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dustofthedailylife · 1 year

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How to Steal the Duke's Heart 101

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Pairing: Wriothesley x (gn!) Reader

Summary: The moment your verdict was decided as guilty you were brought to the Fortress of Meropide - despite being innocent. Little did you know that the trip to prison would make you meet the love of your life.

Tags: Fluff, kissing, you're in prison (but innocent), some violence (not graphic), swearing

A/N: Due to me being utterly normal about Wriothesley I had the idea for this fic - who am I kidding I would commit a crime for this man.

“According to the judgment of the Oratrice Mechanique d’Analyse Cardinale, the defendant is declared… guilty.”

The voice of Chief Justice Neuvillette was ringing in your ears as he read out the verdict. Your verdict.

You couldn’t believe it. You knew you hadn’t done what you had been accused of, that the eyewitnesses had lied the moment they had opened their mouths, that the evidence had been tampered with, that you had been framed for the crime – but you were innocent. And no one was ever going to believe you.

After all, the device that had handed you the fateful false verdict was treated as infallible in Fontaine. You now at least had proof that its reputation was nothing but hollow words. But what use was the knowledge other than just a bittersweet confirmation for no one but yourself?

And before you knew it, guards were escorting you out the back of the Opera Epiclese in handcuffs. Roughly dragging you along with them into a big elevator. Down – deeper and deeper into the depths of the ocean.

You had heard stories of the Fortress of Meropide before – the secluded place where all criminals and outcasts of Fontaine resided. The place no one had ever come back from to tell the tale. At least not in one piece.

You weren’t sure how you felt on the way down the elevator but you would describe it as something akin to hollowness.

The glances the guards threw your way out of the corner of their eyes literally screamed disgust. You were nothing more than a dirty criminal to them after all – someone who was to be shunned and banished from society for all eternity. And if you really had done what you were convicted for, you wouldn’t even blame them for their disdain.

When the elevator arrived at the bottom the doors opened with a mechanical hiss. The scent of machine oil, iron, and damp moldy cellars immediately pricked at your nose and it was the exact opposite of what you’d call homely.

The guards turned you in at the reception, where a rather unpleasant woman took your mugshots before handing you over to yet another rather unfriendly man who led you even further down into the Fortress.

With every new step you took, you tried to come to terms with the fact that the sight of damp, stone, and ironclad walls as well as the lingering industrial smell was going to be your life from now on.

And the dawning realization of that was painfully pulling a tight rope around your throat. You wanted to scream, you wanted to cry and most of all, you wanted to run away and pretend like all of this was a bad dream. But you couldn't.

Instead, you were trodding behind the man who was escorting you and silently began to cry as big beads of tears soon began rolling down your cheeks.

"Crying won't help you anymore, sweetheart." The man remarked almost mockingly as soon as he looked back over his shoulder at your defeated frame. "Should've thought about that before you did some shit."

No. You’re wrong. I'm innocent.

At least that was what you wanted to spit back at him. But it was as if any fierceness or strength to stand up for yourself had left you the moment you set foot into this prison. You simply had no strength left to fight.

You soon arrived in a gigantic circular room. The contraption in the middle almost looked like a giant engine, elevators were going up one level on one side and even further down on the other side of the room. The ceiling was so high up that you almost couldn't make it out at all. The light was dim and the only real light sources were yellow lanterns whose light was bouncing off of the copper-colored iron pipes, crates, and frames that lined the entire room. Gloomy would probably be the best way to describe it.

The pungent smell of oil and damp cellar was hanging in the air here as well and probably even more prominent than it had been before. Only now it was also mixed with what you thought was old sweat and… tea? The smell of the latter seemed oddly out of place and you couldn't make out where exactly it was coming from. All you knew was that it was probably the only pleasant smell you had encountered down here.

Taking the elevator up one level again the man you had been following this entire time led you into a side hallway that looked more like a vent pipe. The dimly lit room that was lying behind it was only furnished with a bunk bed and a barely functioning lantern. He unlocked your handcuffs before roughly shoving you into the room with a smug grin on his face.

"Make yourself at home." He chuckled mockingly before turning around on his heel and leaving while whistling a tune to himself that eerily echoed off the stone walls.

You lay down on the bed, exhaling in defeat. Your throat still felt like someone had painfully tied it shut and tears were dangerously pricking at the corners of your eyes.

Now what?

You had no idea what to do here aside from sitting your time off. Where do you get food? Were you supposed to work and if yes, where do you have to and when?

You closed your eyes as a single tear escaped from the corner of your eyes, rolling down your cheek, dampening the pillow you lay on.

All you heard around you were wet droplets falling from the ceiling onto the wet stone floor, distant voices from down below, and your own breathing. The only thing that drowned these sounds out were the thoughts in your head.

Now that you had a quiet moment to yourself after everything that had gone down today, the realization about your situation was beginning to seep in for good. This bed, these walls, the oily smell… this was going to be the rest of your life now.

And that’s when you broke down and started crying once again.

Eventually, you must’ve fallen asleep because the next thing you knew was waking up to the smell of food wafting through the air vent in front of your room.

You got up from the bed, took the elevator down, and followed the smell. Soon you found yourself standing in front of a Cafeteria, where fellow inmates were queuing for lunch. Or was it dinner? You’ve barely even been here a day, but the distinct lack of daylight already made you lose track of time.

You sighed and walked over, queuing for some food as well. You didn’t have any appetite but you knew you had to eat something and your grumbling stomach was screaming for food, appetite be damned. Much to your dismay, the food needed to be paid for, well, at least the stuff that looked digestible.

You ordered the only free option and sat down with the bowl of grayish, funky-looking liquid whose consistency was more akin to that of wallpaper paste. It didn’t look appetizing, but at least it was free and would prevent you from starving.

Just as you were about to lift the first spoon of gooey pap in your mouth, someone sat down at your table, making you halt your movement for a brief second.

He placed his tray on the table with a loud bang before plopping down on the bench right in front of you. His food looked tremendously more high quality than yours. Your mouth began watering from just looking at it. Freshly made roast potatoes with rosemary, fluffy pieces of baguette with salted butter, a big juicy piece of meat – grilled to perfection, and a glass of mousse au chocolat.

He leaned forward, supporting himself on the table with his elbows, folded his hands and intensely looked at you with his piercing blue eyes. It seemed like he wasn’t in a hurry to start eating any time soon.

You pretended to ignore him and began eating. The soup, which could vaguely be identified as lentil soup, left a slimy feeling on your tongue and tasted completely bland. Every fiber of your body told you to spit it back out again but with enough willpower, you actually managed to swallow it. Not without pulling a grimace first though.

“You’re new here.” The stranger in front of you observed with curiosity.

You looked up at him, nodding slowly shoveling another spoonful of goo in your mouth before going back to ignoring him. You weren’t really interested in trying to make connections here. All you wanted was to get out of here again – even though you knew deep down that the likelihood of that was nearing zero.

“Adapting well?” He inquired, still not in a hurry to touch his food.

You suspiciously looked up at him. There was just something about this guy that was off. He didn’t quite fit in here at all. He was admittedly very handsome. He looked well groomed and his attire was way too pompous to be an inmate - or maybe he was some rich guy who got some sort of special treatment down here. Every other inmate was avoiding your table and people looked at him with an almost reverent look in their eyes. If it wasn’t for the scars that seemed to cover the majority of his body already, this just further confirmed your gut feeling to avoid this guy at all costs in the future.

“I’ll take that as a no.” He chuckled, eyeing you further with a smirk plastered on his lips.

“What do you want?” You asked, now slightly annoyed.

“Just trying to strike up some friendly conversation. You know, seeing how lost you were while ordering food, not knowing about tickets, and just dashing around like a scared blubberbeast, led me to believe that no one gave you a rundown of how this place works. So, allow me?” He remarked with that same smirk.

When you wordlessly motioned for him to continue, he began explaining the workings and rules down here in detail. Unspoken rules, general rules, what and who to avoid, how jobs worked, work times, payment and money, general daily schedule, and a lot more. There was simply so much you were beginning to feel lightheaded as soon as he had finished speaking and you could feel the lump in your throat grow in size with every minute that passed. You would never be able to live here.

“That should about cover the basics.” He finished explaining as you swallowed thickly.

You opened your mouth in order to speak but he swiftly lifted his finger to shut you up.

“No need to say anything. I know it’s not easy to adapt to a new environment. Especially not one you feel trapped in. But that feeling will fade eventually. Trust me.” He threw you a genuine smile before lifting himself up from the bench and pushing his tray with the food in your direction, pointing at it with an offering gesture.

“Welcome to the Fortress of Meropide.” He said, before striding away.

“Wait-” You jumped up from the table causing him to halt in his tracks and turn around once more. “What’s your name?”

“Wriothesley.”

After this strange encounter with the mysterious and admittedly attractive man, you didn’t see him around for a long while. This came as a surprise because you’d assume someone with his looks and attire would stick out like a sore thumb wherever he went. But it was as if the ground itself had swallowed him.

You wanted to see him again, mostly because you thought you could learn from him for your life down here. And despite your gut telling you that he was a walking red flag you had developed a strange curiosity for him.

You had begun working at the ship dockyard where a big window was offering a view into the ocean. You could somewhat make out the sky and time of day from there and it was the only thing that kept you from going completely insane in here. All you had done was sleep, work, eat, and repeat since you came here. Some people had tried speaking to you and some asked what you were here for, but you didn’t have any interest in conversing with them – especially not after you had tried telling someone that you were innocent and they had just laughed at you. Needless to say, you had no desire to connect with people – although he was the only exception seeing as you were craving to talk to him again, as much as you tried to deny it.

Today you were working at the docks again and found yourself longingly staring out of the large window. Your mind drifted off and you wondered how it would feel to simply swim back up to the surface where your lost freedom lay.

“Beautiful view, isn’t it?” A familiar voice reached your ears from behind.

“Wriothesley!”

The man in question walked up to you and came to a halt right next to you. He looked out through the window himself before looking at you from the corner of his eyes with a slight smirk.

“Still longing for the surface?” He inquired, crossing his arms over his chest. “It never fully goes away but once you get used to the Fortress you’ll find yourself unable to want to leave.”

“Is that so?” You ushered quietly, scoffing. You were simply unable to believe him, not when your freedom had been taken unjustifiably.

“Thank you for the food the other day, by the way. I didn’t have a chance to thank you yet.” You attempted to divert the topic.

“Don’t mention it.” He waved dit off with an unwavering smile. “It is almost time for lunch, have you eaten yet? We could head to the Cafeteria together. My treat.”

“Oh, you absolutely don’t have to, I have enough credits for food now that–”

“Please. I insist.”

And so you found yourself sitting at the table with Wriothesley again, with the most exquisite meal that tickets could buy down here.

You were surprised he was able to fork over nearly four thousand credits to buy the meals as if they were nothing. And especially since he treated you to such a meal as well, while everyone else down here held onto their credits as if their life depended on it. And of course, you also didn’t miss the stares of the others again when you sat down with your fancy meal.

You carefully eyed the food and then Wriothesley as if you didn’t deserve to be treated to something like this. He looked back at you with a genuine smile as he continued nibbling on his baguette.

“Anything wrong?” He asked with curiosity.

“No. It’s just… why–?”

“Why am I treating you to something?” He raised an eyebrow in amusement as if he had read your thoughts. You nodded slowly in reply.

“You’re interesting. That’s all there is to it.” He admitted with a smirk.

“I’m interesting? Me?” You raised your eyebrows in surprise. “You say that when you’re the one I could say that about. You don’t look like you fit in here at all, you have a truckload of credits to spend, and everyone here looks at you like you own the place.”

You paused for a second, eyeing him suspiciously. “You’ve been here for a long time already, haven’t you?”

“You… could say that, yeah.” He replied with a chuckle, dipping his baguette into the rich sauce on his plate.

“Why are you here?” You continued prying.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” He replied with a smug grin before he continued eating.

You couldn’t quite decide if he was a red flag you should run as far away from as possible or if you wanted to get to know him closer. But either way, your first priority for now was not letting the food go to waste so you began eating the heavenly-tasting meal.

A silence settled between you two that was surprisingly pleasant as you both quietly ate with the occasional glace thrown at each other.

Once you were both done he took your tray with him to put it into the tray cart before turning back around with a smile.

“Same time tomorrow?” He asked.

“U-uh… yeah, sure. I don’t see why not.” You stammered a bit taken aback, still confused as to why he wanted to hang out with you so much. You were a nobody with nothing to your name – not even a criminal record technically.

“Great. See you tomorrow then.”

And with that, a habit would slowly form. You would meet up for lunch each day and not long after, also for dinner. He often picked you up at the docks and bought a meal for you and only sometimes you were able to deter him from doing so and insisted that you bought your own since you were genuinely beginning to feel bad even if he seemed well off.

You sometimes sat down for a long time talking even after you both had finished eating. You chatted just about anything and as it would turn out you two seemed to share similar interests. You found out he really loved tea and had extensive knowledge in that regard. And it just so happened that you too were a fellow tea aficionado. Not only that though, you two shared a similar taste in music, books, food, and more. After a couple of weeks had gone by it felt like you had already been friends for the longest time. And much to your surprise, not once had he attempted to ask you why you were here or pried into your private life.

On another such day, you were just heading out of the dormitories towards the Cafeteria to meet up with him. But before you could arrive there someone forcefully yanked you behind some iron crates. You crashed against them with the back of your head with a loud bang, momentarily losing consciousness as pain shot through your system.

"What kinda big shot are ya, huh? What're ya sitting for?" A man yelled at you aggressively.

As soon as you got a grasp of your surroundings again, even though now extremely dizzy, you saw a big bulky guy with a missing front tooth who was pinning you against the boxes by your throat with an iron grip. He was accompanied by two other, less muscular guys who were staring at you in the same aggressive manner. His lackeys, you assumed.

"I have- I have no idea… what you're talking about." You struggled the words out due to the applied pressure on your vocal cords.

"What're ya here for, asshole?!" The man yelled at you even louder now, a few beads of spit flying right into your face through his tooth gap.

"I… I didn't do anything. I–" You gasped breathlessly as you clutched your hands around the hand around your throat, trying to alleviate some of the pressure being applied to it.

"Bullshit! You don't land here for twiddlin’ ya thumbs counterclockwise. And if the Duke's got the eye on ya already, ya've to be some VIP or some shit!" The toothless man spit on the ground between your feet.

“Duke?” You asked confusedly.

“Tch, don’t fuck with me here, shut ya trap. Now, tell me. What’ve ya done? Be honest or I might’ve’ta polish your visage a lil’.” He viciously cackled in unison with his two lackeys who were cheering on him.

“I didn’t. Do. Anything.” You bit back through clenched teeth, putting a strong emphasis on each word. And before you were able to react, a stinging pain shot through your system as a fist connected with your face, sending your head flying back against the crate once again.

You immediately began to see stars and could feel your consciousness quickly fade away. The ringing in your ears and the accompanying dizziness from the impact was overbearing everything and all you could make out before you passed out was a flash of white light and pleas for mercy. Then everything faded to black.

The next thing you knew was waking up with a bandage around your head and an intense migraine. You felt like a horde of boars had trampled over you. The omnipresent pain got worse when you instinctively tried to sit up on the bed you found yourself on.

You hissed in pain and immediately felt a pair of big hands push you back into the fluffy bedding.

“Stay.”

You recognized this voice. You had heard it so often in the past couple of weeks that, despite your delirious state, you had no issue placing it.

“Wriothesley.” You uttered weakly with your eyes still closed.

“Yes, it’s me. I’m here.”

He took hold of your hand with a reassuring squeeze and the feeling of his warmth on your skin made you feel tingly all over and the all-present pain immediately felt like it was being alleviated ever so slightly. Out of all people you were glad it was him by your side.

“What? Where?” You rasped, attempting to slowly open your eyes.

“We’re in a separate room at the Fortress Infirmary. Someone roughed you up real good and you fell unconscious. I arrived just in time to prevent worse. You’ll probably have a nasty bruise on your face for a while and you’ve got quite the concussion as well as a cracked rib. But nothing some bed rest and a good cup of tea wouldn’t be able to fix, hm?” He tried to reassure, brushing a strand of hair out of your forehead.

"Your Grace, here is the medicine you asked for." A guard suddenly came rushing into the infirmary with a small satchel that he handed to Wriothesley before quickly leaving again after a courteous bow towards the man by your side.

You furrowed your brows in confusion at the display of submissiveness of the guard towards a fellow prisoner when you've been treated with nothing but disdain and… wait a minute.

Your Grace. The looks he got from the others during lunch and dinner time. The Duke. It's him?!

The memories suddenly came rushing back to you – how you had been slammed into the metal crates, how the toothless man had mentioned the Duke while threatening you and how his fist had then ultimately painfully kissed your face.

You didn't have all the puzzle pieces to connect everything into a clear image yet but it was enough to feel that there was an epiphany just mere millimeters out of your range.

You startled and sat up on the bed with wide-blown eyes once more as pain shot through you again from the abrupt movement. Pain so bad you thought you would have to throw up for a second.

"I-I… your Grace? The Duke? It's you! He meant you and– who? W-what?! I-I– he threatened me and I-I'm innocent. I don't belong here I–I'm innocent–" You incoherently stammered nonsense because your mouth couldn't match up with the speed at which your thoughts were racing.

Just who was he?

But before you got to properly ask that question a pair of soft lips gently connected with yours, rendering you speechless and cutting off the words that were spilling from your mouth relentlessly like water from a leaky faucet. He squeezed your hand a little tighter while the other gently found comfort on your cheek. Cradling it so carefully as if you're the finest piece of porcelain in the world and could break any minute.

The gentleness of his touch, the warmness of his lips, and the smell of Earl Grey on his breath made your body explode into a sea of fireworks. It wasn't until this moment that you realized you had developed feelings for Wriothesley that went beyond the casual acquaintance you met up with after work for food in the prison cafeteria. It was just that you had been too occupied and lost in your own thoughts about your predicament to realize it.

Your curiosity and cravings to see him more and more often weren’t just born from a place of loneliness. Your heart had craved for him all this time.

Your hands found comfort in his hair as you leaned into the kiss more, prying a low chuckle out of him and you felt him smirk against your lips.

"I know you are." He whispered against your lips when he separated from you again.

"What?" You asked in confusion, already forgetting what he was replying to.

"That you're innocent."

"N-no I don't mean just in this case… I didn't commit any crimes I was sent here despite being innocent I-"

You didn't even realize you had started crying until he gently wiped a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"I know." He reiterated firmly.

You looked up in his face and his eyes were filled with nothing but sincerity. He must be the first person you ever encountered who didn't see the sentence of the Oratrice Mechanique d’Analyse Cardinale as infallible and unquestionable.

"How?" You quietly breathed out in disbelief.

"I knew it on the first day I saw you. My beliefs were just further confirmed when I talked to you for the first time. I've been working behind the scenes to get you out of here again ever since." He admitted, wiping another stray tear from your cheek.

That's why he was gone for days after your first meeting and suddenly arrived again behind you at the docks.

"You went above ground?" You rasped, making the question of who he actually is even bigger.

He nodded, taking your hands in his and placing a gentle kiss on your knuckles.

Is that why he also said you would find out who he is soon enough that one day? But you still didn't know… who actually is he?

"How are you allowed to go out? Who are you?"

"You still didn't figure it out?" He smirked. "I'm Wriothesley. Warden of the Fortress of Meropide."

And at that moment everything fell like scales from your eyes.

His attire, the looks of other prisoners, the abundance of tickets to spend, randomly disappearing for days, the Duke… the Cryo Vision dangling from his shoulder despite not being allowed to carry any in here.

He was the one who saved you earlier.

He must've noticed your glance because he squeezed your hands a little tighter and reassured you: "They won't ever bother you again. I took care of it."

You didn't dare ask what he meant by that and simply nodded in acceptance.

"I can also tell you that things are going well. I pulled some strings and you might be out of here by the end of the week again with no criminal record to your name."

But what if you actually didn't want to leave anymore? At least not without him.

"Will I be able to see you again?"

A question that spilled out of your mouth before you could properly think about it. But the deafening silence that followed told you everything you needed to know. He rarely left the underground and was occupied down here most of the time so the possibility of you and him seeing each other again was low.

"Certainly." He replied after a while avoiding looking into your eyes.

A white lie. He wanted you to return to your old life again, out of the confines of this prison you had unjustifiably been thrown in. He didn't want to keep you here only for the selfish desires of his heart that he had unplannedly given to you along the way. Maybe he would find a way to be with you once you returned, maybe he didn't – But that didn't mean he couldn't indulge in what you had for the remaining time you were here with him.

And that's when he pulled you closer once more, one hand resting on your waist, gently massaging your skin through the fabric of your shirt while reuniting your lips as if it was the last thing he would ever get to taste.

And maybe, if it was what it took to see him again, you wouldn't mind actually committing a crime.

Do not repost, copy, translate or edit - © dustofthedailylife || reblogs, comments, and asks about Genshin or my fics are always greatly appreciated and motivate me! Maple dividers are mine - do not copy.

#genshin impact #astronetwrk #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x y/n #genshin fluff #genshin wriothesley #genshin x y/n #genshin impact fanfic #genshin drabbles #genshin scenarios #genshin brainrot #genshin headcanons #🍁 dust writes #🍁彡 gi

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thecoochiefairy · 2 months

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𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖈𝖔𝖔𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖊𝖋𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖞

━━ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑛 .ᐟ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚

warnings 𑄽𑄺 18K word count. toji zenin, biker!toji plug!toji, kinda/sorta! third person omniscient pov, black woman, vaginal penetration, a lil bit of angry/rough sex, lil bit of sweet talkin’, hair pulling, squirting, creaming, oral [f] [m], choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, condomless sex, overstimulation, edging maybe? kissing, spanking, aggressive toji, lil bit of sweet toji, megumi as a baby, toji as a daddy hehe, minors aren’t welcome!

song to play while listening; 𝑒𝑥𝑐𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 ; 𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑝𝑝𝑖𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑑 & 𝑃𝐴𝑅𝑇𝑌𝑁𝐸𝑋𝑇𝐷𝑂𝑂𝑅

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ now look, i already said this was finna be a long ride, okay. so just enjoy. visuals for fem-character in this fic—✰ ✰ ✰ she listens to brent faiyaz ✰ ✰ ✰ —visuals for toji/vibes for this fic will be @ the bottom, so scroll down before you start! no words, just cuteness, hotness, + my man my man my man! flying away! 🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧

SPIDER-MAN DOODLED WITHIN THE CORNER OF THE PAPER IS WHAT DRAWS HER ATTENTION, immediately recognizing what student it belongs to. She can’t help the small smile that comes along her face as she brings her eyes up to search for him, seeing as his nose is shoved closer to his journal than the actual coloring pencil.

She adored being a Pre-K teacher. Being able to influence the mind of children growing into their own people made her feel like a superhero—It was their giggles, their constant questions, their curiosity. A happiness that no one could replace. But her favorite student in particular was Megumi.

His dark hair that sprawled all around his head, doe-like gray eyes that beamed when something took his interest. He’d always been more quiet, not as interactive with other students, barely joining in during activities or even recess.

He stuck to her like glue, even when he didn’t have anything to say. His nose was within his Spider-Man booklet, drawing pictures with his left hand—she’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy the child’s company.

She stood from her desk, passing by her other students that were in different stations within the classroom, coming to the ‘art station,’ as she kneeled down to the table next to Megumi who continued to draw.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she calls softly, “You okay?” Her eyes drift between him and one of her other students within this station, a little girl with pigtails, toffee skin shining under the classroom lights.

“Did you see what Anabel drew?” She asks.

Megumi looked up at her with a small nod, his dark bangs sticking out a little. He glanced at the girl and gave her a kind smile before looking back down to the table. He looked a little tired, but his large eyes were as observant as ever.

"It is very pretty," he mumbled in his timid voice. His small hands still continued to shade in the page he had started, filling in his favorite hero’s color scheme.

She blows out a breath, wishing he had a little more to say as she prods, “It is,” she agrees, looking at Anabel who was extremely talkative, “Hey, Bel’s, did you see Megumi’s picture? He’s really good at drawing.”

Anabel nodded excitedly, her pigtails bouncing. She was a bundle of energy compared to the quiet Megumi, her bubbly personality on full display.

“Mhmm!” she chimed with a giggle, her eyes landing on Megumi’s page as she leaned over, her small hands gripping the side of the table as she gasps, “That’s a pretty picture! Did you draw it all by yourself?”

Megumi’s gaze slowly turned from his page to the girl. Despite his shy nature, she hadn’t seemed pushy like most children often were. He slowly nodded, his eyes meeting hers as she leaned closer to look.

“Yes.. I did it all by myself…” his soft voice mumbled quietly. He was often proud of his drawings, it was his favorite thing to do.

His teacher’s eyes almost brightened. She then tries a different tactic, “How about you show Anabel the drawing of Spider-girl you made? Or maybe, you can make her one?”

The boy’s attention moved back to his picture with a thoughtful expression. He seemed to ponder over the teacher's words, debating on the idea. After a moment of hesitation, he looked up to Anabel, who seemed excited.

“…I can show her my other picture…” he nods his head, going into his desk as he says, “I can make you another Spider-girl one, okay? This one is for my dad,” he tells Anabel, pressing the paper to his chest with his small fingers.

Speaking of the bastard, this was the one person that she didn’t have the opportunity to tell about how amazing Megumi was—his father.

She had been trying to contact Megumi’s father since he’d begun school, his nanny being the person that dropped him off on the first day. When she asked the nanny if there was any particular reason why he never showed up, she shrugged, as if she didn’t have an answer either.

‘He’s a busy man,’ she’d tell her. She didn’t think it was her business to pry, but when she concluded that the reason why Megumi clung to her—even if she didn’t want to admit it to herself— that this need for attention was lacking at home. She proclaimed that whenever his father decided to make his grand entrance by meeting the person Megumi was around more than his nanny, she’d give him a piece of her mind. She just didn’t know that day would be today.

“Thank you, you’re sweet,” she compliments, ruffling his hair. She sees as that makes his cheeks go russet, sliding his picture over to his classmate. As she stands, she looks up to see her co worker coming in to do her usual act of bothering her—which she didn’t mind, she was her friend— a smile upon her face as she sung playfully, “Heyyy Ms. Honey.”

She sighs, giving a soft laugh with a roll to her eyes at the playful call of her last name. She knew there would always be a never-ending joke anytime someone greeted her, always giving a rendition of, ‘Because she’s so sweet,’ waving as she replied, “Hey, Ms. Em.”

“I love your classroom, your kids are like the ultimate palate cleanser,” Ms. Em sighs, “Ready to get out of here?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Ms. Honey exhales, “Did you ever find out what time your class was going to that anti-bullying program?”

“Of course I did, who you’ think I am? Someone who doesn’t do their job?” She chuckled a little before letting out a slightly exaggerated sigh, “Although, I must say, that event is gonna be such a bore…”

“Extremely,” Ms. Honey mutters, looking over her desk for her pen, never noticing as Ms. Em is grinning at the scene behind her.

Ms. Em turns towards her co-worker as she asks, “Is that Megumi…making friends?” She whispers.

She sighs in return, “Trying to. I asked him to show Anabel his drawing, I thought he was gonna faint.”

Ms. Em chuckled at her words, her hands landing on her hips with a slight laugh, “He’s so shy, what a cutie.”

“I just wish he wouldn’t be so afraid to make friends. Everyone in class always wants to talk to him, he’s sweet irregardless. And his drawings, it’s nothing I’ve seen come from a four year old. They’re amazing,” she crosses her arms, “You’d think he’d want the entertainment, he’s an only child. I’m sure that becomes lonely.”

“Speaking of home, any updates on daddy-day -care?” she grins, seeing as Ms. Honey immediately became irritated.

“Girl, don’t make me laugh. I have to go through an interview just to have the nanny tell me he can’t talk. I’ve never spoken to the man directly. And she acts like she’s terrified of him, so I don’t know what to do.”

“Damn, this guy is so busy that he can’t even give you a call or email himself?”

“Not even a letter from a bird,” Ms. Honey retorts, “I asked if he was some CEO with this unattainable free time, the nanny said she only sees him when it’s close to Megumi’s bed time. She doesn’t know what he does for work, she just knows it’s something…illegal,” she whispered the last part.

“Mafia-daddy or assassin, hot,” Ms. Em playfully whispers in return.

The more she explained the situation, the more irritated she felt herself becoming as she thought about it. She truly didn’t feel like it was her place to have anything to say about his fathers job or even the slight abandonment to his child, but as it affected him on a daily basis—and the bastard seemed like a bastard— she cared about Megumi more than a way that a teacher cared about her student, it was a motherly nature that she had for him.

“But seriously, you’re kidding me, right?” Ms. Em raises her eyebrows, “He has to be a business tycoon or something, there’s no way that the time he does have for his kid is almost charitable.”

Ms. Honey shrugs, “Let’s hope for my sake I’ll eventually run into him. Or over him, whichever one I’m successful at first.”

“I’d like to be a fly stuck to the front of that car.”

Ms. Honey laughs, “I’d like to be the one driving the car.”

“That too.”

She feels her stress lightly release from her shoulders as her co-worker makes her feel better. As they both laugh amongst each other, their attention is suddenly taken away to the front of the class, a masculine cologne hitting their nose before the figure meets their eyes. Ms. Honey could’ve choked on her spit.

The silhouette within the doorframe nearly reaches the ceiling. He was… terrifying. It was in all the ways that sent shivers down her spine, also sending throbs in between her thighs. The scar jagged across his lips told her everything she needed to know. Onyx hair, steel gray eyes that had a familiarity she couldn’t pinpoint. Olive toned skin and baby pink lips, her eyes falling to a dark inked skull along the side of his neck, making her nearly want to faint at the sight. His broad shoulders were camouflaged by a sable shirt, tight along his hard torso that almost pulled inwards—that’s just how sculpted he was. More ink scattered along his large arms, dark jeans and hefty boots along his feet. He dropped the motorbike helmet he had within his veined covered palm along the desk by the door, stoic face searching for something, or someone within the room.

She takes a moment to breathe as she hears Ms. Em whisper, “Who in the hell is that?”

“I…don’t know,” Ms. Honey mutters back, still stunned.

He was a sight for sore eyes. As she looked at him, she immediately thought to herself, ’goddamn.’ Jawline as sharp as a knife, body nearly straining against his shirt—just an overall ominous aura, this man was a demon in the flesh. She knew she was staring.

“Uh—I’ll be right back,” Ms. Honey mutters, beginning to make her way over to him.

She didn’t recognize this to be one of her students' parents. As she goes to introduce herself, this time, his eyes are the ones studying her. Her strawberry red hair is pulled into a ponytail that swishes along her mid back, edges perfectly sculpted along her forehead, the rich red contrasting her caramel skin, freckles spruced along her face, nose and lips. Similar to him, she has a large rose blooming within the side of her neck, something he wouldn’t expect for a teacher to have. Her double golden nose rings shine within the light, baby pink long sleeve clinging to her body in a way that should’ve been inappropriate but was only at fault for her genetics—large hips and ass that she could only thank her mother for— blood red skirt flowing down to the floor with white sandals along her feet, orchids clipped to the top of them.

She comes up to him, nervously pulling at her ponytail as she greets, “Good afternoon,” giving a polite smile, straight teeth shining under her brown-lined lips, “I don’t think you have the right classroom, what teacher are you looking for?”

The man’s eyes never wavered from her form as she approached. He was taking in every little detail. How her red hair framed her face, the gold on her nose, how her shirt and skirt clung to her body, her scent, he felt like a dog in heat, wanting to howl as her aroma of cinnamon and vanilla choked up his windpipe. His gaze slowly went down to look at her hips and ass, his expression unreadable, before going back up to her face. He noticed her nervous habit of pulling on her ponytail, as well as the nervous tug on her skirt. She was sexy.

“Nah,” his voice had a rasp, deep baritone crawling to her spine as he replied, “I’m in the right place. You’re Ms. Honey, aren’t you?”

Her eyebrows raise up, “Me? I am. I just— I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you to be one of my students' parents,” she places her hands behind her back, his eyes dropping down to her physique, eyebrow twitching. This definitely wasn’t the time to think about how erotically attractive this man was.

“I’m Megumi’s father, Toji Zenin.”

As it hit her, she muttered, “Oh shit,” fixing her posture as she turned towards her co-worker, “Ms. Em, do you mind getting some of the kids started with dismissal?”

Ms. Em was caught off guard, not expecting to be roped into this situation. She looked between Ms. Honey and the mysterious man with a slightly surprised expression, nodding to her before turning to the children and saying in a convincing tone, “Okay cuties, let’s put away your supplies and go get ready for dismissal, okay?”

She turned back towards the man, “You’re…Megumi’s father…” to which he drops his eyes along her face and replies, “That’s what I just said.”

“Uh—it’s nice to finally meet you!” she takes a deep breath as she gives him another kind smile, placing her hand out.

It feels like an eternity as a hand never comes out to shake hers, her eye almost wants to twitch. Toji looked at her outstretched hand, an unamused expression on his face.

“Yeah,” he grunted.

He stayed leaning against the wall, broad frame nearly bending the doors hinges, his arms still crossed, looking down at her as he stated, “You’re the one with the ‘concerns’ about how I’m raising my fuckin’ kid.”

Okay, so he wasn’t the type to be passive aggressive. Just aggressive-aggresive. She places her tongue on her cheek, raising an eyebrow as she laughs awkwardly in response, “That I am. I’ve been wanting to speak to you for a while, you’re very good at ignoring someone. Now that you’re here, I’d like a sliver of your precious time?”

His jaw clenched as she spoke sarcastically, his eyes narrowing at her tone, “Speak then.”

She wanted to smack him upside the head right then and there. But she kept her composure, looking back to Megumi who giggled absentmindedly with Anabel, wishing she’d been anywhere else but this conversation.

She turned back towards him as she spoke, “Well, Megumi is a really good kid. He’s sweet, polite, and respectful—not sure who I have to thank for that—“ she throws shade, “But the only minor problem I do have out of him is his participation and social skills with other students. He has an issue making friends, and the only thing that keeps his interest is his school work and drawing.”

“You’re upset because the kid isn’t some damn social butterfly like the rest of your class?”

Her eyes squint at him as she pensively disagrees, “No. If you’d let me finish, he draws a lot. It’s essentially his passion. When I ask him what he’s drawing about, or who he’s drawing for, he says it’s for his father. He seems to be seeking your approval, Mr. Zenin. Not that it’s my place to tell you how to be a better father, but I’d give notion that if you were more of a participant in your child’s life, his social skills would bloom just like a social butterfly,” she tilts her head, gritting her teeth to keep from cussing him out.

His large arms go over his chest, a humorless laugh coming from his full lips as he asks, “You got’ kids?”

“No sir, I don’t,” she replied, a shift in her face at the question, yet she remains stoic.

“Then who in the fuck are you to tell me about how to raise mine?”

As she goes to reply, he cuts her off, “ You must be some dumbass, naive idealist who thinks everyone can be a perfect parent with enough love.”

“What I am is somebody telling you to watch your mouth around my students. Quickly,” she raises an eyebrow, voice going lower, “But I absolutely think with enough love and attention to your son, we wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place, Mr. Zenin.”

He grits his teeth for a moment to hold back a nasty reply, “I don’t need some gentle parenting bullshit spout about how to raise my own son,” he then remembers her threat, “Shut me the fuck up if you’re gonna threaten me. Know I’m not one of those other parents you’re used to—I’m your worst damn nightmare.”

She pulled her face back, raising an eyebrow. Was this motherfucker trying to scare her? Who in the goddamn hell was he talking to?

All of her professionalism went out the window as she sneered, “Come find me in my sleep, then. Nobody’s telling you to do anything. But I’d appreciate the effort of at least faking as if you’re committed to having a goddamn child, rather than clocking out when you don’t feel like being a father.”

“Maybe I ain’t one of those fathers that bakes sugar cookies with my kid and reads him a bedtime story, Ms. Honey, but I’m present. I don’t need your fuckin’ advice.”

“Then double it and pass it to the next person, Mr. Zenin. I literally don’t give a fuck—“

“Ms. Honey, can I take this book home with me?” A sweet voice calls from below, her attention being pulled away by one of her other students. It hits reality that she’s still at work, still standing within her classroom.

She was thankful that her students hadn’t heard this back and forth, but she could see Ms. Em felt the fire coming off of both of them.

She pressed her hand along the child’s cheek, “Yeah, of course, baby boy,” she replied to her student, Oliver, tan skin and bright green eyes giggling excitedly at her, “ Go ‘head.”

When she faces the man again, she realizes that she’d made a damn fool of herself, allowing this man to rile her up in a way that she never was with a student's parent.

She takes a deep breath as she leaves him with, “I’ll go get Megumi.”

Toji’s anger had simmered at the interruption. Even he wasn’t heartless enough to continue the argument with a child present. He watched as she went and spoke to her other students in her softest voice, almost admiring the way her face changed as she interacted gently. It nearly made him forget how fucking irritating her adamance was.

As she comes over to Megumi, she squats back down as she sighs, “Hey, handsome. Look who’s here,” she speaks softly to him, running his hair out of his face with a soft smile.

Megumi looked up from his drawing, his face lighting up slightly when he saw his father. He was surprised that he was the one to pick him up, but he felt happy to see him.

He set down his crayon and immediately started to pack up his things, almost saying to hell with his backpack as he ran towards his father, Toji grunting with a soft chuckle as he caught him within his arms. The man’s entire physique softened as Megumi acknowledged him.

“You wanna leave some of your snacks here for recess tomorrow?” She asks him, happy at how elated he was to see his father. She was glad it wasn’t another response, otherwise she would’ve actually crashed out on this man.

Megumi thought for a moment before smiling and nodded gently in agreement. Her words reminded him that he did forget his snacks at his desk, but if he was to take them home now, he would eat them all before morning came.

He looked up at his father, who was still holding him and he pointed over to the desk. “Can I grab my snacks…?” he asked in a shy voice.

“Go ‘head,” he replies even softer than Megumi asked, running his hands over his hair as he pressed a kiss to his child’s forehead, letting him run back over to his chair.

Megumi grabs his snacks from the table as he begins to take them to the classroom fridge, placing them where his name is taped on the shelf. Ms. Honey was now intentionally avoiding her gaze along Toji, taking a breath as she clasps her palms together, “I didn’t hear the clean-up song while Ms. Em instructed dismissal time!” causing the entire class to recite the tune they’d come up with, packing up their last bit of things into their backpacks.

She hadn’t noticed as Toji’s eyes dropped down to her ass, never in doubt of this woman’s attractiveness irregardless of their debacle. Maybe if he fucked that stick out of her ass, she wouldn’t have room for another one.

Once she makes sure he has all of his things together, she lets out a breath as she exhales, “Okay, Megumi—“ a shriek from her own mouth interrupting her sentence as he swiftly dropped his backpack, tightly wrapping his arms around her lower half.

She can’t help her small giggle, hugging him back as she speaks softly, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Meg. Promise I’m not gonna run away.”

Megumi smiled up at her as she hugged him back, enjoying her soft giggles as he clung onto her. He nodded and pulled away, reaching down to grab his backpack as he waved, “Bye-bye! See you tomorrow,” gripping his small hand within Toji’s larger one.

As she watched him grab Toji's hand, their entire argument recited in her head. The guilt immediately hit her chest, wishing it would’ve been more productive conversation. On the other hand, he was still an ass, and she didn’t necessarily feel like she wanted to apologize—yet.

She gave Toji one more glance before she turned her attention back to the class, leaving the conversation exactly where it was before as he and his son left the classroom. There was nothing to say.

Once the entire class cleared out, she could tell Ms. Em wanted to practically explode, holding her mouth up until the kids were gone.

“And uh, what the hell was that?!” she exclaims in a whisper-yell, her tone full of curiosity.

“Girl,” she sits along her desk, crossing her arms, “I almost killed that bastard. Did you hear our conversation?”

“I would’ve heard him swallow if I was listening any harder. Goddam, the tension in here felt like it was ready to explode. I was afraid a chair was going to catch fire or somethin’!”

“Funny,” Ms. Honey rolls her eyes, “I can’t believe him. Getting mad because you don’t spend time with your son?”

“The audacity to try and argue with you about his terrible parenting. And the damn gall to walk into this classroom and act as if you’re the one in the wrong!” she pauses for a moment, raising an eyebrow, “Although, you should’ve seen his face from my perspective. It was like he was trying not to smile or something, I swear,” she teased in a sly tone.

Ms. Honey twists her face, “I hope you’re not trying to insinuate something in that big ass head of yours. It doesn’t matter how hot he was, still doesn’t not make him a bastard, Em’.”

Ms. Em sighs, laying herself on her friends desk as she dreamily sighs, “Come onnnn, you can’t argue that the man wasn’t attractive as hell. That scar, those muscles, that height…” she trails off, looking back at Ms. Honey with a smirk, “Ugh, I could moan right now. And he rides a damn motorcycle? My cervix hurts. Maybe you should give him a chance. You might be able to get him to change his ways,” she presses her hands to her chest.

“What Disney song are you about to start singing?” Ms. Honey raises her eyes, her co-worker raising her middle finger to her as she retorts, “If you don’t want him, I’ll put his ass on a leash, quickly!”

“I’ll meet you at Pet-Smart to buy his food then.”

Ms. Em rolls her eyes, “You're getting bitchy. That’s my cue to exit stage left!” She begins walking out, dramatically swaying her hips, “I feen for a good enemy to lovers trope. Call me when you wanna go to Pet-Smart!”

Being left alone with the classroom allows her to let out a big exhale, wishing the conversation hadn’t gone so left. She was simmering on this thought as she sat at her desk going through her students homework, a FaceTime call interrupting her work. She sees the familiar picture of her best friend, answering as she continues looking at the papers, “Yes, Ezra?”

Ezra groans dramatically as his face appears on her screen, brown skin and emerald green hair appearing as he draws out her first name, “Ah—sigh—yelll, I’m boooooreeeed,” pouting like a child.

“Bored? Don’t you have that car show to go to later?” Asael looks over the camera, “Or have a little sneaky-link to…link with?”

Ezra rolls his eyes, “That last man was a lil’ hookup. He’s not really my type. Besides, I have a new toy to play with,” he responds slyly, letting out a sigh, “But, that’s actually what I called you for, the car show is tomorrow night—and you’re coming with me.”

Asael frowns to the camera, “Says who?”

“Me, that’s who. You haven’t been out in a hot minute, you just need to let loose and relax, maybe find a sexy biker to swipe your little abstinence card,” he replies with a small giggle, ignoring the glare she sends through the camera.

“It’s celibacy, smart one. And I just haven’t…found anyone that truly arouses me, I’d rather be in isolation than have meaningless sex,” she shrugs.

“Almost a year of no dick is insane. You have a strong sense of mind and body,” Ezra shakes his head.

“My dick doesn’t have a mouth to get on my nerves, and only complains when I need to change its batteries,” she shrugs, “But as far as your plans, I’m good on that. Not in the mood to watch a bunch of guys do donuts in a parking lot for hours.”

Ezra rolls his eyes at her words, letting out a scoff, “Come on, it’s not going to be just guys doing donuts. There’s going to be live music, food, hot guys, oh, and hot guys again! My man’s gonna be there with his lil’ fire ass retro car.”

She hadn’t done anything with her last couple of weekends but cuddled in the bed with her cat, grading papers and overworking herself until all she wanted to do was sleep. She figured that flirting with a couple of guys with nice cars wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, and maybe would be a great start to her weeknd.

She tilts her head, humming as she thinks over the proposal, “Mmm, food truck food, hot guys with hot cars. Doesn’t sound too bad now that I think about it.”

“See, I knew you’d agree with me in the end. Ezra’s always right!”

She sighs, “I need an outing after the day I just had,” she admits more to herself.

Ezra’s eyebrows shot up with curiosity, “Oh? And why is that? Was someone mean to my bestie? Whose feet do I need to tie bricks to and throw them in the nearest ocean?”

“Yes, actually!” She exclaims, “Remember my student Megumi? The one I always send you pictures of? Super cutie with bad social skills?”

“That sweet lil’ kid who looks like he could kill with a single look?”

“Yeah, well I met his father. After playing telephone with the nanny I finally got a hold of Ghostface, and he ripped my ass to shreds. Told me it wasn’t my business how he raised his son,” she briefly explains, not wanting to piss herself off all over again.

Ezra’s jaw practically hits the floor as he processes her words, “You’re lying, who the hell does he think he is? The goddamn pope?”

“Did I mention the bastard is the hottest fucker you’ve ever seen?” She adds on, seeing Ezra’s jaw drop down to the core of the earth, Asael nodding as she laughs humorlessly, “Yeah. It gets worse. Motherfucker could put a nun out of commission.”

“And he ate you up that bad?”

“Chewed me up and spit me out. He literally came in on ten! He was not playing with me. Although I snapped his ass right back up, I’m starting to feel like it wasn’t my business,” she sighs, “But you know how I feel about Megumi…I’m just afraid that the lack of attention will cause him to change.”

“Damn. Megumi’s a sweet kid. He doesn’t deserve to be neglected by his own father, no matter how hot the man is,” Ezra shakes his head.

“I feel bad. I want to apologize—but the bitch doesn’t even deserve that,” she leans along her chair, rubbing a hand over her hair as she groans, half covering her mouth as she quietly admits, “He had a fuckin’ neck tat, Ezra! I wanted to lick him,” She admits, hearing as Ezra laughs at that.

“Can’t believe you didn’t snap a picture with your eyes and mind transfer it to me. You don’t love me forreal,” he smacks his lips, “But seriously, if he comes back to pick him up tomorrow, just take off your huge ass prideful panties and apologize. If he starts tripping, I’ll pop up and pop his ass.”

“Are you tryna’ get me fired? Or arrested? Don’t be funny,” she frowns, “I’ll just apologize and hope he isn’t on some extra shit. But if I call you, just know you will get the opportunity to slash someone’s tires.”

“I’ve been waiting all my life for this moment,” Ezra fake-cries into the phone, “I can finally shine!”

Asael softly laughs, rolling her eyes as she says, “I gotta finish these papers, just meet me at my place by the time I’m off work tomorrow.”

“Noted. One more thing?”

“Yeah?”

“If you don’t want him, can I have Ghostface? I promise imma’ answer the phone.”

“Ezra, get the fuck off my phone.”

“Muah! Bye!”

˚. ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏~♡ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

WHEN THE NEXT DAY COMES, Asael becomes antsy, glad for it to be Friday, but not glad that she admittedly has some apologizing to do. She knew that an apology was in order for her as well, but she wasn’t necessarily holding her breath on that one—especially when the person who picked up Megumi was the nanny and not Toji.

She knew it was now the weekend and that meant leaving behind issues at work, but she couldn’t help being the emotional person she was, constantly stressing on issues she wished she could immediately smooth over. She now stood within the full body mirror in her bedroom, eyeing herself as she was her own constant critic.

Her strawberry hair flowed around her face in layers, falling to her mid back. She wore a black mini skirt, the bottom of her ass poking out as paired it with thinly strapped matching heels, black baby tee and her red hello kitty purse. She leaned within the mirror as she lined her lips with brown liner, fluffy cat-eye lashes hanging above her previously darkened water line.

Ezra came behind her, playfully whistling, “So you are tryna’ get that card swiped tonight, huh?”

“Can I just be a girl that wants to be sexy, not because of a man?”

Ezra smirks as he tilts his head, seeing as she then mutters, “If he’ fine, then maybe.”

“Mhm, whatever. You’ ready to go?”

“Not as ready as you, you’ ready to see your man?” She teases.

Ezra leans within the wall, dreamily sighing, “I’m ready to do bad things to him. Let’s go!” He nearly drags her out of the house, preparing for an eventful night.

As they pull into function, cars line down the lot, motorbikes also grumbling along the ground as they model next to the customized vehicles. The air smells of gas, people taking pictures or showing off their most prized possessions, men and women all talking amongst each other, feeling the thrive of energy.

Asael looks around in excitement as they arrive at the car show, taking in the sight of the various vehicles and the crowd of people buzzing with excitement. From a pink Kuromi styled suped-up motorbike, to a black and white BMW E-30, tires screech under smoke as the vehicle takes off, swiveling around the parking lot almost like a video game.

They step back as cars fly past them, excited yells whooshing into the air. It’s a chaotic scene in the best way. Asael has a warm smile come to her face, feeling as if it's been a while since she’s enjoyed herself like this.

“Daddy!”

She turns as Ezra squeals, wrapping his arms around a taller man that chuckles, low waves along his head, brown skin almost matching the sweatshirt he wears. A bright smile comes to his face as he pulls Ezra into a hug, kissing his lips as he mutters within his ear.

“This is Cam,” Ezra grins against his mouth, Asael giving a soft smile as she greets, “Asael. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” he chuckles, “I don’t know too many girls that are into shit like this.”

She shakes her head, “To tell you the truth, I’m terrified of motorbikes and extremely loud cars, but they’re cool to look at, I’m just here for the ride. No pun intended.”

Cam replies amusingly, “Well by all means, you can always just chill by my car. It’s the ‘79 dodge charger.”

She takes a deep breath, nodding her head as she hides the jump her body wants to make every time someone loudly revs their engine. It’s not that she was afraid, her mind just thought of the worst when seeing these vehicles and bikes mindlessly racing one another, the fear of being hurt more concerning to her than anything—that definitely came from being around kids all day.

When she looks to his car again, seeing the multicolored headlights, she then compliments, “It’s fire as fuck, Cam. My chest hurts just thinking about how much you spent on customizing it.”

He sighs, “It was fasho’ a splurge, but the shit was worth every penny. She purrs like a kitten when she's revved up."

Ezra lets out a scoff as he rolls his eyes, “Yeah, yeah. Keep bragging about your car like it's your new boyfriend or something."

“How do you know I wasn’t talking about you?” Cam replies, wrapping his hands around Ezra’s waist, tugging him forward. They both laugh as they pull themselves into a kiss, and for the first time, Asael feels like the third wheel. Times like these made her wish she did have someone to romantically entertain, it made her feel a little lonely.

She clears her throat as she mutters to them, “I’m uh… gonna go find something to eat,” giving a weak smile as she waves, giving them no time to reply as she’s already searching for a food truck.

The music they play along the lot keeps her company as she takes pictures of cars she likes, too anxiety filled to actually talk to any of their owners. Most of the men had women who glared deeply at her, almost hissing as she passed by. She was starting to feel insecure for her outfit choice.

As Asael walks down the line, she makes her way to the small bar they have within the event, ordering a crown vanilla and coke mixture, taking light sips as she continues walking around. Her eyes slowly catch the attention of a handsome, caramel complexioned man who takes pictures of a custom challenger, headlights royal blue with a blower engine plummeting atop of the hood.

Okay, this was it. She lets out a deep breath as she compliments, “Nice car.”

The man looks up as he hears her compliment, his eyes roaming over her with appreciation. He smiles, clearly enjoying the attention.

"Thanks,” he leans against the hood of the car, crossing his arms over his chest, “She's my pride and joy. Been working on her for months. You’ showing off a ride here?”

“Oh, no. I’m uh��third wheeling my best friend,” she lightly laughs, “Decided to walk around by myself before they started hooking up in the car.”

The man chuckles at her response, "Ah, so you're in need of some company tonight,” he replies, looking her up and down with a slightly cocky smile.

She shrugs, already feeling slightly buzzed from her drink, “Maybeee,” she hums, “Unless you already have a passenger princess.”

The man smirks at her response, clearly enjoying the banter. He takes a step closer, leaning his hip against the car and looking down at her as he replies, “Nah, no passenger princess... yet."

Her tipsy aura has her feeling giddy, nodding her head as she agrees, “You seem to have good taste in cars and women.”

Just as she thinks there’s a possible connection between them, she turns her head to find the sound of people yelling, and her entire physique comes to a stop. It’s as if the hairs on her body stand up— instantly recognizing that aura from a mile away.

On the other side of the lot, the familiar neck tattoo filled her eyes, watching as he leaned on the seat of a Suzuki GSX-R750 street bike, cigarette within his mouth as his low voice sexily laughed about whatever conversation he was having. Her blood could’ve boiled as she watched him clasp palms with another man, dabbing him up as her eyes noticed something retract from his palm, now successfully within the other guy's hand. This had to be a joke.

“Can you uh…gimme a second?” She turns towards the guy she was previously talking to, giving an angelic smile.

She knew that this would be her second time being in this man’s business, but now she actually had a reason to spazz out. She can still feel the effects of her drink, knowing that’s another reason why she’s so adamant on going over there to knock his head off of his shoulders. Maybe she should’ve just headed back over to Ezra.

But as her hips twist with a vengeance and her heels thump along the ground to draw herself closer, maybe not.

A glare burns into the sockets of Toji as she stomped towards him, unable to hold her emotions back as she says, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Toji catches the familiarity of her voice as he looks up, his eyes meeting hers. A smug expression immediately appears on his face as he recognizes her, he lets out a lazy chuckle.

“You look pretty as fuck,” he tells her, his voice deep and gravelly. The statement has her face go blank for a brief second as he takes a drag of his cigarette, “Who are you tryna’ show out for?” exhaling slowly as he looks her up and down.

She realizes once again that she’s outside of her job atmosphere, pulling at the mini-mini skirt. The last person she expected to see was one of her students' parents, especially the one she’d just previously had beef with. Now he was looking at her in a way she hadn’t seen before. She wanted to punch him. It also made her very, very, horny. What the hell was happening to her?

“Are you serious, Toji?”

“Say my name again.”

“Bastard. What the hell are you doing here? What the fuck are you even doing? And don’t play dumb, I just saw you slide some shit over to the guy that walked away,” she fires off, his smug look making her want to jump atop of him and elbow him in the face.

“You’ watching me now?”

“You’re not very fuckin’ discreet!”

He shrugs, “I’m just showing off my car and bike.”

“Don’t play fucking dumb. I could call CPS on your stupid ass right fucking now!”

He pulls the cigarette from his lips, smoke pulling from his nose as he replies, “Don’t be a pain in the ass.”

“Don’t be a pain in the ass? Nigg—ooh!” she exclaims, watching as that makes him raise an eyebrow, a smirk coming along his lips as she continues, “You can’t be serious. I have to be immensely drunk if you’re gonna sit here and justify being a goddamn plug while you have a child. Where is your fuckin’ son, Toji?”

“You think I’d have him in this type of environment? Don’t fuckin’ play with me,” he almost sneers, Asael crossing her arms as he states, “I’m not an idiot. He’s with the nanny, her son comes over during the weekends to hang with Megumi. Got some other shit you wanna scream at me about?”

“I’ll give you five more things I wanna scream about!—“

“Hey, Zenin. I got you a beer like you wanted,” a girl comes beside him, interrupting the conversation as her green eyes stare over Asael, blonde hair and pale skin shining under the light of the lot.

A brief scan over Asael comes from the girl, jealously feigning her body as she narrows her eyes at her, “Who’s this?”

“This is my son’s teacher, Ms. Honey.”

“Ms. Honey?” The girl raises an eyebrow.

“That’s what I said. Her ass is nowhere near sweet,” he replies, Asael grimacing as he opens the bottle with his teeth effortlessly, the cap popping along the ground.

“Funny,” she squints her eyes, “It’s just Asael,” she corrects.

“A teacher,” it’s like this girl's eyes move without her permission, scanning Asael for the second time before she then states, “I’d never be able to tell.”

It’s shady, yup. It’s shady. Asael holds her breath as she asks, “Am I supposed to be wearing a cardigan or something?”

“To cover up that attention seeking piece of fabric you call a skirt? Maybe,” she gives Asael a dismissive once-over, still continuously sizing her up.

Her insults are corny, not enough to actually piss off Asael. The same way she attempted to dismiss her, she turns to Toji as she sighs, “I need to talk to you.”

“Now?” He leans himself forward, pushing off of the bike as he comes closer to her with a frown, “It can’t wait?”

“Do you think I give a fuck about your play-thing? I don’t. Yes, now.”

“Who are you calling a play-thing, bitch?” the girl sneers.

Asael’s eyes could’ve jumped out of her sockets, head swiftly tilting as she narrows her eyes, “Who are you calling a bitch, bitch?”

The thought of two women fighting over…essentially him, was an entertaining thought. But seeing Asael’s anger for himself and knowing he could handle her just fine, he wasn’t too sure if a girl he’d only been flirting with for the last hour or so had the same capability— or she was just a little too big for her own bridges. He also didn’t want to see his son’s teacher get into a fight.

“What’s your problem?” The girl scoffs, as if she didn’t start this conflict herself.

“What you’ mean? You were just talking all this hot shit, now I’m with whatever! I’m on that type of time!” She looks around Toji who’s hovered in front of her, hands shoved in his pockets as he mutters, “Chill.”

“How about you stop being so ghetto and act like a professional, Ms. Honey?”

“Ghetto?” she blinks, a crowd forming as Asael becomes visibly pissed off, “Who the fuck are you calling ghetto? I’ll show you ghetto, the fuck!” Now feeling racially attacked at the girl's words, Toji now steps forward as he grips for Asael’s waist, seeing as she’s inches away from hemming the girl up.

"Knock it the fuck off,” he snaps, his voice firm as he holds her back.

“Don’t tell me shit! Tell your hoes to watch they’ fuckin’ mouth! Talking about ‘ghetto’, bitch you don’t even know me!” She lunges forward again, the girl flinching back a bit, Toji gripping Asael harder, glare along his face as he’s now irritated.

His eyes hardened as he felt in her body that she hadn’t relaxed in the slightest. He knew she hadn’t been drinking enough to become belligerent, but he could tell her anger was something that wasn’t a simple passover.

His voice was now low as he firmly pulled her jaw up to meet his face, snapping at her in a way she hadn’t expected him to, "You're not getting into a fight over this. You need to calm down."

Toji then turns towards the girl as he says, “Go.”

“What?” She frowns, “Go?” She repeats.

“You heard me. Fuck off,” he tells her.

The girl rolls her eyes, “Whatever. You two can fucking have each other,” walking off as she throws her beer along the ground.

The moment she leaves, Asael feels herself still shaking, ripping herself away from Toji as she grunts, “I didn’t need your goddamn help.”

He instantly tugs her back, large hand having a deadly hold along her wrist, “Oh yeah? Then why was your little ass about to start a fight in a damn parking lot?" he snaps, his eyes narrowing as he looks down at her.

“You think I was gonna let a white girl call me ghetto? Have you lost your damn mind? Like I’m just acting out for no reason,” she sneers, yanking herself back, a game of tug-o-war at this point.

Toji actually becomes pissed off as he commands, “Get in the car.”

She looks over to the Dodge Durango Hellcat, engine humming, wrapped a shiny black with blood red headlights shining across and below the vehicle.

“What? I’m not getting in your fuckin’ car.”

“Woman. Get in the goddamn car.”

They’re now both staring at one another, neither of them making a move. He nods his head, a humorless smirk coming along his mouth, giving her a couple more seconds. Nothing.

He then leans over and opens the passenger door of his car, turning back as he firmly wraps his fingers along Asael’s throat and yanks her towards him. She yelps as he shoves her down into the seat, removing his hand from her neck as he brings his face close to hers, ��Put your legs inside, cause I’m seconds away from tearing your ass up in this back seat.”

With the mouth she had on her, his was worse. She was learning that. Her parted lips shut tightly, face pulling back from his as she felt her cheeks go hot. She quickly pulled her legs inside, jumping as the door slammed next to her.

Now sitting with her arms crossed, he gets in on the drivers side, the silence between the two now being filled with her heavy breathing. Toji removes the leather jacket he wears, inked up arms flexing as he leans back against the seat, hovering his hand over the lighter within his car as he ignites another cigarette.

He takes a slow drag, the smoke filling the space between them as it’s still silent. He eyes her for a moment.

"Are you good now?” he asks, his voice level but still hinting at irritation.

“I’m calm,” she says flatly.

"Like hell you're calm. You nearly got into a fight over some random ass girl's words,” he mutters, exhaling smoke from his nostrils.

She turns her head, “Do I need to repeat why I was initially upset? It wasn’t about her. I don’t give a fuck about that hoe. I’m mad about what she said.”

Toji sighs, taking another drag from his cigarette. He glances over at her, studying her angry expression as he tells her, "You gotta learn to let shit like that roll off your back, baby," he says, his tone slightly softer, “Getting all worked up and tryna’ fight isn't going to prove anything."

“Oh? Says the motherfucker with the anger of a hornet? Just like you don’t need my advice, I don’t need a fuckin’ father.”

“How are you such a sweet thing to kids, yet act like this right now? Do you always get this pissed off?”

“No. Probably that damn Crown I drank. I don’t know,” she admits, the alcohol within her system feeling like two cups of coffee, her leg immensely shaking as she feels slightly frustrated.

Toji glances at her leg, noticing how much it's shaking. He reaches out, setting a hand on her thigh and giving it a squeeze to stop the movement.

"You're going to shake the whole damn car," he mutters, his hand still resting on her leg.

The touch makes her leg stop shaking, a chill running up her spine at his rough hands. Her arms soften as they’re still crossed, looking out the window as the event continues to play out, sounds of cheering coming from the other side of the lot as cars do donuts.

She looks back towards him as she mutters, “My bad.”

He notices the way she tenses up when he touches her, the subtle shiver that runs up her spine. It's a reaction that he finds intriguing.

"Your bad? That's all I get?” he asks, thumb slowly tracing small circles on her leg, almost absentmindedly.

“I’m not apologizing for almost giving that bitch a hands on tonsil removal, but I didn’t mean to make a scene,” she says, making that her version of an apology.

Toji lets out a low chuckle, the sound gruff. He continues to trace circles on her leg, his touch light yet firm as he sarcastically replies, “That's real mature of you.”

“If some asshole came up to you talking shit, you would’ve had his heart placed within his prostate. Don’t even lie,” she turns her head towards him.

"You're damn right I would," he roughly replies, his hand sliding higher up her thigh, his fingers squeezing the flesh there.

“Don’t you think that’s hypocritical?” She raises an eyebrow.

The moment after she asks the question, she lightly shifts her thigh away from him as the buzz of her drink has her core throbbing, feeling the secretion creating in her between her legs. Her hips nearly shook at his touch. She did her best to hide it.

He lets out a chuckle at her question, noticing the slight movement of her knee. His hand moves again, this time resting on her inner thigh. He can feel the warmth of her skin.

"I never said I wasn't a hypocrite," he replies, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. His thumb continues to slide across her skin, teasingly close to the hem of her skirt.

“Then…”

She didn’t mean to do it, she really didn’t. But damn, she couldn’t help it. The quietest gasp left her lips as his finger shifted right above the now drenched fabric of her panties, her entire body jumping at the simple touch. Her fingers yanked for the car handle, opening it up as she insulted, “You aren’t a hypocrite, you’re a fucking bastard!” Getting out of the car as she slams the door, mind fuzzy, legs shaking and hot as she makes her way back over to Ezra and Cam.

Toji watches in amusement as she jumps out of the car, shaking his head with a cocky smirk on his face. He shrugs to himself, leaning back against the seat and taking another drag from his cigarette.

“Hey? What the hell happened?” Ezra asks, seeing the look along his best friend's face, hands coming from around Cam's waist.

“Almost got into a fight, found Toji here, almost got my coochie touched in the car by Toji, and now I’m here, telling you!”

Ezra’s head nearly spins, “Wha?! Huh?!”

“Okay, quick run down. I was talking to this cutie with a challenger before I saw Toji in my peripheral doing…I don’t know, illegal shit with this guy. I said oh, so this is what we’re doing? He said it’s not a big deal. I said you have a son?! He brushed me off. Some girl walks up and sizes me up, we get into it and she ended up calling me ‘ghetto’ Toji physically put my ass in the car cause I was about to show her what the fuck ghetto was. He calmed me down and he was rubbing my thigh and I got really horny so I jumped out and—now I’m here?” She says the last part softer, Cam unable to hold his laugh, causing her to whine, “It’s not funny!”

“Fighting at a car lot, friend? Might be ghetto,” Ezra giggles, Asael letting out a sigh as she places her hands along her hips.

“You can say that, I don’t care. She couldn’t though. But seriously, you guys suck. I need another drink,” Asael grumbles.

“To pump you up for your next battle?”

“Fuck you. Imma’ smoke instead.”

“Better go ask your man then.”

“I will hit you!”

As Ezra dramatically pulls her into a hug to comfort her, she can’t help the soft laugh that comes from her lips. She just hopes this night becomes better before it ends. Asael was unsuccessful in all of the promises to herself, talking to Toji about Megumi, even getting that hot guy's number. All she wanted to do was ball up in a corner and cry at this point, but instead she sat atop of Cam’s car with the both of them, watching as people swerved around the lot with their own vehicles. It was now time for the motorbike show, large custom bikes revving loudly as they began flying past their bodies, Asael’s hair lightly flies back at the haste of the bikes.

Her eyes catch the scarred lip as he pulls in front of the car she sits upon, saying nothing else as he states, “Get on.”

She raises her eyebrow, looking him up and down as she frowns, “Excuse me? I’m not getting on that.”

Ezra’s eyes could’ve popped out his head, glancing over at the man as he said, “This is Toji?”

“Ezra, not now,” Asael grits her teeth, knowing he was shocked by the attractiveness of this man.

“C’mon, pretty. I don’t do all that stubborn shit,” He revs the engine of his bike, the sound filling the air as he rests his arms on the handlebars.

“Asael is afraid of bikes,” Ezra smirks, Cam wrapping his arms around him, purposely instigating the conversation as Asael glares.

Toji raises an eyebrow at Ezra's comment, turning his head to look at Asael, “Cute. Is that true?”

“Fuck you,” she says to him, hearing as that makes him darkly chuckle. When he tosses the helmet to her, she reflexively catches it before he states, “You got a couple more seconds of my patience before I put you on this bike like I put your ass in the car.”

She raises an eyebrow, “Is that a threat?”

“I make promises.”

She narrows her eyes at him, once again calling his bluff as she disagrees, “You’re not gonna do that—“ she begins, her mouth nearly dropping open as he sucks his teeth, locking the bike onto the ground as he begins removing himself from it.

She shrieks lightly, “Okay! Damn. Shit. I’m going,” standing from the car, hearing as Ezra and Cam giggle. She goes closer to the bike as she asks, “Where’s your helmet? Why’d you only give me one?”

“That is my helmet, stop stalling and get on.”

“It’s gonna ruin my hair,” she pouts, Toji snatching the helmet out of her hands as he replies, “Then get on a pray we don’t crash and your head doesn’t explode,” causing her to pull herself back, eyes wide as she shrieks, “What?! Toji!” She then whines.

His full on laugh is deep, sexy. He actually found her entirely adorable. He slides his fingers around her hips, lifting her leg onto the opposite side of the large bike as he murmurs, “Your hair is gonna be fine,” reflexively pulling her skirt that rolls up, eyes flickering to the hello kitty panties she wears. Yeah, okay.

Her heart stammers in her chest as she gets on the back, Ezra and Cam whistling out, “Nice ass!” as she has to arch herself a bit to comfortably sit behind him. As he now sits in front of her she immediately places her hands along his stomach, feeling the hardness of his abdomen, her fingers shaking as she does so.

She mutters to him, “Please don’t kill me,” a seriousness coming to her voice as she’s actually terrified.

Toji can feel her fear as she wraps her arms around his stomach. He chuckles softly, a faint smirk on his lips.

"We’d both die if you wanna be technical,” he chuckles, Asael closing her eyes as she presses her face into his back with a whimper at the thought. When he sees she’s genuinely terrified, he brings his hand backwards, lightly patting the skin close to her ass as he soothes, “Relax, baby," his voice low and rough, "You’re good. Just hold on tight,” bringing both his hands to the front, revving the monstrously loud engine of the bike.

“C’mon, Zenin! I didn’t put five-bands on this race for you to play around!” A voice calls next to him, another street bike braggingly revving their exhaust.

Her heart nearly dropped to her ass when all the other bikes began revving their engines. She’s expecting some type of circus act at this point, spinning around like maniacs and possibly killing her in the process. When she feels the bike begin to move, it takes off before she has time to mentally prepare, squeezing herself tighter around his torso as she clutches her eyes shut, pressing her cheek into the broadness of his back as she faintly shrieks.

Toji chuckles as she clings to him as if her life depends on it as he asks before it gets too loud, "You good back there?"

“Mm—mm,” she shakes her head, eyes still tightly closed as she squeals, feeling as the bike increases in speed, swerving through the lot, snapping past other bikes, gas within her nostrils as engines plummet and roar within her ears.

Toji can feel her shaking her head, her fear still evident as she buries her face into his back. He doesn't let up on the bike, pushing it faster than necessary. He can feel her body tremble against him, her cries only making him want to go faster. He swerves, making a sharp turn that causes her to cling to him even tighter, her mind going back to him saying her head might explode. What was she going to tell her students?

“Damn, pretty.” She can hear him chuckle lowly, gripping the material of his shirt as she trembles softly, “Don’t be a dick.”

He leans back slightly, shifting his weight and making her have to cling to him harder. He keeps the bike moving fast, zig-zagging through the other bikers.

"I'm not going to let anything happen to you. You're safe."

His voice is gruff yet somehow soothing. It feels like for once he’s not purposely being an ass, or constantly making jokes to rile her up. He feels genuine, knowing how terrified she actually is. As she leans against his shoulder, she peeks an eye open, her hair flurrying through the wind as she sees other bikes trying to keep up with him, going faster than anyone on the street. Her arms slightly relax as they still keep a firm hold on him, clutching as they lean to turn, a tickle coming in her stomach at the movement. A hesitant giggle pulls from her lips.

From all the crying she had been doing before, she could barely hear the music that came from his bike. Her mind focuses on the song, ‘Yam’ by Yeat plays, a curse yelling out from the biker beside them as they flurry past him like lightning.

Toji feels her arms relax slightly, her body responding to the movement of the bike. It was almost as if she was starting to enjoy the ride. A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his lips when he hears her giggle. He continues to weave through the other bikes, pushing the bike to go faster. Expertly maneuvering through the lot, Asael's hair flies wildly behind her, her body finally starting to fully relax.

"You’ getting used to it?" He calls over the wind.

She nods her head, softly replying within his ear, “I’m okay.”

It was as if the moment she said that, Asael shrieked as he floored it, another biker beside him as she felt her body falling backwards, looking to see as the front of the bike came off of the ground. Although she wanted to shit herself, she could admit that it was a cool sight to see.

As the front of the bike came off the ground, Toji let out a low chuckle at Asael's shriek. He could feel her body tense up behind him, her arms wrapping around him even tighter. He continued to control the bike, keeping it in balance as it rode on just the back wheel.

“Still scared?” He briefly turns his head towards her.

She rolls her eyes, “Just keep doing this cool shit!”

She giggles as he takes off in front of the other biker, engines nearly bursting their eardrums as they race one another. Asael yells out in excitement, Toji howling as the other biker struggles to keep up with them. In this moment her body feels like air, her hands sliding up to Toji’s chest as she places her face within the back of his neck, eyes closed as she relaxes against his scent.

His heart actually races as he feels her hands slide up his chest, her face burying into the back of his neck. He smirks, enjoying the feeling of her body pressed against him. The roar of the engine and the sound of the other bikes fill the air, but all he can focus on is her. He weaves the bike through the other riders, leaning into each turn with skill and precision. He can feel her breath on his neck, the warmth of her body sending a jump to his dick—he must've been losing his mind.

The race continues, Toji and the other biker neck to neck, engines screaming as they dart back and forth across the lot. Asael's heart beats louder than it ever has, the adrenaline pumping through her veins. She can feel Toji's heart pounding as well, the vibrations of the bike and his body making her cling to him even tighter.

Eventually, Toji pushes the bike just a bit harder, pulling ahead of the other biker. As they cross the finish line, he grins, feeling the thrill of victory coursing through his veins.

“That’s five grand on me, bitch!” He howls out, the other biker raising his middle finger to them as they both laugh within the air.

Asael rolls her eyes, giggling nonetheless at the cursing between the two men. They finally slow down, her hands loosening from around him as she immediately checks for her hair, still feeling her makeup intact as she adjusts her skirt, strawberry hair layering around her face loosely.

He smirks as his eyes take the sight of her adjusting her hair and skirt. Her red hair frames her face in an almost angelic manner, even after the wild ride they just had.

"Looks like you and your hair survived," he teases, a hint of amusement in his voice.

She brushes him off, “Whatever. Do I look okay? Do I have wind hair?” She asks, genuine concern in her voice.

He chuckles, watching her as she fusses over her appearance. He turns around slightly, his eyes roaming over her hair and face.

"You look fine. A little messy, yeah, but still pretty as hell," his voice rough yet sincere, coming forward as he pulls her hair out her face that sticks to her lips, the contrast of her caramel skin and colored hair, the lights of the lot making her almost ethereal.

The comment makes her cheeks grow hot, her legs coming off of the bike as she nods, pulling her hair behind her ear nervously. She then hears Ezra squealing, coming as he wraps his arms around her, spinning her around as it causes her to giggle as he asks, “Did you have fun?!”

Asael smiles, “I did. It was cool, I can’t lie.”

“Good. I’m glad you didn’t kill my friend, don’t know what I’d do without her,” he sighs, “Well, it’s getting pretty late. You ready to go?”

Asael doesn’t even realize it’s almost three in the morning. She looks back to Toji as she realizes she still hadn’t had the conversation regarding his relationship with Megumi. She nods her head as she says, “Yeah, uh. Actually— you guys go. I need to talk to him.”

Ezra frowns, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, go end your night with your lil’ boyfriend that’s so madly in love with you. I’ll be fine, promise,” she smiles softly.

Toji watches the exchange between them, his arms still resting on the handlebars of the bike. His expression is neutral, but there's a flicker of curiosity in his eyes as he glances at Asael.

Ezra hesitates, looking between Asael and Toji. Her words reassure him, and he finally nods, “You know I love you?” wrapping his arms around her as Asael hums, “I know, I love me too,” giggling as she teases, “Kidding. You’re my heart. I’ll call you tomorrow,” she blows kisses, both Ezra and Cam waving as they make their way back to the car.

Asael then turns to Toji as she says, “So, uh. I actually wanted to talk about Megumi. Is that okay?”

Toji’s eyes flicker, a stoicism returning back to his face as he says, “Yeah. C’mere, I wanna show you something anyways.”

Asael frowns, “If it’s in your pants, I don’t want it,” she crosses her arms, hearing as that makes a huff of a laugh fall from his lips.

Toji smirks at her comment, his eyes flashing with amusement. He shakes his head, his voice low as he replies, "I'm not trying to show you my dick. Come here."

Her eyebrows raise, arms crossing as she comes forward. He nearly rolls his eyes, taking her small palm within his large one as he pulls her towards his car. He throws his bike’s keys to one of his friends, helping her back into his truck as they take off out of the lot. The city looks pretty underneath the street lights, Asael rubbing the sides of her arms as she lets out a breath, “Where are we going?”

Toji glances at her as he drives, his eyes flickering over her figure as she rubs the sides of her arms. He notices the city lights reflecting off her skin, the girl more beautiful than he could ever imagine.

"You'll see," he says, his voice cryptic. He keeps his gaze focused on the road, his hands gripping the steering wheel firmly.

“Oh god, are they never gonna find my body? Did I make the wrong choice?” She asks, hearing that makes him chuckle, rummaging through his car compartment for his lighter, his attractiveness sticking out like a sore thumb as he drives with one hand.

"Nah," he replies, finding his lighter and igniting a cigarette between his lips, “I said you were safe with me. I meant that.”

They pull in what looks to be a garage, her eyebrows furrowing deeper at the navy blue building. She watches as he steps out, coming around as he opens the door for her, eyes still searching hesitantly around his face.

“I have pepper spray, gorilla,” she tells him, scanning over his large figure. That makes him laugh once again as he chuckles, “You’ve got jokes forreal. C’mon.”

She takes a deep breath, trying to keep up with his long strides as he’s taller than her, Toji opening the door to reveal a completely different idea of what she had in mind. It was similar to an art studio, having a bed and a projector playing music on a loop in one corner of the room, the other side having canvases, paint splashes, rugs along the floor, seeing this is where someone took their time to discover their creativity. The pictures amongst the canvases were women’s silhouettes, landscape creations, colors and different ideas all amongst her eyes.

Asael walks slowly inside as she looks around, turning to him as she asks, “You draw?”

Toji's eyes flicker as he watches her take in the studio, the surprise evident on her face. He takes a drag of his cigarette, leaning against the doorframe as she walks around the room, taking in the various artworks on display.

"Yeah," he says simply. He watches her as she stops in front of some of his more recent pieces, his eyes studying her expression carefully.

“So that’s where Megumi gets it from…” she hums.

Her body comes to a halt as she sees another wall. The pictures are familiar to her eyes, every single drawing Megumi made at school was within this wall, including the spider-man one he’d made not too long ago. A guilt almost hits her within the chest, crossing her arms as she mutters, “Shit,” to herself.

Toji watches as her eyes settle on a particular wall, filled with drawings that are unmistakably Megumi's. A mixture of pride and sadness flickers across his face, knowing that his son is far from a typical child. He stubs out the cigarette in his hand, his voice low as he speaks, “Kid’s obsessed with drawing. Always scribbling something."

It hits her like a ton of bricks. Maybe Toji wasn’t the white picket fence father, but she could see just how much he loved his son. She hated to be wrong or even admit to it, but it was time to face the music.

Asael sighs, “I…I feel bad about the first conversation we had,” she admits.

Toji raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. He leans back against the wall, his arms crossed over his broad chest as he eyes her.

"You mean the one where you called me a bad father?”

Asael’s arms drop, eyes narrowing as she says, “You know that’s not what I said, Toji.”

Toji's expression remains stoic, his eyes fixed on hers. He pushes off the wall, coming closer to her, his steps slow and deliberate.

"Ah, right, I forgot. Potentially bad father," he replies, his voice heavy with derision. He comes right in front of her, towering over her small frame as he looks down at her.

“What was I supposed to think? I mean, I never met you. You ignored my emails, my phone calls. I didn’t have anything bad to say about Megumi. He’s a sweetheart, I couldn’t ask for a better student. I just wanted to know where he came from. What made him tick. Maybe it was wrong of me to assume you had no type of relationship, but for your nanny to say you’re a ‘busy man’ and rarely spend time with Megumi, it made me concerned,” she sighs, admitting this as she sits along the bed, head tilting up as she stares over his towering frame.

Toji listens to her words, his jaw clenching slightly. Her concern for Megumi is evident, but her assumptions about his relationship with his son irritate him. He lets out a scoff, looking down at her seated form on the bed.

"I may not spend as much time with the kid as I should. Life's tough and I do my best to provide for him. But that doesn’t mean I'm a goddamn bad father," he mutters, his voice low and rough.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” her voice goes soft. “I…” she begins, taking a deep breath as she continues to speak, “I didn’t have my father when I was younger. I don’t have a good relationship with my mother, and with that, I vowed to give my child the love and attention I never received…until I found out that I was infertile, and that I’ll never be able to conceive my own children. Maybe that’s why I love my job so much, maybe that’s why I take these things to heart. But that doesn’t make it right,” a weight comes off of her chest, embarrassingly admitting her insecurities.

Toji listens to her, his expression stoic as she admits her past. He can sense the vulnerability in her voice, the weight of her insecurities. His arms unfold from his chest as he apologizes, "I’m really sorry to hear that, Asael. I appreciate the way you care for Megumi. I can also understand why you…can be the way you are at times, life hasn’t been a walk in the park for me either," he admits sharply. He pauses for a moment, his eyes roaming over her face, "But it doesn’t give me an excuse to be a dick or use my trauma against others."

“I’m not a dick,” she brings her eyes up to him, “Megumi clings to me like I’m his damn momma, it makes me almost want to cry at times,” she laughs hoarsely, “I really do care about him, he’s different from my other kids.”

Toji's eyes soften a bit, his expression losing some of its usual stoicism. He can hear the sincerity in her voice, the genuine affection she has for Megumi. He lets out a sigh, running a hand through his dark hair.

"Yeah, the kid’s like a magnet," he admits, "Damned if I know why, though."

“Because he can’t stick to you all the time. Listen, I’ll leave you alone about him. I just…please be sweet to him, you don’t seem like the type of father to be all mushy and shit, but it makes him smile. Little things go a long way with children, and at this age they need that affection,” she runs her fingers through her hair, sighing out, “He loves you, and you love him. I can see that.”

Toji listens to her words, his eyes studying her face. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze. He lets out a huff, crossing his arms across his chest again.

"You think I don’t think about how I haven’t been there for him as much as I should be? But you gotta understand, I do the best I can with the hand I’ve been dealt."

“Have you raised him alone since he was born?”

Toji’s eyes narrow at her question, her curiosity evident. There’s a moment of hesitation before he responds, his voice low again.

"Yeah, pretty much," he admits. He sucks his teeth, his eyes fixed on the floor, “His mother…well, she’s not around. And I don’t have much of a family to lean on, so it’s just been us most of his life."

It makes more sense to her why he is the way he is, understanding that his constant abandonment could be him wanting better for his child than he had, or his own traumas relaying over.

She sighs, “You’re doing amazing for what you can. He’s truly a little ball of sunshine,” she giggles, “Just wish he’d talk more.”

Toji’s expression softens a little at her words, a hint of gratitude in his eyes. He lets out a huff, shrugging his shoulders, "He's always been a quiet kid. But he's smart, always has been. Got his damn mother's brains.”

As silence falls between them, her eyes come up as she then hears him say, “I’m sorry.”

She tilts her head, “For?”

Toji sighs, his usually impassive eyes meeting hers. There’s a flicker of hesitation in them, a vulnerability that he rarely shows.

"For being a dick to you, I guess," he mutters gruffly, "You were just looking out for Megumi, I can’t hold that against you."

“Ms. Honey says that adding, ‘I guess’ to an apology doesn’t necessarily make it sincere,” she tells him, not wanting to put her teacher hat on, but unable to help herself as she gives him a soft laugh.

Toji scoffs, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. He leans against the wall, his arms still crossed over his chest.

"And you got that from your big ass teaching handbook, huh?" he retorts, his voice holding a hint of mockery.

She shrugs, “I’m more street smart than anything. But seriously, I gave you a real apology, so I expect you to get on your knees and kiss my feet or something.”

Toji laughs at her comment, his expression amused. He pushes off the wall, taking a step towards her, "Kiss your feet, huh?" he repeats, his voice low, "You're not asking for much, are you?"

“Mmm, this one of my smaller requests,” she giggles, trying to mask the nervousness she feels around him, crossing her legs as she plays with the end of her skirt.

A shocked laugh comes from her as he pulls for her legs, lifting them to the sides of her as he has a hold of her ankles, lowering his mouth as he kisses the side of her foot. He raises an eyebrow as his gruff voice calls, “Yeah?”

The giggling comes from still being slightly tipsy and now face full-on hot, nodding her head as she amusingly replies, “T—that’s a start.”

“Oh, now I got you’ stuttering,” he drawls. He removes her heels off of her feet, beginning to suck the skin of her ankles, dragging his lips down her legs as he goes between the both of them, creating quick pecks as he latches the skin into his mouth with a popping sound. Her giggling subsides as this causes her hips to raise, her fingers digging into the sheets as she presses her mouth into itself, a line of fire being created within her body.

She then clears her throat as she dumbly asks, “U—uh, did that hurt?” She refers to the tattoo along his neck.

Toji’s eyes flicker as she asks about his tattoo, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as his vision bores into her own. He keeps his lips along her ankles, "Nah, didn't hurt too bad," his eyes roaming over her form hungrily.

“Mine hurt like hell,” she refers to her own, the rose nearly taking over the left side of her neck, trying to keep conversation as she feels herself trembling—why was she trembling? Has it really been this long?

"Yeah? Tell me where else you got’ ink,” he wants her to keep talking to hear the shake in her voice, now hovering his face above hers, keeping his hand wrapped around one of her ankles, slowly beginning to lift it along his shoulder.

“U—uh, something on my chest…something on my hip…Little drunk ideas at the time,” her tipsy aura had faded, soberness knocking her in the head as she soaked in the fact that she was…alone with him.

Toji's eyes darken at her admission, his gaze traveling along her curves, imagining the tattoos hiding beneath her clothes. The thought makes something primal stir within him, the desire to know...to see. His other hand slowly traces along her thigh, tips of his fingers gently grazing up her inner thigh as it halts right over her panties, Asael’s mouth slightly parting as she sucks in a breath. His mouth parts along with hers as a dark chuckle leaves his lips, "Just those two, huh?"

“Probably more,” she says in a softer tone, her own hand raising to his shoulder, gripping lightly along his shirt to stop her hands from shaking. He leans forward more, letting their lips just barely touch each other. His fingers brush over her clit, rubbing against the fabric down to her opening as he hears just how wet she is, dropping his eyes down as he grunts, “Ooh, fuck,” Asael gasping along his mouth, her face probably as red as her hair at this point.

She moves her hand up to the back of his hair as her hips tremble, gripping the dark mane as she gasps out, “Toji—“ unable to get out her words as he roughly kisses her. Their tongues fall deeper into one another as they filthily make out, Asael’s open mouth dragging out a moan, eyes rolling to the back of her head as he practically fucks her mouth, head spinning as she desperately kisses him back.

He delves his fingers beneath her panties, Asael gripping for his shoulders, breathless as she whimpers, “F—fuck, just—fuck.”

“Wanted your pussy around my fingers the minute I seen you in this fuckin’ skirt,” he grunts within her ear, Asael whimpering deeper at that, feeling as he sinks his middle and ring finger past her opening, shuddering out a whine at his voice. Her skirt shoves up to her hips as she leans into the bed, unable to fight as he groans at her opening squelching from how aroused she is.

His fingers continue to work their way deeper into her, teasing her clit with each stroke of his thumb while keeping her legs pinned open with one hand. Their voices become muffled as they share a mix of moans, grunts, and gasps, lost in the intense pleasure of their mutual pleasurable experience.

It’s like she’d gone blind, eyes rolling to the back of her head as she gripped for his hair, his mouth parting open a his fingers fell deeper into her, catching her mouth with his as she groaned, “Toji,” she can’t stop herself, whining peevishly within his mouth, listening as her opening gushes, legs trembling as she pleads for his mercy, nearly killing her without doing much of anything to her.

As Asael's walls tighten around his fingers, signaling her impending climax, Toji presses his thumb against her clit with increased force, “Why is this shit so fuckin’ wet,” causing her to let out a series of desperate moans and whines. He watches her face closely, enjoying the sight of her flushed features and glazed eyes as she succumbs to the pleasure storm building within her body.

“I’m gonna cum,” she gasps, pulling one of her hands down to stop his wrist, crying softly as he snatches her hand away as he grunts, “Cum all over my fuckin’ fingers.”

He slows down, leaving her aching for more. His free hand wraps around her wrist once again, preventing her from trying to stop him as he begins to thrust his fingers deep inside her core, hitting her g-spot with precision. Asael's body starts to quiver in anticipation of her impending orgasm, her body feels desperate, creating a constant state of heightened arousal that leaves her completely dependent upon him for release.

She trembles out a moan, her other hand hanging onto his shirt as his mouth envelopes over hers, grunting out, “Right there?” She nods her head, whimpering shakily, “Right there,” bringing her hand down as she pulls his wrist towards her, his fingers scathing her gummy walls, a dark chuckle pulling from his lips at that.

Feeling the desperation in her voice and seeing the need in her eyes, he pushes his fingers even deeper into her tight canal, rubbing against her g-spot with just enough pressure to send her over the edge.

Asael lets out a long, drawn-out moan, her body shaking violently as she succumbs to the waves of pleasure crashing over her. Her hand releases his shirt and comes to rest on his shoulder, providing some stability amidst the chaotic sensations coursing through her body.

Her opening spouts out her arousal, Toji’s lips upon her neck, her hand gripping for his hair as she curses out, whining as she squirts along his fingers, something she’d never done before. She trembles, “Oh shi—shittt,” crying as he spanks her for that, grunting as he pulls his face up to kiss her, Asael whimpering as she attempts to kiss him back. She’s already completely spent.

“Gonna’ cum like that on my dick?”

“Shut up.”

“Tell me.”

“Shut up. Please.”

As Asael's body shudders and shakes, releasing her pent-up frustration in hot, messy streams onto his fingers, Toji watches in satisfaction. He savors each moment of her release, feeling the warmth of her juices coating his digits as they slide against her sensitive inner walls.

He brings his mouth up to meet hers once again, capturing her lips in a bruising kiss. Their tongues dance together, exchanging saliva and taste as he pulls away slightly to grunt, "Good fuckin’ girl. Gimme’ your eyes,” he pulls her face to meet his, “You got a fuckin’ mouth on you. Gonna make you cum as many times as you pissed me off.”

“‘M sorry,” she whimpered. He then snatches her to the end of the bed, spreading her legs as his mouth attaches to her clit, shaking his head from side to side as he spreads her opening with his jaw.

His tongue laps at her wet folds hungrily, teasing her sensitive nub with delicate flicks of his tongue, sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout her entire body.

He holds her legs open with one hand, tracing patterns on her inner thighs and giving her ass a light spank. The combination of sensations sends Asael spiraling further into submission, making her completely reliant upon him for any semblance of relief.

She lies spread-eagled across the bed, her body still quivering from the intense orgasm she just experienced. Toji leans in close to her dripping entrance, his tongue working feverishly against her sensitive flesh, the mixture of wetness and heat from his mouth combined with the occasional smack to her ass sends shivers down her spine, leaving her completely vulnerable and exposed.

His eyes flick upward, gray pouring into her vision as his voice groans, “Tell me how you like your pussy ate.”

She leans her head up, breathing harshly as she grips for his hair, her own strawberry curls sticking along her warm face as she whimpers, “Put your tongue in me,” begging essentially.

Toji’s mouth is quick, sliding his tongue deep inside of her, swirling it around and teasing the sensitive walls with the tip of his tongue. He can feel the anticipation building within her, and he knows that she's on the verge of another climax.

As he continues to lap at her folds, he speaks in a deep, rumbling tone, "Your pussy is so fuckin’ pretty, baby,” he adds an extra emphasis on the word 'pretty,' making sure she knows exactly how much he appreciates her beauty both inside and out.

She nods her head, opening tightening as she listens to his mouth, head falling back onto the bed as she spreads her legs for him, “Y—you look so pretty too,” she softly compliments, hearing him chuckle, a shiver coming across her body from the rumble of his amusement.

Her teeth digs into her lip as he spanks her again, jumping as her entire body ignites at his roughness. His hands move to cup her hips, holding her in place as he continues to eat her out. He loves watching the way she reacts to every touch and command, knowing that he has complete control over her body.

"Wait until I’m done eating you, imma’ fuck you so good," he growls menacingly, pulling his mouth away from her dripping entrance, leaving a trail of saliva in its wake as he looks up at her with a predatory glint in his eyes.

As he stands up, he grabs hold of her ankles and lifts them up towards his face, positioning her legs straight up in the air, tongue sloshing up and down as he indulges himself within her. With her legs held high in the air, he begins to slowly thrust his tongue deep inside of her slick entrance, pushing it in, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he moans, spanking her again. His hand reaches down to grab hold of her hip bone, using it for leverage as he starts to fuck her with his tongue, driving it in and out with relentless force.

She moans, music to his ears as she spreads more for him, whimpering harshly as a pout comes to her face, “I’m gonna cum all over your fuckin’ face, baby,” gasping as he bruises her skin with his palm for her sultry words. He deeply kisses her opening as he grunts, “Next time you cum it’ll be cause’ I’m fuckin’ you stupid,” he corrects her, “Better fuckin’ wait for me.”

She nods her head, pulling her thoughts together as she continues to take the pleasure he gives her, thighs shaking as she feels herself coming closer to the edge.

“Tell me you want my dick,” he gruffly commands.

“Want your dick so bad, baby, please,” she begs, spreading her legs wider, “Please,” she repeats.

He slows down the pace of his tongue, teasing her with gentle laps and light sucks before picking up speed once more, flicking his tongue against her clit relentlessly as he drives deeper into her throbbing core with each stroke of his tongue. The combination of sensations leaves Asael nearly breathless, her body trembling in anticipation.

He yanks her to the end of the bed, Asael gasping as he pulls her legs over his shoulders, lifting her up as they now stand inches away from the bed, her body held in the air by his strong arms. His hands hold the skin of her ass within his palms, Toji gently kissing her lips, pulling away to leave her mouth parted. She almost feels lonely. His tip is full and fat, smushing along her opening in a teasing way.

She places her fingers along his back as she whimpers, “Stop teasing me.”

Her mouth goes from parting to dropping open, feeling as he slowly sinks her onto the heaviness of his length, a sense of pain rupturing through her spine, overriding by a pleasure that nearly causes her to black out. Toji groans lowly within her mouth, Asael’s eyes rolling back as silence goes in between them, her legs trembling as she shockingly squirts along his abdomen, body shuddering as she groans from the unexpected orgasm.

Toji smirks arrogantly as he lifts his hand to smack along her cheek, “Keep your eyes open. Look at you, cumming from me putting my shit inside of you. You needed this, didn’t you?”

She grips for his hair, gasping against his lips as he lifts her up, dropping her back down, listening to their skin collect arousal together. Tears collect in her vision, whining mercilessly. Her body hasn’t subsided from her orgasm as he bounces her down, skin clapping together, Asael sobbing, “Oh my god, fuck.”

"Tearing your shit up so good, baby, you feel that?” He’s evil, continuously bouncing her up and down on his length, gradually increasing the intensity of their movements, battering her walls relentlessly while maintaining eye contact with her tear-streaked face.

She sniffles, nodding her head as she cries out, “I feel it.”

Toji’s teeth were nipping along her neck, leaving red trails against her skin. His hips snapped into hers with enough force to cause her to whine. Her nails dig against his skin, but it was far from uncomfortable. If anything, he liked it.

“This is what you wanted, huh?” he murmured, his hot breath against her ear. His tongue trailing against her earlobe, licking the sensitive skin.

“All you’ been thinking about.”

Asael helplessly nods her head, her eyes falling down to watch as their hips connected harshly. She breathed out, “Fuck, Toji.”

Toji’s breath hitches as he hears his name fall from her lips. It was a sound he could definitely get used to. His name was like a melody. It was a sweet song leaving her lips, hearing her say his name was like music to his ears.

“Watch your fuckin’ mouth.” He warned, sucking softly on her skin, biting down just enough to leave a mark.

“Thought you liked a lil’ potty mouth,” she attempted to tease, gasping through her words. Her eyes fluttered shut, inhaling softly as she felt his hand slam along the skin of her ass, his other fingers traveling up as they shoved into her mouth.

“You’re pushing it,” Toji tells her, squeezing her skin in his hand, biting down on her shoulder as his fingers press against her tongue.

“Keep mouthing off like that. Gonna use your throat for something else.”

“Sorry,” she whimpers, wrapping her mouth along his fingers, sucking gently as she moans.

“Yeah, you’re definitely not sorry.”

Her mouth wrapped around his fingers felt nice, her tongue pressing against them in a way that would send a shiver down his spine. He could only imagine what else that tongue would do to him.

He leaned down, moving his fingers out of her mouth to bite along her jaw, down to her neck as he grunted, “Fuckin’ tease.”

“And you’re a bastard,” she gripped the back of his hair, pushing out the words with the last bit of air within her throat.

Toji lets out an amused chuckle, the grip on his hair pulling his head back slightly. All of it drove him crazy.

“You like that shit,” He murmurs against her ear, his hips still forcing themselves into hers. “Admit it.”

She shakes her head, eyes rolling to the back of her head as he pulls her head back, looking within her face. She digs her teeth into her lip, refusing to give him a response.

“Fuck you,” she grunts out, her stomach dropping as he shoved his hips up, dropping her hips down. She trembled, her mouth flying open as she whines, “Fuck, baby. Fuck. Fuck.”

“Yeah? That’s all you got now?”

She gasped, hips shivering as she used one of her hands to cover her mouth, unable to stop herself from the broken moan she releases, “Fuckkk, my god. Stop it.”

He continued moving, forcing his hips against hers. He wanted to hear more of her. No, he needed to hear more of her.

“T—Toji,” she holds onto him, “Can’t hold on much longer, oh my…” she gasps, “Fuckin’ h—hate you.”

“You don’t.”

“I do,” she promises, eyes fluttering shut, “So much.”

“You’re giving me all this attitude, but you’re holding on so fuckin’ tightly to me like you don’t wanna let go,” he raises her hips, tip halfway out of her, feeling as her legs shake, Asael swivels her lower body as she whimpered.

“Cause I don’t wanna,” she then admits, her moans dropping from her lips like she couldn’t stop them, the sound of their hips connecting alarming around her ears, she trembles out a harsh cry.

“There we go,” he murmured against her skin, his lips trailing along her shoulder, “That wasn’t so hard.”

Each time he slams her down onto his dick, her pussy gripping tightly around him, releasing small waves of pleasure that seem to radiate throughout both their bodies.

“Pussy’s talking to me baby, huh?”

“Ugn—mhmmmm.”

She grips the side of his face, nodding her head as she begs, “Don’t stop,” trembling as she kisses along his neck.

“Don’t stop?”

His fingers dig into the flesh of her ass, grinding her onto his abdomen, arousal dripping down his abdomen each time their bodies connect.

“Don’t.”

She feels like he’s punishing her for the mouth she had before they ended up here, her attitude something that needed to be tamed. Now here she was—broken and needing him, attitude nowhere in sight.

“Reckless ass fuckin’ mouth of yours. Now look at you.”

“Fuckk, baby. Please.”

“What? Talk to me.”

She gasps, back of her thighs clapping along his hips, coating her arousal along his length as she breathlessly whimpers, “Sorry.”

“You should be.”

A peevish whine leaves her lips, dragging her tongue along his jaw until it reaches his lips, “Want you so bad.”

Toji grins at her whimpers and begs, the sound fueling his desire further. He captures her tongue with his, dominating her mouth as he increases the pace of his thrusts. The room is filled with the sound of their bodies connecting, the lewd noises and gasps they're both making.

"Fuck, never heard pussy talk the way she’s talking to me,” he groans in her ear, his voice filled with satisfaction, “You want me this bad?"

She gasps against his lips, holding his hair tightly within her fingers, brokenly moaning as she nods her head, head tilting back as he slams her hips down harder to meet his.

Asael's gasps for air between moans, her body twitching with pleasure and anticipation, only serve to further fuel Toji's hunger. He revels in her cries of pleasure echoing throughout the room as he continues to fuck her senseless.

She nearly whines like a brat when he pulls out of her, carrying her over to the bed as he lays his back against it. Pulling Asael by her blood rich curls, he grips his length within his other hand, slapping it along her tongue before pushing it between the lips of her mouth. Her eyes roll to the back of her head as she moans, immediately bobbing her head up and down as she sucks him within her mouth.

He pulls her hair back roughly, forcing her to look up at him as he holds her head still while he pushes his length into her waiting mouth.

“Begging for my dick, you even want my shit in your throat,” He watches closely as Asael eagerly takes him into her mouth, swallowing his throbbing length wholeheartedly, showing no resistance or hesitation in pleasuring him.

Her warm cheeks grow hotter at his words, keeping her eyes down as she opens her throat, mouth entirely full as she moans, tip slamming into her mouth each time her lips meet with his abdomen.

“All you needed was something in this pretty ass mouth of yours,” he grunted, using his other hand as he held her hair, positioning her up more as he guides her head down, bobbing her mouth up and down harshly that it causes her eyes to roll back, thighs squeezing together as she feels her clit throb at his tone. She’d never expect herself to be this indulged to a man speaking to her like this, embarrassingly enjoying every second of his dirty talk.

“I’m so…wet…” she admits between airs of breath, watching as that makes him grunt, head falling back as he grunts, “Yeah? You are? Shit, baby,” her lips smacking to his abdomen, taking him all the way down her throat.

He pulls her away from him, holding her up by her hair as his palm smacks along the cheek of her face, seeing the natural beauty of it as her lip liner fades away off her full lips, teary eyed vision lessening of mascara.

Her teeth digs into her lip as she nods, elatedly giggling as he growls at the sight. He grunts, “Yeah, okay,” pulling her up by the ponytail he creates as he scoots his body down, her hips now above his as he takes his other hand to spread her ass cheek, core squelching from the air it collects from the movement. The emptiness she feels is now replaced by the full girth of his dick, Toji mercilessly dropping her down onto his abdomen.

The shakey gasp that leaves her lips as Toji groans with her at the same time, “Ooh, shit. She missed me,” causing Asael to whimper as he spanks her in repetitions.

He’s propping her up to where her feet are along the bed, putting her in an almost squatting position as he puts his muscular arms under her legs, holding her by the thick flesh of her ass before he’s pulls her up slowly, slamming her back down, arousal spewing through the separation of their skin, Asael gasping deeply at the sound.

Silence goes between them as they listen, her eyes falling slightly behind herself as she watches her ass drop devilishly against his hips, wrapping her hand around one of his arms that holds her. Toji’s eyes are locked down, watching as each time he lifts her up, more of her arousal paints against his length.

His eyes flick up to her face, seeing as she can barely keep her eyes open, pouting heavily as she’s barely in control. He tells her gruffly, “Spread your pussy. Gonna go deeper,” guiding her hands to both of her ass cheeks, pulling them farther away from one another. Asael trembles atop of him, hips stuttering as she nods, desperately trying to keep up with him.

He guides her, roughly slamming her hips down to his, Asael now mewling defeatedly, feeling her eyes brimming with tears again as she runs her fingers over his arms, wanting to hold one of his hands.

“Keep going with all that whining shit you were doing earlier,” he tells her, a shockwave being sent along her body as he’s back to spanking her, Asael spreading herself from behind as she whines softly, “You’re so fucking deep, baby.”

“In your stomach?”

She nods her head, no words allowing from her lips as a late gasp shudders from her mouth. Toji tightens his grip on her hips, his fingers digging into her skin even harder as he forces her movements to follow his pace, his eyes never leaving her flushed and pretty face. He can see the way she's struggling to keep herself together, her eyes teary and her body trembling with pleasure.

Her desperation becomes evident in her movements, so he reaches up to intertwine his fingers with hers, gripping her hand tight, grounding her to him.

"Pussy keeps pulling me in,” he groans breathlessly, his eyes locked onto hers as he continues to slam her hips down onto him. He can feel her hand squeezing his, the touch adding to the intimacy of the moment.

"Just like you were made for me," he prods, his voice rough and possessive. “I can tell you’ve never been fucked like this. That’s why you’re so fuckin’ mad all the time.”

“Toji,” her chest shakes as she sobs, taking his hand as she places his fingers within her mouth, needing a way to quiet herself as her eyes roll to the back of her head.

“Just needed a dick to cum on. One to make you cum, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?” He arrogantly repeats.

“Aughhhh—ugh, fuck. Yeah.”

She felt as though she didn’t have any more energy to give, wanting to tap out— she knew that wasn’t happening. A soft gasp leaves her hips as they swiftly switch positions, Asael now against her stomach as her hips are arched within the air of the bed. Toji’s abdomen presses along her back as he hovers over her, eyes rolling to the back of her head, shoving her face along the sheets as she jerks out a breathless curse, fists tightening as he pushes back into her. She feels his lips along the back of her neck, his arms trapping hers beneath his.

She hopes— prays he tires himself out. He takes one hand as he wraps it around her throat from behind, deeply grinding his hips down into her. His lips attach to the side of her neck, fingers clutching her mouth within his hold as she shudders, “Oh fuck,” Toji arrogantly chuckling right beside her ear.

“Pretty ass tattoo, looks like the shit hurt,” he talks, deep voice wracking within her brain as he grunts, “Let me kiss it better,” dirtily making out with her throat, dragging his tongue along the skin nearly up to her ear. Her eyes can’t stay open, feeling as if she’s about to go blind, the pleasure of him smacking his hips directly along her g-spot has her muffling, “Ohhh my god. F—fuck. F—uckk.”

His pace gets faster, his grip on her throat and mouth tightening. He can hear the way she gasps and moans against his hand, the sound muffled and desperate. But he doesn’t let up, he keeps going, pushing her to the edge and then holding her there, keeping her on the brink of ecstasy and pain.

He leans down, his lips against her ear, his voice a dark, possessive growl, “Think this pussy had been waiting for me,” he pulls out, taking his hand as he bobs his tip along her entrance, watching as Asael trembles out a gasp, legs vibrating as she whines, “Gonna cum. S—so close, put it back in.”

He moves his hips against hers, rocking her body and making her whimper and gasp. Her body trembles and shakes, the pleasure and pain becoming too much for her to handle.

“Toji, please. Please.”

“Pussy makes me wanna fall in love,” he grunts, spreading her apart with his own hand, seeing her opening throbbing, gummy pink walls pulling themselves inward as they need his connection.

“Ungh,” she softly groaned, biting her teeth against the pillow, eyes shut tightly as she moaned along the sheets, eyes rolling to the back of her head as he rolled his hips against hers, still not going back inside of her.

“You wanna cum?”

“Yes.”

“Say that shit, then.”

“Wanna fuckin’ cum all over your dick, baby. C—can’t wait,” she nearly feels tears in her eyes.

The evil bastard rumbles a deep chuckle against her body, pulling her hair into his fist as he twists the mane into a ponytail, other hand spreading her opening father as he shoves his dick back inside of her, yanking her hips back with an angle to hit directly to her g-spot. Asael feels elated, a high-pitched giggle leaving her lips as she whines, eyes rolled to the back of her head as her orgasm nearly pushes his length out by the strength of pleasure, her mouth sobbing out half screams, face shoved into the pillow as she releases wildly. He picks her head up as he grunts, still keeping his hips plummeting into her, “Nah. Fuck all that. Cum. Shit feels good, doesn’t it?”

She nods her head, whining, “Yeahhh,” tears dropping from her face, catching his wrist within her palm as he damn near leaves a handprint on her ass, ignoring as his final words to her are, “So fuckin’ polite now. All you needed was to be fucked.”

The chaos of the moment drives him to a brink of insanity. To hear the suction of air spouting from her opening, Asael defeatedly gasping, head turning as her mascara ridden face tiredly moans, it’s euphoria.

His hips stutter as he pulls out with a moan, an unexpected movement from Asael as she quickly turns herself to let him release along her flushed face, her hands wrapped around the base of his length as she sticks her tongue out.

It makes the man halt, his eyebrows raising as she does so.

Both of their heavy breathing fills the room, her shamelessly beautiful face staring up at him with practical stars in her eyes, Toji for once in complete silence as she giggles from his shocked face.

“Shit,” he grunts, “Maybe I was wrong. You are sweet.”

Her eyes scan along his face, a new rise of confidence within her as she shrugs, “Could just be one of my better moods.”

“Better? You’re not in the fuckin’ heavens right now after I tore your ass up?”

Asael shrugs, “Maybe. Maybe not.”

As she continues to giggle, Toji raises his eyebrow. She must’ve forgotten who he was just that quickly. But she’s about to be reminded, a gasp falling from her lips as he twists her hair into his fingers, pulling her eyes up to meet him so she can hear every word.

“Nah, fuck that. Turn over.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ toji visuals + vibes ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

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wolken-himmel · 1 year

Text

In which Floyd's transformation potion wears off, causing him to be stuck in his eel-merman form in a large tank.

Now (Y/n) has to entertain him.

Request by anon.

You had always admired the Mostro Lounge's interior design. Large tanks that lined the walls, some that connected to the vast ocean outside the building and allowed little fish and other creatures to pass through. You used to spend a lot of time watching all these adorable and innocent creatures swim past the glass facade. But now, all of them had been chased away by a vicious predator.

Floyd.

You exhaled and watched as he terrorised the last remaining guppies until they fled the tank. The large eel-merman was left alone in the tank, now bored out of his mind. There were no more little fish to torment. So he turned to you, who stood outside the tank and watched him swim around. He flashed his teeth at you, you poor little fish.

"Shrimpy!" he cried out once his head penetrated the surface of the tank. His arms were resting on the upper edge of the tank, the water from his skin dripping to the ground. He shot you a sly smile. "Come a little closer. I don't bite."

You wrapped your arms around yourself, making sure your blazer was still dry. Despite his pressing gaze, you didn't move a centimetre. "I don't wanna get wet. You splashed Azul when he gave you your lunch earlier."

Floyd let out a groan at your reply. "Shrimpy, don't be such a guppy!"

His words caused you to quirk an eyebrow. "I'm not a guppy. I have good reasons not to trust you," you said, a tad bit of playfulness lingering in your voice. You chortled softly, knowing better than to come closer to him.

"What?! I'm as innocent as those little spikeballs from the Heartslabyul garden, the ones you like to cuddle! I deserve appreciation too, don't I?" the merman whined, as if your words had offended him. He pulled his arms away from the ledge of the tank and sank to the bottom of the tank, so he could face you properly. His long tail curled around the floor as he glared at you, the glass wall being the only thing separating you two.

You shrugged softly. "Who says you won't pull me into that tank if I get closer."

"I would never. I swear on Jade."

His words drew loud laughter from your lips. You almost doubled over from how intense the wheezes were that shook your body. "You'd swear on your own brother?" you asked and held your stomach in pain. As your laughter faded out into chuckles, you gazed around the empty Mostro Lounge. "I hope he didn't hear that..."

Floyd chuckled along, but his laughter quickly turned into grumbles of annoyance again. "Come on, Shrimpy. I'm bored!" he complained again and swam circles in his tank. It was large enough to allow for vast movement, but it was empty of any entertainment. "I wanna walk again, poke your side and annoy you."

You chuckled and crossed your arms. "Yeah, you're a real menace. Maybe it's good you're stuck in that tank for a few hours," you teased him. Unable to help yourself, you stuck your tongue out at him.

Floyd clutched his chest dramatically and sank to the bottom of the tank, where he remained motionlessly. "Shrimpy, you're so mean to me..."

Laughter spilled from your lips, and you couldn't help but tap your finger nail against the glass wall. "Stop it, Floyd. You're so dramatic."

"You're breaking my heart..." the eel-merman whined before regaining life again. At the speed of light, he shot up from the ground of the tank and zoomed off into a dark corner.

You brought your face closer to the glass, your eyes scanning the vast tank. The back was littered with large stones and tall kelp plants. Even though his tail was long, he somehow managed to easily hide amongst the flora of the tank. A worried feeling made itself apparent in your stomach. "Floyd? Where are you? Come out again," you yelled out nervously.

Did your playful banter go too far? Did you actually manage to insult him.

Your head began to spin with thoughts of how hurt he must feel. Feeling awful, you desperately searched for any sign of life from him. But your eyes never managed to see past the plants and rocks in the tank. He was nowhere to be found.

With each passing minute of your fruitless search, guilt and dread weighed down your conscience. You began to feel bad about what you had said to him. Any attempt of calling out to him was met with awful silence. With Floyd gone, the empty Mostro Lounge became eerie and lifeless.

Your guilt got the better of you, and you climbed up the ladder that led to the upper ledge of the tank. Your eyes scanned the crystal clear water, but even from up there, you couldn't manage to find him amongst the kelp. With your hands tightly gripping onto the ledge, you leaned over the tank.

"Floyd... I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said," you murmured softly. "Please come out again. I'm worried about you..."

You're met with silence again. He still seemed too hurt to reply you. Or that's what you thought at least. With all the feelings of guilt that plagued you, you didn't notice the threatening shadow that approached you from below. Your torse continued to lean over the ledge, desperately trying to find your friend in the tank.

That was until a webbed hand shot out from the water and grabbed your arm. A scream escaped your lips as you were pulled into the tank with ease. Your body toppled over the ledge and plunged into the water. Strong limbs and an even stronger tail constricted most of your panicked movement.

Your clothes felt heavy and your eyes burnt as you were finally able to open them. You came face to face with a mischievously grinning Floyd. He held you tightly, but making sure your head remained above the water. An unsettling giggle escaped his lips. "I never was mad at you. I just needed you to feel guilty and come closer to the tank so I could pull you in."

You glared at him, but your anger was only half-hearted. "You sly eel..."

Your struggling is met with carefree laughter from his side. "That's what we're known as. Smart, sly and slippery!" he exclaimed smugly and swam around the tank with you. A bright smile was plastered onto his face, akin to that of a child that had just received a present.

"I should have known this was just another one of your ploys," you murmured in dismay.

Floyd pressed you against him until you could only wheeze out your complaints. "You're like a rubber duck! So easily squeezable and cute," he cooed playfully.

"Hey, let me go!" you cried out with red cheeks.

His laughter turned louder, until it filled the entirety of the Mostro Lounge. "Sorry, no can do, Shrimpy. You're my little rubber ducky until I get my transformation potion."

"Azul! Hurry up with the potion!" you yelled out at the top of your lungs.

Before you could say more, Floyd pulled you underwater to shut you up. After a few seconds of having his fun, he pulled you up again. A giggle escaped his lips at your disoriented state. He merely soothed your strangled whines by pulling you closer, his arms circling around your waist.

An eerie smile decorated his face as he patted your head. "Oh, he can take his time. I don't mind...."

#twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #reader insert #y/n #disney twst #twst x you #floyd leech #floyd leech x reader #floyd x reader #twst floyd #twst floyd leech #twst floyd x reader #twisted wonderland floyd #gender neutral reader

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pullhisteeth · 1 year

Text

classified | eddie munson x reader

summary at your wits end, you put an ad in the classifieds for a special kind of tutor. Eddie finds it and takes you up on the offer. (nsfw) [13k]

contains smut (18+ minors dni!) – p in v sex, oral (f receiving), lots of praise, virgin!reader, fem!reader, hurt/comfort. eddie's a sweetheart, fluff, first time turned something more (?).

author's notes this one's a long one! the idea made me laugh and then it took on a life of its own. I want to say this is meant to be somewhat lighthearted and is not a suggestion that anyone should be having sex if they haven't already – your body's yours, baby, do whatever you want! no one should ever make you feel rushed into anything!!! anyway Eddie is an angel and I want one. bye!

Eddie's not sure why he's reading the newspaper. Boredom, perhaps; he's been waiting for Wayne to get home from his shift for over an hour. He's thought about calling the plant, but the walk from the couch to the phone seems to be the perfect amount of time to convince himself that he's probably on his way home already.

It's the Hawkins Post. It gets delivered by a snot-nose boy on a bike every week, thrown far too hard at their tin front door. Wayne reads it some weeks, others it gets used to wrap his lunch. Apparently this one he'd read it, flicked through the pages half-heartedly before leaving it open on a centrefold about the local elections. Trust Wayne to get bored of small-town politics, Eddie thinks.

So he picks up where Wayne left off, slowly pulling the pages apart, skimming stories about the endemic of teen pregnancy, or columns about the rejuvenation plans for downtown Hawkins.

Finally, he reaches the only bit of the newspaper that Eddie has ever found interesting: the classifieds (and, on the back of the classifieds, the call-girl ads).

He skims them, eyes brushing past ads for cleaners, dog walkers, nannies. Finds the ones hidden at the bottom – the letters written in code, ads for attractive female friends and women seeking younger men. He's never actually interested in them, but they provide a glimpse into the underbelly of Hawkins, a small town that is, for all intents and purposes, entirely normal. But nowhere is ever truly normal, and Eddie likes to seize the opportunity to pry into the scandalous goings-on of his boring hometown.

He's reading one about swingers when the one beside it catches his eye. It's plain – whoever paid for it kept their costs to a minimum. All it says is:

WOMAN, 23, SEEKING FIRST TIME.

He stares at the bold ink, the statement in all caps that, despite being maybe the lowest cost ad in the whole paper – it's in a box about three inches tall in the very corner of the page – jumps out at him anyway. Underneath the title, it reads: young woman looking for judgement-free first time. Min. age 22, max. age 28. Must have experience. At the very bottom, in almost imperceptible print, is a phone number.

Eddie hadn't realised how close his face was to the page until he hears the familiar sound of Wayne's car pull up outside. He throws the paper down onto his lap and sighs before scrambling around to at least try to look casual, and not like all the blood has rushed to his face. In the few seconds he has between the sound of Wayne's car door closing and him coming up the stairs, Eddie tears the page out, folding it quickly and shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans as he stands.

The door opens just as he gets to his feet, and Wayne comes trudging in with his steel lunch pail and heavy boots.

"Hey, Wayne," Eddie says, breathless, trying his best to sound level. Wayne eyes him as he closes the door, before turning to dump his stuff on the table.

"C'mon, kid, you promised me a burger."

The piece of newspaper stays in Eddie's pocket for three more days.

Wayne had been late getting home – something came up, but Eddie wasn't listening too hard, brain on that stupid ad instead – so their weekly trip to Benny's had run until the early hours of Friday morning.

And then Friday was work and Hellfire, which Eddie still leads despite having graduated two years ago, and this time the kids kept him going for hours. By the time he got home he hadn't even thought about the page before crashing into bed.

And then Saturday is family day, as Nancy puts it. Eddie had woken up late, rolled out of bed into the freshest clothes he could find, and into his van to act as bus driver for the morning. His little gaggle of unruly teenagers crammed into the back of it one by one, laughing and teasing and shouting. Steve's home became louder and still, Eddie relished in that feeling of peace he gets once a week with all these misfits he calls friends.

By Sunday morning, the newspaper had been long forgotten in the pocket of his jeans that he'd left in a pile on his bedroom floor. He's laid on his back on his bed, head dangling off the edge, puffing mindlessly on a spliff he'd rolled for himself two days ago that had also been forgotten. The room's a little fuzzy round the edges, just the way he likes it, the sunlight creeping warm paws up his arms. It smells funny in here, he thinks, so he turns over, pushes himself off the bed, and reaches up to open his window. On his way back to his bed, he trips on something, landing with a huff as his ribs hit the corner of the mattress.

"Fuck," he hisses, reaching down to pull the culprit off the floor. It's just an old pair of jeans, so he throws them into the corner, out of the way, and resumes his position, splayed out across the bed.

From this angle, with his head hanging upside down, he spots something by the pile of denim he'd just discarded.

His brain's ticking over slowly under the haze of being stoned, but after a second he realises what it is, and clambers all too quickly off the bed and across the room.

Maybe it's that haze, coating his brain with thick fog; maybe it's the fact that, in the year since he graduated, he's had to settle for quick fucks behind the Hideout after a gig; or maybe, just maybe, it's dangerous curiosity.

Whatever it is, something motivates him to move through his room, down the narrow corridor into the kitchen. There's something hijacking his limbs, and it reaches up to the phone on the wall. With eyes on the page in his hand he spins the dial, listening to the tone as it rings, rings, rings.

The longer he stands there, the more convinced he becomes in his intoxicated miasma that this is some kind of prank; he's going to be met with a stupid kid on the other end, laughing at him for bothering to call at all.

When he finally decides that this is just that, a practical joke, the line clicks. There's a low buzz on the other end, so low he thinks maybe the line just went dead, but then a voice.

"Hello?"

He's taken aback by the sound of it, but not so much that he doesn't notice the sleep coating it. Despite his stupor, he can't help but apologise.

"Shit, sorry, did I wake you?"

"Who is this?" You're sharper now, coming to, and he kicks himself for fucking this up already.

"Oh, shit, uh, sorry. I called about… I got this number, uh, in the paper."

"Fuck," he hears you whisper. He's not sure if he was supposed to hear it. He feels bad.

"Sorry, I'll go, this was-"

"Look, I put that age range in the ad for a reason. I'm sick of gettin' calls from middle aged men, I-"

"I'm twenty-three."

You're silent on the other end for a moment, but he can hear your breath hitch.

"Well, shit," you finally say. "Y'don't sound it."

He laughs an awkward, stilted laugh, unsure what to say.

"Sorry, I've had so many guys – men, old men – callin' me up, tryin' to flirt with me down the phone, I just… The ad was a mistake, clearly."

He likes the way you talk. You've got a pretty voice.

"Uh, thanks," you say.

Shit.

"Fuck, sorry, did I say that out loud?" Moron.

You laugh, the sound fizzing down the telephone line, and it eases some of his insecurity.

"I'm sorry," he says, starting fresh. "I'll leave you be, have a good-"

"Wait," you bite, and he can hear you shuffling around. "Wait just a sec, I- fuck, where the fuck is it? I… Sorry, can you just wait for a second?"

"Sure, sure," he murmurs, trailing off when he realises you've set the phone down. He listens to the faint sounds of you rummaging around and swearing under your breath. He must look like an idiot, stood in his kitchen, smiling at his phone, waiting for a stranger he found in the paper.

He hears you coming back, footsteps getting louder, before you pick the phone back up.

"Y'still there?"

"Yeah," he laughs. You speak to him like he's an old friend and it keeps catching him off guard.

"Okay," you say. "Here's the thing. I put that stupid ad in the paper because I was sad, and my life has been a misery since then, because literally every guy who's called me has been, like, at least forty, which some people are into I guess but I'm not, and- Sorry."

You're rambling, stumbling over your words even though he can tell you're trying to be professional or something. He stays quiet and hopes you'll keep going.

After a beat, you say, "I guess, 'cause you called, you'd be up for it?"

"Uh, well," he stammers. "That's kinda why I called. Care to explain what it is you want, exactly?"

He's not sure where the sudden confidence has come from; maybe the weed's wearing off.

"Okay, yeah," you breathe. "So, uh, my plan, I guess, was that I'd… You'd take, uh, my virginity."

You almost whisper the last part, like it's some kind of slur, and Eddie can't help but laugh on the other end.

You start to sound exasperated, frustrated, so he tries to claw you back.

"Sorry, sorry, it's just so… frank."

"Well, bein' all coy about it hasn't really worked out for me so far."

Can't argue with that logic.

"Okay," he says, trying to ignore the excitement bubbling inside him. You're a stranger, he's a stranger, and this whole thing is kind of weird. Shit, he thinks. Am I a perv?

"How do you want to do this?"

"Well," you start, sounding like you've got this part planned out. "First I need to know you're not gonna murder me or something, so I'll give you an address near my house but not at my house, and we can meet there whenever… and, uh, what year were you born?"

"What?"

"Just… So I feel a bit more sure you're actually twenty-three."

"Hah, okay. 1965."

"Okay, sweet. You got a pen?"

"Shit, yeah, one sec."

His eyes dart around the room. With the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he moves as far as the cord will let him, to a drawer by the front door. At the back there's an old pencil and some scraps of junk mail.

"Got it!" he declares, too enthusiastic but it makes you giggle so he laughs too.

"Okay," you start, and you tell him an address he vaguely recognises, closer to the nicer side of town, halfway between here and where Steve's house is.

"It's a park, kind of. It's pretty public anyways, so if you were, y'know, planning to kill me or whatever, don't bother."

"I'll take that off the to-do list," he tells you through a smirk.

"Very funny," you say, your sentence half-formed like you can't find the words to finish it. "Wait, what's your name?"

"Eddie. Munson."

"Okay, Eddie Munson," you say before telling him yours and deciding that you'll meet him later that day. You tell him it's easier that way, that you can't bear to have to wait all week, sitting on the nerves that might make you change your mind.

That's exactly what Eddie does all afternoon. You'd decided on six that evening, when it's still light but late enough that you both have time to back out, and so he sits, stoned out of his mind on both weed and the phone call, feeling something he's rarely felt before.

It's like cola in his gut, bubbling and frothing every time he tries to move. Is this what people feel when they say they have butterflies? Because it doesn't really feel like that; it feels instead like the madness inside him is floating upwards, fizzing around his heart, prodding and poking at it at uneven rhythms. His mind is reeling, too; he hadn't really thought this through at all. What if, even after that call, you're still planning on playing some kind of trick on him? What if this is an elaborate scheme to publicly humiliate him? Maybe you get a kick out of that kind of thing.

There's another thing, creeping around at the back of his mind, lurking. It's that horrid hopefulness, the what if that feels so far from likely that if he lends too much time to thinking about it, he feels stupid.

What if you're great?

He shakes himself out, standing up off his bed. He'd been lying there for the past two hours, sobering up, dwelling on every detail of the call, lingering in particular on your voice and your laugh and the way you say sweet so often.

He doesn't know who you are. He didn't recognise your name when you told him, even though you're his age. He didn't recognise your voice either, but he likes it, and he wasn't lying when he (accidentally) told you it's pretty.

He looks at the clock beside his bed. The red numbers flicker as they change to 16:52.

One hour.

He's early.

It's ten to six, and he's early.

The sun's low but not gone yet, and the park you sent him to is actually kind of nice. He's in his van, waiting until it's a socially acceptable time to get out and wait for you. What is the socially acceptable time to get out and wait for the girl you've got an agreement like this with?

Before he can decide, he sees someone. They're in jeans and a jacket, red Chucks and hair lifting up in the breeze.

Without thinking about it too hard, he opens the door and hops out, slamming it a little too hard. The person looks over, catches his mop of hair over the top of the van, and stops walking.

"Eddie?"

He hears you call his name over the sound of his boots crunching on the ground as he rounds the front of the van. He looks over to find you, the person he saw walking over, looking at him with your hand at your brow, blocking the sun.

You're pretty – really pretty. He still doesn't recognise you, but he has decided that's surely for the best.

You don't recognise him, either, but he's hot. He's not what you expected; truthfully, you really had expected someone older, lying about their age to get in your pants, someone you'd have to turn down in this very public space, going back to your apartment alone and unsatisfied. This is not what you had in mind at all, but you're not mad about it.

As he comes towards you, you watch the way he walks, chest-first like he's exactly where he should be. His hair's long and a bit wild but it matches his style – ringer tee, messy black jeans, obnoxious denim jacket. He's got his hands in his pockets but when he lifts one out to wave at you awkwardly, you see the rings and know you're a goner.

You wave back, laughing lightly as he nears you. He's taller than you so you really have to squint to see him against the setting sun.

"Hey," he says softly. His voice is even nicer in person; he does sound older than he is, and he has an air of maturity about him, like he's too sure in himself to be 23, but there's also a boyishness somewhere underneath that endears you.

"Hi," you reply. "You're Eddie, right?"

He looks around himself, head whipping back and forth.

"No, doll," he says, looking at you with a blank face. "I'm Keith."

"Oh," you say, trying to hide the flush in your cheeks and the way your face drops, but then he laughs and reaches out to hold your shoulder.

"Sorry, that was a bad joke." He squeezes. "Yeah, I'm Eddie."

You choose to ignore the overly familiar touch and the way it sends your knees all funny, and instead you laugh, a little awkwardly, and hold out a hand.

"Nice to meet ya," you say, firm.

He looks down at your hand as he drops his own from your shoulder. His eyes move between it and your face, but he shakes it anyway.

"Well?" he asks, and you watch as he smirks, staring you down, his hand still in yours.

"What?"

"Do I look like a serial killer? Scared I'm gonna murder you?"

With those final words he pulls on your hand, bringing you closer to himself. His confidence is only making that funny feeling in your knees worse, but what you don't know is that he's bluffing; before you stands a terrified boy struck dumb by a pretty girl.

"Hm," you hum, dialling up the dramatics to ponder his appearance. You take the chance to scan your eyes up and down his body, taking in the scuffs on his shoes and the pretty silver chain around his neck. From here you can smell weed and cigarette smoke, pretty aftershave and something deeper. "I don't think so."

"Damn," he quips, finally releasing your hand to run his own through his wild mass of hair. "I was really tryin' to look scary."

"You didn't do a very good job," you tell him, laughing softly, and he looks at you with a smile.

"Oh well," he says. "Maybe next time."

Ignoring the way that makes you feel, you take his hand again. It's your turn to pull him, dragging him behind you. The move startles him and he drags his feet for a moment before catching up, refusing to let go of your hand when you try. He swings them between your bodies theatrically as you walk him across the park, through a line of tall oak trees and onto the street on the other side.

"So," he says, drawing out the word. "We goin' to your parents' or somethin'?"

"No," you reply, shaking your head slightly with your eyes on the ground. You drop his hand and stuff yours back in your pocket. "I have an apartment, up by Main Street. This's just a shortcut."

"Oh."

You don't say much more after that. The walk is short; you were right, this is a shortcut to Main Street, one even he didn’t know about. It takes you past Steve's house, and Eddie prays he doesn't happen to be looking out the window at this precise moment.

You live above the pharmacy. You scramble with the lock for a moment, so he stands behind you, bouncing on the balls of his feet and looking around; it's quiet, the usual lull of a Sunday evening, the sun lower than before. He looks at the back of your hair and the way the light catches in it, hears the low curses under your breath as you struggle with the door. And then it's open, and you're inside in the dark, and he has to bring himself back down to Earth.

Your apartment is small. Behind the door there's a narrow staircase, and at the top another door. It brings him into your living space, which is cramped but clearly well-loved. You offer him a drink and step into the kitchen when he says yes.

He lets his eyes pass over the room. The ceiling is low, reminiscent of his own home, though the walls are more solid than the trailer. They're painted a muted, pale blue, a colour he's sure you didn't choose because you've covered as much of them as you can in things: paintings, framed photographs, postcards. The furniture is more to your taste, he assumes. It's all soft, rich greens and pinks.

You bring him a beer as he sits on the couch, sinks into the cushions, toes off his boots.

"Thanks," he says as you pass him the bottle and take a swig of your own. You take your own shoes off and leave them by the door, hanging your jacket on a hook there too.

"So," you begin, padding back over to him and sitting on the opposite end of the couch. "I don't know how this works."

"Well," he says, turning to you with one arm up on the back cushions, "I can talk you through it, but I need t'know where you're at."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, how far have you gone before? How far do you want to go today?"

"Uh-" You shuffle, squirming into the couch, clearly looking for the right words. "I've never… This is as far as I've ever got."

He breathes a gasp though he's trying to hide it, trying to stick to the agreement of judgement-free. "You've never been kissed?"

You just shake your head and the way your face creases, brows turned down, makes him ache.

"Okay."

"And I want to go all the way," you say quickly, all in one breath, finding your words. "Not too far, no extra shit, like, kinky shit, but the standard."

"O-kay," he says again, smiling this time. "So you know it's not as easy as… As in and out, right?"

"Yes," you spit. He flinches. "Sorry, it's just… It's hard not to feel a bit, like, insecure about all of this. Makes me a bit defensive, I guess."

"It's okay," he soothes, and his tone really does make you feel better. "No judgement here. I'm not new to sex, but I'm just as new to this whole… situation as you are."

"Okay," you sigh.

"Why don't we just chat for a bit? I'm not in a rush if you're not."

"Yeah," you agree. Eddie is easy, you're finding; no dancing around the point, but you feel you're being handled gently. Exactly what you want.

"So did you grow up here?"

Okay, so maybe the 'chatting' suggestion was a bit of a façade for the fact that Eddie has found himself fascinated by you, even in the short time he's known you. Sure, it's only been ten minutes if you're not counting the phone call, but there's something about you that piques his interest. And, if he's honest, he's not sure why he wouldn't recognise someone his own age in Hawkins.

"No, no," you say, leaning over to put your beer on the table. You wipe your mouth quickly with the back of your hand. "I'm from Illinois."

"Why are you here then?" He takes your que and puts his own beer down too, deciding that being intoxicated probably isn't the best idea.

"I dunno," you say, sighing again. Your shoulders go lax as you let yourself sink backwards and look up at the ceiling. "I wanted to go somewhere new, but not somewhere big. And the middle school here was hiring a tech assistant, so I applied."

"And you got the job?"

"Uh-huh. I start in September, figured I'd just move here early, try to find my feet."

"How's that going?"

"Alright, mister questions." You laugh as you say this and sit up, looking at him again with a smile. "It's going okay so far. People are friendlier here, but I haven't exactly found my people yet."

He hums, nodding, and you say, "My turn."

He looks up at you. "Do your worst."

"Did you grow up here?"

"Kind of. Somewhere near here, til I was eleven."

"Why'd you move here?"

"Hah." He goes all rigid and awkward at your question, shrugging his jacket off with his eyes on the ground. You take note of the ink you can see crawling up to his neck under the collar of his shirt. There's something else there, too; something pale and stretched, like a scar.

"It's complicated." That's the answer he settles on, keeping his cards close to his chest. "But I moved in with my uncle when I was in middle school. Been here since then."

"Is that why you're still here? Your uncle?"

"Kind of, but that's also complicated."

"Wow, okay, is everything complicated with you?"

"It doesn't have to be," he says. It throws you for a loop, the way his voice has dropped, fried and kind of… sexy?

You find him looking at you, and suddenly he feels really close. You feel this urge to climb out of yourself, away from this situation that isn't for you; it's never for you. No one has ever wanted to get this close.

"You okay?" he asks, his friendly tone back.

You're grateful he seems to be able to read you so quickly.

"Yeah, sorry."

"It's okay. If you want to, y'know, stop this at any point, just let me know, okay?"

"We haven't even-"

"Will you?" he presses.

"Yes," you promise him. He looks back at you like he's waiting, yearning for something and you don't quite know what.

"Can I ask you something?" he says.

"Mm-hmm."

"Why are you so far away right now?"

He's gone soft, leaning forward toward you, his arm still up on the back of the couch. Your eyes flicker to his fingers and the rings on them, the way they're sparkling slightly in the dipping sun coming through the window.

It fills your mouth with glue. The combination of his proximity and the question leaves you breathless.

"I just…" he continues. "You're hiding from me over there."

He's got a sticky smirk on his face, like he knows the answer and knows you don't want to tell him. He shuffles forward ever so slightly, letting you breach into his space if you want to.

You do, you really, really do – he's a kind stranger, doing a kind thing for you, even if it is a bit odd. You want nothing more than to relinquish yourself to him, and yet you can't.

There's a momentary staring contest between the two of you. The couch feels miles long and yet he's closing in. You feel suffocated.

"I'm gonna come to you," he says after a minute. "Is that okay?"

All you can do is nod at him. It's like your body's on fire, affronted at the idea of being touched by him and yet harbouring some primal urge, deep under the surface, to let him do it anyway.

He pushes his jacket onto the floor with his elbow as he moves himself down the couch toward you. Your eyes follow his arms and the way they stretch, and then the way one of them lifts. He plants his hand firmly on your knee and it burns through the denim of your jeans. You can't tear your eyes from it, staring blankly at his fingers, the way the tendons flex when he squeezes.

"We don't have to do anythin' you don't wanna do, okay?" he tells you. He's watching you, how you're watching his hand, how your hair still lights up in the sun. You're sweet, and pretty, and most of all he longs to know more.

"I'm gonna talk you through it," he continues, "kinda like a teacher, if that's what you want."

When you don't reply, he calls your name softly, and says, "Is that what you want?"

You look up at him and nod again.

"I need to hear it, sweets."

You tell him yes, that is what I want, trying desperately to keep your voice as level as possible, not letting on that it kills you every time he uses a petname like that.

His fingers dance up your thigh and back down to your knee, a repeating pattern that sends you dizzier the closer he gets to you.

"Eddie?"

His hand stills and he looks at you.

"Yeah?"

When he responds, you feel his breath on your face. He's close enough, now; you can really look at him, at the crow's feet by his eyes, the freckles across his cheek, the bend in the bridge of his nose that looks like maybe he broke it once. His eyes are really pretty, browned sugar and syrup, flitting around as he tries to read you.

"I've never been this close to anyone before."

He's watching your eyes as they move over his face, admiring the slight sense of awe in them.

"That's okay."

There's a sudden absence on your leg where his hand leaves it and it aches, like the bone is realigning. You swallow a whine and close your eyes when his hand finds your cheek.

"I'm gonna kiss you now," he whispers. "That okay?"

You nod again and he lets the pads of his fingers smooth backwards into your hair where they take root, his thumb beside your eye. You feel him pull you in and his breath on your nose and then the strange sensation of his lips.

It's new but not unwelcome. He's soft with it, light as anything and quicker even, gone before you really know it's happened. Some kind of sudden urge takes over, though, because you don't like how quick it was, so you chase him. You plant your lips back on his, firmer than he had, your nose nudging his as you get the angle right. This one's longer and it startles him; you have to pull back when he starts laughing.

"Alright, alright, slow down," he says as you sit back, deflated. "You liked that, huh?"

You nod, giddy, desperate to feel it again.

"Can I show you somethin'?" His hand is on your neck now, burning its fires once more, and you can barely concentrate on him.

"Yeah," you breathe, a sigh of relief as he comes closer again. But as you close your eyes, expecting his mouth on yours, you can't help the whine that escapes when he misses, landing beside it. You feel him chuckle, a puff of air out of his nose, before he dots more kisses along your jaw. It feels nice, gentle and slow, like he's scared to break you if he goes too fast or comes on too strong.

The whine, lingering in your throat, moulds into something like a sigh – or even a moan – when he makes it onto the column of your throat. You swear you feel his teeth graze the skin there, lips following them over your pulse. His kisses turn hotter, heavier, and you can't help the way you keen into him. Without thinking about it, you paw at his shoulders and let your back arch as you breathe thick pants into the air of your living room.

When he pulls back again, you whine his name, gripping tighter where you've pulled his shirt into your fists. He laughs at you, head tipped back, as he smooths his hands up and down your arms; the gentle touch makes you relax and your hands unfurl.

"Good, huh?" His words are viscous, thick with want, but he daren't go too fast.

"Mm-hmm," you agree, nodding, breathing quick. Now that he's stopped, you have time to consider that, actually, you might be a bit overwhelmed; without thinking about it you sit back, returning to your comfortable distance by the arm of the couch, watching as his face falls.

"Sure you're okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, yeah, I just-"

"Yeah, take a second."

"Mm-hmm, just need a minute."

You watch him stiffen, awkward in the wake of the moment, and take the chance to admire him a bit more until you sense his eyes are back on you, and suddenly you feel very small.

"You alright?"

You nod, looking back at him, finding his face all soft and concerned, turned down so it makes you twinge.

"You're being so nice to me," you say. It comes out more as a breath, a string of words tied together with insecurity, all in the same exhale. You're not even sure you said it at all, but his face twists into something like shock.

"What do you mean?"

You sigh. "I dunno, I… You're just being very… kind. Are you always like this?"

He seems taken aback by the question. His hands are in his lap where his left fingers toy with the rings on his right. He looks away from you to stare instead at the beer on the table and the drop of condensation running a race down the neck of the bottle.

"You've really never done this before, huh?" he asks you, and now it's your turn to be taken aback.

"I'm not lying, if that's what you're getting at," you say with perhaps a bit too much venom.

"No," he responds, stern. "I'm just… Finding it hard to believe. I'm sure it's true," he says quickly when you open your mouth to fire something quick at him again, "like, I know you're not lying, but it's so surprising."

"How so?"

He sighs this time. He twists in his seat to face you, bringing one leg up under himself, the other dangling off the edge of your couch. "I'm gonna be honest with you right now, if that's okay."

"Okay."

"'Cause I feel like that's the best way to do this whole… thing, right? Nothin' in it for you, really, if we're not honest, or whatever…"

For the first time since you met him in the park, he's showing his nerves. It gets him all wound up, stumbling through sentences like the words are quicker than he can keep up with. It's endearing, really; nicer in some ways than confidence.

"When I saw that ad it obviously caught my eye, I mean, I called, but I just didn't know what to expect, obviously, and you're… Well, you're… normal? So far, anyway." He huffs the last three words out in a laugh, but you don't return it.

"What does that mean?"

"I just think I expected someone who puts an ad like that in the paper to be weirder, or something."

Your gut twists. Red flares of anger lick up your insides, popping and wheezing in your throat.

"What the fuck, dude?"

You stand, backing away, feeling that familiar creeping isolation; distance, walls up, get away. His face has dropped to something wider, fear in his big stupid brown eyes and mouth agape.

"I didn't-"

"I'm not weird for being a virgin. And just because you think I'm 'normal' doesn't mean this-" you gesture between the two of you with both hands, "-should be surprising."

"No, shit, sorry," he pants, desperation oozing, "fuck."

"I think you should go," you finally say. Your arms are across your middle, hands gripping your forearms. You don't dare look at him, even when he says nothing.

You flinch when you feel him come nearer. He steps over the threadbare rug on your floor and over to the corner where you've parked yourself.

He calls your name and you despise the way you soften at the sound of it.

"I'm gonna touch you, 's'that okay?"

You scoff, turning away from him.

"Stop fucking patronising me, Eddie."

"I'm not patronising you. You wanted me to talk you through it."

"Yeah, that. Not this."

"This is part of that."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"Well this isn't getting me very turned on," you spit, turning back to look at him, your arms still crossed over your chest and the rising fire of anger flares when you find that cocky smirk on his face.

"Will you come sit down with me? Please?"

His hands are hovering awkwardly between the two of you, forbidden to come any closer but refusing to give up completely. You offer him an olive branch, dropping your own arms and taking his hand in yours.

He walks you back to the couch and sits beside you, turning your hand over in his on his lap. You both watch it, the way his thumb grazes your palm, tracing the lines up and over.

"Sex isn't just sex, you know," he says frankly. "Even when it's like this."

"I know," you whisper, eyes transfixed.

"It's about all the emotional shit too, and I'm gettin' the feeling there's a lot of that to get through."

"Mm-hmm." It irks you, the way he seems to know you without really knowing you. "You sound very wise."

He laughs at that, and you find yourself grateful for the reprieve, for the way the tension seems to lift just a little.

"I'm just being honest," he admits through a laugh. And then he turns to look at you, dipping his head to meet your gaze because you won't look up. His gaze on you is oppressive, unfamiliar, but you don't dislike it.

"You're really pretty, you know."

You just look at him.

"Hm?" he tries, dipping even lower to catch your eye properly. "It's true."

"A boy's never called me pretty before," you admit, words too quick for you to call them back. This is dire, this hole you're digging; after all this time, being honest is still so difficult, though it seems to come so easily to him.

"That's a crime" he says. And then he does that thing, the one you've read about in books, daydreamed about, thought about late into the night. He brings his hand to your face and holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, a light pressure but enough to move you to look up at him, sat upright, with your mouth dropped open in shock.

It's just as electric as you'd imagined; more so, even. Two points of contact. Who'd have thought it?

"I'm sorry I said something stupid," he tells you. "It was dumb."

You giggle as his fingers shift across your skin. Soon enough he's holding you in his hand again and you feel yourself leaning into it, again.

"Thank you for apologising," you say. "I think I can forgive it for now."

"Good," he says. And then, more coy, the act dropped for a moment, "Can I kiss you again?"

"Yes, but…"

Just like before, the words stall in your throat.

"You can tell me what you want, you know. It's why I'm here." Christ, his voice is like honey when he's this close to your face.

You pull a long breath in through your nose and close your eyes.

"I have this… fantasy," you begin, and you hear (and feel) him chuckle.

"Go on."

"I guess it's not really a fantasy, just something I've always wanted to try…"

"That's the definition of a fantasy."

"Hey," you scold, opening your eyes and swatting him on the arm softly. "You wanna hear it or not?"

"Sorry, sorry," he says, laughing again. "Continue."

"Can I sit on your lap?"

"Is that it?" he asks, laugh lingering, threatening to fire up the heat in your cheeks.

"Yes," you say pointedly. "I wanna try it."

"Go for it, baby."

He doesn't miss the way you gasp at the nickname; in fact, he smiles, grins almost. He moves his hands down, leaving your face for now so he can hold your waist as you move onto your knees and lift one over him.

It's funny, you think, how hard all of this feels; really, this is a very normal thing for two 23-year-olds to be doing, and yet something within you makes it feel mechanical, intentional. Perhaps you just need practise.

"Okay," he says as you settle, your hips halfway down his thighs. "You gonna get any closer, or am I gonna have to lean over an' break my back?"

"Am I okay to get closer?" you ask, not taking much notice of how your fingers are dancing around his chest, toying lightly with the chain around his neck. Maybe it does come naturally after all.

"'Course you are, here-"

His big hands pull you in by the waist so that you're seated on him, hips to hips. Your faces are closer now, too, so you can admire those lovely crows feet again and the bend of his nose.

"Gonna kiss me, Munson?"

"O-kay," he says, smirking again. "I like the attitude."

"Oh, for fu-"

He shuts you up with a kiss, takes your breath away like they all say in the magazines; this kiss brings the fire up to the hilt, pulls on the smoke and the kindling and sets everything ablaze. His lips move against yours like molten gold, hot and rich and bright, quick but tender all the same. You feel the heat of his stuttering breaths on your cheek and lean inwards, arching your back slightly, until you feel him moan.

It's a sensation you could get used to, for sure. It's fizzy vibrations on your lips, makes them tingle, all electric. And then, before you can really know it's happening, you feel his tongue on yours.

You're not even sure when you opened your mouth for him. But it's there, the new feeling. It feels wetter, less familiar, but it pulls an involuntary moan out of you and you arch your back even more without thinking.

You get into it, into the rhythm, and let your mind wander to the friction between your hips and the pressure of his fingers under your ribs. They're skirting the hem of your top, his ring finger dipping beneath it onto the skin of your waist. And then you think about it too much, take notice of it too acutely, and you're pulling back and panting, looking down at where his hands are.

"All good?" he asks in a voice that's new to you; it's lazy, his words fuzzy, like he's just woken up. You look up at him and his eyes are hooded, lids low, and he's wearing a dopey half-smile.

"Yeah, just… Feeling lots of things," you say; it's all you can think of to explain this.

"That's kinda the point," he reminds you, and then he's doing that thing he showed you earlier, kissing slowly across your jaw and down onto your neck. It feels just as nice the second time; nicer, even, because you're letting him do it and you're letting yourself enjoy it.

His fingers venture upwards, more of them sliding under your top, until he pulls back and says the fateful words you knew would come soon: "Can I take this off?"

His lips are still on your throat, so he doesn't see the way you wince. When you don't reply he comes back up to look at you. You turn away.

"Hey," he coos, one hand leaving its treacherous territory to hold your head again. "What's up?"

You huff. "No one's ever seen me… naked before."

He smiles, which vexes you. "I'm here 'cause I wanna, baby."

The fucking nicknames.

"I know, I just… Can you just-"

You hold his hand in yours and move it away from your skin, hold it in both of yours to keep it away from you. He breathes an apology but you continue.

"This whole thing, me never doing this before or whatever, I think it's probably got a lot to do with me not really liking this-" you look down at yourself as you speak, "-very much."

You see him take this in, how it melts his features and widens his eyes.

"Okay," he finally says. "We can take this slow, yeah? You wearing a bra?"

"Yes, Eddie, I'm wearing a bra."

"So let's start there. Top off first, and you can see how you feel."

"Okay."

You let go of his hand and he takes your shirt in both. You close your eyes as you feel him lift the fabric, bunch it around your breasts, your que to lift your arms. You do it for him and he pulls up, tugs it messily over your head and throws it somewhere across the room.

"Shit," he hisses.

"What?" you say in a panic, worried something somewhere has gone horribly wrong.

"Look at you," he croons. "So pretty."

The insecurity evaporates, coming off you like a heavy mist, as he dips his head to kiss your collar bones and across the swell of flesh beneath. He takes his time, sometimes pulling the skin between his teeth but never for long enough to leave a mark. At some point he nudges you back and reaches over his head to pull his own shirt off; before he commits, he looks at you. You nod.

This is the most flesh-on-flesh you've ever felt before. It's nice; you're both warm, and he hasn't once mentioned the eighteen thousand different flaws you know are on your upper body.

His is covered in ink – pretty, often in swirling patterns and on his arm there are bats. But between them, there's confirmation of your earlier suspicions: he's got scars everywhere.

You trace them with gentle fingers.

"Don't ask," he says, laughing awkwardly.

"Okay."

You lean back in to kiss him. You’re a lot less confident than he is at initiating, but soon enough you get the hang of it, and he lets you. He doesn't take the reins; instead, he gives himself to you, lets you find your feet by yourself.

You attempt to copy him, kissing his jaw and then his neck, and you enjoy the way he sighs and relaxes under your lips.

As you move further down, teeth grazing his collarbone, he says, "you wanna move? Couch isn't exactly ideal."

You finish your work with a peck to the bump of his shoulder and say, "Sure."

There's some awkward shuffling, and standing in your bra and jeans is somehow more vulnerable than sitting on him, but nevertheless you take his hand and lead him through the door to your bedroom.

He doesn't have as much time to take this room in as the last one, because he wants you on the bed more than he cares to admit. When you flick on the bedside lamp, finally acknowledging how dark it's become now the sun's started going down, all he really notices is how warm the room is.

"Here," he says, manoeuvring you as he pleases. "Lay back, yeah?"

You do as he says, sitting facing him and pushing yourself back so you can lay down with your knees up.

And then it happens: one of the many cataclysmic revelations of the evening.

"Good girl."

Again, you gasp, looking up at the ceiling.

"Good?" he asks.

"Really good," you tell him. You haven't really noticed that your hands have laid themselves across your chest, but he can't stop staring.

"That's it, see? Love when you tell me what you like."

One of his hands joins one of yours where it's fidgeting with your bra, and the other smooths down one of your legs, urging you to straighten them. You do, and again he says those fateful words: "Good girl. Gonna take these off, yeah?"

"Wait," you snap, sitting up and letting his hand fall so you can lean back with your weight on yours. "Can we do it together?"

"'Course."

"And can I… Can I undo yours?"

"Shit, sure you can."

You sit up and he takes your hands in his bigger ones, moulding them so you're tracing your fingers down the plain of his chest and stomach. You follow the dips and creases, the taught skin of his scars, and finally reach his belt.

He's mumbling nonsense at you, too caught up in everything to keep up the teacher façade, pinching your fingers between his so you can pull the leather through the buckle and get to his zipper.

When you unzip and brush something hard, he drops his hands and tips his head back in a sigh. It's an unfamiliar feeling under your tentative hands but it's not unknown.

"Wow," you breathe, not really meaning to say it out loud.

"Shit, gotta get these off-" He pulls back from your wanting grasp to shuffle out of his jeans, leaving his boxers in place for now. One step at a time.

"Your turn," he declares, smiling, jeans and socks gone. He reaches over to you again to return the favour, undoing buttons and the zip and his wide hand on your hip urges you to lift off the bed so he can pull the denim down your legs.

There's no turning back now; you can never again wonder what will happen the first time someone sees you (nearly) naked.

You've thought about this before, turned an infinity of possibilities over in your mind, but this was never one of them. Not one of them included a pretty boy, standing before you, just as exposed as you are, pawing at flesh and telling you you're beautiful.

His lips ghost over you, beginning at your shoulder and creeping lower. When he reaches the middle of your chest he looks up at you, the angle a little awkward. You nod.

"What're you doing?" you ask him, moving backwards again as he crowds you.

"I'm gonna take this off," he says, tugging lightly at the band of your bra, bringing himself level with you so he's breathing the words into your ear. "And then I'm gonna eat you out."

He may as well be a fire-breathing dragon. His words claw at your scalp like flames and fill your lungs with heat, pulling a sigh from within. You lean back, lying flat on the sheets, and let him have his way with you.

But he doesn't move, first admiring the way you respond and then waiting, lingering above you, too far away.

"What?" you hiccup, looking at him, confused.

"Need you to tell me this is what you want," he tells you.

"This is what I want," you repeat back to him. And then, taking the plunge, you add, "I want you to eat me out, Eddie."

You relish in his response, the way you can almost see him shiver, bare shoulders twitching and chest deflating with a shuddery exhale.

"Christ, yes, okay."

His fingers inch around your back so you arch it, letting him toy with the clasp of your bra. He gets it undone quicker than you expected, and you can't bring yourself to focus on where it goes once it's off because he's got his mouth back on your skin and now he's biting marks in places that would make your past self blush.

You feel his teeth on the swell of your boobs, first the left and then the right, and the rough pads of his fingers over your nipples.

"Shit," you hiss, and then, "no, shit, don't stop," when he halts for a second.

"Feel good?" he asks, muffled with his teeth grazing the stretch of skin across your ribs.

"Yes, yeah."

Gripping the sheets, you arch again, keening into him, chasing the buzz of his lips and the goosebumps they leave.

His fingers leave them, too, especially when they dance over your sides, that bit that makes you feel hollow if you drift over it the right way.

"Can I take these off?" he asks, lifting his head to look up at you from where he's sunk to his knees. You're staring at the ceiling, too preoccupied to meet his eye, and the sight makes him huff a laugh.

"Yes," you respond too quickly.

As you feel his fingers curl around the elastic, he says, "Okay, you're gonna have to give me a hand, alright? Tell me if it feels okay or if you want me to move. Or if you want me to stop, obviously."

"Yes, yeah, fuck, please Eddie-"

"Alright, alright," he laughs, pulling the material down over your knees and feet. At this rate, your bedroom floor must look like an explosion at the laundromat; dirty laundry everywhere, clothes all over the floor.

You're not sure why you're thinking about the logistics of tidying right now, though it doesn't last long, because the cool air on your core is a shock that jolts every limb.

Although he's wedged between them, you seem to have an instinctual reaction to the sensation of being exposed, your legs trying to close around him. His firm hands pull them apart, his fingers grasping the fat of your thighs, and then his lips.

They're on the softness between your legs first of all, nipping and pulling the skin between his teeth as he moves upwards. And then you feel them, the strange, wet contact. There's a feeling, something you think must be his tongue, licking upwards, before it makes contact with your clit.

The pressure is a thunderbolt to the centre, a shock that sends you arching off the bed with a gasp. Your grasp on the sheets tightens for a moment until you feel the roughness of his hair instead; without thinking, you've moved both hands to claw and pet at the crown of his head, earning a muffled moan when you tug ever so lightly.

He calls your name, pulling back, his words heard through cotton wool ears. "You're sure you haven't done this before?"

"Fuck, yes, Eddie I'm sure," you pant in response, desperate for the sensation of his mouth on you again. He obliges your unspoken craving, licking upwards again before settling comfortably at your clit. His firm hands dig deeper into the flesh of your thighs until one of them doesn’t, and before you can think too hard about it, you feel it just beneath his mouth.

The new feeling of his rough fingers on your cunt sends your eyes rolling back; you can't help but squirm and it's driving him wild, the way you're listening to him, the way you can't help but move, the way you're tugging at him without realising.

The gnawing tightness in your core nosedives when he slips, warm breaths replacing his mouth and fingers. You whine like a petulant child, making a noise you didn't know you could.

"I'm gonna use my fingers," he tells you, the distance between him and your cunt not enough to save you from the maddening huffs of breath as he talks. "Have you ever had anything inside before?"

It's funny, how nervous he sounds despite the fact he's knelt the way he is between your knees. His mouth was just all over you, and yet he's still a boy, turned stuttering by sex talk.

"No," you pant, "no, never."

"Okay, it might hurt, alright? You just gotta tell me to stop and I will."

"Okay," you agree.

He settles back into position, his weight rested on his elbows and his face and hand inching closer. You feel it, the stiffness of a finger, but the feeling is unusual and a little uncomfortable.

"You gotta relax," he tells you. "You overthinkin' it?"

"No," you bite defensively.

"It's okay."

You huff and lie back, dropping your shoulders.

"Do you ever…"

Another sigh.

"Do you ever touch yourself?"

There's a momentary flush of embarrassment, a conditioned response to being asked about this kind of thing, but you're here, in this position, naked, so you may as well be honest.

"Yes."

"Okay, what do you think about? When you do?"

"I, uh…"

"It's okay," he says quickly, "don't tell me. Just- just think about it now, right? Somethin' that turns you on."

Something that turns you on? What's turning you on right now is the handsome guy between your legs. His pretty inked skin, the stretch across his shoulders and the ripples in his back. His wide, firm hands, those obnoxious rings, the way he keeps telling you you're a good girl.

It swims in your mind, the vision of him cooing sweet praises, the fizzling memory of those words in his voice.

"That's it, you got it," you hear him tut, as though he can see inside your mind, read your thoughts. It pulls apart the tension in your core and across your shoulders, and then it's back, that feeling, the warmth and the fire, and you sink deeper into the pool of euphoria.

With one finger already half-way inside, he adds a second, his eyes trained on your face in case it's too much. But it's not; of course it's not. He knows he's good, but he doesn't think he's made a girl this happy in his whole life.

You feel it soon enough: there's a fizzing current that licks up from your cunt and into your gut where it lights your nervous system on fire. It runs laps around your body, pinpricks in your fingertips and behind your ears. You grasp at the sheets again, pulling, pulling, pulling, reaching for whatever you can to keep your body from floating away, because it really feels like that's about to happen; either that or you're going to implode, pulling the room and everything else with you like a black hole, hungry for more.

You barely notice the pants, your whiny moans and the repeated prayers of Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, before you're coming apart. He's still going, riding you through it, basking in the sound of his name as it crawls from your mouth. So far he's kept his composure, ignored the searing pain under his boxers, but he doesn't think he'll hold out much longer.

"That's it," he coos, slowing down, rubbing soothing circles into your hip. You're panting, your breath hot and skin even hotter, and you can barely hear him when he speaks. The words carry, though, somehow; his praises of you did so good, and you're driving me wild, and, worst of all with the way it slaps you silly when it comes, I need to be inside you.

You sit up at that, holding yourself up on wobbling elbows to look at him. He's still knelt between your knees, hands resting on them, looking back at you with eyes turned dark and glistening skin. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and it takes you a minute to understand that he's waiting for your answer.

"Right," you breathe. "Yeah, okay." You scramble to sit up and twist yourself so you're lying the right way but he laughs and it makes you go cold.

"Chill out, take a minute, yeah?"

His hand hasn't left you; it's on your ankle now, rubbing those same circles over the bone.

All you can say is, "That was insane."

He laughs again, a softer noise this time, and says, "It was, huh?"

"Yeah." You flop back, head in the pillows and eyes on the ceiling above you, your own fingers tracing up and down your stomach.

He watches you from the floor. You're all flushed, glowing something rosy and sprinkled with dewy sweat. And then he watches your fingers, their absentminded journey up from your belly to the dip between your boobs, and back down. You repeat it over and over, and though it's an innocent, repetitive stroke, it's not helping the pressure between his legs.

"I'm gonna take these off," he tells you, giving your ankle a comforting squeeze and tugging his waistband with his free hand. "That okay?"

It dawns on you, as you look at him, that not only are you lying naked in front of a stranger, but that you are about to see that stranger's dick. A stranger who responded to your stupid ad in the paper, who's agreed to this for some stupid reason, and who is stupid handsome and stupid nice.

"Uh, yeah, okay."

He says your name again and it sounds so pretty when he does, and then he says, "We can stop if you want, you know. You don't have to do anythin' you don't want to."

"No, I want to," you say. "I just… This is a lot."

"Yeah," he says with a smile, that one that drips with charm and tugs at your gut. "But you're all good. Done so well so far."

Your body keens at the praise, your back lifting off the bed and it's then that you notice the feeling of want biting ugly marks into the pit of your stomach. You look at him, and he looks back at you, and all you can feel is a gnawing emptiness, a need to be full.

"Let's do this," you declare, sitting back up on your elbows and watching him with needy eyes. He sees it, the darkness that has settled in your irises, the itchy fidgeting of your hands on your sheets.

"Yes, ma'am."

Slowly, he stands and tugs his underwear down his legs and onto the floor. It all feels very real, now that he's stood before you like this.

He laughs at your wide eyes, trained on the straining erection he just let loose. You've never seen a dick in person before, and to be truthful you're not sure you've ever really seen one in a photograph or a video – the adult section at the rental store isn't exactly somewhere you often find yourself – so you have nothing to compare this to, but objectively it looks quite big.

"Will it fit?" you say before you can stop yourself. It comes out a squeak and makes him laugh yet again.

"Yes," he tells you, "it'll fit. But thanks for the ego boost."

He's on his knees on the bed beside you now, moving towards you until he can use his hands to move your legs apart. He settles himself between them and sits back on his heels, leaving one hand on your left leg and using the other to take one of yours. He intertwines your fingers, squeezes, and pulls you to sit up.

"Here," he says, bringing your hand to sit flat on his ribs. He's controlling his voice as best he can, hoping it doesn't sound as desperate as he feels right now. He can't help but stare at you, at how you're looking at him.

"I'm gonna show you how to touch me, okay?"

"Yeah," you breathe. His hand moves yours down until it reaches patchy hair and then he curls your hand around his dick, his own hand still holding yours.

It's a new feeling, sure, but you're mostly enjoying the short hisses of breath he's letting out. When you move upwards without his help he almost moans, and you decide you'd like to do whatever it takes to make him do it again, and louder.

"Shit, okay, wait. Here-" He brings your hand away and lays it flat, palm up. "Spit."

You look up at him and find his wide brown eyes looking down at you, waiting.

So you spit into your palm, and he brings it back to himself, and moving is easier now.

"Fuck, okay… Yeah, just like that, that's it, shit-"

He drops his hand from yours and leaves you to find your own way, so you copy his pattern of up and down, slowly, twisting your hand as you go.

"Here, move your thumb over the- Fuck-"

You do as he says, perhaps too eager to please, and watch in awe as the muscles in his abdomen tense and he leans forward, resting his weight on one hand planted right beside your hip.

"Okay, okay, that's enough," he says, taking your wrist and pulling you away, ignoring the way you whine.

When he says, "We can worry about me another time," you try to ignore the brief fluttering it elicits deep within your chest somewhere. Dwelling on things said in the heat of this moment isn't fair, you decide; he surely doesn't mean it.

With warm, now familiar hands, he helps you lay back down.

"You got condoms?"

"Oh." You don't, and the truth you're about to tell him is mortifying. "No. They all expired a few months ago."

"That's fine," is all he says, and the fluttery feeling returns when he doesn't ask any follow up questions. No judgement, as promised. "Just wait here."

His hand leaves you at the last possible moment. As he moves off the bed it runs smooth down your leg and over your foot, like he's scared that if he lets go you'll disappear. You watch him hop awkwardly across the room and into your living room, the sight a refreshing injection of humour, helping you relax into the mattress again. He comes back with his jacket in one hand, which he drops on the floor after rummaging in the inside pocket and pulling out a red foil square.

He pulls it open with fingers that you realise are shaking slightly, and you wonder if he's really nervous, and if so, if he's as nervous as you are.

It takes a few seconds but soon enough he's rolled it on, breath stuttering and dry, and then he climbs back to you and his hands return to your body almost as quickly as they left.

He's hovering over you now, his long hair tickling the sides of your face and the tops of your shoulders, all the places the sun hits on hot days. You're too caught up in watching his every move, too keen to really realise what you're saying before you ask: "Will you kiss me again?"

He smiles and dips down wordlessly, letting his lips slip against yours. It brings back the fluttering and the fizzy feeling, the craving for him. As your tongues move as one, you feel his hand by your thigh, and when he pulls back he says, "You ready?"

You nod, and then, remembering what he said earlier, cement it in words: "I'm ready."

"Alright, I'm gonna go slow, okay? It's gonna stretch more than earlier, but you just keep me clued in, yeah?"

"Yeah."

There's a new sensation at your core, of wetness and something rigid. He's moving against your folds, finding no purchase in the remnants of earlier on, but then he nudges your clit and you jolt upwards and that's when he finds what he was searching for.

He nudges in quickly at first, enough to make you whine a pained sound. He matches it with a low grumble, a vibration right by your ear.

"You okay?" he's quick to ask, head rising to look at you.

"Yeah, yeah, just- slow, please."

"I've got you."

He doesn't move for a beat, eyes trained on the scrunch of your nose. He kisses it and feels you relax, so he keeps kissing, quick flashes over your forehead, your temple, your cheek. Each one brings new relief and as your back hits the bed again, he eases himself in a little more.

The stretch is definitely different; more. There's a burn, but it doesn't completely hide the wave of pleasure you get in the fullness.

"Gonna go a bit more," he tells you, and he does just that, going half an inch further, still watching for any sign of discomfort.

When you bring your knees up by his hips, he knows you're past the worst of it. He chants praise, telling you that you're doing so well, taking me so well as he keeps going, all the way until he's seated inside you, up to the hilt. You breathe in a gasp, filling your lungs, realising you'd been holding your breath for too long. And as you open your eyes, you find him staring down at you with concern and something else.

"You good?" he whispers with his face so close you feel the words as they settle on your cheek.

"Yeah."

"Good girl."

He punctuates this with a kiss, and then another, over the hill of your jaw and onto your throat. Your hands claw up his back, pulling him in until you're sure that if he were any closer, you'd fuse into one.

"Okay," he finally says, lips against the peak of your shoulder. "I'm gonna move. I'll go slow at first."

"Okay."

The feeling of him pulling out is new and nice, but it's nothing compared to the opposite. The combination of the two, the repetitive motion he picks up, is something you want to chase forever.

As he moves, he quickens, trying his best to keep his eyes open and attentive; it's difficult, though, when you feel this good.

"Christ, you're so fuckin' tight, shit-"

"Eddie, this feels amazing, uh-"

Your stomach twists into a coil again, quicker this time, and tightens as he picks up the pace. Above you he's all guttural moans and pretty groans, his lips grazing your cheek each time he moves, and soon his thrusts become too much. You're panting his name and he's panting yours, and along with the sound of skin on skin, that's all you can hear until he speaks gravel-churned words into your ear.

"Shit, 'm so close, fuck- Gotta get you there, baby, huh? C'mon, need you to come for me."

His words are joined by sloppy fingers between your bodies. They fumble in the dark, prodding your belly before finding slippery purchase on your clit. Sparks light up your body and all you can do in response is let it arch into him with a yelp of his name.

"You close?" he asks.

"Yes, yeah, shit, yes," you splutter back. It's like a chase, and you're catching up, quickly, quickly, quickly.

All of a sudden there's a white-hot flash that burns every inch of your insides. You tense, your body yawning open for him, wide and wanting; he doesn't relent, thrusts harder than ever, chases you in return as he feels you tighten around him. You release, the coil snapping, and he brings the pace down to see you through to the end.

There's cotton wool in your ears again but you make out his praises: "That's it, that's it, atta girl… C'mon, I've got you, you did so well."

When your breathing turns regular and your eyes ease open, you feel a warm knuckle on your cheek. He's still going slow, rutting in and out of you with ease now, and when you finally look at him he asks, "Gonna keep goin', that okay?"

You nod, throat closed for the time being so you make it as certain a nod as you can muster. His thrusts become quicker again, and the more he speeds up the sloppier he becomes. You feel sensitive, too warm but also too desperate to see, hear, feel him come undone inside you. It's not long until your wish is granted; soon his groans turn to whimpers and whines, and he calls your name as he shudders to a violent halt. It's intoxicating, experiencing this from underneath him; if this is what everyone's been talking about all these years, you understand why.

The room sways and whistles as he rests his weight on you. His breath, right beside your ear, is like a hot, damp rag, pulling at your sticky skin and the thrum of rushing blood. You hear him groan and then the uncomfortable feeling of him pulling out. The bed bounces gently as he huffs and flops down beside you, and, god, you wish so badly that you could keep those flutters under control because his clammy hand finds yours between your bodies and it's nice to feel the affection he's so devoted to giving you.

Sighing, he says, "Shit."

You laugh, scrunching your face.

"Yeah," you agree, "shit."

He squeezes your hand.

"Did you like it?"

"Yeah. Really liked it."

"Okay for your first time?"

"Yeah." You turn onto your side to face him, looking up at his face. There are a few curls stuck to his pretty pink face, and you admire the bob of his throat as he swallows and the squeeze of his hand in yours.

"You're really pretty," you tell him. You're not sure if this is the post-O haze the magazines talk about, or if it's some kind of clarity, or if it's just that you have this boy in the palm of your hand and you suddenly can't bear the thought of letting him go. Instead you want to plant anchors, heavy lines that will keep him right where he is.

He turns his head to look at you and you see him flush even more.

"So are you," he whispers, with another squeeze and a kiss to your forehead.

There are a few minutes of quiet after that. The light outside is gone for good, so he's glowing a low golden in the light of your bedside lamp. He kisses you again with a fondness that surely shouldn't come with this exchange, which you had rationalised as just that: a transaction, a mutual agreement to get something done.

You see him open his mouth, as if to speak, but close it again, so you reach a tentative hand up and brush some hair from his eyes and trace your knuckle down his temple, urging him.

"My friends," he begins, hesitant, "they're having a party, next weekend. Steve, he only lives round the corner, we passed his house on the way here... You wouldn't wanna come, would you?"

"With you?" you whisper into the fizzy darkness.

"Yeah." He smiles, eyes fluttering shut under your sweeping fingers. "With me."

"Is it a date?"

"It can be, if you want. Or we can just, y'know, go as friends, or whatever."

"No one's ever asked me on a date before."

He smiles, and it's soft and curled with an affectionate pity; one that says I'm sorry, that's not fair, it's nothing to do with you.

"Well, wanna come?"

"I'd love to."

He pulls your hand up and brings it to his mouth, where he kisses your knuckles. Goosebumps raise across your thighs and arms, and you realise you're cold.

He seems to sense your discomfort because you feel him shift beside you. He pulls you up with him and helps you climb off the bed on wobbly legs.

"I should pee," you tell him, heeding the warnings of girlfriends past.

"You should," he says, a little deflated.

You don't move, though. To move would be to acknowledge the end – the end of the transaction, of the favour. It's not something you want.

"I, uh," you begin, stumbling, "Don't- Do you want-"

"I can go now, if you want-"

"No, no, it's okay, I mean, you can go if you want, that's fine, I just-"

Your eyes are darting all over the carpet, skimming discarded clothes, so you don't notice him reach up until he's touching your face, holding it in his palm.

"I'll stay, if you want me to."

"Yes, please."

He smiles at you, sticky with fondness and you can't help but smile back.

"I'm gonna shower," you tell him, leaning further into his grasp.

"I'll be here."

"Munson! You made it!"

In the middle of the busy room, there's a tall guy, broad and burly, like all the jocks you went to high school with. He's startlingly pretty, with golden hair and honeyed skin, a wide, bright smile plastered across his face.

He steps on unsure feet over to Eddie, who is stood partially in front of you; you're cowering behind him, willing the courage to lift you and push you into the arms of strangers. For now, holding his hand will do just fine.

"Hey, Harrington," Eddie greets, meeting him in one of those boyish embraces. You look around, taking in the faces; it's not the level of the high-school parties you used to go to, and definitely not the circus of the frat ones you've sometimes found yourself at, but it's busy enough. Where the guy – Harrington – came from, in the living room, there's a circle of people who are all smiling in your direction.

"Who's this?" The guy is looking at you over Eddie's shoulder.

Eddie tells Steve your name, and then turns to you. "This is Steve."

"Hi," you say to him, smiling, trying your best to hide the cruel nerves.

"Nice t'meet you!" he beams back. It's infectious; your smile turns firm and genuine in return. "Here, come meet the gang."

"C'mon," Eddie whispers to you with a kiss to the crown of your head. He pulls you through the entryway, into the large living room, following Steve. He drops your hand to give and return hugs, saying hello to each person. You stand and watch, unsure of what to do, until one of the girls – the first one Eddie greeted – appears by your side.

"Hey," she says, perhaps a little too close.

"Hi."

"I'm Robin." She sticks her hand out and you shake it clumsily.

Eddie's back, with his hand in yours again, on your other side. He calls her Rob and tells her your name, and then does the same for each person – Nancy, Jonathan, Will, Mike, Max, Lucas, Dustin, El – too many for you to remember tonight, but you have a feeling you'll see them again.

"Hi, guys," you return with a wave.

Everything settles after that. You take a seat next to Eddie on the couch, legs up and over his own, making conversation with Robin who you like a lot. Nancy comes over and introduces herself again and you find you like her, too.

And then Steve appears, having disappeared twenty minutes before. He's a little drunker, and he hands you and Eddie a can each. You take it gratefully and open it, taking a swig.

"So," he begins, sitting on the opposite side of the circle to yourself and Eddie. "You from Hawkins?"

"No," you tell him, and repeat the story you told Eddie.

"Sweet! So how'd you meet?"

You turn your head to look at Eddie and find him having done the same thing. His eyes are wide, just as wide as you're sure yours are.

"Uh," you begin, drawing out the sound to buy yourself time.

"I did her a favour," he says, to your surprise, turning back to look at Steve with a sickly smile. "Just somethin' she'd put in the paper."

"That's so cute," Nancy says from behind you, her words chased by Robin adding a sarcastic, "Adorable."

The conversation moves on after that, and you turn around to Eddie again. He's looking back at you, his face pink and a smile tugging at his mouth. Before you can stop yourselves you're laughing, bursting into happy noises, bent double giggling.

He gives you another kiss, on the cheek this time, and quickly you settle back into conversations. The night is long and for the first time in a long time, it isn't lonely.

Hello! This is SO long - it really did take on a life of its own. I considered splitting it but couldn't find somewhere to do it, so I hope you enjoy this absolute beast nonetheless. I love you!

#ha ha I am sorry!#god it's long #I hope you love it <3 #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #Eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson angst #stranger things #stranger things 4 #st4 #eddie fic #eddie x fem!reader #eddie #eddie stranger things

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pasukiyo · 10 months

Note

Voldemort x malfoy reader where he’s in desperate need for an heir so he ‘does’ the reader over the large dining table with a lot of ‘yes my lord’

BLOODY WATERS

tom riddle/lord voldemort x f!malfoy!reader word count; 2,585 warnings; impregnation, blindfold, restraints, smut smut smut summary; lord voldemort was in need of an heir, so how could she refuse to do the honors for her most generous lord?

One touch.

One touch was all it took for her to break.

She saw nothing except darkness, but Lord Voldemort moved behind it, relishing in the fact she was blinded. She shivered when the tips of his fingers grazed over the curve of her shoulder, trailing off when they reached the crook of her neck. With the simplest of touches she was a mess, with the simplest of touches she was trembling, with the simplest of touches she was aching.

She couldn’t see the way the corner of Lord Voldemort’s pink lips twitched, the way his gaze mapped out each goosebump that stood erect on her skin. She couldn’t see the way his eyes, dark with a splash of maroon, devoured her, but she could feel them, feel his vision’s hunger as she sat there shivering on the top of the dining table, blinded, and completely nude.

“Quite the pretty little pet you are, Miss Malfoy,” his voice murmured lowly, a husk to it that had her pressing her lips and her thighs together. Lord Voldemort’s gaze fleeted down to her legs as they squeezed themselves together, relieving some of the pressure she felt between them. He clicked his tongue at this, blinking back up to where her eyes would be, had they not been veiled away by a piece of black cloth. “Trying to relieve yourself already?” He drew nearer, leaning over her, his breath like smoke rolling over her ear. “Naughty little thing. Open your legs, lest you wish to be punished.”

His words held power, raised fear within her as well.

“Y…yes, my Lord,” she squeaked, lips agape as she panted, spreading her legs once more despite her aching clit sobbing, begging for friction once again. She squirmed against the restraints locked on her wrists, her arms steadily growing more uncomfortable being tied behind her back. But she was determined to be good for him— she refused to let him down. “It won’t happen again, my Lord.”

Lord Voldemort’s smirk grew wider at her obedience, tilting his head to catch a better look of her quivering chin, at the wrinkle in her brow peeking at him from just over the top of the blindfold. “Good,” he said simply as he pulled away from her, dark tendrils of hair falling over his face, casting a shadow across his skin. He reached out towards her again, this time his fingertips trailing up and down the valley between her breasts, feeling the quakes her heartbeat left behind.

She breathed and her chest heaved into his touch, her bottom lip quivering, a plea to just beg him to do something heavy on the tip of her tongue. She bit it back, desperate to please, desperate to obey. So instead, she said nothing, only let herself balance on the brink of bliss.

Lord Voldemort’s fingers traced a circle around the nipple of her left breast, a gasp stumbling past her lips, her skin warm in his touch’s wake. “We haven’t much time before your brother and the others will be arriving,” he said in a low murmur and her cheeks burned with the reminder. Here she was— tied up and blindfolded, completely bare before her Lord and her brother was somewhere in their family’s manor— not to mention she was sitting completely naked on the table they’d eat their supper on.

A flash of shame warmed her cheeks but it was quickly replaced by a different kind of warmth when Lord Voldemort placed a hand on the side of her neck with his hand not on her chest. The pad of his thumb soothed over the base of her throat, lightly pressing down but never applying too much pressure. The lump in her throat bobbed against his finger when she gulped.

“So you are going to be obedient while I fuck my heir into you, is that understood?”

If she wasn’t already soaked, she was dripping now. Her bottom lip quivered once more and a soft whimper escaped, nodding her head in reply, unconfident she’d be able to speak without sounding pathetic. Lord Voldemort wasn’t satisfied with this as an answer however, because of course he wasn’t.

“I’m not certain you understand,” he said, his hand creeping up her neck to claw at her chin, his grip tight and firm. “I want to hear you say it. I want to hear you plead for me to give you a child, I want to hear you beg for me to fuck you.”

Another whimper stumbled past her lips and Lord Voldemort warm grip tightened on her chin, squishing her cheeks. “Please! Please, my Lord, I would be so honored to be the mother of your children. I’d do anything to please you, my Lord, I’d do anything to have you inside of me!” She wailed, her dignity lost and thrown away. She was aware of how pathetic, how foolish she sounded, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when her Lord wanted to give her the honor of being the carrier of his heir, not when her clit ached so much she could just shatter.

She of course couldn’t see the way Lord Voldemort’s lips twisted into a smile, but she could only imagine what he looked like as laughter thundered throughout his chest, permeating the dining room. He removed his hand from her face and for a moment, all was silent and all was still. She was panting, breathless as she tried to listen, wondering if he was even still in the room.

“My… my Lord?” She dared to call out, growing more frustrated with the restraints on her wrists and the cloth over her eyes. If only she could just see—

—oh.

All at once, she was full to the brim and her mouth fell open, a scream ripped straight from her throat, tears salty and stinging her eyes. With a mere snap of his hips, her Lord bottomed out inside of her, the head of his cock reaching a sensitive place so deep within, she was seeing stars. Her toes curled in on themselves and she pulled at her restraints, squeezing her eyelids so tight despite being blind already.

Lord Voldemort hissed beside her ear, his breath warm as it loomed over her cheeks, his lips a ghost over hers. If she dared lean in just an centimeter closer, they’d be touching. “My pet is so warm, so tight,” he growled, pressing the bridge of his nose to the crook of her neck and inhaling, taking a deep breath before exhaling back in her face. “So breedable.”

He snapped his hips against her again, his cock ramming back into that sensitive spot inside of her and she yelped, balling her fists behind her back. Her back was arching and her chest was pressed against his now, one of his palms pressed to the small of her back and the other pressed to the space between her shoulder blades, pulling her in even closer. Still, their lips didn’t meet, despite being so close in distance. He only grazed his mouth against hers, dropping his head to let his breath fan over the delicate skin just below her jaw, sending shivers slithering down her spine.

“And to think my heir will have your pure-blood and mine…” he hummed against her jaw, his teeth teasing at her skin there. “…the power will be limitless.”

He bucked his hips into hers again and tears began to wet her blindfold, a broken sob tumbling past her lips but her Lord, her most generous Lord, collected them with his own, sealing her cry with a kiss. Her tongue stood no chance against his, nor did she even try to challenge him, already willing to give up her entire mind, body, and soul to him. She was practically limp in his arms as he thrusted again and once more, twisting a knot at the pit of her stomach that was already threatening to break.

“Hush now, little bird,” he whispered against her lips when he pulled away from their kiss, thrusting again until he set an even and steady pace, his forehead flush against hers. “Soon you’ll be mine and all will be well,” he murmured, their noses brushing together before he slammed his hips inside of her, ripping a meek from her throat. “But just as I said, we haven’t much time. I expect Abraxas and the others will be arriving soon.”

He was pounding her now and she was dangerously close to coming now, pulling and tugging against her restraints. “My… my Lord!” She cried, wishing she could see him, wishing she could touch him. Lord Voldemort must’ve noticed the way she was rebelling against her restrained and must’ve pitied her, for he was reaching behind her back— his pace never once slowing and the force of his thrusts never once weakening— to undo the knot he’d tied to keep her wrists together.

Relieved the moment her wrists were free, one of her hands practically flew to his shoulder, the other reaching to the back of his head to grip at the rich, dark tresses there. Her tears were wet against her cheeks as they managed to slip underneath the blindfold and when she pressed her face into the breadth of his shoulder, they soaked his skin.

“My Lord, I’m… I feel so… I feel so close,” she mewled into his flesh as she fluttered around his cock, squeezing him even tighter which only encouraged him to piston his hips harder into her, clawing at the skin on her back, certain they’d leave marks. “You aren’t to come until I tell you to,” he hissed beside her ear, one of his hands venturing up her back until they threaded in the hair behind her head, balling his fist and tugging at the roots. “Tell me you understand.”

“Yes my Lord!” She gasped, her swollen and aching clit throbbing and her cunt fluttering around him once again. Lord Voldemort slammed against her impossibly harder, his pace so fast she was sure she was slipping between the realms of consciousness and unconsciousness. The room was thick with sex and sweat, the sound of skin slapping against skin permeated and bounced off every wall.

Somewhere beneath all the sex, she could make out the very muffled voices of her brother and someone else somewhere in the manor. Only then did it occur to her that her brother had been here the entire time, that it was entirely plausible he could hear them.

Before she could even begin to finish her thought, the blindfold was ripped from her face and she blinked through the blurry haze of her vision until the image of her Lord appeared. Even under the dim light of the dining room, she could make out his pale skin, the maroon that circled the black of his pupils, the black tendrils of hair that fell before his eyes. Gods, she could stare at Lord Voldemort all day.

And to think she was his.

She blinked up at him through tears as he pounded into her over and over again, pushing her closer to the edge, so close to bliss she could practically already taste it. Lord Voldemort stared right back at her, his lids hooded over his eyes, his lips pressed together as he held her close with one hand between her shoulder blades, the other on her cheek, his thumb soothing over her skin and collecting tears.

The voices outside the dining room doors were louder and closer now, and she could identify the voices belonging to her brother, Abraxas, and Tiernan Lestrange. She pinched her eyebrows together as she peered over her shoulder towards the door, snapping her head back forward to meet Lord Voldemort’s gaze.

“My Lord…” she began, to which he enveloped her lips in a kiss, his teeth sinking down into the plush of her bottom lip. She whimpered as he tugged her lip, leaning away until it slipped from between his teeth, snapping his hips once, twice, thrice.

Then, “come for me. Come all over me while I pump you full of my heir.”

She threw her head back and squeezed her eyelids as she clenched around her Lord’s cock, his palm catching the back of her head and forcing her forehead onto his as he spilled inside of her with a stutter of his hips. His eyelids were closed and his brow was knit as if in concentration as he bucked his hips into hers with particularly rough thrusts, ensuring she was taking every ounce of seed he was giving her, ensuring she was tainted inside and full of his children.

She was seeing dots of color in her vision the longer he stayed inside of her, unwilling to move, unwilling to let a single drop of his cum go to waste. She was fluttering around him, her forehead falling down to his shoulder as she panted, inhaling and exhaling to will her heartbeat to slow to a steady pace.

Abraxas and Tiernan were even closer now and only then did Lord Voldemort slowly— almost reluctantly— pull away, eyes glued to her cunt as her entrance fluttered and cried with the absence of him, watching the waterfall of their mixed juices slide down her slit. “My… my Lord, it seems as… as though they are on their way—!”

A silent gasp forced her mouth agape when, with his middle and forefinger, he gathered the nectar spilling from her pussy and dragged it up her slit, forcing it all back inside of her. Her back arched and a moan ripped through her, echoing throughout the dining room and she swore the voices outside the door fell silent.

“Can’t let a single drop go to waste now, can we?” Lord Voldemort hummed as he pulled away, reaching forward to press his fingers against her lips. Almost immediately, she welcomed his digits inside her mouth, swirling her tongue over his fingers and swallowing the remnant of their sin. She panted when he pulled his hand away, pulling his trousers back up his legs, buttoning his shirt.

She blinked, turning her head side to side, unable to remember where her dress had been discarded through the murky haze of her mind. Fortunately, her most generous Lord had already fetched the black material from the floor, fixing it over her head and soothing the wrinkles with the palms of his hands.

For a moment, her heart fluttered as he outstretched his hand for her to take and she did, allowing him to aid her in hopping down from the top of the table. The grip he had on her hand tightened when she wobbled, unable to feel her legs for a moment. Lord Voldemort drew her in closer until their chests were flush against one another, one hand still enveloping hers and the other cupping her cheek, letting his thumb soothe her skin.

For a moment, she blinked up at him and allowed herself to be lost in the bloody waters of his irises, wondering if he was hers just as much as she was his. She wondered if this was love, being claimed in such a scandalous yet euphoric way.

Lord Voldemort leaned down until their lips brushed against one another and she fisted either side of his shirt, her eyelids fluttering closed as she anticipated his kiss.

Then, “you’re mine now. And while my heir grows inside of you, it’d do you well to remember that.”

a/n; finally wrote a tom riddle fic after so long! and it's a request! to the requester, i hope this was what you wanted! and i hope you all enjoy! also a reminder to fill out my taglist form if you'd like to be added to any of my taglists!

TAGLIST

@your-nanas-house

@sallowsarchives

@lyis

@michelle-26

@iamthejam

#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle fic #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle smut #wizarding world #harry potter #harry potter fandom #voldemort #voldemort x reader #tom riddle x y/n #lord voldemort

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caitlinsclark · 2 months

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MIGHT BE WORTH IT FOR ONCE caitlin clark 𝘤𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 | summary: Caitlin's hesitance toward being in a public relationship doesn't seem to apply to a pretty basketball player on the opposing team. based on this concept. wc: 2.2k masterlist and tag list

“I’m just not ready to put all that relationship stuff out there, I have so much attention on me,” Caitlin felt like all the air was leaving her lungs, back leaning on the cinderblock of the hallway. Her jersey clung to her skin as the argument with her current boyfriend escalated and so did her anxiety.

Connor wasn’t having any excuses from over the phone, even if she was due to get on the court any second, “And the attention I’d bring to you would be bad?” He cornered her in a box that he completely created, not even close to what she said. But she was starting to think that maybe it was true anyway.

“Yeah,” She breathed out, the first sign of relief in the last few months. Her chest finally felt light when she pressed the red button to end the call. Though the silence she basked in was interrupted moments after.

“I know our team is scary competition, but there’s no reason to cry, Clark.” An angelic voice spanned the hallway and Caitlin turned her head to find you approaching her. She was suddenly embarrassed about her red rimmed eyes and tried her best to wipe underneath them.

Though when you smile easily at her despite her current state, she slowly stops caring and is instead more entranced by your presence.

“Long time, no see.” You say when she doesn’t respond, and she can’t help but admire the way you weren’t even deterred by her accidental silence.

Your gaze lacked a sympathetic factor despite the state you found her in and Caitlin felt like she could genuinely give herself a second with you around.

Caitlin’s lips lift up and her eyes start to shine, but not with tears like they previously were, “A little too long.” She played along, cringing inwardly at the nasally sound of her voice.

Instead of commenting on it, you reached out to shake her hand as an offer for a friendly start to the upcoming competition. She found herself internally panicking, eyes widening at the thought of touching of your hand.

When she realized she had left you hanging too long, her eyes flickered up to where you were watching her closely in amusement. Your bottom lip was hidden between your teeth to hide a growing smile at her obvious panic.

“I’ll wait,” The attempt to hide your grin was gone as you reached your hand out further.

The brunette scratched her neck and wiped her sweaty hand nervously on her shorts. She then offered it to you, trying to convince herself that she only imagined the way that you pulled her closer. A warmth spread all throughout her body, going straight to her head and making her dizzy.

Both of you had crossed paths over the last few years, though never for overly long. Which made it even worse how vividly Caitlin remembered each time you interacted as if each memory was a hand print left permanently in wet cement.

She found herself staring at you in awe. But a nagging feeling about Connor in the back of her mind had her shying away from any, so desperately wanted, attention you were giving her.

You let your other hand lay on top of hers, caging her own in and she knew she wasn’t imaging anything, “I hope you’re okay.” There was an underlying acknowledgement in your words, like you knew. And you were too quick to drop her hands when her eyes looked at you, widened as if you were antagonizing the poor girl.

Caitlin tried not to deflate at the loss of contact.

“And I hope you’re ready to give one hundred percent on the court,” Your hand ignited flames on her lower back where it rested, “Everyone’s gonna be looking at us.”

Your words had her shifting on her feet, even after you’d disappeared into the tunnel to return to your team. The worst part was, she threw her head against the wall, you weren’t wrong.

You and Caitlin had developed a magnetic kind of game out on the court. The press couldn’t get enough of the push and pull relationship you two had going on over the last few games.

The cameras were zoomed in on the two of you, streaming out to who knows how many people. Caitlin tried not to let it change how she was playing, but feeling your body almost completely pressed against her was torture.

And the added pressure of knowing that so many eyes were watching the way she was folding under your presence had Caitlin’s anxiety skyrocketing. It didn’t help that you seemed completely aware of it, even using it to your advantage. Your tongue darts out to lick your bottom lip as you dribble the ball between your legs, disorientating Caitlin while she’s supposed to be guarding you.

Kate had to physically push Caitlin to the side, trying to wake her friend up urgently. The brunette shook her head and tried her best to cover you but it wasn’t good enough when you were able to fake her out without breaking a sweat. She followed your body to the left eagerly, just not fast enough to get you when you pivoted the other way and shot a three pointer.

When the game ended, she was embarrassed and you looked happier than ever. And you didn’t even try to mask it as you approached her.

“Someone seemed a little,” You looked up as if you had to think of the word, “distracted, Clark.” She wanted to smack the smug look off your face. Or kiss it, she wasn’t really sure and she screamed at herself for that.

Your commentary didn’t end there though, “Why don't you come celebrate the win with us?” A flirtatious wink was sent in her direction and masked your true intentions well enough. “You’re messing with me.” Her tone was disappointed and made your heart sink at the sudden level of emotion. It added a new and very somber aura to the conversation. You went to reach for her hands but then decided against it and let your hands fall down to your sides. “That’s really not my game here,” You lifted your hands up in defense and took a small step back. Caitlin wasn’t sure why the distance made her a little upset and she frowned when you didn’t return back.

“I’m sorry if it came off like that.” Guilt laced your tone, a far difference from the usual playfulness that you directed at her. “I thought you wanted to keep this lighthearted, I didn’t think you were ready for anything more than what we were doing.”

Your sincere tone at the thought of offending her had a fluttering feeling nagging her stomach. It made her feel even worse that you weren’t wrong, she just couldn’t admit it yet.

“I just,” She stumbled over her words, “I don’t think I’m in the place yet.”

And that was enough for you to get the hint.

“Hey, I was never saying you’re in love with me or anything,” You laughed it off with a wave of your hand and Caitlin found herself laughing with you easily. The lighthearted atmosphere you emitted calmed her tremendously.

Until you let a cocky smirk cast over your face as if you’d snapped back into your competition mode from earlier, “But you’re going to.”

You finished your sentence with such finality that she almost believed you too. And it stuck with her as you shot her a wink and left out the gym doors.

“I’ve never felt lovesick before,” Caitlin groaned as she shoved her head into her pillow, sprawled out as if she was physically exhausted. The lingering sensation you left had been haunting her like smoke stuck behind on her clothes.

Her friend was grinning like a fool, ready to tease her to the full extent but stopped once she caught onto the negative context behind the words.

“Why is this a bad thing?” Kate tried to put the pieces together. Her face screwed up in confusion but she sat down to comfort her friend anyway.

Caitlin closed her eyes to comfort herself, “After what happened with Connor, I’m hesitant.” She played with a loose thread on her blanket and refused to look at Kate.

“You think you’d be embarrassed to be with her? You should be proud to bag someone like her.” The blonde wanted to laugh at how ridiculous her teammate sounded. She had seen first hand the power you’d held over Caitlin, who usually was the most focused person she knew.

“I mean, I think she approached you at the wrong place but at the right time.” The blonde scoffed at Caitlin’s lack of will to get the girl, “I’ve watched you flex in front of a crowd of a thousand people yet you had to wipe your hand on your shorts just to shake her hand.”

Caitlin stared at Kate with an unamused glare, unhappy to be as called out as she was.

“I’m scared.” Caitlin whispered when she couldn’t stay quiet anymore, “I was scared with Connor, I think I’m scared now.”

“What exactly are you scared of?” Kate retorted, prompting a bit of silence between the pair.

And Caitlin didn’t know how to answer that.

Caitlin was practically sweating at the thought of seeing you again. The two of you hadn’t gone head to head the same way when your teams played together in recent matches. You did what you could to avoid being the one guarding her, though you remained professional when you did.

The brunette thought she was scared with the way you’d been acting before, but now her heart seemed to pump three times its normal speed. And with the reaction you were getting from her at the idea of simply seeing you, it almost felt like your entire prediction of her falling for you had been correct. She definitely was going to, just like you said.

She was more nervous for facing you than she was for the upcoming draft she was going to see you at. You were bet to be 7th round or 8th round pick, and her as the 1st. Embarrassingly, she had taken extra time getting ready with the knowledge that you’d be there.

Nothing could’ve prepared her for the nonchalance you had when seeing her for the first time. You gave her a small wave, something you’d send a colleague, and made your way down the carpet.

She would’ve fallen over if not for Kate holding her up. The game you were playing was working exactly as you intended. The night went on and she couldn’t seem to get you alone, there were cameras everywhere and even more people. There was never a right moment.

Caitlin should’ve felt ecstatic after being drafted first, and she was a little closer to being so once she saw you clapping from a table, but it wasn’t enough. She stayed off on the side of the stage until you had come down, holding your new basketball jersey.

“Congrats, Clark.” You took the initiative to start the conversation and the small smile you posed was so foreign to the comfortable smirk you used to give her.

“I was scared,” She admitted off the bat, shocking you but you tried not to let it show.

You were annoyingly good at deflecting as you crossed your arms, “That day you were crying? I told you we weren’t that scary as competitors.” You tried to put some distance between your bodies, but Caitlin wasn’t having it. She took a big step forward to match your small one back.

Despite the impending cameras that were definitely capturing your proximity instead of the stage, she continued, “I spent my entire relationship being scared about what they’d say about me and Connor, but I wasn’t scared of what they’d say about me and you.”

“And what would they say about us, Caitlin?” Your voice held a vulnerable kind of curiosity, wishing for her to indulge you this time. The jersey in her hand fell down, seeming unimportant when you were at risk in front of her. You tried to be mindful and put space in between both of you by pushing gently on her abdomen, but she just grabbed your hands and held them there.

“What they’ve been right about, what you’ve been right about.” Hearing her admit it softly to you was equivalent to a punch in the gut. The intimacy of her hands holding yours intensified as she slotted her fingers in between yours. “There’s a lot of people here,” Her words could only be heard by you in your close proximity. You almost couldn’t hear her with the focus you had zoned in on her lips.

But the reminder of why you hadn’t pursued one another had snapped you out your trance. Your grip on her loosened, your entire body deflating at the sudden wake up call.

You were too good at playing it off, “I’m not saying do it anyway, Cait.” The small laugh you forced out to play the moment off might’ve fooled anyone else. You tried to tilt your head toward the ground to deal with the rejection, but she wouldn’t let you.

“But I’m going to,” Caitlin finished with a certainty that shocked you, watching as you swallowed nervously and glanced around. A shocked smile started to form on your features, your conjoined hands sliding up to rest in between your bodies.

She made a spectacle of stealing one of her hands back, applying pressure to your lower back as your lips met in the middle. She leaned forward against you as her hand made its home on the arch of your back. You let her dip you in an affectionate show, only pulling away when your grins forced you to.

taglist! @lovermcres @glorioushamsterqueen @miedmead @blueagle45 @pbloverr

#caitlin clark #caitlin clark x reader #wnba basketball #basketball #caitlin clark x fem!reader #caitlin clark x y/n #wbb x reader #caitlin clark fic #wnba #indiana fever #wnba x reader #iowa wbb

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the-palelady · 3 months

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medic!reader who loves strawberries and ghost who enjoys watching you practically drool over them

• everyone was sitting in the mess hall, loud banter filling the large room

• despite being hidden away in the infirmary where you worked, you still joined ghost, soap, and gaz for lunch as often as you could and today was a slow enough day, so you decided to join them

• gaz and soap normally did the talking, but every now and then you’d add a soft comment or laugh at one of their terrible jokes

• ghost simply listened, not exactly paying attention to what was being said most times

• however, today ghost had noticed how quiet you had been since you sat down

• he subtly peeked at you through his peripheral, and what he saw made his lips twitch into the smallest smile under his mask

• he almost missed it, the way you peeked over at his plate with a pleading expression

• he tried to follow your line of sight, and at the very end of that line was the pile of perfectly plump, red strawberries sitting on his plate

• ghost could even spot the tiny bit of drool that pooled at the corner of your mouth

• before he could say anything, gaz and soap had roused your attention and you quickly looked away from his tray, your focus now back on the two men before you

• you answered whatever it was they had asked, but you were clearly distracted

• after you finished talking you went back to your plate, and ghost let out an inaudible chuckle at the quick glances you were throwing the strawberries

• johnny and gaz began to argue about something as they always did, so ghost took this chance

• without a word, he pushed his plate in your direction, immediately getting your attention

• your bright eyes fell onto his tray, then slowly panned up towards his face with a quizzical expression

• if you looked close enough you could see the crinkles at the corners of his eyes from the smile that was hidden under the mask

• “want ‘em?”

• the question was pretty straight forward, but you still stared up at him like a deer caught in headlights

• he pushed the plate a bit closer and this time you looked down at the bright red fruits, then back to him

• “are you sure?”

• your voice was so quiet, practically a whisper, and his gut churned at how sweet it sounded

• “all yours,” he said with a nod

• your hand slowly reached up towards the tray and you grabbed one of the berries, popping the bottom of it into your mouth and taking a bite

• as soon as the juices entered your mouth, your free hand came up to your cheek and you hummed at the sweet, savory flavor

• he could see your cheeks turn pink with delight, and as your eyes opened he swore he could see stars twinkling inside of them

• ghost swore from that day on to grab as many strawberries as he could, sometimes even taking all that was left and leaving none for anyone else in the cafeteria

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sicbaby · 11 months

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sleeping beauty

stepdad!leon kennedy x f!reader

cw: 18+ smut, stepcest, somnophilia, non consensual (at first)

it was a weekend you were looking forward to. a nice little winter vacation with your mom and some of her friends. it would be nice to get out of the house for a while anyway, especially since your seasonal depression kicked in.

however, your plans quickly changed when you fell ill. god damnit, stupid fucking weather. had to ruin your plans. now you were bed ridden, absolutely no energy so you refused to do anything. your loving mother didn’t bat an eye, wishing you well and heading off with her friends for the weekend. thanks, mom.

luckily, your stepdad was free. leon.

leon was a good dad, sweet and caring… more than your mom ever was. you liked him a lot. your mom put leon in charge of taking care of you for the weekend, and he was more than happy to oblige. he barely ever had time off work, and he was looking forward to spending time with you.

it was friday night and leon sat on the couch watching tv, feeling frustrated. the reason why? you.

yes, you. the poor little thing that had slept the day away. he had planned out the whole evening for the two of you. he was going to make soup, cuddle you and watch your favorite movies and kiss and love on you. like a good father should when his daughter gets sick. but you never even got out of bed. he felt lonely, frustrated, and needy. he missed his pretty little girl.

it was getting late. he shut down the house and put away the full pot of soup he had made for you. just seeing it sitting there made his frustration grow even stronger.

he turned off all the lights, locking the front door and heading upstairs. he’s mad at you.

he knows he shouldn’t feel that way, especially when you’re sick. but he can’t help it. he passes your door, not giving it a second look as he heads to his room.

he strips to his boxers, ready to get in bed as he fights an internal struggle within himself.

god, it’s not your fault, you poor thing. but he has needs too, doesn’t matter if you’re sick. with a frustrated sigh, he heads to down the hall to check on you.

he knocks on your door softly, and when there isn’t a response he opens it. the air is damp, filled with the peppermint scent of your diffuser on full blast. the room is dark, and he can hardly see until he comes closer. you’re sleeping. still.

his gaze wanders over your sleeping form. you were on your belly with your left leg hiked up. you were wearing the sheerest pink nightgown, and the silk practically melted into your body, leaving little to the imagination. it also didn’t help that your position caused the gown to ride up, the bottom of your cheeks exposed to him. nothing underneath that slutty little gown, of course. despite his irritation, he couldn't deny the allure of your vulnerability. a mischievous grin tugs at the corner of his lips as a wicked idea forms in his mind.

leon slowly approaches the side of the bed, his steps almost silent against the carpeted floor. he felt as if you owed him for the lonely, isolated day he had.

swiftly, he reaches out and gently brushes his hand against your cheek, feeling the warmth of your feverish skin beneath his fingertips. "you know, i was hoping we could have some quality time together," he murmured, his tone mocking. "but it seems like you're too busy being a useless little burden, sleeping the day away."

his frustration brewed beneath the surface, and he couldn't resist the temptation any longer. leon slowly reaches down, his fingers grazing over your thigh. the touch was light, teasing, not wanting to wake you up just yet.

"since you're so useless, maybe i should find another way to entertain myself," he whispered, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "hmmm,” he hums, “maybe i'll have to wake you up properly, little sleeping beauty."

leon's hand continued caressing your thigh, inching higher and higher. your mouth was wide open, snoring softly. he chuckled at that. even sick and asleep, you were such a prize. and he was going to claim you.

trailing his hand along the back of your left thigh, he nudges it to the side slightly, guiding your legs to open more for him. he trails up and up, until his index finger flicks over the soft flesh of your pussy. he smirks when you don’t move, and proceeds to glide his finger up and down your folds until it settles on your clit. he applies just enough pressure to elicit a small noise from your parted lips. it’s barely noticeable, though, and he keeps playing and teasing with your pussy until that warm wetness is coating his finger.

the act of making you wet even while you slept was an intoxicating feeling for leon. the sudden urge to possess you and claim you as his own rushes over him.

he crawls over you, settling into bed next to you. he places a light hand on your back, feeling the silk of your nightgown. his touch trailed lower and his fingers knead the soft flesh of your ass, reveling in its plumpness. he couldn't help but let out a low, husky groan as his desire for you intensified.

leon's desire grew even stronger as he shifted closer to you. being careful not to disturb you, he delicately repositioned you onto your side, hand still firmly gripping your ass. once he’s satisfied with your position, he presses his hand to the front of your hips, pressing your ass against him. his cock hardens at the feeling of your warm and soft ass against him. he couldn't help but grind his hips against yours, feeling his cock grow with every slow rut. a low growl of satisfaction escaped his lips as he continued, moving his head up to press his face into your hair, inhaling your scent.

he looks back down to your ass, slowly and carefully lifting your nightgown up your back, exposing your bare skin to the fabric of his boxers as he continues to slowly hump you. in a low, whispered voice, he couldn't resist indulging in dirty talk again, knowing you wouldn't hear him. you were so deep in your slumber.

"hi, princess.” he taunts, right in your ear this time. “you gonna let daddy fuck your tight little pussy? hm? yeah, you are. daddy’s gonna do whatever he wants with you tonight, baby," he murmured, his voice laced with desire. “daddy deserves that, right?” he asks, reaching up to grab your chin, forcing you to nod your head in your sleep. he chuckles deeply at this. “yeah, that’s right. good girl, baby.”

as he continues grinding against you, his hand lowers from your chin to your breasts, lightly grazing his fingers over your nipples, smirking to himself when he feels them harden almost immediately. you don’t move, don’t make any noise, and he wonders how much farther he can go. he trails his left hand down your tummy to your pussy, his hand once again finding your clit. at this point, you’re soaked. “dirty fucking girl..” he chuckles deeply.

he removes his hand, wiping your slick off on his boxers as he pulls them down his legs. he tosses them off the bed, moving back to you to lift up your leg. he scoots up, placing his now hard cock up against your wet cunt. he brings your leg back down and groans at the feeling of your lips and thighs surrounding his cock. he begins humping you again, your pussy continuously wetting his dick and making the most obscene noises in the quiet room.

it wasn’t until now you stir slightly, in a weird dream like state. you feel heat on your neck, a warmth against your body and wetness pooling between your legs. and yet, your mind can’t comprehend it, choosing to stay asleep.

leon continues humping his cock against your pussy, grunting softly in your ear. soon, he’s losing all control. he quickly lifts your leg, taking his dick into his hand as he slaps your cunt a few times with it, teasing himself yet again. he rubs it back and forth, pushing his head against your entrance, gauging your reaction. you still don’t move, and he scoffs a little. he finally presses the tip of his cock into your waiting hole, slowly yet surely filling you up. he barely gets all the way inside when you finally wake up, in a daze.

“hmm- huh, hnnng? leon?” you whine, immediately trying to get up when you feel a heavy, almost painful weight inside of you. you’re sick, weak and confused, your whines almost sound like you’re about to cry. and you just might, until leon pushes you gently back onto your side. “shhh, shhh, princess. it’s okay, daddy’s here. just needed to fill you up, make you feel better. daddy just wanted to feel you. that’s okay, right baby?” he shushes you, keeping his cock buried deep inside you.

you lay back against the pillows, your face contorted in confusion and worry. you nod. “o-oh, y-yeah… okay, daddy…” you immediately comply. you trust your dad. whatever he’s doing.

your voice is weak, eyes burning and you’re just so fucking tired. your state turns leon on even more. you don’t even comprehend what’s going on until you blink a few more times.

and then you realize it. your stepdads cock is inside of you.

“d-dad?” you say weakly, unable to move. your eyes shift around the room, scared to move, scared to turn around to face him.

“yeah?” he groans. “so naughty. leaving your daddy all alone all day.” he mumbles. “you’re gonna make it up to me, kay princess?” his voice is condescending, a bit mean, and it makes your pussy clench around him. yet your face tells a different story. you’re on the verge of tears. why is this happening? he laughs breathily into the back of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. you want this just as much as him. even if you don’t realize it yet.

your mouth is slightly open, unable to breathe through your nose due to your sickness. you feel dizzy, your body hot and sweaty and leon begins to thrust, pounding into you relentlessly from behind. your body is completely limp in his hold, his left hand digging into your thigh harshly as he keeps your leg up in the air.

you cry out, your body feeling so fragile and sore. he’s just making it worse. this isn’t right. but why are you so wet? your panic increases by the second.

“d-dad! stop! this is so bad,” you sob. “t-this is sooo wrong!”

his thrusts are forceful, taking exactly what he wants from you with no mercy. he can sense your energy waning, your body growing weaker as you try to fight back. he drops your leg, reaching around to rub circles into your swollen clit.

“oh, it feels wrong, does it?” he growls. “but i know you want this, baby girl. fight all you want. pussy’s fuckin’ crying for me.” he feels your body trembling, little whines and cries falling from your pretty mouth.

you feel so overwhelmed, thrashing in his hold, tears falling from your eyes. you don’t even know what you want, a pure mess, brain mushy and can’t think straight. your movements are futile against him. “s-stop! stop! hurts, daddy! please…” he’s huge, practically splitting you in two on his dick.

“no, no, baby. you be good for daddy. you don’t wanna make daddy angry, hmm? bad girls don’t get to cum, you know.” his voice is surprisingly soft, yet so fucking condescending it makes a sob erupt from you. he pulls all the way back out, before slamming his entire length back into your pussy.

“d-daddy,” you cry. “please!” you’re shaking so much, poor baby. your pussy keeps clenching, sucking in his cock before trying to spit him out.

“awww.” he coos. “does daddy’s cock feel too big for your tiny little pussy, baby girl?” he slows his thrusts, giving you some time to adjust. you can feel your heartbeat racing in every part of your body, especially in your cunt. you’re thankful he slows down. you can really feel him this way, feel how every ridge drags deliciously against your walls. it feels too good now. you want to cum. you need to cum.

however, leon doesn’t like taking it slow. “don’t worry, honey. i know you can take it.” he resumes a faster pace, your entire body bouncing from the force. your sobs of pain and discomfort quickly turn into whiny moans of pleasure, no matter how much you try to fight it.

he grabs your cheeks roughly, squeezing them, making your lips pout as he turns your head towards him slightly. he kisses at your tears, tasting the saltiness on your face.

“you’re doing so well, my precious little toy. you’re such a good girl for taking all of daddy’s cock.” he praises, causing you to subconsciously relax a little, letting him sink deeper into your cunt.

“thaaaats it, princess,” he continues, bottoming out and stilling for a moment again. he kisses your neck hungrily, breathing in your scent once again. “you ready to cum for daddy, my little bunny?” he teases, his voice dripping with control. you whine in response, that dumb little brain of yours not able to form words. “beg for it, baby. show me just how badly you need it.” he ruts up harshly into you one time, urging you to speak. it causes you to gasp out a broken moan.

“p-please… please.. need ‘t cum…” it’s a weak response, but you truly aren’t able to conjure up anything better. your hips have a mind of its own, grinding back on leon’s cock desperately searching for release.

leon would want to make you beg for it until you were screaming, but he had to have some type of consideration for his sick baby, right?

he doesn’t respond to your begging, only continuing to pound into you. it feels so good you feel like you’re about to pass out, head empty and dizzy.

he reaches around once more, slapping your bouncing tits a few times, making you gasp. you throw your hands up, trying to stop him but he easily swats your hands away and continues. his fingertips drop down harshly right on your hard, sensitive nipples. “nuh uh, baby. what did i say, huh?” he threatens in a high pitched, taunting baby-like voice.

“‘m sorr- sorry, daddy!” you cry out, hiccuping, your voice hoarse.

“mm, it’s okay, my sweet girl. ‘s brave, endured so much for daddy. go ahead and cum, baby. cum all over daddy’s cock.” he says through gritted teeth. he stops his assault on your tits, bringing his hand down to rub at your puffy clit.

your hand wraps around his wrist, pushing it down harder against the swollen nub. he smirks at this. your lip is drawn between your teeth, body going stiff as you near your release.

“cmon, baby. be a good girl for me. wanna feel that tight pussy cum around my cock. you want it, don’t you?” he encourages, his balls drawing up, so so so close to cumming inside of you.

“mhm, mhm, mhm!” you moan, nodding your head once you feel your orgasm approaching. your jaw goes slack, eyes rolling back into your head, body convulsing as you cum hard. your head is thrown back, resting on leon’s shoulder. he places kisses on your temple, holding you tight through your release.

he starts rutting into you like a rabbit as he cums, shooting his load deep into your womb, offering a warm satisfaction in your lower belly. his thrusts turn into slow, sharp ruts, making sure your cunt takes everything he has to give.

“fuck, baby.” he grunts, his body convulsing with the aftershocks of pleasure. he stays inside of you for a moment. both of you are breathing hard and you sigh tiredly. he moves the hair from out of your face, kissing you sweetly on the cheek.

your cheeks are red and puffy, stained with tears. you feel so good, you can’t even be upset at what just happened. in fact, you want it to happen again.

exhaustion washes over you. your thoughts, your morality… it can wait for the morning.

“go back to sleep, sweet girl. daddy will take care of you. love you so much, princess.” he kisses your forehead, nosing your hairline, inhaling your sweet scent. he just can’t get enough. such a perfect little girl, and now he’s claimed you. his perfect little girl, all for him.

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #resident evil smut #leon kennedy #cnc k!nk #cnc somno #stepcest

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55sturn · 4 months

Text

✮ IS IT CASUAL NOW?

pairing: chris sturniolo x fem!reader

synopsis: in which you’re struggling to see your twisted relationship with chris as something that’s just “casual,” especially when everything points to it being more.

warnings: angst, swearing, bad eating, hygiene, and sleeping habits, toxic relationship patterns, nsfw [ p in v, mentions/depictions of oral { fem rec }, choking, heavy make-outs ], slight fluff

MY FRIENDS CALL ME A LOSER CAUSE I’M STILL HANGING AROUND / I’VE HEARD SO MANY RUMOURS, THAT I’M JUST A GIRL THAT YOU BANG ON YOUR COUCH

when you had met chris at a party that a mutual friend was throwing, you hadn’t really thought much of it. you figured he was someone that would become a close friend, and nothing more.

until one night, the two of you were hanging out, sprawled out on his couch as the step brothers movie played on the tv, but neither of you were paying it much mind as your attention drifted to his face, the way his lips sat in a natural pout, their usual pink hue appearing darker and all the more enticing, the way his nose sloped, causing your thoughts to slip into something of a more sinful nature.

he caught your stare, and reciprocated the attention, the corner of his mouth quirking into a lopsided smirk as he shifted closer to you, his fingers reaching out and brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and tracing down along your jaw. he smiled at the goosebumps that began to rise along your skin before he pressed his thumb against your bottom lip, gently rubbing back and forth along it.

next thing you knew, you were beneath him as his hips rutted against yours, your arousal coating both your skin and his emitting an obscene squelching sound as it slapped together, his lips nipping and sucking at every free and bare inch of skin he could spot, his left hand pressed against the couch cushion beside your head, while his fingers dug into the edge of the fabric, holding on for dear life.

his right hand was wrapped around your throat, applying the right amount of pressure that had you crawling toward the brink of orgasm as his cock pressed against your walls and filled you in all the right ways. but as your highs came to a close, your confusion spiralled.

you hadn’t expected such a turn of events, and you didn’t really have much experience in anything casual or purely physical. and your friends taunted and teased you, calling you a loser because you kept crawling back him, despite not knowing what you were.

I THOUGHT YOU THOUGHT OF ME BETTER, SOMEONE YOU COULDN’T LOSE, YOU SAID “WE’RE NOT TOGETHER” SO NOW WHEN WE KISS, I HAVE ANGER ISSUES

you finally asked chris what he thought of you, after spending almost two months in complicated hell, and you remember feeling your heart nearly beat out of his chest as he called you someone he couldn’t lose. he told you he thought the world of you, but it ended in tears as you realized that someone who thought so highly of you, wouldn’t treat you like this.

and so, you figured there was no harm in telling chris that you felt hurt by the way he treated you, by the way he’d spend hours touching and worshiping your body, only to leave in the middle of the night when you were passed out beside him. his only response cut your heart deeply, his words rang through your mind like a bell chime.

“we’re not together.”

but he still came crawling through your window almost every night, mumbling something about it feeling like home as he pressed a kiss to your cheek, or your forehead, or your lips. and every touch of his lips against your skin made you feel angry, made you feel hurt and used and discard.

you felt temporary and permanent all in the same breath, and it confused you. and it scared you. so you voiced your fears, because you knew there was no way to beat them if you avoided them like the plague. and he brushed them off as if they weren’t anything but a piece of lint on his clothes.

YOU SAID “BABY, NO ATTACHMENT.” BUT WE’RE KNEE DEEP IN THE PASSENGER SEAT AND YOURE EATING ME OUT, TWO WEEKS AND YOUR MOM INVITES ME TO HER HOUSE ON LONG BEACH

any time you and chris got too close to resembling a real relationship, he’d find a way to remind you that there was no strings attached, that there was no room for attachment.

but despite him not wanting any attachment to you, he made you believe that he did. if you weren’t together, why was he coming home to you every night? why did you feel like his girlfriend if you weren’t? it stressed you out.

when you brought it up to him, he merely acknowledged what you said before muttering soft-spoken and half-hearted apologies against the flesh of your throat, his hand travelling down the front of your body, dipping into the waistband of your shorts as you shifted your hips off the passenger seat of his black dodge challenger, the orange racing stripes down the hood of the car fading as your eyes rolled back into head.

before you knew it, he was shifting your seat all the way and reclining it fully, settling himself comfortably between your legs before dipping his head between your thighs, making you cry out his name as he apologized to you in the only way he knew, but despite how good he’d make you feel physically, your heart still hurt as he peeled out of the parking lot.

the next time you saw him, his parents were visiting their apartment in los angeles, and you had taken up a conversation with his mom, falling in love with how kind she was. she had picked up on how infatuated you and chris were with one another, and she wasn’t aware that you two weren’t trying for a relationship. she had figured you were taking it slow, and so she invited you to their vacation home in long beach, thinking that chris would enjoy having you around.

but when you had told chris about the invitation, he was upset. he took the news with an stoic expression before shaking his head walking away, only to text you an hour later, telling you to decline it or say you couldn’t go. to say you were hurt was an understatement, but you obliged nonetheless, not wanting to further strain your whatever-it-was with chris.

IT’S HARD BEING CASUAL WHEN MY FAVOURITE BRA LIVES IN YOUR DRESSER, AND I TRY TO BE THE CHILL GIRL THAT HOLDS HER TONGUE AND GIVES YOU SPACE I TRY TO BE THE CHILL GIRL BUT HONESTLY I’M NOT

you were done, the emotional toll that being “casual” with chris was taking on you, was starting to destroy you. you either slept too much or not at all when you weren’t with chris. you wouldn’t eat properly or even shower regularly if you two were fighting, hoping that if he knew you were wrecking yourself, he’d show up to help save you from the self inflicted sabotage, like he was a knight in shining armour upon a noble steed, finally declaring his love for you. but every angry and upset text you sent his way went unanswered.

it was hard to see him as anything casual when your favourite clothes were tucked neatly in his dresser, when you were able to claim more than one drawer at his place. it was hard to be just casual when you had a set of skincare products and a toothbrush on his bathroom counter.

and you tried to be the calm and collected girl you once were, starting to give him space when it was clear he needed it, and you tried to hold your tongue, stopping yourself from letting those damned three words fall from your lips. but that wasn’t who you were. not anymore. you had fallen undoubtably, irrevocably, and deeply in love with chris, despite the fates never quite setting that up for the two of you.

and you couldn’t hold it back anymore. so you marched up to his apartment, your knuckles wrapping against the metal door, your confidence withering away as you began to mull over the possible outcomes of what you were about to do, but you didn’t get any time to revel in cowardice as chris pulled open the door, his eyes widening as he mets yours.

“either we’re all in or we’re done. i cant do casual anymore chris, it is killing me. i’m in love with you and i think you love me back but you’re too scared or too stubborn to let yourself admit it. so i am gonna swallow my pride and beg you to admit so that we can stop torturing ourselves.” you shamelessly beg, your arms wound tightly around your body, trying to protect yourself from the inevitable pain that would strike your heart the moment chris opened his mouth.

“i can’t admit something that isn’t real. i’m sorry.”

and with that, you were quick to turn around, feeling foolish as tears welled in your eyes as chris shut the door on your twisted relationship, both literally, and figuratively.

it’s hard loving someone, but it’s harder to pretend that you don’t to fulfill their wishes.

taglist: @worldlxvlys @gamermattsgf @vanteguccir @sturnioloshacker @sugrhigh @bratzforchris @teapartyprincess4two @lustfulslxt @patscorner @guccifrog @muwapsturniolo @soursturniolo @solarsturniolo @sturnioloshacker @raysmayhem-72 @meanttomeet @breeloveschris @ghostofbrock @l9vesick @freshloveee @fawnchives @cindylcuwho @thc-bolter @freshloveforthefit @freshsturns @forevergirlposts @sturniolo-fav-matt @cupidsword @sturnifyed @junnniiieee07 @pinklittleflower @ellie-luvsfics @strniolo @junnniiieee07 @hearts4chriss @evie-sturns @hysteria-things @sturniolossss @iliketotalk @mattscoquette @dazednmatthews @bambi-slxt @nickgetsmewetter @inkyray @jnkvivi @cdbabymp3 @mattslolita @pettydollie @dominicfikue @plasticferal

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x fem!reader #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo x fem!reader #christopher sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo smut

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nanamis-bigtie · 5 months

Text

morning after ↬ nanami kento, higuruma hiromi, kusakabe atsuya & gender neutral reader

a/n: debuting post for the monday afterhours, yay! i'm really excited to start, especially with the topic that's been at the back of my head for a while. i love casual intimacy and i love giving touch starved men the oh moment of their life cw: suggestive themes, implied bottom reader word count: 2.3k

nanami

Nanami is not used to noise and smells in the kitchen so early in the morning. Such disruption of his routine would bother his mood under other circumstances—but now, with the soft sound of your bare feet at the other side of his apartment, it feels only right. Familiar, he would even say, despite the atmosphere of a special occasion lingering in the air.

When was the last time he made breakfast from scratch, he wonders when the door of his bathroom closes behind you. Normally, he would be still asleep at this hour; his alarm would go off in thirty minutes, he would take a necessarily short and cool shower, check emails in case of an emergency, and then head to the 7/11 on the corner, to eat a humble meal of a pre-made sandwich and a cup of coffee from the machine, maybe an onigiri too, if he felt particularly greedy. Today, he barely slept and rose with a crack of the dawn—yet he felt the most relaxed since what seems to be ages to him. He still had the taste of you lingering on his tongue after the night, and decided to savor it until the flavor of cooking he had to test on the way would eventually wash it away. Scratched marks on his shoulders and back stung when he leaned to check what he had in the fridge. His hips, unlearned of moves he had been using on you since you had devoured the takeaway dinner together, ached as he tiptoed to reach the rice cooker, left dusty on one of the highest shelves. His eyes kept the afterimage of your blissed out face over the selection of vegetables and spices he chose for this meal.

When was the last time he was so peaceful?

Nanami finishes cutting the fresh cucumber and tsukemono, pours water into mugs with instant miso soup inside, and finally checks on the rice. It's warm and fluffy, just waiting to be put into the bowls he prepared—the cutest he had, with a long-tailed tit pattern. He brought them from Hokkaido and didn't use them even once, until he spotted them today and decided you would love them.

Rice has to wait; he can't let it grow cold like the sheets you two left behind are undeniably growing. First, he checks on the piece of salmon—a luxury that waited for a day when he could cook again—getting ready in the oven, then cracks a few eggs and beats them well with a pinch of salt and pepper. His stomach growls when they hiss on the red-hot pan—and he can't help but wonder if you're as hungry as him. Things you had in your mouth through the night couldn't feed you, as your corny, vulgar jokes suggested. Nanami rarely smiles but the memory of them and the startled look you gave him as you worried if you hadn't been too much for him has him grinning for a short moment.

When was the last time he felt strain in the corners of his lips?

The omelet is ready in no time. Nanami knows how you like your eggs, but he can't remember how and when he learned about it. He's sipped many details like this from your lips, through the whole year of waiting for the day you crossed the threshold of his bedroom. He was feeding on crumbs for so long... Being full out of the sudden fills his heart with content and anxiety at the same time. He wants to savor this moment, afraid to stomp on the thin shell of happiness too strong, but he knows he's already too addicted to stop. Whatever happens, happens.

And the food can wait only as long. He can't feed you a cold meal.

The hum of the shower ceases shortly after he takes the salmon out of the oven. Nanami listens to the commotion in the bathroom while he finishes the last cuts. Bowls are filled with steaming rice, plates and mugs find their right place on the table. He hasn't cleaned the kitchen—but even if he could do it quickly before you join him, he can't bring himself to disturb this disarray. It looks—it feels—so good to have his place messy at least once, at least today, at least for the first hour you spend together after the night of passionate lovemaking.

His hands still remember the shape of your hips, he realizes when you appear at the entrance, fresh yet still sleepy—and smiling bright at the sight of him by the table.

Nanami doesn't want to ever forget it.

higuruma

Out of the first mornings Higuruma experienced, this one is not the most...extraordinary. But he definitely would place it somewhere at the top of the list.

Seated on the edge of the bathtub, head leaned down, he still feels drowsy. The night was deliciously long and so worth the lingering fatigue in his muscles. He hasn't worked that hard in a while—well, physically at least—and he's undeniably going to pay the price with the top soreness of the last decade. He's more than okay with it...as long as you're not going to ask him for the repetition within the next few days. He's crazy for you—but he's not twenty anymore, and his job squeezes much more energy from him than he would have sacrificed, if he had any choice in this matter.

Speaking of squeezing—he barely managed to find time to bring you home, for dinner and a movie you didn't even start watching, hungry for something else than a story. And he did so only by nipping time off somewhere else—and by paying the carrying charge now, in his bathroom, awaiting the blind judgment of your skill...or the lack of it, to be honest. He has no idea if you've ever done a haircut before.

But you seem at least familiar with it enough to know how to hold and turn the hair clipper around. Higuruma watches you from the corner of his eye: you're right behind him, scrunching your nose as you're studying the shape of the device and options the various buttons provided. Bare-chested, wearing your pajama shorts only, you secure the towel wrapped around your head with the other hand. It's on the verge of falling apart, some of your hair already got out. He feels an urge to get up and help you tuck it where it should stay but just thinking about feeling it pushes blood where he really doesn't want it, if he wants to leave for work on time. He had his share of touch a few hours ago, stroking and playing with your locks as you had your sweet lips wrapped around his cock.

He's ruined the position when trying to take a better look, so you gently nudge him to lean fully again, a brush of your warm palm enough to have hair on his forearms standing. He had your hands all over him for hours, pulling him close, securing him next to you when you both finally collapsed into well-deserved sleep, so he could swear he's learned your touch enough.

But now...it's different.

You run fingers through the hair at the back of his head, testing the line you want to cut—and Higuruma is melting. He has to clench hands on the edge of the bathtub to stay collected; the last thing he wants is to get scolded and deprived of your digits slowly threading through his locks. You mumble something about being jealous of how thick they are and something about how badly he needs this cut—but all he can think of is how your voice is so raspy after moaning out his name over and over again. He wonders how your mewls would sound with this tone but thoughts evaporate from his head as soon as they've appeared, this time with the steady buzz of the clipper.

So the sound can be ticklish, such a weird sensation...

You're quick and as precise as only you can be at six in the morning, scrunched over his back in a rather tight space. You cut his hair just enough to keep him somewhat tidy for the few days before he can see an actual hair stylist; there's no time for more and Higuruma doesn't want to make it too much of a struggle for you. Even if it was his own request, he immediately regrets it when you're finished with brushing the cut dust off his neck and shoulders. It's such a pity you have to abandon him and rush with your own preparations. If only you had more time...

Right as he's straightening his back, you touch him with both hands, fingertips scratching lightly at the freshly shaved part of his head, right at the point where it meets his neck. Warmth explodes in his chest—and Higuruma lets out a low, needy growl. It's good, so good, oh gods, just touch him more, just do it one more time, he hasn't had anything like this for so long...

Humming, you move towards the longer strands, then down the sides of his face until you're cradling it between your palms. You tilt his head back and pull him close, until he rests it against your exposed, warm belly. Dry sob shakes his whole body and tears prick at the corners of his eyes—but Higuruma can't bring himself to close them or at least to look away. He's begging for your attention like starved and he's not ashamed.

All he wants is for you to never let go of him.

kusakabe

Holy shit.

Kusakabe didn't get a wink of sleep through the whole night—and the fact that he doesn't have anything to do for the day to come doesn't help the case. He always had problems with falling asleep after sex, but he thought the long break since the last time and, well, the overall busy period in his life would crumble this irritating habit by sheer force of exhaustion. He's as good at taking an accurate measure when it comes to love as he is with dozing off, it seems.

You're sprawled by his side, lying face down and on his arm, butt-naked with the exception of the blanket loosely wrapped around your leg and covering half of your ass. You've taken his share of sleep since you collapsed as soon as he rolled to his side and reached for wipes to clean you both, much to his amusement—and horror once he realized he was sentenced to his thoughts alone for the hours to come. Your smell, soft, twangy breathing, and warmth is just helping them race now. Your weight, pressed tight from his wrist to shoulder, keeps him in place too, cutting any attempt of shameful retreat short. It's nothing he wouldn't be able to move, he's carried you around not once and not twice and it meant nothing to his strength, but he dreads to wake you up.

You deserve that rest after taking his pent up tension over and over again. And he really has no idea what to say to sound appropriate.

Good morning? Good job? Did you sleep well? I love you?

Kusakabe groans and does another trip around the room with his eyes only. The more light sips through the loosely drawn curtains, the more details he could pick up, and shame already pricks at his cheeks. He couldn't remember the last time he cleaned around properly but even if he had it squeaky clean for the night, the area just screamed: a confirmed bachelor. Well, at least there's no trash lying on the floor or furniture, but he could easily pick up the smell of cigarettes and a badly aired room. None of it mattered when you tussled in darkness, sucking sloppy kisses from each other's lips and peeling clothes off your bodies. But once you wake up and take a look around—Nope, he doesn't want to think about it. That's a problem for Kusakabe from in-a-few-hours-future.

He rolls head to the other side, ashamed to even look at your sound asleep body, and stares right at his shirt, casually thrown over the bed stand. He doesn't have to look at it to know it definitely has its best days behind it. He could at least wear something presentable when seeing you for that unplanned job, hasn't he learned anything from his past relationships? Maybe he did, but it was so long ago he wasn't sure anymore if his sloppiness was ever addressed. His chain-smoking, however, is a different story.

Holy shit, he really needs to smoke.

Kusakabe knows there's a spare cigarette and a small pack of matches hidden in the little pocket of his shirt, this very shirt within his reach. Carefully, he scoots to the side and reaches for it, fingers already brushing the sleeve, just an inch more, just a little...

You mumble his name and shift, sheets rustling around your legs. Kusakabe freezes, sure he's finally done it and woke you up, but you just adjust your position, face turned to him, and continue with your softest snores. You're all messy and exhausted, in need of a shower even more than his room is in need of tidying. With amused relief pushing his worries out of his mind, he reaches out and gently strokes your hair.

You repeat his name, with a mewl dangerously close to what you screamed into his ear a few hours ago.

Out of the sudden, the thought of smoking by your side has him disgusted. You're going to wake up to this mess, to crumbled sheets and clothes all over the place and dying plants and papers lying on the floor in piles—and he wants to add smoke right into your eyes? You deserve better than that. You deserve him to be better than that.

Hell, he's been thinking about it for a while anyway. Maybe if he remembers your face from now, so calm and smiling through your dreams, it will be easier for him to finally quit.

thank you so much for reading ❤ i'll be really happy, if you reblog it and/or leave some feedback! you can read more of my jjk fics here.

tag list: @lale-txt @mirkaaaluv @ohnococo @clumsyraccoon @honey-deku

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ma1dita · 5 months

Text

love me dry

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 4.5k

summary: (post-TLT) The one where he meets you at his mother’s house, though both of you didn’t expect the other to be there. A glimpse into May Castellan’s perfect day (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: sorry for the hiatus! been on the study grind and didn’t even notice, but i’ve been working on this for a bit! macbeth references (comment if you catch them/or ask and i’ll yap) and slight suggestive stuff under the cut—but anyways let’s just say the prophecy by taylor swift came out at the right time.

(posted 4/19/24, semi-edited)

—

The drive to Westport has become almost an afterthought in these past few years— in the way you unconsciously reach for your favorite hoodie on the way out the door or tuck in your chair before you leave a table, almost automatic but ingrained with a touch of care.

With letters to May Castellan occupying your passenger seat instead of the boy who wrote them, you’d make the drive multiple times but stop short just before the property line. It took months of parking at the bottom of the hill and just watching the sun set on the little house, so clearly being able to imagine a smaller version of him running around and wreaking havoc.

Little Luke, with bandaged knees and feet that move as fast as his motor mouth, amber eyes glinting like windchimes in the summer breeze. His mom must’ve watched him play by himself through the bay window before calling him home when the clouds covered the horizon, wispy tendrils stretching over the rain gutter like how lovers hold hands. It must’ve reminded her a lot of his father, leaving nothing but the open air in his wake. Still, all of this was familiar to you too—despite having never stepped foot in the white house.

But knowing Luke meant knowing his home like it was a part of you.

The old hatchback’s engine gently rumbled against the quiet of the property each time you visited, and May would wait for you to come near— waiting for you to be ready to walk into a mausoleum of the boy you both once knew. You were familiar to her too, even as a blurry figure hunched over the steering wheel. She’s seen your face in the small glimpses between the shattering earth of her reality and the hazy foresight she lets herself succumb to remember what her son looks like. In every vision of him since he’s left, you’ve been there; and something about that quells the pain and anguish that it brings to her body when she sees it. But May Castellan is ever an observant woman, gift of prophecy aside. A mother always knows.

It also turns out that she makes excellent conversation over a plate of slightly singed chocolate chip cookies.

—

Luke Castellan is years older than the version of him that last sat at this kitchen table. He doesn’t know if he’s any wiser for it—wondering if he’s made a mistake in coming back here after all this time as he watches his mom hustle around the kitchen that’s suspiciously sparkling clean. A silver spoon clinks against the glass pitcher that May stirs mixed berry Kool-Aid in, his favorite, he remembers, and it makes him squint against the light that filters through the gauzy curtains of the windowpane above the sink. Luke could’ve sworn that there used to be badly patched rips in the fabric, but he attributes it to the dark corner of his memory he still hides away like a secret. Sitting there and taking it all in, he wonders what it would’ve been like to actually grow up here—to stay, for once.

But that’s something he doesn’t have the privilege of knowing. When his mom turns to hand him a glass with her shaking hands, wrinkles and laugh lines are mapped across the expanse of her face. He’ll never know how they got there. The wooden chair creaks under him, groaning under the weight that he carries and Luke once again feels uncomfortable in a place he once called home.

“Knew you’d come back. A mother always knows,” May mutters, voice disembodied like she’s floating just out of reach. Her hands clasped over his, rubbing her thumbs over the veins as if she’s checking his pulse (or the possibility of him being an apparition) and the crack in her smile mirrors his. But this isn’t the home he remembers—his frontal lobe was underdeveloped back then and the only plan it could form was the one to get him the hell out of Westport, there’s something different in the details. Tiny things, like the patio swing chain reattached to its post, a mended table leg, and ceramic tiles on the countertop unbroken and smooth. This is a home and a mother he once longed for as a kid, along with the feeling of comfort and safety you can only attribute to a place like this.

Calculating eyes scan the perimeter of the kitchen, but no one knows he’s made the trip to Westport, not even his own crew. Surely nothing could mess this up for him, not here. This was his last step before his quest for redemption eats away at his physical body, and then it will all be out of his hands.

There’s not much left for me here, he thinks— there’s not much of me left here, either.

Then Luke hears you before he sees you—the sound of you humming under your breath mixed with the jingle of keys turning in the front door. With bags of groceries leaving marks on your arms and a soft smile he hasn’t seen you wear in ages, for once you look lighter again. For a moment, the thought crosses his mind that this must be what you look like when he’s not around. Nonetheless, he breathes easier when you’re near. Of course, you’re here, and the irony grips him by the neck almost as if to make it known why his home feels like home again.

“Yeah hon, I’ll have to call you back,” you laugh into your headphones before tapping them with one free finger to end the call. In a split second, your eyes meet. Staggering back at the sight of him sitting at the table and the absolute grin on May’s face, you decide to continue into the space ahead and start putting the groceries away like nothing is out of sorts.

“I see you have a visitor, Miss May. Is he staying long?”

Luke sips at his glass, juice extra tart just how he likes it. His lips pucker at the taste it leaves in his mouth and when he opens his mouth there’s a hint of blue. You try not to look too long.

“For the night,” he answers, even if you weren’t talking to him, but it makes May so vibrant with the notion of him not running again that she instantly hops to her feet and rushes to make the bed in his old room. “I won’t be in your way,” he swallows. You gravitate towards him like a moth to a flame, but move around his chair without touching him—further proving that Luke is, in fact, an obstacle you must overcome. He’s a stranger in his own home and you’ve found yourself at ease in it. You wonder if any of that will make a difference in the long run.

“She’s…”

“More peaceful. I’ve been practicing with my dad, so I do what I can to ease her fits but I’m not exactly equipped to lift a curse from Hades,” you mutter through a bitten lip. Luke stares at you but it feels nostalgic, like someone on the outside looking in. Well, shit. He’s been leading demigods to their deaths every summer and you’ve been trying to cure his mentally ill mother in the time you don’t spend trying to stop him.

“I don’t think I even remember the last time she made sense while talking to me,” he laughs hollowly. You purse your lips and shrug, “I visit her every two weeks. She still has her triggers, and she gets confused but she’s not in pain. Your letters helped.”

“Is that why you came here then?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” you joke feebly. It falls flat and yet he still smiles, even when you say, “They weren’t for me.”

“They were about you. All of them were.”

You know that too. May makes you read them to her before bedtime as you stroke her hair and send her off to Hypnos. You’ve relived your relationship with Luke a million little times, and he’s written about you and all of your yesterdays like it was the only glimpse of Elysium he’d ever reach. In those letters, you get to remember the good parts of being in love—laughing in the empty amphitheater, holding hands under the dining table, sneaking kisses in the strawberry fields.

You used to understand each other so well: every dream, every feeling. But there is nothing you understand about the man sitting across from you now. The both of you sit at the kitchen table and there is nothing more to say.

Luke doesn’t have to stay. While you were at the supermarket, he spent an hour trying to explain to his mother that he needed her blessing to swim in the River Styx. Through nuances and veiled simplicity in the words he weaved to convince her, there wasn’t much opposition in her half-empty, half-prophetic mind. May always knew that Luke loved to swim when she took him to the beach, and that was that.

There was nothing more to say.

—

He knows it’s too good to be true when moments later May’s screams carry through the halls of the little house, down the stairway you’re currently clambering up to reach her. By the time his boots reach the second landing, he finds the two women he loves most in a huddle against the linen closet, his mother’s glowing green eyes and empty groans rattling him to the bone. If he were any smaller, he’d be shaking. Even now he doesn’t know what to do— feet frozen as he watches you brush her curls away from her face and lull her to solace.

“Can’t find Luke’s sheets—he needs the Toy Story ones…” May mutters as she rocks on her heels, “My boy needs to be home… He’s meant to be home!” Her fingernails are cutting into your wrists and then she silences with a wave of your hand.

“He’s home, Miss May. He’s right there,” you whisper. When your eyes look at Luke, you watch him crumble—the cracks in his fortitude tumbling like fallen rocks at the sight of the two of you and then you see him. The boy you met at 14 who was angry at the world for making him run away from his mother and the hands of fate until it crept up to snuff him out for the sake of a prophecy foretold by deities who will never understand what it’s like to be human. But there are no second chances, and there is nowhere left to run. “He’s here for you. I’ll take care of him, don’t worry.”

“I see it, the two of you together. The worst will be over soon, and then it’ll all make sense,” she says breathily, licking her lips and straightening herself like nothing happened. Even after you send her off to prepare a basket for the beach, Luke doesn’t move when his mother pats his arm and walks around his body and towards the stairs. Neither of you speak until your fingers touch his jaw lightly, and Luke doesn’t know if you’re trying to help him or inspect him. He tilts down to look at you anyway.

“She thinks we’re still together.”

He blinks. Somehow that’s the most shocking thing he’s heard today. Fate is most definitely cruel and fucked up because he never expected it to be like this—once upon a time he hoped he could take you home to meet his mother when everything was said and done; no shackles from Titans or pressure from the gods.

It was supposed to be different.

“The letters probably didn’t help as much as you thought they would then,” he mumbles, calloused hands guiding your hands over to his swiftly beating heart. You scoff, “Neither does bringing up my boyfriend. She thinks it’s you.” He’d believe anyone who’d say they watched you yank his heart out of his chest with that statement, everything bloody in your hands. It’s still yours, even if you don’t want it.

“Kit?”

You shake your head and shrug, “That was forever ago. But he treats me well.”

Luke wants to ask more but by the tension in your shoulders, he knows not to push. He’s not entitled to know anything more than what you give him. It’s not his place anymore. So his brow furrows at your next suggestion.

“Just pretend, Luke. For the day, so your mom doesn’t get agitated. I’m not asking for much here.”

It’s a terrible, terrible idea—even you know that. But you both have always been good pretenders. Liars, a voice corrects in the back of your mind. You reason that it’s for May and insist upon that fact, even if the heartbroken girl you left at Camp Half-Blood is raging at you from deep inside the recesses of your mind that you hide her in. What’s one day with him compared to the many you’ve gone without? You don’t need to know the rest of why he’s here, or what more he’s going to do— and you don’t ask.

Not knowing has always hurt less.

—

You’ve forgotten how good Luke is at playing the part of a good boyfriend. He offers to drive to the beach, carries the picnic basket and blanket for you all to sit on, and listens intently when May asks about your college classes. There’s no discomfort in the way he holds your hand as you walk in the sand or dusts your feet off before laying them across his lap. It’s easy to laugh at his bad jokes, it’s easy to act like the boyfriend you describe is anything like him (even if he’s the complete opposite), and it’s too damn easy to fall into the familiar rhythm that is you and Luke. The three of you lay down as the spring breeze covers you from the rest of reality, hiding away from the truth of a broken woman and two ex-lovers. By late afternoon, you find yourself enjoying it, and it’s cruel how the guilt isn’t rolling off you in waves, instead longing for him to follow you anywhere.

He meets you by the shoreline with both of you waist-deep in the water. May’s collecting seashells but she turns to look at you two every so often like she’s framing this memory in her fragile mind. Without saying it out loud, the both of you hope it will hold.

“She always talks about you, you know? Even without trying,” you mutter as saltwater pours from your fingers to the valleys made by the veins in his forearms. It’s like initiating touch without the consequences of actually doing it, and he immerses himself in the feeling as it spills over him, feet rocking against the tide.

“I do too. Can’t help it.”

When the sea ripples once more pushing you against the wall of his body, you end up holding on, and he doesn’t let go. You both smell like salt and sunshine, pressed together and nothing has made more sense. The silence goes on for a beat too long—he whispers, “You still talk about me? Your boyfriend must hate that.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to talk about you? For anyone to get to know me, they have to know you.”

Your shirt is stuck to your skin in the surf and Luke’s hands brush over the waistline of your underwear, daring to reacquaint himself with your touch and spur a reaction from you. You may be the best actress he’s ever known but anything is better than watching you be complacent with the false niceties of the day.

“There isn’t much worth knowing.”

“I’d never say that, Luke,” jaw tensing, you let out a breath when his hands encircle your hips, hidden in plain sight in the deep of the ocean. He chuckles and the sound tickles your brain to remind you it's the type of laugh he spits out when he’s hiding his anger, “There’s a lot we’re both not saying.” Your name slips past his lips, sneaking past your defenses and hitting you head-on like a bullet.

“Why?”

Why are you doing this? Why are you helping his mother, why aren’t you actively fighting and turning him in, why are you letting him hold you if he’s only going to leave again—there are too many questions and only one clear answer.

“Because it’s out of our hands, isn’t it, Luke? You love your mother but you wouldn’t have come here unless it’s too late. Annie told me you went to see her in San Francisco.”

He was never here to make amends or save face. There was no version of him that was going to ask you to run away with him because he knows you deserve more than always running from fate. He’d do it all over again as long as you got this— the life you’re living with your college degree, your boyfriend, and your happy family— and Luke has no place in that.

A dry laugh bubbles from his throat, sticking like seafoam when he says, “You hate San Francisco.”

You wouldn’t have come, anyway.

—

By the time you get home for dinner, your skin is sensitive and tingly from the heat of the sun. May’s tracing circles into the back of your hand as she leads you up the patio steps. There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach that makes you sway against the doorway.

“Too much time having fun,” she mumbles, patting your cheek, “Take a cold shower dear. Join us when you’re ready?” Luke’s eyes follow you all the way up the stairs and then again, he’s left to his own devices.

Most of the said shower was spent thinking about what your friends would say about you for playing house with the enemy. The guilt felt like ice along your spine, paralyzing you for wanting to be selfish, to choose what makes you happy even if it fucks the rest of the world. But looking in the mirror afterward was scarier—you recognized the girl that stared back at you as someone you thought you’d never see again. A version you left behind years ago, with her head held high and so sure of herself with your Luke by your side.

Surely, there’s no harm in indulging in this vice for the rest of the night. Not when you haven’t felt this relaxed in years.

Dinner is being served by the time you make your way back downstairs. It’s a simple dish you taught Luke how to make back at camp when you raided the kitchens at midnight. Nothing special, reminding you of your own home—but the fact that he remembered makes your smile widen as you take a seat and promise to wash the dishes. Luke chuckles the type that makes his eyes crinkle in mirth once he watches you dig into your meal, knees brushing under the table like old times.

Everything feels easier after that.

“Today was the best day,” his mother mutters as you tuck the covers under her chin. May kisses both of your cheeks before she shuts her eyes and you gently fold the letter she chose tonight back into her nightstand for safekeeping. This time, you read her the story of your first kiss with Luke sitting at the foot of her bed in the dim light of her room. It’s less scary here than he remembers, but maybe it’s because this time there’s no screaming and him running to hide in the closet. Your voice is much more pleasant than those suppressed memories, immersing you all in a more pleasant one— the both of you in the amphitheater kissing on the stage with his hands in your belt loops. Luke could recite every word on that page if it meant he could go back in time, not with Backbiter but with you, just to live through that moment again. I think I’m falling in love with her, is how the letter ended but by then he already knew. Writing it down to tell his mother always made it real.

This, you, right here—everything is real.

He’s silent even as he watches you smoke through the cracked window of his childhood bedroom, and you’re surprised when he steals a puff. His hands are shaking under the moonlight and suddenly it’s clear that he’s scared. Everyone feels fear, but in all the years that you’ve known him, Luke Castellan has never let you see it.

“Those things will kill you one day,” you mumble, watching him lean against the windowpane. It’s what he used to always tell you so that you’d quit, but old habits die screaming. It’s another vice you refuse to let go of.

“Wanted to try something new before I…” his voice drops off.

Lose myself.

Lose you.

Luke coughs as the smoke enters his lungs, a momentary rush hitting him brought by the nicotine. Your hands go to cup his jaw as you set your forehead against his, a silent plea for him to just be honest if there’s truly nothing left to lose.

“I’m out of time, Trouble. It’s out of my hands.”

Shuddering at the feeling of him tracing every ridge of your spine, you think the way he says your nickname sounds like the way he used to say I love you. It’s raining outside now, the harsh pitter-patter of wet drops drowning out the sound of your voice, “What can I do? Is there anything left for me to do?” When his head shakes, your noses brush, and your breaths intermingle, almost magnetic. Perhaps the rain is getting in from the open window and you feel it hitting your cheek until you see the shine of his eyes.

“You think I did this because of you. I know you do, but you need to know I did all of this for you, trouble. I choose you and me. Every time,” Luke gasps, intertwining his fingers with yours, the both of you pushing and pulling in this embrace like the moon with the tide.

“Luke…”

You’re pressing yourself against him, face hidden in his shirt as your brain catches up to your heart, hasty breaths and every atom of your being screaming to be held together by him and then you’re on him, through tears and clenched fists tumbling towards the tiny twin bed. The only way he likens himself to his father is his yearning to be a true traveler, but what he knows best out of anything in this entire world is you. He knew this body once too— every birthmark, scar, and dimple. Who else has had the privilege to navigate the ridges of your spine, to know the pressure of your kiss? A tattoo peeks out to say hello at your hip bone. There are new stories and new marks, there are parts of you unknown to him now. Luke thinks that must be what hurts most about each time he leaves you.

But then gods, why does this feel so good?

Warm palms caress your waist, nudging your shirt up in the hopes that this will be enough compensation for all his misdoings—the tears you’ve cried, the anger you’ve felt, the things you had to do and will have to do because of him. Luke is someone who’s gotten comfortable with manipulating time, but time has manipulated him and all of his plans for the both of you. Sleepy setback bedroom eyes meet his own that glow in the gentle light of the lamp on the nightstand. Maybe if you pretend again his childhood bedroom can turn into the star-speckled darkness of cabin 12. You can just lay down and tuck underneath his arms waiting for him to fall asleep. But he stays up this time, making you hiss at the feeling of his lips against your neck.

“We can’t… Angelface,” you say breathily, still leaning into the trail he marks across the valley of your collarbone, “We’re not together anymore.”

A kiss is placed on your pulsepoint, knocking against the cord of your necklace.

“We shouldn’t… I have a boyfriend.”

Another kiss rests against the warmth of your forehead.

“We’re on opposite sides of a war… You’re my enemy.”

Finally, his lips meet yours, for a moment as if to test the waters.

“Not tonight,” he says, and there is no other option but to agree. There is a lifetime to make up for in a night, and fuck it—they’ll crucify you anyway. You were never meant to be a hero, that’s what he always wanted. You just wanted him. Your head hits the pillow and he looms over you until you’re pulling him in for more than what’s necessary to accept an apology.

There’s nothing left to lose.

—

Before your mind can wake up dreading the consequences of last night, your socked feet take you to the kitchen to clean up the mess you’ve both left behind. The old floorboards creak underfoot and there’s a method in the way you’re washing the dishes, hot water and soap starting to seep through your shirt sleeve but you choose not to notice. Scrubbing at the dirt and grime left behind on the porcelain until your fingers start to prune, a lump forms in your throat before you can stop it. Maybe if you scrub hard enough at the glass that Luke drank out of last night it can eventually be clean. But it’s taking you longer than you thought, jaw tensing and fingers turning white at how hard you’re holding on. May appears behind you, guiding your hands away from the scalding water, and though you resist— the glass drops into the sink and shatters with a loud crack.

“Damn spot wouldn’t get out,” you sniff, turning away to look out the window and think of anything but him, but he’s everywhere even when he’s not here, so much so that it suffocates you. Guilt lines every shaking breath you take until lavender eyes meet amber at the sensation of her clasping your red and raw palms with a dishtowel.

You see him in her too.

“His fate is greater than the cards he’s been dealt with. You know that.”

It’s the clearest and most sensible May’s spoken in days. Perhaps when it comes to Luke, she’ll always know better. Eyes darting elsewhere to fight the tears that brim at your lash line, you look down at your swollen hands, palm up towards the heavens almost imploring, “Why couldn’t it be me?”

The question’s direction is unclear and you don’t expect to get an answer, turning away to grab some ice from the freezer and she remains standing there—staring at the windowsill at a compass that’s now found its home next to the faded picture of a man who’s left more times than there are reasons to stay. Just like his father, she thinks, a small smile quirking at the side of her lip where a scar would meet her son’s. Clicking it open delicately like how she used to hold his hand, there’s a photo of you and Luke resting against the cover ripped away from a memory frozen in time.

“It is you,” May says quietly, though you’ve already left the room.

A mother always knows, after all.

—

“Aphrodite,” I pleaded to the moon-drenched night sky. “Tell me; if love is meant to heal, then why does it destroy those who choose it?” From somewhere beyond the clouds, I heard the Goddess laugh. And I knew. -Nikita Gill

#made by ma1dita ♥︎#luke castellan x reader #pjo x reader #luke castellan fanfic #trouble!verse #percy jackon and the olympians

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coco-loco-nut · 5 months

Text

Fortnight

pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

summary: you were never cut out to be a WAG

a/n: guys i really like this one so i hope you love it too 🤍

masterlist ttpd masterlist

_______

“Oh my god, we need to get you help,” your best friend, Logan, gasps, walking in on you, three beers deep. You are sitting on the floor of your bedroom, Lando’s too when he’s actually home, the curtains closed, dirty clothes scattered on the floor. What he doesn’t know is that this is your normal.

“I’m fine,” you don’t even slur. Your phone is discarded to the side, beside the latest apology flowers given -shipped- to you by your supposedly loving boyfriend. You haven’t picked up his last couple calls, so he sent your friend to check in.

“Come on, get up and shower while I clean all this, and you call Lando after,” Logan sighs, pulling you off the floor as you finish the beer.

You begrudgingly walk to the bathroom, your friend setting out a fresh change of clothes. “Just, don’t tell Lando. He’s stressed enough,” you tell him, closing the door once you get a confirmation.

Twenty minutes later, you are sitting on the edge of the sink, phone ringing.

“Babe, are you okay, you haven’t been answering?” Lando asks, his worried voice makes a pit in your stomach.

“Lan, I’ve just been a little busy, that’s all. Sorry for worrying you. Are you okay?” despite him being the reason the reason for your recent state, you don’t want him to be hurt.

You miss breaks, when he would be with you all the time, now it seems like you only see each other in passing, like good neighbors who make that corny comment about the weather.

Lando finds you in a similar position as your friend did, except this time you are crying on the floor, not drunk. He got a couple free days off and is eager to spend them with you.

“Darling, what happened?” he kneels down beside you, his voice making you cry harder. “Baby,” his voice and heart breaks as you look up at him, mascara running down your cheeks.

“I-,” you gas for air. “I love you, Lando. It’s ruining my life,” each sob breaks his heart.

“No, no. Don’t say that,” he pleads, wiping the tears from your eyes.

“Do you know the longest amount of time we’ve spent together? 14 days, a fortnight. I can’t keep doing this. The apology gifts for missed moments, the quick phone calls that are hardly passable for time spent together,” you pause to catch your breath, the tears still flowing. “I can’t do this, Lando. I miss home, I miss America,” your eyes meet his, both of you broken.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you were struggling this much,” he whispers, sitting down and pulling you into him.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” you look away, the feeling of him foreign.

“I’m off the next couple days, let’s work on us,”

“Lando-,”

“And I’ll bring you to more races even though I know you find it hard to get off of work,”

“Lando-,”

“Please don’t say it,” he whispers, kissing you. Another foreign feeling.

“I’m moving back to America, tomorrow,” you tell him, feeling like you’ve hit absolute rock bottom. Lando looks around the bedroom, realizing the only thing of yours left was your packed suitcase in the corner.

“Were you going to tell me?” he asks, your eyes not able to meet his.

“I was going to visit you in Woking tonight,” the silence that falls between you is deafening. You spend the night in separate rooms, and in the morning he insists on driving you to the airport. He gets out of the car, pulling your suitcase out for you.

“Please don’t go,” he asks one last time, the both of you crying.

“I have to, Lando. It’s what’s best for both of us,” you step closer to him.

“Winter break is almost here, please, just a little longer. This isn’t what’s best for me,” Lando says, pulling you into a tight hug.

“I love you, Lan, but you deserve someone who can be with you at each race and support you more than I can,” you tell him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“You are always enough for me, I love you,” he cries.

“Please, Lan, I have to put myself first,” you grab your luggage handle and take a step back.

“I won’t block your number, if you ever need anything or are in London, call me, I’ll be there at the drop of a hat,” Lando says, his tear stained cheeks glistening in the sun. His offer is a complete change to how your relationship was.

“Goodbye, Lando,” you turn around, walking into the airport. You hand covers your mouth as you sob, refusing to turn back and look at an equally distressed Lando.

You refuse to check social media, only texting your family and Logan when you land in Miami. You knew Logan from karting before you quit, and he became your closest friend. He offered his apartment in Miami to you until you buy your own.

You quickly got a job and moved to Destin, a whole 9 hours away from Miami, 11 from Austin. Florida is treating you a lot nicer, but you feel stuck in an endless February. You took the magic move on pill that is relocating, but it doesn’t seem to be working. You changed your phone number when you got back to the US, and deleted your social media apps. Lando tried calling you and DM-ing you, but never got a reply.

“I will fly you down, please just come and support me. I need you at my home race,” Logan begs, wanting you to take a two week vacation to spend time with him in Miami and Fort Lauderdale. Something deep inside you agreed, so you pack your bags and hit the road, electing to drive.

You arrive the Wednesday before race week, and stay until the Wednesday after race week. It is nice because you can visit your own family too.

“I got you a paddock pass,” Logan says as you both lay on the beach the day you got in.

“Lo, I can’t go back there,” you turn your head to look at him.

“You can stay in Williams, you don’t have to go visit Oscar when I do,” Logan says, referencing the Australian who is also staying with Logan. Oscar promised he wouldn’t tell Lando you were in town.

“You know, I can get you a much nicer car than your Mercedes,” Oscar says, sitting beside you. Logan gets up to grab two waters.

“A McLaren? Not my thing, I hated driving,” you can’t even bring yourself to say his name. “Yeah, but I do love my car, I always wanted it,” you say.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Oscar leans over, bumping you with his shoulder.

“It’s okay, I know you didn’t. It’s still hard. Sometimes I think about calling him, but he won’t pick up. I have a new number and he has a new girl from what Logan said,” you admit.

“He’s miserable, he will never admit it, but he is. He hasn’t been the same since you left, but you seem to be doing a lot better. You have color back in your skin and you aren’t drinking all the time,” Oscar says, knowing what state you were in when Lando called Logan to check in on you. You were a functioning alcoholic, barely functioning at that point.

“Yeah, this was the right decision. Maybe it’s best if I don’t call Lando. Even if he is miserable, it might make things worse. I can’t get back together with him, but I want him to be okay,” you tell Oscar. What you don’t know is that Lando is renting the beach house beside the one you, Logan, and Oscar are staying in for the two weeks. He is jealous about how happy you seem with his teammate and your best friend.

You figure it out when you take a midnight walk, clad in a sweater with your university’s logo on it.

“Lando, hi,” you breathe, taking him in.

“Hey, you look really good. I like the sweater,” he shifts his weight in the sand. You look healthier, happier, and it kills him.

“I, um, changed my phone number and deleted my social media apps,” you say, answering the question he didn’t want to ask.

“I tried dating again, but I broke it off, I couldn’t do it,”

“Sorry, I should’ve thought about how I would hurt you,” you say, looking at your feet in the sand.

“No, you needed to do it. I don’t blame you, I was basically abandoning you,” Lando says, silently inviting you to join him on the walk. It becomes a habit, you join him every night.

“Congrats on the win,” you hug him on night 11. It was a silent agreement that you would go your separate ways again after the two weeks.

“Where are you living now?” Lando asks on night 14, both of you sitting in the sand between the two houses.

“Destin, Florida. I bought an apartment that used to be a timeshare,” you say, watching the waves.

“That’s pretty close, right?”

“Nine hours, Lan. other side of the state,” you smile, trying not to laugh. Lando’s heart flutters at the way you say his nickname, but squashes it.

“Oh, well I’m glad you were able to come down and support Logan,” he says, yawning a little.

“Alright, I have to wake up early to drive home,” you stand up, brushing the sand off of your legs.

“Drive safe,” Lando hugs you, finally feeling healed.

“Goodbye, Lan,” you whisper.

“Goodbye,” he whispers back, capturing the look of you in his mind.

#f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris imagines #logan sargeant #oscar piastri

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neonovember · 1 year

Note

Hello! I hope you’ve been doing okay! I saw that you had requests open and I also saw that you take requests for Carmen? If it’s totally okay of course to request for him! I got into the bear a few days ago and my brain has been filled with nothing but thoughts of Carmy. Would it be okay just requesting something that’s just Carmen being worried/concerned about the reader? He just always sees whenever there’s that tiredness to them when it looks like it’s a bad day, that slump in their shoulders that all too much reminds him of him a little sometimes, just bringing them into the office and his eyebrows are furrowed with that look of concern and his eyes the same, maybe unexpectedly just wrapping them in a hug (Your writing is so cute btw!) ��

to carry and to bear

ask, it will be my infinite quest to fulfill! love this request so much and i loved writing is even more. i'm going to be so annoying when s2 comes out, especially since i love carmen's character so much! thank you for your request anon <3

carmen berzatto x reader

warnings: richie (yes he’s a warning), unresolved anxiety, horrible customers, fainting

word count: 5k (short for me lmao)

a/n: you know i love a character when i'm completing fics in under a day..lets pray this momentum keeps going

Wrapping yourself tight against the chilly wind of the unforgivable Chicago weather, you watch the city coming alive in the early morning as you walk down the concrete sidewalk of the Beef’s city corner.

Merchants and gazebo have begun to set up shop, their bright red vendor stands a stark contrast to the grey haze of the windy city. Corner stores and cafes have begun to uncover their blinds, dusting away the sliver of droplets that had long since evaporated after a heavy downpour the night before.

it’s slow though.

The mass of cars and yellow cabbed taxis haven’t yet filled the gravel roads, and the surging rush of traffic and uncontrollable road rage the beef windows have been accustomed to viewing hasn't filled the air.

The pinch of cold begins to itch against the cracks in your outerwear. Your trusted winter jacket and gloves had been left at the bottom of your laundry basket and instead you were forced to throw on a flimsy polyester jacket that provided absolutely no warmth.

Your fingers are stuffed into your pocket, trying to hide them from the cold but it is no use. They shake against the freezing air of wind as you push past huddles of men chain smoking and passing coolers of steaming coffee on street corners.

You’re about to go ask for a cup, despite Carmen's disgruntled comments of their huddled group festering near the restaurant. They were a pack of wolves, and whilst Sydney's sandwiches had fended them off for a while, the hole in the Beef’s window was still fresh. Like a cycle, more and more had begun to trickle in from alleyways, leading to customers steering clear from the nearby streets.

Carmen didn’t even like you walking to work this early, you get it, despite being daylight, Chicago had a way of defying social norms. You had paid some attention to the increase in robbing and attacks that had begun to frequent news reports.

It wouldn't have been a problem, walking was always voluntary for you as you had a perfectly fine working car that would drive you to and from your destination with as little as a rumble from its engine. And yet, that seemingly perfect car decided to break down on you this morning, leading to an overheated engine and a smoke filled hood.

So not only did you have to pay for a towing truck to drag away your car to an auto shop you couldn't afford to afford, but you were late. And you hated being late.

Not to mention your sister had called you late last night, asking to stay for a couple nights after her good for nothing boy-friend you would rather call a child had kicked her out after a fight.

She had rambled for nothing short of 2 hours after you had gotten home from the Beef late last night, and the pull of sleep had begun to weigh on you. The exhaustion and deprivation had written itself in the slug of your limbs and the slump of your shoulders.

You had to come in today, there were no rest days even if the Beef wasn't neck deep in debt and Cicero didn't have you all on a leash. Especially if you wouldn't allow yourself one. You had that in common with Carmen, you frequently ignored your own needs for your craft, the same insatiable passion and need for perfection driving you to exhaustion.

The familiar chime of the Beefs wooden doors hit your ears, and you shake off the cold of the city streets, the Beef is warm and you're grateful, sighing as the heat of prepped ovens and oiled pans defrosts your face.

It takes a second before you walk into the busy kitchen when the sound finally reaches you. The screeching sound of Richie's voice bickers with Tina about the next door convenient store being turned into a “pretentious hipster coffee shop that is legally selling dog water to unassuming Chicagoans”.

Dragging on and on about the invasion of gentrification that will soon take out all the good businesses that had been around since his grandfather had come from Sicily. Richie was not from Siciliy. In which Carmen mirrors your thoughts and yells that he is not Italian, and his obsession with the European country has been bordering on creepy.

Ebra is reciting an article about a culinary student that had gone rogue and murdered their entire class, giving pointers on how he himself had to patch up an entire unit of people stabbed by a bent corkscrew. The loud conversations and untethered yelling across the kitchen combines with the malfunctioning arcade that has begun to re-circuit the same sentence for 20 minutes now, digs a deep burrow into your temple.

You stand at the entrance of the kitchen, watching the commotion of early morning prep with a tight grimace, your head begins to vibrate a little, the start of a headache you won’t be relieved from spreading and you have to swallow down the exhaustion that begins to seep in at the sight.

Sydney brushes past you, greeting you with a hello and one of her charming smiles before muttering about throwing that arcade machine out the back. You giggle and it hurts, but you do it anyway because, fuck, you would help her.

You step into the kitchen, and the crew each turn to greet you good morning as you walk past them into the locker bay stuffing your bag and shoes into the cabinet before quickly changing.

Your phone reads 7am and you stuff it into the pocket of your hung jacket before slamming the locker shut. Carmen peeks his head around the corner, nodding at you as you put on your non-slip shoes, calling your name when you don't notice, you flinch before peering up and Carmen waves trying to get your attention.

“Mornin’ chef, didn’t think you were coming in” Carmen remarks, raising his eyebrows as he leans his shoulder against the wall.

“Morning, yeah, sorry about that, uh- shit happened and I had to deal with it all at once. Won;t happen again” You reply, biting back a yawn, before letting your feet fall to the ground.

“It’s all good,” Carmen replies, nodding, wiping his hand on the white towel hanging on his shoulder that was already smudged with stains.

“Just shoot me a text or call next time, yeah?” Carmen replies

“Will do chef” You reply, smiling, before peering out to see Sydney carrying a basket of ingredients

“New recipe?” You ask, nodding towards Sydney, and Carmen nods, running a hand through his curls as he leans forward.

“Well call it trying something. Not yet finished, just needs some minor tweaks here and there” Carmen replies

“I can help Sydney out if you want?” You reply without a second thought.

You already had prep and a marinade you had to make for Cicero’s function he had conveniently told Carmen about the night before, but helping out was second nature to you, it was a part of this family's culture.

Carmen shakes his head, his eyes falling to your slumped shoulder, and the slow but tight blinks you tended to do when you were exhausted.

The second he had peered his head around the corner and saw the slug of your limbs he knew something was up, but he also knew he couldn't force you to relax, you were worse than him, always taking on so much, filling up your cup until it was overflowing.

“No, no, it’s alright, besides, that marinade isn’t going to be easy, I should be asking if you want me to help out” Carmen replies, chuckling, scratching his neck as you curve your mouth into that smile he loves so much. You could be half-dead and he still stares at you like you were the most gorgeous thing he's ever seen.

“I think I’ve got it handled. I remember having to make something similar back at Le Bleu, you just got to get the temperature right or the entire thing gets spoiled. Having more than one person just makes it more confusing. besides, don't you have that meeting with the vendor today?” You reply, and Carmen sighs, nodding

“Yep, hopefully this place looks stable enough to get him to sign, you know I can’t deal with corporate bullshit. Sydney should’ve met up with them, fuck any one other than me” Carmen replies, shaking his head as he fidgets with the hem of his apron.

Despite his numerous accolades, and world renowned talent, he only ever felt at nature in the kitchen. High function parties and elusive dinner bars were things he despised, feeling out of place despite it being thrown in his name.

“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself, you're the face of this place Carmen, you’ve transformed it, you oughta show them the Beef is the best investment they’ll make. Hell you’re the best investment they can make” You reply, and Carmen ears perk at your reply, smiling fondly at your comment. He didn't deserve your praise, and he hated the way the sound of your lips curving around his name shoots through him.

“Are y'all going to get to work or continue eye fucking?” Richie calls, as he passes by the locker bay, and Carmen immediately shakes his head muttering a fuck you before nodding to you, and heading back to his station. You get up from your seated position on the bench, dusting and ironing out the creases in your apron before mentally going over the things you had to complete before opening.

Prep vegetables, then start the veal stock for Cicero's marinade. You had to complete it early, since it had to be chilled for at least 5 hours, any less and the fat would congeal and turn into a complete mess you didn’t have time to fix.

You walk towards your station, stepping over sauce that had spilled onto the tile floors, this crew was amazing in their craft, but god were they messy. You bump shoulders with Sydney as you begin to grate and cut root vegetables and herbs, you have to force your eyes open, blinking several times before dipping your hand into an ice water bucket and wiping your face with it.

Sydney converses with you, and it wasn't that she was boring, in fact you both frequently spend time even out of the restaurant as friends. But you can’t even try to decipher what she says, just sounds coming out of her mouth that you pack away in order to get your job done.

Just cut the vegetables, finish the stock, cut the vegetables, finish the stock, you repeat it like a mantra in your head, unaware at Sydney calling your name. She reaches forward, pressing a soft hand to your shoulder to get your attention.

“Hey, did you hear me?” Sydney replies, concern written across her features as she peers at your disoriented state.

“Huh? Sorry, what did you say?” You reply, avoiding her gaze. You feel her penetrate through you, pitying the exhaustion on your face, probably realising you were a shit chef who couldn't even handle a couple responsibilities.

“I was asking if you could grab me some of the sauce I made yesterday from the storage fridge. You alright? You seem a bit..” Sydney starts, before you cut her off quickly

“Just had a long night, didn't get much sleep” You reply, rubbing your eyes with a hand. What has gotten into you? You weren't foreign to a few sleepless nights and a few too many deadlines you had to meet, hell your entire college and culinary life had been exactly that.

“That’ll kill you, you know” Richie butts in, reaching for a crab cake Sydney had prepared before being swatted away with a wooden spoon.

“What?” You ask, already regretting asking Richie to elaborate on what was clearly some elaborated story he had got stored away

“Go without that good old shut eye a few nights too long and you'll start hallucinating shit, not fucking with you you, don’t you know about the Russian sleep experiment-?” Richie rambles

“Ah here we go” Sydney replies, rolling her eyes

“You think because you went to Paris or whatever prestigious tight ass school you know everything? It’s real, happened right after World War 2, Russians got a bunch of people and just made them not sleep for like months, they starting turning into fuckin' aliens and shit-” Richie continues, ignoring Sydney's sly remarks about Richie's facebook usage.

“Richie c’mon, you know that shits made up” You reply

“Don’t matter, didn’t I tell you about my week long bender during college? Starting seeing my great aunt from the corner of my eye, and I swear she is still there-” Richie replies before getting cut off my Carmen calling his name

“Stop distracting my chefs Cousin”

You chuckle, shaking your head as Richie mutters about the fall of democracy and wipe your hands across your towel.

“I’ll go get your sauce Syd” You reply, and she smiles in gratitude as you turn towards the storage room. The cold air of the fridge wakes you up a little, and you rest your head against the door of the storage fridge, sighing in frustration. Talking to Richie was exhausting in itself, and when you were already running only fumes and second hand smoke you felt like it took the last bit of energy you had left.

You grab the container of sauce written with “DO NOT TOUCH” on its front, it's wrapped in cling film, with no lid and you're careful not to drop it everywhere. It wasn’t heavy, per se, just filled to the brim and without careful steps it was close to tipping out. You walk out of the storage room carefully, before turning towards your station.

“Corner!” You yell, twisting around the corner of the kitchen, before you slam straight into a tall body, jerking back and inadvertently spilling the sauce all across the kitchen floor and onto your shoes. You feel it sink into your socks and drip down your apron, eye twitching in frustration as Marcus starts apologising profusely, you ignore him, dropping down to your knees and reaching for paper towels. You start wiping away the sauce, as Marcus drops down to your level and tries to help, you shake our head looking up at him.

“Stop, Marcus, just stop. I can do it” You reply

“But-” Marcus protests

“We don't need two chefs to clean up a one person job, alright? You need to finish prep” You reply, letting the towels soak up the sauce. You grieve for Sydney, not all of it had spilt, but a quarter of a container wasn’t enough to get through the morning rush, let alone the entire day.

You ignore the spilt sauce all over your clothes, you didn’t have time to change now, rushing back to your station before telling Sydney about the spill

“You serious? I thought I could leave early today, got a friend's birthday” Sydney replies, pinching the bridge of her nose.

You instantly feel guilty, you should've been more careful, and now Sydney would have to pay for it.

“Hey, I got it, let me take that new recipe off your plate. That gives you enough time to get to the party?” You reply

Sydney looks up, rising her eyebrows “No, no I couldn’t possibly ask you to”

“Nonsense, I owe you anyway, remember when I had to leave halfway through the morning to get my sister?” You reply, with a tired smile before Sydney wraps her arms around you, you rub a hand across her back. You can’t really feel her arms around you, it’s like all your senses are delayed, you ignore it as you get back to work, now with another task on your plate.

You finish chopping the vegetables after a short while, usually you were the fastest in the house, but today you lagged behind, finally carrying the vegetables to Carmen who looked at you strange, his eyes staring through you, he swallowed like he was going to say something as you walked away, before stopping and continuing stirring the stock on the stove

By the time the Beef opens, you're still elbow deep in work, you've stayed silent most of the time, waving off Marcus’s apology and instead working, not stopping since you started. You skipped breakfast, and you hadn't gotten a chance to eat, and just when you're about to make yourself something, Richie calls your name from the front counter.

You walk towards the front of the Beef, wiping stains on your apron to look a little presentable to the outside world. Richie stands at the register, flicking a pen in his hand, a look of annoyance on his face.

“What's up?” You ask Richie, as a tall man dressed down in a polo sweater and khakis stares down at you in anger. He’s familiar, someone you had served when Richie had to take his smoke break, and he scrutinises you as you smile at him.

That’s the only way you could communicate with these people, any hint of anger and you’d be written of as angry and unable to control your emotions, you lost your last job because you defended yourself anyway.

“This guy said he came in and you made him something he apparently didn't like, but finished anyway” Richie replies, a knowing look passes between you both and you sigh, you don't have time for this.

“Morning Sir, May I ask what’s the problem” You ask politely

“You suggested to me a dish from the menu, alright, YOU, not me, so don't go blaming me for this, and look what I got, not only does it have nuts, which i hate, it's spicy. Way too spicy, I want a refund, NOW” The man replies, seething, his yelling catches the attention of other patrons, and Richie begins to reach under the table for a bat.

“Well, you finished it all so I don’t know what you-” You begin before the man cuts you off loudly

“Do you think I give a shift what you think? Huh? Jesus fucking Christ, see you just need to do what I fucking say, not argue. Give me a refund before I get you fired from this shit hole you dumb stupid-” The man yells, loudly before Carmen's booming voice cuts him off

“I wouldn't finish that sentence if I were you” Carmen replies, clenching his jaw in way that told you he was trying to hold back the rage from spilling out

“Who the fuck are you?” The man asks

“I own this shit hole you piece of shit, and if you don't get the fuck out of my restaurant I'm going to break every single bone in your face with my bare hands".

“Excuse me?”

Carmen laughs, shaking his head before smiling at the man

“I told you”

Carmen drags the man by his collar, throwing him onto the sidewalk and dragging his body to the alleyway, you fear what he is going to do and Richie raises his eyebrows in astonishment.

“Well shit cousin, you ain't a pussy after all” Richie mutters under his breath

You can faintly hear the sound of splitting skin and the crack of bone, before Carmen storms back into the restaurant, eyeing all the patrons who are following his every move.

“Y'all got that? Anyone mess with my people hear and your walk out on a fucking stretcher” Carmen replies still seething with anger, before Richie claps loudly as Carmen walks back behind the desk.

“Call a fucking ambulance” Carmen replies, rolling his eyes at Richie before he walks towards you, the the tension immediately leaving him as he find your safe and away from that man.

“You alright? He didn't hurt you or anything?” Carmen asks in concern, his eyes darting across your body to see any imagined injuries

“It seems you should be asking him that question” You reply, nudging towards the alley of the Bear, chuckling as you shake your head.

“You didn't have to do that you know, iIcould have-” You start

Carmen looks down at you in concern, shaking his head as he places his hand on you shoulder

“Could've what? He was screaming in your face and I wasn't about to let him think that shit was okay, god, how could you not react?” Carmen replies, looking down at you in concern, shaking his head as he places a hand on your shoulder.

“I’m just so busy, I still- Fuck, i still got to get Cicero's marinade in the fridge, and i need to start on Syd’s broth” You mutter pressing your fingertips to your temples.

“What? You’re doing Sydney’s load as well? Hey, you need to sit down a second” Carmen replies, as you begin to walk back towards the kitchen, with Carmen hot on your heels, asking you to stop and turn to him.

You hear him call your name, but the mountain of tasks that were now even later due to that customer had begun to seize your consciousness.

All you could focus on was the dishes you needed to make and the pain in your temples that had begun to spread down, your vision getting fuzzy around the edges as you try and shake yourself awake.

“Dammit, listen to me! Stop cutting fucking vegetables and listen to me” Carmen yells at you for the first time, twisting your body to face him and you spit out in anger

“What?!”

“What’s gotten into you today?” Carmen replies, yelling

And you don't know why, but that question breaks something in you, and you can't help but let out a short chuckle. Carmen looks down at you in horror, trying to reach for you, to catch you when the inevitable happens and you look at him once before it does.

Before your vision begins to blur and the edges begin to burn like a flame, you try and catch yourself, but it’s too late and you fall into Carmen's arms, wrapped up against his chest as you crash.

Carmen gathers you in his arms, his heart breaking beneath his breasts, holding his sweet girl in his arms as the streams of tears dampen his shirt. The rest of the crew watch on in concern, and Carmen shoes them away as he carries your unconscious body to the office.

“What the fuck Cousin?” Richie calls

“Hey, hey, is she alright? What -what happened?” Sydney replies in horror as she watches Carmen carry you from the kitchen.

“What happened was, ya'll did fuck all when she was practically breaking down trying to finish everyone else's fucking mess. What happened? Are you fucking serious? If i wasn't there, she would’ve fainted into a burning skillet of your fucking vegetables Sydney” Carmen replies, shaking his head, the entire crew goes silent, the only sounds coming from the beeps of ovens and stove tops, and the sizzling of burning food.

Carmen goes quiet, as he assesses your state, there is something unwritten in the way he holds you, and he blinks tight, his face twitching a little as if he had to make sure you were in his arms, the only place he wanted you to be.

“Get back to work” Carmen replies, quietly, a stark contrast to his rage from before, the crew has never seen him like this, his eyes and focus on you, as if he has been seized by this responsibility and dying need to protect you. He can hardly breathe, his arms shaking as he stares down at your sullen and tired face.

“We need-” Marcus starts before Carmen shakes his head

“No, no, enough. Sydney will hold down the fort, this is my responsibility. Get. back to work.” Carmen replies

—-

Carmen wastes no time to gently place your body onto the scuffed office couch, pressing a hand to your head, before reaching for an ice cold container of water, dipping a towel into it before gently pressing it to your forehead.

Carmen shakes his head in anger, he should've seen this coming, he should've noticed from the slump of your shoulder and your one word answers that you were stretching yourself too thin.

Carmen tortures himself as he replays the moments before you fainted into his arms. The way your features twisted into a sob, and the lasts shred of resolve snapped, and you had reached for him, you had reached for him.

You had reached for Carmen when you fell, and something in him broke when he had caught you.

Carmen had been used to his own self-destruction, but as he rested his thumb, rubbing circles and wiping away the tears on your face, he wished himself to change, not just for him, but for you. How could he? How could you be such a poor example to you? This was his own fault, and the reality of that conclusion twists like a knife to his gut.

His sweet girl, his Sunshine, who had thought the needs of this goddamn sandwich shop was more important than her own. You begin to stir in his arms, and the tension and shake of his arms begins to release as you wake up, Carmen eases you into consciousness when you begin to panic.

“Hey hey, I’m right here, you're okay, you're okay” Carmen replies softly, and you squeeze your eyes tightly, trying to understand what had happened and why you felt like your body was filled with lead.

"What, what happened” You reply, looking across the location of the office.

“You fainted, and I carried you to the office because you are not going back into that kitchen” Carmen replies, sitting up from his slumped position.

You stay quiet, confusion lacing your features as you shake your head. You fainted? How did that even happen? You had never fainted in your entire life.

Carmen peers at you, his eyes dancing across your face as your silence frightens him, he wouldn't even recognise you, your usual bubbly, and incredibly chirpy self was not replaced by someone who was so exhausted they couldn’t stay conscious.

“You gotta talk to me baby girl, please, look at me, you can tell me, you can tell me anything” Carmen replies, softly, caressing your hand with his thumb when it begins to shake.

You look up at him, his expression of worry and concern causing your features to twist,

“I um, I’m just a little tired” You reply, the beginning of tears choking you, causing your words to rush out as you try to stop yourself but it is fruitless, and Carmen eyebrows kind of pinch, he kind of frowns a little as he looks at you in that way.

It's all it takes before you sob, and sink into the coach. Carmen gathers you once again in his arms, and scoops your legs so that they lay across his thighs, and your head rests against his collarbone.

“I know baby, I know, I’m sorry, Oh honey I am so sorry” Carmen replies, rubbing your back as you let the last of your resolve sink into his chest, the cry of your tears leaving you speechless.

You can’t stop crying, the cup spilling over and making a big whole mess, snot and tears and heartache and exhaustion dirties Carmen's chef whites and you can't help but grip onto him like he is the only thing tethering you to Earth.

You don’t have to tell Carmen then, he knew the second you walked in, and he knows now when you hold him. There's a certain grief Carmen feels when he looks at you and sees himself, and in a way this is for Carmen too.

You sit like this for a while, you and Carmen. Wrapped in his arms as you lay across his lap, long after the tears had run dry, where you are left with hiccups and the soothing touch of Carmen's hand across your back.

It feels like you two are the only people on earth. Everything is Carmen; its all you smell, all you feel against your skin, all you hear as he whispers into you ear. No one dares to step into the office doors, even when an hour ticks by, even when the trickle of customers turns into a downpour and the orders never end, the family knows that you need this, that your health was better than money, or happy customers and fuck all.

Even after you have cried your eyes out, the responsibility of work begins to weigh on your body, you still had so much to do with so little time

“But the marinade, and- and Sydney's” You begin before Carmen cuts you off with a soft squeeze.

“Richie’ll handle it, and if he doesn't Cicero can go fuck himself. You really think I’m going to let that override you right now? Just forget about the kitchen alright, can you do that for me, pretty girl?” Carmen replies

You nod, the burden that had exhausted you to sickness lifted from your shoulders. You look towards the clock and realise the vendors were coming soon to meet with Carmen, something he couldn’t miss.

“The vendors, aren't they-”

“They came in 3 hours early, it's why it took me so long to get to you when that asshole was throwing a fit” Carmen replies, knowing what you were asking for.

You peek at him in question “Well?”

“They signed.” Carmen replies, rolling eyes and smiling at your delighted squeal

“What did I tell you? Carmen Berzatto is more than-” You start before a yawn stretches through you.

“Alright, alright, enough talking from you. When’s the last time you ate?” Carmen asks

You stop and scratch your head, trying to think and you laugh a little when you can’t remember.

“I don't know” You reply

Carmen’s eye twitches, and he smiles down at you before easing you off his thighs and onto the coach.

“What- what are you doing?” You ask, not even trying to hide the sadness in your voice. You already miss the heat of his chest warm against your cheek.

Carmen smiles softly as he looks down at you, threaded a hand through his head as he wipes down the creases on his apron.

“I’m making you something”

“What? No it’s- it’s okay I’ll eat at family” You reply, reaching a hand out to him

Carmen reaches for your palm, pressing a soft kiss on your the skin of your knuckles before reaching down to kiss the top of your head.

“No you need to eat now, alright? You're going to sleep the rest of the day, and then, and then, you're coming back to my place so I can keep an eye on you. You gonna listen to me or protest?” Carmen replies, eyebrow raised as he crosses his arms. His voice drops down an octane, like it was a command, and you have to bite back the desire floating in your stomach at the way he looks down with his eyes all heavy from above.

“Okay, alright, whatever you say Chef” You reply with a smile, and Carmen sinks his teeth into his bottom lip when you say it like that.

“Just wait a sec” Carmen replies, and as he is about to leave you call for him again

“What are you even making, half the ingredients are gone”

“It’s no problem, it’s your recipe anyway” Carmen replies, with a hint of a smile on his face before he leaves the room. It takes you a while, half because you're exhausted and the other half because you're hungry before the realisation hits you that he's made a recipe for you, about you.

You can't help the smile that stretches across your face, goddamnit Carmen Berzatto, and you say you aren't a romantic.

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