#he was exuding so much good vibes

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓈 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

Ah, kinks—something all humans have, especially those who read fanfics. I mean, who doesn’t love them? Whether it’s the soft, the spicy, or the downright unhinged, there’s always something that hits just right.

Let’s be real: scrolling through AO3, Tumblr, or Wattpad at 3 AM, looking for that one specific trope that scratches the brain itch?

Yeah, we’ve all been there.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

I mixed a bit of canon and my headcanons for Crowe and Sol in this one—yep, once again! This time, I kept it focused on just four kinks to keep it short and sweet.

Hope you enjoy reading!

[ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ]

Starting, I’ve noticed that TKATB fans have their unique preferences when it comes to Sol or Crowe.

For example, fans who gravitate toward Sol tend to enjoy the idea of him being dominant—whether it’s being in control of him or just envisioning him taking charge. It’s that mix of power and intensity that gets people excited. You know who you are, you freaks!

On the other hand, fans of Crowe are drawn to his reliability, his deep understanding, and his caring nature. He’s willing to guide you through anything, offering both emotional support and strength. It’s comforting, isn’t it? And yes, I’m a freak too—I get it.

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

Naturally, I had to start with the man himself—Jericho, or Crowe, as he's known. Though the details are still unclear, he exudes a mysterious, almost savior-like presence. I WANNA KNOW SO BAD.

His style is effortlessly sharp, and his quiet confidence makes him instantly trustworthy. Reliable, steady, and composed, Crowe is the perfect support when life feels overwhelming. His charm is subtle, blending good looks with an alluring personality—irresistible, without ever being flashy. 

Now, let’s address the question: Can you see Crowe as kinky?

At first glance, no. Not. To a stranger, he’s too put together, with not even the faintest hint of anything unconventional beneath the surface. But as you get to know him, that answer begins to shift. Slowly, subtly, he reveals a side of himself that hints at complexity—an edge just beneath his polished exterior. However, don’t expect anything extreme or overtly wild.

What he does reveal is never too much but always just enough to leave you captivated—and maybe, just maybe, a little curious.

✑ Vanilla (Soft Dom…) 

For Crowe preferences!!

He's the ultimate soft, warm partner. Like, you just know he's all about the quiet, comforting vibes. No crazy power dynamics or rough kinks—he's all about that steady, affectionate love. It's Vanilla, but in the best way possible, full of layers. He’s not rushing anything, just enjoying the little things, taking his time, and making sure you feel heard and cherished. 

When you're with him, it's all slow and gentle—he’s not here for intense extremes. His love is patient, thoughtful, and wrapped in warmth. Every touch, every word, is like a soft caress, just so deliberate and tender. 

And honestly? There's no need for anything crazy. Crowe's happy to explore your connection, build that trust, and just savor the passion that grows naturally between you two. It's the kind of love that builds and lingers long after. 

Now… Crowe might be a soft dom—nah he IS A SOFT DOM.

Crowe’s not the type to push you past your limits just for the thrill of it. He’s not into playing mind games or testing how far he can take things. No, Crowe’s power is the quiet kind, the kind that makes you feel safe without even having to try. He knows the real strength is in taking care of someone, not in forcing them into anything they’re not ready for.  

When you’re with him, it’s like he’s always tuned into you, always listening, always aware of exactly what you need. He’s the guy who doesn’t take, but gives—gives you everything he can, with a level of care that’s almost overwhelming. And even though he’s gentle, don’t get it twisted—he’s still a tease. He’s the kind of man who’ll leave marks on your skin, a subtle reminder that you're his. But it's all in the way he leads, in that steady hand that takes yours, guiding you through every little moment.  

There’s nothing loud about Crowe—other than his moans and whining. I SWEAR he has pretty moans.

He doesn’t demand anything and doesn’t rush you, but he has this way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the room. When he touches you, it’s with a confidence that leaves you breathless but also comforted. He’ll press his forehead against yours, his hand guiding yours down to your stomach, just so you can feel his bulge inside you,how much he wants you, how much he’s thinking about you at that moment. 

There’s no need for words—just that connection, that intense eye contact that says everything.  

But yeah, he’ll also let you think you have the upper hand for a minute. Let you believe you’ve got him cornered, like you're finally taking control… only for him to flip the switch, regaining control without you even realizing.  

With Crowe, it’s not about begging or pleading for pleasure—it’s about your happiness, your satisfaction. His version of dominance is the kind that wraps around you like a warm blanket, soft and cozy. He just wants to see you smile, hear you laugh—moan, and whine under him, and know that every moment spent with him is full of happiness.  

So, if you're into a soft dom who values deep emotional connection, tenderness, and affection, Crowe’s your man! He just wants you to trust him, to let go and let him care for you. Let him be there for you in every single way, in every moment. 

And in that, he gives you all the security you’ll ever need.

✑ Praise (giving + receiving)

Crowe is all about Praise, and affection through words. Imagine him pulling you close, whispering in your ear while his fingers gently trace patterns along your skin. 

“You’re such a good girl for me, look at how well you take me, love. That’s my girl, always so ready for me, aren’t you?” His words make you feel safe, wanted, and cherished.

He doesn’t wait for you to ask for reassurance—he gives it freely, letting you know how much he appreciates having you around, and how much he loves seeing you smile. And when it comes to your body? He knows every inch of it like he’s got a personal map of your every curve and spot. He might even joke, “No one will ever know you like I do. I’ve ruined you for everyone else, haven’t I?”

Crowe has this vibe about him, like he’s always hungry to make sure you're feeling amazing, but don’t forget to show him some love, too. He thrives on hearing you praise him, especially when you whisper how much you need him, and how much he’s doing for you. The sound of your voice, the words you say—they get to him, melt him down until his heart's pounding.

Now and then, he’ll pull back, checking in on you, “You okay? Am I pushing you too far?” It’s not just about the rush for him. He wants you to be comfortable, to be in sync with him as he takes you through everything, slow and steady, giving you all that love. “That’s it, you're doing so well,” he’ll say, his voice smooth like syrup, making sure you know you're adored.

But here’s the thing: if you keep praising him, or if you’re the one in control, just wait. Crowe’s mouth? It’ll get filthy. AND I MEAN FILTHY. He can’t help it, don't be mean now...

I mean, you can. You giving him head? Taking his cock deep inside your throat, feeling he's about to cum, then you pulled back, teasing him. He'll say, "Please, my love, you were doing so good on my cock—please, please, keep going, I need that tongue of yours."

One of his favorite things is when you’re so into it that he can just forget what you say and speak directly to you, but in a way that’ll make your body react before your mind even catches up. Like, he’ll whisper, “God, you taste so damn good. Missed me, huh? Just wanna be filled up, don't you?”

His words drip against you, his eyes dark with heat, like he's speaking to your body, not even acknowledging your moans. ���Such a good fucking pussy. Always making me feel so damn good. Want me to stuff you full, hm?”

And when it’s all done? Crowe doesn’t just drop it and move on. He’s got aftercare down to an art. He’ll guide you through it, keep you close, making sure you’re okay, settled, and cared for, getting ready to do it all again whenever you’re ready!

✑ Experimentalist

Crowe is the kind of man who never wants to leave any stone unturned, especially when it comes to experiences.

There was something about him that screamed experimentalist—like he needed to try everything, no matter how wild or unconventional. When it came to relationships, he was always up for anything, which meant he'd probably had more relationship experiences than most people you knew. 

His mind is open, impossibly so, and he had an insatiable curiosity that could never be satisfied. He’d never form an opinion on something without diving in and getting his first-hand taste. If there was something new to try, something out-of-the-box—Crowe was there, ready to explore. 

And honestly? He didn’t even need you to ask twice. If you suggested something wild, he’d be all in—his enthusiasm infectious, his curiosity never-ending.

However, he's pretty vanilla when it comes to experimenting, so don't expect him to go TOO hardcore. If there's a kink suited to his taste and he masters it? Oh, Babe, you'll feel it—so much in fact.

Take ropes, for example. Blindfolds? Handcuffs? Oh, he is intrigued. But, again, don’t expect anything brutal. He isn't the type to be into floggers or paddles; no, pain isn't needed for his skills. It is his anticipation. The slow burn of him carefully tying you up, not in a rush, but with the kind of patience that made every moment last longer. 

When his hands hovered over your skin, it wasn’t just touch—it was electric. He’d make sure to linger, let his fingers graze over every inch, just enough to make you shiver, your breath hitching in the air between you. It wasn’t about hurting you, not at all. No, it was all about the build-up—the moment when the ropes or restraints were placed just so, tightening the tension between you both until it was practically unbearable. 

And then? When you finally let go, it was a release so sweet and steady that it left you breathless. No rushing, no quick fixes—just a slow, fulfilling pleasure.

Adding on, Crowe loved the idea of restraint. Whether for fun, for art, or for that extra little spark of excitement, there was something about having you completely at his mercy. 

And if you ever flipped the script? If he was the one getting tied up? Like I said, Crowe will be just as filthy when he lets his guard down. 

✑ Dacryphillia

Okay, hear me out. I know what you’re thinking—"Crowe? He would never hurt me. Why would he want to see me cry?" And I get it, really. This is one of those wild ideas but just stick with me for a second.

You know how he’s all about emotions and deep connections, right? Get it?

He gets this deep fascination with what you feel and show, especially when it’s raw. Here’s where it gets interesting: Dacryphilia. Yeah, I’m talking about that thing where someone gets... well, aroused by tears, by the sound of you sobbing, the whole mess of emotions. 

So, let’s imagine this: You’re begging him, pleading for more. Your face is a mess of emotions, eyes watery, tears rolling down your cheeks. And yeah, he’s gonna ask if you’re okay because that’s the kind of man he is—always checking, always making sure. But if you keep begging for more? Oh, that’s when it gets dangerous. 

Each desperate plea of yours, each tremor in your voice, just fuels this fire inside him, an all-consuming fire. His eyes? They’re practically glowing, deep blue, and locked on you like he's drowning in you, in every little thing you’re feeling.

You can feel him there, so close you can almost taste his breath on your skin. His lips brush against your ear, a soft, teasing whisper sending shivers down your spine. "So desperate for me already, huh? We haven’t even gotten to the fun part yet..." His voice is low, and dangerous, like he’s savoring every second of this.

You know he’s enjoying this. Every inch of him is hooked, and once he has you like this, there’s no going back.

Crowe’s could be teasing you for what feels like hours, driving you wild with a mix of pleasure and frustration. He’s pulled every bit of sensation from you, your body trembling with each orgasm, each touch—until you’re left aching for more. You’ve come undone on his fingers, his tongue, but now, you’re desperate in a way that makes your chest ache.

You need him, inside of you, filling you up, but he’s holding back. Just barely, he brushes against you with his cock, grinning at the whine that slips from your lips.

His fingers tease your entrance, and you can’t stop yourself from begging, voice shaky, "Please... Please, please." You repeated. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision as they fall helplessly. The emptiness without him feels unbearable.

Crowe tilted his head, the smirk on his face practically dripping with playful mockery. “Just please?” He dragged the word out slowly, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Tell me what you want, love. What is it you’re begging for?” His hand slid up your stomach, hand pushing down lightly as if testing the waters. 

A soft moan released from your lips as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear, the playful glint in his eyes shifting into something darker, more calculating. “You want me to fill you up, don’t you?”

His soft gin stretched wider as you stumbled over your words, desperate and disordered, pleading for more. He could tell you were unraveling, and it only pushed him further, each whimper was like a small victory. 

“You’re falling apart, love,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you need... just say the word.” You could barely focus as the desperation built into your chest. His control over you was unnerving, yet exhilarating. The tears running down your cheeks were a mix of frustration and need, a silent scream for him. 

“I need you, Crowe. Please...” Your voice was broken, but he was the one who was in control, studying the way you reacted like a willing experiment.

Crowe’s hand lifts gently to your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears streaming down your face. He gives you a soft grin, his voice low and teasing. “Already crying for me, huh?” he murmurs, almost amused. His thumb slips past your lips, letting you taste the salty remnants of your emotions. "We’ve just started," he adds, a soft chuckle escaping him. 

Before you can respond, his hips jerk forward, pushing into you with one swift, forceful motion. The shock of it makes your breath catch, and Crowe can’t help but smirk, his eyes glinting with that dangerous, experimental gleam.

Every move, calculated and deliberate, is part of his twisted exploration. And you? You’re the willing subject.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

Sol is described as a “stinky basement-dwelling yandere”—ngl, this alone made me laugh. He’s a quiet kid, the one who lingered at the edges of every room, observing, never quite fitting in.

Beneath his reserved exterior was a complexity most couldn’t fathom. He’s incredibly smart, with a sharpness that slipped through his words when he spoke, though he rarely bothered to. His talents leaned toward the arts, paintings, and writings.

And yet, at the end of the day, Sol isn’t exactly smooth. He was hopelessly inexperienced when it came to relationships. He gets no bitches, and honestly, he probably doesn’t even try. But in his inexperience is a certain rawness, and once you did get to know him, he’ll flirt or charm you. But before, he just watched and wanted.  

Now, let’s address the question: Can you see Sol as kinky?

Yes, let’s not sugarcoat it—he is kinky asf. Of course, he is. There was no way someone as quiet and repressed as Sol didn’t have a horny side, one he tried to keep buried but couldn’t fully hide due to his love for you. 

✑ Switch (A Pervert…)

Now, about Sol’s... preferences. 

From reading his relationship information card and playing the game. He is a paradox, a Switch in every sense of the word. He didn’t neatly fit into the mold of “always dominant” or “forever submissive.” Oh no, that would be far too mundane for someone like him. He's not a standard yandere people.

Sol is a man of extremes, a “pervert” in the most endearing, shameless sense of the word. He believed in living freely, without the shackles of societal expectations or traditional constraints. Ethics, morality, conventional roles—he’d toss them aside without hesitation if they stood in the way of his desires.   

When he takes the reins as Dominant, Sol is the type to lean into theatrics, pushing boundaries with a devilish grin and that mischievous gleam in his eyes. He had a talent for making the experience unforgettable, for making you feel as though the entire world had melted away, leaving only the two of you. But when the tables turned, when Sol found himself in the more submissive role, he’d throw himself into it with equal fervor. 

He’d challenge you to prove your worth, tease and push until you stepped up to the plate, and then—when you finally did—he’d surrender so completely that it'll feel like a victory worth savoring.  

To Sol, sex and relationships weren’t just about power dynamics or tradition. They were a playground for exploration, a place where the only rule was to follow what felt right. With his “anything goes” mentality, Sol turned every interaction into a kaleidoscope of passion and unpredictability. 

As mentioned, Sol, can’t help himself when it comes to you.

Let’s say he has this thing—Voyeuristic Disorder, to be precise, a fancy word for being a pervert. Dosn't care to see anyone else naked. Only you he wishes to see. He was obsessed with watching you, whether you knew it or not. In public or private, it didn’t matter.

He just liked being there, lurking in the shadows, soaking in every moment. Watching you do the most intimate things, completely unaware that he was there. 

There was something so exhilarating about seeing you—your bare skin, the way you moved, the little things you did when you thought no one was watching. He couldn’t resist. The way your body reacted, the sounds you made when you didn’t know he was there—it was all he needed. 

Deadass, I’m shocked that the creator of the game never added a specific scene where you were taking care of yourself in bed—you freak, oblivious to him sneaking a peek from the window, his hand on his cock, jacking himself off, doing exactly what he does best. Watching. 

He didn’t let societal norms dictate how he expressed himself or who he loved. He was unapologetically himself—messy, chaotic, and a little too intense for most people’s taste. But for those brave enough to step into his world, you, well, if you picked him, that is.

Sol will offer an experience unlike any other: one filled with unrelenting honesty, unbridled passion, and a love that refuses to be anything less than extraordinary.  

✑ Praise (Receiving)

Sol isn't the type of man you’d peg as desperate for validation—at least, not at first glance. His sharp, confident exterior gave the impression of someone who had the world at his feet, who didn’t flinch under pressure or crack beneath judgmental stares. 

But peel back the layers of this supposed nonchalant and cool type of man, and you’d find a truth that was much more human, much more raw. Sol craved praise. Why? Perhaps it was the lack of it throughout his life. His track record for romance was, let’s say, less than impressive. Not because he lacked charm or good looks—he had both in spades—but because his overbearing aura and unapologetic eccentricities tended to drive most people away. 

They didn’t understand him, couldn’t see past the way he challenged conventions. He wore his "loser" title like armor. After all, who cared if he didn’t have admirers lined up at his door? He didn’t need anyone... right? Yet, when someone, such as you, did manage to offer him an honest compliment, something sincere, it was like watching a dam break. 

His confident smirk would falter for a second, his eyes softening, betraying the vulnerability he worked so hard to conceal. Sol wasn’t accustomed to receiving love—real, genuine love—and when it came, it hit him like a truck

✑ Masochist

The first time you noticed Sol’s tendency to endure pain, you’d thought it was just his stubborn nature. He’s always been the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve when it came to you—raw, unfiltered, and unapologetically vulnerable. But as time went on, you began to see something deeper beneath that tough, rebellious exterior. 

Sol wasn’t just someone who endured pain; he seemed to embrace it…? almost thrive on it, especially when it comes to you.

Sol is, without a doubt, a masochist. Not in the twisted, sadistic sense, but in an almost heartbreaking way. He’d do anything to please you, to earn your attention—even if it meant enduring the unendurable. 

He could never be a sadist. No, he loved you too much to ever inflict pain on you, physically or emotionally. The very thought of hurting you would make his stomach churn. Instead, he channeled all his devotion into being by your side, no matter the cost.

There were moments when his tendencies became painfully obvious. Like he gets into fights back to back, defending himself or you—for example, the movie theater bathroom or the Campus library (With or without.)

You hadn’t/have even been there to witness it—Sol hadn’t wanted you to see him like that, bruised and bloody. But when you found out later, he brushed it off with that crooked grin of his, the one that hid just how far he’d go for you. “It’s nothing,” he’d said, wiping the blood from his lip. “They deserved it for talking about you like that.”

Or that time with Crowe. It had been an innocent moment, just you laughing at something Crowe said, but to Sol, it might as well have been a dagger to his chest. He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white, nails digging into his palms until they drew blood. He didn’t want to feel that way—jealousy mixed with self-loathing—but he couldn’t help it. Watching you walk away with someone else, even for a moment, was unbearable. 

It wasn’t that he enjoyed the pain; it was just that he could handle it, even when it tore him apart inside.  

And in the quiet, intimate moments, Sol’s masochistic streak became something else entirely. If you picked him willingly, He’ll trust you, and loved you, enough to let down every last defense he had. He didn’t just endure pain; with you, he could find meaning in it. 

A sharp bite, nails dragging down his back—he shivered under your touch, his body responding in ways he didn’t fully understand but didn’t question. For him, it wasn’t just about the sensation; it was about the connection, the way it brought him closer to you.  

Masochism, for Sol, wasn’t about pain tolerance. It wasn’t about how much he could take. It was about the way he found a strange, twisted kind of comfort in it. The pain wasn’t the point; it was the context, the giver—you. Sol would never seek out pain for its own sake, but if it was for you, if it meant being close to you, he’d endure anything.  

Even in the game, he seemed to attract hardship like a magnet, always the one taking the hits—physically and emotionally. Whether it was the bullies who thought he was an easy target or the way he seemed to hurt himself just to prove his devotion to you, Sol carried it all with a quiet, unshakable resolve. Because, at the end of the day, it wasn’t about the pain. It was about you.  

And he’d never stop. For Sol, loving you wasn’t just a choice—it was a part of who he was. If being close to you meant enduring the worst the world could throw at him, he’d take it all with a smile. Because that’s who Sol is. A damn masochist.  

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.  

✑ Somnophillia 

It was inevitable, wasn’t it? Everyone could see this coming from a mile away—there was simply no other possibility. Sol, in all his twisted complexity, had long blurred the line between obsession and affection, his love taking on forms most would never dare to comprehend. 

Some might accuse him of holding darker urges, like necrophilia, drawn to the lifelessness of the dead. But no, that isn’t Sol. Despite his obsessions, there was a deep-rooted sentimentality within him—a refusal to let go, to lose. If anything, he had made it clear in his own hauntingly poetic way: he’d rather die with you than live without you. 

Yet, that didn’t mean his desires were any less unnerving. No, Sol’s particular brand of affection manifested in somnophilia, a fascination with the vulnerability of sleep, the beauty of your unconscious form. To him, those moments were sacred—your body relaxed, your mind adrift in dreams. It was when he felt closest to you, unguarded and free from the chaos of the waking world.  

Before your relationship, it started innocuously enough—or so it seemed. He’d find ways to end up at your apartment, invited by some pretense or perhaps even through sheer charisma. And then, ever so subtly, he’d lace your drink with something to make you drowsy, to keep you from suspecting as his fingers ghosted on you. 

You lay there, utterly still, utterly serene, your chest rising and falling with the kind of peaceful rhythm that seemed to still the chaos of the world around you.  

It was maddening, the way you looked so untouched by the noise that haunted him, your lips slightly parted, the barest whisper of breath escaping them. Every exhale was a siren call, soft and unassuming, but it gripped him like a vice.  

His gaze wandered, helplessly drawn down the curve of your cheek to your lips. They looked soft, and inviting in a way that felt almost cruel. He wanted to press his own to them, to taste whatever peace you’d found and see if he could borrow just a fraction of it for himself.  

But it wasn’t just your lips. His eyes traced lower, following the lines of your body, the way your clothes clung to you, hinting at the form beneath. He shouldn’t be thinking like this—he knew he shouldn’t. And yet the thought of you, warm and pliant beneath him, invaded his mind, unrelenting.  

He swallowed hard, trying to shake it off, but the more he fought, the more vivid the thoughts became. The sound of your soft sighs, the way you’d move under his touch, how you’d look at him—not like this, not sleepily and unaware, but awake, wanting.  

God, he was losing it.  

Sol leaned back, running a hand through his hair, forcing his gaze away from you for a moment. But it didn’t matter—your image was burned into his mind, and there was no escape. Watching you sleep was his guilty pleasure, though his guilt barely lasted long enough to stop him from pressing further. 

Once the two of you were together, the dynamics shifted, but only slightly.

Sol’s obsession deepened, and the lines of consent became more of a gray haze in his mind. To him, love was devotion—complete and all-encompassing. And if you loved him, shouldn’t you accept him entirely? Shouldn’t you trust him to care for you, even when you weren’t awake to see it? 

He was careful, always so careful with you, so don’t worry! 

His lips found their way to the sensitive curve of your inner thigh, his movements slow and deliberate as if savoring every second of this quiet moment. You stirred faintly, a sleepy whimper escaping your lips as the warmth of his mouth brushed against you, teasing and tender.

Sol’s hands gripped your hips gently but firmly; his fingers splayed across your skin to hold you in place. You tried to shift, your body instinctively responding to the soft, wet pressure of his tongue on your needy cunt, but his strength was unyielding.

“Shh,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly whisper in the stillness. One hand slid up to brush a stray lock of hair from your face, his thumb lingering for a moment as he marveled at the serene expression you wore, so unaware of the devotion he poured into every touch. “You’re even more beautiful like this,” he breathed, his words an intimate confession meant only for the dark.

To Sol, this meant everything. 

This was the essence of love itself—intimacy beyond words, a bond that transcended anything others could hope to understand. He wasn't like anyone else; he knew that, and perhaps that’s what made this feel so special.

So sacred.

There was a quiet possessiveness in the way he worshiped you, a deep yearning to etch himself into every corner of your being, to ensure no one else could ever touch the part of you that belonged to him.

And as you stirred again, a soft moan escaping your lips, Sol smirked against your skin, the faintest edge of smug satisfaction curling at the corner of his mouth. You might not fully wake, but you’d feel him—his touch, his adoration, eventually his cock. You’d know, even in sleep, that you were his world.

To be with him, you’d have to accept all of him. Even the shadowed obsession that came with it. 

[yuramour]

ADORE YOU — F1 GRID

synopsis. the grid as dads pairing. f1 grid x reader (ft. mv1, yt22, ln4, op81, gr63, cl16, lh44, dr3, aa23, cs55, ih6, jd7) genre. fluff warnings. idk?? established relationships, mentions of like, having kids?? duh?? wc. 1.8k (150-ish each)

a/n. im ovulating. that's all. also, i wrote max's before he had his baby, so like, absolutely called it. (yes, this has been in my drafts for over a month now.)

MAX VERSTAPPEN

♥︎ girl dad

feels so incredibly obvious, but that's because it's so incredibly true. this man would treat his daughter like an absolute PRINCESS. putting aside the fact that max is an amazing bonus dad for his girl, he just like, exudes girl dad energy. i honestly have a hard time explaining it, but like, trust. omfg he would buy his baby girl literally anything she wants- just one look and he's MELTING and doing whatever she wants. overall, he'd actually be a pretty level-headed dad, especially as his daughter gets older. like, he has good clear boundaries and rules, but still respects her as an individual. would he threaten any future potential boyfriends? no. he doesn't need to. he's literally max verstappen. that's intimidating enough. so yeah, overall, he'd just be a fantastic dad, and he'd have such a great relationship with his little girl. and that's the tea. i love him.

YUKI TSUNODA

♥︎ both

yuki strikes me as the type to not really want kids until he's older. like, he's dedicated to his career until the day he decides he wants kids, and then he's all in on the dad thing. this man does NOT play about family vacations- like, he's got the full itinerary, waking the kids up at 5am to go to the airport for the flight that doesn't even board until 10am, fanny pack, yelling at everyone to put on sunscreen every five minutes. like, he's got that shit on lock. i don't think he cares much about how many kids he ends up having- he just loves being a dad. and trust, he does not play about his babies, he will throw DOWN for them. even as his kids grow up and move out, he is available to them 24/7. he is dropping everything to be there when they need him.

LANDO NORRIS

♥︎ girl dad

someone hold me back. this man is SO girl dad istg. now don't get me wrong, lando would be happy just to have kids- i'm sure we've all seen the numerous videos of him with babies and little kids and he's just absolutely cheesing in all of them. like, this man just loves kids. but he would absolutely LOVE to have a baby girl. i am so so convinced. he is does NOT play about his baby girl. tea parties, playing dress-up, watching every single barbie movie back to back- he's just happy to be there. he absolutely eats up a princess tiara. lets his baby girl do his makeup and all- tells her that she made him look beautiful every time (even if he looks like a literal clown, his girl can do no wrong in his mind). is he a bit of a pushover? yeahhhhh. is it a bit of a problem when he physically cannot say no to his baby girl? yeahhh sometimes. but at the end of the day, lando is just so full of love, he would do literally anything and everything for his kid.

OSCAR PIASTRI

♥︎ boy dad

GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD dont get me started on this one. i'm literally in shambles right now. oscar's nonchalant personality is GONE. vanished the second he holds his baby for the first time. he is just so proud to be a father, and his baby boy is the absolute light of his life. he starts every single post-race interview saying "hi" to his baby at home because he knows he's always watching. UGHHGHGHDGHFGDHDGHDGDHG im dead. he likes to keep his private life private of course, so he doesn't typically talk about his kids in interviews, but whenever anyone asks, he can't help but gush about them a little bit</3 dont get me wrong- oscar would be a great girl dad, but he just like, exudes boy dad energy. TRUST he would raise the sweetest, kindest, most generous little boy ever. im gonna STOP right now bc my brain cant handle this. but you get the vibes.

CHARLES LECLERC

♥︎ girl dad

we all saw this coming COME ON NOW. GIRL DAD TO THE EXTREME. that baby girl will never have to want for everything in her entire life. charles already has it all covered. he plans the most elaborate nursery for that baby and has it all set up months before she's even born- he's just so excited. teaches her how to play piano as soon as she's old enough oml. and when she's old enough to go to school and go out with friends, he doesn't hesitate to put his card in her mobile wallet- she could literally buy a whole car with his card and he'd be like "yes, what a sensible purchase. you definitely needed that 🥰" TOTAL pushover and he doesn't even realize it. if you insinuate that he might need to put his foot down a little bit, he is absolutely AGHAST. whatever his baby wants, his baby gets. of course, he's such a sweet man, he raises a sweet, sensible, kind girl. just a liiiiiittle bit spoiled.

LEWIS HAMILTON

♥︎ both

he would just be so happy to be a dad in the first place, he would not gaf if it was a girl or a boy. genuinely, he's the most balanced out of all of the drivers. he brings up his baby anytime he gets the opportunity. even if the conversation is not at all related to kids- if he gets the chance to relate the topic to his kids or being a dad, he will. like, he brings up his babies in EVERY interview. he definitely tones it down after a while, but he's just so elated to be a dad, it still slips out sometimes. again, he doesn't care about whether his baby is a boy or a girl- he just wants to raise a responsible, kind, empathetic person. and even though he talks about his kids basically nonstop, that doesn't mean he'll really want them in the private eye. i think having kids would give lewis more incentive to keep his private life PRIVATE. like, people probably wouldnt even know what his kids look like until theyre a couple years old at least.

DANIEL RICCIARDO

♥︎ TWINS

daniel can't live without chaos in his life. twins are just inevitable. we've seen how chaotic daniel is as an uncle, and being a dad is pretty much the same. he's just a little more careful. having boy/girl twins, daniel treats them the exact same. takes them dirt biking, hiking, sand duning, lake swimming- everything. his twins become his little travel buddies. he's usually the silly goofy fun dad, but TRUST he can be serious and scary when he wants to. like, he will throw DOWNNNN for his kids if he needs to. no other thoughts. just dadiel.

GEORGE RUSSELL

♥︎ girl dad

its that one picture of george in an eras tour shirt with his hands on his hips like an absolute diva that just SCREAMS girl dad. like, he will do ALL the "girly" things with his daughter. he lets her paint his nails, plays barbies with her, watches her shows with her, etc. every day is a constant diva-off between him and his daughter, bc TRUST he's raising her like a literal princess. like, that child is never going to have to work for anything ever. like, lando is nothing but a butler to his baby, but george and his kid are in a constant battle for princess status. two icons, truly.

ALEX ALBON

♥︎ boy dad

pure chaos in that home. never a moment of silence. play fighting, playing baseball in the living room, 1v1's on Halo on the tv, fridge full of bug juice and costco pallets of stain remover in the laundry room. alex fully embraces being a boy dad the second his kid is born. that house is going to be LOUD and ROWDY. but don't get me wrong, that boy is going to be KIND and RESPECTFUL. alex may be the fun goofy dad, but he is going to instill good values into that boy. breakfast in bed for mom every sunday, learning how to cook, learning how to clean- that is going to be a well-rounded, emotionally intelligent kid. bless up.

CARLOS SAINZ

♥︎ girl dad

literally the most perfect dad in the world do not play w me right now. does he treat his daughter like a literal princess? yes ofc. but he is going to make sure that she is respectful, patient, and kind. if she's gonna be anything, she will not be spoiled. i see carlos after becoming a dad keeping his life as private as he physically can. like, he'd want his kid to live as normal a life as possible. but oml going back to the like, girl dad thing, carlos is the most gentle patient dad in the entire world. like, every disagreement/argument is handled in the most mature gentle way possible. every mistake is turned into a lesson instead of a punishment. like, literally the ideal dad. istg im gonna melt right here right now. love that guy. he's the type of dad where his kids are never uncomfortable coming to him about any problem they're having. im gonna stop right here before this gets too long oml

ISACK HADJAR

♥︎ girl dad

(i have a drabble about young dad!isack cooking in my drafts, i just need to get this out before my brain explodes) when his baby is first born, (and well before), he is NERVOUS and SCARED. like, tf does he know about being a dad??? poor guy is hesitant to even hold his daughter for the first time bc he's scared his arms are gonna give out for some reason and he'll drop her. though he gets into the groove of being a dad pretty quick. like, the way he goes from scared boy to peak DAD™ so quick needs to be studied. the type of dad to offer to carpool for his daughters soccer games, bringing all the best snacks and drinks for practice. takes pride in the fact that his home becomes The Hangout House™ for his daughter and her friends. he's just the type of dad to practically adopt his kids friends and treat them like his own.

JACK DOOHAN

♥︎ boy dad

the type of dad who basically just becomes best friends with his kid. like, they just hang out with each other. he takes his kid to hang out with his hangouts (i can just imagine young dad!jack taking his son surfing with his friends and being the only dad but all his friends treat his son like a little member of the friend group im crying). anyways, sometimes he may be a little bit too chill and fun. like, he may have a hard time setting boundaries with his kid bc they're just so chill w each other💔 like, he may struggle a bit for a while especially as his kid gets older, but i think the older he gets, the more dad-ly he becomes.

taglist: @revelauver @bear-yawns

[fancyperfectionsweets]

☄️Astrology Observations 5🍂

🕸️ Neptune in 7th house has victim complex. More often than not, they think that they are too giving, too loyal and everyone takes and takes from them when that is sometimes not even true.

🕸️ Moon + Rahu combination can make another person super empathetic to the point that they cannot detach and work normally if something is bothering them. This is even worse if the moon is in a planet that affects personal houses like the 6th house of routines or 2nd house of money. Be careful with this combo.

🕸️ Rahu in the 7th house is clingy af and can do drastic things to keep a relationship. They have the tendency to use relationships as a self-validation tool. This intensifies if moon is not in a healthy position. They are the kind to kill themselves or harm themselves over a relationship. They need a good circle of friends to ground them.

🕸️ Jupiter in 4th houses often come from huge families that are ready to help them. Even if the person is harsh or strict, they won't be able to do that with a jupiter in 4th house kid. It's just something so "childlike" about their vibe to their family.

🕸️ ohk. It's either because my Sun is darkaraka or it's just true but people with Sun in the first house or exalted suns (aries Sun) just have my respect. They are so naturally inclined to leadership. I wish to learn from them.

🕸️ I read somewhere that while venus is the planet of love and beauty, they are very exclusionary. This is because venus is the IT girl that says "not everyone deserves me. 💅". She's luxury. Thus, venus dominant people like Osho have very mysterious auras and have "cult" like followings that have bizzare rules. I know someone who is a venus dominant nakshatra and he's very "I don't show even an ounce of what I'm" kinda person. It's honestly very fascinating. These people will only show you the real face when they feel like you "deserve" to be in their inner world.

🕸️ However, speaking of Venus. The above does not mean she cannot be obsessive and conniving. Bharani nakshatra men, especially, I've noticed are very meticulous and have an attention to detail. This nakshatra comes up again and again in men who stalk women and basically become obsessed quickly. They are not even apologetic about it. They feel they are sort of way entitled to "their chosen women" and it's ohk to tresspass boundaries.

🕸️ venus + mars is a super comfortable placement for relationships in my opinion. Venus is the vibe you exude. Mars is your passion so this is what you chase. Thus, you like people back who like you and vice versa. You know the people who always pulled the people they wanted? Yeah. Probably mars + venus. However, it can be a painful placement because love burns deep for this person and if it fails, it can affect their self esteem.

🕸️ 6th house stelliums have this natural tendency to be pessimistic.

🕸️ Jupiter in the first house is usually never seen as "too much" but for some reason, an exalted Jupiter in 4th house/cancer is. A jupiter 4th house is full of optimism and it can piss off people. Y'all slay though. ❤️

🕸️ I've never met an Aries 4th house (Cap rising) or a Scorpio 4th house (Leo rising) have amazing relationships with their families. If your moon and Sun are strong, your parents may be supportive but your extended family will definitely be then out there to get you.

🕸️ watched nosferatu and it reminded me of Lilith synastry 😭. I bet nosferatu's lilith conjunct lilly rose-depp's character's first house/venus/moon/sun because he was so obsessed with her. I'm also thinking 12th house synastry because he kept manifesting in her dreams and she kept him hidden from her husband. Also, she's definitely jupiter ruled and nosferatu represents ketu because he just took and took from her till she fucking died. In that way, she fulfilled Jupiter's theme of sacrifice. Sacrifice is associated with Neptune in western astrology. But, it rules over Pisces whose traditional ruler is Jupiter. So I think this kinda goes.

Fin❤️

[hoshigray]

hey love can i request brothers bff cho and how he's just down bad for you 🤍🤍🤍

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: omg wait, i fucks with this baddd

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Choso x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - masturbation (m!) - oral (m! receiving) - tit/breast fucking (m! receiving) - cowgirl position - pet names (baby, darling, honey, sweetie) - unprotected sex (psa: wrap it up or get tf up) - implied that reader is big chested - Choso crushing on you hard, lmao - mention of drool/spit.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨��𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.4k

Choso knew better than to be attracted to you, the sibling of his best friend ever. 

Your brother and Choso have been buddies for a while, meeting during his part-time job at a burger joint as servers and finding out they have so much in common. Being older siblings, lovers of rock music, and relating to so much together, the two often hung out after work and became pretty good friends. Just two people vibing out in each others’ company, and there was nothing to make this relationship complicated!

“Hey, Choso, I’ve told you about my sister before, right?”

You greeted him with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Choso!”

Well, that is until you came and absolutely rocked Choso’s world. 

You were the younger sibling of two; a college senior comes home biweekly to take care of laundry and then drives back up for your education. By your gorgeous face and alluring figure, Choso was struck by your image from the first time his eyes ever laid on you. You were such a kind spirit, always so sweet to him and others surrounding you — you’d want to hang with the boys whenever you had the chance while you were visiting, which was hellish for the brown-haired man. 

You’d laugh along with the jokes, making Choso’s heart skip uncontrollably, and the way you’d lean to him when you’re sleepy watching a movie with them pushed the guy on the verge of shutting down. He could never get tired of how you’d say his name; it came out so dear from your lips as if he could be under your spell at any second. And it didn’t help that you’d walk around the house with shorts on, the lower fringes constantly threatening Choso on whether they’d creep up to see the mere crevice of your ass.

As said before, he knew better than siblings of best friends were off limits. However, you were becoming too much for him. It’s been half a year of seeing you, and there has never been a day or night where you haven’t popped up in his head one way or another, particularly when his mind would think of you in the most…lustful ways.

He throws his head back, reminiscing about you and your outfit from the pub. The way your breasts were tucked in nicely by the window of your bodycon dress, yet the cleavage was too tempting for his eyes not to notice. The dress sculpted your curves dangerously, Choso fighting the urge to put his hand on your hip to feel your clothed skin. And your lipgloss made your lips shine; every time you spoke to him was a test for him not to kiss you right there in front of your brother. It was so cruel how you looked so good for him!

He was spending the night at yours after a night out drinking with you and your brother, using the basement bedroom to sleep. Sleep evades him; however, he uses this space to deal with the erection he’s been dying to indulge in this entire night instead. His teeth pull the bottom of his shirt, dark jeans discarded to the floor, and his hand pumps his shaft that’s freed from his boxer briefs.

He grunts at the memory, teeth grinding while he strokes his long cock. Precum exuding from the urethra slides down to the base and wets his fingers. “Fuuck, Y/n,” your name is said in choked moans, the horny man fisting himself in a faster motion. Brown eyebrows are trenched, and his abdomen begins to flex. Shit, I’m so close, so cl—

“Choso?”

He never in his life froze still in an instant, and his heart goes to a complete stop, too. No way.

“Ca–…May I come in?”

No words are said from either side, so Choso’s heat immediately shifts to icy cold when he hears the door open, and your frame is all he sees. You’re still wearing the beautiful dress, yet your face is molded into an expression of utter anxiousness. Sweat goes down Choso’s forehead, oh fucking shit!

“I came down to see if you were okay and needed anything,” your eyes were downcast to the floor, chewing on your lips during this awkward situation. “But…I heard you say my name and…”

Oh, it was so over for him. All Choso could do was stare at you in dread, entirely shocked that you saw him masturbate at the thought of you! You were fidgeting with your dress, perplexed about how to handle this predicament, too. He was so done for; not only was he thinking of you, the sibling of his best friend, and using said thoughts of you, but now you are aware of how he pictures you in his fucked up head! Yup, he can never walk into this house again. “S–Sorry, Y/n! I’ll just go and—“

“Can I help?”

Again, his body goes rigid mid-stride of getting off the bed after pulling his underwear up. ….What?

“I mean, can I…help you with that?” You meekly walk into the room and close the door behind you. “I am the one who made you like this, so…I’m okay with it if you are…..”

Choso blinks, too alarmed to make any movements. “But, your brother…” You’re quiet for a few seconds before you spook him by taking steps in his direction. He gulps thickly when your figure crawls on the bed, too close for his brain to comprehend. You take his hand with your soft ones and bring his fingers to your lips to kiss, and his breath hitches when you suck and lick his digits. The boner stuffed in his briefs twitches at the sensation of your tongue running against the underside of his middle finger and sucking on it. 

You peer at him, “What about him?” That is what you say before lifting your dress to remove your panties. And just when Choso thought his life was about to be thrown in the gutter, you flipped the script on him again.

In his head, Choso knew he shouldn’t be doing this.

“Mmm…Mmahh! Oh, Choso, you taste so good…”

But in his heart, he couldn’t help but give in to this situation.

You were situated between his legs, ripped him off his briefs for you to suck on his glans freely. Your tinge dances around his cockhead to prompt more come to ooze out of his urethra, and your hand slides up and down to stroke his member. Choso whimpers under your touch, and shivers crawl up his spine as you lick from the base to the tip before sucking hard.

“Fuuck, Y/n,” he grips the sheets, barely containing his hips to buck to your lips. “Your mouth, it’s—Hssshh…!”

“Mmm?” You blink before releasing the tip with a sound. “What about my mouth, Choso baby?” Fuck, the nickname made the pink of his ears creep down to his nape. “You feel good?” He nods at your question, and you giggle before sucking one of his balls, resulting in a sharp gasp from the brown-haired man. “I’m so happy you are…”

Hallow cheeks take in his cock, busying your throat with his length that has you humming blissfully. You massage his waist as you bob your face up and down, and shaky breaths leave his lips while his legs jolt with every swish of your tongue.

“—Shhiiit, oh shit, hnnn,” he can’t do it, you were driving him crazy. “Y/n, you’re gonna make me…Mmmm”

You pick up on his cue, withdrawing your lips from him to maneuver and pull down the top of your dress. Caramel eyes widen at the sight of your breast spilling out, forgetting how to breathe when you bring them to wrap around his long dick. You move them around to please him, taking the tip back into your mouth to slurp his leaking essence that trickles down to your chest. 

“Mmaahh, go ahead, darling,” you place kisses on the tip, Choso looking at nothing but your mounds swallow him with every stroke. It takes mere seconds for his orgasm to sneak up on him, his jizz coming out to fall and trickle down in between the rifts of your tits. “There you go, let it out for me…” the way you looked at him with half-lidded eyes took his breath away, especially with the spit that connects your gloss-shining lips to his spit-and-come coated shaft. 

And when he’s finally inside you? He’s too far gone to even think of being away from you.

“Ohhh, hoooh!! Chosooo, y’u feel soo good!”

Your dress was cast-off entirely, your nude body bouching up and down on Choso, his cock bullying the inside of your cunt. It’s been a solid fifteen minutes shared between the two of you exploring each other’s bodies, and sweaty skin exchanges heat from the constant motions. And come from rounds prior spill from your chasm as you ride on Choso’s dick with a rhythm.

He has his hands on your hips now, using you to keep him steady before he gets too lost in the feeling. Not that it hasn’t happened already; the man moans with every clamp of your walls around him, tightening around him with every graze of your g-spot. You wail for him up top, and your aroused sounds have to be the cutest things he’s ever heard. And the way your tits jump every time you plummet down to the base of him, it’s an image that will haunt him for the rest of his days.

“Tahhh, ughh, Jesus Christ…” He’s too sensitive right now; he just came not too long ago and is now being chased down for another one. “Y/n, sweetie, too fast, slow d—Ahh…!”

You hear him and titter, “Yeah? Want me to slow down, huh…” You bring your hips up excruciatingly slow, listening intently to the shaky sobs from the brunette as you get to the very top. And then you smack yourself down with haste, sharing a yelp at the rushed sensation. You do it again, “Think you’re about to cum again, huh, honey?”

His hands now come to your ass to grope with the flesh, and you twitch around his girth at the hunger. “Yeahhh…”

“You gonna be good and cum for me again, right?” Another snap of your ass crashing down on him. 

“Yess, baby,” he throws his head back to the pillows, his head pounding so hard it could kill him. You can feel him pulsating within your slit. “Almost there…Ohh–ooo..!”

You bite your lip, relishing at the sight of him being desperate for release. You lean forward to him, your breasts meshing with his chest as you snake a hand around the back of his head. You place your lips on his, and he doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate.

The kiss gets hotter when you dial up the speed, tongues swirling and exchanging spit as the friction becomes a lot more pleasurable than before. Choso’s ears ring the deeper you bring him in to kiss, humming on his tongue as you suck on it with harsh rocks on his length from scraping places you couldn’t reach. He’s so fucking addicted to you; his composure long deteriorated the moment he first put his cock inside you.

Choso bucks himself to you in sync, his climax coming in just a few ruts. He howls into you, and you wail along as your hips don’t rest until you’re hit with a crescendo of your own. Contracting your vaginal walls milks him, exerting his load into you again to spill and flow down your sticky frames. 

You two heave and pant in each other’s mouth before the kiss is broken, and the string of saliva is evidence of you being one with the other. Although the both of you are dazed, you smile at him before kissing his nose. “Glad I helped you out, huh?” He chuckles weakly as you lay kisses on his chin.

KNOCK!! KNOCK!!

And just like that, the two of you are frozen yet again. Wait…

Too late, the bedroom door busts open with a bang, and in comes your brother!

“Yooo, Choso, my guy—hic,” your brother stumbles inside the room, still a bit loopy and drunk. “Wanna go up and hit a quick blunt with— ah…”

The heat shared between you and the man below you switched to silent torture, awkwardness suffocating the three figures staring at each other. And this is the exact reason why Choso should’ve known better than to mingle around with you…

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header edit done by me + dividers by @/benkeibear.

[reddesires]

Bucky Barnes Headcanons

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Tags: soft!Bucky, established relationship, sexual content, overall fluffy

A/N: Here's some headcanons I categorize with Bucky. It's mainly cutesy boyfriend vibes that I think he would exude when those therapy sesh' finally hit lol

○ He has the most expressive eyes, it definitely gives him away no matter how hard he tries. The slight scrutinized scrunch of his nose and squint when he's trying so hard not to judge or not even bothering to, Bro is so judgy but honestly, he usually has every right to be. But more often than not, he has the softest eyes directed towards you, borderline puppy dog eyes that melt you from inside out and you just want to kiss him every time he gives that doe eyed look, he knows the effect it has on you though he'd never admit just how much he uses it to his advantage.

○He only allows you to cut his hair, otherwise he's cutting it by himself. You've come to understand that he feels particularly vulnerable with anything to do with his head and he definitely has strong boundaries about it. You are the only one he unconditionally trusts with cutting his hair, touching his neck and gentle hair pulling. He practically purrs when you play with his hair, lightly scratching your nails along his scalp, like yeah, mans is out like a light. And God, don't get him started on the rewarding neck kisses you give him when he asks you to cut his hair. You pavlov'd him, and he's absolutely screwed.

○ You've learned to be attentive to him, he's the kind of person that more often than not will suffer in silence just so he doesn't burden anyone. It damn near breaks your heart to think of how far he's willing to go just to protect you from his struggles in fear that it would be too much than you can handle. So you have to be lovingly stern, reminding him that you're not going to stand by while he is in pain, that he's yours and you're willing to do anything for him, he's not a burden, he's the love of your life. 

And the man was too stunned to speak! 

That's one sure fire way to get him all misty eyed and lip trembly, and he's finally telling you what he needs or what's been ailing him, all whilst allowing you to take him into your arms.

○ His Love Language minus as well be all of them, an old school kind of love. A love that can't be contained and must be expressed in every way he can possibly express it whether that be through touch, gifts, acts of service, you can bet your ass he's gonna do it. He's a man that was molded by his father's love for his mother, regaining those precious memories of how much his Pa would dote on his Ma fueled that sense of expectation he held for himself when it came to his love for you. And you're so touched and utterly in love with this man that you pick up all the love languages for him too. It deepens your bond and it can't be helped, being in love looks good on the both of you.

○ He finds your scent comforting, there's something about it that soothes him both mentally and physically. He used to be embarrassed when he caught himself breathing your scent in deeply whenever you were within his close proximity but now he'll unashamedly bury his nose into your hair and inhale your scent greedily, all the tension from his body draining out of him by the second and you don't mind it at all because as your face is pressed against his strong chest, his scent invading all your senses, it's borderline heaven. Leather, aftershave and his own natural smell filling your lungs and making your head go fuzzy, his arms pinning your body against his as your knees go weak.

○ He picks up on your humor. He's already sassy and has a dry cut sense of humor but combined with your modern slang and jokes, he starts picking up on it naturally. Sam will tease him and claim that your a bad influence on him but it's all in good fun since he only gets more quick witted with his responses, every once and while he'd resort to his glare and stare when he doesn't have a good retort, you and Sam never pass up the opportunity to poke fun at him during those times.

○ Is the type to give a serious side eye towards others if they do any type of PDA all while pulling you into his side with smoothness, his arm lovingly wrapped around your shoulders. sometimes pressing a quick kiss to the side of your head just cause. The longer your relationship, the more bold he is when showing you affection in public, hand holding, quick kisses and flirting just cause he feels like it.

○ Let's you wear his dog tags, he trusts you so wholeheartedly that it feels right to see you wear the one most personal evidence of his past. The way he sees is that you-his future, is carrying a piece of his past and it's okay for him to be accepting of both, that it's okay for him to want more for himself than to keep mourning his past and all that he's lost when he can regain the love he's been longing for from you, the love you are so willing to give him each day.

And he loves the way the dog tags sway and clank against your body as you ride him. Like a second accessory to his metal hand that lightly grasps your neck, his thumb pressing on your jugular notch with gentle pressure. His flesh hand on your hip, guiding your hips movements pulling those delicious moans and the twinkling of the tags with every thrust of his hips slapping against you sinfully. His groans increasing and his eyes rolling to the back of his head at the sight of you, so achingly disheveled, so beautifully adorned with his damn dog tags. He's forever ruined by you.

○ A bookworm. If you're also a bookworm then reading together is his favorite bonding time with you, seeing you take a interest in what he's so enthralled by makes him a little flustered, a boyish grin pulling at his lips and a pink settling in the tops of his ears while he explains the plot of his newest read is worth more than any precious gem in this world. And he enjoys seeing your facial expressions as you get absorbed by the pulling words in your own book, the slight scrunch of your nose when your bewildered or the widening of your eyes when your curiosity has been sated, it's all so endearing to him and he wouldn't change it for the world. And when you ask him to read to you, you behold his heart within your hands as you lovingly gaze at him as he becomes your personal audio book.

○ He can be possessive and he can be jealous. Never does he take it out on you, he would never direct his distaste at you when someone flirts with you or looks at you in a way that makes his hair stand on end and clench his jaw. He could have the most deadliest glare directed towards someone who dared to get close to you and when you seek him out, needing to be within his bubble then he's all puppy dog eyes and gentle talk. You're not dumb, you can see the jealousy gleaming ominously in the stormy color of his eyes, the way his strong brow dips and shadows his face but by god, does it make the tingles in your stomach awry and your head fuzzy to see him in such a way. If he's particularly wound up then he's sticking to you, using his height and strong stature to intimidate any other person away from what is his.

○ Is absolutely your boy toy in the best way possible. Loves being pampered by you, allowing you to put your face masks and other facial products on him. Not minding your silly little game where you put red lipstick on just to leave kiss stains all over his face, he likes pulling you into a heated kiss so the lipstick smears and you look thoroughly disheveled afterwards.

He's absolutely a sucker for you and your antics and that little game of yours usually leads to red kiss stains trailing down his chest and down under the waistband of his sweats. A sinful ring of red from your lipstick at the base of his dick further cementing his willingness to your every whim.

○ He's all about you being independent, he in no way wants to control or make you feel incapable of anything so he watches from a distance, ready to step in whenever you need him. He's protective of what's his and he'll be damned if he lets anything happen to you on his watch. When you are being especially stubborn, he gentle parents you into seeing it more rationally which he can admit he's a hypocrite to because he can be so hard headed too, but he's a super soldier and he can take a harder hit and he prefers that you take no hit at all if it can be helped.

○ There's nowhere that compares to the safety he feels when he's in your arms. The tension is nowhere to be found when he's embracing you, his arms wrapped around your back and his face pressed into your chest. Feeling at ease enough to fall asleep, whether that's to take a nap or when it's about time to sleep for the night. He used to be anxious about sleeping next to you but when he found salvation in your arms at night, he couldn't bear the idea of not sleeping with you by his side. Missions away are especially hard for him so he took it upon himself to buy the scent you usually wear to spray on his pillow just to have some sort of comfort during those long nights.

[milla-frenchy]

The date

5k0 | Joel Miller x fem reader ; Frankie Morales x fem reader | ao3 | Masterlist

Summary: you’re in an established relationship with Frankie and both of you want to spice things up. You meet a man via a dating app, Joel

Warnings: 18+ mdni. cuckolding, cucking chair, fingering, public fingering, masturbation (m), dirty talk, praise kink, size kink, oral (m/f), ball sucking, piv, rimming, anal play, creampie No age specified

a/n: @aurorawritestoescape thank you so, so much as always, for beta-ing and everything, baby 💕😘 dividers @saradika-graphics 🙏

The meeting was set for 6pm at a bar in Austin.

Frankie and you had been a couple for several years, and you wanted to spice things up. The idea of watching you ​being fucked by another man was turning him on since he playfully brought up the idea while you were fucking, his cock brushing your g spot. 

Taunting you that you would probably like to take a cock other than his and how beautiful you would look, spread by another shaft. How proud of you he would be if he could watch you, knowing that even in that moment, you would still be his, maybe more than ever. The way you had come instantly on his cock had made him spill his cum deep inside you in the second that followed. 

Since then, he whispered it to you regularly, in the hollow of your ear, or with his eyes fixed on yours. Just to feel you clench on his shaft. He also said it while caressing your tear-soaked cheek, his fat cock reaching the back of your throat. 

Until he really suggested to share you with another man. You carefully looked at him, to detect the slightest trace of a joke that did not exist. He suggested it timidly, but the idea of fucking another man in front of him, the fact that he wanted to watch it, was really turning you on. You loved that your man, who could sometimes be reserved, was so sure of himself, of your relationship. He wasn’t afraid to lose you, he knew what he meant to you and that no one could take you away from him.

So you discussed it thoroughly, until finally signing up on a dating app.

You were now waiting at the bar for the man you matched with (“cuckolding, man in his 40s, dirty talk appreciated, dom vibes”).

“Good evening,” you heard while you were kissing, sitting at the table. You looked up, and there he was. Joel Miller.

You had been breathless when you looked at his pictures on the app, just as you were now, meeting  him. His gaze was deep. His brown eyes, his face were beautiful. His beard was slightly covered with gray hair. His green flannel shirt accentuated his broad shoulders. His voice was warm, drawling. Hot.

Joel shaked Frankie's hand, then he nodded and smiled at you. A smile you returned shyly. Frankie invited him to sit at your table, and the conversation flowed immediately. Joel was no stranger to that type of gathering, while it was your first time. He was single, worked in construction, and he lived in Austin too.

The purpose of the meeting in that bar was to see if there was a connection between you. If you were attracted to him, if Frankie trusted him, and if Joel wanted to go further. You sometimes looked at his neck, his forearms, his prominent veins, his hands. His thick fingers. His attitude exuded quiet strength, and self-confidence.

You had agreed online that he could touch you at the bar, if the attraction between you was there. After the three of you drank your first shot, he brushed your back with his large hand, before resting it on your lower back. His caress was light but firm, and you felt shivers run down your spine. 

His eyes landed on Frankie, to check if he was still okay with it. He nodded. Seeing you being seduced by that man was already turning him on and he was getting hard.

Joel placed his hand on your bare knee, your skirt hiked up your thighs, just after Frankie said something funny that made you laugh.

“I love that little laugh, it’s really cute. It’s one of the things that is gonna get you fucked tonight. That and these hips that are just begging to be grabbed, sweetheart.”

You held your breath when you heard him. Your panties were soaked even though he had barely touched you.

His hand slipped between your thighs, and glided to your panties which he delicately pushed aside. His middle finger ran over your wet folds and you couldn’t stop a moan from escaping your lips.

“Quiet. Don’t want a sound here, keep your moans for the bedroom,” he said firmly as his middle finger found its way between your walls. Your pussy clenched on his finger as you squirmed on your stool, and he smirked.

“Curling your toes already? Oh, sweetheart… you’re never gonna forget this night.”

He brushed your folds one last time and removed his finger, leaving you panting. You looked at Frankie, surprised by the effect the man already had on you. Frankie was just as astonished as you, but you could see how much he enjoyed it. His eyes were sparkling and he adjusted himself.

Joel didn’t touch you anymore for the rest of the time you spent at the bar. Frankie and him talked like old friends, and all you could hear was your pussy squealing with excitement. 

When Joel was looking at you, you felt yourself losing your composure. If he saw it, he didn't show it, until a little smirk proved to you that he just didn't want to make you uncomfortable, which you appreciated.

You couldn’t wait for the three of you to leave, but you didn’t want to seem too greedy - as if you hadn’t already spread your legs and moaned for him.

An hour later, you finally left the bar. Frankie and you in your car, Joel following in his. You had decided that it would happen in your house. You didn't want to be in a cold, unfamiliar place.

As soon as you entered, Joel wasted no time.

“Let’s check on the rules. Frankie, if you tell me to stop, I’ll stop, no questions asked.” Then he turned to you “what’s your safe word, sweetheart?”

“I’ll use “red” if I want you to stop. “Orange”, if I want you to slow down.”

“Okay. If you use either of those words, depending on the color I’ll stop, or slow down, no questions asked. I want you to know that you have to use them if you don’t feel comfortable. Are we clear?”

“Yes, all clear.” His expression was serious and solemn, and it reassured you, even though Frankie was going to be there the whole time.

“If you don't use them, I'll consider that you're ok with what I'm doing. Do you agree?”

You nodded. 

“I need to hear it out loud.”

“Yes, I agree.”

He turned to Frankie.

“Yeah, ok with that.”

Joel looked at you again, and added “and if your mouth's full, tap on my thigh twice.”

You felt heat on your cheeks hearing the implication of his words, and said “Ok, I'll tap on your thigh twice. What… What do I call you?”

“Well, my name’s Joel, and I’m fine with that,” he answered with a cute smile.

You took a deep breath and then added “Ok, follow me to the bedroom then, Joel.”

An armchair was set up near the bed, and Frankie sat down in it, as planned. You had also agreed that he would barely intervene, so as not to influence what would happen.

Joel rolled up his shirt sleeves. His charm and aura were devastating.

You felt intimidated, being in your room with the two men. With your boyfriend, sitting in that chair, facing the man who was going to fuck you soon.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” Joel asked in a calm voice.

“Yeah…yes, I’m ready.”

He moved closer to you and grabbed your waist. His mustache ran along the warm skin of your ear, your cheek, your neck. Then he placed his lips on yours, kissing you lightly. Testing the way you would respond. Your lips pressed against his, and he held you closer to him, one arm around your waist. His tongue caressed your lips softly, gently and you parted them, freeing your tongue to meet his and creating a sensual dance. His lips were warm and your mind was lost for a few moments, as you kissed a man other than Frankie for the first time in several years. His hands roamed your body, one brushing your back covered with your top, the other squeezing your waist against him, against his cock that you felt hardening. You moaned, feeling the moisture flow between your walls, your lips still against his, your tongue in his mouth, until you pulled away slightly to catch your breath, your bodies remaining pressed against each other.

“Show me how wet you are, feeling my cock against you.”

Your eyes widened slightly, before you caught yourself. That’s what you were here for. To have sex with someone else, a stranger, who would probably act differently than Frankie. You wanted someone confident. And that’s exactly the type of man you were facing. He wasn't aggressive, he knew how to make you feel confident. He was perfect so far.

You pulled away from him a little more, just to slide your hand under the hem of your skirt and panties. You slid your fingers along your folds and then pushed two of them into your pussy, to coat them with your wetness. You pulled your trembling hand out, holding it up near your face. Your digits were shiny. Joel gripped your wrist softly and brought it close to his mouth, and took your fingers between his lips. He licked your wetness, his eyes fixed on you. It was so hot and sensual that another flow soaked your panties. 

He released your wrist, once your skin no longer bore the trace of your arousal, and he unbuttoned his shirt before placing it on the dresser in your room. He then removed his t-shirt, taking his time. Aware of your gaze fixed on him, and of each new inch of skin he was offering you.

“You're dripping since the time I fingered you at the bar in front of your man, aren't you?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

“Now… You wanna be a good girl for me?”

“Yes, Joel.”

“On your knees, then.”

You didn't wait any longer, you couldn't wait to see his cock, to take him in your mouth, to taste him. You kneeled in front of him, then looked at Frankie. Joel lifted your chin while he unzipped, wanting your eyes on him only.

“I wanna see how pretty you look with your lips around my cock, baby”, he said, brushing your chin with his thumb. He released it to grab his cock resting in his jeans. 

You knew he was big, thanks to the pictures he sent you at your request. But you didn’t expect him to be that big. So thick and long. You had never seen a cock as big as Frankie’s. Joel’s seemed slightly shorter, but a little thicker. Your thoughts drifted, wondering how it would feel if they both fucked you at the same time. Joel’s voice interrupted your train of thought.

“Focus on me, and open up. Wide, or it ain't gonna fit, baby.”

You opened your mouth, parting your lips. He wanted to be in charge and you willingly let him lead. He pressed his tip to your lips then said “tongue.”

You darted it out, and he rested his cock on it. His thickness felt heavy. Then he placed his hand on the back of your head, keeping his shaft in the other one, before sliding it between your lips. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Frankie grab his bulge, then unzip his jeans, and finally pull his cock out.

“Eyes on me when I fuck your mouth, baby. Your man’s gonna jerk off soon, and you’ll hear his wrist fuck his shaft. You can listen to it, but your eyes stay on me, clear?”

You nodded as he thrust deeper between your lips, and you moaned.

“I know baby, I know. You're gonna be a good girl, and you’re gonna let me fuck that hole. And then, I’ll fuck the next one.”

You heard Frankie mumble “fuck,” and Joel thrust his length into your mouth. He used your mouth like he promised you, like a fuck hole. He wasn't aggressive, just in charge, self-confident. He knew how to deal with you, and it was turning you on.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? Sucking this big cock? I can see that your man has a thick dick too. You like sucking his dick as much as you enjoy sucking mine, sweetheart?”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer. He didn’t want, or didn’t need to. Instead, he squeezed your throat in his large palm, feeling his shaft slide into it.

“You take it so good, baby. I can’t wait to see how your pussy takes me.”

He held your head with both hands as his cock was buried deep in your throat, and told you “don’t move. Stay like that. Just take it.”

You tried to pull back but he held you down, saying in a calm voice “breathe through your nose, sweetheart. You can do it.” He loosened his grip slightly, long enough to feel your throat adjust to his cock, then added, “yeah, just like that. You’re doing great.”

He released you, letting you take control for a few seconds. The accumulated saliva flowed down to your chin. 

Then he fucked your mouth, alternating rhythms. Taking advantage of the warmth of your mouth for a long time, all the way to your throat, then fucking your mouth quickly. Sometimes making his length weigh on your tongue. Your jaw was sore, but you didn't want it to stop, intoxicated by the taste of his precum, by the width of his cock. Never ceasing to imagine how he was going to fuck you.

Sometimes, when you weren’t completely focused on Joel, you could hear Frankie jerking off, and mumbling “fuck” or “you’re so hot, baby” a few times. 

Your pussy was clenching regularly, eager to be filled. But Joel was taking his time.

“Lick my balls now. Let’s see if you’re as good at that as you’re at sucking my cock.”

He was so good at praising you that you felt like you would agree to anything he would ask you.

He held his shaft in his hand, and brushed his balls soaked with your saliva with the other. They were weighty, thick and fell heavily when he released them. Looking up at him, you licked one ball then the other, before taking each one of them in your mouth. Sucking, licking their thin, delicate skin. Releasing them with a “pop”. He growled, enjoying your tongue and lips on his balls full of cum.

“Ok, that’s it, sweetheart. Take off your clothes, now. Lemme see how pretty you are.” 

He removed his jeans and boxers, while you took off your blouse and skirt, standing shyly in front of him. “You’re beautiful, baby. Frankie's a lucky guy.” 

He approached you, unhooking your bra, his chest pressed against yours, his nose brushing your hair and breathing in their scent. Then he knelt down, sliding your panties down your legs. His eyes fell on your pussy as he removed that last piece of clothing from your feet. “Oh damn, they’re soaked… poor baby. You need it bad, huh?” Once again, he didn’t wait for your answer and asked Frankie: “wanna jerk in it? Bet it’d turn you on even more”, he added before throwing them at your boyfriend.

Frankie smelled your panties and wrapped them around his shaft. You knew how much he loved your taste, sliding his tongue into your pussy and eating it longly, but his gesture made you moan.

Joel told you to lie down on the bed, and said to Frankie as if you weren’t even there, “she’s a fucking natural. I love when they're a little shy. Knowing that they’ll lose control at some point. Being half ashamed, half cock dumb.”

You heard Frankie take a deep breath hearing him, echoing your own. Joel was a menace, in the best way. He was a combination of confidence, charm, and undeniable charisma. He had a natural dominance and he knew it, was playing with it. You realized that you were still lost in your thoughts, despite lying in front of him, offered. You met his amused gaze, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking.

“I wonder when you'll lose control, baby. ‘cause you can be sure of it. Sooner or later, you’ll lose it.”

He knelt between your legs, grabbing his cock with one hand and spreading your folds with the other.

“Damn, look at that… Could you be any wetter?” He brushed your clit with his thumb for a few seconds. He seemed to be thinking about something, as you felt your pleasure rise again.

“I should eat ya. To make it easier for you. But I’d really love to feel you squeeze my cock right now. You’re okay with that?”

You looked at him and swallowed before nodding. Yeah, you wanted to feel him spread your walls.

“Wait,” you said as he nestled in your entrance. “I don't wanna use the safe word, just… show me. Show me your cock one last time, before you thrust in me.”

He took it in his hand. He was proud of his cock, you could feel it, and he was right. You looked at his red, oozing tip. Covered in precum and your saliva. Its thickness made your heart rate increase and salivate at the same time.

“Ok… fuck me, Joel.”

Still kneeling, he smiled and grabbed your hip with one hand, and lightly pushed his tip in your pussy. Then he paused and looked at your body. Your hard nipples, your heaving stomach, waiting for more. Your chest, rising quickly. Your fists clenching the sheets.

You looked at Frankie, who was leaning forward on the chair. He had let go of his cock, hard as steel. You saw his tip glistening with precum. Your panties balled up in his clenched fist.

Then you looked at Joel again. From his curls, to his broad chest, his lower abdomen. You couldn’t see any lower anymore. He pushed in, feeling your walls painfully spread for him.

“Fuck… fuck! you're big…”

“I know, sweetheart. But you can take it,” he added, continuing to push gently. “Fuck baby, that’s it. Let me in your small, tight cunt.”

You had never felt so open before, the sensation was suffocating. A mixture of pleasure flirting with a little pain.

“I know baby, I know. You're gonna feel so good, soon. Just a little bit more…fuck!”

He was breathing harder too, as if he was holding himself back from coming, already. He spat on your clit, before letting go of one of your hips to brush your most sensitive place, trying to make this easier for you. Your moans were the only sound in the room, as Joel continued to thrust slowly, and Frankie was now sitting on the edge of his chair, leaning forward. Finally, Joel’s balls rubbed against your skin, and he stopped, buried all the way into your core.

“You’re fucking gorgeous like that, all spread out for me.” He was still breathing heavily, trying to control his cum that only wanted to spur against your walls.

You looked at him, panting too. You couldn't take your eyes off him, while he was still kneeling between your thighs, totally offered to him. He was magnificent and his gaze couldn't detach itself from you either.

He held your legs wide open, his hands placed on your hips, as he slowly pulled back from your channel, keeping only the tip inside you, before pushing back in. His breathing wasn’t calming down.

“Fuck… you’re so fuckin’ tight. I gotta… gotta eat ya. Don’t wanna shoot my load yet.”

He pulled out totally and lay down, leaving you empty, a plaintive moan escaping your lips. His arms wrapped around each of your thighs, gripping them with his hands before diving shoulders forward. He didn’t pause, didn’t seek to kiss your lower stomach. His tongue snaked out, tracing a line up and down, just above your ass to your clit and you let out a whimper.

“I’d wanted you to come, crying my name, since I fingered you at the bar.”

“Fuck,” you murmured. 

He started licking you again, never taking his eyes off you. His piercing gaze fixed on you just above your sweaty, throbbing stomach. His tongue delved between your folds, deeply, seeking to drink all your flowing desire. He licked, sucked, patiently, your wetness that flowed continuously. You looked at Frankie quickly. He had moved back to the back of the seat, hands placed on the armrests, gripping them tightly. You assumed he didn't want to come right away either. He nodded when your eyes met, a silent way of telling you to enjoy the moment. Repeating, without any words needed, that he was ok with all of it. Yet he couldn't help but intervene, and a part of you was afraid he wanted to stop all of it, but he quickly reassured you.

“Fuck, baby… you know how much I love to eat you. And watching you, while another man is eating your beautiful little pussy... it turns me on so much, you have no idea.”

You moaned when you heard him. You loved him so much. 

He started to jerk off again.

“You gonna come in his mouth, baby? You gonna come in another man’s mouth?”

He jerked off harder, and you nodded slowly.

At the same time Joel's tongue left your core to lick your folds, flat, slowly, repeating the motion several times, brushing your clit. The touch was driving you crazy, and you tried to lift your hips to feel him more where you desperately needed it, but he held you firmly against the bed.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” he smirked. So you stopped lifting your hips as long as you were able to, until your movement resumed unconsciously. And finally, his tongue focused on your clit, swirling over it. It was tense, out of its skin, just waiting to explode under his tongue.

“I need to stretch you more.. Cunt’s too tight, don’t wanna come too soon.”

He pushed one, then two fingers into your pussy, your walls squeezing them instantly.

“Mmmm… you like that, uh? Want you to come for me. I need to stick my dick in your cunt again.”

"Come, baby," Frankie said in a low voice. “Fill his mouth. Give it to him.”

Their praise was the last thing you needed to come, chanting “Joel, Joel…” your back arching violently as your clit pulsed under Joel’s tongue and your pussy on his fingers.

You heard Frankie moan louder, then saying “oh… oh. Fuck, fuck, baby!” just before coming, white pearls coating his thighs and fist.

Joel’s tongue stayed pressed against your clit until your shaking stopped, and you released your grip on his head.

“Damn, sweetheart… I love the way you moan for me. Your man loves it too,” Joel added as he straightened up, wiping your wetness from his mouth and chin with the back of his hand.

“That was so fuckin’ hot, baby,” Frankie said, making you smile, while your eyes were still closed and your breathing was slowing down.

Joel crawled up and lay between your thighs, his knees spreading them apart. He nestled his tip at your entrance and pushed himself in slowly, all the way in, in one thrust. More easily this time. His tongue sought yours as one of his large hands cupped your cheek. “Takin’ me so good,” he breathed between your lips before kissing you again.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and the feeling felt so familiar and yet so new. You loved feeling another cock inside you, you loved kissing someone else. You loved having your man watching you. And oddly enough, even though you wanted Joel to fuck you for as long as possible, you couldn't wait to feel Frankie's cock again.

Joel rubbed his lower stomach against you, exactly where you needed it. You wanted to come again, as he wanted it too. Brushing your clit with each thrust, his lips left your mouth to kiss your neck and then nibble on your earlobe.

“Joel…” you whined, accompanying his movement by pressing you more against him.

“Yeah. You're gonna come again for me, sweetheart? Gonna come on my cock?”

“Yeah, I… fuck, it's coming. Don't stop. Don't stop please…”

“I won't, want you to squeeze my shaft. It’s so hot to feel you rub against me to get off.”

“I… Joel… I'm gonna… I'm gonna come.”

His lower stomach brushed against you again and the orgasm took hold of you, your nails digging into his shoulders as your eyes rolled into the back of your head. Your body was shaking even harder than the first time, and you clung desperately to him.

“Fuck, Frankie.... She’s coming so fucking hard around my cock.”

“Damn, baby…”

Your shivering didn't stop, and your pussy was contracting continuously.

“It's ok sweetheart, I got you. Keep comin’ for me.”

Your head leaned back on your pillow, as your fluttering stomach and limbs were still trembling slightly.

“Shit… You're fucking beautiful baby. Can't control anything, right? I got ya… I got ya.”

He held you tight against him, still thrusting, brushing against you with the same slow rhythm until he felt your muscles relax beneath him. He placed a hand on your cheek, his piercing gaze trying to catch yours. Until the ceiling stopped swaying, the room stopped spinning, and your eyes finally met his. You felt the heat reach your cheeks, realizing that the orgasm you just felt was one of the strongest you had ever experienced.

“That's it, I’m so proud of you. You're doing so good, sweetheart.”

He kissed your forehead, softly, tenderly, then he added “Now… I wanna hear how wet that pussy is. All fours, baby.”

You settled onto your knees and hands, still a little shaky, and as his hands settled on your hips, you didn't expect to feel his tongue run along your ass and linger on your ring, making you moan and stick your ass out.

He knelt and grabbed your hips, then said “fuck, you like it? I won’t fuck your ass tonight, I need you to dry my balls or I’m gonna explode. But another time, maybe.”

He didn’t wait for your answer and thrusted in one go, gripping your hips, leaving you breathless.

“Told ya your hips were just begging to be grabbed,” he said, before pulling back suddenly, leaving just his tip in your pussy and thrusting again roughly.

You bit your lip as you heard him, your body rocking back and forth as it could only follow the movement of his hips as they slapped against your ass. You could vaguely hear Frankie jerking off.

“Tell your man who’s fucking you. Whose cock’s in your cunt?”

“I… you… fuck… can’t…”

“Mmm sorry, what was that? I can barely hear you over all your moans, sweetheart…” he said, teasing you, but slowing down his pace so you could answer.

“Yours, Joel, fuck… Your cock is in my cunt. You're the one fucking me.”

“You’re doing so good. Keep taking it, just like that.” You didn't really have a choice, except to use your safe word and that was out of the question even if you were practically breathless. He was fucking you too good, filling you up perfectly.

His hands still tight on your hips, he was thrusting deep and hard, making you bend your elbows and bite the pillow. His thumb brushed your ring then he pushed in lightly.

“Gonna come… Gonna fill you up. Deep in your cunt.”

He thrust in, two, three more times, then his fingers squeezed the flesh of your hips as he pushed in as far as he could, his balls against your ass and you felt his cock twitch, just before his cum spurt out, covering your walls. His grunts made you smile, it was the only energy you still had.

He pulled out laying down next to you, and Frankie immediately took his turn between your thighs, spreading them wide, your bodies right next to Joel who was watching you, lying on his side.

Frankie buried himself in your dripping, sore cunt, hands on your waist, already thrusting all his length in, licking, sucking one of your nipples. He couldn't even talk, overwhelmed by the night, by your vision that couldn't leave his mind. He knew he would love to share you, but didn't know it would move him, turn him on, that much. He wanted to fill you now, not in a possessive way, but he needed to feel you around him, needed to feel your cunt filled by another man's seed. If he hadn't been in such a need to fuck you, he would have licked your sore pussy, cleaning it of someone else's cum. He told himself that maybe there would be a next time, and maybe another opportunity to do it. The thought made him even harder.

Your arms around him, you were kissing his cheek, his neck, his lips, holding him tight between your thighs. Proving him you were his, always, and it was making his head spin.

He asked Joel to kiss you, and he loved to hear you moan as you two were making out just below him. He knew he wouldn't last, he didn't want to. He knew you were spent, too. So he just thrust in, thinking about you blowing Joel. 

About Joel's head between your thighs. Frankie's favorite place in the world. About Joel's dick pushing your walls, slipping in your tight cunt.

He was surrounded by his love for you, by how good you felt around his cock. He shot spurs of cum quickly, adding it to Joel’s, and the thought made him moan one last time. 

He sighed contentedly when your pussy stopped milking his cock. He seemed as exhausted as you and Joel were, and you fell asleep without even realizing it.

When you woke up the next morning, Joel had left a note on the nightstand. “Any time.”

Frankie masterlist

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@magpiepills @fruityreads @fightmemiguel @lotusbxtch @for-a-longlongtime

@pedrit0-pascalit0 @bonezone44 @almostempty @bubble-pop-eclectic @almostfoxglove

@iamasaddie @ace-turned-confused @casa-boiardi @multiversed-daydreamer

@mermaidgirl30

[solxamber]

how about Octavinelle students with a half shark!reader headcanons who is just intimidating but nice towards them , looks like they have insane bloodlust but they're really nice , they don't talk to anyone but them cuz they're scared of accidentally hurt them (cuz when they accidentally feel someone else's blood they're mouth breaks into massive fangs)

If thus is too hard , ignore it , goodluck on your studies

Octavinelle with a Shark! Reader (HCs)

hi, i loved the ask its so cute <3

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul first meets you with his usual shark-like grin—until he sees the sheer predator energy radiating off you. He freezes mid-sentence, giving you the most awkward, watery smile. The only thing running through his mind is "I might have miscalculated."

But then you flash him the smallest, softest smile. The disconnect between your terrifying aura and kindness breaks him completely. He's staring, struggling between his business instincts and his desire not to get eaten.

“You’re quite… unique,” he says, trying not to sound nervous. “Thanks. You, too.” Azul.exe has crashed.

He soon realizes you’re not out to maul him, which makes him infinitely curious. He tries to study you, politely of course—like he’s about to offer a very lucrative loan agreement.

When he notices you only speak to him and the Tweels, he secretly feels way too smug about it. If anyone else tries to talk to you, you just give them this blank, shark-eyed stare until they flee in terror.

Azul loves it. He may be business-minded, but your intimidating presence is great for his stress levels. No more annoyances!

However, the day you accidentally get blood on your hands while eating, you smile—full shark fangs, gleaming and sharp—and he almost faints. He looks at your monstrous grin and says, voice cracking, “I-It’s… uh… a lovely smile, truly...”

You’re so worried about scaring him off, but Azul low-key thinks it’s kind of awesome. You become his VIP intimidation service—though he swears he only uses your friendship “for mutual benefit.” (Sure, Azul.)

Jade Leech

The first time Jade meets you, he knows something is off. Your posture is way too relaxed for someone exuding that much bloodlust. It intrigues him immediately. You smell like danger, but you talk like a librarian.

Jade is completely unbothered by your scary vibes. In fact, he leans in closer whenever you give off that silent, intimidating energy, like he’s trying to encourage it.

“You’re quite the curious one, aren’t you?” he says, tilting his head with a sly smile. You just blink, utterly confused by his calmness.

When he realizes you only talk to him, Floyd, and Azul, his interest skyrockets. It’s not every day someone ignores the rest of NRC while picking him as their favorite conversation partner. He takes it as a compliment, in his strange Jade way.

One day, you accidentally get a whiff of someone’s blood. You’re trying so hard to hold back, but your mouth stretches into a horrifying grin—rows of massive, sharp fangs on full display. Jade just stares in pure, gleeful fascination.

“Incredible,” he murmurs. “I didn’t know you were capable of such expressions. Show me again sometime.”

You panic. “Jade, I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

“Hmm. I disagree.”

He is not even remotely afraid of you. In fact, he makes it worse by offering you little challenges—like opening oysters with your teeth or biting things just to see your fangs pop out. He probably offers his hand as a joke to see what you’ll do.

“Would you like to try it?” he says, stretching out a finger. You choke on air. “Jade, I’m not biting you.”

He just smiles, not withdrawing his hand. “How tragic.”

Floyd Leech

Floyd immediately latches onto you the moment you meet.

“Whoa! You’re like a shark! A big scary one!” he says with a grin, not remotely intimidated. In fact, he gets right in your personal space, poking at your cheek like he’s sizing you up for a fight.

When you don’t react aggressively, just awkwardly shuffle back, he finds it hilarious. You’re big, you look like you could eat people whole, but you’re nervous around others? It makes you even more interesting to him.

Floyd becomes obsessed with you. He’s glued to your side, acting like you’re his personal shark pet. He drapes himself all over you, throws an arm around your shoulders, and teases you relentlessly.

“C’mon, show me the teeth! I know you’ve got those big chompers in there.”

One day, you accidentally taste blood after someone near you scrapes their hand. Your fangs break out in full force, and you’re grinning like a nightmare creature. Floyd stares for a beat—and then bursts into laughter.

“There it is! Ahahaha! I knew you had those! Do it again!” he yells

“I-I can’t just do it, Floyd—”

“Why not? C’mon, chomp! Chomp!!”

He’s utterly unhinged about it. Floyd starts trying to coax out your fangs like a maniac, probably waving his hand around, daring you to bite him just to see if he can provoke you.

“Bite me, bite me, bite me!” “Floyd, no!” “Floyd, yes!!”

Despite his chaos, he’s weirdly protective of you. If anyone so much as looks at you wrong, he switches moods instantly—grinning one second, deathly serious the next.

“Hey. Don’t bother my sharkie, or I’ll bite you.”

In the end, Floyd loves every part of you, terrifying fangs and all. If anything, he thinks you’re the coolest friend ever, and he never misses an opportunity to drag you into trouble—because, hey, what’s better than two scary creatures teaming up to terrorize people?

Masterlist

[elllisaaa]

heyyy I’m the girl who had this request (OBSESSED with your work, as a 5 foot tall girl I would love to hear your thoughts on casual dominance and size kink for Seungmin) I was talking about Seungmin from Stray Kids ! my bad I should’ve specified 😅😅

no problem lovely ! i'm just glad i can write this because as a girl who's 5.2 ft tall AND seungmin biased, i cannot support you more on this 😭

SEUNGMIN with a SIZE KINK who loves the fact that you need his help all the time because you're so much smaller than him. even when it's mundane tasks like asking him to grab something from the higher shelves for you or opening the jar you cannot - even when it's just this, he cannot help but feel something more.

it really gets him going how he towers over you so easily, how he doesn't need to try for you to look smaller beside him in pictures. seungmin is always holding your hand, and you think it's cute, but if only you knew it's because he's obsessed with the way they're so small compared to his, obsessed with the way it must feel so good when he's the one fingering you. "your little fingers can't reach that deep, right ?" and you shake your head at him weakly, whimpers sleeping past your lips every time seungmin curls his fingers in the right angle to hit your sweet spot. "n-no ! feels better when it's yours…" - "that's what i thought."

it's also the way you're always relying on him, it's the way you always search for him when you need help, it's the way you're so obedient without him having to ask you anything. seungmin exudes dominance, he just has that vibes that makes you want to listen to him and drop to your knees without him telling you to. "fuck, you're such a good girl for me. i don't even need to tell you what to do." - "i just want to be good for you." and you're looking at him with those big doe eyes of yours while you're unzipping his jeans, helping him out of his clothes. once you get your hands on his heavy length, you can't let him go until he's cum down your throat. and it doesn't matter if he's too big for you, it doesn't matter if it hurts your jaw, it feels too good to stop. seungmin isn't going to tell you to stop either, loving the way you gag around him every time you try to take him deeper into your small mouth, loving the way your eyes fill up with tears from how big he is. "look at you baby, mouth already full with only half of my cock."

seungmin feels so powerful everytime he fucks you, because you're just so good for him, so perfect for him, so made for him, it's actually crazy. you say please everytime you want something, you never cum without his permission, even when he's being extra mean, you're always following his orders. so of course, he has to reward you, of course he has to bury his cock deep inside and compliment you about how pretty the bulge in your stomach is because he's still too big for you. "i can literally see my cock, baby." you whine when seungmin presses his hand down on the bulge, making the both of you feel even closer to the edge. "your pretty little cunt still can't take me, uh… that means i still have to train you, don't you think ?" - "ah ! yes, please minnie, i want more…" - "so greedy for my cock." and you are, but it's because you love how easy it is for seungmin to overpower you, how he has no trouble holding you down and pinning your hips to the mattress. and he loves it too, he loves how easy it is for him to take control, he loves how small you look underneath him. "shit, you're squeezing me so tight. you're close, aren't you ?" - "y-yes, so close, please, can i cum ? please, please i've been good !" - "mmh, that's right, the perfect girl for me, baby. go on, cum around my cock." and you do what he says, because whenever seungmin tells you something, you can only follow along.

[sprytesukii]

teen sleaze

bachira meguru x reader

as the campus slut, bachira has a very specific type (one you don’t fit into), so when he zeroes in on you at a party with the intent to take you home, it leaves you thrown off kilter.

rating : 18+, explicit, MDNI

wc : 3.9k (in under 3 hours ….. am i cooked)

tags : DARK CONTENT, very dubious consent (bachira gets reader very drunk & resistant at first), forced intoxication (alcohol), manipulation, transmasc!reader (good boy, dick, cock, pussy, cunt all used in reference to reader & his anatomy), transmasc!bachira, reader wears a binder, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, restraints (a hoodie immobilizes reader), frotting / scissoring (they bump purses :p), oral (reader!receiving), nipple torture, pussy slapping, references to virginity (bachira is a 'virgin killer', reader is not a virgin, virginity is a construct <3), bachira is mean & needy, other things i’m certain, ask to tag

an : i …. have nothing to say except sorry for teasing this for so long and that i wrote this with my dick in my hand ….. i love you my fellow trans men , i will continue to spread my agenda of trans!bllk boys to fulfill my t4t dreams <3

Bachira's bedroom is cute.

It's one of the first things you notice, though your glassy eyes and gin-addled mind make it difficult to pick up any real details, only bits and pieces. Flashes.

A beanbag in the corner, covered in stuffed animals. Anime figurines on his desk. Cat-eared gaming headphones hanging on his expensive looking monitor. A pin-up League of Legends poster above his queen sized bed.

You do your best to take in as much as possible — it isn't often (read: never) Bachira allows his conquests into his sacred space, preferring to take them into low traffic bathrooms in unpopular buildings on campus or in strangers' bedrooms at parties.

You're not entirely sure why you're the one he's breaking routine for — you aren't anyone special. He's certainly not in love with you — you're honestly not sure he's capable of that — and you're definitely not his usual type for these … excursions.

His type? Sweet. Inexperienced. Virginal. All glittery pink gloss, tiny tennis skirts, and heavily mascara'ed lashes that run so pretty when he takes them to the brink again, and again, and again.

Or, so you've heard. A lot.

Tittering girls comparing and contrasting their experiences and his technique in the caf, the library, even in the communal bathrooms on your dorm's floor. Even some of your acquaintances have "taken him for a spin," and all they have are rave reviews.

If you had marginally less shame, you'd admit to yourself that he's intriguing, at the the barest of minimums. He's incredibly pretty, no doubt, and the bubbly disposition overlaying his thinly veiled, arrogant, sleazy energy is insanely attractive (well, no one's ever accused you of having good taste in men).

Your friends all know you (a little too well), so when the two of you end up at the same functions, something that's bound to happen with the amount of mutuals you have, they all encourage you to go for it. To proposition him. He's such a slut, it's not like he's going to say no.

(Their words, not yours, though you'd be hard pressed to disagree.)

But every time, without fail, you brush them off, always citing some bullshit excuse in order to cover for the fact you're so into him, it's not even funny.

So, it's not that you don't like Bachira. It's just that … you aren't his type. At all.

You're not flowery or flouncy. You're nowhere near sweet. You're caustic, shitty, and, most importantly, you're not a virgin.

You're inexperienced, sure. You can count on two hands the amount of sexual encounters you've had and that number whittles down to one when you factor in whether or not it was even good, but, you don't exude the innocent vibe Bachira's track record indicates he's into.

That's why you were so surprised when Bachira singled you out at the party earlier in the night, zeroing in on you with an unfailing, unflinching precision that had you startled. A little overwhelmed, but only because you'd never been faced with the full brunt of his enthusiastic focus, bright yellow eyes trained on you with the intensity of a hunter looking for any sign of weakness in his prey.

Your friends all but disappeared when he approached you, two cups of some unidentifiable liquid in his (big, long-fingered) hands. He'd looked charming — a crooked grin playing on his full lips, his curled short hair tucked behind his ears. So much so, in fact, that you'd almost completely forgot about the way he skulked around the humid living room, engaging in racouous conversation with strangers while never looking away from you.

Bachira had offered you the drink, and although you'd already had one (or two, or five) already, his teasing expression and his pretty, pretty face made it nearly impossible to say no.

So, you took it, the burn of the alcohol (vodka? no, gin, god, you hate gin-) warming your throat and settling funny in your tummy. You knew you were riding the rail-thin line between pleasantly drunk and completely wasted, but just a sip from Bachira's cup tipped you right over the edge.

You had tried to put it down, recognizing your limits and backing away from them, but then Bachira pouted at you. Legitimately pouted — an expression that would be nauseating on any other grown man. On him, though, it was cute. Convincing. A pang of embarrassment had hit you right in the gut, only made worse by his quiet coo of, You sure that's all you can take? Thought you were stronger than that.

Your sober mind would have scoffed at the transparent challenge in his tone, no matter how saccharinely coated it was, but drunk you is a lot easier apparently. A lot more worried about disappointing Bachira, weirdly enough.

There was no time to examine that thought though. You had a drink to finish. You brought the cup back up to your lips, content to take a few more sips just to appease him, when two of his fingers tip up the bottom of the plastic, forcing two or three shots worth of liquid down your throat.

You spluttered, choking and dropping the cup, but Bachira held your mouth shut by pressing those same fingers to your chin and subtly pinching your nose, effectively cutting off your airways and forcing you to swallow.

That's it, there ya go. Look! All better now, right? His soft voice somehow cut through the roaring in your ears, soothing the rapidly quieting sober voice that was screaming at the injustice. The violation.

You had opened watery eyes and all you could see was Bachira, standing so close he took up your entire field of vision, a contented smirk spread wide over his face. You should've known then, but you didn't. You were too drunk, too inexperienced, too trusting.

You should've been sober enough to see his grin turn sinister, should've been able to hear the underlying excitement in his voice when you tripped over yourself, your legs made unreliable. Should've been able to protest when he tucked you against his side and made excuses to your friends about how you don't know how to handle your liquor and how he needs to walk you back to the dorms, the friendly thing to do.

(And that's what you are, right? Friends?)

You should've noticed when he made a few too many wrong turns, walking farther and farther away from campus, until you ended up at the upperclassman apartments, herded up the stairs and to his room where you are now.

The world is spinning. You're dizzy. So drunk. Bachira disappeared into the bathroom the moment he deposited you on the bed, leaving you to try and piece together exactly how you got here and what feels so wrong.

Hot. It's hot. That's the explanation your drunk mind comes up with for the reason your chest feels tight, the reason there's a blaring warning light blinking in the ever shrinking sober recesses of your brain.

With great effort, you sit up, nearly tipping over in the opposite direction in the process, but you manage it, reaching for the hem of your hoodie with the intent of pulling it up and off. Somehow, you get tangled in it, the directions your intoxicated mind give to your limbs getting lost in translation.

The heavy fabric covers your face entirely and traps your arms above your head, unable to move. You whine, embarrassed and still hot, so hot.

The position you're left in is exposing. You can feel your nipples pebble beneath your binder and your tank top, your happy trail bared by the way your tank has ridden up. The idea of Bachira seeing you like this is humiliating so you go to pull it down, but your arms and face are firmly stuck.

You're trapped.

The toilet flushes at this moment and you tense, stilling your struggling body to sit up as still as you can and listen. It's still difficult to focus, but you manage to pick up a few things.

The sound of the sink running. A glass hitting the counter and the water running again. When you strain, you hear a something small hitting the side of the glass and fizzing, but then the door opens and you can hear nothing but the rushing of blood in your ears.

"Brought you some — oh? What's this?" Bachira's tone is teasing, a little mean-spirited. You can't see him but you hear him get closer, setting the glass down on the nightstand before cold knuckles abruptly run through the coarse hair leading to down into your boxers.

You flinch back, curling up on yourself, and Bachira laughs, tone drastically different than the bright one he usually affects around campus.

"Don't be nervous. Let me see." You shake your head 'no' as best you can in the current circumstances, the movement prompting another wave of dizziness that has you tipping over into his sheets. "Aw, you can't even sit up right, can you? You need my help for that too?"

A choked sob escapes your lips, despite your best efforts, tears dripping down the side of your face and soaking the fabric. Bachira coos, condescending, and the bed dips under his weight where he sits beside you.

"Oh, you're crying! I bet you look real pretty like that, but I don't wanna take this off yet." He tugs at the hoodie around your arms, laughing when you try to drunkenly squirm away. "No, no, don't try to move. It hurts your head to move, doesn't it?"

When he doesn't speak again, you realize he's waiting for an answer. You sniffle. It does hurt your head when you try to move, leaves you feeling unsteady, swimmy.

"Yeah…" you whimper, embarrassed about how wrecked your voice sounds, even muffled. Bachira makes a noise of approval, one of his hands coming up to slowly push you onto your back.

"That's what I'm here for, 'kay? 'M gonna take care of you."

It sounds good, in this moment, to be taken care of. Everything you do gives you nothing but vertigo and discomfort, so it only makes sense to let Bachira do it for you, right?

Slowly, your legs unfold to lay flat against the bed, tears slowing down as your inebriated brain comes to terms with this new reality.

(Nevermind the fact that Bachira is a veritable stranger and has deliberately kept you in such a disadvantageous position. Your sober self weeps.)

"What a good boy," Bachira purrs. The words hit you unexpectedly, your cunt releasing a pulse of slick into your boxers and you whine, pressing your thighs together in attempts to get a little relief.

There's a pause, long enough for you to bite your lip, beating yourself up for making any noise at all — this isn't even sexual anyway, right? Why do you have to be such a freak?

"Ah," he sighs, hair audibly swishing as he shakes his head, effectively dislodging you from your thoughts. "I should've known praise would do it. You virgins are so predictable."

There's thinly veiled disappointment there and it rings in your ears, flooding you with mortification and a desire to defend yourself. To make yourself more appealing to the boy taking advantage of you.

"N-no. 'M not-a virgin." Your words, although slurred, ring clear to Bachira, but instead of assuaging you, he scoffs. The bed creaks as he shifts his weight around and you brace yourself, but you're still surprised when he flicks your hardened nipple through your shirt and binder, jolting against the sheets.

You can't defend yourself or cover your chest to prevent his attacks. He flicks the same nipple again while pinching the other, hard, and tears start welling up again, spilling over your cheeks. Bachira laughs meanly, pinching and plucking until your nubs are sore and throbbing, even beneath your layers.

"Not a virgin, huh? Then why're you so sensitive? No one touches you here?" He twists your abused skin and you howl, arching up into the touch in spite of the pain. "I don't like liars, y'know. I'm taking the time out of my night to take care of you, and all you're doing is being dishonest. That's rude, no?"

A shuddery cry eeks free from your lips, the cloth over your face almost entirely saturated with your tears. "I'm n-not lying."

Bachira hums derisively, before pushing your shirt and binder up, allowing your chest fat to spill free. He doesn't stop there, making quick work of the button on your jeans to yank them off over your shoes, leaving you in your boxers and sneakers. Exposed.

With your pants gone, you can feel how soaked you are. The flimsy crotch of your underwear clings to your folds and you're sure Bachira can see your dick pulsing where it stands hard and throbbing. You gasp, ashamed, and you snap your legs shut, trying to save whatever's left of your dignity, but Bachira doesn't let you.

He grabs your thighs and forces them open, the cool air and mandhandling sending another wave of arousal flooding out of you and dripping down to your ass. You're on display and, judging by the new lightness of the bed and the man-sized heat in between your legs, Bachira has the best view.

"Wh-what're you doin'?" you ask, voice shot and thready. In lieu of responding, Bachira hooks his hands beneath your calves and spreads your legs even wider, forcing the seam of your boxers harder against your cock. You can't help but moan, burying your face against your arm to quiet the noise a little more than the hoodie does.

Two of Bachira's knuckles brush against your lower lips and it tightens like a vice around nothing, leaking against his digits as if in greeting. "Such a greedy, sensitive pussy," he says reverently, breathless, "Girls don't get this wet. I'd assume it was the T, but this is all you, isn't it? Ha, you're gonna ruin my sheets."

A part of you preens at the comparison while the other thrashes, begging for freedom. Both parts fall silent when Bachira drags his hand up to thumb at the underside of your dick, the pleasure that ensues so sharp, it makes you shake, your orgasm suddenly a breath away.

You try to tilt your hips away, to save yourself the shame of coming from nothing, but his free hand holds you down at the waist while the other disappears entirely from your cunt.

The loss leaves you feeling both relieved and bereft. You sigh shakily, trying to catch your breath, but before you can —

SLAP!

The impact of Bachira's palm against your sopping cunt and cock sends you right over the edge. You convulse, nerves alight, as you cum and cum and cum, liquid squirting out of you and absolutely drenching the bedcovers below. It's an orgasm unlike anything you've ever had before, abrupt and intense, and by the time it's over, you've lost feeling in one of your hands and you're shivering.

"Fuck, that was hot. 'M so wet, I can't - I need —" Bachira sounds wrecked for the first time this entire night and if you were less cum-drunk (or drunk-drunk for that matter), you'd revel in the frantic way he wrenches your boxers off and to the floor, before his textured tongue is lapping at your hole, slurping up your cum.

As it stands though, you lie there limply, hips twitching beneath his ministrations. You moan pornographically every time he brushes against your dick, but it's always incidental. He's not trying to get you off — this is for him.

You cum again at this realization, a short burst of bliss as more cum dribbles out onto his awaiting tongue and Bachira groans at your taste, eating you like he's starving for it. It's so messy, between his spit and your slick, but that just makes the slide of his muscle easier through your folds, cleaning you of your essence.

Arousal coils at the base of your spine, wrapping around you and warming you from the waist up. All his transgressions forgotten in favor of this unmatched pleasure.

Your eyes roll back in your skull when he takes your cock into his mouth, all the way down to the root, hollowing his cheeks and sucking on it while his tongue traces his name on the underside. Your hips jerk from the overstimulation, from the sparks bursting behind your eyelids and pulsating in your pussy, but he doesn't let you move, both hands holding your hips firmly in place.

"B-Bachira - Meguru, I can't—" At the sound of his given name, Bachira pulls off your dick with a wet, suction noise, a gravelly noise wrenched from his chest. He slaps your cunt again and again, the wet sound reverberating through the room, and you sob, squirt shooting out of you as your hole spasms weakly.

"Ngh, you can, you can take it," he mewls, shoving three fingers into your still pulsating pussy, crooking them upwards and hitting your g-spot with insane precision, forcing more ejaculate from you.

It's so much — too much — and you nearly black out from the onslaught, your back arching like you're being exorcised as he fingers you within an inch of your life.

His thumb comes up to circle your cock and you wail, body trying to curl in on itself, legs attempting to close around his arm. Bachira just pushes your legs back open and you're reminded of his strength, of how he's able to push you around, manuever you however he feels like, forcing you through orgasm after orgasm until you're just a shell of yourself.

You cum again on his fingers, drenching his hand all the way up to his wrist, before he pulls out with a squelch. He laughs, but the sound is strained, tight. Distracted.

Your brain has completely leaked out of your ears, sober self bludgeoned over the head and quiet, so you can't figure out why. Distantly, your subconcious registers the sounds of a belt clinking, a zipper, and fabric hitting the ground, but they're hazy and far away. You can't put the pieces together, you're so thoroughly wrung out, floating away.

A large hand spreads your legs again and you whine discontentedly, the fog you'd found yourself in threatening to slip away. Bachira shushes you as the bed dips and the hand leaves your thigh, only to start tugging at the hoodie surrounding you.

You've grown accustomed to the darkness, so when it starts to lift, you panic, trying to thrash, to turn away, to make your discomfort known, but you can barely move, all the fight drained out of you. Instead, you squeeze your eyes shut at the last second before light floods your vision, making you groan, barely dried tear tracks cracking at the corners.

"Shh," Bachira whispers, strung-out, his hands bringing your arms back down to your sides. Your shoulders throb where they were held above your head for what felt like hours, a shaky sigh slipping through your parted lips.

You melt back into the sheets, exhaustion setting in, but then your legs are spread again, pressed up against your chest. Your cunt is tacky, cock peeking out of your puffy folds even now and Bachira whimpers, rubbing his thumb against your tip.

"No, no, no, no," you shake your head, ignoring the dizziness that ensues in favor of protesting. "No more, I can't."

Even as you say it, your legs fall open more of their own volition, giving him more access which he takes greedily. A new sensation descends upon your pussy — something dripping, swollen, and throbbing presses against you.

It's so unfamiliar, you wrench your eyes open, blinking away the tears and bleariness to see Bachira completely naked and red-faced, dragging his cunt against yours.

You moan outright at the image, your eyes darting over every ounce of bared skin — from his broad shoulders to his small waist, top surgery scars shiny from healing and begging for your mouth, all the way down to his fat little cock, framed by his curly, heart-shaped bush and emerging from his positively soaked pussy.

He's so fucking beautiful. You want him to cum.

Bachira notices your wandering eyes and shoots you a cocky smile, but it doesn't carry the same weight when his mouth drops open on a gasp as your dicks rub together just right. (You're not much better, biting your lip to stave off an embarrassingly loud moan.)

"L-look who decided to join t-the party! Mmf, fuck — you're gonna make me cum~" he lilts, voice breaking when you roll your hips up to meet his. Strings of slick connect the both of you, smacking suction sounds resounding as his frotting picks up speed.

You watch on enraptured, your own building orgasm taking a backseat to watching Bachira get his. His mouth drops open, eyes fluttering to half mast as he pushes his folds in between yours like a french kiss, cocks catching on every other pass.

You've never done this before — rubbed against someone else, gasping when his nub notches against your entrance on one particularly long grind — but now you never want to stop.

Remembering you have arms again makes you light up, reaching for his ass to drag him more firmly against you, the action making his pussy leak all over your dick and pulling a soft moan from his chest.

"C'mon, use me," you encourage, your words breaking off into a choked groan when the undersides of your lengths rub against each other. You keep him there, pulsing your hips against his to prolong the feeling, that coil winding tighter and tighter.

Bachira shakes his head in disbelief, laughing, breath hitching as he leans over you, changing the angle to one where you see stars. Drool leaks out the corner of your lips and you rut mindlessly, every stroke sending sparks flying up and down your spine, and you know it won't be long for either of you.

"S-shit, fuck, fuck —" Bachira cums first with a quiet groan of your name, cut off by him sinking his teeth into your neck. Blinding pain creates starbursts in your vision, but you don't care, not when you can feel the way he soaks your pussy, his squirt and slick drowning your pubes, his cock throbbing against yours.

His hips twitch against yours as he rides out his orgasm and that does it for you, cumming against him so hard you shake, garbling out something like thank you, before you collapse.

Your movement dislodges Bachira's teeth from your neck and he sighs contentedly, rolling onto his sheets at your side. Neither of you speak for a long moment, chests heaving, until you start slipping into unconciousness, your body finally shutting down.

This means you don't notice how Bachira tucks himself up against your back and looks down at your sleeping face, his eyebrows furrowed, oddly vulnerable. It means you don't notice the way he lightly traces your body with his fingertips, pulling your binder and tank down in a belated, uncharacteristic display of respect. It means you don't notice the way Bachira runs his fingers through your bush appreciatively, before pushing two of his fingers past your spent cock and into your hole, hooking them up and leaving them there for you to warm.

It means you don't see how quickly Meguru drops off after that, soothed by your proximity and warmth, despite the fact that falling asleep with his bedwarmers just isn't something he does.

(You'd thought before that Bachira wasn't capable of love, but when you wake up the next morning to clean sheets, your favorite breakfast, his glittering eyes, a genuine smile, and a vibrator pressed to the tip of your cock as he kisses the scabbing imprint of his teeth in your shoulder —

you think you might've been wrong.)

[bookvvitch]

How To Make Two Lovers Of Friends

Words: 11,569

Synopsis:

Aizawa is taking a much-needed break after the war with Shigaraki and All For One. He isn't looking for anything in particular; that is, until he spots you in a goth themed coffee house. A whirlwind romance ensues in this one shot, filled to the brim with sexual tension, fluff, and smut.

Alternative/goth fem! Reader

Fair warning, this one is the first fic I'd ever written, so it isn't my best work. It does hold a special place in my heart though and I hope it's enjoyable for someone!

Morning light came dappled through the windows as you took your favorite seat at the coffee house, just like you did every morning to start your day. This coffee shop went by the name Bauhaus; probably a nonsequedor to most, but a familiar homage to a band for you. It had this witchy aesthetic, filled with books and old vinyls that made you feel at peace. You never really saw places like this when you still lived in America, at least not in your neck of the woods. How absolutely lucky that you lived just a few blocks away!

You ordered yourself the special for this month: The Headless Horseman, an iced pumpkin and caramel breve to celebrate the upcoming fall season, a welcome respite from the August heat. Smoothing away the creases on your black velvet dress, you thanked the barista, who you typically made small talk with but were not quite on a first name basis with just yet, and took your seat once again to finish reading your book. The leaves rattled in the wind outside and rapped against the building like old bones in a wooden sarcophagus.

"A storm is coming soon," you say quietly to yourself.

Gentle thunder thrums in the distance like the soft beating of a lambskin drum, and a small grin makes itself at home on your lips.

Perfect reading weather.

Adjusting yourself on the bench beneath your legs, your mouth curved at the edges, eliciting a slight hum from your lips. 

Ah. 

Spooky, scary peace.

Outside the confines of the coffee house, though, the weather was much less enjoyable. The heroes Eraserhead and Present Mic both trudged through heavy raindrops, soaked like wet dogs, caught off guard by the sudden change in weather. Aizawa scowled at his mess of dark hair getting drenched.

"Damn, this weather is nasty!" Said Mic, voice unintentionally booming.

He looked around and scouted for shelter as the thunder rolled, and settled on the closest bit of light he could see, pointing his finger at Bauhaus so as to motion for Aizawa to head that way.

They stopped at the overhang to dry off a bit before entering when Aizawa got a peek inside the shop. He took note of the band posters and bookshelves littering the walls, the violet-hued plants hanging from the ceiling and shelves, the generally alternative vibe that exuded from the place.

"I don't know, Hizashi," he stated hesitantly, shifting his weight to his good leg.

"What's the big deal? It's not like you'll look out of place," Hizashi was frank, opening the door with no apprehension. He gave a quick chuckle that sounded like taps on a hot microphone.

It was true, Aizawa typically dressed in all black. Now that he was taking a break, though, he didn't always have his capture weapon on him. He was instead accompanied by a patch over his eye and a prosthetic leg. He felt like he usually stood out like a sore thumb these days, which was problematic for someone who had always tried to keep such a low profile in the past.

Aizawa fiddled with his eyepatch and thought about how nice it would be to blend in once more. He had always tried to stay out of the spotlight, but after the intense battle with Shigaraki, it was harder to avoid the media. Maybe a place like this wasn't such a bad idea. He continued to zone out as Mic spoke much too loudly for the space they were in, as usual, and talked (mostly to himself) about if he should get a coffee or a smoothie.

Aizawa grew slightly embarrassed by his friend's actions as he looked around the room to see if his boisterous voice was bothering the other patrons. It was 6am, still early, so Bauhaus was lingering with the vestiges of sleep, waking with the rest of Musutafu. There was a green haired person on their laptop in the back corner, tucked away, uninvolved in the rest of the shop and seemingly unbothered. Empty seats. A full cup on a table that meant someone would be right back.

Then there was you.

Right beneath the window seat near the front of the shop, a purple vining plant hanging above you, crushed velvet bell sleeves rested upon the table as your fingers gripped the pages of a well-worn copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. Your face was aglow like the moon, scattered with a few freckles that danced across rosy cheeks, long lashes that arched over your half-lidded eyes. The bass of the music swelling over the speakers seemed to engulf Aizawa, thumping in his head, your silken locks being brushed to settle behind your ear as his mouth suddenly dried.

Then, as if on que, you looked up at him just in time for him to hear "oh Lucretia, my reflection", and everything seemed to stand still. He could feel his pulse in his fingertips. You had these gorgeous doe eyes, these pouty little lips that gave a gamine smile to him while he held his gaze for much too long, he was sure of it. You were a vision. A blooming Queen Of The Night. A siren out in the storm.

"Quit staring at her and tell me what you want to drink!"

Aizawa was snapped out of his delusion. Flustered at the comment, he groaned, his eye twitching. Unwilling to break the eye contact with you just yet, your smile grew, and you exchanged glances with him again, causing pink heat to bloom over his face. You sat down your book and made your posture more swanlike as you maintained eye contact with him. His breath hitched at this.

You snuck looks at him for the rest of the time the two were in the shop. You weren't enough of a go-getter to approach him--nor were you brave enough to blatantly ask him out--but you really hoped that maybe he would come in again.

————

As mortified as he was by Mic's statement, he knew he had to try to see you again.

Not because he wanted to get to know you or anything.

No.

You just seemed... interesting. You seemed interesting and he felt very comfortable in Bauhaus. In fact, it probably had very little to do with you at all. He was more than likely just transferring these feelings of comfort onto you. After all, it's been a while since he's been able to go out and not feel like he was the one being stared at.

Yes.

This is rational.

This is why he needed to go back. You were just there by happenstance.

Every single weekday morning--and on weekends when he wasn't watching Eri--for an entire month, he was at the shop.

That's just how comfortable he was there. That's how good their plain black coffee was. That's what it meant to have a routine.

It was just a coincidence that he couldn't help but to notice you.

You were always there in that same cozy nook. Some days you were dressed in a band t-shirt and jeans. Some days you were in a plaid skirt and combat boots. Some days you were in a mossy green dress that went to the floor. Some days you wore causal yoga pants that were surely comfortable but made him sweat like a sinner in church. He never knew what exactly he would see you in next, but it was usually the same kind of style. And you always had a book to read, which Aizawa greatly admired. You were studious and attentive with your literature, but also a little bit goofy, judging by the laughter between you and the barista when you picked up your drinks.

But he had also come to find that you were very kind. Although you didn't appear to be a hero, you helped in other ways. You would pay for people's orders if they didn't have enough to cover their purchase. Twice, he watched you pay for the food of a homeless man, and then you sat with this man as an equal, outside on the curb, as the two of you ate breakfast sandwiches and talked. You were softspoken and gentle in your manner of speech, making him feel as though you were reading him to sleep as you talked between bites of food.

He noticed you had the biggest soft spot for animals, though.

You would watch out the window at around 6:15 to see if your little cat friend would show up that day. You would give them a drink of water from your own bottle and cap, offer them bits of bread and meat, and coo at them in a lovely sing-song voice as they ate. The cat didn't want to be touched, they were scarred and matted all to hell; but you were patient every single time. What a beautiful soul you seemed to have.

Aizawa was normally pessimistic, but you made him feel hopeful in humanity. He was certain that you had flaws, as people do, but your acts of kindness always made sure he had a good start to his day. He was always ready to protect you if you ever needed it. The world could use more good people, after all.

One morning in particular, as Aizawa picked up his drink, he noticed a man lazily stroll up to you at your regular nook. This happened to you every so often now that you were in Japan. You were approached by men, and very occasionally other women, maybe a handful of times in your entire life back in the United States. Your best guess is that here you were considered "exotic" since you looked different from most. You almost never saw someone with features like yours, and you were certainly taller than most of the women here, with noticeably longer limbs; all things that weren't exactly beauty standards in America but seemed to garner attention in Japan.

Unfortunately, the attention wasn't usually the kind that you enjoyed, and this guy was no different. He was dressed in an athletic shirt and basketball shorts. Not that you were one to judge, because hell, sometimes you showed up in pastels if the mood so struck you. People weren't bound to the confines of fashion. However, in your experience, men dressed in this clothing who came into Bauhaus tended to be... unsavory. Usually someone looking to fulfill their fetishes.

"Ooo, Cara Mia," he taunted as he approached you.

An Addams Family reference would have otherwise been right up your alley, but when he said the quote, it felt icky somehow. You knew he had to have kept this line in his back pocket regardless of who he came across, anyway. You were in a long sleeved sheer top with a lavender camisole and pair of black bell bottoms. More Stevie Nicks than Morticia Addams. So you did the rational thing and ignored him. You weren't there to be someone's Big Tiddy Goth Girlfriend.

He didn't like that much.

"Hey. I'm talking to you," he spat his words at you with barely concealed contempt.

"I heard you," you flicked your eyes up at him sharply.

Aizawa's body tensed in preparation to spring into action, taking a step forward in your direction. Who the fuck did this guy think he was?

"I was just being nice. Not like anyone else is going to talk to your ugly old ass," his words were meant to bite at you, but you didn't budge.

"Old? Why, because I dared to live past 16? God, you are disgusting," you sat down your book and shook your head disapprovingly, "creeps like you are always projecting your own insecurities. How sad for you. Fuck off,"

He looked shocked, furious, like he was about to scream something in your face--but stopped abruptly when you started to hum. It was a haunting melody, something akin to a nocturne.

"I think you should go now," you stated plainly.

With this, the man walked out the door in what appeared to be a fugue-like state. And you calmly went back to your book.

Huh. Maybe you didn't need Aizawa's protection.

You just kept getting more and more intriguing.

On his fourth straight week of coming in, a Friday in early September, you decided to finally talk to him since it seemed like you were both regular patrons of the shop now. You made sure to finger-comb your hair before you turned to look at him. He was in his usual black on black sweatpants and sweatshirt, this time with his hair pulled back to reveal his jawline. He was very handsome, you thought.

"Hey there, you," you said after he placed his order of a single black coffee.

He turned around, a bit shocked at the sudden start of such a casual conversation.

"I see you in here a lot lately. I'm not sure if you have the time, but would you like to come sit with me?"

You smiled delicately in an attempt to seem welcoming.

"It would be nice to have some company for a change," you say.

His dark eye bore into you like a bullet coming straight for your gaze. After a moment of collecting his words, he finally settled on replying back:

"Yeah, sure. That would be fine,"

Aizawa tried his best to remain calm and cool, stoic even, refusing to let something so nonchalant shake him.

However, truth be told, you felt a bit shaken yourself. You weren't sure if he would accept your offer or reject it and then stop coming in. You could be so straightforward sometimes, and you felt like you could accidentally make things awkward. But you had a feeling he might at least be interested in getting to know you after your initial interaction with him.

You introduce yourself as you stirred your latte with a tiny silver spoon.

"Shota Aizawa," he gave in return.

"Nice to finally meet you," you say with a slight tease in your inflection and a mischievous look.

A blush crept across his face. God, of course you remembered when you two first saw one another. It felt as if he were sitting on pins and needles thinking about it.

"Do you like sitting under the stars?" You ask to cut the silence.

Aizawa looked perplexed. It seemed like an odd thing to ask him. Maybe you liked the outdoors?

"I've never actually been camping. Never really seemed that fun to me," he was eager to continue talking to you, though he wasn't sure exactly why.

You had this glint in your eye, like you knew the punchline to a joke you hadn't even told yet, along with a playful smile. Setting down your cup, you pointed up. That's when he noticed that the ceiling was matte black and painted with silver glittering stars.

"It's one of my favorite things about coming here," you disclosed this information to him, almost as if it were a secret.

It was then that he knew for sure that you weren't like most people.

You two met like this, discussing books and hobbies and music, for another month and a half. Every morning at 6am you could expect to see him waiting at Bauhaus for you, rain or shine. You would get some kind of breve or latte and he would get a strongly brewed black coffee. Sometimes you spoke for an hour before one of you had to go, sometimes you two were there until you were both hungry for lunch. Although the days all started at Bauhaus, occasionally, the day would take the two of you to a nearby ramen shop, a corner store, or a short walk down the block. Anywhere you wanted to go, he was there.

————

He now knew that you liked horror movies and would read just about anything you could get your hands on, that you loved animals, you moved here two years ago to help with the mental health crisis in Japan as a grief counselor, and you thoroughly enjoyed humor.

You came to know that he liked cats, was a teacher, liked the smell of rain, he was generally pretty introverted, read comic books as a kid, and had a liking for dark jokes. He had mentioned that he was a hero, a pro hero actually, when the shop was empty one morning. You said that was "so cool" and beamed with pride that you knew him, but you seemed unfamiliar with the Erasure Hero.

You continued to treat him exactly the same.

This was mesmerizing to Aizawa.

Today was one of the days that stretched on like a sleeping cat in a sunny patch. You'd already met once in the morning, breaked for work, and then met again in the late evening. The golden-hour sun was pouring in its warm light, backing you like some kind of seraphem, and painting him in a spreading halo of honeyed peach. The way the flecks of rainbow from the slanted glass flitted over his skin bewitched you.

And you, there at your place, drenched in marigold light that kissed down upon your flawless skin, made him shudder. Your eyes nearly glowed in the light. You appeared fragile, breakable, like spun glass; though he knew you were sturdier than your languid demeanor would let on.

He stuffed down the feelings he was starting to have for you like a snake eating a too large mouse. This was more than just lust, infatuation, or attraction. As scary as it was, he liked you. The butterflies stirred in his belly when you called his name from your window nook and the moths fluttered in yours when he said "I thought I might find you here, y/n," with the slightest upturn of his mouth. You were both nervous about this tension that was building between the two of you, but he was more reserved, whereas you tended to wear your heart on your sleeve. You knew that you would have to be the one to address it.

"Aizawa," you say to him, circling the rim of your cup with your fingertip as you place your other hand in front of his on the table, "I have some errands to run tomorrow... would you maybe want to come with me? It can be hard for me to carry heavy things all the way into my place on my own, and I really want to get some pumpkins to carve,"

This seemed utilitarian enough that he might feel more at ease accepting the invitation, but still deliciously domestic.

Aizawa felt the breath leave his lungs. Going to a pumpkin patch? Carving pumpkins? Like a cute little date?

"You don't have to, if you don't have the time," you stated reassuringly.

"Oh, no. It's nothing like that," His voice broke as he uttered out an answer, "I can go. I'll make the time if I don't have it,"

"Great! Can we meet up around 10?"

"I'll be there,"

"You always are,"

The air hung around the two of you with a lightness for a few seconds. Aizawa could see his reflection in your big glass-like eyes, causing his heart to beat wildly in his chest. You gave a small laugh, crinkling your nose, very aware of the closeness of your faces. He felt like maybe he should kiss you. But did you even like him that way? You could just be friendly and kissing you would be a huge mistake. Everything would come crashing down if he did that. Your trust would be gone. You would be gone. He couldn't take that risk.

But oh, how you wanted him to lean in and touch his lips to your own. You wondered how his stubble would feel against your skin, and if he would taste like that black coffee he was always sipping on. A knot formed in your stomach, this familiar aching, a longing, a fear of the unknown feelings he had for you, and excitement that he might feel the same way. How long had it been since you felt this way? Was it ever this intense?

You bit your bottom lip in anticipation, your heart racing. You could feel that something was bubbling up. Something was about to happen. You were going to lean in closer when the door to the coffee house flew open, and in walked Hizashi.

"I thought I'd find you here, Eraser! You sure love this place lately!" His voice nearly shook the entryway.

Tension gone.

Goodbye, mood.

Aizawa sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, fully aware that Mic was about to say something daft.

"Watcha got here?" Mic asked enthusiastically, gesturing toward you with a gloved hand, "Shota, do you have a girlfriend you never told me about?"

Fucking Mic.

Aizawa looked pale, sick even.

Of course he wanted you to be his girlfriend. Especially when he was about to go to sleep, or saw some stuffed animal he knew you would like, or when he was in the shower and thinking of how he'd like to see those sultry eyes looking up at him as you put your mouth on his...

"Hizashi, for someone who's entire Quirk is based on sound, you are so damn tonedeaf," Aizawa cut his thoughts loose with this retort.

"Woah, easy there," Mic continued, "I didn't mean to ruffle any feathers. If you guys aren't hooking up, how about I shoot my shot then?" He waggled his brows at you.

Aizawa gritted his teeth and his eye twitched. Like a deer in the headlights, stunned at this brazen show of complete and total assclownery, he sat still in his seat as Hizashi made fools of them both. The lanky devil just didn't know when to stop tap dancing on his last nerve.

Present Mic leaned over the table as you furrowed your brow in response.

"Wanna see why they call me Magic Mic?" He gave a wide grin with this question.

You made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh.

"Why, did I pique your interest when you saw me bathing on the roof? Did my beauty and the moonlight overthrow you?"

"Bathing on the roof, you say!" Another waggle.

"Careful there, Sisyphus. That boulder's heavier than it looks," you chime back, scribbling something on a napkin.

Aizawa was amused at your quip. It was impressive how quick on your feet you were in conversation, and how well you handled yourself. He knew that Mic was blabbering on in the background, something about alternative chicks and their spicy attitudes, but he couldn't concentrate on anything other than you.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Aizawa," you stated while getting up from your seat, "here's my number. Text me and I'll send you my address so you can meet me at my place, okay?"

Aizawa swallowed the lump in his throat and then nodded in agreement. He took the napkin in his hand and noticed you put a little heart next to your number.

Fuck.

Please let this be a date.

————

The next morning, at 10am sharp, Aizawa reached the front door to your apartment. He didn't even need to look at the number when he saw the fall wreath, covered in leaves and mini pumpkins, suspended from its metal hook. He slicked back his raven hair with his palms, attempting to keep his locks captured in a ponytail, all the while his stomach churned in anticipation. He gave a knock at the door, and you were there almost immediately. Had you been waiting for him?

In reality, yes, you had been. You were ready by 9:30 and then paced around your room before you sat by the door and waited for him to show up. You gave him a big grin as you greeted him, admiring his forearms with his sleeves rolled up. You looked him over, half covered in the shade of your awning, hair pulled back, his trim figure cut well in his dark jeans and gray sweater. Oh my god, he even shaved! That was so cute to you. He shaved for your pumpkin patch adventure. You swooned and felt that tension in your belly build back up. It made you feel like a teenager again, having a crush like that. You kicked at some rocks on your porch in a bashful display.

God how he wanted to put his hands on you when he saw you stepping out of your doorway. You were wearing a burnt orange sundress, a black cardigan with pumpkins lining the bodice, thigh high black pantihose, with black Mary Janes and a wide-brimmed felt hat. You always knew what flattered your figure, what colors brought out your eyes and complimented your skintone. He felt so typical, like such a stereotype, because that sundress was doing something for him.

"You okay with me driving?" You asked, taking a step closer to him.

He tensed at the prospect of being touched by you, and nodded in agreement. Grabbing your keyfob, you pressed twice to start your vehicle, a completely black car with darkly tinted windows. It was very bold, very dark, and very you.

"You can mess with the volume however you'd like. I don't mind," you told him as you started flipping through your music on the car's touchscreen radio.

Aizawa took note of how eclectic your music was. You seemed to like songs with lots of bass and rumble, and you listened to plenty of Sisters of Mercy, but you also had music that took him off guard: hyper-pop, musical numbers, heavy metal--a smorgasbord of songs on a hodgepodge of a playlist. He could never quite pin you down. As soon as he thought he knew your next move, you pulled an Uno Reverse card, and it was enthralling. He liked a challenge.

He was captured by you as you settled on Love Me by The 1975 and enthusiastically sang along to every word, miming exaggerated faces when the beat picked up. You rolled the windows down and threw your hat in the back seat to feel the wind through your hair.

You glanced over at him briefly as you sang, smiling, glowing, just letting loose with him in a way that felt more intimate than he would've imagined a car ride could feel. Your hair flipped, twisting around your face in the breeze.

He noticed how careful you were with your car, how gingerly you braked at stoplights, and joked "I think my grandpa might actually drive faster than you do,"

"Hey," you replied "I pay a lot of money for this car," you felt a bit embarrassed tagging on the next part of "besides.. it's important to follow traffic laws."

He couldn't help but admire how pragmatic you were about this. You were so soft. Willing to stand up for yourself, but always making sure everyone else was safe. You had a hero heart.

You went back to singing to music, this time Can't Hold Me by Emily King. You always seemed so in your element when music was involved.

"You have a really nice voice," Aizawa stated without thinking. It rolled off of his tongue in an easy sort of way that didn't normally come naturally to him.

"Oh, thanks. It's part of my quirk I guess,"

"You have a quirk?" It was more of a statement than a question. He was pretty positive he'd already seen your quirk in action.

"Well, yeah; but I don't use it much. It's one of those quirks that when you tell people about it they think you're a villain," your voice trailed off a bit and he looked at you with one raised brow.

A sigh escaped your lips.

"If I sing a certain melody, I can make people do whatever I want. They become really pliable and easy to manipulate. But I can only use it on one person at a time, and it's only the one song, and you would know if I was using it," you tried your best to make sure he knew you weren't using it to make him talk to you, or to make him come with you today.

"Quirks are what you make of them. And I don't think that you would ever purposefully hurt someone, y/n. You're better than that,"

On impulse, upon parking the car at the pumpkin patch, you grabbed his hand with Eat Sleep Wake by Bombay Bicycle Club playing softly in the background. The first real physical contact you two had that wasn't accidental. It was warm, and sweet, and electric. Breathing felt like there was a weight on your chest when you realized what happened, and it caught in your throat when he squeezed your hand back.

Eat.

Sleep.

Wake.

Nothing but you.

God, please just kiss me, you thought. Kiss me. Better yet, take me into this pumpkin patch and peel these pantihose off with your teeth. You were getting to the point where all of this constant winding you up had you wanting him to fuck you absolutely stupid.

Aizawa felt warm, feverish. Like he was going to melt through the seat of the car and burn to cinders on the ground. He was smoldering like a pile of ash in your hand. Goddamn it was hard to concentrate now. Where was he at? Was there a world around the two of you? Did he even care? He wasn't sure if it was right to think of you like this, though, and it happened nearly every day since meeting you. That part of him had been lying dormant for what felt like years and now suddenly these feelings were coming for him with a vengeance. He wasn't sure what to do.

"We should.. we should grab some pumpkins. Do you... like the lumpy ones?"

Shit. Did he really just ask you that? God, you must have thought he was stupid.

But you didn't. You were eating this up.

"Dude. I love me a lumpy pumpkin," was your reply.

The two of you took in the crisp autumn air and October's bright blue sky as you sipped on a warm apple cider from the drink stand. Much to his initial disapproval, you finally got him to take a sip from your cup. His heart skipped a beat drinking from the same spout where your mouth had been just a few seconds prior. You took two small pumpkins from the display they had on top of some hay bales, slipped them into a big burlap tote bag, and then headed to the field to pick out bigger pumpkins for carving.

"Do you think frogs have friends?"

"I... what?"

He wasn't sure if you were being genuine with this question.

"Well, cows make friends, and.. I don't know, I was just thinking about how maybe when frogs start to get ready for the cold weather, they find another frog that they like, and then they hibernate next to them in the mud," your statement was matter-of-fact, "or I guess technically the frogs we have here go into a state of topor, not full hibernation. But still,"

Aizawa was taken aback at this topic. You were actually wondering about the loneliness of amphibians.

"Y/n, I don't think frogs get lonely. I doubt they have high enough brain functioning to care,"

"Or maybe they do, and we'll never know, because nobody stopped to find out,"

He enjoyed that you always spoke your mind. Even if someone didn't like what you had to say, you just started a conversation based on whatever thoughts you had in your head. You were smart, but whimsical. It was so easy to talk to you and have a logical dialogue without feeling like it was getting stale.

You kicked at rocks, marveled at the fall leaves, and had this general sense of wonder. Aizawa found it fascinating how dichotomous you were. You were kind of mysterious, but you still had this youthful charm about you. He found himself to be more apathetic than anything. It wasn't necessarily that he didn't see the beauty in the things around him, he just didn't tend to pay attention at all. He was always burning the candle at both ends and pushing himself to his absolute limits, so what was the point? Who cared of frogs had friends?

"I wish I shared your passion for life," he commented.

"My grandparents were like this, and they raised me, so I guess it rubbed off. Actually, they're kind of why I came here. My grandpa always spoke about how beautiful Okinawa was. After they passed, I jumped at the opportunity to come see Japan for myself,"

You hadn't talked about anything that wasn't skin deep in what seemed like an eternity, and you felt like he was really listening, processing your words.

"Oh!" You stopped in your tracks, "I can't believe I forgot to give you this,"

From the bottom of your burlap sack, you pulled out a bag of salty black licorice.

"This is for you,"

His favorite snack.

Aizawa reached out his hand and took it delicately, as if it were precious to him.

"How did you know?"

"I saw you eyeing some once at a corner store. When I saw they had some here, I had to get it for you. They make it in house, so I bet it's delicious!" You sounded so excited over a bag of licorice.

Feeling a bit silly over frogs and candy, you blushed, cheeks already slightly ruddy from all of the walking.

"But we should probably go back to picking out some pumpkins, I guess," your words came out much smaller than you intended them to.

His heart swelled. You were paying attention to him, too.

The gourds were all shapes and sizes, all the colors from striking persimmon to pale yellow, from perfectly round to as lumpy as the night was long.

Clearly, you picked the lumpiest.

Loading your goods into the car, a flash of color at another stand caught Aizawa's eye.

"You stay here. I'll be right back," he commanded.

"Okay. Just let me know if you want any help,"

The stand was full of handmade trinkets: wooden hair combs, decorative mirrors with widdled handles, and silk kimonos. One garment stood out to him--emerald green with goldenrod flowers patterned over it--that, for some reason, made him think of frogs. This would do nicely.

Upon his return, he found that he really wasn't sure how to give you a gift. This was certainly not his forte. He couldn't even remember the last time he gave someone a present. Then again, he couldn't recall that last time he had received one before this day, either. Besides, you were worth the uncomfortability.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't form. You looked slightly amused, which made him even more nervous.

"I have something for you. To repay you for the gift you gave me earlier," his voice uttered out much smaller than he remembered.

The joy that spread from cheek to cheek was practically tangible for him as he handed you the paper bag. Your eyes were alight like fireworks.

"You got me a present?"

You felt a fluttering in your chest. You didn't even care what it was, he explicitly thought of you, and that made you happy in earnest.

The container was compact enough that you figured there was some kind of candy to be retrieved from it, but you opened it to see green and yellow fabric. You were stunned when you recognized it from the stand you two had passed on your way out. It had to have been expensive.

"Aizawa.. this is too much. I-I can't accept this," you stammered.

"Yes you can. Like I said, it's for the licorice,"

"This isn't exactly in the same category as candy, though, I--"

"Just try it on," he interrupted you, his hand raised as if to stop any further protesting.

And you thought about protesting--you really did--but caved, knowing he wouldn't give up until you accepted it. Your attempts to dispute his gift would be futile. So you marveled at the silk garment, feeling its slick material between your fingers. You'd never owned something like this before. You took off your cardigan and draped the kimono over your body, savoring how soft and airy it was on your skin, feeling like a princess.

"I'm not sure if this is a color you like, so if you don't like it, we can go exchange it," his voice had a hushed tone.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

"No. No, it's perfect. I absolutely love it. Thank you so much, this was so sweet of you," your words rang out like a bell.

The breeze picked up and blew the soft locks of your hair as you stood there in your gown, picturesque, cottony clouds lining the skies.

You looked like a painting.

"Alright then," you said with vigor, "takoyaki is on me!"

————

When you returned home, you carved Aizawa's pumpkin together (a very classic orange pumpkin, perfect for Jack O Lanterns), swatting your cats off of the counter as they came to sniff at the seedy innards laid out on a sheet of parchment paper. You felt at home like this. You felt safe, content, like this is how life was meant to be.

You watched him as he placed the carved Jack O Lantern out on your porch, and took notice of the strands of raven hair that were falling out of his messy bun, delicately sweeping over his strong jaw and neck. The knot in your stomach returned, and with it came a sensation like you were on the downhill slope of a rollercoaster. It was a feeling of passion welling up inside of you, ready to tear open at your seams.

And you wanted more.

You wanted him to want you.

Worried that he might go home now that the sun had set, you asked if he would want to watch a movie with you. He was elated at the idea of cuddling up with you on the couch. How could he say no to that?

"Okay. What did you have in mind?"

"Have you ever watched Hocus Pocus?"

"No, never heard of it,"

"What?! It's a Halloween classic! I'll change into some house clothes and then we'll get started. Be right back, Shota,"

A chill ran down his spine, prickling the back of his neck at the sound of you saying his name. You called him Shota. And now you were comfortable enough with him to change into pajamas. He felt almost floaty.

Aizawa was expecting you to come out in sweatpants and a t-shirt, something comfy, something plain. He enjoyed the prospect of you coming out in soft pants and fuzzy socks. There was something so heartwarming and cozy about it that he--holy fucking shit.

You came out, as casual as humanly possible, in a pair of tiny little sleeping shorts and a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles t-shirt with no bra. The shirt was soft, but snug, and showed off every curve of your body through the semi-sheer fabric. He had already gotten a good look (or ten) at your ass in a nice pair of pants, but this.. were you trying to kill him? You were already all legs, and now the shorts... Aizawa scanned your body to see that you were wearing stockings that hugged your legs and made divots in the plush flesh of your upper thighs. They were Ninja Turtle green and woven like a tubesock.

Of course you were wearing these fuck me socks. That way, you could definitely say that you were completely covered from head to toe, that these were normal house clothes. Nothing here but regular old pajamas. And look, see, you totally did like green!

Your couch was small, but Aizawa sat on one end, hoping that you would sit alllll the way on the other end so that he could curl up as much as possible and you wouldn't see... things. But you weren't having it. You wanted to be able to cut the tension with a knife. You wanted to make sure this sexual frustration was palpable until it drove him to action. So you snuggled up next to him and rested your head on his chest.

He took notice that the shorts nearly disappeared when you sat down, and thought about what they might look like if you were bending over. Your tits looked great through your clothes, but your ass drove him wild. He wished for the TV to mess up somehow so you would have to get down on all fours to fix it, maybe even spread your legs just enough that your sex would peek over the side of the material, sopping and messy and begging for him.

Oh lord Jesus, Vishnu, Thor, whoever the fuck was up there just give him strength. Give his waistband extra elasticity and give his poor heart a rest so that maybe you wouldn't hear it pounding through his chest. But you did hear it. You knew exactly what you were doing when you placed your hand on his thigh and traced your fingertips down to his knee while you stared ahead at the TV screen.

Under the guise of laughing at a witch riding a vacuum cleaner, you squeezed his leg, and he jumped in his seat.

Oh.

This was torture for him.

And you liked that.

A lot.

He made a pathetic attempt to stealthily lean into you, just enough so that he could get a better whiff of your hair. You smelled like vanilla and something a little floral and spicy, like a jasmine rice desert. The thought crossed his mind that you might taste just as sweet.

"Doing okay, Shota?" Your voice this time was chesty, sensual, almost like an invitation rather than a question, and you could feel him shudder in response.

There it was again. Shota. He fucking loved the way his name dripped from your lips like honey. He nodded in agreement and you patted his leg to let him know you felt the nod.

You could feel your shorts heating up and your breathing changing pace when you heard him let out little sputters of air at your touch. It was intoxicating, hearing him get excited, smelling the sweat building between the two of you in this blissful hell of your own making.

Small beads of liquid made a wet spot up near his waistband while he took in your body heat, trying his best to focus on the screen and not the friction of you against him, or the fact that he could see your nipples plainly through your shirt. Readjusting yourself, you stretched and let out a whine in the process, and your elbow brushed up against something in his lap.

With a quick grunt, he stood up suddenly, and said "I need to use the restroom. I'll be right back,"

You gave him an "okay", and paused the movie for him. Maybe it was just in your imagination, but you could swear you saw a tent in his pants when he got up.

What you wouldn't give to toy with him for just a little while longer.

He shuts the door behind him slowly, calmly, before he's pawing at the buttons of his pants. A curse leaves his lips as he wrestles his leaking member from the confines of his boxers. 

"Little fucking cocktease," he grits, burying the words into his lower lip. 

God, he just couldn't take it anymore. He thought about you moaning, whining, mewling into his ear, your bodies entangling. How would he take you? If he had the option, he thinks he'd really like to watch you ride his cock, see the look on your face when you take all of him inside of you.

"Gonna have you begging for it. Fuck, do you even know what you do to me?" His voice trails into a groan, and he folds forward, bucking into his hand and holding onto the sink to steady himself.

A few whispers of your name fall from his lips, and he swipes at the slit of his aching length, smearing his precum along his shaft for lubrication. He's close. In an embarrassingly short amount of time, he's already feeling that knot within him frayed, about to snap. Just a few more strokes and he's jerking back his head, ropes of his release now dripping across his palm.

He finished in record time, expecting to have a sense of relief, but only finding that he craved more. Guilt took ahold of him when the thought crossed his mind that he shouldn't be thinking of you this way. This was so shameful, what he just did, making his hand all sticky from thinking of you. He rinsed his face with cool water to get rid of some of the sweat, and exited, stating that he needed to head home due to not feeling well.

Your heart sank, and the realization hit you that you may have made him uneasy with your forwardness. Maybe he didn't like you that way after all. You hoped that you hadn't just ruined things between the two of you.

Aizawa didn't want to hurt your feelings, and he could tell that he probably did; but he needed to get out of your apartment before he bent you over the couch.

So he left your place after an entire 12 hours together, beating himself up for not making a move, harboring resentment for his own lack of initiative. He was used to coming after villains, but this whole "love" thing really scared him. Love? He mulled the word over in his head. Worried it between his teeth. You two hadn't spent a single day without seeing each other in like two months. And he sure as hell didn't see himself picking out pumpkins with Hizashi any time soon.

He laid there in bed, trying his best to fall asleep, but the day just replayed in his head on a loop. His mattress was normally soft and welcoming, something that could easily lull him to sleep, but tonight it felt empty. Tonight, he felt alone. Until his phone buzzed from his nightstand.

You: is it too soon to text you?

Him: it's never too soon for you to talk to me.

You: good :) I was worried when you left in such a hurry.

You: and I miss you already.

Aizawa sat up in bed after reading your most recent message. You... missed him. He wasn't sure if he was reading that right. The blue light from his phone illuminated his face, now standing apart from the inky blackness of his room. He could feel you radiating from it.

Him: maybe you should stop by my place tomorrow afternoon then.

You: I'd really like that.

You: good night, Shota. <3

Him: see you soon.

————

He made sure to take care of himself in the shower before the next afternoon, not wanting a repeat of the previous night. Best case scenario, now he would last longer if you two ended up fooling around. He even double checked that Eri was in the dorms at UA again today. That was just wishful thinking, though. Sex these days would probably only come from pity for him. Poor washed-up hero, missing an eye, missing a leg. That's the last thing he needed right now.

He cleaned up around his apartment, wiping down the counters and making the area look welcoming for you. Why did he want to impress you so badly? Ugh, this was so embarrassing. He never worried about what people thought of him in any other scenario, but now, here he was, fluffing his brand new throw pillows and applying cologne to his neck and chest.

You knocked on the door, straightening the skirt of your dress, the same one you were wearing the morning you two first met. Aizawa answered the door in a gray t-shirt and black sweatpants, his hair loose and his eyes heavy-lidded when he looked down at you. That dress again. Clingy, short, nipped at the waist to show off your curves. Christ, you were beautiful. He welcomed you in, the smell of bergamot wafting from him.

His apartment was bigger than yours by quite a bit. It had a floating island in the kitchen, slate colored walls, a black sectional positioned in the living room atop a white shag rug, and circular lights that were recessed within the ceiling.

"Wow, your place is so nice. Shit. I'm sorry I made you come to my hovel last night," you partially joked, impressed with how well his home was put together.

"That's stupid. I liked being at your place,"

You saw something moving out of the corner of your eye through the doorway of the other room.

"Is that a punching bag?" You asked with a wry smile.

"Gotta keep myself in shape. Want to give it a go?" His voice was low, almost challenging you to take him up on the offer.

"Oh, I don't know. I lift weights but I don't really do a lot of cardio. I'd just end up humiliating myself, honestly," you said sheepishly.

"Come on, y/n, spar with me. I'll go easy on you,"

"Okay, okay," you gave in and walked toward the next room, which you could see upon closer inspection was full of gym equipment. You felt out of your element, but you were willing to make yourself look like a fool if it meant he was enjoying himself.

You gave the bag a light punch as Aizawa held onto it, half afraid that you would mess it up somehow, or maybe even break your damn hand. It felt like it was full of some kind of particulate. Maybe sand? Oh god, you probably looked like some kind of lazy sack, not even knowing how to punch a fucking bag.

"I know you can do better than that. You've got more power in you. Come on,"

You punched again.

"Harder. Don't hold back!" He growled.

That was really fucking sexy, actually, and now you were a little distracted. You balled your hand into a fist, made sure your thumb was facing outside, and used all of this pent up frustration to wallop the daylights out of the bag. Your knuckles made contact with a padded thud, and you let out a small grunt.

"Atta girl," he praised you, his voice like whisky.

God, hearing him say that was like a dopamine hit. You were disoriented. You were already clumsy, and now your brain felt like a can of cranberry sauce splattered out onto a plate.

Aizawa stepped away from the bag, a terse expression plastered onto his face.

"Now act like I'm coming after you and try to pin me. Remember, it doesn't matter that I'm bigger than you. Use strategy to overpower me,"

You mustered up all of your strength, all of your courage, and leapt toward his torso. He didn't try to block you, so you knew he was going easy on you... but you also knew you didn't do it right when you went off to the side and started to veer straight for the wall. He grabbed you by both wrists and wedged himself between your legs in order to cushion your fall, and you landed upright, straddling him as he lay on his back.

You were both panting, eyes dilated, a wildness boiling within you like animals. He let go of your wrists and your hands softly found their rest on his chest as it heaved.

"Y/n," he laughed, "that was awful,"

You rolled your eyes and shifted your weight into less of a stiff position.

"I told you I was bad at this. I am a lover, not a fighter," you pressed your hand to your chest as you spoke. 

Moving ever so slightly on top of him, you saw his eye widen, his lips parted to let a small gasp escape from them. Panic has set in. 

"Get up. Please," his tone is highly-strung and fearful.

He looks genuinely terrified, scrambling beneath you, the only reason you're still in his lap like this due to his apprehension to hurt you by accident.

"Shota, wha--" your question is cut off by the feeling of something poking against your clothed sex.

Oh. 

Oh.

A red hue painted his entire face at the realization of the situation he was in, his blood pulsing through his body rapidly, the sound of it rushing in his ears.

"Why," you said breathily "don't you want me?"

Overstimulated, his brain didn't process what you'd just said to him.

Your lungs feel like they're about to lunge straight out of your chest, your core aching to be filled. You'll have to make sure that he really gets the point. Now was the time to be honest with him, maybe even be a little dirty. It's now or never.

"I want to know.. I mean.." talking felt hard. Your blood supply seemed starved from your brain.

"Do you touch yourself when you think of me?"

He was trembling like a leaf beneath you, caged in by the plush of your thighs. Was this a trick question? Yes, he just fucked himself to you this morning, AND last night in YOUR bathroom. Is that what he was supposed to say? He swallowed thickly, clamoring to gather up some kind of sentient thought to say to you.

"I do," you filled the gap of silence, "I think of you that way. A lot, actually,"

You ground your pelvis up and down his length, the fabric of his pants rough against him, eliciting a grunt through his gritted teeth.

"I.. f-fuck, I-I dunno how to.. answer that," he's been reduced to this mumbling mess on the floor, that silver tongue suppressed by the sweet press of your warmth to his cock.

You took his shaking hand and placed it between your thighs, right on the dampness that was spreading at your center, sopping through what little material covered them. 

"I want you, Shota. I want you bad," your words were like poetry spouting from your lips.

He rubbed you through your wet panties, soaked and clinging to you like a second skin. Were you this wet for him? He delights in the way your breath hitches, how you squirm atop him, your eyes heavy and lustful. Shota gives one last languid stroke up the lace and then pulls them to the side for easier access to your clit. He rubs light circles around it and watches you writhe, taking in the noises you were making, so painfully hard he felt as though he would cum in his pants just from watching you. He stopped his teasing and placed both hands on your hips, the pair of you frenzied for more.

You crashed your lips to his, both of you giving in to a hungry kiss, passionate and blistering with heat, tongues swirling and teeth clashing. You cupped his face in your hands, pulling him into you, starved for his taste. He keened into your touch as if it would soon disappear. Leaving the rough stubble of his cheeks only to grab a handful of his mussed hair, you tugged at it, causing him to moan into your mouth, and you swallowd down each noise greedily. He explored your body with haste, grabbing your ass, sinking the pads of his fingers into your skin. You could feel him throbbing underneath you, so you palmed him through his pants, and with a swift jerk, he threw his head back onto the floor, not even caring to register the pain of it.

"Fuck. Y/n. If you keep going..."

You tugged at the waist of his pants, then dragged featherlight touches across his exposed cock teasingly. He felt you smile against his skin as you nuzzled the crook of his neck, and he lets out a muffled groan that tapered off into a high-pitched whine, desperate and needy.

He let out an involuntary whimper, almost pitiful with how much yearning was within it.

"You gonna cum for me already? Hmm?"

That was it.

He couldn't fucking take it anymore.

Something within him snapped and a growl poured from him, rumbling up from somewhere deep in his chest.

With hurried hands, he pulls your dress over top your head, revealing that you were wearing nothing but lacy black panties underneath. You were stunning. Like a Greek statue of Aphrodite herself. He was never able to fully imagine your naked form before, and this was a perfect frame of reference for later. He wanted nothing more than to get absolutely drunk off of you. And he gets you all to himself. He can't hardly believe his luck.

"Tell me what you want me to do to you," his voice was raw and saturated with desire, a gravel to it, burning like whisky.

"I want you to touch me," you murmur, suddenly feeling shy in the sweltering heat of his gaze.

"Touch you?" Aizawa said with a chuckle, "I'm going to devour you,"

Before you were given the chance to react, he bucked into you, then slid you from his lap and onto the floor, gripping your underwear and throwing them off on your way down. He took off his shirt expeditiously to reveal his muscular form, and you admire the lines that bisect his abdomen, eyes nearly rolling into your skull when they land at the tent in his pants. He looks big. Like, concerningly big. You ran your fingers across the scars on his chest, which gave an almost tickling sensation, all the way down to the hair that trailed from his naval to his pants. He was beautiful. So fit that he looked like he could play himself in a movie.

Casting the clothing aside, he lays you flat onto the floor, kissing from your lips, to your neck, to your nipple where he sucked and flicked his tongue, using his free hand to caress the other, groping hungrily at your plush flesh. You moaned, breathy and meek, at his touch. Separating from you, his pupil was blown out as your pheromones hit him in the face, and he pulled your legs apart to fully expose you.

"Look at your pretty little pussy,"

He slipped a digit inside of you and did a curling motion until he found the spot that made you whimper underneath him, watched as your face went from shocked to a look of pleading for more, lashes fluttering.

He clicked his tongue.

"And look at you. So fucking needy. So ready for me to take you,"

He removed his finger and used it to play with your clit, making waves of pleasure shoot through your body, a white-hot coil tightening in your core just above where he was touching.

"Sh-Shota... please, fuck me," you begged, nearly mewling.

He hissed through his teeth, peering down at you as if you were prey. The look on his face is wolfish, starving, nearly pained to be holding himself back. There's a wilderness within him that begs to be let loose. You want nothing more than to be destroyed by it, left a carnal mess upon the floor. 

"Oh, I'm going to fuck you. I'm going to fuck you until you can't even sit without thinking of me," he taps your clit with his fingertips, "But first, I'm going to make you cum on my tongue," he was serious with his words, meticulous, making sure you knew exactly what he had planned for you. Sweet, slow burning anticipation sent tingles up and down your spine.

He put your legs on his shoulders and went back to the spot inside of you that made you cry, this time sucking on your clit in tandem, fully encapturing it within his lips. Your mouth was now agape in a breathy scream as you clamp down on his fingers, moving your hips in time with him, riding waves of pleasure as he brings you closer to the edge. He lets out an appreciative groan as you say his name, the noises coming out of you so lewd and sinful that you hope the neighbors don't call someone for a wellness check.

Aizawa absentmindedly pressed himself against the floor, nearly frantic for some kind of touch while he watched you squirming beneath him, but it does little to quell the ache he has in his center. You tasted like sweet tarts and made these lustful gasps, and it drove him absolutely mad to know he was doing that to you, that these reactions were from his own touch.

"Say my name," he speaks this phrase into the throbbing bud at your apex, and you shiver, close to careening off of the edge he'd just brought you to. 

"Shota.. fuck, keep going, please," you mewl, rolling your hips. 

He nips at your inner thigh, velvet flesh pillowing between his teeth, and then drags the length of his tongue up your clit in one torturously long stroke. 

"Louder. I want everyone to know who's about to make you cum," the steel in his gaze is sharp enough to slice you. 

So you oblige him, moaning his name, chanting it like a mantra as he continues to lap at you once more. You can feel the pressure building, building, building until it finally spills over like a dam. He moans at the realization, feeling your pussy spasm under his tongue.

"Oh my god.. Oh fuck, Shota!" You cry out for him as you melt into his mouth.

He's breathless as he pulls himself away from you, mouth slick, still slipping his fingers in and out of you in an allowance to ride out the rest of your orgasm. He looks feral. Like he could tear into you. Destroy you.

He drags his cheek across your thigh.

"Good girl," he grunts, "good fucking girl,"

You look up at him with your mouth partially open, your eyes heavy with want, and with one fell swoop you sit up and pull down his sweatpants to reveal his throbbing cock, wet and dripping from the tip. You take the whole thing into your mouth, sucking, swirling your tongue, cranking your hand around his shaft like you're ready to milk the soul straight out of him. He gasps, moving his hips to pump into your mouth as you open wider, holding out your tongue so you can take in as much of his length as possible. He brought you closer until you were practically flush against him, all the while you were committing the look on his face to memory.

You can tell this is about to break him, so you tighten your grip in a pulsating pattern, moaning on his length to send vibrations through him. His movements are becoming erratic, fervent, and you cannot fucking wait to see him come apart at your doing. You run the flat of your tongue across a particularly sensitive spot along his shaft, your arousal building once more when you see the way he pinches his brows together, how he ruts into your mouth like some inexperienced virgin. You just feel too fucking good.

Suddenly, he pulls himself from your mouth with a vulgar pop, and you're gasping for sweet breaths of air after some of the sloppiest head you've given in your life.

"I knew you'd be good at that," Aizawa chokes out, his dick bobbing in front of you, "but we're not done yet,"

He lightly pushed you back onto the ground and placed your ankles up onto his shoulders, putting his tip right up against your entrance. His muscles twitched in anticipation and you reveled in his godlike form.

"Is this okay?" He asked you, gently.

You laughed a bit at the question.

With all the heat and want you can channel, you look up at him from your place on the floor and rasp "ruin me, Shota,"

He gives you a wicked smile, one you've never seen him wear before, and pushes himself inside of your aching pussy, holding onto your leg for leverage. You can feel yourself stretching to accommodate him, a bit unprepared for his full girth inside of you. It doesn't take long for you to start moving along with him though, and he begins to thrust harder, pounding into you like his life depended on it.

Biting your lower lip, you throw your head back, attempting to keep from screaming as he delves into you. He removes his hand from your leg to grab your jaw, and locking eyes says, "Eyes on me. I want to see the fucking look on your face when I make you cum,"

This coaxes a moan from you, and he gives a gutteral response to his cock being squeezed.

"Good girl. You're taking me so well. God, you're so tight, fuck," his voice is husky and deep.

Your cunt hugs him tighter with every word.

He needed more.

Aizawa takes his free hand and starts to rub your clit in circles, still sensitive from your previous orgasm, and you can feel that knot in your stomach forming again. You're about to come undone already, and he can feel you clamping around him like a vice.

"Fuck that feels so good," your voice is heady and needful.

His pacing became erratic once more and his ministrations on your clit became almost desperate. He was barely holding on, whimpering, sweat dotting his brow.

"I knew you were fucking teasing me. Coming out in those tiny shorts. Know what I shoulda done? Should've fucked you right there on the couch. Should've bred your tight little cunt," he leans down to fill some of the gap between you, a few tendrils of his raven hair falling to cling to his face.

He pistons into you harder, "Swear to god, I'm gonna fuck every single thought out of that pretty little head. Wanna tease me like that? Take your fucking punishment. I.. f-fuck!" He feels you come unraveled all over his cock as you ride him from there on the floor, making sounds that hitch in your throat like ragged bleats. He made note of your blissed-out expression and then let out a sharp gasp, your walls almost too snug for him to handle.

You whined in a small voice, still finishing, your gaze not breaking when you tell him, "make a mess in me,"

That's all it took for him to lose it, giving into his pleasure and allowing himself to fill you up with what felt like gallons of cum, letting out strangled moans as his entire body throbs.

Panting, he pulls out of you, watching as his release leaks from between your legs. He wasn't usually interested in sex at all after getting off, but seeing you like this, glowing with sweat and hormones, covered in him. It made him weak. He pulls apart your cunt with his thumbs, watches your glistening sex twitch, cum dripping. He's going to remember this if he ever needs to get off in two seconds flat.

The two of you lay in the floor together, floating, riding the high in a breathless haze.

"Be my girlfriend, y/n," Aizawa was the first to speak.

You were taken aback.

"What?"

You never thought him to be the type to be alright with labels.

"I like you. Not just in the way that I want to have sex with you. I want to make love to you. And I want you to be my girlfriend. Will you be with me?"

You ran your fingers across his jawline as a warm smile spread across your face.

"I'll be your girlfriend. But there are stipulations,"

"Anything. Whatever you want, it's yours," Aizawa hopes that his longing isn't too obvious, that he isn't too eager, but another part of him doesn't even care anymore.

"You have to be my boyfriend," your words are like a breeze through a windchime.

His eye takes purchase in your face as he leans into you, the kiss he offers you this time languid, lazy, loving instead of a mess of teeth and lips.

I love you, he thought, pulling away enough that your foreheads touch. God, how I love you. Just allow me to worship at the altar of your body once more.

Before you can stop yourself, and as if you can read his mind, you speak to him in a voice that's almost a whisper, "I think I love you,"

He looks dumbfounded, awestruck.

He finds his voice enough to say, simply, "I love you," followed by a kiss pressed to your nose.

The day that follows is soft and halcyon. You bask in one another like the afterglow is your lifeline, here in your own private world, all stardust and warmth. You don't know what the future holds. You stopped living in a world of 'what ifs' a long time ago. But you know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, you'll be there with him.

And he'll be there with you.

Like he always is.

[starseungs]

kim seungmin x gn!reader. fluff, humor, apartment neighbors au. 0.7k wc.

note: whipped this up for no reason other than i was feeling like writing something short before i write another entry in my college crush series !! tune in for whose entry is next 👀💌 (this drabble is for you @starlostseungmin have fun)

2024 ⓒ starseungs on tumblr. do not steal, repost, or edit.

[ 9:01 PM ] A pained groan spills out of your mouth, adding to the uncomfortable thumping you were unfortunately feeling. “You cannot be fucking serious.”

While nine in the evening wasn’t exactly that late into the night, it wasn’t objectively early either. For those who liked to sleep early, they would’ve already gone to bed at least half an hour ago—and even for those who slept late, one would expect that they would be trying to relax by now.

It wasn’t that you particularly kept a strict sleeping schedule where you had to be in dreamland by this hour, but the you right now really wanted for that to happen. Desperately wished for it, even. If sleeping early was the only way to get rid of the horrid migraine you were nursing, then so be it. And on a normal night, that wouldn’t have been a problem for you to achieve.

Except, apparently, this wasn’t any normal night.

Your next-door neighbor’s karaoke session echoed loudly throughout your own apartment, to the point that you’d think you were part of whatever celebration they had going on over there. The booming bass of the speakers rhythmically followed the pounding in your head, accompanied by the carefree voices that seemed to pierce through your eardrums. To put it simply: it was hell on Earth for you right now.

To give your neighbor (and his friends, you assume) some credit, they were actually really good at singing. You could’ve enjoyed their small-scale performance if only you didn’t have a raging headache that made you want to freeze all of them into ice and throw them into the pits of the Antarctic. To make matters even worse, you didn’t even know them.

That was a realization that suddenly came to mind right after you banged irritated knocks on the entrance door next to yours. Too bad for you; you couldn’t even get to contemplate whether this was the right choice to make or not as the door swung open not even five counts later. 

“Uh, hello?” The guy before you starts sheepishly, making you suddenly aware of how the voices inside the room immediately ceased upon your knocks. “Are you my neighbor? Were we too loud? I’m so sorry; we’ll stop the singing now!”

See, you would have loved to sass him for it. To throw your frustration over your less-than-ideal state all out at him. Make him feel bad as much as you can. It was petty, but the little mutters inside your head were tempting you to do it—only for you to catch your tongue before all of it got spat out because, fuck.

You didn’t know you had such a hot neighbor.

His hair was dyed a burnt caramel color, falling down softly until right before it reached his eyes that you couldn’t help but stare at. The baggy white shirt he was wearing perfectly hung around his frame, enhancing the comfortable vibe he was exuding. To add salt to the wound, he looked exactly like your type.

“Are you alright?” His concerned question shook you out of your dazed state. “You just seem a little pale for your complexion.”

Now you were sure that all the gods had abandoned you because all you somehow managed to get out was a simple, “I’m sick.”

If you could only pinch yourself as a punishment for ruining your chance of having a decent interaction with this neighbor of yours that seemingly fell down from heaven, you already would’ve. You only felt way worse when you saw his eyes widen before sputtering out a frantic “Shit, I feel so bad now, uh—” He looks back into his apartment. “Do you want some soup? We have some soup. Leftovers—if you’re fine with that. It’s my birthday today, so we have some other stuff if you want some.”

He was rambling. Oh, that’s so cute. He’s so cute, you’re heating up—are you having a fever?

“Soup would be nice,” you mumbled quietly. At this point, you didn’t know if it was because you were completely lost in whatever sickness you were nursing or if it was just a side effect of being in the presence of the angel in front of you.

The guy nods immediately. “Sure,” he replies, stepping aside in an inviting manner. “You could come in while I heat it up for you. We won’t do anything, don’t worry. Call me Seungmin.”

Seungmin. Even his name sounds lovely. 

It looks like stranger danger doesn’t apply now—you technically know him already. You could almost see your mother’s disapproving eyes, but what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Especially since you’ll be bringing home her son-in-law soon.

“I’m Y/N.”

MASTERTAG ━ STATUS: OPEN — ASK OR COMMENT 🫶

@fairyki @hysgf @euncsace @comet-falls @starlostseungmin @ameliesaysshoo @hyunverse @lixxpix @xocandyy @minluvly @moon0fthenight @estellaluna @hanjsquokka

[hmmm-shesucks]

Kevin Day is Babygirl.

The upperclassmen want Neil to be Babygirl so badly that it literally kills them that he’s not. He’s just not. Nothing about him gives Babygirl. He only exudes feral street cat who was given a can of tuna on a good day and stuck around vibes. They hate it. They want him to be Babygirl so badly.

Eventually, though, when they finally accept it, and Neil has literally done everything possible to fend them off, they realize Neil is not Babygirl. But then, from out of the shadows, emerges Kevin Babygirl Day. They’d been so busy trying to make it work with Neil they had been missing what was right in front of them this whole time. They’d failed to see what the monsters already knew. Kevin Day is The Babygirl.

Of course, the only person who acknowledges this fact within the monster circle is the monster himself, Andrew Minyard, but once it’s been seen, it cannot be unseen. Kevin goes from being Andrew’s Babygirl to the team's Babygirl. And Kevin not knowing but responding positively to it anyway makes it so much better. The sudden praise and care that comes with it? The attention and affectionate indulgence? He’s unsure why everyone’s started being so nice to him, but he’s not complaining.

Don’t get me wrong, when Kevin gets in a mood, they all steer clear, and they still fight with him when they want to, but he’s just so precious. How could they ever stay mad? And the crazy thing is that Kevin is better for it. He’s happier and softer around them. He learns to feel not only safe but comfortable and relaxed with them. His bad moods don't last so long and he's genuinely a lot happier. He doesn’t need Andrew or Neil by his side to feel protected anymore.

The upperclassmen’s inside joke unintentionally becomes what helps Kevin heal and open up as a person rather than remain the hollowed-out shell from The Nest. Kevin thrives under their attention and praise, so much so that he starts to seek it out subconsciously. He gets mopey and upset when they don’t acknowledge him. It actually hurts his feelings when they ignore him. He actively becomes a better person, someone who is healing because they so positively love him. All because they jokingly Babygirlified him.

So anyway. Yeah. Kevin Day is Babygirl.

[milliesfishes]

i know it’s been forever (a day) bc i’ve been busy being my own sugar mommy (working my summer job) but i have all the thoughts

like ttpd (the song) is giving best-friends-but-maybe-something-more reader + coryo until the games and then he’s being all cozy with lucy gray

and readers over here like i know everything about you and who you want to be, i’ve been here for you all along, if u really think that any other girl will be even half the partner i’d be then good luck babe

(who else decodes you? / who’s gonna hold you? / sometimes i wonder if you’re gonna screw this up with me? / i laughed in your face and said)

im sorry in advance for all the world vomit lmao

౨ৎ꣑ৎWho Else Decodes You?౨ৎ꣑ৎ

[fem reader] contains: injury, jealousy pairing: coriolanus snow x fem reader summary: you know coriolanus like the back of your hand, and yet he runs to another girl the first chance he gets author’s note: so sorry this took forever! I needed very specific vibes for this and I hope it's good! Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

Your sheets were silken, soft to the touch, but they felt better when he was lying next to you.

Opening your eyes just a hint, you reveled in the glow of the morning sun filtering through the curtains. Coriolanus was sprawled out next to you, remaining deep in the throes of sleep. His curls were a messy halo across his forehead just as they were every morning, and you delighted in the sight of him, knowing he'd smooth his hair as soon as he awoke.

The broad plane of his bare chest was vastly uncovered by the comforter, and you traced your finger down the bump of his ribs. The heat of his skin exuded from his body like a fire in the hearth, warming you right up just by being next to him.

Resting your chin on his shoulder, you let your hair fall to the side as you studied him like a book. If your Coryo was a genre he'd be a classic- renowned and readable if one took the time. Not many people did.

His lashes fluttered like butterfly's wings, and you shut your eyes. No need for him to know you'd been staring at him.

Shifting under you, Coriolanus made a quiet noise as he emerged from his dreams, one of his big palms rising to rest at the crown of your head. The intimate gesture was a spark in your quiet heart.

Thumb raking through your strands, his other hand settled by yours on his stomach, clasping your limp fingers in a delightful knot. At that, you allowed yourself to unfold your eyes, looking up at him in an innocent way.

Coriolanus had never been one to smile easily. His face was hardened all too often, by the survivalist ways of his life in the cutthroat world of the Capitol. But now the corners of his lips were lifting just barely upwards as his cerulean eyes drowned yours in the best possible way.

"Morning," he whispered, voice slightly raspy with the cobwebs of sleep. Coriolanus rubbed your arm and dug his nose into your hair, inhaling softly.

The mornings with him were sacred, locked away in a vault for your darkest hours. At your insistence, he stayed the night often. His trust was not an easy thing to come by, and yet you were in possession of it. You knew of his living conditions, of the Snow's maintenance of their surname's image. It was a gift how at ease he was with you. So much so that he was able to slip smoothly into unconsciousness with you right there in his arms.

Friends. Best friends. That was your title and yet you were tangled in the sheets of your bed like lovers. And you couldn't ignore the familiar flutter in your heart when he peered down at you, usually icy eyes softened.

"Can we stay here all day?" you questioned in dulcet tones, tracing a patch of his skin. "It's so cozy."

"We've got to get to the school," Coriolanus shifted, sitting up in the bed and bringing his hand to his forehead. "The Reaping-"

"Yes," you murmured, rubbing his side. Your satin-like hair was a waterfall over your shoulder as you propped yourself up on an elbow. All Coriolanus had been able to talk about was the Reaping in the past few weeks. Ever since he'd been selected as a Mentor.

It was a high honor, although it came with a heavy price. To groom a child for death as a spectacle was no easy thing. You had opted out of the selection of students poised to be mentors, personal fear and heartache for the soon-to-be victims eating at your psyche.

You were privileged in that way, you knew. Coriolanus didn't have a choice if he wanted any hope of attending the University. He was proud, your boy, refusing to accept even a penny from your family's expansive funds. Through your late father's investments, you could have paid to keep the both of you comfortable in a penthouse in the city, tuition and food the furthest of worries.

Watching him now, donning his dress pants and shirt, lacing up his too-small shoes, you wished he would let you help. The white shirt was exquisite, clandestine work by Tigris- his fashion-centric cousin. Coriolanus had a talent for making anything he wore appear regal- a byproduct of his last name no doubt.

Rising, you disappeared into the closet to find a dress appropriate for the event. Though you were not a mentor, all students at the Academy were invited to the celebration. You would have begged your way in anyways, eager to watch your best friend receive his tribute.

Rifling through the selection, you decided on a black number with thin straps, hugging your figure and flaring out subtly toward the bottom. Removing your nightdress, you tossed it over a chair and stepped into the other garment, zipping it up as high as you could.

When your fingers were unable to stretch any further, you poked your head out, calling, "Coryo? Would you help me?"

His shoes clicked on the wooden floor as he approached, one hand steadying you on your waist while you drew your sheet of hair over your shoulder. The zipper crawled up your spine as he closed the gap between fabric, reaching over to brush your hair back behind you when he finished.

The mirror positioned in the corner of the room painted a picture that passerby couldn't possibly guess the context on. Coriolanus and you cut a striking pair, making your foolish heart leap at the idea.

Squeezing your shoulder, Coriolanus left you to ponder at your reflection, digging through his school bag for something. It had been a miracle you'd been able to convince him to spend the night at all with how meticulous he was. But your honeyed musings about how he needed a good dinner and night's rest before the ceremony had won him over. Before you'd known it he'd been passed out under your blankets with a belly full of roast, lulled by the motions of your nails scratching his head.

Inside and out, you knew him, had memorized him better than any textbook passage, could unravel his tangled secrets quicker than any detective. He took your heart by storm.

Slipping your feet into your shoes, you picked up your purse and checked your recently finished makeup one last time, casting a glance at Coriolanus, who was fiddling with his curls again. You capped your lipstick with a snap, dropping the tube into your bag and turning to him. "Ready?"

When he looked at you, his oceanic eyes held a promise of storms. You reached your hand out and took his, offering the tiniest smile. "It's going to be okay."

Closing his eyes briefly, he inhaled once and gave a single nod. If you'd put your hand to his chest, the stampede of his heart under it likely would have worried you. The tendrils of hope crept between you as you tried to will your words into him.

Sticking his hand into his bag, Coriolanus withdrew twin flowers you recognized as his grandmother's precious roses- the special rooftop ones reserved for special occasions. Snapping the stems, he fixed one behind your ear, thumb featherlike. The gesture swelled your chest and warmed you from the inside out. "For me?"

"The Grandma'am insisted." There it was- that almost smile that told you the flower was coming from him too. Coriolanus steadied it in your hair, the petals brushing you like a kiss.

"Thank you," you whispered, touching your lips to his cheek. A slight flush brightened his face, and he looked away as your hands came to the one of his holding his own rose. Gently easing it out of his grip, you fastened it to his vest, taking care not to scratch his white shirt with the pin. Ironing out invisible creases with your hands, your eyes found his once again.

Friends. And yet it didn't feel like it. Not one bit. Electricity seemed to crackle in the line connecting your gazes, and you swore something flashed across his irises. The rose didn't mean nothing.

Half-dazed, you tentatively unearthed the feeling stored in a drawer stuffed to the brim with secrets. One more passionate and powerful than you were used to stood tall above the rest.

Though it was strong, it revealed itself in memories; quiet, simple things so delicate they could be gone in a blink. This feeling was rain pattering against the roof, it was flowers blooming between the cracks in the sidewalk. It was blue eyes and golden curls and a try-not-to-smile that arranged itself in a way that bloomed through the walls of your heart.

Somehow you had known what it was all along. And yet now its foretelling had come to pass.

What if he loved you too?

The Reaping was a lilted event highlighted by the revelation of Coriolanus' tribute.

District Twelve. You could have strangled the Dean lost in the throes of his beloved drug for what he'd so obviously done: set Coriolanus up for failure. From where you were sitting you could see the resignation on his face as he watched the Lucy Gray Baird in her rainbow dress part the raggedy crowd like the Red Sea.

Then she slipped a wriggling snake hidden by her hand down a girl's dress, and your attention was piqued. Bold. Maybe there was optimism yet. Coriolanus stood sharply; eyes glued to the screen as he watched his tribute dragged up the stage by stone-faced Peacekeepers. The mayor's hand struck her face, and she fell to the ground graceful as a ballerina, hair hanging over her cheeks.

And then she began to sing. Lilted as a bird's song, clear as a bell, her voice rang over the crowd, rich enough without background music. Lucy Gray's chorus needed no accompaniment.

The entire hall was entranced. Your eyes tore from the sight, instead watching Coriolanus. Even from where you were sitting you could see what you'd tried to instill in him only hours ago.

Hope.

The time following was a film reel of interconnected pictures. In later days you would recall them and only be able to see brief flashes of memory.

Coriolanus behind the bars of the Capitol Zoo's cage. Lucy Gray Baird standing tall and proud despite her forced surroundings, her rainbow dress a bright contrast to the rest of the setting. He had told you his plan to greet his tribute, but you'd had no idea of his exertions until you saw him on the evening news. Even if his Academy uniform hadn't been such a bright red, you would have known those curls anywhere.

She was stunningly lovely standing beside him- a flower of adversity if there ever was one. A flower with a song. Speaking of flowers, one of his was tucked behind her ear just as it had been with yours the morning of the Reaping.

A pang echoed in your chest at the sight of him, holding hands with her and greeting the citizens of the Capitol who'd come to gawk at the forced participants of a cruel game.

You had turned off the television at that, bringing your knees to your chest. He was just helping her. That was his job. He only wanted her to trust him in order to reach his end goal. Was it manipulative? Maybe. But it wouldn't matter if she won. It would be good for the both of them.

Coriolanus kneeling beside Lucy Gray, sharing a sandwich with her. You hung back behind the crowd, having accompanied him but not wanting to scare her away. He spoke in hushed tones to her, and you watched with a sinking heart as a smile split his face like a sunrise at something she said. A full smile.

After that, you saw him rarely. He was either at the zoo with her or at home writing things up both for the games and for school. Coriolanus used to do all his work with you by his side.

The media outlets were fond of showing him and Lucy Gray, reporting on the Snow boy and the songbird. You had tried to ask him about his affiliation with Lucy Gray, but he assured you it was pure strategy. He didn't know you loved him, though.

Coriolanus hadn't spent the night since the Reaping. The side he usually slept on grew cold. It still smelled like him, and that was a haunting thing. Whenever you asked him over he cast a net of excuses, claiming he needed to go see Lucy Gray in the morning or that the mentors had a strategy meeting.

As you stared up at him, with his eyebrows drawn taut, mouth no longer offering even a half-smile, a feeling of dread awoke in your heart.

Avoidance was your friend in the next week. The buzz of the games was impossible to ignore, and your feelings became matted in a bloody tangle. Tidying your room, you found little things he'd left behind. A pen, a spare shirt, a notebook. Opening the cover of the latter, you saw his neatly scribbled notes. For a moment you pretended it was a love letter.

It all came to a heading after the attack in the arena.

Everything was a blur after you received the news. Your feet were moving before you knew it, stumbling down the stairs. The driver on the way had to have been breaking every speeding law, but it still wasn't fast enough for you.

You didn't have any idea how you made it up to him. There was no recollection of asking someone where he was, or even a room number. But somehow you were at his side, taking his clammy hand in yours and collapsing to your knees beside his bed.

Tigris told you in a hushed way of how rebels had somehow bombed the arena, how there was a fire and rubble, and Lucy Gray had pulled him out of it. His leg had been in worse shape earlier, but it would heal soon.

A surge of gratitude shot through you. Thank heavens for Lucy Gray. Coriolanus was stirring now, his hand gripping yours as his lids revealed those oceans you'd missed so badly. And now his half-smile was back. He murmured your name and you could have burst into tears.

"You're okay," you murmured, other hand coming up to smooth curls back from his face. The way you knew he liked it.

"What happened...Lucy Gray..." he muttered, sitting up. A cold feeling of disheartenment washed over your heart. You opened your mouth to respond when the sound of music echoed from the hospital television on the wall.

There she was. The answer to his question. Lucy Gray's voice poured from the scratchy speaker, singing about a tale of lost love, paired with her guitar.

Coriolanus swung his legs over the side of the bed, getting to his feet nearly in a trance. His lips were parted, eyes fixed on her. Donations were pouring in, likely the most of any other tribute. The look on his face was of pure awe. It was as if he'd watched an angel descending.

Your heart sunk below your feet. Tears pricked your eyes as the chilling fingers of want gripped your arms, pulling you back into the shadows. He was falling for her.

It hit you like a punch to the gut, and you wanted to curl up on the floor beneath you until the ground opened and swallowed you up. Your love was a disease now that you didn't want to cure anyways. Even if you did, there wasn't one in sight.

The program ended, and Tigris excused herself, telling you both she was going to find something to eat. You sat at the chair beside Coriolanus' bed where he'd resumed his spot, despondent in the chasm of your thoughts.

She didn't know him like you did. Every hidden desire and pain of his fit into the palm of your hand, and you protected them just as he did. Time had slipped through the cracks and buried you, every shred of history with him flashing through your mind.

Walking to school together. Him coming from a particularly hard class to where you were sitting and resting his head in your lap. At your family's dinner table, trying not to overindulge. Asleep beside you, whispering that he felt safe.

You had been in front of him this entire time, holding him and loving him beyond everything. And yet here he was, running to a girl he knew so little of. Sabotaging everything you wanted to give him.

Even through all this, you couldn't find it in yourself to hate her. Lucy Gray was in the business of making it out alive. Whatever means she used to attempt a win were out of survival.

It was as if you'd pricked your finger on one of his rose's thorns. As you looked at him, you had the thought that he was drawing out of reach. Your Coryo was nearly lost to you and there was hardly anything to do.

He looked up at you, reaching for your hand. Letting him take it, you kept your eyes on his face, thoughts distant as he spoke.

"I think she has a chance," he said, voice bordering on excitement. "I think she can win. It'll all work out."

Bittersweet, you nodded, eyes falling to the floor. "You make a good pair." Every word was soft, and you avoided his eyes.

"Hey..." Coriolanus squeezed your hand, and you raised your gaze back to him. His features were drawn in a sincere way, and your demeanor lightened just slightly at the sight. "I want to get the prize. Go to the university with you. That's what this is all for."

"You look at her differently than that." Pursing your lips, you stood and let go of his hand.

Coriolanus frowned, throwing aside the covers and standing. "She might be the answer to all of this."

"That's fine," you said, turning away. "If you want her-"

"What are you talking about?" he asked, taking your elbow and forcing you to turn and face him. "I leave my things in your room. I gave you one of the roses...you're special to me, you have to know..."

"Then why have you abandoned me?" you questioned quietly, the tension between you thicker than a rope. "You're letting go."

"I'm doing all this for you," he emphasized, and your eyes widened slightly. "You..." he swallowed; mouth pulled tight. "I need you. If you ever left...I don't know what would happen."

Usually you had to comb through the depths of him eyes to find what he was feeling, but now it was right at the surface. Brimming and calling you. What he felt wasn't nothing.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Coriolanus demanded, holding you by both arms now. His words were not aggressive, but worried.

A thousand things stemmed from your core and climbed your being like vines on a stone wall in a secret garden. Fabled to act, more likely to yearn, your feelings bubbled and churned in your ocean of secret lives. Maybe once you would have poured your soul out to him, but the words were withered from lack of use.

"You weren't mine," you said weakly, leaving it at that. "Not mine to have or to lose."

Something changed in his face. He loosened the bands of his hands on your elbows, instead taking one of your hands and putting it to his heart. It beat a steady rhythm against your palm, that quiet assurance that he lived. Searching your eyes, Coriolanus breathed, "I think I've always been yours."

A myriad of scars and knotted emotions emerged in you. All these hours, all of what had seemed like tricks. And there had been something there the entire time.

You felt it right then- the connection. He was a tongue you spoke fluently, and now you were grateful for it. It sparked a fire in your soul that encased a promise echoed in his eyes.

He loved you too.

[bamgyuuuri]

Hi Amia mylove <3 How are you? hope you feeling well.xoxo So I saw you post that we can make a request sooooo here i am... I was listening a taylor swift song (aka Sl*t) and melt at the "In a world of boy he's a gentleman" and I was wondering If you could make a yeonjun or taehyun pov about it. here's a little suggestion <3 The dazzling lights of the Fashion show danced across the venue, casting shimmering reflections off the luxurious fabrics and golden décor. I was there, dressed to impress, trying to soak in the grandeur of it all. Yeonjun/Taehyun was also in the crowd, exuding effortless charm as he mingled and enjoyed the spectacle.

But midway through the show, the weight of everything overwhelmed me, and tears began to blur my vision. Just when I thought I could slip away unnoticed, a gentle yet familiar voice interrupted my spiral.

"Are you okay?" Yeonjun's / Taehyun's warm eyes met mine, his concern genuine.

I nodded, though my shaky breath betrayed me. Instead of walking away, he stayed, his presence grounding me. He didn’t push for answers; he just stayed, silently offering comfort.

Minutes passed, and slowly, my tears subsided. Yeonjun's/Taehyun's, noticing the calm returning to me, gently patted my head with a soft smile. "You're strong," he whispered before disappearing back into the crowd, leaving me with a heart pounding louder than ever. And the rest is all you can think<3 Love your story and the way you ADD the aesthesis pics relatable with the vibe too. Takecare <3 Jia.

⤷ flamingo pink, sunrise boulevard ┈ cyj.

pairings and tags. stranger!yeonjun x fashiondesigner!reader ft. bestfriend!yunjin . strangers to ??? slowburn . mentions of reader being anxious . yeonjun just being the sweetest man ever . yunjin too!! reader has imposter syndrome . meet cute . fond!jun . not 100% proofread!

word count. 10.5k

short note ... JIAAA omg this ask is so wonderful omg thank u so much for sending me this 🙏 your suggestion alone is already so good are you kidding?!?! i got carried away again help i’m so sorry it took so long T_T still, i hope you like it <3

the world of high fashion had always been more than a dream; it was an obsession. 

growing up, you’d fill every scrap of paper you could find with sketches of flowing gowns, structured suits, and intricate details that you imagined would one day captivate an audience. while other kids talked about their favorite celebrities, you admired designers, memorizing the way their collections evolved over the seasons.

you’d sit for hours in front of a tiny screen, watching grainy videos of runway shows, completely mesmerized. the way the fabric moved under the lights, how each design told a story, and the applause that followed—it all felt like magic. you dreamed of the day your creations would make it to those very runways, carried with grace by the world’s finest models.

but as you grew older, reality set in. 

talent alone wasn’t enough. you needed money to attend the right schools, connections to open the right doors, and the kind of opportunities that didn’t just fall into anyone’s lap. no matter how much you poured your heart into your work, the glittering world of high fashion remained frustratingly out of reach.

still, you didn’t stop creating. despite the constant reminder that you didn’t have the right pedigree or the right financial backing, you kept sketching. your tiny apartment became a refuge, the four walls an oasis where your imagination was free to roam without limitations. 

the clutter of fabric swatches, sketchbooks, and sewing supplies was a sign of your dedication, even if no one else saw it. it was in that small space, away from the world’s judgment, that your designs took shape. here, you were free to imagine worlds, to dream up creations that could make people feel something, even if those dreams never materialized into anything more than the pages of your sketchbook.

it was one of those quiet afternoons, the kind where the golden light of the sun filtered lazily through your windows, casting long shadows across your desk. you sat hunched over your sketchbook, pencil in hand, lost in the flow of your thoughts as you worked on your latest design.

but then, just as the idea you were sketching started to come to life, a sharp knock broke through your concentration. you paused, glancing toward the door with a furrowed brow. it was unusual to get visitors, especially during the middle of the day.

at first, you thought it was just a neighbor—maybe someone needing to borrow something or asking for a quick favor. you returned to your sketchbook, dismissing it as nothing more than a small interruption. but then, a second knock came, this time even louder, more insistent. your head snapped up, and you could hear the unmistakable sound of a voice calling your name, bright and full of energy.

"open up! it’s me!!" it was yunjin, her voice unmistakable and full of excitement, as though she had just walked in on the biggest surprise. the sound of her knocking grew more playful—she was determined to get your attention no matter what.

you sighed, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. you hadn’t expected a visit, but yunjin was the kind of person who could show up unannounced and immediately make everything feel lighter, even if you hadn’t been in the mood for company. shaking your head affectionately, you pushed your chair back and stood up.

when you opened the door, yunjin stood there, a whirlwind of energy and excitement. she had a bag of snacks in one hand, her phone and handbag on the other, and an expression that was equal parts mischief and joy.

"finally!" yunjin exclaimed, bursting through the door before you even had a chance to greet her. “i was starting to think you’d locked yourself away for good, like some kind of mysterious artist living off nothing but coffee and existential dread. tell me you’ve eaten something today.”

you raised an eyebrow, rolling your eyes as a laugh bubbled up. "hello to you too, yunjin. and yes, i’ve eaten. thanks for asking, mother."

“oh, sure you have,” she said with a dramatic eye-roll, tossing a bag of snacks onto your counter with the flair of someone who had just conquered a great battle. "because the last time i visited, you were living off instant noodles and the sheer willpower of your creativity."

you crossed your arms, feigning offense. “hey, instant noodles are versatile!”

“sure they are,” she replied, not missing a beat as she rummaged through the bag like a woman on a mission. “well, lucky for you, i brought real food. pastries, chips, and—wait for it—fancy chocolates from my trip last week! you’re welcome.”

you laughed, shaking your head as you closed the door behind her, watching her make herself right at home. yunjin had always been like this—chaotic, energetic, and somehow always knowing when you needed a little bit of sunshine in your day.

“so, what’s the occasion?” you asked, leaning against the counter with a raised brow as she went about unpacking her treasure trove of snacks.

"what, can’t a girl visit her bestfriend without an ulterior motive?" she said, batting her lashes and feigning innocence in the most exaggerated way possible. "besides, what more could you possibly need?"

“well, maybe a chance to finally finish my sketches without being interrupted by you and your endless energy?” you teased, but the smile on your face betrayed you.

“impossible,” she replied with a dramatic gasp. "i bring joy, creativity, and snacks—not interruptions."

you raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “not when that best friend is currently occupied and you’re… you know, you.”

she gasped again, clutching her hand to her chest. “wow, the disrespect,” she said, feigning hurt. “but fine, if you must know, i do have a reason for being here.”

“i knew it,” you teased, though you couldn’t help but lean in, genuinely curious. “what is it?”

yunjin paused dramatically, glancing over her shoulder as though deciding how to reveal the greatest secret she’d ever had. her eyes gleamed mischievously, and she drew in a deep, theatrical breath, making sure to keep you hanging on every second. “you know how we talked about that crazy, exclusive fashion show happening next week?”

you nodded slowly, your mind already running through the possibilities. of course you knew about it—how could you not?

everyone in the fashion world had heard whispers about the event, the kind of event where designers showed off their best collections, where the elite mingled in their designer clothes. you’d followed every piece of news you could, dreaming of one day being part of something like that. “yeah, i remember. sounds… well, incredibly out of reach, but i do look forward to seeing snippets of the show online.”

she raised an eyebrow, her gaze filled with a spark you knew so well. "you think so?" she asked, her tone lighter, teasing. "well, i might have... something that could change your mind about that."

you tilted your head, your curiosity immediately piqued. “what are you talking about?”

yunjin didn’t answer right away. instead, she began rummaging through her bag, her hands diving in and out of the various pockets with exaggerated slowness. you watched, your breath catching in your throat, as her movements became more deliberate, each second of suspense building higher. her grin stretched wider as if she was savoring every moment.

you raised an eyebrow, amused, but also growing impatient. "seriously, just show me already."

she finally seemed to have found what she was ‘looking’ for, her fingers brushing against the envelope you hadn’t noticed earlier. your gaze locked onto it as she slowly pulled it out, the sleek, pristine exterior catching the light as if it were glowing in her hands. her expression was unreadable now—calm, composed, as though she was holding something sacred.

“this,” yunjin says, drawing out the moment to an excruciatingly slow pause, “is your ticket to one of the most exclusive fashion shows of the year.” her grin returned in full force, her excitement palpable, though she made no attempt to rush you. she just let the silence build as you tried to process what she was saying.

you blinked rapidly, unable to wrap your mind around it. "wait, are you—" you started to ask, but the words caught in your throat.

“oh, yes,” yunjin said, cutting you off with a wink, “a friend of mine owed me a big favor, and the first person i thought of when the opportunity came up was you, so..” she added, her voice dropping to a dramatic whisper, “you’re going.”

your heart stopped. you stared at the envelope, disbelief swirling inside you. this couldn’t be real. “no way,” you whispered, your voice shaking slightly. “are you serious?”

yunjin’s grin only grew wider as she held the envelope out toward you, her excitement now matching yours, if not surpassing it. “absolutely serious. next week. front and center, you’re going!”

you glanced at the envelope, your fingers suddenly feeling too cold to touch it. everything you had dreamed of seemed so much more intimidating now that it was right in front of you. the thought of standing among the glamorous people at the show, of being seen, made your stomach churn.

you gulped as you finally found the courage to speak. “but what if... what if i don’t belong there? what if i embarrass myself? i’m not.. i’m not even sure i’ll fit in. i don’t even know what to wear—what if i’m not dressed properly for something so important?”

yunjin’s expression softened as she noticed the self-doubt clouding your tone. gently, she cupped your face with her hands, guiding you to meet her eyes. “hey,” she said, her voice calm yet full of conviction, “listen to me. you are more than enough to be in that world. more than enough. you’ve got the talent, the passion, the drive… everything it takes. don’t let anything trick you into thinking otherwise.”

her thumb brushed lightly over your cheek, her touch tender yet firm, as if to emphasize every word. “you’ve worked so hard for this, and you’ve earned it…! the world’s ready for you. you just need to believe it too.”

you tried to process her words, but the nagging voice of doubt still lingered in your mind. sensing your hesitation, yunjin’s smile softened even more. “if you’re worried about the outfit, you don’t need to stress about that either. i’ve got your back. i’ll help you pick something that not only fits perfectly, but makes you feel just as confident and amazing as you truly are, okay? you’ve got this, i promise.”

you blinked, the weight on your chest starting to lift just a little, replaced by a sense of warmth. her belief in you was like a steady anchor, grounding you, soothing the swirl of anxiety that had taken over your thoughts.

“thank you, yunjin,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath as a lump formed in your throat. “i... i’m more than thankful.. i owe you a lot...”

yunjin’s smile returned, this time brighter and filled with warmth. she reached out and ruffled your hair playfully. “you don’t have to worry about that. i’ve got you, always. now, let’s get you ready to own this moment, yeah? we've got lots to do!”

with her confidence bolstering yours, you could feel a flicker of excitement slowly replacing the doubt. yunjin’s belief in you was more than just comforting—it was empowering. for the first time in a long while, you let yourself imagine that maybe, just maybe, this dream could be real. ꒰🍦꒱

the next few days blurred into an endless cycle of preparation. sketches, plans, and ideas occupied your waking hours, but amidst all of it, yunjin remained your anchor—a constant source of energy and reassurance. when she declared it was finally time to shop for the perfect outfit, you knew you were in for an adventure.

“i’ve cleared my whole day for this,” yunjin announced the moment you stepped into her car. she was wearing her usual bold confidence like a second skin, her oversized sunglasses perched atop her head. “today is all about you, and i won’t rest until we’ve found the one.”

“the one?” you echoed, buckling your seatbelt. “sounds like you’re taking me wedding dress shopping or something.”

“same thing, babe,” she quipped, tossing you a grin. “except instead of walking down the aisle, you’ll be strutting into a room full of people who need to know how incredible you are.”

her words settled in your chest, warm and reassuring, but before you could respond, she floored the accelerator. yunjin didn’t just drive; she commanded the road, weaving through traffic with a confidence that matched her personality.

the first store she dragged you into was as intimidating as you’d feared—marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and racks of clothing that screamed “luxury.” the air even smelled expensive, a faint mix of bergamot and something floral. yunjin took one glance around and immediately zeroed in on a display of sequined dresses.

“you know,” you mused as you glanced around, “this place has incredible tailoring. look at that dart placement on that jacket—it’s genius.”

yunjin rolled her eyes fondly. “of course you’d notice the stitching before the silhouette. come on, focus. we’re not here to critique; we’re here to conquer.”

she dragged you toward a rack of outfits, pulling out pieces with the fervor of someone on a treasure hunt. “this,” yunjin then declared, plucking a vibrant emerald-green gown from the rack and holding it against you. “imagine walking into the show in this. jaws would drop.”

you raised an eyebrow, eyeing the dress skeptically. “jaws would drop because they’d think i’m trying to blind them.”

yunjin rolled her eyes, thrusting the dress into your arms. “try it on. trust me, you’ll look like a goddess.”

you sighed but complied, disappearing into the fitting room. when you emerged, yunjin gasped dramatically, her hands flying to her mouth. “oh my god. you’re stunning!”

“i look like a disco ball."

“a chic disco ball,” she corrected, circling you like a fashion critic. “but okay, maybe this isn’t the one. next!”

the shopping spree continued in a similar fashion—yunjin pulling outrageous outfits, you reluctantly trying them on, and both of you dissolving into laughter more often than not. at one point, she handed you a pair of neon yellow boots and insisted they were “the future of fashion.”

“yunjin, these look like construction worker boots dipped in highlighter,” you said, holding them up as though they might bite.

“and that’s why they’re iconic!” she shot back, her grin wide. “come on, just try them on. i need to see how they look with those pants you’re wearing.”

you groaned but slipped them on anyway. when you stepped out of the fitting room, yunjin burst out laughing so hard she nearly doubled over, clutching her stomach. “oh my god,” she wheezed, “you look like a high-fashion traffic cone.”

“you’re the one who told me to try them!” you shot back, kicking one foot out in mock frustration. “this is your fault.”

she wiped a tear from her eye, still laughing. “okay, okay, i admit it. maybe those were a bit... much.” then, her expression softened, and she stepped closer, fixing the hem of your sweater. “but seriously, you’re making everything look good. even those boots. you’re incredible.”

her sudden sincerity caught you off guard, and you felt a small, embarrassed smile tug at your lips. “you’re only saying that because i’m letting you drag me around like a dress-up doll.”

“nope,” she said, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis. “i mean it. you’re going to own that fashion show. they won’t know what hit them.”

with her words buoying you, you followed her through store after store, trying on an endless array of dresses, suits, shoes, and accessories. yunjin’s playful critiques kept you laughing the whole time.

“too sparkly. you’re not auditioning for a pop group,” she said of one dress.

“too boring. you’re not a corporate intern,” she dismissed another.

“now this—” she held up a dramatic cape-like jacket, “this says, ‘i am the moment.’”

“this says, ‘i’m about to take flight,’” you countered, shaking your head.

but amidst all the jokes and theatrics, there were moments where yunjin’s care for you shone through. when you hesitated to try on a fitted dress, worrying it might not suit you, she gently nudged you forward. “just try it,” she said, her voice soft but insistent. “you’ll see what i see.”

and when you emerged wearing the dress, her reaction wasn’t over-the-top or playful this time. she simply smiled, a warm, genuine smile that made your chest tighten. “you’re beautiful,” she said, her voice quiet but steady. “you belong there just right.”

you stared at her, momentarily at a loss for words. “thank you,” you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

“don’t thank me,” she said, squeezing your hand. “just believe it.”

as the day wore on, the two of you eventually found the outfit—a sleek black dress with intricate detailing that was both elegant and bold. when you tried it on, you knew immediately it was the one.

yunjin clapped her hands together, beaming. “there it is! you’re going to look so good in this. it’s perfect.”

“you really think so?” you asked, turning to check the mirror for the hundredth time.

“no, i know so,” she said, her confidence unwavering. “and when you walk into that show, every single person in that room is going to see what i’ve seen all along—that you’re amazing.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “you’re too much sometimes, you know that?”

“and you love me for it,” she shot back, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “now let’s get out of here before i bankrupt us both.”

as you left the store, bags in hand, you couldn’t help but feel a little lighter, a little braver. with yunjin by your side, the once-daunting prospect of the fashion show now felt... exciting. and as she launched into a story about some guy who’d cut her off in traffic earlier, you realized how lucky you were to have her by your side. ꒰🍦꒱

before you knew it, the day of the fashion show had arrived. the morning sun streamed through your apartment windows, casting a golden glow on the carefully chosen outfit hanging nearby—a testament to days of preparation, laughter, and yunjin’s unyielding faith in you.

though she couldn’t physically accompany you, her words of encouragement replayed in your head, steadying your nerves like a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“you’re going to kill it,” she’d said, her tone carrying a conviction that felt foreign to your own heart. “every single person in that room will wish they were as talented as you. just remember that.”

you replayed her words in your head like a mantra as you stepped out of the taxi, but the sight that greeted you made your stomach drop.

the venue was alive with energy, a level of grandeur you hadn’t quite prepared yourself for. flashing lights from paparazzi cameras created a chaotic strobe effect, casting fleeting shadows on the impeccably dressed crowd. there were celebrities you vaguely recognized, important figures with an air of effortless elegance, and designers moving with a sense of purpose that made your every hesitant step feel painfully out of place.

your chest tightened as you clutched the sleek envelope in your hand, the weight of it suddenly unbearable. “okay,” you whispered to yourself, taking a shaky breath. “you can do this. yunjin believes in you, so… you believe in you too.”

but your pep talk was cut short when someone brushed past you, their shoulder colliding with yours hard enough to make you stumble.

“sorry,” you mumbled instinctively, though the person didn’t so much as glance in your direction, their focus elsewhere.

your cheeks burned, even though no one else seemed to notice the exchange. pulling your bag closer to your side, you attempted to regroup, scanning the crowd for any indication of where you were supposed to go.

but there were no clear signs, no friendly staff member waving you toward an entrance. just a thrumming mass of glamour and purpose, every single person moving with an ease you envied.

you hesitated at the base of the grand staircase leading to the main doors, uncertainty rooting you in place. should you just walk in? was there someone you needed to check in with first?

gathering what little courage you had left, you decided to follow a group of attendees who were flashing similar envelopes to yours at a security guard near the entrance. their polished confidence made you feel like a lost child in comparison, but you forced yourself to mimic their movements.

“invitation?” the guard asked when you approached, his tone curt but professional.

you fumbled with the envelope, nearly dropping it in your haste to hand it over. “here—sorry—here you go,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

the guard scanned it with a practiced efficiency before nodding. “straight ahead, through the main doors,” he instructed, already turning his attention to the next person in line.

you murmured a quiet “thank you” and stepped inside, only to be immediately overwhelmed by the sheer opulence of the space.

the venue was breathtaking, a gilded labyrinth of elegance and extravagance. golden chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, their soft glow casting a warm light over the sea of attendees. the hum of conversation filled the air, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the clinking of glasses.

your earlier nerves returned with a vengeance as you tried to navigate the room, clutching your bag like a lifeline. every step felt tentative, as though you were walking on eggshells, terrified of drawing attention to yourself.

you scanned the crowd for any indication of where you were supposed to go, your eyes landing on a table near the back where a few attendees were collecting what looked like name cards. relief flooded you as you headed in that direction, only to falter when you realized there was a long line.

“of course,” you muttered under your breath, taking your place at the end of the queue.

when it was finally your turn, you stepped up to the table, your anxiety flaring under the attendant’s sharp gaze.

“name?” she asked briskly, her tone clipped but not unkind.

you stammered out your name, feeling your cheeks flush as she flipped through the cards with an almost agonizing slowness. each passing second stretched longer, the weight of her silence pressing down on your chest.

finally, she found your card and handed it to you with a curt nod. “row c, seat 13,” she said before turning her attention to the next person in line.

you stared at the card in your hand, a mix of relief and dread coursing through you. “row c,” you murmured to yourself, your voice barely audible over the din of the crowd.

now came the next challenge: finding it.

the seating area was a maze of rows and sections, each one more crowded than the last. you wove through the throng of attendees, muttering soft apologies as you accidentally bumped into shoulders and bags. every misstep felt amplified, your nerves magnifying the smallest of stumbles.

“excuse me,” you said softly, trying to squeeze past a particularly dense group of people. when they didn’t move, you tried again, louder this time, only to be met with indifferent glances.

your frustration bubbled just beneath the surface, but you swallowed it down, determined not to let it show. instead, you approached a staff member stationed near the aisle. “hi, um, can you point me to row c?” you asked, your voice laced with desperation.

the staff member gestured vaguely to the left. “over there, by the center aisle.”

you nodded your thanks and hurried in the indicated direction, only to find yourself once again weaving through clusters of people. your pulse quickened as you scanned the rows, your eyes darting between the seat numbers and the impatient glances of those around you.

just when you were about to lose hope, you finally spotted your seat. never have you ever felt this glad to see the number 13 in your life. a wave of relief washed over you as you sank into the plush chair, clutching your bag to your chest like a shield.

your heart was still racing, but for the first time since arriving, you allowed yourself to take a deep breath. you’d made it. barely, but you’d made it.

as you adjusted your posture, trying to appear more composed than you felt, a small voice in the back of your mind whispered, maybe you do belong here after all.

you now watch as the venue slowly fills up with people, the hum of conversation around you growing louder and more animated with each passing moment. the seats beside you begin to fill as well, the air charged with an excitement you’re not entirely sure you can match.

your hands grip the edge of your seat as you try to steady your breathing. it should be comforting to see others settling in, but instead, it only makes your chest tighten. the reality of the moment is starting to sink in: you’re here. the event is real. and soon, you’ll be sitting through a show filled with people who belong to this world, while you’re still wondering if you truly do, too.

your thoughts spiral, every worst-case scenario playing out in your mind. what if someone talks to you? what if you say something wrong? what if you trip on your way out?

“okay, stop,” you mutter under your breath, shaking your head as though you can physically dislodge the anxiety from your mind. you take a deep breath, willing the oxygen to calm your racing heart. “you’re fine. you’re fine. it’s just another room of people, that’s all.”

but just as you’re beginning to regain some semblance of control, your nerves decide to betray you in the most inconvenient way possible.

you feel the telltale pressure building, and your stomach drops. of course the anxiety wasn’t enough—now you have to pee.

you glance around the venue, trying to locate the restrooms without looking too obvious about it. but the thought of weaving through the growing crowd again makes you want to crawl under your seat and hide.

“great timing,” you mutter sarcastically, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. “just perfect.”

you sit there, locked in an internal battle that’s as ridiculous as it is frustrating. your mind races through every possible consequence of leaving your seat. what if i lose my spot? what if someone takes it? what if i come back and look completely out of place? but none of those worries are quite as pressing as the growing discomfort making it increasingly hard to sit still.

you cross and uncross your legs, trying to buy yourself a little more time, but it’s no use. the urge is only getting stronger, and you know you can’t wait until after the show.

“ugh, fine,” you groan under your breath, earning a curious glance from the person sitting two seats away. you shoot them an apologetic smile before rising reluctantly to your feet. “just my luck,” you mutter to yourself as you gather your courage and step into the growing tide of people.

navigating through the crowd feels like threading a needle—while blindfolded. you weave your way through clusters of people, murmuring “excuse me” after “sorry,” but your politeness doesn’t seem to be contagious.

a sharp elbow clips your shoulder, and a tall man doesn’t even glance back as he strides past. “oh, sure, it’s not like i’m here or anything,” you grumble under your breath, rubbing the spot.

as you inch closer to the hallway that leads to the restrooms, a pair of women standing in the middle of the walkway are too engrossed in their conversation to notice they’re blocking the path. you hesitate for a moment, then clear your throat gently.

“um, excuse me,” you say, trying to sound as polite as possible.

they both glance at you with identical raised eyebrows, as though you’ve just interrupted a royal decree. one of them steps aside with a huff, the other muttering something you can’t quite catch—but it doesn’t sound kind.

“thank you so much,” you say with a tight smile, though your tone drips with sarcasm. they don’t respond, already turning back to their conversation as if you don’t exist.

you sigh, pushing forward and silently willing yourself to get through this without any further incidents. but as you turn the corner, another hurdle awaits—a woman balancing a cup of coffee in one hand and a clipboard in the other. she’s standing directly in front of the sign pointing to the restrooms, completely oblivious to the fact that she’s blocking the way.

“excuse me,” you try again, louder this time.

she glances up, frowns, and moves just enough for you to squeeze by, muttering something about “people in a hurry.”

“yeah, sorry for having basic human needs,” you mutter under your breath as you finally spot the restroom door like it’s a beacon of hope in a stormy sea.

the second you finally finish your business, you feel the sudden relief of having taken care of that problem. you take a few deep breaths, trying to calm your racing heart. but as you wash your hands, the booming sound of music filters through the walls. the show is starting. right now.

you glance nervously at the mirror, quickly dabbing at your face to fix any stray smudges of makeup. with shaky hands, you apply a final coat of lipstick, then press your palms against the countertop to steady yourself.

okay, okay, you’ve got this. the show’s starting, but you’re still here, still in it. still feeling a strange sense of excitement that makes your heart race even faster. the overwhelming mix of anticipation and nerves makes you feel lightheaded, like you could burst into action any moment.

with a deep breath, you push the door open and make a beeline for the hallway, your steps quickening as you feel the pressure of time.

but as you reach the end of the hallway, you freeze.

the venue was already packed.

no way.

the moment you step back into the main room, it’s like hitting a brick wall of bodies. people are everywhere—standing in groups, chatting animatedly, glancing at their phones, adjusting outfits, and striding toward their seats. you try to push through, but it’s like swimming upstream.

the sea of people presses in from all sides, making every step feel like a struggle. you try to sidestep a couple who are blocking the narrow path ahead, but they’re moving in tandem, oblivious to your presence. perfect.

your anxiety was beginning to creep back up again. i’m never going to get back to my seat at this rate.

you glance over at the packed rows, scanning for your spot, but there’s no way to tell where you’re supposed to go. your seat is just another tiny speck in the ocean of people.

you start moving in the direction of the seats, but it’s like trying to navigate through a dense fog. the buzz of chatter and the low hum of the music overwhelm your senses, making it even harder to focus. you have to keep reminding yourself that you’re actually here, that you’ve worked so hard to get to this point, but the sheer chaos around you makes it feel like you’re suffocating.

why is this so difficult? you think, frustration starting to bubble up. i should be enjoying this, right?

every time you think you’re getting closer to an opening in the crowd, someone else steps in front of you, forcing you to backtrack or dodge around them. this isn’t happening right now, is it?

as you tried to push through the crowd again, your determination was slipping with each passing second. you could feel the panic rising in your chest, and despite all the preparation, despite all the effort yunjin had put into getting you here, you felt utterly lost. 

this was supposed to be the moment. you thought, but the weight of the situation was crushing you, and even yunjin’s encouraging words were starting to feel distant, like they didn’t belong in this overwhelming mess of people and lights.

you tried to steady yourself, but the crowd was relentless. and then, without warning, your heel caught on someone’s foot, and you were falling, knees slamming against the hard floor with a painful jolt.

you barely had time to register the fall before the sound of laughter from nearby voices filled your ears. you quickly glanced up, hoping for some sign of help, but no one made a move to assist you. the people around you seemed too preoccupied with their own lives to even notice you struggling.

a lump formed in your throat as you slowly pushed yourself up, hands shaking as you planted them on the floor to lift yourself back to your feet. each movement felt like a struggle, like everything was working against you. your breathing was shallow, your heart racing in your chest.

you stood there for a moment, hands gripping the edge of the nearest chair, trying to calm the whirlwind of thoughts spinning through your mind. you could hear the music in the distance, the thumping bass marking the beginning of the show.

it’s starting. it’s really starting.

but all the excitement you’d felt earlier evaporated into a thick fog of frustration and helplessness. the models were already walking down the runway, the crowd shifting in their place to watch, but all you could do was stand there, neck craned, doing your best to balance on your toes, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of anything, but it was impossible. the people in front of you were taller, wider, blocking every possible view.

your shoulders slumped as the tears threatened to spill over. this was it. all this preparation, all the effort... for nothing.

your breath hitched as you felt the tears prickle at the corners of your eyes. this was the moment where everything seemed to fall apart. you couldn’t see, you couldn’t even get to your seat, and you were starting to feel like an imposter in the midst of all these people who belonged.  a shaky exhale escaped your lips as you glanced around, searching desperately for something—anything—to hold onto. but all you saw were backs turned to you, figures moving seamlessly, like they were all part of a rhythm you couldn’t quite catch. the room felt like it was swallowing you whole, and the tears blurred your vision, making the dazzling lights above seem like distant stars. you bit the inside of your cheek, a futile attempt to pull yourself together, but even that wasn’t enough. the weight of it all was crashing down, and for a moment, you thought you might drown in it.

but before you could spiral any further into your self-doubt, a gentle but firm hand suddenly landed on your shoulder, making you freeze in your tracks. the touch was unexpected, like an anchor that yanked you out of the chaotic whirlwind of your thoughts, pulling you back from the brink of complete panic. your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, everything else disappeared—the crowd, the overwhelming noise, the pulsating lights of the venue. it was just that hand, warm and steady against your skin, grounding you in a way that felt both foreign and comforting all at once.

you turned, startled, and found yourself looking up into a pair of dark eyes, calm and steady, as though they could see right through the chaos in your head. there was something in the way he looked at you that made everything, just for a second, seem less daunting.

“hey,” he said, his voice low and reassuring, “you alright?”

you blinked up at him, unable to speak at first. the confusion, the stress, your glossy eyes, the overwhelming feeling of being out of place all mingled together, but his calm presence was like a lifeline.

he offered you a small, comforting smile. “you look like you could use a hand.”

you swallowed hard, still trying to calm the rapid thud of your heart, but the tightness in your chest refused to loosen. the noise around you felt deafening now, and you could feel the familiar sting of tears threatening to spill. you blinked rapidly, trying to focus, but the room was spinning, the air suffocating.

“i—i’m sorry,” you stuttered, your voice shaky as you attempted to explain, the words tumbling out in a rush. “i’m... i’m lost. i can’t... i can’t find my seat, and i don’t know how to—i... i’m not supposed to be here. i-i can’t see anything, and everything’s so crowded, and i just—” you stopped, the words sticking in your throat, feeling hopelessly tangled. your hands trembled at your sides, and your breath hitched in your chest.

a concerned look immediately fell upon the man’s face, his brows furrowing as he watched you struggle to steady yourself. without hesitation, he reached forward, gently taking your trembling hands in his own. the warmth of his palms against yours was grounding, and he brought your hands together, holding them securely in his grasp.

“hey, hey,” he said softly, his voice steady and low, “it’s okay. just breathe for me, alright? just one deep breath. in through your nose, out through your mouth.”

his thumbs brushed lightly over the backs of your hands as if to anchor you further, his touch firm yet reassuring. “it’s alright,” he continued, his tone calm and measured, “you’re okay. i’ve got you. take it one breath at a time.”

you hesitated, your chest still tight, but his steady presence made it easier to focus on his words. closing your eyes briefly, you forced yourself to follow his instructions. a deep inhale through your nose, then a slow, shaky exhale through your mouth.

“there you go,” he encouraged, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “one more for me. just like that. in... and out.”

you repeated the process, your breaths gradually evening out. the storm of panic that had consumed you began to ebb, leaving behind a fragile sense of clarity.

“that’s it,” he said softly, his hands still holding yours. “you’re doing great.”

you opened your eyes, the sting of tears still present but no longer overwhelming. his gaze met yours, steady and full of kindness, and for the first time that night, you felt like you weren’t entirely alone.

the man offered you yet another one of his gentle smiles before his free hand disappeared into his pocket. he pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief, holding it out for you to take, the motion so natural and considerate that it caught you off guard.

“here,” he said softly, as though he knew you were on the verge of refusing. “it’s clean, don’t worry.”

you sniffled, hesitating for a moment, but the kind look in his eyes left you no choice but to accept. “thank you,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper as you took the handkerchief.

it felt soft and well-cared-for, and you pressed it gently against your cheeks, wiping away the tears that clung stubbornly to your skin. as your vision cleared, you instinctively looked up to return the handkerchief, but then...

oh.

your breath caught in your throat as you got a proper look at him for the first time.

he was... wow.

the kind of breathtaking you’d read about in novels or seen in perfectly lit photoshoots. his features were sharp and refined, yet there was something warm and approachable about the way he carried himself. his dark eyes held an undeniable depth, a mix of intensity and softness that made it hard to look away. his hair framed his face effortlessly, and the hint of a grin playing on his lips seemed almost out of place with how gentle he’d been just moments ago.

as if sensing your flusteredness, the man let out a soft chuckle, the sound warm and surprisingly soothing. his head tilted slightly, and his eyes crinkled at the corners as he nodded in understanding. "it’s okay," he said gently, his voice carrying an unspoken reassurance that he wasn’t judging you. "just making sure you’re really alright."

you managed a small smile, your heart still beating a little too quickly—not just from the chaos of moments ago, but now from the way he was looking at you, like you were someone worth paying attention to.

just then, the commentator’s voice echoed through the venue, announcing the next set of pieces about to grace the runway. the subtle shift in the atmosphere reminded you where you were, though it didn’t stop your stomach from flipping nervously all over again.

“looks like we don’t have much time,” the man said, his gaze flicking toward the direction of the commentator’s voice before returning to you. without hesitation, he extended his hand, palm up, his fingers slightly curled in invitation. “come on. let’s get you somewhere with a better view.”

you stared at his hand, your breath hitching slightly as hesitation crept in. could you really trust him? this stranger who had been kind to you when no one else even noticed? your fingers twitched at your sides, uncertainty coiling in your chest. what if this was some elaborate prank? or worse, what if you embarrassed yourself even more by blindly following someone you didn’t know?

but then you looked up, meeting his gaze again. his eyes were steady, unyielding yet soft, as if silently telling you that it was okay. there was no rush, no pressure—just the quiet reassurance of someone willing to help.

with a deep breath, you slowly reached out, your hand brushing against his before you fully placed it in his. his grip was firm but careful, his warmth grounding you instantly.

“there we go,” he said, his lips curving into a gentle smile, the kind that made the corners of his eyes crinkle ever so slightly. “trust me, you won’t regret it.”

꒰🍦꒱

as he led you through the crowd, weaving effortlessly between clusters of people, you couldn’t help but cast a skeptical glance around. the farther you went, the more unfamiliar the path seemed, and unease began to bubble in your chest.

“uh, where exactly are we going?” you asked, your voice tinged with uncertainty as you noticed the thinning crowd around you. the lights grew dimmer, and the sounds of chatter and camera flashes faded into the background.

he glanced back at you, his smile still intact but now carrying a hint of mischief. “someplace better.”

“better?” you echoed, eyebrows furrowing as you looked around the increasingly exclusive-looking hallway. “this... doesn’t look like a public area.”

he chuckled lightly at your tone, the sound rich and melodic. “just trust me,” he said again, his grip on your hand steady as he led you past a velvet rope that you were almost certain regular attendees weren’t allowed to cross.

“this is off-limits, isn’t it?” you pressed, your voice dropping to a whisper as your eyes darted around, half-expecting someone to stop you. “are we going to get in trouble?”

“relax,” he said, his tone reassuring but laced with amusement. “you’re with me.”

“and who exactly are you?” you muttered under your breath, half to yourself, but he must’ve heard because he chuckled again, this time more quietly, as though enjoying your skepticism.

finally, after navigating a winding staircase and passing through an unassuming doorway, he stepped aside and gestured for you to step forward. you hesitated, peering inside, but the sight that greeted you left you momentarily speechless.

the balcony lounge stretched out before you, a space elevated high above the main floor. plush seating and dim lighting exuded exclusivity, while the glass barrier at the edge provided a breathtaking view of the entire venue.

“wow,” you breathed out, unable to stop the word from tumbling out as you stepped closer to the glass barrier. the view was breathtaking—perfect in every sense. from here, you could see the entire venue laid out like a grand tapestry. the runway stretched out in a seamless line, illuminated by artful lights that bathed it in a radiant glow. models moved gracefully, their outfits shimmering like living art, and the audience’s reactions created a living pulse that filled the space.

your fingers lightly brushed against the cool glass as you leaned closer, your wide eyes drinking in every detail. “this is... unbelievable. it’s perfect,” you murmured, almost to yourself, as though afraid the words would break the magic of the moment.

behind you, the man watched, his grin growing. he leaned his elbows on the railing, his posture casual, but his gaze was anything but. he seemed entirely captivated—not by the view of the runway, but by you.

his amusement deepened as you watches you press a hand over your heart, still marveling at the scene below. the way you took it all in, so openly and earnestly, made him forget, for a fleeting moment, where you even were.

he let his gaze linger—on the way the soft lighting kissed your features, the faint remnants of tears you’d wiped away earlier adding a delicate vulnerability to your expression. he found himself studying the small details: the curve of your lips as you whispered to yourself, the way your fingers traced the glass as though committing the view to memory.

but then you turned abruptly, catching him mid-thought. your eyes, still wide with wonder, locked with his. his breath hitched slightly, but he masked it with a sheepish chuckle, pushing himself off the railing.

“you still didn’t answer my question,” you said, tilting your head slightly. there was a curious sharpness to your tone, but it was softened by the lingering gratitude in your gaze. "who are you?"

his grin returned, wider this time, his earlier moment of surprise replaced by easy charm. “ah, you caught me,” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “my name's... yeonjun.”

he extended a hand towards you once more, his movements fluid and confident. “and you are?”

you nodded slightly in acknowledgment, offering your name as your hand met his, your voice steady but carrying a thread of bashfulness. his fingers were warm against yours, the handshake firm yet oddly gentle. the touch lingered for a fraction longer than necessary, a subtle pause that neither of you commented on. when you both pulled away, you cleared your throat, the small noise cutting through the charged silence.

the quiet that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it carried a certain weight, filled with the quiet sounds of the fashion show below. the models moved like art in motion, their outfits catching the dramatic lighting as they walked with precision and elegance. the audience’s murmur blended with the music, creating an atmosphere that was both electric and intimate.

you leaned slightly against the barrier, completely taken by the view. the exclusivity of the lounge afforded you an unobstructed panorama of the venue, and for the first time all night, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be. the glistening runway, the precision of the models, the applause—it all felt surreal, like stepping into a dream.

beside you, yeonjun shifted slightly, his arms resting lazily on the railing as he turned his gaze toward you. his expression softened as he took in the way your eyes sparkled, your awe so apparent it made his lips curve into a fond smile. you were so wrapped up in the scene before you, that you didn’t notice his gaze lingering. he couldn’t help but wonder if you even realized how effortlessly captivating you looked in that moment. “so,” you spoke suddenly, breaking the quiet with a slight turn of your head toward him, completely unaware of the way he quickly snapped his eyes back to the show. “how do you even know about this place? and how are you able to be in such an exclusive part of the venue?”

yeonjun blinked, his lips quirking into a mischievous smile as he leaned back, his hands casually resting against the railing. “ah, you’ve caught me,” he said, his tone light but with an edge of teasing. “let’s just say... i have my ways.”

your brow furrowed, crossing your arms in playful disbelief. “that’s it? ‘i have my ways?’”

he chuckled, the sound deep and warm, his shoulders shifting slightly as he leaned closer to you with a grin. “well, what else do you want me to say?” he teased, his voice low and smooth. “i can’t just give away all my secrets in one go.”

you raised an eyebrow, skeptical but intrigued. “you’re not exactly giving away any secrets.”

“true,” he conceded with a shrug, the glint of amusement never leaving his eyes. “but that’s the fun of it, isn’t it?”

“the fun of being vague?” you countered, though there was an undeniable twinkle of curiosity in your gaze. “so, what exactly do you do? are you in fashion too? a model? designer? photographer?”

yeonjun hummed thoughtfully, tapping his chin in mock contemplation. “why don’t you take a guess?” he said, his tone teasing, clearly enjoying the vagueness.

you rolled your eyes, though you couldn't suppress the small smile that tugged at your lips. “this is ridiculous. you’re impossible.”

“impossible?” yeonjun repeats with a smirk, clearly unfazed by your challenge. “nah, i’m just... fun.” he flashed a wink, his voice smooth as honey. “besides, who wouldn’t want to leave a little mystery?”

you rolled your eyes, but the small smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. "you sure love being mysterious, huh?" the question was playful, but you couldn't shake the sense that there was more to him than he was letting on.

yeonjun just chuckled softly, and there was something about the sound—rich, smooth, and unhurried—that made it feel like the world around you slowed for just a second. it was like you were both in on some private joke, sharing the moment despite the crowd around you. you didn’t mind the silence between you two; it wasn’t uncomfortable. it was just peaceful, like the calm after a storm.

just then, the third set of pieces emerged on the runway, and your breath caught in your throat as you took in the intricate details, the stunning designs. you couldn’t help but feel a thrill rise up inside you as you watched the models glide down the runway. the way the fabric moved, the way the pieces complemented the models' bodies—it was all so... perfect.

you leaned forward slightly, eyes sparkling with excitement as you pointed out the dress that had caught your eye. “look at that one,” you said, your voice filled with awe. “the fabric—it's so delicate, but the design is so strong. and the color, it’s not just a plain red. it has this... depth, like layers of crimson blending together. the pleats on the skirt, the texture—it’s all so well-thought-out.”

yeonjun’s gaze flickered toward you, eyebrows raised in genuine surprise as he watched you closely, as though trying to figure out how you could notice all these details with such intensity. “you really know your stuff,” he remarked, his voice thick with amusement. “how can you notice all those details? most people wouldn’t even see half of that.”

you paused mid-rant, your excitement temporarily muted by the attention. your cheeks flushed slightly as you felt a sudden wave of self-consciousness. “well,” you said, hesitating for just a moment, “i... i’m acatually an aspiring fashion designer.”

yeonjun’s eyes softened at that, and there was a flicker of something in them—something... intrigued, maybe? he leaned in just a little, his posture shifting to show more interest. “an aspiring designer, huh?” he repeated, his tone surprisingly gentle for someone who’d been so teasing moments ago. “i should’ve known. there’s no way anyone could appreciate the details as much as you do unless they had an eye for design.”

you blinked, caught off guard by how understanding he sounded. you glanced down at your hands for a moment, suddenly feeling a little more vulnerable. “i’ve been working on some of my own pieces, but, you know... still figuring things out.”

yeonjun seemed to notice your hesitation, and his expression softened even more, though there was a glimmer of something playful in his eyes. “figuring things out is part of the process,” he said, his voice rich with warmth. “trust me, i’ve been there too.”

you glanced up at him, surprised by how genuine he sounded. “you have?” you asked, almost disbelieving.

he gave a small nod, his gaze briefly turning distant, as though lost in a memory. "yeah. the fashion world isn’t as easy as people think. but the ones who stick with it... they make it in the end."

there was a brief pause, and you took in his words, the weight of them settling on you. you weren’t sure why, but something about him made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t so far from your dream after all.

“thanks,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. it was more than just gratitude—it was a quiet affirmation that maybe you were on the right path, after all. ꒰🍦꒱ as the models continued to walk down the runway, you couldn’t help but get lost in the details of every piece. each look had its own story to tell, and you felt an overwhelming urge to share that excitement with someone, anyone.

yeonjun, fortunately, was right there, listening with quiet amusement as you rambled on.

"oh my gosh, look at that one!" you exclaimed, leaning slightly forward, pointing to a model in a simple yet striking gown. “the draping is just... it’s absolutely flawless. see how the fabric hugs the body and then just cascades out at the bottom? it’s almost like it has a life of its own. like the material is alive, you know? and the way it catches the light—"

yeonjun nodded, still watching you with that soft smile. “i see it. you’re right, it’s like the fabric is moving with the model, almost like it’s breathing with them.”

you looked at him briefly, surprised at how well he was following along. “exactly!” you said, your voice full of excitement. “and see the next one? the detailing on the neckline—it’s so delicate but intricate at the same time. the tiny beads embroidered around the collar, it adds this elegant touch, almost like it’s a necklace built into the fabric.” yeonjun could only chuckle lightly, amused by the way your eyes lit up every time you spotted something new.

you pointed again, this time at a model in a dress with a sharp, angular hem. “look at the sharpness of those edges! it’s almost architectural, like someone sculpted the fabric into that shape. it gives such a bold, confident vibe!”

yeonjun chuckled softly, watching her animated gestures with a twinkle in his eye. “hmm, you're spot on. such sharp, clean lines.”

“right? and the fabric choice, too. it has this stiffness to it, but not in an uncomfortable way—more like it’s meant to stand up on its own.” you beamed, caught up in the details.

his eyes softened. “you really notice everything, huh?"

you waved him off, already distracted by the next model. “oh, and this one! the way the sleeves puff out like that, it’s so dramatic but playful at the same time! and the fabric’s so airy—it looks like the model’s floating in it!”

yeonjun's gaze stayed on you, amused. “floating, huh? you make it sound so magical.”

“it is magical!” you responded, almost laughing at how much you’d already gotten lost in the runway. “and look at this one—look at how the waist is cinched so perfectly, giving the whole outfit such a nice structure, but it doesn’t feel too stiff. the way it moves... it's like it was made for the model’s body.”

yeonjun smiled, nodding. “i couldn't agree more.”

as the show continued, you kept going, pointing out the minute details that caught your eye, from the slight pleats on the edges of a sleeve to the way the fabric billowed out like a cloud. yeonjun simply listened, always agreeing with a small nod, a quiet “mhm” or “i see it,” but mostly, he just watched you, the way you effortlessly lost yourself in the designs.

you couldn’t even remember the last time you’d felt so... alive. It was as if you were standing right in the middle of a dream, and you weren’t afraid to look at every single detail that made it so perfect.

and yeonjun? well, he just couldn’t take his eyes off you.

once the event came to its dreaded end, you couldn’t help but let out a long sigh, your shoulders slumping slightly in disappointment. you pouted just a little, your lips forming a soft, almost melancholic curve. “i miss it already,” you murmured, mostly to yourself, as if the emptiness left by the show weighed heavily on you. “it feels like it ended too soon.”

yeonjun, who had been watching you the whole time with that subtle, amused smile, chuckled softly in response. it was a warm sound, almost affectionate, as if he found your sincere reaction endearing. "yeah, it’s always like that,” he agreed, his voice rich with fondness. “time flies when you’re caught up in something that amazing.”

you sighed again, almost as if you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something so beautiful had come to an end far too quickly. "i wish i could’ve stayed in that moment a little longer. it felt... perfect."

yeonjun’s smile widened just a bit, and he leaned against the railing, his gaze flickering between you and the slowly clearing crowd. "you made the most of it, though," he said, voice steady and reassuring. “not many people would’ve appreciated every little detail like you did. that’s something special.”

you glanced over at him, a soft blush rising to your cheeks at his words. "i guess i got a little carried away," you admitted with a shy laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. the thought of how you had been rambling with excitement made your heart skip a little. "but, i mean, how could i not? it was all just... breathtaking."

his eyes softened at your response, and he gave you a playful, knowing smile. "it’s nice to see someone so passionate about it," he said, his voice light but carrying a layer of sincerity. "you really got lost in the moment."

as the last few guests started trickling out of the venue, the noise around you began to swell, the sounds of chatter and the click of high heels filling the air. the once intimate atmosphere of the show now felt overwhelming with the crowds, the room suddenly feeling far too cramped.

yeonjun’s eyes scanned the space briefly, his expression thoughtful. then, without missing a beat, he looked back at you and raised an eyebrow. "i know a less crowded way out," he said, his voice calm amidst the growing chaos. "let me lead you out. wouldn't want you getting lost in this crowd."

you glanced around at the sea of people, their voices blending together in a cacophony, and immediately felt a little more anxious. you didn’t want to get lost in the rush of people, and his offer seemed like the perfect solution. after a moment of hesitation, you finally let out a soft breath and placed your hand in his, your fingers brushing against his palm with a fleeting but comforting touch.

“thank you. again,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, the quiet sincerity of it making you feel strangely grounded in the midst of everything.

he gave your hand a light squeeze, his smile growing just a little warmer, more genuine. "anything for the most enthusiastic fashion designer slash critic i know," he teased lightly, his tone playful but kind.

you couldn’t help but smile back, feeling an unexpected warmth blooming inside you. you wanted to ask more, know more about him, but the moment felt so peaceful, and for once, you were content to just be present.

with a subtle nod, yeonjun led you through a quiet, hidden exit, avoiding the growing crowds of people who were starting to spill out into the streets. the path he guided you down felt like a secret, and somehow, you didn’t question it. instead, you were more than glad to have met someone as kind-hearted as him on what was turning out to be one of the most important days of your life.

once you were out of the building, the bustling noise from the show seemed so far behind you. yeonjun, still holding your hand, walked with a calm ease, his presence making the city’s energy feel just a little more bearable. his touch was like an anchor, steady and reassuring.

“let’s get you to a car,” yeonjun said as he turned toward a sleek limo waiting nearby. you blinked in surprise as he casually waved to the driver, the gesture effortlessly commanding attention.

you paused, a small frown tugging at your lips as you shook your head. “what? oh, i couldn’t possibly—”

but yeonjun wasn’t having it. with a playful smile, he waved off your hesitation. “oh, come on,” he said, his tone coaxing yet gentle. “it’s not every day i get to be this chivalrous.” he gestured toward the car with a teasing glint in his eyes. “besides, you’ve earned it.”

before you could protest further, yeonjun ushered you toward the limo with a gentle hand on your back. you sighed, defeated by his insistent kindness, but in that moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to refuse. his warmth, his attentiveness—it was all so comforting.

as you climbed into the car, you took a deep breath, sinking back against the plush seat, the quiet hum of the limo's engine making everything feel just a little bit surreal. once you were settled in, you turned to yeonjun, your eyes filled with gratitude.

“thank you, yeonjun,” you said again, your voice filled with so much gratitude that it almost felt like the words themselves couldn’t fully express what you were feeling. “really. for everything,” you continued, your gaze soft and sincere. “i don’t even know how to explain it, but… i honestly wouldn’t have made it through today without you. you made all the difference—more than you could know.”

yeonjun gave a small, dismissive shrug, his eyes glinting with an almost mischievous gleam. “it’s nothing, really” he said casually, though there was something in his voice that suggested he truly meant it. “if it's any consolation, your company and your little rant was something i truly enjoyed.”

the words, simple as they were, made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t quite expected. you nodded, smiling softly. but before you could say anything else, yeonjun’s expression shifted, becoming slightly more serious. “well then, see you soon.”

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Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Han

When you first met Han, he didn’t reveal much of himself—just a casual, polite greeting that didn’t give away much about his personality. He seemed quiet, reserved, and someone who doesn’t speak unless he really feels comfortable. It became clear that he’s the kind of person who only really opens up to people he’s close with, which made your initial conversations a bit limited. He didn’t talk much, but even so, there was something about his presence that told you he was trying. You could sense that despite the awkwardness, he genuinely wanted to connect with you, even if words didn’t come easily at first. It was subtle—small efforts, little glances, or brief comments that let you know he was pushing himself to bridge that gap. With time, that initial awkwardness began to fade, and your interactions started to flow more naturally. Slowly but surely, Han’s quiet exterior gave way to a different side of him. He casually asked, "That's pretty cool, where did you get it?" Though his comment seemed unnecessary at first, it somehow sparked a longer conversation.

Before you knew it, the two of you had fallen into a comfortable back-and-forth, and the initial awkwardness disappeared as you got more relaxed. As he grew more comfortable, his personality started to shine through. He became more open, and what once felt like small talk evolved into real conversations. You noticed him becoming more bubbly, playful, and even a little cute around you. It was as though his walls were coming down, and in place of the quiet, reserved Han you first met, was someone who felt at ease with you, allowing his true self to emerge. The transformation was subtle yet undeniable, and it made the connection between you feel even more special. Once the two of you became close, he wasn’t shy about giving you that adorable, warm smile of his. It was something you began to look forward to, as if it was his way of letting you know he felt comfortable around you. He had this ease about him, the way he could talk for hours about anything and everything, just because he genuinely enjoyed being in your company.

He often said that your presence made him feel at peace, like he didn’t have to put up any walls, and in return, he did his best to make you feel just as at ease when he was around. One thing you noticed about him was that he was always considerate in his own playful way. It wasn’t just the words he said but how he said them, with that lighthearted tone that put you at ease. Like that one time when the weather turned chilly, and he noticed you rubbing your arms to keep warm. Without a second thought, he took off his jacket, holding it out to you with that same playful grin you’d come to adore. "Here, wear my jacket—I don't want you freezing to death," he joked, his tone teasing but his actions showing how much he cared. He wasn’t just looking after you; he was trying to make sure you felt as comfortable and safe with him as he did with you, creating this effortless sense of connection that seemed to deepen each time you were together.

Felix

From the very first moment you meet Felix, there's an undeniable warmth in the air, making the encounter feel comfortable and inviting. Felix, with his naturally kind and gentle demeanor, immediately exudes a sweetness that draws you in, making you feel at ease from the start. His friendly smile and genuine interest in getting to know you create a welcoming environment where conversation seems to flow effortlessly. Rather than simply exchanging pleasantries, Felix takes the time to ask thoughtful questions, clearly curious and eager to learn more about you, the new person he's just met. His curiosity is both sincere and endearing, as he engages deeply with every response you give, showing a real interest in what you have to say. There's an ease in the way he interacts, almost as if he's trying to find those little details that will help form a connection. He’s incredibly perceptive, so if he sensed even a hint of discomfort or shyness, he’d make sure to gently guide the interaction to help the new member feel more relaxed. He’d ask them about themselves—not in an overwhelming way, but with genuine curiosity—wanting to know about their interests, what brought them to the group, and how they were adjusting to everything so far.

As you grow closer to Felix, everything about him seems even more endearing. The little things he does that might have gone unnoticed before now feel irresistibly cute. One of the moments that never fails to make your heart flutter is when he spots you from afar. His face lights up the moment he sees you, and without hesitation, he flashes that beautiful, genuine smile of his, the one that seems to light up everything around him. He waves enthusiastically, his happiness at seeing you completely unfiltered, like a burst of joy that radiates from him "How's my favorite person doing today?" he asks playfully as he gently pokes your nose. It’s not just the way he greets you that makes him special, but also the way he opens up as you get to know each other better. Felix becomes more expressive, sharing stories, thoughts, and little details about his life with an infectious energy. It's as if, with you, he feels completely at ease, able to let down any guard and reveal his softer, more vulnerable side.

He talks non-stop, eagerly sharing his passions, dreams, and even his quirks, as if you’ve become someone he can trust implicitly. The way he shares so openly and honestly makes you feel like you’re seeing a side of him that not everyone gets to see—his softer, more delicate side that makes him all the more lovable. His openness is a clear reflection of how special your bond has become, a silent acknowledgment of the trust that’s blossomed between you. With each passing moment spent together, Felix has a way of making you feel not just cherished, but truly valued in a way that feels effortless and sincere. Whether it’s the way his eyes soften when he looks at you, as if you’re the only person in the room, or the way he constantly shares his thoughts, emotions, and stories without hesitation, there's something deeply intimate about his presence. Everything he does seems to radiate with a certain warmth, as though being around you brings out a softer, more open version of himself.

Seungmin

Seungmin might initially come across as a bit reserved when meeting the new member for the first time. He’s the type of person who prefers to observe from a distance, taking his time to assess how someone fits into the group dynamic before fully engaging. His cautious nature doesn’t stem from being cold or uninterested; rather, Seungmin is thoughtful and meticulous, wanting to ensure he understands the new member's personality and how they might gel with everyone else before diving in. He watches interactions closely, paying attention to the subtle ways they navigate conversations and how they handle the newness of the situation. During this initial period, Seungmin wouldn’t be the one to immediately rush over with jokes or questions. Instead, he’d offer a polite greeting, maybe exchange a few casual words, and then step back to observe. It might seem like he’s holding back, but in reality, Seungmin is taking mental notes, figuring out how to approach the new member in a way that feels genuine and natural for both of them.

He’s not one to force interactions or engage in small talk unless he truly feels comfortable, and he gives others the space to adjust at their own pace, just as he does. However, once Seungmin begins to get a better sense of who the new member is, especially if he notices that they have a good sense of humor or a playful side, his more fun-loving personality would start to emerge. Seungmin is known for his dry wit and clever remarks, and he enjoys a good laugh, particularly when someone can match his humor. If the new member shows that they can keep up with his banter, Seungmin would quickly become more open, gradually showing his playful and teasing side. His jokes might start off subtle, but as he gets more comfortable, you’ll notice that he’s got a sharp sense of humor, often slipping in witty comments or playful teasing when you least expect it. If the new member engages with his humor, Seungmin would be more than happy to continue the back-and-forth, forming a bond through this shared sense of playfulness. His jokes might sometimes catch you off guard, delivered with a straight face that makes you question whether he’s being serious or not, but that’s part of the fun with Seungmin.

Seungmin wasn’t exaggerating when he mentioned how carefully he takes notes on everything. His memory is sharp, and he effortlessly recalls even the smallest details, whether about himself or those around him. He has a quiet, observant nature that allows him to notice things others might miss, especially when it comes to you. While he may not always show it outwardly, Seungmin silently watches you with a careful eye, picking up on your habits and quirks, even the ones you aren’t aware of. He knows you tend to misplace things often, so he’s already mentally prepared to help when something goes missing. He’s also aware of the tasks you frequently forget to complete, remembering them without needing reminders. It’s almost like he’s keeping a quiet checklist in the back of his mind, not because he wants to point out your flaws, but because he genuinely cares and wants to support you. "I might need to start attaching your phone to you soon," he says with a playful smile as he hands you the phone you left on the kitchen table.

Jeongin

Jeongin tends to be a little shy when you first meet him, often keeping to himself. He’s not the type to initiate conversation right away, usually offering just a soft "hi" or a quick greeting before retreating into quiet observation. It's not that he’s unfriendly, but rather that he prefers to take his time before engaging with people, feeling out the atmosphere. As he sits back and watches, you might catch his gaze drifting towards you more often than not. His eyes will linger, almost as if he's studying you, scanning you in his mind. It’s subtle, not in an intimidating way, but more because he’s genuinely curious about you. He wants to understand who you are before he opens up fully, and watching from a distance helps him piece together the details. His quiet demeanor, coupled with those frequent glances, makes you wonder what exactly he's thinking, as he takes everything in with quiet interest. Though he may not say much at first, his curiosity is clear, and you get the feeling that once he feels more comfortable, he’ll have a lot more to say.

As time passes, Jeongin's curiosity about you only grows deeper with each passing day. At first, he remains quietly observant, content with listening to the things you talk about, the way you express your thoughts, and the subjects that seem to occupy your mind. He becomes increasingly attuned to the details of your conversations, noting what excites or intrigues you, and the subtle emotions behind your words. It's as if he's slowly piecing together a more complete picture of who you are. Then, at just the right moment, when he feels the timing is perfect, he finally steps in to join the conversation. It’s subtle at first—he’ll start with a small comment, carefully weaving his way into the discussion, showing that he’s been paying close attention all along. As the days go by, his contributions become more frequent and thoughtful, revealing the depth of his growing interest in who you are and what you care about. His once quiet presence turns into something more meaningful, as he becomes increasingly eager to engage with you on a deeper level, no longer content with simply watching from the sidelines.

As you and Jeongin grow closer, his thoughtful nature becomes increasingly apparent. He always seems to be looking out for you in subtle but meaningful ways. Whenever he gets something to eat or drink, his eyes naturally land on you first, checking if you’re comfortable "Want some? It's not too spicy, you should eat something. Let's share," he said with a gentle smile.. Without fail, he’ll ask if you want something as well, or sometimes, he’ll even offer you a bite, gently feeding you with a playful smile. His attentiveness feels effortless, as if caring for you has become second nature. What makes these moments even more special is the way he looks at you. His gaze is soft and full of warmth, like you’re the most important person in the room. It’s clear that he’s always aware of you, even in the smallest details. And when you catch his eye and smile back, he smiles too, his expression lighting up as if your happiness brings him joy. Through these little acts of care, it’s clear that Jeongin’s affection for you runs deep, showing just how much you truly mean to him.

[sherewrytes]

𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕞𝕖𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤, 𝓒 𝓢𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓻

Summary: You were tired of your plug always being a weirdo and never having what you wanted so you begged Sasha for her plug, Connie.

warnings: mature scenes, smut, weed smoking.

Your day had started with frustration. Your regular weed plug had bailed on you last minute, leaving you scrambling for options. Frustrated and in need of a break from the stress of finals, you turned to Sasha for help.

She was the one who always seemed to have a solution for everything, especially when it came to sourcing the good stuff.

"Sasha, my plug flaked on me. Can you hook me up with yours?" you texted, hoping for a quick response.

Her reply was almost instantaneous. "No worries! I'll set you up with Connie. He's legit and his stuff is fire. You'll like him."

With Sasha's recommendation in mind, you agreed to meet Connie later that evening. Nervous anticipation mingled with relief as you headed to the rendezvous spot. It wasn't long before you saw him pull up—a sleek, tinted matte black G-Wagon with red rims.

Connie rolled down his window as you approached, his presence commanding yet surprisingly relaxed. You exchanged brief introductions, and then he handed you the baggies of Trainwreck and OG Kush.

The Weeknd's "Shameless" softly played in the background, adding a touch of atmosphere to the exchange.

You couldn't help but smile at the coincidence or perhaps the intention behind the music choice, giving Connie a small giggle of appreciation before you paid him and walked away.

Unbeknownst to you, Connie lingered a moment longer, his eyes tracing your figure appreciatively. He couldn't deny the attraction he felt from the first moment he laid eyes on you. His mind raced with thoughts of wanting to get to know you beyond this transaction.

Back in your apartment, you rolled up and settled in to unwind. Connie's image lingered in your mind—not just his looks, but the energy he exuded. He was undeniably attractive, but the idea of getting involved with your weed dealer gave you pause. With finals weighing heavily on your mind, romantic entanglements were the last thing on your agenda.

Meanwhile, Connie couldn't shake off the impression you had left on him. He swung by Sasha's place, unable to contain his curiosity and desire to know more about you.

"Why didn't you introduce me to Y/N sooner?" he asked Sasha, his tone laced with both annoyance and amusement. "She's fine as hell."

Sasha rolled her eyes playfully, catching onto Connie's newfound interest. "Didn't think you were looking for more than just a business connection, Connie. But if you're into her, go for it."

Connie's mind was made up. He wanted to see where this could go with you, beyond just being your weed supplier. He started texting you more frequently, not just about weed but about everything and anything. You found yourself enjoying the conversations, his easygoing nature calming your nerves amidst the chaos of exams.

But as finals approached, your responses became sporadic. Connie noticed the change and it bothered him more than he expected. He pressed Sasha for information, needing to understand why you seemed distant.

"Y/N's got finals," Sasha explained, trying to appease his curiosity. "She's buried in books right now. Give her some space."

Connie thought to himself that both your lives were so different, his just a guy on the street trying to make it to the next day and you a girl in university studying for your dream career.

It made him feel a bit insecure, but he didn't let it stress him too much.

He bounced from Sasha's spot back to Ony's crib, where the air was thick with smoke and the vibes were chill. Eren, Jean, and Ony were deep into their game, but Connie's mind kept drifting back to you. Even as he tried to get into the flow of the game, he found himself constantly checking his phone, hoping for a message from you.

But all he saw was your latest IG story—a real moment, you looking stressed AF, tears welling up as you spilled about the pressure of finals.

It hit him deep, reminding him of the gap between both your lives, yet making him respect your hustle even more.

The evening after your last final, you heard a knock at your door. You weren't expecting anyone and felt a twinge of curiosity. Opening the door, you were greeted by Connie, looking as cool and confident as ever.

He held a couple of bags, one from Diesel, Von Dutch and another from Jacquemus, and a grin that made your heart skip a beat. The scent of your favorite takeout wafted through the air, making your stomach rumble.

"Hey, thought you might need a little celebration," he said, stepping inside and setting the bags on your coffee table.

You were wearing a burnt orange silk shorts set, the long sleeve cropped button-up highlighting your deeply melanated skin. Connie's eyes lingered a bit too long, but you didn’t mind. In fact, you kind of liked it.

"I can’t believe you did all this," you said, your voice soft with gratitude. "You didn’t have to."

Connie shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Figured you deserved it after all that hard work. Plus, I missed our chats."

You smiled, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the weed. "I missed them too."

"Don't just stare at them Ma open them up" Connie smiled while sitting on your couch and pulling you next to him. Connie was wearing his Essentials Sweatshirt paired with sweat shorts from FOG Essentials paired with beige Nike dunks.

You opened up the Von Dutch bag first to see a cute cropped tshirt. Then you reached for the Diesel bag, feelin' the excitement build. As you opened it, your eyes widened, and a grin spread across your face. Inside was the Diesel Fluffy iconic mini bag in pink and blue, lookin' all cute and stylish

"Oh my God, Connie! These are so cute!" you exclaimed, holdin' up the bags, your voice filled with joy.

"Yeah, I knew you’d like ‘em," Connie said with a proud smirk, leanin' back on the couch. "You deserve it, baby. Keep goin'. There's more."

You set the bag aside carefully and reached for the Jacquemus shopping bag. Inside, you found two Le Bob Artichaut hats, one in pink and one in blue denim. "No way! These are perfect!" you squealed, throwing your arms around him to hug him tightly.

"You really know how to spoil a girl, Connie. Thank you." you said with an ecstatic tone.

"Nah, you worth it. Gotta keep my girl lookin' fly," he replied, pullin' you closer. "Besides, it's fun seein' you happy like this."

You felt warm and loved, appreciatin' every moment. Connie always had a way of makin' you feel special, and today was no different.

Connie rolled up some blunts for you and him to smoke while you scrolled through your phone looking for some music to play since you usually like smoking to music sometimes. She pulled up Just me and you by Larry June & Ro James

Connie leaned back, taking a long drag before passing the blunt to you. "So, how's finals been treatin' you?" he asked, genuinely curious.

You sighed, blowing out a cloud of smoke. "They been kickin' my ass, to be honest. But I'm almost done. Just need to get through these last few days."

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "I feel that. You need a break, for real. That's why I brought all this." He gestured to the takeout and the Diesel, Von Dutch and Jacquemus bags he had set on the table.

You couldn't help but smile. "You really ain't have to do all this, Connie. But I appreciate it, for real."

He shrugged, trying to play it cool, but there was a softness in his gaze. "Figured you deserved it after all that hard work. Plus, I missed our lil' chats."

You took another hit, feeling the tension of the past few weeks start to fade away. "I missed 'em too. You been good though?"

"Yeah, just been grindin' as usual," he said, his eyes flicking over your outfit again. "But I gotta say, you look real good tonight."

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks. "Thanks. I wasn't expectin' company, but I'm glad you're here."

He chuckled, clearly enjoying your reaction. "Wanted to. Plus, I threw in some new strain I been workin' on. Thought you'd like it."

You found yourself inching closer to him, the barrier between dealer and client blurring into something more personal, more intimate.

The warmth from the weed and Connie's presence made everything else fade into the background.

Eventually, the blunt burned down to a roach, and you both sat in a comfortable silence. Connie's arm rested behind you on the couch, and you leaned into him, feeling a sense of ease you hadn't felt in weeks.

"So, what you thinkin'?" he asked softly, his voice low and smooth paired with his low red eyes. Connie was eyeing you up and down next to him. The way he was looking at you, was turning you on. You were both staring into each each other's eyes

You turned away your head to break the eye contact, only to feel Connie's fingers on your jaw turning him back to him saying "I'm over here Ma, focus." You blushed a lil, trying to focus on him.

Connie smiled showing off his gold and diamond studded canine grillz. "You gon answer me, tell me what you're thinkin"

"Nothin' much Connie, just thinkin about the fact you already checkin for me heavy and we're just friends"

Connie didn't like when you referred to him as your friend because he wanted so much more. Connie brushed a hand across those cheeks " " I don't wanna be friends." He leans in reading your expression for confirmation before letting your lips meet for a slow deep kiss.

"Connie" you whispered against his lips. "Tell me what you want Ma and I'll give it to you. Just say it." Connie stared at your face taking in your features.

Connie pulled you onto his lap, your arms around his neck, his around your waist, one hand slowly sliding up your back to lightly grip your head to pull you into the kiss more.

You whimper and sqirm a bit when he lifts you up and places you right on the growing clothed erection.

While awaiting your answer, he began slowly kissing on your jaw and neck leaving marks. He pulled you as close as he can to his chest and pushing your head into his neck, encouraging you to mark him as yours.

"Tell me to stop or tell me you want this as bad as I do"

You stared at Connie,biting your lips trying to hold back your moans but you couldn't. You looked at him in his and begged "Please Connie"

Next thing you know, you were flat on your back on the couch with Connie slowly sliding down your burnt orange shorts down your thighs. "Fuck! you're soaking already." Connie sighed out with a husky tone.

The moment his mouth connected with your wnet pussy, you were seeing stars. Ofc you've had sex before, got eaten out before but not like this. Connie was easily going to become your best eater.

Connie was murmering to himself saying,

So fuckin wet Ma *slurp* Mine You taste so good

You felt his tatted fingers slide in and out of you,while his tongue licked you from your clit all the way down to you sopping entrance. It felt like the wetter you got, the more he ate. It was like he was licking up every drop you released.

Connie pushed his face deeper into your thighs while curling his fingers upward. The rhythm was in, up and out. Your legs tightened around his head while grinding against his face.

"Oh,God" you groaned "Oh, god. Connie, mm gonna"

Connie slipped his fingers out in favor of his tongue,dipping in and out of your cunt while his thumb rubbed firm cirlces against your clit.

Your body was shaking under him. He stared up at you. eyes red and filled with lust. A soft scream came out your mouth while your back arched off the couch and he never stopped. you heard him groan and smirk against you. When you finally came down off your orgasmic high. Connie stared at you and said "Bedroom now"

You stared at him and saw he he was serious so you jumped off the couch and walked to your room with Connie trailing behind you.

As soon as you entered your room. Connie picked you up and drop you on your bed. He came over you staring at you. You could see his face wet from your cum. You licked your lips and pulled him in for a kiss.

Connie undressed himself and you. connie stared at you for a brief moment while you take in his length. He had a pink tip, leaking pre and a thick vein running along the underneath.

You never had something that big before. Connie smirked and said "I'll go easy on you Ma. Promise."

You felt Connie pushed in slowly. stretching you out, your eyes widen a bit. You closed your eyes only to then feel Connie's hand sliding up your body and lightly gripping your jaw "Don't close your eyes. Look at me."

Connie fucked you deep and slow. obviously trying to get you used to his size. Tears wet the corner of your eyes. Connie leaned in and kissed him away saying " You can take it Ma. I know you can. Just say the word and I'll break you in so good."

"Con! Please" Please what y/n Fuck me! I am fucking you Connie! Harder

"You need it deeper Ma." Connie smirked and spread your legs wider then spread your pussy wider exposing your clit. He grinded himself against it with every hard thrust he gave you. You were screaming his name "Con you feel so good!"

"shit,pa—" you wailed, knuckles turning white with the strong grip you had against the bedsheet. "'s too much!"

You never been fucked so hard in your life. The way your bed screeched against the floor and your headboard slammed against the wall with each thrust he gave you it was ridiculous. You tried turning your head to the side to avoid looking into his eyes.

“Look at me while I fuck you.”

“c-connn” you teeth bit into your lip making it wet, you held in the grunt of pleasure leaning forward trying to catch your breath. Your mind barely comprehending the massive orgasm you felt coming. He was rutting into you like an animal, had you squirming under him.

he grunted, while licking and nipping at your jaw line," Come on Ma. Just take it. It's too good..." He started to thrust up into you making you yelp out

" right there mama?" "mhm hmm" you shook your head not wanting him to stop " come on baby use your words" "Yes Connie..right there!"

you were gripping the sheets and screaming, tongue out begging. " O-ohh fuckk babyyyy"

im gonna cum mama" he groaned into your head while kissing and sucking on your neck.

he grabbed your hand while his hand still gripped your jaw and his thumb rubbing against your cheek.

"cum inside mee" you purred

" y/n. dont say shit like that. You want my cum for real." You tried catching your breath but you barely got the words out from how deviously hard he was fucking you. "Yes Con. please."

His hips was ramming his cock in and out of you. You feared he'd break you the way he was fucking you. He rutted into you faster and harder. You could barely get a sound out of your throat

You felt yourself tighten and clenching his cock while you came, squirting on his hips and your chest. Connie was still rutting into you.

"Fuck y/n mm cumming" You felt Connie fill you up inside the sensation of it had your eyes rolling back and you cumming around his cock again.

Connie pulled it and watched his cum trickle down your thighs.

Connie felt like he was was on cloud nine. He felt like he shouldve asked you to be his girl first but things got a lil heated.

Connie pulled you off the bed and dragged you to your bathroom so you can both clean up and shower together.