#he looks like he would be scared to do contacts

[rafesangelita]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ everyone is lucky farmer’s!daughter!reader is in a jail cell when she finds out her favorite sheriff isn’t around because he’s on a date with another woman..

warnings: mentions of being groped in public, just a little bit of southern dialect, small town gossip, mentions of jj x reader, lots of comebacks and insults, jealousy, implied age gap, reader stays the night in jail, hitting, very slight physical altercation, reassurance, comfort (?), little bit of kissing, suggestive ending

a/n: read more of sheriff!rafe and farmer’s!daughter!reader here <3 i would say this particular situation takes place in the beginning stages of their complicated relationship lol. also feel free to request for this pairing!

wc: 1.5k

“what did she do this time?” sheriff thornton looked up from his desk, an amused smile playing on his lips as you glared at him from under your lashes. “she threw drinks over at keith’s son, ‘said he groped her and all hell broke loose.” your wrists ached as the metal of the handcuffs dug into your skin, your boots scuffing the concrete flooring before the sheriff behind you plopped you down in a chair. “she gave me a hard time and resisted arrest, so now she’s here.” you scoffed at his words, a bitter laugh emitting from your throat. “i gave you a hard time because you tried to apprehend me before the asshole that started it!”

both of them ignored you, leaving you to sit uncomfortably in the main office while bryan, the newest rookie in the department, got your paperwork together. “uhm— do you have anyone you could call? it looks like you’re going to stay the night in here..” he looked almost scared as he broke the news to you, his eyes blinking rapidly as you shot daggers at him from where you sat. “are you pulling my leg?” you narrowed your gaze, “there’s no way in hell i’m spending the night here.” you shook your head, hopping onto your feet. just then, topper came in and sat you back down.

“i’m already in the shit house with rafe for manhandling you last time, don’t make me do it again.” speaking of rafe.. “you’re not scaring anybody, topper.” you used his first name against him, catching him off guard. “where’s sheriff cameron, anyways? i’m sure he’d love to know that you haven’t fixed my skirt since i’ve gotten here. i think the new boy has already stolen a peek at my underwear.” bryan’s eyes widened at your words. “i haven’t, miss, i swear!” topper glanced over at him with irritation evident on his face. “she’s fuckin’ with you kid, jesus.”

dragging you up by your arm, topper lead you to the back where the holding cells were. “it’s a shame you’re wearing nearly nothing,” he shoved you inside, “it’s gets pretty cold in here.” you cursed under your breath when he finally uncuffed you, your fingers itching to punch him square in the mouth. he watched as you adjusted your denim mini skirt, his eyes trailing down your bare legs. “you’re a mystery, y’know.. ‘way too young to be acting up like this.” if you had a penny for every time someone brought up your age, you’d have enough money to leave this shitty town and never look back.

“and you’re just annoying.” you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest before sitting at the edge of the cold steel bed. you should’ve been used to the discomfort by now, considering you’re here at least once a month, but you still couldn’t help but shiver at the harsh contact. “i need to talk to sheriff cameron. i shouldn’t even be here.” topper walked out of the cell, locking it shut behind him. “yeah, well he’s not on duty tonight. my pal finally scored himself a date.” he laughed. you felt your stomach twist at his words. not a damn thing was funny. “what did you say?” your voice was barely above a whisper when you looked up at him and met his eyes.

“yeah,” he nodded, “me and the department decided we’d stitch him up with ms. belle, she teaches the children’s sunday school down at the church.” he winked. your leg was bouncing now, your chest heaving with anger as your eyes brimmed with tears. “who knows, maybe after tonight they’ll be the newlyweds of the town.” you looked down at your feet before topper could question anything, your nails digging crescents into the palm of your hand. once you heard the heavy metal door slam shut, you covered your mouth with your hand as tight as you could and screamed.

rafe was so scared of what people would think of you two, he never showed you affection in public, let alone take you out on a proper date, yet here he was; willingly taking someone else. no matter how many times you told him you didn’t care about what anyone thought, he insisted that it was for your own good that no one saw you running around with a man who was much older than you were. the people of this town were far too judgmental to just accept something like what you and rafe had. figuring it was pointless to use your one free phone call, you settled into the hard surface before curling up and shivering yourself to sleep.

“y/n..” it was the next morning, and you were far from letting go of the information you found out last night. “y/n, you’re free to go.” your eyes were open as rafe patted your back lightly, his touch only fueling you with pent up anger. turning around, you shoved his hand away, your eyes bloodshot from crying so much. “don’t touch me again,” you hissed, “not ever.” rafe sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as you got up on sore legs. “i had to stay here all because you were too busy with someone else!” you spat, shoving him again except this time in his chest.

“hey, you stop that!” he said through gritted teeth, shooting up to his feet before backing you up against the cement wall. “i hate you!” you whispered, attempting to get out of his grip. your efforts were deemed useless of course, your strength being nothing compared to his. “no you don’t.” he pinned your wrists down by your sides. he hated when you said shit like that, then again he knew you had every right to feel the way you did. nothing about your shared arrangement was fair, especially for you. “i went on that date for the sake of getting everyone off of my back, alright? it didn’t mean a thing.”

you laughed, avoiding his heated gaze. “well surely it meant something, because you agreed. you agreed and got ready and dressed nicely for her. you fixed your hair, you shaved, you put on your best smelling cologne and you picked her up. don’t you dare tell me it didn’t mean nothing when you put in that much effort.” rafe blinked, his nostrils flaring as he cupped your chin and forced you to look at him. “it didn’t mean a thing.” he repeated. you stared at him, reading his eyes as best as you could. “sure.” to say you were hurt would be an understatement.

“i mean it,” he started, “i did it for appearances. i’ve never been married, i don’t have any children. people talk around here, y/n, and just recently did i hear something about us both. people are catching onto your ‘get out of jail’ free card, and you could only imagine what their reasoning for that was.” he grimaced, recalling the disgusting words filtering the air of the diner where he drank his morning coffee. while the claims weren’t completely false, his said intentions couldn’t be more wrong. “rafe,” you glared at him, “i. don’t. care.” not wanting to rile you up any further, he let go of you before you could get the bright idea to knee him in his manhood.

“you know.. how do you think i feel when i have to see you around here kissing jj fuckin’ maybank, and i can’t do shit about it, huh? how do you think i feel when i see him have his hands all over you? you think i like that shit?” you rolled your eyes, about to step out of the open cell before he shut it closed. “why do you do that? why do you get joy out of pissing me off?” rafe caged you between his arms, his gun holster digging into your hip.

“first of all, i’m keeping up appearances just like you.” you stood up on your tippy toes, pecking his cheek before you placed your lips right next to his ear. “and secondly; you only act like you care about me when i’m all over someone else. it’s either that or i have to get into legal trouble just to get you to myself. so you try to imagine what that makes me feel like.” you pulled him close by the buckle of his belt, his large hands finding your hips as he towered over you. “do i really have to go to jail just to get a kiss?” rafe leaned down, his lips finally taking your own. he groaned at the taste of you, your cherry lipgloss still sticky with its sweetness.

you two stayed kissing like this until he grew rock solid in his pants, the buckle of his belt not being the only thing poking your tummy. “i don’t want you with any other women. i can’t take it.” rafe nodded, his bottom lip shining with your gloss. “you have my word, sweetheart. i’ll set aside time for us to be together, i promise.” his sheriff’s hat tipped to the side, revealing his buzzed scalp. “but if i see you with that maybank kid i’ll have to lock him up for good.” you smiled, your red nails raking down his buff arms. “yes, sir.” rafe cursed at the nickname as he glanced down at the digital watch on his wrist.

“i got about an hour to spare..” you hummed at his words, palming him through his pants.

“well what are we waiting for?”

[xobunni0]

𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

౨ৎ 𝐈𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 … an argument with Shadow leaves you both hurt. you can’t help but wonder if he’ll come back

- 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰, 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐲𝐬, 𝐰𝐜- 1707

the quiet evening had turned heavy with tension. it wasn’t supposed to end this way. what started as a simple disagreement had spiraled out of control.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Shadow’s voice cut through, sharp and low. his crimson eyes gazing harshly at you.

“Don’t get what?” you snapped back. “That you think you can handle everything on your own? That you push me away every time I try to help?”

Shadow’s jaw tightened, his gloved hands balling into fists at his sides. “I push you away because it’s safer that way!” he shot back, his voice rising for once. “You don’t understand what it’s like to know that every time you’re near me, you could get hurt because of me.”

you took a step closer, your own frustration growing even more. “You don’t get to decide what’s safe for me, Shadow You don’t get to shut me out just because you think it’s easier”

“It’s not easier” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “but it’s better than losing you.”

his words hit you hard, but the anger and hurt was still there driving you to speak before you could think

“So what?” you said, your voice trembling. “You’d rather keep me at arm’s length, make me feel like I don’t matter just because you’re too scared to let me in?”

Shadow flinched, just barely his ears twitching at your words, but it was enough to make you regret what you said. his gaze flickered away for the briefest moment before locking back onto yours, colder now

“You don’t matter?” he repeated, his voice dangerously low. “If you didn’t matter I wouldn’t be here right now. I wouldn’t care enough to argue with you.”

“Then why do you keep running away from me?” you argued, your voice breaking

for a moment, the air between you was heavy, silence filled the small space in the apartment. Shadow’s expression hardened

“I can’t do this right now” he said finally, his voice quieter but still firm. “I need time.”

your heart sank as he turned away, his figure tense as he stepped toward the door. “Shadow..-”

But he didn’t turn back. “I’ll come back” he said, his tone softening just enough to give you a glimmer of hope. “But right now… I can’t.”

and then he was gone, his form disappearing, leaving you alone.

you sank to the ground, the words you wanted to say still caught in your throat. “Please come back” you whispered to the empty space around you.

the silence in the apartment was suffocating. after Shadow left, you’d stay hoping, praying, that he would come home soon. but hours had passed and the door remained closed.

you sat on the couch, curled up in one corner with a blanket draped over you. every creak in the building, every sound from the outside made your heart jump, hoping it was him but it never was.

the argument replayed in your mind on an endless loop. every word you said, every look on his face, the way his voice had cracked slightly when he said “I need time.” you felt a lump in your throat as guilt gnawed at you. had you pushed him too far?

but then, his words echoed in your mind again. “It’s better than losing you.”

you sighed, burying your face in your hands. “Why couldn’t we just talk?” you whispered to no one

the hours dragged on. midnight turned into the early hours of the morning and still there was no sign of him. you pulled your phone from your pocket staring at the empty screen

𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧' 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈'𝐦 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧' 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝

your finger hovered over his contact. he said he needed time you reminded yourself. but how could you sit here doing nothing when you didn’t even know where he was or if he was okay?

before you could second-guess yourself.. you pressed the call button

it rang once, twice, three times. then it clicked to voicemail.

you tried again. and again. each unanswered call made you feel worse but you couldn’t stop. you needed to hear his voice to know he was there

finally, after the fifth call you gave up, clutching the phone in your hands. maybe you were pushing too hard. maybe he really did need space, and this was only making things worse

𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬

but you couldn’t just let it end like this. you opened your messages, your fingers trembling as you typed

“Shadow please come back. I’m sorry for everything I said. I just want to talk. I can’t sleep knowing you’re out there. Please.”

you hit send and stared at the screen, the minutes dragged by, each one feeling longer

and then finally, your phone vibrated in your hand

His reply was short.

𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐲 …

“I’m fine. Go to sleep. don’t wait on me”

you let out a shaky breath, your hands gripping the phone tightly. relief washed over you but his response felt so distant… so… cold you couldn’t leave it at that

“I can’t sleep until I know you’re coming back” you replied, your heart pounding as you pressed send

this time his response came a little quicker

“I need time to think. I’ll come back but not tonight.”

you stared at his words, your chest tightening. it wasn’t the answer you wanted, but at least he’d said he’d come back? at least he wasn’t gone for good.

“Okay” you replied. “Just… don’t shut me out. I’m here for you Shadow.”

there was no immediate reply this time and you didn’t expect one.

the first light of dawn came through the curtains, different hues of golds and oranges. you were still curled up on the couch your phone resting loosely in your hand, its screen dark. you hadn’t slept not really. you’d drifted in and out of a restless sleep. but every creak of the apartment or sound from outside jolted you awake, hoping it was him

a faint sound from the hallway stirred you awake fully. the sound of footsteps. you sat up. heart pounding, your tired eyes on the door

the lock clicked, and the door creaked open.

Shadow stepped inside, his silhouette framed by the dim light of the hallway. his crimson eyes were unreadable as they met yours.

“Shadow” you whispered

he closed the door behind him, his movements hesitant. he didn’t say anything at first just stood there as if unsure of what to say or whether he should say anything at all.

you rose from the couch, your legs unsteady beneath you as you took a step toward him “You’re back.”

he nodded, his gaze dropping for a moment before returning to yours. “I said I’d come back” he replied quietly. his voice was quiet, vulnerable. something he rarely let show.

you stopped just a few feet away from him, unsure if he wanted you to close the distance.

“I thought… I thought maybe you wouldn’t” you admitted, your voice trembling

Shadow’s eyes softened and he took a step closer, closing the space between you. “I’m sorry” he said, his voice low. “For leaving like that. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

before you could speak, Shadow moved

he dropped to his knees in front of you, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist. his head rested against your stomach as he held you close

“I’m sorry” he murmured, his voice low and thick “I’m so sorry.”

your hands hovered in the air for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden sudden action. slowly you let them rest on his shoulders, your fingers lightly brushing against the fur there

“Shadow…” you started, but he cut you off

“I shouldn’t have left” he said, his voice muffled against you. “I shouldn’t have walked away when you needed me. I thought… I thought I was protecting you, but all I did was hurt you.”

his words came out in a rush, like he’d been holding them in all night. you felt his grip tighten slightly, as though he was afraid you might pull away.

“You didn’t deserve that” he continued, his voice cracking ever so slightly. “You’ve been patient with me more than I deserve. And I just-” He exhaled shakily his head tilting upward to look at you. “I’m sorry.”

as you looked down at him, you could feel the regret in his words the way his arms clung to you

you cupped his face gently, your thumbs brushing against the soft fur of his cheeks. “I forgive you” you whispered. “But you can’t keep running away when things get hard. I need you to talk to me Shadow. I need you to let me in.”

he closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch. “I’ll try” he promised, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not good at this but I’ll try. For you.”

“you mean more to me than anything,” he said quietly. “I just… I don’t know how to show it sometimes.”

“You’re showing it now” you replied, your voice soft

Shadow nodded, his forehead pressing against your stomach once more. he stayed there for a long moment, holding you as if to make up for every second he’d been gone

when he finally stood, his gloved hands lingered at your waist, his gaze meeting yours. “I’m not going anywhere” he said firmly, as though to reassure both you and himself

Shadow’s arms remained securely around you. he pulled back just enough to look at you, his crimson eyes searching yours. the vulnerability you saw in them was so rare.. it made your chest tighten.

“I hurt you” he said softly, his fingers brushing against your waist as if to reassure himself you were really there. “I know an apology isn’t enough but… I’ll make this right. I swear.”

you offered him a small, reassuring smile, your hands sliding up to rest on his soft chest. His heart was beating steadily beneath your palms

“You already are Shadow. We’re okay.”

He nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I’ll do better” he promised.

𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰 💝; 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 ⏦ﾟᢉ𐭩 - 𓊆ྀི𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞𓊇ྀི

[ihfmseatsoch]

maybe gross creep jimmy grinding on and groping far too young girls (like college age) o the train, chikan style?

i made him extra pervy in this one 😁 #BONER

genre: smut

word count: 1.1k

warnings/content: age gap, perv jimmy, noncon, jim diddles a girl in public <- thats like. the entire synopsis lol

—

Jimmy's always liked girls young and inexperienced. Barely legal and still in school, too dumb and trusting to be weary of an older man that looks at them like they're his prey, fresh meat to sink his teeth into and tear apart.

They're all cuter than women his age, with their short little skirts that give any creep an open invitation to snap a quick picture of what's underneath when they're not looking. Their skin is youthful; plump, firm, and ripe, which makes for perfect tits that are so cushiony and soft in his disgusting hands.

The train ride back to his apartment would've been downright boring if lady luck didn't place the prettiest little doll he's seen in a while right in front of him, her hand much smaller than his as it grips the pole to stabilize her body as the subway jostles around, speeding down the rail.

Jimmy's eyes locked onto her with a focus that would make a hawk feel like an amateur. Purposefully, he grabs onto the very same pole, slowly inching his way up, just so he can brush his much rougher hand against hers. His taller stature looms over her, her head stopping right at his chest.

She's obviously aware of his presence behind her, as she shifts awkwardly in place, trying to put a little distance between them, the force of the train jolting them around making her brush against his body more than once, giving him the perfect opportunity for his hand to find contact against her lower back to support her when she stumbled backwards into him.

"Careful. Don't wanna fall." He speaks lowly, his tone intentionally sweet sounding, although coming from him, a man who is known to be anything but sweet, it's more menacing than anything else.

Returning to her previous position, cheeks flushed from the awkward encounter, she mutters a small "Thank you." and goes quiet again.

A shy one, it seems. Adorable.

"So," he starts, leaning in a little closer, his lips uncomfortably close to her ear, invading her personal space even more than before. "You comin' from school?" He asks, because he notices the bookbag in her other hand, decorated with various iron-on patches and pins.

She nods, humming a soft 'mhm' in response. "College." She specifies. Even her voice is cute; mellow and honeyed. That means she can't be older than, what, nineteen, early twenties at most? Nearly two decades younger than him, regardless. Her tensed up form, trying so hard to put some distance between them, tells him she's anything but comfortable. She's perfect.

"Yeah? Whatcha studying?" He takes a fake interest in hearing her answer. He's even not paying any attention when she meekly tells him, her sentence trailing off into unintelligible stammering as he returns his hand to it's previous position on her lower back, worrisomely close to her ass.

"Really? That's neat." He responds, as if he actually listened. "You're a smart one, huh?" He adds, his fingers lightly tracing her skin, moving lower inch by inch.

She takes in a nervous breath, her body going rigid, knowing she can't do anything to stop him in such a crowded area. If she made a scene, she'd only be met with annoyance from the other passengers. No one would care, or believe, that the man behind her is a sick pervert, violating her.

She doesn't answer him.

"A shy one, too." Jimmy whispers into her ear as he slips his hand under her skirt and begins fully groping her ass now, massaging the fat between his fingers. She's scared stiff, which is perfect for him, because now he's certain she won't– cant– try and get away. "You're such a pretty little thing." he continues speaking to her, aware she won't say anything back, but he prefers girls to keep quiet anyway.

He presses his groin into her backside so she can feel his dick against her, already harder than a rock, aching for her, wishing he could do so much more than just touch her. "You feel what you're doin' to me?" Jimmy mutters, gruffly, "Bet you've never even taken cock before. You seem like the goodie-two-shoes type."

The idea of her being a virgin gets him riled up even more, even if there's a possibility that it's not entirely true. She won't tell him the truth, though, so he'll have to imagine. His fingers slip under her panties, feeling his way to her pussy, which she tries so hard to guard him from, pressing her things together as tight as she can. It's a futile effort. She feels nauseous. Dizzy from fear.

Jimmy's index runs along her slit, finding it's way to her clit, giving the soft nub a little poke just to watch her jump and hold back a squeal. His laugh comes out as a light huff of air. "I'm gonna be thinkin' 'bout you tonight, that's a given." He takes his other hand off the pole, using it to grab at her chest, kneading her pillowy soft tits as he continues to toy with her cunt. He groans lowly at the feeling.

"I wonder what these look like under here," Jimmy thinks aloud, pinching her nipple through her clothing, "Wonder what your cute little pussy would feel like, gripping my cock." He's breathing heavily, his hot breath fanning against her neck as he gets off to just the thought of defiling her. "You're probably so fuckin' tight."

He jimmies (hah) the tip of his finger into her hole to test his theory. She wants to cry, scream, throw up; everything about this is sickening. Perverse in the most monstrous way. It hurts when he forces his way in, even the smallest bit of his finger is painful. He was right. "I'd fuck you right here, if I could," Jimmy tells her, as if it were ever a secret, "Pussy ain't worth getting arrested for public indecency, though."

Finally, he removes himself from her hole, granting her some kind of relief. He also lets go of her chest, but only so he can slide both hands up her shirt so he can touch her without anything else getting in his way. What an awful day to not wear a bra, she thinks despairingly. Her nipples are puffy and fat between his index and thumb, rolling her hardened buds around. It hurts.

"You'd look even prettier with my cum all over your tits, y'know." Jimmy verbalizes his fantasies like it's casual conversation. Before he can whisper any more vile things into her ear, the train comes to a stop. He lets go of her completely, stepping back as a crowd clamors together to get out the sliding doors. She immediately follows them, frantically pushing and shoving her way out so she can run away as fast as she can, out of his sight in a flash.

Jimmy feels disappointed, still painfully hard in his jeans as he stands there alone. Annoyingly enough, he'll have to wait until he's home to take care of his... problem.

At least he gained new jerk off material today.

[mochacoda]

[teaser] too nice | hjs

Pairing: Hong Joshua x GN!Reader

Synopsis: Joshua Hong is nice. Too nice. He’s the kind of nice that makes people think twice about their relationship to him, wondering if they might be special. The answer is, no. Problem is, he's your coworker and your neighbor.

Content: Fluff | Coworkers to Lovers, Neighbors to Lovers | Office AU

Tags: slightly insecure reader, totally inspired by the Youngji chocolate milk grandchildren interview, lots of elevators, lots of tension, a bit of drinking, mutual pining, "sweetheart" as a petname, gentleman agenda indeed, except he goes a bit mad at the end, seungkwan is a comedic genius, woozi is the wingman of the year, konglish w/ context clues, reader is scared of loud noises, no "y/n"

Word Count: 9.9K

Full Version: January 8

Monday

Joshua Hong is nice. Really nice. He opens the door for you every morning walking into work. He insists that he carries heavy file boxes from your boss’ office to your desk. He buys you coffee from the cafe down the street, knowing that the instant machine is almost always broken. Whenever he passes you in the hallway, he always smiles and mouths “fighting!” He notices when your enthusiastic mask slips and your tiredness peaks through. He tells you not to work so hard, and asks if you’ve been sleeping well. 

He’s the kind of nice that makes people think twice about their relationship to him, wondering if they might be special. 

But the answer is, no. 

“He’s just like that. He’s nice to everyone. Get a grip.”

You sigh, staring at your reflection in the mirror hanging above your vanity. You’ve been absentmindedly rubbing moisturizer on your cheeks for the last three minutes, at least, thinking about your coworker. How have you gotten to the point of talking to yourself in attempts to rationalize the thoughts of him clouding your mind?

All of a sudden, your alarm rings. You jolt upright, reminded that you have to leave your tiny apartment and head over to your equally small office cubicle. 

You quickly stand up from your vanity chair, then walk over to your closet to grab a jacket. Relying on muscle memory, your hand moves toward the hook it always lies on, only to swipe at air. 

The one and only winter coat you own isn’t there. 

You groan, remembering that you’d put it in the laundry bin after staining it with beer over the weekend, at that disastrous company “bonding” event. You look down at the taupe sweater you’re wearing, pinching the material to guess if it’d be warm enough. It’s barely a centimeter of fabric. 

Glancing at the time on your phone, you decide that the thin sweater would just have to do. 

You turn back to the mirror to do one last check of your appearance, when something catches your eye. Sitting on your bedside table is the plushie Joshua had won for you at the arcade. The bunny stares back at you innocently. You’d placed it there last night before crashing out on your bed, fatigued from the chaos of the company outing—or, more specifically, the secondhand embarrassment recalling your attempts at trying to be normal around Joshua.  

You shake your head roughly. You could cringe at yourself on the way to work. Grabbing your work bag and shoving your shoes on, you rush over to the door. 

Squaring your shoulders, you open it and walk out. And for a moment, as you’re turning your key to lock the door, you think that you’ll be alone for the commute to work for once. 

But then you hear a familiar voice.

“Good morning!” 

You tense, heart beginning to race, then turn around with a weak smile.

“Hi, Joshua.” 

Somehow, you’re not only coworkers with your crush, but also next door neighbors. 

“Hey,” he says, then takes a sharp breath. “It’s pretty cold today. Is that sweater going to be warm enough?”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, avoiding eye contact as you drop your keys into your bag. “It can’t be that cold.” 

You adjust the bag strap on your shoulder and walk toward the elevator on your floor, pressing the down button. It immediately opens.

“You sure?” 

You nod as the two of you walk inside the elevator. 

Hoping he’ll stop pushing you on your lack of a coat, you ask, “Did you look into the McKinley and Lee file yet?”

“Come on, it’s not even 9am and you’re already attacking me with work!” Joshua dramatically clutches his chest, then lightly punches your arm. “What’d we say about 워라밸, huh?”

You feel your face getting hot, your right hand reflexively going up to where he’d touched your left arm. Was it always this toasty in the elevator?

Meeting his eyes for the first time today, you say, “Yeah, yeah, work-life balance. You’re right.”

His lips turn up and his eyes crinkle into bright crescent moons. You find yourself smiling back at him, despite having tried so hard to avoid his stupidly sweet gaze.  

“I’m just teasin’, you know?” he says, leaning casually against the steel walls of the small elevator.

“Yeah, yeah,” you mumble again, rubbing the handle of your bag and tapping your foot to give yourself something else to focus on, suddenly aware that the two of you were alone. 

God, could the elevator move any slower? Fidgeting with the loose threads of your sweater, you were on the verge of melting from being near his vicinity for so long. 

Ever since Joshua Hong had arrived two months ago as a transfer from the Seoul branch, you haven’t gone a day without running into him. It was HR’s fault, really. The Human Resources department had placed him in yours, and also gave him the company-funded apartment next door to you. 

He’d spent so much time around you that, if you didn’t see the people who regularly flocked to him, you’d think you were his only friend in the States. It was, and still is, ridiculous. His constant presence has meant that you are constantly aware of yourself. Of how you’re breathing too loud, and how your heart is beating too fast, and how you were in too much of a rush to do your hair and makeup this morning. He makes you care more than usual about how well you perform at work, and, worse, he makes you think about how happy and funny you appear to be. 

The way he teases you for being nervous (although that’s only because he’s around practically all the time) and the way he always notices when you aren’t feeling well—it’s as if he sees right through you. Yes, he sees right through you, and it’s incredibly scary knowing he could confront you at any time—maybe even in this elevator—and say that he’s known all along that you’ve had feelings for him. And what’s worse is that you know he’d be polite with his rejection. He’d be a gentleman, carefully letting you down with—

“Hello? Hellooo?” Joshua says, waving his hand in front of your face.

You jump, blinking rapidly. “Huh? Sorry, what?”

“We’re here, sweetheart,” he says gently.

“Oh,” you reply lamely. 

He gestures with his hand for you to walk out of the elevator first. Inside the lobby, he walks by your side. As the two of you approach the door, he reaches it first, and opens it for you to head outside. 

You’re immediately hit with a blast of winter and harsh winds. Your arms instinctively tighten around your stomach, trying to prevent the cold air from rushing up your sweater. 

Joshua turns to you, brows furrowed. His eyes glance over your sweater again, and you can tell he’s about to say something. Certain it’s an I told you so, you quickly say, “Before you start, I’m fine. It’s really not that cold, and the bus is coming soon anyway.”

You march forward toward the crosswalk before the bus stop, knowing he’s following behind you. Once you reach the start of the white lines, you slow down to a stop, waiting for the signal to change. 

Still behind you, Joshua says, “거기 있어봐.” 

“왜?” Though confused, you listen to his request to stay where you are. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, feeling somewhat awkward just standing with your back turned to him. 

He doesn’t answer your question why, but you hear a shuffle and the sound of fabric rustling. Then you feel a warm coat draped over your shoulders. 

You turn back to face Joshua with a start, opening your mouth to protest.

But before you can get a word out, he takes his pointer finger and lightly presses it against your lips. 

“Shh,” he says with a smile. “Tomorrow, wear a jacket, okay?” He pats the top of your head. 

Speechless, you barely bring yourself to nod, then remember to shut your jaw. Let’s just survive this bus ride, you tell yourself. God, it was unfair how nice he was. It only made it harder for you to believe he was like this with everyone—or to stop hoping that, somehow, you might be the exception. 

hi hoped u liked it :) full version coming out soon

[beelanddiavolosimp-blog]

Can we have one where MC splashes holy water on them-💀✋

Oh my God that's actually hilarious to think about 🤣

The brothers react to MC splashing holy water on them

Lucifer

He was throwing one of his big tantrums when you decided to use it. Solomon jokingly gave you holy water to see if it would ward off the brothers. It didn't. But would it do anything if splashed on them? He was getting awfully close when you all of a sudden took off the cap and splashed him straight in the face with holy water. He stares at you completely shocked that you would do such a thing. He actually calmed down and continued to stare at you. "Maybe...I overreacted..." He says like a puppy that was just scolded he's more hurt that you would even think of doing that to him that it actually happening.

Mammon

He was being overdramatic (shocker) about something with Goldie and wouldn't calm down when you attempted to speak to him about it. He eventually was in front of you and decided you know what let's just do it and now here you are Mammon covered in holy water shell shocked as you sit there trying not to laugh. He immediately started whining "MC what the hell is yer problem! Holy water really!?" He says with a pout and some tears in his eyes. Poor baby.

Levi

He was getting way too envious with a game he was playing and was so close to summoning lotan when you stepped in and without thinking just threw holy water at him. He stopped mid yell and just looked at you. He returned to his normal non-demon form and immediately started to stutter out an apology "M-MC I'm sorry ...d-did I scare you?...holy water doesn't work either .." he says now embarrassed

Satan

Another freak out this was over someone trying to take a book he clearly had his hands on already. He was getting way too angry and you feared he'd do something bad so you just threw the holy water at him. He whips his head at you and now chased after you. A bad idea really...

Asmos

He was getting way too worked up over some guy stating he isn't beautiful and listing flaws asmos did not have. His horns started growing and you immediately knew you needed to do something. You search your pockets and throw the only thing you can think of at him and he calms down but at what cost. He was now crying his makeup, hair and outfit were ruined.

Beel

Another angry one over someone refusing to get him more food after he ate almost 100 servings already. You definitely couldn't contain him with his current state so you throw holy water hoping it won't seem tasty to him. He stops and calms down returning to you also looking like a kicked puppy. "MC ...I'm sorry....also holy water doesn't do much to us demons....by the way" he says and avoids eye contact like he will be scolded

Belphie

Simple really. He was being a dick and started to get too pissed off so while he had his back turned you threw the holy water at him as he deserves. This did result in casualties as he chased you around the house destroying everything in his way like his brother Satan.

[mythicalninjas]

What are they?

Author's note: I was rewatching a few clips of Transformers One and that deer-like robots scene made me imagine an alternative scenario of what the group would do if they were face-to-face with a deer-like robot.

Rate/warnings: SFW

In the middle of the open field, amidst an orange haze, four bipedal figures walk side by side. The shortest of them sings an improvised song while the others remain silent.

"Four best friends who are walking trought the door! There's no door, we're outside." B commented the last sentence and kept humming his improvised music.

Orion Pax was the next to speak. "Hey, look! There's more of it over here." he reaches out to touch the various strange things that sway in the wind.

"It's not metal." D-16 observed.

"Like some kind of, uh..." Orion continued. "Weird nature."

"So are they..." Elita-1 pointed to a herd of yellowish quadruped creatures a few meters ahead. Some of these creatures were all grazing the grass and some moss on the ground, which was strange. Don't these things need energon to survive like other cybertronians?

As the group approached, a few creatures stopped grazing, raised their heads and watched them. They didn't seem scared. On the contrary. They just walked in opposite directions away from the group and continued grazing, without any discomfort.

B was the first to speak after a moment of silence. "What are they?".

"Don't know. I've never seen "bots" like them before." D-16 said.

One of the creatures seemed restless, looking at the four miners and to the sides, sometimes at the grass below it, as if it were undecided whether to continue mind its business or watching the strange visitors.

After a few seconds, the creature stops and stares at the group, causing them to be a little confused by it. Orion, D, Elita and B looked at each other.

Suddenly, the yellowish creature finally reacts, walking towards Orion. The poor bot didn't know what to do. Fear and doubt filled him as the creature approached very slowly, each step taken carefully.

They looked at each other, confusion expressed on their faces this time.

The creature stops in front of Orion, but keeps a safe distance in case of danger. If any. As the strange form drew closer, the group was finally able to take a closer look at its anatomy: purple eyes located on both sides of the head, long neck, two ears which turn to different directions at same time, four long thin limbs without fingers, bright yellow color (much warmer than the B's color) and two anteenae-like things on the head, with circles on the tips.

The creature moved a little closer to Orion and began to sniff him.

They couldn't believe what they're seeing.

"What the hell?" Orion thought, looking at the others and shrugging. It took a while for the creature to smell the red and blue bot, occasionally stopping and staring up at him and sniffing again. The poor bot didn't know what to do. Then the creature streched its neck to reach Orion's left hand and sniff once again.

D-16 tilted his head.

The yellow creature took a while to smell Orion's hand, sometimes startling itself out of nowhere, making the group giggle a bit.

"Why did it startle?" B whispered.

"Maybe it thinks Orion will do something." Elita whispered back.

Orion, with a soft voice, said: "We won't hurt you, buddy."

The creature stops sniffing and stares up at Orion, then at the others beside him.

Both cybertronian species were seeing and having contact for the very first time after many cycles. Surely at some point in history, before the Quintenssons took over the surface of Cybertron, there were many encounters between bots and these four-legged creatures. Maybe that's the reason why they don't feel threatened by the group.

Suddenly Orion have an idea, but he doesn't know IF It's a good idea. Taking advantage of the creature's distraction at his friends, he raised his hand slowly towards its neck, with the intention to touch it.

D notices. "What are you doing?" He asked, confused.

Orion didn't answer his friend, just concentrated on trying to touch the creature's neck. He was very careful not to frighten it. As soon as he touched it, the creature made a squeaking sound and backed away a few steps in fear.

"It's afraid of you." Elita warned.

"I think it never had contact with bots like us but the Quintessons over these many cycles we have hidden underground. Its instincts tell we are dangerous, but it clearly wants to know what we are". Orion held out his hand to the creature to let it smell again. "It's okay. We're just as curious as you are, buddy." His voice was gentle.

The creature seemed petrified at first, staring at Orion's eyes and then at his hand. Long minutes of silence have passed. Finally the creature approached Orion again, this time sniffing for a few seconds, then looking up at the red and blue miner and sniffing the air. It craned its neck to try and smell Orion's face, for some reason the group couldn't know why.

The miner took the opportunity to touch it and moved his hand to its neck. The wild form didn't back up this time.

"It's working!" B shouted, making the creature startle at his voice. Elita covers B's mouth.

Finally, Orion touched the creature's neck. He could feel that it was tense, but it seemed to trust him. He slides his hand up and down the animal's neck, caressing it.

"How…" D remembered not to speak louder so as not to frighten it. The creature didn't seem to be bother by the grey miner. "How did you do that?"

Elita was the next to speak. "It was… incredible."

B just nodded, Elita still covering his mouth.

Orion smiled at the creature. It enjoyed the pets it was receiving and leaned closer to Orion, its eyes closed. "Trust." He replied. "I have earned its trust." He nodded for the others to come closer. "Come on, I belive it will let you touch it as well. But just don't make any sudden movements."

"Or loud sounds." Elita whisperd to B's auditory receptors, casting a threatening glance as uncover his mouth.

The creature was a little apprehensive when it realised that the other three bots were closer than usual, but it knew they weren't a threat. They were with this strange gentle bot in blue and red.

B was the first to pet it. "Awwn it's kinda cute."

On that day, after countless cycles, two different species were able to coexist in harmony, until a strange sound rang out across the open valley they were, scaring the creatures away.

☆☆☆☆☆

This was my first time writing for Transformers One. Thank you for reading ❤️

(My work is original. Do NOT copy and past it! It's not cool stealing what isn't yours!)

[likablemuffin]

Kendra always did hate the turtles. (Whumptober)

(From: Random ROTTMNT oneshots)

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

Day 10: Blow to the head

So, Donnie had made the Purple Dragons mad.

....Again.

Oh well, the Purple Dragons are just three teenagers; it's not too hard to beat them!

Well, that would be what they would be saying if what happened hadn't happened.

Donnie had foiled one of the Purple Dragons plans again, and obviously, they were pretty pissed.

"CURSE YOU, VON RYAN!" Kendra yells as she uses her new jetpack to start flying away. "Von Ryan? Donnie, who the fuck is Von Ryan??" Leo straightens his posture as he asks this. "Language Leo." Raph sends a small glare Leo's way. "No, but like, genuinely, who is Von Ryan. Does anyone know."

Kendra groans angrily from above them. "YOUR BROTHER YOU IDIOTS!" Leo looks up at Kendra and gives her a confused expression. "Are they like one of our lost siblings, or..." "OH MY GOSH, WILL YOU SHUT UP ALREADY?!" "No, cause, like, I'm genuinely asking." Kendra grits her teeth and takes out what looks like a genuine gun. 

"Oh shoot-" Leo manages to slip out before Kendra starts trying to SHOOT HIM. "Kendra! Have you lost your mind?!" Donnie calls out to Kendra as he dodges her attacks as well. "I am so tired of you stupid turtles ruining all my plans! I'm going to get rid of you once and for all!" Raph somehow manages to block a bullet shot right at him with his weapons. "So you're going to kill us??" 

Jeremy is on a roof right across from the turtles and he yells up to Kendra. "YEAH- ARENT WE SUPPOSED TO JUST BE STEALING SOMETHING? NOT...MURDER??" Kendra groans from where she's flying and stops shooting at the turtles. "I DIDNT ASK YOU, JEREMY! SO SHUT UP!" Jeremy slumps in defeat.

"Oh, come on now, that's no way to treat one of your friends, is it?" Leo speaks up from his spot while he waits for more action to occur. "YOU LITTLE-" And just like that, Kendra starts shooting at the boys again. 

After a while, Kendra, of course, runs out of bullets. "OH FUCK THIS STUPID THING!!" Kendra tosses the gun to the ground and just straight up charges at the turtles. "Hey, HEY! JEEZ-" Leo yells as Kendra narrowly misses pushing him off the roof. "Do you seriously want to push us off? Thats not very your style, Kendra." "SHUT UP VON RYAN!" Leo knowingly nods his head from where he's standing. "Ohhhh, that's who Von Ryan is."

Kendra turns around to glare at Leo before using her jetpack to shove herself towards him. 

And she knocks into him.

And she pushes him.

Off of the roof.

"LEO!!" Every one of his brothers screams. The world almost seems to slow down as Leo's body makes contact with the wall of an alley and his head snaps back, hitting the side of it. His whole vision goes white, and he gasps. "KENDRA!" Jeremy screams after her. But Leo can barely even hear him. A ringing noise enters his ears as both he and Kendra fall down the side of the wall.

"LEO!!" Donnie screams as he watches his brother his twin  get pushed off the side of the building by that purple-haired bitch. 

Donnie instantly jumps off the side of the building and breaks into a roll at the bottom. His ankle almost gives out, but that's not what matters right now. Leo and Kendra are lying almost directly next to each other. Kendra is struggling to get up off the floor, while Leo just lies there breathing heavily. Donnie rushes over and grabs Kendra by the collar of her shirt. "You." Kendra looks at him with an actually scared look on her face, and Donnie can't help but smirk at it. "You are absolutely dead."

Donnie throws Kendra to the ground, but before he can take out his tech bo, Raph comes up to him. "Donnie, let's get Leo out of here. We can deal with Kendra later." Donnie looks over to Raph, almost about to ask him if he was serious, but the look on Raph's face already tells Donnie what he needs to know.

Donnie glances over to Leo and notices Leo's eyes starting to close. Donnie practically lunges forward and immediately starts gently tapping Leo's cheek. "No, no, don't fall asleep-" Leo dazedly looks up at Donnie and mumbles so quietly Donnie can barely hear, "Donn...ie..?" "Yes, yes, its me, you dumb dumb; please keep your eyes open for me, okay?" Leo's eyelids start to drop slightly, but he still smiles at Donnie and says, "W-We'll...do..."

Raph walks up to the both of them, and Mikey comes running up from the entrance to the alley. "Should I carry him?" Raph speaks up as he gently puts his shoulder on Donnie's shoulder. Donnie waves Raph's hand off. "No, I'll carry him." Mikey looks at him worriedly and crouches down in front of him. "Are you sure Dee?" Donnie glares at him, although he feels bad doing so almost immediately after. "Sorry- yes, I'm sure. Thank you for your concern, Michael."

Mikey nods at him and smiles. Raph and Mikey share a glance before they both start walking to the street where the turtle tank is parked. Donnie very carefully picks Leo up and starts following them. As Donnie starts walking towards the street, he feels a cold hand touch his arm, and when he looks down, he sees Leo staring at him. "I-It'll be...o...kay, Don..." Donnie takes a deep breath. "I know. You'll be fine."

And as they all walk into the turtle tank and Raph starts driving, Leo's eyes close because he's safe in Donnie's arms. He'll be fine. 

He knows.

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

[x-just-another-fanfic-writer-x]

The Neighbour Down The Hall

Chapter 12

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: A lot can change in just 24 hours

Word count: 1.5k

“Will you talk to me about what’s going on now?” Bucky asked, though it sounded more like a demand than a request, especially coupled with the way he tried to step into your apartment.

You pushed the door shut slightly. “Me and Justin had a disagree-”

“Cut the bullshit, I heard every word.”

You didn’t think you were that loud… You bit your lip, then closed your eyes and sighed at the same time, before pulling the door open, allowing Bucky inside. As he walked past you took a peak out into the hallway to see if anyone else was looking, but the place was empty, then you locked the door behind you. Bucky was already in your kitchen by the sound of it, you heard the kettle being filled. You walked into the room, there was one mug and the box of your chamomile tea sitting on the counter. Along with a Bucky, leaning against it, looking sort of out of place. The overhead lights were harsh to your sleep deprived eyes, and and you grimaced a little as you yawned.

“Sit down,” he instructed quietly, nodding towards your dining table.

You did as he asked, for a moment the only sound being the slow boiling of the kettle until you spoke up. “Was that you I heard talking to him out there?”

Bucky nodded, not elaborating further as he made you a cup of tea. He set the beverage down in front of you, and pulled up a chair opposite, his blue eyes piercing yours. You couldn’t maintain eye contact.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, wrapping your hands around the hot mug.

“Are you okay?” he asked surprisingly softly.

You couldn’t help the humourless snort, nor the immediate guilt as you looked up at the obvious concern on his face. “No. I just kicked my boyfriend- correction, ex - out of my apartment.”

Bucky nodded gently. “He doesn’t deserve you,” he said quietly.

“Please I don’t want to hear any of that sort of crap right now.”

Bucky raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright… You don’t want that ‘crap’. What drug was it?”

You felt the confused expression on your face. Had he truly heard every word?

“Marijuana,” you stated, then took a sip of your tea. You started to wonder if you had overreacted, the substance was literally legal in some countries, but it wasn’t just about the drugs. “He was arrested for possession of a Class B drug, and the police came here and they must have found some… and now he's waiting to be summoned to court I think.” 

Bucky nodded slowly. “You smoke it?”

“God no,” you answered quickly. “That would be illegal.”

A flicker of a smirk passed across his face, which rubbed you up the wrong way for some reason. But before you could say anything his expression sombered. “Are you safe from him?”

“Safe? Why would you ask that?”

“He was pretty angry before I stepped in.”

“What did you even say to him?” you asked, then took another sip of the tea.

“Just gave him an idea about what might happen if he didn’t leave and ever dared to come back,” he said nonchalantly, though there was a steely glint in his eyes. 

“And what might happen?” you asked apprehensively, clutching onto your mug tighter.

He shrugged. “That depends on you. So I ask again, do you feel like you're safe from him?”

You nodded. “I think so. I mean… if- if he came back and caused any trouble I could tell the police how he grabbed-”

Bucky suddenly leaned forward. “Wait what? He laid his hands on you?” 

“Sort of, he like, well he dragged me towards…” you trailed off as the dark look on Bucky’s face was making you more scared than you wanted to admit to yourself.

“Finish that sentence,” he demanded quietly.

“He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and dragged me towards him,” you mumbled.

Bucky let out a hiss of anger, looking off to the side for a moment before looking back at you, his eyes roaming down the parts of your body he could see above the table. “Did he hurt you?” you started to shake your head but he continued, “don’t lie if he did. You don’t need to protect him.”

“He didn’t,” you insisted. “I stumbled a bit but that’s all.”

“Has he ever done anything like that before?”

“No, that was the only time he uh, ‘manhandled’ me,” you said, grimacing a bit at the phrase.

“If I see that bastard again,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head gently. You took another few gulps of your tea, the temperature now more tolerable. You tried to avoid Bucky’s gaze, until he asked a direct question. “Are you gonna be okay? On your own?”

You nodded. “Yeah I pay most of the bills apart from rent, but I can get that changed from him to me. It's only just been the first, but he can suck a dick if he tries asking me to cover his half.”

“That’s good… but not quite what I meant.”

Oh…  “Yeah no I’ll, I’ll be fine,” you said, shrugging and putting on a little fake smile.

“You’re welcome to uh… come over if you ever need…” he trailed off. You weren’t 100% sure where he was going with that, but you appreciated it.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, looking down at the mug. The grating sound of your phone alarm went off, and you quickly fished the device to turn it off. “I have to get ready…” you said awkwardly.

“You’re still going to work?” he asked incredulously.

“I can’t just-”

“Are they not letting you have time off for something like this?”

“I haven’t told them,” you admitted. Bucky gave you an even more incredulous look. “They don’t need to know,” you said defensively.

“Jess, you need to take care of yourself, not work yourself to the bone even more and pretend everything is fine.”

You frowned. “My job provides stability and it’s good to get out of the apartment.”

“You need rest. But if you need to get out of the apartment, go for a walk, or take yourself shopping or something else stereotypically… ‘self caring’,” he air quoted. You pushed down the snigger threatening to escape your lips.

“I’d rather just go to work.”

He sighed loudly. “And I’d rather you took time to look after yourself.”

“Can we agree to disagree?”

“No,” he said bluntly, frustrating you. 

“Bucky I don’t need to baby myself,” you scoffed.

“It’s not babying yourself, it’s being responsible for your own well being,” he rebuffed. “I’ll make you a deal. If you spend today actually getting some sleep or at least resting, I’ll make you dinner tonight.” 

That caught you off guard and you practically choked on your own spit. “Dinner?” He nodded. “With you?”

“With me.”

“Dinner?” you repeated.

“Yes. You eat it, right?” he asked a little slowly.

You rolled your eyes. “Obviously but I didn’t think- you want to cook me dinner?”

“Yes…” he said even more slowly.

You narrowed your eyes. “It wouldn't be a date.”

He rolled his eyes. “I never suggested it was.”

“Where?”

“My place.”

You briefly wondered if his sparse apartment even had the utensils to handle that, but you eventually nodded. “What time?”

“8pm.”

"How would you know I actually rest and don’t just pretend?”

“Either the bags under your eyes will look less noticeable... or you can tell me all about whatever adventures you get up to, but you won't be getting any dessert.”

A minuscule smile formed on your face. “Okay… deal.” 

Bucky smiled back gently, nodding, then stood up. “You sure you’ll be okay for the day?”

“Yeah, I’ll ‘rest’,” you air quoted, standing up too. “Are you going off to work?”

Bucky took a few steps towards your front door before he eventually replied "Yeah." Then he hesitated. “If anything happens…” he began, glancing around then picking up the notepad and pen you kept on the little side table by your front door. “Here’s my number," he said, handing you the piece of paper. He had surprisingly cursive handwriting.

"Thank you," you said quietly as you took it, your attention once again being drawn to the gloves he always wore.

Bucky opened the door, walking back to his apartment. "Make sure you keep your doors locked," he turned to instruct you before entering his own apartment. 

You bit your lip, shutting your door gently.

A lot can change in 24 hours, hell a lot can change in just one hour.

Justin had possessed drugs.

You kicked the twat out of your home.

And tonight you were going to have dinner with Bucky with the beautiful blue eyes.

[dozing-marshmallow]

OTHER FRANKIE WITH AN ACTUAL BUNNY ONE SHOT

(ft. one of my bunnies <3)

Despite being modelled after rabbits and sharing a lot of their attributes, Frankie has no clue how to approach actual ones.

He doesn’t want to hurt them since he sees himself in them, and he does appreciate their cute appearances.

“Oh wow!” Frankie exclaimed at the ginger rabbit in your arms,“She’s quite small, isn’t she?”

“That’s how big she’ll ever grow. She’s what’s called a mini lionhead.” you informed, setting her on the floor.

“Aw, she’s very adorable! She even has the little mane around her face!” Frankie complimented, extending his hand on the floor, watching the bunny hop to it. After a few seconds of the rabbit making contact with his hand, the robot asked,“Is she trying to bite me?” 

You looked at the rabbit and saw her mouth on his finger right when he said that,“No no no.” you cooed to the rabbit, picking her up by the underarms and setting her back a few metres.

It would have been funny to see Frankie in physical pain, but it appeared to have bugged him rather than hurt him.

Frankie decided to pet her on the back, the rabbit appreciating the affection as she stayed still,“Does she know any tricks?”

You snorted,“Frankie, it’s a rabbit, not a dog.”

“Rabbits are intelligent enough to learn tricks too, contestant!” he insisted, almost like he was defending himself more than rabbits as a species.

“They can, but they’re very stubborn. The only trick this rabbit can do is respond to her name, and even then, it’s hard to tell if she’s responding because I called her.” you forewarned, unable to stop Frankie’s curiosity to see the one supposed trick,“Okay uh…” you leaned forward to your pet, sweetly calling,“Cinnamon!”

Cinnamon twitched her head slightly up to the side; other than that, she remained where she was, under Frankie’s hand.

“I warned you.” you shrugged, back in your normal voice.

“Maybe you’re just not doing it right!” Frankie suggested, holding a finger up with his other hand.

“Not doing it right?” you repeated, blinking out of humour,“What do you mean, that’s her name.”

“Let me try!” he requested,“Cinnamon?”

No difference.

You chuckled, covering your mouth in case the sudden noise scared the ginger rabbit, feeling that she sided with you,“You’re not saying it in the voice. Otherwise, saying her name is gibberish to her.”

“Aha! So she doesn’t reply to the what, but to the how?” Frankie questioned thoughtfully, with his eyes on you.

You had been beaten by your logic, until you realised the twist,“Well, if you speak to her in that high pitched voice, I guess she’ll just know you’re talking to or about her.”

“What a fascinating creature!” Frankie replied, now stroking a finger on the fur sticking out around her face,“How long have you had her for?”

“A few years. She’s a feisty little thing, but when you have her here like this, she’s calmer.” you answered, watching the currently serene rabbit.

“Yes, I had quite the first hand experience in that.”

You managed to bite back your laugh,“She was being curious. Can you blame her though? You’re not like anything her ancestors came across.”

“I know, she’s just acting on instinct!” Frankie considered, petting her back a bit more.

A while afterwards, Frankie feared that should she stick around long enough for any of the viewers to see her, they’d demand she be made star mascot immediately.

Cinnamon, feeling inspired by the encounter, would return home with her own-sized Frankie hat.

[sunnywrites2]

Hi! I saw you asked for some requests and I hope this is ok :)

Could we maybe get some sephiroth x reader reverse comfort headcanons?

Of course!!!

You can immediately tell when something is terribly wrong. Sephiroth isn’t in any of his normal spots, nor with his friends. His schedule is supposed to be clear of any missions so obviously you’re confused and worried.

Then you find out he had a visit to the labs scheduled for today. Although he hasn’t told you much you’ve seen the way he acts in those cold sterile halls, he’s always different after too.

You find him eventually, leaving the labs just as you go to enter them, he isn’t wearing his coat, instead just having it sit on his shoulders. He doesn’t even look down to acknowledge your presence, his eyes looking straight ahead past you. He looks robotic, stiff and dissociating.

He only looks down at you when you call out to him, slit pupils dull. Sephiroth turns his head, looking away from you with his hair now covering his face. At first you’re stunned, what are you supposed to do? He looked almost sick, paler than usual and visibly sagging now that he’s seen you. Sephiroth turns back to you, pupils rounding out a bit.

“Can I…go to your quarters?”

He had been to your place before, but in this moment you could tell it wasn’t for any other reason than comfort. He just needs somewhere to hide away from the world, the world that sees him as a hero, a weapon, a monster.

It doesn’t take long for him to draw attention as you two make your way to your apartment. He’s still though, not looking at anyone and just walking ahead. You bring him up to your place, not caring much in the moment that rumors would surely spread about Sephiroth going home with you. As soon as he is out of the public eye he sags like a deflated balloon, so visibly tired and barely able to move beyond the entryway of your place. You don’t want to rush him though, or try to help him along with touch, the way he was clutching his coat over his shoulders gave the obvious impression that he didn’t want physical contact right now.

“Thank you.”

He walked over to your small worn down couch, slumping down into it. It was almost ironic to see such a big man on such a small couch, but in this moment it was more so sad. Sephiroth’s hair was damp with sweat and some mix of strong smelling chemicals, his entire body smelt like the same sterile environment he’d just left.

You stand by the couch, watching over him and studying his more exhausted appearance in your home. His leg keeps twitching, boot tapping softly against the floor and filling the space with the rhythmic sound of thumping. Sephiroth was clearly still disoriented so you knelt down in front of him, a comfortable distance away. You speak to him quietly asking him what he needs, how he was feeling.

“I just need time…I’m sorry you have to see me in such a pathetic state.”

He sounded defeated, eyes finally focusing on you. It was hard to imagine, the demon of Wutai, the legendary war hero, sat here in your little apartment thinking he was pathetic for having needs and feelings.

You spoke to him, for the rest of the day and well into the night. After a few hours he loosened up, pupils round and eyes gaining some of their light back. He didn’t want touch, or pity, he just wanted a safe place to feel, to be emotionally vulnerable for once. He was always so strong, so stoic, yet so childish once you got to know him.

He fell asleep on your couch that night, curled up like a cat, buried underneath his long hair. You sat there with him all night, he needed you in that moment, so you would be there.

The next day he had apologized once again and left your apartment, seeming back to his usual emotionless demeanor. He never brought it up nor did he ever say what happened to make him need comfort. You didn’t pry, besides you had a feeling the answer would be too much for you. From what you did know about Hojo and the labs you were sure he must have been…scared. Now that you think about it that was the best word to describe how he acted that day: scared. Of the professor, of himself, his emotions, and the world around him.

End notes: Ughhhgua writing this on three hours of sleep was tough but rewarding, I love Sephiroth and I love writing him. I may be a gooner but I am a gooner with literacy comprehension skills.

[jisokai]

You always thought the circus was where you yearned to be. At least, until it finally let you in—and introduced you to Hanta Sero.

[circus AU where seamstress!reader and acrobat!sero realize that their lives have been running parallel for a long time, and it’s up to you to weave them together]

part 4: made of the same dust.

sero hanta x reader ch 4/6 | 13k words | masterlist | ao3 cw: the smut. it's mild and i kept it gn (no body descriptions for reader) notes: senorita by camila cabello and shawn mendes, nobody by hozier, ceilings by lizzie mcalpine

the time you finally reach back.

✰.

"The fact that we can sit right here and say goodbye / Means we've already won

A necessity for apologies between you and me / Baby, there is none"

- Walking in the Wind, One Direction

The world slows while you stand and stare ahead, eyes boring into Hanta’s across the crowd. Your heart pounds in your chest, skin ablaze as your mind races. It’s fuzzy, too much passing through and slamming together as you try to understand the past few nights, entire days, years that have gone by. Your chest squeezes at the thought of Hanta watching you curiously, uncertainly as you wandered through his gifts, not yet understanding the magnitude of what he was trying to say.

And here he stands—still as a stone, unsure after baring his heart and his memory before you. A memory you forgot.

You run forwards.

“Hanta!” you shout as you weave through the crowd. His eyes widen, head jolting from shock before he breaks free and runs to meet you without hesitation.

You reach for him, hands grasping tightly at the front of his shirt. Your own panting sounds through your ears, pairing with a sting across your nose and eyes as your body threatens to sob.

“Hanta, was it really you this whole time?” 

He’s nervous, eyes glazed with a mixture of fear and hope. His hands lift but they don’t make contact with your arms. When he speaks his voice is breathy. “Yeah, it was me. I mean, Momo helped—but they were my ideas. I wanted… I wanted to show you how I feel towards you.” There’s a pause as he surveys your face. “… Do you like them?”

Momo? Your head rushes at the thought that she was an orchestrator—Momo, who you haven’t had the chance to say a proper thank you to, to share with her all that this means to you. Momo was helping Hanta build tents and stories and magic? That alone could make you cry.

But you’re stunned further when you register Hanta’s question. Like them? That tent was full of your home, your memories, moments you didn’t even know were lost until now. And at the same time they were his confessions, love letters that have been looking for you, for years. Since Quito.

“Hanta… they’re everything I’ve been missing.”

… He’s everything you’ve been missing.

His hand is searing against your waist, fire burning through fabric to ignite the skin beneath your gown—a shock against the winter air. The touch is gentle, still cautious despite your affirmation, but you see relief wash over him, face softening into a hopeful stare. He swallows.

His arm curves to hold you firmly, forcing your body into his, the heat of him that seeps through his costume. You accept it greedily, pressing your face into his shoulder. Your cheeks burn, you can’t tell from your own blood rushing through you, or the radiance of his heat. As he guides you through the crowd—your feet stumbling along his—you try to calm yourself, only now feeling your erratic heart beats, the lump in your throat and stomach you can’t explain. But despite all this, you feel safe in his arms.

You don’t know where he’s taking you, and you don’t care. Words tumble from your lips before you can choose them carefully, just wanting to tell him anything. Everything.

“You were there? In Quito when I was in the parade?” Your voice is quiet, likely too soft to hear. But he releases a choked yeah that makes your body tighten.

You laugh breathily. “I remembered hating it. I was so scared to perform. But abuela thought it would be good for me. I… I didn’t remember having so much fun. Only falling at the end and hurting myself. I was never a performer, even if I love to dance. I—”

The air is quieter around you when Hanta comes to a stop, letting you break away partially to look at his face.

“Gracias, Hanta. Para mostrarme.”

Thank you, Hanta. For showing me.

His face is unreadable, a mysterious shroud of darkness. You take in what your peripheral offers, tall looming shadows of palm trees. The silhouette of a banana leaf breezes behind him. They’re out of place in the temperate weather of Milan. You’re sandwiched between the festival and the street, in the strip of tropical plants outside the duomo. Isn’t there a fence to separate the vegetation from pedestrians? How did he bring you here?

You want to know everything about him—all this impossible magic, what he’s thinking, what he knows about you. Your heart reaches for him, yearns while watching with bated breath.

It quickens impossibly when his hand moves to your face. His touch is soft and ignites a buzz beneath your skin. His thumb presses your cheek, stroking under your eye. His tongue swipes through his lips, biting down on the lower one with a frown in thought. You watch him. Still waiting.

His face stretches into a grin, this one in disbelief, almost contorted with pain. “I never thought I’d… I just—” the words don’t amount to anything, only the beginnings of thoughts coming from his lips. You laugh gently in agreement.

“Eres tú,” he finally manages. It’s you. His Spanish is firm and deliberate. “Seeing you that day is the reason I’m here now. You were… you were beautiful. And you saw me.”

You don’t know what he’s saying, too far gone to read into his words. They hardly enter your brain. But you capture their essence, your body reacting on instinct to the sounds. Each word is a strike to your heart, a squeeze to your lungs, a burn across your face. You inspired him somehow—you with your clumsy enthusiasm that only lasted a moment. He saw it and wanted it too.

“Were you looking for me?” you ask. It’s not what you mean to say.

He shakes his head slowly. “I… I don’t know. I was just chasing that feeling you gave me, from the moment I felt it. And it led me here.”

He’s too beautiful, you think. Him and his earnest words and his devoted heart. You stare openly, at his face partly illuminated in the dim glow of the moon. His eyes are honest and wide, watching every detail of you carefully. But they’re also dark—mysterious, deep depths that hold impossibly more. Like his hair, soft against his forehead and cheeks, a blanket of uncertainty that you want to wrap yourself in.

But he’s also ridiculous, standing there in his jester’s costume, the amalgamation of Japanese and French and Persian attire. His hat is also dark, artificially so, a fuzzy felt that rains over his head. You can’t hold back your smile at the sight, this multitude of a man.

“You’re so beautiful,” is all you can say.

And suddenly he’s closer, pulling you in, pressing against you like you’ll meld together. His face is close, so close, searing forehead against yours as he stares into you with those large, hopeful eyes.

You don’t reject his advances, letting him take you and guide your head towards him with the hand against your cheek—to steal your lips for his own.

If touching Hanta is the heat of fire, the burning pain of flames against your skin, then kissing him is the heat of molten rock and stone, hot lava that pools in your body. You grab him greedily, clutching the hem of his robe with the intensity of claws. It eggs him on, hand firm as it slides to the back of your neck, releasing a wave of tingles down your spine. His other arm stretches further around you, to pull you impossibly closer. You’re dizzy, dissolving from his intimacy like steam from a boil. It hurts, but you crave more. 

He tastes sweet, the tang of an orange along the freshness of mint. At the first sample, a swipe against his lip with your tongue, you immediately crave more. He lets you in, gives you full reign to him. You take it easily, take and take and take as you run your hands up his neck and confine him. A groan releases from his throat, a rough sound that starts from the depths of his chest, vibrating against your own. You think you might die from the intensity, how his song raises your temperature even further.

When you finally have space to breathe, pulling apart only to press a rapid succession of kisses against him, you breathe his name like air. First it’s the exhale of a shaky, “Hanta,” and then it’s a cry, the choked mantra of, “Hanta, Hanta, Hanta—”He whines in response, a high pitched and raw honesty. You can’t take it, can’t bear the thought of being apart from him. When you think about how long you’ve lived in his absence, one you weren’t even aware of until tonight, it tears at your chest, the sting of an open wound.

His hotel isn’t far from the duomo, but the journey there is endless. He pulls you forward by the hand, and the sight of him, his wide back and his arm outstretched towards you, fuels a giddiness in your chest. 

The room is small, only large enough for one, and the hall is tight when he pulls you in, immediately pressing you into the wall of the cramped corridor. You inhale sharply at the impact, then nearly choke as he leans into you, the curve of his front slotting snugly into yours. He’s all over you once again, this time in the private darkness of his space. The air is heavy against you, a sticky dampness of need. You welcome him easily, lips parting to taste him again—orange and mint and heat.

His kisses are deep but hurried. He moves quickly, an eager pace you encourage. You urge him to continue, equally firm as you run your tongue over his teeth, catching his with your own.

Your heart jumps when he pulls back enough to run his lips under your eye, migrating to your temple and against your ear, lighting your body aflame. You gasp as the feeling, how it claws into your chest and sides when he moves to kiss your jaw, your neck. Then you’re whining, high pitched and breathy. He chuckles against you—a raspy, throaty sound that blooms an ache in your stomach. 

“Lo siento,” he whispers against your throat after biting it softly. I’m sorry. “Ideally I’d take my time with you.”

You groan at the admission, hands sliding up his neck to bury in his hair. The grunt he releases is an animal sound. Suddenly he’s clutching at your thighs, grinding his hips into yours to make you feel the hard, searing heat of him.

He tears you from the wall. You wrap your arms over his shoulders, holding him tightly as he stumbles further into the room. Your hand reaches for his stupid jester hat, tugging one of the felted points, jingling as it slides off his head and onto the floor. You giggle at the silliness of it all, your two costumes pressed together.

Then you’re falling backwards, flopping against the surface of his bed. Hanta leans with you, pinning you against the plushness of the duvet. He hums into your lips, an intrigued sound at your laughter, before he ruts his hips into you again, pulling a gasp from your lips. The heat between your legs is blooming, consuming. You bury your face in his hair, dark dark threads swept beneath your chin and cheek as his lips suck at your neck. His fingers dance against your sides, sliding under your back to find the string that holds your dress together.

With one tug it loosens over your shoulders, bunching softly when one of his hands comes to your collarbone, fingertip hooking into the seam before tracing gently down your chest. You fold easily, shaking the cinches from your wrists to let the sleeves slide down with the bust. You’re left bare, chest and stomach and heart, for him to see in their entirety.

He pushes up from the bed to look at you, eyes tracing the dip of your collarbone, the firmness of your sternum, the softness of your belly. A hand smooths into the curve of your waist, touching gently with delicate fingers. You reach for the lapel of his top, the robe-like fabric tied at the side. He lets you pull the string, and then shrugs the garment off, easily brushing it to the side.

You know he’s fit; he’s an acrobat for a living. But you eye him greedily, taking in his sculpted figure, all lean muscle and angles and edges. Your fingers reach for the side of his pec, tracing down hot skin to the hard flesh of his obliques, the ripple of his abdomen. Another searing, hot wave rushes through you as you drink him in—the pour of boiling black liquid. Molten rock. 

He leans back down to kiss the skin of your chest, the flesh coating your heart. His chest is impossibly hot against your stomach, his torso burning as it settles between your legs. Your hips stutter on their own, bucking into his belly in attempt to relieve that ache. He groans again, a deep sound that thrums through your own body. You notice the flush of your face, a burning heat from within—not just the external warmth you’ve been stealing from him. 

His thumb presses against your hip, fingers wrapping around to dig into the plush of your ass. He’s encouraging you, pulling you into him to roll again and again, to use him for your relief. You follow his lead, let your hips rock into him even after his hand stops guiding you. There’s a twitch against your sternum, his lips stretching into a grin that he smothers into your skin. You don’t have the gall to care, too wrapped up in his touch and your pleasure that builds embarrassingly quickly. 

He lifts his head, drags it against the plush of your chest and to your nipple. You inhale sharply when his tongue flicks across the bud before he kisses it, a peck before harsh sucking. Pins run down your spine and directly to your heat, burning your body in every place and at every moment. Your hand threads through that deep, dark hair—soft, long locks against his scalp. His free hand pinches your other nipple, giving you no reprieve as he presses his stomach harder against you and flexes. You tremble from the overload of sensation, its ruthless compounding.

Your body tightens, shakes with the tension of a coiled spring. In the next moment it releases, you cresting the peak of your high as relief washes over you, hot white light flooding your vision and body. You don’t hear yourself whine and groan through your ecstasy, focus only on holding Hanta close to you.

You can hear your panting when you finally come to. Your eyes peel open after some effort, sticky from the force you used to scrunch them closed, to see Hanta above you. He’s smiling gently, a sweet and careful tug at his cheek. You blink rapidly in attempt to sharpen your vision, but he remains fuzzy in the dim light. You can only smile back, watching him lean down to kiss you again—this time slower, unhurried.

You jolt in your skin as his free hand reaches for your waist, sliding up and down. Your heart buzzes when it trails lower, touching the top of your thigh, over the edge towards the inside, before gliding to your center. You can feel your heart pound in your ears, thrumming in anticipation. The tips of his fingers ghost over your heat, igniting fire through your legs at the simultaneous lightness and overstimulation.

And then he stops.

The shift is jarring. He pulls away from your lips, hand jerking back. In a flash it’s like his touch was never there, only the ghost of a feeling in your memory. But he’s still hovering above you, now with a look of uncertainty. You frown—at the loss, but mostly from concern.

“Hanta?” you press.

He blinks, eyes darting from you and to the side, inspiring nervous fluttering in your stomach. He bites his lip in thought, nearly chewing at himself. You think you can see the gears turning in his mind.

“¿Estás bien?” Are you okay?

His head shakes, like he’s coming back to himself. He looks at you again, wide earnest eyes that hold every secret you’ve ever needed. You feel relief in your stomach, that moment of unease slipping away. You trust him.

His voice is throaty when he answers, and he stumbles a couple of times before he manages to say, “I—I really don’t want to rush this. To rush you… us. I’m sorry.” A glossiness pools in his eyes. He looks mournful. The sight hurts your heart.

“Estás bien,” you say this time. You reach one of your hands to his face, carefully brushing his cheek. You want your words to get through to him. “Hanta, it’s okay.”

He exhales shakily, leaning to press his head against your shoulder. Your hand migrates to the back of his head, petting his hair gently. He blinks rapidly against you, the butterfly wings of his eyelashes kissing your skin. They’re followed by the light touch of tears, a slight drizzle of rain while he collects himself.

You cradle him carefully, coaxing him to relax on top of you. His weight pins you down, like the security of a blanket. He’s still warm, hot coals against you—coals that breathe, expand and shrink over and over and over again. Your free hand travels down his back, softly tracing his spine, the ridges of mountains, groaning earth beneath taut skin.

In this quiet reprieve, the space between action, your mind wanders to his words. I don’t want to rush this. But it’s up to you, isn’t it? Whether there can be a this at all—whether you can have any time together in the future. Whether you can find the courage to leave and chase that feeling that brought Hanta to you. But the ashes of abuela sit under your coffee table, waiting to be brought home; your sister sits in her room halfway across the world, waiting for you to call her back. Your heart is heavy, sinking down your body as you bear its burden and the weight of the man above you.

“Lo siento,” he whispers the apology against your heart.

You smile sadly to yourself, swallowing a lump as you reply, “Yo también.”

Me too.

You don’t wake first, but you still wake early, eyes twitching when the morning sun brushes your face. You feel the plushness of the blanket, body snug under its warmth. The sheet is stiffer than yours, and the scent of the room has a tang yours lacks. Your eyes shoot open.

Sero is not what you expect to see upon waking, the first figure to cross your vision. But he lays beside you, propped on his stomach with his arms thrown over a pillow, outstretched to cradle a book. His shirt is still discarded from the night before, tan and toned skin stark against the white of the bed. He doesn’t notice that you’ve woken, eyes tracing along the paper, a fond smile tugging at his lips. Even buried in your peripheral, the book is recognizable.

You get a few minutes of this peaceful quiet, watching the light from the window illuminate him from behind. He's glowing, radiant.

When his finger drags against the top of the paper, his eyes dart towards you, widening in surprise when he sees that you’re awake. You wonder if he looked your way at every turn of the page, waiting.

You smile. He grins in response and tucks a tag in the spine, letting the book close as he shifts towards you.

“Buenos días,” he greets softly. The rasp makes your heart pound.

Your voice is almost a whisper when you return the phrase. 

“Sleep well?”

You respond with an mhmm, adjusting as you roll entirely to your side to face him. The blanket falls slightly down your chest, but you leave it. Hanta’s eyes don’t leave yours. 

Your hand slides towards him, finger brushing against his forearm. His opposite hand lands atop yours, thumb gliding gently over your knuckles. You wonder what this is, what you’re doing here with soft gazes and twitches of smiles. The pace of your heart picks up, an awkwardness seeping through your skin. Then you frown with realization. 

“Was it okay for you to leave last night?” you ask.

Sero blinks at the question. “Huh? Oh, yeah. I wasn’t actually working.”

Your face morphs to one of confusion. “But you dressed up and hung around the festival anyways?”

His mouth twitches, the press of a line as he tries to hold a straight face. “Yeah?”

You don’t press, supposing it made sense if he was planning to join you in the tent. The reminder brings another wave of thumping against your chest. Your cheeks flare at the memory, and suddenly you feel embarrassed too. Grateful and in awe, but embarrassed.

“Thank you,” you say. It doesn’t feel like enough, to simply thank him. “For last night, and the previous nights. What you showed me was incredible, and I have no idea how you and Momo managed it.” You have the urge to ask all those questions in you, how he pulled those memories, why your time with abuela is nothing but a bright green marble, how that tiny tent could expand the space inside to be so endless.

You don’t ask.

“Of course,” he answers, shuffling closer. He reaches for you, gentle fingertips against your cheek. “I… Like I said, I wanted to show you everything, how I feel towards you. I don’t… know entirely what happened, or what you saw in the earlier ones—it’s left to the illusion. But I hope they were all good to you, ultimately.”

You have to take his words in slowly, processing them individually and as a whole. They’re cryptic, vague. But you think you understand.

“And I’m sorry again,” he adds. “For last night. I meant what I said, but I don’t regret anything.”

When he told you he didn’t want to rush, he means. You remember his words, couldn’t forget them if you tried with your entire body and soul. They’re burned into your mind, scorched etchings on wood. This is an opening, you recognize, to be honest. An opening to share your confusions, to ask what he means and if he’s expecting you to leave for him. An opening to share your concerns, every bite of hesitation that claws at you, chains your feet to the streets of Milan. They’re on the tip of your tongue, heavy between your teeth.

“It’s okay,” you say instead. Your hand comes to cradle his, cup it gently. “I appreciated it.”

You still have a few days, your brain bargains. Tomorrow, you promise yourself. Let’s enjoy today, and be honest tomorrow.

But it’s hard to hold back when you look into those sweet, earnest eyes. You shift your gaze, needing reprieve, and landing on the book. Si Estiramos Estrellas Como Seda. Your mind flits to the tent last night, that incredible scene of the meadow under the night, a clear sky reflected in the black glass of the pond—poked with a thousand holes, the freckles of light seeping through for you to grasp and stretch and weave.

“What chapter were you reading?” you ask.

Sero pulls away from you to turn towards the book. You watch his shoulder dip as his torso twists, stretching the thin gap of his waist. You want to grab the skin, maybe sink your teeth into him. It’s bad for your health to be so close to him this early in the morning.

“Last night’s scene,” he says as he manages to grab the corner of the novel and turn back towards you. 

You hum unsurprised. Lithe fingers dip to his bookmark, the spine bending easily to lay flat. It’s a well-loved copy, the glue holding the pages together starting to separate. You see the words littered with underlines and notes, a mix of Japanese and Spanish, blue and black pen, neat and messy handwriting. He’s annotated again and again, throughout the years.

You scootch close to him, wiggling to see the words more clearly. Your chest meets the point of his elbow, your hand returning to its place on his forearm. He leans into the touch for a moment, head dipping to press your shoulder. Then he rightens, and reads a few paragraphs.

You haven’t heard the prose spoken by anyone but yourself for years. You last remember your mother reading it aloud to you in middle school, but it was the last time. At some point you were expected to grow out of it, to read something else. You did, for a while. But your heart always found its way back.

Hanta pauses after describing Santi’s experience crossing through the pond.

“Y’know, there was supposed to be a sequel.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. You stiffen. “What?”

His thumb moves to the edge, pressing down as pages flip by, the rapid flutter of wings. He pauses, then shuffles his other hand to turn back a couple times. His copy has an author Q&A in the back. You didn’t know this existed. He points to one of the paragraphs under a bolded question.

“Ataré Mi Corazón al Tuyo,” he breathes. I’ll Tie My Heart to Yours.

Si estiramos estrellas como seda, ataré mi corazón al tuyo.

If we stretch stars like silk, I’ll tie my heart to yours.

The title of the first book is set up to have a sequel, only the beginning of the sentence. Your eyes scan where Sero’s finger points, reading the author’s explanation for how the two books would fit together. It’s vague, ideating a continuation of Santi and Marco’s friendship, how they navigate as they age—but ultimately how they find a way to be together, forever. You inhale sharply.

“Did you read it?” you ask quickly.

Sero shakes his head. “Was never published.”

You pout to yourself, the knowledge like a bucket of ice water. To learn that their story kept going, that there was more you could have known, only for it to never make it to the shelves, your shelf—how devastating. It carves a hollowness in your chest, a sort of obligation to do the heavy lifting and imagine for yourself how things could have worked. A part of you wants to examine the parallels to your current situation.

“Shit,” you mumble, leaning back to flop against the mattress. The ceiling has crown moulding, little swirls and divots painted white and pressed into the corner. “I’m sure it would’ve been incredible.”

Hanta’s response is delayed. You can feel his eyes on you, contemplative.

“Yeah,” is all he says.

You lounge in bed, soft voices wafting through the small hotel room. Eventually you grab your phone—to check the time—and wince at the stack of missed calls on your lock screen. A few are from Chiara, with concerned messages demanding your whereabouts. But worse are the ten from your sister, eight of which were made early in the night, the remaining two attempted after midnight. There’s also a message from Kendou, asking if you’re free for dinner tonight. You swipe your sister’s assault away, reply to Chiara, and type a quick yes to Kendou, then glance at the time. You should leave, to be home for a client picking up a last minute costume for Carnival. Presumably Sero has his own circus business to attend to.

You turn to him, watching his face twist in embarrassment after being caught looking over your shoulder.

“Sorry,” he nearly whispers. “Wanted to see the time.”

You roll your eyes, uncaring. You tell him as much, adding regretfully that you need to leave soon, to check over and prepare the costume.

To your surprise, he asks, “Can I join you?”

You look at him skeptically. “You don’t have to help with anything? Like taking down the tents, or… whatever for the parade tomorrow?”

He shakes his head, grinning. “Top’s already disassembled, I guarantee. And Denki and Tetsu are the only ones who need to rehearse.” He looks at you deeply, a little too deeply. “Please?”

You weren’t planning to deny him, but the plea shakes whatever footing you thought you had. “Yeah, of course. Just… don’t complain if you get bored.”

He grins.

Your only clothes are the puddles of your dress and blazer on the floor. You pout at the idea of sliding back into them for the ride home, but huff and sit up to reach over the bed. Sero watches confused, then in realization, as you pull your gown by the skirt, slowly bunching it atop the duvet.

“Wait, no—hang on.” He throws the covers aside and slides off the bed, immediately moving towards the closet in the hall. You watch greedily at his nearly bare form, every lean muscle and sculpted curve.

His front disappears into the closet door, still offering the view of his curved back. Small clangs ring as he rummages through the hangers, eventually turning back with fabrics in his hand. One is long and a pale yellow, a shirt with bright patterning around the collar and wrists. The other is a pair of pants, brown and baggy. You think they’re natural fibers, soft and easily wrinkled.

“It’s cold,” he says. The garments look a little too thin to be effective, but you nod.

You thank him, taking the shirt first and slipping it over yourself. The rush of his smell is dizzying, overwhelming. Then you slip on the pants, their touch gentle over your thighs. Both are big on you, swallowing you. Hanta’s eyes linger over your neck, before he darts them away and brings a hand to the back of his own nervously.

You bite down your smile.

“There’s no way they cleared the site already.”

Hanta grins beside you as you walk briskly down the sidewalk together. You’re nearly a block from the duomo, where you insisted you pass before getting on the metro. 

“Mhmm,” he hums smugly.

As you crest the final strip of tile, pacing along gothic columns and carvings, your jaw almost drops at the lack of the canvas in the sky. The piazza is completely cleared, just a scattering of people lingering on its surface. A trio of girls pose in front of the duomo as an Italian man crouches to take a photo. You see someone in a suit jog across the square.

The remnants of Hoshi no Sākasu have vanished, completely evaporated into the night prior. There are no circus tents or rows of stalls. Nothing.  

You glance at Sero, his chin tilted upwards. You want to pout, thinking his smile is one of smugness, but he looks more like he’s enjoying the cool air against his face. He looks pretty, peaceful. One of his eyes opens, pointed towards you, and then that smirk creeps in, stretching across his cheeks. You pout dramatically and walk towards the metro station without warning. You hear him laugh before the thump of his footsteps catch up.

You let him into your studio while you shower, returning with his clothes neatly folded and some tea. He’s rummaging through your costume racks when you walk in. You pause when you see the ones that caught his attention.

“Oh, I hope you don’t mind,” he says, embarrassed.

You smile awkwardly. “No, no. It’s fine, I wouldn’t have suggested you wait here if I wasn’t okay with it.” You do, however, feel cornered. His hand hovers on an ocean-themed dress you finished a few months ago. The top is a saturated teal, fading into a layered skirt, each piece of fabric white at the ends, layered with lace and some frills at the edges—sea foam. It’s a beautiful gown, with shells and beads and pearls meticulously sewn into the bust.

“This one is surprising,” he says. 

You nod, putting the mugs on your work table. “It’s for my sister,” you say, leaving out the detail that she doesn’t know it exists. How do you explain that you’ve been avoiding your family for months, ignoring every call your sister attempts to make, but sitting at home making dresses fitted to her exact measurements?

He hums, not pressing further. You wonder if he saw the missed calls when you swiped them away, if he could tell they were from her. You share the same last name, after all.

Instead he points to your mannequin, the voluminous layers of red satin and a creamy ambrosian mask—with matching scarlet lips and golden swirls around the eyes. The connecting top explodes with spirals of fabric to mimic roses. “Is that the one getting picked up today?”

You hum in affirmation. “I made it for Carnival a couple years back. It sold shortly after I put it on sale, just had to do some tailoring, and fix a couple of the roses.”

Sero’s face lifts, curious. “What are you wearing this year?”

Your lips twitch. “I’m sure you can take a guess.”

“Can I see?”

“You can’t wait til tomorrow?”

He pouts. “I might not see you, since we’re in the parade.”

Your grin stretches further. “No one told you I was invited to join?”

“Oh,” is all he says, mouth hanging ajar. He’s cute, standing awkwardly by your costume rack. You laugh at the surprise on his face.

You point to the mugs while you walk towards your mannequin. “One is for you, if you want it. And feel free to sit. The costume won’t be picked up for a couple hours, but I’m gonna get working.” It’s Tuesday after all.

Sero hums affirmingly. “Yeah, please do what you need. Can I keep looking at these?”

You nod, hoping he doesn’t mention the other dresses for your sister.

He doesn’t.

He does make comments on the others, asking what they’re for and what inspired you. He soaks your answers greedily, noticing details and connections that you don’t explicitly state. He’s observant, and nosy. Eventually he sifts through the entire rack and settles in the chair across from you, watching quietly as you sew; the only sound between you two is the thrum of your needle passing along the fabric.

His eyes feel distant as you fall into your craft. But they’re focused, settling on your fingers as they fold and glide and cut.

In this silence, you have the urge to ask him questions, so many questions. About Ecuador, about Quito. You want to talk about your homes and how you’re connected. You want to trade stories of living near sand and ocean and sun. You want to learn about little Hanta, running through the house to greet his abuelita. You want to hear about extended family members and their messy drama. You want to paint a picture together: of bamboo and rain clouds and scorpions; birds and tropical fruit and volcanoes. 

You want to hold long conversations in Español—your native tongues with their small regional differences.

A tension builds within you, only noticeable after it’s grown considerably. You don’t understand, don’t know what’s changed. You try to let your mind wander back into that focused headspace: a thoughtless void where things get done. Instead words sit in your throat, reaching for him. Your hands move quickly, a little roughly, foot pressing firmer against the pedal beneath the table as you work with agitation.

The needle breaks.

You curse, lifting your foot and immediately tearing your hands from the garment. Grumbling at your carelessness, you stand to rummage through your tools for the pliers. Before you grab a replacement needle, you check the time. There’s still half an hour before your client arrives. Maybe you should just take a break.

You look at Sero, sitting quietly and observantly. You feel bad.

“Sorry,” you tell him. “But I warned you it would be boring.”

He smiles. “Not boring at all. I like seeing you work.”

You ignore the heat that rushes through your body. “I think I need a break. Are you hungry?” You aren’t hungry, but you feel like making something. 

His eyes light up. “What do you have?”

When you rummage through your fridge, you suddenly feel self conscious of your limited ingredients and random leftovers. So you open the freezer and poke around, pausing when you pull out an old plastic bag you forgot about.

“Empanadas!” Hanta chimes over your shoulder.

You grimace, first because you know these are abuela’s, handmade and saved for later. A flavor you haven’t tasted since her hands lost their strength. Your face tightens further when you realize they must have been sitting for over half a year.

“Hanta… these are old. And I don’t have any salsa.”

He shrugs, a smile twitching against his cheeks. “But they’re frozen.”

You nod slowly, face twisted in uncertainty. He plucks the bag from you and you protest, awkwardly standing from your crouch.

“I’m probably not gonna get to eat good homemade latino food for a while,” he says pouting.

You look at him skeptically. “Good latino food is six month old empanadas? Hanta, I know a spot where we can get some. Fresh ones. Also homemade.”

He shakes his head. “We’ll go there later.”

You blink as he twists the dial on your oven and rummages through the cupboards. He works your kitchen effortlessly, quickly finding a tray to start lining up the empanadas. You pout. Cooking was meant to give yourself something to do, but he took over so easily.

You settle on brewing another round of tea.

Your phone pings before the food is ready. It’s your client only minutes away, so you leave Hanta in the kitchen as you return to the studio. The exchange is brief, and you feel a lightness at losing a costume that doesn’t suit you—instead passing it to someone who will love it properly. You let the chilly air run over you for a few minutes, watching her slip away down the street, before closing the shutter and returning to the kitchen.

Hanta has the food plated when you reenter, but has yet to take a bite.

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” you tell him.

“I wasn’t, they’re still too hot.”

You roll your eyes, pinching one experimentally. The outside is hot, but not burning. You carefully take a bite, the skin crunching under your teeth. 

“Mm,” you agree, putting the remaining moon half on the plate. You juggle the piece in your mouth as it rolls and sends a flurry of scalding tingles along your tongue, trying to taste and cool it at the same time. Hanta watches you exhale mirthfully, I told you so lurking as a sparkle in his eyes—pools of stars.

You catch the savory spice of sausage paired with molten cheese that burns, coated in the earthy corn dough. The flavor is dulled with age, but it’s unmistakably abuela’s. The loss of its intensity is akin to the fuzziness of memory, the veil that obscures nostalgia into nothing but vague feelings. Transparent images flash before you: abuela’s hands rolling the skins, mixing the meat, sprinkling the cheese, folding the edges.

The food temporarily brings you home, fading your Milanese kitchen to the one of your childhood. In another moment you are far away, outside looking in at you and Hanta here in Italy, before it shifts to your imagination of a traditional Japanese home. You wonder if this is how every morning could look, if you chose to follow—join—the circus.

Hanta’s face is unreadable, putting you further on edge. You watch his lips part, ready to speak, before he closes his mouth. Your forearms buzz, wanting to grip him and shake him and make him talk.

Your mind wanders to the night before, that confession of a tent, where he pulled you through your favorite book and across the sea to the moment he first laid eyes on you. What did that mean? When he said, I wanted to show you how I feel. Does he trust you to put those feelings into words, to make the correct assumptions. Are they feelings of these same deluded fantasies, imagining your lives intertwined until they burn out? Is that what he wants—what you want?

“Are you getting dinner with Momo and Kendou tonight?”

His question pulls you from your thoughts, so abruptly you need time to process the words. You nod eventually. “I think so.”

He hums. The sound isn’t entirely satisfied. “Do you know when?”

You aren’t sure. Hopefully early. 

“Can I see you, after?” he asks. 

You blink at him in surprise. He continues when you don’t respond. “I know… I’m probably being pushy, I’m sorry. I just—I’d like to spend more time with you.”

You recall your thoughts this morning. Let’s enjoy today and be honest tomorrow.

“Yeah,” you say. “Of course you can.”

You take another bite of the empanada and look down at the plate, averting Sero’s gaze. His hand intercepts your vision, grabbing one for himself.

“They’re really good!” he exclaims after a bite, and you turn back to him skeptically. He pouts. “Be fair, they’re good for how old they are. And they taste close to home.”

You force him to return to the studio once you finish your fill, setting to get as much done as possible if you’re going to be busy all evening. He happily continues munching across from you, settling to watch you work again. This time he asks about the current project, the details of your choices. Again his eyes follow your hands as they work. He asks about your process, your stance as a designer, how you imagine a costume when you start putting one together.

He’s distracting, in the way that makes your hands tingle and your heart tighten. When you lift your eyes briefly, the sight of him is too much: his casual form across from you, leaning on an elbow against the table, hand gently swirling through excess fabric with slender fingers. You should make him leave.

“Sometimes I just see a person and I have a costume in mind,” you say, answering his question. “But sometimes it’s just a passing detail. Like your Todoroki friend, I thought he’d look nice in blue.”

He hums in surprise. “Really? What—does that happen for everyone you meet?”

“Hmm, I guess.”

There’s a pause, a pensive look on his face. You smile.

“I thought of black fabric when I saw you,” you explain. “Something loose and slippery, like silk. Imagine my surprise when I realized your number.”

He grins. “Really? That’s so cool. What did—the costume—”

He wants to know what you saw. You hum, standing abruptly to your fabrics. There’s a long length of chiffon you know is lurking in there, blue, but it’ll do. You wave him over as you pull out the clump, shaking it to untangle into a wide swath. Sero stalks over quickly, eyes wide with excitement. You have the urge to kiss him.

Instead you throw the sheer fabric over his head, resting like a hood as the ends fall over his shoulders. Then you wrap them a couple times over his arms, letting the extra dangle from his wrists after tying it off. The transparent fabric gives him a regal and misty appearance, like a dancer. You pull a silken blanket of black around his waist, tying it by his hip. When you take a step back and look at him in full, you grin.

He’s flushed, only slightly, but his eyes are wide and watching you closely. For a moment you picture a dog’s pleading face, sitting with anticipation as a hand hovers a treat over its head.

“Something like this, just black,” you say to break the silence.

Sero blinks, then looks down to the mess of fabric wrapped around him. His eyes scan his arms, then the skirt. “No top?” His voice is small.

You laugh and shake your head. “A slutty dancer’s fit suits you, I think.”

When you sit back down to keep working, he doesn’t ask anymore questions.

Hanta leaves you to get ready for dinner on your own. He calls out a soft, “See you later,” before waving awkwardly by the door. He lingers for another second, and then slips out into the dimming sky. 

Your heart races as you approach the ristorante, this time for Momo—your gratitude still unspoken. The knowledge of her involvement in Hanta’s tents is another source of tension; how do you adequately thank her? A tremor of nerves passes through you, paired with the chill of the cold.

The pair is waiting for you outside the restaurant when you arrive, three minutes early. Your heart lifts, churns at the sight of Momo in a long wrap coat. She’s beautiful, and for the first time you notice the darkness of her hair, the depth to her eyes. You huff to yourself, clocking a type you didn’t know you had til now—these soft, earnest personalities with rich souls, mysteries of dark nights and stardust.

Her eyes tear from Kendou when you’re only a few paces apart. She brightens and turns towards you immediately, stepping to meet you halfway. Your body eases.

The restaurant is unfamiliar, one you have yet to try. It has the sort of atmosphere that makes you feel out of place. You prefer the coziness of a trattoria, where photos of family members decorate the walls. The ristorante is formal, populated with white tablecloths and button down shirts throughout the dimly lit room, clusters of tealights and dried flowers in the center of each table. When you sit and receive your menu, the host rattles on about the chef’s special and the wine of the day. Your eyes glaze over the entrées and then to your company, reminding yourself this isn’t an interview or business meeting. It’s a meal between friends, like your impromptu empanadas with Hanta. Just a very different meal between friends.

When the host walks away, you let Momo and Kendou discuss the options, planning the appetizers they want to try. You agree easily, uncaring and murmuring a quiet, “Grazie,” as the waiter appears to fill your water glass. When you order, you disregard the suggestions from the sommelier, instead pointing to the lone sangria. He doesn’t react, jotting your order with a blank face. You bite your cheek to suppress your smile.

He leaves. Finally, in the quiet of the company between just the three of you, you turn to Momo.

“I never got to thank you, for being so patient with me and letting me in—as your designer.” You speak freely, earnestly. Kendou’s eyes are the only other ones who watch. It feels right. 

Momo smiles, the red crescent of her lip pulling into her cheek. “Of course, and thank you for your diligence and your care. It takes a trustworthy designer to feel safe surrendering to their process.”

Her words are warm, a massage through your neck and shoulders. Tender, careful hands that hover over your skin. 

Your eyes drop to your glass. “Hanta told me… about the tents. I wanted to thank you for that as well.”

When you glance back to her face, her eyebrow quirks. Her lips are pressed, suppressing a smile. Kendou is the opposite, beaming excitedly.

Momo hums. “Sero did the heavy lifting, it was just me who executed the ideas. I’m relieved that you enjoyed them—that’s all he wanted. He was worried, after the second night.”

You cock your head curiously, leaning in to hear more. “He was?”

“He was waiting, hoping to catch you when you left. I don’t know what happened, but… he was anxious the day after. It’s unlike him.”

You blink, imagining the sight he must have seen. You had clutched that little green bottle and ran, maybe still crying, rubbing your eyes as you left the festival. Did he see that? You recall him lingering when you waited with Momo before her act, his surprise when he saw the marble—the compressed sphere of abuela, quietly tucked into your pocket until you dropped it.

Your hands buzz, a tingle lingering on the tips of your fingers. 

They don’t bring up the job offer, dinner continuing as the peaceful murmurs between friends. Momo and Kendou talk about the upcoming shows, their next stop in Austria. The singer muses enthusiastically about the musicians scheduled for the evening festivals, while the designer talks animatedly about visiting traditional boutiques. You smile while watching them, Momo’s poised etiquette against Kendou’s unbridled excitement.

Your thoughts race before you can get a hold of them, imagining hopping a train to catch a weekend show—spending the daylight hours whizzing next to the mountains. You try to shoo the thoughts away, pull yourself back down to earth before you start envisionsing your reunion with a particular man—getting to watch his act on the long threads of silk again.

You bite into the lemon garnishing your dish. The sour citrus is rough against your tongue, but it does the trick—pulling you back to the dining table. You manage to keep your face from twisting in a pinch. Momo doesn’t notice and Kendou doesn’t say anything.

When the plates are cleared and a dessert menu is laid on the table, you have no remaining appetite. Once again your body floods with nervous anticipation, squeezing your belly. You try to ignore it, focus on being present for the last minutes of dinner with your friends, but all you can think about is meeting Hanta afterwards. Momo orders a torta, offering you a bite when it arrives. You take one, but taste nothing, and hum vaguely.

The three of you stand to leave, you deliberately moving as unhurried as your body will allow. At the door you thank Momo for the meal, and once again for being Momo. Then you thank Kendou, trading hugs with them both and promising to see each other tomorrow. You feel steadied, more relaxed than before.

You let the pair exit first, stepping into the biting blackness of the night. 

“Sero?”

Your eyes shoot open, heart racing at Momo’s call of his name. When you make it out the door behind the redhead, you search for him.

He’s standing to the side, away from the door and next to one of the restaurant windows—partially obscured by the hanging planter box. Your chest heaves at the sight of him in a long black coat, face tucked into the high collar. He’s stiff, hands stuffed in his pockets and his feet pressed together. He looks nervous. Cute. 

“Hi,” he says, eyes flitting from Momo to you, and then back to Momo.

Kendou grins in the corner of your eye, trying to swallow it as she grabs Momo by the wrist and pulls her to walk from the ristorante. 

“See you tomorrow!” she calls, ignoring Momo’s confused protests. You hardly wave, barely managing to lift a finger.

Hanta stands before you, tall and dark and a little flushed. “Sorry,” he says quietly. “I couldn’t wait.”

You chew your bottom lip harshly, attempting to contain your reaction. “Don’t be sorry,” you tell him. Your heart thumps in your ears as you add, “I’m glad you didn’t.”

The admission is awkward and embarrassing, but Hanta’s eyes widen and his lips press together, caught off guard. He coughs before turning his head from you, the pink across his cheeks darkening. He returns shortly, eyes boring into yours.

“Yeah,” is all he manages.

You nod.

The tension that sits between you is palpable, a dense mist of uncertainty. You hold it within you, that hunch to your shoulders as you take him in.

And then you laugh.

It starts as a lone huff of amusement, a cloud of hot air as it escapes you. It builds to a giggle and you realize there’s more to release, and suddenly your shoulders are shaking as you laugh. Sero yelps in surprise, then exhales in disbelief. He’s quickly laughing with you, and when you look up and see his scrunched eyes and wide, crooked grin, it fills you with warmth—and peace.

It’ll be okay.

When your laughs finally die and the two of you are left smiling stupidly at each other, you tell him.

“It’s okay,” you say. “It doesn’t… It doesn’t have to be so scary.”

Sero looks almost guilty, a face that makes you want to grab him. “I’m gonna be scared no matter what.”

“Of me?” You’re baffled.

“Yeah,” he admits easily. Freely. “Things are scary when they’re important.”

Your chest tightens at his words, his honesty. They bring a heat to your face, steaming into the winter air. First it’s from the waves of embarrassment within you, and the giddiness. Then there’s a pang of guilt: from your selfishness to want to wait til tomorrow—for the hard conversation.

The door of the restaurant opens, a couple stalking out and almost bumping into you two. You watch Sero’s face twist in embarrassment, bending at the hip as he apologizes—very Japanese—and think you should go somewhere else.

“I didn’t eat dessert,” you say flatly, pulling his focus back to you.

He blinks, waiting for you to continue.

“You wanna get gelato?”

“This wasn’t the smartest choice.” You wish you had gone for cake, or pastries, now that your hand is freezing as you sit with Hanta near a park fountain. 

He hums and shakes his head, “No, you’re a genius.” He happily swallows another spoonful from his own cup of frozen cream, the saturated hue of blood orange.

“Thanks.”

You eat quietly, only accompanied by the rustling of branches above and the scrape of wooden spoons against paper cups. When you finish—before he even makes it halfway through his own—you set the cup beside you and let yourself ramble without thought, hoping it’ll help you be honest.

“I was trying to put off our serious conversation until tomorrow,” you start, staring into the darkness of the plaza before you. Hanta’s spoon pauses, halting at the bottom of his cup, before continuing slower than before. “But I get the sense that it’s making you nervous. So, sorry. For being selfish.”

He doesn’t answer. Your eyes glance his way, watching as he slowly wraps pink lips around the bowl of his spoon, letting it sit as he watches you closely. You exhale.

“You probably already know, but I haven’t made a decision about the job offer. I mean, I really want to—it’s a dream of mine, to work in costume and travel with a circus. But… I just—the timing…”

In your peripheral vision he pulls the spoon from his mouth, lips parting to ask, “The timing?”

You swallow the lump in your throat. You mull over the words, how to string them together. In a way that makes it less obvious that the timing is not the issue. “My abuela passed last year, and… things are messy back home, because of me. If I left for Japan before managing to clean it up…”

God. You close your eyes, focusing on anything but the sting creeping up your nose and eyes. You don’t know where to start explaining where you fucked up. Was it years ago—when you left home for Europe? Or when you came back and convinced everyone that abuela could be saved if she left too?

It’s inevitable that you’ll have to face your family. Part of you wonders if it’s wrong to start making amends now because of a man you’ve found, a frilly romance that caught your eye. But part of you knows this criticism is another means of avoiding stepping forwards, that Hanta being your motivator to tie loose ends is better than never doing it—than hiding here for the rest of your life. And it’s reductive to Hanta, to categorize him as just another man, just a romance. He clearly holds something deep for you, something you don’t quite understand; something you aren’t sure you’re ready for. Another reason to be scared, to stay stagnant.

There’s a timid touch on the back of your hand, a pinky gently pressing your knuckle. You smile softly, turning to look at Hanta.

His expression is conflicted, almost pained. But he looks at you as he answers. “I… I don’t expect it to be an easy decision, or for you to choose me—or even Hoshi no Sākasu. I mean—fuck, I was hopeful? I’m still hopeful. I guess I thought it’d be the obvious answer, that everything would align and… and I’d get to be with you and get to know you and take my time. Shit, if my contract wasn’t for two more years—”

Your eyes widen at what he’s implying, immediately shifting to face him. “Hanta, that’s insane. We’ve known each other for a week.”

He nearly scoffs. His face twists, eyes shining under the distant lamplight in the courtyard. Your heart constricts at the desperation in his voice. “I’ve known… about you since I was a kid. You… you directed the course of my life; I never would have thought about performance before I saw you. Of course—”

His glassy eyes search yours intensely, boring beyond your mind. You feel naked beneath them.

“Of course I’d choose you. I was always choosing you.”

You swallow again, heart heavy in your chest, filled with sand. You can’t breathe. He’s insane. You should hit him and run away.

“And—fuck, I’m not trying to guilt you or wax poetry about how we’re meant to be together—” your heart is running, tripping over itself as he continues. “But it’s important to me that you realize how… how important you are, to me. And I get that you don’t feel the same, but…”

He stops, deflating. That hurts you more in a way.

“I’m sorry,” you interject. 

His face pinches. “It’s not your fault—”

“I can still be sorry,” you cut him off. “For the situation, and for you. And for not being honest earlier, and for being scared, and for… for possibly trying to ignore all of this.”

“I should’ve been clearer sooner,” he reasons.

You look at him blankly. “How much clearer could you have been? You… you made magical tents for me, of memories from home and…”

The air is still between you, eyes unwavering as they target one another, restless, unforgiving. All you can think is that Hanta’s so good, so raw and open and honest. He’s here, baring his heart to you all the while considering every thought and feeling of yours, not once directing blame or anger. He just wants to be seen—to be considered, too.

Your eyes water, blinking rapidly as your lashes collect drops of salty tears. Hanta crumples.

“Can I hug you?” he asks.

You sob and nod quickly.

He’s warm; he’s always warm. But this warmth is gentle and easy, nothing but comfort and understanding and maybe even love. You try not to think about that. Instead you hold him close, by the front of his coat, and press your face into his neck. It’s so so warm, and he smells like oranges.

His arms hold you firm and close. You try to breathe evenly against him, but you’re crying, hiccuping into his skin. He hums, running a hand down your back as you shudder in his embrace. He holds you like a fruit easily bruised, cradled protectively. He doesn’t let go the entire time you cry, and he doesn’t let go when you stop. Instead he brings one hand to your head, holding it in place against him. Maybe he needs this more than you.

When your breathing evens and you have faith in your voice, you whisper, “How did you know? That you were always choosing me?”

He exhales, arms shifting to squeeze you. “It’s just a feeling.”

You hum curiously, softly.

His response vibrates through his chest, lulling you. “It’s the same feeling I get from reading Si Estiramos Estrellas Como Seda. I don't know how to explain it, but it’s intense, and it’s… it feels important. So I just always chose the things that made me feel that way.”

Si estiramos estrellas como seda,

If we stretch stars like silk,

You don’t understand, can’t understand. You ended up in Milan out of luck, initiated by a sense of obligation and then carried out when the perfect opportunity landed in your lap. Life was never about choices, really, just following a thread tied around your heart, moving you forwards. Maybe Sero has that too, but it feels different to him. Maybe your threads are intertwined.

Ataré mi corazón al tuyo.

I’ll tie my heart to yours.

This time when you wake, you’re in your own room, under familiar sheets and scents. Your eyes remain unopened as you gently rustle your body, shifting just enough to comfortably fall back asleep. The movement brings attention to a heat pressed against your back. It’s so warm, like the comfort of a blanket multiplied and condensed. You lean into it, press yourself as snugly as you can.

Only when you feel a pressure around your waist, an arm pulling you closer, tighter, do you register that the heat is another body—Hanta gently cradling you.

You recall the night before: him standing awkwardly outside the ristorante, gelato in the park under lamplight, tight hugs, coming home, tender conversation in the sheets, confessions of what you’ve done to your family. He nearly rolled off the bed in shock, but he ultimately understands why you’re struggling to decide. He stayed with you when the sleepiness of night came; he held you under the covers.

He’s still holding you under the covers. 

A flurry of tingles scatter across your skin, originating in the depth of your chest before fluttering down your arms. You blink your eyes open, staring ahead at the wall as you take note of all the ways you two are entangled. His head is pressed against the back of your neck, lips touching the base, the first ridge of your spine. One leg parts yours, thigh separating by one of his, a muscular calf slotted along your shin. The arm around your waist is firm, fingers gripping your side. The other runs beneath your neck, bicep filling the space perfectly. His entire front blankets your back, every dip and ridge and softness in his chest and stomach known to your skin.

He shifts, bones settling into the mattress while his grip never loosens, and then he presses a kiss to your neck, that bump of your skeleton. Your breath halts, body stilling with anticipation. If Hanta notices, he doesn’t make any indication, instead nuzzling your hair. 

He sighs. It almost comes out like a whine, or whimper.

“Are you awake?” His voice is a raspy whisper.

You nod.

He hums, squeezing you tight for a few moments, face burying into your neck before his hand at your side detaches. The press of his heat leaves your back and his legs begin to unravel from yours. You turn towards him, on your back, eyes trailing him. He reaches for his phone, glancing at the time before turning back to you, pouting.

“I have to meet with the crew early today. Parade stuff.”

You nod in understanding, eyes drinking in as much as they can before he has to leave: rumpled hair, unfocused eyes, the indent of the pillow running along the side of his face—

His pout, deepening. 

“You could look more sad, you know.”

It pulls a laugh from you, an early smile of delight. “I am,” you assure him. “But I got to spend yesterday with you. And you look cute right now.”

You catch the twitch of his lips, a moment of suppressing his smile before the grin wins, crooked and wide. He’s warm and light, you notice, a contrast to the dark mystery you initially saw in him.

He sighs again, leaning to press into you. His head slots in the curve of your neck, chest pressing flush against your own, hot. He kisses you beneath your ear, before groaning and pulling away. Your chest yearns. A heat runs down your body.

“Don’t get up,” he commands gently. “Go back to sleep. Is it okay if the door’s unlocked?”

You won’t be able to sleep, you already know. But he looks at you with a soft plea in his eyes and you can’t argue. “That’s fine.”

You watch while he gathers his things, standing by the bedroom door when he’s done, just to come back and kiss your forehead again before he slips away. You murmur, “See you later,” and then turn into the covers of your bed. It’s chilly, without Hanta heating your back. But he left a lingering smell of oranges in your sheets. Warm citrus.

“So. You sleep with your circus boyfriend yet?”

You frown at Chiara’s accusation. She stares into your eyes sharply, focused as she brushes yellow and black across your skin before pulling out a white pen.

“We didn’t sleep together,” you remark. “And he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Uh huh,” she says flatly. You roll your eyes dramatically and slowly, and she grunts, pinching your cheek. “Stop it, the eyeliner isn’t dry.”

“Then you stop.”

“Never.”

The air is still for a moment, Chiara quiet in her concentration. You avert your eyes downward, letting her finish dragging the pen across your eyelids and towards your temple. She pulls back and holds your face at arm's length, eyes hopping between yours thoughtfully.

“But you left with him, didn’t you?”

You groan, “Chia—”

“You think I’m an idiot,” she accuses. You recall your conversation with Davide last week, wondering why you chose such dramatic friends. “I could tell there was something going on backstage. And you know Davide is a snitch for me.”

You want to groan. Of course he told Chiara at his first chance, to brag about finding out first. She must have known before you went to the show together, likely watching you carefully, to figure out who it was.

“It’s the Sero guy, yeah? Longish black hair.”

You huff, giving in. “Yeah.”

She hums to herself, pausing her eyes to look into yours, thoughtfully. She smirks. “So did he win you over? You’ll leave Milan, me, for him?”

You pout. “Give me more credit, Chia.”

She snickers. “I know, I know—just teasing. But are… are you leaning one way or another now?”

You pull your lip between your teeth, eyes scrunching in uncertainty. “I don’t know, it’s made everything more confusing than anything.”

She stares at you blankly. Then she sighs, turning and letting your face go. “Sorry, I hope I didn’t kill your excitement. I’ll stop asking, but when they leave—you’re telling us everything.”

“Of course,” you say immediately.

She grins. “Well, you’re all done now.”

You turn to the mirror, taking in the swathes of pigment around your eyes and the swirling white details. The makeup spreads to your temples and down your cheeks. You slip on the costume, wrapping black slippery fabric over the bottom half of your face and settling the structured headpiece on your head. Your eyes stare intensely at their reflection, stark against the costume; they match the lone flash of yellow beneath your neck and the brightness of the beak you carry separately.

For a second time, you and Chiara leave her place as a pair of birds, her as the red macaw, but this time you as the keel billed toucan. You haven’t worn a costume of these colors in at least fifteen years.

Unlike a week ago, when you were a pair of macaws, you walk carefully—subdued. You wonder what Hanta will think when he sees you.

You amble unhurried to the gathering location, where groups and individuals wait their turn to start parading through the streets. There are swarms of people, large crowds gathered to walk and witness, chattering animatedly. Various groups play instruments, populated throughout the section of the plaza. You grin excitedly at the sea of colors, groups in costume and traditional wear, floats, giant clusters of balloons. Your eyes search and scan, face schooling into a frown as you look for the puppets from Gōyoku.

When you turn and scan a second time, you spot one that was initially hiding behind a float. You recognize the bright yellow—Kaminari. You tug Chiara’s sleeve, pointing when her attention turns to you.

She nods before leaning to shout over the noise, “Go ahead! I’ll tell you where I meet Davide.” To spot them in the crowd, when you pass. You nod in return before weaving your way through the crowd, the puppet as your lighthouse.

It’s a difficult journey, but a practiced one. You clutch your headpiece and beak carefully as you slither between bodies, moving quickly but with precision. The excitement and your hurrying brings that exhilarating rush to your chest, the heavy thump of your pumping heart a reminder that you’re alive. You smile, briefly thinking of abuela, before you brush the thought away—it’s too soon to be sentimental.

When you finally reach Kaminari, standing excitedly under the floating feathered mec, you call out to him. He brightens, yelling, “Yo!” as you manage the last few steps.

You notice it’s just him and Bakugou, no one else hanging around. You pause at the sight of the latter, the first time you’ve seen his festival costume. It’s similar to Sero’s, but infinitely more ridiculous: a much more lively and springing jester hat—striped with orange and black—sandwiching his face against the swooping frills of his collar. The colors sit uncomfortably next to one another, him glaring in the middle of the chaos.

“Your costume is sick!” Kaminari shouts at you, eyes tracing the headpiece and beak. “It’s like—a bird version of what other people are wearing.”

You laugh. “That’s kind of my thing. Where’s everyone else?”

Bakugou grunts while Kaminari pulls a face. “We kind of lost them. It’s hard getting around the crowd with this thing, and Kacchan was supposed to chaperone me, but he isn’t doing a good job.”

That pulls a glare from the ashen blond, immediately retorting in brash Japanese. Kaminari pouts. You don’t understand what they’re saying, but you can tell their banter isn’t getting them anywhere. You jump in at the next pause.

“I didn’t see the other puppeteer that way,” you offer, pointing from where you came. “So maybe we can head the opposite way?”

Kaminari thanks you repeatedly, happily bounding towards the direction you pointed. You try to hurry ahead, glancing over the crowd for the silvery bird. A tug at your sleeve yanks you back, faint jingling sounding behind you followed by a gruff, “Oi.”

It’s Bakugou, scowling when you turn to him. “Stick with stupid, you can’t see shit with that thing on your head.”

You nearly guffaw at the comment. Thing? you want to ask. With all the bells on the ends of his hat, flopping around awkwardly and into other peoples’ space: he wants to call yours a thing? He walks ahead before you can return the comment, leaving you to wait for Kaminari to catch you. The latter smiles amiably as you two trail behind your self-proclaimed leader.

“Should I feel insulted?” you ask.

He laughs. “Maybe. Will you hold my hand? So I don’t get lost again.”

You grab the sleeve of his costume with a laugh.

The three of you slide your way through the crowd, eventually passing a float that was obscuring Tetsutetsu’s metallic puppet. Bakugou turns to you when it’s visible, nodding curtly as if to ask if you see it, before slipping forwards quickly, out of your sight. The crowd is thinner where the Hoshi no Sākasu performers are gathered, and you tug at Kaminari, directing his attention. You can’t weave through the mass while attached to the blond, so you wade through unhurried. Bakugou reappears after a few minutes, sticking close by as you finally reunite all the performers together.

Kirishima is the first you spot, rushing forwards. He calls to Kaminari, words you don’t understand, but a tone you can recognize as exasperation.

“Just had to pick up a delivery, that's all!” 

Kirishima’s eyes move to you, sighing with a smile. “Sorry about him. Thanks for helping!”

You shake your head dismissively. He’s about to continue when you hear your name called behind him.

You lean towards the sound, to Hanta and his excited face. A smile takes over you, forgetting your mouth and nose are obscured by the silk around your head. Your hand pinching Kaminari’s sleeve releases, lifting to wave. The other holds your bright yellow and green beak by your chest.

Hanta’s eyes are wide as they trace your costume.

“¿Un tucán?” he asks. A toucan?

You hum, still smiling. “Como la primera vez.” 

Like the first time.

His expression softens. Kaminari whines behind you, high-pitched Japanese that makes Hanta roll his eyes. He reaches forward, taking your hand to pull you close. You follow easily, stepping so your shoulder brushes into his chest. His palm tightens around yours.

You bump into Momo as you navigate the crowd, waving at her and Uraraka. Midoriya says a swift hello with Todoroki—the younger one—before hurriedly running off. The two of you migrate to the edge of the crowd, where the noise begins to fade into the background. You check your phone for any updates from Chiara, but there aren’t any new messages.

Only one missed call from your sister.

“Any idea when Hoshi no Sākasu starts heading down?” you ask, shoving your phone out of sight.

Hanta’s fingers loosen around yours, trailing gently over the individual lengths, the tips grazing your palm and ghosting your knuckle. He shakes his head. “We’re following the float with the balloons, so whenever they start moving. 

You learn shortly that the circus is on a float of their own, not trailing on foot like you expected. It’s simple, an elevated rectangular platform with a black frills lining the bottom and a banner with the circus’ name translated in Italian. The simplicity will allow the mechanical birds to remind the focus, the characters in costume being the supporting decoration.

You blink in surprise while Hanta steps forwards, heaving himself up the ladder after a few of his coworkers. When he reaches the top, he turns and offers a hand, waiting for you to join him. Your heart constricts at the thought of a stage—always what you worked towards but never where you stood. Thank god your costume covers your face. You lift your beak towards Hanta, letting him hold it safe as you grasp the metal rungs and pull, taking careful steps before standing on the sturdy floor of the float—above the crowd. The sight is one you’ve never seen in person, a sea of headpieces and vibrant fabrics, dots moving about on their own. You like the vantage.

Hanta returns the beak, grin uncontained.

“Excited?” you ask.

“It’s my first time being in the parade,” he says after nodding. “For almost all of us.”

You smile wistfully, nervously. “It’s my first time in a long time.”

Some of the crew members scurry around, instructing you where to stand and how to engage with the crowd. You’re assigned towards the end with Hanta. The two of you stand out of the way with the others as the float slowly approaches the start, following a massive float with bundles of balloons—an array of bright colors against the still-bright sky. Some are neatly arranged to display certain patterns or shapes, others thrown together without order.

Midoriya talks animatedly beside you, explaining the research he did about the Ambrosian Carnival, the rich history of Milano’s Carnival specifically. 

“It’s so wonderful that we get to be part of this,” he says with shining eyes. “Especially with its origins in Catholicism, Milan has so many incredible communities and traditions that we can see first hand. Even with this parade, entering the city center will let us pass centuries of historical buildings. I looked at all the sites along the map of the floats, and I think we’ll pass—”

The float jostles from an abrupt halt, jerking your attention away, before it resumes almost immediately. You lurch forwards, but Hanta’s steady hand finds your waist, bracing you just as long as it takes for you to find your footing, before falling from you. Your heart stirs from the contact, then yearns from the loss.

Midoriya’s voice resumes, droning on as Todoroki hums beside him. You stalk towards the railing at the edge of the platform, curious to spot whatever caused the disruption. Instead you see the road only a couple floats ahead, the approaching sea of onlookers waiting for you to pass. You check your phone again, this time seeing a message from Chiara with her location. She’s three blocks down from the starting point, on the left—your side.

There’s a moment of scrambling and shuffling atop the float, people getting into place. You turn to Hanta beside you, beaming with unexpected excitement. You feel like a child again, bubbling with the anticipation to be part of something new. Hanta grins back, skin flushed warm in the sun despite the chill of the winter air.

You turn back to the front, taking in the crowd and the racing of your heart. You feel so tall now, compared to the child you were in Quito, grasping abuela’s hand and draped in the itchy costume she made you wear. Here you are above the audience, dressed in your own toucan, silky against your skin. Two nights ago you were given the gift of reliving that moment in honesty, remembering the joy you felt when you let yourself go, let yourself meld with the spirit of the celebration—a moment Hanta saw and could never forget.

Here you are above the crowd, entering your second parade—this time nearly two decades later, and with your hand in his instead.

[kissmyandersonn]

Blaine felt a pull in his chest when Kurt thanked him. He could tell Kurt was being sincere but it left Blaine with a feeling he couldn't explain - his chest felt tight, his mouth was noticably dryer than before and he felt jittery. Blaine whipped out his lighter and pack of cigarettes from his back pocket in one motion. He pulled out and lit one between his lips in an all-too-familiar movement. That's when he noticed he was shaking. Blaine took a deep drag to steady himself, he hadn't felt like this in a long time. "What, are you my therapist now?" Blaine questioned, trying to regain control of the conversation, averting Kurt's gaze.

Blaine looked up at Kurt when he spoke about getting coffee but as Kurt kept talking Blaine found himself beginning to look through him. He felt numb and was suddenly very aware of his heart beating and his chest rising and falling with each breath - he took another long drag of the cigarette between his fingers for reassurance. There was something about the idea of intentionally sitting down to tell Kurt anything more was making Blaine feel physically sick. He had never had anyone interested in getting to know him in the way Kurt was intending to, of course he had had teachers and parole officers and school counsellors ask him about his life but that was different; they were doing their job, they were safeguarding, they had another motive, Kurt was... well Blaine didn't know... but what he did know is that if Kurt knew about his past that he would no longer be interested.

Blaine looked on at Kurt while doing his best to stifle his panic behind his cig. He knew the silence had gone on a little too long, and it wasn't until the reality of what Kurt was suggesting dawned on him that he knew what to say. Suddenly, he felt as accomplished by the suggestion as he did scared. "You asking me out on a date, Hummel?" Blaine asked, raising an eyebrow and making eye contact with Kurt and he couldn't help the sultry look that followed. Blaine could feel his body relax a little now that he was back in control of the conversation.

Fancy Seeing You Here

[spaceparadize]

Hey so does getting your face crushed in a record press fix your eyesight ? ~how tf was Winslow writing all that damn music without his glasses inquiring minds want to know

[hobisexually]

x

[bluestsdays]

it was cruel, what she said to him that fateful day over coffee. there was something wrong with her, she thinks, to ever say those words out loud to him, to lie about something she knew would hurt just to get a reaction. she wasn’t thinking of the consequences then, and that’s why she knows she deserves to face his frustration and his ire, now, to hear just how deeply her actions affected him. “ no, that was so fucked up, i know, i just… i was so jealous and scared that you found something better than what we had, so i lashed out, and it was fucking awful of me. i should’ve just told you the truth, instead, ” that no one else compares, in the slightest. there’s contrition written all over her countenance, shame and regret permeating every single syllable that leaves her lips. “ and i know that doesn’t fix it, and it’s okay if you hate me for it because i think i hate myself for it, too, i just… i’m so fucking sorry for ever putting that in your head. ” now having the same experience herself, she would do anything to wipe it from his memory entirely, just like she wished someone would do for her, right now. she understands now that this is why exes generally weren’t advised to talk after a break up— there was so much miscommunication and jealousy and hurt swirling around them, threatening to swallow them whole. and she’s afraid it might, until she witnesses his sigh, listening to his confession, feeling guilt well up inside of her as she allows for more honesty to spill past her lips, shaking her head slightly. “ hey, no, that night was… it was exactly what i wanted. you always... i mean, it always was, with us. " she pauses, wanting to offer additional reassurance. " it was perfect, miller, honestly— it meant everything to me. ” her voice shakes, slightly, on those last few words, but she means it all the same. she means it so much, actually, and she wants him to know that, to understand just how it’s affected her, how much she hates that he second guessed himself because of her previous actions. and she can’t help but hold her breath at his next admission, feeling herself soften entirely at his explanation, all her anxiety and fear melting away, disappearing into the cold night air. so that’s what all this was about— fuck, did she feel ridiculous now for worrying, for assuming the absolute worst. the relief that accompanies it is palpable, apparent in the nervous chuckle that spills past her lips. “ god, she’s really missing out. it’s not a bad sight, looking up at you. ” her gaze holds on him a little too long after saying that, but she breaks eye contact with him soon after, turning her head to hide her embarrassment at letting those words slip out as fingers rub across her face, her lips, as if to force them back inside. “ sorry, i shouldn’t have said that, but… that’s not fucked up, though. or well, it probably would be to anyone else, but i… i mean, i don’t even let him see me fully naked, because i just… don’t feel good about myself with him, and i always turn off the lights because i can’t bear to look up and see someone that isn’t you, either. ” it’s followed with a sigh, yet she feels emboldened enough to take a few steps closer to him; still respectful of his space, but close enough to satisfy that constant urge inside her to be near him. “ can we just… start over, you think ? because i really hate fighting with you. ” a pause. “ but i get it, if i’ve fucked things up too much. i only want you to be happy, you know ? ”

there was no end in sight, this ride they seemingly both hopped on, going round and round in circles until it tore them both apart. he can feel it, the pain radiating in his chest, emphasising the circles under his eyes, the anvil upon his shoulders— he was tired, firstly from pretending that life has been okay without her, that he’s making it through each day, and now because of another argument between them brewing, hitting them both square in the face. the air out here feels charged, like the moment before a thunderstorm; heavy, anticipatory, and ripe with the electricity of a thousand unspoken words, misunderstandings that continue to come back and bite them. he wants to believe that is all this is, another form of miscommunication between them, but this feels different, their respective vexation stemming from similar reasons, but for different purposes. they both deemed this situation, the predicament they’ve been forced into, from the day he’d told her about the job opportunity, as unfair— this was the domino effect from that day, all the pieces falling one by one around them. and he should try to be more understanding of it, of her, but that frustration clouds his vision, a calloused hand rubbing down the side of his face, scratching the underside of his jaw. “ i know the half of what you allowed me to believe, devon. ” sitting across from him at the table like she had, venom laced in those words that day, a bullet aimed directly at his chest, all to induce a reaction from him. it might be delayed now, sure, but if this is what she wanted from him, then she’s finally got it, served on a silver platter. it’s clear, now, that he’s carried that one piece around with him, ever since it was revealed, eating away at him until there’s been nothing left, some nights. now, it’s confusion that tugs at him, etching into the crease between his brows as they draw together. “ then, why? why tell me any of it? did you just want to fuck with me? ” — “ if that’s the case, congratulations. you did! ” voice is raised from its usual pitch, but as the conversation turns, his heart shattering at her next admission, with how raw and vulnerable it is. “ fuck, dev, ” he sighs, albeit gentler this time. “ when we… i mean, last time we were together, i got so in my head about it, you know? i almost asked if that’s what you wanted me to do, to be rougher— i thought it might’ve been what you wanted. but it didn’t feel right to me, because that’s not us, i didn’t think it was you; not the you i know and love, anyway, ” there was something special between them, unable to be described by a mere string of words, something otherworldly, and he can see now, how closely their experiences mirror. “ you’re not broken, i promise… i bet eden wasn’t in there bragging about how she thinks i am, though, hm? about how she thinks there’s literally something fucking wrong with me because my sex drive is so low? ” and it isn’t laughable, but the clipped chuckle rings through him regardless, as he’s finally candour with her, too. “ what you heard in there… it’s the only thing i can stand to do without feeling fucking sick at the thought of looking down and seeing someone that isn’t you— and that’s so fucked up, i know it is, but i haven’t been able to look at anyone like that, since you. ”

[rowarn]

EXPERIENCE (m.)

könig x inexperienced!reader

tags: age gap, acquaintances to lovers, afab!reader but gn

cw: loss of virginity, cunnilingus, fingering, hand riding (hear me out), pussyjob, talking u thru it, praise, pet names (liebling, little one), size kink/difference, handjob, reassurance/encouragement kink, wet&messy, konig is uncut hehe, squirting

note: konig is in his 40s and reader is in their 20s!

;in which you live in the same building as a really hot, older, military man

9.5k

When you met König, you never expected the harmless interactions to ever evolve into anything substantial. He lived somewhere in the same apartment building as you did, though you didn’t know where exactly. Most times, you would find him in the elevator or cross paths with him in the lobby. 

You knew he was in the military, most of the people living in the building were. It was close to the nearby base and had rent for a damn good price. The way he carried himself, back straight and body seemingly always at attention gave him away. 

He was massive, standing much taller above you with broad shoulders and thick thighs. A lot of the time he was wearing a hood over his face, mostly when he was coming or going from work – which was seemingly all the time. 

On the few occasions that you caught him without the hood, you could tell it was him solely by his build. There was no one else in the building who looked anything like that. 

He was handsome, in a rugged, tired kind of way. He was a lot older than you were expecting him to be – probably in his early to mid forties, you guessed. He had salt and pepper hair, fine lines etched onto his face, and stern eyes from (no doubt) many years in the military. 

You had never properly spoken to him before. Hell, you didn’t even know his name. You greeted him when you saw him and smiled in passing when you made eye contact. Occasionally, he would respond in an accented voice that you longed to ask about. 

The event that changed everything was a fun little night out you had with your friends. You had maybe had a bit too much to drink before finally conceding at your friends’ behest to call yourself an Uber. 

By the time you reach your apartment building, you’re still very buzzed and starting to feel a little nauseous. You stumble to the elevator and impatiently slam your thumb on the button over and over again, losing count as you do. 

“It’s not going to come any faster,” an accented voice drones next to you, nearly making you jump out of your skin. 

“You scared the shit out of me,” you wheeze, hand over your racing heart.

“You should be more aware of your surroundings then,” he says, “Especially when you are intoxicated.”

You huff through your nose, growing annoyed at the prospect of being lectured. The elevator grants mercy and dings before slowly opening. There's a rowdy group of men inside who quickly walk out of the elevator, seedy eyes immediately finding their way to you, scanning your body up and down as they pass by. 

You feel that nauseous pit in your stomach twist as you finally step onto the elevator. Nothing to ruin your jovial mood from a nice evening more than a group of leering men. Living in an apartment building filled with soldiers, it wasn’t unusual to have them stare at you – didn’t mean you liked it. 

You cross your arms over your chest as König steps on, the elevator creaking and groaning under his immense weight. 

“What floor?” he asks softly, glancing at you over his shoulder as he stands in front of the button panel.

“3,” you mumble, leaning against the back wall. You watch him punch in the 3 but not anything else, making you raise a brow, “You live on 3 too?”

He shakes his head but doesn’t say another word. You narrow your eyes at his back, if he feels you looking, he doesn’t give it away. The elevator is plunged into silence aside from the quiet sound of the shaft moving up and up until it dings and the doors slide open. 

He steps out first, standing in the threshold to keep the door from closing as you push yourself off the wall. Your head swims for a second and you stumble past him, keenly aware of his eyes on you. 

You wander down the hallway, glancing over your shoulder to see him slowly stalking behind you. His arms hand limply by his sides, his fists clenched into fists but he remains a respectable distance. 

“Why are you following me?” you ask, unable to hide the nervousness in your tone, “You said you don’t live on this floor.”

“Young recruits are tools,” he supplies simply, “I am making sure you make it to your door without any problems.”

That causes you to hum and for a little flutter in your stomach to manifest. You brush it off and pause at your door, pulling your keys out so unlock it. You push it open and step in, letting it hit your back to keep it from closing as you turn to look at your companion.

“Thank you…um…” you clear your throat and look at him expectantly. 

“König,” he supplies simply, arms tucked behind his back, making him look even wider. 

“König…” you repeat, feeling the words on your tongue, “Interesting name. Where are you from?”

“Austria,” he replies almost mechanically, “I will be going now.”

You don’t get to say another word before he’s stalking away and down the hallway, heavy footfalls practically rumbling the ground beneath him. You slowly close your door and lean against it, hand placed over your racing heart – when did that start up? 

You blame it on your inexperience when it comes to men. You’d had a couple boyfriends, pretty standard for someone in their 20s. Your problem was none of them were ever good enough. The over-zealous types who wanted their dicks sucked as gratitude for paying for dinner. Then would turn around and either give you the most lackluster head of your life, barely any foreplay before trying to shove his dick into an unprepared hole. 

You had never given them the chance, once they showed they were only interested in their own pleasure and would more than likely not even think about touching your clit or angling for your g-spot, you stopped them and kicked them out. More often than not, you woke up to a break-up text because of course you did. 

So that was how you were still a virgin and more or less, at this point, given up on dating. You’d been single now for the better part of 6 months and had no intentions of giving any men your own age a shot at it. 

But…you hadn’t considered an older man. Like König. 

At that thought, you pushed yourself off the door and kicked your shoes off, intent on taking a shower to hopefully wash these drunken thoughts out of your head. So he’d been nice and walked you to your door, no questions asked, so what? Didn’t make him any different from men your age. 

As you made it to the bathroom, you felt your stomach finally churn for the final time and found your head buried in the toilet. You cursed yourself for not listening to your friends, who apparently knew your own limits better than you did. 

The next time you see König is just a few days later. You walk into the apartment’s gym on the ground floor, and there he is – sitting lifting weights. You pause when you see him, feeling that traitorous flutter in your chest you were sure you puked out that night you had learned his name. 

You watch the way his biceps flex, bulging so large you’re sure not even two of your hands could wrap around the girth of it. There were some scars littering his skin, most of them white and raised from age but a few that still had that new tissue pink color. You also noticed some fading tattoos encircling his forearms. Fuck, he was hot. 

You hung your head and scampered over to the treadmill, intent on getting your cardio up. 

As you run, you notice a group waltz in, laughing and shoving each other. You glance over at them, rolling your eyes when some of them make eye contact and nudge their buddies. They lean in close and whisper to each other with shit eating grins on their faces and you find frustration building up so you try to ignore them. 

“Quiet,” you hear an accented voice snap, full of authority, “You are disturbing everyone.”

The rowdy young men quiet down immediately and clear their throats, “S-Sorry, Colonel,” one of them utters.

‘Colonel? Is that high ranking?’ you find yourself wondering, making a mental note to look that up later. 

Either way, König manages to make the gym peaceful once again and you finish your workout with no other hitches. 

You grab your towel and dab at the sweat on your face and neck as you swiftly make your way out of the gym, completely unaware of the shadow following closely behind. 

You slow to a stop at the elevator, punching the button to call it as you sip on your water bottle, mindlessly going over what else you need to do with your day. The shadow behind you remains stagnant, still and silent as it lurks behind your unsuspecting form as the elevator opens and you step on. 

He follows, hefty weight causing the elevator to groan as usual. That gets your attention and you jump, placing a delicate hand over your racing heart just like you had before, eyes wide in shock at his appearance.

“You’re doing it on purpose now!” you whine at him and he has to fight back a smile at it. 

“I told you that you needed to pay more attention to your surroundings,” he replies smoothly, pressing the 3 button for you before pressing 5 for himself. 

“How is a guy as big as you able to be so quiet?” you ask softly, making note of the floor he lives on. 

“Years of training,” he gives a quick response that you hum at. There is a beat of silence before he finds himself speaking again, “You never gave me your name.”

He sees the way you look at him in surprise and he almost wishes he could rip the words from the air as soon as he says them. He doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea that he actually wants to get to know you. 

But you smile softly and give him your name with a kind nod of your head before the elevator grants him mercy and dings at the arrival on your floor.

“See you around, König,” you say as you step off. 

He doesn’t respond. 

Once back in the safety of your apartment, you find yourself going through the entire interaction in your head over and over again. Your heart races as you think back on him. 

It's as you’re making dinner for yourself that you finally have the coherent thought of revelation that you may have a crush on König. 

The revelation is almost enough to have you groaning out of frustration into the quiet sanctity of your apartment but you manage to refrain. But you can’t deny you don’t quite know what to do about it now. You had sworn off of men but…that was men your own age. König was…older than you, surely at least 15 years your senior, possibly more. You figure it couldn’t hurt to ask him out for some coffee one of these days. 

Except, the next time you see König is almost 2 weeks later. You don’t see hide nor hair of him at all. It definitely puts a damper on your confidence and you almost think your crush was just a fleeting little thing and for that you’re grateful for. 

Until the elevator opens one day and there he is. He’s wearing his hood but his eyes look even more exhausted than usual – beyond the general tiredness that comes with age. You carefully step on, joining him in the downward descent to the lobby. It’s just the two of you and feel that fluttering in your chest start up again and your hands begin to sweat. You scour your brain for something to say — anything to start up a conversation after so long of not seeing him.

“Haven’t seen you around,” you mutter softly. He hums softly in acknowledgement but doesn’t supply much of a response beyond that, “Where have you been?” you try again.

“Deployed,” he finally responds after several seconds of silence. 

You can’t find any way to respond or keep the conversation going but it’s sure that he has no intentions of doing so anyway. Still, it surprised you that he had been deployed, you hadn’t considered that. It made sense now that you thought about it. 

The elevator opened and you both stepped out. He walked much faster than you, beelining out of the apartment and you briefly considered letting him go but another part of you wanted to stop him and ask him out. 

You cursed to yourself and jogged forward, calling his name. He stopped in his tracks at the sound of you calling for him. He looks down at you over his nose, a burning gaze that makes your nervousness spike. Perhaps it wasn’t such a good time after all. 

“What?” he snaps, clearly impatient.

“Oh um…” you clear your throat and slow to a stop, “N-Nevermind…”

He huffs through his nose and resumes storming out of the apartment. You find yourself sighing deeply, following his lead. When you get outside, he’s nowhere to be seen and you once again find yourself wondering how a man of his size is so good at not being seen. 

A few nights later, the weekend rolls around and you find yourself standing in that damned elevator with him once again. He’s maskless and it gives you pause before stepping on. 

It’s silent for a few seconds before he says, “I am sorry for the other day.”

You look up at him with wide eyes, “Um…what do you mean?”

“I was not polite towards you,” he answers, casting a soft gaze towards you that makes your heart flutter, “I took my bad mood out on you and I should not have. So…I am sorry.”

“Oh…” you clear your throat and give him a smile, “it’s alright, König. I shouldn’t have bothered you with something silly.”

He frowns at you, “Something silly?”

“It’s nothing,” you assure him, smiling kindly at him. 

He wants to ask you what you mean but the elevator door opens and you step out, making him realize that you reached your floor. You wave your goodbye to him as the doors close and he lets his head fall back with a sigh once he’s alone.

Yet another bad day weighed heavily on his shoulders when you came waltzing into the elevator, bright eyed and happy. His fists were clenched behind his back and he did his best to avoid looking at you, hoping you would take the hint and not speak to him like you usually did. It hadn’t been but a day since he had apologized to you for making an ass of himself in the lobby and he didn’t want to do the same thing so soon after. 

But then you say something that sends it all crumbling down.

“Hey…” you start, fidgeting your fingers in front of you, “Would you like to get coffee sometime? Maybe lunch?”

You ask it so sweetly and softly. For some reason, that grates on his nerves even more than anything.

“What?” he snaps, cold and sharp in a way that makes you visibly freeze. 

You look up at him like a deer caught in the headlights, “Um…w-well, I just…it’s…I would like to…”

Your nervous babbling only serves to piss him off even more as his glare narrows down on you, making you shrink in on yourself where you stand. Suddenly, the elevator feels much smaller than it had ever before – even with him filling most of the space as usual. 

“You want to go out with me?” he spits, his accent growing stronger with every venomous word that he can’t seem to stop from spilling from his lips, “I am twice your age, what the hell makes you think I would want to date you?”

You swallow thickly around the lump forming in your throat and bite back the tears that threaten to form. He hears you sniffle and promptly snaps his head to look at you. Under the ugly, yellow light of the elevator he can see the tears trickling down your cheeks and he suddenly wants to slap himself into the next decade. 

He wants to open his mouth so badly and apologize for being so cruel to you. He knows he could have told you no in a much softer way rather than making your feelings seem like something revolting or stupid. But the elevator doors open and you’re slipping out before he even has a chance. He decides not to chase after you. 

It’s for the best, he assures himself. 

It only takes a few days before he’s vehemently regretting not stopping you then and there. 

It happens on a Friday night, the elevators are closing just as a hand jumps between them, sending them opening again. You step on, giggling in a way that tells him you’re just a little inebriated. You freeze when you see him standing there, maskless and cold gaze as he watches you tug a young man into the elevator behind you – clearly a little drunk himself. 

You pointedly stand in front of König, keeping your back to him to show that you’re not even willing to look at him. König feels his heart clench painfully in his chest before it’s replaced by a wash of anger as he watches the young man paw at you. He slips his hand down your back to grope at your ass, making you giggle breathlessly before you’re batting his hands away with a little bat of your lashes. 

König wishes he had an excuse to step off the elevator at the same time as you – anything to prolong his time with you. He’s never felt the desire to cockblock someone more in his whole entire life. 

But he doesn’t move. He just watches you step off without a single glance in his direction before you’re vanishing around the corner and the elevator doors close silently, leaving König alone with his thoughts. 

You couldn’t believe you brought this guy to your apartment. You especially couldn’t believe you were letting him strip you of your clothes and paw at your body like some kind of mindless dog. You had sworn to yourself that you were not going to fall into this trap again – a 20-something year old guy buying you a drink, complimenting you a little, teasing and groping you in the club until you caved and brought him home. It wasn’t your first go around – and it always ended the same way.

But you were drunk and you needed to get your mind off that stupid, giant Austrian military man that lived in your building. And wouldn’t you know it, he was on the elevator as soon as you got in. It was almost enough to sober you up, your wounded pride and feelings still so prevalent even after a few days of nursing the hurt. 

You could only hope that this would relieve you of your hurt feelings. 

Unfortunately, you quickly realized that this was a mistake. 

As soon as he started groping you, spreading your legs and trying to stuff his cock inside you without so much as a single finger of prep – you knew this wasn’t going to happen.

You tried to lead him, thinking maybe he was a little too tipsy to actually think about it.

“How about a little prep, hm?” you ask softly.

He pauses what he’s doing and you can practically see the gears turning in his head, “Oh…you’re one of those…”

He says it in disgust and you feel yourself bristle in annoyance, “One of what?”

“You want me to eat you out, right?” he scoffs, rolling his eyes, “That shit’s gross, c’mon just let me stick it in, already.” It was that moment that you felt any minute desire you had to have sex evaporate. 

You don’t even bother walking the guy out, leaving him to limp to the elevator in shame with a hard cock and blue balls.

It takes you a few days to find it in yourself to crawl out of your apartment. The only reason you actually do leave is because you’re in need of food – your little supply of ramen has depleted and you have to bite the bullet. 

After your little shopping trip at the nearby convenience store, you find yourself waiting for the elevator when a dark shadow looms over you. You feel a pit of dread in your stomach as you smell the musky, sweet scent of his cologne. But you don’t dare acknowledge his presence. 

He doesn’t give you long to ignore him, however, before he’s talking to you.

“How was your little date?” he asks, voice dripping in a tone of condescension that immediately puts you on edge. 

“What’s it to you?” you hiss, still not daring to look at him. 

He scoffs, “You went and found yourself a little toy to play with awfully fast. Seems your interest in me wore off quickly, no?”

That gets you to finally turn around, meeting his cold, indifferent gaze with your hot, teary one. You miss the look of surprise that flashes over his face.

“What is your problem?” you snap, “You rejected me, what the hell do you care what I do? And for your information, the date was shit. He was shit, like I should have expected any difference. God, I really am a fucking idiot,” you find yourself rambling, a lamenting spiel that you can’t seem to stop no matter how badly you want to, “Just like every prick before him, he was selfish and revolting. I thought I could finally get fucking laid and just call it a day but no, my stupid standards are too high and I find myself asking out the hot older guy in my building only for him to find me revolting!”

By the time you’re done ranting, the doors open and you storm out of the elevator, angrily gripping your bag of groceries. König is frozen where he stands, watching you leave as the doors slowly close – almost begging him to put his hand between them and stop them so he can chase after you. 

But he doesn’t.

It’s creeping up on midnight when there’s a knock on your apartment door. You’re curled up on the couch, watching some random show that you weren’t really invested in but couldn’t be bothered to change. 

The knock makes you jump, startled, but get up nonetheless. A quick peek in the peephole tells you exactly who it is before you even open it. 

You briefly consider not opening it period but find yourself opening it before you actually settle on a decision. 

König stands in front of you, a bouquet of flowers clutched in his hand, looking comically small. The sight is almost enough to get you to crack a smile. Almost.

But the residual hurt from the last few interactions you’ve had with him is enough to keep you stoic. You raise a brow and you practically see his confidence falter. A pang of guilt goes through you at the sight and you step aside, waving him in with a quiet huff. 

He closes the door behind him softly, kicking his boots off as he watches you wander into the living room. You take a seat on your couch, covering yourself with your throw blanket once again as you watch him wander in, gazing around at your decor before finally settling on you. 

“Um…” He clears his throat nervously and places the flowers on your coffee table, “I think that we should talk…”

“Should we?” you quip back.

He sighs, broad shoulders heaving with the movement before he takes a seat beside you, taking up a hefty amount of space on your small couch. 

“I want to apologize,” he says softly, folding his hands in his lap, “When you asked me out…I-I should not have spoken to you like that.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest, “If that’s all this is about, König, then you can go. I-I don’t really want to hear a half-assed apology about the way you rejected me. You’re not interested, let’s just move on from it. I’ll get over it.”

He shakes his head quickly and curses under his breath, a word you don’t understand – German, your brain supplies, helpfully.

“You are wrong,” he says, “I do not want you to get over it because I am interested.”

The gets you to perk up, eyes wide, “What do you mean? You said you–”

“I know what I said,” he mutters, “I am…twice your age…”

“So you mentioned before…” you reply.

“I do not think…you should be with someone old like me,” he continues softly, “You should be with someone your own age. That is what I thought. It is not that I don’t find you attractive; I think you’re sweet and lovely. But it's just…our age difference…”

“König,” you stop him from continuing, “I’m capable of making my own decisions.”

“I understand that but…” he trails off, casting a sideways glance across the room, away from you.

“I’ve tried dating men my own age, König,” you say, “It always ends the same – I send them home blue balled.”

He huffs out a laugh through his nose and finally sets his gaze back on you, “Why do you do that?”

“I don’t plan to…” you begin, running your hand along the soft fabric of your blanket, “it’s just that...I bring them home and then we start getting into it and it fucking sucks!”

“Sucks..?” The question is soft and drawn out. 

“He wants to fuck my throat and won’t even give me his fingers before trying to stick his dick in,” you spit, angrily glaring at the tv as you remember all your shit encounters, “I’ve never even let one of them go all the way.”

“You’re a virgin…?” he asks.

You shrug your shoulders, “I guess. I mean I’ve had shitty oral and stuff but…”

“I see…” he trails off, shifting in his seat, hands still folded in his lap, “Well, I would like to take you out for a date after all.”

You find a smile spreading across your face faster than you can stop it. You jump to your knees and throw your arms around his shoulders with a squeal of happiness, “Really? You mean it?”

He laughs breathlessly, a husky little sound that makes your heart race, “Does this weekend work for you?”

You eagerly nod your head and lean in. You catch the way his eyes widen briefly before your lips meet. You think he’s going to pull away from you but instead he cups the back of your head and deepens the kiss. 

You feel a shiver go through you at the feeling of his big, strong hand holding you there in the kiss. You couldn’t keep yourself from getting wet even if you wanted to. 

With your hands pressed against his firm chest, you toss one leg over his lap and find yourself seated on top of him. He breaks the kiss at that, hands migrating to your waist where he mindlessly strokes his thumb over the skin exposed by the way your shirt rode up.

You lean down and kiss him again and he groans against your mouth. You grind down against him in response to the throb that makes your pussy clench around nothing. You whimper into the kiss when he suddenly stops your movements with a firm grip. 

“We shouldn’t, liebling,” he whispers softly.

“Why not?” you whine, settling in his lips. You briefly realize that you can feel something hard beneath you and that makes you start dripping in your panties, “Don’t you want to?”

“I-I do…” he assures, “I just…want to properly court you…”

He couldn’t get any sweeter if he tried. Still, you quip back with a teasing little smile, “Wow, you are a lot older than me, huh?”

You feel giddy when the sweet look in his eyes melts away into something darker. One hand clasps the back of your head before he pulls you in for a much rougher kiss. You keen as you feel the way he exudes experience – the kiss like nothing you have ever experienced before. 

The way he moves his lips and slips his tongue into your mouth to taste your mouth, it’s not gross or too much the way it sometimes is with men who don’t know what they’re doing.you find yourself moaning into the kiss before you even realize it. 

He pulls away at that, a heady look in his pretty, blue eyes. You find yourself briefly lamenting the loss of his mouth but that thought disappears quickly when he moves to begin peppering kisses along the length of your neck, making sure to nip at your jaw and kiss your shoulder. 

He tugs the hem of your t-shirt down just a bit so he can have access to your collar bones, nipping and kissing there as well. Your head falls back as you surrender yourself to him completely. 

“Oh,” he coos softly, lips brushing against your ear, “You are just so sweet for me, aren’t you, little one?”

You practically whimper at his words as his hands slip under the hem of your shirt, fingertips barely grazing your skin. You squirm in his lap as his touch tickles you on his way up to your breasts, skirting over your ribs before fully cupping them in his roughened palms. 

You sigh into the quiet room, arching your back to press deeper into his hands. His thumbs graze over your nipples and you moan. 

Sure, you’ve had guys grope your tits before but it had never felt like this. The mindless squishing and squeezing was replaced with soft cupping and gentle brushes over your nipples until they hardened followed by pinches and flicks that left you absolutely dripping in your panties.

He takes mercy on you quickly, one hand sliding down your body to slide under your sweatpants and beneath your panties. Your hands grip his shoulders, blunt nails biting into them when one broad finger slides down, the sticky noise of your folds separating enough to send heat rushing to your cheeks.

“You’re so wet,” he whispers in a tone so soft you almost think it wasn’t meant for you, but then he tacks on, “Do you hear it?” 

“Y-Yeah,” you whimper, embarrassment flooding through you at the sticky, clicking noises that come along with his prodding, “N-Never been this wet before, König…”

That causes him to pause, blue eyes gazing at you through his eyelashes, “Is that so..?” You desperately nod your head, slowly beginning to rock your hips against his hand, but he doesn’t move again and you whine, “Has anyone ever made you cum on their fingers?”

“J-Just me,” you answer breathlessly without a second thought. 

He hums thoughtfully and after a second, he begins moving his hand again. This time he introduces more fingers, spreading your folds apart with his index and ring so he can pet your hardened clit with his middle. The feeling makes tremors run through your body and he huffs a laugh, “I guess I will show you what it feels like then, yeah?”

He doesn’t give you a moment to think let alone answer before his middle finger is sliding into you. The one digit alone is enough to stretch you, given how massive he is in whole. He crooks his finger forward and a moan rips from your chest when he hits that gooey little spot inside you. 

“A-Another, please, König!” you beg shamelessly.

“Shh,” he hushes, shaking his head, “Let me work you open on this and then you can have more.”

You practically wail in despair, letting your forehead drop forward onto his shoulder. You suddenly wish you had rid yourself of your clothes so you could see the way his hand worked against you. All you could see now was the faint movement under your pants but the mental image of that thick finger inside you, slick with your juices was enough to have you clenching desperately around him. 

After a moment, he adds a second finger and you feel like you’re in heaven. The stretch is phenomenal and his palm bumps against your clit every time he sinks them into the last knuckle. 

However, before he can set a rhythm to really start getting you off, he stops. You angrily lean back and glare at him – the sight has his lips quirking up.

“Ride my fingers,” he orders you, leaving no room for arguing.

You can tell he’s not going to give you anything unless you take it for yourself so you sit up higher on your knees so you can have the clearance to move. Your hands remain on his shoulders, clinging to him for stability as you clumsily begin to rock your hips. The only time you’ve ever done these movements is when you tried humping your pillow once after seeing it in some porn. It didn’t really do much for you so you never tried again. 

König can tell your movements are clumsy and it makes his cock throb against his thigh. He helps you along, crooking his fingers just right to grind the tips against that sweet little spot inside you. It makes you moan beautifully and he files the noise away. 

His other hand comes up to grip your hip, steadying you as you continue to hump his fingers. You’re growing more and more frustrated as you quickly realize that you’re not able to make it feel as good as he had earlier. The tearful little gaze you give him has him breaking, using the hand on your hip guiding you into more seamless movements. 

“Like this, liebling,” he directs softly, “Grind down like that, mhm, give that little clit some love, yeah?”

You become increasingly breathless as you work yourself higher and higher under his expert guidance. He can feel your juices dripping down his wrist, the snug hold around his fingers growing even tighter with every little rut of your hips. 

“You’re so precious,” he coos, feeling the way you clench up at the sound of his voice. Your body is so honest, telling him what you like without you having to say anything, “You’re going to cum, I can feel it. Be good and give it to me, yeah?”

You surge forward and desperately kiss him, one hand reaching down and gripping his wrist. It takes only a few more, desperate thrusts of your hips for you to topple over that edge. Your body trembles on his lap and you cry out in pleasure. 

He moans alongside you, watching with rapt attention as you cum all over his fingers just like he told you to.

You slump against him as you come down and he pulls his hands out of your pants. He presses a kiss against your temple in silent praise, hands rubbing your back to soothe you through the aftershocks that run through your body.

You lean back and meet his gaze, an opportunity he takes to slip his cum-soaked fingers into his mouth. At that, you surge forward and kiss him, running your hands down his body to pull at the button of his jeans. He grunts into your mouth, brows furrowing at the release of pressure when you tug the zipper down.

You’re absolutely speechless when you finally pull his cock free. He watches in poorly concealed pride as you gawk at the length in your hand. You give him a slow and tedious tug, watching the foreskin roll over his head, forcing a bead of precum from the tip. 

“You’re so…big,” you whisper breathlessly.

“I know,” he grunts, unable to hide the ebbs of pleasure you give him as you play with his cock.

“Cocky,” you tease softly, continuing with your soft touches. 

“N-Not cocky,” he whispers, licking his suddenly dry hips, “Just aware of my size.”

You drop your eyes back down to his cock, hot and heavy in your hand. Your fingers don't even touch each other when wrapped around him. Precum drips from the tip, leaking down the side to meet your palm and aid in the movements. 

He leans his head back against the couch, closing his eyes and furrowing his brows. It wasn’t often that he got to indulge in someone else’s hand. Your palm was so soft, much softer than his own, and delicate in your inexperience. 

He reaches down with one his hands, wrapping around yours to make you squeeze tighter, “Just like that, little one, that’s how I like it.”

You could have drooled as he said it. His hand dwarfed yours and the sight made you clench around nothing, more slick leaking into your already ruined panties. 

“Let me see you, liebling,” he whispers breathlessly, fingers hooking on the hem of your top.

You release his cock to lift your arms, letting him tug the fabric over your head. His hands are on your tits immediately, mouthing at your nipples without wasting a second.

“So pretty,” he coos with his mouth full, rolling his tongue over your nipple before nipping the bud with his lips.

He switches to the other one, wrapping his mouth around it, sucking sharply before pulling back, taking your nipple with him before releasing it with a pop. You watch with lidded eyes as he drools all over your tits. His cock flexes and twitches against your thigh as he plays with your tits.

Suddenly, with a firm grip on your waist, your whole world flips and you find yourself on your back on the couch with König on top of you. You lick your lips at the sight of his big, broad form hovering above you, caging you in as he leans down to kiss you again.

You sigh contentedly into his mouth, threading your fingers through his short, messy hair, using the grip to pin him against you. He lets you kiss him to your heart's content, only pulling back when you need air – a string of spit connecting your lips that breaks when he leans back between your thighs. 

His fingers took into the band of your pants, tugging them down, taking your panties with them until you’re completely bared before him. He’s still completely clothed aside from his cock that rests against his abdomen, occasionally twitching as his eyes rake over your nude body.

“Tell me, liebling,” he says, strong hands running up the length of your thighs, “Has anyone ever eaten you out?”

You clumsily nod your head.

“Was it good?” he asks, biting back a smile when you shake your head.

“Guys always think it’s gross or something…” you whisper softly.

He hums softly, “That is because you’ve been messing with stupid little boys.”

“You gonna eat me out, König?” you ask him, biting your lip in a poorly concealed excited grin.

“Would you like me to?” as he asks, he slowly spreads your legs open. The position causes your folds to spread apart, opening you up for his greedy eyes.

You feel your breathing speed up as he kisses down your body, starting with your lips and ending right above your clit. You feel the little bud twitch in anticipation as he tongues the skin above it, giving you a sneak peek on what is so close to it. 

“Tell me,” he says.

You whine, “Y-Yes, I want you to eat me out, König!”

He chuckles softly but doesn’t bother teasing you anymore. He meets your gaze and moves his tongue lower finally, sliding the flat of the muscle of your clit. You gasp and toss your head back into the cushions, eyes rolling back as he noisily slurps at your cunt. 

“O-Oh god!” you wail, hiccuping out noises of pleasure that you can’t seem to quiet.

König is in heaven. It’s not every day that he gets the opportunity to eat such a pretty, inexperienced little cunt. Your reactions to everything are so strong and loud. Your pussy is loud too, squelching in the room, making an intoxicating melody with your moans. He moans against you, swallowing down everything your messy little pussy drools out for him.

“Th-That feels so good, König!” you sob, kicking your feet mindlessly against his back as he captures your clit in his mouth, suckling at the bud, “You’re so good, so good, oh god!”

Never in a million years did you think being eaten out could feel this good. The mindlessly, halfhearted licks and kisses you had received in the past did nothing to prepare you for what it felt like to really have a man’s tongue on you. 

He pulls away suddenly, giving you a moment to actually breathe, “You taste so sweet, liebling.”

“König…” you whimper, looking up at him with lidded eyes, “Please, please don’t stop.”

You tug at his hair and attempt to pull his mouth back down on your pussy. You don’t care how pathetic and desperate it is, he has given you a taste of pleasure you’d never experienced before.

He has the audacity to laugh at you, brushing your hands away so he can sit up straight again. He scoots closer and you realize then that he is not planning to continue and it practically draws a sob out of you. 

“We can focus on that another time, liebling,” he promises, making you clench around nothing, more slick dribbling out for him to see, “You are so messy, you know that? Never had someone make such a mess all over me before. You must really enjoy being eaten out, huh?”

You feel your face burn hot with shame at his words, shyly hiding your face away. He smiles softly at that, “Nothing to be ashamed of, liebling…I love it, I do.”

“Really?” you quiver out the question and he nods his head.

“Yes, little one,” he coos, “I’m glad that I can make it feel good for you.”

You practically feel hearts in your eyes as he says that. You don’t think you’ve ever had a man tell you that he actually cared and enjoyed your pleasure. That was the final nail in the coffin for you – you really should have been going after older men all this time.

He disrupts your thoughts by suddenly stripping his shirt off. Your mouth goes completely dry at the sight of his bared skin – firm muscle, hair speckled all over his torso, and numerous scars from untold stories of his time in the military. You take note of the faded tattoos that become visible on his pecs and biceps; you’d always noticed the tattoos on his arms but you’d never really been given the opportunity to look. 

“You’re so handsome,” you whisper.

He pauses while ridding himself of his jeans and smiles, “Thank you, little one.”

When he’s completely bare to you, you slowly rake your eyes down the entirety of his newly exposed body. His cock hangs heavy under its own weight, glimmering at the tip with his precum. You’d never been with a guy who was uncut but the sight made you drool. 

“Now, liebling,” he says suddenly, getting your attention. He scoots closer, spreading your legs as wide as he can before laying the hefty weight of his cock against your cunt. It’s hot and throbbing and your entire body trembles at the sight, “You have to understand something.”

“What..?” you ask, breathless and unable to look away from his cock. 

“I am not like those little boys you were running around with,” he explains, hips slowly beginning to rut against you, length parting your folds and rubbing over your clit, drawing a sweet little moan from you, “I don’t stick my cock in a tight little cunt and blow my load, do you know what I’m saying?”

You shake your head, too lost in the sight and feeling of him practically fucking the outside of your pussy. He doesn’t stop the mind-numbing rolls of his hips, letting you get lost in the feeling of him stroking over your clit, saturating him in your cum. 

“That means,” he sighs, reaching up to grip your throat, forcing you to look at him as he leaned over your body, sandwiching his cock between the two of you, “I don’t cum easily, liebling. I am a grown man, I will fuck you until you cannot cum anymore. Are you prepared for that?”

The fact this man was so confident in his abilities in bed has you clenching around nothing again. You were sure the guys you almost slept with would never have been able to have the pure confidence that came from König. He knew what he was doing – he knew how to make you cum and he was going to use that experience well. You knew his age played a factor in how long it would take him to cum and you couldn’t wait to experience it.

“I want it so bad, König,” you beg softly, “Please?”

“Very good,” he praised, “You’re so good for me.”

He finally gripped the base of his cock and you watched excitedly as he pressed the tip against your entrance. You reached down and wrapped your arms around your knees, pulling them back for him so he could comfortably begin pressing into you.

The stretch is beyond anything you’d ever felt before. You knew his cock was big but watching the bulbous tip press against you and slowly spread you wide open was something else entirely. It burned in a way that had you wincing, furrowed brows making your face pinch up, making König pause. 

“It’s okay, little one,” he whispers, bringing a big thumb up to roll over your hard little clit, “Just relax for me, don’t clench up or it will hurt more.”

“I-It’s so big, König!” you wail helplessly, tearily staring up at him as he methodically works you open on his cock.

“I know,” he assures, still stroking your clit with the pad of his thumb, “But you can take it.”

You tearfully nod your head and do your best to relax your body, letting yourself sink into the couch. 

“Good, liebling, very good,” he coos, “Just let me in, nice and slow. Doesn’t it feel nice? The little burn of being stretched open but the pleasure of having this pretty little clit played with? Just lay back and enjoy it, little one.”

He’s right, of course. The burn aches, yes, but the pain and pleasure mixes the more he rubs your clit. You clench around him, an involuntary reaction that causes the head of his cock to finally pop in. Your eyes widen as you watch your cunt swallow it and with a perfectly timed tap against your clit, your back arches and you’re cumming.

“O-Oh König!” you squeal, eyes rolling back into your head as you cum around the head of his cock and nothing else.

“Oh, that’s good,” he grins, “That’s perfect, little one.”

As you come down with a tremble in your thighs, you finally fix your gaze on him once again.His eyes are lidded and pupils are blown so wide you can’t even tell they’re blue anymore. 

“That looked like a good one,” he comments almost flippantly before he rolls his hips forward, “Now you’re nice and ready for me.”

You choke on a gasp as he rolls his hips forward, fitting half of his cock inside your still spasming cunt. Your cum coats him in a slick sheen that aides in allowing him to pull back and slide back in, settling on fucking you on half his cock.

Your mouth falls open and you watch as a thick, milky ring forms around that fat middle part of his shaft, “M-More, König! Please!”

He knows you want all of him, want to know what it’s like to feel all of him stuffed deep inside you. But he knows you’re not quite ready for that yet, fucked out of your head from the intense orgasm he had just given you with ease.

“Not yet, liebling,” he coos, keeping his pace slow and steady, “Let’s work you open a little bit more, yeah?”

“No,” you whine, “Please, I want it all, König.”

“Aww, I know you do, little one,” he pants, already feeling dizzy from spearing you on his cock, “But I know what’s good for you, just listen to me and be good, okay?”

“Okay…” you pitifully whimper, sinking back into the couch. 

You abandon your hold on your legs, letting them rest around his hips limply now. He continues moving like that, inching deeper and deeper into you with every thrust. Your cunt makes embarrassingly loud squishing noises the move he works his hips against you. 

Before you know it, you’re watching with wide eyes and an open mouth as his pelvis presses against yours. Your eyes roll back in your head and your toes curl in pure pleasure as you finally experience the entirety of everything König has to offer. 

You’re speared wide open and the head knocks against your cervix painfully but the little bit of pain only makes the pleasure that much sweeter. 

“There we go, little one,” he coos sweetly, “I’m so proud of you, took all of my cock so well.”

He’s so big that he presses against every sweet little spot inside you without even trying. But, oh, his experience is crystal clear in the way he moves. He may be naturally gifted with a nice, fat cock but he knew how to use it.

Seamless, rhythmic thrusts had your brain going fuzzy before you even knew what was happening. You wouldn’t have been able to be quiet even if you wanted to. You knew you would be absolutely horrified to face your neighbors later because it would be impossible for them to not know you got fucked real good. 

Suddenly, König leaned over you, resting one forearm above your head to hold his weight off of you. The position caused his pelvis against your clit every time he sunk balls deep. Sticky strings of your cum stuck to his skin but he didn’t seem to even notice how wet you were.

But, oh, he did. He was absolutely obsessed with the way you creamed and gushed around him. A nice, pliant little pussy that was more than eager to swallow every inch of his cock.

The change in position had you grappling onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you wailed into his shoulder. Every mind-numbing snap of his hips hit that gooey, tender spot inside you that had your entire body twitching from the pleasurable stimulation. Your nails bit into his back and he briefly thought about the prospect of his recruits seeing them. 

“Are you going to cum for me?” he whispered in your ear, pressing a sweet kiss underneath your ear.

You nod your head, “Y-Yes! You’re gonna make me c-cum again, König!”

He chuckles under his breath, “I know I am, little one. I’m going to make you squirt.”

“C-Can’t,” you heave, twitchy legs kicking against his back.

“Yes, you can,” he assures, leaning away to sit up once again, “I can make you squirt, trust me.”

The whine you emit pitches into a squeal when he presses his palm against your lower stomach. You reached down in a panic to grab his wrist, not used to the strange feeling of him pressing down while he fucks you. 

“W-Wait!” you wail.

“Wait for what?” he asks, but doesn’t slow even a bit in his movements.

“F-Feels weird!” you gasp, hiccuping as you squeeze his wrist. 

“I know,” he grunts, brows furrowing at the feeling of you clenching around him, “It’s supposed to. Just lay back and let it happen, liebling. I’ve got you.”

Your whole body trembles and your jaw drops as you meet his gaze, a look of wonder crossing your face as you feel an orgasm like you’ve never felt before crash over your body. It’s long, drawn out and almost painful from how good it feels. You squeeze tight around him, your clit twitching and pulsing, completely untouched as he makes you squirt. It splashes against his abdomen and drips down his thighs. 

“There we go,” he laughs, a sound that sends a flush of embarrassment to your face, “See? I told you you could do it.”

“König…” you slur, feeling as if you’ve been fucked completely braindead.

It finally dawned on you that you would never, ever be fucked by anyone as good as König has fucked you. The first cock you’ve ever been stuffed full of and he made you squirt with terrifying ease. You were completely ruined, no dick would ever be able to compare to his. 

He sees the way your gaze turns completely enamored, looking at him like he hung the moon and stars. He grins, sharp canines poking out as he leans down again, kissing your temple.

“What is it, baby?” he coos, “Dick so good it’s got you in love?”

You keen at the pure condescension that drips from his voice. But he’s not wrong, you can practically feel the hearts in your eyes as you gaze up at him.

You have no idea how long you’ve been pinned beneath him, speared open on his cock while he fucks you absolutely stupid. You notice the change in him quite suddenly. His deep, concentrated thrust changed into something less calculated, messy almost. He loses his rhythm and falters in his pace.

“I’m going to cum, liebling,” he grunts, tone pitchy and gruff, “Where do you want it?”

“Inside!” you immediately cry, not missing a beat. He sees your eyes light up at the prospect of being filled up completely by his cum. You’re so sure it’s going to be a lot, you want to feel it drip out of you as a reminder that he had claimed you.

“Is it safe?” he huffs, but you can feel his cock twitch inside you at the idea of cumming inside you.

You desperately nod your head and he allows himself to fall over that edge. He teeters on his knees before collapsing with his hands on either side of your head. He no longer tries to thrust, settling for desperate, deep grinds that stirs his cock within your walls. Your eyes roll back in your head at the feeling, another orgasm washing over you before you even realize you’re that close.

“Oh, fuck,” König gasps, voice breaking as your orgasm sends him over the edge.

You’re panting and whimpering, trembling as you feel the heat of his load filling you up. His cock twitches with every spurt of cum. It’s the best orgasm he’s had in a long time, his balls throbbing with every pump of cum his cock spits out. 

It oozes from around the tight seal you have around him, dripping onto the couch. He’s trembling by the time the intense orgasm comes to an end. He opened his eyes, not even realizing he had closed them, to see you sleepily staring up at him with a dazed smile on your lips.

“Mein Gott…” he huffs out, lowering his body to press his lips against yours sweetly, “That was incredible, liebling.”

You beam under his praise and wrap your arms around his neck, “It was, wasn’t it?”

He chuckles and strokes his thumb against your cheek, “Let’s get cleaned up, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” you agree.

The care he gives you afterwards is like nothing you’ve ever experienced. He wipes your body down gently, careful not to rub your skin too hard. He stands with you in the shower, towering over you as he lathers your exhausted body with soap. 

“Can we do that again sometime?” You ask softly when he crawls into bed beside you – which you were shocked about, but didn’t complain.

He raises a brow and chuckles, “Yes, liebling. But not right now, I could not go another round so soon.”

You giggle and snuggle into his broad chest, practically preening when he wraps you up snug against him. You sigh softly and speak up again, “Can we…still go on that date..?”

He’s quiet for a moment before you feel a kiss on the top of your head, “Of course, liebling. I would love to.”

You smile to yourself and close your eyes, content to fall asleep wrapped up in his arms. The last thing you feel before you succumb to sleep is another soft kiss against your head. You realize, sleepily, that you’ve never felt more cared for by a man in your life.

property of rowarn; do not modify, repost, or translate.