#but second of all there's something to be said for the way that when carey misreads magnus's intentions

[oensible]

Article also available at The Hockey News Archive (subscription)

Transcript below the cut.

PROSPECT REPORT

[Lede image description: Elevated shot looking down at Worcester Sharks (AHL) goalie Tyson Sexsmith as he reaches out to make a glove save in his crease.

Caption at upper right: FEET FIRST Tyson Sexsmith focused on his skating while playing as both a forward and goalie growing up.]

Quick, Slick Sexsmith

Sharks' AHL goalie is one of many enticing prospects looking to get his shot in The Show with San Jose or elsewhere

BY RORY BOYLEN

(Page 46 | JANUARY 30, 2012 THN.mobi)

Tyson Sexsmith always wanted to be a goaltender, even if his parents weren't as keen. He began donning the pads around the age of seven, but Mom and Dad always wanted him to be a strong skater, so as a kid Sexsmith played the first half of his Okotoks minor hockey practices as a skater and the second as a goalie. "I liked the gear and I like to be different," he said. "Having my parents want me to keep playing forward and be a good skater definitely helped my game as I feel I've probably been one of the stronger skaters on every team I've been on."

It's certainly a trait that has allowed him to excel in the famously successful Sharks goalie factory. He's risen to become one of the American League's best netminders with Worcester and earned an all-star nod. At 5-foot-11 and 195 pounds, Sexsmith doesn't follow the big-body trend we've seen in the NHL lately and will never be the same type of goalie as 6-foot-3 Carey Price or 6-foot-5 Pekka Rinne. However, it's his skating ability that helps make up for any size disadvantage. "He's got a real thick lower body, really strong legs," said Tim Burke, San Jose's director of scouting. "I'm not comparing him to Mike Richter, but he also had a thick lower body and guys with explosive lower bodies are already in place and they don't have to extend and chase pucks."

Sexsmith, a 2007 third-rounder (91st overall), is establishing himself as an elite prospect, but he had to endure some difficult times over his first two as a pro. In November of 2010 with the ECHL's Stockton Thunder, he was about three minutes away from a shutout when Bakersfield goalie Josh Tordjman skated down and challenged him to a fight during a post-whistle scrum. While Sexsmith won the tilt, he broke his hand as well. And two years ago, his rookie pro season was interrupted by a hernia, so he's already played more games in the AHL this year than he had in his first two campaigns.

But the San Jose crease is as crowded as ever. With three goalies already on the pro roster, other intriguing prospects such as Alex Stalock and Harri Sateri are fighting for depth-chart positioning. Stalock's season-long leg injury opened up an opportunity to start in the AHL and while Sateri has been strong in his own right, Sexsmith has been otherworldly in earning a few more starts that his Finnish counterpart. "It's definitely frustrating," Sexsmith said about the number of goalies in the system. "It's something you just have to deal with – it's out of your control. You know there will be someone to take your job if you're not willing to perform. You have to take it as a challenge."

And history shows he is up to the task. In his first year of junior with the Vancouver Giants, Sexsmith served as a backup on a Western League championship team. He became the starter the next season and, under the weight of expectations, led his team to a Memorial Cup championship. When his junior career ended, he came out of it with a new WHL and Canadian League shutout record. "He was technically very calm and positionally strong," Burke said of what turned him on to Sexsmith. "And a lot of people said 'well, he's playing in Vancouver, they have a good team,' but the reality is Ken Dryden had a good team, too. Tyson won a lot of games."

And while there's a lot of competition in net, Burke says all of San Jose's goalies get their opportunity. "We make them believe in the way we train them that they're all going to have a chance to play because history says we've had a lot of goalies play in the league," Burke said. "And if any of them don't, we're not saying they can't do it. We're saying we have to find a way, whether it's mentally or physically, to get them to that point."

As Sexsmith refines the little things in his game such as day-in, day-out mental focus and picking up the handedness of an oncoming shooter, "that point" doesn't seem too far off.

A scan of the article from the goalie issue of the Hockey News about San Jose Sharks’ prospect, Tyson Sexsmith.

His mask reads “Sexy”.

[anistarrose]

unfortunately don't think I have the energy to create for taz sapphic week this year, but for the record I've quietly been getting really into the headcanon of a Killian/Carey/Noelle Team Sweet Flips polycule

[menagerofmischief]

Fan Favorite (FC43)

summary: franco and y/n are everyone's favorite couple in the paddock. they serve, fans eat it up - simple as that.

franco colapinto x driver!reader

based on two different requests I got

cw: google translated spanish, lando and y/n are friends but they're hating on each other, franco is a simp, smidge of williams slander

fc: emily carey

liked by yourusername, williamsracing, oscarpiastri and 250,674 more

francolapinto: te amo mucho, mi corazon

tagged: yourusername

comments:

yourusername: te amo <3

user3442: oh to be franco colapinto

user332: franco can you fight?

landonorris: that last photo was a bit tmi

yourusername: no one made you look norizz landonorris: you're so mean

ynupdates: when I'm in a who's a bigger y/n fan competition but my opponent is franco

francolapinto: my beautiful girl

user33: dude this is your own post

user201: oh to be loved the way franco loves y/n

liked by francolapinto, williamsracing, landonorris and 1.547.365 more

yourusername: it's race weekend baby!

tagged: francolapinto, williamsracing

comments:

williamsracing: our favorite driver is back in the garadge

francolapinto: mi hermosa novia

francolapinto: mygirlmygirlmygirl

user323: another day of franco being in the likes before me

user22: franco's in the likes before the photos are even posted atp

landonorris: can't wait to outscore you again

yourusername: dude I'm driving a williams?! yourusername: admin don't look

ynnation: prettiest driver

ynupdates: franco looking at y/n is all of us

comments:

user221: no because that caption is so real

ynsbettercar: they're so obsessed with each other it's not even fair

f1fanat1c: find someone who looks at you the way franco looks at y/n

user553: so real, because if he's not like this then I don't want him

mclursa: praying for a relationship like theirs

th3ssf: they are the standard

livelughsformula: no because this is how franco looks at y/n 😍

user44: I too would look at my girlfriend like that if she was y/n l/n

f1wagupdates: y/n and franco spotted out having breakfast

comments:

oneonef: love how f1 wags posted this

user443: franco is y/n's wag first, williams driver second

ynupdates: fav couple

user090: they're so cute together

usrrs: having a relationship like theirs is not a want it's a need atp

usef1: mama and papa

user442: same, except I'm older than them

userrr: franco and y/n are why I believe in love

liked by landonorris, francolapinto, oscarpiastri and 998.546 more

yourusername: national boyfriend day post

tagged: francolapinto

comments:

francolapinto: ai corazon, you said you wouldn't post these

yourusername: I lied

username43: franco looks so cute with those glasses

use221: why is he looking at me like that

landonorris: the 3rd picture is unsettling me

yourusername: scroll away bitch landonorris: *gasp*

francolapinto: te amo te amo te amo

yourusername: <3

carmenmmundt: I came here for a pretty girl instead I got a Franco post

yourusername: you can come over instead ;) francolapinto: on a post appreciating me? yourusername: shh fran, I'm shooting my shot

userrrsa: googling how to become franco colapinto, brb

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, yourusername and 896.554 more

francolapinto: girlfriend appreciation post

tagged: yourusername

comments:

yourusername: you said the first picture would never see light of day

francolapinto: not nice being lied to is it?

user443: y/n's slaying no matter what

userrr2: mother is mothering

user445: franco can you fight?

francolapinto: 👍👍

yourusername: idk if I feel appreciated enough

francolapinto: wait until I get back home and I'll appreciate you some more user003: do you need a third?

user332: y/n l/n the most beautiful woman

thsfd3: get mother something better than a williams pls

user992: if they break up I'll kill myself, no cap

userrrw: real

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Why You So Obsessed with Me? p3

Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this Carlos x reader based on the song: Obsessed– Mariah Carey, if you haven't read part 2 here it is:)

If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

You hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that night. Carlos standing under the streetlight like something out of a dark fairytale, stepping between you and danger like he belonged there.

It shook you.

Maybe it was just timing. Maybe it was coincidence. Or maybe he really meant it — all those things he whispered when he thought you weren’t listening. That you were his. That he’d wait. That he’d protect you.

It was enough to make you pause. Not believe him… but hesitate before shutting the door in his face again.

So, when your friends suggested dinner a few days later, you welcomed the distraction. You needed to get out of your own head.

The restaurant was cozy, warm, the clink of glasses and laughter softening the noise in your chest.

You told them what had happened. Every detail.

The flowers. The guy. Carlos.

They didn’t react how you expected.

“He saved you?” one of them said, already smirking. “Like, full-on knight in shining armor?”

You nodded slowly. “I mean… yeah. I guess so.”

“And you didn’t kiss him?”

“I— No! I didn’t kiss him. What? Why would I—”

“Oh come on,” another cut in, swirling her wine. “We’ve all seen the way he looks at you. Like he wants to murder anyone who even breathes in your direction.”

“Exactly,” someone else chimed. “He’s obsessed with you. Not in a bad way… necessarily.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s literally the definition of a bad way.”

They laughed, but one of them leaned forward, more serious. “All I’m saying is… maybe give him a chance. Just to see. You might be surprised.”

You didn’t say yes. But you didn’t say no, either.

You left just before midnight, tired but lighter. The street was empty, cool breeze brushing your skin as you slid into your car and turned the key.

Nothing.

You frowned. Tried again.

Nothing. Not even a cough.

“No. No no no,” you muttered, hitting the steering wheel in frustration.

Sunday night. Middle of nowhere. Perfect.

You tried calling one of your friends, but they’d already taken an Uber back home.

One of them texted back though: “Why don’t you call Carlos? He drives cars for a living. Pretty sure he knows how to fix one.”

You stared at the message.

Your thumb hovered over his name in your contacts for a full minute.

Then, with a sigh, you hit call.

He picked up on the second ring.

“¿Estás bien?” (are you okay?) Just that. Not ‘hello.’ Not ‘what’s wrong?’ Just Are you okay?

You hesitated. “My car won’t start. I think it’s the battery or something, I don’t know. Everyone left and I’m stuck—”

“I’ll be there.”

Click.

No questions. No hesitation.

Fifteen minutes later, headlights swept across the street. A sleek black car pulled up beside you. You didn’t have to see the driver to know it was him.

Carlos got out, hoodie low over his brow, hair messy. He looked half-tired, half-wired — like he’d been waiting for something all night and finally got the call.

“Are you okay?” he asked again, voice low.

You nodded. “Yeah. Just annoyed.”

He opened the hood, leaned over, checked a few things, and then glanced back at you.

“The battery is dead,” he confirmed. “I can call a mechanic to pick it up and tow it.”

You sighed. “That would be… amazing. Thank you.”

He nodded once, pulled out his phone, made the arrangements. Efficient. In control. No questions asked.

When it was done, you looked at him, then at his car.

“You mind driving me home?”

Carlos opened the door for you without a word.

You didn’t plan to invite him in.

You told yourself it was just a drink. A thank-you.

But as you poured something in the kitchen — him leaning against the doorway, watching you like he was afraid to breathe too loud — you felt something soften.

You started talking.

He made a joke. You laughed. He told you about crashing his dad’s old car at seventeen. You told him about getting your license at twenty-one because you were terrified of driving.

He didn’t judge. He didn’t gloat. He just… listened.

And you realized something that scared you a little.

Carlos Sainz was… nice.

Not in the typical, surface-level way. But underneath the intensity and obsession — there was a man who wanted to be seen. Not feared.

You refilled his glass, and he watched you with the kind of quiet that felt almost reverent.

Carlos' POV

She didn’t notice.

Not when I pulled up without directions. Not when I knew exactly where she was.

She didn’t realize she’d never given me her address.

And I wasn’t about to remind her.

Not tonight. Not when she let me in. Not when she laughed at my jokes and leaned a little closer every time I spoke.

She was warming up.

The coldness was melting. The distrust was cracking. I could see it in the way her shoulders relaxed and how her voice lost its edge.

It was working. Finally.

I took a sip of the drink she made me — sweet, a little bitter — and smiled to myself.

She thought she was in control.

But she didn’t know I’d been circling her for months. That I’d memorized the pattern of her footsteps, the scent of her perfume, the way her voice changed when she was lying.

She didn’t know the mechanic I called was a friend I paid to “find” her car a few weeks ago and leave the battery just loose enough to die tonight.

She didn’t know I’d waited outside that restaurant for an hour… just in case.

But soon it would be over.

Because now, she’d called me.

Now, she’d let me in.

And now… she’d never feel safe without me again.

Next part

@sumbellling, @hhhs7, @omgsuperstarg

[engie-ivy]

949 words

Sirius Black is known as the office Grinch, so what has suddenly gotten into him?

You Make It Feel Like Christmas

You Make It Feel Like Christmas - Gwen Stefani

“You're delusional.”

“I'm not!”

“You must be.”

“No, I swear,” Benjy hisses.

“Well, maybe you misheard,” Hestia offers.

Benjy huffs. “You think I would not recognize ‘Jingle Bells’?”

Emmeline shakes her head. “Anything is more likely than Mr Black humming that song.”

“He was in front of me at the coffee machine,” Benjy says. “And I swear I heard him do it!”

You see, the reason why the mere idea of Sirius Black walking around the office humming ‘Jingle Bells’ is so preposterous, is because Sirius Black is known as the office Grinch.

The man dislikes everything that's even remotely related to Christmas.

When Mary and Dorcas were hanging the Christmas lights, Mr Black commented on energy savings for the office and the necessity of cutting down on the electricity bill. In his opinion, Christmas was a huge waste of energy in its entirety. No one actually knew if he was still talking about electricity.

When the first Christmas song was played on the radio, Mr Black pointedly put on his noise canceling headphones. Plus, he actually has no idea who Mariah Carey is, which is shocking in its own right.

When Edgar came to work wearing his Christmas jumper, Mr Black reported him for inappropriate work attire (though luckily Lily from HR simply told him to get over it).

Moreover, Mr Black constantly complains that Christmas Day is an obligatory day off, instead of him being able to save his vacation hours for, in his words, ‘when he actually needs them’.

He has also called Christmas markets a trick to sell junk no one needs, he's known to think that a gift certificate makes for the best Christmas gift, and that black coffee tastes better than any hot chocolate ever could.

“Okay, I'm actually getting really worried,” Caradoc whispers as they convene at the coffee machine.

“Me too,” Edgar replies in a concerned voice. “Maybe he's come down with some sort of illness?”

“Did you guys hear what he said when he saw the little Christmas tree on my desk?” Mary hisses. “He said it looked ‘nice’. Nice! No eye roll, no sarcastic undertone. Just nice.”

“I almost had a heart attack when I saw his tie this morning,” Emmeline says faintly. “I mean, tiny snowmen?”

Dorcas bites her lip. “Could it be some sort of brain disease?”

“Or maybe he hit his head and he has a concussion?” Benjy offers.

“Should we like… take him to the hospital or something?” Fabian asks.

“Gosh,” Hestia says. “Why are you all so negative? Maybe he just finally caught the Christmas spirit!”

“Excuse me?”

Everyone pauses their work to look at the man who appeared in the doorway to their office. He's got floppy, honey-coloured hair, is wearing a rather tattered coat and is carrying a box with a bow tied around it.

“I'm looking for-”

“Remus!” Mr Black jumps to his feet. “What are you doing here?”

A light colouring appears on the man's cheeks as he looks at Mr Black and he smiles a little sheepishly. “I hope I'm not disturbing you?”

Mr Black closes his laptop without giving it a second look. “Not at all! I can always make time,” says the man who once almost made Gideon cry because he dared ask him a question while he was in the middle of an Excel sheet.

“Great,” the box-carrying man, Remus, grins, and despite the scars on his face, it makes him look strangely endearing. “My mum and I baked Christmas cookies, and we, of course, made way too much for just us, so I thought I'd drop by your office to bring some?”

“That's so sweet of you!” Mr Black happily takes over the box. “I absolutely love Christmas cookies,” says Mr Black, who has never even touched any of the cookies Caradoc baked for the office.

“I see you're wearing the tie I gave you,” Remus says.

“Of course,” Mr Black replies. “It's my favourite.”

“That's good,” Remus smiles softly.

They both just look at each other for a moment, while the rest of the office exchanges looks.

Then Remus averts his eyes and looks down at his shoes. “You know, I was wondering…” He begins. “Would you like to go and look at the Christmas lights together tonight? It may sound cheesy, but they're actually really pretty and it's one of my favourite Christmas activities to-”

“I would love to!” Mr Black replies a little breathless. “I've been really wanting to go and see the lights.”

Mary makes an indignant sound, but both men hardly seem to notice there's anyone else in the room.

“Great!” Remus looks up and beams at Mr Black. “And I was thinking that maybe we could visit the Christmas market and drink some hot chocolate together?”

“I love the Christmas market,” Sirius replies without skipping a beat. “And I'd love to drink hot chocolate with you.”

“Good. Great. Perfect,” Remus says. “So, it's… it's a date?” The colouring on his cheeks increases.

"It's a date,” Mr Black agrees.

Both men stare at each other for a long moment, having completely forgotten there's a room full of people looking at them, people who start shifting uncomfortably in their chairs.

Remus is first to snap out of it. “I… I

I should let you get back to work.”

“Work,” Mr Black repeats, like he's trying to remember what the word means. “Right. Work.”

“See you tonight?” Remus asks.

“Can't wait,” Mr Black replies.

As Remus leaves and Mr Black turns back to the room, everyone immediately turns to their computer, pretending to be working.

Hestia exchanges a look with Emmeline.

Sirius Black definitely caught something alright, but it ain't Christmas spirit.

[solxamber]

Heartslabyul, 1, Fluff

As a side note (This isn’t a second request I just got sudden brain worms!) all I can think about is Riddle with number six (I think?) with “Say that again” but like… As my mother with her violent hatred of Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas. She despises the song, and every year we reach a point where she band it until next Christmas. She prefers the Werewolf Boyfriend song. And now I’m imagining Riddle with ADuece playing it and him moments away from collaring them- I’m sorry if this was weird but now I’m trying not to die laughing while in a public place.

help?? that's so funny??? also your mom prefers the werewolf boyfriend song???? that's somehow funnier

A Kiss for Luck || Deuce Spade

For the Holiday Event! || Prompt: "Is that mistletoe?" ; Genre: Fluff

Deuce was, by all accounts, a terrible actor.

You’d noticed his plan from the moment the holiday party began. He’d linger by the mistletoe every chance he got, looking over at you and then away so quickly it was a miracle he didn’t give himself whiplash.

“Hey, um… I think the punch tastes better over here.” He tugged at his tie nervously, gesturing toward a suspiciously decorated corner.

You squinted at the punch bowl. “Deuce, that’s eggnog.”

He froze. “Oh. Uh… yeah. My bad.” He quickly turned on his heel, nearly tripping over Cater, who laughed as he breezed past with a knowing grin.

You decided to let him sweat a little. Watching Deuce stumble over himself trying to orchestrate the perfect holiday moment was endearing in a way only he could manage.

As the evening wore on, you kept catching him in your periphery—standing near mistletoe, adjusting his sleeves, glancing your way, and failing miserably to look casual. You’d purposefully steer yourself in the opposite direction, enjoying his increasingly flustered expressions.

Finally, though, you decided to put him out of his misery.

Deuce was leaning awkwardly against the wall beneath one particularly prominent sprig of mistletoe, trying his best to look like he wasn’t standing there on purpose. He lit up when he saw you approaching, standing straighter and smoothing down his jacket.

“Oh! Hey!” he said, a little too loudly. “I didn’t see you there.”

You tilted your head up, feigning surprise. “Is that mistletoe?”

Deuce’s face turned a shade of red so deep it rivaled Riddle’s hair. “Uh, yeah. I mean, it’s tradition, right? You don’t have to, uh, if you don’t want to, of course! I just thought—”

Before he could ramble himself into oblivion, you leaned up and kissed him. It was soft and sweet, and when you pulled back, Deuce’s eyes were wide as saucers.

“I wanted to,” you said simply, unable to hide your smile.

Deuce’s shoulders relaxed, his expression shifting from shocked to relieved, then to something softer—something that made your stomach flip in a way nothing else could.

“I’ve been trying all night to make this happen,” he admitted sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

“I know.” You laughed, reaching up to fix his tie. “You’re not exactly subtle, Spade.”

His ears turned red, but he smiled—a boyish, bashful grin that made you feel warm despite the winter chill. “Guess I don’t have to be anymore.”

He took your hand then, holding it with the kind of care that made you feel like the most important person in the room.

And as the party bustled on around you, Deuce looked down at you, his shy confidence growing with every passing second. “So… can I kiss you again?”

This time, you didn’t make him work for it.

Masterlist

[v1sexual]

always forever , vi (arcane) part two

a collection of (modern) domestic life activities with vi ! college au , modern au , self indulgent

part one , part two , part three, part four soon !

note : this one sucks lol , i literally made this at work a couple of days ago and didn’t have the willpower to write a new one. anyways, hope u guys like it !

drabble two : its mariah carey season

ꕀ flat mate vi ! who was ecstatic when you suggested to decorate the flat for christmas. she and her family are not religious at all, but christmas is something that they celebrate every year without fail.

ꕀ flat mate vi ! who went all out and spent around $500-$600 on christmas decorations and around $1000 for christmas gifts. (she bought like five different types of christmas lights, a 6 foot christmas three, and a lot of stuff she definitely didn’t need)

ꕀ flat mate vi ! who’d show off by carrying all the shopping bags in one go and would not let you help. “just doing my job shortcake,” she’d say as she opened the front door for you, her pinky visibly shaking as two heavy shopping bags hang off it.

ꕀ flat mate vi ! who’d stop to look and admire you as you two decorated the christmas three. she watched, as you strategically placed the blue, green, and red baubles in a pattern so that they’re even distributed. it’s been a couple of days since you two kissed, an unofficial confession to how the two of you felt for each other. after that night you’ve shared countless of kisses (and a little bit of heaving petting here and there). but you guys haven’t really addressed what you two are, if this is a start of a relationship or just something casual (her bet is on the former though).

ꕀ flat mate vi ! who excused herself and told you she needed to go to the washroom but in reality she just needed an excuse to sneak off and set-up a mistletoe under your door, her door, and the bathroom door.

ꕀ flat mate vi ! who basically barricaded the hallway to that leads to her and your room. she literally hung a white sheet in front of the hallway to hide what she’s planning.

“vi you’ve been there for two hours!” you whined, hand resting on your stomach. “i literally need to shit!”

vi popped her head out from behind the white sheet, “give me two minutes baby i’m almost finished.” she said then popped her head back in.

as much as you’d love to cuss out vi right now, you just couldn’t ignore the way your belly does flip flops the second she called you ‘baby’ (also the fact that it somehow made you no longer wanna shit).

approximately two minutes later vi popped her head out again, “close your eyes for me shortcake.” you sighed but closed your eyes anyways.

ꕀ flat mate vi ! who quietly turned off the light. she intertwined her fingers with yours as she held the white sheet open and leads you towards the hallway.

“okay shortcake, open your eyes.”

a gasp left your lips as you opened your eyes. the hallway was illuminated in nothing but white christmas lights hanging from the ceiling, it looked like something out of a pinterest board. personalized wreaths hung outside your rooms (yours had books, a guitar, and all your favorite little things. then vi’s had a hockey stick, a rugby ball, and a pair of boxing gloves).

“do you like it?” vi asked quietly.

you didn’t say anything, eyes still focused on the hallway.

“i-i can take it down if you-“

you cut her off by basically jumping into her arms, you wrapped around her in a tight hug burying your face in the crook of her neck.

“i love it,” you whispered against her skin. vi smiled down on you, her hands situated under your legs to support your weight.

ꕀ flat mate vi ! whose face you showered in kisses when you broke free from the hug.

a dopey smile played on vi’s lips as she leaned against your palm, eyes fluttered shut as your lips met hers. she sighed contently, her hands rest on your hips her as her thumb rub circles against your clothed skin.

vi has never felt so happy, so content. she felt as though her heart would burst from how hard it pounded against her chest.

“i love you,” she said. “i don’t know if it’s too early to tell you, but i love you. i have for a while now, and i understand if-“

you cut her off by shortly pressing your lips against hers. “i love you too, violet.”

ꕀ extra !

“oh. my. god.” powder exclaimed. she gripped her phone tightly, re-reading the text her sister sent her.

ekko raised an eyebrow at his girlfriend, placing his guitar in it’s stand before walking towards his bed and plopping down next to her. “everything alright pow?”

powder didn’t say anything, instead she shoved her phone in ekko’s face. it took him a second to read the text but judging by the photo vi sent powder, he already knew what was up.

“can’t believe it took them this long to be honest.”

“cut them some slack little man,” powder rolled her eyes playfully before shooting vi a quick text. “it’s not like you’re any better.” she teased which made ekko roll his eyes.

“yeah, yeah, whatever.” he replied, pressing a kiss to powder’s cheek.

[notiddygothgf]

xii

★ pairings: aki hayakawa x fem reader

★ ❝ You're a devil ❞

★ c.w.: public foreplay, vibrator, smut, confusion again (thank you aki, we all say in unison), lovemaking ( uh ohhhh ), an epiphany. not beta'd

★ a/n: I'M BACKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!! omg i have been writing this chapter for like weeks now. it's been so hard. honestly i'm not even entirely sure if i'm happy with the way it turned out, but it was necessary, i'll say that. y'all are gonna have a lot of fun! until shit gets real. not saying tm but enjoy my lovelies ;) (also, if you wanna be on the same wavelength i was on when i wrote this, stream 'My All' by Mariah Carey)

★ w.c: 20k

pornstar ; chapter index

FRIDAY EVENING, after work, after taking a long, relaxing shower, you pulled on some loungewear and wrapped yourself in a cardigan, but you couldn't quite settle. Your thoughts kept drifting back to tonight.

Aki hadn't called it a date, not exactly. He had only said, Are you free Friday at 7?. That was it. No real details. No mention of where you were going. But something about the way he had said it—calm, deliberate—had made your stomach flip.

Now, as you made your way downstairs to the mailroom, you felt a strange nervousness settling in your chest. It was ridiculous, really. It was just Aki. You had spent countless hours with him, had some... late nights together, had made more drunken mistakes with him than you were willing to admit. But tonight felt different. Like something was shifting, tilting into unfamiliar territory.

You ran a hand over your arms, trying to shake the feeling as you entered the mailroom. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead as you rifled through your usual stack of bills and junk—until something unexpected made your breath catch.

A box.

You froze, staring at it for a moment before picking it up. It was light, unmarked except for your name printed neatly on the label. No return address. No clue where it had come from.

Your heart gave an uneasy thud. You didn't remember ordering anything.

A prickle of curiosity ran through you as you carried it back upstairs, your fingers gripping the edges a little tighter than necessary. Once inside your apartment, you set the box on your bed, hesitating only a second before peeling away the tape.

The flaps folded open easily, revealing something soft inside.

A dress.

Your breath hitched.

Beneath it, a folded letter. Handwriting – neat and deliberate. Calm, calculated slopes and curves of pretty cursive lettering. You recognized it from the post-it note Aki had handed you the other day. Clean. Concise. Him.

I hope this gets to you on time. Wear this on Friday. I'll be around to pick you up at 7 PM.

No explanation. No unnecessary words. Just a simple request.

You read it again, something warm and nervous blooming in your chest.

Your fingers brushed over the dress again, lifting it from the box. It was beautiful. Black, sleek, form fitting in all of the right places without giving too much away. The fit looked perfect, which meant—

Aki had asked someone about your size.

The thought sent a quiet shiver through you. Maybe he had checked the uniform orders at work. Maybe he had gone through the trouble of asking someone. Either way, it meant he had thought about this. About you.

A nervous, fluttering feeling stirred in your stomach as you held the dress up to your body in front of the mirror. Your reflection stared back, wide-eyed, lips parted.

Was this a date? It felt like one.

You traced your fingers over the fabric, smoothing it down over your waist, picturing Aki standing in a store, picking this out for you. Would this suit her? Would she like this?

The thought made your breath catch.

And suddenly, the nervousness shifted into something else.

Excitement. The giddy kind, the kind you hadn't felt in a very long time.

What the hell is he doing to me?

The room seemed to hold its breath as you stood before the mirror, the dress clutched in your hands. The soft fabric felt almost foreign against your skin—smooth, delicate, but somehow heavy with meaning. You had barely noticed the tremble in your hands as you slipped it over your body, as though something deep inside you was already anticipating what tonight would hold.

As the dress settled, the sensation of being clothed in something that wasn't just meant for you, but for him, sank in. It wasn't about just looking good—it was about being seen, being chosen, being claimed. The way the dress hugged your form, the way it shaped you just perfectly, it felt like it had been made with him in mind. And suddenly, the nerves were no longer nerves. They were something else, something thrilling.

You traced your fingertips over the fabric again, feeling it stretch across your curves as you imagined him standing behind you, his eyes on you. The thought made your heart beat faster, the anticipation building as you imagined how he would look at you. This is for me, you thought. You belong to me tonight. The thought sent a surge of heat through you, a rush of excitement so powerful it almost made your knees buckle.

He had chosen this dress. He had seen you in it, imagined how it would feel against your skin, how it would look under his touch. This wasn't just a gift—it was an ownership of you, a declaration that tonight, you were his in every way. The dress was a symbol of that, a quiet but deliberate statement that you were being taken, in a way that made your pulse race.

You couldn't help but admire yourself, and it wasn't vanity. It was the feeling of being something to him—something special, something his. You wanted to look good for him. You wanted to embody everything he had imagined, to fulfill his desire for you. You weren't just getting ready for a date. You were preparing yourself to be his. And that thought made your breath hitch.

The mirror reflected your image, but it wasn't just the fabric of the dress or the way it accentuated your body that caught your attention. It was the way you felt in it—controlled, owned, desired. The weight of the dress felt heavy with that unspoken promise, and the excitement only intensified. Tonight, you weren't just dressing for yourself. You were dressing for him. You were preparing for what he had planned. The thrill of his expectations made the anticipation damn near unbearable.

You slipped your fingers into your hair, tugging it back into an intentional style, something that would look just right when he finally saw you. Every touch felt deliberate, as though you were getting closer and closer to being the vision he had in mind.

Your makeup, too, was done with the same careful attention—nothing extravagant, just the subtle touches that made you look like his. A hint of blush to highlight your cheeks, a soft dusting of mascara to make your eyes appear just a little more doe-like, just a little more vulnerable. You wanted him to see that. You wanted him to see you, but a prettier versionof you, the one that was his to look at, to control.

The sound of your flip-phone ringing snapped you back to reality. You glanced down at it, at the small computer that held so much weight. Slowly, you reached for it, turning the thing over in your palm and flipping it open.

Aki Hayakawa.

Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, you hit answer and held it up to your ear. "Hello?"

His voice replied to you – deep, smooth, sexy as all hell. "Hey. Did you get the package I sent?"

You glanced down at the smooth, buttery black fabric draped over your legs, fighting back a grin. "Oh, that was you?" You teased. "Didn't have a return address. Figured it must have been a secret admirer."

"Very funny," He replied, not sounding the least bit entertained. (Okay, well, maybe a little bit). "We're going out to dinner tonight. I don't know if you figured that out by now."

"Where?" You asked. You surmised that it would have been somewhere nice, given the sleek nature of the dress he had sent you.

"That's for me to know and for you to find out," He replied, leaving your question unanswered. "I'll be heading out within the hour. Be ready for me."

Gently, you set your phone down on the counter. Then, taking a deep breath, you sighed – a dreamy, breathless one. A dangerous one.

He finally showed up, and the sight of him stole the breath from your lungs. That damned suit—you knew it well. You had seen it many times before, perfectly tailored, sharp against the broad line of his shoulders. But tonight, it looked different. Or maybe it was the way he stood in the doorway, framed by the dim evening light, holding a bouquet of fresh flowers in one hand and an elegantly wrapped gift box in the other.

Flowers – freshly cut. A bundle of red and pink roses, speckled with white flowers in between. They were swaddled in brown wrapping paper, tucked neatly in his palm.

Your heart stuttered.

"Oh my God," you murmured, stepping forward as warmth spread through your chest. "Come in, let me put these in a vase."

He handed you the bouquet, his fingers grazing yours for the briefest moment—just enough for a flicker of warmth to pass between you, a silent awareness neither of you acknowledged aloud. He didn't move right away, watching you as if memorizing your reaction, as if uncertain whether he had done enough to make up for his absence earlier.

You held the flowers close, inhaling their delicate fragrance, then looked up at him with something between wonder and quiet amusement. "Would you believe me if I told you no one's ever given me flowers before?"

He let out a low chuckle, something soft threading through it. "I'm glad I could be the first," he said, his voice gentler now. His gaze searched yours, unreadable for a moment before he added, "It's the least I can do after leaving you hanging at the office."

You turned away, busying yourself with the flowers, though you could still feel his presence behind you. There was something unbearably tender about the way he stood there, waiting, watching you as though he was trying to piece together the right words, the right way to express what he couldn't say outright.

And then, just as you reached for a vase, his voice came again, quiet but certain.

"You look beautiful, by the way."

Beautiful.

Your breath hitched.

This is a bad idea, you thought. It was a very, very bad idea. You knew how your brain worked – going on a date with the man of your thoughts would do nothing to quell the storm of emotions he seemed to leave in his wake.

Still... he thought you looked beautiful.

The compliment settled over you like a warm, unexpected touch, igniting something deep in your chest. You swallowed, feeling the heat bloom along your neck, your cheeks—an involuntary response, no matter how hard you willed yourself to stay composed.

You turned slightly, your fingers tightening around the vase as you fought to keep your voice steady. "Thanks," you murmured, though the word felt too small to contain the way your heart fluttered.

Nothing about this seems very casual, you thought. Not when he smiled at you, not when he moved to take a seat at your kitchen table, and certainly not when he nudged the pink gift baggy towards you with two fingers.

"I got you something for tonight," Was all he said, sitting back in the chair and watching you while you filled the vase up about halfway with water and plopped the flowers inside – after cutting them free from their wrapping, of course.

With a smile that could have powered a fucking car, you hesitated before reaching for the box. Then, as slowly as you had picked it up, your trembling hands undid the little bow sealing it closed at the top and let it fall open. You reached into it, past the layers of pretty, pastel-pink tissue paper, until your fingers brushed up against something – a box.

Curiously, you cast him a glance. His expression, of course, gave away nothing, so you pulled the thing out anyway, and nothing could have prepared you for what you saw.

It was a pretty pink vibrator. One that looked like it was supposed to go inside of you.

You snapped the cover of the box shut, jaw flying open. Wordlessly, Aki grinned, as if this was all a part of some plan you had yet to understand.

Still, the image of him pursuing the aisles of an adult store just for you, fingers skimming over the boxes in search of something that would fit you – like that fairy tale with the three bears. Not too little, not too much, but just right – did something strange to your gut. You weren't entirely sure you hated the idea.

"Something else for you to wear tonight," He added casually, eyes raking themselves over the dress he had carefully picked out just for you. "Thought it might be fun if we had a little challenge."

"Challenge?" You reiterated, face flushed with embarrassment. "So, what– you want me to just... like– keep it in... me...? The whole time?"

"Something wrong?" He asked. His tone was genuine, but his eyes... his eyes burned with a challenge.

His brows lifted slightly, and then, with a smirk just shy of smug, he said, "Just the other day, you were on your knees below my desk." He tilted his head, considering. "With a coworker in the room." He let that hang between you for a moment, savoring the way your breath caught before adding, "I think this might actually be pretty tame compared to that."

Your face burned as he pushed himself to his feet, moving with slow, deliberate purpose. It was a short distance between you, but somehow, it felt like he crossed an entire mile just to reach you. The space between you shrank to nothing as he reached out, his fingers brushing your cheek before tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was gentle—unbearably so.

Then, with the same ease, he pried the box from your grasp.

"Unless, of course," he mused, his voice impossibly soft, "you don't think you can handle it."

A sharp pulse of heat curled through you, something electric buzzing beneath your skin. Without thinking, you snatched the box back from him, your fingers curling around it with quiet defiance.

His smirk deepened.

"I could put it in for you, if you'd like," he offered, his voice dipping lower, silkier, as he took half a step closer.

"No, no—" You laughed, shaking your head. "No. Let me do it."

His gaze lingered, amused, knowing. But he leaned back, conceding.

You brushed past him and walked towards the bathroom, keeping the box tucked beneath your arm as if that would make this whole ordeal any less embarrassing. Then, once you had closed the door behind you, you set the thing on the counter, staring at it.

Intimidating – it stared right back at you.

Momma didn't raise no bitch, you thought.

Then, you were hiking the skirt of your dress up over your thighs and letting your panties drop to the floor. Once that was done, you reached for the box and pried it open. The thing was... kind of cute, actually. You turned it over in your palm, taking a moment to admire it.

You had used your fair share of vibrators before, but this one was different. It was longer than your finger, and was crooked up at the end. The base was flared, and looked as if a part of it was meant to sit outside... pressed up against your clit to provide even more stimulation.

And... well, there was no button.

Maybe this isn't a vibrator at all, you thought.

Still, that didn't stop you from getting a little nervous at the prospect of having it in you the entire night. Holding it up to your lips, you spit on it, letting your saliva run down its shaft, smearing it around. Then, you reached down, between your legs, and...

"Shit," You gasped the moment the cold silicone brushed up against you.

You pressed a little deeper, until the thing broke past the first layer of flesh, until it pressed right up against your entrance. You took a deep breath, willing yourself to see it through, then you pressed in a little deeper.

Do it for him, you thought.

It slipped in a little deeper.

Before you knew it, the entire thing was seated neatly inside of you, pressing up against all of the right spots, and–

"How the fuck am I supposed to walk with this thing?" You whispered to no one in particular, shifting your hips from side to side, just to test it. It would be possible, sure, but not without giving you a limp.

This feels so fucking weird, you thought. Still, you felt... full, and that was enough to have you squeezing your thighs together. Uncertainly, you slid your panties back up over your legs, holding it in place.

You smoothed down your dress, inhaled deeply, and stepped out of the bathroom.

Aki was waiting in your kitchen, seated casually, fingers drumming lightly against the counter. The moment he saw you, his gaze flickered down, then back up, slow and deliberate.

A smirk played at his lips. "Did I tell you that you looked great, by the way?"

You rolled your eyes, but the grin that tugged at your lips betrayed you. "Once or twice."

You reached for your bag, adjusting the strap over your shoulder. "Feels weird, but... I think I'm ready to go."

Aki hummed, standing up, his movements easy and unhurried. His eyes never left you. As he stood to his full height, you fiddled with your hair, reached for the purse you had left on the counter.

"So..." You slid the purse over your arm. "What exactly is this thing supposed to– like– do...?"

Aki didn't answer.

Instead, he held up the remote.

Your stomach dropped.

Before you could protest, before you could even process, he flicked it on.

A sharp jolt of sensation tore through you, white-hot and overwhelming. Your knees buckled, and you caught yourself against the counter with a strangled gasp, doubling over as your breath hitched in your throat.

"Oh—God—" You choked out, shaking your head, gripping the edge of the counter like a lifeline. "No, we can't... we can't do this."

"Of course we can." His voice was maddeningly smooth, entirely too calm. He took a step closer, tilting his head as if he were enjoying the way you trembled under his control. "As long as you don't make a sound, who would know?"

You glared up at him, biting back a whimper, your body still reeling from the sudden, unrelenting pulse.

"You're a fucking devil, Hayakawa," you grit out between clenched teeth.

Aki only smiled, smug and devastatingly pleased with himself. "You ready to go?"

"You're not gonna press that thing while I'm walking, right?" you asked, narrowing your eyes at him as you adjusted your bag over your shoulder. Your voice was casual, but the suspicion in your tone was unmistakable.

Aki stood in front of you, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the remote. He twirled it between his fingers absently, as if weighing his options. His expression was unreadable, but you didn't trust the way the corner of his mouth twitched—like he was barely holding back a smirk.

"If I fall," you warned, voice firm, "I'm gonna kick your fuckin' ass."

That made him roll his eyes. "Yeah, yeah," he murmured, placing a hand at the small of your back as he guided you toward the door. His touch was steady, firm, a quiet reassurance despite the teasing glint in his eyes.

The night air was cool against your flushed skin as you stepped outside, locked up the apartment. The city hummed around you, neon lights flickering against the damp pavement, the distant murmur of voices and the occasional honk of a car filling the silence between you. Aki walked beside you, silent but ever-present, his pace easy and controlled.

When you reached his car, he opened the door for you—always infuriatingly gentlemanly when he wanted to be. You slid into the passenger seat, adjusting your dress as you settled in. The moment the door shut behind you, a tense silence fell over the car like a thick, invisible veil.

Aki started the engine, but he didn't put the car in drive right away. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and rolled it between his fingers before glancing at you.

"You can say pineapple if you want me to stop," he said simply.

You blinked. "...Pineapple?"

He nodded once, eyes flickering to you before shifting back to the road. "Pineapple."

A beat of silence passed. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, your stomach twisting—not with nerves, exactly, but something close. It was one thing to tease, to flirt, to push back against his games. But the quiet, firm way he had said it, the way he made sure you knew you had a way out—it made your chest tighten, just a little.

You turned your gaze out the window, the city lights blurring past as he drove. Neither of you spoke.

The tension in the car was thick, electric, stretched taut between you like an invisible wire. The remote sat in Aki's lap, and you had to fight the urge to glance at it every few minutes, unsure whether he'd press the button just to watch you squirm.

By the time you arrived at the restaurant, your palms felt a little damp against your thighs.

Aki pulled into a private lot, smoothly parking before shutting off the engine. He didn't move right away, only tilting his head to glance at you. The streetlight outside cast long shadows over his face, softening the sharp edges of his jaw, making his expression unreadable.

Then, without a word, he got out.

You inhaled deeply before following suit.

The moment you stepped out, Aki was beside you. He didn't hesitate before reaching for your arm, looping his through yours as he led you toward the entrance.

The gesture was... unexpected. And more than that, it made your breath catch.

You glanced up at him, but he was looking straight ahead, his grip gentle but firm. Your heart gave an unsteady flutter, something warm curling in your chest despite the nerves still buzzing beneath your skin.

The restaurant was stunning—warm golden lighting, sleek marble floors, soft jazz playing in the background. The air smelled of expensive wine and seared steak, and the quiet murmur of voices hummed through the space like a steady undercurrent.

Aki walked up to the hostess stand, his voice smooth as he said, "Reservation for Hayakawa."

The hostess, a polished woman with dark red lipstick and neatly tied hair, checked the list before offering a polite smile. "Right this way."

She led you through the softly lit restaurant, weaving past white-clothed tables and elegantly dressed patrons. Your heels clicked against the polished floor as you walked, your heartbeat a steady rhythm against your ribs.

At the table, Aki pulled out a chair and gestured for you to sit.

You arched a brow. "Such a gentleman," you teased, but you sat anyway, smoothing down the fabric of your dress as you settled in.

He only hummed, taking the seat across from you.

The waitress appeared moments later, offering water and letting you know that someone would be by soon to take your order. Then, just as quickly, she disappeared again, leaving the two of you alone.

You leaned back in your seat, letting the tension ease slightly as you picked up the menu. The prices had you raising an eyebrow. "This place is fancy," you murmured. "Didn't know you were the type."

Aki merely shrugged, looking at his own menu.

You tilted your head, studying him. Then, with a small smirk, you asked, "You take all your playthings out to dinner?"

Aki didn't immediately answer. He closed his menu, setting it down beside his water glass.

Then, he looked at you—really looked at you. His expression was unreadable, his gaze steady and quiet, but when he spoke, his voice was softer than you expected.

"No."

You blinked.

He didn't smirk, didn't tease, didn't roll his eyes the way you had anticipated. Instead, he answered you honestly. And that, somehow, was worse.

You swallowed. "Oh."

A pause.

Then, he tilted his head slightly, observing you, and added, "You're the first."

Your heart skipped.

A slow, warm feeling spread through your chest, catching you off guard. Your fingers curled around the edge of your menu as you tried—tried—to keep your expression neutral, to not let him see how much that simple statement affected you.

You looked away, staring at the flickering candle in the center of the table.

"I should feel special, then," you murmured, voice quieter now, lacking its usual teasing edge.

A pause. You could feel his eyes on you, studying, assessing.

"You are special," he said simply.

Confusing much?

Before you could decide what to do with that, the waitress arrived, all polite smiles and professionalism. You busied yourself with the drink menu, forcing normalcy into your voice as you ordered, though your fingers still gripped the menu a little too tightly. He ordered without hesitation, his voice smooth and confident, as if none of this affected him at all.

As soon as the waitress turned to leave, he shifted in his seat. The movement was small, barely noticeable, except you felt it immediately. A soft vibration, low and teasing, flared to life inside of you. Your body tensed – you bit back a gasp.

Your fingers twitched against the menu.

You exhaled through your nose, forcing your shoulders to relax, feigning nonchalance as you slowly lifted your gaze to his.

His lips twitched, just barely.

The buzz lasted only a brief moment, a fleeting reminder, before it stopped as abruptly as it had started. He had only pressed it once, just enough to get a reaction. A test, a warning – a reminder that he had all of the power.

You took a slow sip of water, using the glass to hide the heat creeping up your neck.

"Really?" you said finally, voice low but pointed.

He hummed, tilting his head slightly as he flipped a page of the menu, as if he were deeply invested in his options. "Something wrong?"

You shot him a glare, but he wasn't even looking at you. If you didn't know him so well, you might have believed he was actually deciding between pasta or steak.

The worst part was the way he remained so composed. You, on the other hand, could still feel the lingering sensation against your clit, inside of your walls, a phantom buzz that made your pulse stutter.

You set your glass down with a deliberate clink. "Cut it out."

This time, he did look at you. Slowly. A dark amusement flickered in his gaze, and then the corner of his mouth lifted into something that wasn't quite a smirk, but close.

"No."

Your stomach tightened—not from the toy this time, but from the way he said it, quiet and confident and so sure. It was a single word, but it carried weight, a kind of promise.

You opened your mouth to argue, but just then, the waitress returned with your drinks. You reeled yourself back in, schooling your features into something neutral, ignoring the way your fingers still felt unsteady as you reached for your glass.

She placed a cocktail in front of you, a neat whiskey in front of him. "Are you both ready to order, or do you need a few more minutes?"

You were about to say you needed more time when it happened again.

A second buzz.

You sucked in a breath, your grip tightening around the stem of your glass. It was brief, just as before, but somehow more insistent, more purposeful. Your body betrayed you, tensing before you could control it, and his eyes flickered, catching the movement.

He was doing it on purpose now.

You forced yourself to exhale slowly, smoothing your expression as best you could. Your heart pounded against your ribs, but you kept your voice steady as you turned to the waitress. "I'll have the—" you hesitated, the buzz still lingering in your nerves, still pulsing inside of you, "—the salmon."

If she noticed anything off, she didn't show it.

"And for you?" she asked him.

Dear God.

He leaned back slightly, taking his sweet, precious time. "The ribeye," he decided, then added, "medium rare."

She nodded, jotting it down before collecting the menus. "I'll get that started for you."

As soon as she walked away, you let out a slow breath and shot him a look. "You are impossible."

His lips curled around the rim of his glass before he took a slow sip of whiskey.

The rest of the dinner passed by in a similar fashion.

The candlelight flickered between you, casting shifting shadows along the white tablecloth, distorting the reflection in your water glass. Your fingers traced the condensation on the stem, trying to ground yourself in the cold, the solid, the real. But it was difficult when every few minutes, he pressed that damned button.

It wasn't constant. That would have been easier to handle. Instead, he wielded it with precision, pressing it just enough to catch you off guard, to remind you exactly who was in control of this moment.

Like now.

A fresh buzz pulsed inside of you, insistent and teasing, and your breath hitched before you could stop it. You hunched slightly, squeezing your thighs together, fingers tightening around your fork.

"Something wrong?" he asked, the picture of innocence, casually slicing into his steak as if you weren't actively trying to keep yourself from making a sound.

You shot him a glare, heat crawling up your neck. "You know exactly what's wrong," you hissed under your breath.

His mouth twitched, amusement sparking in his eyes as he chewed thoughtfully. "I really don't."

The worst part was that no one around you had noticed a thing. The restaurant hummed with soft conversation, the clinking of cutlery against plates, a low melody playing from unseen speakers. Everyone was completely unaware that under the table, you were gripping the fabric of your dress, fighting for composure.

You exhaled slowly, straightening, trying to salvage some dignity. He was enjoying this too much. You weren't going to give him the satisfaction of breaking.

With careful movements, you speared a piece of salmon with your fork and lifted it to your mouth. A distraction. If you just focused on eating, maybe—

Buzz.

A choked noise escaped before you could stop it. It wasn't loud, barely more than a small gasp, but it was enough. He heard it. You knew because his gaze darkened slightly, his fork pausing halfway to his mouth.

You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the table as another wave rolled through you. The vibrations weren't strong, not really, but they were persistent, perfectly timed to make your body betray you.

You bit your lip hard enough to sting, hands trembling slightly as you set your fork down with exaggerated care. "You're such an asshole," you whispered.

His fingers brushed his chin as he leaned in slightly, eyes sharp, interested, voice low enough that no one else could hear it. "You should be more careful with your words. I'm the one with the remote, remember?"

Your breath hitched again as another pulse hit, and this time, you hunched forward, instinctively bracing yourself against the table. It was too much, too sudden, and a small, helpless sound slipped past your lips before you could swallow it down.

Mortification burned through you.

He heard it.

Worse, so did the couple at the next table. Not enough to know why, but enough to turn their heads slightly, their conversation pausing.

You clamped a hand over your mouth, heat flooding your face.

I'm gonna fucking murder him.

He had the audacity to smile.

"You alright?" he asked again, voice perfectly neutral, as if he wasn't the cause of your current predicament.

Your nails dug into your palm. "You know damn well something's wrong."

His smile widened, slow and satisfied. "Do I?"

You wanted to kill him. You wanted to grab the remote from his hands and throw it across the restaurant. You wanted to do something, but it was hard to think when the silicone toy was nestled so perfectly inside of you. Because you were sitting, it crooked right up against that spot that had you shifting your hips for more, rubbing you in all of the right ways.

The buzzing stopped.

Your body was still tense, coiled like a spring, your breathing uneven. But there was nothing. Just silence. No vibrations, no teasing pulses, nothing pressing against your stomach.

You blinked at him, suspicious.

He simply took a sip of his whiskey, regarding you with a look that sent a shiver down your spine.

"That's better," he murmured.

You exhaled, releasing the table from your death grip. The couple next to you had already resumed their conversation, the moment forgotten. You picked up your fork again, taking a small, careful bite of your salmon, hoping to find some sense of normalcy in the simple act of eating.

But the second you started to relax—

Buzz.

Evil asshole. A strangled whimper broke from your throat, too quiet for anyone else to hear, but loud enough for him. His grip tightened subtly around his glass, and you caught the way his jaw tensed for the briefest moment.

The realization sent another rush of heat through you.

Oh.

He wasn't as unaffected as he pretended to be.

You swallowed thickly, adjusting your grip on your fork, as if the very motion could somehow keep you grounded.

"My stomach is killing me," you murmured, barely moving your lips, your gaze dropping to his hands.

A lie, of course. One that anyone would be able to see through.

His fingers tapped against the rim of his glass, slow, measured. "We can leave whenever you want. Just say the word."

You almost took him up on the offer. Almost. The promise of paradise, of being taken home with him... of finally getting this damned thing out of you was almost too tempting to bear. But, then, he looked at you, and you knew what leaving meant.

It meant that you were throwing in the towel.

And you would be damned if you let Hayakawa win.

You licked your lips, feeling lightheaded from the heat, the tension, the thrill of it all. "You're awful."

"And yet," he pressed the button again, just once, just enough to make your body shudder, "You haven't said the word."

You couldn't argue with that.

The candlelight cast a warm glow over the table, flickering against the deep amber of Aki's whiskey. His fingers rested idly on the rim of his glass, tapping a slow, measured rhythm against the crystal. To anyone else in the restaurant, this was just another quiet dinner—a couple engaged in light conversation, enjoying a meal together.

But beneath the table, hidden from curious eyes, something far more dangerous brewed.

You took a slow breath, steadying yourself as you picked up your fork. You couldn't let him see how much this was affecting you, couldn't let him have the satisfaction. If you could just get through dinner, if you could act normal, if you could pretend—

Buzz.

Your body jerked before you could stop it. The vibration shot through your core, sharp and insistent, and you had to grip the tablecloth just to ground yourself. Your breath caught, your thighs pressing together in an attempt to suppress the reaction, but it was too much, too sudden.

Across from you, Aki took a slow sip of whiskey, watching you over the rim of his glass. His face was unreadable, composed as ever, but you could feel his amusement, the quiet, patient way he was waiting for you to crack.

You forced your grip to relax, exhaling carefully. "You're quiet tonight," you said, forcing your voice into something resembling normalcy. "That's rare."

He hummed as he set his glass down, tilting his head slightly. "I'm just enjoying the view."

Your stomach tightened.

Buzz.

Your hand twitched violently, nearly knocking over your glass. You barely swallowed down a choked noise, your breath breaking in the middle.

Aki speared a piece of steak, utterly unbothered. "You seem jumpy," he remarked, his voice smooth, unaffected. "Something wrong?"

You shot him a glare, your nails pressing into your palm beneath the table. Bastard.

"No," you said flatly. "I'm fine."

Aki's lips twitched, but he let it go, cutting into his steak with slow, deliberate movements. "Good."

You took a shaky sip of your drink, gripping the stem of your glass tighter than necessary. You could do this. You just had to hold out.

For a while, it was almost normal. You both ate, making idle conversation, the tension beneath the surface like a live wire waiting to snap. Aki asked about your day, and you forced yourself to answer, focusing on each word, pretending nothing was wrong.

But every time you got comfortable, every time you thought maybe he would let up—

Buzz.

Your fork clattered against your plate.

Your shoulders tensed as another wave of heat rippled through you, your thighs squeezing together under the table. Your breath hitched, and you barely bit back the sound that tried to escape.

Aki took another sip of his whiskey, watching you closely. He noticed.

And he liked it.

You wanted to wipe that smug look off his face.

Swallowing hard, you picked up your fork again, though your hands still trembled slightly. You tried to keep eating, tried to act normal, but your body was betraying you, your skin flushed, your breathing unsteady.

You clenched your jaw. If he thought he was the only one who could play this game, he had another thing coming. Quietly, you kicked your heel off of your right foot, creeping towards his side of the table.

Your foot slid forward beneath the table, slowly, deliberately, until it pressed up against his thigh.

Aki's breath hitched.

It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but you caught it—the way his fingers briefly tightened around his glass, the way his exhale was just a little too sharp.

Victory.

You tilted your head slightly, feigning innocence. "Something wrong?"

His jaw flexed, his grip tightening around his fork. His expression was still composed, but now you saw it—the crack in his calm.

Two can play at this game.

He exhaled through his nose, his fingers shifting subtly near his pocket. "Careful," he murmured.

Careful. A warning. A promise.

Your heart pounded, heat curling in your stomach. You knew it was indecent, knew it was reckless, but at this point, you couldn't bring yourself to care.

He was unfazed, calm as ever, while you were strung tighter than a bow, every muscle in your body aching from the strain of staying composed. Your hands, curled tightly around the edge of your glass, trembled ever so slightly. The soft hum of conversation in the restaurant around you felt distant, almost drowned out by the chaos of your own thoughts.

Aki's eyes flickered briefly toward you, a subtle smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he placed his empty glass back down. He knew. He knew exactly what he was doing, and that knowledge made you feel both exposed and... well, entranced. He was playing with you, a slow, deliberate game, and he was winning.

But you weren't ready to give up just yet.

When the waitress returned to clear your plates, you took a deep breath, trying to gather yourself. You couldn't let him see how badly he was getting under your skin, how every little touch, every playful press of a button under the table, had your body taut with barely contained tension.

The waitress, oblivious to the storm between you and Aki, set the check down gently between you two. "Can I get you anything else tonight?" she asked, smiling brightly.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could form a word, Aki took the check into his hands, pulling his wallet from his jacket with a fluid motion. His fingers slid easily over the leather, pulling out his card with a practiced precision. Without missing a beat, he handed it over to the waitress, his calm demeanor not giving away a single hint of what was happening beneath the surface.

"No, thank you," Aki said, his voice steady and smooth, but there was something in his eyes—a quiet, almost predatory glint that made you shiver despite yourself.

The waitress took the card and left without another word, leaving you alone with him once more.

Your chest felt tight, your heart still racing from the unrelenting pressure. You didn't dare look up at him, afraid that if you did, you'd see that quiet satisfaction written all over his face. Instead, you focused on the table in front of you, picking at the edge of your napkin as if it could somehow anchor you to reality.

Minutes passed in heavy silence, the weight of his gaze never leaving you. Every time you thought you might catch your breath, you'd feel that subtle buzz deep within you, that dangerous reminder that he hadn't let you off the hook yet. The need to break free, to run, was becoming overwhelming, but you wouldn't give in—not yet.

You were wet – an understatement. Practically dripping down your own thighs, in fact.

Aki, on the other hand, was relaxed, at ease as if the world outside this small table didn't exist. He watched you, his gaze never faltering, like he was studying you in a way only he could.

Studying you the way a lion studied its prey before striking.

A few moments later, the waitress returned, her presence bringing a quiet relief. She set the check down in front of Aki, her smile polite and professional. "Here you go, sir," she said cheerfully. "All set."

You glanced up briefly, catching Aki's eyes as he took the check, still unaffected. He gave the waitress a polite nod before pulling the pen from the side of the folder, the small motion sharp against the quiet of the room. He signed his name fluidly, the pen moving effortlessly across the paper. The whole act was so smooth, so routine, but you couldn't help but watch him, feeling the tension rise once more.

There was a stillness in the air as he capped the pen and placed it back in the folder. His gaze turned back to you then, almost casual, but you saw the flicker of something in his eyes—amusement.

You hated him at that moment. Not for the first time tonight, but this time it was different. This time, it felt like the weight of everything was crashing down on you all at once. You were so close, so close to losing it.

How dare he stop? 

Wait... no.

"I hate you," you murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them. You didn't even know if you meant it, but it didn't matter. The frustration, the heat, the maddening pull between you—it all exploded in that simple admission.

Aki's lips quirked into a smile, and you could see it in his eyes—he was enjoying every second of this. "Yeah?" he asked, his voice low and teasing, almost affectionate.

You wanted to slam your fist against the table, wanted to scream at him to stop—to just let you be. But instead, you just sat there, your fingers curling against the tablecloth, feeling every inch of your body wound tighter and tighter.

The waitress returned again to take the folder, a small polite smile on her face as she walked away. Aki remained seated, unfazed, as if nothing had happened. But you were still burning. Every part of you, every nerve in your body was screaming for something you couldn't even name.

Aki stood, and the movement was so effortless, so fluid, it almost felt like he'd been waiting for this moment. His fingers brushed against the edge of your chair, the touch so light, so deliberate, that it made your breath catch. Then, before you could react, his hand was at your back, guiding you to your feet. You weren't sure when he'd moved so close, but now, his presence felt like it had always been there, surrounding you. The moment he touched you, a shiver rippled through your spine, curling deep within your chest.

He was careful, but there was no mistaking the firm pressure of his touch, the quiet assurance that he was in control, and you were—somehow—allowing it. You didn't dare look up at him, knowing that if you did, you'd see that knowing smile, that quiet satisfaction he always wore when he had you on the edge.

"We'll see about that tonight," he murmured, his voice so close, so low, it made your heart flutter, the words slipping into your skin and curling there, leaving a mark that felt too tender to ignore.

You wanted to respond, but no words came. Instead, you nodded slightly, as if it was the only thing your body could manage. His hand remained at your back, gentle yet firm, as he guided you through the restaurant. The world around you blurred, the chatter, the clinking of silverware, the quiet hum of music—all faded into the background. The only thing that mattered was his touch, the feeling of him close to you, pulling you along, leading you somewhere that you knew would change everything.

The door swung open with a soft chime, and the cold night air hit you, a stark contrast to the heat simmering between you. It was a relief, a brief moment to collect yourself, but then Aki was there again, his hand still at your back, steady and unwavering. His touch was like a promise. It was like a tether that held you to him, reminding you, pulling you closer, whether you wanted to or not.

You didn't say anything as you walked toward the car. You didn't need to. The space between you was filled with something too complicated for words. His hand never left you, never strayed far enough to make you feel alone. And as much as you might have wanted to step away, to breathe on your own, you didn't. You let him guide you, your steps in sync, your hearts beating in a quiet rhythm.

When you reached the car, Aki didn't release you. His fingers slid along the curve of your arm, a soft, deliberate touch that made your breath catch again, a feeling so intimate it left you dizzy. There was something about the way he touched you, something that felt like it was meant to be. His eyes met yours, and you saw that familiar spark in them—something that made the air between you both crackle with electricity.

He opened the car door for you, a small gesture, but it was enough. You hesitated for a moment, caught in the web of his gaze, before you slid into the passenger seat. The moment your body settled against the leather, you felt the absence of his touch, but it didn't last long. Aki slid into the driver's seat next to you, and the air between you both seemed to thicken, a silent understanding passing between you.

You were wrapped around his pretty little finger.

When the two of you stumbled into Aki's apartment complex, brushing past the desk clerk – who shot the two of you an incredulous look – practically giggling the whole time, it took a great deal of effort to keep yourself from ripping his clothes off right then and there. The car ride had been tense – the good kind. The kind where Aki's strong hand had maintained its firm grasp on your thigh the entire time, occasionally teasing a finger just beneath the slit in your dress. On the outside, you were calm, composed, even, but on the inside? You were dying.

Dying to get in his pants, that is.

Aki led you over to the elevator and pressed the up button with his finger. In the moment that it took for it to arrive, he didn't give you a moment of reprieve – stealthily flicking on the vibrator in a way that had you covering a gasp up with a laugh.

Then, he was ushering you into the elevator's open doors with a gentle tap on your ass. You shuffled in, breathing out a sigh of relief when he turned the thing off, and then settled into the corner furthest away from the buttons, away from where Aki had his back turned to you, fingers pressing into the sixth floor.

Long ride, you thought, swallowing as the doors slid shut with a quiet thud.

Then, there were two.

Subconsciously, perhaps, your eyes raked over the elevator's interior. Aki inched towards you, a devilish smirk on his face. He looked as handsome as ever, of course, and that was the worst part – it wasn't the way he pressed you up against the corner of the elevator like he didn't give a damn if those doors opened and someone saw the two of you. No, it was the way your heart skipped a beat when he slipped a hand beneath your neck, cradling the back of your head and then leaned down.

Your lips brushed against his tenderly, then again – just barely there, just enough to tease. It felt easy, kissing him – too easy. It felt easy when he tilted your head to the side to deepen the kiss into something more sinful, lick at your lips, your tongue for entrance. It felt too easy to melt into him, letting him press you into the wall, moaning his name into the kiss.

Fuck. I love the way he kisses me.

"Aki," You breathed, the words smothered by his lips.

"Mhm?" He asked, kissing and kissing your skin until he crept closer and corner to your jaw, where he latched on. Not too much, but just enough to have your eyes fluttering shut.

God, he's depraved.

"Aki– the–" You shuddered, looking up at the camera behind him – the one in the opposite corner of the elevator. "There's cameras–"

He seceded, then, pulling back to get a look of you, and you swore you felt the energy change. It wasn't entirely lust anymore. No, the air around the two of you was steeped in something different. His baby blues scanned over the planes of your face, dropping down to your nose, your lips, for just a moment before returning to meet your gaze. Like he couldn't bear the thought of not being lip-locked with you. Like he needed you. Like you were so much more to him than just another hookup.

Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished, and Aki was pulling away. Before you could protest, the elevator dinged, coming to a stop at the sixth floor.

Aki cleared his throat, nodding towards the doors as they opened. Wordlessly, you stepped past him, slipping out of the elevator. Your heels met the carpeted floor of the hallway, and then he was right behind you, ushering you towards the right.

What the hell was that? You thought.

It was silent, in fact, as the two of you walked further and further down the hallway – came to a stop right in front of his door, where he reached into his pocket and stuck a key into the knob.

I'm about to see his apartment. You realized. I'm about to see my captain's bedroom, and his kitchen and probably his bedroom.

This is dangerous, You peered up into his eyes. Without breaking eye-contact, he twisted the key and opened the door for you. Immediately, the scent of him wafted over you. The detergent he used. The hints of nicotine that always seemed to linger on his clothes – something so distinctly unique to him that you wished you could have packed it into a bag and taken it home with you.

You saw a peek of the foyer – the cubby where a few belongings were stashed away, along with a jar full of incense. Certain shoes were organized, neatly tucked away, and certain ones were strewn about. You didn't have to look at their small size to know they belonged to one of the other two.

To the right, a series of doors. Bedrooms, perhaps. There were three of them, all closed. In front of you, the open kitchen, the TV room, the glass-sliding-door balcony. Not a single thing out of place. Neat, as if he had cleaned up before leaving (only for Denji to leave his shoes out).

You whistled. It was way nicer than your old place on the other side of the city. Bigger, too, with a lot more open space to breathe in. "I gotta get a promotion."

Aki kicked off his shoes while you did the same, "Trust me, it's normally a mess. I feel like a single dad with those two freeloading here."

I could play mom with you, the thought – as fleeting as it was – crossed your mind. The thought of spending some time here with him. If he cooked, you would clean the dishes. If Denji was agitating him, you could pry him off his back, if only for a moment. He listened to you better, anyway.

It was a stupid thought, of course. One you tucked away. You were getting way ahead of yourself.

It's just sex, you thought. Our relationship is purely sexual.

Aki deposited his keys in the trinket tray on the empty kitchen counter, saying over his shoulder, "They're gone for the night. Power and Denji."

Oh.

Aki's fingers brushed yours as he led you down the dim hallway, his touch lingering for a moment too long before retreating. He didn't need to pull you along—your feet moved of their own accord, as if your body had already decided to follow wherever he went. The apartment was quiet, unusually so. Just the two of you now.

Alone.

Your finger found its way to the back of his shirt, trailing down the crisp fabric, tracing the line of his spine through the cotton. You felt the shift in his posture when you did it—how he went still for half a breath, muscles coiling just beneath his skin like he was trying not to react. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to.

He opened his bedroom door with a casual push, revealing a space dimly lit by the glow of the city seeping in through the curtains. It smelled like him—cool and sharp, with notes of cedar and something warmer underneath, like spice and sleep. You'd never stayed long in this room. Just enough to feel the warmth of his body, then the cold of his silence once it was over. But tonight felt different.

Or maybe it was you who felt different.

You stepped inside, hands at your sides as he moved past you, his tie already loosened at the collar. The top button of his shirt undone. Hair a little messier than usual, like he'd been running his hands through it on the way home. He didn't look at you right away, just dropped his keys on the nightstand and toed off his shoes. The moment stretched. You let it.

You stood at the edge of the bed, turning slightly so your back was to him, fingers reaching behind to toy with the zipper of your dress. Just enough to let him hear it. Just enough to make him look.

"Can you help me with my dress?" you asked, your voice soft, almost innocent—but the undertone was anything but.

There was a pause. The air shifted. You felt the heat of his presence behind you before he even touched you.

It was intimate – far too intimate, perhaps.

Wordlessly, he reached for the zipper, his fingers grazing the bare skin of your spine as he dragged it down with deliberate slowness. The sound was deafening in the quiet room—a hushed whisper of invitation. The fabric loosened, slipping off your shoulders with barely a breath of resistance, sliding down your body like it wanted to be rid of itself.

He didn't say anything. Not at first. His hands hovered for a moment before withdrawing, letting the dress fall to the floor with a gentle sigh.

You stepped out of it slowly, deliberate. You had chosen your undergarments carefully tonight—not that you'd ever admit it aloud. Black lace, sheer in places that mattered, hugging your curves in a way that always made his eyes darken.

"You look as ravishing as usual," he said, his voice low, a rasp of breath just against your ear. Then came the pause, the smile you couldn't see but could feel in the way the air shifted again, thick with it. "No, scratch that — much better than usual."

A shiver slid down your spine, and he caught it, the way he always caught those little tells. That was the dangerous thing about Aki. He paid attention. Even when he pretended not to.

With one hand at the small of your back, he nudged you gently toward the bed. You went without protest, letting the mattress meet your knees before sinking back against the soft, dark sheets. The comforter was cool against your thighs, a stark contrast to the heat building steadily inside you.

Aki followed, kneeling on the bed with you, his knees framing yours. He undid the rest of his tie slowly, watching you with that unreadable expression—equal parts focused and detached, like he was trying to memorize you without letting it show. The tie slid free and he tossed it beside you.

He leaned down and kissed you then—slow and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world, and maybe he did. The kiss started soft, his lips brushing yours with the gentlest pressure, but it deepened quickly, his hand cupping your jaw, his thumb dragging along your cheek. You melted into it, into him, letting your hands find the open collar of his shirt, the slope of his neck, the quickening pulse beneath your touch.

"Did you have fun tonight?" he murmured between kisses, his mouth brushing yours, voice barely more than a breath.

You smiled against him, eyes half-lidded. "Yes," you breathed, then paused just as he kissed down your neck, lips dragging heat along your skin. "But you said have... like there's no more fun to be had."

He chuckled, low in his throat, his breath hot where it hit the shell of your ear.

"You wouldn't leave a girl hanging, would you?" you added, letting your nails drag gently down his chest through the thin cotton of his shirt.

Aki pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes darker now, pupils blown wide. That quiet restraint he always carried was still there, but barely. Just beneath the surface, you could feel the tension coiling tighter, like he was holding something back—and you wanted him to break.

He kissed your collarbone, then lower, each press of his mouth deliberate, unhurried. He didn't just want to get you undressed—he wanted to ruin you piece by piece. And you wanted him to.

God, I'm so horny for him.

His mouth trailed down your chest, grazing the swell of your breasts, leaving heat in his wake. You arched into him, just a little, just enough for him to notice.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he said, voice thick with desire, words vibrating against your skin.

Then he looked up at you from beneath those dark lashes, his gaze searing, his breath ragged. And you knew—you were his for the night.

Maybe, dangerously, he was yours too.

One last time, Aki plucked the small remote from his pocket — cruel little thing, harmless in size, devastating in what it did to you. You were already trembling, breath uneven, your thighs twitching with the aftershocks of his slow torment. You barely had time to protest before he flicked it on again, the soft hum of it cutting through the silence like a warning.

"Aki—" you breathed, but your words melted into a moan as the vibrator pressed deep inside, right where you were already raw and too sensitive.

"Just one more," he murmured, almost mockingly tender. "You can take it."

You wanted to tell him no—you should tell him no—but your hips betrayed you, jerking up into the touch with a desperation that made you feel stripped down to something primal. He watched you intently, jaw clenched, the same composure he always wore hanging on by a thread.

The sensation built too fast, already unbearable. Every nerve felt raw, each vibration slicing through you like heat lightning under your skin. You clenched the sheets, back arching, a helpless gasp escaping your lips.

"Aki—please—"

You didn't even know what you were begging for. For him to stop. For him to keep going. For him to end this exquisite ache that he kept building and building until it felt like you might unravel from the center.

Then, just when your body started to break apart beneath the pressure, just when you were about to fall over that edge—

He turned it off.

The silence left in its place was deafening. Your breath caught in your throat, your body still shaking with the ghost of it, your muscles tensed and coiled, suspended in some cruel, endless moment of not-enough.

He leaned down, slipping two digits beneath the drenched fabric of your lacy panties and reaching for that damned toy.

He pulled the toy away with maddening slowness, then brought it to his mouth. Eyes locked on yours, he licked it clean—deliberately, slowly, like he wanted to savor not just the taste, but your reaction. You felt your stomach tighten, something needy catching in your throat. You could barely breathe through the desire thick in the air, and he was feeding it like fire to oxygen.

Your hands, without thought, went for the front of his pants. You wanted him—needed him—so badly it hurt. The hunger had been clawing at you all night, and now it was a wildfire. You fumbled with his belt, fingertips brushing over the hard line of him through his slacks, and he let you—just for a second. Just long enough for your pulse to spike.

Then his hand caught your wrist, firm but gentle.

"Not yet," he said.

His voice was steady, but just barely. You heard the tightness in it, the restraint. He was just as wrecked as you were. That only made it worse.

You looked up at him, flushed and trembling, eyes wide with disbelief. You'd have begged him, if you thought it would work.

He leaned in, kissed your cheek once—frustratingly sweet—and murmured, "Stay just like that."

Then he stood, running a hand through his hair as he adjusted his shirt, fixing nothing, only stalling. You could see it in his eyes—he was holding onto control by the thinnest thread.

"I'll be right back," he said, voice low.

You heard the soft click of a door, the muted shuffle of movement just beyond the bedroom. He was in the closet, you realized—quiet, deliberate. The room felt colder without him in it, your skin still flushed and humming from where he'd touched you, teased you, ruined you—then left you wanting more.

You shifted against the sheets, trying not to think about the ache between your thighs, or the taste of his breath on your lips, or the fact that every second stretched longer with the weight of anticipation.

When he returned, your breath caught.

He was holding a box. Dark wood. Simple, unmarked. It looked old—worn at the corners, like it had been opened and closed a hundred times. Your heart picked up speed without your permission.

He didn't say anything right away. Just set it down at the edge of the bed and flipped open the lid.

Inside: rope—coiled, soft-looking, pale in color. A spreader bar made of polished black metal, a few small leather cuffs, and some other implements you didn't recognize at a glance. Not harsh. Not intimidating. But your mouth still went dry.

You looked up at him, eyes searching his face.

He was calm. Focused. His expression was unreadable—but not cold. There was a softness in the corners of his eyes, an edge of restraint you knew well. He saw the flicker of hesitation in you. The way your breath caught. He came closer.

"You're okay," he said gently. Not a question. A reassurance. "I'll walk you through it. I'm not going to do anything you don't want."

Your gaze flicked past him—up—and then you saw it.

A mirror. Mounted above the headboard. You hadn't noticed it before, not in the haze of arousal and low lighting. But now it was undeniable. You could see yourself. The rise and fall of your chest, the flush across your cheeks, your legs still curled under you, barely covered.

And you could see him, too. Behind you. Watching. Waiting.

"Come here," he said softly, extending a hand. "Stand at the foot of the bed."

You hesitated only a second before pushing up off the mattress and going to him, your feet unsteady beneath you. There was no smirk on his face now, no teasing. Just quiet intent.

He knelt down in front of you, holding the spreader bar in both hands.

"This is a spreader bar," he said, voice still low, almost clinical in its clarity. "It's adjustable. These cuffs go around your ankles—it keeps your legs apart."

Your throat tightened at the image, the implication of it. Your knees wanted to knock together.

He looked up at you again, watching your face closely. "Do you trust me?"

You nodded. It wasn't even a question in your mind. Not really.

"Use your words," he said, almost a whisper.

"Yes," you breathed.

His fingers brushed your calves as he knelt and gently fastened the cuffs around each of your ankles. The leather was cool against your skin, snug but not tight. Then he adjusted the bar, clicking it into place, widening the space between your legs.

Just enough to make you feel exposed. Just enough to make you tremble.

Oh God

You looked down at him—his hands still on your legs, his eyes lifted to meet yours. He stood slowly, the proximity between you electric.

He didn't touch you again. Not yet.

He let you stand there—open, waiting, your breath coming faster—and let the moment stretch. A mirror above you. A box of rope and silk on the bed. His gaze steady on yours like he could see straight through you.

And in that unbearable silence, you realized: he hadn't even started yet.

You were still standing at the foot of the bed, breath catching with each moment, the spreader bar forcing your legs apart just enough to make the air feel colder between your thighs. The room smelled like him—like cologne and something warm and cedar-rich—and you felt that scent wrap around you, heavy and intimate.

Aki stepped closer, holding something small and smooth in his hand. Another toy.

He didn't put it in immediately—just held it out between two fingers, letting you see it. A delicate, curved shape. Subtle slope. Sleek, purple-colored silicone.

"This one's new," he said, voice gentle, like he was offering you something precious. "It's soft. Stays in place. It's not going to hurt—just curl in deep and tease you a little."

You swallowed. He didn't need to be more specific—you could already feel what he meant. You tried to squeeze your thighs together instinctively, but the bar held you open, a frustrated whimper leaving your throat.

He looked down at your legs, satisfied. "Trying to run from me?" he murmured, then tilted your chin up with two fingers. "Can I put it in?"

You nodded. Then, remembering—use your words—you whispered, "Yes, sir."

He knelt again, slow and deliberate, and slipped it into place with practiced care, fingers brushing against you, warm and unhurried. The sensation wasn't overwhelming—yet. Just pressure. Promise – an ease with which it slipped into place.

You exhaled shakily.

Aki stood again and reached for the box. This time, he pulled out a coil of rope—soft to the touch, red, and carefully wrapped. It looked almost like silk in the low light.

"This is body-safe rope," he said. "It shouldn't hurt. And if it does, I want you to tell me immediately. Got it?"

You nodded, your pulse spiking again.

He unraveled it slowly, letting you hear the subtle swish of the fibers slipping between his fingers. Then he stepped behind you, the heat of him ghosting across your back.

"I'm going to tie your hands behind your back," he said. "But first..." He hesitated. "Pick a safeword."

You blinked. "You mentioned that earlier," you said quietly. "What is a safeword? Is it something I say when, like, I want you to stop?"

"That's right," he answered, stepping to the side just enough that you could see his face in the mirror. "Whenever it gets to be too much, or if anything doesn't feel right—you say your safeword, and I stop. No questions. No delay."

You bit your lip, thinking. He waited, patient.

"How about..." You glanced toward the mirror again. "Red light?"

He paused.

"Like a stoplight," you added, cheeks flushed.

Aki huffed a quiet laugh, fond and breathless. "Okay," he said. "Red light it is."

He stepped behind you again, and you felt the brush of the rope against your skin as he guided your wrists behind your back.

"Is this okay?" he asked, voice low in your ear, threading the rope beneath your arms and across your wrists.

"Yes," you whispered.

The fibers glided over your skin, warm and soft and sure. He was methodical—each loop measured, each knot secure but not cruel. The feeling of your wrists bound behind you made your chest tighten with something more than arousal—it was trust, raw and dizzying, as much as it was submission.

He's done this before.

You watched yourself in the mirror: bare, bound, and spread. And behind you—Aki. Focused. Beautiful. In control, but never far from tenderness. His hands – large, precise – and his blue eyes trained carefully on your body, searching for signs of hesitation.

When he finished, he stepped in front of you again, fingers trailing along the tops of your thighs.

"You look incredible," he said, quiet and reverent. "You're doing so well."

And then, he reached down—flicked on the toy.

You gasped, legs buckling slightly against the bar. It was gentle, at first—a steady pulse deep in your cunt, just enough to tease the edges of your sanity.

You couldn't close your legs. Couldn't cover yourself. Couldn't do anything but stand there and take it as he stepped back to admire the way you trembled.

It felt vulnerable – in a way you weren't entirely sure you hated.

"Do you remember the other night?" Aki asked, voice a low drawl in the stillness. "How you behaved in my office?"

Your stomach dropped. Your breath caught before you could answer, your thoughts immediately spiraling back—too tight skirt, too slow steps as you passed his desk, bending over too obviously to pick something up. Flirting with fire because you knew he'd catch it. You knew he always did.

He didn't wait for your reply.

"Wearing that skirt I specifically told you not to wear?"

A slow smirk tugged at your lips despite the heat already rising in your cheeks. "Maybe."

He clicked his tongue, stepping closer—dangerously close—until his shadow curled over your skin. His gaze dropped over your bound body, taking in every inch of you like you were a puzzle he already knew how to pull apart. The mirror caught your expression, your half-teasing smile, but you didn't miss the way your legs trembled, the subtle shiver you tried to suppress.

"Good," he hummed, reaching for something behind him. "Then you'll also recall that you asked me to punish you."

The words knocked the breath out of your chest.

You did.

You heard the sound before you saw it—a gentle swish of air, and then the soft thunk of something hard against his palm. He brought it forward, twirling it between his fingers like something casual.

A leather paddle.

Wide, smooth. Black letter patterned with red hearts. Firm enough that you knew he wasn't bluffing.

"I couldn't do what I wanted in the office," he said. "Too many ears. Too little space. And I had to show up to my meeting somewhat on time, of course."

Of course.

He tilted his head slightly, catching your gaze in the mirror, and his voice turned low and firm.

"But here, there's no one listening. No one to stop me. And you're going to take what you earned."

You squirmed, the anticipation already crawling down your spine. You tugged instinctively at the rope around your wrists—still tight, still binding—and tried to close your legs again. Useless. The spreader bar kept you open, vulnerable.

"Face the mirror," he said. "Back straight."

You obeyed without thinking, without questioning. Heart pounding in your ears as you craned your neck around to look at your disheveled reflection.

He stepped behind you, the paddle brushing teasingly against the bare curve of your ass.

"You're going to thank me after every one," he said. "And I want you to count. If you mess up, I'll start over again."

The paddle lifted.

Your body tensed.

"And you're not going to come. Not until I say you can."

Then the first strike landed.

A clean, sharp slap echoed through the room, and you gasped, legs jolting slightly in the cuffs. The sting was immediate, warmth spreading beneath your skin like fire licking its way into your core.

It was so much worse than his hand – or the riding crop, for that matter. It was flat, covered more area, and it stung.

But, shit, it felt exhilarating.

"O-one," you stammered. "Thank you."

"Thank you, what?"

You squeezed your eyes shut, "Thank you, sir."

"Good girl."

The second was harder—he wasn't holding back. The paddle cracked across the opposite cheek, the sharp sound punching the breath from your lungs.

"Two," you choked. "Thank you, sir..."

He hummed again, satisfied. Walked his fingers slowly down your spine as if to soothe, only to draw away again, cruel in how gentle he could be between blows.

He's so mean.

Each strike stole more of your control, every count tumbling from your lips between shallow breaths and stifled moans. The toy inside you hadn't stopped—its slow, curling rhythm synced with each rise in pain and pleasure until your whole body felt caught in a current you couldn't escape. Pressing right up against that spot so deep inside of you that you couldn't help but drip down your own thighs.

"Eight," you gasped, knees buckling. "T-thank you, sir..."

Aki stepped closer, his chest brushing your back, his voice like velvet against the shell of your ear.

"You're doing so well, Baby" he whispered, thumb tugging on the rope that bound your wrists. "Twitching, though. You close?"

He called me Baby.

You were. Too close. The pulsing toy, the heat in your skin, the tension in your thighs—it all coiled tighter with every breath.

"Aw... you look so pretty, I almost wanna let you cum," he said. "But, see, that's the problem. Brats don't get to cum. They need to earn it."

He dragged the paddle up the inside of your thigh, so slow, so cruel.

"I suppose I can't stop you. I can always just start the count over."

You whimpered.

Because you believed him.

And God help you, you wanted to behave. You wanted to please him. You just weren't sure you could.

What's happening to me?

"Nine," you gasped, breath hitching around the word, your voice barely more than a whisper. "Thank you, sir..."

The sound of your own voice felt distant, thready. Your knees trembled under the weight of sensation, thighs aching, muscles tight and burning from how long you had been holding yourself upright. The toy between your legs continued its slow, relentless pulse, curling heat deep into your belly.

It was too much. It wasn't enough.

Your wrists were bound tight behind you, arms straining slightly against the give of the rope. You were exposed, every part of you laid bare, trembling and flushed and dripping.

And still, he hadn't touched you.

Not really.

He was standing just a few steps away. Calm. Composed. Controlled, the way he always was when he had you like this—strung out and pleading, held up only by the tension in your limbs and the sound of his voice when he spoke.

"One more," Aki uttered, his voice low and even. "You can do one more."

I want to please him.

You shake your head before you even realize it. "Aki," you whisper, "I—I can't—I don't think—"

His footsteps were slow as he approached, a measured, steady sound against the floor. He didn't rush. He never did. He stopped just close enough for you to feel the heat of his body, the way your own ached for his, like your whole being was reaching for him.

"You can," he said softly, almost like he was speaking it into you, willing you to believe it. "You've already come this far."

Tears stung the corners of your eyes. Not because you were in pain, but because you were so close to breaking, and the only thing you wanted was him.

Him, him, him.

"I don't want—" Your voice cracked, catching on the words. "I– Can't take it."

His brows drew together, gently, not out of confusion—but recognition.

"You can. I know you can," he murmured, stepping closer. One of his hands settled at your hip. The other rose, brushing a loose strand of hair from your cheek, his knuckles warm against your skin. "You're not alone. I've got you."

Your heart felt full. Your face was alight with warmth.

What am I feeling right now?

You shuddered at the contact, the gentleness of it breaking something loose inside of you. Your lips parted, and before you even knew what you were saying, it was pouring out of you—unfiltered, needy, raw.

"Aki," you breathe, desperate, aching, "I just want you. Please—please, I need you. I can't—I can't do this without you—"

You make my heart feel weird, The words built up on the back of your tongue – shocking you, forcing your eyes to widen. What's going on?

His hands were on you now, steadying you, holding you upright when your legs threatened to give.

"I got you," he said.

"I need to feel you—just—please, touch me, please—" You weren't even sure what you were begging for anymore. His hands, his mouth, his voice, his presence—you would have taken anything. You just wanted him. Only him.

He exhaled softly, a sound that carried both restraint and affection.

"You've been so good for me," he breathed, gently, firmly. "You've taken everything I've given you."

Your wrists were shaking behind your back. Carefully, Aki undid the knot, unraveled the rope from your arms with slow precision. He didn't rush—he never did. His fingers were gentle, deliberate, like he was undoing something sacred.

The second the rope slipped away, your arms fell forward, weak. You collapsed into the bed, burying your face in his sheets that smelled just like him, just like home, hands curling into the fabric.

He soothed you easily – one arm around your back, the other cupping the back of your head, his fingers threading into your hair.

Don't leave me.

"Don't go," you whispered.

Don't ever leave me.

"I'm not going anywhere," he replied. "I've got you."

The toy had long since stopped its humming, but you didn't care anymore.

I need him.

You tilted your head up, searching his face. "Can I... have more?"

Aki studied you curiously. His hand came up to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing just beneath your eye, where a tear had tracked down.

"You want... more?" He asked, seeming thoroughly surprised by your request.

"Yes," you breathe. "Want you."

For the first time that night, something cracked in him. His eyes went darker, softer, deeper. His thumb lingered against your jaw, then dipped down to graze your lips.

"You're insatiable."

You trembled at the words.

His hands slid beneath your thighs, lifting you with ease. He lifted you onto the bed—finally, finally—and laid you down like you were something fragile.

But the way he looked at you... hair disheveled, blue eyes peering into yours, chest heaving up and down like a wild animal...

Just sex.

It's just sex.

Nothing more.

He set the toy to the side – again, finally – and you whimpered, not from the loss, but from the anticipation.

"I've got you now," he smiles, pressing a kiss just above your knee. "You can have whatever you want."

Your mouths met in a messy, breathless rush—more instinct than intention, a blur of teeth and lips and too much feeling. He stumbled a little, catching himself on his forearms, laughing softly into the kiss as you both nearly tumbled back.

You laughed too, surprised, lightheaded. For a second, it felt easy. Like maybe this didn't have to be so heavy. Like maybe you could float in the in-between forever.

But then your heart fluttered.

And you knew. You knew how dangerous that was.

You weren't supposed to feel like this.

Even when your hands rose of their own accord — shaking, unsure — and tugged at his shirt, dragging it up and over his head with a sudden burst of urgency, he didn't rush. He didn't make a sound. He just let you.

The sight of him unraveled you further. Pale skin dappled with old scars, lines of healed violence mapped across his ribs, his abdomen, as though his body had collected every storm he'd ever walked through. You reached out before you could think better of it, fingertips skimming the faintest line along his side — one you hadn't noticed before. A scar, thin and jagged, raised ever so slightly.

Your touch paused there.

You didn't ask where it came from. You didn't need to.

He tensed, just slightly, as your thumb brushed it. But he didn't pull away.

The silence was thick, a held breath stretched between heartbeats. You let your hand fall back to the bed, watching him watch you — your chest rising, falling, your lips parted in some half-formed thought you couldn't speak aloud.

Because this wasn't just desire. Not anymore.

It was everything you weren't saying. The things you needed but couldn't admit. The way your chest ached with the simple truth of it: you wanted to be known. Wanted to be seen — and you knew, without him ever saying it, that he did. He saw you. All of you.

And that's what scared you most. You had never let anyone in like that before.

He moved again, this time smoother, more sure. He pressed you into the mattress, hands finding the dip of your waist, your hips, your thighs. His touch was reverent — like he was memorizing you by feel. He looked at you like you were something holy and wrecked at once. Like he wanted to worship and ruin you all in the same breath.

And you wanted it. You wanted him.

Your breath hitched as his weight shifted over you, settling into the space you hadn't realized you'd made for him. He hoisted your legs up onto his hips, and the sensation hit like fire and wind — devastating, electric. A gasp escaped you, unbidden.

He didn't move right away. He just held you there.

The moment stretched — your legs trembling where they rested against him, your palms gripping the sheets in desperation you couldn't name. There was something terrifying in how still he was.

Maybe all of this — the tension, the ache, the way your body answered his so willingly — was just a way of saying what you didn't have the words for.

That you wanted him.

That you'd always wanted him.

That you didn't know where this ended, and for once, you didn't care.

"You're not gonna take 'em off?" You teased, nodding towards your black panties.

He quirked a brow, "And ruin this pretty outfit you put on just for me? That would be a crime."

So, rolling your eyes – with no real amount of venom – you gripped the zipper on his slacks, rolling it down slowly, tentatively. "That's a shame, because I plan on taking these off."

And, a little breathlessly, a little flushed – he let you. He let you unzip his pants, cobalt gaze tracing your fingers as they undid his belt, grabbed the waistband of his pants and pulled them down. There, before your hungry gaze, his boxers were strained with the pressure from his erection. You took a moment to admire him, admire the way the thick bulge stood out against the fabric – the way it was tinted darker where he had leaked a bit of precum.

"What's the matter, Baby?" He teased, "You need something?"

Baby.

Your eyes flitted up to him. Then, wordlessly, you reached for the elastic waistband, slipping your fingers beneath and tugging them down – just enough to free his cock from its constraints. The damn thing nearly hit you in the face when it sprung free, pink tip glistening the way a blade of grass held dew in the morning.

And you couldn't help the way your body reacted. No, you couldn't help it when you wrapped your hands around him, or when you licked your lips. And you certainly couldn't help it when you leaned forward – keeping his gaze the entire time – and wrapped your lips around the flushed head, sucking him into your mouth with a satisfied hum. The bead of precum melted onto your tongue like butter, salty and real.

Instinctively, perhaps, his hand went for the back of your head – fingers tangling themselves into your hair, gripping you by the base. Gently, of course, but just enough for it to sting.

The pain balances the pleasure.

"That's it, pretty," He groaned – low and relieved, like he had been aching for you all night. "Get it nice and wet," Above you, his head rolled back. Below, you hollowed your cheeks, pushing him a little deeper into your throat. "Fuck, just like that."

Call me a good girl.

Tell me I'm a good girl.

You moved, back, then forth – going a little deeper each time. Your saliva did a great job at getting him wet. In fact, as you hollowed your cheeks and sucked on him once more, you could hear it – hear how wet you had gotten him every single time he met the back of your tongue, your throat.

"Shit," He huffed out.

And the word only motivated you to suck him in harder, faster. You had long since forgotten your goal of teasing him. No, now all that remained was the desire to please, the desire to make him feel good.

The desire to be good for him.

"Your mouth feels so good," He purred, guiding your head while simultaneously allowing you to set your own pace. "Deeper, Baby, just like that."

You felt that fire in your core reignite, making you press your legs together while you pulled back for a moment to slurp on the tip, spit dripping down his shaft. You tilted your head to the side, wrapping your hands around what you couldn't fit into your mouth to work the rest of him.

As you braced your hands on his hips to sink your head the rest of the way down, you met some resistance, eyes watering as you felt yourself gag on him.

What? He was big.

Above you, the muscles in Aki's arm tensed. With a blissful sigh, he leaned his head back. He ran a hand over his hair and down his face, lashes fluttering shut. He was so fucking pretty, it made your heart skip a beat.

That's normal. Totally normal.

His chest rose and fell steadily. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, which parted soon after to release a trembling sigh of your name.

Then his hand fisted itself tighter in your hair, and you moaned – really moaned, none of that fake shit. You never would have guessed that you were into hair pulling, but... well, here you were.

Just when you went back for more of him, he tugged you off. His dick sprang free with an uncharacteristically funny pop.

You knitted your brows, peering up at him through lust-ridden eyes. "W'happened?" You asked, still a little breathless.

"If you keep going the way you're going–" He panted, catching his breath softly, gently. "I'm not–" He paused again. "I feel like... if I can't be inside of you, I'm gonna go fucking crazy."

Well, shit.

Deciding that you couldn't have agreed more, you climbed back on the bed – back, back, until your head hit the headboard. His eyes trailed you the entire way, not at all unlike the way a cat's eyes might have trailed its prey. Then, when you parted your legs slowly, savoring his reaction, his eyes darkened, pupils dilating at the mere sight of you.

He climbed back onto the bed with you. His lips met yours in the middle – but only briefly before he was kicking his boxers off somewhere to the side and pressing himself right up against you.

Right where you needed him.

He teased the head over your heat – hand gripping the base while the tip smeared an obscene mixture of your spit and his precum over your needy pussy. You jumped when he brushed up against your clit, back arching up off of the bed.

And, of course, cruel man that he was – he smirked, rubbing your clit back and forth, back and forth with his dick. It was as if he couldn't have cared less about how dirty it was. And you could do nothing but mewl, cry out, arch... rut your hips down to chase more of that sweet, sweet stimulation.

When you decided you'd had enough, you reached down between your body and his. His gaze flicked up from the place where the two of you met for a moment – just briefly enough to catch your eyes as you steered the head of his dick down against your dripping cunt.

And, when it caught on your entrance, the head slipped in with ease. (You had been teased all night, after all). The two of you released a similar sound, gasping in perfect tandem with one another as he finally breached the surface.

Then, he was sliding in the rest of the way, and fuck, the stretch felt good.

Your hands flew up to his back, fingernails digging into the muscular planes of his shoulder blades. He slid out a little bit – only slightly, like he couldn't bear the thought of not being inside of you – and then back in. Out, then in.

The slow tenderness wasn't something you were used to. In fact, your pussy was clenching down on him already, heat boiling up in your stomach at a rapid pace because you had been waiting all night for him to fuck you like this.

He rolled his hips down, back, down again – and then something wildly embarrassing happened.

You came. You came with a warning cry of his name, legs twitching around his waist. You came, spilling arousal onto his dick and his bed. You came only a few thrusts in.

The world seemed to tip on its axis as you came down from your high. Through it all, he kept you pinned down, eyes boring into yours like watching you fall apart all over him was his favorite pastime.

And, then, he laughed. It was a little breathless, a little impressed, but a laugh nonetheless. "You missed me that much?"

Kill me now.

You covered your face with your arm, slapping him on the chest. "Fuck you."

"If you say so," He grinned – you decided that you loved his smile.

And then he was moving again.

Not hurried. Not careless. Just slow — so unbearably slow — pulling back like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. Like he felt the ache coiled beneath your skin, the anticipation building, rising, threatening to spill over.

Your body tensed before you even realized it, back arching, a silent plea written in every trembling inch of you. And he answered — with pressure, with presence, with that rhythm only he could find. He returned to you all at once, all heat and weight and tension, and you met him there, instinctively, helplessly, grounding yourself in the friction where your bodies aligned and moved and pressed together.

It wasn't frantic. It wasn't rushed.

It was tender.

It was the kind of closeness that blurred the lines between pain and need, between comfort and desperation. His breath ghosted against your cheek, your shoulder, your throat. Every part of you lit up where he touched — and where he didn't.

You couldn't separate yourself from him anymore — not in this moment, not in this movement, not with the way your hips rose to meet his. Not with the way your fingers curled into his shoulders like you needed to hold onto something, anything, just to stay grounded.

Because it was too much – and it still wasn't enough.

The world narrowed to this: the press of him, the tension winding tighter, the heat pooling deep in your belly as your body moved in sync with his, again and again. Like a language only the two of you knew. Like breathing.

Like wanting. Like need.

He felt like too much, all at once.

His weight over you, his breath against your skin, his hands clutching your hips like he couldn't get close enough—you couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't stop. Your bodies moved in frantic rhythm, messy and hungry and loud. Skin slapped. Your spine arched. Your thighs trembled where he held you, kept you, pinned you down like you were something he needed to ruin while he fucked you past the point of hypersensitivity.

And maybe that was what you wanted. Maybe you wanted to be undone, to have something else tear you apart so you wouldn't have to deal with the noise building behind your ribs. It was easier to focus on the pull of his body, on the rough, perfect friction, on the sound of him groaning under his breath when you moved just right.

It was easier to pretend that was all this was.

Because anything more—anything deeper—felt too dangerous to name.

You clung to his shoulders, nails biting in, eyes fluttering shut as he drove into you harder, again and again, like he couldn't get enough. He felt so good it was almost unbearable, like pleasure was too thin a word for it, too neat.

No, he was fucking the shit out of you.

But your body betrayed you. The way you gasped his name was a dead giveaway. The way your arms wrapped tighter around him.

I wish I could keep him here forever.

Buried inside of me.

You shook the thought out of your head.

It didn't mean anything. He didn't mean anything. It was just the heat. The urgency. The way he made your nerves light up and your stomach twist in on itself.

He shifted his weight and grabbed your thigh again, rough this time, pulling your leg up and over his hip in one practiced motion. You gasped—sharp and startled—as he sank deeper, pressed closer, sweat slipping between your skin and his.

"Aki, fuck," You cried out.

It felt so good. God, it felt right. And that's what scared you the most.

Because it shouldn't. It wasn't supposed to.

This was supposed to be simple. Just release. Just bodies. Just a way to burn off the ache.

So why did your chest ache?

You squeezed your eyes shut, desperate to block it all out – the thoughts, the tightness in your throat, the strange warmth curling in your belly that had nothing to do with his touch – and just focus on him. You could hear the rush of his breath, the rasp in his throat, feel the way his muscles tensed under your fingertips. It made you dizzy, made you want to dig in deeper, to hold him there and never let go.

But no. You wouldn't go there. You couldn't.

Because the second you thought about what this might mean, what it might become—you'd lose control completely.

And he wasn't looking at you like someone who was seeing you. Not really. He was looking like he always did: focused, sharp, lost in the moment. Not in you. Not in what this was doing to you inside.

So you matched his rhythm. You moved with him, against him, chasing sensation, grounding yourself in it. Anything to drown out the noise in your chest. Anything to ignore the unfamiliar tightness wrapping itself around your ribs like a question you didn't want to answer.

"You take me so well, pretty," He commented.

Your head fell back. He followed, pressing in deeper, his hand splaying against your thigh like he owned it. You let him. You wanted him to. Because if he touched you like that—rough and hungry and full of intent—maybe it would mean you didn't need anything else.

Maybe you could pretend that was enough.

But even now, tangled together, breathless and shaking, some part of you whispered that it wasn't.

Still, you didn't let yourself listen.

You just held on tighter. Let your nails drag across his spine. Let your body move in time with his, fast and reckless, until all that existed was this—the blur, the heat, the tension stretched thin between your lungs every single time he fucked into you.

You couldn't think.

Not clearly.

Not with him buried up to the hilt in your tender pussy.

Everything had bled into sensation — too much and not enough all at once. The drag of his hands down your sides. The weight of his body over yours. The sharp snap of his hips against yours that made your back arch, made your vision spark at the edges, made you cling to him like you'd fall apart if you didn't.

You didn't mean to be this far gone.

But he was relentless.

And now you were just feeling — mouth parted, breath caught somewhere in your throat, pulse beating fast beneath your skin. You felt yourself spiraling, unraveling, losing track of where your body ended and his began. Every inch of you was taut and burning. Everything about him — the sound of his breath, the strength in his grip, the way he moved with precision like he knew what you needed before you even said it — it overwhelmed you.

It was raw. It was animalistic.

You couldn't hide how much you wanted it.

Worse: you couldn't hide how much you wanted him.

He pressed his forehead to yours for a second — brief, heavy — before shifting his angle again, and the noise you made at the sudden change was nearly a sob. You reached for his back, nails raking over damp skin, trying to ground yourself in something. But nothing grounded you. You were weightless, untethered.

It was just pleasure, you told yourself. That was all.

It had to be.

But then you looked at him — really looked — and the ground tilted under you.

His eyes were locked on your face, not your body. And he looked ruined in a way you hadn't seen before — jaw slack, brow furrowed, hair sticking to his temples, like all of his focus was in this. On you. He wasn't talking. He never did during moments like this. But there was something in his silence that made it worse — made the tension snap even tighter in your chest.

"Oh god," You breathed out, like it was a prayer. Like he were some divine entity and you a devout follower.

A sound caught in your throat. A broken gasp. You didn't even recognize your own voice anymore. Every moan, every breath, it all felt like something you weren't controlling. Just responding.

God, he was everywhere.

His hands gripped your thighs and pulled you in closer, hoisting your legs high around his hips, and you felt him sink deeper — all the way in — and everything inside you locked tight around it. You cried out. Clung to him like you were drowning.

The worst part wasn't the desperation.

It was that you didn't want it to stop.

You weren't thinking of after. You weren't thinking of the mess or the confusion or the fact that, when he walked out that door, you'd be left with nothing but the memory of how close he'd made you feel.

You were thinking about the way his eyes flicked to your mouth when you gasped.

The way he held you like you were something he wanted to touch, not just something he needed to use.

The way your body burned for him — not just with want, but with something you didn't have a name for.

You tilted your head back into the pillows and shut your eyes, trying to focus on the rhythm, on the pace. He gave you no time to catch your breath — kept driving into you, deep and sharp and perfect, like he knew you were right at the edge and wanted to hold you there, stretch it out.

"Fuck me!" You pleaded with him. "God, Aki– fuck– don't stop!"

You needed more.

"Aki—" His name slipped out again before you could stop it, broken and hoarse and filled with too many things you didn't want to unpack.

He grunted — just once — like the sound of it meant something to him. Like he liked hearing it from you.

And your stomach turned again.

Not in discomfort.

But in that way that told you you were spiraling toward something you couldn't undo.

He leaned over you more, mouth brushing your jaw, and the way he was panting — hard, wild, desperate — almost made you forget he was the one in control. That he always was. You could feel it in the tremble of his arms, the way his hips faltered just once, just barely at the sound of your voice.

It made you feel powerful and helpless all at once.

"Keep saying my name like that," He begged you. Commanded you.

You clutched at his hair. Pressed your face into his neck. Tried to disappear into his body, into the moment, into anything but your own thoughts.

Because something inside you was starting to crack.

Not from the heat. Not from the building pressure.

But from how right it felt.

It was just sex. Contractual. It wasn't supposed to feel like being wanted. It wasn't supposed to feel like a connection.

You weren't supposed to care.

But your chest was tight. Your hands were shaking. Your breath was caught somewhere between a sob and a moan and your body was begging for release, for him, for something you couldn't even name.

What the fuck?

His pace quickened, erratic now — like even he was on the verge of losing it — and you whispered something against his skin that you couldn't even hear.

"Close–" You exhaled shakily, digging your nails into his back so hard that you knew you would leave marks. "Don't stop– Aki, Baby–"

You didn't mean to say his name again.

You didn't mean to sound so needy.

But everything about this was out of your hands now. Out of control.

You were burning. Blinding. Drenched in heat and confusion.

You were unraveling.

Every breath came fast and uneven, your body stretched so taut it felt like even the smallest push would break you open. Aki moved with a focused intensity, deliberate and unrelenting, like he knew exactly how close you were—like he could feel the way your body clung to him, how you trembled under every thrust, every shift of his weight against yours.

You gripped at him blindly, hands slipping up his back, over his shoulders, fingers pressing into sweat-damp skin like you were trying to memorize him by touch alone.

He's so beautiful.

You couldn't think. You couldn't speak. You could barely breathe.

But feeling—you felt everything.

Every inch of him. Every sound he made. Every glance he gave you between half-lidded blinks, his brows furrowed like he was trying not to lose himself too soon. Like he needed you to stay with him through every second of it.

It should've been just your body reacting.

Just nerve endings firing, just heat and friction and the way he filled you so completely that you forgot how to hold yourself together.

But it wasn't.

It wasn't just that.

You looked up—just for a moment, just to see his face—and the sight of him, undone and gorgeous, looking down at you like you were the only thing in the world—

That was when it hit you.

It was like being slammed in the chest with a truth you didn't want to see. Your breath caught. Your heart stuttered beneath the pressure of it.

You wanted him.

Not just like this. Not just the physicality of him or the way he made you feel like you were burning alive.

You wanted him. The person. The man. The quiet steadiness, the rare softness, the way he touched you like you meant something even when he didn't say it out loud.

"Fuck– 'M gonna cum–" Your legs trembled around his waist, eyes fluttering shut. "Akiiii– Oh, God."

You'd been trying not to name it. You'd buried it under desire, under the illusion that this was just about chemistry, just about two people using each other to escape.

But it wasn't. Not anymore.

Not when he looked at you like that.

Not when your body was seconds away from shattering around him and all you could think was I don't want to lose this. I don't want to lose him.

"Aki–" You breathed.

He replied back like he meant it, "I got you, Baby."

The sensation built inside you, unbearable in its intensity. You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood, trying to hold it back, to keep some piece of yourself from slipping out along with it.

But it was no use.

Your body was already tipping, pushed past the point of no return.

And this time, when the pleasure surged through you—hot and sharp and consuming—you didn't fight it. You didn't hide from it. You let it take you.

You came for the second time that night, crying out for him as you did so – colors and shapes dancing behind your eyelids. You gripped him like a vice, like you would die if you let go.

He wasn't far behind you – hips staggering only a few more thrusts later. When he tumbled over the edge after you, he buried himself as deep as he could go, nestling his head into the crook of your neck, brows furrowed. He came with the prettiest sigh of your name – the syllables tumbling off his lips like they were meant to be there. Like you were the only name that had ever been there. And when the warmth came – an explosion like fireworks deep inside of you – you arched up into him one final time, wrapping your arms around him and cradling his head to your chest. It was something so intimate– so off-limits.

Sexual intimacy? Easy. But having him pressed up against your chest, back rising and falling with the weight of his breaths... that was something else entirely.

The heat between you both hadn't faded. In fact, it lingered, curling around your skin like a soft burn, more familiar now than the fire that had taken over you earlier. Every breath you took, every small movement of his body against yours, sent waves of warmth flooding through you.

His chest rose and fell against yours, slow and steady, but you could feel the slight tremor that still lingered in his muscles, in the way he gripped you, as though you might slip away from him. You didn't want to slip away. Not from him. Not now.

You let your fingers trail over the lines of his back, tracing them absentmindedly, though you could feel the weight of it pressing into your chest. The tenderness of the moment felt like it was seeping into you, something quiet and unexpected. It was a stark contrast to the chaos that had preceded it, yet it felt so much deeper.

It didn't come all at once. It wasn't some sudden revelation, but more like something deep within you slowly unfurling, pushing itself out into the light.

His fingers lightly brushed the side of your face, gently guiding you to look up at him. You couldn't avoid the look in his eyes—the raw, unguarded tenderness there, the way his gaze softened the edges of the world around you. It wasn't just affection, not just care, but something deeper. Something that made your heart beat erratically, something that you couldn't hide from, no matter how hard you tried.

"You okay?" he whispered, voice barely above a breath.

You could only nod as you held onto him, wrapped your arms around him as though he were the anchor in a storm, trying to ground yourself in the moment

And as you did, that terrible, rotten truth bloomed fully in your chest.

You were catching feelings.

The bed felt too empty when you woke, a coldness that you hadn't expected wrapping around you. The comfort of his touch, the weight of his body against yours, had faded like a dream. You didn't want to move. Didn't want to acknowledge that you were alone again.

But the absence of him—his warmth, his presence, the steady rhythm of his breath beside you—was undeniable. And in that moment, the pull of loneliness, sharp and raw, snaked its way into your chest. It felt different than the quiet isolation you were used to.

You ran your fingers through your hair, your skin still flush with the remnants of him, and with a reluctant sigh, you rose from the bed. The silence in the room was almost suffocating, pressing down on you like a weight you couldn't shake off. Above all else, you were dressed in one of Aki's sweaters. Nothing else.

The air was cool against your bare legs as you moved toward the window. The quiet outside seemed to mirror the stillness inside you, and the moment your eyes landed on him—leaning against the balcony railing, cigarette between his fingers—you felt that same pull.

You hadn't meant to look, hadn't meant to stand there, watching him like that. But there he was, his back lit by the dim glow of the streetlights below, the faint haze of cigarette smoke curling in the air around him. The darkness seemed to swallow him whole, yet he stood there.

You hadn't expected to find him like this. But here he was, alone, like he didn't quite belong in the world around him.

The door creaked as you stepped outside. He hadn't noticed you yet, lost in the quiet world he had made for himself on the balcony. You hesitated, uncertain of what you even wanted. To speak? To retreat? You couldn't tell. The pull was too strong, though, and before you could stop yourself, you stepped further into the night, closer to him.

Even though you knew you shouldn't.

The soft scrape of your feet against the ground was the only sound between you, and Aki turned slowly, his gaze meeting yours. It wasn't an angry gaze, or even a surprised one—just quiet, a little weary, and with something you couldn't quite place.

"Did I wake you?" His voice was low, but it had a softness to it that caught you off guard. It was just a question, simple and harmless, but you felt the weight of it settle over you, heavy and almost intimate.

"No," you said, shaking your head. You weren't sure why you felt the need to lie. But it was more than that. You didn't want him to know. The vulnerability of the moment, the strange way your chest felt so full and yet so hollow, was something you wanted to hide.

He nodded, taking another drag from his cigarette, his eyes never leaving yours. There was something in the quiet between you that made everything feel fragile, like the air itself might shatter if either of you said too much.

The night was cool, the stars hidden behind the haze of city lights. You stepped closer, but even then, there was a distance between you. Not a physical one, but an emotional divide you couldn't cross. You felt it pulling at you, making every movement feel like a decision.

"I didn't mean to interrupt you," you began, your voice faltering slightly. You didn't know what you wanted to say. You didn't even know why you were standing there. But the question hung in the air, and the tension between you two only grew.

Aki's eyes softened slightly, his lips pulling into a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's fine. You're not interrupting anything," he said, his voice a little lighter. But there was something heavier in his tone now, something that wasn't there before.

Does he... feel it too?

No, you corrected yourself. Don't be an idiot.

For a moment, you both stood there, the cigarette smoke lingering between you like an unspoken barrier. His gaze never wavered, but it wasn't the usual guarded look. There was a softness to it, something open, but only barely. And that, more than anything, made you feel more vulnerable than you ever had before.

"So... you gonna tell me where you sent Denji and Power off to for the night?" You teased, elbowing him before leaning over the balcony. "Or are you gonna keep pretending they just so happened to be out for the night?"

The ghost of a grin lingered on his lips. He looked so pretty beneath the moonlight that – for a moment – you wondered if this was all even real.

"I don't know what you're talking about," He replied.

"Bullshit," You jabbed back. "Not like they have friends."

With a sigh, he tapped the end of his cigarette, casting his gaze onto the empty streets below, flicking ash off of the end of it. "Alright. I might have sent them to Himeno's."

The answer should've been funny. It should've made you roll your eyes and laugh and call him out for how goddamn obvious he was. But the words just sort of sat there between you, too heavy to move.

You nodded, lips pressing into a thin line. "Why?"

A beat passed. Two.

"I told her I needed a break," he said finally. His voice didn't waver, but it wasn't guarded either. Just honest. "But, to be honest, I knew I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off of you the moment I pictured you in that dress."

You didn't know what to say to that.

Your brain was still buzzing. Your body ached in places you didn't want to think about. You could feel the remnants of everything—the closeness, the heat, the way he'd touched you like he meant it. And it should've been simple. You'd done this before. You knew how to compartmentalize.

So why didn't this feel like all the other times?

You reached for a distraction.

"I should probably head home," you murmured, arms tightening across your chest. "While I can still catch a taxi."

You didn't move.

Aki turned his head just slightly. "It's late. Just stay the night."

Oh. Okay.

Your throat closed up for a second, because the way he said it wasn't casual. Not really. Not cold either. Just quiet. Just like him.

You should've said no. You knew that. Knew you'd already crossed a line somewhere in the dark, maybe back in his bedroom or maybe before that—maybe when he looked at you across the table earlier tonight and you'd caught yourself smiling like a damn idiot. Somewhere in all of this, the rules had changed, and you didn't remember agreeing to it.

But you stayed.

Fuck, you always did.

So you just gave a small nod, barely visible, and leaned back against the railing beside him.

It was quiet again. The kind of quiet that felt like it should've been peaceful, but instead it settled in your chest like static—like the edge of something unsaid scratching at your ribs.

You didn't know what any of this meant.

You didn't know what he meant.

Aki wasn't looking at you, but you could feel him anyway. The space between you was loaded. Not tense, but not easy either. It was just... too much. All of it. The way he touched you. The way he looked at you.

It was messing with your head.

You weren't supposed to care like this. You weren't supposed to look at him and feel your stomach twist like that. You weren't supposed to want more. Hell, you weren't even sure what "more" looked like. But you knew what it felt like—this pull in your chest, this ache just under your skin.

You closed your eyes for a moment and tried to breathe past it.

And when you opened them again, he was looking at you.

Not with the flat, impassive stare he gave everyone else. Not with the vague irritation he usually wore around Denji and Power. No, this was something else.

He looked at you like you were a puzzle he didn't want to solve. Like he didn't want to break whatever fragile thing was happening here.

And, shit, neither did you.

So you didn't say anything.

You just leaned in, hesitant and slow, until your shoulder brushed his. And then, after a long pause where neither of you breathed, you let your head tip gently against him.

He didn't move.

Didn't flinch. Didn't pull away.

And you didn't know what the hell that meant either.

All you knew was that the words "I'm falling for you" were sitting on the edge of your tongue, heavy and stupid and dangerous.

You didn't say them.

Not because they weren't true, but because you weren't ready to give this – whatever this was – up.

You decided you would do whatever it took to keep him next to you like this, his scent surrounding you, hand tracing shapes on your arm. You would do whatever it took to keep this train chugging, keep him looking at you like that, even if it meant lying to yourself a little along the way.

You looked up at him, into those pretty blues of his, like he could be so much more than what he was – like you and him could actually amount to something. And, maybe it was the lighting, but you could have sworn he looked back at you with the same glint in his eyes.

No harm in catching feelings if I keep them tucked away, right?

a/n: im sorry yall. things were going too good. it had to be done lol. (lmk what yall thought in the comments thooooo, maybe even what yall THINK will happen lol ;P see u in the next one mloves! wish me luck on exams)

credits: einruji__ on twitter . I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

taglist: @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @acethebrave , @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @mrshayakawaa, @xxpr3ttyk173rxx

wanna join the taglist? | pornstar ; chapter index

(i finally fixed the taglist so it should work now!!!! click away!!!)

[badtitude]

Hi, can you write 82major Yechan as a boyfriend? It can be nsfw or sfw.

≡ AS YOUR BOYFRIEND !! YOON YECHAN

(when you are in a relationship with him ๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵) : 930 words : fluff + suggestive (mdni!) : thanks for the request i hope you like this, i did a bit of both!! please share your thoughts, feedback is always appreciated!

physical touch + eye contact

yechan isn’t clingy, not in the direct sense of the word, he just prefers proximity rather than unnecessary distance. whether you’re alone together or out in a crowded place, he always pays close attention to you. on early mornings when he wakes up and you’re not by his side, he forces himself up to meet you in the kitchen making yourself breakfast. even half asleep he finds his way to you wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder while you try to continue your cooking. he doesn’t bother you for too long, after a raspy “good morning” and a peck on the cheek, he makes his way back to your bedroom to catch up on the lost sleep.

whenever you’re with him, you suddenly let your guard down and stop being aware of your surroundings. thankfully he has eyes where you don’t and manages to save you from your clumsiness. he can’t help but smile when you look up at him to apologize for the mess you made only to shy away from his gaze.

extremely good listener

being around yechan makes you feel talkative because of how talkative he is, whether you’re introverted or extroverted you end up talking more than you’re used to. he happens to be a very active listener so you can tell he’s listening but a lot of the time you’re not sure if he’s actually paying attention to what you’re saying.

“i’m convinced i could out sing mariah carey.” you once told him as you stood together by the bus stop.

he was right in front of you, wrapping your scarf perfectly around your neck, he glanced at your eyes for a second before speaking.

“for sure!” you couldn’t help but but roll your eyes at the sarcasm in his tone. his lips curved up into a soft smile as he watched you pout till the bus arrived.

while there were times like that, you would also sometimes be surprised by the things he’d remember from your occasional blabbering sessions. he’d make sure to remind you of the most absurd things you’d said, just to watch your confusion and denial.

prankster

one thing about being with yechan is you have fun, even when the jokes are at your expense— which they usually are. it’s probably one of his favorite things to do, teasing you whenever he gets the chance. he’ll pull lighthearted pranks on you, just to end up being the one to comfort you after.

he’d be the type to take you to an amusement park, make you go on the haunted house ride, only to end up joining the actors in scaring you. he’ll use that experience to make fun of you for the next couple weeks till he comes up with something new. if you ever get grumpy because of one of his jokes, he’ll give you a soft kiss promising to not do that one again.

soft touch

since he’s very into physical touch, his hands wander a lot around your body whether it’s subconsciously or knowingly. he likes touching you in a very light, delicate manner on sensitive parts of your body, just letting his fingers trail across your skin. depending on where he touches you, he likes the different reactions he gets.

mostly when your cuddling in bed, he traces circles on your belly lightly with his fingers, listening to your light giggles. from your belly, he either goes up to your chest or downwards between your legs, but either way your laughing turns into panting.

likes taking you by surprise

you never really know what to expect with yechan, things can go very quickly from zero to a hundred when you are with him. you don’t dislike the thrill of it all but you sometimes wish you could know in advance what he was planning.

especially when you’re outside together, he likes teasing you with words he knows you’d like to hear, watching your face turn red as you stare at him wide eyed.

“you look so cute when you’re embarrassed, i just want to tease you more.” he’ll whisper into your ear. the slight frown on your face only makes him smile because he can see the hint of excitement in your eyes.

he’ll bring your attention back up to his face with a soft spoken “y/n”, and as soon as your eyes meet you feel his hand on your cheek. his eyes fixed on your lips as he leans forward, pressing your lips together, kissing you restlessly ignoring the public aspect of it. he’ll kiss you like that till you get lost in it, your cold breath pacing as he pulls away, just enough to get you work up.

rough after hours

despite being an overall gentle person with you, he tends to loose that aspect of himself when you get intimate. he gets very rough when it comes to the act, not in a violent way, he just makes a mess out of you. you end up with your head spinning by the end of it, your legs completely numb and possibly pass out from the pleasure.

he’ll use you like a toy, but still make sure you get your pleasure out of it as well. his favorite part is watching your face as you get more and more needy, listening to your screaming and begging, when he teases you sensitive spots.

once he’s done with you, he takes care of you from cleaning up to getting you tucked in bed, giving you soft kisses all the way through.

[itskattkm]

More that you could ever know

Summary: forced by your best friend you met Tara Carpenter on a Christmas Party in the frat house.

Warnings: fluff, alcohol, slipping, bad flirting? bad grammar?

A/N: for my Holidays lovers

Here I was. At a stupid frat house Christmas party. Forced by my best friend Layla. We had promised each other to do more things we usually didn’t. And since I mostly didn’t go to party’s Layla was the quite opposite. She said I need to have fun, get drunk and maybe even kiss someone randomly. Instead of being so careful and worried all the time.

So again. Here I was. Sitting on the stairs watching everyone getting drunk, dancing, laughing and making out. I had lost Layla about twenty minutes ago. She was dancing with some guy called Chad. As it seemed she knew him from the football team since she was a cheerleader. Sure she was, she was a beautiful woman from the India and knew how to move her body.

I watched them talking and having fun. At some point Layla pointed at my direction, Chads gaze fell on me and I waved awkwardly at him. He waved back and kept talking with Layla. A few seconds later I lost the sight of them. I sighed and looked at my empty cup.

„Y/N!“ suddenly a light voice called my name and in the next moment a woman fell down beside me on the stairs. Sitting now next to me.

I chuckled slight. Tara Carpenter. One of Chad friends as I knew from Layla. She looked so cute with her wide grin and the red Christmas hat she had on.

„Your name is Y/n right?“ she asked now with fear in her big sparkling drunk eyes while putting her hand on my shoulder.

I laughed and nodded. Tara sighed relived and pointed her finger at me „damn I got scared for a sec there. I thought I was sitting beside the wrong girl“ she explained and looked up to the stairs where other people sat.

Then her gaze met mine again, she adjusted her hat and held her hand out „Tara Carpenter, send by our friends to give you some company“ I laughed shy and shook her hand while introducing myself „Y/n Y/l/n the girl who was looking lonely at the stairs…“

Tara looked at me in a way I couldn’t really explain. For me it was a mixture of bring curious, cuteness and hotness at the same time… and for sure slight glimpse of drunkenness.

„not anymore… I’m here now“ she said with a tone in her voice that made me almost blush.

Then she took of her hat and put it on mine looking at me with a wide smile, showing her dimples. God that woman looked gorgeous, without even trying.

„So Y/n… what brought you here tonight?“ she asked and nudged my shoulder playfully.

I chuckled and looked over to Layla and Chad still talking, having fun „Layla… at the very beginning of this year we promised to do things we usually don’t. That’s why I’m here“

There was a little spark in Tara’s eyes

„And why exactly are you here? Because you don’t like party’s?“

I shrugged my shoulders „usually yes. But Layla wants me to have fun without worrying at all once. Drinking. Making out with random people… it’s just not my thing“ I explained

Tara’s eyes turned somehow softer, her smile had something flirty „but is it what you want?“ she asked me.

I began to think and right at that moment began to play all I want for Christmas. I laughed and said „seems like Mariah Carey is talking for me…“ I tried to joke but Tara’s gaze didn’t changed. It was quite the opposite, she looked even more intimidating now and said „so all you want for Christmas is me?“ I looked speechless at her not sure how to react while my face was getting hot „want me all for your own? More then i could ever know?“ she added.

I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or not cause I felt so caught off guard. Then suddenly Tara grabbed my jaw and pulled me closer and in the next moment our lips met. I felt goosebumps all over my body. My heart racing like crazy and my body getting so hot it felt like I was having a fever. When her soft lips left mine I kept my mouth slightly open in a overwhelmed way while opening my eyes slowly.

Tara smiled at me, still with that expression I couldn’t describe but totally felt turned on to. „congratulations you came closer to the making out with someone part on your list…“ my mouth was still opened and I looked confused away. Trying to process what had happened. Then I heard Tara laughing „sorry I really caught you off guard did I?“ she said and waved her hand in front of my eyes. I came back to reality and looked at her saying „what?“ Tara smiled more and then pulled her hand around my neck pulling me in „your really cute…“ she whispered before her lips met mine again.

I melted away right away and almost slipped from the stair I was sitting on while trying to lean in more into the kiss. Our lips separated because of that and Tara held me tight by my shoulders with wide eyes and a smile to make sure I wouldn’t fall.

I looked at her with wide eyes to and couldn’t help but laugh „I guess I was falling pretty fast“ I joked and Tara began to laugh too „I hope I don’t fall hard then…“ she said chuckling.

I sat back beside her while she held tight on my arm to make sure I wouldn’t slip again.

„…so… what about the drinking part then?“ I asked shy. Tara’s smile got wider and she leaned closer to my ear „but we haven’t finished the making out part yet“ I blushed slight and shivered at her whisper tone.

„Later?“ I asked and my gaze wandered between her lips and eyes. She nodded and got up. She held her hand out for me to hold onto it while guiding me down the stairs through the crowd. In the next few moments we drank together some shots and egg flip.

I furrowed my brows at the taste and looked at her confused „that’s the stuff you all like? No… I won’t accept that. I’ll show you something good now“

I said and took her hand guiding her into the kitchen. I began to look like crazy through all the cabinets. Tara giggled „what are you looking for Y/n?“

I stretched my self so I could reach the highest cabinet. But I couldn’t reach it.

„Pick me up I’ll help you“ said Tara and stood beside me. I smiled wide and pulled my arms around her tights and pulled her up, stumbling slight. Tara laughed and tried to hold herself on the cabinets „so what are we searching for?“ she asked. I giggled and looked up but was faced with her ass in those tight jeans. I blushed more and looked back down. But Tara seemed to caught me.

„hot chocolate…“ I said. Tara seemed confused but soon found some. I let her back down and she gave me the hot chocolate mixture grinning wide „did you like the view tho?“ she said teasing. I blushed more „I did… but what I’m seeing now is way more beautiful“ she nudged my shoulder before giving me a intense wet kiss on the cheek.

It took me sometime to come back to reality but I made it. „so you wanted to drink hot chocolate?“ asked Tara confused.

I had a cheeky smile and pulled out a bottle baileys out „with this one“. Tara seemed surprised and was curious to taste the upcoming drink. That’s when I began to look for the things I needed before preparing two hot chocolates with a shot of Baileys in them and some wiped cream on top.

I gave Tara the mug and we looked for a place that was way more quieter. So we went outside of the frat house and sat down on the porch watching the snow falling down while the street was fully lightened by the frat house itself. The Christmas music was changing to different remix variants and the Christmas lights were escalating.

„Cheers“ I said and toasted with Tara while taking a sip from the hot chocolate, I sighed relived because of the sweet taste and the undertone of the vanilla chocolate taste of Bailey’s itself. I felt Tara’s eyes on me and asked confused “what?” Again she had that now more luring expression with a shot of cuteness while looking at me “I see you do enjoy things with passion”.

I blushed slight and watched her taking a sip “mhm… okay…” she sighed satisfied “that’s really good!” She said and took another big sip. I laughed and looked at her admiring, when her gaze met mine I reached out with my hand and wiped some cream away from her upper lip “you had some wiped cream on the lips” I said quite and then wiped my thumb at my jeans while holding my cup with both hands to warm them.

I still felt Tara’s gaze on me. I looked at her and asked curious “what?” Tara almost looked like she was frozen. Her eyes then wandered between my eyes and lips whispering “you’re defiantly different” she leaned in so fast that she crashed her lips on mine. I tried to catch my breath and suddenly she had put both our cups away, turning her body fully towards me, holding my neck and kissing me deeply.

I cupped her cheek kissing her back slowly back. Tasting the hot chocolate on her lips. Not feeling the freezing coldness at all while kissing her on the porch while it was still snowing.

“Y/n are you here?!” Called Layla while entering the porch. When she saw her best friend making out with Tara she immediately covered her mouth with her hand and looked with wides eyes at them. She stayed quiet and walked backwards back into the house with pure excitement.

Our kiss slowed down and we catched our breath for a few seconds but not moving away one inch from each other. We both smiled. Curious I asked… “so… were you falling hard?” Tara laughed loud and pulled me back in, kissing me passionately while saying teasing between the kiss “we’ll find out”.

After kissing for a few minutes it began to get cold.

I got up and smiled wide looking down at her “from a scale zero to ten… how spontaneous can you be?” I asked.

Tara grinned wide “depends” I chuckled and held my hand out for her “what about ice skating? I know a place” Tara’s eyes sparkled and she grabbed my hand to get up from the porch, she suddenly slipped on the stair and I catched her immediately but didn’t thought that I would slip myself when I catched her and now I was lying on my back on the hard floor covered by snow. Tara lying on top of me looking worried at me.

I smiled weak and said “okay ice skating doesn’t seem to be a good idea then” Tara laughed and looked at me with so much admiration suddenly.

“At least… I can tell now that I feel hard…” I laughed “we both” added Tara sitting slowly up in my lap looking down at me. I kept laughing but felt a bit dizzy “I… why… why is everything moving?” Then there was worry in Tara’s eyes again and she leaned over me cupping my left cheek holding her fingers up “ how many fingers do you see?”

I struggled catching her fingers and tried to focus my eyes but couldn’t. Tara laughed worried and kissed me soft on the lips “I’ll take care of you now”. I smiled and never felt that relaxed and safe before. “Can I get another kiss?” I asked. Tara looked at me with a wide grin “you know… since I’m pretty hurt…” I said joking and then Tara leaned back down and kissed me so deep that I felt like melting away. Melting in her hands and thinking that the decision to go over my boundaries today was the best I could have done.

[sturniologreys]

ᢉ𐭩 — episode 01 :: girl from the bar.

heavily inspired by grey’s anatomy.

your eyes fluttered open, the early morning sun heating up your skin as your eyes adjusted to the bright light. you can barely remember the previous night, but flashes of rushed kisses and firm hands racing across your body come rushing back to you, once you spot him.

there was a man laying on your floor, using a yarn knitted blanket to cover his naked figure. glancing down at yourself you see the evidence of a good night. you quickly grab the blanket that had fallen to the floor at some point during the night and covered your chest.

you quietly stand, hoping to not wake your guest, tugging the blanket to cover you completely. you walk around the couch but come to a abrupt halt as you hear shuffling.

“mornin’.” mystery man rasped, seeming to have stood up. you spin on your heels and gasp, as he had no shame to keep himself covered. you quickly spot his pants laying on the back of the couch and toss them in his general direction.

“hi.” you state with a soft smile, “i’m running late for my first day of work so i’m going to go shower and you’re,” you paused, unsure of what to say to get this man out of your house. “going to be gone when i come back downstairs.”

the man grins at you as he buckles his pants, “first day? i thought you own this house.” he speaks smoothly, his eyes darting from you to his surroundings in the living room. “it is quite dusty in here.”

you flush, tightening the blanket to your chest, “i just moved in, it was my moms house.” you curse yourself as you over explained, and honestly overshared.

his gaze returned to you, one full of sorrow, “i’m sorry.”

“for what?” you ask, confused. the expression is returned as his eyebrows furrow slightly.

“you said was, i assumed-“

“oh!” you laugh out, slapping a hand to your forehead, “no, she’s not, she’s alive. she just doesn’t live here anymore.”

“oh, okay.” he gives you a half smile as he grabs his shirt off the floor. you can’t help but admire his lean frame, how his biceps flex as he raises his arms to put his shirt over his head.

“well,” you shake yourself of the dirty thoughts circulating your brain, “it was nice meeting you…” you trail off, giving him a sheepish smile as he rolls his eyes.

he steps forward to offer his hand to you, to which you take, “chris.”

“nice to meet you, chris.” you nearly giggled, feeling giddy from something as simple as connecting palms with him.

he slips into his shoes, rounding the couch and letting his eyes trail over your barely covered body, “nice to meet you, y/n.” and with that, you spin on your heel and make the climb up the stairs to take a nice cold shower.

your morning flew by quick, almost too quick. rushing into the hospital doors your eyes darting to try and find where you go. you manage to find your way to the locker rooms, which were full with aspiring surgeons to be.

you glance at your paperwork and quickly find your locker. slipping on the light blue scrub top and pants, you’re almost startled as the woman next to you all but slams her locker shut.

“who’s your resident?” she asks, her curly hair barely fitting into the low ponytail she had styled it into. she was hispanic, and you can tell she meant business just by the way she carried herself.

“doctor carey, you?” you ask in return.

“me too,” she holds a hand out to you, “doctor martinez.”

you take her hand in a firm grip, “doctor y/l/n.”

“y/l/n?” a second voice interrupts, “i got doctor carey as my resident too, i heard he’s a real hard ass.”

you and doctor martinez glance at each other than back to him, “doctor mcgrath.”

before either of you could respond, the locker room opened to reveal a nurse holding a clipboard, “martinez, y/l/n, and mcgrath you’re with doctor carey.” the three of you scramble out the door and down the hall, spotting doctor carey filling out paperwork at the nurses station.

“ah, my interns.” he barely spared you three a glance as he spoke, “these are your pagers. you keep them charged and on at all times, when i page, you run. i don’t care what you’re doing, you do not ignore a page.” he spoke firmly, so sure of himself. he stalked away from the nurses station with a purpose, leaving you to grab your pagers and speed walk after him.

“when i move, you move.” he mutters, turning sideways to walk past a huddle of family members crying outside of a patients room. he doesn’t speak for a beat, leading you to the ER of the hospital.

it was loud, babies were crying and people coughing. “this is where you will spend most of your time today. testing the waters.” he tells you, finally turning to face all of you.

he raises an eyebrow questionably, “what are you waiting for? go, read charts and get medical information and treat people.” he shoos you with his hands as he steps to the left to take on a patient.

doctor martinez and mcgrath quickly do the same, and you choose the blonde girl sitting up in her bed looking unenthusiastic to be there.

“hi, i’m doctor y/l/n i’ll be overseeing you today.” you introduce yourself, picking up her chart from the end of her bed. your eyes quickly scan it, and you find out she’s been having grand mal seizures for about 9 hours and the cause was unknown.

“well? what’s wrong with me?” she impatiently asked, and you lifted your eyes from her chart.

“i’m going to order a round of tests, and page our neuro surgeon. have you been doing anything strenuous lately? often headaches?” you question her lightly, signing off on her chart to begin the usual work up.

“the only thing i’ve been doing for the last 9 hours is miss my pageant! i got runner up last year and now i won’t even make a placement.” she glared at you, and your blood instantly begins to simmer in irritation.

you pass off her chart to a nurse, unlocking her bed as you begin to wheel her out of the emergency room, “i’m sorry you’re missing your pageant, but your health is far more important than a contest based off your looks.” you pointedly tell her as you both enter the elevator.

her head snaps in your direction, offense written clearly on her face, “it’s more than just looks! i had my rhythmic gymnastics routine perfected, and now it’s for nothing.” she spits out at you, and the elevator ding may have just saved your life.

you quickly find your way to the c.t, “now, this part isn’t as scary as it looks-“

“yeah, i know the drill,” she cuts you off, gently sliding onto the machine’s bed. “i just had one of these last month.”

you can’t remember reading that on the chart, “how come?” you ask, taking out your pocket sized notepad and a pen, ready to jot down her explanation.

she huffs, resting on her elbows as she seems to look right through you, “i had a fall during my rhythmic training and hit my head, and i got checked out but it all came back fine.” with that, she lays down and you’re left to exit the room. you walk around the corner and stand behind the c.t tech as you watch the pissy blonde enter the machine.

“want me to page neuro as we wait for the scan?” he asks you, “yeah that wouldn’t hurt.” you shrug, the two of you waiting in silence as the machine did its job. a couple minutes passed, nearly jumping as the silence you were in was interrupted.

“you paged me?” a familiar voice cut through the silence, and you freeze when an all too familiar cologne fills your nose.

you look up to find chris, of all people, peering down at the screen as the brain scan appears on it.

“there’s nothing here.” the tech looks to chris to confirm, to which he nods in agreement, grabbing the chart off the desk to read up on your patient. your heart is nearly beating of your chest, dread swarming through you.

you had slept with the head of neuro at your new job.

chris finally turns to face you, surprise filling his features instantly. you quickly brush past him to retrieve the girl but a hand on your wrist stops you.

you spin around to face chris, guilt bubbling in your stomach, “don’t.” you pointedly say, glancing around to see if anyone was watching the two of you.

“don’t what? you don’t even know what i was going to say.” his boyish grin was making your knees weak, but you had to stay strong.

“don’t say anything. we can’t do this. i’m not the girl from the bar and you’re not the man from the bar anymore.”

he tries to muffle a laugh but fails, “you’re the girl from the bar,” he repeats, his eyes slowly scanning over your frame, clearly thinking about last night.

before you can stop yourself, your hand shoots out and slaps his arm a few times, “stop that!” you scold him, almost smiling as his playful look increases.

“stop what?” he asks, shooing your hand away from him.

your cheeks flush, double checking for anyone eavesdropping, “stop looking at me like you’ve seen me naked.”

chris let’s put a full belly laugh, leaning onto the wall for support, “but i have seen you naked.”

“unbelievable!” you groan, entering the room and helping the tech situate your patient back into her original bed.

“this is going to be great.” chris grins from the doorway, and you can’t help but silently agree.

[ravensuperr]

Homeroom Chaos: The Breakup Songs Debacle part 1

Danny knew he had lost control of the conversation the second Tucker muttered something under his breath about “murder” and “Valentine’s Day playlists.”

It started innocently enough—just casual teasing from Sam and Tucker about how Danny only seemed to think about his past relationships on this specific holiday. But then, Tucker, in all his loudmouth glory, decided to drop the ultimate bombshell:

“Oh please, you literally have a breakup song for each of your exes. You’ve got a whole sad-boy playlist, Danny.”

The entire homeroom fell into a stunned silence. And then—pure chaos.

“What!?” Valerie’s head snapped toward them, intrigued. “Hold up, Fenton. You actually have a playlist of your past heartbreaks?”

“Ohhh, this is good,” Paulina smirked, flipping her hair as she turned in her seat. “Alright, spill. What are these tragic love songs?”

“Wait, wait, wait—this is actually interesting for once.” Kwan leaned forward, grinning. “Dude, you do listen to a lot of music. What’s the damage?”

Even Dash, who usually wouldn’t be caught dead listening to a conversation about Danny Fenton’s love life, raised a brow. “Huh. Never thought Fenton would have game like that.”

Danny groaned, dragging a hand down his face. He had two choices: (A) fight to the death to keep his embarrassing music habits a secret, or (B) let Tucker dig his grave for him.

With a deep sigh, he surrendered. “Fine. Go ahead, Tuck. Might as well just get it over with.”

Tucker beamed like he had just won the lottery. “Alright, listen up, everyone! Presenting—Danny Fenton’s Tragic Breakup Playlist!”

A collective cheer went up. Even Sam, who looked mildly annoyed, was listening with interest.

Tucker cleared his throat. “First up—we got Amy. Danny’s first ever girlfriend back in sixth grade. The song? Teenage Dream by Katy Perry.”

Paulina immediately gasped. “That’s adorable!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tucker waved a hand. “They were each other’s first boyfriend and girlfriend. Real cute, real sweet, and then—bam! Amy thought she was being stalked. Turns out, she was. She freaked out, and they broke up.”

Danny crossed his arms. “That is not the full story.”

“No one cares, moving on,” Tucker announced. “Next, we got Rei. Summer girlfriend, long-distance heartbreak, and a full-on Notebook-level tragedy. The song? Worldwide by Big Time Rush.”

“Aw man, that one hurts,” Kwan winced. “Dude, Worldwide is like, the ultimate long-distance breakup song.”

Paulina nodded sagely. “Respect.”

“Alright, last but not least—Heather. This was Danny’s longest relationship, eighth grade to freshman year,” Tucker continued, enjoying this way too much. “Her song? Bye Bye by Mariah Carey.”

“Oooh,” a few girls murmured.

Valerie tilted her head. “That one’s kinda rough. What happened?”

Danny sighed. “She dumped me because she thought I was in danger just being around her.”

“She told him to be careful about who he trusts,” Tucker added dramatically. “Very cryptic. Very heartbreaking. Very tragic hero origin story.”

Danny shot him a glare. “Do you have to say it like that?”

“Yes,” Tucker replied without hesitation.

The homeroom was eating this up. But just when Danny thought it was over, Paulina suddenly turned to the rest of the class, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Okay, but if we dated Danny, what would our breakup songs be?”

The room exploded.

“Oh my god, yes!” Star clapped her hands. “Danny, tell us! What song would I be?”

“Wait, wait—me first,” Paulina demanded. “Obviously, it has to be dramatic.”

“Maybe Irreplaceable by Beyoncé?” Kwan suggested.

“Or Shakira—Don’t Bother,” Dash added, surprisingly invested now.

“Or Toxic by Britney Spears?” Star smirked.

Danny groaned again, slumping into his seat. “Why is this happening to me?”

Valerie snorted. “C’mon, Fenton. Play along. What song would mine be?”

That caught him off guard. Valerie hadn’t even dated him yet. But the look on her face said she was way too entertained by his misery to let it go.

The class went silent, waiting.

Danny hesitated. Then, with the biggest sigh of the century, he muttered, “Survivor by Destiny’s Child.”

The class erupted.

Valerie howled with laughter. “Oh my god—solid choice.”

Kwan was practically crying. “I CAN’T—”

Even Sam snorted, shaking her head.

Tucker just smirked. “And there you have it, folks. The most interesting Valentine’s Day in Casper High history.”

Danny buried his face in his arms.

He was never living this down.

The chatter in the classroom was palpable as everyone leaned in, waiting for Danny to spill the beans on his past relationships. But things quickly took a turn when Danny started sharing breakup songs for everyone else, and the entire room erupted in laughter.

Tucker had already gotten the ball rolling, talking about Danny's breakup songs with his past exes. But now, the focus was entirely on who would have a breakup song if Danny had dated them. Everyone was hooked, eyes wide and waiting for Danny to dish the dirt.

Paulina crossed her arms, giving Danny a challenging smirk. “Alright, Danny. You’ve talked about your exes—what about me? If we ever dated, what song would we have?”

Danny scratched his head, feeling the weight of every eye on him. He didn’t want to make things awkward, but here he was, the center of the most ridiculous conversation. Still, he couldn’t back out now. He sighed and straightened up. "Okay, Paulina… for you, if we were ever in a relationship and then broke up, I’d say your breakup song would probably be Amor Prohibido by Selena Quintanilla. It’s dramatic, a little forbidden—just like you always make things feel. Or maybe Dreaming of You… because I could totally see you singing that after something like that."

The class collectively “oohed” and Paulina laughed, flipping her hair. “Not bad, Fenton. I can totally picture it now.”

Kwan leaned forward, eager for his turn. “So what about me? What’s my breakup song, huh?”

Danny gave him a quick look before answering. “For you, Kwan? Loser by Big Bang. No question. It’s got that rebellious vibe, and let's face it, you wouldn’t exactly be heartbroken. You’d just be like, ‘whatever,’ if it ended.”

Kwan blinked a few times before breaking into a grin. “Hey, I do love Big Bang, so that works.”

Next, Dash chimed in with a knowing grin. “Alright, what about me, Fenton? You know you’ve got something for me.” He leaned back in his chair, practically begging for the attention.

Danny sighed heavily. “For you, Dash, it would be I Knew You Were Trouble by Taylor Swift—Taylor's version, of course. You’re that kind of guy, Dash. You'd be the reason the relationship fell apart. It would be so you.”

The room burst into laughter, with a few people even clapping. Dash looked a bit sheepish but took the joke in stride. “Yeah, yeah, I guess I deserve that one.”

Valerie raised an eyebrow, her arms crossed in a challenging stance. “Alright, Danny. What’s mine?”

Danny rubbed the back of his neck, thinking for a second. “For you, Valerie… you’ve got two options. First, it’d be Irreplaceable by Beyoncé. You’d totally be singing that, all ‘to the left, to the left’ because you’d make me feel like I messed up big time if we broke up.”

Valerie smirked, clearly enjoying the idea of that being her anthem. “You think so, huh?”

Danny nodded with a grin. “Or maybe Say My Name by Destiny’s Child. You know, you'd want me to be all into you, but if it didn’t work out, you’d have that sass going.”

Tucker, who’d been barely able to contain himself, burst out laughing. “Now that would be amazing. Danny, you’re really good at this.”

Danny just rolled his eyes and looked over at Sam. "Okay, Sam. You want in on this?"

Sam grinned. “You’re not getting away that easy, Danny. What about me?”

Danny sighed, feeling the heat rise in his face as the entire room went silent, waiting for his answer. “Well, if we ever broke up, it’d be Complicated by Avril Lavigne. We’ve always had this complicated dynamic, and that song would totally sum it up.”

“Pfft, fair enough.” Sam leaned back in her chair, looking smug. “I’ll accept that one.”

Tucker, who had been too quiet, finally jumped in with his own song suggestion. “Okay, okay, Danny. Don’t leave me out of this. I’m the hopeless romantic. My breakup song would be Enchanted by Taylor Swift (Taylor's version). It’s that classic ‘I thought it was going to work out but, nope’ feeling.”

Danny shot him a look. “That’s the most fitting one for you, Tucker. No arguments there.”

Tucker then added, “But if things went south fast, I’d also say Burn by Usher. You know, I’d get heated, but I’d know when to let it go.”

Danny raised an eyebrow. “I think you’d get heated either way, but alright…”

Everyone chuckled, but now all eyes were back on the girls.

Star smirked, raising her hand like she was back in kindergarten. “What about me, Danny? What’s my song?”

Danny blinked a few times. “For you, Star… it’s gotta be I Was Born to Make You Happy by Britney Spears. I can just picture it: we’d break up, and you’d be all dramatic, like ‘I was born for you, and now I’m heartbroken.’”

Star laughed, pleased with his answer. “You really get me, Danny.” Finally, the class was rolling in ideas, with even more hypothetical songs and scenarios flying. It was clear Danny had opened up a whole new level of drama in the room. Everyone was engaged, debating which song fit them best if they were part of Danny’s tangled love life.

[cheeseceli]

Christmas

Pairing: Ot8 stray kids × Gn!Reader (individual)

Genre: fluff scenarios

Description: activities Stray Kids would like to have with you on Christmas day

Warnings: I repeat the word "Christmas" way too much, mention of food at Chan and Felix's

A/n: I don't like this but I really wanted to write something for Christmas so here it is. Next year will be better

Bang Chan - dinner

Just sitting with you in a table full of the most delicious foods he could ever think of feels like a dream. He also gets to talk to you about everything and anything all at once, reminding each other about the whole year. He realises this year was particularly good, especially with you in it. So he soon starts to talk about his plans for the future, the one he hopes he can share with you too. He has a guess that the next year will be pretty good

Lee Know - snow

It doesn't matter if it snows a lot of other days besides Christmas, you both will be out in the streets when it's 25th of December. And if it snows right at its night, you can bet that he'll be running to get out of the house asap. For a second it feels like you both are the only ones in the world and the sky had decided to snow exclusively to create this moment. Just making a snowman, creating a snow fight or even just seeing the snowflakes fall from above might be one of the prettiest moments in Minho's life. But he doesn't think it's all because of the weather.

Changbin - gift giving

He knows Christmas is way more than just gifts, but he'd be lying if he said that he didn't like to gift people. Especially gifting you. He loves your reaction the most. He likes how excited you get, how you try to guess what the present is and your smile when you open the box. The happiness and gratitude in your eyes is the biggest gift he could ever receive.

Hyunjin - exploring the city

He'd take you to the best places in town, the prettiest ones, so the magic of this date could feel more visible. Having Christmas lights all over the place, those huge Christmas trees and perhaps even fireworks seems like a day he'd remember. But hopefully you remember the places you visited more than him so you can tell him how it was later, because he was too focused at looking at how your eyes shone to pay attention to any firework in the sky

Han - Movies

Watching movies in your shared bed with matching pajamas from the Christmas eve till the actual Christmas. It seems perfect to him. Some might think it's basic or not memorable at all, especially for a first time spending the holiday together, but he disagrees. He loves how simple it is. Just the two of you loving each other in silence and enjoying each others company seems great. You might even fall asleep hugging one another, but that just makes it more magical in his opinion.

Felix - baking

Not cliche if it's true. This man just LOVES baking with you. Cinnamon biscuits, pies, brownies or whatever to be honest. What exactly you are baking doesn't matter so much. He just loves to be there in the kitchen with you: flour all over the place and a smile in both of your lips. The fact that it's Christmas, such an important holiday, and you chose to spend it with him just makes it more cheerful.

Seungmin - Christmas tree

Decorating the tree would be so fun next to Seungmin. You both together would have the smartest of ideas on how to design the tree this year. It would look genuinely pretty. And just trying to figure where to put each decoration and the beautiful result would be so domestic but also exclusive to him. He thinks he doesn't ever want to decorate another Christmas tree if you are not by his side

I.N - karaoke

You both would be singing Mariah Carey till 2 AM, I just know it. Jokes aside I think he would genuinely like to have a small karaoke night, Christmas themed. And even before/after that night he would probably be hugging you from behind and singing a sweet melody in your ear, which you'd later realise to be a Christmas song. It feels a little bit like a movie, one that he likes very much.

Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[freedomsargeant]

Fa-La-La-In Love | Franco Colapinto

Hey loves! Yet another Christmas fanfic. I think I'll continue making these until Christmas ends. This is an x OC since I don't really like writing x readers. I hope you enjoy it!

Summary: In which Alayana thinks she's alone only to find Franco watching her dance terribly

Warnings: Literally nothing just a bunch of fluff

Fa-La-La-In Love

The cabin was quiet as Alayna stood by the window, watching her friends disappear into the forest with their skis and snowboards, their laughter echoing back to her. She didn’t mind staying behind—skiing wasn’t really her thing, and the idea of curling up with some hot cocoa by the fire sounded way better. She turned back inside, feeling cozy in her Christmas sweater and fuzzy socks, surrounded by twinkling lights and the scent of pine from the Christmas tree.

What she didn’t know was that Franco had stayed back too.

He was in his room, taking a break from the relentless pace of the racing season, finally getting a moment to just…breathe. But as he walked toward the kitchen, he heard something that made him pause—a familiar tune, cheerful and unmistakably Christmas-y, drifting from the living room. He followed the sound, stopping just outside the doorway when he saw Alayana, oblivious to his presence.

She was completely in her own world, swaying to “All I Want for Christmas is You” by Mariah Carey, belting out lyrics, despite a complete lack of rhythm. She was dancing with absolutely no coordination, twirling in her oversized socks and making big, terrible gestures as if she were in her own Christmas music video.

Franco bit back a laugh, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed as he watched her. She was just enjoying herself and he felt something warm and unexplainable growing in his chest as he took in the scene.

When she finally spun around and caught sight of him, she froze, her face going pale for a second before flushing bright red. “Franco! Oh my gosh! I— I thought you went skiing!”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, a playful grin on his face. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt the concert,” he teased, his tone gentle, laced with warmth.

She covered her face, mortified, then dropped her hands, trying to laugh it off. “I, uh...guess my dancing could use some work,” she mumbled, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“Nonsense,” he said with a chuckle. “It has...character.”

She rolled her eyes, still embarrassed but finding herself grinning back at him. Just then a slow Christmas song started playing, filling the room with a soft melody.

A mischievous glint lit Franco’s eyes. “You know, if you’re gonna dance, you might as well do it right.” He extended his hand to her. “What do you say?”

Her cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red, but there was something so gentle in his gaze, something warm and inviting, that she found herself taking his hand. “I...I don’t know how to waltz,” she admitted.

“Perfect,” he said, stepping closer. “Then you won’t notice if I’m bad at it.”

She laughed, feeling her nerves settle as he placed one hand on her waist, keeping his other hand steady in hers. “Alright, first step. Just follow my lead.”

They started to move in small, tentative steps, Franco guiding her as they turned slowly, the Christmas lights casting a warm glow around them. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the soft music and the warmth of his hand in hers.

“You’re a natural,” he murmured, his voice low and encouraging, his eyes never leaving hers.

She let out a shy laugh. “Pretty sure you’re doing most of the work.”

“Maybe,” he said with a soft smile. “But you’re making it look good.”

They continued to dance, her awkwardness slowly melting away as she relaxed into his arms. She could feel the warmth of his gaze on her, and suddenly, she wasn’t worried about her lack of rhythm or her terrible dancing. All she could think about was how close they were, the gentle pressure of his hand guiding her, the way he looked at her like she was the only person in the room. Well, she was, but she was positive if it was filled with people he would only be looking at her. 

As the song began to stop, their steps slowed, neither of them willing to let go just yet. The last notes of the melody faded, leaving a comfortable silence between them. She looked up at him, breath catching as she realized just how close his face was to hers.

Franco’s gaze softened, his thumb tracing small circles on her hand. “I’m glad you didn’t go skiing,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

She felt her heart race, a warmth spreading through her chest that had nothing to do with the holiday lights or the fire crackling nearby. “Me too,” she whispered back, a small smile playing at her lips.

For a moment, they just stood there, frozen in the glow of the Christmas lights, in a world that seemed to have shrunk to just the two of them. And in that quiet, snow-covered cabin, with the faint echoes of Christmas music lingering in the air, it felt like the most perfect place in the world to be.

****

Hey Loves! This story was pretty short but I hope you all enjoyed it! As always I love you all and I'll catch you on the flippity flop!

[rosypenguins]

Hey so uh about my Vampire AU… I still somehow have no clue what I want to do with the first chapter so uh… UH- DISTRACTION! DOM AND FAYE HEADCANONS BECAUSE THEY MAKE ME VIOLENT!!

💚Faye is brutally honest, whereas Dom has absolutely no issue lying if he thinks it’ll be for the better. It’s gotten to a point where he does it almost compulsively now. (This has definitely impacted him negatively in the past, but will he stop? HAH-)

🧡Despite me saying this, I feel like Dom can’t lie on command. He can do it impulsively, but if he’s specifically told to lie about something he struggles to keep a straight face. (This leads to a lot of people thinking he’s just as bad a liar as Faye when this really is not the case.)

💚Faye is easily overwhelmed by loud noise, and usually has to listen to music at a low volume. Dom, meanwhile, has to blast his as loudly as possible.

🧡I feel like they mostly listen to Indie stuff. I can’t really see them being into any main-stream artists.

💚Considering Dom’s comment about him and Faye wanting to be friends with Elliot for a while, I like to imagine that after they said goodbye to Elliot in the first spin-off episode, they high-fived and got super giddy. But then cut to two hours later and Dom’s pacing the room like: “oh my God, we overshared again he LITERALLY HATES US-”

🧡I’m sorry but there’s no way they both don’t have low-self esteem. (Dom’s: “We can be a bit annoying to be fair-” will forever live in my head rent-free until further elaborated on.)

💚Anyways, I feel like these two are always sharing their thoughts with one another, and even when they’re apart, they’ll still turn to where other would usually be with the intention of saying something, only to realize they’re not there and feel a little awkward afterwards.

🧡DO NOT SEPARATE. THEY DO NOT LIKE BEING SEPARATED.

💚They’ve probably tried to create their own language before. But they kept changing the rules of it so neither of them really understand it anymore.

🧡But they probably have a second, non-verbal language of just hand motions, expressions and straight up mind-reading.

💚They’ve probably tried to pass as one another at least once before. (And no one fell for it.)

🧡I like to think they both have DND-style OC’s they’re super invested in, but they don’t really do anything with them other than create increasingly complex lore and compare them with each other. (They’re always arguing over which one would win in a fight.)

💚Faye’s really sweet to everyone else, but I like to think she’ll bully Dom any chance she gets.

🧡I also feel like Faye likes giving Dom space buns because they look funny, but Dom’ll usually keep them in since they keep his bangs out of his face.

💚Faye loves platonic hand-holding.

🧡Dom probably collects random acorns and pinecones. (Thank you @ratkingnezu for randomly looking over my shoulder and suggesting this lol.)

💚They also probably have all sorts of knick-knacks resembling birds and rodents and insects scattered all around their room. (And they all have names and despite taking up so much space, Dom and Faye refuse to part with any of them.)

🧡They’re both hoarders. They’ll be going through all their stuff and find some random ribbon they took off a Christmas present and be like: “…but what if I NEED IT-” and then they’ll immediately forget about it like two days later.

💚Speaking of Christmas, I feel like they’d both hate Christmas music. (They hear Mariah Carey on the radio in November and suddenly they’re filled with dread.)

🧡I feel like these two would hate clothes shopping. If they ever needed anything, they’d probably just go to a Target or something.

💚Also, if they see anything that looks remotely soft in a store, they have to go and feel it.

🧡They probably hate coffee with a burning passion. (And I like to think they’re both juice-box addicts.)

💚I feel like Dom and Faye were the type of kids who weren’t allowed to have phones ‘til they were around 12-14, so up until then, they were probably just sent outside and told to be back before dinner. (Optional.)

🧡But quickly after Faye got a phone she got addicted to Instagram and now spends several hours scrolling each day.

💚These two probably prefer the company of animals over people, honestly. Neither of them understand people very well.

🧡Dom seems like the type of guy to be just a little bit obsessed with his friends. Like not even in a romantic way. He’s just… really clingy. (He’s probably not used to having someone other than Faye to talk to. So when he does find someone he sticks to them like glue.)

💚Meanwhile, I feel like Faye’s a lot more introverted. She’s more than comfortable being alone, and she doesn’t really mind that Dom’s technically her only friend. (All she really needs to be content is Dom and her spiders. Neither of which are going anywhere anytime soon.)

🧡I feel like Faye tends to go non-verbal whenever she’d overwhelmed or overstimulated. Whenever this happens, Dom’ll usually take her somewhere quiet, and hold her hand silently as she calms down.

💚She probably also has some noise-cancelling headphones she brings whenever she goes out to loud or crowded spaces.

🧡Meanwhile, Dom will do everything he can to mask and pretend he’s fine and he’ll literally be on the verge of a meltdown with tears streaming down his face all like: “No, no I’m fine, I just something in my eyes.”

[houseofstarlight]

matchup for @lost-lonnie

MATCHED WITH SUGAWARA KOUSHI (^▽^)

if you would like a matchup for yourself, please read the guidelines here!

why i chose this character

“my personality has been known as a chaotic, exhilarating, fun mess, but i’m not always like that. my social battery runs out super fast”

— ➴ i headcanon suga as an ambivert, which sounds like your personality type as well, so he’ll match your personality

— ➴ we’ve all seen from the show that he has a good amount of energy, and since he teaches young kids post-timeskip, you know he needs to keep up with those little demonspawns

— ➴ however, i think suga is a very chill person; he’ll nearly always prefer staying in to going out, and he’s generally a pretty quiet guy when you guys are spending time together

— ➴ so all of this is to say that suga would be able to match your energy; he wouldn’t be too hyper, but he also wouldn’t be a total recluse

“i’m the type of friend who teases and makes fun of you! like, editing funny photos of you, never letting you forget something humiliating, and doing things to annoy you”

— ➴ may i introduce you to sugawara koushi, second biggest troll on the karasuno team, bested only by the one and only tanaka ryuunosuke?

— ➴ i think he genuinely finds it fun to tease and roast his friends; of course he’s very conscious about boundaries though

— ➴ but yeah he’s very similar to you in that sense, which is good cause you guys can understand each other in that way

“things i look for in a partner are someone humorous, patient with me, physically affectionate, good banter and taller than me lol”

— ➴ suga’s pretty funny ngl, what a troll he is

— ➴ with suga’s sense of humor and troll-ness will come teasing banter

— ➴ he’s definitely patient because he’s a kindergarten teacher post-timeskip, and like i said above—demonspawns.

— ➴ also suga is like 5’8 or something; not too tall but taller than you

headcanons

— ➴ i could actually see suga liking romance novels

— ➴ or like

— ➴ ya ☠️

— ➴ i think he doesn’t read a lot simply because when he comes home from work he usually doesn’t have the energy to

— ➴ but on the weekends especially, he likes to curl up with you in bed and read a few chapters; you guys could have your own little book club or something

— ➴ baking dates!! i don’t even know if it’s canon that suga likes to bake, but i always associate him with baking christmas cookies with mariah carey playing in the background

— ➴ also imagine dancing with him to christmas music while you’re waiting for the cookies to bake? soooo romantic

— ➴ suga is the mom friend for a reason; he takes great care of everyone around him and it would only be amplified tenfold with his significant other

— ➴ for example, if you take any medications, suga has them all memorized and always remembers to remind you about taking your medicine on time

— ➴ you guys are highkey the menace couple who just goes around trolling all your friends lmao

— ➴ they tremble to see you coming

— ➴ suga also loves naps! actually, it’s not so much naps as just sleeping. i’d imagine running after four year olds all day gets really exhausting, so when he comes home all he really wants to do is flop onto the couch and fall asleep right there

— ➴ suga is a fan of cuddling while you sleep; specifically, he’ll pull you into his arms so your head is on his chest and your legs tangle together (it’s super romantic cause you can listen to his heartbeat!)

— ➴ if you ever fall asleep randomly on the couch or something, i don’t think suga would be the type to carry you to the bed, since he’s afraid he’ll drop you or wake you up

— ➴ instead he’ll bring you all the soft blankets and tuck you in nice and warm to make sure you don’t get sick! it’s a lot like how he treats his students during nap time lol

other characters

— ➴ tanaka ryuunosuke

— ➴ oikawa tooru

a/n: hello! thank you so much for your request, and i hope you enjoyed your matchup 🫶