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plotsignificanthaircut555 · 4 months ago

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Equivalent Exchange (curse user! Nanami x sorcerer! Reader) SMUT, 18+, MDNI

Kento Nanami's defection was at one point amicable, until a string of very precise murders indicates your former classmate may have taken a turn. Maybe you can help him come back to himself. or....

Ao3 Obviously inspired by all the villain Nanami art esp (@yuutaguro and @ivoreene) this shit got wild ngl. So incredibly OOC its insane.

Content Warnings: ANGST, GUYS SO ANGSTY, lots of manipulation, this is NOT HEALTHY behavior, smoking, kissing, fingering, oral, degradation, slapping, spit, Nanami is being a freak, but you are matching that freak, let's call this deranged by consensual :).

Smoke curls in a paisley storm contained within the shaft of dim golden light emanating from the out of style lamp on the bedside table. A piece of wire had poked out from the lining of the seat cushion underneath you, poking itself into the tender meat of your thigh. The cigarette in between your fingers was nearly all ash, held together only due to your stillness, sloping downward toward the stained carpet below. It must have been ten minutes since you lit it, and you hadn’t moved an inch, not daring to break your gaze on the door. He was an hour and a half late, actually he was 96 minutes and 45 seconds late. 46, 47, 48, 49, 50. He was late the last time, too. Prior to-- everything-- he had been extremely punctual. He had been a lot of things.

This morning he called out of the blue from a blocked number, his voice rough and betraying nothing of his condition; emotionally or physically.

“Luna Hotel, under Helmer, 10 o’clock.”

Your skin went cold, you choked out a small sound of acknowledgement, but before you could speak the line went dead. The line droned, tears stung your eyes; clouded vision and full ears gave you a moment of placelessness, your office, the school, this world dissolving around you. It was him, it was really happening. It had been so long since you had heard his voice, but you could have picked him out of a crowd of thousands if he were whispering.

It was really happening, your throat tightened but you swallowed down the knot before it could choke you. With a deep breath the tears faded and you returned to your body within your small office at Jujutsu High. Finally setting the phone on its hook, the tone died, making the beating of your heart fill the space left in your ears. It was still early, you had an entire day of teaching to complete, and you couldn't let anyone-- even the most observant among your coworkers-- catch on. Twelve hours had passed in calculated normalcy, externally engaged as always; teaching your class, laughing with coworkers, but internally you had a singular thought.

You were seeing Nanami tonight.

Kento Nanami had defected from Jujutsu society eight years prior, following the previous defection of Suguru Geto and, more personally affecting, the death of his classmate and partner Yu Haibara. Initially it was an understood amicable defection, it was unusual but not unheard of for sorcerers to decide to follow other paths. Geto was, of course, an unfortunate exception. You had been able to keep in touch with Nanami as he attended a fast tracked university and got a job working as a finance specialist for businesses both in Japan and internationally. It wasn’t as though he wasn’t around at all anymore, he would attend group events every few months, stop by a birthday party or a night of drinking. But as the time since his leaving went on you saw less and less of him, work schedules and personal responsibilities making it rarer and rarer. Two years ago, he stopped calling completely, stopped responding to text messages and emails. You were beginning to wonder if you should do a wellness check at his office or see if you could find his address.

That was until you found yourself in an all school meeting to discuss a recent string of murders. Shaking across the table from Satoru Gojo, Ieri Shoko, and the rest of the staff as Principle Yaga detailed how the victims were all cut with a surgeon's precision into various pieces, when Shoko was able to reassemble them the pattern emerged. The disassemblement occurred at a 7:3 ratio at Every. Single. Point.

The pictures on the table were horrific, gory, visceral, but what brought bile to your throat was the thought of Nanami being the executioner. Your brain couldn't render the image of him killing a human person. You had seen him kill dozens of curses, seen his skill and finesse in real time, but you couldn’t piece that together with the images in front of you now. These men weren’t just killed, they were butchered.

“What do we know about the victims?” Gojo asked.

“Wealthy, mostly inherited wealth, all of them have ties to the same organized crime group that we have followed for some time.” Yaga explained, thankful for the chance to look somewhere else than the photographs on the table, “drugs, weapons, human trafficking, you name it.”

Gojo shrugged and leaned back in his chair, “Nanamin always had an intense sense of justice.”

He was right, you thought it too, and you were willing to be everyone else in the room thought the same. You still hadn’t spoken, your throat was dry and closed, your brain was too stuck on trying to piece together an image of the man you knew doing this.

“He did. Vigilante or not…”Yaga continued, now unable to look anywhere but the pictures, “The higher ups have caught wind of this being a curse user, thankfully they don’t pay enough attention to techniques so they’re not exactly sure who is responsible.”

Yaga stood and added a blurry photograph to the board. Nanami, you could just barely make out his features, his strong nose, his golden eyes. It must have been taken from a surveillance camera before the feed was wiped, he looked right at the camera, an expression of focus and hatred marred across his face. Your heart lurched at the sight of him so angry. No…not angry. Pained.

“There are laws that prohibit sorcerers from intentionally taking human life. The unregulated use of jujutsu against civilians is cause enough to call for our response. Nevermind the…brutality. ”

Yours and every other pair of eyes in the room flicked to Gojo, he noticed, although he did not let on. You felt your cheeks burn, Nanami was Gojo’s friend, however reluctantly. Gojo had been closer with Geto than anyone else, and now he had been betrayed not once but twice.

“The sooner we…”Yaga’s words caught between his teeth, “react, the better. Reducing the liability of exposure and continued loss of life.”

The meaning he danced around began to set in. They wanted to kill Nanami. They wanted to send someone in this room out there to kill him. Gojo realized it too, starting to argue but his and the principal's voices began to fade, a ringing taking its place, and increasing in volume. Your skin began to go cold. The meeting continued around you, although as it turned to a fight no one seemed to notice your mental absence. You couldn’t let this happen, you wouldn't.

That night you sent one last email to the last alleged work email of Nanami’s that you had been able to dig up. One that had been hiding his new company’s directory just waiting to be found by you. All it had taken was one call to their payroll department posing as the hysterical disgruntled wife possibly being cheated on by the project manager of Nanami’s team. You used an email of your own that you reserved primarily for spam, business sign ups and the like, one that didn’t have your name or any of your initials, one that no one would associate with you.

Loyalty doesn’t expire. They’re looking.

That was two months ago. Until his call today you didn’t know if the address was still active, if he had access to it, if he had ever seen it. But now, after a single call months later, you were in the Luna Hotel room 819 reserved under the name Helmer. Of course he chose that name, strange enough to stick out just the right amount, but anyone looking would find it as a fake, stolen from a famous play. They didn’t know how Nanami had gifted you a copy of Henrik Ibsen’s A Doll’s House when you were still in school. How he told you about his grandmother in Denmark who loved it too; how she took him to see it once, probably far too young, on a holiday to visit her. They wouldn’t know what it meant between the two of you. You still had the exact copy he gave you, you must have poured over those pages a hundred times since you had seen him last. That same copy currently sat at the bottom of the small go bag you had stashed under the bed…just in case.

It was approaching midnight, and he still hadn’t arrived. Exhilaration that had been keeping you upright was beginning to wane. The light flickered, your cigarette ash finally fell to the floor, you didn’t care about the carpet, you didn't care about the sleep pulling at your eyes, you didn’t care about the ache of the day settling into your stagnant bones. You were so close, you couldn’t turn back now.

You felt him before the knock came. The breath vacated your body, his cursed energy filling your senses, tears rushed to your eyes but were quickly cast aside as his knuckles tapped against the door. You stood, but didn’t move to the door. A chime came from the door lock, followed by the whirring of mechanized deadbolt retracting. You fought away the urge to tense up as he entered the room.

Tall, perhaps even taller than before, certainly wider. He must have put on forty pounds of sheer muscle since the last time you saw him, every inch of him seemed developed. Wide shoulders, sturdy, quiet legs. His hair was shorter, choppier than the neat styled fringe you had been used to. A severe undercut at the back of his neck showed where he had been cut in a healed pink scar. There were more scratches and scars than you expected. You didn’t know what you expected. But it wasn’t this, this wall of strength standing before you now, dark blazer buttoned, small impression on his back where you knew his blade was strapped to his back. Finally you were able to regain the composure to look at his eyes. Golden, honey brown locked right with yours. It could have been the flickering light, or your delirium but you thought you saw them crinkle slightly at the sight of you. Nanami let out an even breath, looking you over once, the door clicking shut behind him.

“It’s really you.” His voice washed over you like a warm coastal wave.

“It’s really you.” You echoed, taking in the face you once knew so well, the parts that were different, the parts that remained.

He stared down at you, the same analytical look on his face, taking in every inch of the woman you had become. You were different than when he had left, you changed your hair-- although so had he, your body had lost its teenaged gawkiness and you stood with so much more confidence than you had before. You filled your clothes better, you were maybe even taller. But your expression looking at him, the shine in your eyes, the flush in your cheeks, it was exactly the same

“Part of me expected this to be a trap.” He sighed out, unbuttoning his blazer and starting to slide it down his arms, turning away from you briefly.

As he did, you caught sight of his wrapped knife in its holster. The white and black wrapping was now stained a deep crimson, without your encouragement your mind returned to those photographs on the conference room table. What he had done, and how. How skilled he really was with that blade. You closed your eyes briefly attempting to squeeze out the images. When you opened them you saw him studying you, a silent assessment taking place that you weren’t sure if you were passing.

“No one else knows where you are?” He asked, voice even and deep.

“No. I know how to be discreet.” You answered, a bit too quickly.

“Did you drive?”

You shook your head, “I took the train, paid cash, got off two stops before the closest, walked the rest of the way.”

“It’s dangerous to walk alone at night.” he chided, tone almost mocking you-- or maybe himself, “Your phone?”

“I turned it off before I left, removed the SIM card, you can check it if you like.” you offered, gesturing to your purse on the table next to him.

Nanami’s eyebrows raised cautiously, deciding to call your bluff and reach inside. You didn't even flinch, you had nothing to hide, only something to prove. You were mesmerized by his every twitch, the way his hair moved with him now, how his eyes scanned over everything meticulously. Shadows of the Nanami you knew and the Nanami that was captured on those cameras merging together. He pulled your cell phone from your bag, seeing it was switched off, he checked the side for the SIM card and saw it was missing. A small smile itched the edges of his mouth.

“Nanami I promise, you can trust me. I sent for you, I put my job, my life on the line just to be here.” You wished you didn't sound quite as pathetic as you did when you asked him to trust you.

Nanami set your phone back in your purse and faced you, “That’s right, you did.”

His face remained pleasant as he took a seat in the same armchair you had occupied. He took up so much more space now, broad and wide, thick and sturdy, his thighs strained the fabric of his pants as he settled in front of you.

“Take your shirt off.”

You felt your chest heat up, inching toward your cheek by the millisecond, you shifted your weight.

“Wh-what?”, you nearly laughed, taken aback,.

“I need to see that you don't have a bug or a wire or something else.” He leaned back in the chair, one elbow propped up on the arm rest.

“Kento, I-I wouldn't.” You wanted him to believe you, you wanted him to know that you would never turn him in or put him in danger like that.

Nanami cocked his head, “You trust me too, right?”

You nodded. He gestured for you to continue.

You had changed after work into something neutral, something that would let you blend in and not be noticed as you snuck here. You unbutton your shirt slowly, hand trembling slightly before you swallow and get them back under your control. When you had undone the final button and opened the lapels, revealing your body clad in only your black bra and slid the rest of the shirt down your shoulders and onto the floor. You stood in front of him, feigning your own neutrality, however futile after your previous hesitation.

“Turn” he instructed. And you did, slowly so he could see your sides and back clearly.

Nanami gave a hum of approval as you turned away from him completely. You didn’t hear his approach but you felt his body heat as he moved behind you.

“No weapons?” He spoke softly now, his breath hot against the back of your ear.

You shook your head.

“No…”He sounded pleased, “they wouldn’t send you to kill me, would they?”

You felt his hand on your hip, just ghosting over the surface of your skin. You wanted to melt into him, to weep in his arms, to succumb to every fantasy you held privately in his absence, to berate him for leaving, to beg him to stay. But you stayed still and let his fingers on your flushing skin be enough for now.

“You’ve always had a soft spot for me, huh?” His hand moved your chin to the side to meet his eyes, nearly black like the eyes of a shark, only a corona of his usual honey brown remaining.

You nodded, your lips subconsciously reaching for his.

“So who are they sending?”, His voice returned to the dark, unflappable tone from before.

“Yaga wants Gojo to do it.” the words left you before you even thought, whatever spell or curse or hypnosis you were under sucking the truth from you directly into his mouth.

Nanami paused for a second, studying your face in his hand, “I’m flattered.”

Nanami let you go, his eyes flicking down to your lips before truly letting you go. He moved back to the table and opened your cigarettes. You caught your breath and followed his arc with your eyes, unsure of whether you should redress or not. He took a dart from your pack and lit it between his lips quickly.

“I thought you didn’t smoke anymore.” You noticed his practiced hold, the easy way he inhaled.

“So did I.” He sighed, sitting back in the chair, “A lot of things I thought were true and proving to have been ....unreliable.”

You stepped closer, just barely, “Nanami, what happened. I thought you were happy to be out, what was so awful to make you come back… like this?”

Nanami thought for a second, his brow furrowed, the deep elevens on his face that had been present since childhood now much deeper. He took another drag of the cigarette before answering.

“You don't know these guys….their monsters. All of them.” He shook his head, eyes fixed on memories that were not visible to you, “They want only for themselves no matter the cost, they betray one another, they betray order and decency. And the things they expect from you to join their little ...club” he took another fevered drag, stopping the thought there, “And we, those who can actually do something about it, are forced to benevolently observe? I just don’t understand the point anymore.”

You approached him carefully, he was locked into his own head enough that he wasn’t watching you.

“I won't protect some and not others. Not on the basis of the humanity of evil. Curse or Human, evil has no place. Not while sorcerers sacrifice themselves left and right while the real dangers are out of our jurisdiction” Whatever atrocity had been replaying in front of his eyes concluded and he finished what remained of the cigarette.

Sorcerers, Ours, We

You weren’t sure if he realized it himself, but he was still including himself amongst you. He considered himself a sorcerer even now, upholding the responsibility to protect those who cant protect themselves. You took the filter from him and discarded it on the table, feeling bold enough to reach over him to do so. Still topless you leaned into him on your return.

“I think it’s noble what you did, Kento.” You confessed, “We shouldn’t have to sit by and do nothing when we can make a real difference. Not when you can.”

You felt one of his big hands move over the back of your neck, hard enough to keep you in place but affectionately enough to not jar you. What do you have to be worried about? It’s Nanami, he would never hurt you.

“That’s why you’re here, you want to help, right?” he nodded in time with you in response.

“Anything Nanami, anything.” You dared to touch the side of his face, feeling his soft even skin. Even now, he was as perfect as he had been in your memories.

He leaned into your touch, like a wild animal indulging in the first kind touch after unending isolation. He was beginning to believe you, in your devotion, in your loyalty, in your usefulness.

“Anything?” He hummed at you, pulling your face even closer.

“Yes.” You could feel his breath on your lips, you could see the freckles on his face, having multiplied in number since last you studied them.

“Then you have to derail the plans for my execution.” He held you still, no longer inching toward your eager lips.

You felt your eyes go wider than dinner plates.

“Lose documentation, mix up data, get rid of photos, anything.” His tone was deadly serious, his grip tightened on your neck, his eyes bore into yours looking for any kind of hesitation, “No one has access to more information in that place than you. I know you can do this.”

Your heart swelled at his assurance, saiting your own fear as it rose inside of you. You looked into his kind, patient face and felt all the apprehension slip away. You finally feel secure enough to ask him the one thing you want the most.

“Can’t I go with you?” You pleaded, wanting nothing more than to never be parted from him again.

He shook his head slowly, cupping your face so sweetly., “It’s too dangerous. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you, honey.”

You warm at the title he’s awarded you, his demonstration of care for you. Your joy soars exponentially when he pulls you into his lap, one arm around your waist, the other keeping your gaze locked with his. His thumb strokes your cheek and you feel your cheek whetted by an unannounced tear that has left you.

“Kento…”You shudder, “why did you leave me. I would have gone with you, you never asked. I thought-- I thought we… had something. I thought you wanted me.”

“Oh love, I did. I do. I lost myself after Yu, I had to leave, I couldn’t control my anger and I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want you to see me like that. I wasn’t a man worth loving, especially not by you.”

“Kento…”

“But I’m here now. And I’m yours.” He looked at you with the same seriousness as when he gave you your instructions, “do this for me and I’m yours forever. Help me keep this world safe, keep you safe.”

You felt another heavy hot tear spill onto your cheek, “I’ve loved you since the day I met you, Kento. Please, I’ll do anything, just don’t leave me again.”

“Never again.” He promised before pulling you in to kiss you.

His kiss was worth every second you spent away from him. Every sleepless night wondering if your budding romance was gone completely or if you could ever know the warmth of his companionship again. He pulled you even closer to him, now seating you perfectly in his big, wide lap. His hand slid up your back, hot against your skin. His tongue slipped between your lips perfectly to explore the inside of your mouth, sliding against your own, tasting the smoke that lingered inside. You couldn’t help the moan that resounded from your throat, you were too overjoyed. You wanted to indulge in every taste, every sensation, every sound, every inch of this man. Your hands were all over his chest, his neck, his shoulders, his arms, feeling the change in the man you loved. He was the same, his heart, his mind, his bones were the man you always loved, but you relished in the feeling of new, taut muscle under your fingers.

“I love you.” you confessed against his lips.

“I love you.” He answered, pulling you in again for another deep, wet kiss.

He tangled his other hand in your hair, the other migrating from your face to grip your thigh draped across his lap. His grip on your leg was firm and sturdy, squeezing the muscle and flesh you had gained since your last encounter with him.

“You’re a better kisser now.” You challenged, leaning your forehead against his.

“You taught me well, I improved on your method.” He smiled up at you.

It had been nearly a decade since the last, first, and only kiss you and Nanami had shared. A night of teenaged drunkenness in the dorm rooms and a fateful game of seven minutes in heaven leading to you and Nanami squeezed together in Gojo’s dorm closet. The darkness made Nanami bold enough to confide that he had never kissed anyone before, and you bold enough to jump at the chance to “teach him”, despite privately never kissing anyone yourself either. The timer had run out all too soon and Gojo pulled the curtain early, revealing a heated, albeit sloppy, makeout to your group of classmates. In your years schooling and working together you had never spoken about it, at least not so brazenly. Time and loss and reunion will bring anything to light.

“I was lying. I hadn’t kissed anyone either. I just wanted to kiss you.” You simpered against his lips, feeling the hand on your leg move up closer to your ass.

“You're kidding.” Nanami said flatly, kissing you again.

Your cheeks heated, “You knew?”

Nanami shrugged, smiling slyly, “Took a few other kisses before I pieced together that you had no idea what you were doing.”

You laughed out, feeling decade old embarrassment rise in you.

“Hey,” He soothed, “Who do you think begged Haibara to suggest the game and pick us to go first.”

You gawked, “You didn't.”

He nodded, “I did. Quite embarrassingly so. I don't think Gojo ever let a day go by that he didn't remind me of it.”

You were touched, elated, so devastated on behalf of the time you lost, but so grateful for the time you could have now. You pressed your lips together again, hands finding purchase in his hair, feeling the crop under your nails. He kissed you with a new fervor, remembering the growing romance he had abandoned, the way you had made him feel all those years ago. His hands moved up your back and found the clasp of your bra, with no words exchanged he undid the hooks and you moved your arms so he could slide the garment off of you. Once you were free you brought your hands to the button of his shirt, eyes closed and too entranced by the kiss to notice the spots of blood that stained the cream colored fabric. He pawed at the exposed skin of your back, down the dip of your spine, over your hips, and up once more to the back of your neck. He pulled back hard, separating your lips.

“Let me see you.” He ordered, taking in your exposed chest.

You whined at the loss of his lips, but relished in how closely he studied your body, your breasts, your stomach, your hardening nipples, everything he had longed to see before but was too guarded to ask of you. The hand didn't leave your neck, in fact it slithered around to the front, holding you in place on top of him. You had managed to undo his buttons, revealing his own chest, rippling and creamy in the amber light of the hotel room. You ground yourself down on his lap, desperate to feel his hardness underneath you.

“No.” He tightened his grip around your throat, stilling you, “Be patient, I've waited years to have you like this, I won't be rushed.”

You nodded as best you could with your throat still in his grasp.

“Be good.” He warns, bringing you back to his mouth, guided by your neck.

You wait for him to kiss you, wanting to demonstrate how good you can be for him. He leers at your obedience, before sliding his tongue across your lips. Not exactly a kiss, but you accept it so eagerly, the feeling of his spit wetting your lips, the anticipation whetting your desire. It's so possessive, so absurdly erotic it is nearly demeaning. But why should you care, it’s Nanami, your Nanami, you want to be possessed by him. Finally he kisses you again, your and his face both damp. His hand leaves your neck and slides down to grip one of your breasts, rolling your nipple between his finger and thumb, making you hiss.

“Sensitive.” He mumbles, pinching harder, pulling a whine from you.

Heat is pooling in between your legs, you're certain he can feel the effect he is having on you, it would be dripping onto his thigh at this very moment if it weren't for the layers of fabric between your bodies. He grips your other breast, repeating the stimulation to your other nipple, once again relishing in the whines and whimpers you sing above him. You close your eyes and throw your head back, not seeing when he leans forward and latches his mouth to your unoccupied nipple, soothing the pain with soft, generous suckling. His other hand has curled itself around your hips and gripped unabashedly at your ass. Your hands returned to his hair, wanting to feel as much of him as possible. And feel him you did, his hardened length making itself unmistakable under you and Nanami rocked your hips forward, grinding you down on him. He let out choppy, moans into the flesh of your tit, his mouth full and muffled. You saw stars as the sensation of being ground down on his clothed length electrified your swollen clitoris. You had heard saucy gossip from classmates turned coworkers about Nanami “packing”, but you could feel their accuracy as he directed you to writhe against him.

“K-ken..ah!” You huffed out as the bulge pressed right against where you desired him the most.

He filled his mouth with your other tit and pushed you further down on him, making you keen above him louder. He was so much stronger than you, you couldn't pry yourself off his lap if you had wanted to. Thankfully there was nothing in the world you wanted less. He carried on sucking, biting, circling your breast with his mouth, bringing you to writhing, whimpering putty in his hands. You felt as though you were melting above him. The heat between your bodies building, scrambling your brain into nothing but more..more….more.

“Fine.” He growled, pulling away from your chest and picking you up to toss, truly toss, you onto the bed.

The cheap mattress bounced under you as you struggled to sit up on your elbows, only to be met with a firm hand clapping down on your chest, pushing you onto your back once more.

“Desperate slut can’t even wait for it.” Nanami glared down at you, fire behind his eyes you had never seen before.

He shed his shirt completely, not shy to give you a show of the muscles and scars he had gained in your separation. Bruised fresh and barely healing splotched across his stomach and hips, what looked like amature, although clean and neat, stitching, keeping a cut on his back together. Your breath stayed heavy as you watched him undress, you didn’t dare move another inch. He removed his pants, groaning as his length that had been straining against the tailored fabric gained relief. Your mouth filling with hungry saliva as you watched him supine on the bed, how he selfishly palmed himself through the thin fabric of his boxers before finally turning his gaze back to you. Your heart caught in your chest at his stony gaze, the annoyed expression between his eyes, the way his jaw set itself as he appraised your position.

“You said you’d be good. That you’d do anything to help me. And yet here you are on your back panting like a whore after ignoring the first instruction I gave you.” The bed sank as Nanami moved one knee onto the edge.

You stayed silent and still as his hands undid the clasp of your pants, inching them down your legs at his own pace, noting how goosebumps appeared in the wake of his touch. He watched as you strained to stay still, only allowing your body to move as he moved it, only allowing yourself to be puppeteered out of your clothing by his hands. A sick pride filled his chest at the sight of your heaving chest, still shining wet from his mouth, your hair mussed by the bed sheets, eyes wide and watching him. Your panties were already sticking to your dripping pussy, the wetness seeping through the flimsy fabric and leaking onto your thighs. Nanami joined you on the bed completely, hovering over you, sliding his index finger up from your knee. He met your eyes again, a taunting tilt to his head.

“Is this what you imagined?” Nanami’s breath ghosted over your lips.

You weren’t sure how to respond, when you had first imagined what your first time with Nanami was going to be, you never imagined this set of circumstances. You imagined sharing firsts, learning the motions of expressing love physically, you imagined him making you feel wanted, just as you wanted him. Now he was a Wanted man, and you were jeopardizing everything by lying under him, by letting him touch you, by begging him to take you, to make you his. Your silence was answer enough for him, he traced your slit with his finger, it took every ounce of strength you had left to not shiver, to not whine and mewl and beg again. He noticed.

“Good.” He once again leaned down to kiss you, his tongue quick to invade your mouth, to pull you back into his spell of thoughtless depravity.

His finger slipped past the gusset of your panties, feeling the sopping origins of the liquid desire spilling onto the sheets. You couldn’t hide the shaky breath that escaped as he penetrated you. His fingers were long and knuckles, just the one seeming to fill more of you than a single digit ever should. He watched your eyebrows scrunch, your eyes flutter, and your mouth fall open. He can see the backs of your teeth, the big buds along the base of your tongue, he finds himself enveloped in the idea of prodding the back of your throat with the tip of his cock, with his fingers, with your fingers, he finds he has all kinds of strange fantasies these days. You clenching around his finger wakes him from his daze, and he's quick to supply you with another, feeling your spongy walls stretch around him, trying their hardest to accommodate his intrusion.

“mmgph..”You whimpered, rolling your head to the side, not willing to look at him as he began pumping his fingers.

Nanami looped his other arm around your head, bringing you up to kiss the column of your throat, feeling the muscles strain and flex in response to the pleasure he is so generous to give you. You tried to bury your face in his shoulder, but he held you down firmer. He added a third finger, curling them right against your g spot. You couldn't help but cry out.

“Agh! Fuck…fuck.”

Nanami growled against your neck, keeping his pumping hand steady. The sloshing sound of your pussy drenching his hand and wrist fought to stay audible as your moans threatened to drown them out. You felt his teeth, first scratching, then biting into your neck. You weren’t going to last, you could feel the avalanche of pleasure bounding toward you, you were going to be lost, smothered, destroyed by the wave. Your body moved on its own, smacking at his chest before curling upward in an attempt to save yourself. The hand around your head pulled you down to the bed as he pumped harder. Fucking you gast on his fingers.

“No. Take it.” He commanded, watching you struggle under his hold, fighting him, he dug his nails into your arm, “Take it.”

Your vision went white, blocking out the lamp light, the room itself, as you squeaked out in pleasure. Your abdomen shuddered, your legs kicked, you strained against him, panting and whining. He carried on through your orgasm, not letting up until he saw fat, hot tears spill from your eyes. He kept his fingers inside as you came down, watching as you reinhabited your body that for a moment belonged entirely to him. He waited for you to open your eyes, he had always been a patient man. When you finally looked up at him with your love drunk stare, he removed his fingers, privately relishing in the squelch.

“Open.” He ordered, and you obeyed.

He filled your mouth with his fingers, the taste of your cum all encompassing. His mouth drops open as he watches you suck his fingers, he experiments with you; testing how far you’ll let him push, touching the gummy flesh at the back of your throat, mentally marking how little you gag. Good girl.

He's so overcome with pride and love, or something close to it, that when he removes his fingers he is desperate himself to bring you into another deep kiss. He feels your body tremble against him, aftershocks racing through you, your hands grip at his body, begging for more, begging to be closer. Nanami can't help but groan as you touch his clothed cock, his tongue still touching yours, the taste of your orgasm and the sound of his pleasure shared between two open, waiting mouths. You trace his length through his boxers, his own hand comes over your own and guides you over the totality of him, tip to base, the warm balls underneath, the spot of wetness at the top where he has leaked despite himself. You look up at him, eagerly awaiting his instructions. He smiles down at you, almost sweetly.

“Sweet girl.” He coos, seeing the joy bloom in your face, “You just want to be good, don't you?”

You begin to nod but are cut off by a hard slap coming down on your cheek. No time to dwell on the sting before he grips your face, pursing your lips. The shock of the smack bounces up and down your spine before you realize the pulse throbbing between your legs once more. He squeezes his cock through your hand, letting you feel the same pulse in himself.

“You’ll do anything for me, won't you?” Nanami’s keen eyes train on you once more, opening his mouth slightly inches above yours.

You think he is going to kiss you again, but he squeezes your face more, your lips separating in a bizarre pout. He spits directly into your mouth. You’re quick to lap at his offering, savoring it briefly before swallowing it. You feel his cock jump against your hand, he groans at the wanton sight, he's beyond pleased, he is elated. Before you finish savoring the remnants of him in your mouth he has you on your back once again. He rids himself of his underwear out of your sight and positions himself between your legs. He lifts your hips up and holds you level with his pelvis, wrapping your legs around his hips. The shaft of his cock slides in between your lower lips, he coats himself in the melange of your previous orgasm’s release and the new wetness he has pulled from you. Deciding it isn't enough he spits again, this time on your twitching cunt. Nanami marvels at how beautiful he finds the sight of his spit on your body, you wet at his behest, at how beautiful you are under him, your eyes trained on him, waiting so patiently. With one perfect stroke he fills you totally, your hands grip helplessly at his forearms. You arch your back with a whine as you feel the girth of his cock split you open, he is quick to find a pace, his hungered hands taking their fill of your hips and thighs as he fucks himself further into you. His bruising, soldier’s grip nearing fractal pressure, you pull at his fingers, trying to ease his grip on you, offer your body some grace. But he grips tighter, thrusts deeper, the tip of his cock pressing against your cervix, his heavy balls smacking against your ass. Your cries fill the room, as does the plap plap plap-ing of his hips hitting yours with devastating precision.

“Kento…oh fuck…i-its too much, too much!” You writhe, pulling at his titanium strong fingers at your hips.

“Too much?” He mocks, his hips not missing a beat, “Too much?”

You sigh in relief when one of his hands leaves your hip, the bruised spots settling. You jolt as that same hand comes down hard on your clit, making you scream, “Nana--Agh!”

He repeats the assault twice more, letting your screams fill the room before clapping the now slick soaked hand over your mouth. He thrusts himself completely inside, leering over you cruelly as you mewl at being overfilled.

“Don’t yell my fucking name. What if someone heard you?”

He’s so deep it feels like he could push out through your stomach, you are barely able to mutter out a small, “‘m sorry.”

It sounds so pathetic you’re almost grateful it's barely audible behind his hand. He keeps his hand over your mouth as he starts thrusting once again, not able to withstand the temptation of your walls hugging him so tightly, you’re so warm, you’re so wet, and you’re all his. He can have you all to himself, the thought alone almost makes him cum. But when he looks down at your fucked out, sweat and spit dampended face, he holds strong. He wants to give you this, he wants to give both of you this. Remind himself that even a murderer like him can find moments of bliss. So perfect, so ready to help him, so eager to prove yourself to please. If things were different he could see this being his eternity, loving you, being loved by you, a life together. But it was too late for that now, he couldn’t go back. He could never get that future back.

Nanami releases your mouth, his hands instead moving your legs up and over his shoulders, angling his hips deep and deeper, folding your body into a nasty mating press.Your mouth falls open, he’s reaching points even deeper than before, you can hardly stand it, your hands claw at his shoulders. When you are finally able to see after this transition, you open your eyes to find him looking directly at you, gazing in your eyes, fucking himself into you at the sight before him. His body rocks yours, you move as he instructs, leading you from within to match his thrusts. Finally his resolve starts to crack.

“F-fuck..” He gasps out, his face scrunching, sweaty strands of blonde hair falling from his forehead.

You can feel him twitching inside of you, it’s as though he is swelling inside of you as he nears his end. You reach up to his hair, tugging, urging him to kiss you. He complies, connecting your lips and rutting into you wildly. The hot, fevered kiss is scored by his moans, gracing your ears, better than your most indulgent fantasies could conjure. For the moments before his climax, there was nothing but the two of you. His body shielding you from the rest of the room, his arms held your legs, the smell of your combined sex filled your nose, the sound of his body on yours, the grunts into your mouth, his sweat on your body, the taste of his tongue against yours. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed.

With a low howl Nanami spilled himself into you, driving his hips forward, pulling your hip up to meet his thrust. He thrusts once more, the pair of you grunting together. You can feel the twitch of rope after rope of hot cum filling you, painting you from the inside. He buries his head in your neck, not willing to let you out of your folded position. When he finally releases you it’s only for a second so he can move your legs from your ears. He pulls out briefly, moving onto his back, collecting his breath. You wiggle briefly, stretching sore, twisted muscles but don’t get too far before Nanami pulls you onto his chest. You press your lips to the junction of his neck and shoulder, his arms wrap around your back, his knuckles grazing your spine.

The hum of the air conditioner, the buzzing of the bedside lamp, and the pattering of rain against the window fill the silence left behind by your moans. You could hear the drumming of his heart, the leveling back of its usual tempo. His hand stills on your back,

“There’s no one else in the world I can trust, you understand?” His voice is warm in his chest under your ear.

You nod, “I know.”

He tips your face up to look at him, “Stay with me tonight?”

Your heart nearly bursts, “yes! Yes.”

He smiles and kisses you, holding your face, holding you to his chest. It wasn’t an hour or more before you had fallen asleep soundly on him, the weight of the day pulling you into sleep before you were ready. Before you fully succumbed to the sandman’s curse, you thought you heard the words I love you leave him.

You didn’t feel the weight of the bed shift when he got up a few hours later. You didn’t hear him redress and gather his things. You didn’t hear him reach into your purse and pocket your SIM card. You didn’t hear the door click shut as he left before the sun was set in the sky. You woke up in the hotel bed alone, the indention on his pillow and the ache between your legs the only immediate evidence he had ever been there. Your throat tightened as you smelled the sheets next to you, the fabric just barely holding a trace of his scent. Immediately the phantom memories of his hands on your body, his assurances, his instructions flooded back to you. It wasn’t until you got up completely that you saw the finger shaped bruises on your hip and the note in his neat, familiar handwriting.

I’ll be in touch. Forgive me.

Your chest tightened, your eyes stung, but you swallowed down your emotion. You had a promise to keep.

NANAMI IM SORRY I KNOW YOURE NOT THIS MAN. I DONT KNOW WHY ANYONE WOULD SAY THAT ABOUT YOU. Well i hope you guys liked my freak shit! I also wrote about half of an epilogue to this last night that i think clears up some of the context and the tone. I'll post that in the next few days as well. Its mostly with Gojo. OKAY LOVE YOU GUYS THANK YOU FOR READING. --- Doodle <3

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the-californicationist · 10 months ago

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Good Fences (Fluffuary #03)

FEB03: Mutual Pining

You’d enjoyed having dinner with John on your little shared balcony. He was every bit a gentleman, even if he was mostly joking around with you. He pulled out your chair, and he plated your dishes like a chef, serving you as if it was a real date. Part of you wished it was, but the other part of you felt guilty.

You had a boyfriend, after all. It didn’t seem like you did, though. He was never around, and when he was, he always made an excuse to leave. He worked in a senator’s office, and was “stuck at work” more than any normal person would be. You knew you needed to break up with him, but you just hadn’t found the right moment.

When you told John about your situation, he seemed to sober up a bit, obviously surprised since he’d never seen anyone around your place.

“Yeah, he doesn’t come to Bethesda,” you confessed as you twirled the spaghetti noodles around your fork, watching as the pasta slipped through its sauce, “He says it would be too far from the office.”

“Never? It’s not that far,” John said, a little perturbed.

“I didn’t think so, but it is what it is,” you shrugged, “Sometimes I wonder why we’re still pretending to be together when we’re clearly not.”

“Why are you, love?” He asked you, very forward.

You looked up at him, surprised at his challenge. You didn’t have a good answer.

The conversation moved to work and to family and to friends. You learned about his coworkers, and even though he was vague, you learned about some of the missions they’d been on. He would light up like a candle with smiles and laughter at some of the stories, but sometimes he’d become very serious and bottle himself up when he told you about the others. John was a complex man, but he craved simplicity. He wanted a world that was easy, and it made you wonder how much of his life had been hard.

In the week after you’d had dinner together, you and John were finding more and more reasons to be out on the balcony. He would smoke. You would water your plants. He would work on his laptop. You would read. Sometimes, he asked you to read to him. Those were your favorite moments. Then, one morning, you saw him through the window smoking as he usually did, but this time, he was completely shirtless.

You stared through the window like a hungry dog at a butcher’s shop, practically drooling at the meat on display. Goddamn he was gorgeous. As large as he looked in his clothes, he seemed even bigger out of them. His enormous, heavy muscles rippled beneath furry skin, and his shoulders and back were splattered with thousands of freckles. He was thick. There were abs, sure, but he was well-fed and powerful. His Adonis belt was round and heavy, cutting a deep v-shape that disappeared into his running shorts, and you imagined what those vanishing ruts would lead to.

Just when you let your mind wander a little too far, he walked over and knocked on your sliding glass door, scaring you half to death. You hoped he hadn’t seen you gawking at him.

You slid it open and greeted him,

“Hey, John, everything alright?”

He smiled, a bit embarrassed,

“Ahh, I’m so sorry to bother you, but I’ve bloody locked myself out. Thought I put the latch down, but it has a mind of its own.”

“Sure, come in. I actually have a spare for that unit. I’m telling you, it’s the ghost. I bet she flipped the latch on you,” you joked.

Then, John Price stepped into your small space, and you got an up-close view of those mountainous shoulders of his. He smelled like his cigars and the sun. It was the outside scent of the warmth that clung to his skin that drew you in. He was peering down at you, watching you step in front of him as you let him through. For a moment, you breathed the same breath together, and you were so close, if you just tilted your head… your mouths might just…

“You might be right, love,” he chuckled, pulling you from your stunned state, taking the key from your hand, “Two days ago, I could’ve sworn I turned off the bath water, but it was running, full-on, in the middle of the night.”

“Spooky!” You laughed in shock, trying to cover up your flustered, pink cheeks with a casual laugh.

“Damn right. Anyway, thanks for this,” he nodded at you and returned to the patio.

Two days later, your washing machine went out, and you were borrowing his. The same song and dance kept happening between you. You’d slide in past the other, sharing that same charged breath, and then you’d laugh it off.

This time, it was the basket of clothes that saved you.

“C’mon in, love. Washer’s there. Opposite side of yours, I’d expect,” he pointed to the old machine.

“Yep,” you nodded, tossing in the load of clothes, “Thanks for letting me use yours for now. The guy said he’d be here for repairs tomorrow.”

“No harm done. But, uh…” he paused, smiling knowingly, “Don’t forget these.”

You watched as he bent to pick up a particularly skimpy romper that you slept in recently. It was white and pale blue with little bows on the straps. He dropped it in the wash as it filled with water, and you thought you heard the faintest laugh under his breath.

“Want to watch a bit of telly while you wait for them?” He invited you deeper into the house, “Could pour you some wine, or we could call out for Chinese?”

If you stayed here one more moment, you were going to try to kiss this man, and you had to do everything you could to stop yourself,

“Oh, I’ve got some work I’m doing. Thank you though. I’ll be back in a half-hour or so?” You backed out of the hallway like a crawfish, trying to escape.

“C’mon. Take a break for a bit. You work too hard…” he purred, sinking into his sofa and patting the seat next to him invitingly.

You shrugged, push-over that you were, and relented,

“Sure, it can wait.”

“Can I get you a drink?”

“No.”

“Just watching Top Gear. That alright?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, sitting back gingerly in the sofa, feeling his body heat radiating along your left side.

The show was playing, but you heard none of it. You couldn’t recall a single thing that happened. Something about men in cars? All you knew was how deeply your neighbor was breathing beside you. You knew the smell of his detergent, filling the air of his apartment, borrowed and blue, the suds of which were mingling into your clothes, making you smell as he smelled. How his sheets must smell.

He was just sitting there, stock-still, but you could tell he was not watching the show either. He didn’t laugh when the audience laughed, he didn’t speed through commercials, and he was looking at you. It was subtle. He hadn’t even turned his head, but his eyes were on you, staring down your top. You’d just registered what you were wearing now, too late. You’d come over braless, in a tank top, those same hot pink almost-nothing shorts, and mismatched socks, scrunched at the ankles.

Eons passed like this. The show kept playing, and you kept wanting, with every fiber in your being, to crawl over this man’s lap and crush your body to his, begging him to fuck you. It had been so long since anyone had even pretended to want to.

But, you didn’t move. You wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be proper, would it? Not while you were still in a relationship. Not while he was going to be your neighbor, perhaps permanently. So, you didn’t react.

You did, however, test his resolve.

You uncrossed your legs and tucked them, criss-cross on the couch, spreading your thighs wide apart. You shifted as you did so, slyly pulling your top down just a little bit further, knowing your left strap had a nasty habit of falling off your shoulder. Like a charm, it did.

You pretended not to notice, and you watched as he very much did.

His hands spread wide and his palms ran flush across the denim of his jeans, down his legs, sweating, perhaps. His breathing quickened, and he now was very obviously staring down your shirt, his gaze pinned to your breasts.

Suddenly brave, you looked up at him, and he didn’t shy away. He wasn’t ashamed. He simply met your eyes, took one of his fingers, and - as lightly as he could - dragged the strap back into place, swallowing hard against his enormous, scruffy Adam’s apple.

You were still watching him, looking up into his face. You licked your lips, and his eyes went straight to them. You could almost taste his desire.

Then, the buzz of the washing machine shocked you. It rang out through the whole house, and you rose to change it over. When you thought it was safe, you snuck a peek at the couch and its owner. He was still sitting there, but his hand had moved to his crotch, and he very clearly needed to readjust himself. Luckily, you were mostly out of his view, but you stored that mental image for later.

“Hey,” you called out, “Can I borrow your bathroom?”

“Sure. Loo’s down the hall,” he called back.

You ducked into the small room and flipped on the light, staring at yourself in the mirror and reminding yourself that he was your neighbor, you had a boyfriend (no matter how absent), and you needed to get it together.

Check out the schedule here.

AO3 Link

#the californicationist does fluff #fluffuary 2024 #fluffuary #john price fluff #john price #captain john price #captain price #john price x you #captain price x reader #captain price x you #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #cod #cod fanfiction #call of duty #call of duty fanfiction #cod mw2 #cod mwii #john price x female reader

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leezlelatch · 1 year ago

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Comfort From The Eldest

This is something I've had in my drafts forever. It was written after I had a really harsh interaction with a coworker, and I hope that it provides the same level of comfort to you as it did for me when I was having difficulties. Female reader. Fluff, comfort, protective papas.

Primo

You almost feel ridiculous for being upset. It’s not like you did anything. It was the other party. But you feel awful. Every part of that conversation is ringing in your head and won’t let go. Someone took their anger out on you because they were hurting, you realize that. You know they didn’t actually mean it, but you can’t help the hurt that’s sitting in your gut like a rock.

You sigh as you sink into Primo’s preferred chair in his little observatory. His telescope sits mounted beside it, eye toward the heavens. Maybe you should take a peak. Look at something beyond you, bigger than you, to make your problems seem smaller than they are.

“Petal?” Primo’s deep voice echoes through the space, startling you.

You look up to see him standing inside the doorway. He holds a book to his side, his other hand carrying a cup of tea which steams into the air. His reading glasses sit perched on his hooked nose. He isn’t wearing his paints, his wrinkled and hawk-like features on display for your weary eyes. Primo’s beauty is a balm.

“I am surprised to see you here, sweet petal, but nonetheless delighted,” he continues, sweeping into the room to set his cup down on a pretty flower doily on the surface of his desk. “It does an old man’s heart good to see his preziosa.”

“I like it here…this is your space,” you say softly.

“You know you are welcome at all-,” he pauses as he turns away from his desk, his eyes sweeping over your form.

“What happened?” His tone has changed immediately. It’s sharp, coiled, ready to strike.

“What do you mean?” You try to laugh it off, your lips curling into a smile, but to your own ears it sounds hollow.

Primo moves toward you in a way that sends a shiver straight down your spine. It’s quick, straight, so unlike his usual unhurried gait brought on by age. He kneels beside the chair with no more than a small huff and takes your hands, his eyes searching yours. The white of his left eye looks narrowed, as if it sees more than you can comprehend.

“You look so sad, amore mio. Your Papa may be old, my darling, but he is not blind. I know every tick of that beautiful face.”

Your eyes burn and you try to look away, but long fingers capture your chin, keeping your gaze. Primo’s expression melts into a soft smile, his fingers sliding up to trace the curve of your cheek. You immediately crumble and tell him everything, the former Papa wildly attentive. He squeezes your hand when you begin to choke up, he nods along with your words, and he never interrupts you.

Primo pats your legs when you finish, “Up, petal,” he says, waiting for you to move so he can sink down into his chair with a soft groan. He holds out his arms and you gently fall into his lap. He nuzzles into the side of your head for a moment before reaching out toward his telescope.

“Let’s see,” he murmurs. He peaks into the lens, adjusting it here and there before a satisfied “ah!” leaves his lips. “There we are, petal, look here.”

You look at him for a moment, his smile encouraging, before you look through the lens. You see a beautiful star, shining in the sky, likely thousands of light years away.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, smiling at him.

“It’s you,” he says. “I named it after you. After my brightest star, who brings me happiness beyond anything I could have ever imagined. Who is kind, loving, and clever. Unfortunately, she has to put up with un vecchio coglione.”

“Oh, hush,” you laugh through a fresh bout of tears. “Primo…”

You wrap your arms around his neck, kissing his lips.

“I love you,” you say.

“And I love you. Now…tell me who this…bastardo was again?”

Secondo

Secondo sits wearily at his desk, gazing down at the report from the recent restoration project of artifacts found within an abbey in the mountains of Italy which possibly point to an early Satanic organization the current institution can draw roots from. The name Emeritus appears on a portrait of a man dressed in a bastardized version of medieval Catholic vestments, and Secondo is heading the preservation and research project to determine whether the man is an ancestor of the Emeritus line or if the name merely signifies the man's retired position.

A hesitant knock on his door tumbles Secondo from his thoughts and he gazes with a heavy brow at the dark oak, willing it not to open, but after several seconds, the knock comes again, and he blows out a breath between his teeth in frustration.

"Enter."

The door creaks open, and Secondo need only see the sleeve of your sweater before his body is relaxing, a pleased smile crossing his features as you come further into view, peeking behind the door with those eyes which captivate him wholly, and that mischievous little smile the man greatly enjoys kissing from your face.

"Enter? That tone says otherwise," you tease, slipping into the room and shutting the door firmly behind you.

Secondo harrumphs, tilting his head back a little, pinning you to the spot with his heavy gaze that never fails to send a thrill shooting from your heart to...well, other more enjoyable places.

"Perhaps I do not wish to be disturbed, la mia piccola interruzione," he says.

The shining look in your eyes is snuffed out in an instant, your body growing taut with anxiety. He watches with muted horror as you practically curl into yourself, your feet already moving you back toward his office door, your hands wringing fretfully in front of you.

"Am I really disturbing you? I'm so sorry, Papa," you say in a tone Secondo never wishes to hear again. Full of diffidence and self-doubt.

His chair hits the wall behind him when he stands up, his robes fluttering around his form as he quickly rounds his desk. Fingers desperately reach for you, a panicked look in the usually stoic Papa's eyes as he draws you into his embrace, his hands cradling your head to his chest for a moment before he's tilting it back, his palms smoothing back your hair while he searches your gaze for any hint to your distress. Your façade quickly crumbles, tears springing to your eyes, and you attempt to turn from him, but Secondo's hands hold fast, not allowing you to break from his gaze, from his hold.

He would hold you forever.

"Tell me. Tell me, il mio tutto. What has happened? You know I would never," Secondo pauses and sighs, closing his eyes. "I must be more mindful of my words. You are not just a Sibling or a member of the Clergy, you are my life. Perdonami."

"It's okay, Seco, I'm just being ridiculous," you say with a tearful grimace, shrugging your shoulders as you look to the side.

Secondo makes a low hum, drawing you even closer, wrapping the heavy cloth of his chasuble around you. You are immediately enveloped in his warmth and his scent, your head resting in the crook of his shoulder. He keeps you near, quietly, for a moment, gently swaying as a torrent of thoughts passes his mind. He sighs softly and shifts so you are looking into his eyes once more.

"You, amore mio, are not ridiculous. You are the very joy in my heart. You are the warmth of the sun on my skin. I should not speak to you in any manner but that of love," he says.

Your brow furrows for a moment and then clears, realization dawning in your eyes, "Oh, Secondo, I'm not upset over what you said. I mean, yes, I was afraid I was disturbing you, but that's...someone upset me earlier. I was already feeling unwanted anyway, and..."

Secondo's pupils narrow and he cocks his head to the side, a cold smile spreading his lips as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

"Come, dolcezza," he guides you to sit in the chair before his desk. "Sit here, and tell your Papa exactly who hurt you and where to find them."

“I love you, but that won’t solve anything,” you sigh, settling into the chair. Secondo sits on the arm, towering over you and creating a blanket with his presence. He reaches out a hand to idly play with your hair while gazing down at you with an unreadable expression, his jaw clenching.

“What I need to solve is this issue you have brought to my attention. That you believe you are unwanted,” Secondo shivers at the thought, his hand falling to your shoulder and gripping it as if to keep him anchored. “I have done you a great disservice, and I have failed you as a partner in not addressing this sooner.”

You surge forward to protest, but Secondo silences you by cradling the back of your head and pushing you into his lap, resting your head against his thigh as he continues to speak. “I love you. Perhaps I do not say it enough, but I have never known such happiness other than the precious moments we have spent together. You have given an old man hope. I want you. I need you. I think about you and crave your touch when we are not together. I ache to hold you, to look into your beautiful eyes, that sweet face. Please, amore mio, my everything, do not think you are unwanted. I am nothing without you.”

You take in a shaky breath, your fingers gripping his chasuble, as you whisper your love to him in a voice thick with tears. Secondo cups your chin and lifts your head from his lap, his smile soft, but eyes sharp as a knife.

“Now, be a good girl and tell your Papa where to find the fool who hurt il mio tesoro?”

“What if it’s my own brain?” You ask with a weak laugh.

Secondo leans down to place a featherlight kiss to your lips. “Then I will fight it with patience, love, and the stubbornness of an old man.” He winks. “I’ve been fighting mine for years.”

#the band ghost #Papa Emeritus I #Papa Emeritus II #primo emeritus #secondo emeritus #primo x female reader #papa emeritus i x female reader #secondo x female reader #papa emeritus ii x female reader #comfort fic #the band ghost fanfiction

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howlingmod · 2 years ago

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Are you bored yet?

summary ; human/actors au again ... reader is a local clay worker that Wally may or may not like just a teeny bit. meetcute coric ..

notes ; they/them used for reader , not proof read and just a teeeny tiny bit rushed (i am sleepy) . glass breaks but there is no violence or anything ..

wc - 2k

He really should’ve been more careful, looking back on it now.

Yes, it’d been a while since he’d gotten that vase and set it down, but, really, for walking past it every single day, he should’ve realized how precariously it sat on the table. He should’ve realized that sooner or later, he was going to be too tired to remember to give it some space when he walked back into his apartment. Unfortunately, however, he did not in fact realize that in time. And so, he is tragically faced with the terrible fate of going and buying a new vase. Perhaps this time, he will not place it so precariously. Perhaps this time he will buy a thicker one that has less chances of shattering into one-thousand tiny pieces in the dark at around 10pm on a Thursday. He had much to think about in his journey of replacement.

Luckily, for as long as he’d had the vase, he could still vaguely recall where he’d gotten it from. It was some pottery store he’d randomly passed by once just outside of the city, curiousity (and fatigue, if he remembers right, it’d been an eventful day and he was still too jittery to lay down quite yet) getting the better of him when he’d noticed it. The owners were nice enough, an older couple who he could recall telling him long-winded stories about anything tangentially related to what he’d been looking at. Plates with flowers painted on them prompted a story about some unidentified, gorgeous plants one of them had seen around a river long ago. A cup with an oceanic color-scheme had prompted a tale of a seagull one of their previous coworkers would feed bits and pieces of bread to on their break. So on, so forth. Long winded for anyone passing through, but pleasant for someone just tired enough to want white noise and easy, one-sided conversation.

Getting into his car, he wondered if they’d have any stories to tell him this time. He would likely be better conversation this time, now that he was less exhausted from being around other people for a long, exciting period of time and more tired from waking up at some time before 11am on a rare free day. He found himself gathering excitment somewhere in his chest, bubbling up in fondness at the idea of this little trip. Sure, it was just a silly little thing to be excited over, but it was nice to have a break from monotony, wasn’t it?

It was a nice day out, too. The breeze forgiving and the sun sociable in the sky, bright rays easily negotiated to peace with sunglasses. It’d been a while since he’d ventured out of the city. Sure, it’s not as though he lived in the heart of it, but it was still different to see the buildings like miniatures from afar. It was a nice break from the towering skyscrapers and heavy traffic. Especially the traffic, actually. He’d never been good with handling bad drivers.

There wasn’t anyone else in the parking lot, only one or two other cars there, likely the owner’s or someone in a closeby building’s. There were a few other businesses dotted around in the area, some strip mall closeby and a park on the way there. He was likely just early, there probably aren’t many people stopping to buy pottery at 9am.

The inside of the store was quiet enough, music playing softly enough you had to pay attention to the murmurs to pick up on it. The lights shone on everything, not blindingly as much as it was in gentle awareness of everything. As his eyes refocused, he could’ve sworn he seen a vague shape duck into a doorway near the back of the store. Before he could properly investigate his suspicions, his attention was drawn away.

“Well, I was wondering when the resident celebrity was coming back!”

He couldn’t help but chuckle a bit, turning to face his company. “I hope I’m not intruding, it seems I’m rather early this time.”

The older woman he recognized from his previous visit smiled and shook her head, “Much earlier, I’m glad to see the cold night didn’t drag you in this time.”

He returned the smile, pushing his hands into his pants pockets as he replied, “Oh no, I was actually coming to look and see if you had any new vases in.”

She’d lit up at his words, straightening up with intent to lead him off, “Of course! We’ve got plenty of new ones in since last time, I’m sure we can find one to your liking.”

“-turns out, that hammering I thought I’d heard from the neighbors had just been a big woodpecker all along!”

He’d smiled fondly, “Ah! You don’t see many of those around here, do you?” He was careful to keep a good grip on the vase in his hands, decorated in an intricate scene of a forest dotted with various birds. From the minute details on every pine needle and carved indents on certain elements, he could only imagine how long it’d taken to make.

“No, no you don’t,” she’d laughed, shaking her head as she looked back to the shelf filled to the brim with other, equally eye-catching vases. He’d studied the one in his hands a moment longer, carefully tracing over the carving of texture in a tree before perking up at a new sound.

A soft ‘clink’ had snapped him out of his thoughts. Initially, he’d figured the old woman had picked up a new piece to show him, but found she was still studying the selection herself. He’d turned around quickly, curious to see if anyone else had stopped in, but the store was empty. That was when his eyes caught that doorway again, vaguely making out the shape of shelving in the darkened hall. On that shelving sat one vase, darkness obscuring the pattern of it.

“Why put that one piece there?”

The woman had snapped out of her own thoughts, looking back at him momentarily before following his gaze to the pot patiently sitting in the shade. Upon noticing the object of his attention, she’d smiled once more and turned back to him, “Our resident potter puts their finished work there so we can price it and set it out.”

That had caught his attention. “Resident?”

“Oh yes! While we do get a fair amount from other sources, just as fair an amount is homemade,” she hummed, “Would you like to meet them?”

He’d readjusted his hold on the vase again, not wanting to risk another work in his excitement, “If that wouldn’t be a bother.”

She shook her head, “I’m sure it’ll be quite alright, chances are they would appreciate the conversation, artist-to-artist.”

Before he could offer any sort of further fret, she’d started off towards the hall, leaving him to stand awkwardly with the glassware on his lonesome. He’d glanced at the large cardinal on the surface of the piece one final time before hurriedly (and carefully) placing it back on the shelf, jumping to catch up.

It was far darker back here than it had been in the main area of the store. Combined with the noticable increase in temperature, however, it was more comfortable than you would’ve imagined. Through the shade he could pick out calenders, notes and other miscellanious papers littered along walls and desks. Half-dirtied rags were scattered on shelves, various bottles standing not far from them nor the different tools lying about. Before he could even try and dissect what their uses would be by simple observing and guessing, the woman spoke up again.

“I hope you don’t mind some company, (Name),” she chimed, speaking just a tad louder to properly catch attention in all the visual noise.

With that, he’d finally noticed the figure standing in front of a tall table near the middle of the room, turning their head to look towards her. Their eyes flicked to him momentarily in what he could only assume was surprise. They’d straightened up from their hunched over position, wiping their hands off on a dirtied apron as they walked around the table and towards the pair.

Oh no.

They’d opened their mouth to start talking to her, but he couldn’t pick up on any of it. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was focusing on, he just knew that he was particularly distracted by the person in front of him and it wasn’t exactly getting any better the more and more he zoned out. He couldn’t make out every detail perfectly in the low-lighting, but it was enough that he could very, very easily tell this person was very, very attractive.

“-so you’re that one guy on tv?”

“Yes!” He flinched as he snapped out of his thoughts, “Wally Darling, but just Wally is more than fine.”

You’d smiled and for a brief moment he had to hope and pray his wasn’t too dopey and the low light hid the heat in his face as you stuck your hand out. There was a brief moment your smile faltered, as though suddenly realizing something, but it wasn’t a fast enough reaction as he’d snatched up your hand. Your hands were, similarly to the rest of the room, noticably warmer. They were also noticably sticky with clay, some already drying out on your skin as the rest, inevitably, would likely dry to his.

“And could I have the pleasure of knowing your name?” You looked like you were stuck between apologizing for getting the blood of your work on him and introducing yourself, glancing between him and your hands for a few moments. He vaguely realized this was probably a bit long for a handshake. Eventually, you managed a weak smile, righting your grip on his hand, “(Name).”

“That’s a very lovely name,” he stated plainly, hoping you could pick up on the sincerity in his flatter tone, “How long have you been working with ceramics, if you don’t mind my asking?”

You’d perked up at that, seemingly completely forgetting about the handshake (that was still yet to properly break apart, this was definitely not a proper one, anymore) with the topic of your work. “Well, that’s a bit of a difficult question. I’ve been working with clay for a long, long time, but I really only picked it up career wise a year or two ago.”

“Ah! That figures, your work is all very professional looking, it’s very impressive,” he complimented. Sure, he might’ve been laying it on a little thick, but it seemed as though he’d suddenly lost the ability to control his words, them tumbling out before he could even really think about it.

Luckily, you didn’t seem to mind, instead reaching up a hand to rub at the back of your neck. “Well, I don’t think my work is that stellar, but I really appreciate it. It uh- it definitely takes some time, it’s nice to see it goes to good use.”

“It’s nothing, really. If you don’t mind, could I watch for a bit? It’s completely fine if not, I really am just curious to see how you go about it.” Yes, he was definitely pushing his luck a little bit. In his defense, however, he was genuinely curious about how you managed to get all your vases so smooth and pack so many details onto such a small, unconventional canvas. It was just an added bonus that he’d possibly get to find out more about you, that was all! He can’t help the mysterious potter he hadn’t even known existed was not only nice on the eyes but, so far, was nothing short of pleasant.

You’d thought on it a moment, moving the hand at the back of your neck to hang at your jaw absentmindedly, “I suppose that would be fine by me, I can’t promise it’ll be too entertaining though.”

He smiled and shook his head, “Not a problem at all! I’m sure I can find enough entertainment for the both of us, I am an entertainer myself, after all.”

You returned his smile, finally letting go of his hand and breaking off your entirely-professional handshake to turn and head back to your workstation, “Well, make yourself comfortable, then.”

"Oh, trust me, that won't be any problem at all."

#wally darling x reader #welcome home x reader #mod writes #i dont actually know anythign about ceramics i just thought of this While Doing ceramics . sorry to all the clay fans out there ..

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davnittbraes · 2 months ago

Text

Teleportation and Blue Whiskey

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit (eventually)

Word Count: 1500

Warnings, etc.: descriptions of a panic attack, claustrophobia, annoying coworkers, brief description of desire for self-amputation due to shitty footwear, mention of cotton-poly blend clothing

Reader-insert physical descriptors: nothing in this chapter but hair long enough to tangle fingers in/comb fingers through in future chapters, just in case that’s not your jam

Notes: this is for @burntheedges Roll-A-Trope Challenge, I got Stuck in an Elevator with Dieter Bravo (something I wish I could actually say happened to me irl 😅) It was only supposed to be a couple thousand words for a fun writing challenge but here I am, splitting it into multiple parts, because as with everything I write it’s taken on a life of its own and has become impossible to control. Everyone hang on, I have no idea where this ride will end. Let’s go 💃🥳

There’s a headache forming at the back of your head - no, right between your eyes - nope, it’s both.

A band of pain slowly throbbing to life, wrapping your skull in the weight of ten consecutive hours of socializing with people you’d just met two days ago.

Fucking. Perfect.

This conference is going to kill you.

It’s the first time you’ve attended, and you’re definitely not coming back next year. Despite what looked like a robust presentation itinerary, the whole vibe seems to be less of an educational event and more of an excuse to spread gossip, get intoxicated to the point of obliteration, and rack up charges on company credit cards.

Who knew clinical pharmacists were such party animals.

It’s just not your scene. You’d rather be back in the hospital, consulting with other medical practitioners, patients, generally helping people, instead of shooting tequila at 3am in the VIP section of some poorly lit club you’ve never heard of.

Sighing, you shift your feet as you wait for the elevator. This pant suit feels stuffy, the cotton-poly blend scratching your skin. The shoes that look so good with your outfit are pinching your pinky toes in a way that makes you want to cut them off and be done with it. If it wasn’t for those damn pinky toes, you’d be taking the stairs - much more preferable anyway, elevators made you uncomfortable.

You’ve never liked them, always hated the inability to just get out whenever you wanted to, the need to rely on something out of your control to give you a chance to escape. And there was always the threat, the possibility that everything would fail, that the elevator would fall, plummet down and you’d be shattered into a dozen pieces.

But your feet might just rebel and call a mutiny if you try to force them up five stories.

So, elevator death-trap it is.

The hotel lobby is starting to fill up with people heading out for a night on the town, including some of your colleagues. They haven’t looked your way yet, but if they see you, they’ll definitely try to rope you into whatever shenanigans they’ve got planned for tonight.

Shit.

You push the elevator call button again, and once more for good measure.

Come on, come on, please -

The ding of the elevator pulls your attention, your aching feet moving even before the doors start sliding open, and you duck inside and out of view of the lobby.

Muzak and a soft golden light fills the small space. It’s welcome, quiet and soothing.

Leaning against the wall, you take a deep breath and let it out, eyes half closing with weariness as the doors start to slide shut. Almost there, a few floors and a dozen steps and then you can flop face forward on the double mattress your company had paid for.

The elevator stutters to a halt, doors sliding open again.

A groan almost slips out and you have to bite it back.

Fucking. Perfect.

The last thing you want right now is social interaction.

A man shuffles onto the elevator.

Your exhausted mind notes tiny details about him - the way his dark green crocs catch on the elevator door track, the frayed hem of his navy and red checked pajama pants, the bulky dark grey hoodie with the hood pulled low over his eyes so all you catch is a glimpse of plush lips twisted into a downturn. He’s carrying a couple reusable bags, well-used and wrinkled, whatever is in them clinking softly together.

He moves to the far corner and slumps against the wall, keeping his head down so you can’t even see his face anymore.

A curl of apprehension mingles with relief in the pit of your stomach.

Okay, well, you didn’t want someone who would talk your ear off on your way to your floor but you’re also not particular on sharing an elevator ride with someone obviously attempting to hide their features.

Whatever. It’s less than a minute to the floor.

The elevator doors slide shut. And nothing happens.

What -

Shit.

The elevator’s broken, you’re stuck in here -

No no no -

Your chest tightens instantly, every muscle in your body drawing up in panic.

This is it, exactly what you’ve been dreading, this elevator has stopped, and there is no escape, and -

Oh.

You didn’t push the button for your floor.

Embarrassment prickles along your skin and you lean forward, punch the number six with your thumb, probably a little too forcefully.

The man in the corner doesn’t move, but social convention prompts you to ask anyway. “What floor?”

“Hmm?” His voice is low, smooth, slightly detached as if he’s lost in his own thoughts. “Oh, yeah. I -“

He shifts the bags in his hands, digs into the pocket of his hoodie and pulls out a hotel room key card. Fingers fumbling, he steps toward the elevator buttons, hesitating just a moment before he holds the card up to the reader at the top of the keypad while pressing the button for the penthouse. The button illuminates and he quickly steps back into the corner, shoving the card back in his pocket.

His free hand tugs his hood lower over his face. “Hate those things, radio frequency waves or whatever. What’s wrong with old-fashioned keys?”

The last word clips off hard, as if he just realized he was speaking and regretted it.

Confusion blooms, and you keep your gaze forward, your expression blank.

Who is this man?

Dressed like he had just rolled out of bed, huddling in the corner of the elevator, trying not to be seen while rambling about radio frequency waves on his way to the penthouse suite?

Mentally shaking yourself, you focus on watching the numbers flash on the floor indicator above the elevator door.

Doesn’t matter who this weirdo is. Just get back to your room and try to forget about this entire day.

The steady, rhythmic white glow of the numbers is comforting, in some way. A reliable beat, marking the path to the solitude you’ve been craving all day.

The elevator shudders to a stop.

Silence.

You wait.

The door doesn’t budge. Nothing moves.

Above your head, the lights flicker, then steady. Still.

The silence is too heavy, too much, it’s not right.

It’s actually happened, now.

The elevator has stalled, and you’re stuck in it.

Panic, hot and sharp, wells up in the back of your throat, and it takes effort to swallow it down.

Breathe. Deep breaths.

It’s okay, it’s going to be okay.

These things happen all the time.

Think it through. Use that technique from therapy - work through the next steps instead of focusing on the panic threatening to overwhelm you.

The hotel will have someone on staff to fix it - they must, a five star hotel this size? For sure they do. They have to.

They have to.

It won’t be long, maybe a bit longer if the - what are they called? - elevator maintenance person, whatever, is on a break.

But it’s nowhere near a meal time, the Whatever Person is probably not on a full break, maybe just a fifteen or something.

Yeah, okay. So once they get done their break they’ll -

“Are you freaking out? Because you look like you’re freaking out.”

The question whips through your anxiety, yanks you out of your thoughts and you sway a little, dizziness making the elevator tip as it comes back into view.

Trapped trapped you’re never getting out

“Whoa hey you - hold on -“

A hand grasps your shoulder, presses your back against the wall of the elevator.

The air is thin, it’s hard to fill your lungs and you can’t -

breathe -

“Breathe -“

Muffled voice, deep, speaking quickly, syllables skimming the surface swells of panic, pulsing in your mind with the same rhythm as your heartbeat.

It’s too fast, too loud, can’t breathe -

The world slants suddenly, your feet stumble to adjust. Heart pounding, hard, it hurts -

It’s happening, the elevator is dropping -

Too fast too loud -

It’s falling -

No you’re falling -

Crashing -

Landing on something solid but yielding -

Warm -

Your fingers grip, squeeze, hold tight. Time blinks, once, twice.

Panic freezes.

Hands. You feel hands on your body.

Large hands, soothing, gentle.

One on your back, resting between your shoulderblades, warmth seeping through your clothing and into constricted lungs, loosening tension. The ache there lessens, lungs filling.

The other hand cups the back of your head, thumb stroking small circles over your scalp. A tiny, almost insignificant motion, and it pulls your focus immediately.

Again and again, soft and soothing circles.

Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

The white-heat of panic subsides, slowly pulling off of your senses and your thoughts run an inner monologue, a mantra, grounding you back into your own body.

In. Out. Good, just like that. How are your elbows so sharp? Ow.

Wait. It’s not an inner monologue, it’s -

The man. In the elevator with you.

It’s his words drawing you out of your panic, his hands on your body.

Fresh panic washes over you, your eyes flying open to see -

The stranger’s gaze, watching you closely, a rich, deep brown that makes your pulse skip.

Tousled brown curls falling over a brow creased with concern.

Full lips, drawn down at the corners, soft and plush and only inches from yours, parting slightly, and that voice, so beautifully comforting -

“Oh thank fuck you’re not dead.”

#dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #roll a trope challenge #teleportation and blue whiskey

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harry-on-broadway · 1 year ago

Text

The Last Line: Part Five

Part Five

Word Count: 5.2K || Series Masterlist || Rating: M

***

“It’s perfect.”

“Really?” Penny blinked. “You’re joking, right?”

“No, I’m not,” Skylar said with a light laugh. “There are a couple of things we might want to move around, but this will be a very light edit. Great work, Penny.”

“Thanks,” Penny said, still in a state of shock. “I didn’t think it would be that good. I mean, I didn’t even think about it while I was writing. It was…” she searched for the right descriptor. “Word vomit, as gross as that sounds.”

“We often produce our greatest works when we give ourselves the space to say what we want to say without self-censoring. I wanted the articles in this series to come from the heart and that’s clearly where you pulled this from, Penny. I should have edits to you later this afternoon and we’re well on track to publish it tomorrow morning.”

“Sounds good. I have a couple of calls but I can make time to review it this afternoon.” Penny paused on her way out of the room. “Thank you again. For giving me this opportunity. And for helping me. With everything.” She inhaled sharply, feeling tears prick in her eyes.

“I’m lucky to work with an incredible person like yourself, Penny,” Skylar said. “Helping you, guiding you, it’s my pleasure.”

Penny could feel the eyes of her newsroom on her during the brief walk back to her desk. In the weeks since her meltdown in the conference room, Penny’s coworkers had begun to treat with a newfound sense of respect. Darren had been asked to seek other work in its aftermath of the incident and Penny’s subsequent relationship with Skylar had the others viewing her as some sort of deity.

“Well?” Chloe asked as Penny slid into her desk chair.

“She loved it.”

“As I knew she would.”

“She said she thinks it’s going to run tomorrow morning.”

“So soon! Amazing!”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think he’ll…?” Chloe didn’t need to finish her question.

“I don’t know.” Penny swirled her straw in her cup, trying to get a sip of the vanilla syrup that had gotten trapped underneath the layers of ice and coffee.

“Has he still been creeping?”

“Yes.” They hadn’t spoken since that night at her apartment and Harry continued to ignore every text and voicemail she left for him, but he was still lurking in her instagram stories. She’d started testing him, posting random and mundane shit like her morning coffee and the song she was currently listening to on Spotify. Regardless of whatever her story was, he was the first one to view it.

“And do you think he’ll take the bait?”

“I hope so! Otherwise I don’t know what I’ll do. I just –”

“Hey, it’s fine,” Chloe said, attempting to soothe Penny’s distress. “This is going to work. I promise you that.”

Hours later, Penny’s Slack app chimed with a note from Skylar saying that edits were ready for her to review. As promised, her suggestions were minimal and Penny cleared them all within a half hour. She knew legal and design and all of the other departments involved would need to sign off on their end before it could be official, but by 8am tomorrow, her words would be out in the world.

She didn’t know why she felt so nervous. She’s been through this hundreds of times before, but never had she shared something so personal with the hundreds (Or was it thousands?) of people who read the site everyday. It felt like she was giving a piece of her soul for public consumption. All in the hopes of winning back a man who never wanted to see her again.

She sighed and closed her laptop. “I’m going to head out,” she said to no one in particular, earning a handful of half-hearted acknowledgements from those who were scattered around her. In her car, she opened one of the playlists Harry had shared with her and pressed play. Feeling the music wash over her, she pulled out of the garage and drove home preparing for the most nerve-wracking night of her life.

***

August 17, 2019

The Start of Something New

By Penny Sanders

This coming November will mark one year since I joined the staff at The Moment and four years since I accepted my first, official, grown-up journalism job. Ahead of these personal milestones, I’ve been reflecting a lot on what it means to be a journalist, specifically one that covers the arts.

One of the main tenets of being a good journalist is objectivity. You’re there to present the facts in an unbiased way, calling out injustices and holding truth to power. Everyone learns that in their freshman mass comm class. But what they don’t tell you is how that rule isn’t always so cut and dry.

While I do a bit of everything when it comes to music coverage here at The Moment, my primary role has been that of a critic, reviewing concerts and albums and giving you my honest take on them. It’s a dream job for many, but it’s also one that has caused me a great deal of stress and anxiety over the years.

I’ve struggled to be harsh (even when a well-pointed criticism is deserved). I’ve struggled to hone a voice, oscillating between gushing fan girl and hardened veteran to appear as if I know what I’m talking about. And I’ve been a victim of intense (at times almost debilitating) imposter syndrome, second guessing that my opinions and ideas are even worth sharing.

But all that has changed in recent months as I’ve started to venture down a new professional path, chatting with and profiling newsmakers in this industry we all love. Sitting down for these interviews, I’ve always expected the cold formality that has long been associated with an industry presser – say your question and get your answer as quickly as possible, foregoing any sort of human interaction. Instead, what I found was a connection I never knew I had been looking for.

Recently, I had a chat with an artist who shall go unnamed. I’d reviewed their work before, and while I might have been fair in my assessment of their music, I wasn’t necessarily kind, something that I didn’t realize the impact of until we had a chance to speak face-to-face in an informal setting. As we spoke about our respective writing processes, I had a realization. We were one in the same. We found our way to an industry where everyone speaks the same language, found a pack to call home, and were creating the art we always wanted to, even if it was on opposite sides of the line. That conversation, along with subsequent others, really put into perspective the fact that you can’t separate the personal and professional when it comes to art, as a piece of you will always live inside your creation.

So, why am I rambling about this and forcing you to read it at 8am as you have your morning coffee? Because I’m making some changes starting today.

You’ll still see me around town and on the website reviewing concerts and albums (like I’d ever give that up!), but I’ll be expanding my coverage area as well. I’ll be chatting with some of the biggest names in the industry, cutting through the scripted BS and having real, human conversations about the thing we love most: music. I’ll also be sharing more personal essays about my own thoughts and feelings on the business of the day in an effort to start a conversation with you, our readers.

So, if you’re reading this (and hopefully you still are), what are you waiting for? Let’s chat. My schedule’s wide open.

***

Penny jolted awake at 6am the next morning. She had a couple of hours before she’d be able to share her article and put her plan into motion, so she took her time getting ready, blasting an early 2000s pop punk playlist while she did her makeup and drank her coffee. At precisely eight, she opened up The Moment’s website on her phone, grabbing the link to her article before navigating to Instagram.

She’d already preselected a photo – a throwback shot of her in one of her dad’s old concert tees, cheesing hard in front of a record store. She posted it to her story with a quick caption (Tried something new and got a little personal this morning) and a link to the piece. She watched the progress wheel fill as the story uploaded and when it was finished, she opened it again, instantly spotting Harry’s profile picture in the bottom left corner.

Distraction was essential to the next phase of the plan, so she tossed her phone in her bag, grabbed a thermos of coffee, and started the drive into the office. She could feel her phone burning a hole in her canvas tote, but she ignored it until she was seated at her desk. Her mom and one of her college roommates had replied encouragingly, but there was nothing from Harry.

Doug, the SEO coordinator, greeted her brightly as he made his way to his cubicle. “Already getting a lot of traffic on it. Great work!”

“Thanks.” She checked her phone again. Nothing.

There was an editorial meeting that morning, and then Skylar took her for a celebratory pastry from the bakery across the commons before Penny’s afternoon interview with a photographer. When she finally got to check her phone over lunch, there were tons of notifications, but as she scanned through them all there were none from Harry. In the middle of the afternoon slump, she saw an email come in from Jeff – it was a simple “Nice job!” Not the most encouraging thing, but if Jeff had read it, it was probably safe to assume Harry had as well.

Tom messaged her a little while later, a long and meandering note professing how proud he was of her and how great it was. The most interesting tidbit came at the end though. I think you’ll be surprised by the impact this has.

“What does that mean?” she asked, passing her phone to Chloe.

“I don’t know, that you’re the voice that will define our generation?”

“Be serious.”

“I honestly don’t know! On the surface, it seems like a general ‘this is going to resonate with a wide audience’ comment, but maybe on a deeper level he’s talking about…you know.”

“But that’s not your first instinct.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Damn it.”

“Pen, it’s OK. We know he saw your post and that’s a start. Maybe he hasn’t had time to sit and read it but will later today or something.”

“Maybe…”

That night as Penny left the office, her head was somewhere else, deep in a daydream of what it would have been like if her plan had worked. Harry would have been outside her door with a cup of coffee and a bouquet of flowers. There would have been a kiss and maybe a little something else, but most importantly she’d have her friend back. Her eyes were on the ground, so it was the loafers and socks that she saw first.

“Jesus Christ, are you trying to kill me?” she yelped, her heart racing.

“I didn’t know how else to find you.” Harry stood sheepishly slouching against her car door, wide-leg trousers slung low on his hips, bowling shirt unbuttoned just a little too far.

“You could have come inside the building for starters? Or texted me? I know your phone is still working Mr. Instagram lurker.”

“You knew that was me?”

“It was pretty fucking obvious to anyone that knows you. And we had a bunch of mutuals including Tom, Jeff, and Mitch.”

“Fuck, I thought I was being a little more low key.”

“Sorry.” Penny shifted uncomfortably. “So-” She was interrupted by boisterous laughter from a group making their way to a group of cars one lot over.

“Maybe we should go somewhere a little more private to talk?” Harry asked. “If you’re comfortable with that?”

“Um, yeah that would be great. Do you want me to drive?”

Harry nodded affirmatively. “I bummed a ride off of Jeff so I am currently without transport.”

“Jeff’s a good friend. I would have made you hitchhike.”

Harry snickered as he opened the passenger door and slid in.

“Do you mind if we make a stop?” Penny asked as she pulled out onto the main road.

“Not at all.”

“Good. I have a tradition after I publish an article.”

“What’s that?”

“An In-and-Out milkshake. Do you want one?”

“Chocolate, please.”

Penny cruised through the drive-thru, grabbing the milkshakes as Harry tried to go unnoticed beside her. Ice cream in hand, she continued driving until they made it back to her apartment.

“This is about as private as it gets,” she said, stirring the thick liquid with her straw. “We can stay in the car if you’d prefer.”

“No, let’s go in.”

Harry stayed two steps behind Penny as she climbed out of the car and unlocked her front door. He followed her lead, taking his shoes off and sitting down on the couch. He took a sip of his milkshake and Penny mirrored his action. Neither was sure who should be the first to speak.

“I’m sorry,” Penny said, thawing the awkward chill that had settled between them. “I know that’s an empty word, especially between us, but I just need you to know that I regret how everything blew up. I have an explanation for it all but none of that matters when you were hurt by my actions.” She paused. “I really hope you forgive me, but I won’t ask you to, as what I did crossed a line.”

“I forgive you.” Harry said without hesitation. “And I would like to hear your explanation for what it’s worth.”

“Oh-kay.” Penny shifted, tucking her legs under her and turning to look at Harry more directly. “So you know how I’ve been trying to mix things up at work, write some more serious pieces? Well, it just so happened that Tom gave me one on a silver platter when he mentioned you were working on a new album. My intent was just to break some news, get a scoop that could show my editors that I could do it. But then I got to know you and you were telling me things that would have made for an amazing story and I just got carried away. I made the wrong choice to keep taking notes and working on this hypothetical story. Then Darren –”

“The asshole.”

“Yes, the asshole. He got involved and it spiraled out of control and things got complicated because of….” Penny trailed off, searching for the right word. “Us.” Penny looked up at Harry. “It’s important to me that you know I would have never published anything you told me after all of that. I value you as a person more than any sort of splashy article.”

Harry nodded slowly. His face was serene but his fingers were working overtime, twisting the ring on his finger at warp speed. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me like that but just seeing those notes you had…” He chewed on his lip and his eyes grew damp. “It used to be so hard to figure out when someone was using me and when someone just wanted me for me. But thankfully, I’ve become a pretty good judge of that. I thought you were one of the good ones so seeing that just made me really second guess not only what we had and how I felt about us but it made me question my judgment. Do any of my friends actually care about me? It was a rough time. I’m still working through some of that if I’m being honest.”

“I hate that I was the cause of that.”

“It was bound to happen eventually so don’t be too hard on yourself,” he said with a wry laugh.

“Well either way…I’m glad my selfish actions helped you grow? That feels weird to say.” Penny laughed. “Anyways, I’m happy we were able to clear the air. I much prefer talking to you face to face instead of watching you lurk on my Instagram stories.”

Harry laughed before placing his cup on the coffee table. “Speaking of talking…I actually did want to discuss something with you.” He cleared his throat.” “That night…the last time we saw each other…what you said? About why you couldn’t do that profile?”

“Mhmm.”

“What did you mean that you love me?”

Penny took a long sip from her drink, buying herself some time to think. “I hated you the first time we met and I don’t know why because I feel like you’re the only person to ever truly understand me. You know what I’m thinking before I say it, you see things in the same way as me, and you make me feel invincible. That day that you read that article that Darren killed…I felt so supported in a way that I haven’t really before, which is like weird to say because I have friends and family who care about me, but standing in that coffee shop with you holding my hand and telling me I was good at my job was something I never knew I needed. But once I had a taste of it, I knew I had to have it forever.” She finished speaking and looked at Harry, who had an indiscernible expression on his face. “That was a lot, I know but you–”

“Can I kiss you?” His voice was low, his question was tentative, and Penny couldn’t even be sure that was what he actually said, but she nodded anyway. At this point, she would have given him permission to do anything.

He approached her carefully, as if any sudden move would scare her away, cupping the back of her head with his hand and drawing her closer to him.

Their first kiss was nothing like Penny had imagined. In her dreams, she’d envisioned everything from a quick peck on the cheek after he walked her home, to a feverish, tongue laden precursor to fucking. In actuality, it was gentle, yet firm, and despite the simplicity of it, the gesture was charged with more emotion than any kiss she’d had before. She didn’t even realize how lightheaded she was until they broke apart and she found herself gasping for breath.

She met Harry’s eyes and exhaled. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for that.”

It was like the kiss had unleashed something lurking deep inside them both and Harry lunged towards her, pressing his lips against hers again and again and again, pushing her flat on the couch, the remnants of their milkshakes long forgotten. Penny tried to memorize every detail: the weight of his body against hers, the softness of his lips on hers, the silkiness of his hair as she ran her fingers through it. She tried to stay in the moment, but the sensation of his body rubbing against hers made it hard to not think about what would happen next.

“Ow!” Her head bumped uncomfortably against the arm of the couch as she slid down further.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked, pulling back and checking her for any harm. His lips were swollen and his curls were disheveled. “What’s wrong?”

“I just bumped my head.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. Just a little cramped here.” Penny swallowed. “My bed might be more comfortable. If you’d like to move there.”

There was a heavy pause and Penny prayed she hadn’t misread the moment. Harry’s eyes glazed over as he processed what she said. “Um, yeah, that’s great. Lead the way.”

Penny breathed a sigh of relief as he climbed off of her and helped her stand, keeping his hand entwined with hers as they made the brief journey to Penny’s bedroom. She backed him up into the room, and Harry fell back on the bed. Penny climbed astride him, kissing him again and again and again, and she ground her center against his growing erection.

They’d waited for what felt like forever, but when they had nothing but time in front of them, there was no need to rush, even as Penny felt herself grow wetter with touch and caress. As Harry sucked kiss after kiss from her lips, she realized she’d never really thought about how hot kissing could be. Maybe it was just that she’d never been properly kissed, something Harry was working hard to rectify.

Harry wound his fingers in her hair gently pulling her head back to expose the column of her throat. He nipped at the sensitive skin, sucking a kiss from it before soothing the spot with his tongue. He repeated the process up and down her neck until his fingers fell to the hem of her shirt.

“Is it OK if I take this off?” he asked.

“Yes,” Penny said, guiding his hands as they pulled her t-shirt up and over her head. She unhooked her bra as he tossed the shirt aside. Her bra followed leaving her naked from the waist up.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, absentmindedly rubbing his fingers up and down her side as his eyes took in every piece of her. “Come here.” He pulled her close and started kissing every inch of skin he could see. “So fucking beautiful.”

Penny shifted so one of Harry’s legs was nestled between hers, giving her the pressure she craved as Harry continued kissing her neck. After a few minutes she stopped him. “I’m going to take these off if that works?” she asked, gesturing to her jeans.

Harry nodded. “I should probably do the same.” He pulled his shirt off in one fluid motion and pulled his pants and briefs down next. Penny couldn’t help but stare.

“Stop it, I’m shy.”.

“You’ve got nothing to be shy about,” Penny said, trying not to let on exactly how impressed she was with what she saw in front of her.

Harry cleared his throat, and Penny couldn’t tell if the flush in his cheeks was a result of their activities or embarrassment. “Do you have a condom?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah. There’s probably one around here somewhere.” Penny opened the drawer of her bedside table and dug through the mess. “That one is expired,” she said, tossing it to the waste basket. “And this one is….” she squinted to read the date. “Still good! We’re in the clear.” Harry laughed and it was her turn to blush. “What can I say, it’s been awhile since I needed one.”

“No judgment as I’ve also been in a bit of a dry spell.” Harry took the condom from her and adjusted himself and Penny watched. She was still in shock that this was actually happening and was half convinced that she’d wake up from this dream any minute.

“Penny?”

“Oh, sorry! Did you say something?”

“I just asked how you want to do this?” Harry asked. “What’s usually best for you?”

“Oh…” Penny wasn’t sure if she’d ever had a partner ask her about her preference so directly, especially on the first hook up. She scoured her brain trying to think of what she actually liked and what wouldn’t be too intense for what could just be a casual hook up. “Um, usually just missionary is fine. But I also like to be on my knees occasionally.” She cleared her throat. “What about you?”

“I’m going to be honest with you, Penny, I think anything with you would get me across the finish line.” One look at his cock and she knew he wasn’t lying. She hopped up on the bed and got on her knees without a second thought.

Penny could feel Harry lining himself up with her as she braced her hands against the headboard. It had been a minute since her bed had seen this much activity and she prayed the IKEA frame would hold up. Harry dragged his tip over her and she squirmed with the anticipation of what would happen next. The first thrust caught her off guard and she pitched forward.

“Careful,” Harry said. His voice was soft, but its usual gentleness had been replaced by something harder. “Do you need me to stop?”

“Please, no,” Penny panted. He’d reached a spot deep inside on just one thrust and she just needed a minute to adjust to him. The burn of him inside her was unmatched, the perfect combination of pain and pleasure. Harry had wrapped one arm around her waist holding her steady as she adjusted, lightly tracing abstract patterns over her skin. “OK, you can go,” she half whispered, half moaned.

Harry anchored his hands on her hips as he thrust in and out in a painstakingly slow rhythm. It was torture – for the both of them – Penny presumed, and she felt the beginnings of an orgasm building inside of her. She could feel the pressure of his hand against her hip, knowing it would leave a bruise tomorrow, a thought that turned her on even more. Harry moved his hand up her body, settling on her breast and rolling her nipple as he increased the pace of his thrusts. It was all consuming, but Penny still needed more. She reached down to stroke her clit, the bud already tender and slippery with arousal. She was close, she could feel it. Just one more stroke and –.

“Can we –?” Harry asked breathlessly as he attempted to flip Penny onto her back. “I want to see you. I need to see you.” Penny complied, her body pliant in his arms as he placed her gently on her back before ducking down for a deep kiss as he locked his fingers with hers.

He pulled away and gently pushed inside of her, eyes not leaving hers. Even if she wanted to, Penny wasn’t sure she could look away. She was transfixed by what she saw in front of her. Harry’s skin and hair were damp from exertion, and the curls she’d been playing with earlier were pressed against his forehead. She could feel the tremble of his muscles and when she buried her nose in his neck, she got a whiff of the scent that could only be described as Harry.

“Are y-you close?” Harry asked as his hips stuttered.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Can you come for me, baby? I need you to.”

It could have been Harry calling her baby or it could have been the feeling of him rubbing against her clit or it could have just been the intense passion she felt between them, but Penny pitched over the edge, moaning Harry’s name as she fell.

“That’s it, baby,” he moaned, as he spilled into the condom. “That’s it. So fucking good.”

He fell forward, resting his full weight on her as they lay there. He pressed kisses against every bit of skin his mouth could reach and she raked her fingers up and down his back and through his hair. Penny didn’t know how long they lay there like that but even when she felt their sweaty skin start to stick together she made no effort to move.

She wasn’t letting Harry go ever again.

***

When Penny woke up, Harry’s arm was heavy around her waist and she could feel his breath on her back. He radiated heat and despite the uncomfortable stickiness of the sweat that covered her, she made no effort to move. She had no idea how to define what had happened last night – and again in the early hours of the morning – but she knew she didn’t want this to be the end.

She could feel Harry stir behind her and she carefully twisted around in his arms to sneak another look at him. He was so peaceful when he slept, his hair a tangled mess on the pillow. He snored lightly, almost like a whistle, and he was most definitely a cuddler. She closed her eyes and sighed contentedly, lulled back to sleep by the gentle rhythm of Harry’s breathing, only to be jolted awake by the sound of her alarm.

Harry slowly opened his eyes, squinting against the faint light that was trickling in through the curtains. He looked around, getting his bearings before smiling at Penny as she silenced the alarm.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I usually don’t have to worry about waking anyone else up.”

“It’s not a problem,” he slurred, his voice still thick with sleep. “Should probably be getting up now anyways.”

“You could stay for breakfast,” Penny offered, hoping she wasn’t misreading the situation. “I make a mean egg and cheese and have beans from the coffee shop down the block.”

“I’d love nothing more than that.” Harry leaned in and gave her a quick peck on the lips, before rolling over to grab his phone. The gesture felt so normal, as if he’d done it every morning.

“Shit,” he laughed. “I’m going to have a lot to explain today.”

“What’s wrong?”

He angled his phone so that Penny could read the screen. It was filled with messages from Tom, Tommy, and Jeff. “I told them I was planning to see you and they were very supportive of that decision. I think they’ll be thrilled with this development.”

“Which is…?” Penny asked, testing the waters.

“Us being together.” Harry’s eyes widened at Penny’s noticeable silence. “Unless I’ve completely misread this.”

“No, no, no.” Penny leaned over to kiss him. “I want that. Us, I mean. I just didn’t think you’d want me after everything.”

“You’re absolutely insane for thinking that, Penny. I’ve been waiting my entire life for you and I’m not letting you get away again.” Penny reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly, knowing that there were no words she could say to accurately convey how she felt in that moment. “Now come on,” Harry said. “You mentioned something about a breakfast sandwich?”

Harry looked perfectly at home in her kitchen as she directed him on where to find the ingredients for their breakfast. They moved through the small space as if executing a perfectly coordinated dance routine neither of them had been taught, before sitting down at Penny’s table to eat together.

“What do you have planned for today?” Harry asked.

“Well, I’m going to go to work and then I’m going to head home.”

“No shows?”

“Not tonight.”

“Well,” Harry said, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “I would like to take you out. On a proper date. Could I pick you up at the office? Say around six?”

“It’s a date,” Penny said, smiling from ear to ear.

When the breakfast dishes had been washed and dried and Harry had donned his clothes from the night before, they lingered by the front door, not wanting to say goodbye.

“A kiss for the road?” Harry asked. Penny stood on her tiptoes and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “I’ll see you later then,” he said, unlocking the door.

“Harry?” she asked, suddenly bashful. “You don’t have to answer, but what made you give me another chance?” He was so quiet, she wasn’t sure he had heard her.

“It was your article,” he finally said, turning back to look at her. “You got me with the last line.”

***

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has read this far and has stuck with this story despite its infrequent updates. This one was really personal for me to write so I greatly appreciate all of the ten people who have read this. 🫶🏻 Would love to hear what you think of the end!

talk to me! || story inspo

taglist: @harrysfolklore @platinumbarbie143 @majasophieanna @lukesaprince @styles217 @andwhenshesays @be-with-me-so-happily @hslllot @b-reads-things @awesomenavy @sweetwanderlust05 @permanentllyharry @reveriehs @very-berry-harry @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @jerseygirlinca @st-ev-ie @kahluamystery97 @indierockgirrl @copiastricycle @autumnleaves1991-reads

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles series #harry styles ff #harry styles x ofc #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry fic #harry fanfic #harry fluff #harry smut

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epkcoworking · 11 months ago

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Comparing Chennai's Work Culture: Plug-and-Play Offices and Coworking Spaces

In the vibrant city of Chennai, professionals and businesses seeking versatile work environments encounter two prominent options: plug-and-play office space and coworking spaces. Understanding the nuances between these setups is essential for individuals and organizations striving to align their workspace with their operational needs and culture.

Plug-and-Play Offices in Chennai

Chennai, a bustling hub of innovation and business, hosts a variety of workspaces tailored to the dynamic needs of professionals and organizations. Among these, plug-and-play offices have emerged as a game-changer, offering instant functionality and flexibility in prime locations across the city.

Features of Plug-and-Play Offices in Chennai

Strategic Locations: Positioned strategically in areas like T. Nagar, Guindy, and OMR, plug-and-play offices offer accessibility and convenience, situated in the heart of Chennai's business districts.

Ready-to-Use Infrastructure: These offices come fully furnished and equipped, boasting ready-to-use amenities such as desks, chairs, high-speed internet, and essential IT infrastructure. This setup ensures immediate functionality upon occupancy, eliminating the hassle of setting up an office from scratch.

Flexibility in Leasing: One of the key attractions of plug-and-play offices is their flexible leasing options. Businesses can opt for short-term leases, enabling them to scale their workspace up or down based on evolving needs, without being tied down by long-term commitments.

Cost-Efficiency: Ideal for startups and small businesses, coworking office space in Thousand Lights and plug-and-play offices in Chennai offer cost-effectiveness by eliminating initial setup costs. This allows companies to allocate resources strategically without the burden of substantial upfront expenditures.

Advantages:

Immediate Functionality: Plug-and-play offices offer quick operational readiness, ensuring immediate functionality for focused work.

Privacy and Control: These spaces provide autonomy and privacy, suitable for individual tasks or team-based operations, allowing businesses to control their environment.

Disadvantages:

Limited Networking: The private nature might limit networking and collaboration opportunities compared to more communal setups.

Potentially Higher Costs: While upfront costs are lower, long-term expenses might be higher compared to shared spaces due to individualized infrastructure.

Coworking Spaces in Chennai

Key Features:

Coworking spaces, thriving in locales like Alwarpet, Nungambakkam, and Teynampet, foster collaboration and community spirit with these defining characteristics:

Community-Centric Environment: Open spaces encouraging interaction, networking, and skill-sharing among diverse professionals.

Flexible Amenities: Varied facilities such as shared workspaces, meeting rooms, and networking events accommodating different professional needs.

Diverse Network: Attracting freelancers, remote workers, entrepreneurs, and established companies, fostering a melting pot of ideas and collaborations.

Advantages:

Networking and Collaboration: Coworking spaces offer an environment conducive to networking and collaboration, facilitating idea exchange and skill enhancement.

Resource Sharing: Access to diverse amenities and resources enhances productivity, providing a supportive and well-equipped work environment.

Disadvantages:

Potential Distractions: The open layout might lead to distractions for individuals requiring focused work, impacting productivity.

Limited Privacy: Shared spaces might not suit those needing greater privacy or confidentiality for sensitive work or discussions.

Choosing the Ideal Workspace

Selecting between plug-and-play offices and coworking spaces in Chennai demands consideration of several factors:

Work Culture Preference: Determine the preferred work environment—private and focused or collaborative and open.

Budget and Long-Term Goals: Evaluate short-term cost-effectiveness versus long-term scalability and expenses.

Networking Needs: Assess the importance of networking and collaboration opportunities in professional growth.

Conclusion

Chennai's workspace offerings encompass plug-and-play offices and coworking spaces in Mount Road catering to diverse professional needs. Comprehending the distinctive features, benefits, and limitations of each empowers individuals and businesses to make informed decisions aligned with their operational dynamics, work culture, and growth aspirations."

#coworking office space in Mount Road #coworking space Nungambakkam #coworking space in Thousand lights

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wooahaes · 1 year ago

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tangled lights

pairing: non-idol!jaehyuk x gn!reader

genre: coffee shop au. coworkers au.

word count: 1.4k~

warnings: food mentions. reader isnt a fan of the holiday season.

daisy's notes: ngl sometimes i kinda miss having a christmas tree

Why the hell did the store need a Christmas tree out on the floor? It was just taking up space, and someone (read: you) had to be the unfortunate idiot who decorated it all alone while the rest of your coworkers got to do their actual jobs. You had exams to study for! And that should be your priority, not… untangling this stupid spaghetti-pile of lights.

Okay, fine, so maybe Christmas wasn’t your favorite time of year. Sure, it brought some nice things, like the limited time specialty hot chocolate drinks that you were more than happy to use your employee discount on… and the limited time cookies that you’d always steal the leftovers of when you had the closing shift. But Christmas was just a reminder of too much bullshit. That your family wasn’t in the city, so unless you saved the money to travel, you’d only be calling home this year. Or the fact that you were alone, since Christmas was much more couple-y. The countless number of couples who came into the coffee shop were people you had to greet with a forced smile (they never seemed to notice, though), and it was starting to get tiring because they were always a thousand times more cuddly and sappy than normal.

Some people might call it jealousy. You preferred to think of yourself as more practical. What was so special about the Christmas season that made people awful to deal with? Couples aside, you swore people got much more high-strung with you and other people in service jobs for no damn reason. Sorry, but yelling at you wasn’t going to get their kid the toy that sold out immediately.

Andn ow the fucking lights were even more tangled. The place was empty, and it was late, and you were about to start yelling. Your boss needed this tree up yesterday and the busy hours had kept you from doing the damn job.

“Fuck this!” You threw them down in a rage, getting up and walking away. All you needed was a few minutes and you’d tackle it again. How did these lights even get this tangled? After your shift today, all you wanted to do was make your stupid hot chocolate drink, clean the machines, and go home to watch whatever video essay popped up on YouTube. With another frustrated groan, you slammed a fist down on the countertop, before relaxing. With a sigh, you looked back at your current enemy. “Why did she have to pick me for this…?”

Someone like Asahi would be better at this. You saw the drawings he made and the photos he took—he had an eye for this kind of thing. Or Jaehyuk; he loved this time of year. Sometimes you wondered how he managed to be so positive at work, but you’d seen the moments where he needed to step into the back to collect himself. If anything, seeing Jaehyuk was just this reminder that you were this mess compared to your coworkers. No wonder none of them seemed to like you all that much: you weren’t there to be best friends with any of them, you were there to get paid. Sure, you were friendly enough with them, but you never really let shit slide: if someone treated you wrong, you called them out in the back room and demanded their basic respect.

Maybe that was why people didn’t seem to like you. Other people still made an effort to be friends. And you… Well, your friends had joked once that you were an “acquired taste” as a person—but one they appreciated nonetheless. The “they asked for no pickles” friend who couldn’t stand to see someone else struggle out of the need to be polite when the answer was just “speak up for yourself.” You let out a long sigh. Maybe… Maybe you needed to find a different job where you could start over.

The sound of your name being called made you look up, and you stared at where Jaehyuk of all people was standing outside the store entrance. He waved at you, speaking louder, although it was far too muffled for you to fully understand what he was saying. You made your way over, clicking the door unlocked, and he stepped in, thanking you quickly.

“I forgot my textbook,” he said, dusting snow off of his shoulders. Then he looked at you again, “Why are you still here?”

Maybe you’d die right here and not have to admit that a Christmas tree was getting the better of you.

Of course, Jaehyuk had to lean forward enough to see the tree. “Oh, you’re still working on it?” He locked the door behind him, already shedding his coat. “I can help! It’s already getting late—and you still have to close up properly, right?”

Wait, what.

“I think if we work together, we’ll be done faster,” Jaehyuk continued on without much of a care, making his way over to where you’d thrown down the Christmas lights. “I’ll start untangling these while you get the ornaments from the back.”

At long last, your brain seemed to have caught up, and the first thing you said was “You don’t have to do that.”

Jaehyuk had already pulled over a chair, “It’s late,” he said. “And you have more to do—I don’t mind helping. I can call Asahi, too, if you want—”

“No!” You made your way over. “No, that’s… You don’t have to bother him. This was supposed to be my job for some reason. You can get your book and go home,” you said, reaching for the string lights in his hands that he was already managing to untangle far easier than you did. “Really. It’s okay.”

Jaehyuk looked up at you, frowning a little. “You can ask for help if you need it,” he said. “And… I owe you.”

You furrowed your brow. “Owe me?”

“For Saturday,” he said. “You chewed out that lady after she purposefully spilled her coffee down my apron.”

“Uh. Yeah, because she literally could have burned you,” you crossed your arms. “She’s lucky she left that cup sitting up there for so fucking long otherwise you could have literally sued her, I’m sure.”

“My brain always seems to turn off when people get that angry,” he admitted. “It’s nice to know you have my back.” Jaehyuk paused, looking up from the lights in his hands. “... The ornaments?”

Fuck. Right. You walked away to find the box from the back room, snagging his textbook from where it was sitting on a table. One less thing for him to worry about. He thanked you when you set it down on the table next to him, and you pushed the box aside. No need to start hanging those until the lights were up. You reached for the other end of the tangled lights, and began to work again.

“Like I was saying…, You don’t owe me for that. I would have done it for anyone,” you shrugged. “I’m not gonna let someone get mistreated because some customers genuinely think they’re always right.”

“You still didn’t have to do it,” he said. “I appreciate it. I always like working shifts with you because of it.”

The sentiment nearly made you laugh. He had to be joking, right? “Riiight, sure.”

He looked up, stopping in his work for a moment. “Why did you say it like that?”

“I know what other people think of me,” you said. “You don’t have to pretend you like me. Respecting me is fine.”

“But I do like you.” Jaehyuk only continued to stare at you, his brows drawing together in confusion. “Why wouldn’t I?”

If anyone else had said it, you’d find it hard to believe. But Jaehyuk was different: Jaehyuk didn’t seem like the kind of person who would outright lie—at least not so easily. The quick way he said it, the genuine confusion on his face�� Suddenly, you had to wonder why you’d mentally cataloged Jaehyuk as someone so out of reach for someone like you.

“Oh.” You felt your face heat up with embarrassment, and you busied yourself even further with untangling the lights. “Hey, um… Jaehyuk?”

He hadn’t stopped staring at you, still so confused. “Yeah?”

“Do you… Do you want to help me decorate the tree?” You looked up. “And… Maybe grab a hot chocolate later, too? I mean, you don’t have to, but—”

He chuckled softly, that same soft, sweet smile on his face as he nodded. “I’d love to.”

taglist: @twancingyunhao

#wooahaes.dec23 #wooahaes.fic #treasure imagine #treasure x reader #treasure x you #treasure fics #treasure fluff #yoon jaehyuk x reader #yoon jaehyuk x you #jaehyuk x reader #yoon jaehyuk fluff #jaehyuk x you

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readingwiththereids · 1 year ago

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yanda! speaks: hi angels! i just wanted to come on here and say thank you for the overwhelming support i’ve gotten from everyone following cam&carm’s story. you’ve all made writing and posting on here a lot more enjoyable and i really appreciate it. this is the longest chapter i have written so far so i hope that it’s not too much. about 7 chapters left before we move on to season 2! lots of love and light! 🤎

masterlist

night rain ; chapter 5

2022

The dreadful sound of Camila’s alarm sounded through her bedroom as the clock read 3:30. Pushing off of her mattress, she silenced it and slugged towards the bathroom. Today was the day of La Fame’s annual gala, where the food magazine company would invite all of their employees and their respective partners to dress up, drink and have a good time. Considering that Camila had never dated anyone since getting pregnant with Emelia, she always went to the event alone, rather deciding to spend her time catering at least one small dessert for it as it kept her busy but didn’t take too much of a toll on her. This year was no different as she was making about 500 tiny lemon cheesecakes that her coworkers had previously commended her for when she brought them to a strategy session once.

“Te quiero, mamá. And don’t forget to take Emmy to daycare before work, okay?” She whispered into her sleeping mother’s ear before kissing both her and Emilia goodbye.

The sky was still dark and the air was brisk as she walked the short commute to the bakery where she worked part-time, dragging along all of her ingredients in a large garden cart. She had asked the owner, Penelope if she could use the kitchen that day to prepare for the gala as they were always closed on Fridays. However, when Cam walked into the shop, she was shocked to see that the lights were on.

Walking further into the room, she saw a plump, older woman with black hair tied back to reveal the permanent scowl on her face. Pamela.

Pam wasn’t necessarily a worker at the place but she was always hanging around as Penelope’s sister-in-law that only ever got in the way. She’d watch Camila over her shoulder and even attempt to change recipes despite being reprimanded for it by every employee there. She’d try make her own recipes and give them to customers which always just resulted in bad reviews and mandatory refunds, she had no idea what she was doing. And yet she was here. Aggressively whisking something in a bowl and pacing around the kitchen that was covered in dozens of different ingredients that definitely would not taste good together. The kitchen’s workbenches were blanketed by multiple cookbooks, utensils and empty boxes, with nowhere for Cam to put her things.

“Uh, hey Pam. What are you doing here?”

“Baking, what do you think?” she replied with a certain irritation in her voice that told Camila that her recipe was already not going her way.

“Right, of course. It’s just, I already asked Penelope about a week ago if I could use the kitchen today to make something for an event I’m going to.”

“And that’s my problem, how?”

Camila was growing irritated. “It’s your problem because I booked this space and you’re hogging it with whatever disgusting potion you’re trying to concoct.”

“Excuse you? My brother pays for this building, so I will do as I please. Now you can grab your things and get out of my kitchen, young lady.”

The younger girl stood in shock for a second before turning around and walking out the backdoor, whispering curses under her breath.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. You old piece of shit, fuck!” she huffed, kicking a dumpster in the alleyway which spread a sharp sting through her toe. “Ow, fuck!”

Camila didn’t know what to do. She had to make half a thousand stupid little cakes by six that evening and she had nowhere to do it. A thought crossed her mind and as much as she tried to push it away, it seemed like the best option and so she pulled out her phone from her back pocket. He probably didn’t even have the same number anymore and she doubted that he was awake but it didn’t hurt to try, right?

“Hello?”

Shockingly, she was greeted by an especially chipper and conscious voice.

“Hey! Carm, uh, I’m so sorry to call you so early.”

“It’s cool, are you…okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I just, I know it’s short notice but is there any chance that I can use The Beef’s kitchen for a couple of hours today?”

“Yeah, actually, we’re not open today to cut down on labour hours, or at least I think that’s what Syd said. So, yeah you can come by. What do you need to do?”

“Make 500 mini cheesecakes by 6 PM.”

A beat.

“Do you need help?”

^^^^^^^^^

“So then she was like ‘My brother pays for this building, so I will do as I please.’ and actually kicked me out!”

“Are you kidding? Jesus, she sounds like a bitch.”

“She is, trust.” Camila laughed along with Carmy as they poured the cheesecake mixture into each of the tiny crusts.

After their phone call, Carmen rushed to shower and meet Cam at the sandwich shop in thirty minutes. They had been baking together for hours, catching up and listening to each other’s playlists. Camila had felt a little weird though about not being able to tell him about the biggest aspect that had taken over her life since she last saw him in New York, motherhood. They had been cracking jokes and engaging in banter for the past couple of hours but the conversation always conveniently avoided the topic of why she left. Carmy knew that he should probably be madder at her, more hurt. After she left, he was broken for a long time and because of that, refused the possibility of ever being with someone again. But she was Camila, he knew she would have never done that without a good reason and that was enough for him.

A phone pinged from the counter.

“Sydney forgot her knives so she’s coming here to get them in a few, by the way.”

“Oh, great!” she smiled. “She seems like a nice girl, driven.”

“Yeah, she doesn’t exactly let up. Once she’s set her mind to something, it’s difficult to slow her down.”

“Yeah, she reminds me of you.” Cam chuckled, making eye contact with Carmy from across the workbench.

“Oh yeah?” he laughed.

“Yeah.” She finished her batch of cheesecakes and both of them moved to stack them in the oven before going back to clean up.

“Carmen?” Sydney’s voice travelled from the front of house to the kitchen.

“Chef, come in. We’re in here.”

“We?” she questioned before seeing Camila grab a bunch of dirty bowls with the intent of going to wash them, but not before hugging the confused girl first.

“Hi, Syd. How have you been?”

“Hey, Cam. Good, how are you?” Her eyes bounced between Camila’s retreating figure and Carmy’s slightly red face as Sydney’s knowing smirk made him feel like he was a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“On edge, constantly. But surviving nonetheless.” Cam laughed before settling into her station at the sink.

“So, what are you two doing? Alone?” She laughed in a hushed tone as Carmy’s face grew more red.

“What are you-what do you mean? I’m just helping her bake for a gala she’s going to later.”

“Right.”

“Aren’t you here to get your knives, Chef?”

“You’re no fun, Chef.”

“What up, lizards?” Richie’s voice boomed as we waltzed in through the backdoor. “Yo, where is everyone?”

“Cousin, what the fuck are you doing here?”

“I’m here to work, cuz. What else?”

“Richie, we’re closed today,” Syd interjected.

“What?”

“It was in the email that I sent everyone.”

“I don’t check my email, Sydney. I’m not a fucking loser.”

“You sure?” Camila quipped, prompting Richie to turn around and finally notice her.

“Mini? What are you doing here?” he smiled while ruffling her curls, which made her turn to splash soapy water at him.

“Why do you call her ‘Mini’?” Sydney asked.

“‘Cause she’s like a carbon copy of Tina, but smaller. Mini Tina.” he shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world before turning to the girl in question. “But like actually, what’re you doin’ here?

“Carm was helping me make some cheesecakes for my work gala tonight.” she replied, turning back to the sink to get a particularly tough stain off of a spoon.

“Oh really?” Richie turned in the direction of Sydney and Carmen, mirroring the former’s smirk and wiggling his eyebrows.

“Alright, both of you, get the fuck out.” The latter finally spoke as he ushered the two out of the kitchen.

Carmy shoved the bag of knives from the counter into Sydney’s hands before shouting a bye and slamming the door in their faces and walking back into the kitchen, not before hearing a “They’re definitely gonna bone.” from behind it.

When he reentered, Camila had finished washing the dishes and moved to mopping the floors with a slight smirk on her face. Ignoring this, however, he cleared his throat and started to wipe down the counters. Just then, a song from Carmy’s playlist sounded from the speaker sitting on the shelf, ‘My Song’ by Labi Siffre.

Both of them froze up at this, pausing their actions immediately. At first glance, one could easily see the effect that this song had on them but what they wouldn’t know was the extent of how special to them it was.

And I wonder

If you know what it means

To find your dreams come true

The melody had seen countless moments of Camila trying to teach Carmy to slow dance, half-naked in the living room.

And sometimes you don’t hear me

But you don’t have to be near me

To know that I’m singing

Trying each other’s new recipe ideas and laughing together when they failed.

This is my song

And nothing can make it die

And innocent showers filled with washing each other’s hair while mouthing the lyrics against one another’s lips.

That as long

As I live

I will sing my song for you

As the song ended, the two realised that their bodies had subconsciously forced them to face one another, and there they stood. Eyes locked from across the room and sad smiles pasted onto their faces. They stood there as such for a long time before finally being snapped out of it by the timer of the oven. As they both realised what just happened, they rushed to get the small desserts out of the oven without words before transferring each of them to cooling racks.

“So, uh,” Camila broke the silence first. “I was thinking. Since you were so helpful today, if you wanted to reap the benefits of that and maybe come with me to the gala? As my plus one.”

“I mean, I normally go to these things alone so I was just thinking I’d switch it up a bit.” she laughed nervously before looking up at Carmen, who had a completely dumbfounded look on his face but said nothing.

“God, never mind, I’m sorry. That was stupid-”

[Wait, Cam. No, that’s not what I-]

[-and weird, I’m sorry. Of course, you don’t want to, I-]

[-just didn’t want you to feel like you had to just because-]

[-don’t know what I was thinking. I just-]

“Camila!”

The curly-haired woman swiftly stopped rambling.

“I would love to go with you.”

“Really?” she asked as a smile spread across her face.

“Yeah,” he laughed. “I’ll pick you up at 8?”

“Actually, it starts at seven but I have to be there a little earlier so I’ll pick you up at 6:15?”

“Yeah.” he smiled shyly.

“Cool.”

^^^^^^^^^

Camila smoothed out her dress as she stared at herself in the mirror. She donned a strapless, pastel green dress with floral embroidery that seeped from the top of the dress, topped with gold jewellery. Her hair was clipped up into an elegant bun on top of her head and a few curls were left out to frame her face. She felt beautiful, desirable even. There was nothing necessarily promiscuous about her appearance, other than the high slit of the skirt, but for the first time in a while, Camila actually felt attractive. After having Emilia, her body expectedly went through many changes and it took her a while to recover a healthy relationship with her figure and now here she was. Not just glancing at her form to avoid scrutinising it too much but actually looking at it. She felt proud.

Her phone pinged from her bed as she moved to read it.

[Camila]

Do you even have a suit, Berzatto?

Read

[Carmy]

I can’t believe you would even ask me that.

(I just borrowed one from Chi-Chi)

The brown-skinned girl laughed at this before hearing a small voice from below her.

“Wow! Mama, you look so pretty!” Emelia giggled as she looked up at her mother in awe.

“Awh,” Camila fawned, picking the toddler up. “Thank you, princess. You’re so sweet.”

“Oh, cariño. You look beautiful.” Tina said from the doorway. Quickly, the younger woman noticed the tears in her mother’s eyes.

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Mija. It’s just that your father would be so proud of you. He was always dreaming big for your future, he would have loved to see you now. Practically running one of the biggest magazines in the world, still finding time to stay with your passions, and raising the most extraordinary, gentle child that I have ever met. This is what he wanted for you, Camila. All he wanted was for you to be happy like this.”

Malik Dominic Ivy was thirty-two when he died in a drunk driving accident. He died just a month before Camila was born which meant that she never got to meet her father. This fact also meant that Tina had to take on the responsibility of raising a newborn while simultaneously grieving the love of her life. Expectedly, this caused some strain between Cam and her mother during her childhood rooted in the latter’s trauma, before she finally grew to understand how difficult and painful it must have been for the older woman to have to take care of a baby that reminded her so deeply of the man she had recently lost.

Camila’s main knowledge of her father stemmed from the stories that her mother would tell her, of romantic dates, funny incidents and more. It was through them that she felt as if she understood her dad and how much she meant to him. Even before she had developed a heartbeat, she was all he thought about. What she would achieve, how she would grow, how she would love, he thought of it all. When Camila thought about her own daughter, her mind would often shift to Malik. She would frequently doubt the decisions she made regarding Emilia’s relationship with Carmen. Was it really fair for her to keep the child from him when she knew what it was like to be robbed of time with her own dad? The first time she had that thought, she concluded that it wasn’t and picked up the phone to search him up and call. However, when she saw that Carmy had recently received an award for his work, it stopped her in her tracks. She remembered why she couldn’t do that to him and put down the phone. Even so, the entire thought broke her heart.

Cam brought her free hand up to wipe the tears from her eyes as she cried softly in her mother’s arms.

“I’m so sorry that you never got to meet him, mi corazón. Sé que no es justo, lo siento.”

[I know that it isn’t fair, I’m sorry]

The young girl pulled back after collecting herself to see that the small child in her arms had also begun to tear up.

“Bear, what’s wrong?”

“You guys were crying and it made me sad.” Emmy said, beginning to cry more while attempting to dry her mother’s tears.

“Aw, hun.” Camila mumbled into her hair after kissing it.

Tina took the toddler from Cam’s arms before speaking. “I’ll make sure that she’s okay. Finish getting ready and fix your makeup.”

“Have a great time, Camila,” she continued. “And tell Jeff to have you back by 11.”

As the two walked out of Camila’s room, she heard Emmy’s voice ask her grandmother a question.

“Who’s Jeff?”

yanda! speaks (again): gang, now i know i said we'd be back to regular programming but i'll probably only be able to post 3 more chapters this week and then i'll be offline for a couple of days on a team building retreat. i'll try do a little double update for y'all when i'm back, though. i'll also be taking a small break before i start writing season two but i already have some pretty big ideas for that one so don't give up on me! alright, love you!

🏷️ list: @rexorangecouny @louderfortheback @janoskiansecondsofdirection @thatonedogwithablog @kravitzwhore @iiheartbowie @doodlebob-mp3

#carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzatto imagine #the bear #the bear fanfiction #the bear fic #the bear fx #carmen berzatto x oc #jeremy allan white #alisha boe

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jooniperbonsai · 11 months ago

Text

Thanks For The Sub | ksj (Teaser)

Pairing: Camboy!Seokjin x Gamer!Reader (afab)

Rating: 18+

Teaser length: 2378

Chapter One length: 11-14k

Release date: Fri. January 19, 2024.

Genre: Smut, fluff, angst, camboy au, gamer au, comedy, crack, slow burn (?), coworkers/boss/friends to lovers, an exploration of adults in their late 20s/early 30s

Summary: After a clip of you sucking at video games goes viral, you've become somewhat famous, with thousands of subscribers now tuning in each week to see you play. Overnight, you've gone from a sexually frustrated grad student who reads smut in her room to a gamer girl (or rather, a not-gamer girl). This would have been the perfect job, except it was never the job you wanted. Desperate for money to pay for grad school, you bounce between your new gig and working at a local restaurant to pay the bills, where your hot coworker-now-boss Seokjin plays many of the lead roles in your sexual fantasies.

Seokjin, two years post losing his fiancé and job within the same day, is tired of the rut he's dug himself into and wants to start over. Now 30 years old, he's stuck managing his family's restaurant where he harbors an insanely inappropriate crush on you on top of carrying one hell of a secret: Seokjin is also known as Jin, a successful gay-for-pay camboy on the streaming site Worldwide Handsome.

When the stress of the upcoming semester and the pressure to stream becomes more than you can handle, you seek out some much-needed stress relief online, only to discover a man who looks a little too much like your boss is staring right back at you.

Warnings for Chapter One: Swearing, cheating (not between main characters), big age gap between lesser characters that can be uncomfy, sex work, gay sex work when the worker is actually not gay (but everyone is chill about it), feelings of shame and guilt, feelings of failure/depression, the existential crisis of your late-20s/30s that we all seem to go through, off-handed references to kpop culture including fanfics because I'm a clown and need to call us out sometimes, silly literary tropes, references to pregnancy, boss-employee power dynamics, allusions to queer BTS members or relationships, cameos of au Seventeen Members (Wonwoo and y/n are besties). NSFW sex stuff: big dick Seokjin (of course), f/m masturbation, dirty talk, sex toys, kink exploration, uh a lot cum (sorry), I mention the omegaverse as a joke, a sparkly pink dildo, seokjin has a massive collection of toys and he intends to use them, seokjin and reader are constantly horny, reader is kind of inexperienced, implied exhibitionism, implied voyeurism, implied public sex.

a/n: hello! i haven't written fanfic in years! I've been wanting to get back into it for a long time but I also work full time and am working on a poetry manuscript so this never manifested! This fic is inspired by a combination of fics from the lovely writing community on here, with a lot of inspiration coming from "tip 143 (for ∞ seconds of love)" by minilouvre on ao3. I feel like the camboy/person trope is so fun to explore and I wanted to try my own take on it with our Seokjin, who doesn't seem to get as many fics written about him but absolutely deserves it. I also wanted to create space for a fic that explores the weird transition of late 20s-30s that both BTS and I (and maybe many of you) have experienced in the last few years. I hope you enjoy!

xo - h

The alarm on your phone chimes, pulling you from the book in your lap. You’d been reading all afternoon, the sun now taking its final bow before plunging the world into darkness. Soon you’ll have to turn the lights on, then it will be time for work. On your only day off.

You groan, stretching your neck as you allow yourself to come back to reality.

To some, it would be hard to call your job “work”. Many people dream of being professional game streamers. Who wouldn’t want to be paid to sit online, play games, and talk to people?

You don’t. That’s the problem.

Your ascent into gaming stardom was a fluke. About 9 months ago, you were in between semesters for your grad program and looking for ways to unwind. Your oldest friend, Wonwoo, was a pretty successful streamer who often hosted game nights to play with his viewers and friends.

You frequently watched his streams, letting his soft voice be the perfect background noise as you studied and formulated the next lesson plan or behavioral assessment. You’d known Wonwoo for what felt like forever at this point, being his first subscriber, first moderator, and first kiss (not in that order). But your middle school kiss outside of the convenience store never led to anything more than that, as desperately as you’d wanted it to.

Once he moved across the country, you let your crush die with the distance. The years turned faster and your twenties were spinning by with the revolving door of lovers you’d watch him pine over, cry over, and in one case, almost marry. Streaming then became one of your main forms of connection, and your role as his moderator tied some part of you to him out of loyalty. To imagine him as anything other than a friend now feels ridiculous.

But that loyalty you have is also to a fault. When Wonwoo’s usual streaming friends bailed one night during a tournament, you subbed in…for a game you didn’t even know how to play.

And to make matters worse, this was a game that required talking to each other on-stream, which meant you not only sucked major ass at this game, but Wonwoo’s 700 viewers that day were also subjected to your constant frustrated squeaks, swears, and embarrassed maws as you tried to key-smash your way to victory but ended up throwing the entire team’s game with your incompetence.

Wonwoo wasn’t mad, though many others were. He knew what he was getting into when he agreed, and his streams operated with very few rules: no hate, no spam, and we are in this to have fun. And he did have fun. By the time the first round was over, he and most of the chat were losing it over your commentary.

As he wiped tears from eyes and took in a breath, he read his comments. “‘Damn, I never heard a chick threaten someone with a plunger like that before’. Yeah, I’ll give it to you, Y/N, you got really creative with your insults in that. Hey, PartyShitty thanks for the sub! ‘I can’t BREATHE’, yeah I’m still trying to get it together. W00000000000000000ziiiiii–damn that’s a lot of zeros in that username–thanks for the 5000 points! ‘Is she hot’ uh, I mean, I don’t—

“Oh shit, LetsGetIt15, thank you for gifting twenty subs! ‘Please, Y/N, start your own channel. I’ll be the first subscriber.’ Actually, no, I’ll be. But really, that's not a bad idea.”

Wonwoo navigated the rest of his stream with ease that night, but after it was over, he called you to try to convince you to start your own channel.

“It could help with school at least! Or you could get that special edition of that one book you like with the dragons or the blue alien porn stars or whatever it is.”

“They’re neither of those things, they’re actually–”

“Whatever they are! The book that has people fucking nonstop and some plot. You know, the special edition cover that you keep talking about in your close friend story that you won’t buy?” Wonwoo said. “The point is, if you start streaming you could finally buy it and then stop talking about it and I won’t need to see sections about how hot you think their alien or fairytale or demon whatever cocks are.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his exasperation. “That won’t stop with me getting that book, just so you know. And if it bothers you so much, I can take you out of the close friend story. I didn’t even know you looked at my stories that much.” You didn’t know he still used Instagram at all actually. He very rarely posted. He mostly lived on his Discord channel talking about games with his subscribers or other friends.

Regardless, it was nice to know that he was trying to be aware of your interests, even if it was incredibly embarrassing. Although the copious amount of smut you read wasn’t something you always wanted to broadcast to the public, you’d still made some friends from online book communities over the last few years and enjoyed keeping them in the loop of your reading list.

Also, Wonwoo had a point. Streaming could help paying some of your school expenses…or get you more books. You told him you’d think about it, and while you weren’t completely in love with the idea of streaming, it did provide you with some steady income until you landed your job at the restaurant.

After that conversation, you haven’t discussed smut or cocks since, and you’re honestly relieved, not because Wonwoo is hard to talk to about things, but because you are. Which is why streaming always feels a little uncomfortable and your position ironic, because you can barely have conversations successfully unless you really know the person to ramble about your interests to, or you can occasionally eke by with small talk.

But streaming requires the spotlight being on you in some way at all times. It’s your face that is fixed to the corner of the screen, monitoring your every reaction. It’s your voice that echoes into the mic and responds to your chat. Sure, you have mods and some streamers don’t interact with their chat at all, but you don’t want to be like that. You’ve been on the other side before, and know that most people are just lonely and looking for connection. .

From the moment you decided to do this, you were aware that because you were now a “gamer girl” you would be subjected to the three extremes of the comment section: chronic oversharers who tell strangers all their personal baggage perhaps in the hope that you will assume some role of therapist to them, people coming to insult your gaming (which is the point so that can’t impact you) or physical appearance, or sexually explicit comments.

Over the months, you’ve seen many things flitting by on the screen, deleted in haste by your trusty mod squad, but it doesn’t stop the fact that you still see them.

Those things you can handle. They are impersonal and a direct copy-paste of the same thing.

But when people compliment you? That makes you want to bury yourself under your covers and never come out. Because the compliments are always personal and touching a part of you that is authentic.

The people in your chat want to know you. They want to know what kind of music you like, your favorite foods and books. They ask if you have a boyfriend or girlfriend or partner, compliment your hair or the shirt you’re wearing or your gaming setup. It feels intimate. Almost like you could find these people and touch them and let them know you.

But they can’t. Because the only thing that drew them to you, the part where you’re this funny, positive gamer chick who sucks at video games but is down for whatever, isn’t real.

Spring Day Streams Y/N is a persona. You don’t stream because you’re her. You stream because you have to be her in order to survive.

And now she’s taking up more time. Last month’s streams landed you Streamer of the Month, which thanks to the exposure, brought dozens of new subscribers and thousands of points, and that helped take care of some of your expenses for the new semester. Some. You’re still behind on your credit card bill.

Also, more people means more expectations for streaming. So you’ve kicked up your streaming schedule from twice weekly to three times a week, with you occasionally hopping onto Wonwoo’s channel even if you aren’t streaming to mod.

When you aren’t glued to your computer, you’re usually at the restaurant, in a cramped kitchen where you do the prep work, often alongside him, your sexy coworker-but-now-boss, Seokjin.

The man you are quietly obsessed with. You can’t think about Kim Seokjin without thinking about all the positions you want him to fuck you in.

Which is also why you’ve been devouring books lately. When you’re home, you throw all your energy into the escapism they provide, especially ones where you can get yourself off to whatever fantasy Seokjin effortlessly slips into.

For every hot mob boss, corrupt CEO, longterm best friend, dragon-rider, fairy, demon, alien, ghost, or hockey playing love interest you can find, Seokjin is sure to fill the role. A hot merman looking for someone to help him grow legs and something else? Seokjin. A Grinch who inherits his family’s Christmas tree farm and discovers how much he loves to ho ho ho? Seokjin. A god who tears apart the underworld to find his lost lover, and then during the reunion fucks her on the throne of Satan while she wears the crown? All Seokjin.

Unfortunately, his transition from co worker to boss has made your fantasies all the more dirty.

It’s been incredibly difficult for you to handle the fact that any flirtation you two previously shared in the months before he was your boss can no longer continue. But it’s also incredibly hot.

Fantasies of him eating you out on the counter have been replaced with the fantasy of him shoving you in the back office and fucking you on the desk while wearing one of those perfect-fitting dress shirts he often parades around in.

And when he rolls up the sleeves to help in the kitchen? Fuck, it’s humiliating how wet you get.

The entire thing is pathetic really. He’s just standing there half the time, lecturing everyone on proper kitchen hygiene and ensuring one of the cooks doesn’t use expired seasonings for his eomma’s secret sauce.

And you’re standing next to him clenching your thighs together because when you’re this close, you can just make out the freshness of his cologne and feel the heat of his body close to yours.

When someone fucks up, he has a tendency to take over, chopping with unmatched precision and self assurance, trying to keep his voice even and usually failing as everything builds in intensity until he’s accidentally speaking at a million miles an hour and lecturing until his face turns red.

If someone were to pass by the shop, they’d probably mistake his shouting for anger, but you’ve come to understand Seokjin is just passionate about things. Usually when he comes down from his tangent, he’s embarrassed and apologizes, and not long after the entire staff is laughing along with him as he cracks a joke at himself for his inability to tone it down.

Which to you makes him even hotter. Seokjin is able to see his faults and work with them, not against them. He holds himself accountable. He’s nothing like the haughty men you’ve gone on brief dinners with after downloading dating apps for the hundredth time while you’re drunk. He’s actually funny, knowing the right way to use humor and tell jokes, never at someone else’s expense, and definitely without being disgustingly crude.

All those clowns you suffered through drinks with always made comments and digs at other women or referenced their cock like they were setting up some goofy scene from porn and you would find it hilarious and endearing.

Seokjin isn’t like that at all. He probably refers to his dick as a penis and would blush to high heavens if he knew how horny you are for him. He’s unwound you, and he has no clue. Maybe if it hadn’t been literal years since you’ve last had sex you could tone it down.

With working all the time and going to school, it’s already been hard to even go on singular dates here and there. And since the prospects were frankly awful, sex is just something that has had to go onto the back burner for a bit, but you seemed to scorch the fucking pan by forgetting to turn the heat off and now you are burning and hungry.

With a final sigh, you put the book down, annoyed that you didn’t have time to finish it today or at least get to a good part where you could insert yourself into the role of the palace servant and Seokjin as the Prince. Based on the reviews, there’s sure to be a hot sex scene coming up involving using a sword in a particular way that has piqued your curiosity.

In a moment of depravity earlier, you’d snaked one hand down the front of your panties to rub a few damp fingers around your clit to take the edge off.

You check the time on your phone, already aware that you don’t have time to cum before streaming. You already hit the snooze button twice. The spicy stuff will have to wait.

Defeated, you stand up, turning on the lights in your apartment as the sun finally fades away and the dark creeps in. You eat a bowl of cereal while doing your makeup, what little of it you want to put on. Finally, you fire up your PC, trying to ignore the irritation you’re already experiencing from being so high strung and unsatisfied.

The second this stream is over, you’re going to make sure you cum until you pass out. Until then, it’s time for work.

#seokjin smut #bts smut #jin smut #kim seokjin #seokjin x reader #bangtan #bts seokjin

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