#but i imagine a lot of people doing this are the people who discovered them through hatchetfield

[revelboo]

Finally managed to catch up with Everything is alright and damn, it sure is one hell of a ride! Poor reader really can't catch a breath Also, as someone who struggle with reading fics bc english isn't my first language and it ask way more focus, I really love your way of writing, makes it way easier to follow! I read a lot of your others texts to and I really love your writing, thank you so much for all of this!

Thank you! I tend to write in a stream of conscious style rather than proper sentence structures- basically I write how my brain thinks. Aside from tense and that physical descriptions and details aren’t really more than broad strokes, this is how I normally write.

Thank y’all for all the Valentine’s Day messages, I got a bit overwhelmed with them 🤣

Everything Is Alright Pt 133

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• You’d fallen asleep tangled in him at some point since he wasn’t willing to release your connection with his spark just yet. The fact that you trust him enough to rest in his arms while you’re so vulnerable aching sweetly in his spark. Monitoring you, sifting through your light and warmth again and again. Hunting. Until he finds what he’s looking for. So much tinier than Starscream’s new spark had been when he’d discovered it, just a pinpoint of light nestled within you. Remembers the frantic way you’d evaded him when he’d tried to fully bond you the first time, not even knowing you were sparked at the time, but still instinctively trying to protect Starscream’s new spark. Crooning shakily, he tucks you more firmly against his frame as he wraps himself more firmly around your light.

• Letting himself back into his habsuite, Megatron scowls. “You know I meant for you to talk it out, not frag in my berth,” he mutters, watching Soundwave shift slightly, tucking you more under him as you make a sleepy sound. That protective gesture making his spark ache as he pointedly doesn’t react and sits on the berth near the two of you. Venting when he realizes you’re sleeping, arms tucked against yourself as Soundwave’s grin tightens. “Did you spark our little mate?” Still feels so strange to call you his. To make that claim on a human. Never would have imagined he’d be in a situation like this. Wants to despise you for what you’d done to him even if it had been an accident, but can’t even manage that. He’d reached out to you, tried to save you.

• Our. Cupping the back of your head when you bury your face against his neck, he has to remind himself that he trusts Megatron. Always has. Had hung all his hopes for a better future on the shoulders of that angry gladiator. Sacrificed so much to follow him. But this is different. Has the overwhelming urge to tuck you inside his cassette compartment and just keep you there. Safe under his protection. “Yes,” he makes himself say. Doesn’t want to share you with Starscream or Megatron, not while you’re sparked with his young.

• “You’re not going to apologize for dragging me into this mess, are you, old friend?” Something about the way Soundwave is holding you is so intimate it makes his spark ache. What would he be like if you were sparked with his young? Would he allow either of the other two anywhere near you? “I’m not going to play carrier for your sparkling, too,” he adds, feeling so tired. And he doesn’t even know if you only passed the spark to him because you were in distress and scared for your sparkling, or if that’s going to happen every time. Has no idea what to expect since you’re organic.

• Rubbing his chin against the top of your head, Soundwave croons to you. Feeling guilty since he’d been pushing you and Megatron together, trying to bind you together for your safety. Still playing the long game, positioning pieces how he wants them. Manipulating. He’s always done what was necessary, but now he’s no longer sure if he’s doing what’s best for the cause, for his people, or just what he wants. A family. A different future. “Angry?” He asks, trying to ignore that faint whisper of unease at being so small. Aware of the warlord watching him, expression calculating before his optics narrow, shaking his head.

Previous

[hoe4hotchner]

Epilogue

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x figure skater (fem)!Reader

Summary: The story follows you a figure skater training for nationals and Aaron Hotchner as your lives intertwine during an investigation into the abductions of young athletic women, including the your close friend, Leah. As the BAU delves deeper into the case, you find yourself captivated by Hotch’s quiet strength and protective presence. When Leah’s body is tragically discovered at the rink, the tension escalates, surrounding you in an atmosphere of fear and uncertainty.

Word count: 7.8k

Warnings: Lot of law and court case stuff, 18+, Smut, oral, heated kissing, P in V, mention of injury.

A/N: This is the end…… Please bear with me on this one, when I went to edit the chater I realized that I had swapped the genders of the prosecutor and the defense attorney from what I had writte 2 chapters ago 😭😭😭 I hope I caught all places where I swapped them.

Masterlist

It had been months since everything had come to light—since Collins had been arrested. Since you’d started to rebuild your life, your trust in people, in yourself.

But today, you had to face him again.

You flexed your fingers absentmindedly, feeling the slight resistance as your wrist protested the movement. The cast had been removed weeks ago, but the stiffness remained. You still wore a brace for support, still had exercises from your physiotherapist to regain full mobility. It wasn’t painful, not exactly, but it was a reminder—one you couldn’t ignore, one that despite surviving Collins, your mind had not been in the right place which had caused you injury.

It was a reminder of everything you’d lost. And everything you’d fought to reclaim.

The air felt heavier than usual as you stood in front of your mirror, trying to steady your breathing. You smoothed your hand—your good hand—down the front of your blouse, not because it was wrinkled, but because it gave your fingers something to do.

No amount of preparation could stop the nerves from creeping up your spine, sending shivers through your body. This was new territory. A courtroom wasn’t an ice rink, and there was no routine to guide you through it, nothing that would've ever prepared you for it.

A sharp knock at the door startled you from your thoughts. You exhaled slowly, pressing your hands to your thighs before moving to answer it.

Hotch.

He stood there in his usual suit, his expression calm and composed—but his eyes told a different story. There was something searching in his gaze, in the way he looked at you, like he already knew exactly how you were feeling.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice gentle yet firm.

You nodded out of habit, but he wasn’t fooled. His gaze flickered to your hand, twisting at the hem of your shirt. Before you could tuck it away at your sides, Hotch reached out, his fingers brushing against yours before wrapping fully around your good hand.

The gesture wasn’t unfamiliar anymore. In the months since your injury, since everything had changed, your relationship with Hotch had shifted too.

It wasn’t sudden, not a single moment that flipped a switch, but something steady, something that grew naturally between shared late-night conversations and moments that neither of you wanted to end. You spent nearly all your free time together now—movie nights on his couch, long walks where he let you talk about everything and nothing, stolen hours where he made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t even realized you needed.

Somewhere along the way, he had become more than just the man who had protected you. More than the person who had been by your side when everything had fallen apart.

He had become someone you didn’t want to imagine your life without.

And now, standing in front of him, his hand wrapped around yours like it belonged there, you felt that warmth settle deep in your chest.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he murmured.

Your throat tightened, the weight of the situation pressing against your chest. You forced yourself to meet his eyes, searching for something—you didn't know what, strength maybe? Reassurance? Anything to help you breathe through the suffocating anxiety curling in your lungs.

“I just…” The words stuck, and you hesitated, swallowing against the growing lump in your throat. Your fingers curled slightly against Hotch’s hand. “I don’t know if I’m ready to see him again.”

Hotch’s grip on your hand tightened just slightly—not enough to hurt, never that, but enough to ground you, to remind you that he was there. The warmth of his touch seeped into your skin, it felt like a promise without words, a promise that he would do all he could to keep you safe.

“I know,” he said, his voice was calm. “I'm not going to lie and tell you that it’ll be easy, because it won't. Collin's defense attorney will likely try to grill you on the stand.”

Your chest ached at his words. He usually always knew exactly what to say—not in a way that dismissed your feelings or brushed past them, but in a way that acknowledged them. This time was not one of them.

You inhaled, slow and shaky, trying to find your balance amidst the storm inside you. “What if—”

He didn’t let you spiral.

“He can’t hurt you anymore.” His voice was firm. “You’re safe. And I’ll be with you the entire time.”

Your breath hitched, and you blinked rapidly, willing the burn behind your eyes to fade. You hadn’t even realized how much you needed to hear that.

How much you needed to believe it.

Hotch watched you for a long moment. He wasn’t pushing, wasn’t demanding anything from you—just waiting, letting you take what you needed from him. Then, after another beat of silence, he gave your hand one final squeeze before gently letting go.

“Come on,” he said, his voice softer now. “Let’s go.”

You nodded, even as your stomach churned, even as uncertainty clawed at the edges of your sanity. You forced your feet to move, to take that first step out of your home, out of your safe space, toward whatever was waiting for you in that courtroom.

The courthouse was colder than you expected, the chill settling deep in your bones despite the cardigan you’d thrown over your blouse. The air smelled like polished wood and old paper, it felt like a strange mix, but in reality, wasn't. The faint hum of voices echoed down the long hallway where you stood with Hotch and the rest of the team. The space was too bright, the fluorescent lights overhead casting a harsh glow on the marble pillars and cream-colored walls. Everything about this place felt rigid.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt once more, it was a nervous habit from your early skating days that you had never quite managed to shake, even with all the time that had passed. You knew you had no reason to be afraid—Collins was locked away, shackled, and awaiting judgment, police officers would surround him at all times—but the knowledge didn’t stop the pulse of anxiety running through you.

Emily stood beside you, her arms crossed as she leaned in slightly. “You okay?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to nod. “Yeah. Just—” You hesitated, exhaling through your nose. “Just nervous.”

Emily’s lips pressed together in understanding. “That’s normal. Even if you know the outcome, it’s still a lot.”

You appreciated that she didn’t try to brush it off or tell you there was nothing to worry about. She knew better than anyone that facing the past, even when it couldn’t touch you anymore, was never easy.

From your other side, Morgan tilted his head toward you. “You know we’ve got your back, right?” His voice was calm and steady, filled with the same confidence that you had come to admire about him.

“Yeah.” You offered him a small, appreciative smile. “I know.”

But even as you said it, you could feel the weight in your chest growing heavier with every passing second.

Without thinking, your gaze drifted toward Hotch. He hadn’t said much since you’d arrived, but he didn’t need to. He was watching you, his eyes looked calm, taking in every shift in your posture, every flicker of emotion that crossed your face. He always saw more than you wanted to show, but for once, you didn’t mind. Today it was important that he knew.

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he just moved a little closer, his hand brushing lightly against your lower back. The touch was brief, barely even there, but it was enough to ground you.

Before you could say anything, the heavy wooden doors at the end of the hallway creaked open, and a bailiff stepped into the corridor. “We’re ready to begin,” he announced, his voice firm but not unkind. “You can take your seats.”

Your stomach clenched.

This was it. The moment you had spent months anticipating, dreading.

Your feet felt heavier than they should have as you moved toward the open doorway, but Hotch stayed at your side, matching your pace with quiet patience. He didn’t rush you, didn’t push—just walked with you.

The courtroom was just as cold as the hallway, the wooden benches polished to a shine, the air thick whispers. The moment settled in your chest as you stepped forward, your pulse drumming in your ears.

You could do this.

The judge’s gavel echoed sharply through the courtroom, signaling the start of the trial. Your heart hammered in your chest as you settled into your seat beside Hotch, feeling the tension of the room press in from all sides.

“Court is now in session,” the judge, a stern woman with glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, declared. Her voice was commanding, and as she took her seat at the bench, the room followed suit.

Hotch’s presence beside you was comforting, his hand resting just close enough that you could feel the warmth of it without needing to feel his touch. He didn’t say anything—didn’t need to. His proximity, his silence was enough.

The defense attorney was the first to speak, her voice smooth and confident, her movements deliberate as she stood up. A short woman in her mid-forties with graying temples, her tailored suit fit her well, a clear sign of the money backing her. She adjusted her tie, then turned to address the judge.

“Your Honor,” she began, her tone respectful but laced with a subtle arrogance, you already hated her “I request that we begin the trial by reviewing the charges against my client, Mr. Eric Collins. While the allegations are certainly serious, we intend to prove that the evidence against him is not as conclusive as the prosecution would like the court to believe.”

The defense attorney paused, eyes briefly scanning the room. She met your gaze for a moment, and though you didn’t flinch, your stomach dropped. She didn’t look at you like a person—she looked at you as a tool to be used, to be twisted into something to help his case. You swallowed hard, forcing your attention back to the judge.

The judge nodded, her gaze sharp. “We will proceed with the opening statements. Mr. Williams, you may begin.” She gestured toward the prosecution, and you exhaled, the sound barely audible beneath the murmurs of the court.

The prosecutor stood, a man in his thirties with short and neatly combed, blonde hair and a no-nonsense demeanor. He was dressed in a simple black suit, his posture straight and commanding as he turned to face the jury.

“Thank you, Your Honor,” he said, his voice firm but calm. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the case we present today is about the pursuit of justice for a victim of an atrocious crime. The defendant, Mr. Collins, is accused of a series of actions that have left an indelible mark on the life of the victim. We will present evidence that shows not only his guilt but his complete disregard for the consequences of his actions.”

Your throat went dry as he spoke, the words piercing you like shards of glass. It was all coming out—everything you had worked so hard to bury. And as the prosecutor continued, you could feel the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest.

The prosecutor turned slightly toward you, acknowledging you without actually speaking your name. You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching slightly in the brace.

“Witnesses will testify, documents will be presented, and video footage will be shown,” the prosecutor continued. “By the end of this trial, the only conclusion you will be able to draw is that Mr. Collins committed the acts of which he is accused, and that he must be held accountable.”

He sat down, giving the jury a moment to digest his words. You could feel the weight of their eyes, their gaze locked on either you or Collins as they tried to assess the truth of what had been laid before them.

“Ms. Avery,” the judge said, turning to the defense. “You may present your opening statement.”

The defense attorney stood again, her hands steepled in front of her as she addressed the jury, her tone more calculated than Mr. Williams'.

“Ladies and gentlemen, what the prosecution would have you believe is a clear-cut case is not as simple as they make it appear. Yes, my client has been accused, but that does not mean he is guilty. The prosecution will present a case based on circumstantial evidence, on theories and assumptions that are far from conclusive.” Her voice was smooth and persuasive, weaving through the air like silk. It wasn't for nothing that Hotch had warned you about her, you thought, swallowing the lump stuck in your throat.

She paused, allowing the jury to absorb her words. “What they will not tell you is that there is no direct evidence linking my client to several of the crimes he's accused of. No confession. No forensic evidence that definitively ties him to these allegations. Instead, they will attempt to sway you with emotion, to exploit the trauma of the victim and push you toward a verdict based on sympathy rather than facts.”

Your chest tightened. The words hit harder than you expected, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but feel a little light-headed. You weren’t just a victim in the eyes of the defense—you were a symbol to be used, manipulated for their case, hoping you would mess up. You felt your hand tighten in your brace, the pain that came from the pressure was enough to keep your thoughts away from your mind.

Ms. Avery wasn’t finished yet. She paced in front of the jury, each step deliberate, as if marking the space she claimed as her own. “We will show that the prosecution’s case is built on conjecture. We will show that the victim’s testimony, while certainly painful, is not enough to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt.”

She shot a quick glance toward you, her eyes calculating, trying to figure out your train of thought, before continuing, “We will show that the truth is not so simple.”

The words settled over you like a blanket of ice, and you had to force yourself to breathe, to crack free. You could feel Hotch’s hand move slightly closer to yours, his fingers brushing against yours for just a second.

The judge cleared her throat. “Thank you, Ms. Avery. We will now proceed with the presentation of evidence.”

The room grew quieter, and more focused as the trial moved into the next phase. A team of forensic experts, investigators, and even a few of your former teammates would take the stand. Each piece of evidence, each testimony, would build the case against Collins, piece by piece.

The process was long, but it was necessary. And as you listened, as you tried to hold yourself together, you found strength in the presence of those who stood with you—Hotch, the BAU, everyone who believed you.

This trial wasn’t just about a man who had wronged you, how he had wronged and murdered others. It was about putting together the pieces of your own story, confronting the damage he had done, and finally taking control of the narrative, hoping that you could flip the page and begin a new chapter.

The courtroom buzzed with a tense energy. The prosecution had laid their case, outlining the terrifying events of Collins' rampage, while the defense had attempted to argue his mental state, trying to paint him as a victim of his circumstances. But now, the stage was set for the witnesses—people who had been right in the thick of it, people who had lived through the investigation.

Hotch sat in the gallery, his posture rigid as always. The back of his neck tingled with the weight of the moment—the weight of the entire investigation, the lives that had been touched, and the trauma that lingered in the air.

"Agent Hotchner, please take the stand," the judge's voice echoed through the room.

You watched as Hotch stood, his broad shoulders filling the space as he made his way to the witness box. His face remained unreadable, but you knew him well enough by now to see the subtle tension in his jaw, the quiet focus in his eyes. He didn’t flinch when the room fell into a silence, all eyes on him.

After swearing him in, the prosecutor began his questioning.

"Agent Hotchner," the prosecutor said, adjusting his glasses, "You were the lead investigator in this case. Can you explain to the court how the BAU approached the investigation?"

Hotch’s voice was steady as he began, each word measured and precise. “We began by securing the crime scene and identifying the potential connections between the victims. The first priority was to gather as much evidence as possible to understand the unsub’s motives, patterns, and any links to prior incidents. Once we had a profile of the suspect, we worked to narrow down potential suspects in the area and focused our efforts on tracking down Collins once we had identified him as our main suspect.”

His eyes flickered over the room briefly, but his attention remained fixed on the prosecutor. You couldn’t help but feel respect for him. His methodical approach, his composure—it was all so deliberate, so composed. Even in this moment, standing before a courtroom full of people, he was the same Hotch you knew from the investigation. How he did it you did not know.

"And how did you handle the situation when you discovered that Collins might be a danger to those closest to him?" the prosecutor pressed, his voice a little sharper.

Hotch’s expression remained unreadable. "We immediately began working with local law enforcement to put measures in place. The situation was time-sensitive, and we knew that if we didn’t act quickly, there was a real risk that Collins could harm more people—especially those connected to the investigation."

He paused for a moment, taking a breath, his eyes now narrowing slightly as he added, “It’s our job to not only stop the unsub but to protect the innocent. At all costs.”

The weight of his words hit hard, the room quiet except for the sound of a pen scratching paper. It wasn’t just a statement about his job. It was about everything—the responsibility that came with being part of a team like the BAU, the lives they were meant to protect, the people who trusted them with their safety.

The prosecutor leaned in slightly, then spoke again. “And can you speak to the specifics of the threat Collins posed? How close did the situation come to escalation?"

Hotch's voice grew even firmer as he replied, "We knew that Collins was unpredictable, and his erratic behavior indicated that he was capable of extreme violence. We had no way of knowing when or where he would strike next, so our strategy was to close in on him as quickly as possible to neutralize the threat before anyone else was hurt by being present at major events regarding the athletes he was targeting."

The prosecutor nodded, clearly satisfied with the answer. The court seemed to hold its collective breath as he continued with his questioning, but Hotch stood strong.

As the questioning shifted to the specifics of the arrest and the team’s coordination, you couldn’t help but think back to everything that had led up to this moment—the fear, the adrenaline, and the quiet relief when Collins had finally been taken down. It felt like a lifetime ago, but the emotions were still as raw as the day it had happened.

And through it all, Hotch had remained the anchor—steadfast, always holding everyone together.

The defense attorney cleared his throat, standing and adjusting her suit before turning her attention to Hotch. She had spent the trial circling the BAU's methods, scrutinizing every step of their investigation, but now it seemed she was going for something more personal.

"Agent Hotchner," the Ms. Avery began, her voice smooth and probing. "I’d like to turn to a different subject. I believe you and Ms. [L/N] have developed a relationship over the course of this investigation. Is that correct?"

Hotch’s expression didn’t shift, his demeanor as professional as ever. He met the defense attorney’s gaze without hesitation. “That’s correct,” he replied evenly.

The attorney raised an eyebrow, leaning slightly forward as she pressed on. "And this relationship has become romantic, yes?"

Hotch didn’t flinch, his voice was controlled. “We did not become romantically involved until after the investigation was concluded. Before that, Ms. [L/N] and I were not involved in any personal way. We were working together to apprehend the suspect.”

The attorney’s lips curled slightly, clearly not satisfied with the answer, and she continued. "So you’re saying that your personal relationship with Ms. [L/N] has no bearing on how the investigation was conducted? You can assure the court that it didn’t cloud your judgment or affect the outcome of the case?"

“Absolutely,” Hotch responded firmly. “Our personal relationship developed after the case was over. During the investigation, I was fully focused on the task at hand—solving the case. My team and I conducted ourselves with professionalism, and that includes the way we handled every aspect of the investigation.”

There was no hesitation in his response. Hotch was calm, his posture unyielding, as if he had already anticipated the line of questioning.

The defense attorney took a slow step back, but her gaze remained sharp. “So, despite the nature of your personal connection with Ms. [L/N], you assert that the integrity of the investigation was never compromised?”

“My professional responsibility to the case, my team, and the victims, took precedence over everything else. The relationship didn’t come into play during the investigation. I assure you, and this court, that the focus was solely on gathering evidence and apprehending the suspect.”

There was a moment of silence as the Ms. Avery tried to gauge whether she should press on, but Hotch’s professionalism seemed to have deterred him. The attorney finally shifted her focus back to the case details, seemingly realizing that no further personal questions would shake the unit chief's resolve.

Hotch held his ground, his voice and demeanor a clear representation of the principles that guided his actions. The personal connection between he and you was secondary to the pursuit of justice. That was the truth, and nothing in this courtroom could change that.

As the defense moved on, Hotch let out a quiet breath. The questioning had been intense, but the focus was where it needed to be. His mind stayed centered on what mattered—justice for the victims, and closure for everyone involved. He didn’t need to explain anything further about his feelings for you; what mattered was what had been done during the investigation.

The air in the courtroom shifted as the bailiff called your name, a silence falling over the room. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you had to fight the urge to let your hands shake as you stood, walking toward the witness stand with unsteady legs. You tried not to look at Collins, but you could feel his cold gaze on you, piercing through the room. Every step you took felt heavier, as though the weight of the entire courtroom was bearing down on you.

You took your seat and swore to tell the truth, but even as the words left your lips, you couldn’t shake the knot in your stomach. You weren’t sure how much longer you could keep it together.

Ms. Avery was already rising, her voice smooth as she approached, an air of confidence that set your teeth on edge. Her tone was practiced, almost patronizing as she began.

“Ms. [L/N], you were once a student of Mr. Collins when you were just a child, correct?” She asked, her eyes cold and calculating as they locked onto you.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “Yes.”

"And at that time, he was your coach, your mentor. You looked up to him, didn't you?" the attorney pressed, stepping closer.

You nodded stiffly. “Yes, he was my coach.”

The attorney’s eyes narrowed, and you could tell she was starting to lay the groundwork for something far more sinister. “And throughout that time, you trusted him, didn't you? He helped shape your career. He’s the reason you’re here today, isn’t that right?”

The question felt like a weight crashing down on you, but you nodded again, trying to keep your composure. “He helped me, yes. He taught me.”

The attorney paced in front of you, her voice still smooth. “But now, many years later, you’re accusing him of sexual and verbal assault. Isn’t that interesting? You’ve had years to think about this, to come to terms with your feelings, and yet, after all that time, you choose now to speak up. What do you think that says about you, Ms. [L/N]?”

The words stung, her insinuations digging deep. “You’re suggesting, then, that what happened all those years ago, as a child, didn’t really matter? That maybe you’ve distorted the facts, or perhaps even created them in your mind?” She continued, her tone growing more biting.

You felt a surge of frustration building in your chest. How dare she? How dare she try to invalidate everything you had endured, everything you had carried with you all these years? Everything you had fought to get back the memories of?

You took a deep breath, your voice shaky but resolute. “What he did to me was real,” you said, your words coming out with a force you didn’t expect. “It doesn’t matter how much time has passed. It was real, and I’m not going to let anyone, especially you, make it seem like it wasn’t.”

The defense didn’t back down, instead pushing harder. “But you were just a child. How can you truly claim that what happened was assault? You’re telling the court that everything Mr. Collins did to you, everything you experienced, was something you couldn’t handle, that you couldn’t have misunderstood?”

The question felt like a slap in the face, but you didn’t flinch. You stared at her, the anger rising within you, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. “No,” you said firmly, your voice trembling with emotion. “I’m telling the court that I was a child, and he took advantage of me. And I’m not here to let you twist that, no matter how hard you try.”

There was a brief, tense silence in the room as the attorney stared at you, probably realizing that her words weren’t going to break you. Her mouth tightened, but you didn’t care. You had already said what needed to be said.

The judge’s voice rang out then, sharp and commanding. “This is a courtroom, not a place for personal attacks. Proceed with the questions, but remember your professional conduct.”

You nodded quickly, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. The defense attorney seemed to think better of pushing further for now, shifting the line of questioning. But the damage had been done.

You knew now more than ever that you could face whatever came next. Because the truth had already been spoken, and nothing they said could take that away.

The prosecutor stood up next, and the shift in energy was noticeable. The defense attorney had tried to discredit you, but now it was the prosecution’s turn to make sure your truth was heard. The prosecutor’s presence felt like a breath of fresh air after the tense exchange with the defense.

He approached the stand with grace. You hadn’t realized how much you needed someone to stand in your corner, but now, with the prosecutor’s calm, confident demeanor, you felt a small sense of relief.

“Ms. [L/N], I know this has been incredibly difficult, but I need to ask you to recount what happened at the Regionals, the events that led up to Mr. Collins’s arrest. Could you please walk us through what occurred that day?”

You nodded slowly, trying to steady your racing heart. You thought back to the competition, to everything that had led to that moment. It felt like it had happened so fast, like it had all been a blur.

“At Regionals... it was supposed to be the culmination of everything I’d worked for,” you began, the words coming out slowly at first. “I was focused, I had to be. But there was something about that day—something felt off.”

“The competition started, and I tried to push it all aside, tried to focus on what I was doing on the ice. And then he showed himself.”

Your breath hitched, but you kept going. You had to.

“He threatened me, tried to shoot. And I ran. Or rather skated off, trying to stay out of line not to get hurt.”

The room was silent, every eye focused on you. You took another breath, trying to steady yourself, but it wasn’t easy. The memories, the rawness of them, felt too fresh, too painful.

“And that’s when Mr. Hotchner and the BAU stepped in and took him down” the prosecutor continued, nodding toward Hotch, who sat at the back of the courtroom.  “Can you tell us how they were involved?”

You turned slightly, your eyes meeting Hotch’s for a moment. He was watching you, his expression soft but resolute. It gave you strength, knowing he was there.

“Yes,” you said, a slight tremor in your voice as you began again. “When I left the ice, I... I didn’t know where to go. I was terrified. But I knew I couldn’t go back. Once everything was safe again, Agent Hotchner came to find me to make sure I hadn't gotten hurt.”

“Hotch and the team... they made sure I was safe. They took my statements, and they didn’t waste any time. They found out everything they needed to, all the evidence, all the details.”

You swallowed, your throat tight, but you pressed on. “I didn’t have to fight this alone. The BAU made sure of that.”

The prosecutor nodded, his voice reassuring as they continued. “And when Mr. Collins was arrested, how did that feel?”

You took a deep breath, the question pressing against you. “It felt like... like a weight had been lifted. Like I could finally breathe again. But it wasn’t just about the arrest—it was about what it meant. That someone believed me.”

The prosecutor smiled at you, though it was small. “Thank you, Ms. [L/N]. No further questions.”

As he stepped back, you felt a weight lift off your chest. You had spoken your truth, and you knew, deep down, that it had been the right thing to do. You had done your part.

And now, it was time to let justice take its course.

The courtroom fell into an expectant hush as the jury returned. Eric Collins sat in his chair, his expression unreadable, his hands clasped tightly in front of him, while you sat in your seat, your heart pounding in your chest, your hands clenched tightly in your lap.

The judge looked over at the jury foreman, who stood, a piece of paper in hand. The judge’s voice rang out clear and steady as he asked, “Has the jury reached a verdict?”

The foreman nodded, his expression earnest. “We have, Your Honor.”

You held your breath as the foreman read aloud, “We, the jury, find the defendant, Eric Collins, guilty on all charges.”

The words echoed in the courtroom, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. The weight of the verdict settled into your chest. It was over. The man who had tried to destroy your life was now held accountable for his actions. The realization, though it didn’t erase the pain, brought a sense of closure that you never thought you would feel.

Collins didn’t react—he didn’t even flinch. But you noticed a small shift in his posture, a slight tension in his shoulders, as if the reality of the verdict was finally sinking in or if he was considering appealing the judgement. Regardless, he would pay for what he had done.

Hotch, who had been sitting next to you the entire trial, reached out and placed a reassuring hand on your thigh. You hadn’t even realized how tense you had become until you felt his touch. It was steadying, comforting, and you leaned into it, giving a small nod of acknowledgment.

The judge addressed the room again, his voice firm. “The court will reconvene for sentencing at a later date. In the meantime, the defendant is remanded into custody.”

Collins was escorted from the courtroom, his face stoic. You didn’t watch him leave. Instead, you focused on the moment—the moment when the system had listened, and when justice had finally been served.

As the courtroom began to clear, you remained seated, the full weight of everything still settling over you. Hotch remained by your side, never once moving away.

"You did it," he said quietly, his words almost a whisper.

You managed a small smile, though the exhaustion was written all over your face. “We did it,” you corrected him softly, your voice hoarse from everything you had been through.

Hotch nodded, and for a moment, neither of you said anything more. You just sat there, a shared understanding passing between the two of you. It wasn’t over—not completely—but it was a step forward. And that, for now, was enough.

The kitchen was quiet, the only sounds coming from the hum of the fridge and the faint tapping of raindrops against the windows. The room was dimly lit, the warm light from the overhead lamp casting a gentle glow on the counter, where two mugs of coffee sat, cooling. You and Hotch had just returned to your apartment after the trial, everything still felt heavy, but there was a relief in the air now—something you couldn’t quite put into words.

You stood by the counter, wrapping your hand around your mug. Hotch was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with a quiet intensity. You could feel the pull between you, the unspoken understanding of everything that had passed between the two of you for the past couple of months.

“Do you ever think about how everything changed?” you asked, breaking the silence, your voice soft, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the delicate peace in the room.

Hotch’s gaze softened as he stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Every day,” he said quietly. “But I think it was for the better. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

You swallowed, his words settling in your chest. “I don’t feel strong,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I feel like everything’s been... out of my control.”

He reached out, his hand gently brushing against yours. “You’ve handled more than anyone should ever have to. But you’ve come through it.”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you just nodded, taking a sip of your coffee to steady yourself. You weren’t sure when it happened, but somehow, Hotch had become someone you relied on—someone who made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.

He stepped closer, his fingers brushing against the side of your arm. His touch was gentle, but there was a warmth to it that sent a shiver down your spine. The space between you was shrinking, and you could feel his presence filling the room. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze flickering to your lips, then back up to your eyes.

You couldn’t ignore it anymore—the way your heart was racing, the way your body seemed to respond to him without thought. You took a slow breath, feeling a wave of vulnerability rush through you.

“Hotch…” Your voice stuttered, but you didn’t want to pull away. You didn’t want him to leave—not now, not after everything.

He closed the space between you, his hand resting on your shoulder, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your shirt. His voice was low, almost a whisper. “It’s okay.”

Before you could respond, he was kissing you—gentle at first, his lips brushing against yours in a tentative exploration. Your breath hitched, and instinctively, you reached up, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, and the warmth between you intensified, the slow, gentle rhythm of it turning into something more urgent, more heated.

Hotch’s hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer as if there were no space left between you that needed to be filled. You could feel the tension in his body, the same tension you had felt all throughout the trial—only now, it was different. Now, it was alive in the way his hands slid under your shirt, the heat of his touch burning through your skin.

You responded, your own hands finding their way to his neck, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer, desperate to feel more of him. The kiss became more passionate, the need for connection undeniable. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with desire.

“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice a low growl, his breath coming uneven.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yes. I’m sure.”

And with that, Hotch’s lips crashed back to yours, and the world around you disappeared. It was just the two of you in that moment—no trials, no past, no uncertainty. Just him, just you, and the feeling that, for once, everything was finally falling into place.

The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as you pulled him back to you, your body pressing into his, responding to the intensity of the moment. His hands roamed down to your hips, pulling you against him, your body flushing with heat. You could feel the thrum of his heartbeat against yours, each beat matching the rhythm of your own.

It was impossible to think of anything else—nothing else mattered except the feeling of his lips on yours, the warmth of his touch, and the connection that seemed to surge between you, stronger than anything either of you had ever known.

As the heat between you and Hotch continued to build, your kisses growing more passionate and urgent by the second, you suddenly found yourself swept up in his strong arms. With a mischievous glint in his eye, Hotch murmured against your lips, "Jump."

Trusting completely in him, you leaped into his embrace, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist. He caught you effortlessly, his hands cupping your ass as he carried you out of the kitchen and down the hall to your bedroom.

Kicking open the door, he carried you inside, his lips never leaving yours as he lowered you gently onto the bed. You moaned softly as you felt the soft duvet beneath your back, the fabric a contrast to the heat radiating off Hotch's body.

He gazed down at you, his eyes taken in every inch of your curves. Slowly, teasingly, he trailed a finger down your neck, between your breasts, and over your stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. "You're so beautiful," he breathed, his voice low and husky. "I want to worship every inch of you."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body aching for his touch. Impatiently, you reached up to tug at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours. He obliged with a wicked grin, pulling the garment over his head and tossing it aside. And soon your own clothes followed

You gasped softly as you took in the sight of his chest and the outline of his biceps, your fingers itching to explore every dip and curve. But before you could touch him, Hotch was on you again, his lips trailing hot kisses down your neck and chest.

He took his time lavishing attention on your breasts, his tongue swirling around each nipple before he drew them into his mouth to suck and nibble. You arched beneath him, tangling your fingers in his hair and holding him close.

Hotch's hands roamed lower, skimming over your hips and thighs. His fingers teased along the edge of your panties, dipping beneath the fabric to caress your already damp folds.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned against your skin, his voice strained with desire. "You're so wet for me already. I can't wait to be inside you."

His words only served to fuel your arousal, your hips bucking up against his hand in a desperate search for more. Hotch seemed to sense your need, quickly divesting you of your remaining clothes until you lay bare before him.

He took a moment to drink in the sight of you, his eyes roaming over your naked form with a look of pure hunger. "God, I want to taste you," he rasped, settling between your thighs. "I want to feel you come apart on my tongue."

Before you could respond, he dipped his head, his tongue delving into your already dripping folds. You cried out at the first touch, your head falling back against the pillows as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

Hotch lapped at you greedily, his tongue exploring every crevice and fold with precision. He circled your clit with the tip of his tongue, flicking over the sensitive bud again and again until you were writhing beneath him.

As your moans grew louder and more urgent, Hotch slid two fingers inside you, curling them just right to hit that spot, the one that made stars burst behind your eyelids. "That's it, baby," he purred, his breath ghosting over your skin. "Let me hear how good I make you feel."

Your hands flew to his hair, holding him in place as he worked you over. Your thighs trembled on either side of his head, your hips rocking against his mouth in a desperate search for more.

"Don't stop," you keened, your voice hoarse with pleasure. "Please, Hotch. I'm so close."

He doubled his efforts, sucking hard on your clit as his fingers pumped in and out of you. The pleasure was almost too much to bear, building and building until it finally crested over you in a tidal wave of ecstasy.

You screamed his name as you came, your body convulsing beneath him. He worked you through it, prolonging your orgasm until you were boneless and spent, collapsing back against the mattress.

But Hotch was far from done with you. Crawling up your body, he captured your lips in a searing kiss that tasted of your own arousal. You could feel his erection pressing against you.

Breaking the kiss, he reached down to undo his pants, shoving them down just far enough to free his cock. You bit your lip at the sight, your arousal spiking even higher than before.

"I need to be inside you," he groaned, positioning himself at your entrance. "I need to feel you wrapped around me."

You nodded breathlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist. He surged forward, burying himself deep inside you with one smooth thrust. You both groaned at the sensation, your bodies fitting together like they were made for each other.

Hotch set a slow, sensual pace, his hips rocking against yours in a steady rhythm. He leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth in time with his thrusts.

Your hands roamed over his back, feeling the play of muscles beneath his skin as he moved above you. You could feel every inch of him inside you, stretching you in the most delicious way.

As the pleasure built higher and higher, you could feel yourself tensing, coiling tighter and tighter with each pass of his cock. "Aaron," you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders. "I'm so close. Don't stop."

He answered with a growl, his thrusts becoming harder and faster. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your moans and cries of pleasure. You could feel him pulsing inside you, growing thicker and harder with each passing second.

"Come for me, baby," he groaned, his voice strained with effort. "Come all over my cock. I want to feel you squeezing me."

His words were all it took to send you hurtling over the edge once more. You came with a silent scream, your body shuddering and convulsing beneath him as wave after wave of bliss crashed over you. Hotch followed a second later, burying himself deep inside you.

He collapsed on top of you, both of you gasping for breath as you rode out the aftershocks of your orgasms. He pressed soft kisses to your face and neck, murmuring words of love and devotion against your skin.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "I love you so fucking much."

"I love you too," you whispered back, tangling your fingers in his hair. "More than anything."

He smiled against your skin, rolling onto his side and pulling you close. You nestled into his arms, your body still tingling with pleasure.

Hotch had his arm around you, his hand resting on your waist. You melted into his touch, your body fitting perfectly against his, the weight of the day and everything that had come before fading into the background. In his arms, you felt safe, as if you were exactly where you were meant to be.

You didn’t need to say anything. There were no words that could capture the quiet perfection of the moment, the way everything seemed to have fallen into place without either of you trying. The chaos of the trial, the fears, the insecurities—all of it seemed so far away now, replaced with the simple comfort of his presence.

His fingers gently traced circles on your hip. You could feel his chest rise and fall beneath you, the rhythm of his heartbeat steady and grounding. Your own breath was slow as your eyelids grew heavy, the exhaustion of the past weeks, months even, finally catching up with you.

You shifted slightly, finding the perfect spot to nestle into him, his body surrounding you like a cocoon. His lips brushed the top of your head in a tender kiss, and you let out a soft sigh, a smile tugging at your lips. Everything felt effortless now, as if the world had fallen into place with a single, perfect kiss.

“Goodnight,” Hotch murmured, his voice low and steady, his hand resting on your back, pulling you even closer.

You couldn’t help but smile as you closed your eyes. “Goodnight, Hotch.”

And just like that, with his heartbeat thumping steadily in your ear, you fell asleep. Wrapped up in each other, you both drifted off, finding peace in the simplicity of being together, knowing that everything was perfect.

Tag list: @love4lando @therealbaberuthless @crazyunsexycool @pear-1206 @bookworm124 @itsmytimetoodream @c-losur3 @lumestar @evvy96 @booknerd2004 @werebearcocoon @hotchnersgirlxx @jazzimac1967 @gamingfeline @soyobi-wankenobi @meg-black @maxinehufflepuffprincess @multifandombliss

[itsaboutspies]

Absolutely love that the hatchetfield series brought so many new fans to starkid but I wish people would let non hatchetfield things be non hatchetfield and not try relate it back to it all the time

[shiraishi--kanade]

Another thing I need pjsk fandom to realize:

1) there are literal 10 years old (and younger) children in this fandom;

2) the percentage of these children in the fandom is MUCH, MUCH higher than every single one of you here on tumbrl think it is.

"why do people write so much for popular characters?" "why do people write for kudos only?" aside from the fact that the "write for yourself" is a self-perpetuating issue in every fandom and the fact that every writer deserves engagement with their works, it's because there are kids here. Who want to fit in and get praised for their creativity. Which they can only achieve by writing for popular stuff. So maybe take that into account.

[californiaquail]

dug through everything trying to find my little command hooks and poster putty and those seem to have vanished into the ether but what i did wind up doing was digging my impulse purchased pair of snaffle reins out and oiling those with my beautifully scented leather conditioner that they dont make anymore and made myself sad lol

[milfdarthrevan]

#reblogging my own posts#free to use#everyone should check out the notes on this post yall have great ideas#silmarillion#elves#valinor#bonus points: no one ever officially cancelled the decree making Formenos and its surroundings the lands of Feanor and his kin#Caranthir ir Amrod or whoever is now the liege lord of several thousand people he never met#they mostly think it's cool - a real Ancient Kinslayer in the ruined city! how Authentic (tm)!#they don't really listen to his orders but will help clean out a house for him and pay some taxes/admittance fees to the theme park#and sure he can represent them in council in Tirion if he wants; they've all been ignoring the city and will continue to do so

Elves born in the Second and Third Ages are used to having the ruins of earlier eras scattered around the landscape being Aesthetic, and are disappointed that there aren’t any in Valinor.

So they deliberately build cities, attack them with siege weaponry, and abandon them. It only takes around two hundred years to get that Haunted Vibe!

[archaeren]

How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)

[honeyhotteoks]

lessons in intimacy (k.ys)

summary: you didn't mean to actually meet the man who's audio porn was single handedly getting you off every night, but you do.

note: this has been a looooong time coming and is dedicated to one of my best friends, grace. 💗 i hope everyone enjoys this chaotic smut fest.... also i've recently discovered that porn is actually illegal to produce or consume in korea? so suspend your disbelief for this fic lol

warnings: camboy!yeosang/barista!yeosang x fem!reader, it's a smut-a-thon barely a plot in sight featuring - nsfw/audio porn, guided masturbation, female masturbation, male masturbation, lots and lots of orgasms, use of dildo, nipple play, one night stand dynamics except they kind of fall for each other, big and i mean big dick yeosang, oral sex (f receiving), gratuitous squirting, fingering, thigh riding/grinding, protected and unprotected sex (do not do this they're being hella dumb), rough sex, maaaaaajor praise play he says good girl more times than i can count, so much use of 'baby', plus pretty girl/babygirl, absolute pleasure soft dom yeosang of our dreams, reader literally passes out from coming you're welcome

pairings: yeosang x reader

genre: smut and more smut, where's the plot???

word count: 14.5K

additional note: yeosang owns a cafe in this fic called ongozisin, it's a real cafe in seoul and you can check out their ig here! the vibes are truly so yeosang i can't even articulate it, so i just wanted to share this for the extra visual!

Paid porn for women has tiers. You stumble headfirst into this realization with your fingers stuffed inside yourself and your body slick with sweat, and there’s nothing that takes you right out of your frantic self care session than a request for your credit card number and a terms of service page. 

Your chest is heaving, legs shaking, and you feel your orgasm slip right through your fingers as you skim over his Fansly page. You should have just skipped to another one of his free audios on Pornhub like you always do, but this week was long and stressful and slightly emotionally fraught, and there’s only so many times you can ignore his husky little ad at the end of the audio file inviting you to check out the full, uncut content. 

“Jesus,” You breathe, pushing yourself up in the bed and letting your phone drop to the side as you recover your breath. 

Are you really going to do this? Are you really going to pay for porn? The internet is full of it, spilling over from every angle with any little thing you can imagine. There’s a reason Rule 34 exists, people are horny and people love attention, so if you can fathom it there’s free porn of it. 

And yet, nothing ever, ever gets you there like he does, and you’ve never even seen his face. 

You glance down at your phone again and you see his familiar header image, a deeply contrasted black and white header of tangled white sheets, and his username striking across the corner in neon green. fromryu. This is what drew you in initially, the simplicity of it all. You were sick of skimming through all of the men making porn for women with names like ‘TheMasterDominant’, ‘Your_Daddy’, or ‘forherpleasureee’ and then just listening to them groan in your ear and call you a slut for fifteen minutes. That might work for some, but it definitely doesn’t work for you. 

Ryu was different, is different. His audios are a mix of scenario based role-plays and straight forward guided masturbation for women, and you’re pretty sure he comes right along with you when you listen, but it’s just not the same.

You’ve fucked yourself to every single one of his free audios. Some of them more than once, some of them several times, if you’re being honest. You’ve always ignored his ads, because he gives so much content away for free you can’t imagine what would be behind a paywall that would get you off harder, until today. 

Your brain just couldn’t get there. You’ve heard him chuckle that chuckle before, say that line before, coax you into orgasm with those exact words before, and you need more. 

Your credit card is firmly in your hand before you can give it another thought, and with a fluttering stomach you tuck yourself into a robe and back into bed to pick a tier. With a long sip of a fresh glass of wine you lean back in your pillows and read through his welcome page. 

His tiers make you smirk, he’s funny.

Third base, full uncut audios and one special audio per month just for subscribers – $4.99/month

Just the tip, uncut audios, one special audio per month, and access to a private discord server where subscribers can make audio request submissions – $9.99/month

Every inch (and more), uncut audios, exclusive audios, access to discord, exclusive video content, and access to a private Snapchat - $24.99/month

In for a penny, in for a pound, you guess. 

You click on ‘Every inch (and more)’ and plug in your card numbers before you have a second to rethink your decision. You really hope you don’t get hit with a fraud alert that you have to explain to some poor customer service representative. 

The wheel spins, the charge goes through, and suddenly you’re in. Your mouth has never been so dry. 

There’s dozens of videos, dozens. For every audio you’ve listened to on Pornhub, there’s a video that goes with it, and for every free piece of content there’s two times as much paid video content. $24.99 was nothing compared to how many hours of content you’re suddenly sifting through. 

There’s a common thread across every video though, you can already tell from the thumbnails, Ryu still never shows his face. Almost every thumbnail is the same, a white wall and a charcoal gray couch, and a man wearing oversized black sweatpants and a tight black athletic shirt. 

His knees are parted, legs spread open and casual, and his hands rest clasped between them. You swallow thickly at the sight of his arms. He’s built. His hands are so good looking you think idly that he should just be modeling watches or something, it’s ridiculous how nice they are. His skin is tanned, veins snaking up his forearms, and silver rings across several of his long, thick fingers. Can the sight of a man’s hands make you come? Your aching clit throbs. 

You skim through the video titles and tags to try and select one and your stomach twists. His videos are even more varied than the free content he posts and organized so well you think you might be in love with him already. 

There’s a folder for role play videos, and you skim through that quickly just to see. Neighbor overhears you moaning and comes to check on you, best friend takes your virginity, boss and secretary working late, brother’s best friend slips into your room at a sleepover, step-daddy teaches his babygirl a lesson. 

Your cheeks flush hot pink and you settle further into your sheets, backing out of this folder and navigating to your tried and true favorite.

Guided masturbation and encouragement. 

There are even more videos in this folder and you skim through any of those ones that say ‘exclusive’ in the title to avoid ones you’ve already heard parts of. The hashtags alone leave you breathless and you have no idea what to choose, every video cleanly tagged with what you’ll need to be able to keep up with his instructions. Hands only, rabbit vibe, hitachi wand, bullet vibe, dildo, butt plug, nipple clamps, lubricant, massage oil, blindfold, wrist restraints, ankle restraints, the list goes on and on.

You select one at almost random with the tags ‘hands and fingers’, ‘dildo’, and ‘optional squirting’. 

The screen starts black, and for a second you’re pretty sure something’s wrong, but then you hear him. 

“Hi everyone,” Your muscles melt, and you push your noise canceling earbuds deeper into your ears, “I have something a little special today,” 

You’ve never heard him talk so casually, almost like a vlogger or something. His voice hasn’t yet shifted into that deep teasing tone that kicks off every free video, and you’re already sold on every dollar you’ve spent when he starts to just chat. 

“I got a request from a special subscriber in my discord,” He says, “someone who’s become a friend and who confided in me that she’s never been able to make herself squirt,” 

Your breath comes a little more quickly. 

“It’s not easy to do, I know,” He says, tenderly, the screen still black, “and I want you all to know that if you’re still struggling after this audio, that’s okay. It takes time, and your body is not a sex toy. There’s not a perfect combination that works for every person with a vagina,” 

Your brow quirks at the inclusivity of his language choice and you smile a little, easing yourself down in the bed to keep listening to him. 

“But I’m going to do my best to help you,” He continues, “so while I get set up over here, I need you to get your own space ready. Get up out of bed or off the couch, but keep me with you, okay, baby?” 

You’re shaking and he hasn’t even said anything sexy yet. You don’t always listen perfectly to instructions, sometimes you skip ahead a bit and get to the good stuff just to get yourself off, but this time it’s different. You tuck your phone in your robe pocket and stand. 

“For this session,” You can almost see the smile in his voice and you try to imagine him, “you’ll need a couple of good towels laid out across your space. You’ll need to drink a big glass of water before we get started, and then I want you to find your best dildo, the one that really makes you come hard. The one that fills you up just right, that hits that tender little place you wish I was touching with my fingers,” 

He’s going to make you come so hard you see Jesus, you can tell already. 

“We need everything to be perfect,” He says, “and for you to be comfortable. Tonight is not the night to test out that new toy, okay? Tonight is for you and me, so go and get your supplies, and I’ll tell you all about my day. I’ll be your favorite little sexy podcast.”

As he starts warmly talking to his audience about his long lazy morning off work, you nearly crumble. You’re really not supposed to be getting a crush on this guy, but here you fucking are. He’s sweet, casual and laughs a little while he talks, and while you gather up the towels and the water and the frankly oversized dildo, you’re smiling. 

You hear him sit down and sigh and then his voice shifts, just a little, “Alright, baby, are you ready?” 

You sink back back down to sit on your own bed and you wait. 

“Just a reminder,” He says, “I will be using female descriptors throughout this video. If you’re uncomfortable with me calling you ‘girl’, like babygirl or good girl, or referring to you as a woman in any way, I am posting the similar content with male descriptors. If you’d prefer to hear baby boy or good boy, check the links below this video, okay?” 

You smile again. 

“Alright,” He hums, “now, where were we?” 

The camera clicks on and you feel the little gasp leave you. You almost forgot. 

He leans back on the couch and keeps talking, “That’s right, the lesson. Get settled over the towels, and if you’re wearing anything, it’s time to take it off for me.” 

You lay back over the towels and let your robe part open. 

“That’s so good,” He croons softly, “god, you’re so pretty, baby,” 

Your chest thumps hard. 

“Let’s start slow, okay?” His hands smooth over his thighs, “the key here is teasing, and I know how much you like it when I tease you.” 

Your hand rests on your own thigh, your other propping up the phone as you watch with rapt attention. 

“Touch your pretty thighs for me,” His voice is rich and thick in your ears, “that’s a good girl, there we go, nice and soft. Is your pussy wet? Did I do that to you again, pretty girl?” 

You’re barely breathing, eyes fixated on the screen as he strokes his own thigh through his sweatpants, slow and steady. 

“Are you aching?” He asks and you can’t help but nod, feeling like suddenly he can see you through the screen. 

“Touch just a little,” He murmurs, “but don’t jump ahead. Keep your fingers off your clit, we’re not there yet, sweetheart.” 

A little tight sound slips out of you as you follow his instructions. 

“Is your sweet slit wet?” He hums, and his hand slides up his thigh and rests over his stomach, “Are you throbbing?” 

Fuck. 

“Someday, baby,” He sighs and you watch him shift on the couch cushions, “I’ll taste you,” 

“Fuck,” You whisper. 

“But for now,” He’s smiling, you know it, “you just need to listen to me and do everything I tell you,” 

You’re nodding again. 

“I promise,” He says, “I’ll take such good care of you baby, if you listen, I promise to make you come.” 

Your stomach clenches, core fluttering, and you drift your fingertips up and down your slit, following the way his middle finger is slowly sliding back and forth on his abs. 

“Are you listening?” His voice goes husky and your head drops back into the pillows. Next time you’ll need a better way to watch him and listen and touch yourself, but you’re so incredibly desperate at this moment that it really doesn’t matter, you’ll make due. 

“You are, aren’t you?” He murmurs, “Good girl,” 

Your legs spread a little wider. 

He leans forward, you hear the rustling of the fabric and you snap your eyes back to the video to see him leaning forward, hands clasped together loosely, and you’re pretty sure you can see the outline of a bulge in his sweatpants. 

“Does it hurt?” He croons, teasing. 

You love him like this. 

“Take your hand away from your pussy,” He says, just a little more commanding, “right now, baby,” 

You pull it back reluctantly. 

“Close your eyes for a minute,” He murmurs, “spread your legs for me,” 

You comply immediately. 

“Tease your nipples,” He sounds a little breathier now and you fight the urge to watch the video, “do whatever feels good, touch your tits exactly the way you like it,” 

You roll your nipples, tugging them softly and kneading your breasts with both hands now that you’re not propping up the phone. 

“Imagine me with you,” He says, “feel my fingers sliding up your calves, my lips on your inner thigh, you can feel my breath against your sweet cunt, I know you can,” 

You’re about to come untouched, that’s the thought that rocks through your mind when your hips jerk on their own, his deep voice nestled right in your ear. 

“Look at you,” He muses, “squirming around, so fucking desperate for something inside you,” 

Your breath catches. 

“You’re so needy,” He continues, “are you making noise for me? Little pants, little moans? Are you trying to be quiet?” He clicks his tongue against his teeth, a soft scold, “Not with me, baby,” 

A moan bubbles up out of you. 

“Hands off.” 

Your eyes open immediately, and you don’t pull your hands away just yet, but you’re frozen still. You’re breathing hard, blush climbing up your chest, and your hips jerk slightly. If he doesn’t let you touch yourself soon, you’re going to lose your mind. 

“Good girl,” He says after a moment, “very good,” 

You drop your hands, scrambling for the phone so you can see what he’s going to do next. 

“Now watch me,” He instructs, holding his palm up to the camera, “take two fingers,” he separates his fingers, keeping his middle and index fingers tucked together, “and when they’re inside curl them just like this.” He crooks his fingers in a come-hither motion, “Just like this,” 

You slide your hand down your front, slipping your fingers through your soaked folds, but his voice makes you pause. 

“Go slow,” He instructs, “push them in nice and slow for me,” 

You follow his instructions. 

“There you go,” He sighs softly, “now curl your fingers,” 

You watch as he does it in the video and you follow instructions dutifully, your fingers brushing over your spongy g-spot. 

“Feel that?” He leans back, and the tent in his sweatpants makes you pant, “That perfect little spot that makes you whine so good for me?” 

You nod again, biting down on your lip, desperate to move but waiting. 

“When I say,” He slips his fingertips into his sweatpants, teasing you, “fuck your perfect pussy with those fingers,”

Sweat drips down your chest. 

His hand disappears into his sweats and he groans, “Now,” 

You don’t have to be told twice. 

“Harder,” He says, throaty and low, “I know you can,” 

A tight sound slips out of you as you work yourself, but you nearly fall apart when you watch him push down the top of his sweats. His cock is huge, there’s no other way to say it. Thick and perfect, aching pink at the head and when he wraps his hand around himself you feel the tense knot of your orgasm rushing back. 

“Oh, f-fuck,” You scramble in the sheets, pulsing your fingers in and out just like he told you to. 

“Look at you,” He says again, “fucking yourself for me. I bet you’re imagining my fingers, aren’t you? Just like I’m imagining your dripping pussy,” 

Pleasure rocks in your gut. 

“Use your other hand,” He instructs, “rub that clit for me,” 

You drop the phone like it’s hot, and you have to crane your neck to see the video, but it doesn’t matter. He’s given you the perfect permission to do exactly what you need and you have to take it. 

“Does that feel good, baby? Yeah? Do you feel like you need to come for me?” His voice gets closer to the microphone and you’re rapidly approaching the edge, “You’re so close, fuck, listen to you,” 

“God, oh god,” Your legs are trembling. 

“Do you see how hard you make me?” His fist jerks over his cock faster and your mind is unraveling, none of his other audios feel like this, “Do you know how much I want to see you come?” 

Pressure drops in your belly. 

“Fuck,” He pants, “you’re almost there, I know you want to come for me, but not until I say,” 

It’s happening whether he wants it to or not, whether you want it or not, and your fingers bear down harder on your clit, your eyes locking closed, head falling back. 

“Hands off,” He’s not teasing anymore, he’s telling, “right now, babygirl, hands off.” 

You pull your hands away and it’s possible that nothing has ever felt as bad as this one stolen orgasm. Your hands are shaking, body flushed and slick with sweat, and if any of your neighbors are up they are probably getting an earful. 

You lock eyes with the video again and his hands rest on his knees, cock standing tall and at attention, edging with you. 

“Get that dildo nice and wet,” He says, and you search your sheets for the silicone cock, “in your mouth pretty girl, imagine that’s my cock between your lips,” 

He strokes his hand slowly down his length, smearing a bead of precum down to the base of his shaft as you dip the cock between your lips and take it as far in your mouth as you can. 

“It’s time to come,” He soothes, like he knows you’re a whining, quivering mess, “I know you need it,” 

The dildo pops free from your mouth and you watch as he lifts the hem of his shirt to expose the smooth plane of his abs, “Fuck yourself with me, sweetheart,” 

Pleasure pops through you as you press the toy to your hot channel. 

“Nice and fast,” He pleads, thrusting into his fist, “don’t stop this time, not until you come,” 

The bubble inside you expands again, pressure everywhere. 

“Just trust me,” He whispers in your ear, “don’t stop. I’ve got you, I’m right here, you let go baby. Don’t fight it,” 

Your back arches up off the bedding, the muscles in your arm aching as you thrust the toy in and out of yourself, pressing it up again and again into your g-spot. 

“Come, baby,” He sounds like he’s begging, and your free hand flies down to grip the sheets, “let go, you come, that’s it, there you go,” 

You turn your head, catching sight of him again and the way he works himself over. 

“There we go,” He groans sharply, his own release spurting up ropes of cum onto his exposed chest, “can you feel me inside you? Come with me, that’s a good girl, good fucking girl,” 

He sounds dizzy, panting himself, you’ve never heard him quite like this and one final thrust sends you spilling over the edge. Your vision whites, body locking up in ecstatic pleasure, and you clap a hand over your lips to stifle the moan that rips out of you. 

It takes a minute to come back from that. Your ears ringing, and the dildo slips out of you with a final pulse from your shattering orgasm. He’s talking, you register it, but his voice sounds far away and you realize that you’ve lost your earbuds. You scramble to get them back in, pulling the video up to your eyes. 

“-And that’s okay,” He’s saying, his cock tucked away and his shirt back down, “you can try again another time if you didn’t quite get there,” 

For a second you’re confused, it was the hardest orgasm of your life, but then you remember this was intended to be a guided masturbation to squirt and you blush, alone in your apartment, at the fact that you didn’t quite get there and he’s talking to you. 

“It’s all about the build up,” He explains, “but I’m sure with a little practice we can get you there.” 

You’ve never really cared about squirting until now, but he makes it sound like a perfect date and something tells you that you’ll be back here again night after night if he’ll have you. 

“Anyway,” He sighs and you hope he’s smiling above the camera, “thank you for spending a little bit of your day with me, I hope I made you feel as good as you made me feel,” 

You blush again. 

“I’ll see you soon,” He assures, gentle like a lover would, “sleep well, jagiya,” 

The video cuts and you blink hard, you’re still smiling. 

You are so, so fucked. 

After that, Ryu becomes a problem. You wish it was just the videos and the dirty talk and the good orgasms, but it’s more than that. You just like to hear him talk now, the little bits at the beginning about his day are starting to get into your head. And then there’s the Snapchat. 

You kind of expected the private Snap to be sexy photos and videos of him in the almost pitch dark huskily saying good morning, but it isn’t. You still have never seen his face, but his videos are casual, friendly, too real for a man you spend every night fantasizing about. He chats about things he’s doing or books he’s reading while he’s cooking, filming just shoulders down so you can watch the muscles in his arms while he chops vegetables. You fall in love with the sound of his voice when he’s just talking, his stretched out s-sounds that only really peek through outside of his constructed scenes. You find yourself missing him a little on days he doesn’t post. 

You’ve gotten used to waking up with him, falling asleep with him, checking in on him during the day. His message announcements in Snapchat don’t feel like they’re for everyone, they feel like they’re for you. You know that’s not true of course, you know you’re paying a hefty monthly bill just to feel like this, but you don’t care. It’s been a while, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t just need some company. 

It’s a Thursday when everything goes to shit. 

You wake up far too late, forgetting to set the alarm on your phone after falling asleep directly after yet another Ryu narrated orgasm, and everything has been off kilter since. You’re scrambling to get to work on time and every little thing is going wrong. Your coffee machine isn’t turning on, the sweater you want to wear is still in the wash, and your umbrella will not open despite the rain that’s ruining what would have been a good hair day. 

When you decide to stop into the coffee shop across from your office it’s not even a want, it's a need. You’re already thirty minutes late, why not make it forty-five? 

You’ve never come here, not once. You’re used to going to the shop around the block from your apartment, and this place is new. Ongozisin is the kind of place you’d normally take your time in. The space is clearly industrial, concrete walls and flooring made to look unfinished. The aesthetic is still warm though, with natural dark wood furniture and bamboo accents, Joseon era paintings and a juniper bonsai along the back wall. 

To the left side of the cafe stands a bay of tall windows and the very modern, very clean point of sale. The line isn’t too long, but you can see that the pace of this place is slower by design, so maybe you’ll just round up and call it an hour late. A door opens to your left and you watch as one of the baristas steps out from a kitchen holding two black plates of colorful, carefully constructed pastries. 

The line moves ahead of you, and the person behind you softly clears their throat to jog your attention. 

You step closer, only one person ahead of you now. 

When you hear his voice you nearly reach for your phone. 

“That’s perfect,” It’s Ryu, clear as day. His voice is distinct and deep and here. 

Your eyes snap up to the barista behind the counter, your body frozen stock still as you take him in, mind spinning. 

“Do you want any cream?” He says to the woman ordering. 

Blush lights up your cheeks and all you can think about is the video you watched the night before and his voice in your ear - Do you want my cum inside you, pretty baby? 

You should leave. There’s a reason this man is anonymous on the internet, never showing an inch of his face, and Ryu isn’t even his name, it's just what you call him. He never calls himself anything in the videos, never reveals what part of Korea he lives in, never talks about his job. He doesn’t want to be found. 

You’re about to turn, run, scramble away, but his voice comes again and this time you realize he’s talking to you. The man, Ryu, smiles, “Good morning, can I get you something?” 

You’re frozen. 

“Miss?” A little crease between his brows. 

“Sorry,” You jump forwards, ignoring the annoyed huff behind you and shaking off as much of this panic as you can, “I don’t know where my head is this morning,” 

“That’s alright,” He says warmly, “that’s what I’m here for,” 

You can’t say anything, your mind blanks. 

His eyes flick over you and then he nods, “You know, coffee? To wake you up?” 

“Right!” You nod, “Sorry, yes, an americano please,” 

“Iced or hot?” He asks. 

Are you feeling hot, babygirl? Do you need to take something off for me? 

“Hot,” You say it on a reflex but then you remember yourself, “no sorry, iced, iced please,” 

“Okay, sure,” He smiles, “iced,” 

You make it through payment without too much more embarrassment, apologizing again, and then you step to the side. Another barista appears, slotting into Ryu’s place so he can turn his attention to the drinks he needs to make and you take the moment to get composed. 

He’s handsome, that’s a given. You expected that, but still he looks even better than your imagination conjured up, more real. He looks exactly right for this cafe too, his black hair long enough to brush the base of his neck with half gathered into a ponytail, pieces loose to frame his angular face. He’s dressed smartly too, black oversized trousers and a fitted black t-shirt, slim black boots, and an open jacket in a dramatic modern-hanbok style. You realize you’re staring the minute his eyes hold on yours and they crinkle up as he smiles. He has a birthmark, a smooth light pink flush across his eye and your heart thumps in your chest. 

“Long night?” He asks you, passing off a coffee in a mug to the woman who had been ahead of you in line. 

He just puts you at ease and you nod, “Something like that,” 

“Ah,” He knocks out the round cake of used espresso from the portafilter as he talks, “and you look like you got caught in the rain, don’t you have an umbrella?” 

“Broken,” You grimace, “it’s been one of those mornings,” 

“Mm,” He nods, focusing on queueing up espresso for your americano, but while the shots pull he turns back to you, “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before?” 

You shake your head, “No, first time,” 

“Do you like it?” He gestures around with a nod of his head. 

“Very much,” You smile, “it’s a great space,” 

He smiles again, looking proud, “I’m glad you like it,” he says, “we haven’t been open very long, but so far people have seemed to enjoy it,” 

“Oh,” You watch him pour your espresso over ice, “is the cafe yours?” 

He nods, “Mine and my friend’s,” 

You wish you weren’t late, you wish you were able to stay just a little longer. 

“Well,” You tell him honestly, “it’s beautiful here, I’ll have to come in more often, I only work across the street.”

“Ah,” He nods, “I thought you looked familiar,” 

Blush creeps up your neck. 

“Did you need cream?” He asks and you hope he doesn’t notice the way your pulse quickens at his words, but he nods towards your coffee and you shake your head. 

“Thank you,” You take the cup off the bar and step back, “I appreciate it.” 

“I hope that helps,” He says, and then he glances behind you at the large round window, “actually, I’m sorry, can you wait one moment?” 

“Sure,” You watch him duck out from behind the bar, making a quick beeline for the swinging door that leads back into the kitchen. You have no idea what he could want, there’s no way you’d be recognized by him except as a stranger on the street, and your stomach knots up. 

It takes him a moment, but he darts back out, a long black umbrella in his hand, “Take this,” 

“I can’t do that,” You wave a hand, “I’m only across the street, but that’s really kind of you,” 

“If you’re only across the street then I know where to go to get it back,” He shakes his head, “just take it, it’s raining like crazy out there,” 

He presses the handle of the umbrella into your free hand, and your breath catches in your throat, his skin brushing against yours. Your eyes flick over his rings, just the same as always. A signet with a deep black stone, a hammered silver band, a clearly vintage one on his index finger that looks like an old Catholic saint token, the finer details rubbed away with age. 

“What time do you close?” You ask, accepting the umbrella. 

“Seven,” 

“I’ll bring it back after work then,” You tell him, “is that alright?”

He nods, “But if it’s still raining, just keep it. Bring it by tomorrow,” 

“Tomorrow,” You nod. 

“Mhm,” He nods, something warm in his expression, “this will have to be your new usual spot,” 

Is he flirting? You’re wholly and entirely unprepared to deal with that considering the way you moaned his name last night. Something clicks in your brain at that thought though and you nod, “Maybe it will. I’m y/n, by the way,” 

“Yeosang,” He smiles, “it’s very nice to meet you.” 

Yeosang.

“You too,” You dip your head, “and thank you again for this,” 

“Of course,” He says, “I hope this turns your morning around a little,” 

You open your mouth to say something, but there’s a voice from the cafe bar that slices cleanly between your conversation, “Yeosang-ah!” 

Yeosang glances back and then he sighs, just a little, “I have to go,” he tells you, “but I’ll see you again,” 

“See you again,” 

He’s back behind the bar before you can blink, focusing on each customer’s order. The man who called his name is grinning, and you wonder idly if he’s the friend who owns the cafe with Yeosang or just a part-timer. 

With your stomach fluttering, you push out into the rain to get to work, Yeosang’s name on a loop in your brain for the rest of the day. When you get home, his umbrella resting by the door, you delete his Snapchat from your contacts and unsubscribe from his Fansly account. 

Ongozisin becomes a daily ritual. 

The money you used to spend on his Fansly now goes straight into the cafe, first thing in the morning before work and a last lingering stop in the evening before you go home. 

On busy days you barely get to see him and sometimes you’re left just chatting with Wooyoung, his best friend and business partner. You like him too, you like the atmosphere and their kind warmth, but if you’re being honest you find yourself living for slow days. The days where you’ve timed it just right to have a little talk before the rush of the day or the closing tasks of the evening. 

Little by little, Ryu fades from your mind, and the man in front of you is just Yeosang. The guy who runs your favorite coffee shop, the guy who dresses almost otherworldly, who smiles wide but only when you say something truly funny, who sometimes gets lost in his own head while he’s making cappuccinos. 

He’s lovely. 

Sometimes you think he might be flirting, a little more suavely and charismatic than his business partner who asked if you had a crush on him since you were coming into the cafe so much. Sometimes Yeosang adds a little extra treat to your plate of food or he adds pretty latte art to your cup if you’re staying in the cafe. That might be nothing, but it certainly might be something. 

It isn’t until another day of rain, harsh pelting rain, that Yeosang appears at your table. 

“We close soon,” He says, and when he sees the brief flash of concern that you’ve overstayed your welcome on your face he shakes his head, “sorry, I meant to ask, how are you getting home tonight?” 

“The train,” You glance outside. 

His nose crinkles, “You don’t have an umbrella today either,”

“True,” You look down at your belongings, “I didn’t check the weather,” 

“If you wait a bit for us to lock up,” He says, “I’d be happy to walk you to the station,” 

“Oh,” 

“Or if you’re not busy,” He clears his throat softly, “I could walk you to this little restaurant around the corner?” 

Flirting, then. 

You smile and nod, trying to keep your eagerness tamped down to a normal amount, “Are you asking me out, Yeosang?” 

He grins, “I’ve been trying to,” 

Your stomach flips pleasantly, “I’ll wait, dinner sounds nice,” 

His shoulders sag, a little relief in his expression and he clears away your empty cup as he says, “I’ll be quick,”

You catch Wooyoung slapping his friend's shoulder as he disappears into the back room, and before you know it you’re blushing and sitting across from this man at the restaurant down the block. 

Dinner is so smooth it feels surreal. It turns out you both like the same music, and several books too, and you’ve never been on a date with a man who asked you so many questions about yourself and didn’t just talk your ear off. Dinner stretches long too, and you’re strangely grateful it’s a Friday when you finally do check the time. He has to work on Saturday at the cafe, but not until a little later in the morning, and so neither one of you really wants to call it quits. 

The after dinner walk turns meandering, and then his hand is brushing against yours, knuckles to knuckles. 

You don’t think of him as Ryu until his fingers brush down your back, lips close to your ear when he finally asks you. The way he does makes your body melt - I hope I’m not ruining things by asking, but would you like to come home with me tonight?

You agree before your mind catches up to itself, but every step of the walk to his apartment has your heart picking up speed. You had forgotten on the date how you met him, really met him, and your gut churns. 

Do you tell him? Do you lie? 

Everytime he grins at you, touches you, tucks his long hair behind his ear and nods, you can’t imagine a one night stand. You could maybe swallow the truth if that’s all this was to you, but it’s not, and so you can’t. 

On his block you feel the internal countdown ticking. 

“You can change your mind, you know,” He offers, noticing how you’ve gone quiet, and it pulls you straight out of your thoughts. 

“Oh,” Your head snaps up, “I’m sorry, I don’t want to change my mind at all, I just got a little lost in thought.” 

He nods, this time finding your hand and giving you a squeeze, his steps slowing as you approach his building, “Can I ask what about?” 

You nod, returning the soft pulse of his hand in yours before separating your skin from his. His eyes flick down to your hands, and then back up to your eyes. 

“I have a bit of a confession,” You swallow hard, “something I think I should tell you before we go upstairs,” 

“Okay,” He leans against the stone wall behind him, “is everything alright?” 

“I hope so,” You nod, “I just feel like there’s something I should say now, and if it makes you uncomfortable at all, just be honest. I’ll go home, no hard feelings,” 

“y/n,” His brows draw together in confusion, “what’s going on?” 

You take a deep breath, taking a step back to get a little breathing room, “I recognized you when I came into the cafe that first day,” 

“Recognized me?” 

“Yeah,” You clear your throat, your chest feeling tight, “for the past few months I’ve been… a subscriber,”

“A subscriber,” He repeats, and for a brief flickering second you wonder to yourself if this man just looks and sounds and feels exactly like Ryu but isn’t, but then his face blanches, “oh,” 

“I’m not anymore,” You shake your head, “and clearly you like your privacy, so I didn’t know how to just come out and say it, but if you’re actually interested in me and not just being flirty at the cafe then I just can’t lie to you… I don’t want to start something with a lie,” 

He’s quiet, and then his eyes flick down. 

It was so, so nice while it lasted. 

“I should have told you sooner,” Your stomach flips and you take another step back, “and I completely understand that you’re upset, I’ll just, I won’t say anything to anyone and it was lovely getting to know you, and I’m sorry, I’ll go,” 

His head snaps up, “Go? y/n, stop, slow down,” 

His hands smooth down your forearms as he jumps forwards, pulling you gently back towards him. Your heart is beating so loud you can practically hear it, “I’m sorry,” 

“I’m not upset,” He assures, “can we go inside to talk? I don’t want to do this in the street,” 

You nod, letting him lead you through the garden gate and up towards the house, but his words pulse on a loop in your mind. You hope he’s good at letting you down easy because this hurts. You should have known it that first day at the cafe, you should have stayed away and not played with fire. 

His house is small, but very nice and despite being sparsely decorated, you like it. You feel trapped in the entryway so unsure of what to do in this space, especially when you recognize the corner of his gray couch. 

“Can I get you a drink or something?” He interrupts your thoughts, “I have wine, probably some soju, and a bottle of truly undrinkable Japanese whisky,” 

“Undrinkable?” You blink. 

“I think it’s supposed to be very good if you like whisky,” He explains, “it was a gift,” 

“Ah,” You couldn’t feel more awkward if you tried, “wine, I guess?” 

“Okay,” He smiles, a close lipped polite smile that doesn’t quite touch his eyes, “well, make yourself comfortable, I’ll get us a drink and then we can talk,” 

“Sure,” You’re still frozen as he walks away down the hall to what you presume is the kitchen. It takes a minute to unstick yourself, but you make your way to the couch and wait. 

He returns with two glasses of red wine and then he sits in the chair opposite you, not on the stretch of couch next to you. 

“Sorry,” You take the wine, stomach flip flopping, “I know this isn’t how you thought the night would go,” 

“Mm,” He nods, taking a sip of his drink.

“I don’t know what to say,” You tell him honestly. 

He nods, looking anywhere but at you until he finally meets your eyes again, “You’re not a subscriber anymore?” 

“No,” You tell him firmly. 

“Why?” He asks, and the question hangs between you. 

“When I recognized you at the cafe and you were being so nice to me,” You explain, “it occurred to me that something might happen between us, as friends or otherwise, and it just felt wrong to know you as Yeosang and then… engage with your content that is clearly anonymous and meant to be private. I didn’t want to do that without you knowing,” 

He nods, setting his glass on the nearby coffee table, “I see,” 

“You are keeping it private, right? I feel like you’re careful to not overshare,” 

“Yes,” He nods, “no one knows.” 

“Then I really am sorry,” You set your own glass aside and lean forwards, “I’m sure you didn’t want to bring your real life as Yeosang and your online life as Ryu together, I just recognized your voice immediately that day in the cafe,”

“As Ryu?” He glances back up at you. 

“That’s what I…” You try to parse through it so it doesn’t sound like a parasocial affair, “fromryu, you know? That’s just what I filled in for your name, I guess,” 

“Ryusang,” He nods, “it’s the Hanja spelling of Yeosang,” 

“Oh,” You soften. 

“Why didn’t you mention you knew me before?” He asks, but despite his words nothing in his demeanor is upset, just curious. 

You take another large, steadying gulp of wine and nod, “I didn’t really think the cafe was an appropriate place to tell you that I’ve gotten off to your voice before,” 

He laughs sharply and looks down, “Okay, that’s fair,” 

“Right,” You murmur. 

“y/n,” He sounds hesitant and you look back up to him, “can I ask you something?” 

“Anything,” 

“Did you come out with me tonight because you wanted to go out on a date with the guy from the cafe, or because you wanted to have sex with Ryu?” The question is direct and cutting. 

“With you,” You answer quickly, and now you know exactly why he’s putting this distance between you, “you, Yeosang.” 

He’s quiet, turning your words over, you can practically see him thinking. 

“Yeo,” You murmur, fighting the urge to reach out to him, “if all I wanted was that, I wouldn’t have told you. But I really like you, Yeosang, and I’d like to see more of you and see where this could go, but I completely understand if me knowing this part of you is too much. If you don’t want to go any further with me romantically or as a friend, this can just be a nice date we both had,” 

He nods and then says, “I have one more question,” 

You wait, your stomach in knots. 

“Do you have a problem with what I do?” He asks. 

“I mean,” You shake your head, “I was a subscriber, so no,” 

“I don’t mean like that,” He clarifies his words, “I mean in terms of a romantic relationship. I like my work, both the cafe and the content, and if we start seeing each other I’m not going to suddenly stop making porn just like I wouldn’t close the cafe.” 

“I’m not asking you to,” You shift over on the couch and reach towards him, resting a hand on his forearm. 

“I’ve dated a few women,” He explains, slipping his hand into yours and twining your fingers together, “this was not something any of them were comfortable with,” 

“Oh,” You nod, but he continues. 

“A couple of them thought it might be fun,” He adds, “but when things got more serious they expected me to stop for them,” 

“I’m sorry,” You tell him quietly, “I don’t expect anything like that,” 

“You don’t now,” He points out, “and neither did they in the beginning.” 

You can see the way this has fucked with his head a little, the way he keeps his shoulders stiff and turned away from you as he explains, and you suppose you might react the same way if you were in his shoes. 

You chew the inside of your lip as you think about how best to say this to him, but finally you manage it, “Yeosang,” you get his attention, “what you do for work doesn’t change what we do on a date or in bed,” 

He turns his head a little, the only indication you have that he’s really listening. 

“I have no expectation that you’re some… sex god,” You smile a little, “though my guess is that you’re pretty good at dirty talk,” 

A small smile appears on his lips. 

“If I didn’t like what you do for work I’d go find another guy,” You continue, “and I’m sorry if the other women you dated weren’t comfortable with it, but I’m not so shy about it. I like what you do, and you’ve helped me plenty, and there’s nothing more flattering than knowing you liked me enough to even bring me upstairs,” 

“Don’t sell yourself short there,” He looks up, shaking his head, “when you said yes to dinner I thought I’d be lucky if I got to so much as touch you,” 

Your heart quickens in your chest, “You, what?” 

He turns his body towards you properly now, “y/n,” he says, “I like you, I’ve liked you since you walked into the cafe soaking wet and exhausted, I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask you out for weeks.”

“I think I’m dreaming,” You breathe, and he grins at your words. You clap a hand over your lips and groan, “Sorry, I didn't mean to say that outloud,” 

“It’s honest,” He says, “I like that about you,”

“Well,” Your hands naturally separate as you lean back onto the couch, “then believe me when I tell you that I am fine with your work. All aspects of your work,” 

His eyes flick over you, gauging how honest you’re being now, “All aspects?” 

You nod again. 

“y/n,” His voice softens, “what tier subscriber were you?” 

It clicks in your brain that you haven’t really told him everything, all the things you know about him and his work. Little audio videos here and there might be forgivable to some women, but more might be too much. 

“The highest,” You tell him, “when I say everything I mean it, the videos, the Snapchat, all of it.” 

He seems to relax at that, “And if this does go somewhere,” he gestures between you both, “if we keep seeing each other. If it becomes more than a few dates,” 

You nod. 

“You’re alright knowing that even if we were dating and going to bed together every night, I spend my free time making people come on the internet for money,” He says it so plainly that you have to blink at him. 

You turn his words over and then sigh, “There’s one thing,” 

He leans back in his chair, putting a little more distance between you both, obviously braced for your words. 

“I just have a question,” You ease him, “just something I should know, I think.” 

He nods once, his shoulders tense again. 

“Do you ever talk one on one with people?” You feel your cheeks heat, “I know you do, you have the discord, but I mean do you ever do what you do alone with someone?”

He softens, “No, no I don’t,” 

“Okay,” You nod, the tense knot in your stomach relaxing, “okay, then,”

“Would that be a boundary for you?” He asks. 

“I think so,” You tell him, “it’s different when you’re making a video to upload for anyone and talking to someone, at least to me,” 

He nods, and then he moves, shifting from his position on the chair to your side on the couch. The nerves that were knotted deeply inside you start to unfurl, his proximity feeling like a peace offering, like an acceptance of your words.

“Subscribers aren’t lovers,” He says finally, “and some people blur that line with their content, but I don’t.” 

“Then, Yeosang,” You take the opportunity to slide yourself sideways a little closer to him, “I am fine with all aspects of your work, more than fine.” 

“Will you tell me if that ever changes?” He asks. 

“Yes,” You make him this promise, “I like you too, all I want is to be honest with you,” 

He nods, his fingers flexing on his thigh as he thinks. Finally, he swallows tightly, his skin flushing a little now that you’re almost pressed together on the couch, and he asks what he’s wanted to ask all night, “y/n,” he turns towards you, “can I kiss you?” 

He’s stunning this close, enough to render you speechless, breathless. You manage a single word, “Please,” 

He’s on you in a flash, and Yeosang’s lips are warm, soft and plush and as he presses into you and winds his arms around you. Your body relaxes into his instantly, the feeling of his warmth, the scent of him, rich coffee grounds and sugar infused into his skin from his work at the cafe. 

His tongue probes your mouth, his breath hot as he sighs. Your body feels alight, hot and feverish and desperate from just a single kiss. You need him inside you yesterday. 

When he breaks the kiss, you realize you’re half straddling him. Somewhere in the heat of the moment and the muddled fog you hitched a leg over his and his hands dragged you up against him so you’re chest to chest. When your mouths break apart, you’re still merely inches from each other and panting the same little breath of air. 

“y/n,” His hands explore you slowly, moving over your skin like he’s trying to learn you, “normally I would try to keep the kink to a future date, but since you already know all of my deepest, darkest fantasies, maybe we can skip ahead?” 

“Yes,” You laugh softly, “definitely,” 

“But I am realizing something,” His hands find the curve of your ass, “I’m at a disadvantage here, you’ve seen my videos, but I don’t know anything about what you like.” 

“You,” The word bubbles up and you flush red again. 

“My voice, I’m sure you like that,” He drops it a little to emphasize the husky bedroom quality of it with a teasing smile on his face, “but what videos do you like? What were your favorites?” 

He’s about to ruin you, there’s absolutely no question. Even if he was all talk you’re sure to be coming just from his words alone, but his hands, the way he touches you, there’s no doubt he has the skills to back up everything he’s ever said in the videos too. 

“Now I’m a little embarrassed,” You admit, “an hour ago we were on a first date,” 

“An hour ago I didn’t know the woman across the table had fucked herself to the thought of me,” He counters softly, “and we can slow down if you want but judging from the wet patch on my thigh I think you want to keep going,” 

You jerk your hips immediately, angling to pull them away so you can stop embarrassing yourself all over this man after a single kiss, but his hands lock down hard over your ass and he holds your body firmly against him. 

“No, no,” He adjusts his leg so that his thigh is pressed even more firmly against your cunt, “don’t be embarrassed with me,” 

“Right,” You blush darker. 

“I’ll tell you what I want,” He offers, “would that help?” 

You nod quickly. 

One of his hands shifts to lovingly stroke up and down your back as he speaks, “I want you to enjoy this more than anything. There is nothing that gets me off harder than making a partner absolutely fall apart for me, and knowing I did that for them, and I think you already know that from my content. That’s real, that’s me.” 

You shiver a little and he leans up to kiss you, softer this time. 

“I’d like this to be good for you,” He continues, “and honestly I already want to see you again, but in case it’s only one night for you I think we should make it count.” 

The night went from nothing to everything so fast your head is spinning but you nod, surging up to kiss him with your hands pressed against his chest for balance. Your core drags along his hard thigh with your momentum forwards and you gasp a little into the kiss, your hips bucking softly on their own at the sudden pleasurable sensation. You feel something stiff and warm pressing into your belly and you feel a rush of sensation between your thighs. 

“So,” He kisses you again, leaning away so he can talk to you, “tell me what videos you liked,” 

��The um,” You clear your throat softly, “the guided ones,” 

He smiles, “Those are your favorites?” 

You nod. 

“And the roleplay?” He asks. 

“Good,” You nod, “everything you do is really good,” 

“But the guided ones get you off, hmm?” He squeezes your hips. 

You nod again, “You’re very good at what you do,” 

“Guided,” He says, almost to himself, before he drags your hips up and back along his thigh, “so you like when I talk you through it?” 

You rock your hips on your own this time, picking up on his cues that he wants you to grind on him, “Mm-hmm,” 

“Tell me more about what you like,” He keeps one hand planted firmly on your backside, but the other starts to wonder, fingers teasing the skin of your collarbones before he cups your breast through your sweater. 

  “Y-you’re so comforting,” You manage as you slowly rut your body against his, “even when you’re edging me and telling me what to do, you’re just, I don’t know,” 

“Is that right?” He teases softly, his fingers toying with the top button of your closed cardigan. 

“Mm,” You sigh, pleasure truly starting to build inside you as you rock your clit lazily against him, “and you understand it takes time for women,” 

The button opens. 

“You take your time with the build up,” You sigh, finding a better position for your hands against his firm chest while you continue to rock, “and when you talk about what you wish you could do to me if you were there,” 

Two more buttons part open and he hums softly, appreciatively, “You like knowing what I want?” 

You nod, watching as he makes short work of your other buttons. 

“Maybe I should just show you,” He slides the cardigan off your shoulders until it pools around your waist, caught on your elbows, “wouldn’t that be better than just listening?”

“Y-yes,” You sigh, your hips slowing so you can let him take the lead. 

He shakes his head, pressing his hand against your ass again to keep you moving, “That’s it,” 

You moan softly, fingers gripping his shirt, “Yeosang,” 

He chuckles at your needy whine and brushes his fingers between your breasts, stroking up your chest, down and over the wire of your bra, and lower still over the soft flesh of your belly. 

“There you go,” He smiles, “I know that feels good,” 

You nod, “So good,” 

“Jagiya,” His hands slide your bra straps down, letting the soft material of the mesh cups fall and reveal your breasts to his hungry eyes, “look how pretty you are for me,” 

You’re close. 

“Don’t stop,” He murmurs, shifting under you so that he can sit up further and press his lips to your chest, “I need you to come,” 

“Yeo,” You whine, your hips sinking into a quick rolling rhythm that feels so right. 

“I need to take my time with you,” He confesses, lips traveling from the center of your chest across the swell of your breasts, “but I don’t think I can,” 

“I-I don’t want you to,” You moan, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to stay steady, “please,” 

“I want to,” He groans, “but, fuck, y/n,” 

“Yeo,” You shudder, pleasure snapping up and down your spine, “it’s not one night, it could have never been one night for me,” 

He exhales a heavy breath against your skin, hands tightening pleasantly on your rutting hips. 

You’re startlingly close to tipping over the edge, the bubble growing closer and closer to bursting, and you squeeze your eyes shut tightly to focus on the sensation of him, “I-I need,” 

He grips you harder, “Tell me, baby,” 

“I, I,” You stammer, body stumbling towards coming. 

“Come on,” He says lowly, “tell me what you need, baby, I’m right here,” 

A tight sound bubbles out of your mouth and you figure it out in a second, your hand winding into the back of his hair to direct his head, pushing his mouth until you feel his lips ghost over your pebbled nipple. 

“Oh,” He groans, his tongue catching your nipple firmly and sending a shock down your back, “there we go, I’ve got you,” 

His tongue flicks over your nipple again, closing his lips over the hardened bud to suck sharply in exactly the way you need to take you right over the edge. 

“I’m,” You grip him harder, losing yourself entirely now as you grind against him for your release, “I’m so close,” 

“Come,” He pants, latching back onto your breast to keep lavishing the same attention, his arms banding tightly around you to hold your shuddering body close.  

Your finger tightens in his hair, he begs you once more to come, and your orgasm knocks into you sideways. You moan sharply, jerking against him as you fall apart, and you feel him start to move. 

He presses fast kisses across your chest, his voice soothing, “Oh, there we go,” he sighs as he feels you trembling, “fuck, what a good girl showing me exactly what she needs,” 

His words draw a groan from your lips, your head buzzing at his praise. 

“Perfect,” He sighs against your chest, “you have the prettiest tits I’ve ever seen,” 

You shiver, “Yeah?” 

“Mhm,” His fingers trace a circle around your nipple, and something in the way he’s touching you and the sound of his voice tells you everything. He’s about to tease you, edge you, make you come, and god willing he was about to fuck you. Yeosang flicks his thumb over your nipple and smiles, “Baby, I’m going to turn you over, if you want to slow down or stop at anytime you just tell me,” 

“I think I’ll be,” You start to say, and then he maneuvers you quickly in his strong arms, gathering you close so he can turn you over on the couch, leaving you lying flat on your back against the cushions. You squeak and the way he pushes your legs together, quickly undoing the buttons on your trousers and pulling down the zip, and he glances up at the sound to check your eyes but finds nothing but your lazy post-orgasm smile. 

As he kneels and strips your trousers off he groans, “God,” 

“W-what’s wrong?” You blink, finding his eyes. 

“Absolutely nothing,” He smooths his hands up and down your bare legs, “except I’m finding it very difficult not being inside you yet,” 

“So come inside me,” You smile. 

The corner of his mouth turns up at your words, “Already, baby? It’s only the first date,” 

You process your words and roll your eyes, “You know what I meant,” 

“I do,” He smiles wider now, “but you need to come again before I fuck you,” 

“Not that I’m complaining about you touching me,” You gasp sharply as he hooks his thumbs under the sides of your thong and yanks it away, “but I’ve been daydreaming about your cock for months, so,” 

He laughs sharply, tugging his own shirt up and off over his head as he does, “I’m flattered,” 

“Shut up,” You press your thighs together and let your head flop back onto the cushions. 

“Darling,” Yeosang says, kissing each of your thighs before he starts to slowly open your legs again, “how long has it been since you’ve been with someone?” 

“Honestly?” You grimace, “A while,” 

“And how long since you’ve had anything bigger than your fingers inside you?” He asks it so plainly, so calmly, while he widens your legs and starts to tip you open, another kiss to your inner thigh. 

You shiver in his hands, “N-not that long,” 

“Hmm,” He sounds pleased at that, “do you like using toys when you fuck yourself to my voice?” 

“Fuck,” You gasp as his finger traces the softest line up and down your slit. 

“Is that a yes?” He blows a cool stream of air across your throbbing clit and you jerk in his hands. 

“Yes,” You answer quickly. 

“What I wouldn’t give to watch that,” He says, kissing your inner thigh again before he continues, “but still, I’m probably bigger than your dildo, be patient with me,” 

“Oh, fuck,” You melt as he presses one finger inside your slick channel.

“Relax,” He soothes you, “just let go for me,” 

You don’t know how your life is this strange, how you went from listening to this man through your headphones while you touched yourself under the covers alone at home to his fingers sinking inside you. You’ll probably wake up from this dream with sticky thighs. There’s no way this is real. 

Those are the thoughts that dizzy you until he pushes two fingers flush into your heat and you moan sharply, your hand gripping down on one of the couch throw pillows. He feels pretty real. 

He groans, gently pumping his middle and ring finger just to get you used to the sensation, “Feel good?” 

“So good,” You sigh.

“How badly do you need to come, darling?” He asks, continuing the slow and steady thrust of his fingers. 

“So badly,” Your voice is whiny, needy, entirely informed by the feverish heat spreading through you. 

“Pretty girl,” He hums, “with an even prettier pussy,” 

“Oh, god,” You grip the pillows harder, and he’s barely doing anything to you but your legs are already starting to tremble. 

“Mmm,” His fingers begin to pulse more firmly and you feel his fingers curl, finding the spongy crook of your g-spot with practiced ease, “and you need my cock inside, don’t you?” 

“Ah, yes! Yes,” Pleasure blooms through your body. 

“Soon,” He promises. 

You moan again as he repositions, continuing the steady drumbeat of his fingers inside you as he reaches around with his opposite hand to separate your lower lips, the pad of his middle finger now alternating between maddening flicks and taps to your clit. 

“Ah! Yeo,” Your hips rock, “just like that,” 

“Good girl,” He murmurs, “telling me what you like,” 

A tight sensation fills your lower belly, a blossoming heat that spreads from your core up through your body in warm waves, “F-faster,” 

“Mm,” His thrusting picks up speed instantly, the angle slightly adjusting as he does, “that’s it,” 

The angle chance has his curled fingers pumping against your g-spot hard and suddenly the sensation drops low, almost painfully tight and sharp like you’re on the precipice of something. 

It occurs to you all at once what he’s trying to do, the way he’s trying to make your body sing, and despite the rolling waves of pleasure and how close you are to your second release, you don’t necessarily want the first time you squirt to be on Yeosang’s floor. 

“B-baby,” You whine, the pet name slipping off your tongue, “I’m gonna, I think, oh fuck,” 

“Fuck yes,” His fingers flatten down over your clit and he rubs fast, slickly rolling over your firm bud, “let go,” 

“I can’t,” You shake your head, sweat breaking out across your brow, “I’ve n-never, oh, fuck, Yeosang!”

“Come,” He commands softly, “that’s it, you come, right here, baby,” 

He’s not stopping, and with the way he’s working you there’s no way you could even if you tried. In a snap your body releases hard, a sensation like nothing you’ve ever felt pulsing through your slick cunt and your legs jerk, hips snapping up as clear fluid pulses out of you. The sound that leaves your lips is wanton, broken and needy, and your ears are very clearly ringing. 

“Oh, fuck,” Yeosang hums, almost to himself, rubbing fast across your soaked slit to help coax every bit of slick from your center, “oh, baby, look at you,” 

Your legs try to snap shut at the suddenly sharp overstimulation, but all he does is take that as his cue to stop directly stimulating you and instead drop the warm flat of his tongue over every inch of your glistening pussy. You gasp sharply at the feeling, rolling your head forwards so that you can look down between your legs, and you moan softly at the sight. 

He’s buried between your thighs, lazily licking stripes up your inner thighs and over your cunt, but slowly enough that his aim isn’t to draw you into another orgasm, he just wants to taste you. To feel you on his tongue and ease you through your little aftershocks. 

“God,” You breathe after a moment, “oh, my god,” 

He chuckles, kissing the top of your mound, “Was that your first time?” 

You nod, still trying to catch your breath. 

He groans a little, palming his hard cock through his trousers to readjust, “That’s an ego boost, I’m not going to lie,” 

You manage a laugh despite your dizzy, orgasm fogged brain, “Yeah?” 

“Mhm,” He strokes your thigh, “if you’re not careful I might get addicted to the way you taste when you come,” 

A shudder runs through you, “You can’t just say things like that,” 

  “It’s not a lie,” He says, “I’d spend a whole night between these thighs if you’ll let me,” 

“Mm,” You sigh, reaching down for him and brushing your fingers through his long, dark hair. 

“Now?” He cocks his head slightly to the side, “If you want my mouth, you just have to ask,” 

You shake your head, slowly starting to push yourself into a sitting position and slide your hips away from him, “Not tonight,” 

“What more can I give you tonight?” He murmurs, running his hands up and down your bare thighs, “Anything you want,” 

You cup his face, drawing him close to lock your lips on his, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and nuzzling into his nose, “Take me to bed, please, Yeosang,” 

“Let’s go,” He agrees, extricating himself from your arms so he can stand and offer you a hand up. 

You take it, but as you do you realize the wet puddle on the floor in front of the couch and you blush dark red, covering your mouth with your hand, “I’m so sorry,” 

“For what?” He blinks at you, and then follows your nervous eyes. 

“I didn’t realize,” You start to say but he interrupts you with a hard kiss. 

“Relax,” He says, “if we’re lucky you’ll make a mess of my room too,”

“I don’t know how I did it,” 

He laughs again, “I do,” he smiles, “now come on, I need to see you in my bed before I combust,” 

He tugs your hand, leading you down the hall until you’re in a large master bedroom. Your eyes flick over the details - industrial, warm wood, dark green sheets, soft ambient lighting. You’re about to comment on it, but he flips you back around to face him and captures your mouth in another hungry kiss. 

“God,” He backs you up to the edge of the bed, dropping you down and falling over you, “tell me I can have you,” 

“You have me,” You pant against his mouth, all thoughts of his lovely interior decor gone in an instant when you feel the hard shaft of his cock nestled between your thighs. 

“I swear next time we’ll go slow,” He grinds his hips down, rolling his length up and down your slit, only the thin fabric of his trousers separating you. 

“Please,” You buck against him, “I need you right now,” 

“Fuck,” His hands are hot, searching, “is that right, darling?” 

“Inside me,” Your hands scramble to find his waistband, “please,” 

He nods, lips still pressed against yours, and then he leans back just enough to undo his trousers and start to push down his pants and boxer briefs. 

Your mouth runs dry immediately. He wasn’t wrong about his size. You have fairly large dildos at home, thick and long and perfect for reaching all the spots you need it to, but Yeosang was bigger, thicker and longer than anything you’ve ever had inside you. 

“Condom?” He manages as he shucks off his pants. 

You blink, tearing your eyes away from his perfect, aching cock and nod, “We probably should?” 

“Right,” He doesn’t push you to make a different choice, he simply searches his nightstand for a moment and produces a foil packet. 

He strokes his cock twice while he tears the packet open with his teeth, before watching you beneath him as he rolls the condom smoothly down his length, adjusting it so that it fits perfectly. 

You’re trembling with anticipation, you can feel it and so can he. 

“y/n,” He murmurs, leaning over you and pressing a hand beneath your back to finally unclip your bra, “I want you to do something for me,” 

You nod, sliding the cardigan and bra off your body and pushing them over the edge of the bed. 

He grabs a firm looking pillow and folds it in half, “Lift your hips for me,” 

You lift up and he slides the pillow right under your backside to leave you propped up and open for him. 

“If it doesn’t feel good,” He murmurs as he maneuvers you into the position he wants, “or if I’m hurting you at all, just tell me,” 

You nod. 

“And I want you to tell me when you’re about to come,” He instructs, “I need to know,” 

You nod again, your stomach flipping with desire. 

He licks his lips, folding your legs open a little wider and slotting himself over you. He settles with one hand on your raised hip, the other braced on the bed by your head, his knees on the edge of the mattress between your splayed thighs. 

His cock finally, finally, nudges at your entrance and you grip down on the sheets below you. 

“Mm,” He groans, sinking just an inch or two into your tight heat, “you’re even tighter than I thought,” 

He pushes in a little more and you moan at the stretch, “Oh, god,” 

“Do I feel that good, babygirl?” He teases, pushing in a little more.

“So good,” You lift your head to watch the way his thick length splits you open. 

“I am bigger than your toys, aren’t I?” He rolls his hips this time, rocking himself deeper with every little thrust. 

“Y-yes,” You nod, your head dropping back to the mattress. 

“Can you take me, baby?” He murmurs low. 

“Fuck yes,” Your hips buck up again on their own as he opens you up, nearly fully sheathed inside you. 

“Just a little more,” He says, his hand tightening on your hip, “there we go, fuck, that’s it, you’re taking me so beautifully, baby,” 

Tears rush to your eyes, not from any kind of discomfort, but just from the overwhelming sensation of him. You’ve never been so full, never been so deliciously stretched and had these parts of you touched, and it rushes a blush to your chest and emotion through your veins. 

His fingers brush along your jaw, bringing your eyes to his, “Good tears, or should we stop?” 

“If you stop I’ll actually cry,” You laugh, blinking away the hazy sheen in your eyes, “you feel so fucking good,” 

“Oh,” He sighs, thrusting gently in and out of you, “what a good, good girl, you are,” 

“Jesus,” You shiver beneath him. 

“Yeah?” He starts to move now, just a bit more, rocking his cock at a steady pace in and out of your wet core, “You like when I tell you how good you are for me?” 

“Yes,” You moan, a shock of hot pleasure spiking up from your core, “please,” 

“Such a good girl letting me fuck her perfect pussy on the first date,” His voice has dropped low again, husky and direct, and you babble out a sound of pleasure as he talks, “so warm and wet,” 

“Fuck, fuck,” Your eyes roll. 

He collapses over you a little more, his desperate lips searching for yours and the angle deepens, pushing his cock deeper and deeper inside you with every downward thrust of his hips. 

You grip his shoulders, nails digging into his warm skin, “Baby,” you pant, “your cock, oh god,” 

He hums against your cheek, head falling slack as his lips find your throat, sucking your pulse points and no doubt searing his mark into your tender skin. He pumps his hips harder and you moan under him, cursing again and scrambling to hold him closer. 

“Such a dirty mouth,” He nips at your neck, “are you always like this, or is my cock that special?” 

All you can manage is a taught moan in response, his cockhead now continuously connecting with your sweet spot over and over and rendering you unable to string a coherent thought together. 

He groans at the way your cunt flutters and spasms and he kisses you hard, fingers tangling in your hair, “One of these days I’ll feel you for real,” he pants, “nothing between my cock and your sweet cunt,” 

Your back arches, your mind spinning at the thought, “Yeo,” you moan. 

“Fuck,” He chokes, “the way you’re squeezing me,” 

You make a tight sound, something between a pleasured whine and a sob, and his hips stutter and stop, pressing his cock in as deep as possible as he grips down on whatever parts of you he can, breathing hot and heavy against your skin. 

You can’t really move well in this position, but your hips rock in tiny back and forth motions to try and keep the sensation rolling through you. He’s panting into your shoulder, clearly trying to keep himself from coming too soon, and your mind commits to an idea before you have a second to double check yourself. 

“Yeo,” You tap his arm, “baby I need to move,” 

He pushes off you, his cock sliding out of your soaked core and you leg your legs straighten out, “What’s wrong,” 

The words are barely off his tongue before you’re sitting up, grabbing his hand and drawing him back to the bed, pushing him onto his back with a guiding hand to his shoulder. He lets you lead, watching you as you put him where you want him this time, and he smiles, eyes flicking over you appreciatively. 

“I need you,” Is all the explanation you can give, and maybe with a stranger this is foolish, borderline stupid, but you know him. He’s not a stranger really, not to you. 

With a feverish pulse of need inside you, you shift to straddle his hips, and with quick, sure hands you roll the condom up from the base of his cock and toss it to the side. 

“y/n,” He manages, but you’re lifting yourself over him now and his hands fly up to brace your waist, “are you sure?” 

“So sure,” You connect his cockhead with your slick hole and drop your hips down fast, taking the whole hard length of him inside you in one smooth motion. 

It’s his turn to moan, his head dropping back at the sensation of your wet walls and he grips at you, his hips stuttering beneath you. 

“God,” He bucks up into you, “you’re perfect,” 

“So are you,” You rock against him, finding the perfect place for your hands on his chest, “you’re so deep,” 

He moans again, and when you start to bounce up and down he curses tightly. 

“J-just don’t come inside me,” You keep bouncing, a steady fluid motion in your hips that you can tell is driving him crazy, but you have to keep your head at least a little. 

“F-fuck,” He groans, his jaw tightening as his eyes flick down to the place your bodies are joined together, “you’re making that kind of difficult,”

“I just wanted to feel you,” Your shaking arms buckle a little and you find yourself flush against his chest while you work his cock. 

“Me too,” His hands find your ass again and he starts to direct the pace, “God, I could fuck you forever,” 

A moan drops from your mouth, your hands tightening on his chest. 

“Don’t stop,” He urges you, and you realize your hips slowed at his words, “you feel so good riding me like that,” 

Your thighs are burning already, but you hardly care, every fast shift up and down leaves you closer and closer, “Love you cock,” 

“Mm, yeah? Say that again,” 

“I,” You curse as a spike of pleasure rolls through you, “fuck, I love your cock,” 

“Good girl,” He grips you tight, his hips jutting up to meet you now. 

Your pace falters slightly, “Please, please,” 

“I’ve got you,” He adjusts just enough to hold you steady as he fucks up into your tight heat, “I’ve got you,” 

You moan, dropping your head into his chest and shuddering against him, “Baby, oh fuck,” 

“A-are you close, jagi?” He pants, fingers digging into your hips so hard you know you’ll have bruises. 

“Don’t stop,” You beg, “please, god, don’t stop,” 

He groans, keeping the pace of his thrusts and using his hands on your ass to maneuver you to meet his hips. 

“Shit,” You shudder in his arms, your orgasm fast approaching, “I’m coming,” 

“Come here,” He shifts you fast, rolling you up and off him and manhandling you up to your feet. 

You make a surprised noise at the lack of him inside you when you were getting so close, but you don’t have to worry for very long. Before you can open your mouth he has you standing, facing away from him, and bent over ninety degrees to brace your hands on the bed. 

He thrusts back inside you sharply, slamming his hips into yours and leaving you moaning and curling in on yourself, your legs starting to tremble. 

“Come on my cock, pretty girl,” He palms your ass before planting his hands on your hips and using the leverage to pull you back into each of his thrusts, “you’re so close,” 

Your eyes slam shut, fisting the sheets as you hang on, every sharp push of his cock driving deeper and deeper. You’re going to have bruises, you’re going to be sore, but none of it matters when he’s making you feel this good. 

You sob out a moan, collapsing forward into the bedding but he holds you up, “I can’t,” 

“Yes, you can,” He pants, his sweat slick skin connecting again and again with yours. 

“Fuck,” You groan, “I’m almost, I’m so,” 

“Touch your yourself,” He directs, interrupting your pleasured ramblings, “rub your clit for me, baby,” 

You slide a hand between your legs, locating your slick bud with ease and rolling your fingers over it quickly. 

“Fuck, there you are,” He groans, “that’s right, baby, come on my cock,” 

The same new sensation drops in your gut, your legs start to shake and you’re fairly sure that without his sure hands you’d be crumbling. 

“That’s it,” He coaxes you up, never once slowing the sharp snaps of his hips, “there you go, that’s my good girl,” 

Something unravels in your gut and you come with a shout, folding in on yourself as your legs quake and your mind whites out. Yeosang wraps his arms around you, curling over your back to keep you steady, and his cock slips free so he can stimulate you through your orgasm with his fingers, more liquid pulsing out of you as he fucks you over the edge. 

You’re a quivering mess, and he lets you drop into the sheets, pushing you onto your back so he can stand over you, one hand fisting his slick cock. 

“I’m coming,” He groans, “w-where?” 

Your hands cup your breasts automatically, and you arch up to offer yourself to him, “On me, baby, come all over me,” 

Yeosang groans sharply, his hips thrusting into his tight grip as ropes of silvery white cum paint your skin, covering your belly and breasts and dripping down your chest. He’s panting, his skin flushed pink and sweat covering every inch of his toned chest. 

It takes you both a moment to recover, both trembling in the same position as you try to regain your breath, but after a few moments he smiles a hazy, satisfied smile and finds your eyes, “You’re so beautiful,” 

Suddenly you feel a bit shy, even despite everything you’ve just done together. 

“So beautiful,” He sighs again, pushing his hair back out of his face, and then he drops to his knees. 

He hushes your soft protests and this time he tastes you slowly, but with intention. After such rough, intense sex, he follows it with the softest, slowest orgasm you’ve ever had. With slow sucks and gentle licks he brings you through a languid rolling wave that softens your limbs and leaves you sleepy and pliant in the sheets.  

You drift, falling into sleep too easily for a first date in a sort of stranger’s apartment. 

You wake a little later to a warm sensation on your skin, and you blink your eyes open to see Yeosang sitting next you, freshly showered and wearing black sweatpants and a familiar blank tank top. He draws the wet washcloth over your skin and then stops and smiles when he sees your eyes open. 

“Hey,” He murmurs. 

“Hi,” You reply softly, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” 

He shakes his head, “Don’t be sorry,” 

“I think you scrambled my brain a little,” You laugh, covering your face with your hands. 

“Hopefully in a good way,” He nudges you. 

“Beyond good,” You look up at him, “are you kidding?” 

He smiles a little wider, “Good,” he says, “I drew you a bath,” 

“Oh,” Your eyebrows raise. 

“I thought you might be sore,” He explains, “I know I was a little rough, I hope you’re not feeling it too much,” 

You shake your head, “Just a little, but in a good way,” 

He nods, “Does the bath sound nice, or would you prefer a shower?” 

“Bath is perfect,” You can see that he’s suddenly a little nervous, back to the same man from your date, no trace of Ryu’s husky tones. 

“Here,” He offers you his hands to help you up, and guides you towards the connected bathroom suite. It’s large, crisp and clean, and in the corner stands a large spa-like tub filled high with warm water. 

“Thank you,” You murmur as he helps you slip into the cocoon of water, the subtle scent of lavender wafting up from the steam. 

“Mhm,” He nods, pulling a bamboo stool from the side of the sink and setting it down so he can sit at the edge of the tub and be at eye level with you. 

“This is nice,” You murmur, still finding yourself a little shy in the post-orgasm clarity of it all. 

He’s quiet for a moment, his fingertips dragging over the surface of the water and then he bites his lip. 

Your stomach sinks for a moment, nerves coming back tenfold at the idea that maybe he’d prefer you to go after this, maybe this is all you’d ever have. Maybe he reconsidered what you know about his online persona and maybe he wasn’t willing to take the leap. 

“y/n,” He sighs, “this might be forward,” 

You look up from the rippling water. 

“But what do you think about staying the night? We could order some dessert, maybe keep getting to know each other a little?” He asks. 

You can’t fight the smile that blooms over your face, “I thought you might have changed your mind,” 

“No,” He reaches into the water to find your hand, twining your fingers together, “not at all.” 

“Yeah?” You squeeze his hand. 

“I’d be crazy to let this be a one-time thing,” He lifts your hand from the bath and presses a kiss to the back, “I hope you feel the same.” 

“I really do,” You twist to the side, leaning over to find his mouth and lock your lips together. 

Yeosang cups your cheek, deepening the kiss tenderly, his tongue sweeping against yours, “What are you doing tomorrow night, then?” 

“Tomorrow?” You lean back a little. 

“Let me take you out again,” He kisses you again, softly this time, “I’m probably supposed to wait a few days, Wooyoung would tell me I seem too eager, but,” 

“Who cares about that?” You grin, leaning out of the bath far enough to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him, “It’s a date,” 

“And Sunday?” His hands slide down your back. 

You nuzzle his nose with yours, “I have a date,” 

“Oh,” He says, deflating instantly. 

“You might know him,” You tease, “he owns this lovely little cafe,” 

He laughs, his forehead leaning on yours, “You’re mean,” 

“You like me,” You peck his lips. 

“I do,” He nods, “I really, really do,” 

[419jhat]

Steve becomes an actor. Eddie reacts to his movies while nursing his crush.

***

That Time He Got Naked

Steve had always been a good performer. Eddie watched him in school, putting on the face of a disaffected cool guy who was above everything around him. And he watched him put on a face of bravery for the kids when the end of the world was at their fingertips. When Steve got his first role, Eddie figured it made sense. He hadn't exactly been trained in acting, but he had a pretty face and the ability to do what he was told on a set.

When he got his second role, Eddie didn't pay much attention. Local art movies by Robin's college friends weren't that interesting to watch, in his opinion. But the third role was when it became a thing. That's when it started turning into a big deal. And before they knew it, a year later, Steve was in a real movie. A movie they could see in theaters and rent at family video. A movie people had actually heard of. The kind of movie everyone sat down to watch in support of their famous friend. Even if it was a just small role.

So, at the first available showing where the entire party could get together, Eddie found himself squished between Dustin and Nancy, watching Steve gasp and moan like it was his first time.

And Eddie's face was on fire.

Dustin had pulled his hoodie over his eyes.

Nancy was sitting straight as a telephone pole.

Jonathan leaned over and asked her, “Was he really like that?” Which made her smack him on the arm and tell him to shut up.

Eddie could barely pay attention. He was too busy wondering, as he stared at Steve's bare ass taking up half the screen, if Steve had been hitting the gym to tone up just for this scene because-

He needed to stop thinking about it before he made it even more awkward for everyone.

When Steve called him a week later, he could barely talk without stuttering like a fool.

“So, what did you think? Maria said I was really convincing but she was in the scene with me. She kind of has to say that,” Steve said.

Eddie thought that the sight of Steve's ass had been imprinted on the back of his eyelids, because it was all he saw when he closed his eyes to sleep at night.

“It was good,” Eddie said awkwardly.

“That sex scene was so embarrassing. People keep asking me if it was hot. There is nothing hot about standing around your coworkers in a flesh colored jockstrap.”

“Mm-hmm,” Eddie said, trying not to imagine a scenario where Steve was his coworker, and that was his uniform.

That Time He Died

The next time they met up to watch a Steve movie, nobody had warned Eddie about its contents. Or, maybe they did and he'd ignored it because he didn't want to think about the little mole on the small of Steve's back that he'd discovered last time they watched a Steve movie.

Either way, Eddie was completely unprepared to watch Steve gasping for air while being beaten to death in an alley.

“Ugh, I can't watch this,” Robin muttered when it became clear what was happening. She ran out of the theater a few moments later when the scene didn't end quickly enough.

Lucas was on Eddie's other side, cringing with each brutal punch. Steve was letting out pathetic, wet whimpers, his face literally crunching under the main actor's fists.

Eddie knew it was fake. The blood was kind of excessive and there was just no way you could rearrange someone's face like that with your bare hands. But watching Steve's eyes go glassy made Eddie feel sick.

He got up too.

He found Robin standing next to a water fountain, just staring at it.

“Thirsty, Buckley?”

She jumped.

“Oh. No,” she said, stuffing her hands in the pickets of her jacket. “I just dream about that kind of stuff a lot.”

Eddie nodded. “I get it. It's different when we've seen him hurt before.”

Behind them, the theater door swung open. Dustin paused when he saw them, and then propped it open with his foot. The rest of the party followed.

“I guess we're leaving early, huh?” Nancy asked.

Everyone nodded.

“Nobody tells Steve,” Robin warned.

When Steve called him the next day, he kept his mouth shut.

“You were terrifying,” Eddie said.

“You sure? I think I was supposed to be more pathetic than anything else.”

“I mean, that too. But it was super gory, so I think the whole theater was freaked out.”

“Neat,” Steve said. “You know, I'm going to be in Chicago this weekend. We should hang out!”

“I'd love that!” Eddie said too quickly.

Steve laughed and asked, “maybe you can show me around?”

“Yeah, you can stay at my place!” Eddie said.

And then he looked around his apartment and cringed. “On second thought, you can get a hotel if you don't want to deal with the mess.”

“I love the mess. It's you,” Steve said.

Eddie wasn't sure if he was supposed to be offended or not.

That Time He Cried

The next movie wasn't much better. This time, Eddie came prepared. This time, Steve didn't get naked or die. What he hadn't anticipated was that there were other terrible things that could happen, like watching the man he'd held a crush on for years now scream and sob because he lost the will to live after his wife died.

Eddie honestly didn't know that Steve could sound like that. The anguish in his voice at the funeral scene, the pain in his eyes. It was raw, and difficult to face.

There wasn't a dry tear in their row.

“I do not like this one,” El whispered to Eddie.

“Why is he always miserable in these movies?” Max muttered. She had her shoulders up to her ears and her arms crossed, like she could hold the tears back if she wound herself up tight enough.

“Well. He seemed pretty happy in the first one,” Eddie said.

Max punched him in the shoulder.

Steve's phone call came that evening.

“Dude, I think you broke everyone's hearts. I didn't even know you could cry like that,” Eddie said.

Steve huffed a laugh into the receiver. “My agent told me to think of something sad.”

“What did you think of?” Eddie asked. He instantly wanted to smack himself in the forehead. Why would Steve share that with him? To his shock, Steve hummed, like he was thinking.

“I thought about how I felt when we thought Max was dead,” he said quietly. “Obviously, it's not like that between us. She's basically my sister at this point. But…it was the first time I'd ever lost someone but cared about. Someone I was supposed to protect.”

Eddie's heart melted into a million pieces.

“Steve. I think you should invite her to visit you. She loves you too,” he said softly.

“Yeah,” Steve said slowly, “the only thing is that Dustin would lose his shit if she visited first.”

“Oh, don't worry, I'll keep him distracted for you,” Eddie said.

“With Dragons and Dickwads?” Steve asked.

“You know it.”

That Time He Proposed

Eventually, Steve broke his curse of misery and managed to get a lead role in a rom com. Eddie hated it more than anything else. Watching him fall in love with the human equivalent of a shallow puddle pissed Eddie off more than anything else had in a long time. Steve's pretty eyes, staring at her. Steve, so visibly in love with someone who didn't deserve him. Steve, doing stupid shit to make her take him back when he hadn't done anything wrong in Eddie’s completely unbiased opinion.

It made Eddie want to tear his hair out.

The real cherry on top was Steve proposing to her at the end, because of-fucking-course the movie ended that way. That kind of heteronormative love at first sight, get married and have kids bullshit the media always pandered to, drove him up the wall. Steve did all the work. He set up a cheesy outdoor surprise at the beach and dropped to one knee while everyone in the background of the scene clapped like a bunch of lemmings.

“This is so fucking stupid,” Eddie said.

“Tell me about it,” Mike said.

“God, I hate romance movies," Eddie said.

“They always suck,” Mike agreed.

“Steve would never do that! He doesn't like big grand gestures!” Eddie said.

“What?” Mike asked.

“He's a very private person!”

“Eddie…that's not Steve. That's Chris. Steve’s character,” Erica said.

“I- I know that. I'm just saying,” Eddie sputtered.

“Can you all shut the fuck up?” Max hissed.

Steve called him a week later, and by then, Eddie had forgotten all about it up until Steve started waxing poetic about how romantic it all was. Ugh.

“Wait, I thought you didn't like that kind of stuff,” Eddie interrupted.

“Oh. No, I don't. But in the context of the movie, it was supposed to be.”

“So…what kind of romance do you like?” Eddie asked casually.

“Gonna surprise me with something, Munson?” Steve asked.

“Wha- no, I just-” Eddie stuttered.

Steve interrupted him with a laugh. Then, he suddenly asked, in a sinfully soft voice, “when are you going to visit me?”

Eddie's heart skipped a beat.

“Uh, I don't know. Tattooing doesn't pay for a California vacation yet,” he said nervously.

“You could move out here,” Steve said. “There's a ton of people wanting tattoos in LA.”

“I don't know if all that sun would agree with me,” Eddie joked.

“Youcouldmoveinwithme,” Steve blurted out.

“Hmm?” Eddie asked, twisting the phone cord around his thumb.

“You could move in with me,” Steve said.

Eddie nearly dropped the phone. He sat up straight and looked at his hands like they couldn't tell him what he'd really heard, because there was no way Steve was being serious.

“Eddie?” Steve asked.

“I'm here. Good one, Steve,” he said with a forced laugh, “like you'd want me messing up your place. Anyway, got anything else going on?”

Steve didn't reply for a moment. When he did, he told him about some party he'd gone to. And Eddie forgot about the offer completely.

That Time He Was a Villain

Thankfully, Steve's next film was wildly different from the others. This time he was the bad guy. Eddie found it kind of thrilling to watch him parade around with the confidence of an unapologetic piece of shit. The way he led the main characters around like he had them on a leash, the way he looked when he was in charge. It made Eddie's pathetic little heart shiver.

Steve made a sexy villain.

Unfortunately for Eddie, nobody else seemed to agree. As they left the theater, all the kids were grumbling under their breath.

“I thought he was cool in that role,” Eddie said.

“He was such an asshole!” Dustin said.

“I can't believe he was so mean to Miranda! He didn't have to be such a bad husband!” Max said.

“It was the look in his eyes. Like he thought it was all fun,” Erica said with disgust.

“Once a douche, always a douche,” Mike muttered.

Nancy lifted an eyebrow. “You guys know that it was just a character, right? Steve didn't actually endorse any of that stuff.”

“He chose the role,” Dustin muttered. “I hope Hollywood isn't ruining him.”

Eddie was pretty sure they just missed him.

Steve called him three days later.

“Do you think I'm turning into an asshole?” he asked without saying hello.

“Dustin’s just being stupid,” Eddie said.

“He says I'm regressing back into my high school days!”

“That's dramatic,” Eddie said with a laugh, “he didn't even know you in high school.”

“Exactly!”

“I thought you were cool in your latest movie,” Eddie said.

“What?”

“I mean, you are a bit of an ass, but it shows your skill.”

“Wait, is that what this is about? I thought I missed his birthday or something!”

“Oh, no. They just don't like seeing you play the bad guy.”

“Oh my God, that is so fucking-”

That Time He Fell In Love With A Man

Eddie didn't know what was coming next. Steve had been in a wide variety of roles at this point, so when he sat down in the theater with a bucket of popcorn, he did not expect to witness the crush of his life, holder of his soul, dream of all dreams, to be making out with another man.

Eddie nearly threw his popcorn at the screen out of sheer shock.

“Buckley, did you know about this!?” he hissed to Robin.

“Yeah, I thought it was really brave,” she said softly.

“What do you mean? Because he's straight?”

Robin slowly turned to look at Eddie with an eyebrow lifted.

“...what?” she asked.

Eddie wasn't paying attention. He turned back to watch. It was beautiful. It was nothing like what he'd expected. Explicit love between two men, on screen for the world to see. He didn't even have it in himself to get jealous. For the first time, Eddie couldn't see Steve. He saw the story. He could see himself in the way Steve's character looked at his lover. The way they hid their feelings for each other in public. The film ended with Steve's character passing away in a car accident. It made Eddie cry. Eddie hadn't cried in a theater in years.

He left the building feeling raw.

The others were raving about the film, talking about how it would push Steve's career to the next level. No comments about it being weird or gross.

“Robin, why would he choose that role?” Eddie asked quietly.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I mean, did he do it for Will or something?”

Robin turned to Eddie with her hands on her hips, looking very much like Steve with the level of judgement in her eyes.

“Eddie…when you said Steve was straight. Were you being serious?”

Eddie just blinked at her. “Of course I was. He is straight.”

“Are you stupid?” she asked. Eddie opened his mouth to reply, but she didn't let him. “Where have you been the last few years? Has that apartment of yours been lined with lead?”

“What-”

“Eddie, he calls you almost every week!”

“He calls everyone-”

“He stays at your place when he's in town!”

“It's cheaper-”

“He is a successful actor! He has no reason to stay in your apartment, which is always covered in dirty clothes!”

“Hey, I try to keep it-”

“Last time I was there, your underwear was hanging on the bathroom doorknob!”

“Listen, I told you I can explain that-”

“Eddie, he asked if you wanted to move in with him!”

Eddie opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. Now that he thought about it, he did recall Steve joking about that. But it had just been a joke. Right?

“I thought he was being nice?” Eddie offered.

“Oh my god, you are so stupid,” Robin said.

“Wait, so let me get this right. Steve isn't straight. And he's interested in me!?”

Robin punched him in the shoulder. “Go call him, you dumbass.”

Eddie turned and ran all the way home without even saying goodbye. By the time he made it to his phone, he was gasping for air after running up three flights of stairs. And for the first time in years, he called Steve after watching his movie.

“Hello?”

Eddie could only gasp for air.

“...listen if this is some kind of prank-”

“No! Wait! It's me!” Eddie gasped.

“Eddie?” Steve asked.

“I saw your new movie,” Eddie said, brushing his hands out of his face with a shaking hand, “why didn't you ever tell me?”

Steve was silent for a moment.

“Tell you what?” he finally asked.

“That you like men!”

“I'm sorry?” Steve asked, sounding shocked.

Eddie's face was on fire. Had he somehow completely misunderstood Robin's point? Should he have stayed beyond to make sure?

“Eddie, did you not know that?” Steve asked.

“What! Of course, I didn't! If I had known that I would have-” Eddie cut himself off, too embarrassed to even say it.

“You would have what?” Steve goaded.

“It doesn't matter,” Eddie mumbled.

“No, I think it does,” Steve said.

“It's not a big deal,” Eddie said.

“I think it is,” Steve said.

Eddie bit his bottom lip, letting his feelings fester inside him until they finally exploded in the form of him shouting, “I would have asked you out!”

“And I would have said yes,” Steve said instantly.

“Really?” Eddie asked softly.

“I mean…I've been crazy about you for years,” Steve said.

“Why didn't you say anything!? Do you know how crazy you drove me last time you stayed here? You can't hold a man in bed like that and not expect him to fall in love!”

“I- uh, thought you didn't feel the same,” Steve said, sounding embarrassed. Eddie closed his eyes and sighed. Robin was right. He was so stupid.

“Steve, I feel the same and I want to ask you to be with me for the foreseeable future,” Eddie said boldly.

“The foreseeable future? Not just a date?” Steve asked.

“I am well past wanting a single date, to be honest.”

“Oh wow. Well, I've been looking for a boyfriend,” Steve said.

“I might even surprise you with something romantic,” Eddie said with a smile.

[quin-ns]

Eventually (Coriolanus Snow x Reader)

Word count: 6.7k

Summary: Coriolanus could appreciate irony, but the one person he desires more than anything wanting nothing to do with him pushes him to new territory

Tags: (18+), cw: noncon, dark!coriolanus, deeply implied stalker!coriolanus, unreliable narrator coriolanus (boy is delusional tbh, no one is doing more mental gymnastics than him), pre-mentor era, obsession, unprotected sex, choking (only for like a second), virginity status undisclosed but as I was writing I began to imagine this being the first time for both of them—it’s not even implied tho, so do with that what you will

A/N: a character as evil as him I couldn’t conceive writing fluff for. he’s bad and guess what I’m not gonna fix him, but I also can’t make him not-hot so… hehe. please read the tags and proceed with caution <3

Misc masterlist + main masterlist

You wanted nothing to do with him, and that made him crazy.

No, if anything, you were the crazy one. Coriolanus hadn’t done anything but try to be your friend, but you snubbed him without reason.

Coriolanus did a good job at keeping the financial situation of his family a secret. No one knew, and he doubted you were an exception. Yet, it was as if you looked down upon him.

Although, you’d grown fond of Sejanus, so even if you did know, status wasn’t a concern of yours. It was something he admired, yet questioned all at once. There had to be a reason for your dismissal. A reason you couldn’t bring yourself to even offer a smile back. It’s not like he was asking a lot.

It’s not like he wasn’t trying, either. He’d gotten used to trying to make people like him, to see him as better than he was, but it was never this hard. It would’ve been so much simpler if you just told him to his face what your problem was, but whenever he came around, mostly when you were talking to Sejanus—they were friends, it was the perfect excuse—you just went quiet. You’d greet him, make no effort to continue the conversation, then excuse yourself.

All Coriolanus wanted to know was why.

“You’re watching her again,” Clemensia whispered to him, eyes flicking between him and the paper in front of her.

They were class partners, but Coriolanus was beginning to think he spent too much time with her.

“Who?”

Clemensia let out a small chuckle, mocking him. The professor at the front of the class looked up, and Coriolanus quickly looked down at his paper, taking his eyes off of you.

“You’re too obvious,” she muttered, a smirk in her voice. “Maybe that’s why she doesn’t like you. Because you stare at her too much.”

She didn’t get a response—it didn’t deserve one. Coriolanus questioned why he ever told her anything. She made him sound like some sort of stalker. Which, for the record, he was not.

His eyes managing to find you frequently wasn’t a crime, and neither was crossing your path. Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence most of the time, but it’s not as if he was harming you by watching you. He doubted you noticed anyway.

Seeing you nearly everyday had been enough to keep him sated, but then Sejanus started talking about you. Through no fault of his own, Coriolanus learned things about you. What he came to know made him curious to discover more. Even if you did not seem keen to let him.

Being content with what he had didn’t keep its appeal for long. Not when you were right there, your presence taunting him. Making him want what you would not let him have.

“You just need to talk to her, Coryo,” Tigris told him one evening, when he revealed everything to her. “Not in class and not with Sejanus. Just you. Let her know the real you and I promise she’ll like what she sees.”

Coriolanus took his cousin’s advice to heart. She was much more empathetic than him, she had to be onto something, right?

Everything changed when Coriolanus sat across from you at a study table in the library.

As beautiful as you were from a distance, being up close was something else entirely. He could admire you for hours and never get tired.

You looked up at him, he smiled and said hello just like Tigris advised. The smile you returned seemed forced, and you ignored that he had spoken.

It upset him, but not as much as when you got up and walked out. It was the last straw. Coriolanus was following you into the hall before he could think better of it.

He caught up to you, dropping his hand to your shoulder to make you turn around and face him. When you did, you looked surprised. That wasn’t what made Coriolanus hesitate, but the realization that he had never been this close to you before. Not even sitting across from you compared to touching you.

His heart skipped a beat.

“What do you want?” you questioned, a level of annoyance he thought to be unearned in your voice.

His heart started again.

“Have I done something to you?” Coriolanus confronted you, feeling a familiar sense of agitation creep over him. He had to know. “To make you feel such distaste for me?”

“I don’t dislike you, Coriolanus,” you replied, calmly after recovering from your initial shock. “I’m just… indifferent to you.”

The answer confused him more than it did enrage him. He smothered the latter feeling as he observed you.

“You’re… indifferent,” he stated, not asking. His feet shifted beneath him. It hurt, for some reason. “Why?”

Your eyes narrowed ever so slightly, studying him. It was the same way you’d look at your books when you were struggling with a subject, lingering behind in class or the library until a triumphant smile crossed your face.

Only, that smile never came. Your expression just faded back to normal.

“You shouldn’t put so much weight on what other people think of you,” you advised, stepping closer to him. His breath caught in his chest. You smelled sweet, like flowers. “Especially not someone you don’t even know.”

It was then, he realized, you hadn’t moved closer to him with purpose. You’d been on your way moving past him. His eyes focused on your back as you walked away, figuring out what to say.

“I’d like to know you,” he announced earnestly, verbally trying to pull you back. “If you’d only give me a chance.”

You slowed to a stop, looking over your shoulder. Coriolanus felt as if he was on display as your eyes raked over him, determining for yourself his sincerity.

“You’re friends with Sejanus, aren’t you?” you wondered. It wasn’t what he expected, but Coriolanus nodded. You sighed, which irked him to think it was pity. “If you’d like to join us for lunch I wouldn’t be against that.”

“I’ll see you then,” he said, but you were already turning away. He kept to himself that he had already tried in the past.

His friend was nice. Too nice for his own good, truthfully. It wasn’t as if Sejanus completely abandoned him the moment he befriended you. It was more like he split his time, attending to both friendships. The only thing Coriolanus held against him was that he never tried to reintroduce the two of you. Maybe even put in a good word.

At lunch Coriolanus found you and Sejanus quickly, he knew where you liked to sit.

“Hey, Coryo,” Sejanus greeted, smiling. “About time you decided to join us.”

Coriolanus put on a smile as he sat down. “Well, I would’ve sooner, but I wasn’t sure I was welcome before.”

The comment made you smirk, in on the joke as Coriolanus looked at you.

“Who’s to say you are now?” you sarcastically replied, as if you hadn’t been the one to invite him.

Well, “invite” was being generous, but he still seized the opportunity nonetheless.

“Ignore her, she can’t help herself,” Sejanus said with a chuckle, used to your humor.

This time, when he tried to talk to you, you engaged. In between discussions of classes and assignments, Coriolanus had to dodge your quick wit.

He liked the challenge, and the next day, he went back for more. Even walked right past Clemanisa and Arachne, who tried to invite him to their table with Festus. You were waiting for him.

He noticed you and Sejanus already talking.

When he sat across from you, you raised your brows. “Seeking refuge?”

Before he could ask what you meant, you nodded your head towards the girls he’d left behind.

You knew about his friends?

“You could call it that,” he replied, a smile starting to appear.

You nodded and hummed.

“Well, what are your qualifications?”

“Excuse me?”

“You joke too much, Y/N,” Sejanus lightly scolded you, interrupting whatever path you were going down, which made you laugh. “He’s going to think you don’t like him.”

“He knows I don’t mean anything by it,” you assured, looking at Coriolanus. “I’m just trying to figure him out.”

Your tone was filled with confidence, but your face… Coriolanus wasn’t sure how to place your underlying expression. You had a shield up, he knew that much, but what did that have to do with him? Were you trying to figure out if you could let it down for him? Or something else?

“Of course,” Coriolanus answered, not taking his eyes off of you. “I’m an open book.”

“Are you, now?” You folded your arms on the table. “Your friends love to gossip, and I don’t think I’ve heard that about you.”

“It’s not my fault if they don’t know how to read,” Coriolanus quipped, proud of himself for being so quick.

None of his friends had wronged him, but the joke at their expense was worth it for what followed after.

He made you laugh. Not just smile, but truly laugh. It was exactly what he wanted, and it actually worked. Awe didn't begin to describe how it felt.

Joining your table for lunch became the best part of his day. Sometimes he forgot Sejanus was even there, far too eager to see you. He saw you all the time, of course. Watching you was a habit he had yet to break, but this was different. You were aware of his presence, and he was able to speak to you. It didn’t matter that you still seemed weary, it was enough.

Even if you didn’t like him, you still had conversations with him, so that was something.

Sometimes, if you were deep in a discussion, debating ethics—your favorite topic—it would continue beyond just the table. He’d walk you to class, wanting to hear your voice just a second longer.

“I want to meet this girl,” His grandmother declared one night, after Coriolanus drifted to the topic of you over dinner. He’d been doing it more recently.

Tigris gave him a look, a light frown. There was no way to do that without you coming to his home, and he wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Let Coryo decide that, Grandma‘am,” Tigris insisted, patting the older woman’s shoulder.

“Well, he has feelings for Y/N,” she argued, looking at Coriolanus. He used your name enough that she remembered it. “And she likes him too—doesn’t she?”

Coriolanus gave a tight smile. “Yes, she does.”

Keeping up appearances.

“Well, that settles it, then,” Grandma‘am decided.

“I think it’s time you get to bed,” Tigris intervened, getting their grandmother up from her chair.

Later, when they were alone, Tigris asked him, “Does she even know how you feel about her?” She knew him too well. He took too long to answer. “You should tell her. From what you’ve told us, you two should be together. But it won’t happen unless you make it known how you feel.”

Coriolanus’s dreams were filled with you, as they usually were, but something was different the morning he woke up after the conversation with Tigris.

All he had to do was prove himself to you, and he knew that now.

Coriolanus found you in the library a lot, often pretending to stumble upon you. This time, he didn’t put on a facade.

“I thought I’d find you here,” he acknowledged, sitting down beside you. Often he’d sit across, but he was testing the waters. Seeing if you were put off by the proximity. “Studying for Featherly’s class?”

“I’m terrified for his test,” you confided, rubbing your temples as you hunched down at your book. “I feel like my mind has no room for anything else. I’ve memorized nothing.”

With a sigh, you sat up and pushed the book away.

“I can help you,” Coriolanus insisted, reaching for the book. He read over the page you were on, knowing he’d already perfected the subject. “You should’ve asked for me sooner.”

Maybe it was a little spiteful, but he hadn’t purposely meant it to come out that way. You still noticed it, taking your book back.

“I’m not asking for your help now, Coriolanus,” you muttered, looking at him out of the corner of your eye.

You were the last of his friends to still call him that. Most everyone else called him ‘Coryo’. Not you. But you were stubborn in many ways. This too, apparently.

“I didn’t mean anything against you,” he said lightly, even chuckling a little. It was forced, but he wanted to show he wasn’t being that serious.

Using your own words on you did not have the desired effect.

“Mmmhmmm,” you hummed.

Coriolanus tilted his head down, trying to get you to meet his gaze. You gave in, facing him, looking unamused.

He wanted to wipe that look away, but didn’t know how. If he could just make you like him—

Suddenly, your watch began to beep.

“Test time,” you grumbled, taking back your book and getting up.

Coriolanus followed you down the hall and into class. The tests were already on the desks, waiting. You two were early—he noticed that because of the clock on the wall.

He walked you to your seat and wished you good luck. To his surprise, you offered the same in return. Then, he went to his own. Other students filed in quickly after, professor Featherly being the last to enter the room.

The professor declared, “Begin,” then sat at his desk in the middle of the room and began to read.

The test wasn’t easy, but Coriolanus knew what he was doing. One look around the classroom and he saw that wasn’t the case for most other students. He felt a sense of pride, until his gaze landed on you. You were one row down and four seats to the left. He’d counted before. You were fiddling with your pencil, struggling to come up with what to write down.

While he could’ve been the first to finish, Coriolanus let other students turn their tests in before him. An hour passed by, but it moved quickly.

There were only a few students left when you finally got up. You radiated an anxious energy, much like the others, but Coriolanus didn’t care about the others.

Clemensia stuck her hand up in the air, waiting for the professor to notice her, distracting Coriolanus briefly. When the professor looked up and noticed her, Clemansia got her wish.

Coriolanus considered himself lucky, convincing himself with his own mantra frequently. As he watched you leave your test on Featherly’s desk and rush from the room, he realized how he could help you.

He quickly marked down the rest of his answers, having stalled so he could leave when you did. The professor was making his way away from the desk, while Coriolanus got up and went in the opposite direction.

With a swift, hard kick to the leg, the professor's desk wobbled and papers spilled off on the other side. It looked like an accident.

Featherly looked over his shoulder at the noise.

“Sorry,” Coriolanus apologized, kneeling down behind the desk to collect the papers.

Without anyone watching, he found your test. He had no time to change the written questions, but he made quick work of erasing and re-doing the multiple choice, with his own test and knowledge as reference.

He had to give you credit for getting a decent amount correct, but not enough for a passing grade.

When Coriolanus fixed that, he stacked together the papers and placed them back on the desk and exited.

Everyone was waiting in the hall. Against tradition, the professor graded tests directly after and would call students in to give the results. It was time consuming, and kept everyone on campus after hours, which was against the rules, but perhaps he’d gotten some kind of exception.

You were leaning against the wall opposite of the classroom, talking to some girl from the class—Coriolanus didn’t bother to learn her name. He wanted to go to you, but Sejanus got to him first instead.

“How do you think you did?”

Coriolanus shrugged, looking down at his friend. “Fine, I think.” That was the humble answer, right? “How about you?”

“Not perfect, but I passed.”

Clemensia trotted out then, a confident look on her face.

“What was so important you had to ask during the test?” Coriolanus couldn’t help but wonder. She’d unknowingly helped him, after all.

“Just clarity on a question, wanted to make sure I got it right,” she answered with ease.

“And did you?”

She gave Sejanus a look.

“Yes, of course.”

The last person exited the class, and professor Featherly closed the door. And so the grading began.

One by one, the professor called people in. There was no method to the order, it seemed likely he shuffled the papers or chose which one to grade next at random.

Time passed, Coriolanus didn’t know how much exactly, but it was beginning to get dark outside. Tigris would be worried until he got home, but she’d understand. His studies came first.

Eventually, Coriolanus realized it was dwindling down to be just you and him left. He was lucky today.

The third to last student was in the classroom, leaving you across the hall from one another.

You pressed your lips together before speaking.

“Do you think you did alright?”

The corner of Coriolanus’s lip twitched up at the sound of your voice.

“Yes, I think so,” he answered humbly. “What about you?”

You let out a self deprecating laugh. “When I said I was terrified, I wasn’t being dramatic.” You sighed, accepting your fate. “I’ll have to do perfect on the next one, I guess.”

“I can help you with that,” Coriolanus offered.

The smile he gave you spawned a mirror reaction. He knew he was charming, he had to be, and this time you actually seemed receptive to it.

“Maybe you can.”

The sound of a door opening made Coriolanus turn. Arachne was leaving, a smug look on her face as she thanked the professor.

Then the door closed, and the professor graded another test. There were only two left.

“I wish he wouldn’t do it like this,” you filled the silence. “The others don’t make us wait like this.”

“It builds suspense, I suppose,” Coriolanus mused. “Keeps us on our toes.”

“That’s not something I need right now.”

“At least you have good company,” he noted flirtatiously. He couldn’t help but grin at his own words, especially when you bite your lip to keep yourself from smiling.

“Could be worse, I supposed,” you retorted.

More time passed. The door opened again.

“Coriolanus Snow,” the professor addressed him next. “Your turn.”

As expected, Coriolanus did close to perfect. One answer off. Best in the class.

Back in the hallway, when he was done, Coriolanus waited with you. He didn’t announce he was staying, he just returned to his spot against the wall.

“Don’t keep a girl waiting. How did you do?” you asked, departing from the wall.

Coriolanus wondered where you were going, but then, you stood next to him, leaning back against the wall. There was still an arms length between the two of you, but it was something. You’d gone to him for once.

“You’ll think I’m full of myself if I tell you,” he teased lightly, which made you roll your eyes.

“Maybe I already think that, so just tell me,” you insisted.

The comment made him falter.

“Best in the class,” he divulged.

You almost looked impressed. “Good for you.”

The door opened.

“Y/N L/N, you’re up.”

“Wish me luck,” you said under your breath before following Featherly in.

“Good luck.”

Coriolanus waited for you, just like before. He tapped his foot. The professor didn’t actually go over the answers, he just told you the grade. You’d have no way of knowing what he did for you, but he’d be there to share in your excitement when you discovered how well you’d done.

Or, how well he’d done for you.

Not long later, you and the professor exited the class together.

“Wasn’t expecting you to still be here,” Featherly addressed Coriolanus. “You should get going. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

Then, he left you and Coriolanus alone in the hall, presumably leaving the building.

“So,” Coriolanus began with a smile. “How did you do?”

“He asked if I’d been studying with you. Apparently we had all the same answers,” you told him, crossing your arms. “Except when I asked him to show me my exam—which I did great on, apparently—I saw answers circled that weren’t mine.”

Coriolanus hadn’t expected you to find out so quickly, but a part of him was relieved you did. It meant he got to take credit, and he could show you that he really did want the best for you.

Or, he could always lie.

“You weren scared of failing,” he finally admitted. He offered a sympathetic smile. “So I helped.”

“No, you cheated!” you accused, causing his eyes to go wide. “You’ve implicated us both. If anyone finds out…”

“Don’t be so loud,” he hissed out in a whisper, stepping closer to you. The professor could still be in the building. He doubted anyone else would be. “I just wanted to help you, okay? You needed it, so I—“

“You helped, I get it. But I didn’t ask you to do that for me, Coriolanus. I have never asked you to do anything for me,” you sneered, somewhere between offended and betrayed.

He saw the way you scanned his face—his eyes. The pleading was beginning to seep through.

A wave of realization washed over you before he even opened his mouth.

“You didn’t have to ask me to,” Coriolanus said meaningfully, stepping closer to you. “I wanted to. I wanted to help you.”

You back hit the wall. The hallway was so empty it seemed as if the subtle sound still echoed.

“I’d do anything for you, don’t you get that?”

The sound of a large door closing carried from a distance.

Coriolanus reached for your face, wishing he could take away the concern that riddled your expression. Instead, he brushed a stray piece of hair from your face.

You swallowed. Why did you look so nervous around him? You were friends now, weren’t you? You never looked scared around anyone else. Why him? Why now? His own questions frustrated him.

“We’re not supposed to be on campus after hours,” you said calmly. It was the same tone you used when you first described your indifference to him. Coriolanus thought about that moment a lot. “Featherly already left. We should leave before we get caught.”

The corners of his lips twitched down.

“We’re still talking, though, aren’t we?”

You let out a shallow breath. You had no reason to look as scared as you did.

“I think we’re done.”

Coriolanus thought back to his cousin’s advice. He could’ve followed it better if she’d written it down, perchance.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” Coriolanus pondered, smiling to himself at the sight of you. “You caught my eye from the beginning and I—I couldn’t figure out why you wanted nothing to do with me.” You watched him carefully. He wondered if you could sense the dejectedness brewing. “Did you see something in me? Is that it?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted under your breath. “People like you, and you’ve been making an effort to be my friend, so I don’t know what told me to stay away from you, but something did. I’ve tried to ignore it, but I still…” you swallowed. “I don’t know.”

The confession should’ve been a relief. That’s what he imagined it would be. That you would admit the truth, and he could fix whatever misconceptions you had.

Coriolanus did not know what to do with “I don’t know”.

Staring down at you, Coriolanus noticed your back was against the wall. Literally. He hadn’t meant to put you there, but he had.

It got you to listen, didn’t it? He’d gotten an answer?

“Can we start over?” Coriolanus suggested, even throwing in a smile that would charm most anyone. It worked on you before. “We can forget all this mess.”

You blinked. You didn’t believe him.

For most people, he wouldn’t simply let numerous slights go, but for you, if it would fix whatever this was, if it meant the two of you could have a real chance, then he’d overcome his instincts—old and new.

“I’m afraid my memory is too good for that,” you finally said, looking up at him with defiance.

Defying what, was the question. It wasn’t as if you were enemies.

The thought made his jaw clench. He let out a laugh that was sharp. It lacked any sense of humor.

“Why can’t you just accept my apology?”

Your brows arched up, questioning him.

“That was supposed to be an apology?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “But it’s not as if I owe you one.”

“I never said you did. I never said anything. You took it upon yourself to insert yourself into my life and now you are not happy with your place in it. You’ve overstepped, and you need to let me leave.”

Coriolanus frowned.

“You act like I’m keeping you here by force.”

You look up at him, silently telling him you believed he was.

That frustrated him further.

In an act that jarred even him, Coriolanus pressed his palms against your shoulders and pushed you back against the wall when you tried to move away.

“This is force,” he declared sternly, leaning down, making you maintain his gaze.

Everyone liked control, but he hadn’t used it in such a physical way before. It thrilled him in an odd way.

“Get your hands off me.”

“Why should I? You already think so poorly of me, why not let you be right?”

You moved again then, trying to catch him off guard and squirm away. But Coriolanus was quick to shove you back against the wall.

“We can still start over. If you would give me a chance, I think we can be good together.”

He let one hand rise to rest on your cheek. Your skin was so smooth. He inhaled deeply, resolve slipping further as his eyes fell to your lips.

If Coriolanus could just prove it to you, he was sure you’d understand what he meant.

He leaned in cautiously, gauging your reaction. You didn’t flinch away. You tilted your chin up, even. That familiar skip of his heart returned.

Coriolanus’s lips only just brushed against yours before you reacted. He had a second of relief before you brought your knee up, jabbing him in the lower stomach, although he doubted that was where you were aiming. It was still enough of a shock to throw him off his game. He stumbled back, and in a flash, you were gone. You were running down the hall—trying to get away from him, like usual.

Only this time, he didn’t feel like letting you go.

Something he had slowly come to learn was when he wanted something, it wasn’t just going to be handed to him. Vying for the Plinth Prize highlighted that, alongside his childhood.

He caught you easily, hand snapping out like a snake to grip your arm and yank you back to him. You collided with his chest. It was like you weren’t even trying. Not really. Just toying with him.

“Am I a game to you?” Coriolanus hissed into your ear, wrapping you in his arms. “Something for you to play?”

“I haven’t done anything to you! I hardly even know you!” you defended, but it just made him hold you tighter.

“I know you,” he implored, fighting against your squirming. He lost balance and when you fell to the ground, you took him with you. Coriolanus got you onto your back, sitting on your thighs, gripping your wrists in his hands to keep you from swinging at him. You let out panicked breaths, staring up at him. “I know more than you think.”

Something about the position made the front of his pants begin to feel constricting.

“Coriolanus, you’re frightening me,” you enunciated, as if trying to reason with him.

“I’m not being unreasonable,” Coriolanus grit out, working to maintain his composure.

“What?” you questioned, brows pinching together, a deep frown on your face. Confused and scared. Coriolanus used to feel that way. “Just let me go.”

“And then what? You go back to ignoring me? No I can’t… I can’t go back to that. If you just give me a chance I can show you.”

Coriolanus didn’t know what happened next.

Tigris told him it was like he left his own head, sometimes. She said he’d get so caught up, he wouldn’t notice things. At the time he had laughed. If anyone stayed aware, it was him.

It wasn’t that he left his head, but got lost in it. Lost in his own inner monologue to realize what he was doing.

In this case, what he’d done.

Far too busy thinking of ways to convey everything he wanted to say to you, how to make you understand, visualizing your reaction, he’d already acted.

Maybe there were two people living in his mind. One with a conscience, one without. Or perhaps that was just something he used to justify his less than decent actions. An excuse. He’d never let himself know the truth. Not really. Not yet.

What he did know was what he could see. You, beneath him, clothes torn from your body. The only thing left was a shirt. Too much effort, apparently. Your wrists were snatched together in one of his hands.

The power stirred something within him.

One might say he was out of excuses when he reached for the zipper of his pants, but no one else was here, were they?

Your mouth was moving. Speaking. Maybe even yelling. Looking at him, looking around the room. He couldn’t hear a sound but his own heart thumping in his ears paired with his own eager breaths. Was that normal?

He moved, wedging himself between your legs, nudging them apart to make room for himself.

“It’s just us,” Coriolanus spoke, loud enough to hear himself. You flinched. “No one’s here.”

He gripped himself, stroking his cock, lining himself up with your entrance. His patience was running incredibly thin.

Tears pricked in your eyes. You stopped struggling at his words, accepting it for what it was. Good.

“Why are you doing this?”

He heard your voice clearly, that time, despite the strain in your tone.

Coriolanus observed you carefully, squeezing your wrists together in one hand and lovingly caressing your hip with the other.

He finally understood the answer you’d given before. He found it fitting now.

“I don’t know.”

To him, it was the truth.

The moment Coriolanus pressed himself inside of you, it was as if the rest of the world disappeared. After so long of wanting you in every way, shape, or form, this was long overdue.

“You’re perfect for me,” he breathed out. Coriolanus gave a shove of his hips, his gaze falling to your mouth as an unwilling yelp slipped out. “I knew you would be.”

You were tight, too tight, even. Unwelcoming. Yet still, you felt like home.

His hand—the one that was on your hip—drifted between your legs. He found your clit, running his thumb in small circles, trying to ease the pressure you must’ve been feeling.

Coriolanus did not want to hurt you.

He looked into unfocused eyes. Where were you? Were you trying to be somewhere else?

He let your hands go. You didn’t move to slap him or shove him or anything. You were learning.

He leaned over you more, reaching for you face with his now free hand, and ran his thumb over your cheek, encouraging your gaze to actually meet his. He smiled softly when you did. You got more beautiful every second he looked at you. It was even better when he could see you were present.

Coriolanus found himself unable to resist it, so he gave into the urge to press his lips to yours. A real kiss, this time.

Your lips were softer than he’d imagined. You made a noise when his tongue tasted your mouth. His kiss was hungry—aggressive, even. But he’d waited so long he didn’t know how to contain himself.

Your body reacted to his touch. Your bent knees inched up his hips to accommodate him, and your walls were becoming slick, accepting the invasion.

A deep moan escaped him, cock throbbing inside you at the feel. The sound was muffled by his lips pressed to yours, but he still felt vulnerable, giving himself to you in this way.

Coriolanus pulled back from the kiss, only to rest his forehead against yours and breathe out a small puff of air from his lips.

“I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want you. Not even the Plinth Prize,” he confessed in a whisper.

“What’s the difference?” You finally spoke, voice wavering. “You have to earn the prize?” The accusing tone felt like a slap.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Coriolanus muttered, eyes boring into yours. “You’ll see.”

He gave you one more searing kiss before moving his hips.

A gasp that morphed into a moan clawed its way up your throat. The sound was like music to his ears. He wanted to hear it again.

He began to move more consistently, finding a pace that suited him. Rough enough to keep you present, but not so harsh as to hurt you. He wanted you to enjoy yourself, even if you were trying to avoid it.

Still figuring you out, Coriolanus found your sweet spot with a hard thrust, causing you to wince. Instinctively, you tried to push him away, just like you had before, not wanting to surrender.

You stilled when you felt his hand. He hardly realized how he’d reacted until he felt your throat bob beneath his palm.

Coriolanus retracted his hand, like your skin and shot a volt through him. His movements slowed to a stop.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized earnestly, brushing the hand through your hair gently. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Your chest heaved as you breathed shaky breaths through your nose. Your lips pressed together in a line.

You weren’t going to dignify him with a response. In a way, he understood.

Coriolanus locked his arms under your body and in a surge of strength, pulled you from the ground and into his lap. He hugged you against him, nuzzling his face into your neck.

“Forgive me,” he requested softly.

You shifted in his lap, adjusting yourself to find comfort in the new position. You did not speak.

He slammed his hips up, forcing a gasp from your lips. That was something, wasn’t it?

You pulled back, and he did it again. And again. And again.

You fell against him, jarred by the change in his movements as he thrust into you. He liked it, feeling you in his lap, your chest against his, leaving you no choice but to hold onto him.

His lips latched onto the skin of your neck as he moved, barring his teeth and nipping the skin. You reacted as if he were venomous, straining away from him, but he’d left his mark.

You could pretend all you wanted that you didn’t like him, but Coriolanus could feel your body reacting to his. He could feel the way your walls squeezed around him, drawing him in, and how your body quivered as he pushed you closer to your edge.

“Just let go,” Coriolanus whispered, holding you tighter. He cradled the back of your head against him as he moved inside of you. Soothing and rough at the same time. “It’s okay, I know you want to.”

“Shut up,” you hissed into his neck, hands finding his chest.

Were you really going to try and get away from him? It was a bit late for that.

Coriolanus moved his hand between your bodies, finding your clit with the pad of his thumb, speeding along the process.

“What was that?” he taunted, feeling your legs start to shake.

A moan tore from your throat as you came around him, body slumping against his as he shoved himself deeper inside you. He wanted to feel your body tensed around him.

“That’s it,” he drawled, pressing his face to the side of your head. He inhaled, letting your scent flood him. Every sense was overwhelmed by you and if anything, it made him hunger for even more.

You became more pliable in your daze, going easily when Coriolanus laid you back down on the cold ground. He planted one hand on the ground near your head, where he held most of his weight, while the other rested on the base of your neck. Not squeezing, just resting. Reminding you of before.

Now that he’d taken care of you, made you realize the pleasure he could inflict upon you, it was his turn. Coriolanus was relentless with the thrust of his cock inside you, stretching you around him, groaning with nearly every movement. You felt so good, he never wanted to leave the warmth of your body.

You shifted beneath him, squirming as the intense feeling. Coriolanus was tempted to drag it out, to watch your face as the pleasure became too much for you to handle.

If it wasn’t for the desire to fill you, to claim you, he would’ve. There would be more times after this, he’d ensure it. He didn’t own a lot, but he treasured the things that he did.

“I can’t let you go, not now.” He meant to keep it inside his head, but the words spilled out. “You’re the only thing I want.”

At that moment, it was true.

Coriolanus gave one final shove of his hips before spilling inside of you. It crashed over him in an unexpected wave. His whole body shivered with pleasure at the feel of your body milking him. You wanted him. Your denial would eventually fade. He was sure of it.

Coriolanus let out a heavy sigh of your name as he watched your face. You’d turned your head, wincing as he filled you to the brim.

“Hey,” Coriolanus said when he finished, voice low. He ran a delicate hand over your face, persuading you to open your eyes. “We’re okay.”

As much as he didn’t want to, Coriolanus withdrew from you. You’d given up fighting against him, so he took the opportunity to help you redress. You were so pliant, it was like dressing a doll.

You rested your arms on your knees when he made you sit up. He wasn’t keeping you from moving from the floor, you chose not to.

Coriolanus watched you cautiously, searching for the same fire in you before, trying to figure out if he’d somehow snuffed it out.

There was a nagging in his gut. It was only for a brief second, but his confidence wavered.

“Can you talk to me?” he pressed, laying a hand on your shoulder and he knelt across from you, pants readjusted.

It was as if nothing happened, but you both knew that was untrue.

“Why should I?” You wrinkled your nose as you focused on the ground.

“Because, I care about you,” Coriolanus replied without thought, gaze softening. “I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I don’t think you care for me,” you said in a tone so hushed, Coriolanus wasn’t sure if you even meant for him to hear. Then, you met his eyes. The fire had only been dulled, not put out. “I think you’re a liar, Coriolanus Snow.”

His hands fell to clasp yours. He brought one to his lips, pressing a small kiss to the back of your palm. You eyed him as if he were some sort of predator, but he managed a smile nonetheless.

“Let me prove it to you, and you’ll come to learn you’ve been wrong about me all along.”

[astonmartinii]

other side of the moon: interlude - a tango in barcelona | formula one imagine

interlude: a tango in barcelona

pairing: fem retired formula one driver reader x ??? fem retired formula one driver reader x platonic!kimi antonelli

dancing around her teammate on and off track, y/n looks to boogie her troubles away.

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR | PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

may 2020, spain.

life at mclaren hadn’t started the way y/n had hoped. the days were long and surprisingly quiet, the latter mostly due to her teammate and his aversion to acknowledging her existence. she was tired already this weekend and they hadn’t even raced yet.

the barcelona heat was making her race suit stick to her already just walking to the grid for the national anthem. “it’s hot as balls” y/n whined as she slipped between max and george while the choir set up ahead of them.

“oh my sweet summer child, we haven’t even gotten to singapore yet,” max said taking off his ice vest and fastening it to y/n.

“ugh don’t remind me,” y/n wiped more sweat off of her brow, “i think singapore might kill me.”

george laughed, moving his umbrella to the left so it covered y/n as well, “singapore is a baptism by fire, but you’ve done well so far this season so i don’t think you’ll have too hard a time.”

y/n smiled up at the taller brit, “thanks georgie, maybe if you’re such an expert in singapore you’ll be able to catch me.” she punctuated it with a wink, george nearly dropping the umbrella in response.

“do you mind? you nearly took my eye out with this thing!” max hissed at george, flicking the umbrella. george lifted the umbrella to get it out of eye range of the dutchman, who in turn saw it as an invitation to seek refuge in the shade.

“no way verstappen, this umbrella is for pretty people only,” george grabbed y/n’s hand and moved them a couple steps away.

“if that was so, only y/n would be allowed under it beanstalk.”

“if my height is the only thing you can think to insult me about, i can live.”

“oh believe me there’s a lot more stored up, i just wouldn’t want to give you any inspiration for when you take out a backmarker and blame everyone but yourself.”

y/n sighed dramatically, “already? i thought you two were going to cool it down this season. i don’t even understand how you have a rivalry, you’re nowhere near him on track george…” george let out a scandalised squeal, “oh my bad george, you know what i meant.”

“i think what y/n means is that she doesn’t rate you ‘mr saturday’”.

as george went to bite back but the loud horns of the national anthem cut their quarrel off early. y/n fought to keep her laugh in throughout the national anthem, seeing george seething in her peripheral vision. he was so easy to rattle it was practically a pastime of half the grid at this point.

before george could get a dig back in, y/n and max were back in deep conversation, discussing their approach to turn two with just minutes until the formation lap. he yearned to be the one that y/n spilled her tips, tricks and secrets to but like most of his life, the dutchman had beaten him to that honour. now he knew how lando felt.

lando, george and alex had bonded long before 2018, but their three-way title fight in formula two brought them closer rather than forcing them apart. george cherished that friendship, he found it invaluable to have two of his closest friends with him as they entered the cutthroat world of formula one - he just wished he could’ve been that person for y/n.

lando didn’t often articulate it well, but george understood his curly-haired friend’s struggles. lando had gushed all off season about having y/n as his teammate, chatting animatedly about potential roadtrips, shared flights and sleepovers before it was all snuffed out in a moment. george always suspected that lando felt more about their friend than he let on (or thought he let on). once he had thought it was a victim of circumstance, teenage boys discovering what these new hormones were doing to their body did tend to fixate on the one girl in their midst. but as they grew up, that puppy love crush didn’t seem to wain, not that anyone else around them seemed to notice.

a single comment from one max verstappen crushed that. a late night discord call between the rookie trio and max had naturally seen the topic of y/n arise. lando, as usual, started to wax lyrical about the season ahead, with his vision for their teammate relationship constructed in his head.

“mate, we’ve already started.”

“huh?” lando’s voice stuttered over the call, he cleared his throat, “what do you mean?”

“y/n and i,” max continued, “we’ve already started doing sim runs together, watching onboards and all that jazz.” the dutchman said it so casually, unaware of lando’s imminent heartbreak - george’s too, he just hid it better.

“but why? i’m going to be her teammate, not you? why would she even use your sim, she’s racing for mclaren next year not red bull.”

not noticing the path they were hurtling down, max dug his foot in, “no offence lando, but if y/n wants my tips, i’m going to give it to her. it’s noble for you to want to look out for her, but realistically what tips could you give her that are better than mine… i am the only one here who has actually won a race.”

alex loudly coughed, stopping max before he could continue. “it’s getting late, maybe we should call it a night?”

“it’s nine o’clock?” max questioned.

“no, i’m tired,” lando let out an undoubtedly fake yawn, “i think it’s time for bed.”

“okay suit yourselves,” max said, going back to his iracing, “lando, don’t take it too personally that she chose me. we’ve been friends for so long, we don’t know anything but each other.”

“i’ve known her just as long as you!”

it was starting to get a little heated and despite alex and george trying to interject, the two kept going.

“you may have known her just as long, but you don’t know her. we’ve been there for each other at our lowest and our highest. it’s not a competition. i honestly hope she comes to you next season, i don’t trust your team as far i can throw them. it will be good to have someone in her corner.”

“oh well if you’re that magnificent then why can’t you be her white knight all the way from red bull, huh?”

“you know what lando, we’ll talk about this again once you’ve shaken off this weird primal urge you have to ‘claim’ her. a piece of advice, she won’t like that.”

“oh you insufferable little shit-”

“goodbye everyone!” alex interjected, kicking max out of the call.

“what the fuck was that lando?”

“you heard him, posterising, peacocking and then having the gall to say that i’m being territorial over y/n.”

george sighed, his affection for the same girl was going to have to be buried even deeper after this. “max wasn’t peacocking about y/n, lando. if anything he was showing off his wins rather than her,” alex tried to reason.

“no! he can’t let us - can’t let me have anything. it’s always been this way and with y/n it’s like he knows deep down that i want her so he has to have her instead. he’s clinging on to her and shoving it in my face - it’s not my fault he has a shit dad and he attached himself to her because she was the only one not afraid of him - so why am i being punished for it?”

lando’s outburst rendered alex and george silent. the older one was horrified to say the least, the season hadn’t even started and lando’s jealousy was already out of hand.

“lando, that was too far…” alex said softly.

“no! he thinks that because he has a shitty sob story that he can just claim her? she’s her own person!”

“right. i’m going to stop you there before you say something that’ll make me hate you for real. you need to get over what ever the fuck this is so you can be a normal fucking human being next season,” alex tried to reason with lando.

“i am in love with her!”

“are you? or are you in love with the thought of what could happen? have you actually stopped and wondered whether y/n likes you or even likes men? for someone so protective over her, you haven’t considered her feelings too much.”

lando has the foresight to look a little guilty. george stayed silent, he knows alex is suspicious of him too, but that can of worms can wait until another day.

“you need to get a life and calm down. max is one of your best friends and i know deep down you didn’t mean a word you said tonight but you need to get a grip before you say any of that in front of him or y/n because i’m sorry but i won’t be stopping them if they try to hit you.”

lando doesn’t say anything, but the guilty look on his face says enough.

“goodnight.”

the call ended there and was never brought up again. george watched y/n waltz back towards the mclaren garage, a big gap between her and lando. there had been no more outbursts since that night but if what george overheard from daniel, lando had still managed to completely screw himself. was george that angry at that news? not really.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

the race was pretty uneventful, barcelona usually was. y/n started in sixth and managed to pip charles to fifth after ferrari screwed up his pitstop once again. despite her deep love for sangria, y/n didn’t really feel like leaving her hotel room after she had scrubbed all of the sweat and grime off in the shower.

she was pleased with her points haul, smiling to herself in debrief as they analysed lando’s first lap incident with pierre gasly that lando just insisted was no fault of his own…

her ring tone invaded her peaceful evening, the name ‘albono’ flashing up on her phone. pressing accept,

“how can i help you on this fine evening, mr albon?”

“well i find myself in this fine dancing establishment, looked around and thought it was crying out for a little y/n y/ln action.”

“dancing you say?”

“i’m 100% serious, sebastian of all people has dragged also to a bar where they’re attempting to teach us the tango…”

“oh i love the tango! it’s my favourite dance on strictly…”

“so what i’m hearing is that i should get a tequila sunrise in preparation for your arrival?”

y/n sighed, “yes you may.”

“score! i’ll send you the address and an uber. see you soon.”

so there goes her quiet night in, but who wouldn’t love the chance to tango with your close friends in under the stars? and she had packed her little red number… maybe the y/n who packed that suitcase all those days knew something current y/n didn’t.

y/n elected to skip most of her makeup routine, her skin sensitive from all the sweat in her balaclava, swiping on some mascara, lip gloss and a healthy dose of blush. like alex said, the uber was waiting for her outside the lobby.

the outside of the bar looked closer to a college dive bar than somewhere you’d expect to find a group of formula one drivers, but she suspects that’s why sebastian chose it.

“buenes noches senorita,” fernando alonso gave her a spin on entry.

“gracias nando,” she curtsied in front of the spaniard, drawing a laugh out of the elder driver, “i am sorry to cut this short, but i am tired and i fear i have already promised my one dance to another.”

“how will i ever recover?”

“i think you’ll find a way old man.”

“you wound me, but alex is waiting for you by the bar.”

y/n made her way through the bar, spotting several drivers caught up in their dancing lessons from the locals. she tapped alex on the shoulder, with the tall driver turning, wielding her tequila sunrise.

“nice of you to turn up at last,” alex teased, handing her the drink.

“i’ll have you know i was snuggled up ready for some netflix action before you called.”

“you came all this way for a dance with little ol’ me?”

“of course, alex. i have missed you.”

“i have missed you too, the red bull stuff is piling up and i have been neglecting my big brother duties, i’m sorry. not that it seems to be effecting your rookie season too much.”

“don’t worry about me alex, i’m proud of you and what you’re doing at red bull, even if they’re being unreasonably hard on you.”

alex led her to the middle of the dance floor and put one hand on her hip, the other on her shoulder. they started to move to the music,

“i just miss when it was more laidback. i barely have time to stop between sim sessions and media duties and performance meetings. i miss sitting in your driver room laughing at your instagram private messages and watching stupid adam sandler movies.”

alex spun her and as she came back to him she said, “we can still do that alex! you don’t have to be alone, we can still watch adam sandler movies and ignore calls from helmut.”

alex smiled at her as the music slowed down.

“i wish i was here for you more in your rookie season,” alex laments but y/n interjects, “it’s only the fourth race. you’re focused on you and i wouldn’t want anything else. there’s time for us to find our way back to each other. you're a brother to me, like blood, there’s nothing that can destroy that bond.”

“i’m sorry lando is being a prick.”

“it is what it is.”

“no it’s not. we had each other last year, he should be there for you.”

“it’s whatever, i have max, i have you, i’ll survive.”

the music came to an end. the two embraced but when they broke apart y/n started heading for the exit, picking up max on the way through, the dutchman having already booked them an uber. y/n turned and waved to alex, she meant it when she said it was just one dance. she made a ‘call me sign’ and mouthed ‘adam sandler’ before rushing out of the bar with max.

alex turned and made his way to george who was still nursing his first drink at the bar. george didn’t respond when alex prompted him. the thai man nudged george laughing about how ‘y/n knows how to make a short and sweet appearance’ but still got nothing.

“you’re not seriously angry about a tango are you george?”

“no.”

“you’re a terrible liar,” alex whispered, “not as bad as lando but terrible nonetheless.”

“at least i’m not taking it out on her like lando.”

“no, you just use max as target pratice on your dart board for shits and giggles.”

“whatever.”

“fine, deal with it how you wanna big boy, but if you turn out like lando right now, i’ll be down two best friends and up two murder charges.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

fin.

note: my first interlude! @deviltsunoda and i came up with these ideas so i could write shorter things while i have work and you guys still get fed! so enjoy this lil exploration into y/n and alex's friendship (they are so precious to me!) and why lando is being such an asshole... enjoy! the weekend should bring chapter four.

taglist: @folkloresreputation @hc-dutch @shimmermotorsport @96mcobo @eclipsedcherry @formulaal @czennieszn @gothicwidowsworld @emily-b @suns3treading @henna006 @kazgirl20 @anotherapollokid @littlegrapejuice @daemyratwst @annimausi @yawn-zi @lulu-1998 @xsilkesworld @justaf1girl @daddyslittlevillain @evans-dejong @abq654 @elizamoe133 @wierdflowerpower @t1nkerbel1 @okcurran @raizelchrysanderoctavius @skepvids @multilovebot @fernandoalonso14 @jules-kup-172 @m4xgirlie @rorabelle15 @minkyungseokie @formula1-motogpfan @peterholland04 @miureiz @freyathehuntress @lighttsoutlewis @aleatorio1234 @chaosandevelyn @blueberry648579 @dog-and-cat-person230 @fastandcurious16 @obxstiles @cosmicwintr @becca388510 @savagittariuspy

[spicy-apple-pie]

I WANNA HEAR ABOUT THE COMIC >:))))))

I did warn you…

Okay so idk if a lot of people know this, but Damian was originally given up for adoption right after he was born before his story was reconned.

So in this comic, Damian is 9 years old and in the foster system in Gotham, unknowing who his parents are. He’s never stays long in a home because he’s very aggressive. He’s smart though, so he orders a DNA testing kit to hopefully find a relative to take him. Imagine his shock when he finds out his father is Bruce Wayne.

So this 9 year old walks into WE by himself, toddles up to the secretary, and asks to see Bruce Wayne. The secretary is like “haha okay, let me help you find your parents.” And Damian is like “you can. My dad is Bruce Wayne.”

And then Tim shows up!! And he’s like, “who’s your dad?”

And Damian is suddenly really nervous and shyly passes Tim the DNA test results. Tim looks them over, and Damian thinks he’s going to get turned away. But then Tim smiles at him and asks him if he has time for a drink.

Damian basically explains his life story over a cup of hot chocolate to Tim. Tim listens and tells him that he’ll make sure Bruce sees it and gives him his number if he has any questions (Damian doesn’t have a phone). Damian gets up to throw out his cup but Tim is like “oh I can throw that out for you. Talk to you soon!”

Cut to the BatCave where Bruce is staring at the DNA test results. Showing him and Talia as the parents. Tim stands behind him. “I doubled and tripled checked.” He says. “Not to mention he’s the spitting image of you.” He mumbles under his breath, knowing that Bruce isn’t in the mood for jokes right now. Alfred places some Tylenol beside Bruce using his butler powers to sense his on coming headache.

“And you said he walked into the lobby by self?” Bruce asked.

“Yeah, he said he took the bus.”

“Oh dear,” Alfred comments, “that is certainly not safe for a boy his age in Gotham. I wonder if his social worker knows about that…”

So the next morning, Damian finds that he’s out of custody from his foster parents. And he’s like “but I didn’t do anything this time!” And his social workers like “no, they’re getting charged with child endangerment. We already have a place lined up for you.”

Lo and behold, his new foster home is Wayne Manor. And he meets Bruce for the first time and he’s really nervous. And Bruce has to turn away because he almost starts crying. And Damian asks Alfred if he did something wrong and Alfred’s like “no, he’s just very happy to see you.”

And that’s basically it. But I also have this idea of how he discovers his Dad is Batman.

He comes downstairs in the early morning for a snack before going back to sleep to find Red Hood raiding their fridge. He runs to Bruce and he’s freaking because fucking RED HOOD broke into their house.

And Bruce groans and is mildly annoyed about and Damian is like “???? Does this happen often????” Bruce brings him downstairs and Red Hood is still there, but making a grilled cheese with his helmet off.

“Jay, how many times do we need to tell you know masks in the house?”

“I dunno. How many fucking children are you going to adopt?” He gestures to Damian hiding behind Bruce.

“He doesn’t know yet, Jay. I was going to wait until he was more comfortable.”

Jason is a little sheepish because he did give the kid a bit of a fright, so he turns around to apologize and introduce himself. And instantly is like “holy shit, that’s a bio kid.”

“Language, Jay…”

“Don’t language me, where the fuck did he come from???”

“What is happening??!!” Damian finally yells.

And then Bruce shows him the BatCave.

I did warn you I’d talk your ear off. I came up with this circa. 2018 - 2019 but I feel like I finally have the skill to draw it. And I honestly fell in love with it again, so I might lol.

Edit: I did it

[harmoonix]

ᨵׁׅᝯׁꫀׁׅܻɑׁׅ֮ꪀׁׅ꯱ׁׅ֒ꪱׁׅժׁׅ݊ꫀׁׅܻ

(Astrology Observations)

- Aquarius Risings are good at communicating in love thanks to their Virgo/Leo axis of 7th and 8th house signs, they may also crave a lot of physical touch

- Aqua/Scorpio/Capricorn Risings can have Sirene eyes, and if you have Pluto - Asc aspects you have the same thing

- Virgo/Cancer and Taurus Risings on the other side can have doe/deer eyes shape, they really look like Bambie (the deer)

- Sun aspecting Chiron natives happens to have other people throwing their insecurities on them, like your friend feels insecure and immediately throws that energy on you

- Chiron in the 7th house is both a curse and a blessing, sometimes you met hurt people already sometimes you're the one who hurts or heals them

- Chiron in the 12th house can show your subconscious is in pain, and can mostly be from your past life, does it happens to have a lot of deja-vu?

- Mercury in the 7th house are so good at talking and expressing their love language. I really love how comfortable they can get around people

- Mars in the 11th house sometimes creates a "love-hate relationship" between you and your friends, even conflicts can rise up

- Venus in Aquarius Degrees (11°, 23°) can really have an outstanding fashion style because of the uniqueness degrees of Aquarius energy

- Mercury at 8°, 20° degrees they can literally talk about every taboo topics without any fear of judgement. Their talk is freely open to everything

- Pisces Sun/Venus/Moons/Rising can get influenced more easier than others and I can say is that because of their neptunian energy

- Jupiter Dominant natives are wise from a young age, they perceive things differently than other people. They're also very lucky in their life path

- Venus in Fire Signs loves to be chased in love. Like that's a way to show you're interested in them, sometimes they can play hard to get too

- Earth Moons are the most stable people I know both physically and mentally, their are so strong in both things but sometimes they can have a hard time to balance those things out

- The Ethereal energy of a Virgo Moon is so naturally beautiful, they are the best supporters of people. So charming, calm and kind

- Uranus in the 2nd house can end up buying things they never expected before, for example you never expect to buy a phone you liked before

- Venus conjunct Pluto is so "Obsessed" vibes, people get so obsessed with them very easily, and you know they are damn loyal to you

- Pisces Moons & Moon in the 12th house have an energy like they are sometimes aware of what happens around them and sometimes they are not

- Neptune & Jupiter/Uranus in the 12th house are so spiritually connected with their subconscious, they can sense entities and often experience goosebumps (Spirit Signal)

- South Node in the 9th house can indicate that in a past life you gave your life for religion/God/etc.. and you need to focus more on yourself in this one especially at expressing yourself

- Sun & Lilith aspects are the most rebellious people you'll met, but they also have a side magnetism to them that makes people to like them

- Guys imagine having a man who wants a traditional wife/spouse but you don't have any 4th house placements like 👁️👄👁️ (Traditional guys scare the sht out of me like go away)

- Sagittarius Sun/Moon/Rising/Mars natives are so wild. Like they can be the wildest people you'll met through your life and do the most craziest things with

- If you have an empty 7th house just look at its ruler everytime you want to discover more about your future spouse (specific person)

For example if you have 7H in Taurus look at your Venus. 7H in Aquarius look at both Saturn and Uranus as your 7th house rulers

- Mars at Virgo Degrees (6°. 18°) have a good looking/attractive waist. Virgo rules upon that body part and it tells you about your attractiveness

- This is just between us but Mercury - Pluto aspects can be good at lying, if someone has prominent or strong aspects between those they are good liars

- Saturn in the 6th house natives are both productive and tired in the same way. Like you try to be productive or to work and suddenly you get tired.. damn

- I have Saturn quincunx Venus and honestly the energy it feels like having Saturn opposite Venus is just so hard sometimes to fall in love especially if you have questions about a specific person

- Asteroid Juno (3) sextile/trine/conjunct Mars are looking for a really hot, fierce, sparkling relationship like they want everything that's intense

- My asteroid Groom (5129) is at 1° (Aries Degrees family, 1°, 13°, 25°) and I read more about those degrees and I find that the spouse can have some dominant, confident, powerful, leader traits basically describing an Aries

- 2nd house placements are always hungry or thinking about food. Especially Sun/Moon/Venus in the 2nd house are really power hungry

- Sometimes Pluto/Neptune in the 6th house can indicate problems with health and that you'll need to prioritize your health

- Moon in the 8th house can indicate that in general the women in your family could've have suffered a lot, like your mother/grandmother/grand-grand mother etc..

- Water signs in the 5th house can indicate a passion/talent towards swimming/surfing 🌊

- Sagittarius/Jupiter in the 11th house can indicate that you make friends easily or just connecting with people easily

- In the vedic chart Chitra is my Nakshatra (2nd Pada) if you have the same star in the vedic chart is like a combination between the materialistic and spiritual world and you need to find a balance in between (What I love about this is that Chitra's symbol is a shell 🐚 and I love shells with all my life)

- Neptune in the 7th house natives can create an illusion about their partners, like creating something that is not real about them, sometimes even fake scenarios

- Gosh people with the 10th house placements really focus mostly in their lives on their career/job/career path like this is so important for them. They really want to succeed

- Venus conjunct Mars or Venus and Mars in the same house makes the native to more passionate towards the lovers in their lives, they're full of surprises

- Neptune square/opposite Moon cannot be aware of their spiritual side or aware of their intuition, but they are so powerful when they search more about it

- Lilith in Water Signs really have beautiful eyes, you will get lost in their ocean eyes 👀, just like a sirene in her natural habitat

With all the love and peace have a good day today

🐚 Harmoonix 🐚

[baambied]

𝒀𝑶𝑼'𝑹𝑬 𝑵𝑶 𝑮𝑶𝑶𝑫 𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝑴𝑬, 𝑩𝑼𝑻 𝑩𝑨𝑩𝒀 𝑰 𝑾𝑨𝑵𝑻 𝒀𝑶𝑼. . . .

𝑽𝑨𝑴𝑷𝑰𝑹𝑬 / 𝑹𝑶𝑪𝑲𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹 𝑺𝑬𝑽𝑰𝑲𝑨

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔/𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒔

cw nsfw blood gore manipulation death/killing headcannon with plot blood sucking/eating vulgar language drunk man bothers reader possessive!sevika hot makeout session finger sucking tension yearning

here....sevika is loosley inspired by 𝑳𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒕 𝒅𝒆 𝑳𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒕

vampire/rockstar!sevika ✗ human!femreader

m.list

𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆!𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 - who had achieved immortality in the early 1700s, at the age of 34 in france . . . the person who made her happen to have the most ancient blood known to all vampires, that blood now in her making her stronger, faster, more advanced than any other vampire.

𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆!𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 - who . . even though being alive for 100s of years, moving from city to city, she still has that french accent laced in her voice, making her even more captivating to humans other than her appearance.

𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆!𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 - who slowly discovers how she is capable of more other than advanced strength and fast speed. . . learning how mortals were below her kind, learning how much power she had over the human mind. . if sevika wanted to, she could compel a whole group of humans and use them as mindless puppets.

𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆!𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 - who learned how to control her thirst around humans, which is something lots of vampires have a hard time doing, took her years to accomplish this.. but she can't lie. . she'd slip up sometimes .. draining the blood of tons of humans in her pastime.

𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆!𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 - who went on a killing rampage in the 1700s after she was turned, letting out any anger, disgust,disbelief she held against herself for her new life, draining almost any human in sight mainly targeting ones who evil, who have done evil things.

acting on impulse and personal desire for blood. In her early vampire nature, she saw these acts as a thrill, viewing it as a natural part of her existence of a vampire.

𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆!𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 - who doesn't have a coven and prefers to wander, moving from place to place, meeting new and different people, learning new languages.

𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆!𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 - who always had a passion for music, i mean, she watched how music drastically changed over time. . . how it became more improved. it fascinated her how something so beautiful could get even better...sure she loved the jazz era in the later 1900s, but she also loved the new era sounds too.

𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆!𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 - who learned how to play every instrument in the book during her 100 years of walking on this earth

𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆!𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 - who is now living in the 1990s. .a drummer in a popular rock band.

𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆!𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 - who loves the feeling of being on stage, the feeling of the stage lights beaming on her cold skin, hearing the cheers from the crowds - the women cheering, women who happens to have the hots for the buff, muscular, pretty looking drummer. . .screaming her name 'sevika! sevika!' like a prayer out of a bible. . . she needed this no - .. she yearned for this.

𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆!𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 - who sometimes invited women backstage to her dressing room - calling them her personal groupies , she'd get the talking, but she never paid attention to their words or how much they loved her when in reality sevika knew they just wanted her to fuck them - not that she minded.

but she'd mainly paid attention to the thumping in their chest, their veins pulsing underneath the soft skin...she used her words...manipulate them...almost like mind control, get them thinking this whole situation wasn't real, was just a figment of their imagination- maybe even a dream before piercing her sharp fangs into the side of their neck, letting the thick blood hit her throat.

she doesn't kill them, just drinks enough to satisfy her thirst, then stopping before their heart stops beating, the women would wake up in the comfort of their own homes the next day, light-headed with no memory of last night in their brain...just the throbbing sting on the side of their neck.

𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆!𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 - who nearly loses her self-restraint on stage just by smelling your sweet scent of blood in the crowd, her silver sharp eyes immediately finding your beaming doe brown ones in the crowd of people, her eyes almost staring through you, watching your veins pulse under your skin, watching the sweat roll down your neck, hearing your fast heart thumping in your chest as your adrenaline was high by the atmosphere of the concert...

if it weren't for you suddenly going to the bathroom, she would have drained you right there in the crowd in front of all these human eyes.

𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆!𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 - accidently slips up and sucks a stage manager dry the same night, just so she can soothe the ache in her throat.

𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆!𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 - who thinks she doesn't have to see you anymore after the night - smell you anymore. . . . but oh boy, she was wrong.

𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆!𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 - who is shocked when you end up being the groups new stylist, with hair and clothing.

𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆!𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 - who won't let you touch or dress her - or even fix her hair and clothes even though you're supposed to, and that's what you were hired to do. .

𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆!𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 - who ignores you for the first 4 weeks - staying away from you like you were the plague that could get her sick within seconds.

𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆!𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 - who finally gets used to your sickly sweet scent enough to actually let you fix her clothes and hair.

𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆!𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 - who notices how you just couldn't keep your eyes on her glistening chest that was shown due to a few of her buttons being undone on her shirt, you're eyes even widened at the imprint of nipple piercings from under her shirt where her breast were covered - to this sevika can't help but smirk at your wandering eyes.

at this moment, you were currently fixing sevika's belts that had gone loose. . . the belt wasn't meant to hold up her pants but was there for the style instead, silver chains hanging from them so anytime she moved your hear, her dark red button up that was once closed now opened showing the middle of her chest.

even though she was sweating, it didn't look like she was out of breath. . . you noticed this, but just thought she may have good cardio or something.

but. .you couldn't help but stare at her chest, your breath catching in your throat as you saw the imprint of what seemed to be piercings on her nipples, you couldn't help but wonder how they looked without being covered.

"see something you like? mon chèrie.." you felt as if your heart leaped out your chest at her voice, her deep voice - husky tone with a french accent laced in it, that itself had you captivated by her. . you've heard she was from france, yet you've never heard her talk. . . . and my god it was so attractive.

"i - i no. . . I'm fine.." you respond with a flustered look on your face, looking up you could feel your knees buckle seeing as she was staring at you, her sharp gray eyes gazing at you causing an almost chilling ambience that made you shiver.

sevika then looked away, a huge smirk on her face as if she had just heard something that she wasn't exactly supposed to, her teeth showing as she smiled, making you catch her long canine teeth.

"une créature tellement intéressante. . ." the immortal mumbled before walking away, you stood in the same spot, confusion drenched on your face as you didn't understand her sentence - yet it still left a strange warm feeling in your stomach, a feeling that didn't feel quite comfortable, a feeling that felt good but dangerous to have at the same time.

𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆!𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 - who finds herself indulged in a conversation with you, and during this, you can't help but realize how intriguing this woman is. . .how her sentences seemed so perfect, almost as if they were rehearsed, how she tends to speak as if she is from a different timeline, anytime she'd say something in french it caused a spark in you. . . she was perfect. . .so perfect in your eyes. . so deniably perfect.

𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆!𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 - sevika, who slowly grows more comfortable around you, yet still has to ignore the urge to sank her fangs down in your neck.

𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆!𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 - who starts to feel emotions in her vampire form that hasn't been felt since she was human, it makes her grimace in distaste at the thought, the thought of being with you. . . ruining you. . . people would call her the walking devil on earth, using human blood to quench her thirst, not being able to go outside due to sunlight. .

the night holding all her secrets , shame, and guilt . . . and loneliness and the certain bloodlust urges that couldn't been seen when the night grew into a bright daylight. she was a monster. she did monstrous things. . .she couldn't be with you, someone who was way too good for this planet, to kind for their own good. she couldn't ruin that....couldn't ruin you.

𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆!𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 - who just can not keep her feelings in check, so she starts ignoring you once more like she did when you first started working, like you were the plague of the next century.

𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆!𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 - who is walking home from a pub one night, darkness surrounding the night sky, only thing heard was the steps of her shoes hitting the pavement , when suddenly her ears caught the sound of yelling nearby. . . coming from an alleyway, she slowly walks to the ally, her silver eyes looking at the scene displayed in front of her , not supirsed when she finds a drunken man bothering a women she couldn't see the face of , a sight she has seen countless of times throughout her years, she could smell the bourbon seeping through the man's skin causing her to cringe, it was truly disgusting.

she rolled up her sleeves of her white button up and walked closer, the man not yet noticing her presence...before sevika could act, she caught a whiff of a very familiar scent. . a sweet so fucking alluring scent.

once sevika realized that the woman infront for her, is, in fact, you, for some unknown reason, this sends her into a frenzy - something about seeing you useless against your will by a drunken - disgusting pig of a man made her so damn furious.

it was like she suddenly snapped . . edged with anger, those human feelings that she had buried weeks ago creeping back into her head.

within seconds, she was like the wind behind the man roughly grabbing the back of his suit and pulling him away from you and in a flash the man's body was hitting the other side of the ally wall, bricks even breaking from the building at sevika's supernatural strength.

next thing she knows, her fangs are piercing the man's throat, the feeling of an intoxicated blood entering her system. She was repulsed by his taste, yet still so sickened by his actions.

she could hear your whimpering escaping your lips, staggered breathing as you tried to regain control over it, your heart pounding rapidly in your chest, eyes widened in terror at the sight of sevika's - the woman you once viewed as flawless and the epitome of perfect was now infront of you sucking the life out of the man who followed you from a bar nearby against your will.

you didn't know whether if you were paralyzed with fear. . .or shock. . .

driven by sheer terror , not knowing what might happen next - acting out on pure fear you found yourself running down the ally way, the muscles in your calves already tired from your paralyzed stance from before, you ran and didn't look back.

𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆!𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 - who expected to see you on the news the next day explaining how you saw "the devil itself drinking the blood and eating the flesh of a human" last night. . . but surprisingly, there was nothing of that sort. Instead, the man sevika drained dry and bought to the woods was found and told to die in a freak accident with some sort of wild animal. .

𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆!𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 - who realizes you don't show up to work for 3 days straight , her silver eyes attempted to find yours like before in the crowd of mortals each time she performed those nights. . failing each time.

𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆!𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 - who wouldn't be surprised if you fled town to escape her unnatural acts. . but boy, was she surprised to see you standing in her dressing room after a show, sevika acting adrenaline and impulse she immediately told the woman she had brought with her to go away .

𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆!𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂 - who acts surprised when you confront her about what happened in that ally , you're absolutely baffled by her words. . . her pure lies of her twisting the narrative of the truth to fit her lie. . . she was lying through her teeth to you.

"please - i feel like my mind is spinning out of control i- i don't . . . know what i saw i-"

"you're right, you don't know what you saw. . . you're confused ma mie. ." sevika's voice spoke out lowly, a smooth whisper with something lingering behind it.

"b-but. . . you. .i saw you. ." you stumbled over your words, bottom lip shaking as you thought about the terrifying acts you saw that night, you weren't crazy. . . you know what you saw.

"shh shh shh. . ." sevika put a hand to her lips, mimicking a quiet action with her pointer finger that was covered in two chunky silver rings. . "mon amour please. . . you had drank alot among that night, my eyes caught you in an ally way grappling with a drunkard . . . i got him off you - saving you, that is all you need to remember." her deceptive demeanor hid her true intentions, the constant contradiction she put on you was overwhelming.

"no. . .the blood dripping down your chin, the - the look in your eyes. . the sounds" your sentence coming out in a broken whisper "you killed that man by - sucking his blood. . .I'm not crazy ... i was doubting everything - my own memories, but i know what i saw."

you were looking down, meaning you missed sevika's gaze darken at your words. . her eyes fiercely staring at you, burning through you like lava, piercing through your soul.

she had an alluring and almost hypnotic gaze.

"are you afraid." Were the only words spoken out by sevika, her sentence coming out like a demand for you to answer other than an actual question.

but. . .

were you?

as crazy it sounds, you felt a weight lift off your shoulders at her words. . . these three days you spent in your home, petrified, thinking what you saw was a figment of your own imagination, thinking you were going mad, thoughts racing so fast against eachother you couldn't even keep up.

the dressing room was filled with a heavy suffocating silence, almost eerie.

but also the tension between you and the immortal was growing thick, probably more thick than the silence around you. . .sevika leaned closer to you, her broad and buff figure towering over your shorter figure, you still hadn't looked up at her . . your height making your eyes only reach her chest, this only made sevika lean lower , her body moving forward causing you to slowly step back. . . . this process stopped when your back hit the wall of her dressing room.

she could hear your lips shakily pressing into a line, roughly gulping . . and she could practically feel the nervousness seeping out of your pours , almost as if your emotions were intact with one another, she could feel everything you were feeling in this moment.

this was new for her...

having someone else's emotions connect within her own. . .

you were unable to form a single sentence, the tension felt so thick it suffocated you like blanket, leaving you hot and sweaty.

if sevika had the pleasure of breathing again, her breath would definitely be caught in her throat when she finally saw you look up at her, she's seen many eyes before, many expressive ones filled with different colors. . but your beautiful big brown eyes catch her off guard, again something that does not happen to her often. . . she was almost bewildered at this feeling.

sevika head slowly leaned closer to you, gently resting her forehead on yours as he clenched her eyes tightly - she had never been this close to you before so the the sweet scent of your blood flowed in her nose more easily. . . the smell nearly making her go feral. .

you slightly gasped when you felt her drag her head in the crook of your neck, for second you think you hear a low animalistic guttural growl escape her throat, her nose sniffing you as if you were some sort of food for her dinner. . .

her hands reaching beside you on the wall, she was almost shaking. . . you were in such a vulnerable position, she could sink her teeth into your skin if she desired to. . . just thinking about that made her hands clench, which they did, into the hard - blue painted wall causing a loud crushing noise to enter your ears.

"i can still smell him on you. . .his vulgar stench" sevika growled , her voice was deeper, smooth, and almost seductive, making you close your eyes, parting your mouth, letting out a shaky breath you didn't know you were holding in..

"do you know what i am. . ."

all of the nervousness , fear that was once in your body, was now replaced with the sudden urge of desire for this women infront of you - this immortal, you knew what she was you've heard of the myths, legends of blood drinking demons that preyed among humans. . .

yet you weren't scared of her, if she wanted to hurt you - even kill you . . she would have by now.

"Do i not scare you, mon chèrie. . ."

"no. ." your words came out with no hesitation, you didn't even think before you replied.."you saved me. .that night. . ."

sevika grunted at your words, her eyes still clenched closed, she could feel the heat radiating off your body coming onto her's, she pulled her head from your neck, looking into you eyes once more.

sevika looked as though she was drunk off your scent, her lidded gray eyes staring at you as her lips pursed together, staring at you like she was trying to read through you. .

you two stayed like this for what it seemed like minutes, hours even? maybe. . . the hot tension piercing the air between you two waiting to be broken, waiting to be sliced.

and it soon was, before you knew it, the immortals lips smashed roughly into your soft ones. . .

the kiss was hot and rough, but you took it , accepted it - you've been wanting this. . . needing this ever since the day both your eyes connected when she was on stage. . .both your mouths moving with urgency against eachother, as if you both would disappear in any moment.

your hands growing confident as they now moved around sevika's muscular back. . .

the kiss became messier and slippery more uncoordinated, sevika grunted like an angry animal against your mouth, the crunching of the wall could be heard once more, taking her frustrations out on it - knowing that if she were to place her hands on her body she could possibly hurt you with her unnatural strength.

"move to the dresser. ." sevika's husky tone was undeniably alluring, almost like a captivating melody for your ears, she removes her hands from the wall, watching as you slowly walked to the dresser nearby, legs visibly shaking with each step, sevika smirked at the sight of this slowly following behind you. . her tounge swiping up against her pointy fang as her silver eyes watched your movement.

once you reached the dresser, you turned around, leaning your lower back on it slightly flinching when sevika was already in front of you, with a cocky smirk on her lips.

"tu es l'un des humains les plus intéressants que j'aie jamais vu pendant mes cent ans. ."

you frown once more as sevika's cold hand raises up to your jaw, softly caressing you. . your'e warm heat from your skin collaborating with her icy cold ones. . such an unfamiliar feeling to you..

"sevika. . i don't understand your words. ." you respond to her..softly.

"You don't need to understand, mon cœur. ." she replies, her voice was like velvet, smooth, husky and rich with a lingering whisper that sent chills through your body.

her finger once on your jaw, moving higher. .to your cheek. . her thumb than meeting your moist, swollen lips. . . sevika gaze eyed your mouth as she pushed in her thumb, seeing you accept it with no hesitation, her thumb in your warm , wet mouth pressing down gently as possible on your tongue.

you lean into her touch, letting her do whatever she pleases with you.

whatever she desired. .

her thumb swirling around your tongue, she almost looked entranced by this, captivated by you - even more when she could hear the small sounds that escaped your throat when you yourself weren't even aware of them. .

she slipped her thumb out your warm mouth, smiling slightly at the string of saliva that came with it, she than stuck the thumb inside her mouth, sucking it off before releasing it with a loud pop.

you flustered by the sudden action, looking down avoiding the eye contact she always gave you.

sevika leaning in to you, her hands resting on the sides of the dresser. .she moved her head on yours, trying to catch your flustered gaze, when she did your lips slowly connecting again. . instead of thie kiss starting off rough and sloppy like the first one, this one started sensual, slow as if sevika was now taking her time.

her tongue brushing against your bottom lips before she entered it inside your mouth, both your tongues entangling - fighting for dominance that sevika clearly won within seconds. . even though the kiss was softer it was still messy, you could feel you saliva running down you chin as you leaned into her more, nor knowing this movement caused your tongue to brush up against her sharp fangs, causing a small cut on your pink muscle. . . you didn't notice, but when that taste entered sevika's mouth her eyes went wide.

immediately breaking the heated kiss, she stood for a moment - finally tasting your blood. . . sweet. . it was so fucking sweet.

she swallowed roughly with scowl on her face, closing her eyes in an attempt to get rid of the thoughts of draining your pulsing body right here on her dresser.

"sevika. . did - did i do something wrong?" You ask embarrassed, fumbling over your words unsure what to do next as the woman suddenly just pulled away from you, you're body flinched at the crushing of wood beside you - sevika and squeezed the dresser so hard, the place where she rested her hands now crushed into pieces.

whe you go to look back uo at her - she's already out the door. . . in a swish moment, like the wind she slammed the door open and she was gone.

leaving you in her dressing room, on her dresser, with swollen lips she caused and with confusion engulfing your body as you also felt a tingling between your legs. .

[pandoraspurgatory]

MHA Boys Porn Preferences

Haven’t done all the boys here, just some of my favs <3

nsfw, porn, can’t be bothered to list them all but weird stuff

Izuku Midoriya

Izuku was one of those men who started off watching the top most recommended on PH. So for a while there he watched quite a bit of the ‘pool boy’ and ‘pizza delivery guy’ genres. After discovering his tastes he loves hentai, though it has to be a few episodes and plot based. This works against him often, as he gets emotionally attached to the characters.

Katsuki Bakugo

People assume Katsuki watches hardcore BDSM and dom/sub genres. Though that is so far from it! Bakugo watches couple videos, often homemade ones with fuck all views. He’s tried the professional studio made porn but he physically can’t cum from it. He has to watch the couple be in love and intimate. Despite his gruff exterior - Intimacy is his weakness and it’s what he desperately craves.

Shoto Todoroki

I hate to say it, I really do. This man gets off on Mommy ASMR. It started off with wholesome YouTube videos of Mommy girlfriend ASMR to help him relax though very quickly descended into the erotic kind. He wouldn’t ever call a girl ‘Mommy’, though the audios have him weak.

Ejiro Kirishima

Kirishima often finds himself tugging his cock at ‘Muscle Mommys’. He also doesn’t mind toned dudes as well. He isn’t sure whether it’s the fact that it’s so ‘manly’ or he desperately wants to be under a toned and built man. He will figure it out someday

Denki Kaminari

Face fucking!! He loves it, especially when there’s dripping mascara and lots of spit involved. He can watch those videos for hours on end, he’s addicted. Kaminari has even tried a VR face fucking porn video, even though he ended up motion sick. It was in his top 5 best wanks

Tomura Shigaraki

Femdom all the way. He doesn’t like to out any effort into watching porn and imagining stupid scenarios. Tomura will turn off the lights, put on a Femdom Cum Instructions at full volume and obey whatever mistress he’s listening to at that moment. On occasion he will commission a personal femdom video as a treat to himself

[georgescitadel]

I often get the question, “How do you write women?” or “How do you write a dwarf?” Some of that can be resolved by research or talking to people. I had a correspondence with a fan when I was writing the first and second books, long ago, who was a paraplegic, paralyzed from the waist down, and he gave me a lot of valuable insight about how to write Bran and what it would be like. That kind of information from other people, you can never duplicate.

- George R.R. Martin, Ideas At The House (2013)

There are things we all go through, but there are experiences that I haven't had, and when I'm writing about one of those, I try to talk to people who have had that experience. When I first had Bran crippled by his fall from the tower, I had one fan who was paraplegic, and he and I exchanged a number of emails about what it was like to be paraplegic because I could try to imagine that, but I don't actually know it. When I wrote the scene where Sansa has her first period, I talked to a number of women and asked, “What was it like to have your first period? Was it scary? Was it nothing? Was it painful? Tell me about it!” I got about 16 different stories that varied very widely. People who have actually been in combat, I talk to before the combat scenes, and that too varies widely. That's sort of interesting, and, of course, I've read a lot about that. There are some experiences that only women have had in our society, and when I tackle them, I try to consult with women.

- George R.R. Martin, NIFFF Masterclass (2014)

You do have to research the things that can be researched, and sometimes that involves books; sometimes it actually involves talking to people. Those are the trickiest things, if it's a human experience. I'll give you a couple of examples from Game of Thrones. When Bran gets thrown out the window and paralyzed. I'm not paralyzed, I don't have any close friends who are paralyzed, but I wanted to try to get that as accurate as I could, so I did a fair amount of reading about that. I also had a couple of fans who corresponded with me through email about the problems of someone who was paralyzed from the waist down and what it would be like. I also have a scene where Sansa, who is engaged to Joffrey but hasn't flowered yet—hasn't had her first period—so she can't be married by the traditions of Westeros, then has it and is eligible, by medieval standards as well as the standards of Westeros, to be bedded and wedded and bred. Of course, she reacts to that with considerable panic. But I also wanted to know what it is like, and that led to a number of embarrassing conversations with women I knew about: “When did you have your first period? What was it like? Was it painful? Tell me about it!” What I discovered was a wide variety of different stories. It's not always the same thing, so I had to try to make sense of that and do something that had authentic truth to it. Hopefully, I did, but human experience is variable. No matter how much you research, there will be somebody out there who had a different experience, and then they'll write you an annoyed email saying, “You got that all wrong. You don't know anything about that.” Well… okay. But I tried.

- George R.R. Martin, Author Event Series: Featuring Marlon James (2019)