.”

richie was pissed, and not in the loud, joking way he usually was. no, this was different. this was a disappointment he felt deeply. he looked at carmy like he couldn’t believe he was watching him do this all over again, backing out the moment something good got too real.

he started pacing again, running his mouth about claire, about how she didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. “she’s claire bear, man,” he muttered under his breath, like that should mean something holy. and it kinda did, to richie. she’d been around since carmy was a little kid. familiar, kind, safe.

but carmen just sat there, bent over at the edge of the table, elbows digging into his thighs, hands locked at the back of his neck. guilt was burning through his stomach like acid. and not just for claire. for richie, too. for not being able to live up to the version of himself everyone kept hoping he’d finally become after getting with claire.

he didn’t fight richie on it, didn’t throw words back, because he knew richie was only half wrong.

the older man, never one to back down when carmy got quiet, leaned in with a little bite in his voice.

“you know i even told her once, right? about this?” he said, almost casual, throwing your name in there. “funny thing is claire wasn’t even in the picture yet and i already knew you were gonna pull this kind of shit.”

carmen froze. his lips thinned into a hard line and something dark settled behind his eyes.

he looked at richie, really looked at him, like he was trying to figure out if he was serious or just pushing buttons like he always did. but richie held firm.

a bitter wave of heat rose in his chest.

“did you–” carmy’s voice cracked, low and strained. “did you fucking say something to her?”

his words came sharp, like they’d been caught in his throat too long. 

“richie, what the fuck did you say to her?”

richie visibly flinched. his mouth opened and closed again. then he let out a laugh, humorless, almost stunned.

“you gotta be kidding.”

something in carmy’s face had changed, the shift in his voice when your name came up stopped him cold. he stared at him for a long second, piecing it together.

and it hit him like a ton of bricks.

“you motherfucker,” richie’s voice grew louder, half disbelief, half something else. anger, probably. or disappointment.

“you were into her and you didn’t say shit?” he pointed at carmy like he was trying to trace the outline of this massive mistake. “you let her walk outta here when you–”

he stopped himself. dragged a hand down his face, pacing, fuming.

“you know what? don’t even answer that,” he snapped, his anger visibly flaring again. “wanna know what i told her, jagoff? i didn’t tell her anything that she couldn’t tell by sharing space with you, you little fuckin' narcissist bitch.”

carmy finally looked up at him, teeth gritted, throat working like he was swallowing glass. richie’s eyes were hard now. protective and furious.

“she’s not just some second act of claire, cousin. she didn’t come around to fix you, that's not what she’s about!”

it came after a beat of silence, after richie had already seen through every layer of bullshit and nailed him to the wall.

“i know–i know that,” carmy finally said, voice low, almost strangled.

it sounded awful, even to his own ears. pathetic, but it was the truth.

and even though richie looked at him like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, like carmen had just handed him the messiest, most out-of-pocket confession, he felt something shift in his chest. relief, even if just a little.

finally someone else knew. someone understood the depth of what he was carrying. how much it wrecked him. how deep it went.

no more burying it behind routine or the bear or claire.

and now richie knew.

god, now richie knew.

so much for doing things differently.

he hadn’t really talked to richie much after that. things still felt off and he didn’t have the energy to untangle it just yet. instead, he tried focusing on getting back on the right foot with syd.

she’d asked for help with a new dish she was developing for the menu: something deeply personal, something that reflected the people she held closest to her heart. her family and her friends.

she told him she was stuck, unsure about the final flavor profile, and though he didn’t want to meddle too much (this was her creation, not his), she kept nudging him for input. said she trusted his instincts.

so he thought about you of peaches.

he said it lightly, almost offhand, but it stuck.

he didn’t know if syd would connect the dots, maybe she wouldn’t even ask. but if she did, if she ever wanted to know why, he’d say something about the brightness of the flavor, the way it lingered, felt right.

peaches were your favorite. 

he can’t help being taken back to that night again, when it was just you two alone, the restaurant emptied out, you sitting on that bench looking up at him with those beautiful eyes that haunt him still.

he’d been completely transfixed by you, by everything you were. by all the things you made him feel without even trying. your beauty, somehow untouched by the long day behind you, still shining through in the artificial light.

and when you reached for him, your fingers brushing his with a touch so gentle it felt deliberate, he swore he died right there. your touch… delicate, intentional, reverent, hit him harder than anything else had in years.

your hands were so soft, so careful, like you were learning him by touch alone, tracing every part of him without rushing. he remembers how it made his skin come alive, how each stroke of your digits lit him up. how much he wanted more. 

he wanted to pull you in, let you keep exploring all the parts of him no one else ever got to touch. he wanted to kiss you, slow and deep, to finally know if your lips tasted like peaches, just like he imagined.

carmen wanted to give himself to you completely in that moment. mind, body and whatever was left of his soul. and he’s never really stopped wanting that since.

that’s why he did it, why he reached out and cupped your face, unable to stop himself. it wasn’t instinct or ease. it was pure need. there were too many feelings rushing through him, building up after everything you had shared, everything left unsaid.

he wanted you. not just in that moment, but for longer than he could admit to anyone, maybe even to himself. and still, even now, after all the time that’s passed and after everything that’s changed, he hasn’t stopped wanting you.

he hasn’t stopped thinking about that night or stopped regretting the way he pulled back, how he let the moment slip through his fingers because he was too afraid of ruining it, of being too much and scare you off.

but now, looking back, all he can think about is how real it was. too real to pretend otherwise. undeniable. and how foolish he was to walk away from something so honest, so rare.

he wonders if you recall that night as often as he still does.

it’s a thought that’s lingered for what feels like forever now, something quiet and constant at the back of his mind. 

but tonight, it’s louder than ever. 

especially after hearing the buzz of surprise and excitement ripple through the kitchen when richie, halfway through reading the night’s guest list, said your name. 

carm tried to play it cool, to keep scrubbing down his station like his lungs weren’t suddenly constricting.

tonight was a new friends and family night. syd’s idea. a soft reset, she called it. a chance to breathe a little, reconnect with the people who mattered and quietly debut a few changes to the menu.

he could feel richie’s eyes on him all day: watchful, heavy, like he was waiting for something to go wrong. richie wasn’t subtle when it came to the people he cared about and carmy knew that look: apprehension. concern. maybe even a little warning.

and carmy got it. richie had watched him fall short more times than he could count, he’d seen carmy spiral, shut down, push people away, so of course he’d be on edge. especially tonight. especially with you.

pepto bismol had become his closest companion through the day, sipped like water in between prep and the minutes before doors, just to keep himself upright.

as the the guests began to arrive, he stationed himself near the window overlooking the dining area. just waiting.

eyes scanning every new arrival.

heart pounding harder with each one.

waiting for the moment you’d walk through the door.

he’d spent the whole day bracing for this, imagining it over and over, but when you finally appeared, all that careful anticipation crumbled in an instant.

because nothing, nothing, could’ve prepared him for the reality of you.

a familiar, dizzying lurch hit him in the gut.

how could you still look like that? like everything he’d been missing without even fully realizing it. like a punch straight to the ribs and a lifeline all at once. like something too good to be real.

you looked beautiful. god, you looked so beautiful.

and it wasn’t just the way you were so exquisitely dressed for the occasion or how your hair caught the light. it was the way you looked happy to be there, genuinely. like no time had passed. it knocked the breath right out of him.

the smile on your face when you greeted sugar and pete made his own mouth twitch up, he caught himself mirroring it, dumbly, before he could stop it. then came richie, arms out, wrapping you into a hug, whispering something in your ear. he guided you toward your seat, and carmy quietly sent a thank you into the universe when he realized your seat was directly in his line of sight.

you sat facing the kitchen.

richie turned around just before disappearing back to the floor, and their eyes met. that usual don’t fuck this up look was still there but now something else flickered underneath. something softer. protective. understanding. a silent: i see you.

and carmy, even in his nerves and with his stomach a knot of regret and adrenaline, gave him a small nod. a quiet thanks.

you being here, sitting where you’re seating tonight, was richie’s move.

he told himself to stay focused on service, especially tonight. he owed that to sydney. she had put her trust in him, asked him to show up and get it right. and he was trying, really trying, to keep his head down and stay sharp. but the longer the night went on, the harder it got.

you still hadn’t looked at him. not once. and it was slowly unraveling him.

you knew he’d be here, right? 

you knew this place. you knew the setup, knew exactly where he’d be standing. was it on purpose? he couldn’t tell, but watching you laugh so easily, catching up with syd’s dad and chester, it made him feel disoriented, like he was watching a version of you he didn’t have access to anymore.

every second that passed without your eyes meeting his made his chest feel tighter, heavier. he was falling apart in real time, trying to keep it together behind the pass.

and then came the dish.

fak had announced it a little too loudly, of course, but it landed. 

“new to the menu,” he said, “from chef sydney and chef carmy.”

carmen stood there, watching you the whole time, heart hammering, barely breathing.

you leaned in, tilted your head, examined the plate like it was something that really mattered, eyes soft and focused. you took in the smell first, then a bite.

and then, like gravity itself shifted in the room, you looked up.

right at him.

peaches.

and he knew, in that split second, you remembered too.

do you think i have forgotten about you?

the tension of all the conversations that veered too close to something real. the breaks you shared, shoulder to shoulder, breathing in the quiet between the chaos. you remembered the glances, the ones that lasted a second too long, the ones that said more than either of you ever dared to say aloud. you remembered that night when it was just the two of you.

you remembered what it felt like.

he could see it on your face. the recognition, the weight of it all. the way you held his gaze, steady and certain, made something in him shift. and he took it as a sign.

no more hiding behind glances, no more waiting for the right moment that never came. carmen was done being the guy who only looked when you weren’t looking, the one who kept everything to himself out of fear.

because the truth was, he felt so much for you. still. all of it. untouched by time.

still in love.

and now he was ready to say it, to show you, to fight for you.

he finally understood everything had always been about you.

and as service wound down and the restaurant quieted, all he could think about was finding you before the night ended–

to tell you that.

 ₊˚⊹♡

thank you for reading. please reblog and comment. or both ☻

[clockwayswrites]

DoMAYn Day 5 Ch 3, P 1

posting from the highseas! Masterpost

Bruce closes Leslie’s office door behind him as he steps in. She doesn’t even look up from the reports that she’s going over as she waves for him to take a seat. He does so, folding his hands as he waits for her to finish.

“Jason’s reflexes are slow, but there is already some improvement. He’ll need physical therapy to recover, and he might not recover all of the way. Also, we’ll need to get him in for an MRI and an EKG as soon as possible,” Leslie says. “Danny claims that he pulled Jason out quickly, but Jason’s been dead for months. We have to assume that there might be issues.”

“Right,” Bruce says as he rubs at his face.

“You have your own tests to run too,” Leslie points out, as if Bruce could have forgotten.

Despite the obvious, Bruce nodes. “Dick is on his way in. I’ve called in some help to check Jason’s grave without disturbing it. We’ll run DNA as soon as we’re home. But Leslie, even if he is a clone…”

“I know.” Her words are short but not unkind. “But your family deserve to know the truth, even if it won’t change how much you’ll love him.”

“Hn.”

“Don’t ‘hn’ me,” she says. “You’ll need to keep the wounds on his hands clean, but it isn’t awful. He’ll likely develop some bruises, but that is easy enough. The real challenge will be his mental state. I know that you don’t—”

“Leslie.”

“No, Bruce,” she snaps back. “You ignoring your own mental health is one thing, but this is your son—or at least close enough—who remembers dying. He needs the help of a professional. I don’t care what story you spin for the press, but find someone who can help Jason handle the fact that he died six months ago.”

Bruce takes a breath, lets it out slowly, and nods. “I will.”

“You better.” She says it like the treat it is.

“What about Danny?” Bruce asks, in part to change the conversation.

Leslie crosses her hands on top of her desk. “You are not Danny’s legal guardian.”

“Leslie.”

“Yes, Bruce?”

Bruce sighs. “I know you’ve noticed the same things I have about the boy.”

“You’re not his guardian, Bruce.”

“He pulled my son out of his own grave! He was there so that Jason didn’t have to come back alone. And he is scared,” Bruce says, temper barely in check. “He is scared. Worse, he’s confused by the fact that we care that he’s scared.”

Leslie’s chin dips as she sighs. “I know. His behavior is worrying.”

“Then let me try to help,” Bruce insists. “Let me try to pay back a little bit of what he’s done for me. If nothing else, for Jason. You’ve seen how attached he is to Danny.”

“Like a baby goose imprinting,” Leslie agrees with another sigh. She clicks open new files on her computer. “As I’ve said, his pulse and blood pressure are both worryingly low. Despite this, his reflexes are sharp. Mental acuity is a little low, but it’s late and he has every right to be tired. Also he’s a little dehydrated and could use a good meal or seven. He’s pretty much underweight for his age and height, but without records, which from the sound of it don’t exist, I can’t say if that’s a big issue or just how he’s growing. He wouldn’t let me take blood.”

It’s nothing unexpected, and Bruce nods, “Do you think that stems from him being a meta?”

“Maybe,” Leslie says even though she clearly means ‘no’. “My gut says it’s more than that. A kid doesn’t end up that confused over an adult caring about them unless they don’t have adults who care at home. There’s not enough there for me to make a report on, though. I mean, not outside of being in the middle of Gotham at this time of night, but that’s not exactly unusual around your lot. I assume you have someone looking into his home life?”

Bruce nods. “Barbara is on it.”

“Good. Keep me informed,” she says and stands. “And for now, take them both home, feed them a warm meal, and make sure they rest. I don’t care if they have to be put in a room together to keep Jason calm, you make sure that they rest, understood?”

“Understood,” Bruce agrees. It’s nothing he wasn’t going to do anyways.

“Good. I’ll be over at breakfast to get new data. With all the unknowns, the more we can track Jason’s progress the better,” she says.

Bruce stands. His hair is only messed up further as he runs a hand through it. “Thank you, Leslie.”

“Thank me by getting Jason therapy. I mean it, Bruce.”

Bruce just gives another nod and shows himself out of the office.

[thelawfulchaotic]

I don’t know her story but I know the shape of it, and the shape of the mockery. It creeps up on you… I remember reading a book on secondary trauma exposure and burnout and it made a big deal out of not saying things behind clients backs that you wouldn’t want them to hear. “Imagine how they would feel.” And I got defensive about it; joking like that is part of survival, part of blending in with the court staff, and of course I don’t cross the line, how could this book imply —

These things can all be true:

1) Humor is a good way to cope with the absurdity of existence in this profession.

2) Sometimes you have to buddy up to prosecutors to get them to do nice things for your client.

3) You need an outlet to express your frustrations and sorrows and fears — and that outlet should be in your office, not in the courthouse.

4) The words that come out of your mouth should never disrespect the existence of your client as a human being.

Once I got kicked out of a courtroom because the judge made a joke I didn’t think was okay and I said so. Maybe I wouldn’t have said so if I wasn’t already angry about something else. I don’t think that situation did anything for my reputation. And I don’t think I’d do the same now. At least not exactly the same.

I do have an irreverent sense of humor, but I think that can coexist with genuine respect.

Example of a good one:

A man on the video screen takes off his glasses while the deputy has his back turned. Deputy looks back at the screen and reacts like there is a new face there: “Sir, could you tell me your nam— oh wait you just took off your glasses, didn’t you”

Me: “Man, you’d have a hard time IDing Superman”

(Actually got laughs from most of the courtroom, including the judge and the deputy in question.)

Example of one that’s more dubious:

(Man on the screen for a hearing explaining his dad, the alleged victim of the property damage charge, is dead as of last week. Man starts crying because his dad is literally dead.)

Judge: Can we take up bond today?

Prosecutor: We’re not prepared to take up the question of bond; we need to consult with the victim.

Me: That’s gonna be pretty tough unless the state has a medium on staff.

(Man cries louder. Prosecutor turns bright red.)

—

See, in that second one I used it as a weapon. It was verbal violence because I thought the prosecutor was being an asshole, but it also was humor in a place that was not tasteful for the client.

In the first, it was lighthearted, funny without being mean. Did give him some mild shit, but the kind of mild shit you don’t give to someone you don’t like. And he appreciated it too.

Anyway. No moral here. This is hard and sometimes I fail like everyone else.

Listen, friends, you have to understand that I defend people you hate.

It’s all well and good to hear that I defend children by speaking to them like humans. It may be less easy to hear that my child clients aren’t just accused of shoplifting or shoving their parents, but of sexual abuse of siblings, breaking into stores to rob them, crashing cars with their friends inside, threatening school shootings.

I represent sex offenders. I’ll defend a sex offender’s rights in the same breath as the rights of their victim.

I can talk about abuse with authority not just because I’ve read books but because I’ve represented abusers for years upon years, and watched them come back to court for crimes against the same victims.

I believe in the inherent value of human life no matter what horrible things that human life has done. I’m a pacifist and I disavow violence in all forms but I’ll make excuses for it all day in a courtroom.

I’ve put my money where my mouth is; I defend the “worst” of humanity because I can see with my two human eyes that it’s the only way to preserve the freedom of the “best” of humanity.

My job isn’t just being kind to the innocent. It’s being kind to them AND the worst people you’ve ever met, over and over and over, every day. Most people go their lives not really gazing regularly into the abyss. Public defenders be like, “hey, abyssal horrors beyond imagination, how’s Tuesday going.”

[psycholuvrgirl]

that's just how i talk

featuring... megumi!

summary: megumi doesn't like that you flirt with everyone you meet, you have to make it up to him

warnings: NSFW content; oral (m!receiving) (all characters are aged up)

a/n: bimbo!reader is just me i fear

“thank you so much sweetheart,” you beam, lashes fluttering at the barista as they hand over your iced drink. “you have the nicest hands. like you could totally be a hand model.”

the barista blinks, then smiles a flustered sort of smile. “oh, thanks!”

you wink. “don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, cute stuff.”

and just like that, megumi is clenching his jaw and nearly breaking through his own cup of coffee.

you turn back to him, all sunshine and lip gloss. you smile when you spot him and make your way back to where he’s waiting stiffly by the wall. you offer him a sip with a grin. “want some, baby?”

“did you just flirt with the barista?”

“what? no.” you look genuinely confused. “i was just being nice.”

“you complimented his hands.”

“they were good hands, baby. did you see ‘em? should i go get him?”

megumi inhales slowly, counting to ten under his breath. you sip your drink, unaware and unbothered by the faint twitch in his jaw.

“being nice is fun. you should try it sometime, gumi.”

“i am nice.”

you look him up and down. “you scowled at a puppy this morning.”

“it bit me.”

“it licked you.”

“same thing.”

you giggle, linking your arm with his as you leave the café. “you’re so dramatic, baby.”

(says the girl in the rhinestone-covered miniskirt and knee-high pink boots.)

megumi sighs. “can you maybe not flirt with everyone who breathes? especially when i’m standing right there.”

your glossy lips part. “you thought i was flirting?”

he gives you a flat look.

“that’s just how i talk,” you insist, laughing. “baby, i call the mailman ‘cutie patootie.’ it doesn’t mean anything.”

“another request: please stop saying ‘cutie patootie.’”

“no promises.”

he shakes his head. “you do it with everyone! waiters, clerks, gojo—”

“oh, come on. i’m not flirting with gojo.”

“you told him his eyelashes were longer than your patience.”

“they are! and i have very little patience, so that’s impressive.”

megumi pinches the bridge of his nose. “that doesn’t even make sense. that’s not impressive if you have a little— whatever. i’m just wondering, do you not see how that sounds?”

you lean in close, voice soft. “aww, baby. are you jealous?”

his ears go pink instantly. “no. i’m annoyed.”

“mmhm.”

you pout at him playfully, tugging on his sleeve. “you know you’re the only one i actually flirt with, right?”

he looks skeptical. “are you sure?”

“duh.” you reach up and tap your finger against his chest. “i don’t say anyone else looks hot when they’re mad.”

“you said that last week when i yelled at that curse.”

“exactly,” you say, bouncing up to smack a glossy kiss on his cheek. “and you’re the only one i cover in my gloss!”

megumi pauses and you smirk. he hates that you have a point.

***

later that evening, you’re curled up in his bed, freshly showered and smelling like vanilla, wearing one of his hoodies that hangs off your shoulder. megumi’s reading, or at least trying to. you’re draped across his chest like a weighted blanket, chin propped on your hands, watching him.

“are you mad at me?” you ask sweetly.

“no.”

“then why do you look like that?”

“like what?”

“like you’re debating whether to kiss me or murder me.”

he closes his book. “i’m just wondering how someone with that much lip gloss gets away with flirting with half the city and calls it ‘being nice.’”

you gasp dramatically. “half the city?! i would never.”

“name three people you didn’t flirt with today.”

you pause to think, a long and painful pause. “yuuji?”

“he wasn’t even with us. doesn’t count if you didn’t even see them today.”

“oh.” you blink. then you gasp and smile. “i didn’t flirt with nanami!”

“you called him a dilf.”

“oh. right.” you slump. “but he didn’t even know what that meant, so it’s not really flirting.”

“yes it is,” he says, rolling his eyes.

you shrug. “well, i flirt with you the most. so that counts for something, right?”

megumi stares at you.

“tell me you don’t love it. go on. lie to my face.”

he opens his mouth, then closes it. you beam.

“it’s just hard sometimes,” he says. “everyone always looks at you and you talk to them like they’re special. it’s like i’m not even standing there.”

you blink. “oh.”

megumi doesn’t look at you.

you sit up on your knees, cupping his jaw with both hands so he has to.

“baby,” you say, voice suddenly quieter, “sure, i talk to them like they’re cute, but i talk to you like you hung the damn moon.”

he blinks.

“and when i flirt with you, i actually mean it.”

“so you admit you flirt with them?” he asks, raising a brow.

you let out a giggle. “sure, if it makes you happy, grumpy-pants.”

he narrows his eyes. “you’re exhausting.”

“you love it,” you say, kissing his cheek.

“i love when you don’t flirt with people.”

“oh, come on,” you whine, rolling your eyes. “i already told you it’s different! i only mean to flirt with you. i love you the most.”

he continues to give you a flat look.

your eyes twinkle with mischief. you push him gently so that he leans back, crawling over to straddle him. you get close to his ear. “need me to prove it?”

his breath hitches the second you say it, eyes flickering up to meet yours like he isn’t sure if you’re serious. but you’re already sliding off his lap.

“wait,” megumi’s voice is a rasp, but your fingers are already hooking in the waistband of his sweats. “you don’t have to—”

“i know.” you look up at him, lips plush and already parting, pupils blown wide with heat and sincerity. “i want to.”

your hands are sure as you tug his pants down enough to free him, fingers grazing the soft skin of his hips as he hisses under his breath. he’s already half-hard, and your eyes gleam at the sight.

“all that brooding,” you murmur, wrapping your hand around the base and giving a slow stroke, “you just need some attention. yeah, baby?”

megumi tips his head back against the pillows, jaw clenched.

“and you think i’m the dramatic one,” he mutters, breathless.

you just giggle, then lean in and press an open-mouthed kiss to the tip of his cock. it’s featherlight and sweet, tongue flicking just enough to make his thighs tense. his fingers dig into the blanket.

you look up through your lashes, voice syrupy and soft. “let me take care of you, baby.”

he doesn’t answer. just nods once.

you wrap your lips around him slowly, sinking down inch by inch, feeling him twitch against your tongue as he curses under his breath.

he always forgets just how good your mouth feels until it’s back on him. he knows it’s good, but imagining it never lives up to you doing the real thing.

you’re not just soft, but you’re eager. like you love having him in your mouth, like it’s your favorite thing in the world.

and maybe it is.

you moan a little around him, just enough to make his hips jerk. one of his hands finds your hair, gentle at first, fingers threading through the strands as you take him deeper.

you pull back with a wet pop, spit glistening on your lips. “you always get like this when i flirt with other people,” you tease, stroking him slowly. “so serious. so jealous. it’s kinda hot.”

“not jealous,” he growls, eyes hazy. “just hate sharing.”

“mmm.” you lean in again, dragging your tongue up the underside of his cock. “you’re not sharing. you have me.”

and then you take him in again. deeper this time, one hand stroking what you can’t fit, the other gripping his thigh as you hollow your cheeks and suck hard.

megumi curses softly, raggedly and lets his head fall back.

“fuck, baby.”

you hum around him, letting the vibration roll through your throat. his hips buck. the hand in your hair tightens instinctively.

you bob your head, setting a rhythm fast enough to make his breathing hitch, slow enough to make it last. you love watching him like this. love how wild he looks when he loses control. the way his eyes fliutter shut, the muscles in his stomach tightening.

this isn’t about teasing anymore. this is about proving your point.

you don’t flirt with anyone like this. you don’t kneel for anyone like this. only him. always him.

you pull back again, spit dripping from your lips as you catch your breath, eyes sparkling. “still think i don’t mean it?”

megumi stares down at you, flushed and panting. “you’re ridiculous.”

“say you like it.”

“i love it.”

you grin, then sink down again, this time taking him all the way until your nose brushes the base. he groans, deep and guttural, both hands gripping your hair now, eyes wide like he still can’t believe how good your mouth feels.

you gag once, then pull back just enough to breathe, your lips swollen and slick.

“you gonna cum for me?” you whisper, stroking him faster now, tongue flicking over the tip. “wanna taste it, baby. wanna know you believe me.”

“jesus—” megumi’s voice cracks, hips jerking once before he gasps, “fuck, i’m—”

it’s hot and sudden on your tongue, thick and heavy as his whole body shudders beneath you. you take it all, swallowing around him as he comes down in sharp breaths, body twitching with every aftershock. you stay there for a second, resting your cheek against his thigh, letting him catch his breath.

he looks dazed. completely destroyed.

“still mad at me?” you ask sweetly.

he drags a hand over his face without responding. you giggle, crawling back up to kiss him. it’s slow, open-mouthed, and filthy. 

when you pull back, your eyes sparkle again.

“i’m still gonna flirt with the barista tomorrow.”

megumi groans.