#drone buying tips

[onlymingyus]

Love Scene (svthub's cupid for you collab)

pairing; choi seungcheol x f reader

genre; smut (minors dni)

warnings; alcohol, poor knowledge of wine (on my part), pet names, seungcheol is a simp, unprotected sex, manhandling/cheol lifts the reader, mentions of the readers lipstick color (could look different on all skin tones), begging, slight dom!seungcheol, big dick!seungcheol, lingerie kink, fingering, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, cum eating, breeding kink, aftercare

w/c; 5.3k 

svthub cupid for you masterlist

a/n; this is part of the svthub cupid for you collab valentine's gift exchange event. my fic is for my valentine @multi-kpop-fanfics. i hope you enjoy this wifey. i had a lot of fun writing cheollie for you. happy valentines day. i love you. thank you to @wongyuseokie and @onlyhuis for proofreading for me!

before continuing remember reblogs are incredibly important and please read how to support me here

Seungcheol smiles against the wine glass pursed on his lips. You looked beautiful as you listened to the woman drone on about the notes and undertones of the wine that she had been pouring for the two of you to try, but Seungcheol had stopped paying attention three bottles ago. 

“This one is a Cabernet Sauvignon.” 

You hum along with the woman’s words as you bring the glass to your lips, taking a sip of the dark red liquid and letting the dry wine rest on your tongue, trying to taste the notes she was explaining even as you feel Seungcheol’s eyes on your face. 

“A personal favorite and one I know a lot of couples tend to want to take home, especially on evenings like this. Notes of cranberries and dark chocolate. What do you think, Seungcheol?” 

Hearing his name from the host, your boyfriend smiles, looking away from you to pick up the glass, tipping it back quicker than you had. You watch as he swirls the liquid on his tongue, tilting his head only to purse his lips and look at yours as you let them part ever so slightly in amusement. 

“Not my favorite, honestly. Especially if I’m buying a bottle for Valentine’s Day. I want something sweet. Something that will make me feel as good as I do when I look at her.” 

He was being ridiculous, and you couldn’t help but look away, feeling your cheeks burning at his attempts to be sweet. The woman laughs, reaching for the glasses in front of you, and Seungcheol pulls them back towards her before she searches her inventory for the perfect choice as you shake your head. 

“Seriously, Cheol?” 

Smiling, Seungcheol leans to press his lips against your warm cheek, chuckling at the heat under his lips even as you try to pull away, feeling embarrassed by his public display of attention. 

“Of course, I’m serious, Y/N. It’s Valentine’s Day. If there was any day for me to be as cheesy as possible, it’s today, and you look beautiful. I can’t help it…  I think Cupid shot me in the ass because I’m head over heels for you, baby.” 

Scoffing, you push Seungcheol away, listening to his laughter, even as you attempt to hide your laugh, muttering about how stupid he is. 

“Stupidly in love with you.” 

"Ya, could you shut up Choi Seungcheol?” 

Turning back towards you and a now playfully pouty Seungcheol, the woman laughs under her breath as she shows you both a different bottle of wine. 

“This is a Chateau Chantal Cherry Port. This is the sort of dessert wine I would recommend serving with chocolate. Perfect for a day like today.” 

Seungcheol watches your lips pull up into a smile as the dark liquid is poured into two small port glasses and offered to you. He lets you taste it first, listening to the soft sound of appreciation that escapes your lips before he tilts his glass back and his eyes widen. 

“Oh wow…” 

You can only nod along as you watch your boyfriend this time. He had spent the day “stupidly in love” with you, but now you were almost drunk with how much you were clearly enamored with the man. 

“Rich cherries with a bit of tobacco and wood smoke depth makes this port special." 

Neither of you were paying attention to your host at this point, as Seungcheol notices you looking at him, the glass resting on his lips as he finishes what is left in his glass. He needed to get you out of here. What made this special was you, not any underlying notes or fruits or what barrel the wine had been aged in. 

“We’ll take a bottle.” 

You smile, leaning your head back against the wall next to your front door, as Seungcheol’s lips press against the column of your throat. He had barely kept his hands to himself the entire drive home, but you weren’t complaining. You were on fire for him, and it would seem the feeling was mutual. 

Groaning against your skin, Seungcheol’s fingers slide along your arm to your wrist, where your fingers are wrapped around a blue jasmine bouquet he had stopped to pick up on the way home. He tried to be careful, dragging your arm up the wall, knowing you were holding the flowers, but he could feel petals hitting his shirt and hear the soft fluttering as they fell to the ground. 

“Cheol…” 

His brows furrowing at the level of need in your voice as you say his name, Seungcheol rakes his teeth against your throat before pulling back to look at your pretty face, leaning in to press his plush lips to yours. Your lips were almost the same color as the wine that he had bought for the two of you to share for the night, and it was driving him crazy. 

You whimper against his lips, and Seungcheol feels his cock starting to stiffen in his pants, causing him to hiss and lean his forehead against yours in an effort to calm himself down. Your free hand was tugging at his dress shirt under his jacket, pulling it from his pants already, but he had two bags in his hand and a plan for the evening before he wanted to have you on his cock. 

“You are so fucking perfect. I love you so much.” 

Seungcheol feels your smile against his cheek as he leans to brush his lips against your ear to whisper in your ear. He could feel the chill bumps spreading along your skin. As hard as he was making this for himself, he knew it was just as difficult for you not to beg him  to take you to bed. 

“My forever valentine.” 

Your fingernails almost rip at Seungcheol’s shirt as you feel his hot breath against the shell of your ear, but his words cause your heart to swell. He was cheesy, and you couldn’t help but smile, but he was making you fall in love with him all over again. 

“I love you too, Cheol. I–can we just..." 

He knew what you were going to ask. Smiling, Seungcheol shakes his head, making you whine as he pulls back from you, only stopping to kiss you gently before taking your free hand and guiding you towards the kitchen. 

“Not yet. Patience, darling.” 

You did want to have patience, but as you followed Seungcheol into the kitchen, his fingers falling from yours as he laid his bags on the island, you couldn’t take your eyes off him. You knew how important today was to him. Every day with you was important to him, but holidays, no matter how commercial and silly they really were, were important if they could be spent with you and celebrating you. 

“Here, sit down, baby. Let me grab a couple of things.” 

Seungcheol watches you smile as he turns the swiveling high bar stool towards you. He loved your smile. He loved how easily he could make you happy on days like this. Just little actions would have you smiling and giggling for him, and that had Seuncheol’s chest feeling tight with love. 

Turning you back towards the island, Seungcheol leans to kiss your cheek, listening to your soft laughter as he leaves you watching him. He could hear you shifting behind him, but he kept himself to his task: two wine glasses, a plate, and a fork. No matter how much he wanted to take you to bed right away, he needed to practice the patience he expected you to have. 

Crossing your arms on the counter, you lay your chin on your hand, tilting your head slightly while watching your boyfriend complete his tasks. He was effortlessly handsome, and you could imagine every day of the rest of your life spent like this. He made it as easy as breathing. 

He smiled as he looked at you fondly, seeing you with your head resting on the counter. Seungcheol reaches for the bags, taking out the bottle of wine from the vineyard along with a plain box that he had been insistent on stopping to get on the way home. 

“You are so cute. I can’t stand when you look at me like that.” You smile once again, and Seungcheol’s heart beats quicker. “You make it hard for me to tell you no.” 

“Then why would you ever tell me no, Cheol?” 

Shaking his head, Seungcheol carefully opens the wine, letting out a sigh as he holds one of the delicate wine glasses in his left hand and pours some of the deep red liquid into it. 

“I rarely do. I just ask for patience, like right now. I want to do this in the right order. I got you nice things; I want to enjoy them with you and then enjoy you. Is that so terrible?” 

Biting at your lips, you feel your cheeks burning at Seungcheol’s words and his meaning. He was right. You knew he had spoiled you in so many ways, over and over again. Today was no different. You watched how he held the wine glass in his fingers, and it reminded you of how he held you on so many occasions, as if you’d break, like you were precious. 

“It’s not… I just want you so much. I miss you already.” 

Sliding the glass across the bar to you, Seungcheol grins, tilting his head at your wording. You missed him? He was right in front of you, albeit separated by some quartz and wood, but he knew what you meant; he would still make you say it. 

“Is that so? Sweetheart, I’m right here. How could you possibly–” 

"Cheol, you know what I mean.” 

Cutting off his words, you whine out your own, causing Seungcheol to chuckle as he pours his own glass of the port before putting the bottle to the side, picking up his glass, and bringing it to his nose as he swirls the liquid gently in the glass. 

“Why don’t you just tell me, Princess?" 

It wasn’t a question; rather, it was a request, a command. Licking your lips, your eyes move to your wine glass, your fingers running over the stem as your lips pull up into a small smirk, knowing Seungcheol’s eyes are on you. You know he’s watching as you pout your lips slightly and bat your lashes in a way that drives him crazy. 

“I miss your lips on mine; I miss them on my skin. I want you inside of me, baby.” 

Tipping his glass back against his lips, Seungcheol takes a breath through his nose as the wine hits his tongue when you finally tell him what he wants to hear. He would give you what you wanted in due time. Shaking his head, Seungcheol smiles against the delicate glass, lowering his eyes to meet yours as you take your first sip of the wine, letting out a small happy sound to the taste. 

“And I want to be inside of you, and I will be if you can be patient with me. I have a treat for you. It’s a special day, remember?” 

You smile, lifting your shoulders as you nod in response, watching Seungcheol turn the plain white box towards you. You could smell the sweet dessert, but you weren’t entirely sure what it was. It wasn’t until he lifted the lid that your mouth started to water, and you kicked your feet out of happiness. 

“My favorite…” 

“Mm, only the best for you, darling. The last slice of red velvet cake from your favorite bakery. I called ahead to make sure she put it back for me. Are you happy?” 

Lifting the fork, Seungcheol smiles, watching you nod as he cuts off the tip of the cake before turning the bite towards you and letting you lean in to take it from the fork. Watching your eyes close and listening to the sound of your pleasure from enjoying your favorite dessert causes his smile to widen, with his eyes closing very slightly. It was almost better than sharing it with you, just watching you enjoy it on your own. 

“It’s perfect. You have to try some. It’s perfect with the port. Let me?” 

With your fingers sliding over his, you take the fork from Seungcheol, cutting off the next bite of red velvet cake and offering it to him as he continues to smile at you. It’s only after urging him to take it, the crumb of the cake brushing against his lips, that your boyfriend takes the bite from the fork, his brows furrowing to the sweet taste, and he closes his eyes, savoring it. 

Taking another bite, you hum happily as Seungcheol runs his thumb along his lips to push away any remaining crumbs. Watching you eat, Seungcheol brings his wine to his lips with a smile as he uses his free hand to scroll through his phone. The atmosphere was almost perfect. The two of you in the comfort of your house, your favorite cake in front of you, shared the perfect dessert wine, but the sound of music made you look surprised. 

“Dance with me?” 

Seungcheol’s fingers run along your hand as you drop the fork on the mostly empty plate as Florence & The Machine’s Stand by Me plays quietly from the phone resting on the kitchen counter. You can only nod, letting your boyfriend spin your chair away from the island as he grins at you and your serious expression. Helping you down from the stool, Seungcheol slides his fingers around your waist, pulling you flush against his body as he takes the lead, swaying with you to the rhythm of the music. 

“What is that look for? It’s your favorite…” 

Of course, it was. Of course, he remembered. Leaning your cheek against his shoulder, you smile, closing your eyes as Seungcheol hums along with the words to the song until you finally speak. 

“This is perfect, Cheol. You’ve done too much.” 

Humming as he considers your words, Seungcheol leans his head back so he can look down at you, causing you to look up at him as he does. You watch as he shakes his head, finally disagreeing with you. Gentle fingers caress your cheek before Seungcheol allows his hand to rest against the side of your neck, keeping you grounded as if you might float away from him. 

“Never enough. I love you, and it’s Valentine’s day… I’m just enjoying your company. I’m enjoying that pretty look on your face when you like something.” 

Pouting slightly, you watch as Seungcheol smiles into a laugh, leaning to gently press his lips against your pout. 

“No more pouting, sweetheart. Finish this dance with me….hm?” 

Your lips pull up against Seungcheol’s lips as his fingers trail along your neck and up against the side of your hair. Your skin was starting to feel warm again at his attention. You were wanting him badly again, feeling his body so close to yours even as the sweet words of the song attempted to keep you in the moment. 

Hearing your soft whimper when he pulls back from your lips, Seungcheol bites at his bottom lip as he lets you turn in front of him, his fingers loosely holding yours. With a gentle tug, he pulls you back into his arms as the song ends, and your eyes once again find his desire burning just under the surface. 

Seungcheol smiles, his teeth slowly sliding from his bottom lip as he shakes his head, trying to keep himself in check as you look at him like that. You listen to his gentle sigh as you feel his fingers work the zipper of your dress down your back. The weight of the material causes your dress to slide forward on your shoulders when Seungcheol takes a step back from you to press his fingers under your chin, tilting your head up towards him. 

“Have I told you how beautiful you are today? How much I love you in this dress?” 

Watching you smile, your head tilting, Seungcheol trails his fingers back up your arms to where your dress was precariously resting on your shoulders. With a gentle brush of his fingers, your dress falls to the floor, a discarded pile at your feet as his eyes move over your body. 

“But I love this even more. Shit, baby…” 

Seungcheol groans, moving his hands to your waist before scratching his nails lightly down to your hips to rest his palms over the burgundy lace that covered your body. You were driving him crazy, his cock now throbbing hard in his pants as Seungcheol’s eyes dilated, looking at you in the bodysuit. 

“Do you like it?”

Letting out a breath at your question, Seungcheol shakes his head, trying to come up with the right words, before just taking a step back and lifting his hand to rub his palm over his mouth in awe. Watching you turn in front of him, showing him every angle, your boyfriend can only scoff as you let out a playful laugh, lowering your lashes when you face him once again. That was the last straw. 

“Don’t ask silly questions, sweetheart.” 

You start to defend yourself when you find yourself lifted off your feet. Wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, you smile against Seungcheol’s lips as he groans to the feeling of your body flush with his as he starts the walk towards the bedroom. 

“I remember how to walk, Cheol.” 

“I don’t give a fuck." Your back hits the bed, and you feel the breath get knocked out of your lungs as Seungcheol looks down at you from the side of the bed like you were something to eat. “I wanted you here at my pace." 

Seungcheol grins as your teeth catch your red lips, pulling at them as you try to hide how much you like his words. He knew how much you liked him manhandling you and how much you were going to like everything that was going to happen to you. 

“Mm, I’m here. What are you going to do with me now, sir?" 

Fuck, you were trying to kill him. Shaking his head, Seungcheol chuckles as you tease him with not only your words but also your toes running along the inseam of his dress pants. He groans as you bite your lips, working your foot all that much closer towards his leaking cock, still trapped behind layers of clothing. 

“Exactly what you asked me for in the kitchen, darling.”

Watching Seungcheol’s hands move along his torso to undo his shirt, you laugh quietly at his words, knowing he would keep his promise. Your eyes follow his every move just as they do when your back arches and your legs cross, allowing you to press your thighs together, giving you some much needed relief from the arousal soaking into the lace barely covering your pussy. 

Clothes hit the floor in different corners until Seungcheol finally lets out a breath of relief, wrapping his hand around his cock and stroking himself slowly. With his free hand, he pries your legs open, only to then bring down his palm hard on your inner thigh, granting himself a half moan, half whine from your pretty lips to the pleasurable sting. 

“Keep your legs open. With how you are acting, I might as well have let you grind on a pillow while I was getting undressed, princess. Are you that fucking needy?” 

You can only furrow your brows and nod, your fingers running along the lace covering your breasts and stomach as Seungcheol’s hands press into your thighs and trace your curves along your hips to your ass and back to your thighs once again. 

“Dying to be touched that badly? Are you ruining your present for me? I liked this piece of lingerie, but I’m more than willing," You whined, hearing and feeling the sound of lace ripping at your hips as Seungcheol’s fingers dug into the delicate material. “To replace it. I’m not, however, patient enough to fucking figure out how to get you out of it. I’d rather fuck you while you are in it.” 

Lifting your hips, your eyes move down to where Seungcheol’s fingers slide under the torn lace. You watch as he smirks, digging his fingers into the burgundy material, watching how easily it gives way to his strength before he moves his fingers to the center of your legs, running two fingers over the wet patch that had grown exponentially with his actions. 

“You like that idea, don’t you, my pretty little slut?” 

Seungcheol watches you lick your lips before you nod and rock your hips against his fingers. He knew you like the back of his hand. 

“Yes…fuck. Please, Cheol? I don’t want to wait anymore. I’ve wanted you all day long.” 

You were so greedy, and he loved that about you. He was just as greedy, if not more. Grinning, Seungcheol leans down to run his tongue along the lace as he hooks a finger under it. Soon, your whines turn into full blown moans as Seungcheol runs his knuckle along your folds before circling your leaking entrance slowly with his index finger. 

Pushing into your soft, tight walls, Seungcheol groans against the wet lace, furrowing his brows. You were addictive, from your sounds to your taste. He knew you didn’t want to wait, but he didn’t want to hurt you. He could feel you squeezing around his finger like a vice, and that already had his cock twitching against your thigh at the thought of being inside of you. 

“Please….just —” 

You let out a soft, breathy whine as Seungcheol kisses your thigh, sliding a second finger into you beside his first. You wanted to complain that it wasn’t his cock, but when he rolls his fingers back towards the top of your pussy with perfect precision, the words leave your mind as quickly as they had entered them. 

Seungcheol grunts, running his lips against your soft skin, feeling your slick arousal coating his fingers. He wanted to get his tongue on you. He wanted this lace out of his way, but at the same time, he didn’t want it off of you. Seungcheol hadn’t been lying about wanting to fuck you in it, so there was only one thing to be done. 

“Cheol!” 

A smirk causes Seungcheol’s lips to pull up to one side when you yell his name, feeling your lingerie give way between your legs as he uses his fingers to rip the lace apart. With nothing in his way, Seungcheol slides his fingers back into your warm pussy and runs his tongue between your folds, groaning as he circles the tip around your clit, feeling you buck your hips up against his mouth. 

You feel your stomach tightening as your orgasm starts to take over quickly with Seungcheol’s relentless actions, but it isn’t until a third finger is carefully worked in with the others that you fall over the edge. Your head thrown back against the bedding, you lace your fingers into Seungcheol’s hair, moaning his name as you cum around his fingers, feeling him smile against your folds. 

“Mm…fuck.” 

His words are muffled against your pussy as Seungcheol lets his fingers carefully slip from you, and his tongue replaces them in order to collect as much of your cum as possible. Only when your thighs shake around his head and you whimper his name, begging for him to give you a break, does Seungcheol move his mouth from between your legs, opting to press soft, wet kisses to your thighs. 

“You are trying to kill me.” 

Lips once again, pulling up at your words, Seungcheol shakes his head, nipping at your thigh, causing you to whine at feeling overstimulated once again, tugging at his hair to make him stop. 

“I’m not. I just like watching you tremble like that. You are so fucking pretty. You taste so good. I could eat you out all day long.” 

You wanted to reiterate your words after hearing his. It felt like he was trying to kill you as you felt Seungcheol’s hands sliding along your legs and up your sides as he moved between your legs to lay over you. You found yourself pouting only to hear him chuckle and to feel Seungcheol’s lips press against yours to soften the pout before the kiss turned into something much deeper and filled with longing. 

Seungcheol’s fingers press into your side next to your breast before he groans against your lips, rolling his hips to meet yours and feeling your wet folds against his aching cock. You were warm and wet, and if anyone felt like they were dying right now, it was him. He wanted to give you time to calm down after your first orgasm, but he was also aching to be inside of you after prepping you. 

“Mm, baby, you feel so good. I just…fuck.” 

You could hear the strain in his voice as you felt him rutting between your legs. Your thighs were still trembling; all you could manage were soft moans and begs against Seungcheol’s lips for him to get inside of you. At first, you aren’t sure he understands you until you feel the head of his cock press into you, and his hips slowly move to meet yours. 

The stretch, even after all of his prep, is intense. Seungcheol is a large man, from his arms to his chest and all the way to his cock, now buried inside of you as he stays still for a moment, waiting for you to adjust. Eyes locked on your face, Seungcheol takes a deep breath, feeling your walls tighten around him, causing his head to spin before you take a breath of your own and whisper his name. 

“Pl—please…need it. I want you to. You feel so good, baby. You are so big, Cheol.” 

Everything you said was bad for Seungcheol’s ego. You were always making him feel like he was the most important thing in the world and in the bedroom like he was the only man you would ever need again in your life. That was all he needed and wanted. He wanted you ruined for anyone else. He wanted to leave an imprint of himself inside of you so that you would never forget that you were his, and if you needed a reminder, he would be there every single day of your life to give it to you. 

Lips brushing against your ear, Seungcheol groans your name like a prayer. His pace quickens as he buries his cock deep inside of you. Pulling your leg up to his hip, he hisses at the feeling of your nails scratching at his biceps before thrusting hard, making you cry out in pleasure. 

“Put your leg around me, baby. I want you to cum on my cock.” You nod, letting him help you wrap your leg around his hip so that your foot rests on the top of his ass, the new angle causing you to see stars along with his words. “I fucking love the feeling of your cum on my dick, baby. Give it to me." 

Between Seungcheol’s words and the way his cock was dragging along your walls, you didn’t stand a chance of lasting much longer. The coil winding tighter and tighter snaps as Seungcheol’s teeth rake along the side of your neck, and you see white. 

With your walls gripping his cock like a vice, Seungcheol groans against your neck, his breath caught in his throat as he feels your cum coat his length with every deep thrust into your heavenly pussy. Holding your thigh tightly, Seungcheol leans back to look down at you as he starts to chase his own high. 

"God, I’m so close. Wanna leave you full of me...dripping, so I can fuck it back into you.” 

Your cheeks burn at Seungcheol’s dirty mouth, and your eyes close, causing him to chuckle before you hear his pleasured groan, knowing he truly is getting close. You could feel him getting closer. All the signs that you had grown to know over your time with him were the same. The way he would pull you closer, his hand almost bruising your skin, his hot breath on your jaw, and the way he would bury himself as deep as possible inside of you, intent on filling you fully. 

Seungcheol’s choked groans fill your ears as he falls over the edge. His warm cum spilled into you, only to be fucked back into you with deep, smooth thrusts. Catching his breath, Seungcheol smiles as he feels cum begin to seep from you and between your thighs, knowing he had done exactly what he had promised. 

Leaning back on his hand, Seungcheol groans. He helps you rest your leg back on the bed and off to the side as he continues to slowly push the mixture of his cum and yours back into your tender pussy. He could feel himself softening and how he was overstimulating himself, but it was worth it to hear your soft whimpers and to watch the cum drip from you and around his cock as you ran your fingers between your folds and through the sticky mess, much to his delight. 

“Shit…yes. Does that feel good, baby? You gonna give me one more? Use that cum to get off around me one more time tonight." 

Meeting your eyes, Seungcheol nods along with you as you roll your hips over his cock and your fingers, letting yourself cum one last time. Your eyes closing, and you let out a soft breath and whispered his name as your boyfriend slipped from you with a soft groan. You feel his plush, perfect lips work from your jaw to your lips before the bed feels suddenly empty for a few moments. 

Exhaustion keeps you from searching for Seungcheol as he sits on the edge of the tub, running his fingers under the taps, letting the water come to the perfect temperature. Leaning towards the door every few seconds, he checks to make sure you haven’t moved, only to smile at seeing you breathing softly, your eyes still closed as you rest, waiting for him. 

After a few minutes, you feel your lips once again press against yours, bringing you back to reality as Seungcheol’s arm moves under your back and the other under your legs. He simply grins against your cheek, hearing your soft mutters of how you could walk before he sits you on the toilet and runs his fingers over your hair, watching you finally open your eyes to look up at him. 

“Hi…” 

“Hi yourself. I ran a bath and brought the rest of our wine in here. Does that sound good?” 

Nodding, you smile, causing him to do the same. You let him help you back to your feet once you were ready. Holding on to your arms, Seungcheol helps you into the bath before sliding in behind you and letting you rest your back on his chest, his fingers running along the stem of a wine glass, the other hand resting on your stomach. 

You can’t help but smile as you bring your wine to your lips, taking a sip of the sweet wine before leaning your head back against his shoulder and feeling his lips press to the side of your head. You were exhausted, but this had been the perfect Valentine’s day. Seungcheol was the perfect Valentine, and he was your forever Valentine. 

“I love you, Y/N.” 

Seungcheol’s lips against your ear; his words cause your skin to erupt with chill bumps and for you to laugh into your words as you turn to meet his lips speaking against his. 

“I love you too, Cheol. Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.” 

© onlymingyus - all rights reserved. Reposting/modifying of any fic, or pieces of original writings posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations not allowed

[stevesherdaddynowlover]

waiting for a girl like you [s.h.]

an: hiiii so this is a lil something based off this ask!!! i hope this is kinda what you meant bc this is what came to mind and i just ran with it!! but lmk!! and feel free to send suggestions and i hope you enjoy

summary: steve thinks you’re made for him and that everything has led to you, and thank god for that.

no warnings just fluff and a little cursing!! steve being so horribly terribly down bad

wc: 1.8k

masterlist here!!!

Steve fell in love with you the way they do in the movies. 

One day it was just him and his friends, taking each day as they came and trying to make it to the next. He’d go to work, drive everyone around—mindless shit that kept him occupied. 

And then one day you were there. He remembers when he saw you for the first time vividly, probably because he played that moment on a loop inside his head for weeks. He still does sometimes. Compared to all the crazy shit he did it was something so mundane it made him laugh. He’d been walking to his mailbox when he saw a moving truck across the street and 2 houses down, movers filing in and out and he remembers how he’d turn to go back in, not at all interested in being the neighborhood welcoming committee when he saw you. 

Well it was a flash of pink that caught his eye and had him walking briskly back to his mailbox, letters and bills shoved behind his back so no one saw he’d already gotten his mail. There you were, a pink t-shirt that hugged your body just right, a sliver of skin showing between where the shirt ended and your jean shorts began. You were stunning and if Steve thought you were pretty, he wasn’t prepared for the wide smile you gave him when you noticed him staring, hand going up in a friendly wave before you lifted a box from the back of the truck and went inside. 

He thinks a little part of him fell in love with you right there, your bright smile and soft looking thighs enough to make his heart race and palms sweat. 

But he had no idea what was coming for him with you. 

It was a few days later that he saw you again, this time at the movie theater where you just so happened to work. Steve didn’t know this, he swears. And everything would have been fine if he didn’t have such a big mouth on him. The whole group had decided to go to a late night showing of some movie he hadn't heard of you and what gave him away was the way he stopped and gasped when he saw you behind the snack counter. 

See, Steve had spent the last few days going on and on and on about you to his friends. Granted most of them were kids a few years younger than him, but regardless he still droned on. So when they walk in and see Steve staring slack jawed at a pretty girl, it doesn’t take much to piece two and two together. 

The lot of you are only a few feet away from his new neighbor when one of the kids—Dustin he thinks—opened his mouth and had Steve smacking the back of his head a little too hard to be a joke. 

“So that’s the pretty neighbor girl you’ve been talking about for days?” 

“Henderson, I swear to god.” 

Steve cursed loud enough for you to hear, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath so he didn’t do something stupid. Dustin’s voice carried, unfortunately, and they all heard the way you’d snickered after he spoke. 

He’d basically had to drag his feet up to the counter, a blush working its way from his neck up to the tips of his ears as he tried to avoid eye contact. Everyone else stayed a few feet back, knowing that they’d pushed Steve enough for one night and would hang back and watch him suffer his way through buying snacks. 

“Pretty neighbor girl, huh?” Your voice held a teasing note that had Steve scratching at the back of his neck and sending you an awkward smile. He couldn’t do more than shrug, seeing how pretty you were up close for the first time was doing little to help with the embarrassment he was feeling. 

His brain was begging him to say something, anything! He wasn’t a stranger to girls, to charming them, but with you standing in front of him it was like his vocabulary had been wiped clean. 

He opened his mouth but nothing was coming out, brain on overdrive and yet, nothing! 

Even though he wasn’t saying anything, just kind of going back and forth between staring at you and staring at the popcorn machine behind your head, he watched the way your face stayed amused, intrigued by him almost. Your smile never faltered and your eyes seemed to be light as you looked at him. 

“I love a good staring contest but did you wanna order anything?” 

His jaw clenched at the laughs coming from behind him, smile grim as he ordered way too much junk, spent even more, and practically threw the candy at their heads behind him. 

Once he’d turned around he didn’t look back, embarrassment washing over him from head to toe. He felt nauseous for many reasons. One, you were fucking gorgeous. The type of pretty that he felt in his fingertips and that made his chest hurt. Two, he’d just made a complete and utter ass of himself in front of you and he wouldn’t be surprised if you never looked his way again. And three, he’d al—

“See you around, pretty neighbor boy.” 

His feet froze, body turning slightly to meet your gaze and he thanked god everyone else was far enough ahead that they hadn’t heard you. When he looked back you were perched behind the counter, leaning forward with your chin in your palm and a twizzler in your mouth, showing your teeth to him when you bit down and threw him a wink. 

Looking back he thinks—no he knows that he was fully in love with you then. And he had a sudden craving for twizzlers. 

———

It’s been almost a year and a half since that day at the movie theater—the best year and half— and as Steve watches you now, his chest feels warm and light. You’re laying on his bed in his favorite blue t-shirt and a pair of ankle socks, on your stomach with your legs bent at the knees, feet crossed and swaying in the air while you write in your journal. You’ve been going at it for almost an hour now and Steve is in his desk chair a few feet away, everything else forgotten as he watches you. 

He smiles to himself at the way you frown in concentration, staring down the words in front of you hard as if you’re writing the nation’s top secrets, and maybe you are. He sees the way you pause every few minutes to shake out your wrist where it’s getting sore from scribbling away furiously and he wants to come over and kiss it gently, kissing away the furrow between your brows too. 

The both of you kind of just fell together after that night at the movies. You’d see each other outside—Steve took to getting the mail every day now—passing each other in the mall or sending each other small smiles when Steve would come in for a movie, alone. And he’d be there once or twice a week after he found out you worked there. 

It went from seeing each other every few days to somehow being in the same places at the same time. He’s not sure if it was fate or coincidence or just pure luck, but he was grateful all the same. 

Bumping into each other turned into a date and one date turned into two and now you didn’t go without seeing each other for more than 24 hours. Always on the other's hip or you in his lap or him climbing through your window late at night. You’d become almost obsessed with each other and the group had welcomed you with open arms. You fit in beautifully and that mattered to Steve more than he’d ever admit to those little assholes. 

You must have felt him staring because he notices when you’re peeking at him through the corner of your eyes, pen tucked between your lips as you turn your head to look at him. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing something productive over there?” 

“Oh, I think I am.” He’s smug when you roll your eyes at him, amusement written all over your face. You always pretend like he gets on your nerves but he knows better, sees the way your lips quirk and your cheeks tint. He knows you love it, knows you love him. 

“What am I gonna do with you, Harrington?” 

“Marry me, I hope.” 

“Not if you don’t let me finish this, I won’t!” 

It’s not the first time he’s brought this up, and it certainly won’t be the last. He loves the way your eyes widen every time, a gasp falling from your lips as you curse at him, telling him to shut up. He might love to tease you with it but he’s never been more sure. Yes, you’re both young and while he’d love to marry you right here and now, he’ll wait. He’d wait until hell froze over for you, he thinks. 

The thing is Steve’s had relationships before, quite a few. None as serious as his relationship with Nancy, not until you. But he wouldn’t call any small relationship or fling he’s had meaningless, they were far from it. They all had a part in shaping him, helping him grow into who he was today. Was he proud of all of them? No. Proud of some of the things he’d done in the past? No. 

But those people, those things—even the shitty things he regrets—made him who he is. And that guy you love. They changed him, for better or worse, to be the Steve Harrington he is today. The Steve that’s watching you blush on his bed that you spend more time in than your own. The guy that has you. You, who’s wearing his initial on a chain around your neck proudly. 

He had to spend a lot of time working on himself, bettering himself even when it didn’t feel worth it at the time. But it’s all worth it now. Every breakup and makeup and loss and ass beating he took is all worth it when he looks at you. 

As cheesy and cliche at it sounds, he thinks you were like the missing piece to his life. You swooped it and everything fell into place and suddenly he wasn’t so worried about shit that didn’t matter and was focused on things that mattered like being around people he loved and caring for those people.

He knew as soon as he saw you that you’d been worth the wait, worth the shitty few years he’d endured and put others through. You made him good, whole. 

“Love you, ya know?” You always asked him, made sure he felt your love and support. He thinks he’d be lost without you. Fuck he knows he would. It’s nice to know someone’s in your corner unconditionally. It’s a feeling he’s still getting used to but will cherish forever. 

“Love you back, baby.” 

[houseofanticipation]

It's impossible to count the number of times you've imagined this moment. Late at night, under the covers; in the bathtub, and the shower; on slow days at the bookstore, the summer before senior year; during Mr. Madrigal's long, droning lectures. You fantasized so vividly you could see each scene on the back of your eyelids, hear each sound between breaths. Many a time your hand migrated southward, almost of its own volition. If you were in public, you'd hold it against your crotch, pressing it into yourself with the force of your clenched thighs. In private, you'd be far less subtle.

In all those fantasies, you never imagined it would look quite like this.

The hallway smells like cigarettes and industrial cleaner. The haphazardly patterned carpet is coming up at the edges. The yellow tube light overhead might be attempting morse code, the way it flickers. Paint peels from the door in front of you, and one of the metal digits in the room number has been replaced with one that doesn't quite match: room 233. You raise your hand, your knuckles inches from the door, and then you pause. You're not sure if you can go through with this.

Before you can decide, the door opens anyway.

You started posting pictures in your first year of college. It was just your tits at first. You'd been quietly following those subreddits and tumblr blogs for a while, and you thought it would be a bit of fun, a little thrill. You didn't expect the response you got: dozens of people telling you how much they'd enjoyed it, asking for more. So you posted more, and the people asked for different things. Post your ass. Post your cunt. Post your fingers in your cunt. Post audio of you moaning as you came. The more you revealed of yourself, the more attention you got, and the more attention you got, the more you wanted to show. People wanted to send you tips, so you set up a Cash App address. You never got much, a few dollars here and there, but it was nice to get a free coffee now and then.

And somewhere along the way, apparently, you let slip that you were a virgin.

The message came late last semester, from a Cash App user whose name was just a string of numbers. It read, "I will buy your virginity for $100,000. So you know I'm serious, here is $7000 for you to keep, deal or no deal. Let me know if interested."

It was like one of those hypotheticals you talk about with your friends at the dinner table. Would you work nonstop for a year if it meant you never had to work again? Would you cut off your hand if it meant you never had to die? Would you let a stranger from the internet take your virginity for a hundred thousand dollars? You thought about it for weeks. The 7 thousand in itself was a windfall you never could have imagined. It was the new laptop you needed, four times over. It was a large iced coffee ever day for three and a half years. After graduation, if you were smart, it could be your living expenses for the better part of a year. But a hundred thousand might be a house, or a car, or a few years of freedom to pursue your goals. And when you asked how you could trust him to pay when he'd gotten what he wanted, he told you he'd be happy to pay up front.

So here you are, in a dingy hotel, face to face with the broad-shouldered, potbellied older man in front of you. "I saw you through the peephole," he says. There's something impish about him. Maybe it's the toothy grin, or the way his ears stick out from his head, or the obvious glee in his voice as he looks you up and down. "My, you're much better in person. Come in! You got the money then?"

You nod. You didn't leave the Lyft until it was there in your account.

"Good," he says, throwing the dead bolt. "Let's get to it then, shall we?"

"What should...I mean, how do you want to..." you feel yourself talking strangely. Breathing in the wrong places, words tumbling over each other. "Maybe we should...talk first? Get to know each other?"

"No need for that," says the man matter-of-factly, unbuttoning his shirt. His chest is smooth, his skin a mottled pink. He waves a hand at your body. "Go ahead and get those off."

Back in high school, one of your recurring fantasies involved Jason Meier having his way with you in the back of that beat up convertible he used to drive. That old thing used to get you so wet. It was a piece of junk, but something about the exposure of it...In the fantasy, he's driven you out to some secluded spot outside of town. Cicadas drone all around. The night sky shines bright with stars. He cups your face with one hand, strokes your cheek with his thumb, asks you if this is your first time. He kisses the side of your mouth, then your jaw, then below your ear, then down your neck. As his hands undo the top button of your blouse, he tells you he'll be gentle.

The man is watching you expectantly. With his shirt on, he looked like a portly old man. Without it you can see that every inch of that stocky build is hard muscle. That pink skin strains against his mass, muscle rippling beneath it as he moves. "What are you waiting for?"

Your legs tremble. Your knees feel like they're about to buckle. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears. Your body has never done this before. You didn't know you could feel this kind of fear, and yet there's nothing to fight, nowhere to flee. You agreed to this. You decided this was what you wanted. Slowly, you pull your shirt over head.

He groans in the back of his throat, a long, growly sound. His face is a mask of focus, the impish joviality gone, his eyes fixated on your breasts. "And the rest."

You kick off your shoes, pull off your socks. An inch at a time, you slide your shorts and panties over your ass, down your legs, past your trembling knees. You step out of them, and now you're completely exposed. You cross your arms over your chest, then lower them when he grunts disapproval. Almost urgently, he unbuttons his pants, pulls out a long, rigid cock, and begins to stroke himself.

You didn't discover internet porn until your senior year, and before then the only penises you'd seen were a few drawings in your health textbook. In the fantasy, you unbutton Jason Meier's pants and fig. 7.5, "The penis becomes engorged when in state of arousal," pops out of his underwear. You take it in your hands, feeling the weight of it, the girth, and look up into those beautiful brown eyes of his.

This cock is much...realer. It has bounce, texture, even a sound as his hand slides up and down its length. It's longer than the one in that old fantasy, too, and it leans slightly to the left. For years you've wondered what it would be like to see a cock in person, and now that you're here it terrifies you.

"Come here," says the man, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Get on your knees."

You falter. "You didn't...I mean, we didn't agree to that."

"I bought your virginity," says the man. "You ever suck cock before?"

You shake your head.

"Then your mouth is just as much a virgin as your cunt. Get down here."

It's almost a relief to get off your legs, the way they've been threatening to give out. Close up, you can see the purples and blues of the veins under his skin. The head of his cock pulses with anticipation as your lips part, your tongue extends...

You don't think you can do this.

Then his hand is on the back of your head.

You always imagined Jason Meier whimpering as you took him into your mouth. You were never quite able to picture what he would feel like between your lips, on your tongue; the movie camera of your imagination always panned up at that point, to focus on his face. He would let his head fall back in pleasure, eyebrows knit with sensation, lips slightly parted. Now, though, there's no camera to pan. You are here. This is real. And his powerful hand is pushing your mouth onto his cock.

A sound you can't control comes out of you. Your back arches, your hands flail, and then by pure instinct they're on his belly, pushing against him, away from him. Spit runs down your chin, and you wipe it away with the back of your hand. "I'm sorry," you say, looking anywhere but at his face. "I'm sorry, I can't, I thought I could do this but I can't."

There's a horrible darkness in his voice. "I already gave you the money."

"I know, I'll give it back, I'm sorry." The words trip over each other on the way out of your mouth. "I'm really sorry, I shouldn't have, I just, I thought I could..."

His hand is on the back of your head again, and this time his fingers are curled tight into your hair. He jerks your head back, forcing you to look at him, and his eyes are cold and predatory. "I'm not interested in returning what's already bought and paid for." He jams himself back into your mouth.

You always imagined yourself savoring it, taking your time to explore every inch of Jason's length with your tongue, but there's no time for that now. The veiny, throbbing thing in your mouth bypasses your tongue entirely, forcing past your uvula. You gag, then gag again. Your stomach churns and you convulse as your body tries to remove the foreign object, but the man just pushes harder. Your eyes water as he slides deeper, deeper, making your throat bulge, your limbs spasm. As his balls touch your chin, you close your eyes and try to relax your throat.

He holds you like that. You gag for a third time, and thick saliva explodes through the gaps around his cock, dripping down your chin and collecting in a long, dangling rope. Tears roll down your cheeks as you try to acclimatize to the feeling, try to convince your body that nothing is wrong. You think you've got it, and then he moves slightly, and you're gagging again. He groans, grips your head tighter, and in the back of your throat you feel his cock swell slightly. He likes it when you gag for him, says a voice in the back of your mind. The motion is pleasurable for him.

You've got another problem rearing its head. You can't breathe. It was fine at first, but the man shows no interest in freeing up your airways, and in all the gagging and crying, you haven't exactly been conserving your oxygen. You pat his leg, trying to signal to him, but all he does is clap you on the side of the head. Your ear rings, you gag again, and his cock throbs. Black walls are closing in on your vision. The effort of struggling against him becomes too much, and your arms fall to your sides. Your eyelids flutter. You're going to pass out. You're going to pass out, and then what will he do to you?

But just before the world fades to black, he pulls your head back again. You feel every inch of his cock as it slides out of your throat. He lifts your face, and your eyes struggle to focus on his as you take lungful after lungful of glorious air. Drool spills across your lips, but you don't care. You're alive.

The man slaps you hard, leaving a stinging impression of his palm on your cheek. You whimper. Two of his fingers are in your mouth, pushing on the back of your tongue. Not knowing exactly why, you close your lips around them and shut your eyes.

"That's better," he says.

The first time you saw a male sex toy in use was in an ad before a porn video you were watching. You were taken aback by the way the performer had pounded it over his cock, barely more than an extension of his hand. You're reminded of that image as he parts your lips again, and the rape of your throat begins in earnest.

You haven't thought about Jason Meier in years, but at this moment he's the only thing keeping you sane. As your face rams up and down, up and down, you retreat to that beat up convertible, and Jason's soft, thoughtful face. As the man tightens his grip, Jason runs his fingers through your hair. As the man grunts and growls with pleasure, Jason coos your name. With each stroke of his cock down your throat, each spasm of your body, you focus on a different part of Jason's body: his large hands, his long fingers, his shoulders, his jawline, his liquid brown eyes. By the time the man finally releases your hair, you can barely feel your body any more. The convertible is far more real than the squeaky motel bed. The hands on your body are Jason's, soft and tender.

He climbs over the center console straddling you. You lock lips, feel your tongues in each other's mouths, kiss so deeply that it feels as though you share the same breath. He pulls the lever to lay your seat back, and then he's over you, on top of you, lifting your skirt, pulling your panties to the side.

This is the part where, in the old days, you would have slipped a finger or two inside yourself. But this time you don't have to. This time you can feel him inside you, really feel him, and he fills you up like your fingers never could. There's some pain—they told you there'd be pain, didn't they, your first time—but it falls away to the thrill, the lust, the pleasure. Jason whimpers as he slides into you, deeper, deeper, and you moan into each other's mouths as his pelvis meets yours. You take a moment to savor it, breathing each other in, and then he begins to thrust.

You feel drunk. It's exactly like you always imagined it, and somehow better than you could ever have expected. Each movement of his hips brings another sensation: a spasm in the arches of your feet, a hitch in your breath, a churning, swirling need in the depths of your abdomen. Deeper you tell him, harder, and he obliges, pulling you into him, and him into you.

You can feel the orgasm building, but it isn't like any you've had before. Every time you've ever cum, you've been in control. This time, Jason is in control. Jason decides when you cum, how you cum. One hand supports his weight as he leans over you, and the other slides up your belly. You used to watch those hands obsessively. The way he held a pencil, the way he bit his knuckles when he was thinking. Now that hand slides up, caresses your breast. Now that thumb brushes your hair out of your face. Now those fingers close around your throat.

You know you're safe with Jason, but the pressure on your throat triggers some animal fear response in you. You try to squirm away, but his arm is strong, and his hand his firm. Your hands go to his wrist. "I don't like that, stop." He just smiles. It isn't his usual sweet smile, either. This one is cruel. Predatory.

Your face feels tight. Your eyes bulge. You're beginning to panic for real now. "Jason, seriously, stop!" You beat at his arm with your fists, but he easily takes both your wrists in one hand and pins them over your head. You try to kick at him, but he's already past your defenses, between your legs, pushing them uselessly apart. His grip tightens, his rhythm increases, his cock swells inside you. He's getting off on this.

All at once you're back in the hotel room. The man's sweaty red face is inches away from your own, and the lust in his eyes is obvious. His cock seems to push deeper with every thrust, and the horrible thing is that the orgasm is still coming. It's close now, you can feel it, and it's like he knows exactly how to bring it out. You feel floaty, tingly, and that awful pleasure is welling up inside you, a pot about to boil over...

"That's right," he says, his eyes locked on yours. "That's what I was waiting for. That perfect mix of...pleasure...and...fear." He punctuates each of these last three words with a long, deep thrust, and it's these that send the orgasm spilling over. A choked moan pushes itself out of you as your back arches, your toes curl, your legs wrap involuntarily around his waist, tears roll down your cheeks. That floaty feeling has combined with the orgasm to create something like how you imagine heroin must feel; a wave of mind numbing, soul deadening ecstasy. Your insides feel hot, and at first you think that must just be what it feels like when you cum from sex, but then you see the look on his face and realize that he's cumming too. His grip relaxes and he pounds away a few more times at your now-limp body. You stare at the ceiling as he moans, buries his face between your tits, pumps round after round of his warm, thick cum into your cunt, your womb. After one final push he collapses onto you, his cock still inside you, his bulk crushing you into the bed. You don't move.

He strokes your cheek. Fondles your nipple. Kisses your neck. Then he kisses your mouth, his tongue pushing your lips open, his breath like damp earth. You barely see him.

It must be almost ten minutes before he finally gets up, his limp cock sliding out of you at last. You can feel his cum dripping from your cunt as he puts on his underwear, then pants, then shirt, then shoes. "The room is paid for the night," he says with his hand on the door handle. "Thank you for struggling. Taking someone's virtue is so much better when you actually get to take it.

You don't respond.

You don't know how long you lie there, motionless, dripping cum. Oddly, the man who just raped you isn't the one burned onto your mind's eye. Try as you might to return to that sweet teenage fantasy, all you can see is Jason Meier as he held his hand to your throat, and that cruel, predatory smile on his face.

[1800titz]

COME TOUCH ME TOO | Best friend’s dad

age gap. 11.2K on patreon

second part to LIQUID SMOOTH

You’d catch him over the sink sometimes. Or the stove. At the dinette, shirtless. Big bear, you thought, still only half-awake (starving), staring at his skin, swathed in ink that traversed limb, to torso, to limb. You’d catch the smattering of dark hair pooling over his sternum, and the hair beneath his navel, darker, more wiry, seeping into the band of his pajama pants. And later, you’d wonder if it was the substructure— torn out from you— that you were chasing (the surfeited rift between your ages, the sage wisdom you lacked), or if it was just the shape of him, the way he fit into your life, the subtle domesticity of a morning. The pantomime of a distant daydream. (Pretending this was your life you were living, and not taking a page from someone else’s.)

preview

The bar you’re at feels congested. Sticky, shoulders brushing shoulders, feet bumping feet, and the music is loud enough that you feel it droning along the skin of your bones. Past max-capacity; something you anticipated. Accepted on a Friday night— no sort of discomfort that couldn’t be waterlogged into an unconcerned bliss with enough alcohol. 

And that’s what it started as. 

One shot to ease the restless hypervigilance (when you shuffled in, sliding between clusters of bodies), that burned at the back of your throat, heat flaring across your crinkling sinuses. Then, a second, that radiated warmth along your chest, under your skin, that settled as a weightless feeling beneath the soles of your feet. Loosened the arc of your shoulders. 

(You never buy your own drinks.)

A third, cupped from a stranger’s fingers, with bright, powder blue eyes that lingered on your throat, the line of your jaw when you tipped your head back. Inkpools stuck to your tongue when you smeared it out across your lips, the bridge of your nose rucking. He gave you a wolfish, glimmering grin and told you what a pretty thing you are.

(And you think, staring up at him through the misting crest of intoxicant smog, he’s too young. Feels like a boy— one you can’t re-mold even in the haze of alcohol— in the absence of crows’ feet and shallow smile lines, the glinting, tawdry rhinestone stuck to his incisor. Skin speckled with ink that resembles zealous impulse rather than an aged, carefully-crafted tapestry. You doubt there’s any worthwhile story behind the dice in the nook of his elbow; RICH across the front, C and H tipped perfectly on their southern edges to show the S and K that could fill the word out, instead.)

(You can’t even pretend.)

You seldom find regret in the sea of a familiar gyre (the world spinning, and you, finally, spinning with it), but the spindrift crashes across in a misty fog of discomfort. The riptide lures you out to swallow you whole. You’re not sure when the euphoria mutates into anxiety— maybe somewhere along the fourth and the fifth— but it coagulates in your esophagus, in your stomach. Cakes in the warm, soft spot under your ribcage, until your bones feel like they’re wobbling with the pulse of your heart. Vibrating.

You showed up with a coworker. Admittedly, one you didn’t know too well, to a bar you haven’t been to before. But going out is going out, and a bar is a bar. You don’t need a babysitter, you don’t need to know her well, and you don’t need to scope the the pub, but—

Last you saw her, she was propped against the corner of the bar, and now, as you sweep your bleary gaze over the mass, she’s nowhere in sight. You’re alone. You’re alone, and the world is spinning, screaming, chattering over the pulsing base, and you feel like you can’t keep up. 

When you swallow, it lodges in your throat. You feel like you can’t breathe, nearly tripping over your own feet, brushing between tangled musculature, limbs like gnarled, warm roots for you stumble over. And you feel like you’re trying to part the sea to make room for your clumsy steps. Like you’re trying to move mountains. 

By the time you make it outside, your lungs are aching, and your shoulders are quaking. You don’t know where it’s coming from— what it is— but it feels like a flame licking its way up under your dermis, and you want to shed your skin off the bone. The gulp of air you take is welcome. Cold. Wet. 

It’s raining. 

Pouring. The gust drenches your bare legs in spittle off the sky, even under the awning. Helplessly, you pat around for your phone. 

And you don’t know what possesses you. You don’t know if it’s a clumsy swipe of your thumb across the glowing screen, or a cruel form of divine intervention, when you scroll and stutter along his contact. It’s a number you should’ve deleted. Haven’t pressed in months. 

You flung yourself out of orbit, and seeing his name feels like you’re a piece of star-shed that’s slipped too close— a hair from homecoming. It feels like the inevitable, crushing weight of gravity snagging you into the miserable ouroboros you’ve spent every evening running from. A tidal wave, reborn, swallowing you whole. 

And you know the repercussions— the potential there. The consequences of sticking wet fingers into electrical sockets, but you tell yourself, he won’t pick up. It’s too late. You’re too late. Too—

Your finger lingers. 

You don’t know what would be worse. Abandonment in another shape, or hearing his voice on the other end of the line. 

You call him. 

You regret it a split-second too late, staring down at the screen dialing. When you press the phone to your ear, with the rain spitting, the thrum of the bass behind the door— your heart rattling in your ears, your head spinning—

You barely hear the three rings before the line clicks. It’s quiet. 

And then—

“Hello?”

You suck in a gust of air. You expected his voice to hurt. To ache— you anticipated, maybe, a lot of things, with variegated hypotheticals spelled out in misty shapes through hours spent staring at your ceiling. 

But every chimera crumbles when the words stick to the back of your throat. Part of it is the slurry in your veins, the hard liquor, the way it’s all kicked in, all at once. And part of it is the realization that, despite the biramous conjectures you’ve crafted— the what if’s— it’s the heavy thought that all roads lead to this.

He sounds hoarse. Mean with sleep.

“Um. Hi.” The words sound garbled, like you’re underwater. Tinny, wet, strained. 

Eager in the shape of unrequited pining; a mangled fruition of all the nights you’d spent, thumb hovering over the call button, wondering if he’d pick up on the other end of the line, stockpiling the heap of broken wishes. The ones you cradled in your hands like jagged fractures of your rib bones, cracked from how hard your heart was pounding. 

(If only he could see the lovelorn tar in your marrow, leaking out in a rotting treacle and pooling in the crevice of your love-line; tragic, broken down a long gap right under the wedge between your pinky and ring finger.) 

The awning does a poor job of covering your toes, and they soak in the torrent that spumes from the midnight aether, shimmering against the wet asphalt. Silly, little girl— woman, nowadays— one ear corked with your forefinger to stifle the downpour spitting from the same sky you’d crane your neck and spill orisons at, the other fisting at your phone like a lifeline. Dangling onto the thread off this unspooled hope. 

You sound ditzy. Soporific. Lost. You wonder if he picks up on it on the other end of the line. “Are you, um. Are you busy?” 

The speaker crackles.

Finally, he rasps from the other end of the line— a thunderclap, like a gunshot, “You’re not callin’ me at one in the morning to ask me if I’m busy.” 

“I—“ the words stick to the back of your throat. 

Something seals up in your lungs with the breath you try to take. 

Bitter recrudesce, a reminder when it wakes back up in the slotted teeth of your heart— an ache, alleviated in his absence after time, that throbs at the sound of his voice. Your jaw quakes on what you want to confess, snarled in your throat. I love you— Please— I’ve loved you since—

Your lip wobbles. Teeth clack, staring at the wet asphalt. “Uh. Sorry.”

You settle for a middle ground— some compromise in the clouded welter of your docket— something you’ve been meaning to say for months.

(Sorry for being a silly, little girl that fell in love with you.)

You’re met with a beat of silence that eats into your marrow. Has your guts twisting, chest tight. Then, (solace) a sigh— surly— oozes across the crackling speaker. 

“Where are you?” 

The question reminds you why you called in the first place. That you’re sopping up dirty rainwater with your boots on the outskirts of town, outside some seedy bar you came to, to drown your demons (him) in burnt amber. A thunderbolt ripples across the pitch aether, zagging electric chalky across the swollen plumes. All at once, you…

Crumble. 

“I’m, um. Ah…” your chin quivers. You nod, “I’m here. At a, um. At a bar. Outside a bar.”

“Which bar? Who are you with?” 

The slew of questions nearly makes you laugh. 

The concern, there, throttles you and the tension in your shoulders like you expected anything less. You did. And you would laugh if hearing his voice, for the first time in months, wasn’t a sobering maelstrom on your psyche. Despite the way your tongue feels sticky, and useless, like it's caught on the roof of your mouth, you clear your throat.

“Um. It’s called, ah— Southbound,” your eyes slip shut. The wobble at your feet clicks in your knees. “I came with a— with a coworker. But I can’t find her. And I just— sorry. Fuck. Sorry. I got, um. I’m… sorry.”

You set your teeth and stare down at the rainwater speckling the toes of your boots. Gusting against your bare legs, and you don’t realize you’ve been hanging onto the phone with both hands cupped, like a lifeline, until his voice comes through.

“Y’alright?”

He sounds a little more awake. No doubt at the quiver in your tone. The way you can’t cohesively suture the words together. You roll forward on your toes. It’s a miscalculated motion on your part, because you nearly topple forward. 

“No. Yeah. M’really— um. I’m a little, um. Drunk. I think. So—“ you slur. Take a breath. “No. I don’t—“

The words come out small. Tired. There’s a crack in your voice, like you’re on the edge of keeling over the precipice. You feel it in the burn at the back of your eyes, raw in your sinuses, when you admit, softly, “…I wanna go home.”

He doesn’t say anything. You take another breath, and feel it against the enamel of your teeth. Expect the sear of ice. Your fingers feel strained on your phone. Crushing. Taut. You think about his next words before he says them. Before the surly crackle from the other end of the line hits you, imagine it— call an uber. 

I’ll call you an uber, at best. At worst…

You swallow. The line crackles again.

“Send me your location. I’m coming to get you.”

[literaila]

were there any occurrences back in the day where gojo and reader almost kissed?

“i’m not helping you with this.”

gojo is sprawled across the bleachers, his limbs way too long, his hair getting all over your notebook. “please,” he repeats, for the fifth time, “he’s going to kill me if i turn it in late again.”

“maybe go ask one of your friends,” you suggest, idly, not even bothering to pull on the white mop that is currently smudging your neat writing. “oh wait. you can’t.”

there’s a smirk on your face because you quite like it when gojo begs

“is this another—“

“‘cause you don’t have any.”

two otherworldly eyes meet yours. gojo glances up at you with a sort of irritation you rarely get to see on him. “how many times are you going to make that joke?” he asks, grumbling. “it’s getting old.”

you grin. “not to me.”

and then you push him away and he sighs as he lays on the bench, one leg propped in front of you, the other folded almost underneath his torso.

“can you go now? i actually need to finish my assignment.”

gojo makes another pathetic noise. “yaga said no more missions until i turn it in, though,” he pokes you with a shoe. “how am i supposed to buy more pocky if i can’t leave school grounds?”

“bribe suguru to buy some for you.”

“that doesn’t work anymore.”

you raise a brow, pushing his foot away. “what’d you do?”

“i didn’t do anything,” he pouts at you, leaning up. “who ever said a verbal contract was binding?”

“mm… the civil code, i think.”

gojo scoffs. “well, i’m still not paying him.”

“what a shame,” you sigh, abandoning your paperwork—how are you supposed to focus with his syrupy voice droning on, anyway? “i guess the next week will be filled with your sugar withdrawals.”

“or…” gojo sits up, smiling at you—his most irritating one, of course, like he knows some secret. “you could help me with this assignment.”

“i’m not cheating for you.”

“‘help,’” he repeats, “do you know what ‘help’ is?”

“your version of help is having me give you all of the answers and then purposefully misspelling some words so yaga won’t notice.”

“do you think i’m illiterate?” gojo asks, mock hurt.

you laugh. “aren’t you?”

he frowns. “now you have to help me.”

“go ask geto, or shoko, or literally anyone else. why am i your first choice whenever you want to annoy someone?”

you see his eyelashes flutter from the tips of his glasses. “because you have the best reactions,” he answers, slyly.

you look away, shaking your head.

“and you’re the smartest. and meanest. i like it when you’re mean to me.”

you look back over, scoffing. “yeah, i know,” you slide over, just a bit. “you freak.”

who said kissing ass never worked?

you really need to work on setting some boundaries with him. or your own idiocy. maybe you should ask shoko if you got a concussion last time you sparred with nanami.

“what’s the assignment?” you ask, making sure not to look at gojo’s face.

he grins, leaning down anyway. as if he doesn’t know what you’re doing. as if he’s not aware that his grins are your breaking point—that they’ll either push you further away or draw you in so close that you can taste his breath.

as if he can’t feel it too.

“you’re going to help me?” he asks, far too proud. “really?”

“you’re buying me lunch next time we have a mission together,” you tell him. “and dinner.”

“am i?”

you look up at him, eyes sharp, mouth ready to—

but he’s right there, and gojo doesn’t know a single thing about personal space.

and you thought that you were used to this. used to feeling like you can see his eyes, even with his blacked out shades. used to the glimmering edges of his teeth, and the smooth shine to his skin.

used to him and his words and..

god damn it. why does he have to make everything so difficult?

and really, it’s not your fault when you lean forward a little bit—because there’s a slight breeze and you were pushed. because you just lost your balance for a second and you just need to straight out again.

and it’s not even you leaning in at all. it’s gojo—it’s always gojo. it’s always satoru making the wrong moves and pushing these things too far, and it’s not your fault that his lips are pink and your eyes are drawn to them, or that everything about him is so hard and soft and—

you flinch away when a bird sings, or when the wind changes, or when you finally catch on to the tone of your own thoughts.

you lean back again, hating yourself for every moment that you didn’t before.

“i—“ you clear your throat. “you are. buying me things, i mean. you are.”

gojo swallows. “okay.”

“okay.”

he doesn’t look at you and you don’t look at him. the two of you pause for a moment, the silence entirely too loud.

“okay,” you repeat. “what’s it about, again?”

[bunnywritesjunk]

My King

Series summary: Your parents signed you up for an Alpha Omega Match company when you were eighteen. It took years for them to find your match, but you meet the giant austrian man. Will he be a good partner?

Chapter summary: You and König attend a holiday party.

Pairing: König x Fem Reader

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics (Never use this abbreviation without the slashes it is an indigenous slur) 18+ MDNI, vague racism, heat (omega verse)

Word count: 3.1k

Genre: Mostly Fluff a little angst here and there. Smut.

A/n: Omg....Hi guys......it's me.....hey.......I am alive. This chapter is defiantly geared more towards my poc readers. Theres some angst that i'll revisit in a later chapter. Some comments are made. You'll see. Anyways, I can't promise I will be posting super consistently but I will definatly try to post more then I have been.

Previous Chapter

Chapter Five:

Your editor droned on about deadlines and writing engines as you ate some soup König got you earlier. You can hear the desperation through the computer screen. You'd be lying if you said you were listening. They'll get the pages when they get them, with you, no money. König sat on the couch waiting for your meeting to be done. 

“I'll get the next chapter done, Frankie.” You said.

“You promise?” He was almost teary-eyed.

“Yes, I promise.” 

You hung up and closed your laptop while sighing. You got up and walked over to your giant Alpha. You outstretched his arm, inviting you to cuddle. You obliged plopping yourself on his lap and resting your head on his chest. The November winds were seeping into the atmosphere slowly. You didn't mind. That meant the holidays were coming. 

“The 141 is having an early holiday party. Everyone goes on leave one week into December, so we celebrate early. Would you like to go with me, Schatz?” 

“Oh yes, that sounds lovely. When is it?” You asked delightedly.

“This weekend. It's a dressy event.” 

The weekend was in four days. You haven't done your hair or dressed up in a while. You'd want a new dress for this especially with the cold, but you supposed you could make something work. As for your hair, it was time to hit up a YouTube tutorial for some ideas. König seemed to sense your internal struggle. 

“We can go shopping today, I need a button-down shirt.” 

“You don't have a button-down?” You asked a little amused. 

“Never needed one.” 

“Huh, well I also want to get my hair done. But, I've never been to a stylist here.” You started searching for braiders in the area, and to your surprise, there were some. 

The prices were comparable to ones in the US so that gave you some comfort. König looked over your shoulder browsing the different styles along with you. Some he has seen and others he hasn't. He chimed in with some styles he thought would look cute on you every so often. 

“Oh, she has an appointment available tomorrow.”

“Book it, I'll take you.” 

“I can take myself it's alright.”

“Nein. I'll take you.”

You grumbled a bit at his stubbornness but gave in. You booked the appointment and placed your deposit. 

“How much is it?” König asked.

“Um, all together with the deposit, one hundred fifty euros. I was also gonna tip but I forgot Europe doesn't do that.” 

König replied with a 'hmm' and tapped away on his phone. Your phone dinged and you checked the notification. 

'König has sent you € 150,00' 

“Kö, You don't have to pay for this.”

“Why shouldn't I? You are mine, You want it, I like it when you look beautiful, so I pay.” He said simply.

König had a habit of paying for everything. You liked it but it made you a little uncomfortable. This wasn't how you'd be treated back in the States. Whenever you mentioned it, König would always rant about how American men were cheap and lazy. He also would mention how he has more money than he needs so spending it on you is fun. König loves to see your little face light up whenever he buys you something sweet, or a piece of jewelry you were looking at. He told you to get dressed for the shopping trip and you obliged, making sure you were bundled up for the cold weather. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The two of you opted to shop for König's clothes first. Finding clothing that fits him nicely is a challenge with how tall and muscular he is. There were some stores specifically made for big and tall men that you went into first. One store only had bright floral patterned shirts and loosely fitting dress pants. Neither you nor your Alpha liked that. The next one had some nice boots in his size. They were a fancier version of combat boots. Finally, you found a simple black button-down shirt and slim tapered dress pants for him. You made him try it on before leaving the store.

 My god...You had to keep yourself from drooling. The pants hugged his waist perfectly, and the shirt was just tight enough for you to see some muscle peeking through. König smirked at your reaction. 

“You think this will look good with my sniper hood?” he asked. 

“What?! You're gonna wear your hood and cover-up that gorgeous face? No way.”

“I don't show my face to anyone on base, Schatz.” 

“Hmm, well you look good in anything so... I guess.” You pouted.

König got dressed and paid for his clothes. Nearby there were a few boutiques with dresses. You wanted something nice, but not too fancy. You didn't want to overdress. König was patient with you as you browsed a bunch of stores. Eventually, you found something you liked. It was a midi deep purple knit dress. It had elegant sleeves and looked like it could be dressed up or down. Perfect for a cold night. König sat on the bench of the fitting room as you tried it on. You came out and twirled giving him a full view of the dress. 

“So?” You asked.

“Beautiful.” He motioned for you to come closer. When you did he placed a hand on your hip gingerly. 

“I can think of many things I could do to you in this dress.” He said quietly. 

“König!” You gave him a light slap on the arm and went back into the changing room embarrassed. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day you started prepping for your hair appointment. You had to wash your hair but the stylist said she could blow-dry it for you. You spent about an hour washing your hair and another detangling it. König kept you company on the couch as you combed and sectioned it out. You sighed and slumped on the couch once you were done. Your arms were a little sore but you were glad you were done. You put your bonnet on to keep your hair neat and moisturized. You made sure you had your tip ready and a book to read while you got your hair done. König stood at the door watching you pace around the apartment gathering your things. 

The drive to the salon was quick and smooth. König gave you a kiss on the cheek before you exited the car. You opened the door to the building, and the smell of hair spray wafted into your nose. A tall woman greeted you as you walked in. Her hair was braided back into neat rows and her dark cheeks had a warm glow to them. 

“Are you my twelve pm?” She asked with a smile.

“Yes, I am, nice to meet you.” 

She guided you into a salon chair and got started. Her hands were quick, skilled, and gentle as she worked her way through your head of hair. In about two hours she finished. You admired your new do in the mirror and thanked your stylist profusely. König waited at a café down the street. You spotted him sitting peacefully at one of the outdoor tables, away from most other patrons. As you got closer he glanced up to meet and look at you. His eyes widened, taking in your new look. Although he had his mask on you could tell he was smiling under it. He stood up to greet you. 

“You look beautiful, Liebe.” He leaned down to kiss your forehead careful to avoid touching your freshly done hair. You giggled bashfully and returned his kiss on his cheek. 

The next few days went by quickly. You did some extra work and scheduled an editor meeting before the weekend. When Saturday rolled around, you were anxious. You wanted to make a good impression with your Alpha's coworkers. How do you act around military personnel? Your father never brought you around any of his military friends. As you got ready you just tried to keep an open mind and stay confident in yourself. Also, you will get to see Soap again. You slipped on your dress and spritzed a light mist of perfume.

You walked out of your room while looking through your purse to make sure you had all of your essentials. König was sitting on the couch but stood when he saw you. He was dressed and ready, looking over your form affectionately. You zipped around the dining room and kitchen making sure you had everything in order. König walked over to you, stopping you in your path. He slinked his hand around your waist pulling you out of your thoughts. He pulled you into his chest gently. 

“Relax, Schatz.” He purred. You looked up at him and gave him a nervous smile. 

“I think I left my wallet in my room. Do I need it? Should I bring a gift?” You rambled. 

König pulled your wallet out from his back pocket and handed it to you. He shook his head and gave you a small smile. His sniper hood was hanging haphazardly over a dining room chair. He led you towards the door swiftly grabbing it and opening the door. You followed him out reluctantly. 

The drive to the base was uneventful aside from your occasional worrying that was quelled by your alpha quickly. You can't help but feel more on edge than you usually would, but you can't put a finger on why. König pulled up to the massive, barbed wire-lined fence. A man in full military gear and a large gun strolled up to the window. You hadn't noticed that König out his hood in a while back. He rolled the window down and quickly flashed his ID to the soldier. The man nodded and waved his hand in the air. The gate slid open almost painfully slowly. König placed a hand on your thigh as he drove slowly through the base. It helped calm you for the time being. 

There was a large building with a few dozen cars parked outside. König Parked the SUV rather haphazardly a good distance away from the entrance. When you opened the door you heard faint music coming from the building and lots of voices and laughter. Your alpha lapped the car and met you on the passenger side. You started to walk towards the door but he stopped you.

“What is the matter, Schatz?” His eyes softly gazed down at you. 

“Nothing is wrong, I'm fine.” You said quickly.

“If you are uncomfortable, we can go.” He gently caressed your cheek., his scent enveloping your senses. 

“I'm ok, I'm just a little nervous.” Deep down you knew something was off, but you were confident you could get through this night. 

“Shcatz, You forgot your collar.” König said nonchalantly.

You gasped and your hand flew up to your neck covering your exposed scent glands. 

“Oh no! Why didn't you tell me? Now I'm gonna stink up a storm in there.” You turned around embarrassed and even more on edge. 

Your Alpha said nothing, he simply opened the back door of the car and pulled out a small black bag before closing the door. He spun you around by the waist to face him waving the bag in front of you. You glanced at him unsure before taking the bag. König gave you a small nod waiting for you to open it. Inside was a large square jewelry box. When you opened it it held the most beautiful gold metal collar. The one you looked at from the boutique a while ago. 

“König....” You truly didn't know what to say. Tears pricked your eyes but you quickly wiped them away and replaced them with a smile. 

“Thank you, Alpha.” You said while wrapping your arms around his middle. 

He held you close and kissed the top of your head through his hood gently. He pulled away and took the collar out of its box. He clasped it around your neck locking it with the provided key. It fit perfectly, you could barely tell it was there. König held the small key out for you to take but you shook your head. 

“Keep it safe for me Alpha.” You said giving him a warm smile. 

Although you couldn't see his face, you could tell he was happy you trusted him with the key. König held out his elbow for you to hold and led you towards the event. You were still nervous but you brushed it off, you had someone there to protect you. The large hall was buzzing with conversation. Most people were sitting around in large groups having conversations and others were at the bar. There were string lights hung all around the ceiling giving the place a relaxing atmosphere. König led you to the bar eager to get a drink. Parties are not you or your Alpha's natural element.

He ordered a beer for himself and a gin and tonic for you. As you waited you glanced around taking in the different people. You were probably one of the very few omegas. You could tell who was military and who wasn't very easily. Some were still in uniform, others wore masks or dog tags. Some soldiers brought a plus one but it was a minority. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a figure approaching. You turned to see a familiar mohawk. 

“Hey! There they are!” Soap exclaimed pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. You could smell the alcohol on him. 

“Hey, soap.” You eked out while being squeezed. 

Soap turned to König and gave the large Apex a hug as well. König grunted, a little uncomfortable with the contact but patted his back affectionately. 

“We've been waiting for you two to get here, everyone wants to meet the Colonel's Mrs.” His Scottish accent was thick and slightly slurred. 

The bartender set your drinks down and you quickly scooped yours up and took a sip. Soap led both of you away toward a group of men. You lingered behind König slightly allowing him to greet the group first. Soap announced your name loudly sparing König of the burden. You waved shyly giving everyone a small smile. Everyone greeted you and your Alpha before returning to the conversation they were having. You were grateful the attention on you didn't last as you could sip your cocktail and listen to the drunken ramblings of the soldiers. 

As the night dragged on, you met various people. You chatted with Ghost a bit and met Captain Price, as well as Gaz. Though the drunker people go the more rowdy things become. You sat on a chair near the group, only on your second drink. Your Alpha was loosening up after four. Soap suggested they go out to the field and play football, challenging Ghost to a team match. The whole group along with some others from the party joined them outside. König glanced over at you. 

“Will you be ok if I join them?” He asked gingerly.

“Of course, go have fun.” You gave him a reassuring smile. 

You watched him follow his coworkers out of the door into the frigid night. You decided to hang out at the bar as your drink was almost done. Although the night has been fine so far there was still something nagging in the back of your head. You plopped down on one of the bar stools and ordered another drink. Good thing this event had an open bar. You scrolled on your phone for a while not noticing how fast an hour has passed. An Alpha sat on the bar stool next to yours sighing loudly. You didn't bother acknowledging him as many people have sat there in the time that has passed. 

“It's a nice night huh? Not too cold.” The guy said in a European accent you can't place. 

You looked up from your phone. “Oh, are you talking to me?” 

“Yeah, I am. So uh, are you a new recruit or?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh no, I'm just a visitor.” You glanced back at your phone hoping he would leave you alone. 

“I've never seen an omega like you.” 

“An omega like me?” You looked at him puzzled.

“Yeah, you're so exotic. I thought omegas like you have to stay in your own countries.” He said while taking a sip of his drink. 

“Well, that's rude and extremely ignorant.” You scowled at him.

“Come on, it's a compliment. I mean I knew your kind your be spicy but damn.” He chuckled. 

You took that as your cue to leave. And you stood up from the bar your felt a tug on the crown of your head. 

“I mean, is this even your real hair?” He rubbed the hair he grabbed in between his fingers. 

You ripped away from his grip. “What is wrong with you?! Don't touch me!” You yelled. Everyone at the bar turned to look in your direction. 

“Relax, I'm just joking around.” The Alpha said trying to diffuse the situation. 

“You don't touch a random person's hair, who raised you?!” 

You felt a hand rest on your shoulder gently from behind. The Alpha you were confronting turned pale. 

“Schatz? What did he do?” Your Alpha asked lowly.

 You turned to face König anger still written all over your face. As angry as you were, you wanted this to be a teaching moment for this young Alpha. You turned back to the Alpha who was standing up now sweat forming on his face. 

“Nothing Alpha, this guy just needs to watch where he's going, right?” You eyed him carefully. 

“Yes! Yes, I'm very sorry miss.” He looked down at your feet. 

You looked up at König who seemed unconvinced. He was staring daggers into the young Alpha. You saw König take a deep breath closing his eyes while doing so. When he opened them he looked down at you.

“Time to go, it's a long drive home.” He placed a hand on the small of your back and led you out.

 Some people glanced in your direction as you left. You couldn't help but feel embarrassed. You hurried to the car in an effort to get out of the cold. König opened your door for you and helped you slide into the passenger seat. 

“I forgot something inside, I'll be right back.” He said quickly shutting the door and storming back inside the building. 

You couldn't tell if he was about to torture that soldier or not. But you did what you could, if he gets in trouble it's his own fault. König came back out no more than two minutes later. As he started the car, you got cozy relishing in the heated air. 

“What did you forget?” You ask him.

“I had a project for Ghost, I had to tell him about it.”

“Hmm.” You responded, not buying it completely. 

As your Alpha drove, the gentle rocking of the car lulled you to sleep.

As your Alpha drove, the gentle rocking of the car lulled you to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

König shook you awake gently. “We're home.”

You stirred and sat up stretching gently. You felt warm, a little too warm. Did you drink that much? You followed König into the apartment and kicked off your shoes at the door. That's when the cramp hit you. It was so painful it made you dizzy causing you to stumble. König caught you by the arm and ushered you to the couch.

“Schatz? You're burning up.” He laid you down and hurried to the kitchen.

You felt the sweat forming on your brow. Your heat had come early. You whined into the couch cushions trying to breathe through the dull achy pain. König brought some water and sat you up to drink.

“Why didn't you tell me your heat was coming?” he said concerned.

“Early...it came early.”

taglist: i hope i got everyone

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@somanyminidragons 

@tizylish @thychuvaluswife

@luvamps @ghostslittlegf @justkillme2005

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[leenieweenie12]

You're Too Sweet For Me

Ok this is literally the first little fic I've ever written (and completed) so please give me the tiniest amount of grace, I am begging you. I am so afraid to post this but I figure, why the hell not?! Gotta live a little. Also side note, I know this is so cliche to take place in a flower shop but I am ~unoriginal~ and that's what I came up with.

Warnings: none, this is fluff

Words: 1,213

Inspired by none other than the lovely Hozier and his new song Too Sweet

Divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

The bell over the door chimed, letting her know that a customer had just arrived. 

“Be with you in a minute!” she called from the side room where she was arranging a colorful spring bouquet. 

“S’alright, it’s just ol Alfie,” a familiar gruff voice hollered back. 

She smiled to herself and glanced at the clock above the doorway. Five o’clock, right on time. She wiped her hands on her already dirty apron and walked out to the main shop. Her dear friend Alfie Solomons was standing with his back toward her, looking at the rows of blooms spread around the room. He had his signature long black coat and hat on, his small cane clutched in one hand. 

“Is it Wednesday already, then?” she asked, placing a hand on Alfie’s shoulder. “Could’ve sworn it was still Tuesday.”

“That’s the thing about the days, love, once one ends, the next one begins,” he put his arm around her waist and gave her a small sideways hug. “Got anything exciting going on back there?” his head tipped slightly to the side room.

She shrugged. “Nothing too thrilling. Come back and give me a hand, would ya?” 

She walked ahead of him into the small area that was dedicated to arranging. In a glass vase on the counter was a sprawling bouquet of peonies, roses, and cosmos. 

“Think Mr. Klein stepped out on the missus again,” she snickered. “This is the third arrangement he’s ordered just this month for her.” 

Alfie reached out and gently touched one of the peonies with a calloused ring adorned finger, a funny sight to see from such a burly man. “Yeah, well,  I can’t blame the man. Mrs. Klein is about as irritating as they come, with that God awful nasally voice of hers constantly droning on about fuck all.” He took half a step back to admire the bouquet in its entirety. “Put some larkspur in there, add a little height.” 

She chuckled and shook her head, “You always have to have a say in my work, don’t you?” Despite her words, she turned and grabbed a few stems of the purple larkspur in the bucket on the counter and carefully added them to the vase. “But you’re always right, which you know annoys the hell out of me.” 

The man smiled and gestured with his hands, “See, there ya go, love. Perfect.” 

She smiled and turned to face Alfie, her back leaning against the counter. She looked at the older man’s face and studied it intensely, as she had countless times before. It wasn’t much of a secret that she had feelings for him. He had been coming into her flower shop for almost two years by then. He started coming every other week to pick up arrangements for his mother. Every other week quickly turned to once weekly, then every other day. Now it was routine for them; every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, at exactly five o’clock, Alfie would come to the shop. He had stopped buying bouquets for his mother after her passing roughly a year before. Now he just visited her for pleasure. They had become quite good friends in that time. Alfie would often bring her some dinner if he knew she had to stay  late to fill an order. Other evenings he would take her out either to a local pub or restaurant to enjoy food and drinks. Her feelings grew by the day but she never acted on them. She figured that if Alfie felt the same way he would have made a move by that point, so for the time being she let it go. She tried not to let it bother her too much, the ache in her heart that left a pang of emptiness. Most of the time they were having far too much fun for her to realize it was even there. But every once in a while, in the quiet moments such as the one they were having in her little flower shop, she felt it. 

There was something about that day, that moment, that she felt the overwhelming urge to fill that empty void. She would never know what it was that made her do it, but she grabbed the lapels of Alfie’s coat and pulled herself to him, pressing her lips to his. At first, there was no reaction from the bearish man, but as she didn’t back off, she felt Alfie’s large hand snake behind her neck. He deepened the kiss, pushing her back against the counter. Her arms went around his neck as he moved his own hands to her waist and effortlessly picked her up to sit her on the surface. Their lips crashed together like two teenagers indulging their pubescent hormones for the first time, tongues intertwining at a fervent pace. 

When they finally released each other, Alfie took half a step back. “Fuckin ‘ell,” he said with a smirk. “Not that I didn’t enjoy that, but what the hell are you thinking, love?” 

She looked into his impassioned eyes sheepishly and gave him a small smile. “Don’t be daft, Alfie. You know how terrible I am at hiding my feelings. Don’t tell me you’re surprised by this.” She brought a hand up to his scraggly beard and gave it a pet. 

Alfie’s gaze intensified and his brow furrowed. He looked back and forth between her green eyes. searching for some sort of answer. “Darling, I-” he started before she put her hands on his chest.

“And don’t tell me you don’t feel the same way because a kiss never lies, and the way you just kissed me revealed a whole lot of truth, Alfie Solomons.”

He snickered and put his hands back on her waist. “You got me there, treacle. Not even gonna try to be coy with you. I’m just a bit taken aback is all.”

The next few hours were spent just the two of them in her modest flower shop vacillating between conversation about their feelings for each other and intimate caressing and necking. When they finally realized how late it was by the darkness outside, Alfie turned toward her with a serious glance. 

“I’m not a good man,” he declared in a serious tone. “I’ve done awful things to a lot of people.”

She closed the gap between them and laid her cheek against his broad chest, waiting for his bulky arms to enclose around her. “But you’ve never done anything awful to me, Alfie, and that’s what I care about. Everything you’ve done you’ve done for a reason. I know that.”

He wrapped her small frame up with his own body and sighed, “You’re too sweet for me, love.” He bent his head down and gingerly kissed the top of her head. 

“Let’s get out of here, yeah?” she said as she linked her arm through his and stepped toward the door. 

With the chilly night air greeting them, they strolled out to the quiet Camden street, arm in arm, both with minds racing of the future to come for their newfound romance, smiles spread wide across their faces. 

They could feel the electricity of love sparking between them, lighting up the night. This was the start of something beautiful.

[ceoofsammonroe]

Cherry - Clay Beresford

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six |

Summary: Clay returns to The Silk Rose to see you again but, this time, you’re aware of who he truly is. He arrives with more of his questions and stories, but this time he pushes it a little too far…

Warnings: angst, arguing, descriptions of sex work, Clay can’t read the room.

Playlist | Masterlist

The smell of sweat and hairspray filled the air as you found yourself back at the club far sooner than you would’ve liked. You sat at your vanity, getting ready to begin the first set of your shift as Frenchie droned on about some creep who kept trying to slip her a fifty for a rule break.

“I told him that there was not enough hair on his head for him to have this kind of audacity,” she scoffed, reapplying her lipgloss. “If he was at least hot, maybe I would’ve flashed him a tit for a twenty, but I have no interest in catering to men who look like death warmed over…unless they’re offering to play my bills, now that would be a different story.”

You laughed as she ranted, amused by her mindless rambling. You’d take anything to get your mind off of the looming shift ahead of you. The place was crawling with the usual sleazy regulars, and the thought of entertaining them made your stomach churn.

Normally, it wasn’t something you would’ve minded. You would’ve known you could make a few extra bucks, and it wasn’t anything you weren’t used to…but then he came along.

How could you be content giving lap dances to sordid men when you could be drinking champagne and dancing to beautiful stories?

Damn him.

“What’s on your mind, sweet cheeks?” Frenchie asked, crossing her legs as she turned in her chair to face you.

You shook your head and said, “It’s nothing, French. Just some customer I had the other day.”

“Ah, the private room guy, eh?” Frenchie mused, wiggling her eyebrows. “I saw Sal hand you a big ole wad of cash afterward. You must’ve given him some performance in there.”

You’d been perplexed by the money at first, too. Of course, now, you knew that it was probably chump change to a man like him.

Clay Beresford.

You still couldn’t wrap your mind around it. What had the city’s hottest playboy been doing at a run down club on the Lower East Side? He was a billionaire for chrissakes, he could buy his own damn strip club if he wanted to. Did he think he was doing some kind of charity work, tipping extra to a girl leagues below his tax bracket?

Fuck that.

“He’s just another one of those men with their savior complex fantasies, trying to see more from this place than there is,” you shrugged, the bitterness in your tone palpable.

“Shit, doll,” Frenchie laughed, “with a tip like that, I’d let him save me any day he wanted to.”

You cracked an amused smile, shaking your head as you took off your robe and prepared for your set. Frenchie locked pinkies with you, wishing you luck before you made your way to the curtain at the back of the stage.

When it was time, the curtains opened and the warm lights hit you as you heard the whoops and cheers of the crowd. Bills immediately started flying as you began dancing about the stage, teasing and seducing as you went. You moved through the motions of your routine, feeling removed from it all, until you looked in the crowd and saw those striking blue eyes.

A smug smile crossed Clay’s face as he raised his glass to you in a silent toast, his eyes never leaving yours.

You tried to shake off the distraction, focusing on the rhythm of the music and the movement of your body. Still, you couldn’t help but steal glances at him as your mind raced with questions.

What was he doing here? Was this some kind of game? Was he trying to prove a point? Couldn’t he just hire his own strippers?

You tried to block all of it out, but those blue eyes stayed locked in the entire time. You’d looked back at him, just to make sure you weren’t somehow imagining it as you left the stage.

Your set hadn’t even been finished for an entire minute before Sal met you backstage to inform you that you had another private room booking.

It didn’t take much guessing to figure out who’d booked you.

With a huff, you made your way down the hall. You took a deep, steadying breath as you stood before room four again.

This is a transaction, you thought to yourself, I am just doing my job.

You entered the room to see Clay lounging on the couch again, as devastatingly beautiful as ever.

You turned on the facade, ready to perform as you asked, “Back so soon, pretty boy?”

Clay’s eyes sparkled with amusement as his gaze raked over you. His voice was rich and low as he said, “I couldn’t resist the temptation, Cherry. Besides, I wanted to see you again. You’re quite the performer, you know.”

“Come, join me. Let’s continue where we left off,” he said, patting the couch, offering for you to sit beside him.

“You know how this works,” you told him, shaking your head as you walked over to turn on the stereo. “I dance, you ask questions.”

You sauntered back over toward him, moving your body to the sensual beat of the music. Clay bit down on his lip, holding your gaze with intensity as you danced.

“I think I remember the rules, Cherry,” he smirked, his voice sultry, “but I have a proposition for you.”

You raised a brow, curiosity etching itself into your features as you nodded, “Go on.”

“How about I tell you a story and you dance for me?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows against his knees as he clasped his hands together. “I want to see you dance to my words, to feel the emotions they evoke in you.” He paused, his gaze lingering on you. “What do you say, Cherry?”

You felt your chest ache as your bravado momentarily slipped.

Hearing him tell another story was so tempting, but you didn’t like the way it threatened to make your heart flip — and you certainly wouldn’t let yourself be pulled into exploring his mind. You wouldn’t be roused to finding the story behind him and making something of it. That part of yourself was locked away.

“I don’t dance like that anymore,” you responded, trying to mask the sadness swimming through you. You rolled your hips seductively as you said, “Besides, that’s not the kind of dancing you paid for.”

Clay’s eyes softened, his gaze seeming to understand your reluctance.

“I apologize, Cherry,” he said, his voice sincere. “I didn’t mean to push you. I’m just…intrigued by you.”

He watched, intently, as you danced. His attention never wavering, even as his mind seemed to be reeling with something.

“Tell me, Cherry,” he began, after a moment. “What is it you’re running from?”

Ouch.

That certainly hit a sore spot. You didn’t want to think about your past. You didn’t want to think about the person you were or what turned you into the person you had become now.

“What about you?” You countered, trying to keep your tone playful. “What’s a beloved playboy celebrity doing in a small strip club like this?”

Clay nodded, solemnly, casting his gaze downward. He didn’t allow the slip in his demeanor to remain for long, replacing the small frown with a thoughtful look.

“I’ve always been drawn to the unpredictable, Cherry,” he said, his voice low and measured. “To the raw, untamed beauty of human nature.” He paused, his eyes looking up to meet yours. “Perhaps I’m just looking for something real in a world filled with illusion. Besides, everyone needs a break from the limelight every now and again.”

You cocked your head to the side and asked, “Is this not an illusion? We’re paid to fill the shoes of our paying customer’s fantasies.”

You slowly walked over toward him, placing your hands on the top of the couch as you leaned close to his ear and whispered, “Is this your fantasy?”

Clay’s breath caught in his throat as you leaned over him, his eyes locking onto yours.

“This isn’t a fantasy, Cherry,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “This is a moment of truth amidst the lies,” his gaze burned with desire as he continued, “but maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m seeking an escape. A reprieve from the life I’ve built around me.”

He leaned in, his lips almost brushing against your ear as he whispered, “What about you, hm? Is this your reality, or are you seeking your own escape?”

You threw your head back in exasperation, letting out a laugh as you said, “Don’t you ever ask normal questions? What happened to things like: what’s your favorite color?”

Clay chuckled softly, eyes crinkling as he gripped the edge of the couch.

“Sorry, Cherry,” he smiled, his tone tinged with humor. “I can’t help but be drawn to the deeper questions but, if you insist…” He paused, his eyes locked onto you. “Tell me, Cherry. What’s your favorite color?”

You stopped dancing for a moment and let yourself gaze into his eyes.

Those damned dazzling eyes.

“Blue,” you said, quietly, a small smile threatening to pull at your lips.

“Blue, huh?” Clay grinned, his features softening. “A color of depth and mystery. Just like you, Cherry.”

You know that you shouldn’t be indulging in this. Getting to know each other. It was reckless and idiotic and couldn’t lead to anything good. Still, you found yourself asking, “What about you? What’s your favorite color, pretty boy?”

“Red,” he replied, without a moments hesitation. His grin widened, admiration and playfulness dancing in his eyes. “My favorite color is red.”

You cocked a brow, your tone dripping with amusement as you asked, “Like Cherries?”

“Yes,” he responded, cheekily. “Cherries, passion, danger, love. It’s a color that represents all of the things we crave in life. Mostly, it’s a color that reminds me of you. The fiery spirit that burns within you, hidden under layers of meticulously crafted ice. You’re an enigma wrapped in a riddle.”

“Do you make habits of waxing poetic to every stripper you hire?” You quipped, smirking at him despite the way your heart was racing.

“I don’t make a habit of hiring strippers, Cherry,” he laughed, softly, “but, if I did, I imagine they’d all wish that they were as fascinating as you.”

The tension in the air was palpable. You could hear the drum of your heart beneath your chest as his hands itched to reach out for you.

You swallowed thickly, the need to create distance between the two of you urgent.

You stood back up, continuing to move to the music as you tried to calm the roaring storm inside of you. You were dancing on thin ice and, if you weren’t careful, you would surely sink beneath it.

Clay watched you, thoughtfully. His mind was transfixed, his eyes following the curves of your body. He couldn’t deny the magnetic pull he felt toward you, though he tried to adhere to the boundaries set in place. Still, he couldn’t stop from wondering of all of the possibilities.

“You’re getting awfully quiet over there, pretty boy,” you joked. “Run out of questions?”

“No, Cherry,” he said, laughing softly. “I’m just appreciating the view.” He slowly licked his lips, leaning forward. “I could tell you another story if you’d like?”

“Ah, another one of those poetic stories,” you sighed, giving him a playful grin as you spun around. “You’re paying for your time in here. If you want to fill it with your musings, be my guest.”

“Very well,” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Let me spin you a tale of a woman who ran from her past, only to find herself entangled in a web of desire and deceit. The heroin of my story, much like you, struggled to maintain control — to keep her emotions at bay. As fate would have it, she found solace in the most unexpected of places, and love in the arms of a man who refused to be ignored.”

His voice was hypnotizing as he spoke and you stopped dancing for a moment, standing still with curious eyes locked on him — waiting for him to go on.

“In the end, Cherry,” he continued, the sincerity in his voice nearly sickening, “she learned that, sometimes, the greatest escape comes from facing the truth.”

His eyes searched yours, searching for a reaction — for answers.

A lump formed in your throat and you tried to swallow it down. Damn these men and their idealistic savior complexes. They think that they are the perfect hero, searching for their damsel in distress.

“Shakespeare is rolling in his grave, pretty boy,” you said, with less play in your voice than you’d intended.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it, Cherry,” he smiled, “but, then again, life has a way of writing its own plays, doesn’t it? So, tell me, do you ever wonder what your story would be?”

“I think we all write our own stories,” you told him, “and I don’t think half of them are as grand and you’d like for them to be.”

“I believe that there’s magic in every day life, Cherry,” he said, softly. “Even the smallest acts can hold immense significance.” He paused, his fingers tapping on the arm rest. “You’re right, though, I can be overly romantic at times.” His eyes met yours, his voice low and earnest. “Your story may not be grand, but I suspect it’s far from ordinary.”

His words, these moments…it was all too much. You wouldn’t fall for these games. You knew how men like him worked. Your job be damned.

“You know nothing of my story,” you said, quietly, turning off the music as the timer rang. “You just pay me to fill whatever void it is you’ve got in your precious high end life. I’m just a fantasy to people like you, remember?”

You held his gaze, blinded by your building anger. You could feel the walls of your defensiveness closing in around you.

You walked toward the door, only pausing to say one last thing.

“Don’t come back.”

Clay watched you go, his face heavy with a mixture of regret and longing.

“Cherry…” he started, his voice pleading, but you were gone before he could finish — leaving him alone with his thoughts once again.

You hurried to the dressing room, changing into normal clothes and grabbing your things.

Frenchie gave you a questioning look, but you simply said, “You can have the rich savior men, I don’t want them.”

You walked out the door, barely stopping to grab the cash from Sal as you left. You didn’t need to count it to know that it was an obscene amount of money.

You went home to your apartment, trying to drown out the sense of emptiness you felt in the pit of your stomach. You never should’ve let his words affect you. You should’ve kept everything transactional. Guys like him just wanted a side project — something to entertain them.

You didn’t have any interest in being a part of their world.

————————————————————————

tag list

@haydensbbg @dinorawrss

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

This sweet plague that follows me (this violence that I call my own)

This is how it feels to take a fall - series masterlist here

pairing: takami keigo x reader (gender neutral)

length: 2.1k

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff

warnings: lots of blood but not from keigo or reader, it's just kinda everywhere, this entire fic is a biohazard, they're mentally ill but they're in love

a/n: back on my hawks shit ig turns out it never ever goes away

Keigo thinks, as he lets the door shut behind him, that maybe this life of his was inevitable - this sacrifice was unavoidable. He thinks that, perhaps, there are some people who need to spend their lives fighting, who need to beat their fists against flesh and split their lips on the bloody knuckles of their rivals. 

There are people who find peace only in war, and Keigo, so often, wishes he were not one of these people. As he kicks his boots off and tosses his phone on the side table, stepping further into his entryway, he thanks whatever's out there that he, at least, doesn't have to do it alone - that he's found someone to build a home with in this violence of his.

He doesn't bother changing out of his hero uniform when he sits on the couch, slouching into the cushions. It was a rough patrol - one that left him with scrapes and bruises, blood dripping from his jacket, drying on his hands. Maybe, he thinks as he rubs his palms together, the dark red coming off in little flecks, settling into the carpet, maybe if I was someone else, this would bother me. Maybe if I was something else.

But the violence in him stays, wrapping around him and choking him from the inside out. He stares down at his hands, palms facing up as he glares. How can I say I'm good when they've done so much bad, he thinks. There's a sort of desperation in him as he reaches for the remote, turning on the television, wanting some sort of background noise to drown the whirring of his thoughts out, to drown his voice out, to drown him, to -

But then there you are, on the news - still working. Still fighting. Still bleeding. Keigo chokes, his hands balling into fists as he watches, as he sees you, blood marring your hero uniform. Not really your blood, he notes, but a stain, nonetheless. And there's still that wild look in your eyes, a ferocity that couldn't be stamped out. The reporter drones on about your reputation, your blood-soaked, violence-stained reputation. Brutality, war, violence - all for the sake of peace.

We get our hands dirty so that normal people don't have to. That's what you'd always said to him. Keigo never had the heart to tell you that he didn't think either of you deserved to have to be these things.

But neither of you got to choose this life - this calling, thrust upon you. Neither of you chose to be raised this way, trained this way, a violence so ingrained in you that you cannot be anything else anymore.

There are few things Keigo gets to choose in this life. Loving you, though - that is something he chooses every day. Waiting for you - that is something he would choose until the end of time. So he waits, turning the TV off with a sigh and tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. As he sags down onto the couch, he can't make himself care about the blood that seeps into it - although he wonders idly how many new couches he could buy with the money he makes from wrapping his hands around other people's throats.

But they're villains, he reminds himself. But isn't he? Aren't you, for the things that you do? Keigo, most of the time, doesn't think he knows where the line is anymore. You always do, he finds, and as he listens to the sound of the front door clicking open, he finds himself breathing a sigh of relief that you're back, that some tether to morality and sanity has returned to his life.

"Hey birdie," you call softly,  and it's wrong, the way your voice comes out soft and tender and delicate; it lurches in contrast to the way you pull off your jacket, heavy with the weight of blood, and let it drop onto the floor with a dull splat. But he looks at you - at your eyes, warm and soft and loving. A trickle of blood trails down your temple and the couch cushion dampens under his weight, blood seeping into it.

Whatever, he thinks. I'll call the cleaners in. It's not like it would be the first time. It's not like it will be the last. Keigo leans forward, tips himself onto his feet so that he can make his way over to where you still stand in the entryway.

"Hey, dove," he says softly. When he gets to you, he holds your face in his hands with a gentleness that feels like it shouldn't belong to him, a benevolence that feels stolen, his hands having been wiped clean hastily on his pants, leaving trails of crimson behind. 

But he just smoothes his thumb across your cheek, maps himself out a clean spot so he can press his lips to it, and the touch is so soft that you find yourself holding your breath, your heart thumping painfully against your ribs. Because when, you think, did touch become so soft? And when did we become deserving of it?

"Leave it here," Keigo shushes you softly, prying ever so gently at your clenched fists to loosen your grip on whatever happened out there, his nose brushing against your cheek as he speaks against your skin. "Leave it out there. It's safe in here." That's all it takes, really, a sigh leaving you as you let your head thump against his shoulder, fist loosening enough that he can tangle his fingers with yours and bring you closer to him. The blood on you presses against him, staining his jacket more. Neither of you find it in you to care - it's not the first time, and it won't be the last.

"You need to clean yourself up," you mumble against his shoulder, fatigue seeping into your voice. Keigo huffs out a laugh, poking your side gently.

"You're one to talk," he quips back, but there's no real bite, especially when he moves to tug you down the hallway toward your shared bathroom. You grumble as you walk after him, letting him pull you by your hand as you pretend to put up a fight. But there's never really any fights here, in this home that you share. Keigo thrives on it, notably - being able to take care of you, being able to channel that fight in him into protectiveness and have his hands heal for once.

Back when the two of you were younger, when you were both hot-headed rivals battling for the top hero ranking, you'd always argued that there was peace to be found in war.

"Don't you understand, Hawks?" You'd said to him. "You can't have one without the other."

He never knew what you meant by that until you had him sitting on your kitchen counter for the first time, cleaning blood from his face. He hadn't known your touch could be so tender, until then. 

Now, of course, it's second nature to you both, the way you smooth a hand across the nape of his neck as he lifts you to sit on the bathroom counter. Now, there is nothing but softness between the two of you, a gentleness found only in the privacy of your own home. You watch, through tired, hooded eyes, the way his wings twitch and flutter, spreading slightly to take up more space, to block your view from the mirror if you were to try to turn. He always does that now - you pretend not to notice and he pretends not to know. 

You remember the first time you'd come home like this, when your relationship was still new - tentative and stumbling. He'd never seen it before - the tug of war that takes place in the doorway of your home, the attempt to put the fight aside for the night and learn to be human again. Oh, how bad you'd been at it then, pulling your hands away from his and spluttering concerns about getting blood on him, about leaving your marks on him.

"I'm already all marked up," he'd cooed, taking your hands and pressing them to his chest, letting you feel him, solid and warm and yours. "I've already got my own stains. There is no mark you could leave on me that I wouldn't thank you for." You'd laughed when he said that, a pitchy, tired noise. 

"You and I really are the same, aren't we?" You'd said. Keigo had found himself agreeing.

But when he'd taken you to the bathroom to clean up, the same way he does now, you'd caught sight of yourself in the mirror. The blood that dripped from your face and the wild look in your eyes were so familiar to you, but when they knocked against Keigo's tender grip on your waist and fluttering kiss to our cheek, the softness of it all made your breath stutter, panic rising in you. There is anguish in love when it is something so foreign, you'd thought. You couldn't articulate that, of course, as you buried your head in your hands and sobbed. But Keigo knew - he knew from when you'd helped him that first time, in your kitchen. He knew from excusing himself to the bathroom after, just so that he could clamp his hand over his mouth to muffle his sobs. You'd been right, of course - the two of you really are the same.

"Where'd you go, baby," your voice snaps Keigo back to the present, your finger flicking against his forehead gently. He grins at you, cocking his head to the side as he stares.

"Just thinking about you," he says, and you roll your eyes. "You want a shower?"

"Yes please," is your answer, but he stops you from moving, murmuring a stay put against your lips before giving you a quick kiss and stepping away to get the shower running. You slide over on the counter, smiling at the glare he shoots you as you move to lean sideways, turning the tap on and beginning to scrub your hands in the sink.

"We're about to get in the shower, dove," Keigo points out as he reaches a hand under the spray, frowning and adjusting the temperature.

"I just want my hands to be clean," you say earnestly, and he finds he can't fault you for that. He stares at his own, for a moment, before moving to the other sink, scrubbing at his palms with soap and water as steam begins to fill the room.

"You take your showers too hot," you point out.

"You take them too cold," he retorts.

"Maybe we should stop showering together," you pout teasingly, drying your hands on the towel Keigo's tossed you while he shoots you a look.

"As if. Get in, dove, before I make it hotter." You roll your eyes at his words, but slide yourself off the counter nonetheless, letting Keigo peel off the layers of your uniform as you do the same for him. 

"Thank you, Keigo," you say quietly, slipping into the shower and turning to see him follow after you. As if he wouldn't, if you weren't checking. As if he could do anything other than chase after you.

"You don't have to thank me for this," he says easily, using a hand against your cheek to bring you forward, resting his forehead against yours. "You don't have to thank me for loving you."

"But still," you press. "It's nice, isn't it?"

"Of course it is. But it's also deserved," he points out. You smile. 

"For you, too, then," you say. "You deserve this softness, too."

"Well," Keigo drawls, but you don't miss the way he wraps his arms around you to tuck you into his chest so that you can't see the blush creeping over his cheeks. "Good thing I have you to give me that, then, hm?"

"Yea," you laugh, burying your head in his chest and watching the way the water runs red, stains of blood blurring off your skin and disappearing. "Good thing."

[randomfoggytiger]

The Little Things

Based on @baronessblixen's title~.

*****

It had been too long since he'd heard the telltale Scully scuffle.

In the early days, the basement had still been his, splotches and piles and papers strewn about in mad genius. It must have been impossible for her to locate any of his things, must have been inconceivable to find one of hers sacrificed to disorder. She'd tried-- well, he'd thought she'd tried when this or that of his had vanished or moved or been replaced.

Mulder had taken it upon himself to catch her at it. It was an hour after lunch when he peered over his glasses once, twice, and fixated on her hand gently stumbling over his desk. Glancing up into her face, he'd realized, baffled, that she'd been reaching unconsciously. Her fingers snagged one of his pens, brought it to her report, and began looping it around in decisive cursive; then she'd paused, looked down, and barely given him a second to feign ignorance before whipping around to scan his face.

Since then, he'd made sure the piles weren't too obstructive, the pens not too far out of reach.

It had been too long since Mulder had heard her mechanical shift, reach, brush, sweep, shift, pause. But here they were, months into Kersh's detail, and Scully was scrounging around behind him. Had been for a solid two minutes while the person on the other end of her line droned on and on despite her repeated request to "hang on, I need to mark that down."

It was nearing minute three and he couldn't wait any longer.

Aiming for nonchalance, he leaned slightly, handing a pen over his shoulder and smiling noncommittally at her.

But Scully was quick, too quick: in less than a heartbeat, the game of nearly six years was up. She looked from his hand to his face, and her eyes became large and soft and he pivoted back around to shuffle some papers as loudly as possible.

Lunch struck before he knew it, and Scully's chair shifted back and Scully's shoes danced across the floor and Scully's suit swished against her desk as she approached his side.

"C'mon, Mulder," she said, and her voice was encouragingly dry. "Let's blow this joint."

That meant she was buying. He smiled, slunk upwards, grabbed his coat, and offered half-heartedly, "My treat?"

"Next time." She led the way, tip-tapping assuredly to the cafeteria.

He never got his pen back.

*****

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging @today-in-fic

[whyarevampiressohot]

Crush

Modern AU Shinobu Kocho x fem reader with elements from Komi Can't Communicate.

Where reader has had a long-term crush on Shinobu but has never been brave enough to talk to her.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You looked away quickly as Shinobu's eyes met yours, pretending to focus on your textbook and the teacher's droning. Her gaze burned holes into you, but you refused to look up. It would be the same as admitting that you had been staring at her for the past hour.

You sort of maybe had a gigantic crush on Shinobu Kocho, the class president and the girl sitting a few rows in front of you.

---

"Staring at Kocho-san again?" Mitsuri giggled.

"N-no! Of course not! I'm over her!" you babbled, tearing your gaze away from the purple-haired girl. Mitsuri looked unconvinced, as Nezuko gave you a questioning look.

"I'm serious!" you insisted.

"Well then I guess it wouldn't hurt to tell you that she's staring at you too."

You whipped your head around to notice Shinobu turning away. Nezuko let out an impatient snort as you turned red to the tips of your ears. She nudged you and pointed in Shinobu's direction.

"No. I'm not going," you stated firmly.

"Mmph!" Nezuko huffed, still pointing.

"Y/N, you've never even talked to her! If you did, you'd realize that she likes you back!" Mitsuri sighed.

"I don't want to embarrass myself."

"Don't come crying if she's taken, then."

---

You were determined to keep your crush a secret to the grave. Shinobu would never agree to go out with you anyway.

For now, you were content with quick glances at your crush.

---

"Ugh...we're finally done..." your exhausted classmates groaned, lying on the floor in irregular positions. It was the night before the culture festival.

"Good work," Shinobu said, handing out drinks to everyone. Your fingers grazed hers briefly as she handed you your drink. You flushed at the contact, muttering a quiet 'thank you'.

Her lips curved upwards into a warm smile as she patted your head and winked.

Shinobu left, leaving you stunned and blushing. Was that some kind of hallucination?! Did she just wink and pat your head?!?!

---

The classroom was bustling with activity as the culture festival commenced.

"Y/N san, I'm looking for Tengen. Can you join me?" Shinobu asked.

"Huh? Uh..."

"She'd be happy to help!" Mitsuri interjected, shoving you towards the girl and forgetting to control her strength. You swerved just in time to avoid faceplanting into Shinobu's chest.

"Great! Let's go!" Shinobu chirped, grabbing your arm.

You averted your eyes as she half-dragged you past classrooms.

"We haven't talked much, have we?" Shinobu suddenly asked.

"Yep," you answered, looking around to avoid staring at her.

"Thank you for your hard work preparing for the festival."

"It's no problem. Everyone worked together," you replied slightly sheepishly.

"Oh! A haunted house! Let's check it out!" Shinobu squealed, pulling you in the direction of a dark classroom.

"Huh? Aren't we supposed to be looking for-AHHHHHH!" you screamed, clinging onto Shinobu's arm as a gelatin brick hit the side of your head. You immediately let go, apologizing profusely.

"Sorry, I'm just a little jumpy."

"BOO!" a pale ghost sprang out from behind a rock and howled.

"AHHHHHHH!" you shrieked again. Shinobu giggled.

" 'A little jumpy', Y/N san?" she teased, batting her eyelashes innocently.

Still recovering from the shock, you pressed a hand to your chest, breathing heavily.

"Just a little!"

"Ara~ So cute."

Your heart sped up again, and not because of fear.

---

"Shinobu stopped abruptly in front of a stall selling cute animal headbands.

"Buying something?"

"You'll see."

She picked up a headband with rabbit ears and put in on you. Staring at you, Shinobu seemed to like the look and handed a bit of money to the clerk.

"Here," you took off the headband and handed it to Shinobu.

"It's for you. You look even more adorable with it," she remarked, grinning. A gift from your crush...you felt as if you would die from the sheer happiness you were feeling.

"Thank you...are you sure you don't want me to pay you back?"

"Take it as a thank-you gift for helping me look for Tengen." Shinobu pushed a lock of hair out of your face.

---

"Oooh! They're doing confessions on the roof!" Shinobu immediately dragged you up.

"I'M IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE!" she yelled into the crowd.

Your heart sank.

Thoughts like 'I didn't make a move anyway' and 'I'll get over her' ran through your head as you bit your lip. Part of you wanted to cry, and part of you was curious about who Shinobu's crush could possibly be.

"I'M NOT TELLING YOU WHO IT IS!" she shouted, much to the disappointment and laughs of the crowd.

---

"Y/n san...Y/N san!" Shinobu called as she waved a hand in front of your face.

"...oh! Sorry, I was...um, thinking about something."

"What's making you so dazed?"

"Oh, it's nothing, really...so, um, you said you had a crush?"

A light pink blush dusted Shinobu's cheeks.

"I'm just curious! It's okay if you don't want to answer..."

Shinobu sighed. You were caught slightly off-guard by her unexpected reaction.

"Y/N san, why are you so clueless?"

You just stared at her, bewildered. Was it someone obvious? Someone Shinobu hung around with a lot?

"Um...is it Tomioka-san?"

Shinobu rolled her eyes, making you even more confused.

---

Back in the classroom, you filled your friends in on your conversation with Shinobu.

"She's right, Y/N. You're so oblivious."

"What, how? Who could her crush possibly be?" you questioned, perplexed.

Nezuko snorted and glared at you.

"Well, if you guys know, spill it!"

"It's you, Y/N!"

You stared blankly as their words sank in.

"..."

"ME?!"

[octomae]

okay i beat side order for real this time :3 rainbow infinity... autistics (me) are winning

my tips and strategy under the read more (now with more chip tips since i posted this the day before):

Low Hacks 8's Palette

Hacks (x3): 3 Lives total, Armor recovery 10 seconds, Risky Rewards (18 chips) Strategy: Focus on splash damage, splash radius, explosions, knockback, bombs, ect.

General tips:

Hard and rigorous levels are hard and rigorous. I died on a hard level my first time running 8s palette like a week or so ago and it was... humbling.

ALWAYS have an escape route. Ink the walls. Stay AWAY from corners. The walls of the level are okay but do NOT back yourself into a corner.

Get a bomb you WILL USE. My preferred bomb in the tower is burst bomb (takes little ink, good for inking right away), so I got that from a vending machine.

Splashdown special is good for both taking out enemies quickly and knocking enemies back. I recommend keeping it for the strat I used, unless using it is like your worst nightmare. Don't hinder yourself if that's the case, but it does work extremely well with this strategy.

Don't be afraid to run away from a hoard. Ink with tap shots if you must just to give yourself some ground, but don't be afraid to just book it.

While in the level, stay on the move. Don't take risks; take your time to do it safe and cautiously.

Keep an eye on your membux. It's 100 to skip 1-9, 500 to skip 11-19, 1000 to skip 21-29. I don't recommend skipping early levels unless the chips offered are bad.

Unless a chip you're hunting for/need for your run shows up, take the vending machine floors, even if you don't plan to buy anything.

Don't be afraid to give up and start over if the chips you've got from 1-9 aren't preferable to progress with.

Chip tips:

Knockback (purple chip) and Explosion Knockback (purple chip) are VERY HELPFUL. You want to keep enemies AWAY from you. Just one of either will be enough, two of either won't hurt but palette space is limited and you'll want other chips.

Working together with knockback, Lucky Bomb Drop (green) is also extremely helpful. Just one helped me a lot. Two was definitely worth it. I'd almost say this chip is required.

Working together with knockback and lucky bomb drop, Splash Radius (orange chip) affects bombs and popped portals. Try and get at least one, it'll help you with Smollusk.

Sticky Ink (purple chip)/Poison Ink (red chip) are both very good. One of each is good, but I don't recommend stocking up on them, unless you're having trouble hunting damage chips down. Stock up on whatever sticky and poison you can in that case.

For 8s palette, Main Damage (Close) (red chip) is much better than Main Damage (Distant) (red chip). I completely skipped the latter and did just fine with 3 main damage (close).

Try to get at least one Main Firing Speed (red chip), it'll save you a little bit of a headache and help damage enemies faster and ink turf faster. If you grab more than one, try to get any of the ink saver or ink recovery chips (purple chips)

Splash Damage (red chip) would have been helpful for me since I was focused on explosions for my run, but I didn't actually ever get any. However, if you're doing my strat, it definitely wouldn't hurt to nab a few of this chip.

Just one Main Ink Coverage (orange chip) will help you a lot, assuming you've got sticky/poison ink.

Give Pearl the Drone Splat Bomb (teal chip) so she can actually help you instead of floating around doing nothing. Don't worry about any other drone chips. Upgrading her bomb at least once won't hurt you, but it's not preferable.

Other chips that won't hurt you if you can't find the above chips:

Ink Damage (red chip) - actually not preferable for 8s palette, since it takes a large amount of them to actually show results. however, if it's the only damage chip you can find, get it

Special Charge Up (orange chip) - never hurts to stock up if you can't find damage chips

Hindrance Damage (orange chip) - if you've got more sticky ink and poison ink than other damage chips, this one will help you the most

Disc Piece Drop (green chip) - worth it to nab at least one

Canned Special Drop (green chip) - also worth it to nab at least one

Armor Drop (green chip) - definitely won't hurt to grab one if you need it

Splat Ink Recovery (purple chip) - always worth it

Ink Saver (Main) (purple chip) - extremely good for balancing against how fast your ink goes if you've got more than one main firing speed chip

Ink Saver (Sub) (purple chip) - SUPER HELPFUL if you're focusing on bombs

Ink-Recovery Rate - untold amounts of helpful

Mobile Ink Recovery (blue chip) - not preferable, but useful for a not so preferable run

Mobile Special Charge (blue chip) - same as above. this one doesn't hurt either

Squid Attack (blue chip) - only recommended if you're good at performing squid rolls

Main Piercing (orange chip) - not preferable, but useful

Ink Attack Size (orange chip) - not preferable, but useful

[ketchupandaxe]

Any kintips for just a random dissasembly drone?

*Kin tips for a disassembly drone!

-Drink cocoa cola or pepsi to feel like your drinking oil.

-Make paper claws.

-Make or buy fake fangs.

-Watch/re-watch murder drones.

-Collect murder drones merch.

*I hope these help you!

[wannaeatramyeon]

seong taehoon taking care of pregnant partner? thank you author~

Thanks for the ask anon. Out of everything, I find pregnancies, babies etc. hardest to write for. Never had the instinct. Not complaining, just explaining my piss poor writing for these requests.

BUT. A PREGNANT PARTNER? BRINGING OUT SOFT TAEHOON? YES YES YES. Literally JUMPED on this as soon as I saw it.

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Congrats on your pregnancy!

Short fluffy scenes with soft lil patient Taehoon

This has become your routine most nights.

Lying on the sofa, Taehoon sits at the other end with your feet in his lap.

The TV show continues to drone on. He doesn't take his eyes off the screen when he holds your foot in his hands, massaging and working your pressure points, before moving on to the next one.

It's done so casually, that half the time you don't think anything of it even as he rubs your tired feet.

Taehoon never says a word neither, hardly even noticing himself doing it anymore.

He just quietly ensures your comfort.

.

.

"More?"

"Please, Taehoon~" you whine.

You don't even have to pull out the puppy eyes.

Taehoon leaves, running out to your favourite stall to buy you your second helping of tteokbokki that evening.

What you want, you get. The only indication of his annoyance is a small sigh.

And it's not really annoyance. He only blames his own lack of foresight for not buying you extra in the first place.

He doesn't make that mistake again.

.

.

You burst out crying.

Taehoon looks over at you, slightly bewildered that a silly commercial has caused such a reaction.

The usual insults are on the tip of his tongue-

But he watches your eyes welling up with more tears and your bottom lip quivering. He refrains, no matter how ridiculous he thinks this is.

Taehoon takes a deep breath and just pulls you into his arms.

After you calm down, he calls you an idiot.

Some things never change.

.

.

You ask him one night if he finds you unattractive in your heavily pregnant state, and he is shocked into silence.

Nevermind the fact that your hormones are all over the place and your sex drive is through the roof. Taehoon has been taking full advantage.

Despite this, you still look at him, expecting him to say yes.

His usual reaction would be to scoff and jokingly say yeah (before pressing a kiss to your lips).

That would be suicide.

For the first time in his life, Taehoon tries to use his words.

Everyday, he reminds himself to tell you you're beautiful, he loves you, there's nothing that he would change.

They come out stilted and unnatural, he internally cringes, but he means everything he says.

If Taehoon really thinks about it, he considers the words a statement of fact more than anything.

The compliments flow a little easier after that revelation.

[hivefleet-hellbender]

Out in the desert, no one can find you... (Hex Tiles 1)

A sharp wind whistles through the desert dunes, bringing no reprieve to the travelers following the thin paths left out in the sand. Don't drink from the river — the plants that grow along its shores contain toxins that could leave a grown man coughing up blood, and chemical spills float through the current. A faraway road carries the rare drone-tank, long abandoned from any sort of human use.

My newest hobby, to distract myself on months when the purse is a bit too tight to be buying plastic crack from Games Workshop, is to build modular hex tiles! It's super easy — I pick up a hundred of these wooden MDF tiles from Amazon for $10 (they're advertised as 2", but they're 1.75" from tip to tip, and each side is 1"), grab any spare craft supplies I have lying around, and get to work! They're super quick (this first batch of one hundred took me around a week) and they open the door to a lot of cool experimentation. A lot of this is inspired by the work of u/Marcus_Machiavelli over on Reddit, who makes these fantastic modular hive city components that I hope to someday be able to emulate. 

I'm making these for two purposes, neither of which I've put in practice yet but I'm hoping to get to do at some point. They're for:

Any mass-battle games played at 6mm. This could also work for Adeptus Titanicus or the upcoming Epic reboot that Games Workshop is working on. 

Tactical TTRPGs like Lancer that are played with large beings, who can operate on a 6mm scale.

Once I get some games in with them, I'm sure I'll encounter future problems and reassess how I approach them. But for now, this is what I've got!

I Hate Sand

The first set of tiles I made, to serve as the backdrop for the rest of them, are these sand tiles. I chose to make this a desert (and thus make a bunch of sand tiles) because I already had some sand lying around, and because it's really cheap and easy to work with. Be careful though! Anakin was right; sand sucks. Try and pick up a finer grain than what I went with, apply the sand in a more-controlled location than I did, and secure it better than I did too. But here's how I did them:

Coat the surface of the hex with a mix of PVA glue and water.

Sprinkle on a light dusting of gravel or small rocks.

Apply a thick coat of sand on top of the gravel.

Knock off excess sand and recycle it for next time.

Spray with 1-2 layers of varnish. (I would recommend a sealant instead, but I didn't have any at the time)

For the ones with little paths on them, I painted the path on with White before applying the gravel or sand, and it shows through well enough! The paths are unnecessary — they're a fun experiment, but I don't think I'll be making more of them in the future.

The Gurgling Creek

Making the river tiles was a bit more involved, but still pretty easy. The method I came up with I think looks a lot better than just painting on water, and is a lot easier to work with than resin or water effects. 

Use some kind of texture gel to build up the riverbanks, trying to have them end around 1/4" on the sides of the tiles where you want your river to connect.

Paint a strip Black where you want the river to flow, running from one edge to another.

Apply sand as before, everywhere except where you painted the black. (If you're worried about fucking this up, you can swap the order)

Varnish (or use sealant) as before. 

Take some gloss mod podge and mix it with a light blue paint, and apply in large goopy quantities everywhere you want water to be. Leave overnight to dry. (If you want the river to be less cloudy, apply many thin coats of mod podge instead, letting each layer dry before applying the next)

As an extra, stipple green along the edges of the water and use a dark green wash to create patches of vegetation.

The river pieces are my favorites, and I'm the most proud of them. The tiny bridge was a thin strip of balsa wood, painted white and then washed black. It turned out fine.

I did a solid mix of straight river pieces and curving river pieces. If I was going to do it again I'd make more curving pieces than straight river pieces, because the curving ones make more sense for how rivers work.

The Road To Nowhere

These road tiles turned out really well, perfect for a run-down highway in the middle of nowhere. Here's how I made them:

Take a piece of corkboard and cut it down to be 1.75" long and 1" wide.

Glue it on a hex with the two edges of the corkboard touching two sides of the hex.

Go at the edges with a knife, making it all worn down and busted up.

In some of these spots, I fucked up and glued the corkboard on wrong. To fix that, break off a chunk and reposition it so it'll connect correctly. This will look like a big fat crack in the middle of the road, which is perfect.

Coat in a layer of mod podge or PVA glue. Leave to dry.

Once dry, paint the cork entirely Gray.

Drybrush White onto the corkboard, focusing on the edges and exposed spots.

Paint two thin yellow lines along the middle of the road. (These are optional, but they do a lot to make the 6mm scale convincing)

Apply sand, as before, onto the ground and up the sides of the road, so it looks like the road is emerging from the sand. Maybe apply some sand in a couple spots in the cracks to make it look like the sand has gotten in there.

Varnish and/or sealant, as before.

Apply a Black wash to the road. (There's a lot of tricks here! If you want the yellow stripes to be more vibrant, you can only paint them on after the first black wash. You can also target spots of sand on the road to make it look like it's asphalt runoff, soaking black into the cracks.)

Apply a second Black wash to the road. 

The bridge was a bit more complicated, and took some finicky positioning and a trip to Kung-Fu Tea.

Take a boba tea straw and cut it into 1" segments, then cut them in half, gluing them to the middle of the hex as culverts.

Take corkboard and glue it over the culverts, bending it so it meets the two edges you want the bridge to run along. If it breaks, that's okay — this is a crumbling, middle-of-nowhere bridge.

Use texture gel and spare corkboard to fill in the gaps.

Use texture gel to define the steep edges of the river. Apply a little bit in between the culverts.

Do all the road steps to the road part of the bridge, and all the river steps to the river part of the bridge.

I'm exceedingly proud of the bridge hex. It turned out perfectly, and feels very emblematic of what I want this project to be like.

Why You, Too, Should Make 6mm Terrain

6mm terrain is amazing to make. Mistakes look like part of the landscape or the brain smudges them over due to the small size, and small changes look like fascinating little details. It really opens the imaginative space and I absolutely adore working at this scale. Plus I'm developing a ton of experience with various materials I've never worked with before, so I get to enjoy the triumph of carving foam or corkboard. It rules! I might even try to make a 28mm bridge after the success I had making a 6mm one.

My future plans for this project include cliffs, craters, 3D-printed shantytowns, and overpasses. But all that is for a later date — for now I'm gonna rest on my laurels, and spend the rest of the evening reconfiguring various tile combinations and cackling like a mad scientist.

[bullet-prooflove]

Three things for Cal Thresher: silk, pen, glasses

Tagging: @kmc1989 @queenslandlover-93 @nu1freakshow @lazilynervoussong @mimi-8793

Companion piece to:

The Madness in the Genius - Cal and you have a special arrangement.

Poppy Seeds - You take care of a problem for Cal.

You Can Leave Your Hat On (NSFW) - Things change for you and Cal.

You are a distraction, one that Cal is trying to valiantly ignore as he sits at the conference room table with the distributors of his weed business. They’re here to discuss the new strains that you’ve been producing this year, the potential revenue and their market placement.

You’re sitting on his right, wearing a burgundy silk shirt that clings to your curves in a way that makes his dick twitch and dark rimmed glasses that make you look every inch the beautiful scientist that you are.

He can tell you’d rather be back in your lab from the way you’re playing with your pen. Your fingertips run lightly over the tip before gliding down the length and then back up again. It’s exactly the way you stroke his cock when the two of you are together, and Cal can’t get the image out of his head as he listens to the man in front of him drone on about projections.

Out of the corner of his eye, you increase the pace of your motions, the pen sliding between your fingers, thumb tracing over the end. You did this exact same thing to him this morning, right before he blew his load in that sweet mouth of yours. He recalls how tight you felt around him, how wet as he fucked your throat. He grits his teeth as he shifts slightly, discreetly rearranging  himself and that’s when he hears you say the word ‘oh’.

He can’t help but turn his head towards you at the exclamation and when he does it’s to the sight of black ink smeared across your cleavage from where the tip of the pen has popped off. It drips down into the curve of your breasts the same way his come does when he fucks your tits and Cal’s cock starts to leak at the sheer debauchery of it.

“Adele.” He says purposefully, his heated blue eyes meeting yours. “Why don’t you clean yourself up and meet me in my office when you’re done.”

You push away from the table, raising to your feet and Cal can’t help but fixate on the sashay of your hips in that black pencil skirt of yours as you head to the door.

“Alright.” He says, turning his attention back to the remaining members of the group as he envisions bending you over his desk and spanking you until you’re glistening for him. “Let’s wrap this up quickly, I have other matters to attend to.”

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