#but motivation for this one idea has returned!

[that-one-girl2020]

Pretty pretty pretty PLEASE could you work on reader’s first kiss with each of the saja boys? I’m actually so in love with your writing I wish I could eat it, ya know? Your work is so beautiful 😭 I’m also waiting on your other ideas!!! ❤️❤️

First Kisses

Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader

A/N: This can be read without reading the main series but I still encourage any new readers to read it! I also encourage you guys to comment, it helps encourage and motivate me to keep writing.

Sorry to everyone requesting to join the tag list, I’ve reached the max amount of tags I can have!

Synopsis: Now that Gwi Ma has been defeated, it is clear that you and the boys have immense feelings for each other. But you have still yet to kiss anybody. Well, until now.

Word Count: 2,091

Master List

(Reminder: Baby = Jum, Romance = Chungae, Mystery = Hyeon, Abby = Kwan)

Hyeon was the first one that kissed you.

As a man of few words, actions meant much more to him and it was often how he expressed himself. Whenever he felt that pulsing warmth in his chest, had you in his arms, the words wanted to come out. ‘I love you.’ But they kept getting stuck in his throat even while you smiled so contently up at him.

It was one of those moments when it was just the two of you. You were cuddled in Hyeon’s arms, the two of you laying on the couch as something played on the TV. Neither of you were really paying attention though.

Your mind was stuck on your upcoming solo debut, humming your new song to yourself under your breath. Hyeon’s attention was on you, your low humming swimming around him. The words were on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t get them out.

You looked up at Hyeon when you felt him lean closer to you. “Hyeon? What’s wrong?” You asked him with a curious furrow in your brow.

He didn’t answer though. He just leaned down and down, so close to you that you could feel his breath fanning gently across your face. He pressed his lips to yours.

You gasped softly in surprise, even though you could see it coming. But then you leaned into it, returning the kiss gently.

Hyeon’s lips moved against yours, slowly exploring and parting your lips to be let into your mouth. His arms tightened around you, holding you closer against him. Your hands tightened in their grip around his shirt.

Hyeon’s heart pounded in his chest. Pressing his lips against yours, it was like he could breathe your warmth, your scent, your love in so he could hoard it away in his chest where his heart beat for you and you alone. He couldn’t help but feel that this was greater than words as he poured his emotions into this kiss, hoping you would feel what he didn’t say.

Breathless, the two of you pulled away just enough so Hyeon could press his forehead to yours affectionately. It was quiet for a moment.

You chuckled softly, reaching up to brush his bangs aside to smile up at him, “I love you too.”

Hyeon smiled too, cuddling you closer to him.

~~~

Jinu hasn’t been sleeping well the past few weeks.

You had found out recently when you had gotten up for a drink in the middle of the night while you were spending the night at the boys’ apartment. Jinu had been awake, sitting out on the balcony with Derpy and Sussie, laying against the blue tiger.

You had sat with him, talking to get his mind off of what had been on his mind and listening when he was prepared to talk about it. Jinu had been having nightmares about what happened during Gwi Ma’s defeat. The image of you turning to ash as he desperately, futilely tried to reach you.

You spent the rest of the night reassuring him, the two of you falling asleep against Derpy in the early morning light.

It was the night after and you had decided to sleep in Jinu’s bed with him so you could help him with the nightmares and hopefully help him get a full night of rest. The both of you had talked to each other until it faded into incoherent mumbling back and forth and humming mindlessly. And then you both slept.

You were startled from your sleep when you felt Jinu gasp awake from his sleep. You rubbed your eyes, trying to clear the blurry, bleary haze over them from sleep as you turned on your side to face him.

Jinu’s eyes were wide and frantic, his pupils were unseeing pinpricks flickering between brown and demonic amber.

You took his hand, unclenching his fingers from the fist he had curled them into in his panic. You pressed it against your chest, over your heart as your other hand cradled his face, “Jinu, it’s alright, I’m right here.”

Jinu sucked in a shuddering breath, his eyes watering as his arms pulled you to him and held you desperately to his chest. Then, before you knew it, he had pulled away just enough to desperately press his lips to yours.

You gasped but returned his kiss. It was gentle but it was greedy as he devoured your lips, pulling away for air just for a moment, “Sorry, I’m sorry. I’m just… so glad that you’re with me…” And then he was pressing his lips to yours again, slower but just as greedy, pressing your lips together over and over.

Jinu couldn’t help it as his hand came up to the side of your neck, his fingers lingering over your pulse. His heart was racing but it slowly shifted from racing because of terror to racing because you were alive and he was pressing his lips to yours. The two of you were alive. So alive.

Eventually, the two of you separated and you shifted so you could pull Jinu’s head to your chest, pressing his ear to listen to your heartbeat. “Go back to sleep, Jinu. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

Jinu pressed closer to you, closing his eyes to focus on the steady but slightly fast beating of your heart. “Don’t leave me again, (Y/n)…” Jinu drifted off to sleep, curling closer, pressing into your warmth.

You fell asleep stroking his hair.

~~~

Kwan had taken you out on one of your usual dates, to a small, hole-in-the-wall restaurant that the two of you often frequented. Afterwards, you two walked along the river like you had when you two had first been getting to know each other.

You were laughing as you bickered with the man, “There’s no way that’s true!”

Kwan smirked, “How would you know, you weren’t there. I’m telling you, he went and got his head stuck in a geyser! He went flying when it finally burst!”

You shoved him, “Shut up, I don’t believe you!”

He laughed, shoving you lightly in return but it was still enough to make you stumble, “Hey!”

You shoved him again and started running, laughing breathlessly as he gave chase behind you. Usually, he would easily have caught up with you but there were plenty of people that you could easily duck and weave between despite their surprised shouts. You called apologies behind you but you kept running.

Kwan eventually caught up to you when the people thinned out, snagging your wrist and pulling you into his arms so he could spin you around, the both of you laughing uproariously.

He gently set you back on your feet, your laughter fading out as you were caught in a moment between the two of you. “Babe?” Kwan asked simply.

You simply nodded in permission.

Kwan leaned down, pressing his lips to yours. You sank into his arms, feeling the muscles of his arms beneath your fingers. He was gentle but confident, there wasn’t any unsure stumbling or fumbling as he joined his lips with yours once and then twice and then again and again.

Kwan eventually got tired of the strain on his back leaning down like he was caused. He separated from you briefly to crouch and wrap your thighs around his hips so he wasn’t leaning down and you weren’t standing on your toes anymore. Then he rejoined your lips eagerly.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, running your fingers through his hair and he groaned into your mouth. Your face flushed darker at the sound.

Kwan couldn’t believe how right it felt to have you in his arms, lifting you easily so he could press his lips to yours over and over again. It felt like you were the matching piece to his puzzle, slotting perfectly against him and in his heart. You felt so soft against him and he couldn’t help but hold you tighter.

You didn’t know how long you stood there, on the edge of the river as Kwan kissed the breath from your lungs. Time lost meaning. But he eventually pulled away and put you down, sharing a soft smile with you as he took your hand and the two of you continued on your walk.

~~~

Jum had been introduced to video games, which may or may not have been a mistake.

You weren’t sure. But it led to you sitting in Jum’s lap as he sat criss-cross in front of the TV as the two of you played Minecraft. Jum had a sucker in his mouth, the stick flicking back and forth as his tongue licked the candy.

You turned your head to look up at the maknae curiously, “What flavor is it?”

Jum quirked his lips, “Do you really wanna find out?”

You tilted your head as much as you could as you looked over your shoulder at him, “Yeah… I just said—“

You were cut off as Jum pulled the sucker from his mouth and pressed his lips to yours. You were surprised but you quickly closed your eyes and melted into it. Jum was demanding, his lips parting yours so his tongue could enter.

Jum’s tongue was enthusiastic, mapping every crevice of your mouth. You could taste the sweetness of the sucker he had been eating, and no matter how many times he pulled away, Jum quickly rejoined your lips so he could keep exploring your mouth.

Your head was dizzy from the lack of air but you didn’t push Jum away as he held you closer, a hand on your jaw to angle your head as he claimed your mouth. Thoroughly.

Meanwhile, Jum was in heaven—a place he thought he would never be permitted to. The taste of you, the feeling of your warmth against his tongue and the little gasps you let out when he pulled away for air were addictive. He could stay here forever, even as your lips swelled and bruised, the two of you remained liplocked.

Jum only pulled away when the other guys started coming back. But even then, he pouted.

~~~

Chungae sulked, lying atop you on your bed back at the tower. “Do you love me?” He asked you with a frown. It looked more like a pout to you though.

You furrowed your brow at him, “Of course I do. Do I need to sing another song to prove it?”

Chungae rested his chin on your stomach with a sigh, “But I’m the only one you haven’t kissed yet.”

You couldn’t help but smile in amusement at his words, “I haven’t kissed anyone. The others all initiated it first.” You brushed a hand through his hair, unraveling the braid you had mindlessly weaved into his hair earlier. “Would you like to be the first one I’ve kissed?” You smiled fondly with a teasing edge to it.

Chungae’s eyes widened, his face blushing a slight pink. For the ‘flirty’ one of the group, Chungae was sensitive when it came to the relationship between the two of you. Probably because he rarely experienced true love and affection when he was human. He nodded.

Blushing at your own actions, you slowly moved your hand from his hair to Chungae’s jaw, guiding him closer to you. And like a sailor before a siren, he followed where you beckoned. He rose to his elbows, following your guiding hand as you led him closer to your face, to your lips.

Until your lips finally met.

Strangely, Chungae was the most unsure of the boys when your lips first met. But he gained confidence quickly, pressing his lips more firmly against yours as his greed for you grew.

Chungae’s heart was racing. His hand was trembling as he shifted his weight so he could cup your face. Your lips were addictive—or perhaps it was the love he could feel through the dance of your lips. He parted your lips with his so he could taste your love.

Your face was heated, it wasn’t long before Chungae took the lead in your kiss. He was passionate, pouring every ounce of his emotions for you into it.

Slowly, Chungae began pulling away from you, but he kept coming back to leave another kiss on your lips, lingering until they became soft pecks that left the two of you giggling.

Until Chungae settled, resting his head on your bosom and you returned to running your fingers through his hair. There were content smiles on both of your faces.

A/N: I fully believe that Baby has some kind of oral fixation. Also, was brainstorming a poly ship name for the reader and the Saja Boys, like how poly Huntr/x is Polytr/x. What do you think of the Poly Pride? Too much? You guys got any ideas?

Outtakes:

The Saja Boys: *fighting for who would kiss you next*

You: *swollen, bruised lips* “Help…”

…

Huntr/x: “What happened to your lips?”

You: *holding an ice pack to your bruised lips* “Demons.”

Huntr/x: “And…why are you here and not with your boyfriends…?”

You: “Avoiding said demons.”

…

Tag List: @brights-place @itmechaosartist @reni502 @chin-chii @cultish-corner @enerofairy @mama-m1na @akariis4snowball @gremlinartstudio @shynotded @shadowmoonlight0604 @omgsuperstarg @neigesprincess @sleep-7372 @hurts-my-brain @kiwibackie @gh0stied3ath @naysha140 @theferretkids @lelantyuu @sexyindependentdowntospendit @hornehlittleweeblet2 @moonymoo1 @moochiwoochi @cheolright @crescent-z @prorpy @mey-archive @cami1qx @nerdalicios @xxsadlovexx @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @blackheart34 @anonymousewrites @scarletrosesposts @justanindiangirl12 @beexboo @tatsuri-zomushiki @call-me-nyxx @queenofviolenceandnerds @randomfan218-blog @jaybbygrl @unholycheesesnack @ocean-mochi @iviorienne @confusedparticle @otakusimp1 @nosbaby07 @fries11 @ri-eveowe @1950schick @libdarkheart @yourjustassaneasiamx @the-bookish-artist @anduinandwrathionlover @eternallyrosyfire @lysira340 @lansy-4 @strayharmony943 @maximumtrashchild @bleufu1 @minepugs @valeriele3 @arieslucy @nisarelle @suzieq1948374 @esposamultifandom

[fir-fireweed]

Hi Fir, I just have a question. Do you mind if people send asks about advice for making their own IF? Like, writing processes, how you come up with what to write for the next scene, motivation to keep writing, stuff like that? And how to not get overwhelmed by everything (I am going through it, lemme tell ya 😭). I already knew making an IF was going to be hard but… this hard? Dude.

If you’d prefer not to, that’s alright, I just wanted to know beforehand just in case I ask anything in the future. Thank you!! <3

Hi Blue! 👋 Not only do I not mind it, I’m incredibly flattered that’d you ask! 🥹

I already answered one such ask here, maybe it will offer some help.

As far as getting overwhelmed, I totally hear that! 😭 And having motivation to write is difficult amidst that. A trick that helps me is that I’m not always linear while writing a chapter. For instance, Chapter 4 starts with the convo with Tellus which is emotionally wrought and I was struggling. So I jumped ahead all the way to the end of the chapter and wrote Bayram’s entrance, because I knew it’d be fun and I needed that. 😅

I will give one piece of advice right now… writing in a vacuum is hard. I bounce ideas off my sister all the time and she helps me brainstorm. I’ve also bounced ideas off some of my beta readers. Bless you @wilvarin-chan and @orangeflavoryawp ! I’d be struggling a LOT more if not for them!

But I’d be happy to answer any specific questions you have! Returning to writing has been cathartic and a kind of therapy for me, so I’m happy to share that joy. ☺️

[quackquackcey]

it feels like it's been ages since i posted anything both on here or AO3, my mental state hasn't been good the past few months - i couldnt even participate as a writer for collabang this year because of it *sigh* ( ;´ - `;)

but i did learn how to edit vids just so i could make sterek trailers/edits for 2 super juicy collabang fics both coming this week so get hyped for them ‼️ i'm always more motivated when i'm creating something for others ahaha

also want to say a fat thank you to y'all who comment on my fics, i reread them when i'm feeling down which is a lot these days lmao so know that you're all very much appreciated 🥺

anyway here's a somewhat chonky snippet of my college au frat bball captain derek x femboy study partner stiles for those of you who actually read this post lmao, an excerpt from a derek POV scene where stiles hit his insomnia & depression limit, hanging on by a thread, & gets a surprise visit from derek checking on him w/ clothes, takeout, movies & snuggles :)

---

Snippet:

Stiles cut off on a surprised “oh!” when Derek tugged him down to sit on his lap.

“Why don’t you try it on first?” said Derek—he reached down and slipped said heel on one of Stiles’ feet, despite Stiles’ flustered protests. “How is it? Comfortable?”

"Uh— Yeah, um— It's— Yeah," stammered Stiles. He paused, nose scrunching, and looked down at his outfit. "Wait— Actually, everything fits. How do you even know my sizes?"

Derek snorted at that as he took the heel back off Stiles' foot and returned it to the shoe box. "How would I not know?" He leaned in with a smirk, savoring the way Stiles' pupils dilated and lips parted. "I'd be surprised if anyone knew your body as well as me."

He expected that red flush to Stiles' face, but not the hands suddenly covering his face and blocking him from his delicious view.

"You— I can't handle this! You're gonna give me a heart attack with your...y'know." Stiles flapped his hands like that explained anything. "Is it just me, or are you, like, oozing way more of your whole smooth bad boy charisma routine than usual?"

Derek seized the opportunity to grab those slender wrists and lower Stiles' hands before Stiles decided to block his face again. "Is my face that blinding?" he teased. "Maybe I just missed you."

Stiles' mouth flapped open and closed, splotches of red suffusing his face and neck and the tips of his ears, and Derek bit back a laugh.

"This— That— You—" He gaped at Derek. "This is— This is exactly what I mean!" he retorted at last, spluttering and trying to tug his wrists out of Derek's grip to no avail. "Stop that! Stop looking at me like that and talking and-- fucking hell, do you have to smell this good? What kind of 'checking on you' visit is this, huh? You came over with-- with this skimpy ass outfit in your backpack and marshmallows and my favorite takeout, looking like— like you, and who even smells this good for a sick visit, okay? What're you even wearing? Did you just come over to drive me crazy?"

Derek tried to hold back his laughs, he really did, but he couldn't in the face of Stiles finally snapping at him in probably the most adorable way possible, which, judging by the way that flush spread down Stiles' neck, was now beginning to dawn on Stiles after the fact that all he'd done was dump a barrage of flattering insults on Derek.

"...I'm wearing sweats, Stiles," he said, and his body wracked with silent laughter when Stiles slumped in his arms with a 'please kill me now' kind of groan. “And I use plain soap.”

Stiles groaned again. “That just makes it worse, oh my god, I knew it, I knew it was just how you naturally smell—”

“The only thing anyone has ever commented about my smell is my lack of it and to try cologne.”

The look Stiles gave him, absolutely horrified—Derek shook with laughter again.

“Who the heck said that?!” demanded Stiles. “That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard. A cologne would just completely cover up your scent!”

Derek cracked up with genuine laughter, an uncommon occurrence for him yet somehow not all that uncommon around Stiles. "I— I wasn't aware you felt so strongly about this," he said between chuckles. "Or that you apparently think I smell that good."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Yeah right. There's no way none of your past...partners didn't tell you that."

Derek just gave him a look, a long look, and Stiles blinked.

"Wait really?" asked Stiles, actually surprised to the point of disbelief—Derek found himself laughing again. "Seriously? That's actually impossible, you don't understand— Oh my god, stop laughing— It's not that funny—"

And then Stiles started laughing and blushing and spluttering at the realization of just how passionately he was apparently defending Derek's scent right now, and more chuckles just rose from Derek's chest, warm and deep and free.

His chest felt rusty, like a squeaking door hinge opening as the birds inside finally flew out—it wasn’t that he didn’t chuckle often, but that he never quite chuckled like this, letting his guard down just the slightest for once. 

As for the reason he found himself letting his guard down…. Well, one glance at Stiles told him everything and more. The way Stiles looked at him, really looked, all soft and fond and bit in awe, like he’d noticed that Derek’s laughs were different, more genuine; unfamiliar, disused, and rare—

Stiles looked at him all happy and admiring and almost…enamored, as if he could watch Derek laugh all night long, and Derek wondered if Stiles had any inkling of how exceedingly obvious he appeared right now.

Derek’s laughter faded as the self-consciousness set in and the warning bells rang in his mind—‘too close,’ they chimed, ‘danger.’ 

Not the first time, and most likely not the last.

“What’s that look for, hm?” he murmured as he brushed his fingers across Stiles’ cheek to cup it—two could play at this game. “See something you like?”

At first Stiles reacted just as he’d expected, flustered and shy and self-conscious as well, but then—

“…Yeah,” said Stiles with a small smile and too bright eyes. “You should laugh like that more.”

Derek licked his lips, throat suddenly dry, and looked away before glancing back at Stiles’ open, knowing gaze, expression more unguarded than usual. Perhaps that was why he murmured in response, like a whispered confession—“It’s easy to around you.”

Stiles’ eyes widened. His lips parted, his cheeks reddened, and then he buried his face in Derek's shoulder.

A long moment passed before Derek heard a small, muffled "Thanks." 

"For what?" asked Derek, arms wrapping loosely around Stiles' body as Stiles clung onto his shirt.

"For.... For coming to check on me." Stiles raised his head, cheeks still flushed. "And for the clothes. And shoes. How much were they?" 

Derek looked down at him. "You like them?"

"Yeah," Stiles said simply, but it was such a cute, happy 'Yeah' that Derek wanted to push him down on the bed.

But he didn't. He restrained himself. Mostly.

A tap under Stiles' chin to lift it, and then a kiss.

Stiles tasted of mint toothpaste and marshmallows. Fuck, if he couldn't drink in that taste forever, swallow those tiny delighted gasps and moans, as if Stiles couldn't get enough of him either.

"Good," he murmured when he drew away, and he liked how Stiles looked at him all dazed and yearning for more.

Stiles bit his lip with a small, shy smile. “I’m gonna— I’m gonna go take the pastries out now,” he breathed when his oven beeped.

“Mm, that’s too bad.” Derek’s fingers lingered on Stiles’ hips before letting him go, and Stiles smiled for him again. “I’ll put a movie in. Which one?” asked Derek as he pulled out three movies from his backpack.

Stiles let out a laugh of disbelief. “You brought movies too? Just how prepared are you?”

“Hm, what do you mean? I just brought the basics, clearly,” said Derek, earning himself another laugh.

He liked how Stiles, while still sporting those dark undereye circles, already looked much more relaxed than when he’d first opened the door. 

He looked happier too, with those nonstop smiles and laughs, especially when they settled side by side in Stiles’ bed, Chinese takeout and pastries in hand and ‘10 Things I Hate About You’ playing on the small TV. He’d wrapped an arm around Stiles and tugged him by the waist so he snuggled close against Derek, and the way Stiles had beamed at him from that one simple action had his heart stuttering, and his heart never did that.

It was somewhat concerning.

He chose not to think about it and grabbed a container of orange chicken and rice instead. He offered the other to Stiles, but Stiles waved a dismissive hand. "I'll eat in a bit," Stiles told him. "I'm not that hungry right now."

Derek doubted Stiles had been ‘that hungry’ for the past few weeks. Even though Stiles had always been on the lean side, athletically fit yet slender and soft, Derek could tell he'd lost weight. His waist had always been small, sure, but Derek could feel his ribs more than before as well as his hip bones—he imagined Stiles didn’t have much of an appetite nor the motivation recently.

“You sure you don’t want at least a taste?” asked Derek as he licked some orange sauce off his fork. “It’s way better hot and fresh.”

Stiles gave him an amused look. “I don’t think Chinese takeout is ever fresh. They probably cooked it hours ago and—”

Derek cut him off with a kiss, all tongue and lingering lips. 

“How about now?” Derek murmured against his lips. “Still don’t want a taste?”

Stiles’ lashes fluttered half-open, revealing those deep, bambi pools, darker than usual. “Mm, I could be convinced to change my mind,” he teased as he raised his head to seek another kiss, then another and another, and Derek gladly gave them to him. He kissed him and fed him a bite of chicken and kissed him again and fed him again, over and over, until he got a laughing, breathless “yeah” when he asked Stiles if he was hungry now.

More than a little satisfaction stirred in Derek’s chest watching Stiles finally eat his takeout with gusto, all snuggled up in his arms.

---

if you read this far, ily 🥺💛 hope you enjoyed the snippet - i'm trying to get back to work on it even if that means a few words per day ahaha

[bowtiesarecool11]

I finally made some progress on my fan fic this evening!

[swanlikely]

Current Brainrot: PDA VS. Boyfriend Caleb!

Author's Note: I was feeling soft and mushy today instead of lewd and smutty—so you’re getting clingy, lovesick Caleb. I promise the debauchery will return, but for now? Enjoy the fluff. (Artist & Original Post)

not proof-read! (sorry if there are any errors - let me know and I'll fix it!

Caleb does not give a fuck about PDA. Not even a little. In fact, he seems personally offended by the idea of not touching you at all times, like physical contact is the only thing keeping him tethered to Earth. (Ironic for someone who has a gravity manipulation evol, I know.)

You're the PDA couple in line for amusement park rides. The ones people pretend not to stare at while Caleb leans over you with his chin on your head, swaying side to side like you’re his favorite song. His hands are somewhere on you: around your waist, in your back pockets, or just flat on your stomach like he’s claiming territory.

At the grocery store? You’re trying to compare pasta sauces and he’s behind you, arms looped around your hips like you're the most fascinating shelf in the store. You shift a step to the left; he shuffles with you like you’re in a three-legged race. A lady clears her throat behind you in the aisle and Caleb, unbothered, just kisses the back of your neck and asks if you want the spicy marinara.

Friends have stopped commenting. You sit on Caleb’s lap like it’s your assigned seat. He hooks his chin over your shoulder during game nights, one hand playing with your fingers under the table while the other deals cards like nothing’s out of the ordinary.

He once tried to hold your hand during a dentist appointment.

“You don’t even have any cavities,” you hissed.

“I missed you,” he said, two feet away.

You’re not even sure he knows he’s doing it anymore. It’s second nature to him, an unconscious act. Caleb waited so long for you. There’s no going back. You’re doomed.

His gym routine has become a team sport. Caleb loves—loves—when you sit on his back while he does pushups. He’ll drop to the floor, slap the space between his shoulder blades, and go, “C’mon, Pips, get on. I need motivation.” You try to be serious about it, but he starts grinning the second you're up there like it’s the best part of his workout. And God help you if you cheer him on; he’ll do twice as many, just to impress you.

Doomed to forehead kisses in traffic. Doomed to shared straws and linked pinkies while you walk. Doomed to being the human equivalent of a teddy bear he refuses to put down.

And honestly?

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

[simonbrain]

love the idea of reader just trying to fuck all her stress out with a random at the bar before returning back to her mundane life, and simon deciding he's going to keep her instead 🙂‍↕️

the prick doesn't budge when you try to kick him out; instead, he drags you back into bed and works his mouth to loosen you up again, and now you've forgotten why you were trying to haul his ass out of your home.

(you attempted to sound stern while telling him to get out of your house, but he merely chuckled, the sound so raspy and condescending that it stroked a heat within you that you thought was sated last night.

"this is our home. now get your arse back in bed, i'm fuckin' hungry.")

you had to really fist at his hair to pull him off of you, and that only turned him on if the deep groan rumbling out of him was anything to go by—you swear his tongue sunk deeper inside you. he only relented so he could fuck you dumb in the shower after, leaving you with trembling legs and feeling more dirty than clean (atta girl, don't you waste any of tha'—keep it all in).

you blink, and now suddenly you're seated as he spoon-feeds you a nice, hearty breakfast, huffing something like messy girl when toast crumbs get all over your face and the wooden table.

words can't express how flustered you are; you're too stunned to even continue telling the big man who's now feeding you scrambled eggs that he needs to leave. all you feel like you're capable of doing is opening your mouth to accept another spoonful, ignoring the ache you feel between your thighs when you catch his heavy stare and hear a low hum of approval.

then he's leaving (and it's not because of your nagging), muttering something about having to work those mutts to the bone today, all while you're trying to make sense of what's happening. he gives you a sloppy kiss to silence your questions and exasperation, one that makes you feel hot all over and almost melt into a puddle had it not been for the firm grip he had on your ass.

he licks his lips when he pulls back, eyes darting to where your shirt just barely covers where he'd rather be all day than having to go and train recruits. he stares for an uncomfortably long time and before you can speak up, face growing a little hot from the tension, he's turning around to finally leave.

before the door shuts, he says, "be a good girl, ay? see you tonight, birdie."

you're left with your thoughts and feelings of dread and anxiety. there definitely isn't any underlying interest or anything; the freak has fucked your brain out of your head, that's all. you're sure he didn't even mean it anyway. maybe. hopefully.

a drop of his come rolls down your thigh, and arousal shame burns through you. since when did you let one-night stands finish in you?

(your so-called one-night stand came home hungry and pissed, so worked up that he dragged you over to the nearest surface and played with you for a good hour. by the time you had half the mind to tell him about the dinner in the oven—your eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets at how much money he had sent you for groceries earlier, nevermind how he got ahold of your account details—he grunted and finally gave your poor pussy a break, scarred mug all slick and flushed.)

good luck when he takes you to meet his mates at the bar a week later, the same bar you brought him home from; the comments from them make you wish a hole in the ground would just swallow you right up.

"pretty thing ye caught, lt," johnny grins, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. he's a bit over the top, ogles your chest too hard, but overall he's... alright. you'd probably notice how perverted he really was if you actually looked at him longer than a few fleeting glances, but his stare is kind of unnerving.

kyle—perfection personified—hums in agreement, a warm smile on his face that puts you at ease. somehow you don't pick up on the ulterior motive behind his gaze running over your body, eyes roaming over your chest more discreetly than johnny but just as appreciative. "pretty indeed. you don't mind sharing, do you ghost?" kyle teases, pretty eyes glancing over at simon, who only huffs at that and shakes his head (much to your confusion).

who the fuck is ghost? you only know big guy and simon.

there's a deep chuckle and your focus flits over to the man seated in front of you, captain john price. if you thought simon was scary, john's a man who demands respect and attention just by being in his presence. "you chose the wrong dog to bring home," john hums, voice deep and gravelly and making you shamefully squeeze your thighs together.

"but that's alright, sweetheart. you have three others now, yeah?" the purr that comes out of his mouth is sinful, and when you nod and stammer out a yes, sir as if you were one of his soldiers and not the sweet girl that simon has brought to his captain, looking for approval of his newest toy, he only smiles.

simon's hand squeezes your thigh underneath the table, trailing upwards, and you're slowly understanding what it is that you've gotten yourself into.

[sugurouge]

— yes, my lady : sebastian michaelis x f!reader

content warnings! reader is a descendant of the phantomhive family, power imbalance (master/servant) but also (human/demon), somewhat monsterfucking if you squint (i wanted to make use of his ‘true form’ a little), smut, size difference, manhandling, praise, pet names (my lady, darling, dear), orgasm control, sacrilege, a tiny bit of blood, topics of loneliness

summary: after another tiresome day out in the world, you are greeted with your recent mistake—sebastian. a hand-me-down from your ancestors that you summoned by chance and who now apparently has a contract with you. yet this modern world, working women, independence, and your awfully bratty attitude are challenges that are entirely new to him. however, he did swear to serve you. so, allow him to take care of his tired "mistress"

wordcount: 5k | my kinktober masterlist

It’s not every day that your job becomes stressful enough to fully tire you out. But today, today was even more draining than you had anticipated. Deep red eyes watch your tired form from across the hallway, raking over your figure as the owner remains quiet. Sebastian hasn't quite understood the fulfillment behind humans working themselves to the bone, nor the desire for young women to eagerly venture out to conquer “corporate,” as you once called it.

Yet, understanding or not, he is sworn to serve you and look after you. You are in his care until the contract is completed.

For this, he steps forward, his touch as sultry and gentle as his voice that welcomes you home. “My Lady,” the demon begins, as strength returns to your figure upon the stabilising hold of his hands on the small of your back while you remove your heels. You meet his smile with a glare from your pretty eyes, still wary of your newly added decor.

“I can handle myself just fine, Sebastian.” Yes, you’re a feisty one. Sebastian has been well aware of that fact since the moment you met. You dislike men staring at you in the street, loathe the forced small talk with them at work, or having to humour one of them when all you want is to be in the safety and comfort of your home. The once safe haven you now share with some sort of butler, or so he proclaimed. Never would you have expected such an outcome from your family’s antiques.

But here you are, the independent woman from before, now with a handsome devil at your beck and call. “You appear particularly exhausted tonight. Why not let me take care of you and help you to a restful night?” Sebastian proposes with gentle calmness to your vervour as his hands return to rest behind his back.

He irritates you. His act of concern for you when all he truly cares for is your soul. The motive is clear, yet he play-pretends to be something you cannot wrap your head around. “And what could you do for me?” you challenge in return, crossing your arms in front of your chest as the tip of your nose lifts a little higher to meet Sebastian’s gaze. “Anything you wish,” replies the butler, without a hint of malice in his words. “I would propose running a hot bath, brewing a warm cup of tea, and—” he pauses, clearly having caught himself with an idea you would despise.

The proposal sounds pleasing, almost exactly what you would do if you weren’t feeling too lazy to run a bath for yourself. But he doesn't need to know that. Your expression remains unfaltering, almost challenging. “And what? Speak, Sebastian.” The quirk of your brow ticks Sebastian off in just the right way, your confidence and demand a challenge he secretly enjoys.

The distance between your bodies grows smaller, and a gloved hand tips your chin up as red hues draw near. “A massage for your exhausted figure, my Lady.” He drawls the title, a pinch of condescension hidden in his words. You can’t resist the idea of standing on your toes, leaning further into his space to see him shrink away as your lips almost brush Sebastian’s while you speak: “Carry me, Sebastian.”

Yet, he does not shy away. He feels your pulse quicken, hears your heart drumming a beat of bravery, while your sweet lips could offer a relief he hasn’t felt in millennia. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth upon your demand and, without hesitation, you find yourself in his embrace. Knees and shoulders pressed firmly against his body, Sebastian carries you to your bedroom.

He knows tonight won’t be easy on him. Sebastian is well aware of the mischief you try to conceal, to seem more mature than you actually are. But tonight you appear different; tonight, you bring new challenges to your rendezvous once your head finds its rest on his shoulder. The tease of your breath against his neck, your smaller fingers playing with his necktie as you wet your lips. Nothing good comes from those pretty lips, Sebastian notes.

“Sebastian?” How can you suddenly say his name so softly? He looks down to you, the crimson tinge to his eyes making him appear like a starved hunter under the faint lights of the streetlamps and mood lights in your apartment. “The water is already set and at the perfect temperature for the female body.” Of course, he had heard your footsteps from afar and decided that tonight would be perfect for a bath. He is an expert at planning, at being one step ahead of everyone else. That is, until you continue speaking. A simple command, short and to the point, too alluring: “Undress me.”

You need to try harder if you wish to get a rise from him. For now, you find yourself seated on your bathroom counter with a newly found frown adorning your face. It doesn’t suit you, but it entertains Sebastian. “Your wish is my command,” he speaks an octave lower, honey almost dripping from his words before skilled fingers smooth out the fabric of your blouse. Sebastian’s gaze does not meet yours while he unbuttons it; he stays focused on the task without lusting over your exposed skin.

Suddenly, you wish he would want to devour you. The gloved touch that teases your upper body is not enough, yet so close to the fulfilling feeling of desire that you miss.

The clothing item is pushed off your shoulders before his touch ghosts along your waist. “May I continue?” The question is accompanied by one hand held out to you, palm facing up for you to grasp and rise to your feet. In one swift move, you find yourself staring at your reflection in the mirror as Sebastian spins you around to undo the intricate buttons of your skirt you had struggled with this morning—why must designers place them in such difficult spots?

To nobody’s surprise, they are undone as quickly as your blouse, before your silk dress follows suit and pools around your ankles, leaving you in nothing but a tantalising set of underwear—dark red, almost a perfect match to Sebastian’s eyes. You eyes meet through the mirror and you refuse to shy away. No, like the little vixen that you are, you lean forward just enough to expose yourself further to your demon as you pretend to busy yourself by wiping off your lipstick.

It feels humbling to witness his gaze remain unfaltering; Sebastian continues to look into your eyes rather than the places you want his greed to be. “I will prepare your tea now,” he states as business continues as usual before leaving you alone.

A sigh is all you allow yourself as your shoulders slump. You really tried to seduce him. At the thought, you find a smile tugging at your mouth, the lust to be desired something that has been missing for a while now in your life. You know work, you know how to overwork yourself, and you have no time for flings or meaningless encounters. That was when he entered the picture.

Upon Sebastian’s return, he finds you seated in the bathtub; You’ve made sure to keep your hair out of the water and expose your neck, for hungry eyes to appreciate the shein layer of damp on your skin. The plate beneath the teacup meets the ceramic of your bathtub as your widened—nearly pleading—eyes shoot up to challenge his. If only you had acted a second quicker, you would have caught him staring at your cleavage, barely covered by the water and foam.

“Is there anything else you may need?” Sebastian inquires. He hates to admit it, but tonight seems like a greater challenge than he anticipated. How the simple word “You” could weaken a demon of his calibre is something for future Sebastian to concern himself with. Present Sebastian relishes the desire tugging at his stomach, the way you stare at him so submissively. Until you continue speaking: “Massage me, my butler.”

You turn your back to him as he takes his place behind you on the edge of the bathtub. Would you still be so smug if he grabbed your cheeks between his fingertips? If he forced you to look deep into his eyes while coaxing the cutest sounds past your lips? How can you act this way when at night you hump your pillow and beg for more, something better? Yet in the daylight, you behave like a spoiled princess, and he only adds to that imaginary status of yours. How badly he would love to ruin it. One or two more slip-ups, and he might find a loophole in your contract and commands.

To your dismay, gloved hands meet the skin of your neck. “Take them off, Sebastian. Touch me fully.” Your words bounce off the bathroom tiles, and his reply of “Yes, my lady,” echoes back. Shivers elicit along your neck as his skin touches yours, and the strength behind Sebastian’s touch massages the knots and the sorrow from your shoulders.

The moment is sweet enough to let your eyes fall closed, your head resting against Sebastian’s thigh as you sigh a gentle moan of relief. The sound snaps Sebastian’s attention to your face. With your eyes closed, he allows himself a moment to admire your features. Even a demon can admit that some humans are indeed beautiful. Sometimes, that beauty doesn’t surpass their soul, but in your case, there is something so unique about you that captivates Sebastian’s attention and lust.

You catch him staring as your eyes flutter open, the position you find yourself in so vulnerable, with him leaning above you. “Naughty butler…” you tease, and Sebastian wants to wipe that cheeky smirk right off your face. “If you have so much time to stare at me, you might as well wash my body for me.” The disrespectful teasing, as if he were nothing more than a pet, reminds Sebastian of someone else, someone he couldn’t wait to devour many years ago. But what else could he do but make himself useful for now?

In a swift move, Sebastian shrugs off his jacket and pushes up the sleeves of his buttoned shirt before kneeling beside your bathtub. He appears disinterested again, putting on a perfect mask of nonchalance as he runs the washcloth along your shoulders and arms, warming your figure and letting rose-scented water wash the sorrows away.

Until you’ve had enough of this act. Until you grow overly confident as you lean into his proximity: Your fingers lace around Sebastian’s wrist like a personal handcuff, your eyes locking onto his. “Be more thorough, Sebastian. Wash away the filth.” You go as far as to help him run the cloth over your chest. The drag of his nails against your sensitive skin sends shivers down your spine, and Sebastian watches you attentively, to witness your pupils dilate, the pink tip of your tongue darting out to wet your lips as your noses almost touch. He has never obeyed such a troublesome person before.

You start to bring out the worst in him—something that wants to teach you a lesson, something to remind you how different the roles could be if it weren't for this contract. The washcloth is pushed over your breasts and dips beneath the surface of the water to run along your stomach before being abandoned entirely as Sebastian’s fingers dip into the supple flesh of your thighs. Blunt nails drag along your inner thighs, and he loves to watch the shift in your demeanour; how you grow shy beneath his touch, your stare faltering as he draws dangerously close to your sacred area.

There is no bite to your bark as you cry out his name, your need for him too evident while you try to maintain a pretence. "S-Sebastian!" Finally, you act as your thighs press shut around his hand, panic ever so evident in your pretty eyes he can't stop the devilish smirk from spreading across his features. "My dear, don’t tell me you expect to play with fire and come out unharmed…"

The next moment, your back meets the cold stone as Sebastian races forward, hands placed left and right from your figure on the edge of the bathtub. The impact forces a puff of air to escape your lips as your eyes snap up to meet your butler’s dark pair, searching for a trace of humanity in those pools of crimson. "Behave…" you attempt to regain control, which is met with a chuckle. "I only follow your commands," he challenges as the cloth returns to clean your body. "You wanted me to be thorough, let me be thorough."

However, the lips that crash against the racing pulse in your neck have nothing to do with the command of cleaning your body. Sebastian acts upon his own selfish accord, upon the lust you’ve ignited by teetering too close to the dangerous territories of demonic desires.

And he makes you feel too good as he ravages you, suckling and nipping at your skin until you can't help but moan, your head falling back to offer him more space. You can't even think of a fitting command, the sweet words for him to "Don’t stop, please," a much more natural reaction as his palms cup your breasts, pinching and pulling at your nipples until you whimper ever so prettily.

"Who would have thought you could turn into such a sweet darling?" Sebastian teases with whispered words against the shell of your ear, the hum that follows so deep and low it has your stomach fluttering. Your fingers lace between his dark strands, effectively holding him in place as you return to being face-to-face with Sebastian. Shamelessly, you allow yourself to rake your eyes over his sharp features. You've never wanted anything more than him. But the thought evaporates upon the sharp sensation of nails against your waistline and hips, upon the pair of fingers pushing between your folds before rubbing against your clit.

Oh? How willingly you part your legs now, Sebastian muses.

"Is this thorough enough, my lady?" he mocks as his fingertips press against the opening of your pussy, your eager hole giving way slightly as he pushes past. He knows what he’s doing to you. He sees it in the crease of your brow, feels it as your hips buck against his touch. "More, Sebastian, I need more tonight." Like the greedy thing you are, you take it upon yourself to play with your breasts, yet the silent plea in your eyes tells your butler all you want is for him to take care of you.

“Oh dear,” he whispers gently, but smiles victoriously as your moans tumble from your trembling lips when two of his fingers push inside you. "Do you give yourself to me? Allow me full reign, hm?"

The idea sounds great, perfect, until you manage to flutter your heavy eyes open and see the devious apparition in front of you. Sebastian’s eyes are more slanted, set ablaze, deep pink hues now replacing his usual red, with lust overflowing past his thick lashes as pointed teeth hide behind his full lips. Giving yourself to a demon doesn’t seem like the best idea, but the fingers stimulating your gummy spot have you nodding regardless. How lucky you are that you need to use words under these circumstances.

“Darling, tell me,” Sebastian urges as his thrusts become harsher, uncaring for the water or your comfort as your tits bounce and your walls clamp so promisingly. “N-no, no, Sebastian! Just, ah—” you falter as you try your best to stay present, to keep control over this demon while he fingerfucks you. “Think, speak, quickly, little Lady,” he further pressures you. What he wouldn’t give to do with your body whatever he wants. “Just-, just tonight! Sebastian—” the way you moan his name makes you a sinner itself, it should send you to all seven hells as the echoes ring inside his mind. “Look after me, tonight,” you finally manage to cry out as your walls pull in desperate need. “Make me feel good,” your final demand.

But instead of sweet release, you feel the disappointing emptiness as he retracts his fingers, leaving you a heaving mess in your bathtub—only now do you notice how cold the water has turned. “You can ask more nicely than that, my dear.” There is little consideration to be spared for the length of your bath once a strong arm wraps around your waist. Sebastian wastes no time in having you seated on his lap, your wet form drenching his clothing as he spreads your legs over his thighs and presses you flush against his chest. “I will look after you until the day you die,” he whispers into your ear, and maybe if the words weren’t so true and less intimidating, you could consider them romantic.

You notice that Sebastian’s form has returned to fully human, with almost tender eyes meeting yours this time around, turning your desire mellow and seasoned with sweetness. “Kiss me, please.”

He follows suit as your lips crash together a moment later, his palms stabilising your back in his hold. “More…” you breathe. Your fingers reach out to guide one of his hands on your back, between the valley of your tits, down your stomach, until you ultimately buck your hips against his, seeking further friction in desperate need. He tightens his hold on your body, tugging gently at your frame as he leans forward to suck on your wet skin, leaving marks in his wake. A small grin tugs at his lips as a soft whimper escapes you. “What’s wrong?” The whispered question makes goosebumps spread over your skin as the chill of his breath battles with the warmth of your bathroom.

“Want to be ruined by you.” The words that fall past your lips seal your fate. “Please, make me feel good, Sebastian.” You sound so desperate, only a fool would resist. “Taint me,” you shamelessly sigh against his ear, “Let me feel you.”

“Taint you…” he murmurs, halting his movements momentarily to witness you grow impatient before one of his arms holds a firm grip around your waist, restricting your movements as you’re now fully pressed against his chest. “How much more does my little Lady want to be tainted?” His free hand ghosts along your puffy lips, your slick making the drag too easy, too appealing to not draw circles into your clit, only pulling back any time he feels you squirm on his lap. Your little cries are music to Sebastian’s ears. It’s so good, too good, the way his fingers move, almost as if he already knows all your weak spots. “Do you wish to experience bliss only I could give you, and ruin yourself for all eternity?” His questions urge you to wrap your arms around him, to hide your face in the gentle embrace of a monster, as though you’re trying to hide from judgement itself upon your immoral fantasies. “I wish for that, Sebastian.”

No further words are needed, not when your lips convey more as they meet Sebastian's. A kiss so fierce, he may steal the air from your lungs and drag you to hell himself. Teeth pull at your bottom lip unapologetically, his tongue meeting with your own, entwining with another until you taste him. Meanwhile, the familiar stretch of his fingers, accompanied by the filthy squelching of your arousal, threatens to overload your senses. The teasing returns as your lips part to allow Sebastian a front row seat to your desperate play, as his thumb presses into your clit. You really yearn for this orgasm, don’t you? Of course, you do, with how tightly you clench around his digits, pulsing as though you’re trying to keep him inside—as if he couldn’t offer you a much better alternative.

“Let go, my dear, you look so beautiful right now, I want to see you come undone for me.” Sebastian encourages, as his fingers expertly curl against your walls, each time pushing past the limits of what you’re able to take. So you let go, finally, allowing your eyes to shut as your fingers fist the fabric of his dress shirt. He’s never received praise in a prayer-like form, the sighing thank-yous tumbling free between your moans, so unlike the feisty thing you pretend to be. You are adorable. “Very good, my darling, just like that.” Sebastian whispers, as the movements slow down until his fingers still inside you, until the heaving of your chest and the trembling of your thighs calms, and you fall into his embrace.

But much to Sebastian's surprise, and despite his predictions about your exhaustion, you return his previous affections. Your lips kiss along his neck as you undo his necktie, fingertips already so eager to free him from the confines of his clothes, it makes Sebastian wonder who the real glutton between you two is. “My Lady,” he innocently halts your advances as he entwines his fingers with your own, kissing each tip while holding eye contact. “Shouldn’t we proceed to your chambers? I don’t wish to bring needless discomfort upon you—you need your strength to handle me.” At that, you feel his tongue drag along your pointer finger before a final kiss is placed on its tip, while a devious smile returns to Sebastian’s lips. If only you wouldn’t look so adorable each time he teases you. But you are already too far gone to keep up pretences, when you can instead allow someone else to finally be your resolve.

So it's only natural for you to command Sebastian once more. “Bring me to my bed,” you mumble while your arms already lace around his neck. He follows.

Yet it catches you by surprise once you’re simply dropped into your bouncy mattress and sea of pillows. However, in the next moment, you find yourself caged underneath Sebastian. Your hands roam free to undo his dress shirt and shrug it off his figure, allowing your nails to drag over his pearly skin until you reach his pants and finally feel what lies hidden behind the dark fabrics.

You seem in control, until firm hands spread your thighs and Sebastian leans in, to nibble along your inner legs, shining in the moonlight as he dives between your thighs to lap at your cunt, his tongue pushing past the tight ring of your entrance before dragging all over your hot and puffy pussy. He then licks and kisses his way up your stomach, sternum, and nipples, while the surprising satisfaction of his cock—hot, hard, and leaking with pre-cum—coats itself with your juices. He grinds against you until you writhe for more, until his hands find rest on the back of your knees so he can press your legs up against your sides, fully opening you to thrust into you without struggle, without restraint, as lust overcomes him.

You shake your head at the stretch of his girth welcoming your pussy, sweet pleas mixed with whiny complaints escaping your lips without much thought. “‘S too much, Sebastian… can’t…” you admit. The chuckle that follows is devious, before a soft sigh in satisfaction follows as tender lips place an adoring kiss to your cheek. “You will,” Sebastian whispers, followed by the command “Now just surrender to me.” His lips seek out your own once more as he picks up a relentless pace.

Your nails dig into his back, leaving red streaks that run deep. You can’t look at anything but him—his strong body on top of yours, the visible strain to his muscles while he ruts into you—until you find yourself once more captivated by his eyes. He almost looks at you lovingly, no hungrily. But Sebastian doesn't just want to consume your soul; no, his desires reach beyond basic greed. He wants to own you, to keep you to himself, to reign over you until your best years are over. You can see it clearly while swimming in crimson. But with the delicious drag of his cock inside your walls, you might just let him. Who would have expected you to be tamed this well by getting fucked?

“Please, please, please,” you exhale as your head lolls from side to side, writhing beneath your very own demon. Oh? You’re quick to beg. Quick to turn desperate, so eager to have more of something that should never have been yours. “Sebastian, Sebastian,” you repeat like a mantra as his hands hold your fragile body, digging into your hips to force you into a perfect arch for Sebastian to ravage your skin. He litters kisses over your chest, laps at your nipples, and drags your hips back down to snap against his while he is guided by gluttony.

“Give yourself to me,” you demand with no trace of shame in your bones, finally giving him a task worthy of your beautiful soul. “Stay with me, be mine…”

You almost feel dizzy with how easily Sebastian hoists you up until you’re on all fours, ass perfectly exposed for him to fully sheath his cock inside you, effectively pushing your upper body into your sea of pillows. But in stark contrast to his rather harsh handling of your body, his lips return to press soft kisses along your back. “I am yours if you are mine, my darling.” The words flow like honey before your blood coats Sebastian’s tongue as he breaks the skin, engraving himself on your skin.

Your fingers dig into the cushions, searching for support as you struggle. But the strong arm lacing around your body is all the comfort you will need from now on; his cold touch will soon set you ablaze.

Sebastian is deep inside you, the head of his cock finding your sweet spot almost naturally as he perfectly curves against your velvet walls, hips snapping against your ass with unforeseen fervour. His hands dig into your hips, surely bruising your hip bones for the coming days, but you’ve never felt this good before. Never so full, never as cared for as by the monster that is in love with your soul. You moan his name in delight, making Sebastian proud once you eagerly bounce back into his thrusts.

The husky sounds of pleasure grow clearer as his movements slow down. You feel yourself being further pushed against the mattress, to spread your legs wider and arch deeper, for his penetration to slowly steal your sanity. Who would have expected the pressure of his palm against your stomach would make you clamp around him this much? Moaning, whimpering, pleading as you beg for mercy, trying to tell him it’s too… “Too good, Sebastian, I’m—”

His movements are slow but precise, accentuating the way you desperately clamp around him in an attempt to hold him inside you for eternity. “Yes, fall apart. Let go for me,” Sebastian’s eyes roam over your smaller body beneath him—a sweaty, shaking mess. He will take care of that right after you are done. For now, instead of worrying, his hands grab at your ass almost aggressively, spreading your lower lips even further as he ruts into you.

The high-pitched squeal that escapes your throat when he picks up his pace again serves as a perfect display of your misery. Tears prick at the sides of your eyes as your hips are pushed back to meet Sebastian’s relentless thrusts. “Make me proud, little Lady...” his final demand, with sneaky fingers returning to play with your clit as he hoists you off the bed, holding you tightly against his chest.

You’re fully seated on his cock, entirely engulfed by his embrace and consumed by the demon, just as you bask in the sweet release coursing through your veins. Sebastian allows himself to be lost in your pretty cries and the way your pussy practically drips from both of your orgasms. True to his nature, he watches you like a devil on your shoulder; dark red eyes witnessing your fucked-out expression while the cutest smile illuminates your features.

His lips caress your neck as he whispers, “Do you feel better now?” You hum and let your fingers card through his hair, a tired “I do. Thank you, Sebastian” exchanged from your mouth to his ear.

Swiftly, Sebastian moves to carry you back to your spacious bathtub and lets it refill with warmth. “How about my Lady actually relaxes this time around?”

dividers by @/cafekitsune

[jeonsweetpea]

Will It Fit?

Roommate!AU | Roommate!Jungkook x Reader

genre: fluff, smut, comedy, lil angst, slight idiots to lovers

rating: explicit

description: So what if your roommate caught you masturbating? At least he forgot about it the next day. But he can’t exactly forget the big dildo you left in your shared bathroom…

word count: 6.7k

warnings: size kink, JK has a big dick (no, really), slight pain kink, light choking, dirty talk, Dom!JK, flustered/shy JK at first, unprotected sex (this is fiction, we all wanna be raw-dogged by JK okay), lube, JK loves OC’s panties a LOT, fingering, mentions of masturbation, OC gets embarrassed at first but JK is sweet about it, oral sex (male & female receiving), cursing, Soft Dom!JK, JK is overly concerned with how big your dildo is, embarrassing moments from both parties, spanking, prone bone, creampie, confession scenes, 

a/n: As soon as I saw JK’s OJO face from that GCF, it kicked me into gear to write this. I’ve had this idea for SO long, but never had the motivation to finish it. I was supposed to release it last winter, so hope you’re all excited for it! Asks and reblogs are much appreciated (I read them all!). Also, much love to @jkeuphoriadreamland for bouncing ideas around with me. 

“[Y/N], I can hear you in there.” 

The muffled, disgruntled voice came from the other side of your door. Your eyes fluttered open and your hand stilled in your panties, your heart rate spiking. Maybe if you didn’t move a muscle, he’d go away. 

“I know you’re up,” he added. You rose up from your bed.

“Um… exactly what did you hear?” you squealed, face burning up at your terrible acting skills.

“Unlock this door.”

You didn't know what compelled you to saunter over and open the door a mere crack, but oh the sight before you was almost worth the humiliation. Jungkook was in nothing but gray sweats that sat dangerously low on his hips. He had a bad case of bedhead, but his locks looked so soft that you wanted nothing more than to grab onto them and make out with his beautiful lips, which were captivating you just as much as that intense gaze of his. 

“Hey… you…” you said with a meek smile, which he did not return.

“It’s 2 AM in the morning. I have work at 5. As hot as you sound, we either do something together so we both get satisfied or you let me get my rest because I am incredibly frustrated right now.”

Your eyes widened at his curt response. You’ve never seen him so tense, his tongue prodding the inside of his cheek as his glare bore into you. He leaned against your door frame with one arm, leaning in close enough to make you break eye contact. He tapped on the wooden frame with his index finger, awaiting your response. 

“Sorry…” 

God, you sounded absolutely pathetic . 

“Is that all your pretty lips are good for? Apologizing?” Before you could respond, he let out a tsk sound and retreated back to his bedroom. You stood there in a trance until his door shut loudly, snapping you out of it. You wondered if he realized how much worse he left you than when he found you. 

Fuck, was he always this hot when mad? 

You went back to your room after closing the door. Climbing into bed, you got under the covers and laid flat on your back deep in thought. The only reason you were masturbating in the first place was because your room was freezing cold. You thought the heater was fixed, but your room was somehow still the coldest one in the apartment. You knew you’d never be able to go to sleep at this rate, so you decided to do something that would tire you out and hopefully lull you into the rest you craved.

It was supposed to be simple. You, your hand, your phone, and sweet, sweet release. Damn Jungkook for interrupting you. It’s bad enough his room was nice and toasty while you were suffering. Yeah, you heard his loudass snores. You assumed he was deep in the REM cycle so how the hell did he catch your moans? Ugh.

If he was so annoyed with you, then he should have warmed you up instead!

You shook your head and got under the covers, groaning at your lewd thoughts. 

He’s my roommate. And he’s too good of a roommate for me to fuck things up. 

“Is that all your pretty lips are good for? Apologizing?”

Those words echoed in your mind. The way he changed his tone to a lower register with his Busan dialect slipping through was incredibly sexy. It was the perfect mix of frustration and anger and made your thighs rub together in want. Leaning over your nightstand, you opened the drawer and grabbed a velvet drawstring bag. Slipping off your pajama shorts, you pulled out your trusty dildo. Impatient, you closed your eyes and imagined Jungkook taking you right then and there. However, the moment you allowed the tip of the dildo to touch your entrance, all pleasure was lost. It was cold!

“Damn it…” you muttered. “I gotta warm it up. Ugh!”

You left your room in frustration and entered the bathroom, turning the sink on to the hottest setting and running it over your toy. 

This might’ve been the most desperate masturbation session you’ve ever had, but you didn’t care. This was all Jungkook’s fault!

The next morning was Saturday. You were eating your breakfast on the kitchen island while mindlessly scrolling on your phone when Jungkook came out of his room. As soon as you two locked eyes, you almost choked on your food and had to chug some water to calm down. The man, confused, ruffled his hair and watched you through drowsy eyes.

“Are you okay?” he said, followed by a yawn. 

You nodded as you beat your chest with your fist to get everything down. “Yeah… I just… didn’t expect you to be home. I thought you had work.”

“Oh,” He sounded more awake now. “I read my schedule wrong. Turns out I’m off every other Saturday now.”

“... Oh. Cool.”

He circled around the kitchen island to get to the fridge and you recalled last night’s events, mortified he had heard you. Should you apologize again? After all, you’re both two grown adults; there’s nothing to be ashamed about. If you didn’t say something now, that icky feeling would only fester inside you. 

“Hey Jungkook.”

“Yeah?” he said from behind the fridge door.

“About yesterday… I hope you can forget all about it.”

As the refrigerator door shut, you were greeted by the sight of the most adorable man sipping a carton of banana milk. His eyes were wide and brimming with curiosity from your words. 

“Did something happen yesterday? I was knocked out.”

You blinked at him twice. “Do you… not remember talking to me last night?”

“Hmm? I did? I was fast asleep, don’t remember a thing.” He took the seat next to you. “Why? What did we talk about?”

Pure relief washed over you like a tidal wave as you shook your head. “Oh, nothing much. My room’s a bit too cold. It was hard for me to sleep.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll talk to the landlord. Do you want to sleep with me?” You shot him an incredulous look and he began to stutter. “I-I mean! Sleep in my bed! Not with me in it. Unless you wanted to—ah—fuck me!

There. That’s the Jungkook you knew. He’s never crossed the line and flirted with you, so you didn’t either out of respect. But… It was too hard to resist teasing him. This was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

“Unless I wanted to… fuck you?” you repeated innocently. This was new territory for you—teasing him. His flustered reactions were so damn adorable though. The way his nose scrunched and his eyes darted around everywhere except for your face. If anyone was watching you, they’d swore you had hearts in your eyes. 

He set his drink down and proceeded to cover his face with both hands, panicking at his poor choice of words. “That didn’t come out right. Oh god… this is embarrassing.”

You covered your mouth to stifle your giggles. “It’s okay. I don’t want to peg you—I mean, take your bed.”

Jungkook dropped his hands, speaking the next sentence in pouts. “Hey, I don’t want to be peg—not the point. No, seriously. My room’s really warm.”

“I mean… if you really want me in your room, all you have to do is ask, you know,” you remarked. Jungkook’s cheeks were flushed with a tinge of pink, adding an extra charming element to his already cute self. Were you being too bold? 

It didn’t matter because seeing how his lips trembled and how he could barely hold himself together was fun to watch.

“I didn’t realize it was that easy…” he mumbled, more to himself than you. You tilted your head at him and he noticed how you crossed one arm over another “Not that I’m calling you easy!”

“Uh huh. I’m watching you, Jeon Jungkook. Hmph.”

“No, wait. I’m sorry.”

You placed your index finger on his lips to shush him, even going so far as to tap his lip piercing teasingly. “Is that all your pretty lips are good for? Apologizing?” 

You watched as his eyes widened once more and that caused you to realize what you were doing. My god. Using his own words against him was satisfying, but all this newfound confidence was going to get you in trouble. You cleared your throat and withdrew your hand, grabbing your breakfast plate and heading over to the sink before things could escalate.

“Uh… I’m gonna go to the gym. Run some errands or something,” Jungkook stammered as he got up, nearly toppling out of his stool. You bit your lip to hold in your laughter as he recomposed himself. Walking in the same direction, he flinched when you got near his proximity. “W-What are you doing?”

He’s so cute when nervous.

“Nothing. Grabbing my keys. I’m heading out too.”

“O-Okay.”

Your smile made his heart rate escalate. “Okay. I’ll see you later.”

You spent the day with your closest friends on a brunch date, followed by a trip to the mall, and then hot cocoa in the evening. It was much needed after the week you had and after bidding them farewell, you went back to your apartment. Upon entering, you took off your shoes and put them on the shoe rack.

“Jungkook? Are you home?” you called out. 

“Yeah! I just finished showering!” he called back in the distance. You went further into the apartment and plopped down on the couch. 

“Damn,” you muttered, rubbing your arms. “Wish I could have showered with him. It’s so cold outside…”

As if on cue, Jungkook called for you again. “[Y/N]? Could you come here?”

You took off your purse and slowly rose up from the couch, hesitant. This had to be a dream. Why would he need you to come to the bathroom? He must’ve forgotten a towel. Or a t-shirt. Or pants. The specifics didn’t really matter because your hormones were going berserk at the possibilities. 

You walked through the narrow hallway and stood in front of the bathroom door, excited at the thought of teasing him again. “I’m here. What’s up? Did you forget your towel or something? Silly boy.”

The door swung open and the shit-eating grin you had on your face dropped to the floor in an instant. 

“Why is there a dildo in the bathroom, silly girl?”

Shit. Quick, say something. Anything. Don’t just stand there like a gaping fish! Oh dear, how many seconds have passed? You must look like a total idiot.

Fuck! I forgot I left it here!!!

“Well…” you started to say, “I’m assuming it’s yours.”

Out of all the things your roommate could be calling you for, this was not on your radar. The awkwardness was more suffocating than the steam from his blazing hot shower minutes ago and you wished it lingered around long enough to make you disappear. 

Jungkook made a puckered face at your accusation, picked up the object, and shook it side to side, the bendy silicone material flopping everywhere. His big doe eyes were the highlight of his classic OJO face, the blatant confusion so adorable if you weren’t absolutely mortified. For the second time this week. 

God, and how could you even focus when he was dressed in nothing but a towel, his hair still slightly damp. The bulging muscles of his biceps were a feast for the eyes as well as his tattooed sleeve. You yearned for the day he’d use his arm as your necklace, but of course that shouldn’t be a priority at the moment. If anything, it was his fault you had to use a dildo anyway.

“[Y/N], you know damn well this isn’t mine.” He met your gaze and flashed you a soft smile, biting his lower lip. “I like mine bigger.”

You covered your face in shame, wishing the floor could open up and swallow you whole. “Good god, Jeon.”

“You still didn’t answer my question. Why is it in the bathroom?”

You gulped, finding enough strength to not die of embarrassment. “It’s getting colder outside and the heater doesn’t reach my room as well as it reaches yours. So…”

“Yeah…? But I’m not following.”

“The… thing in your hand—”

“Dildo?”

You visibly cringed. “Yes, okay, THAT. It got cold and I don’t like cold objects... Inside me. So I took it to the bathroom to run hot water on it to warm it up.”

“Before you use it?”

“No, to melt it. Yes, to use it!” you snapped, feeling the humiliation burning through your body. “I wasn’t aware you weren’t working today, remember? I clean it after each use so please just give it back!”

You ran over to yank it out of his hands, but he lifted it up high out of your reach. While cackling. That motherfucker. “Hey, maybe I want a turn.”

You had to bite back. “I knew you liked being pegged.”

“I do not!”

“Then give it back!”

“This thing is huge though. It fits?”

“I’m not having this conversation with you right now.” You jumped up but failed to reach it due to his quick reflexes. 

“Doesn’t it hurt? Because if something this big went up my—”

“Jungkook!”

“I’m just saying!” he said with his arms up in the air like you were about to tase him. “I find it hard to believe, that’s all. It’s really big. Like damn.”

Without thinking, you ripped his towel off his waist and he gasped, scrambling to shield his privates while you seized the opportunity to get your toy back.

You stormed out of the bathroom and ran to your room, locking the door afterwards. Falling to your knees, the embarrassment caught up to you, causing you to hang your head low in shame. You could hear the soft shuffling sounds of his footsteps approaching your door, followed by a gentle knock.

“[Y/N]? Are you okay?” He pressed his ear against the door to hear small sniffles. “Shit. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to make you upset. I was teasing, I thought you wanted to tease me back and—I guess I took it too far.”

“Go away, Jeon,” you said, throwing the dildo at the door. Jungkook nearly had a heart attack at the loud thump and jolted back, clutching his chest. 

“Holy shit, that scared me,” he said, which earned a small chuckle from you despite the tears. “Hey… come on out. Please. I’m not judging you.”

“No. I’m humiliated. You heard me yesterday and now caught me today. I can’t face you ever again. It’s over!”

He placed a hand on your door, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “I didn’t even know we started, so how could we be over? You’re cute.”

That made you snap your head up. You quickly wiped away your tears and rose from the floor. “This isn’t fair… I’ve been embarrassed twice now.”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“You heard me masturbating yesterday!” you exclaimed, frustrated at his obliviousness. “You woke up and told me I had pretty lips or whatever and suggested we do something about it together!”

“I mean, you do have pretty lips. Yup. That sounds like me, yeah,” he said, nodding to himself. “But I really don’t remember. Come on out. I wanna see you.”

“No.”

“Would it help if I shared something embarrassing about me?”

You narrowed your eyes at the door, considering his offer. “... Go on…”

He sighed, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “Well… you know how I’ve been doing your laundry for you?” 

“Yeah…”

It was your most hated chore. Putting the clothes into the washer and dryer wasn’t your issue, but folding them was so tedious. So you and him made a deal. You were in charge of dishes and he would do the laundry. However, the one thing you refused to let Jungkook wash for you were your bras and panties. Those you handled yourself.

“You… left a pair of panties in my basket once by mistake.”

“I did?”

“Yeah. I washed them for you but um… before that, I might’ve… sort’ve… jerked off with them.”

Your doorknob jostled for a second as you unlocked it. Jungkook waited as the door swung open and was greeted by a displeased you, hands on your hips and all.  

“What? They were really pretty…” he added. “They were pink and had lace—”

“You… PERVERT!” you shouted, hitting his chest repeatedly. Of course, you were aware your feeble punches did nothing to his insanely toned pecs. Jungkook stared at you fondly, catching the hint of a smile that threatened to spill from your lips. 

“Oh, I’m a pervert? Says the girl who has an 8-inch dildo,” he countered, snatching both your wrists. 

“At least I’m able to take 8-inches!” you retorted, laughing at the situation. He joined in your laughter and then said,

“Good! That means you’ll be able to handle me!”

Your brain fizzled out at this point as the laughter subsided. “... What?”

Jungkook’s Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he gulped. “... You heard me. Go ahead, take off my towel again. See for yourself.”

He guided your hands downward to the soft fabric, which was already on the verge of unraveling itself with his prior movements. You stared at his pelvic lines, excitement bubbling beneath the surface while you tried your best to maintain a calm expression. 

“... Pervert,” you mumbled. Jungkook chuckled, taking one of your hands and placing it directly on his boner. 

“Maybe. But only you can make me feel this way.”

You bit your lip, feeling the heat radiating from beneath the fabric and your curiosity peaked. Tucking a finger into the towel, you pulled it down and let it fall to the ground. 

A loud squeal came from your lips as you covered your mouth. “Holy shit!”

Jungkook covered himself after seeing your reaction with both hands, embarrassment crawling up his spine. “Sorry, I’ll put it away.”

“No, no, no!” you said, putting your hands out in a stop motion. “Sorry, I just… you… you weren’t kidding.”

“Does it scare you?” His tone was sincere, his eyes genuinely showing concern. “Because… I don’t want to hurt you. And I know it can hurt. That’s why I was so curious about the dildo. Will it fit? Will I fit…?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at how he phrased it, but quickly stopped when you noticed the fear in his eyes. Your thoughts wandered to if he had slept with someone prior and if it wasn’t a pleasant experience. Truth be told, you’ve never been with anyone as big as him so it’s all new for you.

“Well… if I’m prepared well enough, I can take it. The dildo fits but sometimes not all of it goes in. Um… man, this is embarrassing to talk about, ahhh. I feel like I keep making a fool of myself in front of you.”

Jungkook’s gaze softened at your vulnerability, taking your hand and placing it on his chest. His heart was beating just as rapidly as yours if not more. Then he put his other hand on the small of your back, pulling you close. 

“That makes two of us. But you make me crazy.”

He was so close that your senses were intoxicated with the fresh scent of eucalyptus and cotton wafting off him. His eyes shifted to your lips for a split second before meeting your gaze once more. 

“I really want to kiss these pretty lips of yours… If you’ll let me,” he said, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb and whispering the last part.

You begged him to kiss you already, so he leaned in and finally pressed his warm lips against yours as you closed your eyes. It started off as a gentle smooch, like a little tease to test the waters. When he pulled back, you leaned forward and chased his lips urgently. You felt him smiling into the kiss as he moved in tandem with you, deepening the kiss while switching positions to press you against a wall. One of his hands pinned your wrists above your head while his free hand slithered down the side of your body until it rested on your hip, giving you a firm squeeze.

“Jung—mmph—Jungkook…” you moaned. He used that chance to ease his tongue into your mouth and the kiss went from passionate to messy. When you moved your wrists in the slightest, he asserted dominance and pinned them back down into place. 

“You think I’m going to let you go so easily now that I have you?” he asked, the hunger in his voice evident. He carefully tugged your bottom lip in between his teeth and pulled it back in a seductive motion, which turned you on even more. 

Once he broke the kiss, the only thing that remained was a string of saliva that broke seconds later.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long,” he said in between pants.

“Since you’ve jerked off to my panties?” you teased while catching your breath.

He rolled his eyes. “Like you’ve never rubbed one out to me before.”

You scrunched up your nose at his response, unable to counteract his statement right away. “Hey… I wouldn’t have had to rub one out if you warmed me up in this cold weather.”

He smirked. “All you had to do was ask, you know.”

Releasing your hands, Jungkook went into your room and grabbed the dildo off the floor. He left you for a short moment and you waited there, confused, until you heard the sound of running water. He came back a minute later and then grabbed your hand, leading you to his bedroom.

“Had to wash it. Don’t worry, I’ll warm you up properly for the real thing.”

He guided you to his bed and helped you remove your jacket, blouse, and leggings. His grin was extra toothy because the set you were wearing was the exact set he jerked off too before. 

“What?” you asked, amused.

“N-Nothing.”

When your back was turned for a second, he mouthed the words ‘Oh my god’ and pressed his hands together as if thanking the universe for this very moment.

Now left in your bra and panties, you laid on his bed and he climbed on top of you, his lips latching onto the side of your neck. You mewled at the sizzling contact, pulling him close by his soft locks so that his hot skin was pressed against yours. He trailed his searing kisses down to your collarbone and then settled between the valley of your breasts. 

“The bra is pretty… you’re so pretty,” he said, full of admiration. He pulled one of the cups down to gain access to your breasts, capturing your perky nipple between his lips. He sucked tenderly, swirling his tongue around before tugging on it hard enough to elicit a moan. His other hand was greedy, slithering into your already soaked panties. His middle finger dipped in between your folds and he rubbed in circular motions to coax some more slick out of you. 

As you arched your back and moaned his name, he dipped one finger into you and began to pump it slowly. He added another one when you begged for it, sounding so desperate that he had to oblige. 

“Please fuck me already. I can’t take it,” you breathed. Jungkook only curled his fingers deeper inside, grazing your sweet spot while shaking his head. 

“Patience, beautiful. I need to make sure your sweet pussy can take it, remember? Gotta prep you well.”

“But I can take it, I can, oh god please.” 

“If you’re a good girl for me. Can you take another finger?”

You nodded eagerly, so he added a third finger and you squeezed your eyes shut from the delicious burn. 

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asked, observing your expressions carefully. You clutched onto the pillow and panted heavily. 

“Y-Yeah, I—god—your fingers feel good…”

He began to finger you with all three digits, the tightness of your walls bringing some resistance to his actions. But with a few more neck kisses to relax you, it became easier and you became more undone. 

“You’re doing so well,” he whispered into your ear, his heavy breath tickling it. He finally removed his fingers and grabbed the dildo at the end of the bed, bringing up to your lips. 

“Show me what those pretty lips of yours can do.”

You stuck out your tongue and licked a long stripe on the toy in a tantalizing slow motion, causing Jungkook to grunt. That damn smile of yours was going to kill him. You were the perfect minx—sweet and naughty. He didn’t have to tell you to suck it because you already were. 

“Such a good girl. You’re going to handle my cock so well.”

He removed the dildo out of your mouth and reached into his nightstand to pull out a bottle of lube. You stared at it like it was foreign to you and Jungkook was quick to notice.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I can take it. I know it.”

He chuckled, admiring your determination. “Still, I want to take my time.  Besides… it’s not every day I get to fuck someone so beautiful.”

He popped open the cap and squeezed a decent amount of lube onto the toy. Then he got back in between your legs and slowly began to insert it into you. You squirmed from the slippery, cold contact but Jungkook captured your lips into a deep kiss, igniting your body with fervor. 

He thrusted the dildo as deep as he could, stopping when there was resistance from your panties. Which you were more than thankful for because you already felt full. But then he began to pump it in and out of you at a steady pace, only accelerating when your moans became more constant. 

“Shit, shit,that feels so—“ Your words were swallowed by his lips and that stirred something within you, allowing Jungkook to easily glide the toy back and forth. He soon increased his speed, the obscene sounds your pussy was making the only thing that could be heard in the room. 

You broke away from the kiss and began tearing up from the intensity. 

“J-Jungkook, I think—“

You couldn’t, actually. Your orgasm crept up on you and made your entire body convulse. You shut your eyes to only see white, your ears were ringing, and your pussy surrendered to the pleasure. 

Jungkook removed the toy out of you gently and then kissed your sweaty forehead, giving you a bunny-tooth smile as you calmed down from your high. 

“Did you cum?”

You smacked his arm playfully. “Did I cum… pfft. No, actually. I’m waiting for a real man to make me cum. With a fat cock.”

“Well not to toot my own horn but…” He grinded his swollen cock against your thigh. “I think I meet the requirements.”

Now that things slowed down, this was the first time you really got to look at his cock properly. He wasn’t kidding about needing to prep you. It was as big as your dildo but much more girthier. It was a mouth-watering sight. 

Flipping the switch, you got on top of Jungkook this time. His eyes widened in surprise but then eased into a smile. You leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. 

“Let me take care of you now.”

“But I want to fuck you so bad.”

“You can wait, darling. My pussy is yours.”

His dick twitched at that. You giggled as you got in between his thighs, stroking his member a few times to hear those cute, breathy moans of his. 

Will it fit…? God, I hope so.

“Are you afraid you can’t take it?” Jungkook asked with concern. Shit. Did you say that out loud???

“I can. I will.”

“We don’t have to if you don’t—“

“Jungkook,” you said, squeezing his dick tightly, almost like a warning. “I can take it like a good girl. And if not, I’ll tell you. Okay?”

He closed his eyes and nodded as you began to suck him off. There was no way you could take all of him in your mouth but you’d be damned if you didn’t at least try. You went as far as you could and stopped when your gag reflex kicked in. Using your hand to stroke the area you couldn’t reach, you swirled your tongue and bobbed your head up and down. 

Jungkook’s abs clenched and unclenched at the action and he rested on his elbows to watch you. The way your bra cupped your breasts at this angle was enticing, your pretty lips working so hard to please him, and the view of your ass in those panties could make him cum right then and there. 

“Fuck, you’re so good at this—don’t stop.”

You smiled at the praise and continued, loving how he took a sharp inhale of breath when you cupped his balls. He put his hand on your head and pushed you down gently, not wanting to overdo it with his size. You controlled the pace, but he just wanted to touch you and admire you. 

“You’re too good to me…” 

You released his dick with a satisfying pop sound, kissing the tip and smiling. “Teach me what you like.”

“I love everything you do,” he said, grunting when you began stroking him again from the base to the tip. “Your hands are so much softer than mine.”

You stopped momentarily to spit on your hand before resuming your lewd actions and he threw his head back. 

“Fuck [Y/N]. That’s so hot.”

“Yeah? Have I been a good girl? Are you going to reward me?” He snatched your wrist, his eyes darkened and full of lust. 

“Can you handle it?”

You turned around on all fours, shaking your ass side to side to tempt him. “Take me, baby. Raw.”

His OJO face returned from your bold suggestion and you flashed him a wink. 

“I’m on the pill. Promise,” you informed. 

A burst of energy surged within him as he grabbed the bottle of lube and hurriedly squeezed some onto his cock. You giggled when he squirted a bit too much, haphazardly trying to divide it between two hands and spreading it evenly. But things turned serious when he grabbed your hips, yanking you closer to him.

He pulled your panties to the side and ate you out from behind first, loving how delicious your backside looked with them on. You moaned in delight and he placed a hand on your upper back, forcing your face down into the mattress. His tongue dipped into your folds and he flicked it on your clit a few times, loving the whiny sounds you were making. Then he pressed his entire mouth onto your pussy and sucked hard. 

You were overwhelmed with pleasure and were on the verge of cumming when he removed his mouth and replaced it with something else.

“Are you ready?” He teased his tip at your leaking entrance and you shuddered. 

“Yes, please fuck me.”

“Breathe baby. Relax as much as you can.”

You obeyed, feeling him push himself into you smoothly, knowing he prepped you more than enough. At least, that’s what you thought until he got in halfway. From there on, it felt like he was invading your walls and stretching you to new limits. 

There was a mild discomfort and Jungkook kissed your back lovingly to relax your tense muscles. You sighed and allowed him to bottom out, feeling the wind knock out of you when he did. 

“God!” you shouted, fisting his bedsheets. 

“F-Fuck… you feel amazing I—can I move? Does it hurt?”

“It doesn’t hurt… I just feel really full.”

“Okay,” he said in a restrained voice. “I’ll go slow.”

He gripped your hips tightly, like he needed something else to focus on or else he’d lose control and fuck the living daylights out of you. He eased himself out of you but only half way, wanting to savor your warmth a bit longer. Then he pushed himself back into you, making sure to go as slow as possible.

“Your ass looks amazing in these. You should wear them again.”

Your heart fluttered at the thought of doing this with him again. “Maybe if you spank me.”

He stilled his hips. “You really want me to?”

You began rocking your ass back and forth on his cock. “Yeah. I’m not that fragile… I can take it rough when I want to.” You swore you felt his cock twitch at this. “Hmm, looks like that excited you. You wanna fuck me rough, Jeon?”

He delivered a spank on your cheek, the sensation sending waves of pain and pleasure through your body. Your pussy tightened from this and it made Jungkook hiss. He spanked the other cheek and then both cheeks and you moaned, the slight pain distracting you from the girth of his big cock. 

“You think you’re in a position to be a brat?” He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you up so you were on all fours again. Laying on top of your back, he whispered in your ear, “Do you know how badly I want to fucking ruin you?”

He bit the shell of your ear and you let out a content sigh as he slowly thrusted in and out of you. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he reminded you. “But god, you feel so good. So tight. So slippery and wet. I just wanna have my way with you.”

You couldn’t wait anymore. “Please do. Make my pussy remember the shape of your cock. It’s yours to wreck.”

Jungkook got off your back and grabbed a nice fistful of your hair into a makeshift ponytail, forcing your head up as he thrusted into you to the hilt. That feeling of being full hit you full force and you submitted, letting him rock his hips back and forth to the pace he deemed fit. He undid your bra with his free hand, letting the undergarment fall onto the bed as he cupped one breast.

Your moans came out unashamed and full of whiny desperation. The intensity was becoming too much, but it felt too good to stop. There was no more discomfort, only lust and the desire to be fucked so hard that it had your eyes rolling. And Jungkook was more than willing to deliver.

He then grabbed a nearby pillow and placed it under your stomach, pushing your back down until you laid flat. 

“I’m not sure, but I read this makes things feel better on Reddit,” he explained quickly as he helped remove your panties. “But let me know if you want me to stop.”

You’re smitten by the fact he cared this much about you but also trying hard not to laugh at how he admitted to going to Reddit for sex advice. He was too precious.

“I will.”

With your ass propped up higher thanks to the elevation of the pillow, Jungkook eased into you once more and you bit into your pillow. He started to slam his hips into you, gripping onto the headboard to steady himself. 

“Fuck!” you said through gritted teeth. 

“Am I going too fast?” he breathed, slowing down his thrusts.

“No, it’s okay. I want it. I want you.”

Your words unleashed his primal urges to finally give it to you. He shoved his cock deep inside you, each thrust making your ass jiggle, the sight so unbelievably sexy that he had to spank you again.

“Yes, yes, yes! Fuck me harder!” you shouted. Jungkook laid on top of you, wrapping his bicep around your neck and planted a kiss on your cheek as he fucked you harder. You begged him to choke you and he obliged, squeezing your neck just enough to make you slightly dizzy. 

It was euphoric having that slight danger while being used for his pleasure. Your pussy tightened so much that Jungkook felt he was going to cum. 

He slowed the roll of his hips and then pulled out, quickly flipping you onto your back. Thanks to the pillow from earlier, your hips were propped up at the perfect height. 

“Spread your legs for me. Wider. Hold them open.”

You were so drunk on lust that you did everything he asked. He held onto your thighs and inserted his cock into you again, the new angle making your moans come out strangulated. He was so huge, you swore his tip was brushing against your cervix. Picking up the pace gradually, you took the abuse of his fat cock and screamed at how good it felt. 

“I can’t get enough of you,” Jungkook said through pants, wrapping a hand around the column of your neck. “I’m gonna cum.”

His hips began to stutter and you felt your pussy growing sore from the stretch. Anymore and you’d be in tears. You wanted to cum too, so you snuck your hand down to your clit and rubbed in circular motions. Jungkook used the last remaining bits of strength to fuck you for a few more minutes, which was more than enough for you to reach your climax. 

Cumming a second time was more painful than the first time due to the over sensitivity. But somehow it was more enjoyable because you had never felt something so intense. Jungkook kept coaxing you with sweet words, promising he was almost finished. 

He rutted into you for the last few seconds, counting 3, 2, 1 before spilling his seed inside you. His body laid on top of yours, the two of you sticky and sweaty but it was comforting just being in his embrace. 

“Jungkook?” 

“Yeah?”

“Get off. We gotta pee.”

He laughed at your serious tone. “I think I need another shower. Care to join me?”

Your roommate literally just fucked your brains out 5 minutes ago. Why were you feeling self-conscious in the shower with him? It didn’t make sense!

With the hot water on, you took a deep breath before feeling a pair of arms wrap around you from behind. 

“Questions, comments, concerns?”

Oh my god, you had to marry this man. “Um… I think I’ll be sore for the next few days.”

“I’m sorry.

“Don’t be. I enjoyed it a lot.”

He turned you around, so that you were facing him. “Enough to do it again?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Tonight?”

“W-Well… I mean—“

Look at him fumbling over his words. Adorable. “You’re such a pervert.”

“I can’t help it. You turn me on.”

You covered your chest, feeling shy. “Is that all I’m good for…?”

He immediately understood what you meant. “Of course not. Look at me,” he said while tilting your chin up. “Don’t you know how I feel about you?”

Your lips curled into a smile. “Well I learned today that you jerked off to my panties and you count down before you cum.”

You couldn’t help but explode into laughter at his OJO face when he heard you say that. 

“Hey! I do it to let you know when it’s coming!”

“Yes sir,” you teased with a salute. “I appreciate your punctuality, sir!”

“Oh my god, you’re so cheeky.” He hugged you again and booped his nose into yours. “I like you. You know, when a boy likes a girl and they go out on a date and then—oh shit, I did things backwards.”

You giggled. “I think I prefer it this way. I like you too. I’ve… liked you for a long time.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because! I didn’t want to make things awkward. But I guess things ended up being awkward anyway…”

“Because you were masturbating to me?” 

He had such a proud smile on his face. 

“Whatever! Panty thief!”

“You left them there.”

“You should’ve told me!”

“I did!”

“After you had your fun! You are so—”

He gave you a surprise peck on the cheek to distract you. 

“Awesome?” He smooched you again. And again. You couldn’t help but giggle. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Mmhmm. So… do you want to stay in my room tonight?”

“As long as you warm me up.”

“Oh, for sure. I’m great at that.”

“Because of experience or Reddit?”

There was his OJO face again. “Hey~!”

I truly hope you enjoyed the fic! Thank you for giving my writing a chance. :) Also I have an AO3 if you're more comfortable commenting there. Thanks!

[brailsthesmolgurl]

VISAGE

PREVIEW: She thought she had it all within her grasp, with Sylus by her side, she is practically untouchable. However, there had always been a thought lurking in the back of her mind ever since Sylus had gotten himself acquainted with a deepspace hunter. For someone who is as mundane as y/n, with no skills and power, what would happen if she were to allow those fears to manifest? It burrows, it festers, rots her from inside out and perhaps, just perhaps, Sylus will no longer be her safe haven anymore.

WARNINGS: Heavy angst that makes your blood curdle, reader is not mc!, suggestive themes, heavy gore.

P.S: Yes I know darlings, it has been a long time since I have been updating my works on here. Work and a lack of motivation got to me T-T. Introducing the debutante for this piece, the daddy himself Sylus! This piece is heavily inspired by those storylines that involves romance and also somewhat slightly related to Howl's Moving Castle vibes? I dunno heh I have some weird ideas cooking in my brain sometimes, hence the lack of frontal lobe growth I guess :,) And yes, there shall be a part two to this but I needed to get this spat out first!

Part two

Dividers sourced from here!

There is always a saying that whenever one wakes up to the sound of birds chirping in the morning, thus marks the start of a beautiful, sunny day ahead. However, that is not the case for y/n when she wakes up to Mephisto trying his best to do 'chirpings' but ends up cawing like a dying bird. Y/n sighed, pushing herself off of the plush bed to invite whatever the weather has to offer to her. Mephisto is not a bird and it cannot sing, so it sure as hell cannot predict the weather. The curtains are drawn close, a reminder of her intimate sessions with her lover in the bed last night, privacy shielded behind two drapes of heavy fabric.

Yawning, she waved her hand in the air and Mephisto leaves the room as if on cue, not wanting to be punished by his master for having a peek at what belongs to him. Y/n pulled on her silk nightgown, the material cooling to her skin and touch and she waddled out of the room. The smell of breakfast immediately wafts into her nose, it smells like buttermilk pancakes and she is sure that he is the one that is preparing the breakfast as there are times when Sylus would cook himself rather than having the chef prep the meals.

The man himself owns a big kitchen, but his sheer height and built makes the kitchen feel mid to his size. Y/n quietly sneaks up behind him, watching him humming while manhandling the pan, flipping the pancakes with ease. As she was about to attack him with her hands, the man had already beaten her to it, his evol stopping her hands from touching the sides of his torso and he turned, hair messy from waking up but still as good looking as ever. "Good morning, y/n." Voice still raspy, he retreats his evol and leans down to peck her lips softly. "Your sneak attacks are too predictable."

"How did you even heard me coming? I made sure I am extra secretive this time." She pouted, bottom lips jutting out and arms crossed over her chest. She watched as the man turned from the stove to the counter, serving the slices of pancakes onto the plain white plates. The image of soft, jiggly pancakes set onto the dark marble countertop, framed within the kitchen of mostly dark colours made it stood out awkwardly. But given the opulent kitchen exhales nothing less of elegance, perhaps, a plate of pancakes is all that it needs to breath a sense of life and humanity within this nearly aphotic abode of Sylus'.

"The moment you stopped snoring is the moment I knew you were going to wake up soon enough." His taunt got her gasping in return, embarassment littered all over her face. Offended, she slapped his taut arm and he chuckled in return. "I admire your effort, but next time, it would just be better if you were to greet me normally and lessen your failure rates." He swiftly wrapped his arms around her small waist and carefully guided her towards the dining table, with a plate in his other free hand. "Here, have some of your favourite."

He walked back towards the kitchen to grab his plate and seated himself next to her. "Did you taught Mephistos on how to chirp?" She asked him as she was cutting into the pancake. Then, that marks the start for their seemingly mundane daily conversations. Chuckles and teasing jokes filled the atmosphere of the once sterile looking kitchen.

Back in the days, this man would never be the type to say yes to making meals of any kind for nary, let alone waking up at the crack of dawn to make breakfast, Sylus yields to nobody. One might also wonder how did she even got associated with him in the first place? As she is only a mundane and the furious leader of the N109 zone was never the type to lay eyes on someone who poses no utility to him. Or so that was what he had once strongly believed in.

Since the day he had laid eyes upon her, in the basement of another clan, tied up against a pole in a mangled fashion, his aether core ached, a cord so tight that it tugged against every fibre of his being. He had never felt this way about anyone, let alone a hostage like y/n. She looked frail, sick and is scared of everything and anything except for the darkness. Sylus recalled the time when he grabbed her arm and she started kicking with all of her might, her wails coming out in low moans, kicks that barely does any damage to insects. She is dying, but Sylus felt like he could not leave her alone. The undulating thumps of his aether core in his eye, was a rare occurence that it overthrew his logic of killing her to ease her of her pain.

The initial idea of bringing her back to nourish her back to health was perished when Sylus realised that he had slowly started to be smitten with her. Within the hollow and scrawny shell of hers, she still possesses a fighting spirit and it is only applicable when she thinks that her life is hanging off of the balance. Although at first Sylus had detested her, warning her multiple times that he only took her in out of pity. However, she had only thanked him, either it would be via verbally or physically, no snap backs, no retaliation, she is just plainly grateful to be alive even if she were to be held up in another unfamiliar place. She would prefer anything else than to be tortured back in that dank basement.

With a little digging, Sylus had only retrieved information about her lineage and everything about it seemed all too mundane for him to be suspicious of anything. On the day he had fished her out of that hell hole, he brought her straight to his handyman to get her checked out for any core abnormalities. There must be a reason why she would be held hostage, kept alive only to be tortured. Sylus likes a challenge, but this challenge holds a mystery that remains unraveled when the handyman came back with a reading that denotes her to be nothing special. When asked about how she was kidnapped, her pallor suggested that she probably had her memory wiped clean amidst the torture or due to extreme post traumatic stress disorder.

After a couple of weeks being around his abode, she had found out a method to thank him and it involves cooking. However, her cooking is absolutely horrible, but Sylus still eats it to uphold his sense of politesse. It took some courage and serious toilet trips for him to finally decide that it is time to get an in-house chef for meal preps. The chef's first day to work was met with a confused y/n, standing at the front of the door with a big kitchen knife aimed towards him.

After explanations were given from the threatened chef, she realised that Sylus did not enjoyed her cooking and that led her to sulk. It went on for days, masked behind her dull appearance and it forced Sylus to use his evol on her only then he realised that this girl had already gotten a grip on him. The leader of the N109 zone had softened up a lot, wanting to know what she has to think, what was going on behind her blank expressions.

The pity for her faltered day by day, and it was slowly replenished with infatuation towards this mundane that he had stayed with for months. Luke and Kieran also teased him sometimes, stating that the unwavering leader of theirs now has a soft spot. Sylus had stopped denying it to a certain extent, it was like the man had lost all sense of rationale when it comes to discussing about her. "Boss, you do like her don't you?" One of the twins would urge, Sylus can clearly imagine their wriggling eyebrows underneath those masks.

"That is none of your business." The leader would scoff, feigning ignorance towards his underlings when they would boo him for not being truthful to himself. As much as he enjoyed their curiosity, he does not feel the need to continue this conversation, as he is a man of few words. "I suggest you both find something to do before I lose my patience." And that sent the both of them careening out of his room in full speed.

"You said you have something to tend to tonight, so I suppose I will not be expecting you for dinner?" Cocking her head aside, a small, curious smile hung on her curved lips. Sylus catches her gaze, the woman he is looking at now being a whole different person than who she was when he first brought her back. Her eyes now gleamed with excitement whenever she sees him, her smile and laughter both contagious, and her heart only directs towards him and only him.

The man nodded. "Yes, I will be out with the hunter tonight." He laid down his fork and fetched a napkin from across the table. Afterwards, he leaned towards his lover slightly and rubbed the napkin across her lips, muttering under his breath about the slight brown tint of maple syrup she had left sitting on the corners of her upturned lips. "Is there something the matter?"

Y/n hesitated, not sure if she should be telling him about her opinion. Ever since she had gotten here, she had learned that voicing out opinions are allowed here and that she could have a say in anything she is unhappy about. With enough courage, it started out with rejection, then it went on to providing her own opinions and now it's time for her to be honest with her feelings. These are values that Sylus had taught her about, and being the stubborn man he is, he does not expect himself to be repeating his words.

"It's just, you had been spending a lot of time with her, Sylus." She blurted out, lips becoming numb after the sentence when she expected vituperation from the crimson-orbed lover of hers. Not that he had ever cursed at her, or had been abusive with her, but it was the probability of him doing so is what scares her. Furthermore, it is clear that she still harbors malicious memories of her past. Just the mere thought of being stuck in that basement had gotten her wincing uncomfortably.

"You mean that hunter?" His eyebrow curved upwards, head slightly tilted as he tried to get a better look at her. He could sense her hesitation, her regret after the end of her sentence. Swiftly, Sylus traced a finger down her temples, trailing downwards and leaving goosebumps in its trail till it stopped beneath her chin. He tilted her head upwards so that her gaze would be aligned with his, yet she was staring at the walls right behind him. "The hunter and I are tending to a ruckus that had happened downtown and she is helping me with the investigation."

His explanation although was to soothe her, it only got her feeling on edge, teeth chattered as she struggled to think logically. She had never felt this sort of emotion; one closely related to jealousy, possessiveness and envy. "Why her?" Her fists tightened, hidden beneath the table cloth. "I can be of use to your investigations too." Couple of blinks to push back the tears, she looked into his gaze, to search for an answer she was expecting. "Why does it have to be her?"

The man sighed, not being the type to want to overexplain issues and he stood up from his seat, collecting his plate at the same moment. "You are not exactly useful when it comes to an actual battlefield." Voice although calm, but words of his pierced through her, reminding her of the reality she is really in. Sylus finds no use in her other than her existing as a pretty little thing next to him. Like an eccentric jewel on display on a pedestal but could never get off of it because she is not 'useful'. An angered y/n stood up, her chair screeched against the hardwood flooring and she angrily stomped off, her usually hushed footsteps resonated through the ornated hallways and leaving Sylus sat alone in the kitchen.

If one were to wonder over what the man thinks, he also spoke of facts. He sees her not being an object to aid in his investigation, but he only views her as someone that he wants to protect, and wants to come home to. A prized possession of his, if one dares to admit. Sylus too got up from his seat and started to tail behind her, watching her outline from behind, disappearing into their shared chambers. He watched her plopped face down onto the pillow, her actions almost comical. "Y/n." He called out her name but received no response. As expected. "I do not find any means to utilise you." He approached her, finding his seat next to her outstretched legs. He then places his hand onto the back of her thigh, thumb drawing aimless circles. "In fact, I do not want to use you at all."

"Just get out." Her voice was muffled but her tone seethed with anger. "Just go and do whatever it is that you wanted to do with the hunter if she is much more worthy on the battlefield with you." Her voice cracked unintentionally at the end and Sylus sighed, hand leaving her thigh. He could tell that he had messed up, said something that he had failed to filter and caused her to be so upset. As much as Sylus would like to stay behind and to comfort her, the hunter and his mission awaits. A mission that he is dwelling into for the sake of y/n. A mission that would ensure her safety once and for all.

“I have to go now, but I promise that I will make it up to you later.” With a quick kiss to the back of her neck, she could only hear the heavy footsteps of his disappearing after the clicking shut of the door. A part of her did not want to be jealous just because he is doing business with another female counterpart. Another part of her however, shaped like a devil, whispered sinful nothings into her ear, coaxing her to be jealous, to practice distrust upon her relationship with Sylus just like how she never had the courage to trust anyone. Dissolving into her pillow, her tears blended into the mix of polyester and cotton, her sobs quiet but reverberated within the four walls of their shared room. Mephisto landed on a branch directly outside of her window, guarding her but quietly and patiently stayed outside whilst accompanying her with the whistling winds.

Sylus’ meet up with the deepspace hunter was supposedly to be nothing more than just business. After the raid where Sylus had rescued —much like kidnapped— y/n, deepspace hunters were on a hunt for y/n and a particular deepspace hunter stumbled upon a lead on Sylus being the raid leader and without fear, she confronted him only to land a deal between the both of them. Sylus did weighed on the deal, whether was it worth his effort to involve someone from the government but he knew that her database would come in handy for him to continue conducting raids on the gangs that had any connections to the capturing of his lover. You see, there is one thing that still bothers the white haired man from the day he got her back. Now, with the deepspace hunters on the hunt for her, it only further proved his suspicion and he is planning to utilise the deepspace hunter’s database to get to what he is actually seeking for.

So far, is Sylus impressed? No, because he knew that he could easily do that with the amount of moles he has in this undercity but he needed something to give the deepspace hunter a sense of purpose, to trail for a sense of achievement before he gets what he needs from her and then he shall disappear within the bat of an eye. To Sylus, it just makes the chase more interesting, especially with a deepspace hunter right within his grasp. A mere deepspace hunter like her poses no threat to him afterall. “Still nothing?” His voice rumbled through his chest as he stepped onto bits of broken glass, to get to the entryway that leads to the basement. They are currently at an abandoned motel, in search of the supposed gang members. But Sylus is here for another reason. A reply came from below and he hastened his steps to make it to the bottom.

“I found a safe here, but there are only some sketches, and maybe some formulations or reports for something technological?” The deepspace hunter’s voice hesitated, standing up and showing him the papers that she had found. “Why would these be in a safe? It seemed to be something out of a nightmare.” Sylus took the papers from her hand and studied them. The creature sketched onto the papers with charcoal resembled somewhat of an uncanny human being. Messy, seemingly rushed handwritings were etched onto the side to form notes. ‘DANGEROUS, UNSTABLE AND UNCONTAINABLE’ were the words that he was able to make out while the rest of it are scribbled formulations for who knows what. The creature was drawn out roughly, with hollow dark eyes that bled with tar black substance, elongated and bony body proportions, alongside with a forced smile to make up its final look. The ends of Sylus’ lips twitched as he stared at the drawing. It seemed almost…familiar to him but he just could not quite catch what it resembled.

“Have you ever thought maybe because it is nightmarish hence they would keep it in a safe?” He retorted, a sigh leaving his lips when he realised that common sense may not be equipped within the brains of some deepspace hunters. He folded the papers and shoved them into the pockets of his leather jacket, the deepspace hunter however, held out her hand and beckoned her palm at him, wanting the papers to be within her grasp. “It is better for me to hold onto it as it may not impose any usage for you deepspace hunters.” Seeing her unyielding palm, he continued. “If I received news about this creature you will be the first to know so you may report it back to your HQ.” Her pupils lit up at his suggestion, a sign of agreement.

Stepping out of the abandoned motel, they headed towards their respective vehicles. As they were about to hitch onto their rides, shots were fired. “Duck! We are getting ambushed!” The deepspace hunter shouted and then they both ducked behind their motorbikes, trying to cover themselves from bullets and to sought out the shooters amidst the dark. “There, behind the trees!” Right when she said that, another bullet ricochet and then followed a searing sizzle. Sylus took the opportunity to jump onto his bike and he roared the engine to life, twisting the handle and throttling the bike towards the deepspace hunter.

The wheels screeched in rejection against the tar road and he angled the bike towards the road. The fizzling sound of the broken exhaust notes a ticking time bomb for the bike. Sylus fuelled the bike of his and it started lurching forward, propagating him towards the road. Along the way, he grabbed the deepspace hunter by the neckline of her leather jacket and he heaved her onto his bike with the strength of only an arm. The female squeaked in surprise but quickly reacted by grabbing hold of his bike’s seat and hoisted herself up onto the back seat. Securing her arms around his waist, they both faded into the covers of the darkness as the bike they left behind went off with a deafening explosion.

“Where are we going?!” The deepspace hunter called out from behind, the wind beating against her rubicund cheeks as he shifted the gears to turn a sharp corner. Home. That was all the man could think of. Leaving his lover behind in shreds, with tears depicting strokes of her loneliness, rolled up in bundles of borrowed warmth from satin sheets is not the last scene he would want to encounter upon departing onto a mission. He felt like he had somewhat betrayed her, perhaps even, made her felt unwanted. This man now reeks of self guilt, silently cursing at himself only within the confines of his own mind. There, he left the woman behind him in obsolete silence. Yet, the direction of his motorbike suggested another location he had in his mind.

Y/n's chest felt tight, an unbearable weight pressed against her small body as she struggled to break free from the grasp of an unknown force. A voice travelled through the void, calling out for her. "You're sinking in the mire of your own twisted fate." The voice panned onto her, and her restrained wrists started burning, making her wince in response. "Love was never an option for you, bereft suits you better." An amorphous outline formed, bulky and large, symbolising nary of a man but more of a beast. Two orbs formed at the top of the silhouette and y/n recognised those eyes anywhere, the bright crimson orbs are hard to miss. "If you do not remember, fate always reminds." And a jaw snapped opened, darting straight towards her and she screamed.

Snapping herself awake in bed, y/n could feel her heart slamming against the walls of her chest cavity, begging to be set free. Her wrists still scorched, a memory she had never really freed herself from that dank dungeon. Her tears pierced the back of her eyes, vision blurring in the progress. There were no signs of Sylus in the room and the deep maroon walls swallowed her plangent cries. She could hear the voice echoed in her mind, muttering imprecations repetitively to put her under a trance. Y/n grabbed the roots of her hair and started to tug brutally, aching to pull off her scalp if she was given the chance to.

Luke and Kieran dashed in, horrified at her actions and they both did not hesitate, for they knew if Sylus comes back to this, they are both as good as cadavers. "Y/n!" They both shouted in sync, jumping onto the bed to restrain her but it only agonised her, her body hunched forward and tears spilled onto her clothes. None of the twins knew of her nightmares, how Sylus would sometimes wake up to her crying in the middle of the night, how the word 'somnambulist' was not just another fancy nickname their boss picked up from the lexicon to address her in a teasing manner, and how sometimes she would showcase uncontrolled enmity towards herself in the covers of the night by holding herself at gunpoint. It was also at times Sylus thought that bringing her out of the dungeon may just be the worst decision he has ever made but that did not stop him from wanting to pursue her, to put on the veil of a saint not just to quench his ego for a hero complex, but to hold love for someone who he used to love. The man may have been hurled at life multiple times, reincarnated into different lives and different statuses in different times, but one thing he knew for sure, is that in this life, he met a gaze that he could never forget even if his memories were wiped. For she, held that gaze. The linger that made him see himself, the linger that reminded him of every lifetime, that there is that someone that gave him the warmth that he could never quite grasp, a feel that he has to seek for in every parallel life of his.

"We have to call boss!" Kieran exclaimed, his hand kept rubbing her back in hopes of soothing her as she wailed into her palms. None of the twins knew what to do and Kieran had decided that patting her back could be the best way. Luke careened out of the room hastily, in search of his phone. His hands trembled with every press of a button and he pressed the phone to his ear when the dial tone goes through. However, the call did not manage to get through and Luke stumbled back into the room, his footsteps the only sounds heard throughout the empty manor and it made him wondered if Kieran had done some sort of voodoo magic to calm her cries down. "Luke, no!" Kieran's voice echoed from the room and there goes a deafening blast, sending Luke flying through the air and landing onto the floor like a cordless puppet.

Sylus wasted no time in arriving at the location of a secret auction. One where he knows that he would be able to find the man whom would bear the fair description of non compos mentis, a mad scientist who owns adulations for his 'creations' that shall be witnessed at this auction tonight. The hunter beside him craned her neck upwards, her mouth moving, hushed whispers followed. "Is this where we can find that crazy guy you mentioned just now?" She had been forced to change into an exquisite attire and was given a last minute identity to fit the occasion.

"No more questions from now on." Sylus' brusqueness tied the hunter's lips and she could sense his irritation radiating off of him. He offered his arm to her and she wrap one of her arms around it as they approached the grand entrance of the manor. The manor is gigantic, spanning probably a few acres of land, with patterned bonzai tress and manicured bushes lining the front yard and two large golden statues signifying a nude man and woman guarding the main door. The manor seemed to be a casting location straight out of a cult movie. A footman stood at the entryway, a clipboard in hand.

"Hello, welcome to the Prescott Manor." The footman probably around in his twenties spoke, his voice a welcoming baritone. "May I get your names please as this is an invitation ONLY party."

"Sylus," He replied swiftly and his gaze followed the footman's, landing on the female counterpart next to him. "This is my partner for the night." The footman nodded and trailed his pen on the piece of paper on the clipboard, reading through names before stopping at the alphabetical S and he ticked a small check box next to it.

Smiling, he greeted the both of them and ushered them towards a row of safes located next to the coat room. "Welcome Mr. Sylus and Miss MC to the Prescott Manor. Before you head in, we would like you to kindly surrender your electronic devices and any sort of weapons into any of the locker of your choice here." Seeing the slightly raised eyebrow of Sylus', the footman swallowed and quickly followed up with an inept explanation. "This is a charitable night and we have children around. It is to ensure the utmost safety of all of the guests tonight."

Both Sylus and the hunter started shedding themselves of their electronic devices and weapons. The locker slowly piling up with all of their belongings. "Miss, that includes that claymore tucked in your thigh holster." One of the footman's eye gleamed an unusual cerulean, indicating he is equipped with X-Ray vision to conduct body scans. The hunter scoffed and grabbed the claymore out of her thigh holster and chucked it into the locker, the clang of metals made the footman grinned in satisfaction.

The huge doorway welcomes guests into the expansive hall, chandeliers crafted out of translucent protocores hung high above the ceiling, shimmering and refracting patterned lights across the polished marble floors. One may be in awe at this view but Sylus is too used to this, not to mention he himself is an owner of a manor himself. The hunter however, was in a state of shock, her throat tightened as she struggled to not vomit. Glass cabinets arranged all over the hall displayed preserved creatures, not human nor beasts alike. It closely resembled a sick combination of genes from humans and wanderers.

"I am going to excuse myself." Hand slapped against her mouth, the hunter scampered off to the nearest toilet available while Sylus just rubs his nose bridge and sighed in disappointment. He certainly did not expect a hunter to have a weak stomach given the nature of their work.

A shadow loomed beside him and he was quick to snap his neck over. "Fancy seeing you here." The man of the hour, Dr. Prescott stood next to Sylus, height on par with the Onychinus leader. His piercing grey eyes, hidden behind a pair of sleek glasses pranced with curiosity as he wondered why the leader of Onychinus would appear at this auction for illegal hybrids. "What brings the most feared individual in the N109 zone to my humble abode?" His voice, smooth and commanding makes one hard to discern his true intentions.

The enigmatic doctor has always been one to operate in the shadows, always conducting experiments that makes life and death a blurred maze. In the zone full of villainy, Dr. Prescott stands out not just for his freaky science experiments, but also for his twisted advocation for 'bio-weapons' that shall reform warfares in the future. And that, makes even the nefarious Sylus look like a novice. However, it is his perilious experiments that grants him the trademark, and makes him an easy target.

Sylus adjusted his cufflinks then finally meet the eyes of the man standing next to him. "I came here for answers." His eyes narrowed. "Answers that you would be able to provide." Dr. Prescott, bemused with the demand, tilted his head upwards and started weaving through the crowd. Sylus followed in suit, his senses are heightened when he started noticing the crowd had their glances set on him. "However, I'd like to say, it's very daunting of you to step into my territory with that deepspace hunter."

Part two here!

[bamsara]

Cult of the Lamb x Alice in Wonderland / Alice: Madness Returns crossover AU idea

Taking aspects and aesthetics from each and mashing them together with some tweaks to make up an AU that I may or may not write a multishot chapter fic for. Narilamb included + possible Leshycat

AU summary:

After following a one-eyed rat and falling into Wonderland, The Lamb is captured and sentenced to death by decapitation, only to be saved last second by a mysterious grinning cat.

They learn that they are a Lamb of prophecy: the one to defeat the tyranical rulers of Wonderland: King Leshy, Queen Heket, King Kallamar, and Majesty Shamura to free wonderland from their oppressive rule. The rulers keep an iron grip on this world's inhabitants by threatening with their own abilities, as well as a promise of a monster under their control. Legend says that there was also a fifth ruler long ago, and rumors say that after a argument, that the royal siblings either sealed him away, or fed him to the monster they claim to keep.

Yet no one has laid eyes on this creature in nearly a thousand years. Not that anyone wants to risk that, though.

Making friends and mad allies alike, the Lamb traverses through Wonderland with a three-eyed and constantly smiling cat as their trustworthy guide, who although helpful, shares little of his own motives as to why he's assisting the Lamb in the first place.

(Tags for this AU will be 'Wonderlamb Au')

[mysumeow]

︵ ☆ Malleus NSFW Alphabet (J-R) Pt. 2

ᓚᘏᗢ WARNINGS: AFAB body reader. ᓚᘏᗢ A/N: when i wrote the first part i did notice my writing skills rusty T_T what dedicating your time to academic pursuit does to a mf i guess. this time, i felt like words flowed more smoothly :'D | ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎ . . . TWST MASTERLIST | PREV. | NEXT

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Not that he thinks it’s some sin or something like that, he doesn’t see much sense in doing it. His mind focuses on other things unless the sexual tension becomes overwhelming enough for him to relieve it. Much to his disadvantage, however, when you seep into his mind, occupying his thoughts that were reserved for concerns of less carnal nature, he finds himself not knowing how to feel about it.

Despite you being the reason he can’t retreat to Ramshackle’s isolated atmosphere anymore, he isn’t averse to how lively you’ve made it. You’re a synonym of trouble, one that is buoyant and vibrant, however. You occupy his thoughts more often than he’d like to admit.

He’s a bit confused on why, but that doesn’t deter him from stroking his aching cock to the thought of you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Edging (giving), but he didn’t realize he’s into it until he noticed a pattern after a while. It wasn’t intentional the way he kept his movements slow and deliberate; it’s because he adores you and wants to take his time pleasuring you—that’s it, really. You grow needy, daring to thread your fingers into his hair and pull. He finds it amusing how you scrunch your nose and moan for him breathlessly.

To no one’s surprise: breeding. He has you pinned under him intending to breed you. It’s an instinct amplified by his draconian blood; he can’t help it. You get a handsome, otherworldly fae whose heart is devoted to you, and in return, you get bred. It kind of comes with the package.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere he knows no one will see. He doesn’t want anyone walking in on you because your bare body to him is a sight only he should have the grace to witness. His possessiveness oozes to that extent, too. When deciding where to do it, he must consider his status as a future king. If there’s evidence or rumors running around about the heir being improper in public, he could get into trouble.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

When you wear jewelry. The shiny mineral catches his attention. Beautiful, shiny mineral + you (also appealing to his eyes) activates a part of his dragon brain to go nyoom haywire. Also, considering he likes your neck itself, the embellishment of a necklace provides is, for him, as if you were offering yourself as a pretty present awaiting for him to unwrap. Many bite marks will result on your neck.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Not fond of impact play, either receiving or giving. If it’s pain that gets you off, he can attain that through other means, such as biting and overstim.

Also, no sharing. The dragon part of his brain is averse to the idea of someone else touching you intimately.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Don’t be surprised if he’s a bit clueless the first time. Take your time to guide him, show him how and what you like; he’ll be more than glad to follow through, placing your pleasure as his priority when his mouth and fingers play with you. Be warned, though, once he has learned your weaknesses, he’ll exploit them.

When it comes to the other way around, you kneeling between his legs and stroking his cock, it doesn’t take much for him to orgasm. The novelty of the sensations you evoke with your tongue makes it relatively easy for you to attain that.

He’s more intrigued to find what makes you gasp and tremble, so he prefers to give you oral.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

His pace tends to begin sensually, taking his time to savor you. He wants to cherish having you in his arms without fear of getting interrupted; he can demonstrate how much he thirsts for your warmth. He’ll take it slow at first. When the heat clouds his rationale, the pace quickens; that doesn’t stop him from showing tenderness during it, though. He’ll be holding your hand, a thumb caressing the back.

The pace roughens and becomes demanding when he’s jealous—yes, the future king of Briar Valley expresses such emotions—and it’s worse because that’s an emotion he’s not used to feeling. He’s a prince destined to take after a nation, a talented and powerful mage, and a student who excels. What is there to envy? Wait…what do you mean someone was courting you?

Good luck.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

If he sees you’re desperate, there’s a chance he’ll cave in. He prefers the sessions to be longer because 5 minutes aren’t enough to show you his love, but if you insist, he’ll please you. On the other hand, if he’s feeling like being a little tease, he’ll make you wait for it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

If you’re one to come up with suggestions repeatedly, he’ll look forward to your proposals. Malleus is intrigued by what you can come up with, and he’s open to your whims. Then again, true to a fae nature, he can be impish depending on your request.

[acid-ixx]

Future Posts Lineup (in no particular order of when to be posted) (uc)

a/n: some of these were also taken out from my planned fanfics post a few months ago whilst some are new ideas. just know i already have drafts written for all of these, hence why i decided to post this for anybody curious on further updates. anything labeled as uc means I'm too lazy to add a proper description yet.

Chapter 6, Part One - Part Two: Where the family finally gets to relive memories of you long buried, further deepening the deep-seated guilt and shame for just how much they've left you out. Whilst on the other side of the city, you get a new, feline friend you named Mr. Stinky who seems to be too just cranky for his senior age, and a new guy to crush on, Conner, whose flirting has you distracted from the watchful pair of eyes following you from when you left the alleyway where you found the cat. You realize after your lovely call with Conner, though, that your newfound motivation to leave Gotham wasn't as easy as planned, and that you couldn't possibly do it alone.

All Eyes on the Prize, Part Two: Bruce should've never left you, not when he now realizes how frighteningly great of a parent you are when him and his children find you smothering both Jon and Conner affection under the watchful public eye, and how brightly you glow beside Clark who's set on showing everybody that you already belonged to him. Your ex-children aren't also too keen on how their envy makes them wish that it was them being so closely monitored and scolded by you instead of those two, new 'self-proclaimed' kids of yours.

Confessions of the Damned and Unwanted: A day spent sitting beside you, silent and distant, unnervingly watching the rainfall patter on the silken grass with empty eyes has Bruce desperate to repair whatever love left you had for him as a father— it made him spill words he never meant, made you retaliate with details of your life far beyond what he could've comprehended. And under the watchful eyes of the fog encapsulating both your broken confessions does Bruce realize just how deeply the emotional cuts he inflicted on you were, just how much he never had been a father to you even after all the time he's spent with you after you've been unwillingly taken away.

Family Dinner: Silly, old you can't seem to stomach the fact that they're all looking at you now at the elongated table when months ago you were a mere ghost in their eyes whilst they chatter happily amongst each other. Unfamiliar with how communicating with a family who estranged you works; you end up having a panic attack in the middle of dinner when Damian attempted to hug you.

Once Your Son, Always Your Son: Your routine with your beloved son, Jon, leaves nothing else to be desired as you set about your usual nightly schedule of helping him clean up, fix his bed, and read him bedtime stories— something you've grown accustomed to love naturally as being a parent does. But when Damian comes to visit you once Jon falls asleep, he enviously demands you do the same to him and to return to the manor where a better family is waiting for you.

Flowers on My Grave: Flowers don't only bloom inside your lungs when you're rejected by someone you love romantically, they can also manifest through platonic love unrequited. Vomiting a bouquet of yellow carnations and an arraw of purple and blue hyacinths, you set to sever the bond of love you once felt for them once and for all.

Paper Weights (UC): (Loving Family, Unpalatable Desire oneshort too which you try to serve Bruce divorce papers disguised as a contract for designer items you pretended to want. It's only when it's the next day where Damian angrily stomps all the way to Bruce's study with Alfred in tow does he discover his idiocracy and why you seemed so intent on having him hurriedly sign the papers. One of your new posts on your private account with a new wedding ring attached to your finger also stirred plenty of drama online).

Nightmares and Consolations (UC): (Again &. Again. Fluff oneshot where you get nightly terrors and they scheduled periodic breaks to comfort you every night through your sleep paralysis. The mission? Get you to sleep properly. The task? Failed successfully, because they instead end up awake throughout the night with you just trying to bond with you instead)

The Night Cryptid (UC): (Horror/NSFW series. Where a new, heartless monster introduces itself into the heart of Gotham City and induces a new kind of fear into its citizens. Except Batman and his team of kids end up smitten with this creature (and how they don't want to admit their curiosity upon whatever those tendrils of yours can do to them)).

Like Him, Redo (UC): (Yandere Batfam x Reader. Where your mother's resistance against having you be introduced to Bruce both made and broke you once you realized just how misdirected your rage towards Bruce was).

What Money Can Buy (UC): (Yandere Batfam x Broke Reader. Where you're dirt poor and go to the same school as Damian, became a friend of his, and also ultimately had to resort to criminal activity which captured the attention of his family and made them insist on having you work them. Except you refuse because you don't want to be seen as a charity case (They see you as a new addition to the family instead)).

The list will be updated occasionally.

[arietem]

yoga with jj

masterlist

jj maybank x fem!reader

summary: you decide to try out yoga on a hot summer day. and you do so on the porch in front of jj

light smut and suggestive content

You've always wanted to try out hot yoga, but you've never actually had the patience for it. So, when the first really hot day of the summer came around, you decide it's the perfect time to whip out your mat and try some moves on the porch. Your outfit of choice for the workout is a set of cute lilac shorts and a lilac sports bra. The shorts are really short and the bra is really skimpy but it's summer and you're on the beach all the time anyway, so who cares?

JJ is tinkering with his bike over in the backyard, shirtless and glistening with sweat. Okay, you may have ulterior motives with your morning yoga sesh. Who can blame you when he looks like that? He's taunting you with his divine abs and his lean back muscles. It's only fair you return the favor by stretching in almost nothing in his line of vision.

You walk out of the house with your mat under your arm and choose a spot in the center of the porch. It is a perfect vantage point for you to see JJ and for him to see you. First, you take a few deep breaths and reach your arms high above you, standing on the tips of your toes to really feel the deep stretch in your whole body. With each move, you feel the muscles beneath your skin shifting and the tension seeping out.

You can tell JJ notices what you're doing by the way his hands slow down and his head turns ever so slightly to get a better look. He takes off his hat to shake out his hair with his fingers and puts the hat back on backward. Looking at him like this, all shiny and breathless from the exertion makes you tingly from the top of your head all the way to the bottom of your feet.

When you know you have JJ's attention, you turn around so your back is facing him. Seemingly ignoring him, you slowly bend down into the downward dog position, your face down and your ass high up in the air. You know you look good from behind, your legs long and skin tanned, the color of your workout set perfectly accentuating the way the sun hits you.

After a minute or two in that pose, your muscles feel warm enough to continue on with some tougher positions. Your core is feeling strong and stable and you can feel a droplet of sweat traveling down your spine. This hot yoga workout is starting to get really hot. Especially since you can see JJ through your legs, still working on that damn bike, looking so good you could just lick him.

You extend one of your legs in the air, bending the knee so you can almost touch your head with your pointed toes. Your breathing is more labored now and you're getting hotter and hotter, the heat traveling throughout your whole body. Switching legs, you moan a little when you stretch out, this side feeling much tighter.

JJ must have lost his composure behind you because you can hear some tools falling from his hands and his semi-quiet cursing. You smile to yourself because you have him exactly where you want him. Taking quick strides across the yard, JJ stops behind you, his front pressed tightly against you. You can feel his excitement through both of your shorts and you wiggle your ass slightly. JJ groans and digs his fingers into your hips.

Done with your workout, for now, you straighten up. "I loved the show, baby," JJ whispers in your ear and goosebumps erupt all over your skin. He ruts against you more from behind and you gasp softly, reveling in the feeling. "You feel how hard you're making me, huh?"

You spin around so you can face him when you cup his dick over his shorts. He bites his lip and flutters his eyelashes slightly. You have absolutely no idea how can someone be so adorable and so fuckable at the same time. JJ makes you wetter than anybody ever has before and makes you want to give him the world at the same damn time.

You reach out to clasp your hands behind his neck, playing with the soft hair there. Leaning forward slightly, you lick a strip from his collarbone all the way to his ear. The sweat on his body shouldn't turn you on that much but here you are, licking off the salty drops like he's an oasis in the desert.

"Feel how wet you make me, JJ," you said looking up into his baby blues. Letting go of his neck, you take one of his hands from your lower back and guide it to the front of your workout shorts. The moisture seeping through them is definitely not sweat. Locking your fingers with his, you take it up a notch by dragging your connected hands inside your underwear.

JJ sucks in a breath when your joined fingers start gliding through your slick folds, slowly circling your clit. You are progressively getting weaker in the knees, each brush of finger on your most sensitive spot sending little shockwaves through you.

"You're killing me here, baby," JJ whimpers in your ear, pushing his finger with yours deep inside you. A moan escapes your mouth, spurring him on. His other hand comes to rest on your ass, squeezing it and tapping it playfully.

While looking him straight into his eyes, you free your hand from your panties and put one shiny, slick finger on his bottom lip. "What do I taste like, Jay?" you ask him, your voice raspy.

"You taste like what I imagine heaven feels like. Like the best damn thing I ever had." He takes his hand out of your underwear and smirks at you, his dimple flashing like a billboard inviting you to sin.

"Now I'll show you what happens when you tease me with your little yoga thing." With a devilish lick of his lips, JJ scoops you up in one smooth motion and throws you over his shoulder, taking you to the bedroom.

[illum1z]

Merlot Canvases

paint instructor! seonghwa x f!reader

summary: You feel like you're lacking that artistic flair in your life. Everyone you've met who dabbles in the arts just has this twinge of light in their eyes that you feel like you're missing. So, taking a paint class might ignite that light in you, or maybe it'll ignite something else.

tracklist: hello?, overstimulated, professional,

tags: strangers to lovers, reader is overworked, seonghwa is whipped, reader is also whipped, unprotected sex(you know the drill), oral (f!recieving), fingering, tension tension TENSION, on a desk, mentions of voyeurism, petnames (baby, princess, honey, etc), soft/mean mdom, fsub, seonghwa needs you to breathe, not proofread

wc: 10.1k

notes: wrote this in one session. jeez, sorry guys. i have not read this through, its 11pm. i have work in the morning. there will be spelling mistakes. fuck it we ball

When you ask someone what motivates them, you get a wide array of answers. Some say their job, or their family. Others say their hobbies or their pets. And some people say nothing in particular, they just have a strong drive for life.

You wouldn’t necessarily say you’re depressed. It's not like you hate life and you want it to come to an end. But you could say you feel like you’re watching it fly by like a movie reel. You stand on the sidewalk as you watch yourself walk into your mundane office job 5 days out of the week. Sit in a cubicle for 8 hours before leaving, walking back home, having dinner, and going to bed.

Since graduating from high school, friends have been hard to come by. Making friends as an adult without being a college student or frequenting bars and clubs proves to be a challenge. You wouldn’t say you’re lonely either. You like your quiet life, but it just feels like something is missing. Like you could be doing more besides the repetitive schedule you’ve been following for the past 3 years. 

You sat on your couch, a few candles lit here and there as the rain pattered against your window. Your townhouse was dark, no sign of life other than you, and the flicker of candlelight on the dark brown walls. You leaned your head back on the couch, eyes closed, as you listened to the rain beat down like TV static. Cars whirred past the window of your home, rushing to or from work. To or from events. Busy, with things to keep them occupied.

You let out a deep breath, directing your attention to the flyer on your coffee table. Surrounded by unread books and worn-down pencils, a piece of paper you picked up from a pole plastered down the street on your way home from work a few days ago.

A flyer for a painter’s class. 

You hadn’t picked up a paintbrush in your whole life. At least not since grade school. You don’t think you’re the most artistic either. Yes, you have ideas and you have inspirations, but you could never put pen to paper. It's always come out janky, or just simply not how you envisioned it. The small town you lived in didn’t have many excursions to do.

You lived on a bustling street, lined with townhouses and little shops. Speakeasy-style bars littered here and there with live music and whatnot, but going out for a drink with the slim chance of getting drunk enough to hook up with some random who will leave you high and dry by morning was less than appealing to you.

You had been in every shop, every library, every single place this shit town had to offer, or so you thought.

Art Workshop

Every Sunday, 7 pm to 9 pm

Supplies provided for newcomers, the instructor will offer a list after the first session, given that you would like to return

Ages 18 and up

We look forward to seeing you there!

With an address printed on the bottom and some cute little drawings strewn about the paper, you couldn’t help but snatch it up in the moment. You weren’t really thinking about it, but at the moment, it seemed plausible. You had just gotten off a pretty rough shift, and a glimmer of possibility that you might do something other than grocery shopping or sitting at home on your weekend was tempting.

But here you are, Sunday, 6 pm, debating if you really should follow through and attend the class. You were reserved, not exactly shy. You spoke when needed to, and you didn't let anyone walk all over you, but you weren't one to randomly engage in conversations at work or on the street. You simply had no need. Like you said, you aren't lonely, just lacking a sort of passion. An urge to create, or the need to have an outlet.

You were so hesitant to go because you truly didn't know what you would make of it. What if it was a waste of time? Or what if it was not what you were looking for? There goes that hope, because this was your last option. That hope that you might finally find something.

So, ultimately, you decided to just go for it, because spending the rest of your life wondering surely won’t do you any good. And that's how you found yourself standing in an alleyway a few blocks away from home, umbrella shielding you from the onslaught of rain.

The streets were dark by now, and the entrance to the class was less than promising. Between two townhomes, illuminated only by a lampost, a staircase led down to a door. It was only a few steps, but the fact that it was somewhat underground raised some questions. You double, no triple, checked the flyer to make sure you were at the right place and the address was indeed correct.

You descended the staircase, the number on the door matching the one on the flyer. You checked your phone. 6:50. You closed your umbrella and shook it out, reaching out a hand and opening the door.

You stepped inside, closing it behind you. It was warm inside, and it smelled like citrus and sandalwood. There was an umbrella basket sitting by the door, with a couple of other umbrellas sitting inside. You set yours in the basket, looking up to take in your surroundings. It was just a hallway, with four doors. Two on one side, one on the other, and a door at the very end, straight across from the entrance.

It was quiet, like nobody was in the building, a yellow light flickered on the ceiling of the cramped hall, giving off a quite eerie glow. The two doors on the left had bathroom markings, one for men and one for women. The lone door on the right did not indicate what was behind; you safely assumed it was storage or for janitorial purposes.

The door at the end of the hall had a sign that simply said, “atelier.” You stepped further into the space, your footsteps quiet as you walked to the door at the end.

You stopped and listened to see if you could hear anything inside. Faint chatter, a couple laughs here and there. When you were sure you did in fact have the right day, you twisted the handle and stepped inside.

Immediately, all eyes were on you. There were about 6 other people in the room, with high ceilings supported by black metal pillars. There were a few large windows that opened to a perfect view of the cobblestone streets, like you could watch the shoes of passersby as they made their daily rounds. The floor was red varnished wood, and the walls matched. There were 10 stools in the room, scattered about randomly, and a canvas sat in front of each one, blank and ready to be painted on. At the front of the room, there was a desk, littered with papers and paint supplies, and a little bit of everything, quite messy.

A larger blank canvas sat in front of the desk, an empty stool beside it where you assumed the instructor would be perched later when class started.

Everyone sat and watched as you walked in, and took a seat farthest from the front, setting your bag on the floor. You directed your attention to the canvas in front of you, and like you never even showed up, everyone continued their conversation. You were just another addition to the class. Nothing special. Nothing notable. They’d forget you were there in 5 minutes.

The conversations around you droned on for another 10 minutes. The instructor was late, but nobody seemed to care. They continued to talk, slowly taking out supplies and setting them around their canvas.

Luckily, the seat you chose was right next to a table of supplies, and you stood and gathered paint palettes of all colors, a wide variety of paintbrushes, a cup of water, and a few pencils. When you had your area set up, you glanced at your phone again. 7:20. You were about to muster up the courage to ask a person nearby about the tardiness of your teacher when the door opened.

The conversations lowered to murmurs before completely dying out as everyone directed their attention to who came in. You looked up from your phone to see who it was, and it was then and there you decided there was no way you could come back to this class.

Sporting a ruffled collared white button-up shirt, black wide-leg slacks, and the most luscious head of hair you had ever seen, you immediately knew this was your instructor. He walked to the desk in front, his back turned, as he set down a bag on the desk. He grabbed a marker from a cup near the corner, uncapped it with a loud pop, and started writing on the whiteboard. Today’s date. And then the words “Impressionism and Perspective.” Neat handwriting, each ending letter had a slight curve akin to once knowing cursive. He capped the marker, threw it on his desk, and turned to face the class.

His face was unreal. Symmetrical, soft skin, plush lips, dark eyes, muse worthy. He was tall, radiant, exuding a calm energy, yet still, his presence had an impact. His eyes moved across the classroom, taking in the faces, bored almost. His eyes landed on you, sitting in the back. Quiet, keeping to yourself, staying out of the way.

He lingered on you for a second longer before looking away again. He smiled, a warm, welcoming smile, and moved to sit on the stool next to his canvas.

“Welcome back to class.” He was soft spoken, with a musical tone to his words. Gentle, he approached, speaking like the words could crack if he enunciated too harshly. A lullaby-worthy voice. His smile was just as smooth; it pulled you in. Your attention was 100% on him. 

And he liked it that way.

“Impressionism.” He stated, he leaned forward on the stool, his foot resting on a bar near the bottom of it, an elbow on his knee, with his hands idly playing with each other as he looked out upon the room as he spoke to the class in its entirety.

“Think Monet, Degas. A French style derived from the 19th century that ties into our second topic of the day, perspective. What can you tell me about it?”

Now you were no artist yourself, but that doesn’t mean you don't like to admire. You frequented museums in the area so often that the employees knew you by name. You had seen every piece, old and new, that they had to offer. Sometimes you’d sit on the benches in front of the displays for 30 minutes to an hour, analyzing brush strokes, memorizing colors, taking the full picture in.

And frankly, nothing could compare to him. You could stare at him for hours.

A student raised their hand. They said something about abstractness. You weren’t really listening. Another response from someone else, mentioning the lacking note of finality in impressionist pieces.

A few more answers here and there, all good ones, you assume, but your focus was completely narrowed in on your instructor.

Their answers fell on deaf ears as they prattled on about the art form. 

“And what about you?” Snapping from your trance, you realize he is staring directly at you. Eyes boring into yours, unrelenting. A question on his brow, the smile missing from his face, his hand stopped fiddling, and they now pointed in your direction, to your secluded island in the back of the studio. You hoped you wouldn’t draw attention, but you suppose your lack of engagement was more noticeable in a class with only 6 other people.

Feeling put on the spot, your back straightened as you locked eyes with the instructor, your knee began to bounce as the other students turned to look in your direction. You did your best to ignore their prying eyes as you cleared your throat.

“Well, like the name suggests, it's an impression. It's loose and undefined, but your mind is well enough off to piece it together. Not quite abstract, because the picture is clear. But it's the bare bones, just enough to create something beautiful…. I think…” You trailed off, nervousness overtaking you. You noticed the student who mentioned abstractness narrowed their eyes at you like you dismissed their answer as bullshit, which wasn’t your intention.

This was the last thing you wanted: all eyes on you, the center of attention. He didn't speak for a second, eyes staying glued on you. You averted your gaze, feeling so seen was not your favorite thing on earth, and his stare was far more than intense. It was exposing, like he could see every part of you.

“Seonghwa, doesn’t it also center around the way the light is painted as well as open composition?” A student chimed in. He didn't look at them; his eyes stayed on you for a few more seconds before ripping away and looking at the student who spoke. His smile returned, and he nodded.

“Everyone has great points. Visible brush strokes and light colors. Most artists completely avoided the color black as well. It was less of artists trying to capture images of real life, but closer to an idea, an impression of a scene.” You could breathe again, attention was drawn from you, and back on your instructor, whose name you just learned was Seonghwa.

He continued to talk, connected different styles and drew correlations, using his paints to demonstrate examples of brushstrokes and things of the sort. Everyone listened carefully. He was so easy to listen to with that soft voice and soothing demeanor.

He would look out at the class every time he made a new point to gauge reactions, and his eyes always fell on you at the end, before continuing the lecture. You were this close to walking out because every time his eyes locked with yours, he raised one eyebrow and almost smirked as if to ask you silently. “Are you listening?”

After a well-informed lesson, Seonghwa decided it was time for some practice.

“Alright, if you will, as simply as you can, don’t make it difficult yourself, paint your own impressionist piece. Paint something that means something to you. Whether that's a scenic spot you keep in your memories, whether it's a person, or an object. Paint it, but paint it like the image is pictured in your mind, but you spilled water over it. It's blurry and smudged; it's a silhouette. Barely there. Put pen to paper for the next hour. Go.”

Everyone immediately began getting to work, dipping brushes and collecting colors. You sat at your canvas, watching as everyone started. Seonghwa moved to sit behind his desk, looking at a stack of papers and organizing paint palettes.

His eyes locked on you again, catching you staring. His eyebrows raised, and he did smile this time, before mouthing the words. ‘Get to work.’

Obeying, you directed your gaze to your empty canvas, and you thought to yourself. Something, or someplace, that means something to you. This was proving to be difficult because that was the entire reason you attended this class in the first place. To find something that meant something to you.

You tapped the end of your paintbrush to your lips, lost in thought about what you should paint. Your job meant nothing, your place was homey but it was just a roof over your head. You didn’t really talk to your family, and you didn’t have any special places.

So, without a plan in mind, you started to paint. Some strokes of green here, smudges of blue there, pluffs of white and shades of red. You just started painting. What were you painting? You had no clue, not yet at least.

 The world drowned out the light chatter from classmates as you painted, like you were on autopilot, your hand simply moved on its own.

You didn’t know how much time had passed, but suddenly you blinked, and actually looked at your canvas.

There were shapes, forms, something was there, but you couldn’t quite pinpoint it. You tilted your head, moved from side to side to try and get an angle where you could decipher what you just made, but it was useless.

You frowned and went to set your brush down when a large, slender hand gently covered yours, gripping your hand softly and guiding your hand back up. A firm chest pressed against your back, and locks of hair tickled your neck.

“Here, like this.” The soft voice against your ear nearly made you shiver as you let Seonghwa control the way you paint. He lifted your wrist to wash the brush in the cup of water, then dipped it into a dark green on the palette.

He guided your hand to sweep the paintbrush across the canvas, adding bits of depth and shadow to the strokes, a few here, some there. The carefulness of his hand holding yours made your heart flutter. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel his steady breaths, smell him, sense him hovering over you.

He continued to paint while holding your hand, and you let him, feeling the warmth of his fingertips, the calluses of his skin.

Before long, he moved to have you set the paintbrush down and then let go of your wrist, his fingers gently caressing, a ghost of a touch as he pulled away.

“Now look at it.” He mumbled, only to you, like the rest of the class didn’t exist.

You squinted your eyes, tilted your head, and there it was.

Strokes of green that formed into a field. A silhouette of clouds against a powder blue sky. A form of a child, which strangely resembled you. The field was vast, and the sky was open. But far from the child was another form. A body, older. Standing under a tree, the leaves fell over her like a canopy. An adult, who once again, oddly resembled you. The child was staring at the sky, back turned toward the canvas, while the other stared directly out at the artist, watching.

In the far upper corner of the canvas, the blue sky faded into grey storms, angry and waiting far off in the distance. The child watched the clouds as the inevitable storm rumbled in from the east, while the older one simply stood in the distance, safe from the clouds but unable to scoop up the child and bring her underneath the canopy.

The paint smudged, and the forms barely even took place. But you could see them with your own eyes. Decipher your work.

Your breath hitched, and you turned to look at your instructor, who now stood off next to another student, helping them with their piece, back turned fully to you. You opened your mouth to speak, but shut it just as quickly. Turning back to your canvas, you stared at it. Not daring to ruin what you had made, you set down the brush and patiently waited for the rest of your classmates to finish.

Your chest bloomed, but your heart withered. How did your brain conjure this up? Sure, it wasn't professional and not even display worthy, but it made you feel something. Something familiar.

You must have zoned out, a loud clap snapping you from the trance as you looked up at the source. Seonghwa stood near the front of the class again, gathering his students’ attention once more.

“Our time is almost up, as always. Great work today. Even if it was just a stickman, your creations will always be beautiful. You can leave your pieces where they are, and when we come back, we can varnish them, and then you’re welcome to explain your piece if you’d like. Until then, have a great night, be safe. See you next week.” Seonghwa smiled that charming, warm smile again, before beginning to clean his desk.

Everyone gathered their supplies and packed their bags, one by one heading out the door as they talked idly with one another.

You stayed in your seat, eyes glued to your piece. It was time to leave.

When you finally stood to gather your things and clean your area, there were only two other people in the room, standing in front of Seonghwa’s desk and talking to him. Asking questions you assumed. You ignored them, and just as you gathered the rest of your stuff, they filed out the door. Now it was just you and him.

The air was still and the rain pattered softly on the windows.

“Will I see you next week?” His voice cut through the silence, almost startling you. Soft, yet firm. Expecting. You turned his direction, realizing you hadn’t even thought about whether you were going to return or not. He wasn't looking up, busy jotting down something in a notebook.

“I don’t know.” You answered simply. “Guess we’ll have to see.” You smiled nervously, and then you realized how rude that must have sounded. You scrambled to defend yourself.

“You’re an amazing teacher, and you really helped me understand what I was doing… I think. It just depends on how the week treats me, I guess.” He lifted his eyes finally, pressing the tip of his pen against his soft bottom lip. His eyes trailed up, then down, before landing back on your face.

“I look forward to seeing you next week, Ms…?” Dumbfounded to say the least at his confidence in the idea you’d come back. You were caught off guard, stuttering out your name in response.

“(Name)..” he stated quietly, like he was taste testing the syllables. He smiled again and set his pen down on his mess of a desk, folding his hands and resting his chin on them.

He nodded his head down at his desk, urging you to come forward. “Your list of supplies is on my desk. Come pick them up before you go, please.”

You hesitated, feet glued to your spot. Before you forced your legs to move and carry you to his desk. He watches you with every step, eyes never leaving you once.

You stopped in front of him, picked up the paper, and glanced down at it. Necessities, with recommended brands, ranging from the most expensive to budget-friendly. Locations of nearby art stores and QR codes to videos in case you’d like to practice on your own time. Thorough. His full name was scrawled at the bottom. Park Seonghwa.

When you looked back up, he was standing behind the desk, eye level with you, as his hands rested on the surface, palms flat, hunched over the papers.

A strange heat flushed your neck as his stare pinned you down, his fingers tapping against the desk in a slow rhythm like he was pacing himself.

Then he straightened, sat back down, and looked back down at the notebook. “That's all.” 

What.

You turned stiffly and hurried out the door before anything else weird could happen. You forgot your umbrella and walked out into the street, the rain soaking your clothes as you began walking back home hurriedly.

What the fuck.

There was no way you could go back.

A few days had passed, and work came and went. Draining as always. And even though you weren't even sure if you’d go back to the paint class, it was all you could think about. But was it the painting… or the painter that drew you in?

You found yourself standing in front of a crafts shop, the paper he gave you in your hand as you stared through the glass windows into the store. Were you really going to buy this stuff? Does this solidify your return? Guess you’ll find out.

Stepping into the store, you were met with silence. Like nobody was there/ Maybe one person browsing the paint section, one or two at customer service, other than that it was a ghost town. You looked down at your list and nodded to yourself, stepping further into the store to find the supplies you needed.

Some basic paint palette, an array of brushes, canvases, small and large. The store was homey, stone floors and wood walls, soft music played from the intercom as you meandered about the building, browsing different sections.

You were near the back of the store, in front of a canvas display. They had black canvases, white ones, canvases so large they could probably cover your bedroom floor. You grabbed a couple of 9x12s in case you wanted to practice at home.

You turned to go see what paints they had when you saw him.

Your instructor was across the aisle, looking at stencils and rulers. He hadn’t noticed you yet, and as quickly as you could, you walked the opposite direction, further towards the back of the store.

You could not handle him right now, the intense stares, the strange tension between you two. You pretended to look at the scissors on the wall, taking great interest in the different colors and sizes.

You waited there a few minutes in hopes that he had moved on.

“Need help choosing a pair of scissors? Contrary to popular belief, they are not all the same thing.”

Fuck.

You craned your head up to see the man of the hour standing behind you, a smile on his face and a shopping basket in his hand. Wearing a plain black V-neck that hugged his chest just a little too tightly, and some wide-leg blue jeans. You let your eyes wander for just a second before answering him.

“I’m okay, thank you, though.” He nodded in acknowledgment before raising an eyebrow in question.

“Coulda swore I saw you come in earlier, but I wasn’t sure if it was you or not.” So you were screwed from the beginning he had seen you walk into the store. He nodded down at the list in your hand, his smile widening as his gaze fell over the almost full shopping basket in your hand.

“I see you’re stocking up for upcoming classes. I’m happy to see that.” He stepped closer into your space. You needed to leave before you jumped his bones.

What no. Why would you think that? What's wrong with you?

“Well, I’m still deciding, y’know, I'm so busy with work and whatnot,  I have to make sure I have time..” You smiled nervously, trying to sound as believable as possible. Seonghwa cocked his head to the side in confusion, his tongue poking out to swipe across his bottom lip. He bobbed his head, and a small laugh slipped from him, like he was in disbelief.

“That's funny. From what I could tell, you really enjoyed my class. You came in all tense and closed up, but by the end, though you seemed like you really let yourself enjoy something.” Now you were somewhat offended. You scoffed and rolled your eyes.

“And what do you think you know about me? I was trying something for the hell of it. I wasn’t searching for something.” Lying through your teeth. And he seemed to sense that.

His smile only widened at your response, his hand coming up and raking through his long hair.

“Anyone with eyes could look at you and tell there's more to you than you’re letting on, and that's okay. We’re strangers, I don't need to know everything about you. But if you don’t like my assumptions about you, you can fix it by telling me about yourself.”

This asshat.

“I’m glad you’re so sure of yourself, Mr. Park.” You sneered, turning to walk towards the cash register, so you could check out and leave. “But I know what I want, and right now I want to go home. It was nice seeing you, but you are slowly losing me. Sunday might be reserved for nights at home again if this attitude of yours is something I’ll have to deal with every week.”

They pulled a deep laugh from him, one that stopped you in your tracks. “Well, you’re still buying the supplies, baby, so I’m assuming that you’ll be seeing my face sooner than you’d like to let on.”

 The stupid pet name made your stomach flip and your cheeks heat. Unfortunately, it was more teasing than in an endearing way, which made you want to put him in his place even more. But before you could retort, Seonghwa took a peek into your basket before looking back up at you.

 “Looks like you’re missing just a few more things. Here, c'mon." He placed his palm against the small of your back, urging you to walk with him. You followed without much objection, mumbling curses quietly to yourself as he guided your body to walk to the other side of the store.

You stopped in front of a display of gloss varnish and some easels. Along with a couple gold gold-framed mirrors on the top shelf. He leaned over your shoulder, his lips close to your ear again. “See here.” He whispered, “Some varnish if you’d like to preserve the paintings. And an easel so you can paint without hunching the whole time. I promise you it’ll do your back wonders.”

While he spoke, one hand reached forward and grabbed a bottle of varnish, dropping it into your basket, while the other traced a feather-light trail down your spine. You shivered at the touch, his smile widening at your reaction.

For a moment, it was just you two again. Your eyes met in one of the mirrors. Seonghwa’s gaze was low, calm, but there was a twinge of something else in it. Like a barely controlled sense of need. Want. His eyes were half lidded as he watched your brows furrow at the feeling of his touch along your back. His bottom lip was tucked between his teeth. He hummed against your ear quietly, his hand twitched, like he wanted to hold more of your body. Like he wanted to touch you like you were his.

Or maybe you were crazy, lack of sleep. You barely knew him. Maybe you needed to get laid.

He pulled away and grabbed a couple of bottles of varnish for himself, dropping them in his basket. 

“Looks like you got it all, sweetheart,” he smiled, and you turned, ripping your eyes from the mirror and directing your attention up at him. His hand reached forward and held a lock of your hair between his fingers, letting the strands dance between his knuckles.

Seonghwa’s eyes roved all over your face, taking you in, like he was trying to memorize everything about you. “I’d love to paint you someday, beautiful. Would you let me?” It took everything in your power not to let your mouth fall open in shock at his words.

“Me..?” you swallowed, fingers fiddling nervously as your gaze fell to your feet.

“You.” He stated simply, like he was talking about the least intimate thing in the world. His finger pinched your chin gently and tilted your head up to look at him. He tilted your head to the right, then to the left, up, and then down, like he was mapping your face. Trying to figure out what colors would work, what shading to use, and what brushes would perfectly encapsulate the acne scars and the texture of your skin. What brush would perfectly capture the slope of your nose, and what colors would mix for that beautiful shade of your iris. 

“Think about it.” He said, leaving no room for argument, before letting go of your chin and turning to walk away. 

‘‘See you next Sunday, love.” And he was gone.  The fucking audacity. And guess what.

Sunday came faster than you would have liked. And you were in your mirror, touching up your hair. A tote bag filled with art supplies, as you prepared to head to your second class.

The fucker had you. Had you wrapped around his finger. He was alluring, annoying, beautiful, and you didn’t want to give him credit for it. But he was right. You enjoyed the class, and you liked that he was able to pull that creativity out of you. And you liked looking at him. And hearing his voice.

It was raining again today. You decided that being early wasn’t important today. So you left your house at 6:50, showing up at 7:15. Make him think you weren’t coming, but unfortunately, your punctual nature wouldn’t allow you to be any later than that. You did your best.

You walked into the building, stood in front of the door for a second, gathering your bearings. You twisted the knob and walked inside, more confidence in your walk than your first day.

Once again, heads turned to look at you, the same 6 students in their respective spots. However, your seat in the back was gone. And the only empty chair was the one closest to Seonghwa’s desk. He was sitting on his stool, a finished painting on the easel, a wide paintbrush in hand as he demonstrated varnishing the artwork.

His eyes locked with yours, only for a second before looking back at his task. “Nice of you to join us (Name.) Have a seat, we’re just varnishing.” Slowly, you made your way to the empty seat by his desk, sitting down and setting your supplies out.

“While most artists didn’t varnish impressionism pieces, we are for the sake of preservation. They preferred the matte, rough look. But they lived in Europe, where the sun didn’t shine. Your art kind of needs the varnish now more than ever. We're using a satin varnish that keeps the natural look, but offers a bit of protection. So don’t worry, they won’t be ruined.”

He clapped his hands and set down the brush, standing from his stool. “You can come up and grab your pieces from the drying rack and begin varnishing. I’ll walk around, and just let me know if you have any questions.” Everyone stood to grab their pieces, you following suit.

Seonghwa stood by the rack, watching as each individual picked up their pieces. You were last, his eyes following your every move. Pretending you didn’t see him, you grabbed your piece and walked back to your seat.

If he wants to play games, you simply won’t give him the satisfaction. You pulled the varnish that you bought from your bag and a large brush, setting your canvas on your easel. You gave the painting a once-over, still somewhat astounded that you could create something so pretty.

You opened the bottle and poured it into a cup, dipping the brush and beginning. The rain fell steadily as the students' idle chatter once again faded into background noise as you focused on your task.

Carefully as you could, you spread the varnish about your work, admiring as the soft sheen coated the colors and made them more vibrant. Stroke by stroke, you were evening out the gloss, and soon enough, the whole canvas was covered.

You were so lost in your work that you hadn’t noticed that Seonghwa was not in fact walking around the room, but standing at the back of the studio. Back against the wall, arms crossed, head tilted lazily to the side. His eyes were trained directly on the back of your neck. 

His gaze followed the curve where your neck met your shoulder, how your shoulder blades poked only slightly through your shirt, down and aligning your waist, admiring your attentiveness. Oh, how he’d love to capture every part of your body and hang it on his wall proudly. He didn’t know what it was about you.

You were nothing special, another young girl finding her way through life, discovering her passions. But there was just something. He couldn't place his finger on it. But he wanted to find out as soon as possible.

He walked back towards the front, striding towards your seat. But just as he was about to speak, some varnish dribbled down the brush onto your hands. Immediately, Seonghwa was at your side, grabbing your wrist, making you drop the brush.

Surprised, you yelled quietly at the contact. “What the hell, what did I do?” Not giving you time to object, he lifted you by your arm, urging you to follow him. However, in his frantic movement, his face and voice remained calm as he walked you both to the door.

“Varnish can irritate if it gets on the skin.” He spoke as he led you into the hall. The other students paid you no mind as he led you to the bathroom.

“It's best to rinse the area for about 15 minutes, because it could cause a burn.” He turned on the light and switched on the faucet, dragging your wrist under the cold faucet water.

“I can do it myself.” You groaned. The bathroom was cramped, his chest pressed against your back as you looked into the mirror. He let go of your wrist, a little too slowly, as you left your hand under the running water. He physically couldn’t step back in the confined space.

He remained behind you, watching you in the mirror. Your gaze stayed on your hand as you twisted your wrist to get the water all over your hand. The bathroom was silent, despite the rush of water and the hum of the air vent.

The air. Stagnant. The tension. Thick.

“Do you need to hover?” You asked, your voice smaller than you had liked. “I’m not 5, I don't need adult supervision, Sir.” You hissed around the last word, but Seonghwa’s breath caught in his chest so quickly you hadn’t caught it. 

He was so close, and refused to admit it was driving you mad. You could smell him, and you wouldn’t dare look in the mirror, because if you met his gaze, you just might snap. He was too much. He dripped sex appeal. Control. Authority. But it was gentle. Suggestive, like he would never do anything unless you got on your knees and begged for him. Like if your body cried for him.

 You turned off the faucet when you were sure the area was clean, and you were about to turn and walk out of the bathroom.

A hand, slender, large, and firm. With the softness of a mother’s touch, it slipped around the front of your throat, grounding you. His chest pressed harder against your back, almost pushing you against the sink. Your hands gripped the bowl of the sink, holding your upper body up as you felt him against you.

Seonghwa leaned his head down, pressing his lips against your ear. His breath tickled the shell, and your breath quickened.

“What is it about you?” He murmured against your ear. His breathing was heavier, his chest rising and falling against your back. “It's irking me so fucking bad.” His nose dipped into that soft spot between your neck and shoulder, inhaling softly.

Whimpering was your first mistake. His whole body shivered as he placed the softest of kisses on the nape of your neck. “Tell me no.” He whispered. His free hand came up and gripped your jaw lightly, directing your gaze to the mirror.

You locked eyes with him in the reflective glass, your knees going weak at the primal look he was giving you. “Look at me and tell me you don’t want this.”

Your lips remained glued shut. Your eyelids fluttered, and Seonghwa's hand rested on your jaw, his thumb rubbing your cheek coaxingly. You leaned back into his touch, a question in your eyes.”

“Ask.” He demanded, already sensing you had something to say.

“Are you playing with me?” You mumbled, your lips slightly slurred with the hold he had on your jaw.

“No playing. No games, darling. I promise I’ll be as gentle as I can.” There was a false promise in his tone, and he could barely hide the smile that tried to creep onto his lips.

The hand on your throat tilted your head up, craning your neck as his neck tilted down, his nose brushing yours, and his breath fanning against your lips. You were hesitant. But only because you were afraid that if you let him, you might become addicted. Then you’ll come crawling back by the end of it.

But that filthy, shameful dark corner in your mind couldn’t resist him. Your stomach clenched, and your heart battered in your ribcage. Suddenly, the bathroom was too hot, and the tension was so thick you couldn’t breathe. You needed to breathe. You needed Seonghwa to give you air.

So with the last bit of oxygen in your lungs, you parted your lips and whimpered out the softest, most pliant, “Please.” And that was all he needed.

Like he was savoring it, he brushed the skin of his lips against yours, back and forth, before opening his mouth and swallowing your lips. The slowest, most sensual rhythm of lips against lips. And you could breathe again.

You sighed into his mouth, and the sound only spurred him further. His lips moved away, but only for a second, before he turned you around and pressed your back against the sink. His hand around your throat again as he pressed his body into yours, melding with you like he belonged there. His mouth moved against you like you were the most flavorful thing he had ever had the pleasure of tasting, his thumb rubbing the side of your throat, his other hand gripping your hip, pulling you closer to him as he devoured you. Your hands lifted and gripped his hair at the scalp, dragging a groan from his throat, his lips smiling against yours at the feeling of your hands.

“So soft..” he moaned into your mouth, barely giving you time to think as your head spun at the pure intensity of the kiss. “So fucking sweet.” 

Your eyes were shut, but his were open, watching himself in the mirror as the hand on your throat moved to grip the back of your neck. He watched his flex tendons flex as he held your neck possessively, like he owned you. The way your back arched and your body trembled. 

“Seonghwa…” You whined into his mouth. He almost growled, pushing his tongue into your mouth and drinking the pretty sounds you made.

“Again.” He groaned like it hurt, his eyebrows furrowed, and the grip on your waist tightened. “Say it again.”

You obeyed. “Seonghwa…” His kisses were rougher, claiming and violent. Like he wanted to eat you alive. You were lost in him, his roaming hands, and the way his body kept trying to push itself into you as if you both could even possibly physically be any closer.

“Fucking beautiful.” He pulled from your lips, littering kisses along your neck, both hands sliding up your shirt and tickling the sides of your waist. “Making the most lovely sounds. I’d pick you up and fuck you against this wall if I you’d let me. Would you let me, huh, pretty girl?”

You nodded frantically, thighs clenching at the mere thought.

And suddenly you remember this was your instructor. There were students in the other room. They were bound to wonder where you two were soon.

“W-we have to go back…” You whispered, his large hands kneading the flesh of your waist, like the thought of letting you go might just kill him. He groaned, pressing one last, claiming kiss on your shoulder. He pulled back and let his hands fall from your body, and suddenly you were cold.

Seonghwa took a deep breath, calming himself. He looked at you, pupils dilated and lips flushed. “Stay here. Leave in 10 minutes. Class is almost over. Once everyone leaves, come back to the studio.”

Leaving no room for debate, he opened the door and left. Your back still against the sink, hair disheveled, and lips kiss-swollen. Did that really just happen? Silence enveloped you as you leaned against the wall, waiting.

What must have been the longest ten minutes of your fucking life, the anticipation swirling in your gut. You had never been so soaked.

Seonghwa left so quickly. If he had stayed any longer, he for sure would have had his way with you regardless of whether anyone was in the other room. He’d make you scream just so they could hear. But he had manners, ones that he was slowly forgetting more and more each time he laid eyes on you. He sat in the front of the class behind his desk, eyes void as he tried his best not to think of how pretty you looked, arched over the sink. Hair a hot mess, body trembling, taking what he gave you like a good girl.

His foot tapped against the ground impatiently, and finally. 9 pm. The students gathered their things, waved their goodbyes, and slowly filed out of the studio. The lights were turned off, and the rain beat against the windows harder.

You were sure it had been 10 minutes. Slowly, you opened the door and peeked into the hall. Silence. Shutting the bathroom door, you turned the corner and began walking to the studio entrance. You hesitated, just a moment. Preparing yourself.

You placed your hand on the knob, twisted it, and pushed it open. You got one foot through the door when Seonghwa grabbed your wrist and yanked you inside, shutting the door and shoving you against it. Like an animal, he gave you no time to react, burying his hands in your hair and slotting his lips with yours.

“Finally..” he moaned, pressing his body against yours, rendering you helpless against the wall. You kissed back with just as much fervor, free to be as loud as you want. 

“Not enough,” he snarled, hands holding your waist as he picked you up, your legs wrapping around him as he carried you to his desk. Carelessly swiping the papers and such off as he set on the surface, his lips not once parting from yours. His hand slipped between our bodies, tracing down your stomach and landing on the button of your pants.

“Want these off, honey?” He whispered into your mouth, laughing softly at your frantic nods.

“Please, yes please…” His fingers danced along the hem, unbuttoning them slowly, slipping them down and off your legs. His kisses moved lower, mapping a trail down your body until he had sunk onto his knees, dragging his lips along the insides of your thighs. 

You looked down at him, his eyes never leaving yours and he placed a soft kiss against your clit through the thin lace of your panties. Your thighs shook, and his big hands spread them open for him, keeping them open with a strong grip.

“Hwa… please…. No more teasing.” He smiled and placed a rougher kiss against your clothed cunt. 

“I’ll tease you all I want, sweetheart, if you keep giving me such cute reactions.” His tongue fell out of his mouth, flattening against you as he dragged a long, stripe up your cunt, smiling when your whole body shivered at his touch.

“Such a responsive baby. I knew you’d be so good for me. Want these off too? Want to feel my tongue against that pretty pussy huh?” You were so fogged in the head, shame way past, with the only feeling you had was needed. Pure and unbridled need for him to fuck you stupid.

“Yes, fuck Seonghwa please!” His thumb hooked along the waistband, dragging your underwear down your legs and stuffing them in his pocket. The cold hit your cunt, soaked and throbbing for him.

“Uh huh.” His own voice shook with need, unable to pull his eyes away from you. “Don’t worry, I got you. I’ll take care of you.” Seonghwa’s hands curled around your thighs, keeping them steady as he kissed your clit, so softly, then wrapping his lips around it and sucking.

Immediately, your body pulled taught and your brain felt like it had been shocked, a deep, guttural moan escaping. His hands dug into your thighs like he was holding himself back, losing himself in your taste, drowning between your thighs.

“Fuck baby.” His tongue drew impossible patterns around your clit, one hand moving from your thighs to trace a finger up your soaked slit, gathering your wetness and teasing.

“I’ll fuck you open on my fingers and you’ll take it like a perfect slut right? You’re gonna take it for me?” You nodded, words fleeting and hard to grasp as you focused on the way he touched you. Like he’s known your body for eternity, knowing what buttons to press and what words to say to get your stomach fluttering.

With ease that should have been embarrassing, he slipped his fingers inside your warm cunt, immediately curling them to press against that spot that made your vision go white and your breath catch, all the while his mouth was relentless on your clit.

“Don’t talk, honey, just feel. Moan nice and loud, let me know I’m doing a good job, okay?” He hummed around your clit, sending pleasure ridden vibrations though you that made your back arch and your fists clench. Your hands flew forward and gripped his hair, grinding themselves against his mouth as his fingers dragged in and out of you so delicately, slowly, applying just enough pressure to have you tumbling towards your orgasm fast.

Your head fell back, biting your bottom lip as you continued to grind against his face. “Fuck, cummng Seonghwa…” His tongue only licked faster, his fingers pressing harder inside of you.

Suddenly, his fingers slowed and he pulled off of your clit, a depraved groan slipping from him. You whined in disappointment, so close to falling off the edge.

“Why…?” You whined, desperation lining your voice. He only smiled and placed gentle kisses on your inner thighs. 

“Beg,” Seonghwa stated simply, his voice breathless. “If you want it so fucking bad then beg for it princess.” Suddenly, the humiliation was setting in, but not enough for you to not beg.

He rested his cheek against your thighs lazily, looking up at you like you were the most stunning thing he had ever laid eyes on. “Nice and loud. Let me hear you. Beg like if I don’t let you cum you’ll die. Let me know how badly you need it.”

And you did. “Please Seonghwa, please I need you to fucking ruin me. Please, I’ll do anything. Please make me feel so good that I die, please.” So pathetic. So whiny and so desperate, exactly how Seonghwa liked it. Before you could continue he buried his face inbwtewen your thighs again, this time slipping his surprisingly longue tongue inside of you, fucking you eith his tongue. His fingers pinched your clit, rubbing it between his fingers and making noises so sinful, the sound of his voice was almost enough to make you shatter into a million pieces.

“You beg so beautifully for me, baby, cmon. Fall apart. Cum for me. You’ve earned it.” Your whole body shook as your orgasm overtook you, the grip on his hair impossibly tight. He groaned into your cunt from the pain in his scalp, which only spurred him on further. He wasn't stopping until he was done.

He continued to eat you like a man starved, even as overstimulation throbbed in your cunt. 

“Fuck Hwa, let up, too much!” he laughed at your pleas, kissing your clit one last time before standing, his tongue coming out to clean you off his lips. He brought his fingers to his mouth, his tongue delving between and licking your slick off himself. Dragging his tongue from the bottom of his wrist and up to his fingertips, eyes boring into yours.

Pulling off his fingers with a loud pop, he ripped his shirt off his body, his pants following right behind. His chest was beautifully toned, a honey gold that was good enough to eat. The dips and shadows in his abs that were so smooth you had the urge to sit on his stomach and grind against it.

But he didn’t give you time, before he grabbed your thighs pulling you to the edge of the desk, slotting himself between your legs and pulling his cock from his boxers, letting them fall to the floor and kicking them off his legs.

Teasingly, he slipped your shirt off your body, hands squeezing your waist, swallowing your lips in slow, deep kisses. 

He slid his cock through your soaked cunt, slicking the length of it up with your wetness. “Oh baby can’t wait to have you go dumb on my dick. Want me inside?’

Your arms circled around his back, nails dragging angry red stripes along his shoulder blades. 

“Yes Seonghwa, I’m all yours fuck me stupid, please you’re all I can think about…” Of course this only stirred his ego up more, his cock jumping in response to the pure need in your tone.

“Alright, baby, you’ll get what you want. Relax, loosen up for me and just feel…” 

He pulled his hips back, pressing his tip against your entrance. “Nice and slow, baby…” He pressed inside, and inch by inch, sinking into your cunt. He groaned, savoiring the feeling, wanting to drag it out for as long as possible before he lost himself and fucked you like he’d never fuck again.

Full was an understatement. You could feel every vein, the heat was burning inside of you, igniting a fire in your stomach that made your hips move on their own, rolling forward to take him deeper. He moans, unfiltered and dripping with want.

“That's it, love, that's it right there. Feeling full?” You moan into his mouth, he sucking your bottom lips into his mouth and savoring your warmth. When he bottomed out, he didn’t move, just feeling you clench and pulse around him.

“Such a creature of wonder you are, gorgeous.” He whispered, words waxing poetic, your head swimming at his praise. “I love the way you shake, the way you cry…” He pulled his hips back slowly, the slick sound vile…

And with a deep thrust, he knocked the wind from your lungs. Your back arched, and your nails bit into his skin harder. “Like it when I take you slow honey? Like it sensual, deep, all-consuming, huh?” 

You moaned in response as he found a rhythm, rolling his hips into you, dragging perfectly against your G-spot in a way that could have you passing out at any moment.

“Oh.. fuck Hwa….” your brows furrowed feeling so full each time he slipped out of you and thrusted right back in like he couldn’t stand being anywhere except inside of you.

“You…fuck..” He groaned, feeling himself losing it. “You minx. Look what you do to me.” A thrust so hard it shook the desk, you yelped, throwing your head back. Seonghwa took this opportunity to attach his lips to your exposed throat, no doubt littering you with dark, possessive marks,

“Mine, mine mine all fucking mine. R-right? You all mine, baby?”  Seonghwa's hips rolled into you deeper, like a second too long away from you would kill him.

“Yes Seonghwa yours, fuck, yours..”  His hands enveloped your waist, so big and so rough, feeling your stretch marks, his tongue tracing your collar bone, his thick cock sliding in and out so smoothly. 

“Wet little slut, all for me. Can’t get enough. Lean back, cmon.” You leaned back on the desk, elbows propped so you could keep your eyes on him. His hands holding your waist, his thumbs pressing into your abdomen as he rolled his hips in that delicious way again that made your thighs tremble.

“Gonna fuck you like I hate you mkay?” He whined, rubbing your stomach softly. “Take it.” And with a tough snap of his hips, he kept true to his words,

Seonghwa bullied his cock into your guts like he wanted to hurt you. Rough, sloppy, deep. And you took it.

“Look at you, take what I give you like it's all you deserve. Fucking beautiful.” He let his head fall back as he fucked you, your moans sweet music to his ears. Your broken sounds alternate between gasps for breath and whines of his name.

Relentless, feral, mean. He fucked you like your moans were a drug, hs greatest addiction.

“Fuck Seonghwa, gonna cum.” He laughed, your pathetic whines spurring him on to push you off that cliff, ruin you for any other man. He wants you crawling back to him. Begging him to mold you, to put you on your knees and show you just what it means to belong to someone. Belong to him.

“Dumb baby, gonna cum for me again?” Seonghwa pouted faxuly. You nod, mouth open, only staggering breaths and quiet whines coming out. Your eyelids fluttered and your stomach clenched as you approached that inevitable edge. He pulled you back up by your throat, crashing his lips into yours, nipping at your tongue, and moaning into your mouth. When he pulled from your lips, he pressed them against your ear, blowing air on the shell and nipping at the lobe.

“Then fucking cum (Name.).” Seonghwa moaned, the words traveling straight to your cunt. “Cum on my cock and scream like I’m God.” 

Your legs twitched, your eyes tunneled, and you came hard. Seonghwa did not let up, in fact he fucked you harder, dragging you through your orgasm like it didn’t just nearly knock you out.

“Fuck!” you squealed, legs going limp as he held you against his body, still fucking you without abandon.

“Good job baby, good fucking girl.” He praised you, soft like his cock wasn’t turning you inside out. “Gonna cum inside of this pretty cunt. Take it, take it like you’ve been taking me so good all night.”

His hips stuttered and with a final, deep thrust, he groaned, kissing you like you might disappear, as he slowly fucking his cum deep inside of you, being sure not a single drop went to waste.

You both stayed like that for a long while, savoring each other's pleasure and letting your breaths mingle in tandem, existing in each other’s presence. His hands gently caressed your waist, soothing your body and just feeling your skin.

“Still with me?” He mumbled, pressing gentle kisses along your shoulder and massaging your body like you might break in his hold.

“Yeah..” You croaked, voice strained and body exhausted. He smiled against your neck and breathed you in. 

“Could you go for one more?” Seonghwa teased.

“Are you insane? I think you broke me.” He laughed, kissing your lips slowly, smiling against you, and caressing your neck gently, rubbing the tension out of it. 

Reluctantly, he slipped out of you, groaning and the loss of your warmth. “Cmon, let's get you dressed and I’ll take you home.” His voice soft and alluring, he helped you stand and cleaned you up, kissing up your legs as he wiped you clean and, like the gentleman he was, slipping your clothes back on and pampering you like you deserved.

“You’re dangerous,” Seonghwa whispered as he walked you down the sidewalk back to your townhome, hand interlaced with yours while the other held an umbrella over both of you.

The streets were quiet, well into the night, as he walked you home, his thumb rubbing your hand soothingly.

“You too.” You teased me. “But trust, I'll be in class next Sunday.” His smile widened at your words, stopping in front of your home and turning to face you.

“I do hope I’ll see you sooner, though. Dinner sometime, maybe?” Your cheeks flushed, and suddenly you were shyer than you had been all night.

“How could I say no to such a face?” You embraced, sharing one last kiss, before he walked you to your door.

“Catch you later, teach.” You stood in your doorway, heart fluttering as he looked at you with pure adoration.

“See you soon, (Name),” Seonghwa replied, eyes soft, placing a gentle kiss on the back of your hand, before turning and descending the steps back out into the rain. And your door shut, signifying the beginning to that passion you’ve been craving oh so badly.

[kenyatta]

“You know,” said Ninheimer, “I’ll tell you–just to watch it do you no good at all. You can’t understand human motivation. You can only understand your damned machines because you’re a machine yourself, with skin on.”

He was breathing hard and there was no hesitation in his speech, no searching for precision.

He said, “For two hundred and fifty years, the machine has been replacing Man and destroying the handcraftsman. Pottery is spewed out of molds and presses. Works of art have been replaced by identical gimracks stamped out on a die. Call it progress, if you wish! The artist is restricted to abstractions, confined to the world of ideas. He must design something in mind–and then the machine does the rest.

“Do you suppose the potter is content with mental creation? Do you suppose the idea is enough? That there is nothing in the feel of the clay itself, in watching the thing grow as hand and mind work together? Do you suppose the actual growth doesn’t act as a feedback to modify and improve the idea?”

“You are not a potter,” said Dr. Calvin.

“I am a creative artist! I design and build articles and books. There is more to it than the mere thinking of words and of putting them in the right order. If that were all, there would be no pleasure in it, no return.“A book should take shape in the hands of the writer. One must actually see the chapters grow and develop. One must work and rework and watch the changes take place beyond the original concept even. There is taking the galleys in hand and seeing how the sentences look in print and molding them again. There are a hundred contacts between a man and his work at every stage of the game–and the contact itself is pleasurable and repays the man for the work he puts into his creation more than anything else could. Your robot would take all that away.”

So does a typewriter. So does a printing press. Do you propose to return to the hand illumination of manuscripts?”

“Typewriters and printing presses take away some, but your robot would deprive us of all. Your robot takes over the galleys. Soon it, or other robots, would take over the original writing, the searching of the sources, the checking and cross-checking of passages, perhaps even the deduction of conclusions. What would that leave the scholar? One thing only–the barren decisions concerning what orders to give the robot next! I want to save the future generations of the world of scholarship from such a final hell. That meant more to me than even my own reputation and so I set out to destroy U. S. Robots by whatever means.”

“You were bound to fail,” said Susan Calvin.

“I was bound to try,” said Simon Ninheimer.

Calvin turned and left. She did her best to feel no pang of sympathy for the broken man. She did not entirely succeed.

- from the short story 'Galley Slave' by Isaac Asimov (1957)

Also want to share this bit from the WP plot summary:

The story is a courtroom drama. It opens in 2034, with Simon Ninheimer, a professor of sociology, suing U.S. Robots and Mechanical Men for loss of professional reputation. He contends that robot EZ-27 (aka "Easy"), while leased to Northeastern University for use as a proofreader, deliberately altered and rewrote parts of his book Social Tensions Involved in Space Flight and their Resolution while checking the galley proofs (hence the title). Ninheimer holds that the alterations to his book make him appear an incompetent scholar who has absurdly misrepresented the work of his professional colleagues.

[ceesimz]

Wings (part two)

You return to the Norway National Team. (autistic!reader)

Part One of this little story is here, rest of the Reverie stories are here. @pickledwoso definitely saved this fic with their absolutely tremendous mind, so thank you millions once again <3 and i hope everyone's enjoyed these two chapters, thanks for reading :)

You were flying in training. Spectacularly so. 

The football side of it, you hadn’t been concerned about. Football had been your thing all your life, you knew you were good at it and you never shied away from admitting that. 

There was something different this time around, however. Maybe it was the combination of finally being accepted, of feeling happy in all aspects of your life, of having an incredible support system, of finally being nothing but your complete self. You entered the pitch every day, ready to play your heart out to make damn sure you would make it into the squad for the game that was only three days away. Then you stepped off the pitch, knowing full well you left everything you had out there. 

You felt fulfilled. For the first time in… well, honestly? Forever. It was the first time you felt fulfilled. Like, you had achieved all you set out for.

Well, all but one thing.

“Hi, come in! Thanks for dropping by.” 

A conversation with Gemma and her coaching staff was very much needed.

You stepped into her office, which was coolly lit and welcoming. No harsh lights, no unimpressed stares, no judgement. You took a seat across from her, where she sat down in her chair and fixed you with a warm smile. No intimidation, no animosity, no false promises. 

“So, firstly, I must say how happy I am to be having this conversation right now.” She began, and you smiled in slight embarrassment, which she noticed. “And I know you don’t want me to linger on that too long, so we will move on. I just had to let you know.”

“Thank you.” You smiled at her. No discomfort, no anxiety, no fear. Just… nervous excitement.

“I have some things to discuss, entirely at your will. It’s all up to you, alright? There’s no pressure from me.” You nodded, having to disguise a smile at how different this conversation was compared to ones you’d had in the past.

For a couple minutes, you two spent the time catching up together. She checked in with you, asking if there was anything else you needed from her support wise, how you were enjoying your time back. It was all very positive, and motivating. No masking, no resentment, no exclusion. Then the topic you were waiting for came up, and even in the moment when she was talking, you found yourself imagining the joy in Alexia and Ingrid’s voice when you told them the good news that was about to come.

“Now, onto the game coming up. There’s a few ideas me and the staff have been throwing around for the lineup, most of which revolve around you. But we’re not making anything concrete until I know how you feel because I know how big this is for you.” God she was torturing you by delaying it. Just say it. “So, what would you prefer? Do you want to be in the starting lineup? Or come off as a sub? Because we believe you are more than good enough to start from the first whistle. Your performance has been outstanding, both here and at Barcelona, we’re really happy to see it and want you out there. But again, we don’t want to put any pressure on you, I mean you don’t have to play at all if you don’t want to. It’s completely your choice, and I swear by that. You have my word.”

The second you heard that question, you tuned out; your mind was in uproar, for all the right reasons this time. You made it.

“I want to start.” You answered definitively. There wasn’t a shred of doubt in your mind that this was what you wanted.

Walking out for your country again. Establishing yourself to the rest of the world. Showing off on a global stage. Making it clear that your disability did not stop you from achieving everything you set out for. 

Maybe you’d win the next two World Cups, maybe you’d win nothing with the team. That wasn’t your goal, which to some might seem pointless to come back if you didn’t care for winning. For now, your goal was to wear the Norwegian crest with pride and purpose, to do it all for your country. Finally you had the chance, and the second you start rushing into things and getting ahead of yourself is when things go downhill, and you weren’t letting this opportunity and achievement get away from you again.

“Excellent, that’s that then! You’re in.” 

You were in.

You walked out of that office with your head held high. When you got back to one of the rooms hired for downtime, where Ingrid was sat nervously waiting and not really concentrating on the conversations around her, you paused at the door. You glanced around at your teammates and looked at their faces, some new, some old, and you wanted to tell every single one of them. Not just Ingrid. 

Well, Ingrid first, of course. But telling the rest of them afterwards almost sounded just as appealing. 

Then, there was Alexia, who knew you had the meeting that day and sat by her phone the whole time waiting for any sign of life from you, her knee bouncing endlessly as she did so and annoying everybody around her. And when you got a moment to breathe away from the giddy excitement of your fellow national team players, you stepped out to call her. You weren’t expecting her to cry, per say, but it was a welcome surprise to hear her overjoyed laughter turn into quiet sniffles in the span of two seconds.

Nevertheless, that joy had its limits; when you woke up on the day of the game, you were a mess. 

You woke up, rolled out of bed, got yourself ready for the day on autopilot, like you were watching yourself from above. You weren’t in control of anything, not your body or your mind, merely a passenger. In survival mode, almost, to get you through the day. Down at breakfast, not even Heidi’s company could lighten you up. You pushed your food around your plate, taking a bite here and there but not paying attention to anyone or anything, apart from the anxiety balled tight in your chest. 

At the briefing afterwards, you couldn’t take in a word anyone said even if your life depended on it. All you heard was doubts. From yourself, wondering if this was the stupidest thing you’d ever done or if you deserved it. From others, those praying on you to fail because someone with a disorder like yours wasn’t meant for success. From ex-staff members, the same ones that mocked and taunted you at the lowest point of your life. 

The minute the briefing was over, you were up and out of there. Despite the little food you’d eaten, it felt like the contents of your stomach were threatening to come up any second. You rushed to the bathrooms of the hotel, heading over to the sinks and letting the cool marble counter cool your sweaty palms where you gripped the edge under your hands. 

Bleach and posh hand soap mixed to make a harsh, acrid scent that made your head spin. The aircon above was so loud it felt as if it was making its own attack against your ear drums. Lights casting down on you with a laser-like sharpness that stabbed your eyeballs like daggers. 

And in the mirror, you saw a reflection that ashamed you.

How, when you'd spent so long getting back to the national team, had you let yourself get like this. Why were you so worked up? This was something you had worked tirelessly for, now you weren't sure you could do it. So what was the point of everything that you'd done over the last few months, the last few years even?

You’re making things harder for everyone.

If you really wanted to be here, you’d just get on with it.

You’re turning this into a much bigger deal than it is.

Life isn’t fair sometimes, you don’t always get what you want and you need to realise that.

You’re just looking for attention. 

Maybe you weren’t made for the real world.

All these phrases bounced around your head uncontrollably to humble you and put you in your place, their sole purpose being to throw you off track and derail every bit of progress you’d made to get there. It was cruel, but you were used to it. However, that didn’t make it any easier to deal with. If anything it just made you feel worse, because if you were used to it, why couldn’t you stop it? Why couldn’t you tune out and not listen to it? Maybe you weren’t made for the real world after all.

“Oh, sorry, we didn’t know you were in here.”

Frida and Caro stepped in in the midst of your panic. You jumped, not expecting anyone to come in even though it was a public bathroom of a giant hotel, and cleared your throat whilst hastily blinking away the burning sensation of building tears, giving the pair of them a tight-lipped smile. 

“Are you okay?” Caro asked, a furrow to her brow that conveyed her growing concern.

“Mhm.” You nodded and tried to hide your hastened breathing. Frida noticed it instantly. 

“It’s alright if you aren’t. We can leave if you would like to be on your own. Or we can get Ingrid or somebody for you.” She spoke in the softest voice you’d ever heard someone speak. 

“No, you can stay. Thank you.” Both of them heard the tremble to your voice but feigned obliviousness to save you the awkwardness. Not that they didn’t want to help, couldn’t be further from the truth.

“What’s the matter? Is it something we could help with?” Caro leaned casually against the wall, her hands in her pockets as she dropped the question with as little pressure for a response as possible. Frida couldn’t help the worry written across her face but for once it didn’t cause you to cower under the attention.

“The game, I’m just anxious. There is… a lot going on in my mind.” You admitted, not exactly expecting yourself to be so open and honest with them but not regretting it either.

“That’s understandable, it’s been a while and a lot has happened.” Frida reassured you, taking a couple steps closer with a comforting smile on her face. You sighed and turned to lean back against the counter, running your hands over your face and rubbing your eyes.“Are you worried about how you will play? Or how you might handle it? Anything like that?”

“I…” You blew out a deep breath, glancing between the two and noting the welcoming and focused looks on their faces. They were genuinely there to help you, they had no other agenda. Not that you believed they did, you just didn’t have a good track record with past players and staff members. These two, however, were the complete polar opposites of those from the past. “I have some bad memories that are trying to put me off. I know I can play well if I don’t let my anxiety get me to but it’s not working right now. I have a lot of impostor syndrome, basically.”

You described it lightly, barely grazing the surface of your true feelings. The pair of them shared a glance, before Caro shook her head with a smile and headed over to you.

“We are so lucky to have you back, you know? If there’s anyone that belongs in this team, it’s definitely you.” She smirked, standing beside Frida with her arms crossed over chest, exuding a non-faltering belief in you that was hard to argue against. “And if there is anyone here that knows how excellent you are, it is me. How many assists do I have for you at Barça? You’re single-handedly putting me in the running for the Ballon d’OR.”

Hm. That was kinda true.

“Everybody is here for you. You can leave the pitch anytime you want. Or if you line up in the tunnel and decide you don’t want to play, you don’t have to. Whatever you need. But you can do this. We all believe in you, we’re all cheering you on. We’re all by your side no matter what.” The blonde was wise beyond her years each time she spoke, and in an instant you knew she was someone you could trust indefinitely. She didn’t know much about what happened in the past, she wasn’t around for much of it and you kept it under wraps away from anyone else anyway. Yet, she seemed to understand regardless, without having to know or asking you to explain. “You came here to paint over those bad memories. Don’t let them drag you back down, okay? You made it this far, you are more than capable of getting on that pitch and putting on a five-star performance. You have to believe in yourself, that is all. By being here, you’re halfway there, so all that is left to do is get to the stadium, put your shirt on with your name and the badge, and play.” 

Being there, listening to what they had to say, made it nearly impossible to recognise why you were in such a state only a couple minutes earlier. Hearing what Frida had to say, Caro too, it was different to if it was Ingrid in front of you. Not that Ingrid wouldn’t have helped, of course she would have, but having two people that had no obligations tied to you at that point was odd. Odd and borderline fucking euphoric.

It gave you a different perspective, gave you the chance to look at yourself from another viewpoint rather than that of just your girlfriend and best friend over and over again. Two people that didn’t know you very well yet still thought the world of you. How strange.

“Thank you. Thank you both. I really appreciate that.” You mumbled sheepishly, trying to refrain from showing the utter delight coursing through you at the milestone it felt like it was.

“You’ve got this, we know you do. International football won’t know what’s hit it now you’re back.” 

They weren’t wrong. They couldn’t have been more right with everything they said in that bathroom if they tried. 

On the coach journey to the stadium, you were overcome with a strange sense of serenity. You were at peace, calm, focused. You were honed in on the game, hyperfixated on it perhaps. A newfound determination that hadn’t been with you in the bathroom that morning but had been building for the last few months, for the last few years, ever since you stepped away in the first place. 

You stepped off the bus, headphones still firmly in place, and the small gaggle of fans awaiting your team cracked a smile onto your face. That only grew when you spotted a young girl with a Barcelona shirt who lit up at the sight of you, rambling off excitedly to her parents who met her eagerness with bright smiles and wide eyes. You made a mental note to try and find her in the crowd after the game, because without having the foggiest idea of the impact she’d had, the small Norwegian with her blue eyes and brown pig-tailed hair had nearly single-handedly reinforced your sense of belonging within the team. 

As you passed her, you gave her a wave, to which she lit up more, and in her giddiness at having been spotted by you she didn’t even bother asking for a signature. You felt bad at leaving her behind – you never tired of coming across devoted fans, especially ones like her, they were simply a novelty that never wore off – but without wanting to distract yourself from the headspace you’d pulled yourself into, you headed into the stadium with her grinning face in the back of your mind.

Stepping into the locker room, seeing your jersey hung up with your number in blue contrasted on the classic red of the Norway kit, it was… an indescribable feeling. And you took advantage of the moment, where you were the first into the room, by taking a photo, wanting to remember the feeling of it. Your fingers hovered over your phone screen as you thought what to do next, before sending the photo to your family and to Alexia without a second thought. Then you slid your phone into your pocket, took a deep breath in, and headed over to your cubby.

When the rest of the team filed in, some of your teammates in the locker room mistook your intense concentration for apprehension and anxiety, but with a quiet word from Ingrid each time they came over to tell her, they were reassured it was just what you had to do to ensure you got out onto that pitch. 

Every game wasn’t so intense, nine times out of ten you joined in with the feel-good and light-hearted nature of the locker room in Spain, it was a different story with the national team though on this occasion. Future matches after this wouldn’t be the same, this one just felt like the most important one so far on a personal level. After the momentary blip in the bathroom, your mind had switched itself into protection mode; be as detached as possible from the surroundings and stay in your own world, so that nothing could knock the mediocre amount of confidence you had built. That confidence was about as strong as a tower of playing cards, the slightest thing could send it flying, hence your tunnel vision.

You changed into your pre-match kit, you had your necessary discussions with the manager and the staff, and you headed out onto the grass for the warm-up. Music blasted through the stadium and there was a quiet hum of general chatter as the stands filled up, fans littered by the sides of the pitch watching with their banners, the odd few catching your eye. Some had your name on, welcoming you back, which nearly made you stop in your tracks in the middle of the field. 

For some reason, it never occurred to you what the fan response might be. You thought the majority of people, ranging from your own teammates to the rest of the world, wouldn’t really… care. And the ones that did care were for all the wrong reasons. The reception you received was so unexpected. You were speechless at it. Not that you could dwell on it too long then, considering there was a very fast cross approaching the box that had your name on it.

It was a little tricky to find a stream for a Norway game in Spain, but Alexia had her ways and after a few technical difficulties that were solved by one Vicky Lopez, Alexia was left in one of the common rooms of the hotel with her laptop hooked up to the projector. Bean bags scattered the room for a few others to watch the game, some who were up to watch any football match in existence out of love for the game and others who were watching for the sake of you, knowing the importance of a seemingly inconspicuous international game. 

Front and centre with her laptop in front of her ready to solve any further problems, adamant to not miss a single second of the game, was Alexia. Her game was the day after, the greatest twist of fate she could ever ask for, because otherwise she might have simply had to drop out of her own game so she could watch you. To her left was Irene, as well as Mariona on her right. More teammates were scattered behind her, but her attention wasn’t on them.

By the time the warm-up was done, you were well and truly in the zone. You were ready, couldn’t be more ready if you tried. The sounds of your boots against the floor as you made your way back to the locker room was music to your ears, the smell of grass and the way blades of it clung to your boots, socks, skin, it was grounding. 

You’d been doing this since you were a child, the same age as that young fan outside the ground earlier. The feel of your studs digging into the mud below and the rhythm of the sport was second nature. It was peace, it was your safe space. Trying to convince yourself this was just any other game was useless, it was the biggest game of your personal standards so far. You might have won the Champion’s League, might have gotten a quadruple with the club of your dreams. This was different to that. 

This was establishing who you were, to yourself. This was you separating yourself from your team, being your own person and taking something for you. This was an individual achievement that might not make sense to most but meant everything to you. 

The best part of it all? You weren’t nervous or anxious in the slightest.

Not anxious, even when you stood in front of your jersey where it was hung up at your cubby. Even when you changed from your warm-up kit to the shirt that had pride and responsibility entangled in the fibres of it. 

Every match before this, you had been playing with a goal in mind for your team. Instead, there was only one real purpose in mind for an otherwise unimportant game: for you to get through it, for nobody but yourself. You wanted to play well, you wanted to put out a star-stopping performance like you did every time, but if you played like the worst player in the world you wouldn’t really care long as you made it to the final whistle. 

…well, maybe that was a stretch, god only knows what would happen if you ended up scoring a hattrick of own goals or something stupid like that, but the chances of that happening against you dropping a mediocre performance was quite unlikely. 

No matter how you performed, you knew you had a support system behind you that would make you feel like the world was yours, like you were invincible. That’s just how they made you feel on a day to day basis. And it was how you felt when you checked your phone before the final team, to see a long and soppy text from Alexia about how proud she was, how she had tears in her eyes before the whistle had even blew, how she had never felt so much love and pride for another person ever, and so much more that echoed in your mind as you made your way to the tunnel. 

Ingrid lined up behind you, her hand lightly tapping your shoulder to gain your attention. The look on her face was determined, focused, like yours, yet there was an underlying softness in her eyes like she could burst out into sobs any second at the sight of you in front of her, about to play for your country again. Her lips were in a straight, thin line as if she was fighting off the world’s biggest smile, and she held her arms out to offer you a hug whilst not putting any pressure on the invitation. But you couldn’t resist, so you stepped into her arms and momentarily hid your face in her shoulder.

She didn’t speak, didn’t do anything but hug you, a reprieve from everything around that you would remember long into the future. There wasn’t anyone you would rather have at your side, and there especially wasn’t anyone else in the world that deserved to be at your side for such a momentous day than her. 

That last pocket of time before the game started, you closed your eyes and took a second to breathe, step back from the importance of the situation, and remind yourself that no matter what happens, you’ve still hit a milestone you never thought you would again. The outcome of the game was somewhat in your control, as long as you gave it your all, nobody could ask for anything more, and you couldn’t ask for anymore from yourself either. You had faith in yourself, something that previous versions of you never had. And that was the most important takeaway from this whole thing.

When you stepped out onto the grass for the second time that day, this occasion the actual moment you’d been waiting for, you allowed yourself to take in the surroundings and the gravity of the event as you lined up for the national anthems. The second they were over, and you made your rounds with the other team shaking hands, you slipped into that unshakable trance that always overcame you for a game, and got the job done.

—

“You did it, engel.” 

Was there any better sound after a day like the one you’d had?

“You did it, and you scored a goal, and you won the game, and got player of the match.” 

Your girlfriend was right. 

So far though, everything post-match was sort of a blur. In a few days time, when things had calmed and you had time to process things, each little sentimental conversation and congratulation and recognition for what you had achieved, they would all jump out into a clear picture to make up one of the best days of your life. For now however, it was all a little too far out of view. All you had was a concoction of feelings which had settled deep in your chest, a heavy mixture of accomplishment and overwhelm. 

Once the adrenaline and dopamine rush wore off, you were left in a pit of… mental discomfort. Disarray. 

You had built the occasion up so much, but how were you supposed to feel afterwards? What was the expected reaction? 

“I couldn’t stop crying, really. And you looked so happy afterwards too, tell me how you are, tell me all about it. I’m so sad I wasn’t there.” 

Ingrid was sat on the bed beside you as Alexia took up your phone screen, leaning over the balcony of her hotel room back in Spain. Unlike normal, even just their company did little, if anything, to calm your overthinking. 

What you do remember, was getting quite lost in your emotions after the final whistle. You shook hands with the opposing team, you saw Ingrid coming rushing towards you from the bench before she wrapped you up in a tight hug and lifted you off the ground, which was where it all sunk in. Then fast forward to the post-match huddle on the pitch, during which you were made centre of attention and emphatically congratulated for both your performance and personal achievement, and suddenly you were wired. 

The locker room afterwards, all you remembered at that moment of time was it vibrating with energy, with you at the centre of it. The coach ride back too, you were giddy and completely overjoyed at how successful the day had gone, it literally couldn’t have been much better. 

“I’m so proud of you, I don’t know what else to say. But I a-”

And yet, your mind did what it did best, and got the better of you. It twisted and warped the already skewed memory you had to play into your insecurities and downplay the pride of others.

You overestimated their excitement, didn’t you? You imagined something that wasn’t there just to feed into your own wishes, dreams, delusions. None of them were anywhere near as excited for you. It was just. One. Game.

“Do other people feel like this after… playing one game?” 

Both of them looked at you, utterly perplexed. Alexia was still rambling about how proud she was and Ingrid was on her phone, thanking people on your behalf, when you’d said that out of nowhere. The worst part though, was that you glanced at them like it wasn’t an upsetting question for them to hear. Like you were genuinely asking as a result of the racing thoughts going around your head.

“What do you mean by that?” Ingrid wondered with a frown that matched Alexia’s too. 

The Norwegian next to you looked like she was angry at what she’d heard, you didn’t take it to heart though because she had a tendency to look fairly homicidal when something worried her. Your girlfriend, on the other hand, seemed as if she was on the brink of tears. Her face exuded delicateness, like one more comment might send her crying into her cotton socks, and you had to avert your attention away from the earnesty in her eyes because it might have swayed you into thinking that you were allowed to feel so fulfilled after just one game.

“Everyone else doesn’t get this excited and whatever after one match. It’s a bit… ridiculous and childish, isn’t it.” 

The blonde’s jaw dropped for a moment whilst Ingrid’s clenched in heartbreak and disappointment – not at you, but rather at the fact you couldn’t even enjoy such a milestone.

“No. You aren’t allowed to think like that.” Alexia stated first which caught you and Ingrid by surprise. “Please give her a hug from me.” 

Her request nearly brought a smile to your face despite the self-deprecating habits that ran the show, and you cracked just a little when your best friend did as asked almost immediately. Through the camera, Alexia could see as you settled into it, noticing how you sank into Ingrid like you needed a hug. Not just a brief, congratulatory one that felt almost obligated, but one where somebody you loved embraced you tightly, tight enough to quell the feelings that stirred inside of you. As she watched, however, that realisation of the midfielder slowly faded into how much she needed one from you. How much she desperately wanted to be in Ingrid’s position then.

Once you pulled away, Alexia could already tell part of the weight on your shoulders had been lifted. Not all of it, the rest probably wouldn’t budge until you slept it off when you let your body and mind rest, but still. Progress. And it was all she could do from afar, sending her love in any way that worked. That was something she was still figuring out, and each time you reluctantly had to spend time apart, she got better at it. Of course, as you returned to Norway for the national team, that was the occasion she finally knew best what to do. Because even though she wasn’t there with you, it sure did feel like it. 

“Don’t start undermining yourself now, snuppa. You have nothing to worry about, you’ve done all that you need to do. You should be feeling happy for yourself. Not like this.” Ingrid murmured, loosening her arms when she finished talking to leave a kiss on your forehead. Alexia hummed her agreement, smiling softly when you turned back to her, a small action that filled your heart with adoration and made you blush the tiniest bit. Though, it was still noticed by the Spaniard, who gave a teasing grin once she did.

“You know we are proud of you, and everybody else is too. I know I wasn’t there, but I can bet my life on the fact the team showed you how they felt, no? So why are you thinking that what you feel is not allowed?” She asked, a playful lilt to her voice that proved she wasn’t irritated by your adamance to not celebrate yourself, rather she was more than happy to take on the role of hyping you up until the joy you locked away finally bloomed in full. 

“I don’t know, it’s just… weird. Feels weird for one game to be such a big deal.” 

“No.” A lonesome demand which left no room for argument.

“What do you mean ‘no’ Ale?” You scrunched your nose up at the woman’s peculiar behaviour, meanwhile Ingrid stifled a laugh.

“You can’t think like that. I’m saying no.” She had a smugness to her face that communicated she had some sort of plan going on. Not that you could tell, but Ingrid could. You were the most confused you think you’d ever been in your entire life. Coincidentally, it took away some of the things bearing down on your shoulders since it derailed your mind from its destructive route and pulled you in the opposite direction of the toxicity it so desperately clung onto.

“What are you talking about? You can’t just say no to m-”

“I could tell, even from across the screen, that you were proud of yourself when the game ended. You had a huge smile on your face, one that made me cry. What you’re doing now is trying to fit into what you think everybody else expects from you, but it’s not that at all. We expect you to be happy and proud because you should be. This is not some small achievement, it wasn’t just a game, it was something that plagued you for years and now it’s all in the past because of how strong and determined and brave you are. So, come on, say it for yourself.” She looked at you expectantly, an eyebrow raised as she waited. You were almost certain that outside of the camera frame, she had a hand on her hip as she tapped her against the floor like an impatient train ticketer. 

“Say what?” 

“You know what.” Ingrid glanced at you, letting out a huff of laughter when she saw the unimpressed frown you wore at the coup that had transpired against you. “I know you feel it deep down, you just don’t think you’re allowed to believe and say it. But you are, so say it out loud now to us both.” 

You rolled your eyes and cursed her out under your breath as you shook your head at her antics.

“If you don’t say it, I’m hanging up the call.” Still, you stayed silent for a bit longer. Alexia let out a theatrical sigh, much more exaggerated and dramatic than was necessary. You threw your head back against the pillow and groaned in frustration. “Vale, I am leaving then, goodni-”

“Alright, alright!” You exclaimed with another annoyed sigh. You then said it, but in a reluctant and barely audible mumble. “I’m proud of myself.” 

“Are you? Are you actually?” Alexia’s eyebrow shot up even higher somehow, provoking an honest answer from you instead of a hesitant and disdainful one.

“Yes. I am proud of myself.” 

That time when you spoke, you sounded awfully bashful. For all the right reasons too; a second or so after you finally said it and meant it, there was this warmth that flooded your chest. The realisation that you did feel that way about yourself washed over you and almost took your breath away. 

The old you would have never admitted such an unprecedented thing because feeling proud towards something of your own doing wasn’t a thing, it wasn’t a concept and it certainly wasn’t a possibility. The old you would have shrugged off the praises of others and reminded yourself that success wasn’t an accomplishment, but a necessity. What other choice did you have than to succeed? If you were going to do something, you only did it if you knew you would achieve the outcome you wanted. If there was a possibility that you weren’t, then you didn’t do it, through fear of underwhelming others, and proving to your subconscious that you really were the subpar human both you and the rest of the world thought you were.

Yet, you sat on your bed at a hotel in the capital of your home country with two people that had changed you for the better, having reached something that you never thought you would manage to do again. Not only did you manage it, you flourished whilst doing it. 

So yeah, maybe you were proud of yourself. Because with the pair that celebrated the moment with you, you’d become the person that the younger you, the one that hadn’t yet heard of autism and still had dreams bigger than the universe, always thought you’d be. You’d grown into the example you saw growing up as a teenager but never imagined yourself as due to the limits put on you. The two people with you then had allowed that to happen. They gave you a safe space to exist in, to daydream in and to wish for things bigger and better than you ever had before. They returned the true version of yourself back to you, the one that had been lost for a few years and you felt whole. Rather than clipping your wings, they gave you space to soar. And the version of you as a child that could hardly sleep at night due to being enraptured by your imagination and all the things you wanted to do in the future, she had a sacred space to live in again, back in your heart, as a result of your resilience and the love that surrounded you.

“I’m really proud of myself.” 

Ingrid’s face softened immeasurably as you admitted it wholeheartedly that time, meaning every single syllable of the phrase. Alexia, on the other hand, was grinning like a maniac, however the teasing act she was trying to put on was severely overlooked then when you saw how her eyes glistened in the sunlight that bounced off of the building across from her. It forced the same reaction upon you too, and before you knew it, there was a tear streaking down your cheek. 

“I can’t believe I did it.” You choked out, Ingrid wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into her. Alexia briefly turned the camera away from her to try and hide how she wiped her own tears, but the sniffles coming from her gave away instantly. It only made you cry more.

“You did do it. We really could not be happier for you.” The dark-haired woman told you sincerely, the pair of you turning to the phone screen when a stifled sob sounded through the room. 

“I’m so happy. I’ve never been happier than I am right now.” 

It was one thing for you and Ingrid to have never seen Alexia like that, in such an emotional state, but it was a big thing for her too. 

To her, it was like from the minute you stepped into her life, everything she felt had increased tenfold in intensity. Every emotion overcame her a hundred times harder than before, she suddenly had especially strong opinions about things she’d never had to think about before you, and she knew for a fact she loved with more conviction than she ever did before. Every aspect of her life was just so… vibrant. And full of life. The way you viewed the world had unknowingly affected how she saw it too, because she genuinely, completely, absolutely believed that it was so much more beautiful through your eyes. 

You taught her how to love, that much she knew. But what she didn’t realise until that moment, was that you had also taught her how to be a better person. A better girlfriend, sister, daughter, friend, human. You had taught her how to be more in tune with herself, more comfortable with who she was. Seeing someone express themself as freely as you did, it made Alexia want to do the same too. So it meant a great deal to her when you mentioned only a few days prior that she was your safe person, because she thought that about you too.

If she thought you were the best person she’d ever met, and you thought the world of her? It gave her, Alexia Putellas, Ballon d’Or winner and World Cup winner, more confidence than anything else in existence could ever do. It gave her more security in showing the emotions she well and truly felt, rather than suppressing them for the sake of others. At the same time, it made her feel comfortable in expressing emotions that were new to her also. Like, for example, not just tearing up at an achievement someone else had got, but sobbing at it. From pride, from love, from admiration, all of that and more.

She felt she was on cloud nine being loved by you. It was the greatest privilege of her life. Seeing the person that she loved and that loved her do something they so desperately wanted to do was indescribable. Every emotion she experienced then were things she didn’t even know she could feel. That was just the effect of being around you; everything out of reach suddenly seemed… possible. 

From that day onwards, she knew she had to make it her mission to remind you what an astounding person you were, even more so than she already had been doing. She had to make sure you knew she loved you in ways she had no idea she could. 

—

Having something that stressed you out to extreme heights go as successful as your first game did, it had an obvious impact on how your daily mood. It was evident to everyone in the way you carried yourself, both to those that knew you well and those that hardly knew you at all.

Walking into breakfast the day after the game, each person in the room could see you held your head higher, you had a smile on your face that never left, and there was just this air about you, this confidence that wasn’t there beforehand. The change was literally night and day. And it uplifted everyone.

With it being a recovery day, the schedule was light compared to a day of training. That meant you had more free time than normal, and whereas previous days that would have made you panic, nothing could shake you out of the bliss you found your mind living in. Rather than shying away from all the suggestions thrown at you of what you could spend the day doing, you relished in it. 

First, you ate breakfast, vafler of course, courtesy of an extra upbeat Heidi, seated with some of the more unfamiliar faces of the group as Ingrid caught up with them. Initially you were quiet, but as the conversation flowed between the table, you found yourself joining with ease. There was an occasion or two where you found yourself overthinking what you wanted to add, but the more time went on, the less that happened. By the end of breakfast a number of days into camp, you’d quite comfortably found solace in each person in the squad. Unlike the past, there wasn’t a single member of both the team and the staff that you felt uncomfortable and unwelcome around. 

You found that, rather quickly, this was becoming a place you wanted to come back to as often as you could. For the people, the sense of belonging and even family, for the home comforts of your country, and for the sheer triumph that had established itself within you. Everything that happened in the past, all the mental scars and the wounds to your self-esteem, were fading away as if they were never there in the first place. 

Not only did it give you a great amount of joy and relief at being with the national team again and adorning the Norway crest, it was healing. In a way you never knew you needed but couldn’t go on without. Even with one match still to go of the camp, you could tell you were a completely new person. You were a new version of yourself, one that you loved most and were proud to be.

“Hey, uh, apparently there is a sight-seeing cruise the staff have booked for anyone that wants to go. A few of us are going, will you come too?” 

It was Frida that had appeared beside you as you stacked your plate on top of the other used ones once you’d finished eating, a hopeful smile on her face because she wanted you to go, you recognised that. She wasn’t asking for the sake of asking, something you would have convinced yourself of in the past.

Was going on a sight-seeing cruise on your agenda when you woke up? No, but it sounded like the perfect way to spend a day where you otherwise had no plans. Of course you wanted to go.

A good few hours of your afternoon were taken up with the spontaneous boat trip that took you around some of Oslo’s fjords on a traditional sailing ship, around half the team coming along and making the day-out a hell of a lot of fun. Drinks were shared, food was eaten, anecdotes were told and jokes were made about anything and everything in between. 

When you planned to come back, you didn’t think it would be this good. You knew that once you got back home, it wasn’t just the achievement you had to take with you and remember forever, it was the memories like that which would live in your heart. There was one instance specifically on the boat where you were sat with some of the team, new faces and old, where you took a second as the others continued to laugh and drink the single glasses of wine they were allowed, in which you could feel the warm crackle of contentment slowly simmering in your chest as you sat with them all. You thrived off of the connection you experienced with others, and there on the boat you recognised how pure and unfiltered what you'd found was. Your mask wasn’t up, you weren’t pretending to be someone you weren’t to try and fit in. 

You appreciated the people you were with much more than they would ever understand, comprehend even. As the thought crossed your mind and the gratitude burned inside you, there was a huge grin on your face you didn’t hide, couldn’t try to if you wanted to, because of how happy you felt. The conversation then wasn’t particularly funny, it wouldn’t explain the size of the smile on your face, but none of them cared. They didn’t point it out and make it the butt of the joke. A few of them noticed and felt themself have the same reaction too, they cared about your joy just as much as everyone else that knew you. Frida saw it too, nudging Ingrid in the process who swore she hadn’t seen a better sight.

You, with friends you’d made on the national team, immersed in the conversation and the banter with no doubts or fears, and a genuine smile on your face. It might not have been a milestone to others, but to her it was one she’d remember on your behalf for as long as her mind would let her.

Near the end of the journey on the way back, you were at the back of the boat away from the dialed-down madness now that the impromptu trip was almost over, you facing the sunset as you left the horizon behind. With the dwindling hours of the day, it’d dropped in temperature, aided by the calm water below and the chill that drifted in the air. You tugged your zipped coat over your chin, hands tucked deep into your pockets with ears so cold they were probably verging on purple. But even then, it was a cold you were used to, a cold that was your home, and it hardly even registered in your mind as you took some time to process what the trip had been and the events of the day before, with your first match back and all. 

Still, you were speechless, unable to make sense of everything. Such huge, almost life-changing things like this, it took a long while for you to fully grasp what you thought of it all. The only thing you could highlight was that it was worth it. So. Worth it.

The way the world worked was funny to you, how life worked out when it seemed least likely to. If you hadn't met Ingrid, you might not have continued playing football, since you met her at such a time where everything felt uninspiring and pointless, just for her to end up restoring the slightest bit of faith that kept you playing. If you hadn’t transferred to Barcelona and stayed in Frankfurt instead, where you’d hit the ceiling of your abilities both professionally and personally, maybe you wouldn’t have ever returned to playing for your country. If you hadn’t met Alexia, you certainly wouldn’t have felt so loved, so content in your safe space to leave your comfort zone, so much more confident with yourself, you just wouldn’t be who you were and where you were now. 

Others could see it too.

“Are you alright?” Frida came to join you, the person you’d got along with best so far in camp, her cheeks a deep red but a warm smile on her face nevertheless.

“Yes, just taking it all in. I have been to Oslo so many times but have never seen it like this.” 

Something you noticed was that Frida’s eyes brightened when she spoke to people. You had no idea it was possible, but it was the truth, it was impossible to deny. Whether it was the way her face exuded glee whenever she smiled, because she didn’t just do it with her mouth but with every muscle in her face, or it was her soul reflecting the light within it, you didn’t know. But by the time you finished speaking, you mirrored her expression.

“Me too. Normally the staff book things for us if we want to do them, but they haven’t done something like this before. I really loved it.” She agreed, to which you nodded easily. There was a slight pause, before she turned to you properly. “I am glad you came. It is nice to see you like this, back here. I’m happy that you are happy, and that you are fitting in. It’s been really nice getting to know you properly.” 

You were just so grateful for how things had worked out for you. Never before had you been so at peace in your life.

“Thank you, Frida. I’ve… I’ve had a lot of fun here. I’m really glad I came.” Somehow, her smile got brighter.

“Me too! Will you come back for the next camp?”

That was something you had spent most of the night before thinking about. And by the time the sun began to rise, you were pretty certain of your answer.

“Yes, I think so.” You answered shyly, to which the blonde haired woman beamed at you. All the more reason to come back.

“Good, otherwise you would have to come to London so I can see you again.” She joked and you laughed in response, but underneath the surface you felt your heart clench at the sentiment. She wanted to see you again. A simple thing to her, treasured thing to you.

“You should come visit Barcelona, the weather is a lot better there.” Frida laughed along with you, as light and as gentle as the way she spoke.

“No, London weather is more like home, Barcelona is too hot for me.” 

All too soon, however, the boat pulled into the harbour and the day had come to an end. Or so you thought – your plan was to have dinner, then spend the rest of the night in your hotel room, coming down from the day. However, your teammates had other things in mind.

“Some of us are going to play cards later, care to join us?” 

The offer from Celin as she skipped to catch up with you was a tantilising one, though it wasn’t in your plan for the evening and you were pretty tired from all the emotions that had ripped through you recently. Despite that, with one look at her and the fact you knew it’d be a fun time, you gave in rather quickly. You nodded, and the forward grinned excitedly before going off to round up some others. 

During the walk back to the hotel, you weren’t convinced it was the right idea for you. You were tired, you were quite mentally exhausted, and any extra socialising might push you over the edge. Fortunately, that wasn’t the case. After eating dinner, a select few of you, including Frida and Ingrid, stayed behind and spent a good hour or so immersed in many intense, highly competitive – because what else would be expected from a group of athletes – card games of different variations. And it didn’t go on too long, the rest were tired and wanted to relax on their own before training the next day with another game in only three days’ time, so it ended up working out perfectly. 

There really wasn’t anything more you could ask for from this whole thing.

—

The second and last game of the camp came and went pretty quick, and it went much the same way as the first. That time, however, you felt settled and calm from the second you woke up. There was no anxiety, no moments of utter blind panic, no doubts. You were focused for the game ahead with no preamble. It was a really, really good sign. One that wasn’t wrong, either, because you had yet another stellar game that Alexia watched with her eyes glued to the screen, except this time when the whistle blew there was a spark of excitement in her chest because that meant she was just one day away from getting to see you again. 

One sleep, one flight, one taxi ride, and you’d be back together again. So despite the MVP award that you’d been given again, all you could think about was arriving at your apartment to find her there and waiting for you. Her flight got in earlier, so she had ample time to go home and refresh herself, then get to your flat by the time you got back, and you just couldn’t wait for it. Reuniting with her after time apart had never felt so meaningful and needed. It had been torture going through the last two weeks without her; being on top of the world but without the person that had got you there was terrible luck. Your phone call with her afterwards was all soft murmurs and giddy declarations for what would soon come, topping off what had been another flawless day in Norway. 

You’d miss the chilly country, but you also missed Spain too. Missed your club, your apartment, the warmer weather, your teammates. All of the above never happened at Frankfurt, as harsh as it sounds. Not that there was warmer weather there exactly, but the point still stands. 

The game finished in the early evening, which left perfect time for there to be a sort of goodbye dinner, the best way to end the camp before everyone went their separate ways back to club football again. It was lowkey, it was heartfelt, and there were a couple occasions you caught yourself looking around the room and reminiscing on what the last fortnight had been. 

A success is what it had been. In all avenues: football, socially, personally. You took the time to acknowledge that it was everyone else in your life that had gotten you there, but you could hear Alexia in the back of your head.

“You did this yourself. All we did was urge you, it was you that took yourself there and woke up each day determined to make it go well. We did nothing really, it was all you, engel.” 

It had always been the most important thing to you to make sure you gave credit to those around who helped you. This time, however, you made the conscious effort to give yourself credit too. It felt incredibly unnatural and embarrassingly forced sometimes, like a cringey motivational podcast, yet you still tried. Initially you shrugged it off. Then, you truly started to take it in. Before you knew it, you were lay in bed on your final night before returning home, letting yourself sink into the mattress and feeling the weight of your effort lift, because it was done. Over. 

Knowing that you had faced something that seemed unexplainably difficult, pushed through the hard moments, and came out of it stronger, wiser, with a better sense of yourself and two matches under your belt, it… felt like you could finally release a deep breath you’d held in for years. The quiet yet powerful realisation that you actually did it kept sleep far out of reach, that wasn’t a surprise, and even though you might have looked a little psychotic lying in a pitch-black room in the middle of the night, you didn’t stifle the smile that forced its way through. You’d worked so hard to feel that pride, you weren’t about to fight it off. 

You let it consume you, not annoyed at the lack of rest, knowing that you were about to go home to your girlfriend who would tackle you into bed at 4pm if necessary to ensure you got the sleep you needed, and she wouldn’t move an inch out of your space for the whole time. Dreamy. 

You couldn’t wait to see her proud face in person, not a lagging phone screen, hearing her ramble with her arms around you rather than over a phone call with a tinny signal. 

Ingrid could sense your excitement from the other side of the hotel room as you both packed your things the morning you were due to leave. She couldn’t help it, she felt the same too. There was a small something hidden away in her backpack she was due to give to you before you went your separate ways, you back to your apartment and Ingrid back to hers. It had been Alexia’s idea, a plan discussed whilst you slept in the next bed over as she spoke in a hushed whisper that Alexia could hardly hear, each time she asked the Norwegian to repeat herself adding to the risk of you waking up. Alas, you didn’t and you were none the wiser to their conniving behaviour.

The duration of the short flight, the dark-haired woman swore she could feel you physically vibrating with excitement in your seat beside her; legs bouncing, hands either wringing together or tapping against your thighs, you pulled out all the stops. The only thing Ingrid could do was smile with amusement, deep down revelling in your clear joy and your carelessness for showing it. And it continued from the flight, to the shuttle to the terminal, to the car ride that dropped you off back home. 

Barcelona was well and truly home. Or, home was just wherever your life with Alexia was.

Your desperate anticipation was entirely all-consuming, to the point where Ingrid had to pull you back by the handle on your backpack to keep you from running off before she got to say goodbye. Well, not a goodbye as such since you’d be seeing each other in a couple days back at the club, and you did live in the same complex, but she still wanted to have a final moment with you to round off the international period.

Her hands landed on your shoulders once you’d entered the elevator together, and her facial features fell into that soft, “I’m about to say something sincere and you’re going to let me say it,” kind of look. She held your gaze for a few long moments as the building floors ticked by, and there was a smile that crinkled her eyes in the corners. Really, she didn’t need to say a word. You saw the unspoken message etched across her whole being: I knew you could do it.

Then, of course, she drew you into one of her usual hugs that had you toeing the line of death due to lack of oxygen, along with a gentle murmur in your ear of Stolt av deg, the combination of your mother tongue and the honesty she spoke it with poking at your tear ducts. The sentimental value of the moment was almost overwhelming, it was all you could do to hug her back like your life depended on it. 

Your dignity was saved by the bell, literally, as the doors opened and the chime to match it went off, alerting you both as you pulled away and Ingrid reached for her backpack. It was her floor, though she wasn’t getting out just yet, to your confusion. Your eyebrows pinched together as she rooted around in her bag for a little while, until she pulled out a small gift bag. 

“This is for you.” She said simply as the elevator doors shut again, though it didn’t go anywhere. “From all of us at camp, but it was Alexia’s idea. She wanted to do something for you. So thank her, okay? She’s in awe of you, as are us all. But her especially.”

And with a quick kiss to your forehead, she was grabbing her suitcase and leaving the elevator. By the time your brain caught up, the doors were already closing again. You stood frozen to the spot for a second or two, cheeks red and your head spinning at the prospect of the gift in your hand, whatever it was you didn’t know yet, before you pressed the button for your floor and the elevator started whirring again.

For the whole journey up – which was about fifteen seconds – you stared at the bag in your hand, staggered by the sudden surprise. This definitely wasn’t on the cards for your return home. Regardless, you realised your heart rate had picked up a little. Whether it was from the gift or the prospect that Alexia was only one closed door away from you as you stepped out the lift, you didn’t care. 

It was a miracle you didn’t run to your door really, though you found that since getting out of the car, your energy had dipped quite an amount. There was only one logical explanation for that; all the exhaustion the past fortnight had caused was catching up to you now that you were soon to be with the one person that you could properly rest with.

You hardly managed one knock at the door, not bothering with your keys, before it swung open to reveal her. You didn’t even catch a glance at her– one second your feet were on the ground, next minute you had a face full of faded blonde hair and a familiar pair of arms around you that lifted you up into the tightest embrace she’d ever given. It was a bit awkward given that you weren’t quite expecting it and you still had your backpack on, but, hoping that your gift wasn’t fragile, you dropped it to the ground and wrapped yourself around her wholly. 

God only knows how long the two of you spent like that, but neither of you were prepared to move for a long while, wanting to drink in each other’s company again. You planned to not pull back until Alexia did, a plan that was entirely scuffed when you heard a quiet sniffle. 

When you leaned back, the picture before you was unexpected, yet made your heart swell.

“Why are you tearing up, Ale?” You asked in a quiet voice, your hands moving up to rest on her cheeks as she linked her own together behind your back.

“Because you are back here with me again. Because you make me proud by being you, and you make me proud to love you.” Her voice trembled with her reply and it made it all the more sweeter. 

That last part about her being proud to love you, just might never leave your mind. Nobody had ever said they were proud to love you, nevermind mean it. You know there were probably some in your life that felt the same way but weren’t too sure how to articulate it, but Alexia did. She always did. You were proud to love her, too. 

“I love you, Alexia. And I missed you so much.” 

After shrugging off your bag, you rushed in for a hug, a proper one this time. One where you ducked your head down and buried your face in her neck as her body enveloped you, the kind you’d craved every morning you woke up and every night before you slept. All you could think then was finally. Finally, the person who’d had the biggest impact on you out of everyone, maybe bar Ingrid, could feel it within you in her arms. The way your shoulders were lighter and your posture stood taller, how it did from the morning after the first game. 

“I love you too. Love you, love you, love you, lo-” You removed your head from her neck, rolled your eyes, and shut her up with a kiss. A cliche, soppy, rom-com movie kind of kiss at the end of the film when the protagonists finally got together. That word again, finally. Except the two of you had said those words probably thousands of times and it never got old.

“That was the longest two weeks of my life, god.” You groaned as you rested your forehead against hers, eyes falling shut as you enjoyed the close proximity to her again. She gave an unreasonably wide grin for such a simple comment, and pulled you closer to her somehow, to the point where any outsiders wouldn’t have a clue where she ended and you began.

“For me too, but it was worth it, no?” The way she proposed the question, you knew it was her last way of properly checking in with you before embedding the two of you in post-success joy, where she could at last go on and on and on forever about the two weeks. You loved it, the way she wanted to know what you were thinking at times she thought you might be covering the truth, without doing it in an oppressive and irritated way. Your answering smile gave you away before you had the chance to think of a reply.

“So worth it.” You told her shyly, watching as her entire demeanour lit up more than it already was before. “How was camp for you? I’ve barely got a word in about it.” 

“No, no, no. Let’s not bring the mood down with that, I just want to forget it.” You frowned, a notion Alexia caught onto instantly as she waved you off, so she distracted you with a comforting kiss to your cheek and a bright smile. “Ingrid gave you the gift, right? Open it now.” 

Making a mental note to revisit that conversation, you let it slide temporarily. You reached down and grabbed the bag again, glancing between that and Alexia’s somewhat nervous face with a questioning look. A slightly accusatory one as well, because there really was no need for her to get a gift after everything she had already done for you.

“What have you done?” You wondered suspiciously, the blonde anxiously chewing her lower lip as she waited for you to see what it was.

“Just… something. For you. From me. And your Norway teammates, and-” 

“Okay, well, quit the anxious rambling and let me open it.” You teased, some of the tension leaving her shoulders with the quiet chuckle she gave.

Never in your life could you have predicted what was waiting for you.

In the world of football, the gift was a common thing for reasons you thought were much more important than the one you were given it for. You didn’t expect to receive one, but you got it, it was right there in your hands.

Your shirt from the first game you played, first match you started, signed by each and every teammate there, along with some staff members like Heidi and Gemma. All of them took the time, under instruction by Ingrid and Alexia, to sign it for you as a token of their respect, their admiration, and their support. Unwithering support, each and every single one of them. Ingrid had nearly cried at the suggestion Alexia made, and the latter woman could cry as she watched you stare at it in disbelief.

“I thought it would be nice if we had it framed and put it on a wall in your apartment. So that you can see it and be reminded of it everyday. You seem to struggle with remembering your strengths and I think this is the biggest example I could get to help you with that. I want you to acknowledge all you have overcome to get here, I want you to see the product of your hard work. Well, this is that. I think. I don’t know. If you don’t agree, then we can, I don’t know, n-”

“Shut up.” 

“Q…qué?” 

“Shut up, Alexia. This is the best thing someone has ever done for me.” 

The midfielder scoffed lightheartedly to brush off the bold statement out of fear of what it might have done to her emotions. She stepped closer again and hugged you, unable to keep herself away from you after so much time apart. And you just fell into her, arms loose around her waist as she placed one of those beautifully soft kisses against your forehead whilst whispering the purest declarations you’d ever heard.

Your emotions, on the other hand, had hit such a height, you weren’t sure what to do with yourself. They’d built up so much that you were frozen by them. The sole thought that escaped through was just… finally.

Finally, you had someone that was proud to love you, someone that would go behind your back and plot from another country the best gift to give you, someone that let you be… you. No mask, no anxiety, no fear of being too much. You had people around you that saw you for who you were rather than what you weren’t, that didn’t care if some traits were different, because, as a product of finally being in a place in life both metaphorically and physically, you didn’t change a thing about yourself.

Finally, you were the person you always set out to be. 

—

i am so, so sorry for how long this took to come out! it's been a time these last few weeks. after i posted part one i had an awful experience with trolls in my inbox and it was the worst thing i've had to deal with, and to be completely honest if it happens again with this one i'm most likely gonna dip out of here for good, i just don't have the energy to deal with that. anyways it was so bizarre writing p1 when i was manically anxious about uni because that part was similar to how i felt then, compared to now with p2 where i'm happy and settled at uni and still riding the wave of relief at how it's worked out there like in this fic. thanks for sticking around and waiting, hope you liked this little story within a story, there will be more to come of reverie hopefully if all goes well :)