#and then for like five seconds he’s yanked off screen

[howtotrainyouragents]

Burning OMITB question, did anyone else notice Glen Stubbins get snatched in the background when Charles and Zach were doing their duo photoshoot??

[wttcsms]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ when they act this way (i know i got 'em) !!

ᝰ.ᐟ kiyoomi sakusa is used to getting what he wants, and what he wants most right now is you. too bad you’re the biggest fucking tease in the world. fine by him, though. because when he gets his hands on you — and he will — you’re going to see what exactly all your thirst traps did for him. ( fem!reader )

pairing kiyoomi sakusa x reader word count 3.6k content contains angry sex/rough sex, overstimulation, semi-public location, pop star!reader, cheeky/bratty to sub!reader 😭, he manhandles you a bit, creampie kinktober masterlist

“What’s his fuckin’ problem?” Atsumu grumbles, tossing his sweaty practice jersey onto one of the benches, mindful of avoiding the bench Sakusa is currently occupying. He takes this extra precaution since he doesn’t want to get yelled at again by Sakusa, who did snap at Atsumu five seconds prior for almost getting his dirty jersey thrown on top of him. 

“Maybe you just stink, ‘Tsumu.” Bokuto’s grinning, but Hinata shakes his head, gesturing for both of his teammates to come closer so he can whisper to them.

“I think Omi’s in a bad mood because he’s mad.” 

“No shit, Ginger!” Atsumu groans. “People who are in bad moods are usually mad. We didn’t need you to spell it out for us.” 

“You didn’t let me finish!” Hinata whisper-shouts. “He’s been looking at [Name] [Surname]’s Instagram since before practice ended.” 

“Who the hell is that?” Atsumu hisses, and Bokuto hits him on the shoulder. 

“Bro! That singer!”

“Yeah, that clears shit up.” Atsumu rolls his eyes, yanking open his locker to find a clean shirt to wear. “Why would Omi be mad at lookin’ at some girl’s Instagram?”

The trio is silent for a moment before a lightbulb practically appears over Bokuto’s head.

“Hey! Maybe she got a boyfriend, and he’s jealous!”

The group ponders this hypothetical. 

“Why would Kiyoomi get jealous, though?” Hinata asks. “It’s not like he’s dating her or anything.”

“Unless they had some weird situationship shit goin’ on.” Atsumu suggests. “Should we ask? Shoyo, go ask him.”

“Why do I have to ask?” 

“Nope. She didn’t post anything with a boyfriend…” Bokuto mumbles, scrolling through your feed. 

“Lemme see.” Atsumu snatches the phone from Bokuto’s hands and lets out a wolf whistle. “She’s hot. No wonder Omi-Omi’s pissed off.” 

“Huh?” Hinata whines. “Let me see, too!”

Atsumu faces the screen towards Hinata. “She’s the type of pretty that makes you mad just ‘cause ya can’t have her.” 

The girl on the screen is you. Posted not even an hour ago but already generating over six hundred thousand likes, Hinata understands what Atsumu means. Your back is turned towards the stage you’re on, but you’re looking back, giving the camera a coy smirk. You’ve got a rhinestone bedazzled microphone in one hand, and you’re wearing the shortest baby-blue minidress in existence; so short, in fact, that because your knees are bent just a bit, the current pose you’re sporting causes the fabric of your dress to rise, giving everyone viewing the image an unfiltered view of the built-in panties of the dress. The caption speaks volumes: too much for you to handle?. 

“You realize I could hear you idiots the whole entire time, right?” Sakusa doesn’t sound very happy, and Atsumu is quick to shove the phone back into Bokuto’s hands. “I’m not in a bad mood, and I’m not mad, and I don’t care about [Name] [Surname].” He grabs his gym bag, making a face at the trio, before storming out of the locker room. 

Sakusa’s upset, and his bad mood only sours more whenever he realizes that his idiotic teammates are more perceptive than he would like. Yes, he was mad at practice the minute he saw your latest post. And why wouldn’t he be? It’s clear that you’re fucking sub-posting him. You would’ve been better off just DM’ing him yourself and asking that stupid question.

Too much for you to handle? 

Fuck you, he thinks bitterly. Before realizing that, yes, that’s exactly what he wants to do to you. 

Everyone knows it, including you, which makes the whole situation even worse. Your mutual friends keep trying to persuade the two of you to finally ease the tension and just get a room, but Sakusa’s always been a touch too prideful. 

The two of you have always been constantly warring with each other; you’ve got the coy, flirty, cocky personality that doesn’t mesh well with his own stoic, cold, perpetually unimpressed one. You always flirt with him, but he’s seen you flirt with everyone — it’s basically your whole brand. It’s precisely what your popstar image is built upon — the fun, flirty idol who’s carefree and the poster girl for no-strings-attached. 

And Sakusa, for what it’s worth, is a very strings-and-all type of man. 

The reason why he won’t pursue you is because you’re the first person to catch him off guard. He can’t get a good read on you. He has no clue what your intentions actually are, and he’s not about to make a fool of himself by asking you if you’re serious when you told him you were.

That stupid fucking party — he knew he shoudn’t have attended. It was another teammate’s birthday, and he was hosting it at his place, and since it wasn’t a nightclub or anything, Sakusa assumed it was safe enough to attend. Too bad he forgot that his teammate was dating some other singer, someone who happens to be one of your friends. 

Everyone there kept pushing the two of you together, and as the night progressed and everyone was getting drunker and drunker, there was intoxicated, slurred commentary on how the two of you just needed to fuck once and get each other out of your systems. 

“It’s true.” Even with heels, you’re still shorter than Sakusa, and you have to get on the tips of your toes to whisper in his ear. “You wanna know the reason why we haven’t had sex yet?” 

“Because I’m not interested.” He tells you flatly. He’s lying, and you know it. 

You pout, your plush bottom lip on display. “It’s because I don’t want you out of my system, and I’m hoping you don’t want to get rid of me either.” 

He snorts, even though his heart jumps at the thought. He wants to tell you to quit playing these games and be serious, but he doesn’t. Instead, he keeps himself guarded. “Like I said. Not interested.” 

“Why won’t you just give in?” You tilt your head. “You scared? Or maybe…” The dress you’re wearing makes your legs look even longer. Every centimeter of bare skin you expose has him spiraling into overdrive. He maintains his facade of nonchalance and looks you in the eyes, looking entirely unimpressed with your antics. “I’m too much for you to handle? Wouldn’t want to go around breaking Japan’s favorite outside hitter, after all.” 

You smile at him, giving a tiny giggle. “Yeah. I think that’s exactly the reason.” 

Sakusa is many things, and you somehow negate everything. He’s blunt; you either leave him speechless or determined to lie to save face. He’s generally unaffected by most people; you get under his skin. He doesn’t like being made out to be a fool; you make him feel like the biggest idiot, and other people know it too. He likes to have everything in his life sorted out properly; you and him have nothing but unfinished business. 

Let it be known that Kiyoomi Sakusa only came to your concert rehearsal purely because he wanted to get closure. When he walked into the stadium, hands in his pockets, watching you dance on the stage, he did not intend for you to immediately halt practice. He did not intend for you to gesture for him to follow you, and he did not intend to be taken backstage. There’s surprisingly less people back here than he thought, and you explain to him that it’s because rehearsal technically starts two hours later. You just wanted to run through it beforehand, to warm up. 

(Sakusa admires that about you; no one ever seems to acknowledge the hard work you put in, and it’s your work ethic, really, that slowly started to endear you to him.) 

Let it be known that Kiyoomi Sakusa had absolutely no intention of fucking you backstage. Because, in his defense, you have a way of making him act entirely out of character.

The constant teasing, the back and forth, your coy smiles and flirtatious remarks that he can never truly decipher. And here you are, standing all pretty in your sparkly minidress, and you just keep taunting him. Even when he’s trying to have a serious conversation with you, all you do is skate around his questions. It’s like your default mode is set to toying with men. 

“Seriously,” he grits his teeth, backing you into one of the walls. You’re completely cornered by him now. It’s easy to forget how much bigger Sakusa truly is. He towers over you, makes you feel like a little kitten backed into an alleyway by a big dog. “You can’t take me seriously for one fucking second?”

His brows are furrowed, and he’s frowning. Somehow, the sight of him angry only gets you more excited. You like Sakusa. You like him much more than you originally anticipated, and this whole cat-and-mouse charade is just that: a charade. Of course you meant it when you kept flirting with him. But you’re not used to being the one who has to chase after someone, and you refuse to give in now. With both of you having too much of an ego to give in, it’s a battle of individual pride now. 

A battle that you think you might lose once you and him both realize that you’re pressing your thighs together to apply some pressure to the growing need between your legs. 

“Are you—?” He lets out a short, sharp laugh. “Fucking slut. You really did want me to fuck you this whole entire time.” He takes another step towards you; there’s no more space for you to back into. You’re already pressed against the wall, and now he’s looming over you, an impossible obstacle to get over. Somehow, you don’t mind being trapped, as long as it’s Kiyoomi Sakusa that’s holding you down. 

“You wish.” You try to sound snarky, but it’s hard when Sakusa is looking down at you like that. Dark eyes, strands of hair hanging down his forehead, a cold, calculating smile on his face as he watches the subtle rise and fall of your chest as you struggle to breathe normally. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he’s capable of hearing how fast your heart is beating. 

“So you don’t want me to fuck you?” It should be illegal for his voice to get this low, to sound this husky. He’s leaning down far enough to where he can whisper this question in your ear, and your breath hitches as you feel thick fingers toying with the waistband of your panties. 

Right now, you are backstage, and your employees and team could be coming in any second now, and you don’t care. You don’t care, because all you care about is the fact that Kiyoomi Sakusa has you pressed against the wall, and his hand is up your dress, and he’s about to make his way into your panties. 

You gasp as you feel two of his fingers press directly against your clit, before traveling downwards and toying with your folds. There’s no actual penetration, just the tantalizing touch of his fingers rubbing against you, gathering up your slick. 

You make a tiny noise, and Sakusa chuckles softly. “You’re so wet, it feels like you want me, though.” The tips of his fingers prod at your entrance, only for him to abruptly remove his hand altogether, leaving your needy hole clenching and grasping at nothing. You whine as he examines his fingers, separating his index and middle fingers, allowing the both of you to watch closely as viscous strands of your juices coat his digits. He shrugs nonchalantly, leaning away from you. “I’ll let you get back to your rehearsal.” 

“No!” You shut your eyes, cheeks burning with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement. You bite down on your lip before opening your eyes, peering up at him through thick lashes. “I-I do want you.” You’re mumbling, but it’s clear Sakusa’s heard you, loud and clear. 

“Sorry, what was that?” 

You’re wet, unsatisfied, and absolutely down bad for Kiyoomi. You’ve wanted him for months now, and he has you right where he wants you: so needy that you’re willing to let him do whatever he wants to you backstage. The thrill of potentially being caught, the excitement of finally just giving in to your desires… 

“I want you, Sakusa. Please.” You beg him, rubbing your thighs together to try and get some sort of friction. “I need you.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sakusa might sound cocky, but there’s something equally needy in his touch. He’s back to pressing you against the wall, leaving practically no space between the two of you. He plants his hand right back into your panties, stroking your folds a few times, gathering the slick only to insert two fingers right where you need him most. He watches your expression, the way you try to tilt your head back, your little moans of pleasure as he starts to thrust his fingers in and out. 

“You could’ve had me sooner if you weren’t busy playing coy all the damn time.” Sakusa frowns, as if the memory of how long you’ve had him chasing after you has suddenly been brought back to his attention. When he says this, he picks up speed, pistoning his digits. You’re getting even wetter now, the lewd sound of him toying with your cunt the only noise in this empty backstage. He’s adding a third finger into the mix, now, and your cunt tries to resist, fails to adapt to the thickness of three of his fingers. 

“Mmph — ‘Kusa, slow — fuck!” You whine out, unable to speak properly as your walls clamp down on his digits. He presses his thumb against your clit, rubbing rough, unforgiving circles on the nub, never slowing down the pace of his fingers, even when you beg him to take it easy. “I’m gonna— I’m gonna cum!” You wail out, legs almost failing you from the force of your orgasm. 

The only thing keeping you upright is Sakusa himself. He wraps an arm around your waist, keeping you steady, but even after watching you fall apart from just his fingers, Sakusa isn’t satisfied. You little brat — you’ve been depriving him of seeing your precious, pretty face you make when you cum, and as a result, you’ve also been depriving yourself of all the pleasure that could’ve been yours, that’s rightfully yours, all because you wanted him to chase after you. 

Well, he’s got you now. 

And he’s going to want to give you both what the two of you have been missing out on, plus interest. 

You’re still recovering from your climax, legs feeling like jelly, vision blurry as you try to blink out the haze of pleasure from your vision, when you feel him shove the fabric of the skirt of your dress into your open mouth. 

“Bite down on this.” He grunts out, and you follow his command as if it’s simply second nature to. “Be a good girl, and keep holding it up, okay?” 

You nod weakly, but it’s easier said than done when you almost let out a gasp as you feel the tip of his cock prodding at your soaked entrance. Your eyes go wide, and he smirks at the sight of the country’s most beloved pop star reduced to nothing but his little slut. Your mouth is shoved with the fabric of your dress, keeping it up so he can continue to admire the sight of your wrecked pussy, still sensitive from when he banged you with his fingers. Your panties are pulled down, a crumpled mess around your ankles, and there’s drool gathering ‘round the corners of your mouth, your lipgloss staining the fabric of your dress. Messy girl. His messy girl.

It’s easy for him to slide into your needy hole, and he hisses when he feels the way your walls clench around his cock, squeezing him. There’s no better feeling, he decides, than the feel of your pretty, needy pussy yielding to him with absolutely no resistance. Even your cunt knows who owns it now. 

A soft whine, muffled by the dress occupying your mouth, slips from your lips. Sakusa’s cock is thick. Thicker than anyone else’s you’ve ever taken. It sinks into your snug cunt with a push forward that you feel entirely unprepared for, even though you’re so wet, it’s easy work for him to make himself at home in your pussy. 

His pace is unforgiving. He gives you no time to adjust, and he doesn’t seem to care about the way your pussy is still recovering from his fingers. He wastes no time in pounding into you, and even he’s panting at the exertion he’s exercising. Some tiny strands of his black curls are stuck on his forehead from the sweat, and you can’t help but think that Sakusa is beautiful, even when he’s scowling and fucking into you with a fervor that feels like he’s treating this like the only time he’s going to fuck you. 

You hope that isn’t true. You knew that the minute you’d get a taste of Sakusa, you’d never want to let him go. 

“Fuck.” He hisses, never slowing down his pace. He’s being rough, almost brutal. It’s like he’s chasing after his own pleasure, forcing you to find your release all on your own. But the thing is, it’s so easy to come apart. It’s so easy to come apart when you think about how this is Sakusa’s cock battering into you, how it’s Sakusa that’s panting and groaning from pleasure, how it’s Sakusa that is making your pussy his. You keep clenching down on his length, making it harder for him to continuously thrust in and out of you. “Fuck.” He repeats. “It’s like you don’t want to let me go.” 

You can’t speak, can’t tell him that it’s the truth, that you want him here forever. 

The echoing sound of the entrance of the building opening and then slamming close has your eyes going wide with fear. Someone has just entered. 

You’re now acutely aware of how loud the noises the two of you are making. The constant wet, slapping noises of his skin against yours, your messy pussy making a mess between your thighs and on his dick, his groans, your weak whimpers. All of it is now suddenly amplified as you listen in fear — and excitement — as footsteps echo around the hall. 

“[Name]?” Someone calls out. Your assistant. Fuck. 

You look up at Sakusa, curious as to why he’s still not stopping, but he only holds a finger to his lips, telling you to be quiet. “I haven’t finished yet.” He whispers into your ear, and you shake your head, panicking. 

“No? You want me to stop?” He buries his cock to the fucking hilt, shoving himself so deeply inside of you, you let out a surprised, pleasured squeal. “I’ll stop if you cum on my cock. For a slut like you, that should be easy.” 

You want to protest, you want to snap back that you are not a slut, but it’s hard to prove him wrong when his words, his cock, only have you tightening around him. He chuckles as he feels the pressure of your pussy clamping down on his dick, and he resumes fucking into you. 

Your hips start to buck needily against his, the pleasure making you feel delirious and reckless. You seem to have ditched all common sense, and as the footsteps continue to echo throughout the building, sounding closer and closer to where the two of you are currently fucking like rabbits in heat, you only succumb to the delirious, delicious heat of pleasure. Legs wrapping around his tight waist, you succumb hopelessly and happily to the pleasure he seems to effortlessly wring out of you, your body needily twisting and pushing against him, needing more of him. Your moan is long and would’ve been drawn out had he not pressed a calloused palm against your mouth. The dress fabric falls from your lips, and your moan is silenced as you stare up at him. He doesn’t look angry, just pleased. 

He’s turned you into such a little fucked out mess that he made you cum on his cock, despite the fact that there is someone else roaming this place, calling out for you. 

If only he got here sooner; then, he could’ve played with you for a bit longer, toy with you the way you’ve been toying with him. You’re lucky that he doesn’t plan on getting caught being balls deep in you, even though the idea of announcing to the world that you’re his gets him off. 

Muffling his own moan of pleasure by biting down on the soft skin between your neck and shoulder, Sakusa finishes deep into your wrecked cunt, letting out ropes and ropes of hot, white spurts of cum. He’s panting, removing his mouth from your skin, licking at the bite he left on your soft skin, as if to apologize. 

Both of your chests are rising and falling, the two of you greedily gulping for more air. He pulls out, a few drops of his cum already leaking out of your cunt. 

“This isn’t over.” He mutters, pulling up your panties, a puddle of his cum starting to pool into the seat of your underwear. He fixes your dress, smooths the fabric, and plants a surprisingly chaste kiss on your spit-slick lips. “Unless this really was a one time thing?” 

“As if this was ever going to be a one time thing.” You’re too tired to roll your eyes, but when he smiles, you find enough energy to smile back. “There’s a backdoor over there that you can leave. No one will see you.” 

“I’ll text you later.” He tells you, straightening his back and walking to the exit you just directed him to. “Like I said, this isn’t over.” 

Everyone on your team is worried when, during rehearsals, you complain that your legs are too sore to do the choreography.

[erwinsvow]

it’s like you were put on this earth to bother rafe.

everyday, without fail, come some sort of request—rafe, let’s go get coffee. rafe, i want ice cream. rafe, i wanna go to bed. he tells you to go to bed and you whine immediately after, letting out a faint “not alone! not what i meant!” before he rolls his eyes, one huge hand settling on your hip and the other one on your back, throwing you over his shoulder and taking you to bed. 

once you finally get him there it’s all laughs and giggles and avoiding his gaze, getting shy again, refusing to tell him what you really want. he rolls his eyes and gives it to you hard, like he knows you need it, so you’ll fall asleep and let him finish his work in silence. and it works—for a few hours, that is. then you're up again, usually with more requests.

“rafe, they’re having a sale.” you fiddle with your R pendant, the way you always do when you want something and can’t find the words to just ask for it. for a girl pawing at his dick and begging for it raw half the time, you get awfully shy. 

“so? how many fuckin’ clothes do y’need?” 

“you’re the one who keeps ripping ‘em up! not my fault-”

he rolls his eyes, running a hand through his hair.

"knock it off," he says, coming out louder and more frustrated than he meant.

then he watches you quiet down and scroll on your phone, biting your cheek. he thinks he messed up and made you cry. he feels bad the second it's done, because there’s definitely some pretty, tiny dress pulled up on the screen that you want to show him. 

he knows how your brain works at this point—you want him to get it for you, take you out to a cute dinner so you can wear it and then have him yank it off of you later that night. you won’t ask for it though, there’s your shyness again. 

you feel bad when he actually does buy you anything more than a six-dollar latte or a big ice cream that you can’t finish.

"what're you looking at?" he finally asks, not even a minute later, looking at your body resting on the complete other side of the bed now.

"nothing."

"you gonna do this right now?"

"do what?"

"just show me what you want."

"no, it's nothing. i'll just ask my other boyfriend for it, it's fine-"

before your sentence is finished, he's already on top of you, squishing your cheeks together, pinning you down. he stares into your eyes, maybe expecting tears, but they don't come. instead you look... satisfied. satisfied with yourself for riling him up like you wanted.

"yeah? other boyfriend?"

"jus' a joke, rafey." your voice comes out all quiet and squeaky since he's holding your face tight. your eyes are big and wide staring up at him. he hates that he's getting hard right now. he lets you go, rolling off and feeling your body sink into his bed.

“get your ass in the car.” it comes out as a statement, not a request. you comply immediately, leaning over to give him a wet, sloppy kiss before stumbling out of bed to grab your shoes. he gets up too, looking for his keys, when you come right back to give him a hug. you press your head against his chest, arms wrapped tight around his neck, eyes fluttering shut, breathing in his scent.

“thank you, rafe,” you murmur against his shirt.

“yeah, yeah, whatever,” he starts, but you don’t miss the way the tops of his ears are flushed with pink. “get the fuckin’ address for that place out-”

he does take you out to dinner, a cute place where he pulls out your chair for you and holds your hand in his on the table. he gets you flowers that match the color of your new dress, which are resting in the backseat of his car now. he kisses your cheek when he helps you put your jacket back on. then he slaps your ass when you’re getting into the passenger seat of his truck, because now it’s his turn to have fun with that dress.

later that night, close to sleep, you paw at his arm and ask for ice cream. the two of you are on the road five minutes later. he turns his head at the red light to watch you lick your cone. then you hold it up to his mouth so he can have some too, smiling and laughing when he takes a big bite.

he's starting to think he likes when you bother him for stuff.

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Okay but imagine sex pollen with Miguel fucking you on your back and then even when he cums he just keeps going and it’s spilling out and refractory period who and you’re overstimulated and he’s like no no you’re not allowed to tap out and he — and he —!!!!!

Sorry

MONA. You put me in a fucking MOOD LMFAO This is way longer than I intended. And its pure filth 🫣

Word Count: 2k+

NSFW below the cut.

Part 2

...

Earth 703- A post-apocalyptic world in which New York was nothing more than a ferocious jungle.

You stared off into the distance, the familiar city skyline overrun by wild flora and thick green vines sneaking in through broken windows and cracked concrete. 

“What the fuck.” You whispered to yourself, eyes now trained on the massive dragonfly that whizzed by you. Miguel grunted, punching a large finger over the screen of his watch.

The mission was supposed to be simple: Catch the anomaly—send them back to their own universe—go home. That’s it. No detours, no distractions. In and out.

“Are we close?” You questioned, pressing up against Miguel’s side at the sight of another massive insect, “I wanna get the hell outta here.”

“We just missed him.” He sucked his teeth. His mask disappeared in a flash of digital pixels to reveal his scowling face, narrowed red eyes and brows furrowed in frustration.

You’ve been wandering around the city for forty-five minutes, trekking through the godforsaken jungle with no luck. The anomaly, a Prowler from some random universe (you couldn’t remember, you weren’t paying attention at the meeting), was clever, quickwitted, and inconspicuous. You’d wished Miguel had chosen Jess for this one, but he’d refused. He’d used the excuse of her pregnancy but really, she’d already complained to you beforehand that the humidity would do her hair no favors. 

“What now?” You questioned, plopping down at the base of a bulky tree trunk a few feet away. The trees were so massive that the branches seemed to kiss the sky, monstrous green leaves blocking out most of the morning sunlight.

“Keep lookin’,” he huffed, running his fingers through his hair, “we’re getting close.”

“Miguel,” you whined, your head thumping back against the trunk, “you said that forty-five minutes ago.”

“Get up,” he demanded, shooting out a web of electric red to swiftly pull you toward him. You yelped, crossing the distance within seconds, crashing into Miguel's sturdy body.

“I hate when you do that.” Your words were muffled by his broad chest, peeling your sweaty cheek away from the synthetic material of his suit. The tiniest smile ghosted over his lips. 

“I know.” 

… 

You’d left Miguel on his own for a few minutes. 

You’d gotten distracted, swinging up into one of the treetops to observe one of the colorful parrots squawking in the distance. It’d looked just like the ones back home, except this one was enormous, probably bigger than a medium-sized dog. 

“Fuck!” You’d heard Miguel yell from down below, spitting out curses in Spanish, choking on the words as coughs racked his body. He’d been waving his hands in front of his face to clear his vision to no avail. You watched as his body reacted immediately to whatever it was that ailed him, his body hunching over as if in pain.

“Miguel!” You dropped to your feet in front of him and attempted to reach for him, but he recoiled, fearing your touch. 

“Stay back!” he wheezed, crouching down and holding his head in his hands.

“What’s wrong?”

“It hurts,” he groaned, his eyes screwed shut as his body trembled, his fingers weaving through his thick hair strands to violently tug from the root.

“Stop,” you scolded, getting on your knees in front of him to pry his hands away, “tell me what’s wrong so that I can help you.” You shoved him down by the shoulders so that he was sitting with his knees out, bringing a hand to his face and yanking it up by his chin. His eyes, normally a mahogany shade glowed a disturbing red, his pupils dilated. 

“Ran into a plant,” he forced the words from his throat, his skin gleaming with sweat, “s-some flower, I don’t know, some kind of pollen.” He groaned again, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Shit, ok, ok, ok, we can fix this,” you panicked, placing the back of your hand against his forehead. He was burning, skin blistering hot. “Where does it hurt.”

Miguel remained silent, breathing harshly through his nostrils as beads of sweat began to trickle down his face. He looked down between his legs and you followed his line of vision. Oh. OH.

His bulge was tenting through his suit, fighting against the restraints of the digital fabric. The area glimmered brightly before his cock burst through the pixels, flopping out and twitching with need.

Miguel was big. 

His cock stood tall and proud, bobbing against his stomach, the tip leaking a thin bead of precum that ran down his length. 

You stared for a moment, transfixed on the angry red tip before you found your voice. “Miguel—”

“You need to go,” he spat viciously, his fangs protruding as if to scare you away, “if you don't I’ll—” He stopped himself, lips pressed into a tight line as his chest began to heave. You could hear his heart rate accelerate with every passing second.

“Let me help you,” you whispered, your hand hovering over his cock. He looked away from you, his skin flushed from his cheekbones to the tips of his ears. “Miguel, please, let me help you.”

“I don’t want to force—”

“You’re not forcing me,” you breathed, letting the pad of your finger tap against his tip, smearing his precum over the surface. Your cunt throbbed, squeezing tight with an overwhelming desire to be filled. “I want to.” You cooed, your tone causing his eyes to flutter. 

Miguel grunted, grabbing your hand and placing it over his throbbing cock.

“Then help me.” He hissed.

…

You needed a new suit. Immediately.

Miguel had torn into it, ripping the seams apart from the crotch, all the way up to your neck, revealing your chest and glistening pussy. You had no time to complain, mewling when he spread your thighs apart with his large hands, his eyes trained on the heat between your legs before diving in to eat from you.

You squealed, your hands flying to his head as he kissed and licked and spit over your cunt, his nose pressing against your clit. His tongue dipped into your hole a few times before licking one long stripe up to your bundle of nerves, swirling his tongue around it before sucking it into his mouth.

Okay—you’ve had your pussy eaten before, but goddamn never like this, never like it was a matter of life or death, as if your pussy alone was the answer to all things.

Miguel continued his ministrations, releasing a growl every few moments, licking to oblivion until you thought his jaw would lock. 

He made you see stars, groaning loudly as you gushed into his mouth. He savored your tangy taste as he lapped at your wet folds, making sure to lick up every drop he could find. 

His mouth and chin were soaked in your juices when he came back up, and it shot a fresh wave of arousal through your veins. His hand reached out to cup your face, his thumb smearing over the traces of his cum dotting across your cheek when you’d sucked him off earlier, catching some of it in your mouth before he'd pulled out, wanting to paint your face with it at the last moment. 

He dipped his thumb into your mouth, forcing you to clean it as he slid his cock over your messy pussy, smearing the underside in your juices. His body shook with need, his eyes glazed and lidded, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he whimpered something about you being so wet.

He pulled out his thumb from your mouth with a pop and watched how you panted underneath him, your exposed skin now covered in a sheen of sweat.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, positioning your legs over his shoulders before draping himself over you, folding you in half, “I’m sorry if I’m not gentle.”

Gentle? You were a big girl, you didn’t need him to be—

You cried out as soon as he pressed his fat head into your tiny hole, forcing your pussy to open up for him as he pushed in deeper without giving you much time to adjust.

“Fuck,” you sobbed, your hands scrambling to grip his arms as he began to thrust his hips, dragging his cock in and out of you at a bruising pace. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Miguel began to babble, grunting when your cunt squeezed the life from him, the slick noises of your drenched pussy egging him on. 

Maybe…gentle would have been nice knowing now how big he was, but you understood the circumstances of the situation. This was meant to be anything but gentle.

He had you coming again, your back arching and your bare chest pressing against his clothed one before he filled you with his own spend, pushing it as deep as he could into you. He pulled out harshly causing you to moan, watching his cum leak from your swollen pussy before slapping his length over your folds a few times and dipping back in.

He fucked you harder this time until your pussy throbbed and burned from the size of him, filling you up with so much of his cum, and delighting in the way it dripped out of you. 

“Again.” He grunted, pushing his cock into your convulsing walls, slamming in deep as he licked and sucked on your nipples, leaving red love marks over your skin. You sobbed from the pleasure, feeling his weight push you into the ground.

“I can’t!” You cried, pushing weakly against his shoulders.

“You can and you will.” Miguel commanded. He couldn’t stop, barely giving you a minute to catch your breath after making you both cum again before sinking into your searing heat, stretching you beyond your limits.

You were lightheaded and spent, losing count of the number of orgasms he’d given you. Miguel growled, pulling out his cock from your abused hole and shooting his load over your body. He pressed it into your skin, smearing it over your breasts and tender nipples, down your abdomen, and finally, over your burning pussy. 

He paused, his eyes tracing over your fucked out form before reaching down to pump himself with the leftover cum in his hand.

“I’m sorry, Hermosa,” he whispered, draping himself over you again, “I can’t stop, you feel too good. So fucking tight.” He slurped your nipple into his hot mouth, sucking the taste of him from your skin as he pushed his large cock into you. 

Your eyes fluttered and you cried out, your fingers digging into the earth, focusing on nothing but Miguel's rich voice:

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m—

…

It was nightfall by the time Miguel was satiated.

You felt weak, eyes heavy with sleep and body limp. Miguel sat against a tree and had you cradled in his arms, your body nestled comfortably between his legs. He rested his head over yours, inhaling the scent of sweat and dirt trapped in your hair. 

“See that flower?” He muttered, pointing straight ahead at a few giant white daisies clustering around a tree. They were massive, like everything else in that universe, the stems taller than Miguel when he was standing at his full height. You nodded sleepily, ignoring the ache in your still exposed cunt. “Don’t go near it.”

“Got it.” You absentmindedly played with the frayed pieces of your suit, letting Miguel shield your exposed skin from the elements.

You probably should’ve left already, should’ve gone back to HQ for a much-needed shower and rest, probably schedule another meeting, but Miguel wouldn’t budge, his grip on you tightening whenever you so much as shifted against him.

“Quèdate quieta.” He grunted.

“Miguel,” you protested, “we have to go home. The anomaly—”

“I know, hermosa,” he murmured softly, “I know.” You never seen him this soft before, nor speak in such a gentle way, not with anyone and least of all, not with you.

You both sat there in silence, processing what happened while listening to the sounds of the jungle, the birds chirping in the distance, the leaves rustling in the gentle wind. You sighed, playing with his interlocked fingers over your stomach. It was strangely intimate (despite everything else that happened), having him coddle you. 

“Miguel?”

“Mm?” 

“You better get me a suit like yours.” 

“What’s wrong with the fabric ones from HQ?”

“It’s a waste if you’re just gonna rip it off again.” You heard him snort out a breath, just the tiniest thing that implied he understood your meaning. You were hoping this wouldn’t be the first nor last time you’d be under him. “We got a deal?” 

Miguel chuckled, his hand leaving the safety of your abdomen to venture down into your sopping-wet folds. You bit your lip, spreading your tired thighs, whimpering as his thick fingers swirled inside.

“Deal, Hermosa.”

...

Quèdate quieta- Keep still

[hysteria-things]

based off of this

BEREAL

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!nate x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: the bereal notification goes off when you and your boyfriend are in an intimate situation.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: PURE FILTH, swearing, unprotected sex, p in v, choking, spanking, hair pulling, dumbification, breeding, ROUGH

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 631

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: DID NOT MEAN TO RELEASE THIS LATE BUT I HAD TO WAIT UNTIL MIDNIGHT SINCE I REACHED THE POST LIMIT AGAIN😭

but anyway matt/chris will be back tomorrow!

nate’s phone blows up with notifications on the nightstand from the DA BOYZ group chat with nick, matt, and chris — but he’s too busy to check it now.

moaning loudly, your hands clutch at the pillow your head is lying on. your knuckles are white, eyes rolling back so far in your head. it’s been forty-five minutes, and you came twice already.

you guys are making a fucking mess, but neither of you cares at this moment. his and your cum combined slap against your thighs, a string of arousal connecting and breaking each time he thrusts into you. you mumble something into the pillows, but it’s so incoherent that it sounds like a moan.

his hand is wrapped tightly around your neck, the other one running up and down the small of your back. he’s so deep inside your cunt that you seriously don’t know how he does it.

drool drips down your chin and onto the sheets below, body becoming rag doll-like when your grip starts to loosen and you start to rock violently to the speed of the way he’s plowing hard into you with no mercy. “there she is; getting fucked stupid on my cock because that’s all you have to fucking live for.”

only groaning in response, you start to see specks of white every time you blink. your pussy is so tight around his dick that it makes it hard for him to move. nate’s so balls deep that it feels like he’s in your throat.

silenced screams go past your lips as the headboard bangs rapidly against his bedroom wall, his tip brushing against your g-spot for the nth time tonight. he moans, grabbing your ass and jiggling it before slapping it. “might have to put my kid in ya.” he hisses, giving it another hit. “i need to breed this pussy full. you let me use it so well.”

catching a glimpse at his lit phone screen, he sees a specific notification pop up:

⚠️time to bereal⚠️

2 min left to capture a bereal to see what your friends are up to!

he smirks, grabbing his phone and opening the app. he points the camera to his face as the time counts down. eyes hooded and lips swollen, a handful of hickeys decorate his neck in red and purple, along with a few scratch marks on his chest.

pressing the white button at the bottom of the screen, he grips the top of your hair to yank your head off the pillow. he quickly turns his phone around, the back camera getting your face into view.

nate waits patiently a few seconds for the picture to render, letting go of your head so he can upload it. this is the first time he’s seen what you look like all night.

strands of hair are disheveled or stuck to your forehead from sweating, eyes crossed with your tongue sticking out like a dog. that poor brain of yours thinking only about nate’s cock fucking the shit out of you.

“i’m cu-mming.” you hiccup, shaking violently as you’re overstimulated from three hard orgasms. the boy behind you licks his lips, stopping deep before spurts of his hot cum fill your womb.

seconds later, reactions come flooding in on his post. some are from peers from high school, while the rest are from the crew.

madi’s eyes are wide, her hand covering her mouth.

nick looks disgusted, his face half out of the frame.

matt’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline, mouth hanging open in complete shock.

last but not least, chris smiles widely at the camera with a big thumbs up.

matthew.sturniolo: oh brother

nicolassturniolo: NATHAN DOE.

user: she’s living the dream, i’m afraid…

madifilipowicz: 😟

user: HE HAS BITCHES???

christophersturniolo: get that pussy bro😝

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @sturniolotriplettoplover @stars4matt @freshsturns @loverrsposts @sturnlcvr @elliesturniolo1 @tpvmz @user283926392 @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @sturniologirl813 @leahrab @chrissturniolosslut @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @luv4kozume @ivyyyyyysposts @mirxcle1 @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @catalina-island @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @pinkfarts @slut4mattsturn @stellarsturns @thesturniolos @vickeyzloserz @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @bellasfavbisexual @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings @crazychrisl0v3r @maggieflms @strtuniolo @mutualsafe @riasturns @sturniolowhore @antpile00 @ashley9282828 @stingerayyy2

[p0orbaby]

Getting You Alone Isn’t Easy

summary: two reckless lovers, one ill-timed call, and zero chance of stopping

warnings: suggestive but not explicit

a/n: the length of time it took me to decide on a title for this was painful

word count: 1.5k

part 1

-

You’re draped over Alexia, straddling her in the faint, golden light that sneaks through the blinds. Her hands grip your hips in that familiar way, like you’re the last thing keeping her from floating off. You’re gasping, breathless, clinging to the taut warmth of her body beneath you as though the world is ending and this is your only way to stay grounded. Her hands, usually gentle, are digging in hard enough to leave bruises, but she’s sweet like that, knows exactly when you need to feel it. You can almost picture the bruises they’ll leave behind, thumbprints like violet ink smudged across your skin, each one a reminder that she was here, and that she wanted you badly enough to leave a mark.

It’s been a day, one of those long ones that started with a sun-blinded hangover, progressed into a searing headache, and then—once you forced yourself to actually acknowledge the calls you missed last night—moved rapidly toward near apocalyptic levels of panic.

Somewhere between the drink you had to “take the edge off” and the fourth one you drank without even thinking about it, Alexia texted you, and it felt like a solution, or maybe a distraction, though those two things are the same to you most of the time.

So here you are, in the thick of it, your bodies wrapped around each other, your mind slipping into that strange, dreamlike state where it feels like your skin isn’t your own. Everything’s heightened—her touch, her scent, the whisper of her breath on your neck. You’re right at the edge, teetering, and then—

Your phone rings.

Of course it fucking does.

At first, you ignore it. The vibrating hum is muffled against the sheets, barely noticeable above your own heartbeat, but then it rings again, louder this time, insistent. It’s like a drill sergeant at dawn, determined to ruin whatever peace you’d managed to find. You freeze, eyes half-closed, but Alexia’s hands don’t loosen. She’s looking up at you with an expression that’s half bemused, half annoyed, as if she’s only just managed to convince herself that you’re here, and now you’re about to ruin it with some petty, buzzing bit of reality.

You almost get through it, on the cusp letting it go to voicemail or hurling the damn thing into the bottom of your Birkin where it belongs. But something in you—a survival instinct, maybe—forces you to reach for it, fumbling as you do so. Alexia’s eyes follow your hand, then flick back up to yours with an exasperated look that says, Really? Now?

You manage to grab it without rolling entirely off her, though it’s a close call. Her hands move down to your waist, still holding you in place as you glance at the screen, and of course, it’s George. It’s always George. You swear he has some kind of sixth sense, an uncanny ability to detect the exact moment you’ve slipped into some semblance of happiness, so he can yank you back with some catastrophe or another. The man is a walking interruption.

“Don’t,” Alexia murmurs, pulling you back to the matter at hand, her voice soft but firm, her hands slipping up to your ribs with a kind of slow, determined patience. But you know better. If you don’t answer now, he’ll only call back five more times, and each time, he’ll sound more panicked, until he finally leaves you a voice note that’s somehow worse than the call itself.

“I have to,” you mutter, as you answer, attempting to clear your throat and sound like you weren’t just seconds away from giving in to everything she was doing to you.

“Hello?” you say, trying and failing to keep the breathlessness out of your voice.

George’s voice crackles through the speaker, shrill and brimming with that particular brand of theatrical urgency agents reserve for “crises.” He sounds faintly nasal, the sort of voice you imagine would belong to a man with an allergy to anything fun. You imagine him sitting in his cold, grey office somewhere in Soho, every surface immaculate and white, his expression permanently fixed into a grimace of perpetual disappointment.

“You need to sit down,” he says, voice pitched in that “I’m barely holding it together” tone that never actually means anything good.

“I am sitting,” you manage, though it comes out sounding more like a gasp than anything else, because Alexia—God bless her—is now trailing her lips along the column of your throat, completely unbothered by the fact that you’re very much occupied now. In fact, you’re convinced she’s doing this on purpose, her eyes meeting yours with that devilish glint that says she’s fully aware of what she’s doing. You pull back and give her a look—part warning, part exasperation—but she only grins, slowly, like she’s daring you to keep up the charade.

George doesn’t miss a beat. “There are photos,” he says, each syllable dripping with an ominous weight that would make anyone else think he was delivering news of a tragedy.

“Photos?” you ask, as Alexia’s hand slips a little higher, her fingers just grazing the edge of your panties. You’re barely holding it together, biting down hard on your lip to keep from making a sound. “George, there are always photos. What are you on about?”

He sighs, the kind of exasperated sigh he reserves for when he’s forced to explain the intricacies of your own life to you. “Not just any photos,” he says, voice dropping to a whisper that somehow makes everything sound worse. “These are… explicit”

“Explicit?” you repeat, your voice catching because Alexia’s lips are trailing across your collarbone now, her fingers dangerously close to places that make it impossible to sound remotely professional. “Define explicit, George”

He pauses, a beat of silence so thick with hesitation you can practically see his nervous, tight-lipped expression. “You and Alexia. On that yacht. Full-on… everything. Let’s just say someone with a very long-range lens took a rather extensive interest in your… activities”

It takes a second for the words to register, but when they do, it’s like being doused in cold water. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of everything—the sweat on your skin, Alexia’s fingers toying with you, her mouth now having moved to the swell of your exposed breast. You can’t tell if you’re more annoyed or amused by the fact that, somehow, your most private moments have once again become public property.

Alexia looks up at you once more, eyes glinting with something between curiosity and enjoyment, as if she can tell exactly what George is saying and finds the whole thing hilarious.

“So you’re telling me,” you say, trying to sound casual, though it’s hard with Alexia’s hands and mouth all over you, “that someone out there’s publishing wildlife documentaries of my sex life?”

“Don’t be flippant,” George snaps, though his voice cracks a little, like he’s barely holding it together. “This is serious. The Daily Mail already has them. And they’re… well, they’re explicit. The kind of thing they’d plaster on the front page if they could get away with it”

For a moment, you consider the insanity of it all—your life, reduced to some tawdry tabloid spread, the kind of thing boring nosey housewives read in supermarket queues. You imagine the headlines, the breathless, shocked tones they’d use to describe “the scandal.” Never mind the fact that you’re not the first celebrity to get caught like this, nor will you be the last. But still, it stings in that strange, twisted way fame always does, a reminder that your life isn’t really your own.

“I’m sorry, George,” you say, barely stifling a moan as Alexia’s hand moves just right, making it almost impossible to keep up the conversation. “But I don’t exactly have a solution for you right now”

George lets out a strangled noise. “Well, you bloody well better come up with one. Unless you want the world to know what you look like without your clothes on. Which, I might add, is not exactly… career-friendly”

You stifle a laugh, more out of habit than anything else. Alexia’s fingers are moving with that slow, calculated patience she knows drives you mad, and you can feel your resolve slipping. “Look, George,” you say, your voice strained, “I’ll call you back. After I… handle things”

“What? You can’t just hang up on me!” he practically shrieks, but you’re already pressing ‘end call’ and tossing the phone aside.

The phone lands back somewhere on the bed, George’s panicked voice cutting off abruptly. For a moment, there’s silence, and then Alexia lets out a low, throaty laugh, her eyes alight with amusement. She reaches her free hand up, trailing her fingers along your jaw, and there’s something wicked in her smile that makes you forget the world outside the bedroom.

“Where were we?” you murmur, leaning down to capture her lips in a kiss, slow and lingering, the kind of kiss that makes you forget everything else.

“Right here,” she whispers, her voice soft but possessive, and you can’t help but smile as she pulls you back down, your bodies tangling once more as you lose yourself in her warmth.

[loaksky]

— 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 & 𝒊 | 𝒆. 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔

mean neighbor!ellie x sunshine fem!reader, angst / fluff / hurt + comfort, modern!au warnings: language / 18+ content (mdni!), wc: 5k

you have a hot new neighbor…too bad she doesn’t want a thing to do with you!

tagging those who commented / liked my previous interest post!: @loversreligion , @tahni-04 , @parrotpeggy , @acnologiasgf , @maybe-cece (happy birthday gemini queen ! <3)

an — first time writing for ellie ! content warnings include oral (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving). not my first time writing 18+ content, but my first time posting eeek. i apologize for the person ellie has turned me into lmaooo. feel free to send me more ideas, blurbs, hcs, etc.

neighbor!ellie who moves in on a hot sticky july day.

ac’s busted in the common areas, elevator hasn’t worked in weeks, and she’s moved into a unit on the fifth floor.

neighbor!ellie who’s admittedly too far gone and incredibly irritated because jesse keeps fucking around and they almost drop her flat screen on the third flight of steps.

neighbor!ellie who finally gets most of the boxes and furniture settled and doesn’t even get to collapse on the couch for .2 seconds before someone’s knocking on the door.

yanks the knob so hard, the door rattles on its hinges.

eyes narrow when she sees you, all neat, not sweaty, dressed in an outfit definitely not indicative of a night in. only makes her even more annoyed because she just wants two seconds of peace.

“yes?” her tone is sharp, gaze bored because your lips part thrice before the words are spilling out.

“i know it’s miserable out, and this building can be a piece of shit, so i made some blackberry tea!”

neighbor!ellie who gives the glass, beaded with condensation, a brief glance before crossing her arms over her chest.

“i’m allergic to blackberries,” ellie says flatly.

your round eyes widen impossibly before tucking the glass behind your back.

“oh fuck, i’m so sorry,” you babble. “i have peach! or maybe mint? i—”

“i’ll pass.”

neighbor!ellie who doesn’t beat around the bush and makes a move to close the door because she hadn’t even checked into the conversation.

“if you ever need anything, i’m right next door!” you chirp. “i’m-”

“yup, yeah, got it. good night.”

and the door is shutting in your face.

neighbor!ellie who’s trying to sleep in because she stayed up all night playing tekken 4 with jesse jolting awake when she hears three soft raps against the front door.

has an inkling of who it could be so she’s only mildly surprised when she sees you standing on the welcome mat that says ‘no weenies allowed’ because jesse thought it was the funniest thing (ellie’d been only slightly amused).

“morning,” you smile.

you have a plate covered in foil in your hands and ellie gives you a brief onceover to find that you’re dressed to the nines again (admittedly it’s just a simple sundress, but the red and white ginham cuts at the meatiest part of your thighs and she has to remind herself to keep her eyes up).

“it’s…” ellie trails off, glances at the clock on the oven to find that it’s not even 9am. “…8:52am on a saturday morning.”

“it is,” you agree, extending the plate to her. “i, uh, hope you’re not allergic to pancakes?”

“…i’m not.”

you beam.

“great!”

you’re shoving the food in her hands before she can decline and ellie finds that the ceramic is still warm.

neighbor!ellie who awkwardly holds the plate up to you as a silent thanks and shuts the door in your hopeful face.

“i gotta give it to you williams, didn’t think you’d pull within 24 hours,” jesse mutters groggily from the couch he’d helped her lug up the stairs yesterday afternoon.

“oh fuck off,” she huffs, tearing the foil from the plate to find a five-stack of fluffy pancakes with two cute little strawberry-shaped containers that has butter and syrup respectively.

“who’s it from?” jesse asks, even though he knows the answer.

“girl in 5a.”

first bite in and ellie’s eyebrows raise because wow, that’s damn good.

jesse swipes a bite despite ellie’s protests and they polish off the matching plate that she puffs a laugh at because there’s a strawberry bandit painted in the center and in shoddy lettering says, “this is a strobbery”

neighbor!ellie who surprises you by washing and returning the plate later that evening, muttering out a quick thanks before ducking back into her apartment without another word.

she leaves you blinking, staring at the space she was previously standing in a moment prior before you smile and shut the door because god ellie is so hot.

neighbor!ellie doesn’t expect it to become a routine, but more often than not, you’re knocking on her door at any given hour with snacks and she’s surprised when, a week and a half in, she’s had to do minimal grocery shopping because you’re always feeding her.

little does she know it’s because you’re looking forward to the brief moments that she’s unintentionally banging on your door to return your plates and dinnerware.

neighbor!ellie who’s a mechanic and brings your goodies to work sometimes and gets teased by the other mechanics because they think she has a girlfriend.

neighbor!ellie who after revealing she works in a garage starts opening up her front door to little reusable bags with cute notes and food puns if your schedule’s don’t line up.

neighbor!ellie whose schedule does end up frequently aligning with yours and you end up taking the same elevator down.

“morning, ellie,” you greet, smiling softly at her despite being up at the asscrack of dawn.

neighbor!ellie who yawns, takes the lunch you made for her gratefully and walks with you to the elevator.

“morning, 5a.”

neighbor!ellie who could get used to only seeing you in the fifth floor halls, however, after a few weeks, you stumble upon her in different circumstances.

you’re usually out on your balcony in the early mornings to water your plants and drink your tea or coffee, but today’s been exceptionally rough at work (you’re, surprise, a café owner) so you step out to take a deep breath late in the evening after your shift.

you definitely don’t expect to find ellie perched on a stool flicking the ash from a blunt over the railing.

“��sup,” she hums, taking a long pull.

“hey,” you sigh.

“long day?” she humors you.

the two of you don’t really have much conversation because ellie’s always finding ways to cut interactions with you short.

and it’s not particularly because she doesn’t like you, but she’s caught the vibe you’re giving off and she doesn’t want to give you any unnecessary hope, especially after such a messy break up with the last girl.

(it’s definitely not because something about you makes her nervous).

so she doesn’t really expect you to spill, but one moment you’re debating whether or not you should divulge and the next you’re talking a mile a minute about how draining the job can be especially when employees end up being unreliable and the customers are impatient.

ellie’s gone through the entire joint and you still haven’t stopped talking and she doesn’t want to be mean, especially because you’ve been so nice to her since she’s moved in, but the high is wearing off because she’s too focused on finding an out of the one-sided conversation.

“you should come by,” you say, once you’re done babbling. “to the café, i mean. bring your friends, i’ll stay open a little later for you guys.”

that catches ellie’s attention after she’d zoned out.

“i— you don’t have to do that,” she says. “and i mean, we’re all pretty busy and—”

“no, no!” you say sweetly. “i insist! i wanna test out a few new seasonal recipes and i’d love some opinions!”

ellie’s wracking her brain, but you’re looking at her so hopefully and you look too cute with a few strands of hair falling from your updo. she really doesn’t want to give in, so she gives a lukewarm response instead.

“i’ll, uh, get back to you, i guess.”

you’re grinning.

“try to clear saturday night!” you tell her. “sometime around 9:30!”

ellie opens her mouth to give one last protest, but you’re standing from where you’d been leaning against the railing.

“it’ll be fun!” you tell her. “night, ellie!”

neighbor!ellie who really doesn’t want to go because she feels like it’ll only add fuel to the fire.

the beginning of the week rolls around and you decide that this’ll be the week you’ll finally ask ellie out.

you figure that ellie’s just really quiet, isn’t the one to really put herself out there, so you wanna take initiative.

you’re thinking of all the different recipes you could try because you really wanna wow her and her friends.

little does ellie know that you’re lowkey agonizing over saturday and it’s all you can think about: what you’ll wear, what pairings you want to present, how you’ll decorate the cafe.

meanwhile, ellie’s trying to find a way out of it and jesse’s not any help because he keeps teasing her about how she must be broken for not wanting her hot neighbor who has a glaringly obvious crush on her.

everyone on the whole floor, possibly even the whole building knows. hell, even the doorman knows (and it’s definitely not because you stop to chat with him frequently when you walk your little beagle, apple, and ellie becomes a frequent topic of conversation).

neighbor!ellie who starts avoiding you because she fears that her being receptive to your kindness is giving you the wrong idea (definitely not because you’re growing on her and you’re becoming a part of her daily routine).

neighbor!ellie who sees you twice the entire week, doesn’t answer the door when you knock, stuffs your cute little post-its about saturday somewhere in the back of her junk drawer, smokes her blunts on the roof to avoid running into on the balcony.

neighbor!ellie who spends most of her time at the garage with jesse and her coworkers in efforts to get home after you do.

you figure that maybe she is really busy and you shouldn’t have been so pushy about the tasting, but you’ve grown to really like her and you can’t give this up without officially giving it a shot.

neighbor!ellie who ducks out of her apartment when she knows you’re out on saturday and leaves her lights off, so you’ll know she isn’t home.

neighbor!ellie who spends the day with jesse and his girl and gets invited to a kickback on the otherside of town.

neighbor!ellie who’s about two joints in and a couple shots out, so she’s crossed by nine and you completely slip her mind.

you’re on the other side of town, about a block from your apartment, waiting in the cafe for ellie.

you made such a pretty spread of lavender matcha cookies and lemon muffins. used your special espresso roast to brew a delicious batch of coffee to make a few lattes.

you’d even bought flowers from next door, decorated the table and light a few candles.

it’s 9:45 and you think that she’s gonna be late, but time’s passing and the pastries are going stale, the coffee going lukewarm.

it’s 10:30 when you start losing hope.

probably 11:30 when you blow out the candles, box up the treats and throw the espresso in the cooler for some iced coffee tomorrow morning.

you should’ve seen it coming, really. she did say that her and her friends were typically busy. and she hadn’t officially confirmed it with you either so you were being rather presumptuous anyways.

you decide that maybe you’ll just drop them by her place tomorrow and ask her to lunch!

it’s about midnight when you walk up the sidewalk and see that her LEDs are on in her room. it vaguely smells like weed so you figure she’d been smoking a little.

you don’t wanna bother her so late at night so you enter your own apartment, set the box on the kitchen island before padding into your room to get ready for bed.

you should’ve seen it coming, ellie standing you up, but what you don’t see coming, or hear, for that matter, are the muffled moans through the paper thin walls.

you’d been used to hearing ellie cuss at her video games, heard her getting better at playing the guitar, bickering with jesse over who got to be who during smash bros, but this was new.

you’d never heard the voice before, pitched and whiny.

your cheeks warm because whatever ellie’s doing must be good. you can’t even find it in yourself to be relieved that ellie was interested in girls. you’d initially been scared that maybe you were reading into it all wrong.

regardless, obviously you’d read everything way way wrong because ellie’s mouth is filthy and there’s no misconstruing the fact that she’s fucking someone six ways to sunday and you can hear every gory detail.

your stomach is churning because it’s been weeks and you couldn’t even get ellie outside the fifth floor’s hallway.

it’s obvious they’re thoroughly enjoying themselves and the hurt and envy that kindles is an ugly sight to see.

you end up sleeping in the living room that night.

neighbor!ellie who chases the girl out the following morning after a nasty hangover and finally coming to terms with the fact that she’d brought someone home last night.

neighbor!ellie whose stomach drops to her ass when someone knocks on the door a few minutes later and she thinks it’s you, but it ends up being jesse.

“jesus, did 5a do that?” he asks, referring to your apartment number in regards to the fresh hickies blooming up the column of ellie’s throat.

“god no,” ellie says. “how many times do i have to tell you, that’s never happening.”

neighbor!ellie who would never tell a soul that she’d been imagining a certain someone the night prior.

neighbor!ellie who doesn’t want to think of anything more than being your neighbor because she’s locked in this lease for the next two years and she’d prefer to not shit where she sleeps.

(yeah, that’s totally it).

“dude why not? she’s obviously so down bad for you,” jesse chuckles, pushing past ellie.

she huffs a breath, defensive.

“god, i don’t know how she isn’t embarrassed, it’s fuckin’ pathetic.”

oh—

you’d heard jesse’s voice, then ellie’s, and figured you could give her the pastries you worked so hard on last night.

you’d always thought that ellie was just naturally aloof, kept to herself often, but last night was the coffin and this morning was the nail.

in the stillness of your apartment, jesse and ellie’s voice carries through the thin walls.

“i mean, you could just fuck her a couple of times, get it out of your system?”

“god, look at her, there’s not a casual bone in her body.”

“you can’t run away from her forever, yknow?”

neighbor!ellie who thinks to herself that she’ll try anyways.

neighbor!ellie who doesn’t have to try, because you become an enigma after that.

it’s the middle of the week and she hasn’t had to even try avoiding you once.

you haven’t knocked on her door since the week prior and it makes her brows furrow.

neighbor!ellie who starts feeling bad for standing you up, but feels infinitely worse when she goes to dump some of her trash and finds the carton of pastries you’d baked.

they have your café’s name emblazoned on the logo and she vaguely remembers you chattering about trying lavender in one of your recipes.

she sees the purple food coloring and her heart sinks because why are they in the trash? :(

realizes that she’s fucked up and that maybe she should just be completely transparent with you.

neighbor!ellie who hesitantly knocks on your door and waits patiently for you to answer.

hears shuffling on the other side, but you don’t open up.

neighbor!ellie who tries to convince herself that you’re just busy! work is stressful right now and you’re keeping to yourself.

but you two end up bumping into each other on the elevator (she’d been lurking), and you give her a curt greeting because you’re polite and you realize that ellie doesn’t owe you anything.

“apple’s got a haircut,” she observes, leaning down to pet the pup.

“yeah,” you hum.

“she looks cute,” ellie compliments.

“thanks.”

neighbor!ellie who’s not used to you icing her out, so she takes the leap.

“hey, i wanted to apologize…” she trails off. “about saturday. i shouldn’t have flaked.”

“s’okay,” you say simply, watching as the numbers painfully descend. “you were busy.”

a blanket of silence.

“i’m sure the pastries were great,” ellie tries again. “we could always—”

the elevator dings and the doors part.

“have a good day, ellie,” you say softly, tugging apple by the leash to leave the lift.

neighbor!ellie who swears she hears you sniffling on the other side of the wall later that night, but tries to convince herself that you’ve just got allergies.

neighbor!ellie who thinks of every excuse in the book to try and talk to you, but she ends up freezing because fuck, have you always been this pretty?

neighbor!ellie who buys a succulent and puts it on her balcony. she tries to catch you in the mornings when you’re watering your plants, but it seems like your schedules just don’t align anymore.

neighbor!ellie is frustrated as fuck because she’d been avoiding getting attached, but you don’t knock on her door to deliver snacks or talk her ear off anymore and it drives her absolutely nuts.

neighbor!ellie who gets teased infinitely more at work because her coworkers are now convinced that there’s ‘trouble in paradise’.

“jesus christ, you’re actually pathetic,” jesse rolls his eyes over breakfast one weekend.

“dude, she just…” ellie lets out a frustrated sigh. “i just—”

“you miss her,” he fills in.

ellie turns red.

“fuck you, i don’t—”

“it’s okay to admit it, yknow?” he says. “she’s a lot different from your exes. she’s genuinely sweet, in it because she really likes you.”

ellie swallows, lips pursing.

“you’re soft around her,” jesse observes. “you think that if you give in, she’s gonna uncover parts of you you don’t even let me or joel see.”

“fuck you—”

“for someone who likes bitches you—”

ellie groans.

neighbor!ellie who goes home and rolls a joint because this limbo is stressing her out.

and FINALLY! you’re watering your plants on your balcony when she slides the patio door open and slinks outside.

you don’t say anything to her, just continue watering.

she slumps in her folding lawn chair, kicking her feet up on the railing to feign nonchalance, but you haven’t blinked an eye at her and she’s annoyed.

“been doing alright?” she asks finally.

you freeze for the briefest of moments before glancing at her.

you’ve got bags under your eyes and your lips are pursed and ellie’s heart squeezes.

“yeah,” you answer simply. “fine.”

ellie hums.

“how’s work?”

“same old,” you say, turning your back to her to tend to the plants housed on the other side.

neighbor!ellie who doesn’t know what to say. who’s so used to trying to break conversation, not make them.

neighbor!ellie who fidgets because you’re making her nervous. you’re usually so sweet and smiley, but this side of you makes her gut churn.

neighbor!ellie who bites the bullet.

“i’m…i’m off on sunday…” she says, scratching the back of her neck. “if you wanted to— i dunno.”

your back straightens and she thinks you’re gonna bite, but you glance at the sidewalk below and shake your head.

“you don’t have to pretend, you know?” you say softly.

it’s like a punch in the chest and ellie’s scrambling.

“no! it’s—” she realizes she’s shouting. “it’s not like that, i—”

“i’m a big girl, ellie,” you tell her, that stupid little strawberry-shaped spray bottle squeezed tight in your hand. “if i was annoying, you could have just said that.”

and god she feels so fucking awful because this entire time, you’d just been trying to be nice to her. it was a harmless crush and—

“i don’t think you’re annoying,” she argues weakly. “can you…can you look at me, please?”

your head tilts up and ellie realizes that you’re trying to stop yourself from crying.

“god, i really am pathetic,” is your watery whisper.

ellie’s crossing the balcony, fully ready to climb over the railing onto your patio, but you’re quickly dashing away the tears and throwing the sliding door open.

“goodnight,” you tell her, and you’re sealing her out in the humid air.

neighbor!ellie who’s in knots because living next to someone she used to see everyday fucking sucks now that all the two of you are reduced to is straining extra hard to hear your shuffling from the other side of the walls.

neighbor!ellie who stands in front of your door sometimes, wanting to knock, but feeling like she doesn’t deserve closure with you because it’s all her fault.

neighbor!ellie who realizes that the very awkwardness and discomfort she was avoiding to begin with could’ve been avoidable had she just been up front with you.

you were sweet and you were understanding…mature. you would’ve probably taken better to honesty than ellie blowing you off and lowkey being an ass to you.

neighbor!ellie being scolded by jesse after a couple of days pass because he’s beating her ass at smash bros without even trying and it’s hurting his ego.

“are you seriously gonna keep moping over 5a?” he asks after the fourth round won.

“i’m not moping,” ellie grumbles.

“oh c’mon dude,” jesse moans in annoyance. “you and 5a have this dad with four kids who doesn’t want a puppy but ends up loving the shit out of the—”

“i do not love her,” ellie barks.

jesse smirks.

“that’s all you took from that, ellie, seriously?” jesse scoffs.

“i mean, it’s not like there’s much that can be done, anyways,” ellie grunts, tossing the video game controller onto the coffee table’s surface. “she fuckin’ hates me and i don’t blame her.”

“5a does not hate you,” jesse sighs. “her feelings are just hurt, but you can fix it.”

“and how’s that?” ellie crosses her arms over her chest.

“you’re a smart girl, you’ll figure it out.” jesse grabs the discarded controller from the coffee table and shoves it into ellie’s chest. “now put your all into this next round, i’m still gonna beat your ass.”

neighbor!ellie who’s never felt more nervous in her life.

who’s standing a block away from the café you own with a little gift bag and a bouquet of flowers.

neighbor!ellie who’s used to effortless relationships and casual situationships.

neighbor!ellie who’s scared shitless that she’s making the wrong decision giving in like this, but maybe jesse’s right and you’re just what she needs.

neighbor!ellie whose hands shake the entire walk up to the café.

she sees you with your back turned towards the door, probably doing closing inventory or something of the like with the way you scribble quickly against a clipboard.

you look so in your element with your apron tied tight around the narrow of your waist and perhaps now’s not the appropriate time, but your work pants look exceptionally great spread over the—

“i’m sorry, but we’re closed for the evening,” your voice sounds when ellie opens the front door and the chime tinkles against the glass.

“i’ll make it quick,” ellie says quietly, paper wrap around the flowers crinkling as she shifts on her feet.

you whirl around with wide eyes, almost dropping the clipboard when you find your neighbor standing in the middle of your café.

she looks so good in a fitted brown button up rolled to the elbow to reveal the whorls of ink decorating her forearms and skinny jeans that are way too good at highlighting the muscles of her thighs.

“ellie, what are you doing here?” you ask, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“i was, er, in the area?”

one of your eyebrows raise.

“well, is there something i can help you with?” you ask, eyeing the flowers and the giftbag in what ellie can only read as disdain.

it’s like the day you two first met all over again but the roles are reversed. her lips gape once, twice, then three times as she tries to find the words. but ellie’s never been good at talking about how she feels, at being vulnerable.

“i have to close up,” you prod, tone tired. “and whoever you’re visiting after this is probably waiting.”

the words after are a silent insinuation.

god knows i did.

you’re turning on your heel and ellie knows she’s losing you.

“i like you.” she says suddenly.

you freeze, fist tightening mercilessly around your clipboard.

“that’s not funny,” you say stonily. “you don’t have to make an ass out of me for having feelings for you, ellie. i get it, it’s hilarious that your dorky neighbor has a crush on you, but you don’t have to drag it. i’m—”

neighbor!ellie who’s always thought that you talk a tad too much and sets the gifts on the nearest table before crossing the distance between the two of you.

she’s towering over you and you’re looking up at her with furrowed brows as she pries the clipboard from your fingers and kisses you without another word.

“wait, wait,” you whisper, pulling away from her momentarily.

her lips chase yours, one hand splaying over the small of your back as the other cradles your chin.

“i’m sorry,” she says quietly. “i didn’t—”

“i don’t understand,” you admit. “you…you and your friend were—”

ellie shakes her head vehemently.

“i was being stupid,” she says quickly. “it’s—” she sighs. “it’s a long story.”

“but the night of the tasting,” you start. “you brought someone home…i heard you.”

ellie closes her eyes in defeat, rolls her lips as she presses her forehead against yours.

“it was a mistake, you have to believe me,” she pleads softly. “i was drunk out of my mind and high as hell and—”

she stops talking when she sees the expression on your face, notices the way your fingers hover.

“you have every right not to entertain this,” ellie swallows. “and i know i’ve been awful to you, but i…i really like you 5a.”

your head tilts down and ellie’s leaning forward in an effort to keep the eye contact.

“i’m not good at stuff like this,” she confesses. “obviously.”

you breathe out an involuntary laugh.

“but you’re different, really different,” ellie says. “and you make me feel so fuckin’ weird—”

you flinch.

“a good weird!” she assuages. “it’s good. and i really wanna try things with you if you’ll let me.”

you look hesitant, but ellie’s hopeful and you’ve always been a sucker for green eyes.

18+ BONUS

neighbor!ellie really wanted to take things slow with you after officially winning you over, but she can’t really help herself.

she takes you out a week after your heart-to-heart in your café, a nice restaurant you’d chattered about during your elevator rides to the lobby, and she’d been so close to making it through dinner and keeping it appropriate, but the dessert the two of you ordered had strawberries.

needless to say, when you’d taken a bite into the candied fruit and the juice curved down your jaw and slithered between your cleavage, ellie threw a wad of bills onto the table top and dragged you out of the restaurant.

didn’t make it far, ended up at the edge of the parking lot in the back seat of her car with two of her fingers knuckles deep in your heat while she swallowed your moans whole.

neighbor!ellie who takes you to hers after you cum twice and she tastes you for the first time.

“fuck, angel,” she whispers against your clit. “pussy’s too good.”

the sight is a devastating one, your skirt bunched around your waist and your top discarded somewhere on her bedroom floor.

one of your hands bunches her sheets in your fist, the other threaded through her brown hair as she eats you out like she’s absolutely starved.

“that’s it, princess,” she eggs you on, stuffing her fingers and curling against the walls of your spongy cunt. her tongue is sloppy against your little bud and your dulcet moans are buttery soft, absolute music to her ears.

that night seems to be the straw that breaks the camel’s back because she can’t get enough of you.

especially not when you wear that red and white gingham sundress you’d worn the second time the two of you met.

neighbor!ellie who spends so much time in your apartment now, likes to especially when you’re baking because you wear that stupidly tiny dress in your stupidly tiny kitchen and it takes every ounce of self control to keep her kisses on your exposed shoulders appropriate.

you start kneading the dough and she can’t keep her hands to herself, hooking her jaw into the crook of your neck as her fingers dance under the hem of your dress and ghosts the seam of your thighs.

“y’look so pretty,” ellie hums, tongue darting to lave at the juncture of your jaw and your neck.

“wait, ah!” fingertips trace over your mound and a semi-giddy, semi-disbelieving laugh rumbles from ellie’s chest when she finds you aren’t wearing any panties.

“you’re a dirty girl, angel,” she bites, one arm securing around your waist, the other toying with the slick coating your inner thighs. “what happened to getting work done?”

all you manage is a breathy cry when ellie skips the formalities and taps your clit roughly.

“el—ellie!” you whimper, one of your flour dusted hands wrapping around her wrist as your back arches and your ass presses into her hips.

your body stutters when you feel something nestle between the pert cheeks of your ass.

you throw a surprised look over your shoulder and ellie’s already grinning lazily at you as she continues kissing all over you.

“surprise,” she whispers.

neighbor!ellie who’s so gone. who still constantly gets teased by jesse and her coworkers. who wasn’t willing to admit it at first, but wants absolutely everything to do with you.

neng © 2023

[apteryxparvus]

your ‘just a little bit’ suspicious roommate

Pairing — Jiaoqiu / Reader

Word count — 5,191

Content warning — drinking • Astral Express shenanigans

Summary — You’re just trying to survive university life. Your new roommate? Definitely not a vampire. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself—until a drunken, accidental makeout session definitely confirms some suspicions.

Now, you’ve got to explain everything to your friends... who are definitely not going to let it go.

"As we all know, garlic is a well-known vampire repellent," March rambles, her finger waving dramatically at the screen, the laser pointer dancing over a grainy image of garlic. "And as we've discussed before, your smoking hot but totally shady roommate, has yet to touch the stuff—evidence number... what, four? Five? But regardless, this undeniable truth, along with everything else we've gathered so far, solidifies our theory."

"And with that," Stelle chimes in, crossing her arms with a smug grin, "our TED Talk has officially concluded."

"Here are our references," Caelus says with exaggerated politeness, as he presents a final slide filled with sources no one’s going to actually check.

You stare at the screen, watching the poorly edited image of Dracula with pink hair and yellow eyes—somehow eerily resembling your roommate. You blink a couple of times, unsure whether to laugh or question your life choices.

“First of all, the fandom wiki page for Count Chocula is not a proper source,” Dan Heng says, voice flat. "Second of all—no. Just no. Now, can we please go back to the movie? You know, the one that doesn’t involve… whatever this is?"

"I can't believe none of you care about this!" March exclaims, throwing her arms up in frustration. “Our dearest friend is living with a bloodsucker!”

You roll your eyes, digging further into the pile of blankets you're buried under, one hand grabbing buttery popcorn from the bowl. "I don’t care. I just want to see how the movie ends."

"The ending isn't that interesting anyway," Caelus says. "The family’s all dead. They’ve been dead the whole time."

"Caelus!" you shriek, leaping out of your seat. Popcorn explodes into the air, scattering across the couch and floor. Dan Heng groans, already pinching the bridge of his nose.

Without hesitation, you lunge at Caelus, who barely flinches as you grab a fistful of his hair and give it a solid yank. "You cannot just spoil a movie like that, you absolute moron!"

"Ow, hey—it's a classic twist, not my fault you’re slow—"

"Get off him, you heathen!" Stelle rushes to the rescue, only for you to snap at her hand like an angry feral cat when she tries to pry you off her twin. "Did you just—did you bite me?!"

Moments later, the three of you are a tangled heap on the floor—Stelle trying to wrestle you off Caelus, you stubbornly clinging to his hair, and Caelus, smirking like he’s above it all despite being squished under your combined weight.

"Am I interrupting something?" The voice is smooth, sultry. You freeze mid-pinch.

Jiaoqiu is standing in the entryway, leaning casually against the doorframe that divides the open kitchen from the living room, his expression an elegant mix of bemusement and mild confusion.

"No! No, absolutely not!" you blurt, untangling yourself with record-breaking speed and shoving Caelus aside. Scrambling upright, you snatch the remote from March and begin button-mashing like your life depends on it. The TV stubbornly scrolls through several slides until one final image—the ridiculous Dracula with suspiciously pink hair and honey-colored eyes—flashes on the screen.

You freeze. The room freezes.

Jiaoqiu arches a single perfect eyebrow, his lips curving into the faintest hint of a smirk. "Interesting taste in… presentations."

You can feel your soul actively trying to leave your body. "It’s just… uh…" You scramble for an excuse, words tumbling out in a panicked jumble. "March! March really wanted to, uh, dive into the intricacies of garlic and Dracula! For—um—for some very important in-depth cultural research!"

Stelle chokes on her soda, snorting audibly. "Oh, absolutely. Garlic research. Very academic."

You whip around to glare at her, betrayal etched into every fiber of your being. "Stelle."

She just shrugs. "What? I’m backing you up."

"Yeah, real convincing. You’re totally selling it," March wheezes, barely holding back another laugh.

Jiaoqiu clears his throat. "Well, I wouldn’t want to interrupt your… research.” His tone is polite, barely concealing his amusement. "I have some client work to finish, so I’ll be in my room. Have fun."

He turns to leave, his footsteps unhurried, but just before he disappears down the hall, he glances over his shoulder. His golden gaze locks with yours, a faint smile playing on his lips. "By the way," he adds smoothly, "that Dracula edit? A striking resemblance."

Your face burns hotter than the sun as he strolls away, leaving you mortified and very much on the verge of curling into a ball forever.

You bury your face in the nearest blanket, muffling a loud, frustrated groan. March leans over, whispering, "So… about that garlic test..."

The morning after, once your friends have cleared out—leaving behind only the faint smell of coffee and a suspiciously large pile of crumbs—you find yourself at the sink, scrubbing the last of the dishes. The kitchen is quiet now, save for the gentle clink of ceramic against metal.

You’re rinsing the final mug when Jiaoqiu steps out of his room. You don’t hear his footsteps— he’s always freakishly quiet—so when his raspy morning voice cuts through the silence, you nearly drop the mug into the soapy abyss.

"Mornin’," he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly as he rubs the sleep from his eyes.

You whirl around, and suddenly, all those memories from last night come rushing back—March’s presentation, and, most importantly, the fact that he saw it.

Your face heats up. Your neck burns.

You manage to croak out a greeting—something between a “good morning” and a choking sound—but the words trail off as you take him in.

Jiaoqiu has always looked unfairly good—but right now, it feels almost absurd. In the soft morning light, he’s effortlessly flawless, like he just walked off the cover of some magazine. His pale skin practically glows under the sunlight. His hair, messy from sleep, somehow falls perfectly into place, and his golden eyes catch the light, sharp and vivid, drawing attention without trying.

“I assume you had a good time last night,” he says, suddenly right next to you, voice teasing.

You nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah. Sorry if we were too loud,” you mumble, rubbing the back of your neck, avoiding his gaze.

“It’s alright,” he replies. “This apartment is as much yours as it is mine. Here, let me help finish this faster.” Without waiting for a reply, Jiaoqiu grabs a dish towel and starts drying the remaining mugs. The two of you work in a comfortable silence, the clink of the dishes the only sound between you.

When you’re done, you wipe your hands on a towel and turn to him. “We made some Songlotus cake. You just woke up, so feel free to grab some. And there’s fresh coffee in the pot.”

He gives you a small nod, eyes soft. “Thanks.”

What you definitely don’t mention is that March—with Caelus acting like her evil mastermind sidekick—turned a few of the crispy cakes into garlic landmines. Powdered, minced, pureed—she threw in every form of garlic known to mankind, probably hoping Jiaoqiu would take one bite, and dramatically burst into flames. Or, at the very least, recoil like someone slapped him with holy water.

After pouring himself a cup of dark coffee, Jiaoqiu sits down at the table. He takes a slow sip, golden eyes flicking to the leftover cakes in the middle of the table. In your peripheral vision, you watch him reach out for one, holding your breath as he picks it up. He inspects it, almost as if he’s solving a particularly tricky puzzle. He sniffs the air, and your stomach drops—does he smell the garlic?

(You’re pretty sure March and Caelus tried to mask the scent with an absolute overkill of vanilla extract. Or was it almond extract? You don't know, and frankly, you don’t want to know. But what you do know, it was probably a huge mistake, all of this.)

Jiaoqiu doesn’t seem alarmed. Maybe he trusts that your friends wouldn’t sabotage baked goods, or maybe he’s just so committed to his side-job as a nutritionist that he refuses to waste a perfectly good breakfast. Either way, he takes a bite.

You pretend to be extremely invested in wiping down the counter, sneaking glances from the corner of your eye.

And then it happens.

Jiaoqiu freezes mid-chew. A split second later, he’s coughing and his eyes are watering, as if someone blasted him with a full can of pepper spray. Wheezes echo through the kitchen as he struggles to swallow. With the last of his dignity the can muster (not that much, by the way), he takes a massive gulp of his coffee, his expression somewhere between betrayed and horrified.

“You and your friends… seem to have… interesting taste in food, as well,” Jiaoqiu manages to rasp out between coughs, his voice strained. You shrink where you stand, guilt simmering beneath your skin. Was March right in her theory? Or perhaps, did you take things too far?

Awkwardly, you step closer and give Jiaoqiu’s back a light pat, cringing at your own inadequacy. The man is choking on a crime against baking, and all you can do is offer this sad little pat. Internally cursing your friends, you grab one of the cakes and take a small, cautious bite to see if they’re really that bad.

And oh. Oh no. You immediately regret it. The flavor assaults your senses with all the subtlety of a brick to the face. It’s salty, sweet, sour, and umami all at once—a culinary abomination that defies all natural laws. 

You gag as minced garlic chunks battle for dominance against unmelted sugar granules, creating a texture so horrifying you nearly spit it out on the spot.

You can’t believe you made Jiaoqiu eat this. All because your friends had convinced you he might be a vampire. A vampire. And for a split second just now, you’d actually believed them. Why? Because he choked on the garlic cake? Anyone with a functioning palate would choke on this monstrosity.

"Shit—I'm sorry." Without a second thought, you snatch the plate of cakes and chuck it straight into the trash, refusing to even look at it. You’re already composing a furious text to March in your head—because if you’d taken a bigger bite, there’s a very real chance you’d have keeled over on the spot. "I can make you something better," you offer hurriedly. But Jiaoqiu just waves a hand, his expression tired, his face somehow even paler than usual.

"Can you pass me the medicine bottle from the fridge?" You nod quickly, opening the fridge to reveal a shelf lined with identical small vials, each filled with a thick red liquid. You grab one and hand it over.

"I think I’ll take this in my room," Jiaoqiu says, holding the small vial as he turns toward the hallway.

"I’m sorry for ruining your morning," you mumble, your voice barely above a whisper. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, hot and unwelcome.

"It’s—" Jiaoqiu pauses, his expression softening just enough to ease the weight on your chest. "It’s alright." He reaches out and pats your head gently, ruffling your hair. "I’ll be fine."

The sun is dipping below the horizon by the time you return from a grueling day at university. Between March’s relentless pestering—complete with even more outlandish theories—and the soul-crushingly dull lectures from your professors, all you want to do is crawl into bed and hibernate until the semester ends. Unfortunately, that’s not an option. Three assignments loom over you, their deadlines inching closer.

The apartment is eerily quiet, but Jiaoqiu’s shoes are neatly lined up by the entryway. The guilt from this morning rears its head again. Is he still locked up in his room, recovering from the monstrosity of a cake you let him eat? You shake the thought away. No spiraling, no distractions. Tonight is for coursework.

With a tired sigh, you settle on the carpeted floor of the living room, leaning your back against the couch and setting your laptop on the low coffee table. The university’s digital platform greets you—an overwhelming grid of assignments and unread announcements. You skim through the options, settling on what seems like the easiest one: “Cultural Analysis: Xianzhou Alliance and the Legacy of the Abundance Wars.”

You plug in your earbuds, selecting a relaxing playlist, and settle into the task at hand. Hours slip by without you even noticing. The topic—the Third Abundance War—seems endless, each paper you open just a little more confusing or irrelevant than the last. You only get up once to restock on energy drinks and snacks, fueling yourself for what feels like a marathon of academic misery.

Groaning, you slam your laptop shut after yet another fruitless attempt to find a decent source. The deeper you dive into the history of the Xianzhou Alliance, the more it seems like you’re wading through layers of conspiracy theories and folklore instead of actual research. Despite the importance of the topic in Xianzhou history, finding proper sources seems impossible.

The amount of nonsense you’ve had to close—websites dedicated to the monstrous Borisin creatures, the mystical Foxians, and other equally questionable topics—is ridiculous. You’re pretty sure if you handed in a literature review about that nonsense, not only would you be the laughing stock of the class, but you’d be expelled on the spot. 

They're just legends, and there’s nothing scientifically sound to back them up. But here you are, wading through a swamp of unreliable sources, praying for anything that remotely resembles actual history.

A hand suddenly pats your head, and you nearly jump out of your skin, heart leaping into your throat. You yank your earbuds out, startled, only to find Jiaoqiu grinning at you, looking far too pleased with himself.

"You scared me," you grumble, swatting his hand away. 

You take a second to really look at him. He seems better now—the sickly paleness from earlier has faded, replaced by a touch of color in his cheeks. His golden eyes are bright again, brimming with that quiet amusement that always makes you wonder what’s going on in his head.

"Were you working on something?" he asks, leaning towards you, his curiosity piqued.

You nod, slumping slightly as you glance at the time. "A stupid assignment... due in—" you squint at the clock, the reality sinking in, "—in two hours and a bit." You let out a long, defeated sigh. You’re done for. There’s no way you’re getting this paper done in time. No proper sources, no coherent thoughts, and you’re still a million words short of the required word count. You're cooked, completely and utterly cooked.

"What is it about?" Jiaoqiu asks, settling down beside you on the floor, his presence warm and close.

His proximity catches you off guard. The faint scent of jasmine fabric softener lingers on him, mingling with something subtler, something metallic that you can’t quite place. It’s faint but distinct, enough to draw your focus for a moment. You shake it off and try to redirect your attention to your laptop.

An idea suddenly strikes you, and you swivel your head toward Jiaoqiu—only to freeze when you actually realize how close he is. Your faces are mere inches apart, close enough that you can make out every flicker of gold in his irises.

“You’re a Xianzhou native,” you blurt, your voice rushing to fill the sudden silence. “Any chance you know something about the Third Abundance War? Because I’ve been wracking my brain trying to find proper sources, and—well, I’m sure you can see how that’s going.”

“Let me see,” he says, reaching over to take your laptop. You freeze, a wave of secondhand embarrassment crashing over you as the screen comes to life.

It is utter chaos—over fifty tabs open, grouped and color-coded in a system that only makes sense to you, with labels ranging from “Decent Source” to “Probably Fiction” to “Absolute Nonsense, but Fun.”

He clicks on your assignment draft, and your soul momentarily leaves your body. A grand total of 400 words stares back at you—two solid citations, a lot of filler, and way too many angry swear words sandwiched between half-baked sentences.

He spends a few minutes reading through your draft, face scrunched up in concentration. Every now and then, he clicks his tongue or tilts his head, eyes lingering on certain sentences for far longer than you’d like.

“It could use some work,” he says finally, in a tone far too gentle for the absolute travesty he’s just witnessed. Some work, he says, as if it doesn’t need to be exorcised and erased from existence. You’re too terrified to reread any of it yourself, unsure of what kind of unhinged caffeine-fueled nonsense your brain had conjured.

“Yeah, no. Better to start fresh,” you mumble, already highlighting and deleting the entire document before he can respond. You refuse to meet his gaze, staring intently at the now blank page, fingers hovering nervously over the keyboard like a criminal returning to the scene of the crime.

 “Perhaps you could focus on the Lux Arrow?” Jiaoqiu suggests scrolling through a couple of tabs.

You frown, tilting your head at him. “Lan’s Sky-Shattering Lux Arrow? Isn’t that just a myth?” The words tumble out before you can stop yourself. You’d stumbled across mentions of it earlier—both in academic papers and in… less-than-reliable historical mythology blogs. From what you’d managed to piece together, it was either a groundbreaking piece of artillery technology that changed the tides of the war or an overblown legend with zero basis in reality.

“I can suggest some sources,” Jiaoqiu offers. His fingers swiftly fly across the keyboard before he pauses, scrolling through a list of results. “Here,” he says, pointing at the screen.

You lean in to get a better look. It’s a book by Zongguang, a renowned cultural anthropologist from The Xianzhou Luofu’s Grand Virtue Academy. The title alone makes your brain hurt with how dense it sounds, but it has piqued your interest, nonetheless. You’ve studied several of Zongguang’s papers throughout your courses in Xianzhou history, though you’ve never even heard of this specific book.

“It has firsthand accounts from the last battlefield,” Jiaoqiu explains, scrolling through the summary, “and covers topics like the Borisin and the Merlin’s Claw—though back then, General Feixiao was simply called Saran.”

“Wait, seriously? I thought the Borisin stuff was mostly folklore.”

“Perhaps some of it is,” your roommate replies, but there’s a shift in his tone. It’s subtle, but you catch it—the way his voice dips, the way his words slow just slightly. There’s something heavy there, almost like... anger? It’s faint, but unmistakable; and it seems to sharpen when he mentions the Lycan beasts.

You blink, caught off guard by the change. “You okay?”

Jiaoqiu’s eyes flick away from the screen, his features smoothing out like nothing happened. “I’m fine,” he says, voice calm again. “Just... the Borisin aren’t mere legends to everyone. Their methods were brutal, and their impact left scars—literal and otherwise.”

There’s something in his words that makes you pause, like the weight of them belongs to someone who was there. Which is ridiculous, obviously, because he couldn’t have been. Right?

"Alright, March, I’m not saying I believe you," you start, lying sprawled out on Stelle's plush carpet with a giant teddy bear clenched tightly to your chest. You stare blankly at the ceiling, the words barely forming in your head before spilling out. "But something strange happened, and I cannot explain it to myself."

“Oh?” March and Caelus call out at the same time from over by the fridge. You turn your head, and you’re momentarily at a loss for words. March is busy scooping homemade ice cream into bowls, while Caelus... well, Caelus is sniffing and biting into a jade-colored cloth like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You shake your head, deciding to ignore his antics. At this point, you've seen stranger things.

"Tell us!" Stelle pipes up. Meanwhile, Dan Heng is across the room, calmly trying to wrestle the cloth out of Caelus’s grip without much success.

Maybe you’re just overthinking it. Maybe you’re grasping at straws.

“You know that assignment on cultural analysis of the Xianzhou wars?” you finally say, sitting up to better face your friends. "I was having trouble coming up with a good topic and finding sources, so I asked Jiaoqiu for help."

"Go on," March says.

"I mean, I asked him because he’s a native, right? But it’s weird—he knows way more than I thought. And—"

“What’s weird about him knowing history?” Dan Heng interrupts, looking up from where he’s now holding a defeated-looking Caelus. March swats him, shushing him with a glare.

“It’s just—he wasn’t just talking about history. It was like he was living it," you continue, pulling your knees up to your chest. "When he mentioned Borisin, he completely changed. He looked... upset, like he was actively repressing anger."

“Borisin might just be a myth, same as the Vidyadhara," Dan Heng replies, shrugging. "But some people are passionate about their cultural history. Maybe Jiaoqiu is one of them."

“Sure, Dan Heng, but his recounts were too elaborate,” you argue. "It didn’t sound like some history buff talking—it sounded like he was remembering it. And when he talked about General Feixiao, it wasn’t like he was describing a famous figure from history. It was like... like he was talking about a close friend!"

“Oh, my Aeons,” March gushes, eyes wide and sparkling with excitement. “So do you think he used to be a warrior in the war? Like, was Jiaoqiu out there with a sword, fighting Borisin and stuff?!”

“March,” you deadpan, “that’s literally insane. He’d have to be hundreds of years old for that to even make sense.”

“And?” she counters, completely unfazed.

You open your mouth to argue, but honestly, what’s the point? Logic has never been March’s strong suit, and you’re too tired to debate with someone who just last week tried to convince you she saw a Vidyadhara in the campus library.

“I’m just saying,” she continues. “It’s not that far-fetched. Maybe he was in the war. Maybe he’s like a retired general or medic or something. Or—or maybe he’s secretly General Feixiao! Wouldn’t that be wild?”

“March.” Dan Heng’s voice cuts through her growing enthusiasm. “Stop filling their head with nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense! It’s a totally plausible theory!” she protests, crossing her arms. “Right, Stelle?”

“I mean... it would explain why he knew so much, right?”

You groan, burying your face in the teddy bear. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to say anything.”

“Too late,” March says, grinning wickedly. “We’re already planning the movie adaptation. I’m thinking: Jiaoqiu—secret immortal of Xianzhou, haunted by his dark past. Directed by me, obviously.”

You groan even louder.

You’re staring at the Google Doc sent in the group chat, eyes glazed over. The words blur together, swimming in and out of focus. Caelus and Stelle had relentlessly begged you to try and outdrink them—and you never back out from a challenge. But now, as you stumble home with your phone clutched in your hand, you're definitely regretting your choice.

Your head swims as you fumble with your phone, squinting at the document like it’s written in a foreign language. The room spins, and you find yourself swaying slightly, leaning against the doorframe for support.

The title stands out, bold and impossible to ignore:

March 7th’s top secret investigation protocol 🔍🔴

You blink. Twice. Slowly.

It’s time to face the facts. Your roommate is 100% a vampire. I don’t even know why we’re having this discussion. I’ve been observing for weeks (because, duh, I’m a professional), and the evidence is everywhere. I’m not saying this lightly, but, I’ve seen enough weird stuff to know. And the guy’s practically a walking, talking vampire stereotype. Here’s the definitive checklist. Foolproof.

The headache pounding in your skull intensifies as you scroll down to March’s “definitive” checklist:

Aversion to garlic ✅ Gagged at the garlic cakes. Suspicious. Dietary restrictions ✅ Weird-looking "medicine" in the fridge. Super normal. Definitely not vampire-y. Listen, I’ve seen blood. It’s the same color. Supernatural senses ✅ Remember that time he overheard us talking about him from the other side of the house? Yeah. Explain that. Remembers super old stuff ✅ Talks about the Abundance Wars like he fought in them. “Good times,” he said. GOOD TIMES.

You’re about to scroll past, when your gaze lingers on the final item:

Vampire canines? 🚨 Priority check!!! Report ASAP.

Your half-drunken brain latches onto the challenge. You stumble into your apartment, shoes clattering noisily to the floor, and head straight for Jiaoqiu’s room. 

Logic? Gone. Boundaries? Absolutely not. 

Fueled by a potent cocktail of curiosity, adrenaline, and alcohol, you throw open his door without a second thought.

You don’t bother knocking. You just slam the door open, the hinges creaking in protest. Inside, Jiaoqiu is sitting on his bed, casually flipping through a book. His eyes flick up at the sound of the door, but there’s no surprise, no alarm. He doesn’t even flinch. It’s like he knew you were going to barge in, unannounced, with no warning whatsoever.

He closes the book with an exaggerated sigh. "Something I can help you with?"

“I need to check something,” you announce, voice wobbling as you stumble over to him. Without waiting for a response, you drop onto the bed beside him, far too close, and lean in.

His brows raise in amusement. “Do you, now?”

“Yeah,” you slur. “Your teeth. Lemme see ’em.”

“My teeth?”

“Yes.” Your hand wavers near his face, trembling slightly as you poke at his cheek. “The canines. Open your mouth.”

He doesn’t stop you. If anything, his grin widens, and he leans in just enough to make your heart skip. “You think you’ll find something interesting?”

“I know I will,” you murmur, your drunken determination unwavering. Your thumb brushes against the edge of his lips, and you swear you see his eyes darken.

His mouth parts slightly, and you squint, leaning closer—a bit too close, perhaps. Your eyes zero in on his teeth, scanning for anything remotely sharp or suspicious. And then you see them.

The soft light catches just right, revealing a pair of faintly elongated canines, sharp and glinting like tiny daggers.

Your breath catches. “No way,” you whisper.

Before you can respond—or think—your hand moves on its own, fingers brushing against his teeth. His smirk deepens, and he leans into your touch. Then, without warning, his mouth closes gently around your fingertip. It’s deliberate, teasing, and before you can pull away, you feel it—a quick, sharp prick. You yelp, jerking your hand back, staring at the tiny bead of blood pooling on your skin.

Jiaoqiu watches you, unbothered, his gaze steady as he slowly licks his lips. “Interesting,” he murmurs, his tone almost lazy.

Your head spins. You stare at your finger, then at him, then back at your finger. “You—you bit me,” you stammer.

“Did I?” His smirk sharpens, his fangs catching the light again.

“I—I knew it!” you shriek.

“And now what?” He tilts his head. “Does your little investigation end here, or…?”

You don’t think. You lean in before you can think better of it, your lips crashing against his in a messy, impulsive kiss. The faint taste of blood lingers between you, but you don’t care.

When you finally pull back, gasping for air, there’s blood on his lips—your blood. He licks it away lazily.

“Well?” he asks, his voice low and teasing. “Satisfied?”

You’re definitely putting a checkmark on March’s last list item.

But that’s a problem for future you. For now, you dive back in, ignoring the faint sting on your lips and the little voice in your head screaming that this is a terrible idea.

"Thanks for inviting us," March gleefully says, her voice full of her usual energy. The whole group is sitting around your dining table, chatting and eating.

Jiaoqiu nods casually, his demeanor as composed as ever. "Of course," he replies smoothly. "It’s important to get to know my partner’s friends better. I’ve seen you all around, but it’s nice to connect properly.”

You nearly choke on your drink at the casual mention of “partner”. But Jiaoqiu doesn’t even glance your way, his expression unreadable as he takes a sip of his own drink.

March is the first to react. Her fork clatters against her empty plate as her head snaps up. "Partner?"

Stelle and Caelus exchange a knowing glance, trying and failing to hide their smirks. Dan Heng pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh, as though he can already see where this is heading.

March leans forward, elbows on the table. "Did I miss an announcement? Since when are you two a thing?”

"You know how it is," Jiaoqiu says. "When you live with someone long enough, you get to know them better. And… sometimes things happen."

"Things? What kind of things, exactly? Spill. Now."

You bury your face in your hands with a groan. "March," you mutter, voice muffled, "please don’t."

Before March can push further, Jiaoqiu rises from his seat with a faint smile. "Excuse me for a moment," he says, gesturing toward the kitchen. "I’ll bring out the rest of the dishes."

When he returns, he sets a dish in front of March first—a well-done steak, neatly plated and still steaming. "For you," he says lightly. His own serving follows, the steak so rare it looks like it might moo if you poked it.

"Apologies if my preference for steak so rare makes anyone uncomfortable," Jiaoqiu says, his golden eyes flicking briefly to March. "I just can’t resist the flavor. There’s something… primal about it."

March freezes. Her expression wavers for just a moment before she forces a tight-lipped smile. You can practically hear the wheels turning in her head as she remembers her checklist.

You shoot him a glare, mouthing, Why are you like this? He simply raises an eyebrow, as if to say, Because it’s fun.

March clears her throat, clearly trying to regain her composure. "You know," she says shakily. "you’re awfully… specific about your preferences."

"Not everyone enjoys their food well done," your roommate-turned-boyfriend adds casually. "Sometimes, a little blood adds that extra something."

A groan threatens to escape you, but you manage to hold it in. "Guys," you mutter, sinking deeper into your chair. "Please, don’t even start."

March swallows, eyes darting between you and Jiaoqiu. Her lips part, but no words come out, just a breath of disbelief.

Jiaoqiu, however, seems completely unfazed. “Cravings, preferences... they’re just part of who you are, aren’t they? No point in pretending they don’t exist." He continues to eat, taking another slow bite of his steak, his smile creeping wider as he watches her, clearly enjoying the reaction he’s getting.

Author's note: i wrote some of this while procrastinating a lab report awhile back, and the amount of revision i had to do because the fic started sounding like a full-blown research paper... yikes 🤧🤧

but yes, here’s my silly attempt at humor. now, if you'll excuse me, i’ll go cry about my resit tomorrow and hope the universe decides to take pity on me and let me pass

[lbxbx]

Blackmail | KTH

Pairing: Idol!taehyung x reader

Genre: smut, angst. Five shot

Synopsis: being part of their staff meant you had to be around them all the time, Taehyung has a checklist of all the girls he slept with and filmed and you were next on the list, as he lures you using several ways one of them being actually showing you the content he films, before you finally give in and he actually films you to tick you off of his list. Little do you know it’s the biggest mistake ever.

Disclaimer: events and incidents in this fiction are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. This does not resemble Taehyung’s character whatsoever.

next

“He’s probably late over something stupid.” One of the hairstylists huffs blowing her fringe off of her face.

Nothing new really, you’re so sick of hearing her whine all the time, as if she’s not aware of how hectic the schedule is especially during their tour, not only the schedule is all over the place, they usually get sick and exhausted during this time so they do deserve to rest for an hour longer at least.

Of course you rolled your eyes and sometimes you would actually leave the entire room the second she starts whining and radiating negative energy to the entire staff, once she starts nagging, the energy shifts right away since over half of the staff don’t like her.

You were able to manage though and got used to it since you’ve been working with her for a couple years now, you figured out a way to reduce your chances of a headache. The moment she starts whining you take your airpods out of your pocket and put them on, blasting the music really high up and totally caring less if you couldn’t hear people around you.

Your job was quite sensitive, it took you years to get to where you are right now, you had to be there all the time whether it was broadcasts, practice or even listening parties or stupid birthday parties, you were always there with them.

And being with them for a few years now made you all really close, you understand their characters very well and it’s nothing like what people see on TV or their phone screens, they’re still human after all, and most importantly, they’re still men.

It’s four in the afternoon and time is ticking, the concert is supposed to be started by 9 in the evening and they’re still not here, and there was still a sound check and practice that had to be done first, you were really behind on schedule. You see the girls standing up at the same time which makes you lower down the music.

You hear footsteps coming from the end of the aisle and the staff are all on standby which means that they’re finally here, you take your spot near your station and put your airpods back in their case ready to start on Taehyung’s face.

Your work suited his face the best, of course you’d work on everyone’s face if they needed you to cover for someone, but you were really skilled and your talent suited his features the most. You’ve been working on Taehyung for a couple months now.

 He gets into the room and yanks his top off, a view you’re used to the entire time whether it was him or any of them, he throws himself onto the chair and looks at you once before looking at his reflection in the mirror. “How are you?” A forced smile lingers on his face.

“Good, how are you?” You smile under your face mask, he nods his head. “Sleep deprived, but I should make it.”

“Fingers crossed.” You cross your own fingers and put a headband around his head to get his hair off of his face, he’s growing his hair really tall that he’s tying it in a man bun most of the time. “I know what you’re thinking, and I’m not planning to cut it off.”

He’s smarter than what people think, you giggle and nod. “I think it looks good on you.” You finally pump some primer onto your hand and start dabbing it onto the skin of his face.

You know people envy you for your job, and in fact you’re really happy with it because it pays really well along with other privileges. Their fans probably envy you the most and you know they look really good but you’re not attracted to any of them in any possible way. You spent so much time with them that they feel like colleagues.

After all, you and them work for the same company.

He takes his phone out and dims the brightness as he starts rapidly texting someone, his leg anxiously moving up and down, you’re used to that too, he must be nervous or tired.

It was peak summer and the weather was suffocating, the humidity and the heat together forced everyone to either wear less clothes or constantly keep the air conditioners turned on, but in your case you had to chose both because you cannot stand the heat, and you get really embarrassed if you got sweaty.

And honestly your top was driving you insane, it was really lose that it kept going down your shoulder, and whenever you would move to grab a brush or anything, it would slip down your shoulder and reveal your bra straps, you can’t keep holding onto it the entire time because you needed both your hands while you’re working, so once you adjust your top it would slip back down your shoulders in seconds.

It kept happening over and over before Taehyung notices, a smug smirk sits on his face before he runs his index finger over the collar of your shirt. “I love your shirt.” And you playfully slap his hand off and grab him by his chin to throw his head back, dabbing contour onto his jaw line. “Thank you, I got it when we were in Vegas last year.”

He moves his head down again to look at your plain white top as if it was his first time seeing this excessive amount of skin, he’s totally checking out your tits and cleavage that appeared whenever your shirt fell down your shoulder. “Oh I miss Vegas.”

“You do?” You push his head back again and he finally gives in. “I enjoyed shopping there.”

“Other magical stuff can happen in Vegas if you know what I mean.” He winks at you which makes you force a laugh. “Says the one who spent his entire time at the hotel.”

“Exactly.” He simply agrees before looking around making sure no one is listening before signaling you to come closer and you do, and he whispers. “I spent two nights with four different women.”

You’re used to so many weird things from the seven boys, but this is a first for you. You look around worriedly hoping that no one over heard him, your body tenses and you feel the need to escape this weird topic. “It was an iconic concert though.”

He scoffs before whispering again. “Girl fuck the concert, four different whores in two nights, it was an experience out of this world.”

“Taehyung.” Your voice stern and serious when you stop him. “You know this isn’t allowed, and you’re being a little loud right now.”

He waves his hand before he looks you dead in the eye. “We do this all the time, nothing is not allowed.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s always you men bragging about stuff like that.”

And he even dares to look around the room again. “There are 13 different women in this room right now, I slept with like.. 9 of them.”

Your shirt drops down your shoulder again but you’re too occupied working on the face in front of you that’s been blabbering nonstop about things that are making you severely uncomfortable. “This is totally not okay.”

“Says who.” His eyes pierce through your cleavage. “Sometimes girls beg me to sleep with them, and I can’t let them down can I?”

“You’re lying.” Your fingers start working faster still making sure the makeup that sits on his face is flawless, you’re wishing this conversation would end fast.

“I can show you if you want to.” He raises an eyebrow in challenge and you giggle thinking in your head that he’s totally joking, but he probably isn’t.

“No thanks I’m good.” You finally put on some lip tint and spray his face with a setting spray. “You’re good to go.”

He gets up but his eyes are still focused onto your chest, a little uncomfortable space between you two as he puts his hands in his pockets. “If you still don’t believe me go ask Namjoon or Jungkook, they spent the night with someone and they could probably tell you about it.”

“Why are you insisting on proving it to me?” You frown and walk a step back, “I’m not interested in finding out more.”

He shrugs carelessly. “I wanted to do you a favor, maybe the nine I fucked in this room can finally be ten, by then I’ll have only three left.” He laughs, totally proud of the joke he said, if that’s even considered a joke.

You scrunch your nose and hit his chest playfully, you kind of wished you did it harder though before you tell him. “Shut up, get away.”

He takes another step closer and hooks his finger to the collar of your shirt to reveal your chest that’s only covered with a bra.

“I know the female body really well, and I know women really like having their tits sucked, have you ever had your tits sucked before?”

This time you push him harder and hug your shirt closer to your chest. “You’re crossing the limits Taehyung. Get away.”

He laughs playfully and feigns innocence before tapping your nose. “You’re so cute do you know that? I’ll see you on the break, maybe you should do some thinking until then.”

Mira the hairstylist pushes Taehyung back onto his chair and takes the headband off of his head, you reorganize the makeup into the makeup bag when you overhear him asking her. “Are you feeling better today?”

Mira sounds flustered when she answers him. “Shut up.”

Maybe he did actually fuck over half of the girls around this room, this man is unbelievable.

-

As soon as the first part of the concert ended they moved backstage again to change and have their makeup retouched, you knew he was going to start the awkward talk again so you put your airpods  on and pretended to be listening  to music even if you weren’t. His eyes were  piercing through your entire body the whole time.

He takes out his phone and opens the gallery to purposely open a video he filmed, he could see that you were watching his screen so he turns up the brightness on his phone.

In the video was a naked girl on her knees in front of him, her hands tied behind her back and her makeup was smudged, she was begging him to make her cum . And he was caressing her cheek and  putting his thumb between her lips.

Your facial expressions change and you find yourself cringing, he looks at you and bats his eyelashes. “I told you.”

“Taehyung, this is wrong on so many levels.” You push his face to the side to work on his makeup.

“It isn’t, I promise.” He shakes his head. “I promise you no one will ever know. We can spend a couple nights together and that’s it, no strings attached.”

And you immediately refuse. “Absolutely not.”

“Are you close with any of the girls around here?” He asks and you’re a little taken back at his question. “Yeah?”

“Who?”

“Luna I guess.” You name one of the girls while shrugging and he scoffs, before exiting the video on his phone and scrolling through it to open another video.

In it you see Luna one of your closest friends in the company, blindfolded in a bed and Taehyung’s face is in between her legs as he’s eating her out. Is it really okay to mess around?

“You can’t be serious.” You gasp. “Is it only you or do the other guys do the same?”

“I don’t care, but if you have your eye on someone I could hook you two up together or something.” He shrugs and your jaw visibly  drops. “You are unbelievable Kim Taehyung.”

“Wait until you try me in bed. I’m a fucking god.” He confidently speaks and you’re shocked, you’ve known the man for years but this is totally new for you. “Name someone else.” He exits the video on his phone before you shake your head. “No thanks, I don’t think I wanna see anymore.”

He locks his  phone and leans his head back onto the chair while crossing his arms. “Just think it through and I promise you won’t regret it.”

“It seems to me like you’re the one begging for sex.” You force a smirk, his eyes meet yours for a couple seconds and he mirrors your smirk. “What if I was?”

“You’re getting nothing anyway.” You shrug. “You’re done, get up.”

“Oh I get it.” He remains in his seat. “Are you attracted to someone else? Let me guess, is it Jungkook? All women have something for that jerk.”

“I can’t deny he’s cute. But nope.”

“Is it Seokjin?” He tilts his head. “No, is it Jimin? Do you have a kink for cute guys or something?”

You roll your eyes and turn your head to walk away before he grabs your wrist. “Can you make my lips a little darker please?”

You look around trying to find the lip brush before dabbing some color onto his lips. “I’ve been told that I was good with my mouth, I just care about you so much I feel the need to make you experience it.”

“Oh my god.” You roll your eyes and put the lip brush away, he rises up on his feet while laughing, “Alright I promise I’m done, but I just want you to think it through, you won’t regret it.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t think I’m changing my mind.” You clean up your station, he brushes his entire body against your back and whispers. “Will you be there tomorrow on the episode filming?”

“Well I guess unfortunately I’m always there.” You flinch in your spot and immediately take a step back. “Taehyung please stop touching me like that.”

“Alright.” He takes a step back and whispers. “I have a surprise for you tomorrow, I promise you will love it.”

“Then maybe I should call sick.” You look at his reflection through the mirror, he smirks and high key stares down at your ass, a second away from actually groping it in front of the entire staff and his band mates. “So I’m guessing you don’t like surprises.”

“From you? Nope.” You turn to face him, realizing you’re sandwiched between him and the mirror behind you, “May I?” You clear your throat, trying to find a way to get away from him, he stands next to you and gives you enough space to walk out of the room, his eyes still locked onto your ass, thank god it was summer time and thank god for biker shorts. Taehyung was suffering when he can clearly see the outline of your panties through your shorts and he can’t do anything about it.

Your rejection only makes him insist more and Taehyung grew up spoiled, people got him everything he wanted, and if they didn’t, he made sure to get it in his own way. So your rejection doesn’t really matter to him. He will have you eventually.

Even if you said no.

-

It’s the next day and you were already on the set, luckily one of the other stylist couldn’t make it so you had to work with Namjoon and Jimin instead. You could clearly see Taehyung’s eyes staring at your reflection in the mirror even when he’s three chairs away. You roll your eyes when he winks at you and he even dares to blow a cheap kiss. Your friend Leah who’s been working on his face rolls her eyes too and stands in the way.

“Do you wanna put your lenses on?” You ask Namjoon, he takes one look at the mirror and shrugs. “I don’t feel like putting lenses on, what do you think?”

“You’d look good both ways, but maybe I should put more eye makeup on if you’re not putting lenses on, is that okay?” You fish out another palette and show him the colors and he nods. “Yeah, sounds good.”

“Of course. Y/N’s so good you have no idea.” Taehyung gets up from his chair and walks towards you. “You’re lucky she listens to you, I tried suggesting things to her but she kept saying no.”

Namjoon scoffs and grabs out his phone. “It’s because she’s smart.” Does he know about his friend?

“Don’t you want to know about the surprise?” He puts one of his hands in his pockets and takes a step closer to you, his other hand picking onto your top, even sneaking a look under it.  Practically there was nothing to see, the studio they were filming in was freezing cold so you had an extra layer on. You subtly push his hand away and look back at Namjoon’s face trying to finish him up. It was basically impossible with Taehyung distracting you.

He takes another step closer this time his body almost touching yours as he whispers. “I’ll be waiting for you in the parking lot after we’re done filming, please come.”

You sigh and look at him, this can’t end up will and it won’t. His personality specifically scares you and you could swear the man was bipolar in some sort, when sometimes he’s all flirty and shit, and all of a sudden he claims this character that’s so innocent and cute which doesn’t really suit him.

“I’ll think about it.” You put the brush down and tap Namjoon’s shoulder. “What do you think?”

“It looks great, thank you.” He barely smiles and immediately leaves his chair to go and lay down on the nearest couch. You turn your head back to put the brush back into the makeup bag and Taehyung is still standing there. His eyes still scanning your entire body.

He’s a man with a plan, and honestly he knew exactly how he wants to have you. He scans you head to toe, your hair that he wants to pull on while he’s pounding into you uncontrollably, your lips and neck that he cannot wait to bite into. The way you bite your lip when you’re anxious or when you try to hide a laugh always ignited him.

Your chest, fuck he can easily tell the color of your bras and he even knows when you do your laundry, he knows exactly when are the days you wear on your sports bra, or the days you switched to your black bra that perfectly highlighted your tits. Although he grew to be a fan of your pastel pink bra that makes the color of your skin pop, he admires how the cups hug onto your big tits and this bra’s straps particularly keep sliding down your small shoulders.

He moves down to your waist and hips, the outline of your panties through your pants were like a gift from god to him, he would purposely drop things down on the floor just to watch you pick it back up, and those days would usually end up with him either hooking up with someone just to let it out of his system, or just jerk it off alone in his place.

Your juicy ass is going to be the death of him, he would sometimes sneak into the gym at the company just to watch you jog in your tights, satiating his eyes and scratching an itch inside him just to watch it jiggle right before his eyes.

During their tours he would constantly grab your handbag into his hotel room, making an excuse that your handbags look alike even when they aren’t even remotely close to being similar. He would lock the door right away and rummage through your clothes just to fish out all your panties and jerk off to them, one being around his cock and the other one near his nose and lips, sniffing and inhaling whatever is left onto them of your smell, even though they were washed, but he convinced himself that this is how you smell. It was really erotic.

And before you notice your bag missing, he would quickly take pictures of your panties just for him to keep and return them to your bag and switching it out with his. He lost control so many times and “Accidentally” Shot his seed onto your panties, and with the small span of time he had, he had to return them soiled into your handbag.

Which when you discovered it was already dried up, you huffed and the naïve you thought it was the bottle of your conditioner blew up or something, which if you think harder and open your eyes, it was only one soiled panty.

Taehyung had a goal, and growing up not being surrounded by many women in his life, he’s compensating but in an abnormal way, he has hooked up with over half the women who work in your company and it was your turn and he wanted to have you just so he can check your name on the list and tick it done.

“We’re starting in 10 minutes.” The producer announces which snaps Taehyung out of his thoughts. “So did you pack for tomorrow?”

“Yeah, aren’t you excited?” You genuinely ask, you packed up your carry on the night before since you’re all heading to Osaka tomorrow for their tour. You can’t deny you love your job, you get to travel all over the world with them and you even get paid for it. But little do you know, there will be a price you have to pay.

“Oh yeah, even when it’s just for one day but I love Osaka.” He looks behind you and you follow his eyesight to find one of the stylists wearing short shorts that her lower butt cheek was clearly visible to everyone. You look back at Taehyung to see him still glancing at her ass with his head tilted. “Oh my god Taehyung, stop.”

He laughs and takes his phone out. “Come take a look. Her ass didn’t look like that when she was naked.” You debate for a second but you’re human after all and you’re a little curious, you stand next to him and watch him dig through a locked folder on his phone, scrolling up for a good two minutes before he finds the picture.

It was that stylist laying flat on the bed face down, her hand tied behind her back and her bare ass was sore read, clearly spanked and fucked until she passed out. And he was right, her ass didn’t look the same when she was naked. “You’re right, but that doesn’t mean that this isn’t wrong.”

“Hey, if it makes you feel better I get their consent before I do anything.” He scrolls up again. “Wanna see something else? Look, this is her.”

He hands you one of his airpods and you put it on, and he starts a video of her down on her knees, her eyes blood red, clearly she was either drunk or high, and she was begging him to slap her on the face with his thumb into her mouth.

“Shit.. Please daddy, please spank me and make me yours.”

“Good girl, are you going to be daddy’s little whore and beg more?”

“Please spank your little whore on the face, it feels so fucking good when you do that, please spank me.”

And he slaps her hard on the cheek enough to make her hair fall on her face, but she immediately looks back at him and begs him to do it again and again and he does. And you can’t help but to notice the tip of his cock showing in the video. “How does getting slapped on the face feel good? I don’t get it.”

“Shh-“ He notices your voice getting a little higher and opens up another video. “You shouldn’t knock it till you try it, every girl I’ve been with said it felt amazing.”

“Do you think you would enjoy getting slapped on the face?” You ask, blinking your eyes a couple of times, he smirks and locks his phone. “I haven’t tried yet, but I’m willing to try it with you if you want to, maybe you can slap me on the face while you’re riding my dick, we’ll see if it feels good.”

Your face flushes at his explicit mentions of sex, you hit him on the arm and turn away from him, packing your kit into the makeup bag and taking a seat finally. And your flushed cheeks are considered as a good sign to him, he’s getting there and he’s slowly sinking his claws in to have you eventually.

The episode they’re filming took them a little over eight hours, you’re already packed and ready to leave and you hesitate actually going down to the parking lot, it’s almost an hour after filming and you’re not sure he’s still in the building or not.

The elevator stops at -1 and you make your way out, the entire floor is near empty and you can only spot around four cars parked around the floor, and all of them seem empty, except for the Genesis Suv that’s parked way back in the corner that flashes it’s lights repeatedly. It’s him.

You make your way there and reach your hand to the door handle and try to open it but it’s locked. Quite a trashy move of him to actually call you over and forget his car locked. You roll your eyes when he unlocks the car and you go inside. “What?”

“What?” He mocks you and locks his car again, “How was your day?”

“Taehyung just make it quick will you? We have a flight to catch tomorrow and I’m nowhere near ready—“ You’re interrupted by him shushing you and grabbing your purse away from you to put in the back seat. He reaches his entire body to the car floor and takes out a little box that’s wrapped in a tiny velvety ribbon. “This is my surprise for you.”

You’re intrigued. Your gaze meets his for a split second before you reject the box. “I can’t take gifts from you.”

He doesn’t even argue as he offers you the box again. “Hey, you don’t have to open it now if you want to.” He puts the box down onto your lap and leans his arm on the middle console. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning and you’ll tell me what you think, deal?”

You’re even more intrigued and you’re getting more curious to actually find out what’s inside, and why would he actually stay after schedule just to hand you this gift? You even shake the box while suspiciously maintaining eye contact with him which makes him smirk. You can only hear one thing clicking in the box and you can’t quite put a finger on it and figure out what it is?

“Alright, whatever. Are you going to drive me to my place or what?” You already put your hand on the door handle ready to leave the car. “No I can’t I’m sorry, I have a place to be, I can get you to the bus stop if you want to.” He just says that out of pity. What a douche.

“No thank you, I’ll walk there.” You squint your eyes before you leave the car, he doesn’t even wait for you to walk out of the building and he drives away fast, he really is a douche.

Public transportation wasn’t a big deal for you anyway, the ride home on the bus was very therapeutic to you, you usually keep your headphones on and listen to an audio book on your way back to clear your mind, or you would usually catch up with your friends on the group chat or something.

Sometimes you would even fall asleep if it was an exhausting day, but on your trip home tonight you were anticipating getting to your studio apartment so much, not that you’re greedy for the gift or anything, but you’re just curious why he so suddenly decided on giving you a gift that actually looks expensive.

You get there after a 40 minute trip and you finally get into your flat, not even taking your shoes off you rush to your couch and put the box down and untie the little dainty velvety ribbon, you take the top of the box off and you only see a few wrapping papers covering what seems to be a clothing item. You take it out and you feel your entire body heat up. It’s a costume.

No no, not any costume, it’s a little too slutty to be an actual costume. It’s a black leather one piece with spaghetti straps, a really low neck line that you know no one’s chest will ever fit in them. Not only that, but a pair of black lace stockings and suspenders, and a choker.

What in hell..

You put them down on the couch beside you and dig deeper into the box to find cat ears headband and a.. What the actual fuck.

A butt plug?

You cannot believe him, you put the blame on yourself for actually listening to him and meeting him up in the parking lot, and you shouldn’t have accepted the gift in the first place, he’s an actual man whore.

You scrunch up the entire outfit in a messy ball and throw it back in the box, before closing it and throwing it near your door on the floor, so you can pick it up and throw it in the trash in the morning.

-

A mini-van is supposed to collect all the girls up from their places and head to the airport, and of course you’re late. Last night’s sleep was horrendous, you couldn’t stop overthinking about the little trashy gift you got from the trashy man. You cannot believe some girls actually idolize this man.

“Y/N, if we miss the flight we have to book one ourselves.” Mira shouts as you hurriedly close your carry on and struggle to put on your pair of sneakers. You look at the trash near your door and sigh. “Damn it. I have to take the trash out.”

“Nope, you’re not taking anything out, I’m not willing to pay anything extra for the job I cannot stand.” She’s slowly losing her patience and so are you. You forget about the trash and get out of your place and lock your door.

The moment you get to the airport it’s already chaotic. Their schedule has been up since last week to the public and their fans know that they’re going out for tour, so they’re waiting there to hand them gifts and handmade letters. Again you cannot believe the image he shows to people of him when you know his true personality.

And boy was he good at faking an entire persona, you have no idea what girls think of him but fuck he’s nowhere near how girls imagine him. A trashy human being that you could swear reeks like sex the entire time. He looks like he woke up with a hangover so you guess he was probably with someone last night and he was onto something.

He notices your existence amid all the chaos when you all get up to the lounge to have your breakfast even when you could’ve waited to get to Japan to eat, the trip wasn’t that far away. You grab yourself a cup of coffee and stack up food on your plate, you know you won’t have the time to eat later so you decide on fueling up early today.

“Good morning.” He puts his coffee down on the same table you’re sitting around and you sigh before looking around. Relax Y/N, you cannot make a scene.

“Good morning.” You proceed on eating, you cannot let him ruin your morning this quickly.

“So, what do you think?” He crosses his legs and tilts his head towards you. “The moment I saw the costume I knew I had to buy it for you.”

“Mhm, truly says a lot about your character, a trashy gift from someone like you.” You don’t beat around the bush. He laughs and leans towards you to whisper. “Please tell me you got it in your luggage.”

“Nope, I’m getting rid of it—“

He shrugs right away. “Then I’ll buy you another one.”

A moment of silence fills the air when your gaze meets his for a couple seconds, he pulls his chair closer to yours and takes his phone out which makes you whine. You know he’s going to show you more of his kinky NSFW content and it’s really uncomfortable for you to watch it. “Look, I don’t know how I can explain this better for you, but trust me. It is okay for things like that to happen in this field.”

“Just because everyone’s doing it doesn’t mean it’s right.” There you go, a girl with standards.

“I swear it is okay.” He pulls his chair even closer and now his shoulder is rubbing against yours when he whispers. “Y/N baby, us men are totally different. You girls can go around without sex for ages and you won’t even care. But men have this sexual energy that they need to let out one way or another.”

This is really disgusting.

“And people like us need to be careful on who to hook up with, and you girls are the safest because we work together.” He shrugs. “Not only us, every idol in the country has to do so.”

Of course it’s partially right, but you’re genuinely confused on why wouldn’t he just get a girlfriend instead of bitching around with plenty of women.

“You know, the idea itself is not that acceptable, but I can understand. But why do you film them? For the love of god you have an entire folder on your phone dedicated to this content. I mean, why do you have to film them when you have them right there in front of you?”

“Good question.” He nods. “You know how some people try and discover themselves, they sometimes dig around here and there trying to find out what actually turns them on, and you know they try and discover their preferences?”

“Are you trying to mansplain what kinks are?” You proceed on eating. “So is that your kink? You like filming women?”

“It’s more fun than the actual thing to me. And the times I made myself cum to the videos I created are countless. It’s fucking sexy.” He grits on his teeth and puts an arm around your chair. You’re getting uncomfortable with him not leaving you enough amount of personal space. “I love watching them looking at the camera and begging to be fucked and just submit to me.”

“And they’re all okay with being filmed?” You ask him and he nods right away. “Now they know what I like, and now they ask me to film them. What about you?”

“No, I’m good thank you.” You answer right away and put down your fork when you’ve fully wiped your plate clean.

“No, I mean what kinks do you have? Have you tried discovering what your preferences are?” He asks, twirling a strand of your hair in his hand, you can feel his breath against your ear when he whispers. “What was it like being fucked the first time?”

It takes you a moment to answer but you eventually do. “I don’t remember what it was like, it was long ago, but I don’t recall it being fun.”

“First time is always awkward.” He nods. “What about the second time?”

You shrug one shoulder and cross your arms. “I don’t think of sex the way you do. I mean I’ve had sex multiple times with different partners, but I think it’s a little overrated.”

“Overrated?” He’s offended. His hand sits on his chest. “You think sex is overrated?”

“Okay chill.” You get up on your feet to refill your coffee and he follows you. “I just don’t find it as fun and as pleasuring as people claim it is.”

“It’s because you haven’t had it with the right person.” He defends right away. “Oh my god did you even cum before?”

You shrug. “I don’t know, maybe.”

He’s interrupted by your gate opening, their carryon luggage is carried and already loaded inside and the rest of the staff is starting to board. “This isn’t finished yet. I’ll see you when we get to our hotel.”

“Whatever Taehyung, don’t make a big deal out of this.” You push him away to grab your bag and get in line. “It is a big deal.” He argues one last time and gets in line and boards the plane.

-

You have no idea what went through you, but the entire flight you were rethinking your conversation with him and you find yourself slowly getting convinced about the idea generally. You really surprised yourself when you hum out loud, thinking that you are getting curious to try and spend one night with him.

Do girls actually want to sleep with him because he’s good? Or because he’s an idol and that’s like literally a fetish to some people.

You cannot deny he’s really good looking, he’s really charming on camera but even the camera doesn’t do him any justice, he was perfectly sculpted in real life and way more attractive than people think.  But it’s just his recurrent sexual behavior that’s been setting you off. You find yourself cringing.

The entire plane has been booked for Bangtan and their staff. Them with their managers, security, filming staff, directors, producers, engineers, stylists and makeup artists of course, editors. Everyone on this plane knew each other.

It was a little noisy to begin with since some are catching up and some are chatting, so you put your earphones on the entire flight, and right when your third song on your playlist ended and the fourth one is about to start, you over hear the girls behind you.

“You need to cover for me when we get there.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can barely stand on my feet, and I’m really sore from last night.”

“Who did you spend the night with? I thought you were inviting me.”

“Taehyung and Jungkook. I passed out at the end.”

“You’re kidding.” 

So it is normal for girls to actually sleep with them and go around telling their friends like it’s totally okay. It’s starting to feel like a whore house, and it probably is.

You peak your head to look towards Jungkook and Taehyung, both of them are sleeping and even snoring. Of course they’re tired when they spend the previous night with the same girl. This is so fucked up.

Not long after you all get to the hotel to spend the only free hour you get before your day starts and you all head to the stadium for rehearsals. You’re surprised that the entire hotel is booked for the staff too and you luckily get your own room with one single bed, but who are you to complain? You always hated having roommates, so one bed is way better than having a roommate.

Right when you’re about to close the door a foot stops it from moving any further which startles you for a second before you open the door again. Of course it’s him, who’s been digging deep and moving around asking stylists which room you got. “Oh come on.” You whine.

“Can I come in?” He so politely and innocently asks, for a second you’d doubt he’s the same person who showed you an entire folder of girls begging him to do stuff to them. He doesn’t even step a foot further inside your room before you huff and roll your eyes. “Come in.”

He takes one last look to the corridor and walks in, the door automatically locking when it closes.

“What’s up?” You act occupied as you take out your skin care products to put onto the dresser. He plops down onto your bed and grabs the pillow to put under his head. “We have unfinished business.”

“Taehyung, don’t you take no for an answer?” You don’t even spare him a glance.

“Hey, If it makes you feel any better, I’m your friend and colleague, we’re around the same age, consider this as a friend helping another friend.” He shrugs and talks as if it’s that easy. “And if it makes you comfortable, I’m not filming you if you don’t want to.”

“Oh yeah, because filming me was the only problem.” You turn your head to the little coffee machine in the corner of your room and make yourself a cup, he doesn’t argue back which makes you wonder why, you turn your head and he’s literally digging into your handbag and taking out one of your bras.

“Kim fucking Taehyung.” You snatch your bra away from him. “Get out.”

“I knew you were a C cup.” He gets up onto his feet. “Look, I’m sorry if this made you uncomfortable, but I don’t know why you’re really over thinking it. It’s just a one time thing, we hook up and that’s it, no one has to even know.”

“You could easily lure any woman into bed and we both know it, but snatching away my bra and showing me your stupid kink and shit won’t get me into bed with you.” You put your bra back into your handbag and close it.

“Then tell me how.” He puts his hand into his pockets. “What could get Y/N to sleep with me?”

“Exactly, and it’s nothing, nothing could get me to sleep with you Taehyung, this is fucked up.”

“Money? How much and I’ll give it to you cash, right now.”

The audacity on this man.

“Oh my god, you’re making it even worse if you can’t tell. Get out.” You open the door to your room.

He huffs and walks towards the door to shut it again. “Okay, look, I’m sorry if this offended you I didn’t mean so. But again why are you rejecting it? Millions of women want to be in your place.”

“Yeah, I know, and I’m not one of those millions. Besides, how am I supposed to look at you again if we ever slept together?” You cross your arms.

“Like you’ve always looked at me.” He pouts. “Nothing will change, no strings attached, it’s just one night, is it my fault that I really want you to enjoy one night?”

You open the door again and look him in the eye, your coffee is already gone cold and you’re over this argument. He closes the door again and tugs your hair behind your ear, whispering softly. “Y/N.. I feel like you’re different, you’re nothing like other girls, you’re a really nice, sweet and attractive young lady that deserves to feel like a woman.”

It’s a little alarming to you that with such small physical contact with him could make you think about it seriously.

There’s nothing to lose, you’re a woman after all and you have your needs.

He promised you one night, no strings attached, and apparently he’s really good and he knows what he’s doing.

“Don’t you think you deserve to have at least one night of mind blowing sex?” He grins and grazes the back of his hand against your cheek. “We’re flying back to Seoul tomorrow night, I’ll give you enough time to think, and maybe I can have your phone number or something, we could stay in contact and probably discuss things while keeping it on the low key.”

“Discuss?” You squint your eyes.

“Yeah, we could talk, tell me what you like and how you like it, you know, stuff like that.” He elaborates, you sigh and look him in the eyes. “What if we happen to like different things?”

“Then I’m willing to let go of the things that I like just for your sake.” He crosses his fingers. “I’m a good boy I promise.”

“Fine.” You can’t believe yourself. You take your phone out of your back pocket and proceed to add him to your contacts, a satisfied smile lingers on his face and he even leans forward to print a kiss to your cheek. He’s totally buttering up his bread and he thinks he can get you to agree to this faster, but you’re smarter than him.

“You’re crossing the lines Taehyung.”

“Who cares about the damn lines, if we agree to this I’ll be kissing other things and you’ll want me to.” He opens the door to your room and walks out. “I’ll see you around.”

And indeed. After your one hour free time you all headed to the stadium for rehearsals, the concert was happening tomorrow but everyone needed orientation around the place.

During the entire day he never brought it up, neither look at you like he has been recently, he kept it professional with you in front of everyone and never spoke about it like it never happened.

You were scheduled to leave the stadium at around 11 in the evening, the girls decided on going out for dinner but you skipped, you had multiple coffees during your day and you don’t feel physically well, so you just head back to your hotel and take the elevator up to your room.

You gasp when you see him about to take the elevator and go down, you barely recognize him when he has a cap and a face mask on. “Oh, hey Y/N.” He so casually speaks.

“Hey, you’re going out?” Why did you even ask. He laughs softly and shakes his head. “No, I’m going downstairs to grab a bite from the buffet, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you going out?”

“I’m a little tired, I guess I’ll just go to sleep or something.” It feels like you’re talking to the Taehyung you’ve always known for the past years, nothing feels different so far.

He looks at the time on his wrist and looks back at you. “If you want to, I’ll grab something to eat quickly and come hang out with you, maybe we can talk about that thing.”

Yup, never mind.

“I think I’d rather sleep.” You walk out of the elevator and he walks in instead. “Come on, 10 minutes max, I won’t be late.”

You shouldn’t have asked him anything in the first place.

“You know, I don’t think it would be a good idea if you and I stayed alone in one room.”

“Don’t worry, we’re not going to spice things up, we’re just hanging out discussing things, like other colleagues do.” He presses the button on the elevator. “I’ll see you later.”

And the elevator door closes before you could even shoo him away for the evening. He’s just going to come up to your room later and you know he’ll force himself inside.

You click the key card to your room and immediately change to your pajamas, you even turn off the lights and hope he thinks you’re asleep by the time he knocks at your door.

Thankfully time passed by and he never knocked. But instead he went back to his room and decided to text you.

1:54 | KTH:

Couldn’t come by sorry

1:54 | KTH:

Are you still awake?

1:54 | KTH

Wanna come over to my room 😉

KTH sent a photo

KTH sent a video

Of course he can see your read receipts, he knows you’re awake and he even lured you further into the conversation by sending you a photo and a video that you rush to open.

He’s not exactly there in the photo, the picture is taken of his TV turned on and he’s under the blanket, you can only see his covered legs from above the blanket, nothing too special.

The video is what makes your ears buzz, you find yourself pressing your thighs closer to each other, when he palms what seems to be his erection from above the blanket, and holy fuck was he big or were you hallucinating. You turn the volume up and you can hear his breath changing with every stroke of his cock. He inserts his hand under the blanket and strokes his cock before flipping the camera to his face and smiling like nothing happened.

Luckily that video is on replay, so it keeps replaying on its own unless you swipe it away, you don’t know what possesses you, you put your phone down against the used coffee cup from earlier and pull your pants down, your hand travels down to your folds and you touch yourself, delivering circular continues rubs to your clit and teasing your entrance with your middle and ring finger.

You spit onto your fingers and move further down again to rub your clit faster this time, your shoulders tensing and your hand already growing tired. It always takes you so long to get to your edge and you need a stimulant more than just a stupid photo or a video. Your other hand moves to grab your breasts out of your top and you pinch your nipple and squeeze onto your flesh. “Mmm.” Your eyes are piercing through your phone screen but your stupid screen saver decides on locking your phone which makes you whine desperately. “Ugh.” You grab your phone and unlock it, of course the video is gone.

2:03 | KTH:

Like what you see?

Has it been 9 minutes already?

Your fingers rush to type on the screen.

2:03 | You:

🙄

2:04 | You:

Mister kim is spending a night alone how weird

2:04 | KTH:

Mister Kim?

2:04 | KTH:

You can keep calling me mister kim if you want to 😉

You bite onto your fingernails, wanting to send a risky text but you’re so unsure. Your fingers hover over the screen and you proceed to type, but quickly delete what you wrote.

2:05 | KTH:

Want me to send you more? Maybe you can send me some

And of course this is off the table, you’re not going to send him nudes not because you’re against sending them generally, but you’re against sending nudes to him. Your pictures may end up in a folder on his phone like any other woman.

2:06 | You:

Goodnight.

Taehyung has been dealing with women like you for years now, he can see and expect any behavior that you may project and this is one of these situations. You sending him goodnight didn’t quite literally mean goodnight. He knows you want this to happen but you’re still in denial and you don’t know that yourself.

So of course, without thinking twice, he opens the camera on his phone and this time pulls the blanket down a little just to reveal the tip of his cock that’s pressed against his stomach. He grabs the massage oil to pump some onto his long fingers and strokes his angry dick again.

The man has been with so many women that he built a stamina that no regular woman can take, he can go for hours and women even beg him to cum just so they can rest, he was animalistic and it was out of this world, hence women actually passing out when sleeping with him. Stroking his cock alone won’t get him to his end and he could easily calm his erection without having to cum, the self control on this man is incredible.

 He touches the red circle on his phone screen and starts filming, clearly teasing you and showing you only the tip, his cock all glistening from the massage oil. It was quiet around his hotel room, and the only thing that’s heard in the video is the sound of stroking heard clearly when it’s this slippery, and the sounds he was unbelievably good at faking, little whimpers and moans, his breath hitching and even swear words escaping his lips. “Fuck.. Mm, Y/N, this is all for you.”

The video was sent to you, and you don’t hesitate to open it, this time actually positioning yourself on the bed and grabbing out one of the thickest makeup brushes you have on hand, wetting it with your mouth and slowly teasing your entrance before pushing it inside. The video starts and your fingers abruptly move to turn up the volume. Your body instantly heats up and reacts upon the sounds you hear, and holy fuck you can clearly see the tip, and it looks fucking edible at this moment.

You cannot believe this is happening and you feel your face even heating up, is it embarrassment? You can’t tell, it may be embarrassment but hey you’re not the one sending nudes he is. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.

Well except the fact that you’re masturbating to a video of him.

You hear your name and in a click of a button, your stomach tightens and your back arches, your hand moves faster to insert the back of the makeup brush further inside your thirsty pussy as you chase your orgasm. Even when the brush was cold and it practically didn’t feel like skin nor had the size of an actual dick but it was enough for you to let go.

Your chest heaves and your legs shut tightly around your hand and the video still plays on your phone that’s still nesting in your other hand, your eyes locked onto the screen afraid that you can’t see the same shot anymore when you swipe away.

The last bit of self control of you finally washes into your body and you swipe away, you can’t deny you immediately regret but you had to swipe away at some point.

2:35 | KTH:

I thought I’d hear u cum but I didn’t L

Your body stiffens and you immediately get up onto your feet, the makeup brush slips out of your vagina down onto the floor and you rush to see through the peephole and immediately cover your mouth with your hand when you see him standing there on his phone, leaned against your door and still texting you. Your hand that’s holding your phone is leaned against the door so with every text he send it vibrates and the entire door vibrates with it which makes him look at the peephole from his side.

And holy fuck at this point you’re terrified. Luckily your room is dark and he can’t see anything, but he knows you’re watching him. You rush to grab your pants and put them back on and get under your blanket. As if he’s going to open the door at any second and hurt you.

You shut your eyes tightly trying to avoid looking at your phone screen but you eventually do.

2:38 | KTH:

Sent you 9 messages.

The door to your room knocks and you actually gasp, covering your mouth again but the entire floor was so quiet and empty that if a needle fell everyone would hear it.

You get up onto your feet and put on a jacket to cover yourself even when your pajama wasn’t revealing at all, you just put your jacket on for protection. You look through the peephole one last time before you open up and he almost stumbles because he leaned his entire body weight against the door. “Hey, I thought you’d never open.”

“Yeah, what’s up?” You hug your jacket closer to your chest and cross your arms, “What’s up?” He asks with a smirk on his face as he walks inside your room and closes the door behind him, “So what did it feel like?”

“Hmm?” You open the mini fridge and grab water out for yourself to take a few sips. He chuckles and puts his hands into his pockets. “Y/N baby, I know your body more than you do. Your face has the afterglow and you’re not breathing regularly, and your lips are blood red. What did it feel like when you made yourself cum to the video?”

“Taehyung I—“

“What did you like the most? The sounds or your name actually being called when I’m jerking off to you?” He plops down on your bed and throws his phone down on the nightstand.

“I’m not breathing regularly because you’re over here past midnight spying on my door.” You sit across the room, maintaining a good amount of space between you two. “And please don’t call me baby, I’m not your baby.”

He rolls his eyes and huffs. “We’re just chatting, trust me I’m not going to touch you if you don’t give me your consent I promise, besides I-- Hey, what’s that?”

His eyes land on the makeup brush that’s dropped down onto your floor, and the glistening tip is what caught his attention. “What do you mean, this is a makeup brush.” You rush to stand up and run towards it but he’s faster than you are, he picks it up from the floor and a smirk sits on his face, fuck he even grabs it closer to smell it and he knows what this smell is. But yours was sweeter and truly different from other smells.

“Would you look at that.” He scoffs. “A makeup brush? Really?”

“Stop.” You bite onto your own teeth and you approach him to snatch it away, but again he’s faster. He licks the tip of the brush once and smacks his tongue into his mouth before swallowing. “Mm.”

Your entire body freezes when you watch him savor it, he licks  the tip of the brush clean with his eyes closed, you thought your body would react to it but none, you’re standing there stiff right before him when he gets up onto his feet. He opens his eyelids and his gaze meets yours, his pair of tight sleepy eyes gazing right through yours. “You taste heavenly.” He grabs your hand and puts the brush into it before leaving your room and closing the door behind him. The second you hear  the auto lock on the door you drop down to your bed with the brush in your hand.

Trails of his saliva are visible on the end of it and you cannot help but pull it closer to your mouth and lick it after him. You’re fucked.

You wake up the morning after wishing you could forget what happened last night. You’re pretty sure you’re embarrassed and ashamed at the fact that you got caught. You didn’t want this to happen to begin with, how are you supposed to look at him when you have to spend the entire day with him?

You pack your handbag and hand it to the hotel staff, you’re going straight from the stadium to the airport so you had to be ready and they took your bag to load the bus with the rest of the luggage.

“I don’t get it, we left the hotel at the same time, he’s supposed to be here.” Mira whines. The entire staff was ready and he wasn’t there yet. “The sound check is in less than an hour—“

“We know the schedule Mira, please just Shush.” You woke up on the wrong side of the bed and you weren’t ready to hear any whining, “Yeah Mira. I’m here give yourself a break.” Taehyung walks from behind you and gets seated onto the chair. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” Mira alone responds and proceeds to blow dry his hair while you take out your kit and completely ignore the man seated on the chair in front of you.

He’s trying to look at you sneakily but he’s keeping his promise, no one is going to know anything so he’s not going to be doing anything suspicious to the rest of the staff. “Are you feeling better today?” He asks politely.

“Me?” You point to yourself unsure if he’s talking to you, and he blinks his eyes in a “Yes.” Before speaking. “You weren’t feeling well when I saw you in the elevator last night.”

“Yeah, she didn’t join us for dinner, are you feeling well?” Leah asks while she’s working on Seokjin’s hair.

“Oh yes, I went to bed early and I’m doing well today.” You force a smile on your face and grab out the little bag that had all your makeup brushes.  That brush is the first thing you see when you open the tiny purse and it reminds you in case you forgot, that you were caught masturbation last night.

“You can start Y/N. I need to get a new bottle of hairspray from downstairs.” Mira puts her stuff down and walks away leaving you to work on Taehyung’s face.

“Can I ask you something?” He looks around before whispering and you answer him right away. “Nope.” Which makes him pout. You roll your eyes and start dabbing primer onto his face. “What do you want?”

“Did you really throw away the thing I got you?”

“Well, I’m planning to.” You poke the inside of your cheek with your tongue, he shrugs and whispers. “What you did yesterday would feel ten times better if you actually use the gift.”

“I don’t do butt stuff Taehyung.” You argue right away, still low enough for only you two to hear. He looks at you while squinting his eyes. “Who said anything about butt stuff?”

“You sent me a butt plug, don’t try and act oblivious, the gift didn’t send itself.” You grab his chin to throw his head back. “Silly, it wasn’t a butt plug, it was a vibrator.”

His face is right there you can easily slap him and make a scene, it’ll cost you your job but who cares.

“Don’t look  at me like that.” He scoffs. “Text me when you get home tonight I’ll show you how to use it.”

“I know how a vibrator works Taehyung thank you. Now would you stop moving I can’t blend the concealer well.” You try hard to change the topic, but the idiot grabs your purse of makeup brushes and takes out that brush and hands it to you. “Here, I think this one will do.”

Your gaze meets his for a couple seconds before he looks down at your lips and bites his own, totally imagining your lips swollen from all the kissing, the picture of you choking onto his dick that he drew in his head is now chasing him whenever he lays his eyes onto you.

Maybe you being mean to him made him actually want to have you more than before, you’re unlike them, other girls from your staff didn’t even think twice before hooking up with him. But you being a tough cookie made him ready to beg just to be with you even if it was just once.

[hitomisuzuya]

Gamer! Scaramouche x fem!reader. Smut. Fingering. Degradation. Edging.

I'd like to tag and thank @wanderingconstellations and @scara6 for letting me run with this idea❤️ Here is what I came up with. In honor of the Five Nights at Freddy's movie coming out next month, that's the game Scara is playing.

The frustration radiating from Scaramouche was almost physically tangible in his room. His eyes were narrowed into a concentrated glare on his computer screen. One hand was poised over the buttons on the keyboard.

The other was thrusting three fingers angrily into your cunt. Your slick was starting to cake on the insides of your thighs, he'd been at it for so long. Your hand was gripping the edge of his computer desk right with every push of his fingers, to the point where you were clawing at the surface. Sometimes he kissed your sweet spot. But, most time he didn't.

"Be-ah-be careful, Scara. I think," You trailed off, a strong jolt of pleasure shooting straight to your throbbing clit when his fingers suddenly hit your sweet spot. Admist the hazy cloud of pleasure, you are still trying to help him out, "I think Freddy is..up..ah, ah,..and about," You could barely get the sentence out.

"Shut up, slut. I'm trying to concentrate," He snapped, withdrawing his fingers to smack your clit, making your body tense before you cried out loudly.

Scaramouche could feel it. You were right, Freddy was gone from his usual place when he checked the cameras. Any second now, he was going to pop out and rock his shit.

It had happened 4 times already, and he wasn't going to let the stupid bear beat him again. The pace of his fingers got harsher, squelching slowly in and out of your cunt, not really caring if he hit your sweet spot or not.

He growled in frustrated concentration, straining to hear any little noise in the game that would warn him of Freddy's impending arrival. You let out some desperate whimpers, moving your hips to seek for friction from his fingers.

Scaramouche grit his teeth. It had been quiet for awhile now. Foxy and Bonnie were on the move as well, but Freddy was nowhere to be seen. He knew he was in Freddy's crosshairs, it was just a matter of when.

"Scara.." You whimpered, however you received no response. Not even an angry thrust of his fingers. He suddenly reached up, pinching your nipples roughly. Bonnie hadn't moved, so he focused on watching Foxy (because he was your favorite character).

You moaned louder, receiving a rough pinch on your nipple. "If you are gonna cum, then cum, empty headed slut," He hissed without sparing you a glance. He abruptly plunged three fingers back inside your your cunt. Your walls immediately clamped around his fingers, making you tremble as his fingers stopped just short of reaching your sweet spot.

Why?

Chica was active now too. "Fuck!" He cursed, slamming his fingers relentlessly into you. Never once hitting your sweet spot. Tears of desperation started to burn in your eyes.

"Camera..outside..the..ah!..door.." You struggled to find the words, you wanted to cum so bad.

Focusing on Foxy had been his mistake. Scaramouche completely missed the warning that would've saved him. And what was worse is that you saw it, and he didn't.

Freddy's music started playing, and then BAM, the lights went out, and Freddy closed in. Scaramouche hissed angrily, tossing his headset onto the desk. "Motherfucking bear!" He snarled, standing up from his chair.

You heard him yanking the button of his jeans undone, his cock harshly pushing inside of you. "How did you see it while my fingers were stuffing your whore cunt full, slut? How?" Scaramouche hissed angrily, groaning as he bottomed out into you.

Now he was hitting your sweet spot with his cock at a pace that was making you drool all over his desk as you moaned. One hand found the side your head, holding it down on his desk as he thrust, smacking a hand on your ass when you cried out.

You mewled in bliss. Scaramouche pinched your clit, rubbing his fingers against it. He groaned when it made your walls clamp tighter around his cock. "Your pathetic whimpers were breaking my concentration," He hissed, gripping your hips tighter.

"Finally, finally! More, Scara, more!" You moaned, feeling dizzy from the intensity of his thrusts.

"What a fucking slut!" His thrusts turned sloppy, his orgasm closing it. Gritting his teeth, he pulled out of you only to slam him cock back inside of you. "So needy..so good for me..fuck.."

His hand stroking through your hair was appreciative after his cum throbbed in ribbons inside of you. He continued mindlessly fucking you through his orgasm.

You were breathless, sobbing weakly from pleasure, cumming hard as your release soaked his cock. Panting, Scaramouche kept his cock sheathed inside of you, leaning around to give you a sloppy, rough kiss. "How about I try again while you cock warm me? Your cunt is a great stress reliever."

He enjoyed the way your cunt quivered and clenched as he lowered you down into his cock.

[userlando]

i am a starved woman with all the Lando content and.... the selfies ah... please if you can write some soft smut with him idk lazy riding him under the sheets while saying something funny, laughs interrupted with moans and all that intimate sex im weak for ma'am

ohhhh my god PLEASE I am a weak woman 💔

rustling sheets (1.7k words) lando norris/fem!reader fluffy smut nsfw

“Behave.” Lando says it lowly, jokingly with a sly smile on his lips that drives you just a little nuts.

You pout and pull your hand away, placing it in your lap as you continue staring at him. Maybe you’re hoping for him to finally give in, to disregard the fact that your hotel room is adjacent with George and Carmen and that management had managed to find a five star hotel for the entire grid to stay at, with the thinnest paper walls to ever exist.

Just a moment ago, you could hear the buzzing coming from George’s electric toothbrush and he’d already pounded his fist against the wall when you laughed a little too loudly at Lando’s ridiculous wet hair when he’d stepped out of the shower.

You’d tried to initiate sex two times now, but Lando had found your advances too funny to give in and so he’d made it his mission to give you the female equivalent to blue balls. Truth was, he was also a bit weirded out that you could hear everything through the walls because he made a lot of embarrassing noises when he was busy getting his rocks off.

Lando was loud and so were you, even if you claimed that you weren’t, and he wanted to be able to look his colleague in the eye tomorrow morning without thinking about how George knew what Lando sounded like when he came.

You were getting harder to resist though, sitting beside him in bed and looking so beautiful that he had to almost fist his hands to keep from reaching out to you. You were only in your pajamas, cotton blue ones that he was tempted to rip off of you because you were pouting. Like you'd reached for the cookie jar and he'd slapped your hand away.

He couldn’t see it, eyes staring a little too hard at his phone screen like he was reading something very interesting but he could very much feel your eyes boring into the side of his head.

“Lando?” You asked, the softness of your voice breaking the silence and Lando grunted.

“Yes, baby?” He tried to sound indifferent, casual and cool. Like he wasn’t growing hard at the gentle touch of your soft thigh against his.

You smirked, knowing that he was close to breaking his resolve because you could see the tips of his ears turning pink.

“Finding anything interesting?” You asked innocently and Lando glanced at you a little questioningly. You nodded your head at his phone in his hands.

“Oh.” He heaved a sigh. “Yeah, just reading some comments from fans on today’s quali.”

As if that’s more interesting than you. You almost rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t keep the sigh from escaping your lungs as you sat up in bed, tucking your legs under you with your body positioned in front of him. Lando wasn’t even sparing you a glance, and you wanted to get back at him so bad that you didn’t even give it a second thought as you hooked your fingers under the hem of your shirt and yanked it over your head.

Lando made a noise in his throat that sounded a lot like a dying animal grasping for its last breath, and you blinked at him in mock innocence. His eyes were as wide as saucers, unblinking as he stared at your tits unashamedly.

“What are you doing?” He asked in a whisper, voice high and cheeks flushing a pretty pink.

“What?” You asked, looking down at your chest like you couldn’t figure out why he was reacting the way he was. “I’m warm, and you know I hate sleeping with a shirt.”

“No you don’t.” Lando said immediately, because you almost always slept without trousers but not a shirt. You knew he was a boob man, and fuck were they looking good right now.

His resolve broke and he was just about to toss his phone to the side and reach for your waist when you sighed dramatically, clambering to pull the covers over you and settle into bed. Lando stared, perplexed when you turned your back to him.

“Well, I am now.” You said. “I’m going to sleep now, can you get the light, honey?”

Lando narrowed his eyes at the back of your head, because honey? Really? You were really playing with him now and he didn’t care one bit that your antics seemed to have the desired effect on him, dropping his phone somewhere and scooting down on the bed. He could spot the smile on your face when he spooned you, pressing his entire front body against your back and resting his chin on your shoulder.

You wiggled a little, feeling his hard on against your ass and Lando opened his mouth to bite your shoulder in retaliation. It made you squeal with a laugh, squirming to get away from him but he had an iron grip on your body, arms tightening to keep you in place.

“I changed my mind.” He rasped in your ear and you giggled when he nipped the sensitive skin under your earlobe.

He tugged lightly on your torso until you turned around, raising your head up to press a kiss to his lips. Lando exhaled through his nose, a delighted noise against your mouth as he pried it open in order to taste your tongue.

You pushed on his shoulder in a silent request to lay down, making an effort to straddle him and sit up but the covers got all tangled up with your legs and it set Lando off into a fit of laughter.

“Don’t laugh at me! I’m trying to be sexy.” You tried to pout but the smile on your face was hard to keep at bay because your boyfriend’s laughter was too contagious.

“Aw, baby.” He grinned, cheeks flushed as he reached for your head and brought you in for a kiss. “You’re still sexy to me.”

“Really?” You asked, like you weren’t straddling him and feeling every inch of his half-hard cock against your crotch. He must’ve had the same thought because his hips jutted up, making you gasp at the unexpected sensation. “Okay, I believe you.”

“Good girl.” He said, looking all too smug but he looked wildly hot as well and you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad when he tugged on the waistband of your shorts. “Now, take these off so I can fuck you silly.”

You scrambled to get them off, struggling with how you were sitting on top of Lando but he was nothing if not patient, holding back laughter until you were finally sat naked and pretty on his lap. His hand wandered down between your spread legs, fingers touching the wetness of your folds and pinching your clit just to hear you whimper.

Lando couldn’t take his eyes off of you as he got his fingers inside of you, stretching you out and allowing you to ride his fingers for a bit. You were in your own world, gasping and moaning beautifully for him with your torso all stretched out and tits on display. He blew out a breath, deeming you stretched out enough because if he waited for a moment longer, he was sure he’d blow in his joggers.

You pouted a little mournfully when he slipped his fingers out, but Lando didn’t miss the way your eyes lit up when he pushed his joggers and underwear off to get his cock out. He spit in his hand and slicked himself up as best as he could, but you were way more impatient than he was and it showed by the way you gripped him in your hand and guided him to your hole.

The moan you let out made Lando’s chest clench in absolute need, feeling him stretch you deliciously and you hunched forward to place both of your palms on his chest. The skin there whitened as you dug your fingertips into it, taking him to the base and quivering at the stretch and burn from the lack of lube.

You loved it though, moving your hips to establish a rhythm but Lando was quick to still you with his hands on your hips. You leaned your head forward to look down at him, eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

“The bed is creaking.” He whispered, eyes a little glossy but wide. You laughed, grinding forward and immediately stopping when the bed gave off a protesting groan that you'd failed to notice earlier. “Fuck’s sake.”

You clenched around him, gasping when his hands dug into your hips.

“Don’t fucking do that.” He hissed, a desperation in his voice that made you smile.

You did it again, this time putting a little roll to your hips that had Lando’s eyelids fluttering shut as his eyes rolled back. He pressed the back of his skull against the pillow, the stretch of his exposed neck straining as he struggled to hold in his groan.

“What do you expect me to do?” You frowned, glancing at the floor beside the bed.

Lando followed your line of vision, eyebrows jumping like he just had a good idea. The unprepared squeal you let out was loud in the room when he turned the both of you around, pressing you into the bed and sucking kisses into your neck. It had you laughing and squirming under him, hands covering your face from the onslaught of attacks but he was quick to grab your wrists and pin them to the sides of your head.

“Want to shag on the floor?” He asked, lips brushing yours and you grinned up at him.

“That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me, Norris.” You pretended to fawn, giggling along with him when he dropped his weight on top of you.

Your hands quickly found their way under his joggers, gripping his bare arse cheeks in your palms and Lando groaned playfully against your cheek.

“What am I going to do with you?” He nuzzled his nose against your cheek and you smiled.

“I have a few ideas.” You whispered, pulling him against your body. “But we’ll need to be quick, before George puts his fist through the wall.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

let's pretend i didn't write this at work. but hey, i hope this is what you wanted anon! i had a lot of fun writing this, let me know what you think. ily all &lt;3

[thebearer]

carmen walking in on you working on your laptop while amchovys watching old garfield on the large ass tv 😭

this is just too cute! i had to make it a little blurb <3

"Baby," Carmen called, pulling his keys from the door with a hard yank. He was counting down the days until you two moved out and into your new home, away from this apartment and all it's questionable fixtures.

Carmen could hear you before he could see you, piles of boxes filled with your belongings blocked his vision. Maneuvering carefully through the cardboard boxes, moving into the living room.

"Hey, baby," Carmen hummed, tossing his backpack onto the small table, the only space voice of boxes.

"Hey, Bear," You cooed back, voice still a little distracted. He knew he'd find you, hunched over your laptop, clicking and clacking away on your laptop.

His chest warmed at the nickname, a tiny flush in his cheeks. "Still workin'?"

"Just finishing up." You turned when he came into view, smiling at his post work state- curls wild from a day in the kitchen, matted from the ball cap he'd tucked them under. "How was your day?"

Carmen leaned down, lips catching yours in a soft kiss. "Long," Carmen sighed. He could've melted into you at that moment, exhausted from the day, and your lips just felt so good. Instead, he stood, running a hand over your shoulder sweetly.

"'M sorry." You gave him a soft pout. "Is it the new hires? The critics?"

"Yeah, I mean, some of it- yeah. Sugar's pissin' me off too. Keeps bitchin' at me to- Is that," Carmen did a double take, blinking over at the TV screen, then back at Anchovy, lounging in his scratch tower watching the screen.

"What?"

Carmen grinned. "Is that Garfield?" He snorted lightly. "Fuckin' Garfield?"

"Yeah," You frowned at him playfully. "That a problem?"

"Seems a little obvious, babe." Carmen looked over at Anchovy, laughing at the little cat who had yet to stop watching the cartoon.

"He likes it." You grinned smugly. "He loves Garfield. I always put it on for him, so I can work without him trying to jump on my head or lay across my laptop every five seconds."

"Y-You do this a lot?" Carmen snickered. "This a daily thing?"

"Yeah," You grinned, moving your laptop to the side, sinking your knees into the couch, raising to meet Carmen. "We do a lot of things while you're at work, Daddy." Your eyes narrowed with mischief that had Carmen flushing.

"Stop that." Carmen muttered, swallowing around the growing lump in his throat when your nails raked over his chest. "I-I'm gonna take a shower. Then I'll make some dinner, alright?"

You hummed, fingers trailing up towards the neckline of his shirt. You could feel the heat of his blush burning through the cotton. "Mm, I think I'll join you." You purred lightly.

"Yeah?" Carmen leaned into your touch, hands grabbing at your arms. "What're you gonna do with Chovy?" He nodded towards the small cat, who was going through a painfully irritating clingy stage with you. Every time you and Carmen tried to be alone, just the two of you, Anchovy was chirping, yowling, crying until you relented and let him in.

"He's good." You looked over your shoulder at Anchovy. "He's watching Garfield. He's locked in. He won't even realize we're gone."

[heartsofminds]

and the songbirds are singing like they know the score - part i.

"If Bradley squints his eyes, he can still make out the little five-year-old that he once knew who thought that he put the stars in the sky and cried when she found out that Jake’s real name wasn’t Hangman." or Quincy Bradshaw is growing up and no one knows what to do about it; especially Bradley.

a/n: in light of father's day, enjoy part one to bradley's precocious daughter making a re-appearance and jake seresin being reasonable for once. part two will be posted soon! the angst will be resolved, don't you worry!

It happens in between the end credits and the black fade-out screen. 

The piercing sound of the phone ringing snaps you and your husband out of your near comatose states on the couch, seemingly entranced by Molly Ringwald’s whining (which only she can get away with because she’s fucking Molly Ringwald, of course) for the entirety of Sixteen Candles. 

“Holy shit,” Bradley swallows, leaning up to sit entirely straight. His movements jostle you, causing you to wince at your cheek unsticking from its glued spot on his right pec. 

You smack your lips and sigh, trying to wake yourself up. The obnoxiously mechanical sound the phone makes causes your ears a subtle pain, and you silently curse your husband for refusing to remove the landline phone that sits glued to your kitchen wall. 

“It serves a purpose,” he had reasoned. “Don’t kill my dream of having a rotary phone.” 

And the conversation of uninstalling a 1970s landline phone from your new house was lost in the abyss of cardboard boxes and cheerios on the floor from your then beyond spunky and energetic three-year-old daughter. 

So while it sticks out like an eyesore amongst your “lived-in” and perfectly curated home, you often forget it’s there... except on occasions like this when the sporadic ringing shakes your eardrums and tightens the ever-present rubberband around your temples in the worst way possible. 

Bradley sits with his elbows on his knees, almost trying to muster up the strength to deal with the nuisance of the ringing phone. He sits for a second and sighs before hearing your body shift. 

You smush your face into a pillow; the constant ringing making you want to tear your hair out by the second. 

“Bradley!” you whine. He pats the part of your calf uncovered by your shared throw blanket with an unspoken tenderness. 

“Sorry,” he timidly apologizes. 

He stands up; his left knee making an impressive “crack” before swiping his phone off the coffee table on his way to the kitchen. 

You turn the TV off and lie in the complete darkness of your living room. The illumination of the moonlight through the glass windowed door in your kitchen shines its way to the floor in front of your couch. You have half the mind to yell to your husband to close the blinds that line the backdoor before your voice catches in your throat. 

No one ever calls the landline. Very few people even have the phone number for the landline outside of Maverick and a few close family friends. Besides, anyone who needed to reach you had your cell phone numbers anyway. 

So who the actual fuck is calling your landline at 11 PM on a Thursday? 

You hear Bradley yank the phone from its place on the wall and exhale with a huff. After sixteen years of being together, you know that huff is his tell of being annoyed. 

“Hello?” he gruffly answers. His irritation makes the question sound more like a monotonous statement. 

“Bradshaw –” 

Jake Seresin is on the other end of the line. You can recognize his voice from the other room with his cadence even though you’re not on the phone with him. Having “mom ears” does that to a person, you suppose. 

“Why the fuck are you calling my house at 11 PM?” Bradley snaps. 

You’re wondering the same thing, but you’ll have to talk to him about being so rude and huffy. Jake may actually need something, after all. 

“Well, you weren’t answering your fucking cell and neither was your wife so I had to do something.” 

Bradley rolls his eyes and looks back into the darkened living room. He’s been more on edge about you lately. 

“You can’t miss me that fucking much to be spamming my phone with calls,” he sighs and leans his back up against the wall. He notices the open blinds on the back door and walks to close them before he’s yanked back by the phone cord. 

“Don’t cream your pants. I don’t like you that much.” 

Bradley lets out a soft snort in amusement before he remembers that he’s supposed to be annoyed. He opens his mouth to ask Jake what exactly it is that’s so damn important and can’t wait until tomorrow morning when he’s beaten to it. 

“I have Quincy here in the passenger seat and she’s beyond unwell.” 

The statement sends Bradley into panic mode instantly. His voice catches in his throat and he can’t recall a moment he’s had where he’s felt like he’s had to force the breath out of himself like this. 

He lets out something between a huff, a cough, and a wheeze before remembering he can’t make a huge show of himself right now because it’ll also throw you into panic mode. 

“What the fuck do you mean she’s not well? Jake, where the fuck are you?” he whispers into the phone, trying to cover his mouth as much as possible so you can’t even read his lips if you tried. “Is she okay? What’s –” 

It doesn’t take a genius to know that Bradley is panicking. Even Bradley’s beyond intoxicated and passed out seventeen-year-old daughter sitting in the passenger seat of Jake’s truck could piece together that her father is nothing but a raging ball of anxiety at the moment, and Jake is positive that his friend is growing another patch of gray hair as the seconds pass. 

“Oh. . .fuck, I guess I should’ve phrased that better,” Jake admits. His truck comes to a halt at a spotlight and he glances over at his goddaughter. “She’s fine. She’s drunk as shit right now, but I’m on the way to drop her at yours.”

Bradley can feel the obnoxious orange ball of anxiety inside of him shift to a tumultuous rage-induced scarlett. His hand tightens around the phone cord and he has to stop himself before he yanks it out of the wall. He’s gotten angry like this before, but it never was angled toward his daughter. 

Never toward his sweet, precious girl. Never toward his amazing Quincy. 

But she knows the rules (and she chose to break them) and she knows what was told to her (and she snuck out anyway) and she knows that it’s dangerous to be that drunk (but yet she’s passed out in Jake’s truck). 

And if that isn’t both nerve-wracking and frustrating, Bradley doesn’t know what is. 

“Put her on the phone,” he speaks lowly. 

Jake gulps, knowing that he’s in one of those moods. Bradley doesn’t express anger as often as he expresses annoyance, but an angry Bradley is never someone he wants to be around. And from the way that Quincy made it sound when she called him to come get her from some random party in the middle of nowhere thirty-five minutes away from her house at 11 PM on a school night, he knows her ass is being had tomorrow morning by both you and Bradley. 

There’s absolutely no way his goddaughter is coming out of this unscathed. 

“Dude, she’s obliterated right now and I think you talking to her is just gonna make it worse.” 

“And I don’t give a fuck. I said, put her on the fucking phone now.” 

Jake shakes his head and rolls his eyes as Quincy begins to stir next to him in her seat. He’s always been the person she’s called whenever she was in trouble. He always got the first hug whenever she was brought around. He’s always been her source of comfort outside of her parents and he’s never minded it because being around her is easy. 

It was easy to carry her around whenever she asked when she was little. It was easy to give in and let her sit in the cockpit of his grounded aircraft with him and let her play with the buttons when her dad and Papa Mav refused. It was easy to pick her up from school at midday and take her to lunch. It was easy to bring her back gifts from wherever he was deployed and even easier picking them out because she’s a sucker for meaningless trinkets. 

It was easy to be her godfather and she’s a smart and relatively easy kid, but Jake has never been prepared for this part. 

Because doing what’s best for her is hard, and he realizes that when he can feel his friend wanting to put him through a wall over the phone. 

“No,” he speaks and he can hear Bradley let out a small gasp at the denial of his request, “She fucked up bad, Bradley. I’m sure she knows and you can have it out with her tomorrow morning, but right now, she’s not in any place to be screamed at and made to feel worse. You’re her dad and m’not tryin’ to take that away from you –” 

Bradley scoffs, “What exactly do you fuckin’ know about raising kids, Jake? Huh?” 

Jake grimaces and decides to take the brute of Bradley’s anger. Better him than Quincy, he figures. Besides, he knows Bradley doesn’t mean any of it. . . At least he hopes he doesn’t. 

“You obviously can’t be a dad because you just wanna have fun and dick around all the fucking time. Buying them fuckin’ candy and letting them off scott-free doesn’t do shit. You don’t have what it takes to raise a fucking person.” 

Jake doesn’t know why, but part of him gets that prickly feeling in his chest. Usually, every insult rolls off his shoulders into oblivion and he gets off on making people angry and being able to put on the facade that he really couldn’t give a damn if he tried.

But this one hurts because he knows that Bradley is right in some regard. 

He’s a runner and he lets people down. He’s nearing fifty (and God, he never thought he ever would) and has never even bothered to settle down. And he’s made peace with himself a long time ago that he doesn’t deserve a wife or a family or kids because he would never be able to love them more than he loves himself; more than he loves his career. 

To hear one of your closest friends admit that to you openly, to know that someone outside of you sees it too, makes his heart stop momentarily and forces him to feel the ache of the words meant to stab him in the chest. 

“I understand,” he swallows. He knows arguing with Bradley isn’t the right thing to do at the moment and never will be. “I’m still not putting her on the phone. We will be at your house shortly.” 

The line goes dead and Bradley is overcome with a wave of anger that drowns him like a tsunami. He knows what he said was shitty and that he has no right to do that to someone who he considers a close friend, but he just can’t help himself. 

He knows no allies when it comes to his daughter. 

The sound of the plastic phone slamming into its rightful place on the wall alarms you and part of your heart hurts for Jake. 

Jake has no concept of boundaries and has no limit to the absurdities that he often commits, but Jake also has the biggest heart that gets overshadowed by his equally big ego. You know the words uttered to him by your husband have knocked him down in ways Bradley isn’t the slightest bit aware of, and you start to silently cry for him because you know he won’t do it for himself. 

You force yourself up from your deepened spot on the couch and waddle your way to Bradley in the kitchen. The tears streaming down your face only fuel your need to make it right and to stand up for Jake and his quietly hurt feelings. 

You don’t know the full of what happened, but you heard enough to know that no one deserves to be spoken to that way. Bradley is upset (and he seemingly always has this cloud of gloom hanging over his head), but that gives him no right to be so cruel. 

The mama bear feelings are only amplified by the thirty-nine-week bump on your frontside making you tilt forward more than you usually do. Jake is a big boy and you know he can handle himself and that this situation has nothing to do with you, per se, but the lack of kindness surrounding you currently is stuffy, and you’d do anything to break the barrier to actually breathe. 

You try and stifle your cries and wipe your starry eyes before you approach your husband; silently cursing how cold your feet are and longing for the day when you can put your socks back on yourself independently. 

He stands with his hands against the wall and his head drooped between them. It’s a look of defeat; a showcase of hopelessness and frustration mixed into a burly mess of indigo and violets from the moonlight and dark sky peeping into your kitchen windows. Despite the darkness surrounding him, you can see the pink flush on the back of Bradley’s ears that has traveled to the tops of his shoulder blades. 

The anger is rampant and on the verge of explosion. Seeing your sweet Bradley like this is a sight rarer than a double rainbow. Part of you knows you shouldn’t poke the bear, but Bradley knows he shouldn’t speak to people like that. Compromising your morals is something you’ve never let yourself do and being bone tired and thirty-nine weeks pregnant is not going to change that. 

Something’s gotta give, and you decide that it’s going to be you. 

His head pops up the second he senses your presence. He knows that something is off with you after your lack of announcement. His home and heart had been preoccupied by two of the most chatty (and rather heavy-footed) women for the past sixteen and a half years. Silence is not welcomed in abundance in the Bradshaw household.

As if he didn’t have to suck in his sharp breath of frustration seconds prior, he turns to you and opens his arms. The darkness hides your tears and aggravation, but he knows that it stands next to you as an unwelcome visitor. 

Part of you wants to indulge, but an overwhelming portion of you houses irritation that won’t let you bite. 

This night was supposed to be one of peace and tranquility. You’re coming up on week three of rest allocated by your maternity leave and you finally feel like the walls in your house aren’t closing in on you. Bradley’s light load of scheduled hops and paperwork has helped with giving you company earlier in the afternoons before you have to make room for your second daughter. The way that she’s sitting on your bladder and constantly kicking your ribs in the middle of the night throws the hope that she’ll be calm and sweet out of the window and opens the door to the reality that she’ll be a carbon copy of her older sister. 

“What’s wrong?” you grumble, sending Bradley a scowl. You ignore his open arms and head to the fridge. You slam the carton of orange juice down on the counter and swing open the cabinet door to grab yourself a glass. 

Bradley furrows his eyebrows in confusion and lowers his arms in defeat. His feet drag him closer to you subconsciously. The thought that you moved away from him because you wanted space doesn’t cross his mind. 

“Nothing,” he leans his hip against the countertop, eyes scanning the thin stream of juice being poured into the glass. His nose wrinkles as you flash your eyebrows at him. That was always his tell of hiding something. 

He knows you can clock it. He just really doesn’t want to argue right now. 

You take a gulp from your glass while rolling your eyes. “Don’t lie to me. I know it was Jake.” 

“Doesn’t mean something is wrong.” His shoulders slump before he closes the refrigerator door. You had been extra forgetful in this stage of your pregnancy. 

Your lips mouth a reflexive, “Thank you” before you huff. Being lied to was something you never appreciated; especially when you know how bad Bradley is at doing it. Besides, you know that he knows you have heard quite a bit. The pointlessness of his actions starts a kindling of rage in your belly. 

“Well, that’s funny because you’re telling Jake he doesn’t know how to be a parent over the phone?” 

“I didn’t say that.” 

His spine straightens and his cheeks spill a baby pink hue that starts to spread to the tips of his ears. You think he looks just like your daughter even though you can’t see the fullness of his face. Your eyes start to twinkle before you remember that you’re pissed at him. The serious face holds a standstill. 

“Don’t play dumb. Do I need to say the exact words for it to ring a bell? ‘You don’t have what it takes to raise a fuckin’ person.’ Seriously, Bradley? What the fuck is your problem?” 

He winces at the agitation in your voice. Hearing it being said by someone other than him makes him realize how fucked up he was to say it; let alone even think about saying it to someone as dear to him and your family as Jake. Your hands heavily place the glass in the metal bottom of the kitchen sink and your heavy footsteps storm past him back to the living room. 

Bradley reaches out to grab your wrist and spins you to look at him. His hands envelop yours and place them flat on his chest. He sighs before dropping his head as if he was a puppy that had just gotten scolded. 

“You’re right,” his eyes scan your face but refuse to peer into your own, “I have no right to talk to people like that.” 

You let him hold you as your annoyance shifts to a denotation of shocked nerves that leave your heart sprinting like crazy in your chest for air. You’ve always been somewhat easy to work up, but your nerves have been oversensitive as of late. 

Penny and your mother call it your mother’s intuition maturing, but you like to call it a nuisance. Although the first baby you’ll be giving birth to will make her way earthside in a few short weeks, your first baby will always be the chunky eleven-month-old with blotchy pink cheeks and abundant sass you met on Halloween sixteen years ago. 

Bradley’s steady hand rubbing soothing circles on your back does little to help you differentiate the present and the imaginary. You aren’t sure how much time has passed or if his soft caresses continue on your spine, but you’re damn sure of what your gut is telling you. 

Something is wrong. Something is wrong. Something is wrong. 

“Is she okay?” you ask him. 

The words uttered make the world stop turning for the millisecond it took you to speak. 

You know deep in your heart that she’s not okay; that she hasn’t been for a while. Your bright and bubbly baby turned angsty and moody Senior in high school had happened overnight, it seems. What was once excited chatter at the dinner table about school and friends and club soccer and yearbook committee soon became absent, and the sound of silence from a missing spot at the dining table with you and Bradley had become the norm. 

It became extremely noticeable in the last few weeks of her Senior year; calls of truancy being made to your home phone and numerous talks about possible grounding if she didn’t get her act together becoming more and more frequent. 

Her attendance sucks but her grades remain stellar, so the idea of punishing her falls flat on its face whenever it gets brought up. You both have always known how intelligent your daughter is. You just wish she didn’t know it so well to know that you and her father are bluffing. 

And to be totally truthful, preparing for a new and unexpected baby hadn’t been part of the plan. You know that you’re not Quincy’s mother in any sense of the word, but you’re her mom and have been for as long as she can remember. Looking for your face in the school pick-up line and at soccer games and honor roll assemblies had always been her normal, and the fact that she had to share that with something embryonic (as she would call it) that hadn’t even graced real outside world oxygen (again, Quincy vernacular) was not something on her bingo card for her Senior year of high school. 

Your absences from these things, the things that are important to her but she’s far too stubborn to admit how much they actually mean out loud, were felt this year. She was raised understanding and kind but has inherited the sensitivity of her father’s heart. You know how much this entire pregnancy has deeply hurt her, and the guilt swallows you whole. 

The abyss of her unverbalized pain looms like a fog in every corner of your mind. Guilt has a funny way of turning all emotions into its twin. 

“I mean, yes? But she’s in for it once she steps foot in this house,” he grumbles. The meteoric thumping of his heart in his chest soothes you, but you know that the adrenaline pumping through his veins to move the muscle at lightning speed is sourced in anger. 

“So she called Jake?” 

Bradley scoffs. Your face is buried in his chest, but you know his huff of annoyance was accompanied by an eye roll. 

“Tried to use him as her ‘get out of jail free’ card. Knows that shit doesn’t work so I don’t even know why she did that.” 

You stifle a laugh and pull back to look at him. “I’m sorry I was so mean earlier. Didn’t mean it,” you whisper and he grins. Apologies have never been your strong suit. He would argue that you’re more stubborn than your daughter and Maverick in that regard.

“I’m sorry I was such a dick. Know you don’t like when I get like that.” 

There’s no need for acceptance. You have him wholeheartedly the same way he has you. Verbally accepting each other’s apologies has long been a thing of the past; especially when you feel like you share each other in ways that no one else on Earth would be able to understand; two halves of a whole – husband and wife. 

Your hand lightly taps his chest before you scoot past him to return back to the living room. From the digital numbers of the oven light in the kitchen, you know that it’s nearing midnight. You and Bradley had never been “good sleepers” (and now that you’re thinking about it, neither is Quincy), but you figure that you should get as much sleep as you’re still allowed. God knows that the new baby will be all Bradshaw and will probably be the worst sleeper too. 

Bradley hears your heavy footsteps trudge up to the bedroom and the soft suction of the door frame signifying that you’re about to lay down for the night. He wants nothing more than to join you and revel in the peace; remind himself to breathe and of simpler times when it was just you and him, but it had never just been you and him because it was always you and him and Quincy. 

The ache in his stomach returns at the thought. He has to put himself back in the mindset to put his foot down and let his daughter know that what she had done was incredibly unacceptable. 

It’s not like he’s mad at her for choosing to act her age for once. 

He had always worried himself sick after parent-teacher conferences because all of her teachers would comment on how mature his daughter was, but how that maturity often caused her to isolate herself. She had always been bright but at the expense of never wanting to play imaginary games with her classmates because she didn’t see the point in “pretending.” He had always thought that it was his fault; that exposing your baby to the History Channel and retired veteran chatter at the bar during the day made her not like other kids. 

And it’s not like he wanted her to be a certain way or that he was scared of her being “weird” or that she wasn’t living up the the expectation of what he thought having a kid would be like. 

Bradley had just wanted her to be kind and to feel loved, and he knows from experience that it’s hard living life when you don’t feel like the former nor do you ever feel the support from the latter. He knows a life of isolation and a sharp tongue that spears a bleeding heart. The last thing he ever wanted was for his daughter to know the same. 

Nevertheless, he’s still angry. Angry? Enraged? Pissed? 

Disappointed. 

Bradley had seen the signs as much as you have of your daughter’s downward spiral through the duration of the school year. He ignored the phone calls of truancy and let them go to voicemail and held his breath and his tongue when she answered a question he asked her a little too harshly. He ignored the attitude and the slamming of doors and the glow of her bedside lamp being on well past 2 AM most nights. 

Bradley ignored all of it because confronting it and her made it real, and facing the reality that she’s growing up and will no longer need him is something that he will never be prepared to do. 

He takes deep breaths and grabs his water bottle off the counter, unscrewing the top and taking colossal sips. His therapist had given him a printed list of techniques years ago to help him manage his anxiety. If he can’t control the speed of Jake’s truck driving down the interstate to his house, he can control the pace of the icy chugs sliding down his throat. 

Bradley wipes his mouth with the back of his arm and places the metal water bottle down on the counter. He paces back and forth before he realizes that pacing always makes him more anxious. His feet carry him back to the living room where he sits on the edge of the couch and balances his elbows on the tops of his thighs. 

All that can be heard is the subtle tick of the large wall clock hanging above the mantle and the soft buzz of cicadas in the backyard. The silence is cut in half by blinding headlights beaming their way through the curtains that line the front window and the roar of an engine. 

He doesn’t jump up to unlock the door like he usually would. His thoughts are still maniacally bouncing around his skull like a ten-cent bouncy ball. Besides, he doesn’t even know if he dares to face Jake after he had spoken so horribly to him such a short time ago. 

The old Bradley, the one who was still hurting and lonely with no wife or kids or family, wouldn’t have given a damn. Fuck Jake and fuck everyone else. 

But this Bradley, the one who is a dad and a husband and a friend and a son, gives a damn and he gives such a big one that he feels nauseous. 

The headlights flick off and the engine is killed. The silence that resumes is so instantaneous that he can almost fool himself into believing that everything is normal. That his daughter is upstairs fast asleep in her room and that her godfather is fifteen minutes away at his own house. He prays Jake won’t knock on the door and disturb it again. Jake never knocked on the door anyway, so he might luck out, he figures. 

But Bradley underestimates how nervous Jake is about this whole thing and soon enough, the sound of his friend’s knuckles rapping on the dark green wood that is the entity of his front door. 

He holds his breath as he opens it. 

He sees Jake, twenty years older than when they finally put their past behind them and became friends, and then he sees his daughter, meek and saddened and slightly drunk. 

If Bradley squints his eyes, he can still make out the little five-year-old that he once knew who thought that he put the stars in the sky and cried when she found out that Jake’s real name wasn’t Hangman. 

The Leemoore sweatshirt she has on is three sizes too big and does little to make her look like a high school partygoer, so he knows she has a riskier top beneath it. There’s no doubt Jake probably made a pit stop at his house to give it to her before bringing her home. 

Jake knows that Bradley hates secrets, so her sneaking out and also having a second secret wardrobe stashed beneath the floorboards under her bed would not make for a welcome guest upon her coming home after getting busted. The sweatshirt at least bought her a little time. 

“Hey,” Jake speaks, finally slicing the tension with a greeting. His left arm is looped through his goddaughter’s and she leans on him heavily to prevent herself from falling. 

“Hey,” Bradley says back. His face is stern. Jake knows he means business. 

“I’m sure this isn’t how you wanted to see me next.” Even though Jake is kind of pissed and anxious, there still remains a glimmer of humor within him. The complaint of many ex-girlfriends had always been how he never took anything seriously (and his serious lack of commitment too, but that’s an issue for another time), and he knows that it’s a blessing and a curse.

“Yeah, no kidding.” 

Bradley grabs his daughter’s free arm and helps Jake maneuver her inside over the steep ledge of the front door and to the asylum of the living room couch. 

Quincy’s eyes are wide open and her brain is moving in slow motion; scanning her surroundings but not being able to focus on one thing before her eyes are caught by the presence of another. She had never been drunk before in her life and the copious amounts of vomit that had spewed out of her mouth tonight discouraged her from trying to speak. Any thought of opening her mouth made the muscle memory of puking prevail. 

The rational part of her brain knows that her father wants to wring her neck, but she silently prides herself on calling Jake and kind of doing the right thing (even though she knows the right thing was not sneaking out and getting fucked up on a Thursday, to begin with). Her dad will forgive her and spending time with Jake was always fun. She just vows to make sure that she’ll never puke in front of him again because he turned green at the sight of her hunched over on the side of the road. 

Quincy lands on the couch with an incredible lack of grace. She bounces and almost slips off again, but sticks her foot out to help support her. Her vision is blurred before she focuses on the sight of her dad with the deepest frown on his face and his hands on his hips. Her eyes follow a horizontal line next to him and see Jake worrying his lip in between his teeth. A hiccup falls out of her mouth and she rushes to close it before her body can register a solution to the nausea plaguing her currently. 

The silence between the three of them is unforgiving and she can’t remember a time where she had felt so. . .embarassed. 

Here she is, about to get the scolding of her life in front of one of the adults she admires the most. All she had ever wanted was to be seen as a grown-up and it’s clear to her now that the men in front of her think anything but that. 

“You got anything to say?” Bradley huffs. His glare sharpens the more he takes in his daughter’s appearance. 

The silence he’s met with kindles a fire in his belly that shifts the anxiety he feels to the beginning of an obnoxious anger. 

Quincy can’t answer verbally because she knows she’ll throw up. She can’t shake her head to answer him either. The room is spinning and the spiraling shadow cast by her vision will undoubtedly make her throw up too. She can’t even feel her lips and anything she has to say will not be an answer worthy of her dad’s appreciation. She fucked up big time and now she has to reap what she’s sown. 

Her dad scoffs. The room inflates with tension from all three of the living room’s occupants. Quincy closes her eyes. Jake holds his breath. Bradley bawls his hand into a fist. 

Here it comes. 

Bradley opens his mouth; words like venom sitting on the tip of his tongue. Quincy closes her eyes and braces herself for the yelling that she knows is coming. 

“Hey, let’s table it for tomorrow. Yeah?” 

If Jake wasn’t already her favorite, now he certainly is. 

Bradley turns to him. His cheeks are tomato red and his wrath sitting in the base of his throat. He has half the mind to come unglued on him before he remembers the pit of guilt from earlier. The putrid watery feeling of guilt dampens his vocal chords. His sentences dig a grave in his voicebox. 

Jake is right. 

His daughter can barely sit up straight and you’re upstairs trying to sleep. There’s no point in waking the entire house and having a one-sided screaming match with someone who will only have the faintest memory of what happened the next morning. 

Bradley lets out a hefty breath of air that he hadn’t even realized he was holding in. Jake claps him on the shoulder in silent praise for his decision to drop it. Never would he have ever thought that Jake Seresin of all people would be the one discouraging him from being a total hothead. 

“Thanks for bringing her home, man. Sorry about – you know –” he attempts to apologize. Apologies to you rolled off his tongue like water rolled off waterfalls. They just didn’t have that effect when it came to other people who weren’t you. 

“Don’t sweat it. Wouldn’t be stickin’ around if I took half the shit you say to heart.” 

It’s not funny but Bradley laughs. He doesn’t know if it’s a feeble attempt at repairing the hurt he had done earlier or if it’s to absolve some of the fury that was sitting unleashed in the room, but he’s never been more thankful for Jake in that moment. 

Bradley starts to walk Jake to the front door and back out to his truck. Despite being the flashiest and cockiest person he knows, Jake has had the same car for close to twenty years. The silver F-150 had seen many drunk Bradleys and many drunk yous. He just wished that his daughter wouldn’t have been a passenger on the faux “drunk bus” too. 

He’ll never admit it, but part of him is jealous that Quincy called Jake instead of him. He wants to classify the feeling as betrayal, but he knows that it’s just envy. He knows that he would’ve called Maverick at this age instead of his mom. It’s a teenage rite of passage and nothing personal. 

“Look, it’s late and I know you’re pissed but she did the right thing. The party got busted, you know. And she uh – her friends were drinking, like a lot, and wanted her to get in the car with them,” Jake pauses, making sure Bradley is hearing the case of positives he’s building for Quincy, “She said no and then she called me.” 

Bradley nods his head and the tension in his shoulders starts to relax bit by bit. He’s oddly comforted by his daughter’s morality despite committing the precipice of what makes up an immoral teenager to get herself in this damn situation anyway. 

“Most kids don’t do that and I know she isn’t most kids so uh – don’t go too hard on her tomorrow?” 

The open door of the truck makes a high-pitched dinging noise as Jake’s legs sit half situated on the seat and halfway steady on the ground. The soft yellow light emitting from the streetlights tints the world in a sepia hue. 

“Can’t promise that. She’s in some serious shit.” 

Jake chuckles. “Serious shit or not, that’s still your baby. She needs you more than you think, you know.” 

The car door is shut and the engine is cranked. Bradley pats the hollowed metal of the truck as a “goodnight and goodbye” send-off as Jake backs out of his driveway and into the street. He watches as he rounds the corner to the stop sign before the image of his friend’s truck draws smaller and smaller and smaller until the image is microscopic. 

Bradley finds his way back inside and sees his daughter lying on her side with a throw blanket swallowing her figure. 

He heads into the kitchen to grab her a glass of water and some Advil to set on the coffee table. Bradley doesn’t recall being hungover so much as just sick to his fucking stomach the first time he drank, but he leaves it for her just in case. His eyes catch the bottom cabinet that houses the popcorn buckets and mixing bowls and grabs the largest one to serve as her “catch-all” puke bucket for the night. 

As he settles everything and makes his journey upstairs to your shared bedroom, he hears the wet wretch of what cannot be mistaken for vomiting. His heart harbors empathy for his little girl, but his brain garners no sympathy for her. Some sick part of him is glad that she’s throwing up because it’s a consequence that he doesn’t have to impose on her. She had done it to herself. 

“That’s what I thought."

He turns off the bedside lamp as he lays down next to you. You don’t stir from your deep sleep. The house is finally quiet and everything as is it should be. 

Bradley just doesn’t like the fact that this kind of peace is tainted with the fact that Quincy is growing up and that there is nothing he can do to stop it. 

[megumislovedoll]

COOL WITH YOU 💽

01: obnoxious music

NOTES ! this chapter is based on this newjeans performance I recommend watching it for a better reading experience

Megumi’s pov yesterday 10pm

megumi is fast asleep when he hears a loud blast of pop music and yelling from down the hall. What are they so excited for at this time? He tries pulling his pillow over his ears, but the music is super loud something obnoxiously catchy, like, “I’m super shy, super shy…”followed by Yuji and Toge screaming the lyrics.

“What the fuck…” he mutters, finally throwing his blanket off and leaving his room.

He walks into the living room, finding Yuji and Toge eyes too glued to the screen to even notice him. “What the hell are you guys screaming for? It’s like 10pm. Don’t you have class tomorrow?” He mumbled, but they can barely hear him.

“Y/N’S MAKEUP IS SOOOO GOOD!” Yuji kicks his feet, followed by Toge’s just as equally excited, “No, ‘cause Riko ate that outfit!”

Megumi groans as Yuta pokes his head out of his own room. “Can you get them to shut up… please?” Megumi pleads and Yuta sighs. 

Then raises his voice to get their attention. “What are you guys even watching at this time? Could you at least turn it down?”

“The NewJeans performance I told you about!” Toge responds.

“Ohh, I forgot you told me about that” he walks over to the side of the couch to see the screen.

Megumi raises an eyebrow. The hell is NewJeans? He sighs, but as he turns to leave, Yuji tugs him onto the couch.

“Just sit down and watch, Megumi. A little watching can’t hurt!”

Megumi puts his head on his forehead annoyed as hell but he begrudgingly sits down, glancing at the screen, where a girl in the middle of the group seems to stand out. I mean why wouldn’t she if she’s in the middle she’s obviously important for something. Yuta leans over. “Wait, Toge, who’s who again?”

Toge points. “White top with a ponytail and bow is Y/N. Two pigtails in the cropped shirt is Riko, two buns and black shirt is Nobara, two pigtails with a normal shirt is Maki, and the girl with the sheer shirt I think she’s wearing a bun is Miwa.”

“Oh… okay.” Yuta finally sits down. Megumi watches the girl in the center. “So, the girl in the middle is Y/N?”

“Yup,” Yuji says, eyes glued to the screen.

They do look pretty cool, Megumi thinks, but before he can comment, the song ends. They bow, and he sighs with relief. “Alright, so they’re done now. Can you guys turn off the—”

“Nope!” Yuji yanks him back onto the couch. “They’ve got a second performance for OMG!”

Megumi groans, letting his head fall back against the cushions.

yn pov yesterday 10:10pm

A crowd of stylists and assistants bustled around her, hurrying her down the hallway toward a dressing room for a quick change. She had no idea where the rest of her group was, but that didn’t matter; what mattered was that the whole group had ten minutes tops to get into these over-the-top outfits and fix their makeup. 

No time to worry about anything else.

As soon as she got to the room, someone handed her part of her costume, and she slipped it on as fast as she could. An assistant crouched down to help with the tricky stuff—her boots, which were more like armor, and some wings they’d attached to her back. Honestly, though? She wasn’t even that stressed. This was just part of being an idol. She’d done crazier quick changes before.

Finally dressed, she was escorted backstage, where she spotted Riko waiting. Her friend’s eyes lit up, and Riko beamed at her. “You look amazing! The blonde braids looks so good on you.”

She squealed back, “No, brown hair on you is everything!” Riko didn’t get a chance to thank her before they saw Nobara, Maki, and Miwa approaching. The five of them all started talking at once, pointing out little details of each other’s outfits.

“We still have like three minutes left,” Miwa said, glancing around the stage. “And the set is so cute! We should take a picture.”

“But we have to do it quick! Cameras will go live any second,” Maki said, already positioning herself.

They scrambled onto the stage, posing as Riko took the picture. Just then, a loud voice from backstage called the countdown: “Ten, Nine, Eight…”

Hearing the countdown they rushed off the stage, barely managing to contain their laughter.

Three, Two, One, action! 

COOL WITH YOU 💿

EXTRA ! this is the picture they took on stage:

the people backstage were pissed at them for getting on the stage when they weren’t supposed to

maki has always had the most fangirls

it was lowk hard for the group to dance in those heavy shoes but they persevered TAGLIST ! @cinnamxnangel @sorenflyinn @beepbopzlorp @angelcakkess @ibeatmywifeandkidss @h-aecat @megumisluciouslashes @gumims @starrysho @tlissablr @kiss-my-asscheeks @good-mourning0 @mikikoo @1l-ynn @stillnotherapy @kzoyu @brideads @mikko-mikko @shokosbunny @fushiguruuzzzz @hanniemylovelyquokka @adoremae @ocyeanicc

if your tag doesn’t work please fix it in your settings

©megumislovedoll all rights reserved. do not translate, repost on other platforms, modify, or copy.

[voxsmistress]

Mama Didn't Raise No Bimbo - Part 11

I decided we needed a bit of an outsider view on Y/n and the Vee's as its so easy to get stuck in your little bubble, plus Angel being shifty needed to be sorted!

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine / Part Ten / Part Eleven / Part Twelve / Part Thirteen / Part Fourteen / Part Fifteen / Part Sixteen

“You thought this was a date?” you asked in a bit of shock. Humming his lips were twitching in amusement. “Well …” you bit your lip and then thought screw it, “I thought you out of everyone would have planned a much better date and more entertaining than posing for cameras and being looked at like shark bait by creepy club owners?” It was now your turn to laugh as his screen once again glitched and he narrowed his eyes.

“You just wait Y/n” as you walked outside you took a deep breath of fresh air.

“With pleasure, Sir” you smirk up at the TV Demon who matched you with one of his own. This night might have been a bust but it definitely was interesting.

It had been a few days since the club opening and you had dealt with seeing articles plastering yours and Vox’s face over them asking ‘who was this Sinner with Vox’ quite well. Which meant you had avoided looking at any news, any articles and any social media for the first day as you were a little embarrassed by the headlines and different opinions demons were saying about you and Vox. You had a few messages off the Vee’s each expressing different emotions about them. Velvette checked to see if you were okay, also complimented you how you made sure to tell the paps that you were wearing her design (and looked hella hawt doing it – her words) while looking good solo and with Vox. Valentino just praised how well you did and when were you going to come to one of his clubs in those outfits, and when you did could he choose it. And Vox. Well, he simply put ‘I always knew we would look good together, don’t think I’ve forgotten about our date’.

Currently you were, however, sat in the Hazbin Hotel at the bar waiting for Angel. He’d been avoiding your calls, texts and now you have had enough of it, you have given him all day to respond to your messages and calls so now he was going to face you whether he wanted to or not. So, eight minutes ago you sent a message: ‘Bar. Downstairs. 10 Minutes. If you don’t come, I’ll drag you out of your room myself’. A cocktail sat in front of you untouched as you counted down the minutes. You knew he wasn’t at work today as you’d checked with Valentino and Husk the bartender had been very informative that Angel had dragged himself to his room this morning and hadn’t emerged yet. Husk was currently wiping over a few glasses sending you questioning glances every minute or so.

Nine Minutes. Tapping your nails on the counter you start to count the seconds from the clock hung on the wall.

“What are you going to do if he doesn’t come down?” Husk’s deep voice distracts you from counting. 45 seconds.

“Drag him out kicking and screaming”, you smile serenely picking up your cocktail to have a sip. His eyebrows rose in surprise.

“Little thing like you?” Smirking into your drink you shrug, placing your drink down. 20 seconds. You really didn’t want to have to yank Angel out of his room, but you would. Bracing your hands on the bar you go to push yourself up when a very hungover Angel slumped into the bar stool next to you.

“Good evening, stranger” you chirp, irritating the already grumpy sinner.

“What do you want y/n? I’ve had a long night, and I haven’t the fuckin’ energy to deal with your positive mood”, chuckling at his moaning you slide the sipped cocktail in front of him. Eyeing you he quickly downs it, flinching at the excess alcohol you asked Husk to put in there. Choking he tries to clear his throat as you turn on your stool to face him head on.

“Why are you avoiding me?” You ask. Face now devoid of humour, you stare at his mismatched eyes catching the flinch he tried to hide.

“Who says I’m avoiding you?” He mumbles, motioning for Husk to bring him another drink.

“Me, idiot. We used to see each other nearly every day, if not at least once or twice a week and now you don’t respond to my messages, you don’t answer my calls, you are always busy when I pop to see you at work. What would you call that if not avoidance?” Waiting for him to finish his sip, you tap your nails in annoyance when he evaded looking you in the eyes.

“Look toots, these things happen. People grow apart. That’s what happens in show business, you should get used to it.”

“Please tell me that is not it?” eyes narrowing at him. “That I am finally getting a bit of recognition and you aren’t happy about it?”

“I ain’t that pathetic” he snarled at you, fists clenching around his drink.

“Well thank Lucifer for that, then what is it?”

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, contemplating what to say before he finally just snapped: “it’s who you are hanging around with to get that ‘recognition’”.

Ahh. Okay.

“You don’t like me spending time with the Vee’s?” You confirm, tilting your head eyeing him as he struggles with his words.

“Obviously honey! They ain’t good people!”

“We’re in Hell babe, who is?” You waft your hand around to make your point. If you were good people, you’d not be in Hell.

Scrunching his face in concern, he reaches over and grabs your hand. “Look y/n, you don’t know what you are getting into. You don’t know who or what they are like!”

“Like you did when you signed your contract?” Low Blow, you know but you needed to get your point across. “I know you are trying to protect me Angel, and I appreciate it. But you pulling away and avoiding me is only going to have me going to them more. I am not stupid. I know what I’m doing. I know who they are and what they have done. I mean have you really forgotten who you are speaking too here?” You squeeze his hand, offering him a small smile.

“I know you are clever and can play their game as well as the best, but I’m just worried they’re going to trap you somehow”. Your eyes drop to where he pulls at his choker necklace with a small gold tag. Hmm.

“Then that’ll be my own fault. But I swear, they aren’t getting near my soul. I made one deal with Velvette and that is just to showcase her clothes and me singing at her catwalk okay – that’s it. Nothing more, they know that.” I keep my eyes on his so he could see how serious I was.

After a few tense moments he nodded in surrender and tiredly rubbed his face with his other hand. Asking Husk for two shots of vodka you push the other in front of Angel.

“Apology shot?” A small smile graced his face as he clinks your glasses together before you both finish them off.

Watching you for a moment he starts, “So…” you scrunch your nose up at the taste of the shot, you forgot how much you disliked vodka, shoving the glass back on the bar. “How are your suga’ daddies and momma treatin’ you?” Snorting in amusement you throw him a look.

“I’m still living in my shit house that I call an apartment and working every job that is worth taking if that’s what you’re asking”, accepting another shot off Husk.

“Oh, they’ve not offered you to move in yet?” Choking on the shot you slap your chest to remove the alcohol from your windpipe.

“I wear Velvette’s clothes, not shag the Vee’s babe, why would they ask me to move in with them?” You questioned.

“Hmm, I dunno know toots. I saw the photos”, his eyes lit up in amusement as he started pulling them up on his phone. “I mean big ol’ Voxxie looked like he was just about ready to devour you – which woulda been so hot. Which reminds me, do ya need any pointers? I know it’s been a longggg time for you” your cheeks were on fire from blushing as you shove a laughing Angel away from you. Dick.

“Ain’t it like riding a bike?” You tease back trying to lessen the blush from your face.

“What type of bike are you ridin’ doll?” if you weren’t so glad you both were now okay, you’d have cursed him out by now.  After a few more teasing comments about your lack of skill or sex life you glared. His teasing smile lessened a bit, sipping on his drink he decided to throw you a curveball, “ya know, Valentino messaged me the other night and not about work”.

Eyebrow quirking you tilt your head: “What about?”

“He cursed me out for ditching you at that club opening”, ah bugger. You remembered him typing furiously on his phone that night but you didn’t even think he’d contact Angel.

“Oh Angel, I am so sorry babe I didn’t think he’d say anything to you!” Waving off your apology he shrugged.

“I shouldn’t have ditched ya so I deserved it … but you looked like you enjoyed yourself anyway”, his teasing smile came back making another blush raise on your cheeks.

“I didn’t know Vox was going to be there, he hadn’t said anything to me. He told me Valentino messaged him to get dressed and meet me”. You defended yourself a bit against the teasing Sinner.

“Val told Vox to meet you?” Angel’s eyebrows scrunched up on his forehead.

“I was just as confused as you are now, I figured the club scene was more Val’s than Vox’s.”

“Huh” eyeing you with a mixture of confusion and amusement. “Ya really got them wrapped around your little finger now ain’t cha”, rolling your eyes it was your turn to laugh at him.

“Hardly! If I did, don’t you think I’d be living in a gorgeous apartment, have a nice car and not having to work another day in my undead life?” you reason with him. Having the Vee’s wrapped around your little finger, that’ll be the day.

“Mhmm … but you’ve got Velvette giving you free clothes”-

“-Which I promote for her, help design and plus I’ve gotta sing at her catwalk show” you interrupt.

“Okay fair but you’ve got Valentino bossin’ around Vox for you, sending you cutesy shit – yes I’ve seen the messages and photos – and you’ve got Vox looking like a panting dog chasin’ ya around on those photos on the articles. And probably more shit but the cameras just aint caught it!”

Mouth opening and closing as you try to come up with a counter argument, you eventually shut your mouth with a snap. He was right – not about Vox chasing you around the carpet he had actually helped you, but the rest was kinda correct.

“You might not have them completely wrapped around it but toots you are pretty darn close”. He surmised with a smug smirk.

Gulping a little you bite your lip: “What do I do?”

Shrugging, he awkwardly smiles at you: “Ain’t for me to say darlin’, but whatever you do be safe … and have fun”.

Licking your bottom lip, you play around with your empty shot glass on the counter so you didn’t have to look at him. “If … hypothetically I did, how did you so beautifully put it – wrap them round my little finger and have fun – you wouldn’t start avoiding me again would ya?” you questioned, running your finger around the rim of the glass.

Snorting in amusement, one of his arms wrapped around your neck as he placed an exaggerated kiss on your cheek.

“Doll face. You are stuck with me now! Hey if you’re up living it large with those Vee’s I want a Lamborghini for my birthday”, he teased. Tenseness fading from your body you laugh and give him a squeeze around his hips. Angel was one of your true friends in Hell, you’d be lost without him. “Plus, I can give you the low down on how to get Val off”.

“Ew Angel!!” Shoving him off you he bursts out laughing. Clutching his stomach as you scoff at him, blush burning your ears. A buzz from your pocket distracts you from a cackling Angel, pulling it out your jeans pocket you see a message from Vox: ‘Me and Val need to speak to you about an opportunity, I’ll send a car for you’. Peeking up through your hair you see that smug grin on Angel’s face.

Rolling your eyes you give him a snarky smirk in return: “sorry my suga’ daddies are calling” you wink at him as you both laugh. Texting Vox the address, to which he responded: ‘I know’ you scoff. Course he would know. Finishing the last shot you give Angel a quick kiss on the cheek and thank Husk while putting down some money to pay for the numerous drinks.

“I will be seeing you later babes!” He promised to text you tomorrow and you left, happy that you two had buried the hatchet and feeling so much lighter than you have for a few days.

Stepping outside the hotel you spy a black car pull up. Hurrying down the steps you are surprised when a sinner gets out the driver’s seat and opens the back door for you with a small bow in your direction. Okay. That’s new. Thanking them you slide in and relax in the lush leather seating. Perhaps having them a little bit wrapped round your finger is a good thing?

Tag List: @tasha-1994 @azullynxx @reath-solia @leathesimp @klorinda @twinklethewarrior @martinys-world @rosiethevoxobesser

@the-maladaptivedaydreamer @songbrita @midge7838 @joumi13 @wonderlandangelsposts @th3rizzl3r

[seeingivy]

the beach

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting fic

an: 14k. buckle in. song mentioned is sparks by coldplay!

previous part linked here

--

to sukuna’s mother

eren: we’ll be there at five am. 

lana: OH ITS HAPPENING 

sukuna: did she slap you? 

lana: DID SHE KISS YOU? 

eren: she cried a bunch while watching it. and she hasn’t said much…she’s just been staring out the window of the airplane blankly

lana: oh that’s not-

sukuna: AHAHAHAHAH

lana: well, anyways. we’ll wake up for you.

sukuna: she’ll be fast asleep. i will wake up for you. 

eren liked a message 

The second Eren closes his phone, he looks to his left to find your pink, teary eyes looking at him and immediately pales. Your eyes are positively red at this point, an itchiness settling in his throat at the sight of it. 

“I’m sorry. Did you say something?” he asks. 

“No.” you murmur. 

Eren pauses. 

“Did you want to say something?” he asks. 

He watches you pause, almost like you’re mulling over the question. He supposes that it was quite stupid for him to ask, because if it were him in your spot, he probably would have talked your ear off for every little detail. 

“You can ask me anything you want. I’ll tell you the truth, I promise.” Eren adds. 

You give him a halfhearted nod, before looking back out at the window, at the little lights glittering amidst the clouds beneath. It’s like being asked to pick up each grain of sand on a vast, mile long beach. Almost impossible. 

“I don’t even know where to start, Eren.” you murmur. 

Eren gives you an understanding nod before yanking out his laptop before setting it flat in your lap. You swallow hard, knowing fully where he thinks you should begin. With that USB that’s been burning in your pocket, ever since he handed it back to you at the house. 

Of Eren’s interview, on the Life in Love podcast. 

Eren leans into your space, handing you one of the earphones that you settle into your ear, as you press the little play button at the bottom of the screen. The video starts - Eren and Lana sitting with the chunky headphones on their ears - with the interviewer sitting in between them. 

“We’ll start with you, Eren. Have you ever been in love?” the interviewer asks. 

You watch as Eren’s face splits into a bright smile, surely one that was echoed on your face too the day after the beach, as you feel a twinge in your chest. That whenever you saw clips of the interview, they filled you with such intense, deep rooted hatred for Eren that all you saw was red. 

And that he didn’t even deserve one fraction of it. 

“Yes. Of course, I have.” he responds. 

“The person that you’re most associated with, Eren, is your co-star, Y/N L/N, from Attack on Titan. Can you comment on that, on what it’s like to have your first love be something so public?” the interviewer asks. 

Eren sighs, before he leans back in his chair. 

“First love is a funny way to describe it, when it almost feels like it’s more than that? I know a lot of people like to assume things and we’ve never said it publicly, but we did date. Obviously. She’s basically been scored on my heart since the second I met her in my chemistry read, but we ended up officially dating around season three of Attack on Titan. But it’s almost like that concept or notion is too trivial to explain what I even felt for her. She was never just my girlfriend or just my best friend.” 

“Was it one of those…acting became too real situations?” the interviewer asks. 

“I guess that you could say that. We had originally started, I guess, thinking that way when we started doing our character work. It was a whole thing we did together, while we were filming Attack on Titan. Method acting. The reason Y/N and I act so well in Attack on Titan, and win awards from it, is because we had started doing it outside of it too.” Eren responds. 

“Can you elaborate?” the interviewer asks. 

“We had started by kind of putting ourselves in that headspace, off of the set, in order to feel more connected to our characters, their relationship together. I think one of the things about Attack on Titan that makes it so compelling is the fact that my co-stars and myself, not to pat myself on the back, put time and effort into translating our characters into something that is real for us.” Eren states. 

“It’s also something that you kind of just possess as an actor with certain co-stars. Some movies, like rom-coms or drama pieces, just function and work so well because you have that chemistry with the person whose on the other side. And make no mistake, Eren and Y/N aren’t short of any chemistry themselves.” Lana responds. 

“What it is about her that struck you really differently, Eren? Clearly the two of you have a special relationship that you haven’t really been able to replicate else place, certainly not with Hyla Clarkson, for example? I mean, if you’re comfortable, you can share what you told me before you we started recording.” the interviewer states. 

A searing, red hot anger flares through you, at how friendly, how approachable the interviewer seems. The fact that they’re purposely trying to make him feel safe, just to later edit the words as they see fit. 

“Make no mistake, what I have with Hyla Clarkson is like that thing thing that Y/N had with Ricky James. We all have managers, we all get asked to do things that we don’t exactly want to do. I guess that’s the part that people don’t really understand, when they find out about PR relationships. That it seems so morally wrong. But we’re all actors, we’re all part of the entertainment industry - it’s almost like it’s part of the job to do these types of thing. And at that point, Y/N and I weren’t dating and I have strict managers, so…” Eren states. 

“Are you saying that your relationship with Hyla Clarkson wasn’t real?” the interviewer asks. 

“The first time she kissed him he threw up on the other side of a yacht. Do you think his relationship with her is real?” Lana asks, earning a laugh from the two of them. 

“It’s kind of hard to wrap your head around. But we do these things, pretend a little. It’s basically like we’re acting all the time. None of that chemistry, or that character is there. I don’t even think I could ever really like her like that. And it’s not like the relationship I have with Y/N. You asked me why she was different than everyone else? It’s easy. I’ve never met anyone else like her. I’ve never had a relationship like the one I’ve had with anyone else.” 

Eren sighs, nervously knitting his fingers togther, before he talks again. 

“I grew up with this backdrop, of this really fractured relationship with my brother. I was always told as a kid that my family, that the people around me who were real, were the things that were going to keep me tethered to my real life. That if I choose to do this, that I’ll be in the public eye, that people will say things, and it’ll be on me to build trust. To choose the right people.” Eren starts. 

“It was already so jarring to feel like I couldn’t trust my own brother, that my only family didn’t want me. And Y/N…she just kind of walked into my life and there was something so earnest about her. She felt like family basically the second, or third time I had talked to her. She was just something so real. And I’m not sure if it’s because she had a normal childhood, if she came into this on her own or what, but she always got to give me that dose of reality, of realness that I had always craved.” he continues. 

“She was really gentle with me. Always quick to wipe my tears away, to give me support, that felt more full and honest than anyone else. Some part of her made me feel like a real person. I’d always be in my own head, convincing myself that I was made up sometimes, that my feelings were manufactured, that I was just putting on a front for everyone, but I never really felt that way with her. She’s always seen past that, always seen me, in our relationship. Even when we were just friends.” Eren finishes. 

“And that’s just a quality that she naturally possesses. The first time she met me, she basically had no reason to have any trust, to have any good conviction of me. But by the end of the third or fourth day I knew her, I basically felt like the girl had seen right through me. All the way down to my core. And of course, all she saw was good. That’s how she is. I think for people like Eren and I, who naturally think so rotten of ourselves, someone like Y/N, whose so determined in how she shows her love, you almost….start to love yourself too. It’s not something that’s isolated to her, but it’s definitely something rare. People like Y/N and like Marco Bodt…that type of thing is just a part of them.” Lana states. 

“That’s wonderful to hear, especially from you. Y/N has an interesting track record with her own friends, like Historia and Jean and Mikasa that many people have pointed out before. That there’s a part of her that’s conniving, that she uses those around her to get to the top. Is that ever something you’ve noticed, Lana? Especially as someone who would be in competition with her, as a singer-songwriter yourself.” 

“Absolutely not. I think she has drive and ambition and I think that people confuse that with being conniving or competitive. Her existence means that people are going to put her against me or Historia, but that’s just because we’re women. That has nothing to do with something that’s isolated to Y/N and more with people who are just shitty and can’t see two women succeed at once.” Lana states. 

“She’s very focused on her craft - any role, any song she writes - they’re so deeply personal and authentic. That’s why she is so successful, why people covet after her so bad. I don’t consider myself to be in competition with her at all. And if I actually thought I was, I don’t think I would even last a day.” Lana continues.

“That’s something I’ve always admired about her. You’re in competition - and people are putting you there, against people you love - and you have that thing you really want, you’ll do anything to get it. There’s a mentality that people get about it. There’s only one person who ends up on a pedestal and if you have to kick people off to get there, that’s what it is. But she never, ever, put her own friends at stake in ways that she could to do that. I mean all of those rumors about Historia were coming out and she wrote dorothea of all songs, about how important their relationship is always going to be her.” Eren states. 

“You have to hold onto those type of people around you, in this type of industry, when you find them.” Lana states. 

“Good thing for me, then. I never intend to let go.” Eren adds. 

The interviewer smiles, turning to the camera, before talking again. 

“Eren’s prepared a song for us, his first in a while, that he’s going to perform for us live. What’s the song called, Eren?” 

“Sparks.” 

“Any hints to what it’s about?” 

“It’s quite obvious.” Eren responds. 

Lana starts strumming on the guitar, as Eren sings and those godawful tears of yours return. You loop your arm through Eren’s free one on your side, entirely jarred by how calm Eren is watching the interview. At how he’s not a mess, a ruin, like you are at seeing this. 

My heart is yours It's you that I hold on to Yeah, that's what I do

And I know, I was wrong But I won't let you down Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, I will, yes, I will

Yeah, I saw sparks Yeah, I saw sparks And I saw sparks

The video ends, as you wipe the wetness away on your cheeks and look over at Eren on your side. You lean your head on Eren’s shoulder, unable to look at his piercing green eyes, as he returns the favor and leans his head on top of yours. You try to figure out how to broach it - this big mess of questions in your head - but it seems that Eren saves you from figuring that out and talks first. 

“You said the other day on set you wanted to know why I want on that podcast and said what I did. You wanted to know if I still cared about you…do you know now?” Eren asks, his words so slow and careful. 

“Is it idiot day?” you ask. 

“Huh?” 

“Is it idiot day? Do you really think I’m still sitting here being mad at you? You….” 

You reach forward to cup the side of his face, brushing the softness on his cheek. 

“I have a hundred things I have to say to you. I-I don’t want to speak wrong. Can you give me a second?” you ask. 

Eren smiles, lifting his hand to place it over where yours is on his cheek. 

“I made you wait like…three years. I think I can wait a second for you, Margaret.” Eren whispers. 

You frown, nodding as Eren places his hand on your head and leans it back onto his shoulder. 

“Thanks, Bruce.” you murmur back. 

“Go to sleep. I’ll wake you up when we’re there.” Eren repsonds. 

--

It’s only when the two of you are walking up the cobblestone path, barely illuminated by the light of the rising sun, that you realize that Eren’s brought you back to the same beach house that the two of you had visited before. 

In the past twenty four hours (the ones you’ve been awake for anyways), the only thing that seems to be replaying in your mind is that night. Because every action of Eren’s that you’ve doubted seems painfully obvious now. The song he wrote, the way he insisted that the two of you were real people, only together. 

That Eren gave you so many signs. And that you didn’t know how to read them. 

The salty air stings at your nose as Eren pulls up the mat, pocketing the key placed under it, and giving you a smile. 

“Isn’t that really dangerous? To keep a key under their mat when they live so…out in the open?” you ask. 

“Sukuna put it there for me. And no one knows they live here. This is technically Lana’s brother’s house, so they never really suspected it.” Eren offers, shoving the key into the lock as he twists the knob open. 

You and Eren quietly set your bags by the door, making it a point to tip toe in the early hours of the morning only to pad into the main room to find Lana standing near the counter, cracking eggs into the bowl. 

“Oh my god! Don’t tell me that Lana No Middle Name Price is awake at a normal hour of the day?” Eren deadpans, giving her a jeering smile as she all but drops her little spatula and runs over to hug him. 

You watch the two of them, the way Eren seems more calm in his demeanour now, as the two of them lean against the counter and talk. His shoulders are more relaxed, the softest of smiles on his face while Lana looks unlike you’ve ever seen her. 

Her hair is extremely short, barely secured into a ponytail at the back of her neck with a pink ribbon. But even more than that, it’s something about her smile, the way her eyes are glimmering that it fills that gaping hole that’s been burning in your chest with the smallest warmth as you watch the two of them. 

“Sukuna’s going to get mad when you burn those cookies.” Eren states. 

“I’m not going to burn the cookies, Eren. That was one time.” she responds. 

“You almost fed your son a carcinogen. And burned the house down. Also, we all inhaled a lot of smoke so you probably ruined our lungs for all we know-” 

Lana lightly smacks him straight across the face, as he laughs and immediately swats her hands off. The two of them continue that way - pushing and shoving each other like siblings - until Lana pushes Eren a little bit too hard and he backs up into you. 

Eren immediately looks back, his hands on your shoulders as he stables your wobble, and you shoot him a grateful smile. It’s only then that Lana notices you standing there, at the front of her little kitchen, and you shoot her a smile. 

Lana’s quick to run to your side and give you a hug - the pressure on your body so tight that you can feel her squeezing that little burden of hurt that’s been sitting in your chest. Lana makes no move to let go, as you quickly deflate into her arms and start sniffling into her shoulder, immediate warm tears sparking in your eyes as her hands rub circles into your back. 

“We’ll talk, Tinky Winky. About all of it, okay?” she whispers. 

You give her a nod, as you wipe the tears from your eyes. You follow the two of them into the kitchen, as Lana continues to roll the little cookies into circular shapes. 

“Eren. Go away.” Lana states. 

“Wow. Is this how you repay me? After I take care of your son?” 

“He is your godson. You should be happy to take care of him. And they just left for their walk not that long ago, you can catch up.” Lana states. 

“Sukuna is a speedwalker. They’re probably long gone.” Eren whines. 

“Eren. Respectfully, get out of my house. Go sit on the beach and stare at the water like the little freak that you are and let me talk to Y/N in private.” Lana states. 

“I do not-!” 

“Yes, you do. Y/N, I swear to god, he sat out there everyday and we had to drag him back in like we were pulling an anchor out of the sea. Now get out.” Lana states. 

Eren sticks his tongue out, before shooting you a warm smile and padding out onto the sand. You stick your hand into the bowl, rolling the cookies into little circles with her as you give her a smile. 

“Cute ribbon.” you murmur. 

“I wore it for you. A Y/N classique.” Lana responds. 

You smile in response, as the two of you continue to roll the batter and decide what you want to talk about first. And just like Eren, she bites the bullet for you first. 

“Sukuna’s here. He’s just on a walk right now with Teddy.” 

You smile to yourself, the thought of it filling you with an immense amount of joy. 

“Do they do that often?” 

“Every day. Teddy’s quite the insomniac and wakes up extremely early. Sukuna lets me sleep in a little and takes him on a little walk along the beach. Says that they need their father son bonding time.” she muses. 

“I remember that about him. Theodore or Teddy, I mean. When Eren brought me here, in the dead of night, he was awake. With your brother, making cookies.” 

She smiles, setting the little tray in the oven, as she gestures for you to follow her onto the couch. 

“Theodore, huh? Eren did tell me he had quite the crush on you back then.” Lana states. 

“Huh?” 

“He doesn’t really go by Theodore. Eren and I call him Teddy and Sukuna calls him Theo, but…Theodore just feels a little bit too formal. He only uses it for really important people. Like you. And when he starts talking to Elsa on the TV screen.” 

“I’m glad I’m keeping such important company.” you respond. 

You laugh, hiking your knees to your chest as you decide to bite the bullet full on. 

“Lana….Ricky isn’t in his life, right?” you whisper. 

She gives you a nod, placing one of her hands on yours, as she gives you a warm smile. 

“No. Thankfully, he’s never even met Teddy. And he’s not going to.” 

“Does he know about him?” you ask. 

“Yeah. I had told him, a few weeks after it happened. When I started showing. And you know how he is…he wanted me to have an abortion and be done with it. But I…I couldn’t go through with it.” Lana states. 

She sighs, cracking her knuckles. 

“I know it seems weird. I really do hate Ricky, everything about him, but Teddy isn’t really…his in my mind. And-” 

“He’s your son. And Sukuna’s. I wasn’t even thinking that. And…and even if I was, you don’t need to explain yourself to me of all people.” you respond. 

Lana scoots closer to you on the couch, as she leans her head on your shoulder and you place yours on top of hers. 

“I kind of saw it as my way out for some time. LIke, I was so deep in with everything and all the people that we were working with. It would have never been acceptable to take a break, not unless I had to take one. And I’m not saying that I had him because I wanted to get away from work, but to me…it just kind of felt like a sign. I got to crank the brakes.” 

“I’m sure it was good for you, in ways that you might not even know about yet.” 

“I think he saved my life, Y/N. I was so deep in that shitty, self-absorbed bubble of the industry and how it is and he just…reminded me other things were more important. He took his first steps and he’s learning how to play the piano…his entire world is confined to what movie we’re going to play after lunch. Who's going to tuck him into bed at night. That’s how life should be. And that’s always how I wanted mine to look. Soft, calm.” 

You smile, squeezing one of her hands interlocked with yours. At the thought of Lana, wishing for this exact future when she was a kid, only to have it now. That she fought nail and tooh for it, but still got to have it. 

“I would have told you about Teddy. About everything. But I wanted to keep it as under wraps as I could and-” she starts. 

“You are entitled to share your secrets with whoever you want. You don’t owe anything to me.” you state. 

“I know. But just know, it’s not because I didn’t trust you. You mean the world to me, in more ways than you could ever possibly know.” Lana states. 

You shake your head dismissively, as she quickly brushes you off. 

“No, really. Eren and I…I know it can be really hard to understand why we did what we did. Why we kept so much but from you. But we grew up in this type of thing. It seems difficult to confront these things head on, when they’re basically what your whole lives have revolved around.” Lana states. 

“I get that. But…you guys seem fine doing it now? Especially with the documentary and all, I guess I just…wish I knew earlier. Could have helped you both to this point sooner. I feel shitty because you did it all on your own and you didn’t have to.” 

Lana smiles. 

“You know we only did that because of you, right? The documentary.” 

“You mean Eren.” 

“No. I mean Connie. Me. Sukuna, even. And you know how…private he is. But we did it because of you. You’ve always reminded us, in your own ways, not to take shit from people. And at this point, we don’t really have anything to lose. Only things to gain. Like you back in our life. Control over our lives again.” 

“You guys are building me up into this big thing I’m not. I hid out for two years because I was too scared to confront everything. I ignored all of you because it was easy for me to do. I’m far from this big..confrontational person you think I am. And I’m definitely not as good of a friend or supporter to you all like you think I am.” you murmur. 

“Or…you just think too little of yourself. You went through something big, traumatic even. So did we. It’s no shit that Eren was special to you, so of course the loss of him was going to be big. And you also had your fucking life’s work stolen from you, which is nothing small, Y/N.” 

“I guess.” 

“One of the biggest, most important things that Eren has taught me was having grace. Don’t ever tell him that because you already know how big his fucking head is. But…there’s a lot of patience that you have to have with yourself to get yourself out of that headspace. I lived there for years. And it is so not feasible for you, Y/N. At the end of the day, you’re still someone in our lives whose stood for the right things. And you still have that impact, even if you feel like that’s not what you’re doing right now. You don’t always have to be one thing to be the same person. Who you are, who you’ve always been, won’t ever change.” 

You swallow hard. 

“So you missed a few days? There’s another one tomorrow, Y/N. You lost a few years with Eren? That doesn’t matter because he’s still always going to be there for you.” Lana states. 

You give her a nod, embarrassed that she’s read so quickly through you when it comes to Eren, as you pinch a smile for her. 

 “Just like the moons and the suns, with the certainty of the tides, just like hope springing high, still you’ll rise.” Lana states. 

Eren’s words from the beach. 

“Maya Angelou. Eren’s told me that one before.” 

Lana smiles, rolling her eyes. 

“He’s cheesy. But it doesn’t make it any less true.” 

You wrap your arms around her, sighing into her shoulder, as she hugs you hard. 

“I’m really proud of you for owning it all. I hope that you get to drag Ricky’s name through the mud. For good this time.” you respond. 

“A girl can hope.” 

“And hank you, Lana.” 

She tilts her head in confusion. 

“You took care of Eren when I couldn’t. I won’t exactly be able to repay you for that.” you murmur. 

“Consider yourself repaid. You did the same for Sukuna before I knew him.” 

You scoff. 

“As if. Sukuna and I are nowhere near how you and Eren are.” 

She shakes her head dismissively, as she hops up on her feet and drags you by the arm to the hallway. The walls are littered in little frames, each little photo sweet little memories. 

There’s pictures of Lana, Sukuna, and Teddy on the beach and of Eren sitting at the piano with Teddy in his lap. Of Lana and Eren fast asleep on the couch and of Sukuna and Yuuji pulling each other’s cheeks as kids. And the last one in the row is of you and Sukuna, cheesing on the set of Ten Things I Hate About You. 

“It might not feel that way to you, but you’re his best friend. He’s told me that you were one of the first people - to meet him and treat him like a person. It’s no shit that everyone hated him when he was sixteen, but you were the one to extend your hand to him and be friends. Means a lot more to him than you think.” she murmurs. 

You give her a nod, as the two of you shuffle back into the kitchen and take the little tray of cookies out of the oven. You nicely plate them all onto the platter and turn around to wash your hands, as Sukuna, Teddy, and Eren pad back into the kitchen. 

“Ryomen Sukuna, if you track sand into my house again, I’m sending you right back out and you’re staying there for a few days.” Lana warns. 

You turn around to find Sukuna giving Lana an eye roll, as he leans forward and presses a kiss to her cheek. His arm is still secured around her as he faces the platter of cookies. 

“Lana Price. Did you bake something without setting the house on fire?” Sukuna asks. 

“Yes. I’m not incompetent, you know?” Lana responds, trying to shove him off. 

“Right. Making ready-made cookies is such a difficult task. Quite the feat if you ask me.” 

“It is! You have no idea.” she deadpans back, as Teddy runs up to hug her legs and she lifts him straight into her arms. 

Teddy reachs for the little ribbon in her hair immediately, twisting it in his little hands as he yanks it out of her hair. 

“Teddy, tell your dad he’s being very rude. And that I’m a very good cook.” Lana states. 

“Mommy. You almost made a car engine.” Teddy responds. 

“Buddy. It’s carcinogen. Car-sin-o-gen.” Eren repeats, annunciating every syllable. 

“Eren, quit teaching my kid bad words. You’re a horrible influence. And Y/N was watching me while I made them so…” Lana murmurs, pressing a kiss to Teddy’s cheek before setting him back on the floor and letting him run up in between Eren’s legs. 

Eren gives you a smile from your little vantage point near the sink, as he gestures for you to come closer to him. You follow and crouch down to where Eren - and Teddy - are standing as Teddy nervously peeks at you from behind Eren’s back. 

“Okay, bud. This is my pretty friend, Y/N. Can you say hi?” he asks. 

Teddy’s cheeks turn bright red, as he nervously toussles his hair, before extending his little hand to you. 

“My name is Theodore Price. My mommy calls me Teddy. And Eren. And my dad calls me Theo. And the mailman always calls me kid.” Teddy rambles. 

You fight the urge to laugh, at how cute he is, as you smile at him. 

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.” you respond, shaking his little hand as you watch a little smile spread across his face. 

You look up to find Sukuna making eye contact with Lana, mouthing Theodore? as Lana shakes her head dimissively at him. You give Sukuna a smile, which he actually returns, before you focus back on Teddy. 

“I have a gift for you.” Teddy states. 

“For me? On your birthday?” you ask. 

“I didn’t buy it so it doesn’t actually count.” he responds. 

“Sound logic, my friend. What is it?” you ask. 

“You have to close your eyes and put your hands out.” 

You look up at Eren, giving him a disbelieving look, as he gestures for you to follow. You close your eyes and cup your hands out to the two of them, as you hear Eren laugh. 

“Okay. You can open them now.” Teddy states. 

You open your eyes to find a pink ribbon in your hand, specifically the one that Teddy just snagged from Lana’s hair, as you hear Sukuna and Eren laugh. You smile hard, twisting it in your hands. 

“Thank you, Teddy. That’s very kind of you.” you respond, giving him a smile. 

He returns the favor, his cheeks bright pink, as he runs up behind Sukuna’s legs and burrows his face into the fabric of his pants. You and Eren stand back up, as Eren leans into your space and whispers. 

“He still has a crush on you.” Eren states. 

“He’s a baby, Eren.” 

“You’re so rude. Babies aren’t capable of love?” 

“Well, you’re standing right here so that’s obviously not true.” you deadpan. 

“Haha. Now give it.” Eren states, holding his hand out to you. 

“Give you what?” 

“The ribbon, dingus.” Eren responds. 

“Actually, Eren. He gave it to me. Maybe if you were cuter, he’d give it to you.” 

“Okay, Megamind. Don’t get a big head now. I was just going to put it on for you.” Eren responds. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, oh.” 

You place the little pink ribbon in Eren’s hands, as he gestures for you to turn around. He’s quick to secure the ribbon into the little ponytail in your hair, giving your head a little pat when he’s finished. 

“So cute.” Eren says, sarcastically. 

“Shut up. I’m adorable.” you respond. 

Eren smiles. 

“Yes, you are.” he responds, zero hint of sarcasm in his voice. 

Sukuna gives Eren a nod, as the two of them switch spots, and he takes your side. You get to take Sukuna in full this time, at the little smile wrinkles near his eyes and the salty, beach smell that seems to emanate off of him. 

“Y/N L/N. Are you finally gracing us with your presence?” Sukuna asks. 

“Father Sukuna. I think I am.” you respond, placing your hands on your hips. 

Sukuna smiles, reaching forward to mess with your hair. 

“You and I are going to talk after breakfast. And that’s only because Lana will burn our house down if I leave her alone to it.” Sukuna states. 

“Deal.” you respond, smiling at him. 

--

You and Sukuna settle down onto the little patio, the waves of the ocean crashing against the sand in front of you. He sets the little plates in front of the two of you, giving you a smile, as you both lean back in your chairs. 

“Pumpkin pie?” you ask. 

“You want some?” Sukuna asks. 

“Sure.” 

And then Sukuna lifts the plate and immediately smashes the pie into your face. It’s cold and squishy, as you quickly smear it out of your eyes just to glare at him. 

“Eren! Bring Y/N a towel. And another slice of pie.” Sukuna states. 

Eren sticks his head out of the screen door, widened eyes at the state of you. 

“What happened?” Eren asks. 

“She fell into the pie. She’s always been such a clutz.” Sukuna states. 

“Into the pie? On the plate?” Eren asks. 

“Yes.” Sukuna responds. 

Eren gives the two of you a weird look, as he shuffles back into the house and returns with a towel. You wipe all of the filling off of your face before hitting Sukuna straight in the face with the towel and crossing your arms. 

“Is it asshole day, Sukuna?” 

“That’s rich coming from you. I’m the asshole?” Sukuna asks. 

“You just smashed a pie into my face.” 

“And you didn’t return my calls for two years.” Sukuna responds, glaring. 

You sigh, leaning back in the chair, as you look at him. 

“Make no mistake, Y/N. I’m not Eren and I’m not Mikasa. I’m not going to beat around the bush just for you.” Sukuna states. 

“Thanks, Sukuna. I can always count on you to support me.” you deadpan. 

Sukuna stops in his tracks, before swallowing hard. 

“Lana told me to be nice to you.” he states. 

“You don’t have to be. Whatever it is you’re feeling…I’m sure that I deserve it.” you respond. 

“Contrary to your belief, I don’t actually enjoy being rude. I actually hate it. But…there are things you have to know. You’re really fucking stupid sometimes, Y/N.” 

You roll your eyes. 

“You’re a changed man, Sukuna.” 

Sukuna shifts in his seat, as you quickly bite your words. 

“I wasn’t being sarcastic. You really do seem different. Better.” you murmur. 

Sukuna smiles. 

“I am. Different. Better.” 

You lean forward, placing a hand on his forearm. 

“You’re a fucking dad, Sukuna.” 

“I know. Who would have thought?” he asks. 

“Me. I always knew you’d be great at this type of thing.” 

“Yeah right.” Sukuna responds, sarcastically. 

“No, really. You…you have that ability. The type that really good parents have. You always know what to give people, what they need to hear. You know that people don’t give things to me straight, so you always do it for them. And you’re the only person on my side - the only person who says that and means it.” you respond. 

Sukuna leans forward on his elbow. 

“I could have done better by you. I know that.” 

“Sukuna-” 

“The awards show. I could have stopped you. I…I figured that Historia and Jean were riling you up. That you were already far past a point of reason and I just…” 

“I would have cussed you out if you tried to go against me in that moment, Sukuna. Kicked you out of my house.” 

“I thought that much but…but still. I could have made you listen.” Sukuna responds. 

“Don’t get me wrong. I find lots of value in your words. But really, I wouldn’t have listened. And…and you were still there in the way that I needed you. Don’t think that I’ve forgotten that the person who dragged me out of that dressing room that night was you.” you murmur. 

Sukuna sighs. 

“I fucking hate you for not talking to me, Y/N. I get not talking to anyone from Attack on Titan. To Levi, Hange, whatever. But I was never apart of that. I was your friend, Y/N. I was always on your side.” 

“I’m sorry.” you respond. 

“You don’t think I would have fought for your albums back with you? That I wouldn’t have wrung Eren’s neck out if he asked me to? That I wouldn’t have crawled into your shitty house and stayed there with you if you needed me to?” 

You swallow hard. 

“It’s embarrassing to be around people when I know I’m doing something wrong. But it’s infinitely more embarrassing when that person is you, Sukuna.” you respond. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“I mean…you’re one of the best people I know. You’re always saying what’s on your mind, you’re exactly what I want to be. Honest. Earnest. A good friend. I know I can be shitty. It’s just really hard for me to do it in front of you.” you respond. 

“You think too much of me.” Sukuna states. 

“You think too little of yourself.” you respond. 

“Don’t quote my girl back to me, L/N.” Sukuna sneers, lightly shoving you. 

You smile. 

“Your girl, eh?” your respond, smirking at him as you watch a pink flush crawl up his neck. 

“Do you think you’re funny? We have a kid together.” Sukuna responds. 

“You have a crush on Lana.” you respond. 

“Okay?” 

“That’s so cute, Sukuna.” you respond, exaggerating each syllable as he rolls his eyes at you. 

You lean forward and wrap your arms around him, hugging him as hard as you can as you feel the tears collect in your eyes. Sukuna pulls back the second he feels you sniffling, his eyes pinched in annoyance. 

“Why are you crying?” 

“I’m so happy for you, Sukuna.” you whisper. 

Sukuna deflates, pinching his lips shut. 

“You could have told me too, Sukuna. About all of it, everything that happened. When-when you were a kid. I would have listened to you. And I would never tell.” you whisper. 

“I almost did tell you. That night that we were in my trailer. When Historia released Lacy.” 

You gesture for him to continue. 

“I told you that…that hundreds, thousands of people loved me and I didn’t even know who I was looking at in the mirror. It was more humiliating for me than that. I looked in the mirror and didn’t know who I was, how I let that happen to me-” 

You feel the tears immediately burn in your eyes. 

“-but it bothered me even more. Because I look just like Yuuji, Y/N. Yuuji means the fucking world to me, just like you do. Like Lana does. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for him. And…and at that point I realized. That I didn’t even hold myself to that standard. That I didn’t see that happening to myself and think that I deserved better.” Sukuna states. 

“Sukuna. You deserve so much better. So much better.” you whisper. 

“I know that now. And I have it too, Y/N.” 

You and Sukuna turn your heads to look at Lana and Teddy through the window, the two of them showing Eren something in a book. The two of you smile at each other. 

“Luckily for me, Lana showed up right when I needed her. I can’t believe that I’ve been walking around her for years, on red carpets and at awards shows. She was right under my nose this entire time and I had no idea.”  

“There’s this legend. An invisible string of fate. That the person that you’re destined to be with, the two of you have a little string tied around your pinkies the second you’re born. And no matter how far you go, you’ll still have a pull on each other. End up together.” you respond. 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m pretty sure the two of you have been making steps towards each other the entire time, Sukuna.” you respond. 

He smiles in response. 

“Me too.” Sukuna responds. 

You wipe the wetness from your cheek, as you lean back in the chair. 

“Okay, Sukuna. Give it to me straight.” 

“Give what? A slap?” Sukuna asks. 

“No. I know you. You’ve probably got a lot to say to me. So…just come right out and say it. I can take it.” 

Sukuna smiles, almost too sinisterly. 

“You sure?” 

“Yes.” 

“Positive? You can’t fight me on any of it.”

“Fine. Just tell me.” 

He takes a deep breath before talking, the tone in his voice so matter-of-fact that it catches you off guard. 

“You have no right to give Mikasa shit for picking another maid of honor. Even if Amy’s a bitch to you. Quit playing the victim with her on that one, becuase first and foremost, you will lose. And second of all, she’s getting married. You’re the one who needs to bite the bullet and make sure that she has a good day.” 

“Wait-” you start. 

“Why aren’t you writing any music anymore? Why are you accrediting all of your success to Danny and Sareen when you’re the one who wrote those songs?” 

“I’m not-” 

“Aren’t you though? And when are you going to stop punishing Eren for something that you did to him first.” 

“Sukuna.” 

“What are you mad at him for? That he didn’t tell you what he was going through? Isn’t that what you did to him first? Because yeah, you’d call him before all your shows and pretend like things were fine. And then Eren had to find out from a fucking interview that those two dickwads were starving you. That they were controlling you like you were one of their assets.”  

You sigh. 

“I’m not playing the victim with Mikasa.” 

“Aren’t you though? Because if it were me, if I had not talked to my best friend in two years despite the fact that she reached out multiple times, I’d think that I was in the wrong.” 

“I was struggling.” 

“And you don’t think she wasn’t? Did you know that she almost broke up with Jean in the years that you were gone?” 

You pale. 

“What?” 

“Did you ask her? Did you ask her how she was when you came back?” 

You swallow hard. 

“You don’t think that she needed you for that? For something as big as almost losing Jean when he’s always been by her side. You don’t think that she needed you for even small things even beyond that? Someone to talk to. Someone to support her?” 

“Are her and Jean okay?” 

“Yes. Eren was there. But Eren can’t exactly replace what you are for Mikasa. And god knows he has the emotional capabilities of a fucking teaspoon.” 

It seems that every time you’re at the depths of your regret, of your guilt, you find that there is always a way to sink down further. 

“Quiet now, aren’t you? Fight me about the music.” he states. 

“No.” 

“Because I’m right?” he asks. 

“So what if you are? I just don’t want to write anything anymore. It’s not that serious.” 

Sukuna leans forward, inches between your faces. 

“It’s not that serious, for any normal person. But it is that serious for you. Because you love to write music, Y/N. You scribble lyrics onto your scripts when you’re supposed to be reading them. You hum songs when you’re basically doing anything. And you’re not doing it now, because you’re still in that godforsaken hole you sank yourself into in your house.” 

“So what if I am, Sukuna? What if I am? Don’t you get that I’m fucking scared of this type of thing? That it is isn’t easy? I lost Eren. And then I lost my music. All of my friends. You don’t think that type of thing was fucking hard for me?” you respond, warm tears spilling out of your eyes. 

Sukuna leans forward, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing hard. 

“You were never one to back down from a fight. What kind of hold do you think those two idiots have over you at this point? Need I remind you, that they’re only famous, that they only have a claim to their names, because of you. Did you lose Eren? No. Because he’s literally peering through the fucking window right now because you’re crying. Did you lose your music? No, because he fought so hard to somehow get it back for you. And you didn’t lose your friends. We’re right in front of you.” 

You pull back, glaring at him. Because as annoying as he is, he always did point out the truth. You give Eren a smile through the window, gesturing to him that it’s okay, as he gives you a disbelieving look and walks away. 

“I’m mad at Eren for what he said to me.” you respond. 

“That’s valid. But have you ever considered that he might have been mad at you for what you said to him too? Or even worse, that you could have really hurt him?” 

��What did I say to him? Because he-” 

“You didn’t pick him.” 

“But, Sukuna. I had to do that. Sareen and Danny-” 

“So you get it. You get that what you did was because you had to. So why don’t you understand that what Eren said to you was because it was what he had to say too?” 

You sigh. 

“Don’t be a hypocrite, Y/N. You know I don’t say any of this to hurt you.  But you’re not twenty-one anymore. And neither is Eren. It’s time for you to face this head on. Both of you.” he states, the tone in voice so caring that it makes you falter. 

You sigh. 

“Did you know that Eren was struggling that bad?” 

“No. And I gave him tons of shit at the time for it. You’re not the only one with regrets.” he states. 

--

After a fresh shower, you pad back into the main room to find Eren in the kitchen, while Sukuna, Lana, and Teddy cuddle in the crouch. Eren gestures for you to join him at your side, as he pushes a little cutting board and the food towards your side. 

“Are you trusting me to cut the vegetables? Are you finally viewing me as your equal, Eren Jaeger?” you ask, feigning shock. 

“It’s a safety knife. That’s what Teddy uses when Lana teaches him how to cook.” Eren responds, smirking at you. 

You elbow him, accompanied with nice string of insults as you stand at Eren’s side. You look to the picture at the your side, of Sukuna, Lana, and Teddy dressed up nice in a little courthouse. 

“Hey. What’s this?” 

“Lana and Sukuna are married.” Eren states. 

“Excuse me. You said they were dating.” you state. 

“We said dating in the documentary, because they were dating at the time. But at their one year anniversary, they did a small little court wedding. The three of them got takeout sushi and came home like right after.” Eren states. 

You walk over to the picture, inspecting it in full this time. At Lana’s white slip dress, at their matching rings, and the little bouquet in Teddy’s hands. The three of them are smiling so brightly, Lana and Sukuna leaning their temples together, with their eyes closed and bright smiles. 

“Eren.” 

“Hm?”

“How did that happen?” you ask, gesutring over to the three of them. 

Eren sets his knife down, lookng over at the picture as he places his hands on his hips. You can already tell from his stance that whatever he’s about to say is going to be bitingly sassy. 

“Okay. When two people love each other, they get in a be-” 

“Shut up, idiot. I mean, Lana and Sukuna.” 

Eren shoves you in the side, as the two of you avert your eyes to the three of them on the couch. 

“After that night, when I had said everything to you, I had immediately called Levi and Hange. Lana and I had been debating calling them and asking for help the second I ended up in the hospital, but that night was kind of the final straw for me.” Eren states. 

“Your injury should have been your final straw, Eren.” you respond, pinching your eyes at him. 

“At that point, I was ready to drag Scott Clarkson into the ground. From my standpoint, I didn’t really have anything to lose from suing them. And Connie and Lana, it didn’t take them much convincing to follow. But Levi basically wanted to stack all of our cards in our favor, that if we were going to say something, anyone else who has something to say would get to take that chance too.” Eren adds. 

“That’s where he came in.” you state, to which Eren gives you an affirmative nod. 

“Sukuna had told us almost everything about what happened to him, except for…you know.” 

The sexual assault. 

“Yeah.” 

“Lana was the first person that he told. And I don’t know what she told him, since that’s not something I understand having experienced but she obviously does, but…they both just kind of came to us one day. Told us that they wanted to own it.” Eren adds. 

“So, they just got close? From all that? Not that it’s not a thing that connects him, but he…he’s always so reserved.” you ask. 

“I think he just naturally gravitated towards her, that’s all. I think they have these deep, all encompassing emotions that they don’t share with other people. The feel things deeply, love really hard. It was just like an underlying thing…that they knew they would get along in that way. Like you and me.” 

“Like you and me?” 

“Y’know. We were close right off the bat. No awkward stage, no holding things back from each other. Well, in the beginning at least.” Eren states. 

You hum in response. 

“Sukuna met Teddy pretty early on. When Lana and Sukuna started dating, they were serious straight off the bat. He kind of just…fit in perfectly with them. Nothing really changed. Teddy just kind of called him dad in passing one day. No one really said much about it, but I did find Sukuna crying later.” 

You frown, clutching your hands on your chest. 

“I’m really happy for them, Eren. There’s no one who deserves it more than them.” 

You feel a brush past your shoulder to find Sukuna and Lana at your sides, the two of them tip toeing into the fridge and pulling a little box out. Eren hands you a little box of candles, as you pull out five little green ones. 

The four of you huddle over the cake, perfectly placing them and lighting them, as you walk over to where Teddy’s still sitting, fully engrossed into the screen. Sukuna turns to the three of you, quietly counting down, before you all burst out singing and Teddy turns around excitedly. 

You watch as Sukuna smashes a decent amount of frosting onto Teddy’s cheeks after he blows out the candles, as Lana quickly snaps a picture of the two of them with the cake. 

“Is that your thing now, Sukuna? You just smash dessert into people’s faces?” you ask. 

“Well, you deserved it. And I’ve been doing this since my first birthday with him.” Sukuna states. 

“Don’t tell me you smashed food in a grown woman’s face?” Lana asks, deadpanning. 

“It was pie. That hardly counts as food. And again, need I repeat, that she deserved it.” 

Lana comes over, securing her hands around your shoulders, as she presses a kiss to your cheek. 

“You’re rude. Our princess does no wrong.” she states, gesturing for Eren to join him at her side. 

Eren follows suit, gesturing for Lana to get in the picture, as he points the little camera at them, and you peer over his shoulder at the viewfinder. 

“Teddy. What did you wish for?” Eren asks. 

“Don’t say! Your wish won’t come true.” Lana whines. 

“Y/N!” Teddy states, giving you a bright smile. 

Sukuna laughs, reaching for his sides to tickle at him. 

“Sorry buddy. You already snoozed and lost on that one.” Sukuna responds. 

The three of them shuffle to the counter as Sukuna starts cutting the cake into little slices and placing them on the plates. After a decent amount of dessert and sweet pictures, Eren shuffles away with Teddy to set him to bed, as you shuffle into your own room and muse over what you’re going to say to Eren later. 

--

Eren makes his way down the following morning, to find the three of them mulling around in the kitchen. He makes it a point to shove Lana and smack Sukuna, before pressing a kiss on top of Teddy’s head and taking the seat next to them. 

“You’re not going on your walk?” Eren asks, looking up at Sukuna. 

“Someone already claimed the beach.” 

“Huh?” 

Sukuna points behind him, as Eren looks out the window to find you sitting there in the sand, on a little blanket. Your back is facing towards him, your hair slightly swaying in the light breeze of the beach outside. 

“What’s she doing?” Eren asks. 

“She wants to talk to you, Eren.” Lana states. 

Eren pales. 

“Out there?” Eren asks. 

The two of them nod as Eren feels knots twisting in his stomach, that whatever semblance of relationship that the two of you were building back together was going to come crashing down in a second. That the harsh, cruel justice that he was owed was finally going to be served to him. 

“Fuck. Okay. Do I look fine?” Eren asks, turning to the two of them. 

Sukuna and Teddy squint their eyes in confusion, as Lana gives him a big thumbs up and all but pushes him onto the patio. He turns around and gives her a pointed glare, which she only returns with a smile as he starts trudging towards you, feet digging into the sand. 

You notice Eren before he can creep up behind you, as you give him a smile and gesture for him to take the spot next to you. It’s decently overcast, a slight chill in the air as you pull your hoodie around you and watch the waves crash ahead. 

“Hey.” Eren says. 

Eren takes the spot at your side, hiking his knees to his chest, as your elbows brush against each other in the cold. 

“Wanna go skinny dipping?” you ask. 

“I beg your pardon?” Eren resopnds, eyes nearly bulging out of his head.  

You can barely contain your laughter, as Eren quickly catches on. His cheeks are positively pink as he starts grumbling under his breath about how mean you are and you choke out an apology. The two of you sit there in silence as the water pulls close to the shore, just to quickly retreat back into the big mass of water. 

You bite the bullet this time.

“The song that you wrote that day. The one that you sang to me on the beach.” you say. 

“Yeah?” Eren asks, almost too attentive as he hangs at the ends of your words. 

“That’s my first question. What did it mean?” you ask. 

Eren looks back out at the waves. 

“I thought that what we had ran it’s course when I wrote it. It was a few days before you got there. And by that point, I was already so down in it that all I was left with was the feeling of being grateful. That I did get to experience that love, with you, at some point. And you know. You’re the moon. I’m the ocean. It was a nice solace to think our love would last forever that way..” Eren responds. 

You nod in response. 

“That night. When- when you tried to kiss me. I told you I couldn’t because you were still with Hyla. Why didn’t you tell me then and there that you had broken up?” you ask. 

“I could have. But I wanted to know if you wanted me still, with such extreme urgency, that-that I kind of forgot that I was technically dating her in the first place. I said it before, but I never really considered that real, Y/N. She didn’t even warrant a mention in my mind. Or ever mean anything to me.” Eren responds. 

“Okay.” 

Eren pauses. You suppose your response was barely convincing and that he can most definitely tell. 

“I’m only telling you this part because Sukuna is going to tell you anyway and he’s been holding it over my head for weeks.” Eren states. 

“What?” 

“It’s embarrassing. Just- pretend like it’s nothing when Sukuna says it to you.” 

“Okay?” 

“The yacht. When-when Hyla kissed me.” 

“Oh. Vomitgate.” you respond, smiling at him. 

“Don’t call it that!” he whines. 

You laugh as you gesture for him to continue, his cheeks lightly dusted pink. 

“Hyla likes to wear a lot of lipgloss. And she..she always wears this red one. That smells like cherries.” he states. 

“Okay?”  

“I didn’t know that it tasted like cherries too. And when she kissed me, I-I could taste it.” Eren mumbles. 

“Congratulations? I’m glad it tasted good while you were kissing her.” 

“No! No, Y/N. You don’t get it. You….you taste like cherries when I kissed you. Or when you used to.” 

“Huh?” 

“The slushies. Your lips always tasted like cherries. So when she kissed me, I-I immediately thought of you. And…and then I realized it was her.” 

“And then you…projectile vomited?” you finish. 

“Okay, you promised you wouldn’t make fun.” 

You smile. Primarily because he’s so embarrassed that it’s cute. And that in the most evil way, the thought of him being so disgusted by kissing someone that isn’t you that it makes him vomit makes your heart warm in a special way. 

“I said no such thing, Eren.” 

The two of you sit there in silence for some time, as you muse over his words. The air only seems to get colder as time goes on, the clouds swirling in the sky above the two of you. 

“The things that you said to me, Eren. I-I know they weren’t true. But I want to know how you came up with them. Because I understand that it was something you had to say. But they just fell out of your mouth so easily. That you only wanted me for that and nothing more and-” 

“In no way were those words easy for me to say. Don’t even say that.” Eren states, the urgency in his tone so adamant that it makes you sweat. 

“How did you come up with it? Because it must have been in the back of your mind if-” 

“Y/N. I come from literally the shittiest, meanest place that you can imagine. I’ve told you before. The things that Zeke had said to me.” Eren states. 

“And?” 

Eren stops. His voice is softer this time, almost laced with a pinch of hurt. 

“When life gets harder, I have to get harder to match. If you show up and I can’t have you, the thought of it fills me with so much anger, so much hurt that it all comes out. On you. And that doesn’t make anything I said okay, but you being there. Having you so close to me and having to send you away. It had to be something cruel. You wouldn’t have gone otherwise.” 

“Well-” 

“Don’t even say that to me. Because I know for a fact that if I had told you any of this then, you would never leave. You wouldn’t listen to me because you’d want to stay with me.” 

“Is there something wrong with that? With me wanting to be there for you?” 

“Of course, not. It’s just that you being there with me required you to be there. With those shitty people. And if it comes to you or me, I’d pick you. Even if I had to do something shitty to make sure that you were far away.” 

You’re immediately reminded of the conversation that you had with Eren. Or more acutely, the fight that the two of you had. Of what Eren had said to you. 

But I couldn’t have you there. Because if it came down to it, when I had to pick between covering someone else or taking care of you, I’d pick you.

You swallow the lump in your throat. Of the implication that if Eren was faced with the choice - of you and Teddy or you and Connie - that he would pick you. 

Even if it was the wrong choice to make. 

“And Armin?” you ask. 

“That’s the thing about you two. You both came in so hot. I was expecting after the interview that the two of you were going to cuss me out, leave without even saying anything. But your instinct - both of yours - was to immediately believe it wasn’t true. Bittersweet, because you knew me well enough to know I’d never really say that but also shitty becuase then I had to bite back to make sure you left.” Eren states. 

You lift the little cover at your side and slide the little box into Eren’s hands. You see his eyes go wide immediately, as you hand him a polaroid camera, the exact specific brand that Erwin had gifted Armin all of those years ago. 

“I can make my amends with it. Even if it hurt my feelings. And hopefully that helps you make amends with Armin.” you state. 

“Where the fuck did you find this? I’ve been looking for this for a better part of the past year.” he states. 

“I found it this morning. And…I’ve eavedropped on one of your fights with Armin.” you state. 

“Nosy.” 

“Okay, I’ll just go return it.” you state. 

“No!” Eren states, quickly clutching his arms around the box as you laugh. 

Eren sighs. 

“Thank you. You don’t know what this means to me.” Eren responds. 

“I think I have an idea.” you respond. 

Eren smiles, albeit halfheartedly, as he looks down at the box. 

“My turn. Unless you had more?” he murmurs. 

“No. Go ahead.” 

“The awards show. What do you think about it now?” Eren asks. 

You sigh. 

“What you were saying, it seems much more obvious now. That it was Historia and Jean there. That they were riling me up. Historia, she was already mad at you for what I said, for going against what we had as kids, and for Jean. It was personal. He basically felt like you had betrayed him and told me that. I suppose now that if Mikasa was there, she wouldn’t have let me go as far as I did.” you respond. 

“Mikasa wanted to come. Danny and Sareen didn’t let her. They knew for a fact she wouldn’t let you. She’d want to be there for you in the way you needed. Probably put my face on a dart board and talk shit about me.” Eren muses. 

“I would have preferred that over what I really did. But I remember that now. Danny and Sareen said that her hysterics weren’t conducive to the situation. And granted, Mikasa’s never short of being dramatic but…always calm when you need her. I can’t believe I forgot about that in the moment. And Sukuna, he never gave his opinion. He just told me to make my own decisions and that he would support me, which makes more sense in hindsight too.” you respond. 

Eren nods in response, content with your answer. 

“Why did you cry when I was singing the grudge?” you ask. 

“Why did you cry when you were singing the grudge?” Eren asks. 

“The fight we had. You told me beforehand that..that I didn’t have any faith in you like you did in me. It was the first time that it might have crossed my mind. That you didn’t mean anything that you said and…and then I was singing a song about how I’d never forgive you. And you were crying during it. It pretty much sold me on the fact that I was right.” you respond. 

Eren nods. 

“For me, it was the fact that you were playing the piano. On your own. I was waiting for years to see you do it on your own, to take that step and be confident in your own abilities. You’ve always been great and all I wanted to do in that moment was to stand there. Tell you I told you so. And I couldn’t.” 

“What did you mean? When you said I didn’t have faith in you?” you murmur. 

“I was just really upset in that moment, Y/N. I didn’t-” 

“I want to know.”

Eren sighs. 

“You thought right. I was upset that you believed it so blindly. That you believed an edited interview of me. And what I had said that night, which you had every right to believe. I was just-” 

“It’s okay.” 

“I wasn’t mad at you. And I’m still not. I regretted it after I said it.” 

“Okay. I appreciate the grace you give me, Eren.” 

“Nothing you haven’t given me first.” Eren responds. 

You both avert your eyes from one another. 

Anything else?” Eren asks. 

“I guess not. Is there something you want to tell me?” you state. 

“I want to know what you were doing in the years that I wasn’t with you.” 

“In the house?” 

“No. No, when you were with Danny and Sareen. After-after we said fishbowl on the rooftop.” Eren states. 

You sigh. 

“I feel fucking stupid about it all in hindsight.” you respond, warm tears filling your eyes.

Eren’s quick to notice, like he always is, as he pulls you closer to him and you lean your head against his shoulder. 

“Hey. You’re okay, just take a breath-” Eren whispers. 

“I did three albums with world tours back to back. Movies in the hiatuses.” you state. 

“And?” Eren murmurs. 

“And I didn’t take a break once. I-I only realized when I locked myself in that godforsaken house how much time I had lost. How much of it I swam through when I came back and Falco was basically grown. I left him when he was barely a teenager and then he was just…this whole person. Comforting me when that’s always been my job. That Jean and Mikasa had moved so far in their relationship that they were actually going to get married. That we all fucking grew up.” you respond. 

You wipe your nose. 

“I realized really quickly that I wasn’t making money off of the Lucky One. I had spent that entire first year, not even thinking about you or anything else, because I was just fighting desperately behind the sidelines to get them back.” you state. 

Eren snorts. 

“I think when you stopped fighting is when I started. We had won the lawsuit at that point and I-I was told to negotiate for whatever I wanted.” Eren responds. 

“How did you know?” 

“Danny and Sareen. At the awards show, they had made it a point to me. That it was always their goal. I had been inquiring about it ever since then and…the second you released the Lucky One and disappeared I knew they were going to do something. I tried to negotiate the entire album back, money and all, but all I could get you was the rights. And I’ve talked to Niccolo about it. You can re-record them or-or we can do something else but-” 

“Thank you.” you state. 

You look back at the ocean. You don’t say something for sometime, which fills Eren’s stomach with an overwhelming amount of discomfort as he rests his head against his knees. But you can’t even stomach it. How you’re supposed to thank Eren for what he did. For what he’s always done. 

For how consistent he’s always been. When it comes to you. 

“What are you thinking?” he asks. 

You look over at him, or more precisely, at the little tattoo on his bicep as you open up his arms and rest your fingers against it. He mimics your motions, smiling at the little inked skin. 

“I was half convinced you were going to get it removed.” Eren states. 

“I almost did.” you respond. 

He laughs. 

“I always thought it was stupid. That you wanted to be the ocean when I thought you were the moon. You know, like a light shining on a dark night? That’s always what I thought you were for me.” you state. 

“It feels like there’s more to that statement.” Eren responds. 

“Can you see the moon right now?” you ask. 

Eren looks up at the overcast sky, the clouds dense above. 

“No.” 

“But you can see the ocean. All the time, whenever you want. The waves pull back, but they always return.” you state. 

Eren looks up at you, in confusion. 

“I don’t follow.” 

“I’m saying you picked right. I am the moon. Fickle. Unreliable. I disappear at the first sign of a storm. But the ocean…” 

You look over at your right, to the waves crashing. 

“It’s one of the only things in nature that keeps its promise. Keeps crashing back on the shore, against the pull.” 

Eren’s eyes falter. 

“You had every right to do what you did.” Eren responds. 

“I know that. But it was always you and me. From the start. I was the one who lost sight of that when I let you go.” you state. 

Eren swallows hard. 

“Why did you do that?” he asks, his voice in the smallest whisper. 

The fact that he even asks shatters something in you, into tiny little pieces. That you had sown so much doubt into him. 

“I…I had so much faith in us. What we had…it came to us so easily. Snuck on me so quickly that I took it for granted. I figured that if I had to let you go for sometime, you’d come right back to me. The same way that we were before.” 

“You were nineteen.” Eren states. 

“I was stupid. Because that’s not how you saw it.” 

“No. No, it-” 

“Don’t lie. You thought I left you.” 

“It’s water under the bridge.” Eren responds. 

You sigh. 

“Eren. Eren, if you felt that way, why didn’t you say that? I- I fucking adored you. I would have pulled back and said no the second that you had asked me not to. Surely you must have known that I would move any mountain for you?” you ask. 

Eren looks at you, the look in his eyes faltering as you realize. 

“Eren. Did you know that I would do anything for you? Did you know that I loved you as much as you loved me?” you ask. 

“I did.” Eren responds, the lightest hint of disbelief in your voice. 

You pull him closer, cupping his face in your hands. 

“Eren. You were my person. I loved you so, so much and you didn’t even know?” you ask, warm tears filling your eyes. 

“It wasn’t anything about you. It was me. It’s my fault that I didn’t think that.” Eren whispers. 

“Don’t. Don’t fucking say that, Eren.” you respond, pulling away from him as the hot, embarrassing tears pour down your eyes. 

At the fact that Eren’s so willing to forgive. So quick to look past the fact that you took the love that he had given you for granted. That you hadn’t appreciated it, and him, half as much as you should have and now it was never going to be the same. That he was so insecure in himself, that he couldn’t accept the love that you had given him. And that you didn’t even notice. 

Eren sits quietly at your side, making no move to comfort you this time. All you can see are his green eyes, looking directly into yours, almost like he’s waiting. Mulling over the exact words that he has to say to you. And the fact that he’s sitting there trying to comfort you, when he should be cursing your name, makes it ten times worse. 

“Y/N.” he murmurs. 

“No.” 

“Y/N.” he repeats, softer this time. 

You shake your head as he scoots closer to you, cupping your cheeks in his hands as he gives you a smile. He wipes away your constant stream of tears with his thumbs, as his face washes over in the softest, most comforting look. 

“You know that stupid, cheesy as fuck saying? That you can’t give love to someone else if you don’t have it for yourself?” 

“Eren.” 

“It’s not a bad thing to give yourself kindness. To give nineteen year old you grace the same way I give twenty-one year old me grace.” he whispers. 

“I was old enough to know better.” 

“And so was I. But your life isn’t meant to be a punishment. Neither is mine. We’re not supposed to sit here and never forgive ourselves over something what’s already happened.” he whispers. 

“I picked wrong. You- I let you leave, Eren.” you cry. 

Eren smiles. 

“Am I gone?” Eren asks. 

You sigh. 

That’s not the way you meant it. 

Eren smiles, tilting your face up in his clutches as he gives your cheek a little squish. 

“Answer my question, Margaret.” 

“Why do you call me Margaret?” 

“You first. Am I gone?”

“Yes.” you deadpan.

Eren leans closer to you, noses almost touching, as he whispers. 

“I’m right here. I’ve spent far too much time without you. Don’t tell anyone but…you’re kind of my favorite person, ever. You’re always going to be my best friend. And as long as you don’t send me away again, I’ll always be right here.” 

You sniffle. 

“I won’t tell anyone. There’s no one else to tell.” 

Eren smiles so wide, so bright at you repeating the same words you had used all those years ago to him, as he pulls you straight into a hug. You deflate straight into his arms, wrapping them around his torso as you inhale his biting, minty smell once more. 

“Wanna know why I call you Margaret?” he asks. 

“Please. I know for a fact that it’s not just some random name you picked.” 

Eren pulls back, a devious grin on his face. 

“Margaret is the name of the moon.” 

Of course. 

“...of Uranus.” he finishes. 

“Huh?” 

“Uranus. It’s the name of one of the moons of Uranus.” Eren repeats, emphasizing every last syllable. 

You can tell from the way he’s smiling that he’s incredibly pleased with himself. And it makes uou break out into a teary laugh. 

“You’re fucking with me.” 

“No, I’m not. All of Uranus’s moons are named after Shakespeare characters. And the first one that came to mind when we were having that talk out of all of them was Margaret.” 

“So you intentionally gave me a name based off of an anus?” 

“Not just any anus, Y/N. Ur-anus. It’s very significant to our relationship.” 

“Ew, Eren. Oh my god.” you respond, the two of you laughing as you look at him with disgust. 

“What?” 

“I can’t tell what’s worse. This or Hobo Eren.” 

“Hey.” 

“Nevermind. It’s definitely Hobo Eren. That’s an atrocity to humanity, Eren.” 

“Okay, okay. I get it. I’m horrendous” he responds, slightly shoving you in the side as you return the favor. 

“I’m so glad we’re on the same page. It’s been putting a real damper on our relationship.” you respond. 

Eren looks over at you and smiles. 

“Are there any dampers on our relationship now? For real?” Eren asks. 

You shake your head.

“No. But…you and me on the same side now. Always. You can’t keep secrets from me and-” 

“I won’t.” he responds, definitively. 

“Then no. No dampers. You and me till the end.” you respond. 

Eren smiles as you look back at the waves crashing and  you lean your head against his shoulder again. He softly murmurs into your hair. 

“Why do you call me Bruce? Yours had to be just as deliberate as mine.” he asks. 

“You don’t need to know. It’s not half as cute as yours.” you respond. 

“Well, nothing is as cute as Uranus unfortunatley.” 

“Naturally. I…um. You…you know that shark from Finding Nemo? That…that pretends to be friends with the fish and then tries to eat them?” you state, giving him a peachy smile. 

“No fucking way.” 

“I’m sorry!” you whine. 

“You’re so rude, Y/N L/N. I gave you a sweet, sentimental nickname and that’s how you repay me.” 

“You gave me Uranus, Eren.” 

“There is nothing more scared than my anus, Y/N. You know that.” 

“You’re so immature. You have the humor of a twelve year old.” you respond. 

“And you love it. One would argue that…that you enable this behavior from me. I’d never make these jokes if you didn’t think they were funny.” 

“You tell jokes based off of me?” you ask, sarcastically. 

“Yes. I want to see you laugh. You think I’m just out here saying stuff just to say it?” 

“You’re full of shit.” 

“And you’re not even half deserving of my anus.” Eren responds. 

You and Eren bicker back and forth. And the sun rises, straight through the patches of the clouds. 

On the two of you, together again.

--

next part linked here

an: MEOW

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