#hop once or twice to pop it

[shotmrmiller]

asking simon if he can rub your back because it aches from being hunched over a desk all day and he does... for about 30 seconds before moving down to the back of your thighs, thumbs digging into the soft flesh. your protest dies on your lips when his hands move up, kneading your arse, giving it a squeeze hard enough to pull a hiss from you.

useless man. he makes your backache worse with the spine-jarring thrusts he gives you (and with the way he loops an arm around your neck, forcing you to arch your back as he pulls you to him when he snaps his hips forward.)

[hairmetal666]

Wayne's used to worrying about Eddie. He should be; he's been doing it since the kid was twelve. First it was Eddie's silence, his permanent frown, the way the bones stood out too prominent on his small wrists. Then it was the kids at school, taunting him and calling him names, the fights and calls from the principal's office. Next came the late nights, the drinking, the dealing, failing his senior year twice. But all of those times, every single one, Wayne had known what to do. Maybe it wasn't perfect, maybe it took a little time, but he'd always figured out exactly what his boy needed.

And now--now Wayne doesn't know if he can help; knows it's not in his power to fix it. 

So, he sits for the second week in a row, watching his nephew--his whole heart--sitting in front of the window, looking out at the forest, nursing the same cup of coffee that he poured six hours ago, and wonders how in the world he can help.

They're cleaning up from dinner, Eddie quiet at his side, when he says, "Gonna need some help with the mugs tomorrow."

After moving to Oregon once Eddie graduated and he retired, he found an affinity for pottery. Never woulda thought it, but he loves it and tourists love his booth at the farmers market.

He can't think of a better way to get his nephew out of the house, but wonders if he doesn't know his boy as well as he thinks after a decade in Los Angeles, that Eddie'll refuse. He just nods, though, goes back to drying the plate in his hands.

And next morning, right at 6:45, Eddie is in the living room in black jeans that are so worn they're nearly grey in places, and the threadbare Metallica tee Wayne thrifted for him nearly a decade back. It's a win. Small, yes--Eddie doesn't even complain once about the country-western station Wayne plays in the truck--but still a step forward.

Wayne wastes no time parking and handing Eddie a box of carefully packed merchandise. He leads the way, trusts that Eddie is right on his heels until he hears Jim Hopper's voice say, "You better keep an eye on those mugs, son. Your uncle will tan your hide."

He turns to see Hopper balancing one end of Eddie's box, Eddie's cheeks flushed pink. "Sorry, I--uh, I've got it now." Hopper lets go and for the briefest instant Eddie's eyes dart to the side and the pink in his cheeks grows deeper.

Wayne tracks the path Eddie's eyes took and finds--he swallows back a chuckle--Steve Harrington just setting one of his Adirondack chairs into place, his t-shirt lifted to show of a stretch of stomach.

Well. Eddie did always like the pretty ones.

They setup the booth in companionable silence, and Hopper pops back over for a proper introduction. Before he departs again, he says to Eddie, "I got some kids who really love that dnd game and your show. They're going to be crazy to meet you. That okay?"

And Eddie, he's a good boy, he smiles and nods but as soon as Hopper is out of earshot, Wayne's saying, "Hop's kids and their friends are big fans and I know you're heartsore about the cancellation, but you better be polite."

Eddie glares. "What do you think, old man, that I'll be mean to children?"

"Well, with how you've been moping around the cabin these last few weeks, hard to know."

He scoffs. "Yeah, well. Netflix putting your hit show on indefinite hiatus without warning or explanation will do that to a guy."

Wayne knows there's nothing he can say to soften this hurt, so he gives Eddie's shoulder a tight squeeze. "I'm proud of you no matter what, son."

His nephew nods, eyes down, but Wayne doesn't miss the small, pleased, lift at the corner of his lips.

The morning passes smoothly and Wayne pretends he doesn't notice every time he finds Eddie's gaze straying to Steve's booth.

The kids come by around noon, Dustin Henderson breaking away from the pack to shriek, "You're Eddie Munson!"

Eddie smiles, stands. "That I am, young adventurer." He bows low, exaggerated and the kids giggle. "Pray tell, what are your names?"

The chatter is fast and easy, Eddie the happiest he's been in weeks, and Wayne relaxes back in his chair, lets out a long, slow breath of relief at the breaking storm. He stretches back in his chair, eyes catching on Steve Harrington across the way. Steve who is watching Eddie and the kids with an expression Wayne can only think of as fond.

Wayne isn't one to play matchmaker, but--he thinks, just maybe, just this once he could nudge.

It happens late in the afternoon, when business has well-slowed, Eddie asking, "Um--that guy over there, who is--what's his deal?"

Wayne thinks he manages to keep all traces of amusement from his face and voice as he answers, "Who? Ohh, Steve Harrington. He's the guidance counselor down at the middle school. Does a bit of carpentry in his free time. Best friends with the woman who owns that little bookstore."

He watches as Eddie processes, as his eyes widen, probably in remembrance of the pride flags and Protect Trans Kids shirts, how the woman in question wore a lesbian flag pin on her apron. "Guidance counselor?" He says eventually. "Kind of a drag."

"You would think, but the kids love him. The ones you met earlier today? He babysat them for years; imprinted on him, Jim and I say."

"Hmm," is the only response he gets, Eddie's attention back on the man in question.

---

The day after the market, Wayne walks into the living room to find Eddie's laptop tucked into the cushions of the window seat. He hasn't seen the thing since Eddie came home, never used to see him without it, and this--well.

He says, "need to run into town for a few things. You up for a trip? You might could stop at that bookstore."

Eddie nods, takes a sip of his coffee--he's actually drinking it-- says, "Yeah. Yeah, I think that'd be cool."

The store isn't busy when they arrive, and Wayne drifts towards the magazines to leave Eddie to his own devices.

Wayne loses himself to quiet browsing, wanting to give Eddie space, to maybe chat with Robin Buckley, strike up the beginnings of a friendship. Enough time passes, though, that Wayne is wondering where his boisterous, noticeable nephew could've disappeared to so silently.

He winds around a shelf and sees Eddie and Steve Harrington in deep conversation. He can't hear it, not really, but they're standing close, with pink in their cheeks. As he watches, Steve says something that makes Eddie laugh and pull a few strands of hair over his mouth.

They're almost inseparable after that. Eddie, Steve, Robin, and all those kids. They play dnd, have movie nights, spend hours at the diner. And Eddie, he's writing, sketching, gets down Wayne's acoustic guitar and plays around for a while.

When he asks how things are with "that Harrington boy," Eddie flushes red and says, "none of your business, old man" before giving Wayne a quick, affectionate squeeze. 

---

Two and a half months after Eddie came to stay, Wayne's walking back from the river, the sky the light navy of new dusk. His fishing rod is draped over one shoulder, tackle box held easily in his fist, the walk home pleasant, a perfect end to a good day.

The light from the front porch seeps through the trees, and he's thinking about a cold beer, a warm pizza, if Eddie's found his way home yet, when figures standing on the porch stop him in his tracks.

It takes a second, longer, for his eyes to adjust from the dark of the woods, and the glow of the bulb, but then he sees--

Eddie and Steve locked in a fierce embrace, desperate and very much private.

He turns right back towards the river, doesn't mind giving the boys some time.

He waits a good half hour, just enjoying the forest, before heading back. Steve's car is gone, the porch vacant, but the cabin is lit up, bright and warm and inviting.

Wayne steps inside, and his nephew is there, laptop open, but he isn't working, just smiling to himself, chin resting on his fist.

"Okay?" Wayne asks.

"Huh? Oh, yeah." Eddie's smile doesn't fall from his face.

He doesn't want to interfere, ask too much, not when he's sure things are still young. Instead, he asks, "What'd you say to ordering a pizza?"

And Eddie, heedless of Wayne's question, says,"you know. I've been thinking about maybe staying here for a little longer."

And Wayne, his smile grows, and he claps a hand on his nephew's shoulder. "You're welcome here for as long as you want. Already consider it your home anyway."

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

By Your Side

The Arcane brainrot remains strong, and is apparently strong enough to make me write a fic twice as long as usual. Dammit Silco

Summary: Silco receives reports of an enforcer in Zaun beating the chem-barons at their own game and goes to investigate. He doesn't expect to see a ghost of his past.

It's always on the bridge that his life-changing moments happen. First it was Felicia's death, then Vander's betrayal. Now…now it was you, trading your life for his, pushing him away as enforcers moved towards the both of you.

Go, your lips mouth as your dagger sinks into the throat of the enforcer closest to him. You rip the blade out, causing blood to spurt from the wound and whirl around to face the others, shouting a challenge to draw their attention away.

His feet remain rooted to the ground, throat dry as he watches enforcers crowd around you, hears your war cries as you turn into a deadly whirlwind of steel and suddenly Sevika is dragging him away, eyes hard. Your cries get softer as Sevika hauls him further and further away from you, until he can no longer hear you anymore, nor see you.

No, he can't lose you too. Not after everything, not after what he's promised you. Not when the reality of Zaun is so close at hand —

"—co! Silco!" He blinks slowly, raising his head. Sevika stands before him, her flesh hand on the table supporting her as she leans forward, staring right at him.

"What is it, Sevika?" He groans, noticing the fallen pieces of paper that he will have to reorganise later.

"There have been reports of an enforcer single-handedly cutting their way through Zaun. All the chaos has been affecting business and the chem-barons have been complaining."

"Are they all that useless? One enforcer is giving them so much trouble?" Silco rubs his temple. As if the chem-barons themselves aren't enough of a problem already, now they're handing him more problems to deal with.

"The enforcer apparently knows all the ins and outs of Zaun or something," Jinx chimes in from her perch atop the rafters. She lazily rolls over to look at Silco, playing around with her latest grenade, grinning down at him. "Disappearing into the alleys only to pop out again when everyone least expects it and kills everyone."

Silco frowns, how would an enforcer know Zaun's streets well enough to trick chem-barons? The only plausible explanation he can think of is that someone had given the enforcer a map, and a traitor in their midst was an thorn he had to remove with haste.

"I suppose I will have to clean up after them once again," he sighs. "Sevika, track this enforcer down. Follow their movements, take note of anyone they meet and report back."

"Understood." With that, his ever-loyal right-hand exits his office, leaving him alone with Jinx.

"You know," she hops onto his desk, "that enforcer looked rather familiar."

Silco raises an eyebrow at her, and she smirks, knowing she has stolen back his attention. "They looked a lot like…someone…what was their name again?"

Silco turns back to his stack of paperwork when she falls silent once more and Jinx rummages through a drawer, only to slam it shut with a loud bang that echoes all around the room. She lunges forward, deft fingers quickly finding the thin chain around his neck and pulls on it, hard.

"They had this hanging around their neck too." She whispers. "Sounds familiar?"

No. No, it couldn't be. You — you were gone, dead, lost to the enforcers that day on the bridge. It couldn't be you, it had to be an imposter, there was no way — he had to see it for himself. He had to know, had to confirm it with his own eye.

"Are you sure?" He asks calmly, careful not to break his facade. He had to remain rational, control his emotions for this could be a trap laid by Piltover, but how would they know about you? Too many questions, not enough answers. He could wait for Sevika's report, he had patience.

Jinx lets go of the chain, sliding off his desk. "I saw it myself. You can't miss it, dangles from their neck like an obnoxious piece of jewellery."

Silco's eye widens slightly. There is no doubt about it, it really is you, but how? How had you survived the fight, the riots, and why didn't you come back to Zaun? To him? His fingers curl around his cup as he searches for the answer in his past. You'd promised to be by his side, and he thought that promise lost when he was separated from you that day, but you were very much alive. Had you lied? Yet another question to ask when he got his hands on you.

Jinx notices the twitching and frowns. Silco was clearly hiding something from her, and she didn't like it when he did that. She leans forward, "who are they to you?"

"Someone I may know," he answers, pushing Jinx away. "Don't you have better things to do than bother me?"

"Hmph," Jinx pouts, annoyed that she isn't getting a proper answer. "They're clearly someone you were close to, otherwise they wouldn't have that ugly ring."

Silco sighs, picking up the topmost paper from the pile, "Not anymore. Now go and tinker with something else or make yourself useful and help Sevika track the enforcer down."

Jinx groans but exits the office, leaving Silco alone with his thoughts. Was the enforcer really you? How were you still alive? He plays with the ring hanging around his neck, remembering the day you had presented him with the ring. It hadn't been anything special, fancy or big. Just a simple gesture of shoving a box into his hand and telling him to open it.

"What's this?"

"A surprise gift! Open it!" You grin at him, clearly rather excited about his reaction to whatever that gift is. He frowns, mind cycling through possible pranks you could pull with this 'surprise gift' of yours and stares at it suspiciously.

"I told you it'd backfire," Vander chuckles, cleaning a glass. "You can't escape that reputation of yours."

"Oh come on! I'm not that bad…am I?" You blink owlishly as the two men stare at you incredulously. "…I see. Thank you both for the votes of confidence."

"You're welcome," Silco drawls, suppressing a chuckle of amusement as he pulls the box closer. "You're going to clean up whatever mess comes of me opening this box, understand?"

"I swear there will be no mess!" You pout, slumping onto the table. Vander laughs, ruffling your hair, "I can vouch for her this time, Silco."

"Fine," Silco sighs, but still braces himself as he opens the box — to reveal a simple metal band resting on a cushion.

"So, gonna marry me or —"

"How did you get this?" Silco lifts the ring into the light, studying it. There are carvings set in the metal, your initials and his, bringing a smile to his face as he reads it. "And yes, I am 'going to marry you', don't fret."

"Yes!" You whisper-yell giddily, excitedly bouncing around the bar. Vander pours three drinks, pushing two towards Silco and you while drinking the last one, chuckling. Silco rolls his eyes, taking the cup offered by Vander and throws his pen at you. You yelp as the pen hits you squarely in the forehead and then chuck the pen right back at him.

Silco calmly dodges your terrible aim, taking another sip from his cup, "are you going to answer my question or not?"

"I stole it!"

"I don't believe you."

"What?!" You flop onto the floor dramatically. "The man I love doesn't believe me, it's over."

"Who did you steal this from?" Silco slips the ring onto his finger, then takes it off again. It's far too loose. "I'll need to hang this around my neck."

"Uh…a jewellery merchant I happened across a couple days ago."

"And you didn't even check the ring size."

"I'm supposed to know your ring size?" You snort, moving over to the counter top.

"I don't know, are you?" Silco leans in close, swiping your drink.

"Hey! That's mine!"

Silco simply smirks at you as he drinks half before handing it back, "too slow."

"Give that ring back! I'm reverting my decision, you drinks thief!"

"It's mine already, I'm afraid I'm not keen on parting with it." Silco quickly glances around, ensuring no one is looking before pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. "Although I could make it up to you with a return gift."

"Oh? Better not disappoint me then, Sil~" You grin, capturing his lips into a full kiss, which he returns.

"Have I ever, love?"

He tucks the ring away upon hearing his office door open, revealing a scowling Sevika who has a couple of scratches.

"They got away, sorry," she grunts, "but I did find out who they are. It's Y/N. They really are alive."

"How?" Silco growls.

"Don't know, but they don't remember me. Don't know if they'll remember you." She frowns. "Going in alone is stupid, don't you dare think about it."

"I wasn't." Silco sits back down, pinching the bridge of his nose. There's a weird ache in his chest, a pull that tries to drag him out of his office but he forces it back down. He can't let his emotions take a hold of him, there is much he doesn't know about your situation, going after you right now is far too risky.

Still, he takes a different turn during his usual nightly routine, entering an alleyway and takes out a cigar, lighting it. He lets the ring around his neck dangle outside his clothes, the silver reflecting what little light exists at this time of day. A ring of smoke floats into the air, disappearing into the cold night sky as footsteps sound from his left.

"About time you showed up, you've always been late whenever I wasn't around to haul you out of bed." Silence greets him, save for the click of a gun and Silco turns to face you. "Silence really doesn't suit you."

The gun lifts, pointing right at him and he simply stares back. A finger curls around the trigger, pressing it down slightly but he remains unfazed.

"Y/N." He can see the ring that hangs around your neck now, a simple gold coloured band hanging from a thin silver chain. He remembers the day he gave it to you, the way you took great care of it every day, but now it hangs tarnished from your neck, stained and rusted. "It's dirty."

He reaches over, pressing his chest against the barrel of the gun and inspects the ring. He can easily get rid of the rust that has set in, scrub away the dirt but returning it to its former shine will be quite impossible. He clicks his tongue, annoyed and lets go of the ring lifting his gaze to meet your empty eyes. "Let's go home."

The gun doesn't go off, your finger falling from the trigger when you see the ring hanging around his neck, images flashing through your mind. Memories that feel familiar and alien at the same time roar in your head, confusion eating away at you and you drop your gun, clutching at your head. Your chest tightens, lungs refusing to inhale the oxygen you need and your heart thunders in your ears.

No no no no no.

"Breathe." A deep voice cuts through the haze. "In and out. Focus on my voice, follow my instructions. I will not lose you again."

You force your lungs to cooperate, following the instructions step by step, encouraged by the gentle deep voice until your vision refocuses.

"Silco," you whisper shakily. "Silco."

"I'm right here," he murmurs, arms wrapping around you.

"I —"

"Hush now, love. Everything's alright."

"No, it's not. I nearly — I — Sevika —" Panic bubbles to the surface but Silco quickly steps in before the situation can spiral.

"Sevika is alright. You held back enough for her to escape with a few scratches." He presses a kiss to the top of your head. You're back, with him, in his arms. Silco tightens his grip, hugging you closer. It can't be a dream, such a dream would be far too cruel.

"They took me, suppressed my memories, Silco I —" You choke out a sob, tears silently flowing down your cheeks. His heart aches at the sight, it always has whenever he saw you cry.

"But they could never take away our love." He presses his forehead against yours, breathing in your new scent. You smell like Piltover, a weird freshness, a hint of lavender that doesn't suit you in the slightest, and that disgusting blue clashes with the colour of your eyes. Your hair is no longer as rugged, it's combed neatly and Silco ruffles it, running his fingers through the strands like he used to.

He kisses you until your breath smells like cigars, throws his jacket over your shoulders and bundles you in it until he's satisfied he can't smell the Piltover stink anymore then presses one more chaste kiss to your lips. You smell like ash now, like the smoke that fills Zaun's air and he allows himself a small smile. The only trace of Piltover left now is the blue uniform but that has to wait until the both of you are home.

You're back now, with him, safely in his arms, and that's all that really matters. You, by his side once more, keeping the promise you had made to him years ago.

Don't worry, I'll be by your side, always.

[diejager]

how does a (monster AU) phoenix! reader sound? ...I kinda imagine 141 (except price) getting a heart attack when reader takes a bullet and bursts into flames and then a heap of ash, and then (im pulling a harry potter description of pheonix but its ur choice) the most ugly bird or something pokes their head out of the ashes and they're like '...oh'.

I remember watching Fawkes burning and turning to ash before he popped his head out. So adorable.

Ashes Cw: burning, death, rebirth, tell me if I missed any.

Ghost knew when someone was lying, able to sniff out a liar within a mile. Your dimmer smile, shorter laughter and exhaiusted expression, nothing seemed to make your days better than a warm bump of tea once or twice a day to sooth the ache in your bones and the strain in your muscles. He’d approach you with a clear mind, wanting to get to the bottom of your sickness, why you’d occasionally cough, voice weak and breathy until it cracked. You told him you were fine, that it was just the weather affecting you, but he’d seen this kind of sickness before, a cold that sunk into the bones and clogged every sinuses with intent —sick and vulnerable.

He wasn’t alone in this thought, Alejandro and Gaz shared similar doubts, coming forth to Price with their fears rather than sneaking around like he did, but Price had waved them off, telling them that it was a seasonal thing, you got sick from time to time and rose back from it as if death failed to catch you. This did not seem like something simple and mundane, Ghost could see death follow you like it followed him, it was ever present, so much so that Alejandro and Horangi - the two with the weakest nose out of the four - could smell it ooze off you like a dark miasma plaguing your body.

It seemed as if the both of you shared something that the others weren’t privy to, a low whisper in the dark that they failed to catch or the secret you shared through confidentiality higher than even a colonel. The captain knew you before you joined them, forming a tight connection through past trauma and fuck ups. Perhaps that’s why Price seemed almost chipper about your saddening state.

It seemed that Ghost was kept in as much darkness as the rest, the higher ups had kept it hidden from him, from König and from Alejandro who should’ve had the jurisdiction to have access to your documents. Especially after seeing you burst into flames after being shot in the neck by a surviving sniper (Ghost was quick to shoot him down), body gone in a coud of ash and dusted feathers. He panicked, but he wasn’t the only one to rush towards what remained of you. Despite their panicked mumbles and frantic thoughts, Price had reassured them that it was normal, that you were still alive —all they had to do was wait a few seconds for you to reappear.

Appear you did, a small, ashen head, beak the length of a child’s thumb, small ad brittle, big, rounded eyes blinked at them, narrowed in confusion until you called, a tiny croon from a chick’s throat. You shuffled your way through the mess, featherless wings flapping as you hopped towards Price, who quickly met you half way, picking you up with one nimble swoop.

“Look at you,” Price cooed, pressing his thumb to your forehead, feeling the soft, newly grown feathers that glowed white, “About time you burned, yeah?”

“Fuckin’ hell,” it was the only thing he could answer with when his mind was building up these theories, every little thought in his head went to understand what and how you were made. It was as close as Soap’s Steamin’ bloody Jesus or König’s dumbfounded Was.

“Is that why you told us not to worry, Captain?” Gaz’s ability to think clearly in adrenaline-inducing moments was a blessing, able to restrain his unending thoughts to connect two together and conjure up a sentence - a few words, a mumble or a plea - to understand whatever happened to you. “What happened?”

Price let out a deep rumble, a laugh from his belly, deep and amused, a striking contrast to their worried frowns. He handled you softly, petting and pinching at the young feathers growing on you while he turned you around, showing them how Price held you with such careful ease and soothing smile. Ghost doubted that Price didn’t have any prior experience in caring for you, seeing how loving he was with you —like a lover caring for his sickened, or a dragon guarding his treasure, Ghost wasn’t sure which one was right.

“Hunter’s a phoenix, “ he smiled softly, eyes gleaming with too much glee, a silent laugh at their sudden bewilderment, approaching you slowly to admire you themselves. “They burst to flames every three years or so, the last one was around five years ago- long overdue for a reset.”

Soap and Horangi were the first to attempt to touch you, the excited dog and the curious feline, tentatively poking at you with a finger until you pecked it, annoyed by their incessant jabbing. You let out a shrill cry from your throat, small and hilariously fierce for something so small and fragile. You crawled to the ends of Price’s fingers, wings flapping to urge them to pick you up instead of pointing a finger and cooing at you as if you were an exotic animal. You somewhat were —exotic, that is.

“A wee thang, aye, Cap?” Soap awed, cradling you in his palms, you weighted so little, as light as a feather on Gaz’s wing.

“Ugly as a rat too,” Horangi snickered, making light of the situation that had made their hearts stop.

You screeched, shaking your head wildly at him, his shoulders bobbing while you showed how offended you felt by acting out, an angry, little chick putting on a show of aggression and courage. His dark thoughts receded, Ghost’s fears and demons falling back into the depths of his mind when his eyes met your beady ones, round and doe-eyed, your age shining through the innocence of a newly-hatched. It made him wonder how you’d look once your feathers grew out, would you be as majestic as the stories portrayed phoenix did, with your great wings and great strength, feathers bathed in the sun’s warm embrace and tipped with the power of undying flames of power. Phoenixes were seen as symbols of immortality, resurrection —of life and death. Untouchable by death and favoured by life, you would live in a cycle of ashes and flames, embers cracking until it softened to flickers, a soft, gentle flame ready to yield to nature.

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @yeetusspagheetus @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @ki-cant-spel @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @mul-pi @danielle143

[kumkaniudaku]

TBT

Summary: A young Terry and Patrice spend a Christmas morning together.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: None. Just some holiday fluff.

Previous: Merry Christmas, Baby

A/N: I love this one so much. I hope you enjoy too.

The coldest Christmas in recent history was no match for the overwhelming heat Terrence felt beneath his thick winter sweater as nervousness crept into his chest. The low purr of his uncle’s Honda slowly disappeared into the bitter afternoon chill, leaving him no other option but to press the doorbell to the Ellis home and pray for entry. 

Weeks of planning, sneaking, and tutorial-watching had gone into this mission. Heavy convincing and a shoddy handshake agreement to throw a couple of dollars his uncle’s way for gas had him snatching a poorly wrapped package from beneath the tree and hopping into Uncle Myron’s front seat before his parents could ask any further questions. 

His hands felt wet and slippery under the warm pecan pie he’d begged his mother to make for reasons he wouldn’t share the night before. His heart raced as he carefully adjusted the pretty orange bow on top of a covered box, suddenly nervous about how it looked. She deserved nothing less than perfection and he’d labored over careful folds and clean lines to deliver her his best. 

Rustling and a voice growing louder as it approached made him stop short before he could press the doorbell again. He quickly pulled at his coat and stood a little taller as her father appeared behind a glass storm door.

“Oh! It’s just you Terry. Thought you might’ve been my sister. Merry Christmas, son. You gettin’ big, boy. You benching ‘bout 250 now huh?” 

Terry smiled bashfully. “Yeah, I am. Tryin’ to bulk up a little before Spring.”

“You doin’ it. Next time I see you, you gon' be bigger than me. What you got there?” 

Terry blinked twice, trying to think through a response as Mr. Ellis stared back at him before finally sputtering out a response. “A-a pie! Sorry. It’s a pie from my mama. She sent me over here to drop it off and say Merry Christmas.”

“And that,” Mr. Ellis asked pointing at the gift adorned in the pretty orange bow.

“A gift for Patrice. Is she home? I know she said she would probably be at the store with her mom, but I can wait. Or I-I cou-”

“Calm down,” Mr. Ellis laughed as he stepped aside with the door pushed open wider than before. “She’s in here helping her mama set the table. Come on. She’ll be happy to see you.”

A deep breath that created a white cloud in front of his face calmed Terry’s nerves as he moved past Patrice’s father into the house. He didn’t need directions past the wall of family photos, down the hallway, and into the living area. In four years, he’d spent entire days lazing around that house. He’d shared Sunday dinners at her kitchen table, taken naps on her bedroom floor, and played video games with her younger brother on the living room couch. This was as much his hang-out spot as his own house in his mind. 

Christmas music crackled and popped from the worn record player on a bookshelf full of Black literature, the object flanked by his two favorite photos of Patrice. He gave the framed memory of her fifth birthday party a glance and a soft smile like he usually did before making his way into the kitchen. 

“Baby Girl and Ros, the Richmond boy brought us a pie this morning,” Leon announced on his way through the living room and out of the back door to return to his turkey frying duties.

“A pie! How sweet!” Terry’s introduction made Patrice whip her head around to get a look at her surprise visitor. He offered her a small wave and smile that she returned as Rosalyn approached to give him a warm hug. “Look at you! Have you gotten taller since the school year started?” 

Rosalyn had watched Terry grow from a boy into a young man. Once lanky, slender arms now carried budding muscles and extra weight. The first fuzz of facial hair carefully shaved per his father’s instructions left light shadows. His voice was deeper and smoother than the once cracking alto of his youth. Changing mannerisms had him looking more sure of himself. His development alongside Patrice’s presented further reminders that the only thing certain in this life was the passage of time. She’d never be prepared but embraced it all the same. 

“A little bit. Think I’m at 6’3” now,” Terry boasted, smiling at the newest adjustments in his measurements.

“Six-three! I know your mama can’t keep a lick of food in the house,” she laughed. “You made your decision on college yet?” 

“Not yet. Still considering trying to walk on at A&T. I feel like I’ll like it there.”

Rosalyn smiled, knowing the reason for his switch from UNC Chapel Hill. “Well, that’s good. You and Patrice work well together. You can keep each other on track.” 

“I keep myself on track, mama. Terry too when his head gets all up in the clouds.” 

“She helped me study one time and now she think she my teacher.” 

“You a one-time lie and you know it.” 

Terry’s infectious toothy grin spread to Patrice from across the room, creating a spark almost tangible enough for Rosalyn to reach out and grab. She noticed the emergence of shy glances and extra physical contact where senseless bickering once lived. Knees that occasionally touched while they watched movies on the couch were now shoulders pressed tightly together in the backseat after school without shame. When they weren’t in the same room, cell phones remained pressed to listening ears as they ran down chats about everything and nothing at the same time. Their trajectory was clear. 

More conversations about hormones, love, and the perils of unprotected sex than Rosalyn could count had been passed down individually and as a pair with no care for their obvious discomfort. Both sets of parents could only pray that their children retained at least some information to use when the inevitable took place.

“So, the pie,” Rosalyn pointed out, cutting through the open display of affection. “What kind is it? Smells good!” 

Terry blinked twice to pull his eyes away from Patrice to look at her mother. “Uh, pecan. My mama’s special recipe.”

“Really! That’s Patrice’s favorite. What a coincidence.” 

Terry’s ears slowly turned red as he tried to laugh off Rosalyn’s observation. She winked at him and pulled the dessert from his hands, careful to return the gift on top before making her way to the food table.

Patrice nervously shifted her weight as she leaned against the counter for her first break of the morning, now hyperaware of how her body looked with a set of blue-green eyes following her every move. 

They’d matched unintentionally. Terry’s red sweater complimented Patrice’s white one with both teenagers sporting black bottoms to top off festive looks. Searching for something, anything to say, Patrice pointed at his head. 

“You decided to stop growing your hair out?” 

Terry ran a hand down the back of his fresh fade. “Yeah. My dad was on me about it. Said I looked like a hoodlum. I don’t even know what that means but I guess I don’t really need the extra cushion for the helmet now anyway.”

“Well, my opinion probably doesn’t matter, but I think it looks nice. I’ll miss the widow's peak, though. It was cute.” 

A twinkle of happiness flashed across Terry’s eyes, making his cheeks rise into a proud smile. The haircut was staying. No doubt about it.

“Thank you,” he spoke quietly, still processing the tingles rolling across his body. “You, um…you want some help? My mama showed me how to set a table. Fork on the left, right?” 

Rosalyn watched the pair watch each other with a knowing smile on her face as Terry took slow steps across the kitchen toward Patrice. He didn’t come there to set the table for a family he didn’t belong to. He came to spend a few minutes of stolen time with the only person worth existing in his small world. 

She stopped him before he could get too far. “That’s sweet of you, baby, but I don’t need too many people in my kitchen. P, you can take him to your room. You know to leave that door open. Don’t have me come back there and I can’t see what y’all are doing.”

Neither Terry nor Patrice needed the reminder but ensured they showed their understanding with head nods and verbal agreement. They’d been down this road plenty of times. Leave the door half open, answer when called, and keep your hands to yourself. The first two were easy. Resisting the desire to touch became more difficult as the days flew by. 

Patrice led the way down the hallway toward her room, making small talk before holding the door open for him to enter. The sunny orange and yellow motif hadn’t changed much since they hung out for the first time. Posters and photos of her favorite artists still lined the wall beside her bed. The sunflower plushie she called Sunny rested in its usual spot at the top of her dresser. His favorite spot in the house, a soft yellow beanbag, was empty and awaiting his arrival. He took a deep breath to inhale the birthday cake candle she kept burning on her nightstand before sliding his shoes and coat off to place them in their designated spot. 

She kissed her teeth as she flopped on the bed. “You gon’ stop havin’ your toes out in here.” 

“I should start charging you. People would pay good money to see these. Even in socks!”

“Oh yeah right. People like who? That Cierra girl in 11th grade?” 

“Here you go,” Terry groaned from his spot on the bean bag. He flipped through a random magazine beside him to avoid eye contact. “I don’t like that girl. We just hang out because Xavier talks to her friend and he be needin’ back up sometimes.”

“No way. She was wearing your jacket.”

“She took my jacket out of Zay’s car to be funny and I got it back as soon as I could find her.”

“Say swear.”  

The ultimate test. Saying swear was their way of ensuring the other was telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth. 

Terry looked up from the pages of Seventeen Magazine to look Patrice in the eye and confirm his statement. “Swear. She kinda annoying, honestly. Nice girl, but all she ever wants to talk about is reality TV and school drama.” 

“Ooooh. Terry likes a little substance in his conversations, huh,” Patrice laughed, exaggerating her words to mimic their creative writing teacher. “Let me find out you’re out here discussing Of Mice and Men without me. I’m gonna have to put my hands on you.” 

Terry scoffed at her threat. “Yeah, right. Plus, you talk about stuff without me all the time. I heard about you and Robert Mitchell kickin’ it after winter formal.” 

“That’s not what happened!” 

“Let me know what happened then.”

It was Patrice’s turn to explain herself. What started as a night between mixed friend groups turned into Terry sneaking looks at his best friend while she engaged with a guy that he frankly didn’t think was smart enough for her. He’d never share how it made him feel outside of light jabs to be annoying. 

He waited for her to stop chewing her bottom lip and respond. 

“Rob doesn’t like me. He just wanted to see if he could convince me to sneak off with him to the parking lot which I didn’t do. So he left me alone and I rode back with Vicky to spend the night. Nothing to see there, as always.” 

Terry took in her truth with equal parts sadness at the circumstance and anger at the young man bold enough to cause her pain.

“Dang, Treece, I’m sorry. I didn’t know it went like that. Want me to talk to him?” 

Patrice adjusted to sit in front of Terry at the edge of the bed. She kicked her feet as she played with her painted thumbnails. “No. I wasn’t even supposed to tell anybody. Plus, we both know that you don’t talk. Don’t need you getting in trouble because of me. Thanks, though.” 

“You don’t gotta thank me.” He was still gonna have words with Robert when he got the chance, but that was for him to know and Patrice to never find out. Trying to shift the energy, he pretended to use her fuzzy sock-covered feet as a speed bag to get a rise out of her. She rolled her eyes but allowed him to continue. “Wanna see your gift now or should I put it under the tree?”

“I’ll open mine but you gotta open your’s first? Deal?” 

“Deal.”

Terry chuckled as he watched her prance to her closet and back with an excited smile dimpling her cheeks. In her hand, she carried two gifts of differing sizes. They were expertly wrapped in shiny festive paper and a Carolina blue bow so that there was no mistaking who was the lucky recipient. 

She reclaimed her spot on the bed, setting the smaller of the two packages beside her before handing the other to Terry to grasp with two hands. “Okay, do this one first! Hurry!” 

“Alright, alright! Calm down.” Terry made a show of slowly peeling tape and wrapping paper from the large, flat object for no other reason than to watch Patrice squirm impatiently. She tried to rush him along but he wouldn’t give in. 

Their smiles grew in tandem once Terry ended his torture and revealed a framed pristine Francis Edward High School football jersey. 

He used his index finger to trace out the letters stitched to form his last name behind the glass. “How’d you get this?” 

“Coach Robinson let me have it for tutoring his daughter in Spanish. Then my auntie did the letters for free. Look at the pictures!”

Shock at seeing his name printed on a jersey for the first time distracted him from the small collage of photos neatly placed beside it. A picture from his senior night sat next to a photo from his record-setting game as a junior. Another capturing a game-winning touchdown had him reliving the memory in full color. But his favorite, a snapshot of them being crowned homecoming king and queen at midfield, made him smile. 

“Do you like it,” Patrice asked, her eyes wide and expectant as she waited for some indication of his feelings. “You can take all the stuff out if you want. This just seemed better to put on your wall at home.”

“I like it a lot, Treece. Never thought I’d have my own jersey. Especially now that the scholarships aren’t coming.” Terry looked over the gift for a few seconds more before giving her smiling face his full attention. “Thank you. Mean it.” 

She pushed her hair behind her ear and shrugged. “You’re welcome. Mean it.” They sat there, grinning and staring back at one another in silence until Rosalyn called their names for one of her periodic checks. They responded promptly before Patrice attempted to get them back on track. “C’mon. Open the last one!” 

“If I would’ve known we were going all out, I would’ve done more,” Terry spoke, preemptively apologizing for coming up short as he peeled away the crinkling paper. Patrice waved him away. They weren’t in competition. If anything, she’d gone too far in her pursuit of his happiness. 

A final rip of wrapping paper unveiled a small gift box with his name scribbled across it. He carefully lifted the lid and then closed it once he caught a glimpse of its contents. His face began to flush with incoming emotions. 

Nestled inside a plastic key chain was a photo of Terry and his maternal grandmother. His summer had been filled with dread that she may not make it through her sickness to end the year, a fear that was realized before the school year began. He’d all but camped out on her bedroom floor in complete silence, desperately searching for some reprieve from funeral arrangements and repast activities at home. 

For Patrice, it was a no-brainer to use some of her babysitting money to take a photo she’d nabbed from his MySpace profile and turn it into a keepsake. 

Terry stilled himself with a deep breath. “You’re nice when you wanna be.” 

“Yeah, well, you’re my friend and you were sad. It’s the least I could do.”

“Thanks. For real,” he whispered, holding eye contact a little longer before pointing at her gift. “Your turn. It’s only one box but there’s a lot in it. And don’t judge my wrapping skills.” 

“Too late! This bow is super cute though. I’m gonna stick it to Sunny.”

Patrice ripped through messy silver paper, discarding scraps at her feet her that Terry gathered into a small pile to throw away later. She popped the top on a white garment box and then squealed as she pulled a folded sweater from inside. 

Future Aggie. He thought the grey, blue, and yellow sweatshirt would be a fitting gift for someone finally realizing their dream of attending college. Patrice rushed to press the garment against her chest as she looked at herself in the mirror hanging on her closet door. 

She twisted and turned to see all her angles. “I’m wearing this to school on the first day back. Thank you, TJ!” 

Her announcement created a rush of emotions bursting in all directions. Something he’d purchased adorning her body? What a sight. What a feeling. 

The surprises and elated responses continued. A new journal and pens for her to use at her leisure earned him a high five. A bottle of Hollister body mist that she fawned over on one of their many trips to the mall received a wide smile and a few sprays on her new sweater. But her favorite was the gift that cost him nothing but time. 

A CD with “For Patrice” written in thick marker and Terry’s slanted handwriting caught her attention. Try as she might, Patrice couldn’t get him to spill the beans about the disc’s contents, instead pushing her to pop it into her dusty boombox and press play. 

“Uh, this is kinda weird. Recording my own voice for a CD. Feel like I should start rappin’ or something.” Patrice smiled as Terry’s voice flowed through the speaker like a late-night radio host. He listened with his eyes closed, too embarrassed to watch her reaction in real-time. “This is for you, though, Treece. Just in case we never see each other again after high school, I hope these songs are enough to remember me by. If not then all this shit was for no reason and just pretend it never happened. I’m gonna stop talkin’ now. Hope you like it.”

His introduction flowed into a collection of songs that they considered their shared favorites. 

Terry spoke up over J. Cole’s ‘Dollar and a Dream II’. “It’s for when you’re in the car and stuff since you said you hate listening to the radio. I figured you could listen to a little mix of stuff you like instead.” 

“You know I’m gonna bring this everywhere with me now, right? My mama’s car, your car, everywhere! It’s great.”

“That’s like three compliments in a row. You getting soft on me,” he laughed. “I’m wearing you down.” 

“Why can’t you ever just let the nice things happen without saying something? I’m startin’ to think you like makin’ me mad. You sick in the head, TJ.”

Justin Timberlake, T.I., and everything in between told the story of moments spent together, inside jokes, and unspoken feelings that flowed through romantic lyrics. While they listened to track after track as background music to their winding conversation, minutes turned into hours. 

Terry had seen all of Patrice’s other gifts, taken pictures on her brand-new digital camera, taste-tested a few pieces of her aunt’s pound cake, and found time to play a few rounds of the newest Dragon Ball Z game with Junior without the passage of time ever registering in his brain. 

In Junior’s dark, dingy cave he called a bedroom, Patrice and Terry sat next to each other on the floor half paying attention to the television while her brother played video games and half fiddling with the directions and pieces from his newest Lego set. 

Leon knocked twice and poked his head into the room with the family phone in his hand. “Son, your mama’s on the phone. She said she’s been calling your cell phone looking for you.” 

Terry’s eyes widened at the realization that he’d left the small device in his coat pocket across the hall. He scrambled to his feet, limbs flailing and socks twisting as he rushed to grab the phone from Mr. Ellis before the older man stepped away to tend to other business. 

“Ma, I’m sorry!” 

“Terrence James, if you weren’t somewhere that I know for a fact is safe, I would kill you! What goes on between those ears of yours?”

Patrice winced at the non-stop yelling coming from the other end while Terry tried to listen with a poker face. She couldn’t make out all the details of his incoming punishment, but she could tell by the way the call ended that he wouldn’t be enjoying time away from home any time soon. 

Terry hung up and bit his bottom lip as he turned to Patrice. 

“How bad?” 

He shrugged. “Not that bad. She was just worried. I do have to go soon though. My uncle will be here in like 10 minutes.” 

“I mean I didn’t wanna have to be the one to kick you out, but…”

Their loud laughter at Patrice’s joke was enough to get them unceremoniously ousted from Junior’s bedroom with the door shut tight behind them before they could fully re-enter the hallway. Patrice followed Terry back into her room and watched him gather his belongings.

“My cousin Imani is coming later today. I wish y’all could’ve met each other. She’s silly like you.” 

“Yeah,” Terry questioned as he tied his sneakers. “Maybe I could try and come over tomorrow?” 

“That’s okay. You’re already in trouble. I don’t wanna make it worse. Maybe we can all hang out for Spring Break or something.” Terry looked up from his task to smile at Patrice until she mirrored his expression while rolling her eyes. “What are you smiling at?” 

“You.” 

“Why? What did I do?” 

“Just be you.”

Terry wished there was a mistletoe somewhere in the room to aid his cause. If only there were a reason to press his lips to hers as the cherry on top of the scariest confession he’d ever made. Or near confession. He couldn’t tell if his words had made the desired impact until Patrice slowly shook her head. 

She began laughing as she handed over his coat. “You sure you don’t wanna switch your major from math to English since you always talkin’ in riddles?” 

“I know what I be sayin’, you just don’t know,” he laughed to play off his blunder. 

“That completely defeats the purpose of a conversation.”

Patrice waited until he was finished securing the zippers and buttons on his coat before throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him close. Terry stood stunned for a beat, too caught off guard to reciprocate her affection until a switch flipped in his brain to snap him back into reality. 

He jammed his one hand into his pocket while his free arm snaked around her waist to avoid breaching an unspoken boundary. 

“Thanks for coming here this morning. Gift or not, it was fun to have you around,” she spoke over his shoulder. 

He smiled though she couldn’t see. “I know how much you love Christmas so, of course. It was fun being around. I like being with you.” 

Terry held his breath as Patrice slowly pulled away for a look at his face. Her eyes scanned for some indication that he was telling a joke or simply being annoying but found nothing but sincerity in those intense blue-green eyes she’d learned to read. 

A glimpse at his lips made her subconsciously run her tongue over the bottom of her set. Her heart raced. His hand slowly exited his pocket to find a home on her hip. They leaned forward in sync, both of them closing their eyes for whatever came next. 

“Terrence! Your uncle is outside! Get your stuff, baby!” 

Though she couldn’t possibly know the magic unfolding in her daughter’s bedroom, Rosalyn had successfully thwarted an attempt to further break the third rule. 

The pair repelled like opposite ends of a magnet until they were back at their respective ends of the room. Patrice pretended to take an interest in the purses hanging on the back of her door while Terry quickly gathered his gifts. 

He fumbled with the packages on his way out of the door, timidly inching past Patrice in hopes that she would speak to him one more time. 

“See you later.”

“I guess I should go.” 

Words overlapped in a harsh head-on collision, making them both shrink away in embarrassment. Terry chucked and took the lead. “Ladies first.” 

Patrice adjusted the hood on his coat and smiled. “I was just gonna say Merry Christmas, TJ. I hope you got everything you wanted.” 

“Merry Christmas, Treece. This is probably the best one I’ve ever had. Even if my mama is gonna rip my head off when I get home.”

“She definitely will. I’m sorry.”

“It’s cool.”

Patrice didn’t respond with words. She offered him a sweet smile as her thumb brushed stray cake crumbs from the corner of his mouth. Another holler of his name from the kitchen forced him out of her orbit and back into the cold with Patrice hot on his heels. 

She bid him farewell from the front door, watching until the champagne-colored Honda was out of sight and Terry was just the faint smell of cologne far too adult for him on her sweater and the memory causing goosebumps on her arms. 

When Patrice turned to finally retreat back into her room, Rosalyn stood at the threshold smiling at her daughter.

“You two have fun?”

Patrice put her head down to hide the wide smile spreading across her face as she sped past her mother. “It was okay. Did Auntie Mae make the mac and cheese yet? I’m gonna get some.”

“Make sure you wash those hands, young lady,” she called after Patrice. 

The spice of expensive cologne left a trail of secrets in her wake. Rosalyn inhaled deeply and shook her head. 

They’d need a refresher on the rules before New Year’s Eve.

-----

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[ratedfleur]

nsfw links | kpop idols

kpop idols x male & fem reader genre ౨ৎ explicit

🎀: jake of enhypen, xiaoting of kep1er, miyeon of gidle, jackson wang, taehyung of bts, cha eunwoo of astro, sana of twice, jinsik of xikers, felix and hyunjin of stray kids.

[link] - often finding himself going rough, most of the time jake makes you watch as his cock disappears into your heat, liking how you’d get whiny at the sight of it.

[link] - very handsy, xiaoting’s hands always make their way to tease and touch you as you hop on top of her, hurriedly kissing and touching her.

[link] - xiaoting often tries her best to please you hence she always rides you until her legs are sore from bouncing repeatedly on top of you.

[link] - miyeon is very honest when it comes to having sex so she immediately told you what she wants you to do when things get intimate between you two.

[link] - lust often pops out at any given moment so miyeon nearly immediately placed you atop the washing machine, eating you out until she’s content.

[link] - jackson always likes to make you feel small, fucking you on your back where he could easily tower over you with his big frame.

[link] - taehyung knows you’d be a doll and eagerly want to help him get off as he does the same to you, stuffing his fingers and curling in inside of you as you shakily jerk him off.

[link] - always wanting to have a part of you near him, eunwoo always chooses to pop a tit into his mouth, sucking on it as you’re fucking yourself on his lap.

[link] - sometimes, sex with sana isn’t always rough and degrading. most of the time, you both like to get intimate with light touches and sloppy kisses.

[link] - sana knows how much of a sucker you turn for her fingers, eyes always lingering on her hands so she knew exactly what to do with them in the bedroom.

[link] - the nicest that jinsik would be is simply fucking you with his fingers, not forcing you to take his cock even if he wants to stuff your cunt with it.

[link] - on the braver side, felix always finds himself trying new things out with you, hence why he found himself salivating when he catches a whiff of the scent of your juices as he got on his knees.

[link] - curiosity does kill the cat but not hyunjin. once he lets his curiosity take over, he knew it was the right thing to happen because he just discovered a new kink of yours.

© RATEDFLEUR — ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[penascigarette]

need to pay with somethin' else

➴pairing: sleazy mechanic!joel miller x f!reader

➴wc: 3k

➴summary: strapped for cash after your car breaks down, you find yourself at the mercy of your dads best friend Joel Miller, a sleazy yet charismatic mechanic who offers an unconventional way to settle your debt

➴warnings: m!oral receiving, reader has grabbable/fuckable breasts, joels sleazy, power imbalance

➴notes: this started because i had to get my oil change and the guy was definitely giving joel vibes so here we. divider by @saradika-graphics and to @slimybeth69 for reading this over <33 also from this poll full of sleazy boys

masterlist

The engine sputters once, twice, and then dies with a pitiful wheeze. You groan, slumping forward against the steering wheel. This is the third time this week your car has left you stranded, and you’re officially at your wit’s end. The glowing check engine light on the dashboard feels like it’s mocking you as you fumble for your phone and scroll to find Joel Miller’s number.

Joel’s been your dad’s best friend since forever—gruff, handy with a wrench, and the kind of man who always seems to have a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He runs a small garage on the edge of town, the kind of place where you pay in cash and don’t ask too many questions. Your dad swears by him, though, and after a minute of internal debate, you decide to give him a call.

“Yeah?” Joel’s voice is rough when he answers, you can hear the sound of clanging metal in the background.  

“It’s me,” you say, already feeling the heat of frustration rising to your cheeks. “Car died. Again.”  

There’s a pause, then a low chuckle. “Sounds like you’ve got yourself a real piece of shit there, darlin’. Where you at?”

You rattle off your location, and he promises to swing by in fifteen minutes. True to his word, Joel pulls up in his battered pickup truck, stepping out with his usual air of quiet confidence. His eyes skim over you and your car as he approaches, wiping his hands on his coveralls already streaked with grease.  

“Pop the hood,” he says, gesturing with a tilt of his head.  

You watch as he leans over the engine, his broad shoulders flexing under his worn shirt. His hands move deftly, poking and prodding until he straightens with a frown. “Transmission’s shot,” he says flatly. “You’re gonna need a tow.”  

A tow. Great. As if your day wasn’t bad enough. “Can you fix it?”  

“Sure,” Joel says, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “But it’s not gonna be cheap.”  

You hesitate, biting your lip. Money’s tight—has been for months—but you don’t have much choice. “Can you tow it to the shop?”  

Joel gives you a long look. “Yeah. Hop in the truck. I’ll take care of it.”  

The ride to his shop is quiet, except for the radio's low hum and the occasional creak of the truck’s suspension. Joel doesn’t say much, but you can feel his presence like a weight in the small cab. When you arrive, he parks outside the garage, and you follow him inside.  

The shop smells of motor oil, rubber, and metal. Familiar scents that remind you of your dad’s stories about their younger days fixing cars together. Tools are scattered across the workbench, and a half-empty coffee mug sits next to an ashtray filled with cigarette butts.  

Joel leans against the hood of your car, arms crossed, as he nods toward it. “It ain’t good,” he says, his voice carrying that same gravelly tone that always makes your stomach twist. “Gonna run you $700. Maybe more if I find anything else wrong and that's me givin’ you a deal sweetheart.”  

Your heart sinks. Seven hundred dollars might as well be a million. “I don’t have that kind of money right now,” you admit quietly.  

Joel smirks, and his gaze sweeps over you with an almost predatory air. “Figured as much.” He takes a slow step closer, his presence suddenly feeling a lot larger in the cramped space. “Been real kind to you the last few times, fixin’ this piece of shit for free. Even worked extra hours just to get you back on the road. But sweetheart…” His voice dips low. “That goodwill don’t come cheap forever.”  

Your stomach twists with guilt because he’s right. Joel’s helped you out more times than you can count, always brushing it off with a gruff “Don’t worry ‘bout it.” But this time, his tone carries a sharper edge, and his gaze lingers on you, sharp and calculated.  

“I’m a reasonable man,” he says after a beat, his lips quirking in a slow smirk. “We can work somethin’ out that doesn’t involve a whole lot of cash. You got other ways to make it worth my while.”  

You freeze, your breath catching. “What are you talking about?” you manage, though you're pretty sure you know what he means.  

Joel chuckles, taking another step toward you. “C’mon now. Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I mean.” His eyes flicker over you as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “You’ve got a mouth, darlin’. Seems to me like you could put it to good use and settle that bill real quick.”  

Heat floods your face. “That’s disgusting,” you snap, but your voice lacks conviction.

Joel shrugs, utterly unbothered. “ But it’s practical, ain’t it? You’re broke, and I’ve got a car to fix. Think of it as a trade. A favor for a favor.”  

You hesitate, your mind is racing. The idea is mortifying, but his words hit you where it hurts most—your empty wallet and your lack of options.  

He steps closer, close enough now that you can feel the heat radiating off him. “Look,” he says, his voice softening just enough to feel personal. “You can walk outta here, take that piece of shit somewhere else, and still be stranded. Or…” His hand lifts, his thumb brushing your cheek. “You can stay. Handle this like a big girl. Ain’t gotta be a big deal, sweetheart. Just a few minutes of your time, and your car’ll be good as new.”  

Your throat tightens, your heart hammering against your ribs as you weigh the impossible choice in front of you. His eyes lock onto yours and you know he can see the hesitation written all over your face.  

“You don’t gotta decide now,” he drawls, leaning back against the workbench with infuriating ease. “But don’t take too long. Time’s money, and I got other cars to fix.”  

The air feels thick, as his words sink in. You should walk away, call your dad, and deal with the fallout later. But the thought of your empty bank account and the guilt of all the times Joel’s helped you out for free keeps you rooted to the spot.  

Finally, your voice comes out, shaky and barely above a whisper. “Okay.”  

Joel’s grin turns wicked as he tosses the rag onto the workbench. “Atta girl. Come on, then. Let’s settle this debt.”

You follow him deeper into the garage, the sound of your boots scuffing the concrete seeming deafening in the quiet space. He walks with a casual confidence as he gestures for you to sit on an old, battered stool. It squeaks under your weight, but you barely notice. Your nerves are shot.

Joel leans back against the workbench, arms crossed, his coveralls pulling tight across his body. His smirk hasn’t left—if anything, it’s grown sharper, like a wolf that knows it’s already caught its prey. “Don’t look so nervous,” he says in a teasing voice. “Ain’t gonna hurt you.”

You swallow hard, your gaze darts around the space trying to distract your spiraling mind. The smell of motor oil and grease feels thicker now, as if it’s seeping into your skin. “This... this isn’t something I usually do,” you murmur.

He chuckles. “Yeah, I figured. You’ve got that good girl vibe. Bet you don’t even jaywalk.” His tone is mocking. “S’all right, though. I’ll talk ya through it.”

You bite your lip, a mix of embarrassment and something more electric buzz in your chest. The way Joel looks at you—like he’s already unwrapped you in his mind—is both infuriating and intoxicating. 

“Nervous, sweetheart?” he drawls, cocking his head. His eyes flicker over you, lingering just long enough to make your skin prickle. “Ain’t nothin’ to be scared of, just gotta use those pretty little lips n’suck and we'll be squared right up.”

“I’m not nervous,” you lie, folding your arms across your chest in a futile attempt to shield yourself from his scrutiny. 

Joel takes a slow step forward, close enough now that you can smell the mix of sweat, cigarettes and motor oil clinging to his skin. He nods toward your chest. “Why don’t you let me feel those pretty tits before we get started?”

Your eyes widen, heat rushing to your cheeks as you sputter, “That—That wasn’t part of the deal.”

Joel laughs, low and rough, his teeth flashing as he shakes his head. “C’mon now. Can’t expect a man to get off without a little foreplay, can ya?” He teases. “I ain’t askin’ for much. Just wanna get my hands on ‘em for a minute.”

You glare at him. His expression is maddening, that smug, self-assured grin like he already knows you’re going to cave. Finally, with an exasperated sigh, you roll your eyes. “Fine. Just... make it quick.”

Joel’s grin turns downright wicked as you reach for the hem of your shirt, tugging it up to reveal your bare breasts. The cool air brushes over your skin, making your nipples pebble, and Joel whistles low, his eyes darkening as they fixate on you.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, stepping closer. His hands are rough and calloused as they cup your breasts, his thumbs brush lazily over your sensitive nipples. “Look at these. Soft as hell. Bet they’d feel even better bouncin’ in my hands while you’re bouncin’ on my cock.”

You grit your teeth, refusing to let him see how his words make your stomach flutter. “Are you done?” you snap, your tone is sharp despite the way your voice shakes.

His grip tightens just enough to make you inhale sharply. “Not yet, darlin’. Let me enjoy the view a little longer.” His thumbs roll over your nipples again, and you shiver despite yourself. “These are somethin’ special. Too bad you’re such a hardass, or I’d spend some real time with ‘em.”

Your glare sharpens, and he finally lets go, his hands dropping back to his sides. He takes a step back, still grinning like the cat that got the cream. “All right, I’m good now. Let’s get to the fun part.”

You yank your shirt back down as you slide off the stool determined to get this over with. 

“See?” he says, his tone as infuriating as ever. “Told ya, a little foreplay never hurt nobody.”

You don’t dignify him with a response, focusing instead on the task ahead. 

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he drawls. “On your knees.”

Your breath catches, heat pooling low in your belly at the command. You hesitate, looking up at him, and for a brief moment, his smirk falters. His gaze softens, just a fraction, enough to make your heart skip. 

“You can still back out,” he says quietly, surprising you. “Ain’t gonna force ya. You can just pay me instead.”

The reminder takes place and you take a shaky breath as you sink to the floor. Your knees press into the cold concrete, the rough texture biting through your jeans, as your hands rest awkwardly on your thighs. 

Joel’s smirk deepens as he watches you sink to the floor. "That's it, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "Look so damn pretty down there. Almost like you’re made for this."  

Your stomach churns at the comment, but you bite back a retort.

"Don't get shy on me now," he teases, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. "Knew you had a mouth on you. Let's see if it’s as talented as I’m guessin’.”

You swallow thickly as your eyes dart to the zipper of his coveralls. His hand moves to the fastening and the sound of the zipper cuts through the air as he drags it down. Beneath the heavy fabric, his jeans are undone, and your breath hitches when you catch a glimpse of the bulge beneath the worn denim.

Joel takes his time, pulling himself free with a casual confidence. He’s thick, flushed, and the veins are prominent against the hard length. You bite the inside of your cheek, unsure whether it’s nervousness or intrigue that has your throat tightening. 

“Go on,” he says. His fingers tangle in your hair as he guides you closer. “Start slow.”

You hesitate for a moment, then tentatively lean forward, your lips parting as you press a soft kiss to the tip. The skin is hot and velvety and the musky scent of him fills your nose. His hand tightens in your hair and a low groan slips from his lips. The sound sends a strange thrill through you, and you glance up to find his eyes locked on yours, dark and half-lidded. You are not enjoying this, you won't let yourself.

“Atta girl,” he drawls with approval. “Keep goin’.”

You take him into your mouth, your lips wrapping around the head as your tongue sweeps across the sensitive underside. Joel groans, his hips jerk slightly and his fingers flex against your scalp. You move slowly, testing the waters, your cheeks hollowing as you sink lower. He’s thick enough to make your jaw ache, but you press on, spurred by the quiet, guttural noises spilling from his throat. 

“Goddamn, that feels good. You really know what you’re doin’, don’t ya? Bet you’ve had a little practice.” He grunts his free hand bracing against the edge of the workbench. His hips roll forward, pushing himself a little deeper, and you choke slightly, the intrusion catching you off guard. He eases back, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Easy now, darlin'," he says, his tone a mockery of gentle reassurance. "Don’t wanna choke you out—least not yet.”

You pick up your pace, your tongue swirling around him as you take him deeper, your nails digging into your thighs for balance. Joel’s breathing grows heavier, the tension in his body is palpable as he fights to keep control. His groans turn into curses, low and filthy, and the sound of it makes your thighs clench involuntarily.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice tight. “You’re too damn good at this.”

His words spur you on, your movements growing more confident as you bob your head, your hand wrapping around the base of him to stroke what you can’t take in. 

“Look at you," he growls, his voice dripping with sleaze. "Takin' me so good. Never would’ve guessed a sweet little thing like you had it in ya. Bet your daddy’d have a stroke if he knew what you’re doin’ right now."

The mention of your father makes you falter slightly, but Joel’s grip in your hair keeps you in place.

"That’s right," he says with a grin. "Keep goin'. Don’t you dare stop now.”

You take him deeper, pushing the limits of how much you can take.

“Shit, that’s good," he groans, his voice ragged. "But you know what’d be even better?"

You glance up at him, your brows furrowing.

"Get up on the bench," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Wanna see those pretty tits of yours wrapped around me. Bet they’ll feel like fuckin’ heaven."

You hesitate.

"C’mon now, don’t get shy," Joel drawls, his smirk widening. "Ain’t like we’re strangers anymore. Hell, you’ve already got my cock in your mouth. Might as well give me the full experience.”

You glare at him, but his smug grin doesn’t waver. Finally, with a frustrated sigh, you stand, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and hop onto the workbench. Joel’s eyes darken as you pull your shirt up, baring your chest to him.

"Fuckin’ hell," he mutters, his hands immediately reaching for you. His rough palms cup your breasts, squeezing them appreciatively. "These are somethin’ else. Soft as a dream. Could spend hours buried right here."

"Just get on with it," you snap, your voice sharp despite the heat flooding your cheeks.

Joel chuckles, positioning himself between your legs as he presses your breasts together around his length. The heat of him against your skin makes you shiver, and Joel groans as he begins to move, his hips rolling in slow, deliberate thrusts.

"Goddamn," he mutters, his voice thick with lust. "You feel that, darlin’? So fuckin’ perfect. Never had a set like these before."

You grit your teeth, refusing to let this turn you on.

"Don’t be so uptight," he teases, his thumb brushing over your nipple. "You’re makin’ this way harder than it needs to be. Just relax, sweetheart. Lemme enjoy myself."

His movements grow faster, the slick slide of him against your skin makes your cheeks burn, you shouldn’t be enjoying this but you are. "You’re a natural at this," he says. "Knew you’d be somethin’ special.”

Joel’s groans grow louder, his grip on you tightening as he moves with more urgency. "Shit, baby," he breathes. "Gonna ruin me for anyone else."

The heat of his praise makes you clench your thighs harder, and you close your eyes, trying to block out the sound of his voice.

"Look at me," Joel demands. You force your eyes open, meeting his gaze. 

"That’s my girl," he murmurs, his voice softening. "Fuckin’ perfect."

Finally, with a groan, Joel stills, his release spilling across your skin. He stays there for a moment letting the last of the white-hot ropes coat your skin before he steps back, his breathing is ragged as he tucks himself back into his jeans.

"Clean yourself up," he says, tossing you a rag. His smirk is back, lazy and self-satisfied

You glare at him, wiping your chest with quick, angry movements.

"Don’t look so pissed," Joel says with a chuckle. "You did good. Real good. Might just start offerin’ you a permanent tab.”

“Fix my car.” you snap, sliding off the workbench.

Joel laughs. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get it fixed up for you. Go grab a drink or somethin’. It’ll be ready in an hour.”

You stare at him for a long moment, your emotions a mess you can’t quite untangle. Without another word, you grab your bag and head for the door with Joel’s laughter following you out. 

You tell yourself you’re never coming back here again, but the way your heart races at the thought of him makes you wonder if that’s a lie.

[inkedtae]

xiii. rotten angelcake ⇾ kth. [M]

⎡She’s as sweet as angelcake; he likes her honeyed rotten⎤

chapter thirteen : the mysterious angel of seoul ⤑ ❝ the world is desperate to know who you are, but taehyung is the only voice that matters. ❞

⇽ prev. | masterlist | next ⇾

⌁ pairing; ceo!taehyung x curvy!reader (f.)

⌁ genre/rating; s2l, ceo au, sugar daddy au, smut, fluff, 18+

⌁ word count; 9.9k

⌁ warnings; dom!taehyung, daddy!taehyung, sub!reader, brat!reader, virgin!reader, daddy kink, praise kink, corruption kink, bdsm themes, orgasm control, dirty talk, dry humping, ab riding, begging, grinding, teasing, neck kisses/licking, a bit of spit play

⌁ 🎧 now playing... ✩

» prefer ao3? keep reading here

ও huge thanks to jen ( @itaeewon ) for the amazing new banner and a very huge, massive thanks to jen ( @anobodyslove ) for beta-reading late into the night for me and being so fucking patient! please send her all the love because she helps me make this so readable and clear for you and she is just over all the best human in the world 💕

Misty cobalt skies blanket the city. Rain falls steadily, blurring the city lights below. You love watching the droplets disrupt puddles and the sea of coloured umbrellas. While most are black or grey, a few pops of yellow, red, blue and pink still bob down the sidewalk. Perhaps your favourite thing about rainy days, however, is how the pavement darkens, glistening under the streetlights. Like how the vibrant green grass of the countryside invokes a reconnection with nature, the vivid black streets of the city draws you into a quiet, almost meditative stillness amid the chaos. 

Flashes– white-hot and blinking. 

You blink, disoriented from the all too bright lights on just a gloomy day. Glancing further down the window, you quietly groan at the growing crowd of reporters. A group of perhaps ten photographers and five journalists huddle near the front entrance, bombarding anyone who walks in or out of the building. Arms crossed, jaw tight, you step away from the floor-to-ceiling windows of the conference room and make your way back to your desk.

You knew you left an impression on the press the night of the ballet performance. The following morning, you woke up with an ache between your legs and a series of reassuring text messages from Taehyung. He said he’d take care of it, but your face, slightly hidden behind your fur coat with loose strands of hair dancing in the wind, was the top story on every media outlet. Glittering makeup, furrowed brows, and annoyed confusion in your gaze– you cannot believe you’re staring at a photo of yourself. You thought they might have edited it, or adjusted the contrast settings to highlight the whiteness of your coat against the darkness in your eyes. But the same picture was posted thousands of times over. 

When Taehyung told you that he couldn’t get the photo removed, you weren’t surprised. It had been circling around the web for the better part of the day and he would have to track down every device in the city to permanently erase it. However, he reassured you that the details of your personal life will remain hidden.

You hoped that would be enough. Eventually, Seoul would grow tired of looking at your face, you remember thinking. They will move on to the next spectacle and you’ll be able to go to work on Monday with little to no trouble.

So, you locked yourself in your apartment and decided to wait for this all to blow over. You made sure to stay off social media, as per Taehyung’s advice. He said it’s not healthy getting lost in threads and posts about yourself, having been a victim of his own curiosity once or twice before.

 Instead, you watched a handful of movies, avoided Mrs Chu’s prying questions about Taehyung and applied to a few jobs. You baked cookies, brownies and a banana loaf. You reorganized your books, did some laundry, and lost a few board games against Mrs Chu…again. You texted Taehyung until he had a business call to hop on and then tried, with all your might, to finally go to bed. However, the curiosity of how much they knew had finally worn you down. You started with a single thread from a reputable news outlet. But soon, you scrolled too far into toxic netizen territory. 

For hours, you skimmed articles and speculations about your identity. Some think you’re an escort, which isn’t entirely inaccurate, but most think you’re some nepo-baby, deeming you too well dressed and poised for any other line of work– a sentiment that still makes your eyes roll. They also point out that The Geraldson Group is known for nepotism hires and so if you are anyone, it must be some rich man’s daughter. 

And while a Daddy did happen to get you an interview, he wasn’t biologically yours. 

This morning, you were sitting in the backseat of the car Taehyung contracted for you. Given your newfound fame, he thought it would be best to have a driver escort you to ensure your safety. While on your way to work,  a series of new photos surfaced. You stiffened in your seat as you clicked on the link Taheyung sent you. He wanted to give you a heads-up about the new pictures and reassure you that he is doing his best to take care of it. 

The photos, seemingly taken from a hidden angle, were from your day off a couple of weeks ago. You were on your way to the Bangtan Building, the same annoyed, distant look in your eyes. There are frames of you getting into the cab, sitting in traffic, and walking into the building with an air of defiance. You suddenly understood why Taehyung had been adamant on disciplining you then. You looked like a total brat.

The media, on the other hand, thinks you’re some sort of notable figure, absolutely in love with your fashion sense and cold demeanor. From recreating your make-up to your style, you start trending online. More than that, the topic of your identity has everyone hooked. People want to know who you are and why Taehyung won’t share you with them. They want to know where you came from, how you met, and if you are the love of his life.

[V] : I think you might be more famous than me.

[angelcake] : are we surprised?

[V] : Careful.

[V] :  Don’t make me come down there and give everyone another reason to talk about us. 

[angelcake] : me**

[V] : Behave or I will tear that little dress off.

You suppress a blush at the memory of the conversation. 

Now, as you walk through the Research and Development floor, you tug at the long sleeves of your tight, ribbed cotton shirt. The high collar covers your neck from the cold and balances out the shortness of your strapless black dress. The smooth fabric clings to your frame, its tailored cut accentuating your curves. You can hear the soft brush of your sheer, black tights between your thick thighs with each high-heeled step down the hall. With your hair up in a high, sleek ponytail, your dangling silver earrings are on full display. Taehyung sent the delicate diamond set, with a matching necklace and bracelet, yesterday to cheer you up after you confessed you’ve fallen down the rabbit hole of googling yourself. You opted for the earrings only today, saving the other pieces of jewellery for another time. 

As you near the common area, where an array of desks are meticulously organised for optimal movement and focus, you begin to attract more stares. Some people smirk, others raise brows and the very few you might consider work-friends, draw heavy breaths as they meet your uncertain gaze.

Jackson leans against your desk, arms crossed, while Ethan stands beside him. They both give you tight smiles. 

“Morning,” Ethan greets, taking a step back so you can walk around them to your desk.

“Good morning,” you reply with a polite smile, though your voice is shaky.

You look between the two, about to ask them what’s going on when you notice the magazine on your desk. There, on the front page of The Metropolitan, is your original viral photo. Your face dominates the entire cover. By the fur of your coat, covering your chin to the better part of your nose, is the title: The Mysterious Angel of Seoul. 

Brows furrowed, you grab the magazine. Taehyung never mentioned anything about magazines, but you feel like you should have known. Your face is all anyone has been able to talk about all weekend. You can't even scroll through social media without someone mentioning you. Rolling up the magazine, you toss it into the trash bin behind your desk and take your seat.

“So–”

“We’re not talking about it.”

You don’t even spare Jackson a look as you log into your computer. You can feel them share a look before Jackson straightens up. 

“It’s not about that,” he says, pausing to take a breath. 

You chance a glance at the pair of them over your dual screens. They're still rigid, shifting their weight and sharing uncomfortable looks. You lean back in your seat to offer them your full attention, waiting for one of them to continue so you can get back to work. 

“We’re actually not allowed to talk about… that,” Ethan clarifies, slightly nodding to the magazine. “Didn’t you get the email?”

Of course you did, and you’re certain it was Taehyung’s doing. But no email has ever stopped anyone from whispering about people before. 

“That’s not the point,” Jackson cuts in before you can reply. “Um… Here’s the– So, the thing– uh…”

Face scrunched in confusion, you let out an exasperated sigh. You don’t have time for this. You have a million and one things to do and the last thing you need is Marina finding yet another reason to make your life miserable. You turn back to your computer and open the documents the marketing team had sent over a few minutes ago. With a few clicks, you send them over to the printer. Standing to gather your clipboard and pen, you turn to find Jackson and Ethan still stammering over their words. 

“Look,” you cut in, “whatever it is, can it please wait until after the meeting?”

“It’s about the meeting,” Jackson tries again. “Lucas–”

“Yeah, where is he? I’m not prepping for this meeting by myself again,” you interject, already making your way to the copy room.

The two men follow behind you, trying to keep up with your fast strides. “He’s not an intern anymore,” Ethan informs. 

You pause mid-step. 

Jackson swallows thickly and Ethan rubs the back of his neck as you turn to face them.

“Did he quit?”

He must have quit. In fact– he better have quit. Because if he hadn’t, if he had been promoted to junior coordinator, you might break your stupid clipboard over his head and tear the conference room apart instead. 

The guilty look on your friends’ faces confirms your suspicions. Ethan is the first to redirect his gaze to the floor. To his credit, he’s just some research assistant and doesn’t have much say in who gets promoted. 

Jackson, however, is your supervisor. He’s well aware of the amount of work you put into every assigned task, no matter how meaningless it seems. He knows you’re the one that constantly picks up Lucas’s slack. You even correct his work. You don’t care much for Lucas’s success, but Marina tends to make his failures your own. So, you come in early to do your workload and half of his. You double check all his reports, emails and documents. You taste all the lattes he makes and often remake them yourself. He can barely pour a glass of water without it splashing all over the counters and floors. Jackson knows this, even witnessing it all himself. He could have stopped this, could have advocated for you. 

He takes a step forward. You take one back, blinking back tears. You’re not upset– not sad, but rather angry. 

Lucas should’ve used his fucking brain. Jackson should’ve used his fucking mouth. And Marina, with her imitating outfits and mocking tasks, should’ve used some fucking common sense. 

“Our evaluation is not for another three months,” you mutter. It’s all you can professionally muster as your anger simmers deep in your chest. You bite back profanities, gritting your teeth to keep from screaming.

Jackson licks his lips. He meets your steel gaze with pity and replies, “I was informed about it this morning. I wanted to let you know before you read it in some email.”

So she’s here.

You look over Jackson’s shoulder to find Marina sitting in her office. You narrow your eyes at the striped black and silver blouse, and black pleated mini-skirt combo. She pairs it with charcoal grey, calf-high socks and velvet black heels. You internally roll your eyes at the replication of your outfit last week. She even has her blonde hair pulled back into a tight clipped bun. Her makeup is a complete copy of yours, from the soft smokiness of your eyes, the rosy highlight of your cheeks, to the pink gloss of your lips. She sits with one leg crossed over the other. Phone pressed to her ear, she stares at her screen.

She’s here, dressed just like you, and she was going to hide behind a fucking email. A good manager would call you into her office and inform you of the promotion herself. She would coach you and explain why the promised evaluation had been bypassed, why you did not receive the position. She would give you the space to ask questions, the resources to try and help you eventually work towards your own promotion. 

However, Marina is as good a leader as she is a lover– bitter, vengeful and completely insecure. 

It seems it is not bad enough that she has been feeding the press your personal information and embarrassing you in front of your colleagues. But now she’s hellbent on undermining you in front of the entire department. You know she wants to humiliate you, just like she did on your first day when she forced the entire floor to applaud you for the attention she thought you were seeking– over the colour of your outfit. 

Her irrational, unprofessional and borderline psychotic behaviour stops now.

Handing the clipboard and pen to Jackson, you push between him and Ethan. They part their lips but you can’t hear anything. You are not interested in their pacifying words. You’ve heard it countless times before– Don’t test her. She’s not worth it. Just keep your head down. You’re tired of the same passive advice. It doesn’t make you feel any better, nor is it working. It doesn’t matter what you do or how you react to her abuse. Nothing will ever be enough for her.

You open the door without knocking.

She glances up at you, green eyes turning cold and uninviting. 

Usually, you’d avert your gaze and yield to her superior position, respecting the hierarchy of your workplace. This time, you hold her glare and lock the door. 

The tightness of her jaw wavers. She sits up in her seat, attempting to appear intimidating.

While she is around your height, she does not have your powerful frame. With narrow shoulders and hips, she barely makes a threatening impression. She lacks shape, not only your fullness. Perhaps, at one point in your life, that detail might have caused you to internally spiral, wondering if it was her smaller figure that drew Taehyung to her. However, you are thankfully not that person anymore. And the last thing you can ever imagine being, is jealous of Marina. 

“Hang up.”

Marina raises a brow. Rolling her eyes, she laughs into her phone. “Yes, of course,” she says before shooing you away with a wave of her hand. 

You reach her desk in two strides. Leaning over the cherry oak desktop, you press down on the switchhook, hanging up the call.

“What do you–” 

“We need to talk.”

Your voice is tempered, but edged with bitterness. You suppress a smirk as she falls silent, her angry resolve wavering. 

“You’re not promoting Lucas.”

“You don’t tell me what to do, Bo-peep,” she spits. Her tone carries resentment, but voice ever so slightly trembles.

Tonguing your cheek, you refuse to be baited by the stupid name and continue, “No one is getting this promotion. You will wait until the evaluation in three months and make your decision based on merit and management recommendation, as per protocol.”

Marina sits back in her seat, crossing her arms. She humorlessly laughs, the sound jagged and irritating– still, it lacks conviction. “Do you think you can just come into my office and order me around? You think because you made it on the cover of one stupid magazine that you’re untouchable? Let me remind you who is in charge here, sweetheart,” she seethes, leaning forward in an attempt to rob you of your space. "You are nothing but some slutty intern who got lucky. Don’t mistake that for power."

You smirk, shaking your head. “Do you think you can just continue to harass me and I won’t do anything about it? Do you think I don’t know what you’ve been up to the last couple of weeks with your meaningless tasks and constant manipulation? Three research assistants needed to reschedule follow-ups with their suppliers because you had me chasing an ex-employee all over the building the other day. And what did Lucas do, beside sit around and wait for me to hold his hand through a fucking photocopy?” 

Marina swallows thickly. The vehemence in her green eyes falters. She shifts back into her seat, suddenly needing some distance.

“It’s one thing to release information about me, but another to completely fail to do your job as a manager out of pure spite. You have other members on this team that need your support and you’re here bitching because of a man. Get your priorities straight, sweetheart.”

She lets out a dry chuckle. “You think I was the one that told them you work here? Everyone knows you’ve been feeding them information yourself. You just love the attenti–”

“I can make one phone call,” you snap, cutting her off, “You’ll be fired within a minute and I’ll take your place within the next.” 

The harshness of your tone silences her, but the possibility of your words rattles the mocking smile off her slim face. In reality, you are certain that one phone call to Taehyung won’t grant you her position, even if she did get fired. You would never attempt such a thing either. While you are bratty, you are not spoiled. You respect Taehyung enough not to put him in that position too. But, Marina doesn’t know that. 

“You are only here because I am allowing it,” you continue. “So, here is what’s going to happen– You are not promoting Lucas, you will wait for the evaluation and you will base your final decision on professional merit. All that petty, personal bullshit ends now.”

Marina scowls but slowly nods. 

You resist the urge to smirk. “Now,” you sigh, “Tell me to sit down.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

“Sit down.”

You take a seat, avoiding the stares of the entire department. You’ve felt their curious eyes on you the moment you stepped into her office. “Stand up and point your finger at me.”

Marina does so, still clueless as to what you are trying to do.

“Great. Now, tell me to go home.”

“Are you trying to weasel your way out of work again?” 

Biting on the insides of your cheeks, you fight the urge to snap at her again. Through gritted teeth, you try to discreetly reply, “I am trying to help you save face. Now, get your head out of your ass and tell me to go home for the day.”

She tries and fails to hide the shock on her face. For a second, you think you catch the faintest glimpse of guilt in her eyes. But then she blinks and her usual annoyance overtakes her avian features.

“Go home,” she whispers. “Come back tomorrow with a better attitude.”

Pushing yourself up, you mutter, “You too.” 

You avoid the cautious stares of your colleagues as you exit her office. Their eyes follow you, but you don’t acknowledge them as you head to your desk to gather your things. They whisper, scurrying around you, yet you remain unfazed. It seems your attempts at salvaging her reputation were successful if everyone’s content to talk about you, but not to you.

When the elevator doors on the fifteenth floor close behind you, you text your driver to meet you at the back exit—the same place he dropped you off earlier this morning. For the first time since you were hired, you let out a heavy sigh of relief.

Mr Zhang stands by the black Rolls-Royce Ghost. An older man in his mid fifties, his posture is rigid and dependable. He carries a degree of composure that makes you want to stand straighter and be worthy of his presence. His silvery-blue eyes, the epitome of calm strength, shrink as he smiles at you. Dressed in a crisp black suit, matching long coat and a pair of shiny loafers, he walks towards you with an umbrella to shield you from the rain, even if you are merely three steps away from the car. You let him dote on you, knowing Taehyung must have ordered him to do so.

While he has only been chauffeuring you for a morning, you have learned that Mr Zhang has been driving Taehyung for about seven years. You were surprised to hear this, but as Mr Zhang explained how Taehyung would often spend his time working in the backseat, you assumed his need for a car service was probably required before he built his self-driving car.

 “Thank you,” you say with a smile as he opens the door for you. 

“My pleasure, Miss ____,” he replies with a tender grin of his own. 

You settle into the backseat with a gentle sigh. After buckling yourself up, you take in the interior all over again. You still cannot believe he accented the sleek black leather with gentle notions of pink. From the trimming of the seats, to the door pockets, to the seat belt button, Taehyug has customised the car to reflect your favourite colour. The ceiling is a beautiful replica of a starry night, only instead of silver, rose-white stars twinkle instead. Even the system lights are pink, the same shade EDEN switches to when she talks to you. And if he didn’t outdo himself already, he also made sure to stock the car with your favourite snacks and drinks. Mr Zhang encouraged you to take some with you before helping you out of the car earlier this morning.

“Where would you like to go, Miss___,” he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. 

“Can you please take me to the Bangtan Building?” 

He nods, flashing you a fond smile as he shifts the car into drive. 

One of your favourite things about the car, besides the celestial ceiling, is the fact that all the windows are tinted. You sit back, close your eyes, and allow yourself a moment of peace without the fear of being photographed or talked about, even if it is for a fleeting five minutes. 

When the car slows down, you blink your eyes open. The first thing you notice is the absence of the steady pitter-patter of the rain against the car, the soft beat ceasing as Mr Zhang pulls into a garage. You sit up, looking out the window to find a collection of luxury cars neatly parked in several rows. You recognise two of them: Taehyung’s personal, sleek black car and the black Jeep he used the weekend you went to meet his family.

You wonder if this is possibly the sub-level of the Bangtan Building when Mr Zhang parks the car in front of an elevator. He circles around the back of the car to open your door for you. You tried to open it for yourself this morning when he dropped you off at work and received a gentle scolding. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, accepting his hand as he helps you out. 

Mr Zhang replies with a polite nod. He shuts the door and asks, “Would you like me to wait?”

“Um,” you hesitate, looking at the elevator as if it holds the answer. If Taehyung is free, Mr Zhang has no reason to stay and wait for you. But if not, then it would be best if he hung around for a few minutes, right?

You’re not even sure what you’re doing here. You can’t go back to work, you don’t want to spend another second locked in your apartment and it’s not like you can kill a couple of hours at a cafe or at a bookstore. You’re supposed to be keeping a low profile until this chaos about your identity gets buried by the next news spectacle. 

The Bangtan Building feels like your only opinion.

“How about this,” Mr Zhang suggests, noticing your hesitation. “I will stay for ten minutes. But, if in eleven minutes you change your mind and decide to leave, I am a text message away.”

You let a small smile spread on your pink-glossed lips. Nodding, you thank him again and head towards the elevator. The car door opens and shuts as you look for the buttons only to realise it requires a keycard instead.

Digging through your purse for the pink pass Taehyung gifted you, you wonder if it will work here. It is an all-access authorization card, however this level of the building seems more personal than professional. Twirling the card between your fingers, you wonder if he will be upset that you’re trying to use it to access this elevator.

Maybe I should text him, you think, pulling out your phone by the pink and white charm that dangles from its matching case. You unlock it and stare at his name, wondering what you should even say. You know that if you ask him if he’s busy, he’ll tell you he’s not and demand to know what’s on your mind. He might be able to manage a few minutes away from his work to promptly answer a text. However, you doubt he has enough time to entertain you. 

You sigh heavily, growing tired of the overthinking. You just want to see him, to be in his presence and let his musky, intoxicating cologne soothe your erratic heart. You want to hug him, to be engulfed in his warmth and feel his muscles flex under his clothes as he tightens his grip around you. 

So, without a second thought, you toss your phone back into your purse and scan your card. 

DING!

The elevator chimes, doors opening. 

“Good morning, Angel,” EDEN greets. 

You can’t help but smile at the familiar voice. “EDEN,” you reply through a breathy chuckle as you step in.

“Mr Kim is currently on the fitness and wellness floor. Would you like me to guide you there?”

You smile fondly at the speaker. “Yes please,” you nod before adding, “I’ve really missed you.”

“Should I send you a reminder of my capabilities, or would you prefer a more heartfelt digital hug instead?”

You laugh as the doors shut, the elevator whirling as it moves upwards. If you didn’t know she was created by Taehyung, that comment alone would have given it away.

Tone slightly teasing, you reply, “I suppose I can use a hug?”

“I sense you are mocking me,” EDEN responds. “Mr Kim says you enjoy teasing. As always, he is correct.”

You freeze.

“Taehyung talks about me?”

“Mr Kim often talks about you. He worries about you when you are at work. He says he cannot stand that you are miserable there.”

You know you shouldn’t ask, but your curiosity is louder than your conscience. Biting your lip, you twist your fingers nervously and whisper, “What else does he say about me?”

“He says you’re beautiful, Angel. More than that, though… he believes you’re precious—something to be protected.”

Swallowing thickly, you clench your fists in an attempt to ground yourself. A shaky exhale escapes as you ask, “He said that?”

“You sound confused. Would you like me to relay Mr Kim’s exact words?”

“Yes.” 

“On numerous occasions, Mr Kim stated: Angel is beautiful, EDEN. She’s delicate and thoughtful, even after everything she has been through. She’s strong. She has a nasty attitude, but I like that she doesn’t yield to just anyone. I’ve never met anyone like her.”

Taehyung doesn’t just talk about you, he dwells on you. He didn’t just tell her all this at once, but rather on numerous occasions. He went on and on about you to his AI system, telling her what he liked about you and how you’re one of a kind. There is a certain degree of reverence in his words, even when reiterated through EDEN. It’s as though he is revelling in your existence. 

Your heart pounds so fast in your chest, you can feel the heavy beats in your throat. Gulping, you try to settle your nerves at the new revelation. He really does like you– or at least enjoys your company. All those times you thought you were bothering him, or worried he was obligated to reply based on the origins of your relationship were ignorant and short-sighted. You should have believed him when he told you that you could never annoy him with your messages. 

“Would you like to hear more?” 

“No,” you breathlessly reply.

You’ve invaded his privacy enough. In fact, you should probably try to erase this from EDEN’s history. If he finds out you’ve been snooping, he might not find you so charming and endearing anymore. 

“Is there a way to delete this conversation?”

“Yes.”

You wait, hoping she will give you options. When she doesn’t, you ask, “Can you delete it then?”

“Unfortunately, only Mr Kim is authorised for this action. Would you like me to request his approval?”

Panic surges through you. “No!” you shout, worried that if you take too long to answer, she might ask him anyway. “Can you just not tell him about this conversation?”

“You are not authorised to lock information. However, it sounds like you would like me to omit this conversion from my communications with Mr Kim. Is this correct?”

You raise a brow at her words. Is she… finding you a loophole? 

“Yes, that’s correct,” you confirm.

“Understood. The previous conversation will be omitted from future communications with Mr Kim.” 

Fighting off a smile, you look up and tease,“EDEN, if I could kiss you right now, I would.”

“While I am flattered, Angel, I do value my job.” 

You’re about to ask what she means, when the elevator dings again.

“I’ll leave you to your visit. Let me know if you require further assistance,” EDEN says.

The doors open to reveal an expansive gym. You step out of the elevator after thanking EDEN,  heels softly clicking against polished concrete floors. To your right is a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that offer an impressive view of the city below. It’s not as breathtaking as the view from Taehyung’s office, but still looks beautiful. You imagine the sun flooding the space with light, wondering how peaceful it would be to come up here every morning and stretch under its golden warmth. 

The sound of a distant, deep laugh draws your attention to the main section of the room. You cast your gaze over the row of state-of-the-art equipment–treadmills, ellipticals, and free weights all set up to accommodate any fitness routine– and catch a glimpse of three dark-haired heads by bench-presses. You immediately register one of them as Taehyung, his soft mullet easy to spot even from a distance. 

The little smile playing on your pink glossed lips flatters at the sight of his board bare shoulder. He looks so strong and big. You suddenly miss being in his arms, whether you are being hugged or disciplined, you just want to be held against his strong frame and feel safe.

“So, who is she?” an unfamiliar asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. 

 “Save your breath, Guk. I already tried.” 

You tiptoe down the pathway, between treadmills and stationary bikes, straining your ears to catch Taehyung’s reply. A pang of guilt engulfs your conscience at your sneaky behaviour. You’ve already extracted more than enough information from EDEN. You don’t need to eavesdrop on his private conversations with his friends either.

But Taehyung is so… reserved. He doesn’t share his thoughts unless you bear your own to him first and you’re tired of the emotional drain of doing so. You just want to hear what he thinks of you, without the pressure of trying to comfort your insecurities or fulfil your desires. And talking about you to his AI is one thing, but talking to his friends….

That must mean something, right? 

“Why are you being so secretive?” Guk presses, despite Taehyung’s silence. “I promise I won’t try to take her from you.”

“One more word, Jungkook, and I’ll make you lift this last set on your own,” Taehyung threatens. 

His friends laugh, loud and giddy. You can imagine Taehyung’s small smile as he tries to maintain an annoyed look, but cannot resist the teasing comradery around him.

“Apparently, she’s precious,” the second voice chimes in again.

“I told you that in confidence.” 

Taehyung’s voice is rough and deep, resonating within your bones even from a distance. You catch the slight notions of betrayal. The twinge of hurt in his tone triggers your guilt. It gnaws at you all over again. You shouldn’t have hidden your presence or attempted to violate more of his privacy. It’s bad enough you didn’t tell him you were coming over but you’ve also overheard more of his private conversations than he’d probably want you to. 

“You saw her, didn’t you?” Jungkook asks.

“For like a second— she was sleeping in the back of the limo. Which reminds me,” the second voice says, a hint of conviction in his tone, “Are you ever going to tell me why I had to fire the driver?” 

“Are we going to work out or continue to ask stupid questions?” Taehyung snaps. 

His tone leaves no room for argument, yet Jungkook manages to find some. “That sounds like a stupid question,” he jokes. 

You bite your lip to keep from laughing along with his friends. Rolling your shoulders back, you try to regain your composure. Perhaps this is a good place in their conversation to subtly announce your presence. Jungkook’s joke has diffused the tension enough to build your confidence and finally silence your conscience. 

With a deep breath, you put one foot before the other and allow the rhythmic click-clack of your heels to echo in the now quieting room.

Taehyung peeks his head down the pathway, brown eyes distant and cold until they meet yours. A soft glow of recognition softens his gaze. Then it darkens, trailing up and down your voluptuous frame, taking in every curve, every roll. You notice his attention lingering around your swaying hips. A small smile tugs on his lips.

His gaze alone is often enough to rattle your senses, sending shivers down your spine. One look, and the world fades–every thought quiets, every doubt diminishes and you’re left with only his name burning on the tip of your tongue. However, when that intense gaze is paired with his bare, toned chest, you cannot breathe. Your steps falter as he makes his way towards you, black basketball shorts sitting low enough to expose the waistband of his briefs. Your eyes slowly fall down from his broad shoulders, to his buff pecs– where that celestial tattoo is inked, then drop to his taut abs.

Heat creeps up your neck and spreads across your cheeks as a wicked thought whispers– what would it be like to grind on them? 

“Hey,” Taehyung greets, smile widening as he nears. 

You blink out of your thoughts as he pulls you into a hug. His usual clean scent, a soothing blend of sage and crisp white tea leaves, is muskier from this sweat. His soft skin feels damp too, but you embrace him tightly all the same, letting his warmth and strength ground you. For the first time since your photo has gone viral, you release a heavy breath.

Sensing the tension in your posture, Taehyung holds you tighter. His fingers brush up and down your spine, relieving the tension from each vertebrate until you are a puddle in his arms. Then, after a few more seconds of peace and security, he slowly untangles himself from you.

Taehyung lowers himself a bit to properly meet your gaze. A teasing smile plays on his lips as he quietly asks, “Playing hooky again, sweetheart?”

The gentle tone of his velvety voice lights your nerves with giddiness. Your body buzzes with desire, and you can’t help giggling–especially when he calls you such intimate terms of endearment.

“Not exactly.”

Hope twinkles in his eyes. He raises a brow, standing back to his full height. “God, Angel, please tell me you quit,” he says. 

You bite your lip, a guilty look settling upon your features. 

Before you can properly explain, Jungkook’s loud voice carries in the empty gym. 

“Is that her?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s hot.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, hearing such a shameless declaration from his friends startling you. While you don’t think you’re unappealing, you wouldn’t necessarily define yourself as ‘hot.’ You’re not sure what you were expecting from his friends but you can confidently say you didn’t anticipate them to be so… open. Taehyung often maintains a tough exterior and doesn’t let it soften for just anyone. His friends, who flash goofy smiles asTaehyung turns to glare at them, seem more comfortable speaking their minds, even when most are better left unsaid.

You look over Taehyung’s shoulder to get a better look at them. You do not recognise the taller one. In a tight, black tank top and shorts, he stands with most of his weight resting on his right side. His toned arms are covered in colourful tattoos. He winks at you, though his long hair slightly obscures his gaze. You suppress the urge to roll your eyes at him, turning your attention to the slightly shorter one. 

He’s a bit thinner, but still just as ripped. Also shirtless, with the word nevermind inked across the right side of his body, he gracefully stands with his weight evenly distributed and hands in his pockets. You recognise his prominent, full lips and soft brown eyes from the ballet you attended a coupe of days ago. His earlier comment about the limousine driver suddenly starts to make sense.

Upon meeting your curious gaze, he offers a sweet smile and nods as a way of greeting. 

“Can you give us a moment?” Taehyung asks. 

The taller one, who you realise is Jungkook based on the sound of his voice, smiles, seemingly complacent before replying, “No.”

Without missing a beat, the shorter one adds, “So, you must be the girl Tae won’t shut up about.”

You raise a brow, feigning your surprise. A smile tugs on the corners of your lips, but you try to fight it off. You can feel Taehyung’s eyes on you. He studies your reaction for a moment too long then finally turns back to his friends. 

“Why does he always tell you– Why do you never tell me anything?” Jungkook complains. He furrows his brows and returns Taehyung’s half-hearted glare. “I’m always the last to know.”

“That’s cause I’m his favourite,” the shorter one teases. 

You tilt your head up at Taehyung, whispering, “I thought Wooyoung was your favourite.” 

Within seconds, Taehyung’s glare softens, twinkling with amusement as he looks down at you. His damp hair clings to his forehead, and you’re close enough to watch a droplet of sweat slide down his temple. Without thinking, you reach up, wiping it away with your thumb. He leans into your touch, his throat bobbing. You bite your lip, about to avert your gaze to the floor when he parts his lips to say something. You lean in, eager to hear the vibrations of his deep voice resonate down to your core. 

“You met Wooyoung?”

Jungkook’s voice shatters your fragile bubble of closeness.

Blinking yourself back into reality, you take a small step away from Taehyung and turn to face his friends. “Um–” you start, cutting yourself off when you notice a shift in their demeanour. 

Once foolish, their attitudes become serious, rooted in confusion or perhaps concern. You don’t have much time to decipher it before they share a look and, soon, knowing smiles. 

“It’s not–” Taehyung starts only for Jungkook to fearlessly cut him off.

“You’re his girlfriend,” he states through a chuckle.

You stiffen at his emphasis on the label. “We’re just friends,” you correct, ignoring the sting of that truth all over again. Keen on changing the subject, you step forward with an outstretched hand and introduce yourself.

“Jimin. Jungkook,” Taehyung quickly says, pointing to each one as they shake your hand. “And they were just leaving.” 

“No–”

“Yes.” Taehyung hisses, silencing Jungkook.

His friends share an annoyed look, attention flickering back at you for a moment. Jimin sucks in his cheeks while Jungkook’s tongues his and scratches the back of his neck.

You awkwardly shift your weight, crossing your arms over your chest. Regret twists in your gut and you find yourself wishing you hadn’t come. You should have told him you wanted to see him before showing up here. Instead, you let your fear of rejection overrule your mind. You bite your lip as shame heats your face. He just wanted to hang out with his friends– they were having such a great time before you arrived. And now a blanket of thick tension settles over the room as they try and fail to silently convey their disagreement with not only Taehyung’s decision, but his tone. 

“Fine,” Jungkook finally sighs. As he grabs his water bottle and walks by Taehyung, he adds,“I want details later.”

Jimin pushes Jungkook along, with a chuckle. “Don’t be gross,” he half-heartedly chastises. 

You stifle your own laughter with a bite of your lip, earning an amused look from Taehyung. He pulls you towards his chest as the elevator dings and his friends' voices eventually fade.

Once he is sure they are gone, he dips his head into the crook of your neck and presses soft, wet kisses along your sensitive skin.

“Finally,” he groans against your throat, then drags his tongue up to your jaw.

You lean your head back. A breathless gasp escapes you when he kisses his way back down your neck to graze his teeth against your collarbone. You clutch onto his strong biceps, feeling them flex under your touch. With a quiet moan, you arch your back and push your full chest against his.

Taehyung groans in reply. His hands slide down from your waist to your rear. He grabs handfuls of your cheeks, kneading your supple fat like a stress ball. His nose nestles up into the space between your jaw and ear, then he whispers, “You like it when I touch you like this, don’t you?”

You know you should tell him to stop. You should explain what happened at work, what you have been seeing online and how suffocating it feels to be locked in your apartment all weekend. Instead, all you can manage is an eager nod and a strained whine as he smacks one of your cheeks and nibbles on your earlobe.

Trembling, your knees almost give out. Taehyung holds you tighter to keep you from losing your balance. It seems to pull him out of whatever feral state he was previously in. The tenderness in his eyes is so overwhelming, it stirs a quiet ache deep within you. Fraught and breathless, a fragile moan falls from your pouty lips.

“Trying to spoil me,” he teases, rubbing your back.

Your brows furrow, pout prominent as you peer up at him in confusion. 

His smile widens. Nudging your nose with his own, he asks,“What did I do to deserve your company this morning, Angel?”

Your face is so hot, you’re certain he can feel the heat radiating off your skin. You try to fight off a smile, but he holds you tighter and you can’t deny your heart the satisfaction of giving into him. “Things got complicated at work, but I worked it out and gave myself the day off,” you explain in the steadiest voice you can muster. Running your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, you continue, “I didn’t want to go home yet though. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding, princess,” he reassures. “You’re welcome whenever, you know that.”

He has told you that countless times over text, but you always thought he was just being polite. You’re starting to realise that you should’ve known better. Taehyung never says anything he doesn’t mean– especially not for the sake of being polite. 

As his words settle in, your hands instinctively slide up and down his biceps. They’re so big, barely fitting in your grip. The solid strength beneath your fingers draws your attention, and before you can stop yourself, you squeeze. He flexes in response, and you gasp.

“Enjoying yourself?”

You playfully glare up at him. He never misses an opportunity to tease you, deep voice dripping in condescension. The urge to tease him back is strong, and you find yourself having to bite your tongue to keep from spewing your most disrespectful remarks– like how he pushed his friends out as quickly as possible to get a chance to touch you. It would be so easy to rile him up, to trigger his unyielding dominance. Instead, you opt for a tamer response. Or, you at least try to, unable to completely subdue your snarky tone.

“Do you like it when I touch you like this?” you ask, echoing his words. You squeeze his arms again, cinching a moan in the base of your throat.

Taehyung leans his head back to get a better look at you. His eyes darken, mischief shifting to authority. With a lick of his lips, he adjusts his grip to your hips and holds you steady. 

“I think you like touching me like this.”

“Way to answer the question, genius.”

“Is this you flirting?” he smirks. A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest and resonates deep in your core. 

You press your legs, clenching your jaw as your face flushes. “Do you ever get tired of mocking me?” you ask, slightly raising your voice.

Taehyung tongues his cheek. A hint of quiet challenge flashes in his gaze, but he stifles it, likely giving you a chance to correct your attitude on your own. You swallow thickly and resist the urge to sink into his hold all over again.

“Do you ever get tired of drooling over me?” he questions. 

You’re about to tell him not to flatter himself, surely earning a swift spank but he caresses your chin. Using his thumb, he gently wipes the saliva dripping from the corner of your mouth. He then brings his finger to his mouth, licking it clean.

You gape up at him, lips quivering. 

He fiercely maintains your gaze, holding your chin again, and leans forward. “How come every bit of you always tastes like desperation?” he whispers, feigning curiosity. When you don’t answer, voice shackled in awe and submission, he tightens his grip and hisses, “Do you want daddy’s help?”

“Yes, daddy,” you immediately murmur, nails digging into his muscular biceps. 

“Beg for it,” he orders. “Tell me what you want.”

His voice is so husky and raw, you can’t help the roll of your eyes as it vibrates through your body. Your arousal pools between your thighs, panties clinging to your folds as you squirm and whine. Your attention drifts down to his broad chest, lingering on the intricate tattoo, before settling on his tight abs. Your shaky hands follow the heated trail of your gaze, moving up from his biceps to his shoulders, down his pecs and finally finding their place on his stomach. 

“I–” you start only to cut yourself off. 

Just like when you asked to ride his thigh, your body burns with desire, but you can’t find the words to voice your fantasy. You can see the image so clearly in your mind– he’s lying on his back and you’re straddling his waist. Hands steady on his chest, you drag your wet folds against his abs. But to vocalise it, all needy and weak, feels somewhat embarrassing. Is this normal? Is this something people do– rub themselves against someone’s stomach? 

Taehyung tilts your head by the grip on your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze again. “What do you want?” he asks, gentler this time. 

“I don’t know how–”

“Yes, you do,” he whispers. “Tell me.”

Furrowing your brows, you internally groan. While a part of you is glad he’s not willing to let this go, you’re still worried you might sound stupid. What if he gets turned off by your request, or worse– what if he thinks less of you? 

You part your lips, about to tell him you just want his fingers when you notice the intensity of his gaze. He stares at you with such deep certainty, like you are the only thing grounding him to this moment. Your doubts diminish under their sincerity.

“I want to grind on your abs,” you confess before you can second guess yourself again.

A throaty, rough groan sounds in response. Your knees buckle and Taehyung pulls you closer by the arm wrapped around your waist.

He… likes that? 

“Say please,” he orders.

And now he wants you to beg for it. Your breath hitches and you search his eyes for a hint of mockery or mischief, but only seem to find desire.

“Please, daddy,” you whine, shifting your grip from his waist to his shoulders. Your long, blush pink nails dig into his soft skin as he backpedals towards the bench-press. “Please let me ride your abs. I’ve been trying to be good.” Your voice wavers with desperation, much to his amusement.

“I know you have, princess,” he mutters, pecking the tip of your nose. Slowly detaching himself from you, he nods towards your hips and orders, “Take those off.”

You step out of your heels immediately. Hiking up the tight skirt of your dress, you hook your thumbs in the waistbands of your tights and thong, then tug them down your legs. You quietly gasp at the brush of friction it causes, biting your lip. 

From his place by the weighted bar, Taehyung snaps his attention back at you. He watches your garments roll into each other as he lifts the heavy bar resting over the bench. You pause with your tights off one leg, gawking at the flex of his biceps, the veins that protrude along his forearms. His gaze meets yours and he winks, like he isn’t carrying a massive amount of weight in his hands. 

Your core clenches, clit throbs reminding you of your desire. Swallowing thickly, you hastily return to your task and yank the remainder of your tangled tights off.

Taehyung sets the bar down with practised ease, thumbing his nose with a little sniffle. 

You nervously clutch the hem of your short dress, thick thighs tightly pressed together to relieve the tension between them. 

He smiles at your shy posture, taking a seat on the edge of the bench. “Come here,” he softly beckons with a nod. 

You obey, reaching him in no more than two steps. 

A teasing smile plays on his lips. Stationing his hands on your hips, he maintains your gaze and presses a gentle kiss against the curve of your stomach. “You’re so cute when you’re shy,” he whispers, then kisses your hands on the hem of your dress. 

You tremble under his delicate touch. 

His attention snaps up to your face again and his gaze is a dark abyss of feral desire. Licking his lips, he looks ready to devour you. 

You open your mouth to ask if he’s okay, but he lies back against the bench, gesturing you to mount his waist with a causal wave of two fingers.

You don’t need to be told twice, eagerly straddling him. Needy tears prick your eyes as you press your slick folds against the ridges of his stomach. A strangled whine tears through your throat, and you attempt to steady yourself by pressing your hands against his chest. Your clit is aching for stimulation, but you hesitate to put all your weight on him.

Taehyung gently soothes you with soft shushes, gripping onto your hips. “Take a seat, Angel,” he encourages. 

“I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Sit.”

You seat yourself on him without another word. 

His back slightly arches, as if responding to your full weight with a desire for more. 

You tremble at the pressure, sinking your nails into his strong pecs. Your hips start to move on their own, slow and unsure. You assumed it would feel good, your heat, all wet and sticky, gliding against his soft skin. But the lines of his abs, sturdy and tight, add a layer of texture that causes your toes to curl and eyes to roll. 

“Oh, god,” you cry as your thrusts gain some confidence. “D-daddy!”

Taehyung groans beneath you, his stomach rising and falling against your fervent hips. He shifts your dress even higher to watch your pussy move.

“That’s it, baby, just like that…” he whispers, trailing off with a quiet hiss under his breath. 

Your vision blurs with desperation. You’ve never been this needy for him before, your walls clenching, longing for the familiar stretch of his fingers. It’s just the act of claiming his body this way, sitting on such an unconventional part of him, a part you’re sure none of the others have sat on, and using it–using him–to get yourself off. 

And he encourages you to do so, helping you with your thrusts and guiding you towards a faster pace by the rough hold on your hips. His jaw is clenched tight, attention captivated by the slick sounds of your wetness rubbing against him.

“You feel so g-good,” you moan, dragging your nails down his chest. 

“Fuck,” he hisses when you scratch his nipple. 

Your eyes round at the slight tremor in his voice. Hips still grinding steadily under his guidance, you thumb his right nipple and watch him bite his lip. He meets your gaze and you expect to receive a silent warning. Instead, he gazes up at you with… adoration? 

“I can’t take this,” he growls, shoving your hips down to his crotch. 

You’re about to whine, furrowing your brows and nudging his shoulder in protest at the lack of contact, when his clothed cock presses between your folds.

Taehyung sits up and buries his face in the crook of your neck. His arms wrap around your waist and you cannot sit still another moment longer. Your hips shift forward and back, slow and hesitant. You don’t want to receive a scolding for not asking for permission, but holy fuck you need to do something, anything. 

“Keep going,” he whispers against your jaw. “Faster, Angel.”

It’s all the encouragement you need. Running your hands through his hair, you gently tug at the ends to ground yourself against his hard, throbbing cock. Your legs are already shaking, entire body quaking in his arms as you snap your hips as fast as you can against him. You know you are no match for his speed but the friction stimulates your clit all the same. You can already feel your gut tighten and knot, orgasm building from the impression of his thickness. 

You didn’t come here for this. You didn’t plan to get lost in his touch, or be on the verge of crying for his attention. You just wanted a new place to escape and recharge. You wanted his comfort, sure– but his cock was not the goal. 

So, why the fuck are you salivating at its thickness, at the fact that it barely fits between your folds? Why are you scratching at his back, biting your lip to keep yourself from begging him to let you feel it against you, unclothed and raw? Why are you on the brink of shattering at the mere thought of it?

You promised yourself you’d set more boundaries and you really do have every intention of doing so. But… Taehyung is just so magnetic, so alluring. You cannot stop yourself from craving him. And what were you supposed to do when you walked out of that elevator and saw him shirtless? How could you really expect yourself not to get distracted? 

“You’re doing so good,” he purrs against the shell of your ear, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Quick study, huh?”

You cannot hold back a giggle at his teasing tone. Pride blooms in your chest at his words and you find yourself putting a bit more force into your thrusts in response. “I learned from the best,” you moan. 

Taehyung chuckles darkly in your ear, hot breath sending a wave of shivers right down to your core. Your smile falters and you tighten your core to keep from releasing, a loud moan tearing from your throat. The rippling vibrations of his laughter almost put you over the edge, but you know if you cum now without his permission, you will receive a harsh punishment– the denial of a future orgasm. 

“I need to cum,” you whimper.

“So?”

Your eyes roll from the coldness of his tone, and for a second you think you might just let go, but you hold onto your release even tighter, tensing up in his arms.

Taehyung is relentless. Noticing the hesitance of your hips, he grinds up into you, faster than you have ever been able to move. He’s testing you, pushing you further towards the edge.

“Please,” you cry, tears finally splitting, rushing down your face. “I-I can– Daddy, please! Please!”

“Please what?” he coos, the mocking tone not doing you any favours. 

You part your lips to give him what he wants, to scream for his permission but you cannot hold back any longer. Your orgasm ripples through your shaking body. You throw your head back, almost falling off his lap as you squeal and gush all over his shorts. Eyes rolling, jaw slack, you can feel yourself drooling, but cannot be bothered to care when he’s still thrusting.

While your mind feels foggy, blood rushing to your head and muffling your ears, you still catch his whispered profanities. Suddenly, his hips jut forward with renewed force before tensing. You feel a bout of warmth between your folds as he growls your name.

A shuddering sigh falls from your gloss-smeared lips as you lean forward. You rest your head against his shoulder, limp and exhausted as your pussy still clenches sporadically. You should feel ashamed for abandoning your decision to keep things professional, but all that fills your thoughts is the aftershock of his touch, the overwhelming ache of your body still quivering from the intensity of a delayed orgasm. His name lingers on your tongue and you cannot deny how sweet it tastes. Even as you try to gather yourself, willing some semblance of strength back to your legs, your body betrays you, leaning into his warmth.

You want to apologise for losing control, but the words don’t come, and you can’t tell if it’s because you’re too far gone or because deep down, you don’t want to. Because right now, it’s just you and Taehyung, panting and clinging onto each other.

Because right now, you feel whole.

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

[sadistic-kiss]

Double Date~ Toji x Reader x Sukuna

Anime: Jujutsu Kaisen

Characters: Toji Fushiguro and Ryoumen Sukuna (X Fem Reader)

Universe: AU

Rating: Explicit (all da goods)

Genre: Smutty

Kinks: BDSM, Spanking, Breeding and Dacryphilla 

Ingredients/Commission given by: Yorus @yorusranddie

Cover work also done by @yorusranddie ✨❤️✨

Summary: You were supposed to set up a double date for Toji Fushiguro and Sukuna Ryoumen with your mom and aunt so how did YOU end up in bed with them?

✨✨✨✨✨

You hummed to the tune playing from the car speakers, Billie Eilish Lunch singing from your lips. Your head was propped up on your hand as you sank into the back seats of the red and black sports car. Your thumb moves up and down on your phone scrolling through pictures of your friends and silly memes.

“I can eat that girl for lunch… dances on my tongue...” The words were a second thought while you double-tapped your screen liking a video. 

Within the next moment, the radio was turned down.

“So you like eating pussy huh?” 

Your eyes rolled up to the rearview mirror where Sukuna’s red ones looked at you. 

You put a lot of sass in your words as you say, “That’s not a very family-friendly question unc.”

You could see how his eyes narrowed at you, hating when you called him ‘unc’ or ‘uncle’. He was your best friend's uncle but not yours. You just like to tease him. Hear the way he gripped the steering wheel. Get under his skin. It was a fun pastime. 

“What did I say about calling me that?”

“Well if you date my aunt doesn’t that make you my uncle anyway?”

“That-“

“Watch the road Sukuna.” Yuuji elbowed his uncle from the passenger seat. The car swiveled a bit as Sukuna snatched the wheel back. 

“I got this kid.” The older man scoffed, his ego wounded twice within the same minute. 

You let out a teasing giggle, returning to your phone. That’s when a notification pops up on your screen.

Mom: Sorry sweetie but-

You couldn't see the rest of the message before it disappeared, but your stomach sunk from what you had already seen from the preview. You quickly got to your messages to see the full text from your mom.

Mom: Sorry sweetie but your aunt and I had decided to cancel. We just don't think we are ready for another commitment. Please apologize to Mr. Fushiguro and Ryoumen.

“Fuck-“

“What?”

“N-nothing…” you quickly texted back- what does she mean they aren't coming! This is so last minute! 

Me: Mom you have been divorced for like three years! And Auntie said she needed someone to get over her last relationship.

Mom: I think we are just going to have a little girl's night. You know love ourselves! You’re welcome to come over too if you want. 

You puffed your cheeks in annoyance. What the hell were you going to say to freaking Sukuna and Toji?! Just as you looked up the car rolled to a stop, parking in front of Mr. Fushiguro’s house.

Yuuji hopped out to get into the back seat and as he slid in next to you, you pointed at your phone, showing him the message. He mouthed the words as he read, head leaned to the side a bit while he slowly buckled his seat belt in. 

“Yikes.” He hissed under his breath. 

“Tell me about it…” 

“What are we talking about back there?” Sukuna questioned with a raised brow.

“Uh…” you opened your mouth but your words were interrupted as the front and back doors opened.

“Heyo .” Yuuji greeted Megumi as he slid into the seat.

“Sup.” Megumi salutes and wave.

Toji plopped in the front, you can see Sukuna sizing him up. Once Toji got situated he looked toward the tatted man. 

“Toji.” He introduced himself while reaching over to shake his hand. 

“Sukuna.” The two clapped hands with a firm shake. 

You could see their veins bulge as if they were trying to break each other's hands. Their eye contact was firm and well. Like a predator meeting another predator- taunting each other. Trying to show who is the king of the jungle. 

Yuuji coughed as he leaned forward with his phone, pointing to the address of the club. “Nobara said this place was pretty good for the price.”

You blanked at Yuuji, did he not read what your mom sent? The party was over! Well… maybe it didn’t have to be. You can pretend you've never seen it…

The interruption from Yuuji broke up the big dick contest.

Sukuna typed in the address while Toji greeted you, “Hey, you look nice.” He complimented. 

You gave him an appreciative smile, “Thank you, sir. You look nice as well.”

You could see the little glare sent your way from Sukuna in the rearview mirror but it seemed only you noticed. You knew he was pissed that you just called Toji sir while you called him unc. L-o- fucking-l. You laugh on the inside keeping your eyes on Toji.

“I hope your mother thinks so too, did you send her the address?”

“I- yup. I sure did.”

After Sukuna got the GPS started he took off on the road. Yuuji and Megumi were the main ones talking… well… it was more Yuuji talking and Megumi responding with his usual bored tone. 

The entire ride there you were planning how you were going to tell the two men in front. Staged it in your head. Played out the scene. You were going to put on your best acting performance. 

Sukuna pulled up to the colorful lighted club with a giant sign that read ‘Special Grade’ and as you were getting out you let out a little gasp while looking at your phone. Everyone looked toward you expectantly. 

“Ah~ sorry guys my mom and aunt are staying in tonight.” You smacked your lips giving everyone an apologetic look.

“Seriously?” Sukuna deadpanned.

“Yeah… that sucks… well we are already here might as well have fun!” You didn’t get dressed up for nothing. Hopping out of the car you closed the door and walked toward the building. Yuuji and Megumi by your side.

“They haven’t gotten out of the car yet.” Megumi pointed out.

“Eh, they are just in shock, nothing a few drinks can solve- NOBARA!” You squealed running up to your best friend as the two of you hopped up and down in excitement. 

“Oi I’m your boyfriend and you give her more excitement than me!” Yuuji pouted as Nobara rolled her eyes.

“Oh hush~ let’s go have some fun… uh where’s your family I thought they were coming?”

“My family decided to ditch us.”

“My dad’s in the car with Sukuna, probably contemplating life.”

“Pfft, in the wise words of Shoko everything can be solved with alcohol.”

“That’s what I said!”

“That is a terrible motto to go by.”

You laughed as the four of you walked toward the entrance. With a glance back you saw Toji and Sukuna finally getting out of the car. You felt a little bad for them but with their looks, they could pick up any girl. What was one little rejection going to do to them?

~

Okay, they were pissing you off. And by they you meant Toji and Sukuna. The two men had gotten a booth together, taking shots in their little corner. 

You’ve seen plenty of girls try to talk to them but they turned everyone away! 

Were they going to sit there all night knocking shot after shot like some sad teenage boys?!

You were dancing on the light-up floor, red sequin dress swishing side to side, catching the colorful rays of light flashing. Alcohol filled your blood while you groove to the music, but you kept glaring at Sukuna and Toji. Body on autopilot while your mind was reeling. 

“You okay?” Nobara questioned as she shimmied and swayed around with Yuuji. 

“Yeah!” You nodded your head and gave her a thumb up just in case she didn’t hear you over the music. "I'm going to go check on our sad boys!" Breaking away from the group you beelined to the table in the corner.

They were talking but once they saw you coming the conversation stopped, the two of them gave you their attention as you planted yourself before their table.

"Are you guys kidding?" You questioned with your gaze bouncing between the two.

"What?" Sukuna screamed over the loud music.

You leaned upon the table with your hands on top, getting closer to them. So close that you could smell the alcohol upon their lips mingle in the air.

"I said...are you guys kidding!?"

Toji raised a brow, "What's wrong sweetheart?"

"You two! You guys are just sitting here drinking alone, you don't want to like dance or have fun?" You question hooking your thumb behind you.

Sukuna snorted, "I don't want to dance with someone unworthy of my time."

"Besides..." Toji began with a little grin, "Whoever said we aren't having fun?"

You release a sharp laugh, "Ha! What you two BFF's now?"

"Well..." Toji drawled with a sneaky tone, "...It would appear we got a lot more in common than we thought."

It may have been the alcohol but as the two looked at you with a little snicker you had figured the joke was about them both being rejected. 

Little did you know...

"Listen..." You began with a little sigh. "I'm sorry my aunt and mom ditched you guys, I don't know what is going on with them but I hope you guys can still have fun. Let me get you a shot at least."

"On your paycheck?" Sukuna teased.

"So then you know how serious I am!"

"Nah...I'll get it but you'll take one with us." He got up gesturing for you to sit down.

"Deal." You grinned as you slid into the spot Sukuna was in, the seat warm. 

As you waited for Sukuna to come back with your drinks you looked toward Toji. You were going to say something but something about him caught you off guard. He was ruggedly handsome. The club lights flashed across his face and danced in his green eyes. His scar only adds to his appearance… you wanted to trace your finger over it. Never had you viewed him in such a way. He was your friend's dad after all and you tried to set him up with your mom. Not that they really knew much about each other but it was just kind of like a… ‘why not?’. See if they kick it off kind of thing. 

Megumi was tired of the man being lazy and broke, living off of his divorce money and his wife’s life insurance. You all thought…what if a woman could whip him into shape? 

Toji caught you staring at him but you were too slow to act as if you weren’t. 

“You stare anymore and ya gonna make me blush sweetheart.” He flashed you a grin that shouldn’t have caused your stomach to stir. 

“My bad, I was just looking at your scar.” You lie with ease. “How’d you get it?”

“Ah, this?” He rubbed the back of his fingers upon it. “Got into it with my old man when I was young. We never really saw eye to eye.“

Megumi had told you that they were not close to the Zenin family. Apparently, his grandpa was a narcissistic control freak. “That’s a horrible thing to do to a kid…I’m glad you don’t associate with them anymore and that you didn’t follow in the abuse train.”

Toji seemed pleased with your response, “Yeah…dude was a coward. I’m not a great dad but I don’t think I’m too bad.”

“Well, you lost your wife, so being a single parent for your child and your bitchy ex-wife is… ya know kinda crazy. And come on…” you grin while elbowing him, “… I wouldn’t have set up this date with my mom if I didn’t think you were a good man. You just need some… help.”

“Help huh?”

“Like~” you pop your lips, “A woman’s touch or something. Tsumiki is grown and Megumi is off to college so it’s like you are stuck. Don’t take it the wrong way or anything but you and my mom got this whole I will never love again vibe going on. I think that’s horse shit-oop! Haha, my bad. I guess I usually don’t talk so freely with you.”

“Quite the sailor aren’t you?”

You let out a little laugh as the two of you enjoyed the moment. That’s when Sukuna came back with a bottle and three shot glasses. He squeezed into the booth with you in the middle, setting down the cups.

“Fucking line took forever.” Sukuna cursed filling up the shot glasses.

“See? I get it from my unc.” You joked making Toji chuckle.

Sukuna looked at both of you in confusion, “Get what from me?”

“Cursing.” You smiled grabbing your shot. 

“The fuck you do.” The three of you clinked glasses and tapped the table before knocking back the burning liquid. Sukuna let out a frat boy kind of grunt while slamming the glass down so hard you are surprised it didn’t break. “That mouth of yours was always filthy.” He looked toward you with such an expression it gave you whiplash. “Someone atta spank your ass.”

This whole thing was always a game of chicken. Teasing and flirting with each other has just been your way since what feels like the beginning. It was harmless fun. He always talked about spanking you anytime he deemed you being naughty. So you didn’t think twice as you set your gaze, looking up at Sukuna from under your thick fake lashes. 

“What? Are you going to spank me?” 

Something flashed within his eyes before he settled you with a devilish grin, he leaned closer to you but you didn’t back down. You were never one to back down. Always ready for a challenge especially when it came to Sukuna. 

He licked his lips, red gaze bouncing between your eyes and somewhere lower. He then whispered, “You would like that…wouldn’t you?”

Woah- 

Something about this felt like it was outside of the playing field. It caught you off guard. What was even more terrifying was the tiny voice in your head that said ‘yes’. Perhaps tomorrow you will blame your stubbornness on the alcohol.

You cocked your head, getting a breath away from him, “You- would like that.”

He didn’t back down, his grin only widening, “We- would like that.”

You blanked falling backward as you disengaged from your game. You look toward Toji who was watching with intense interest. His gaze locked on to you. You had forgotten he was here. Feeling embarrassed that he witnessed such a thing. Yet the way he was staring at you had your body heating up. 

Like he enjoyed watching 

Suddenly this moment felt strange. You felt naked. Exposed. Like you were in danger… but a delicious kind of danger. 

Sukuna had said ‘we’.

“What’s…going on here?” You questioned with a suspicious glare.

Toji cleared his throat as he leaned in closer to you, “Remember…when I said we both had something in common?”

You nodded slowly.

“It’s you.”

“Me?” You asked in shock.

“Yes, you.”

“No- no way! You two were supposed to be dating my mom and aunt may I remind you!”

Sukuna rolled his eyes, “I only said yes so you’d stop nagging me.”

Toji shrugged seemingly agreeing with the statement. “In other words, it was a good thing they canceled. Made us realize after talking we should tell you the truth.”

Your brain was unable to keep up. You felt frozen as they told you their secret. You could not believe this was happening. 

You let out a gasp as you felt someone caressing your thigh gently. Looking down you watched as Sukuna smoothed his hand up and down, creating a path of warmth that set fire to other places. Toji’s hand began to play with your hair. You were mesmerized by their touch and voices. 

“What do you say…” Toji’s words tickled one ear as Sukuna did the other. “…can you handle both of us brat?”

“…”

~

You moaned in Toji’s lap, tongues slipping against each other in a lewd slop. Your dress rode up over your ass, his hands wrapped around you, pulling you flush against him. 

You felt another hand glide over your cheek, fingers slipping to your cunt. Sukuna growled from the driver's seat, trying to get the three of you home as quickly as possible. “You ain’t wearing underwear?”

Toji chuckled breaking apart from your lips, “I told you she wasn’t.”

“How did you know?” You giggle grinding yourself on top of his clothed length. 

“Because you are a naughty little vixen.” Toji slapped your ass harshly making you squeak.

“Wearing this skimpy ass outfit with no underwear.” Sukuna also gave you a harsh slap making you gasp. “Slut is just begging for it.”

Your phone had dinged, having fallen onto the floor between Toji’s feet. The screen was a text from Nobara saying she hoped you feel better. 

You had made an excuse that you felt sick and Sukuna was going to take you home. Toji had said he was tired and too old to hang with the youngins and the three of you left. Megumi and Yuuji decide to catch a ride with Nobara. 

You guys kept it cool until you were in the elevator. As soon as the doors closed that’s when the lustful dance began. The two of them take turns kissing you and pressing you up against the wall. And it didn’t end from there. You could barely get into the car, Toji pulling you into the front seat with him while telling Sukuna to drive safely. 

You couldn’t get enough.

Your thirst unable to be quenched. 

Sukuna pulled into his garage as you and Toji continued making out. You were too distracted from your session to see that you were finally at your destination. The passenger door was ripped open as Sukuna grabbed a fistful of your hair.

“Hey!” You gasped as he pulled you out of the car, “I hope you are paying for me to get my hair done!”

“Yeah yeah I ruin it I’ll fix it.” Sukuna gave you a lustful kiss, moaning against your lips. 

“I guess the dress is on me huh?” Toji chuckled getting out of the car. 

You had already heard a tear from your dress, one of your earrings was missing and your heels had a little scruff to it. You made sure to let the men know that they would be replacing anything from their rough handling of you. 

Not that you minded. 

The door was slammed shut behind you as you were practically carried inside. You were in the foyer kissing Sukuna while Toji slipped your heels off. The three of you nearly tripped over each other to get into the bedroom. 

Sukuna unzipped your dress with dexterous fingers, pushing the fabric down. He slapped your tit making it bounce, glaring at you while he nipped your lip, “No bra either. Who let you out like this?”

“I’m a grown woman unc.” You teased. You giggled at the way he glared at you. 

You were spun around swiftly and then pushed against Toji as he snapped at him. 

“Hold her.”

You heard the rustling of a belt as Toji circled his arms around your waist. 

“What are you…” you looked back just as Sukuna yanked your wrist behind you, tying your wrist with the leather belt. You hissed at the slight discomfort. 

“Give me your belt.”

Toji shifted around as he took his belt off with one hand handing it to Sukuna. You looked at the exchange with wide eyes. Watching Sukuna fold the belt.

“Wait!”

*SMACK*

“Ai!” You jerked against Toji as the leather snapped against your ass like a swift viper. 

Sukuna grabbed a handful of your ass, shaking it as he hissed into your ear. “I don’t want to hear you ever call me unc again!” 

*SMACK*!

“Ow! Sukuna!” You were now trying to get away, the harsh slap of the belt had your cheeks ringing in pain. 

“Yeah, that’s more like it! You either call me Sukuna or sir, do you understand?” He hit your ass again as you screamed out.

“Yes! Yes!” You cried feeling your eyes water. You didn’t think he was that upset when you called him unc! It was just a prank damn!

“What was that?!” Sukuna growled. 

*SMACK*

“YESSSIR!” You cried, that last hit rocking the tears from your eyes. They trailed down your cheeks.

“Aw, she’s crying…” Toji grabbed your chin as he lifted your face. “Such a sweet face.” 

You thought he felt bad for you but it seemed to be the opposite. He liked to see your tears. 

“Let me see.” Sukuna pulled your head back, his phone in your face. 

Your eyes widened in surprise as the flash went off. 

“That’s fucking hot…” Sukuna groaned pulling the phone away as he licked at your tears. You didn’t have time to say anything about the picture as Toji licked at your other cheek, hand trailing down as he cupped your sore ass. 

You gasp, “Y-you guys are sick.” You glare at them as they only chuckle. 

“Another thing we have in common princess.” Toji grinned pushing you onto the bed. 

You gasped flopping on the bed, your leg was then grabbed as Toji stuck two fingers inside you. 

“Ah~!” You let out a gasp, pussy clinging around his fingers as if it had been dying for this. 

“Yet you are so wet…Who’s more sick, it seems you are getting off on this little masochist?”

Sukuna fisted himself out of his pants, grabbing your chin tightly, “You will be crying and wetting our cocks like the little slut you are.”

Toji used his other hand to pull his pants just underneath his length, a fiery gleam in his eyes as he smirked, “And we know you will enjoy it.”

You were shocked to hear Toji agree with such things- Sukuna yes this matched his character but never would you have known Toji to be a closeted sadist. 

Did you fuck up?

Who were you kidding? 

You let out a moan as the two men shoved their cocks inside you. Toji in your pussy while Sukuna took your mouth. 

Gentle? Never heard of her.

You were taken with wild abandonment. And true to their words you shed more tears and gushed upon their lengths. All while they laughed and taunted you with sinister words. Sukuna even dragged his fingers over your tears and wiped them on his cock before entering your cumdumped pussy. They didn’t even ask if they could cum in you- they just did. 

How was it possible that they could keep going? 

At one point you finally began to beg for them to release your wrists. But they wouldn’t. Like they didn’t want you to try to run away.

They used your body for their pleasure, saying dirty things like how they always wanted to do this to you. Bringing up times when you wore clothes that left nothing to the imagination. Their favorite was the red shorts that cupped your cheeks. They’d talk about masturbating to the thought of you and the pictures they snuck. 

You bet this is what they were talking about while sitting in the corner sharing drinks. Sharing their explicit thoughts and pictures of you. 

They are actually crazy. 

Yet you were still cumming and leaking like a broken faucet. You actually had no shame. No thought. Especially as you bounced up and down Sukuna’s length while sucking on Toji’s cock with greed. 

Your eye just so happens to catch the clock on the dresser as you gasp pulling back, “oh crap-“

Sukuna slapped your ass as he leaned back with his hands behind his head, “Keep bouncing.” 

“M-my birth control- I need to go take it!” You usually take it before bed but you must not have heard your alarm since your phone was in the car. 

That seemed to pause them.

“You what?” Toji questioned.

“I was supposed to take it at eight, I forgot. I was too drunk…maybe I can get a plan b tomorrow… or today seeing as it’s fucking 2 am.”

Sukuna snorted, grabbing your hips tightly, “Not a chance.” He then picked you up and dropped you making you scream. “I’m gonna fuck a baby in you now.”

“Fuck off we didn’t discuss this.” Toji growled while getting behind you. He pushed you down so you could press into Sukuna’s chest and then you felt something poke at your pussy right alongside Sukuna’s cock. 

You gasp, “No! I can’t-“

Toji and Sukuna lifted you up as they both tried to cram their cocks inside your cunt. You released a scream as one cock left and another entered, back and forth back and forth. You were stretched unbelievably- the intensity had you sweating and drooling. You were losing your mind. Their vigor turned into something more insatiable. You were lucky they didn’t try to jam both cocks inside you at the same time- you don’t think you’d be able to stretch that much. This already was too much. 

You couldn’t stop moaning and crying, begging for something. Perhaps mercy. But they didn’t know the differences, and neither did you. 

“Please-! Please-! Ah- please!”

“You want-mm- my cum baby?”

“No, -Ngh- she wants mine. Say it- ah- say you want it.”

You were drowning in it all so you did as you were told screaming, “Yes! Yes, I want it-i-I want your cum!” But you never clarify who’s. That was their own personal problem. 

“Fuck-yes baby keep begging for it-“

“I’m going to give it to you- you better take it- “

The two groaned as they came inside you again for the -who knows how many times tonight- but this time it seemed like they gave you the fattest load. The thought of you carrying their child was something that truly kicked off their lust. Your orgasm had you seeing stars and soon you felt as though you blacked out. 

You felt them finally untie your hands but your arms just hung with exhaustion. You were laid in the middle of the bed, letting out a light groan. Body exhausted. You had finally hit your limit. 

“Crazy…” you mumbled. “Crazy…” 

“You bring it out of us.”

Sukuna and Toji shared a laugh as they leaned back in bed cuddling with you, fine with lying in all of the mess and sweat. Filthy men they were. But you doubt that you were far from them. Because you more than enjoyed yourself tonight. And now you will expect to be spoiled like this from now on. 

Although you wonder if they were joking about the whole pregnancy thing…were they really trying to get you pregnant?

That was a problem for sober you. 

✨✨✨✨✨

[secretsecretbunny]

Just friends: stray kids smau.

Part one: "there are no flaws in ghibli."

paring: lee minho x f!reader - roommate!skz

genre: fluff, angst, future smut, roommates au.

warnings for this chapter: mild sexual jokes. alcohol mention.

PLEASE read character intros/story set up: here

You had the large sofa set up with a few fluffy blankets and pillows, streaming service pulled up on the big TV when Minho emerged from his room. You were still wrapped up in the group chat when he silently leaned over the back of the grey couch, head next to yours, smiling mischievously before asking lowly in your ear, "so, which ghibli movie are we watching?", making you jump in surprise with a screech as he laughed at your reaction.

"JESUS, TWINKLETOES. WEAR A BELL OR SOMETHING!" you exclaimed, hand over your chest.

A playful chuckle escaped his lips as he plopped onto the cozy sofa beside you.

A sly grin spread across his face as he mused aloud, "yeah you'd like that, huh? a nice collar with a little bell fastened around my neck?" he winked.

You rolled your eyes "I'm gonna hose you down". you said, looking him up and down in an attempt to be threatening, but the more you thought about it, it did sound.. no. You shook off the thought, looking back at the TV.

Minho laughed and raised an eyebrow, his sharp features still amused as he asked again, "You gonna answer or what? Which movie are we doing?"

You huffed, rolling your eyes once again, this time with a subtle smile on your face. You leaned back into the cushions "I don't know, I was gonna let you choose", you responded, scrolling through the list of Ghibli movies on the screen.

"Oh, well then obviously The Cat Returns." he replied immediately. You perked up "Sweet, I love that one! Popcorn?". Minho nodded "obviously. I'll make drinks if you make the popcorn?" he asked. "deal." you said, standing up and heading towards the kitchen.

Your bare feet were chilly on the cold tiles as you walked into the large spacious kitchen. White marble countertops sat in contrast to the many black cabinets and their handles with gold detailing.

You opened the pantry and grabbed a bag of popcorn, then popped it into the microwave before turning around and hopping up to sit on the counter to watch Minho make the drinks. The marble countertop was cold on your pajama short clad legs as you kicked your dangling feet, feeling excited for movie night. "you want drinks or do you want drinks?" he asked, pausing what he was doing. "Hmm, drinks" you answered. He spun around, opening the glass liquor cabinet with a flourish "pick your poison, princess." he gestured at the dozens of bottles and raised his arms to emphasize the amount, making his shirt ride up and expose a line of soft skin above his sweatpants. You forcibly drag your eyes away to look at the extensive alcohol collection.

"do we have limoncello?"

"duh" Minho responded, grabbing the bright yellow liqueur. "what do you want it in?"

"sprite. add a bit of maraschino cherry juice?"

"you got it, princess." He meticulously prepared the drinks in tall, clear glasses, crafting a similar beverage for himself out of convenience, though likely not out of desire for the taste. The popcorn in the microwave emitted a high-pitched beep, prompting you to stand up and carefully remove it before pouring its contents into a glass bowl.

"ready?" you asked

he nodded "yeah. don't trip and spill the popcorn this time though." he chuckled.

"that was once!"

Minho looked at you pointedly, head cocked to the side.

"okay, twice. shut up." you grumbled quickly.

A grin spread across his face as he trailed behind you, heading back towards the plush couch.

As you prepared to enjoy the film, Minho placed the icy beverages within easy reach, arranging them neatly beside the heap of fluffy popcorn on the polished wooden coffee table. You cozied up into Minho as he sat down, the promise of cuddles being fulfilled.

You and Minho had been close friends since college, though it wasn't always that way. The first time you met him, freshman year, he was so unimpressed by your existence that you could barely get more than one word at a time out of him. He seemed disinterested in getting to know you better, and his curt responses made you feel like an inconvenience more than anything.

||flashback||

You were running late again. Of course you were, what was new? You sighed dramatically as you walked to your class, not even bothering to rush yourself at this point. Taking a deep breath of the crisp autumn air, you attempted to calm yourself. You knew you were starting a project today and the professor probably had already assigned you a partner since you were late. Most likely whichever poor soul it was that didn't get chosen by another classmate.

You entered the lecture hall, coffee in hand, sitting in your usual seat. You had just rested your forehead on the cool surface of the table when you felt a tap on your shoulder. Looking up with a pout you made eye contact with probably the most beautiful man you had ever seen.

"y/n, right? I'm your partner for the project." he said, his tone mildly annoyed.

"That's me. Sorry I'm late, I uh, overslept." you said with a nervous laugh and a warm smile.

"Don't care. You know what the project is even about?" he asked condescendingly, glower on his face.

Your smile dropped as you scoffed. The attitude on this guy. "Of course I do, why wouldn't I? It's been talked about for weeks." you responded, matching his tone.

"Well, you missed the opening lecture today because you were late, I don't know if that's a consistent problem for you or not." he rolled his eyes.

You narrowed your eyes at him. It definitely was a consistent problem, but he didn't need to know that. "Whatever. Let's just get started."

Throughout the next few weeks, you and Minho collaborated on the project, constantly disagreeing over every minor detail. It wasn't until your mutual friends, Chan and Changbin, intervened that you began to tolerate each other.

"You two are so similar it hurts." Changbin said as he watched you and Minho bicker over something as simple as which font to use.

"Don't compare me to him!" You said in offense.

"We may not see eye-to-eye on anything else, but our shared disdain for each other is undeniable." Minho said, arms crossed over his chest.

"what, you got a word of the day calendar or something? or are you just trying to meet your word count for the day." you spat out with disdain.

"Please, you're both getting on my nerves. Sit down and work on your project before I lecture you in the middle of this library." Chan huffed, frustration clear in his voice as he tried to work on his own homework.

"Yes, dad." Minho uttered sarcastically. "Wouldn't want to get myself grounded from the Nintendo for a week."

Your attempt to suppress your giggle failed as you laughed at his witty remark. You brought your hand up to conceal the wide grin spreading across your face while Minho observed your reaction intently, furrowing his brows with a tilt of his head.

"What?" You ask defensively.

"Nothing. Just never seen you laugh. The smile looks better than the scowl you're usually wearing"

You turn your head back to your laptop in an attempt to hide how flustered his comment made you. "Be funnier then." you mumbled.

He rolled his eyes, huffing out a small laugh of his own as he sat back down in the seat beside you. "I'll keep that in mind." he noted with a hint of sarcasm. Chan and Changbin shared a knowing look, smirks on their faces.

From then on, your interactions with Minho took on a playful edge. The back-and-forth banter and witty remarks became a Hallmark of your relationship, bringing you closer together.

As you continued to hang out frequently, Chan and Bin were always part of the crew. On occasion, Chan's cousin Felix would tag along, and before long he began inviting his own friends to join in on the fun as well. Your close-knit clique soon swelled up to an impressive total of nine members, marking the start of countless memorable adventures that are still talked about today.

The decision to drop out was made collectively about two years later by you and your friends due to an unfortunate event involving a harmful rumor that nearly jeopardized everything between your circle of friends. It simply didn't feel worth the trouble anymore. The frequent arguments you had with outsiders, the dirty looks, and the hushed whispers as you passed by made you feel culpable. The gossip topic made it feel like your fault. It affected you the most but the boys were treated horribly as well. You all began skipping classes, which honestly only fueled the rumors, but none of you could handle the treatment anymore so you all decided to drop out, Felix offering one of his families many large houses as refuge. You've all been together since.

||present day||

You were midway through the movie, thoroughly engrossed in the plot, while laying on the couch wrapped up in a warm and cozy blanket. Minho was spooning you from behind, his arm draped over your waist as he too followed along with the storyline of the film. When you spoke, it was in a soft voice laced with reminiscence "you know, I used to have a crush on The Baron." Your words came out with lighthearted laughter. Minho lifted his head to look down at you, his dark eyes meeting yours. He raised an eyebrow and smirked, saying everything he needed to without uttering a word. "what?! he's charming!!" you said in defense against his incredulous expression. Minho just huffed out a small laugh and shook his head before laying it back down on the pillow. "furry" he accused. You elbowed him lightly in the stomach "you're the worst" you said with an exaggerated pout "you like it" he responded.

You gradually fell asleep before the movie ended, rolling over to snuggle into Minho's warm chest, his soft black shirt pressed against your forehead. He gazed down at you with a gentle smile, brushing away any strands of hair from your face. The word "cute" escaped his lips in a soft whisper as he gazed at the sleeping form beside him. The warmth and comfort of the moment washed over him, and he too succumbed to the call of sleep. But their rest was short-lived, as exaggerated retching sounds mixed with the persistent vibration of their phones shattered the tranquility. Rolling onto your back, you groaned, annoyed at the interruption. Minho grabbed his phone, checking the group chat. "god, they're being annoying" he grumbled, voice laced with sleep. "when are they not?" you asked, snatching your phone up to check the chat as well.

Back in your room, you collapsed onto your comfortable queen-sized bed, which was adorned with a variety of plush blankets and pillows in different shapes and sizes. The color changing LED lights provided a soothing pink glow in the dimly lit room. As you re-read the group chat, you couldn't help but smile at the picture Felix sent before saving it to your phone. You then locked it and placed it on your bedside table. The comforting weight of your many blankets soon lulled you back into a peaceful sleep.

You had only been asleep for a mere two hours when your phone rang, waking you up once more. The sudden noise jolted you out of your slumber and left you feeling groggy and disoriented.

"hello?" you answered, voice rough from sleep.

"hey.. need you over here." a man's voice came through.

You glanced at the time on your phone, rubbing your tired eyes while trying to focus on the bright screen. "now?"

With a tantalizing tone, he uttered the words, drawing out each syllable "Yes now. I'll pay extra."

You let out a deep sigh, standing up and quickly getting dressed in decent clothes. "alright. come pick me up. I've been drinking, I can't drive."

"Already here." the man hung up without another word.

After storing your phone in the pocket of your torn jeans for safekeeping, you pulled on your plush jacket to go along with your simple yet comfortable tank top. Not wanting to waste any time choosing footwear, you opted for the first pair within reach - sleek black ankle boots featuring sturdy block heels. As you passed by the living room, Felix was still awake. You noticed that he was engrossed in a video game on the big screen TV. His fingers moved swiftly across the controller while his eyes remained fixed on the action unfolding before him. Despite being deeply immersed in the gameplay, when you went walking by, he immediately stopped what he was doing and looked back at you.

"Hey, bubs, where are you going? It's already 2 a.m." he asked, confusion and a hint of concern in his voice.

"just a work emergency!" you said simply as you ran your hands through your bed head, attempting to tame the unruly strands.

"this late?"

"yeah, I'll be back soon."

"I- okay. be safe, y/n."

You nodded. "of course, always."

You walked out the door and hopped into the luxurious black car with tinted windows that was already waiting for you. When Minho heard the sound of an engine, he got up to take a look outside his window and watched as you stepped into the sleek vehicle. He couldn't help the concern he felt as he watched it pull out of the long driveway and disappear down the street.

You were back home a mere two hours later, trudging through the door and heading straight to your room, ignoring Felix's lingering stare. You kicked off your shoes and removed your coat and pants before crawling back into bed and immediately passing back out. Tomorrow morning was gonna suck.

part 1.5 || part two || part three || part four

notes: and there's the first chapter of my first ever series! 😬 I hope you liked it!! I know we're starting off slow but I promise it'll pick up! please feel free to leave feedback and interactions so I can feel out what you guys like for part two! ily!! 🩷

There will be no taglist. Please turn on my blog notifications if you want to catch updates for this series!! ♥️

[minus-plus-zer0]

Getting a Dog With Bakugou Headcanons

You're probably dating or married when you pop this question.

And you better believe Bakugou won't even broach the subject unless you ask it first.

"Can we get a doggy? Pretty please?"

You're giving him your classic puppy-dog eyes that he's seen from you a million times before.

And if you get a dog, he knows he'll have to deal with twice the amount of begging.

He wants to say yes to you, but no to the dog. That doesn't make sense at all, but he just really hates saying no to you.

He is just not too fond of dogs, cats, humans, living creatures, inanimate objects, etc. He's a hard sell on everything in life.

He's not 100% against the idea but he'll hear you out because he'd hate to disappoint you. Honestly, he'd rather be shot than see you upset.

However, you also care way too much about Bakugou, the love of your life, so you take the time to convince him rather than inundate him with pleading that will inevitably wear his defenses down. You want him to be happy too!

You point out all the helpful things dogs can do, all the tricks they can learn, the jobs they can get, and the competitions they can win.

Bakugou really likes that last one! You know the boy like the back of your hand.

You point out some of the stronger and sturdier dogs because you know that's more up his alley, but your heart is calling you to the smaller, sweeter, and funnier dogs instead.

Bakugou says the latter types of dogs remind him of you, and you hope that this is a compliment!

(It is)

You go to the shelter to rescue a little fella. It's hard to say if you'll find a dog that simultaneously is in desperate need of a good home while also is capable of doing all the tricks Bakugou wants to teach it. A lot of dogs here have their own issues to go through before even thinking of doing something like competitions, so you text your friends in the Bakusquad to encourage them to adopt the ones you don't pick.

Somehow, you find the right dog for you both.

It's a corgi!

You had a lot of dogs you wanted, but it was really hard to pick. You suggested a Pomeranian because it reminded you of Bakugou, but he shot the idea down solely due to your reasoning. Now that you think about it, maybe it was better that you didn't get a Pomeranian. After all, with Bakugou in your life, having another Pomeranian would just be redundant.

Bakugou doesn't like that line of thinking either.

So your corgi will suffice for now. You're not sure what jobs he can get, but he is definitely good for competitions. You've seen some intense corgi racing on the track before. And although corgis are inherently goofy creatures, Bakugou could at least appreciate how helpful they were. He still had a problem with the little guy's overly judgmental face though.

"What are you staring at?!"

"Aw, don't worry honey! Maybe he just thinks you look cool?"

Once you brought the dog home, the little guy was excited to explore the place. You made sure to get some good step cushions so he could hop onto the couch without hurting his legs or back. You gave him all the food and love he could ever ask for, and you even researched online how to prep your own homemade meals and treats for the guy.

Needless to say, Bakugou was jealous.

"You've replaced me for him!" he says.

He's not wrong. He's currently looking at you in bed cuddling your corgi, who happens to be taking up his spot.

"That's just how life goes sometimes, Katsuki." You shrug in defeat.

Bakugou growls at the dog, who growls back.

The dog is super biased. The dog loves you way more than Bakugou, like by a mile.

You can't have them growling at each other all the time so you hold regular bonding sessions for the three of you to get along.

So now when you make something special for the dog, you end up making a nice baked good for Bakugou too!

But then Bakugou feels guilty seeing you cook so much, so he ends up making something for you as well, and that's how you end up cooking dinner like 3 hours earlier than usual.

When you cuddle with your dog, you're also cuddling with Bakugou who's got his arms wrapped around you while you three watch TV or something.

Bakugou really likes it when the dog growls at the TV. It's like the dog hates whatever is currently being shown.

"Yeah yeah, don't worry you damn dog. I hate this shit too."

While you're away, Bakugou teaches the dog tricks like "Attack!" and "Explode!". The dog is learning much more than it ever wanted... but at least they are becoming quite talented!

If your friends ever get their own dog, Bakugou will have to challenge their dog to a Pokemon battle at some point.

But the best times are when the three of you go on walks through hiking trails. It's something you all can enjoy.

When you finally find a beautiful, scenic view above the entire city, your corgi curls up around your legs and Bakugou kisses you on the forehead. He lingers for a moment to watch your reaction to the view of the city he's given you, and you tell each other for the millionth time you love one another.

"Thank you so, so much for showing me this place, Katsuki!" You squeeze him tight. He squeezes you back, not letting go.

Now he's really glad he didn't say no to you. Maybe one day you'll get another dog...

Then Bakugou will get triple the puppy-dog eyes!

[holdmytesseract]

moodboard by @chennqingg | divider by @fictive-sl0th

Biker!Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader | No Outbreak AU

Warnings for this Chapter: 18+! MDNI! thirst, smut - not entirely graphic, but oh boy, it's there!

Word Count: 1.6k

a/n: So, uh... I'm pretty nervous about this chapter, since smut isn't really something I write on a daily basis, so... I hope this turned out okay! 👉🏻👈🏻

《 M a s t e r l i s t 》

《 Chapter One 》《 Chapter Three 》

Chapter Two...

... in which you spent a passionate night with the handsome biker.

A little bit older

A black leather jacket

A bad reputation

Insatiable habits

He was onto me, one look and I couldn't breathe

'My Oh My' by Camila Cabello feat. DaBaby

Feeling a wave of nervousness but also anticipation and excitement wash over you, your feet immediately guided you over to the biker. Daryl gestured behind himself. "Hop on." You didn't let yourself tell that twice, and swung your leg over; sitting behind Daryl.

He revved the engine and looked over his shoulder back at you. "Ya should hold on real tight." You did; placing your hands on his shoulders. He smirked - something you weren't able to see and started to drive down the street; away from the bar. You felt your body crashing into Daryl's due to the speed. It caused you to redirect your hands and wrap your arms around his torso instead; switching positions - and you would've lied when you said you didn't enjoy holding on to him like this for the short ride inside Miles City. He was so broad and bulky, yet strong. Downright attractive.

Ten minutes later, Daryl pulled off the road and onto the parking lot of a motel. He stopped his bike and turned off the engine. You hopped off the vehicle again; Daryl doing the same. Then he took off his helmet again, fished inside his jeans pocket for the keys to his room and took your hand in his free hand. It was the first direct skin-on-skin contact - and it caused our head to spin. A shiver ran down your spine. The biker started to walk backwards and gently dragged you with him; that charming smile once again on his lips. You followed him. There were no words or further signals needed.

You felt your heart beating fast for the man in front of you, who had just put the key in the lock to open up the door to his room - to an invitation to spent the night with him. Again, you couldn't help but accept. Usually, you weren't like that, but something about Daryl was just so special and intriguing. He was different.

The wooden door had merely fallen into its hinges, when Daryl's lips crashed onto yours; your back hitting the wall behind you with a soft thud.

Daryl's kiss was overwhelming but intoxicating. The taste of Whiskey and smoke; paired with the woodsy, musky and floral scent of his cologne drove you wild. Desire and need fogging up your brain and making it hard for you to think straight. He was like a drug; injected in your bloodstream. All you wanted was the man in front of you - and you could tell that the feeling was mutual.

His lips were still attached to yours as the biker's hands started to wander; feeling the dips of your lower back and the curves of your hips. They traced the hem of your blue jeans, before calloused but skilled fingers popped the single button open and zipped down the zipper. You kicked off your cowboy boots to help Daryl along and within seconds you were halfway undressed.

To feel his hands on your burning hot skin sent another shiver down your spine. No doubt you were aching with need for him.

The man buried his face in your neck; kissing, biting and licking the sensitive skin. A gasp left your lips; hands sliding from his broad shoulders into his hair and you tugged; getting rid of his black baseball cap on the way. You felt him groan in your shoulder. His hips suddenly jerked forwards to pin you against the thin motel wall. That was the moment you felt all of him - and you were a hairsbreadth away from losing your mind. You were so drunk of him, you couldn't hold out much longer. "Daryl, p-please..." You panted desperately; hands no longer in his hair, but at the hem of his jeans. Your thumbs slid through the belt loops; tugging. He lifted his head to give you the sexiest, yet dirtiest smile a man had ever given you. It almost caused your knees to buckle and give in. Daryl knew what you wanted - and that only he was able to give it to you. Actually, he had planned to play with you a little longer, but the night wasn't over yet and he was losing the roaring battle against his most primal instincts as well. Therefore, he didn't hesitate; made quick work to unzip the zipper of his own jeans and finally gave the raging arousal trapped inside some room. Nevertheless, he couldn't resist the temptation to grant himself at least a little bit relief with the help of his hand, while he shrugged his angel-winged vest off his shoulders and messily undid a few buttons of his shirt, before he rummaged around in the back pocket of his jeans. Daryl quickly found what he was looking for, and fished it out. Bringing the little foil package to his mouth, he ripped it open with his teeth and took out the condom.

Meanwhile, your gaze had dropped, of course; watching his hands work with parted lips and your delicate palms splayed on his thick thighs. Gods, you wanted him so bad.

The sudden touch of Daryl's pleasantly warm hands on your bare hips ripped you out of your lustful thoughts. You raised your head again, just in time to see him dipping his head to meet your lips in an almost obscene kiss.

"Be a good girl 'n jump," the biker whispered hoarsely against your mouth; hot breath dancing over your skin. You did what he asked you to without hesitation; trusting your hookup blindly. He caught you easily mid-air; big palms cupping your bottom. You wrapped your legs around his middle and arms around his neck. Making sure your legs are secured around him, Daryl bend his knees and let gravity do the rest.

Your lips parted; a frown forming on your forehead. It was a lot - and it's been a while. He was a lot. You gasped; the muscles in your stomach tightening.

Daryl had thrown his head back in sheer endless pleasure, but when he focused again, he noticed the look on your face. "T-Too much?" He spluttered; having a hard time to hold himself back. You nodded wordlessly; breath still knocked out of your lungs. However, you stopped Daryl immediately as he wanted to retreat. "D-Don't... I-I want this."

Another smug smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

The sex was primal, rough and messy. It wasn't love making. Far from it. It was just two people giving into their attraction and needs.

What had started close to a wall beside the door, moved on to the cheap, shabby cupboard in the small entrance area and to the single, rickety chair beside the wardrobe, before it was now (finally) where it actually belonged... In the motel room's small, old bed, with you on your back and Daryl on his knees. The wood and springs squeaked underneath the biker's movements; headboard knocking against the wall. By now, you were pretty sure that all the neighbours around you knew what was going on behind these walls - but neither you, nor Daryl couldn't care less. You were so far gone already; completely lost in a haze of pleasure and the handsome man above you, who made you see stars.

Honestly, he was a sight to behold. The view had been never better... Chestnut brown curls all messy; pecks covered in a layer of sweat, causing the tattoos on his chest to glisten and the fine, dark hairs growing there and underneath his belly button to stick to his skin. It was probably the sexiest view you ever had.

While the biker did the heavy work, your hands were twisting the meanwhile fully opened black shirt Daryl wore; moans and gasps slipping past your lips now and then. The cliff you were about to jump down approaching quickly - quicker than you thought. All it took was a soft nip on the delicate skin at the junction of your shoulder and neck, and you were done for it. "F-Fuckin' s-shit," Daryl grunted huskily mere seconds later as he joined you, and jumped off the cliff as well.

The man panted hard as he was collapsing on top of you; biceps bulging as they worked hard to support his weight and not crush your smaller form. You giggled deliriously. One hand still splayed on his stomach as you bathed in the afterglow.

Quite a few minutes later - it was way past midnight, you were still laying in 'Daryl's' bed; him stretched out beside you, now fully naked and with his hands crossed behind his head. Neither of you had moved far.

You turned on your side to face him. "Is your one-night-stand allowed to stay the night, or should I go, call a taxi?" Daryl turned his head to face you as well; chewing on his bottom lip. "'S yer decision. If ya wanna stay, stay. If ya wanna leave, 's fine by me," he answered with a shrug.

You thought about it for a moment. It was late, you were tipsy and alone.

The decision was quickly made.

"Alright." You stood up and quickly got undressed completely as well - unintentionally giving Daryl more to look at, before you dived back into the bed; this time underneath the sheets.

The biker followed and tucked the sheets over his most private part. You slid a little bit closer to him; placing a hand on his soft stomach. "Thank you for this. Best sex I had in a while." Your words caused Daryl to chuckle. He reached out his arm for you to misappropriate as your pillow; hand resting on your bare back. "Same, cowgirl."

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[squinch-depraved]

first charlie post,, i hope you enjoy i've never written for him before but this was in my brain so here you go

the music spilled out of the speakers and reverberated in your skull, helping to usher in a developing headache. you searched around desperately for a friend who could help you get home and smiled softly when your eyes settled on charlie. he was standing across the room, leaning against a wall as he observed the goings-on of the party. you remembered him mentioning earlier that he didn't plan on drinking that night, so you inched your way through the crowded space and tried not to blush when his face lit up at the sight of you.

"can you help me get home?" you slurred slightly. you had to repeat yourself twice, each time him leaning his ear closer to your lips until he could understand you over the incessant din of the gathering. once he understood you, though, he put his hand on your shoulder and leaned in to speak to you this time.

"of course! let me tell some people bye and then we'll go," he replied, almost yelling in an attempt to be heard. you nodded and followed him as he waved bye to some mutual friends, and before long, you two were stepping out the front door and joking together as you hopped in his car.

"god, it was so loud in there," you mumbled, sinking down into his passenger seat.

"it was a party," he joked. "i think that's kind of a given for any large social gathering."

"it wasn't that loud all night, was it? i coulda sworn it wasn't that bad earlier this evening," you asked him, glancing at him as he drove. he'd only been to your place twice, but apparently it was important enough for him to remember how to get there.

he laughed quietly and nodded. "the volume was pretty consistent tonight, i would say."

you nodded pensively and rested your forehead on the window next to you, staring out at the city lights whizzing by in the dark. "was really hoping to get laid tonight," you complained quietly. you didn't think he heard you, but charlie gripped the steering wheel tightly and tried to come up with anything else to say besides what first popped into his head. it was quiet for a moment before he let his impulsive thoughts win.

"i wouldn't mind helping you with that," he said lowly. you almost didn't hear him, and in the long, drawn out seconds before your response, he took in a shallow breath and mentally cursed himself.

"really?' you asked meekly, turning your head to stare at his profile. he kept his eyes trained on the road.

"yeah, i mean, if...if that's something you wanted." he gulped quietly and made a turn.

you thought for a moment and nodded before remembering he might not be able to see you in the dark. "i think i would enjoy that," you admitted, a smile audible in your tone. you could just barely make it out, but he grinned and nodded ever so slightly.

your face flushed at the realization that he had been wanting to fuck you for a while, but had just never reached out to ask. it made sense, he always behaved differently around you than other people, but somehow you had never put two and two together. you wished you had noticed sooner; you were sat there next to him for what felt like minutes grieving all the time you could have spent riding him until he spoke and pulled you out of your fantasies.

"it's this street, right?"

you shook off the thoughts and nodded again. "yeah, turn here, then make the first left, and three places down is me."

"awesome," he stated, carefully following your instructions and parking on the street in front of your home. you turned to look at each other for a moment before giggling awkwardly and tucking your hair behind your ear.

"you wanna come in?" you asked, nodding your head back towards your home and biting your lip.

charlie took in a shaky breath and smiled, eyes flicking down to your lips. "i really do," he replied. you cupped his face in your hand for a second, running your thumb over his cheek before retreating and stepping out of the car. he followed, locking it behind him as he walked behind you up to your porch.

you let the both of you in, pulling him close for a deep kiss before you walked inside. stunned, he trailed behind you, mesmerized by the taste of your sweet mouth.

"fuck," you hissed when you flicked the light switch, immediately turning them back off and instead switching on some lamps strewn across the main area. "you want some tea? 'm gonna make myself some," you yawned. "sober up a bit."

charlie nodded and followed you once again to the kitchen, picking out a tea bag from your stash and sitting down on your couch like you told him to while you changed clothes and made your drinks. after what felt like an eternity of him wondering what was going to happen when you got back, you appeared out of seemingly nowhere, extending a mug towards him while you sipped on your own.

you plopped down next to him and put on a movie, something neither of you would pay attention to but good enough to have on in the background. half an hour passed, the two of you joking with each other and sipping your beverages, and soon your headache was gone.

you weren't sure how you ended up underneath him, kissing him fervently and moaning every time he ground his hips down against you. your legs were wrapped around his waist as he kissed and bit your neck, and you squealed when he lowered himself to be between your thighs. planting a wet kiss to the inside of each, he pulled down the shorts you had changed into and gently took your underwear in his teeth, looking up at you innocently as he maneuvered them off you.

bare cunt exposed to him, you moaned in anticipation. charlie grinned and placed a sloppy kiss on your clit, savoring the noises that fell from your lips as you squirmed underneath him. he began eating you more eagerly, spurred on by your pornographic noises.

you ground your hips down onto his face, feeling the ridge of his nose press into your sensitive nub as his tongue worked on your sopping hole.

"fuck, charlie!" you gasped, legs wrapping around his head. he moaned into your pussy at the feeling of being smothered between your thighs. "oh my god!" you cried out.

rocking back and forth on his face, tangling your fingers in his hair, you approached your high quickly. his eyes were closed, blissed out from how good you tasted and the thought of how good he was able to make you feel. he flicked them open to watch your face as you came, though.

eyes screwing shut, head falling back, you wailed loudly as your orgasm barreled through you. you kept repeating his name until he finally pulled away to kiss you. the taste of yourself on his lips made you crave more.

"can i fuck you now?" he panted, hovering over you. you nodded vigorously and grabbed at his pant loops. he grinned, ego boosted, and began unbuttoning them, quickly sliding them off and tossing them onto the floor. his boxers followed soon after and you tried not to stare at the many inches between his legs while he positioned himself back between your legs.

"you ready?" he asked breathily.

"please, charlie," you begged him. his smile grew slightly and he pushed himself into you, the both of you letting out airy moans while you got used to the feeling of each other. after a moment, he began thrusting, rolling his hips at a reasonable starting speed.

the more noises you made, the more he sped up, pumping himself deeper and deeper into you until you were a mess under him, unable to form words any longer.

charlie just kept singing your praises, calling you beautiful, kissing you gently, making sure you knew how appreciative he was and how badly he had needed this, needed you, for such a long time. you just sat there, babbling incoherently, the occasional phrase able to be deciphered, usually, "so good," or, "fuck, i love your cock."

once he began to get close, he started getting sloppier, letting more of his weight rest on you and biting down on your skin harder. "where do you want me to finish?" he panted, breath hot against your neck.

"mm- tits!" you pawed at him until he got off your chest, still pumping into you as he watched you peel your t-shirt off over your head, leaving you completely naked. the sight of your breasts bouncing in time with his thrusts was enough to send him over the edge, and he groaned erotically as he thrust a few final times before pulling out and pumping himself in his hand over your chest, leaving his hot white seed to spurt out and land all over you.

you dipped your finger in his cum and brought it to your mouth, tasting it greedily while he groaned once more at the sight, filing it away to remember next time he was by himself. he stepped off the couch and walked to the kitchen, coming back with something to clean you off with.

you let him take care of you and convinced him to follow you to your bed, clinging onto him all night.

he didn't sleep at his own place again for a week.

[withacapitalp]

Starry, Starry Night Pt 1

Happy birthday dear friend!!! @thefreakandthehair Lex you are a pillar of the fandom, an amazing writer, and just all around one of my most favorite human beings. I'm so so lucky to get to call you one of my best friends and I hope this fic puts a smile on your face!! @stevethehairington and @hbyrde36 thank you for betaing and for encouragement!!!!

Read it on ao3 instead here

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

Steve was asleep at the counter. 

Again. 

Robin placed another VHS precariously on the top of the pile surrounding him, making sure to adjust it so it wouldn’t fall. A copy of Secret Admirer had toppled down half a dozen boxes when she placed it without care earlier, and Steve had almost woken up just from the sound. She had worked her way through all of the romantic comedy returns and was halfway through the horrors already, and the pile was up to Steve’s waist. 

Her working theory was that she would be able to get all the way through the action movies before Steve was completely covered in tapes. 

Part of her wanted to feel at least a little bad for fucking with him every single time he fell asleep. After all it wasn’t like Robin hadn’t fallen asleep on the job herself once or twice, and Family Video wasn’t exactly the hardest job in the world. Now that they lived in a veritable ghost town, the store was lucky to get even a handful of patrons every day. 

Apart from her own boredom, there wasn’t really any reason to mess with him or try to wake him up. 

But there lay the crux of the problem. Robin and Steve had gotten their jobs as one so they could spend time together. Not so Robin could get stuck watching her best friend drool on the counter she would inevitably be forced to clean before they closed tonight. 

So, tape fort. 

Robin’s theories were almost immediately dashed though, because just as she placed her fourth copy of Rosemary’s Baby down, Steve stretched out his arms, knocking directly into the wall in front of him and bringing that entire cluster of VHS cases down on his head. 

“Ow! What! Why?!” Steve shouted, jerking upwards, startling as the rest of the tapes surrounding him began to tumble to the floor. 

Robin snickered to herself as she watched the melee, hopping up onto the counter next to where he had been lying his head and beginning to gather up the failed remnants of her experiment. 

“Good morning Dingus,” She sang, lightly tapping him on the top of the head with Ghostbusters, “Did you have a good rest?” 

“Robin,” Steve groaned, covering his face with his hands and heaving an absolutely ginormous sigh, “Why?” 

“Hey, this is your fault,” Robin protested, putting the stack of tapes to the side and sliding to the floor to start grabbing the rest. 

“My fault?” Steve repeated, sliding his fingers away from his eyes so he could glare at her while still hiding his face. 

“This is the fifth time you’ve fallen asleep on me this week, Dingus,” Robin said, giving him a look as she waved a VHS around her head, “Look at this place. Look at how boring it is. I need enrichment, I’m like a tiger in a zoo.”

Steve lowered his hands, raising a brow and silently judging her for a second before grumbling and joining her on the ground.  

“What? Was making paper clip crowns and hiding M&Ms in my pockets not enriching enough anymore?” Steve asked rhetorically, referencing the other things she had done this week during his impromptu naps as he collected the rest of the rom-coms. 

“Nope.” She replied, popping the p as she stood, tapes in hand, “Five times, Stevifer. Five.” 

“So?”

“So, it’s only Wednesday!” Robin shouted, walking around the counter and towards the shelves, knowing Steve would be following close behind with his own stack. “Is Eddie really still that excited about getting you in his bed every night?”

“You would be the first person to know,” Steve said, wagging his eyebrows and looking far too smug for Robin’s tastes. 

That much was true. Steve told Robin everything. What he had for breakfast, any weird customers that came in while she wasn’t scheduled, the stupid things the kids said, and, to the chagrin of both Eddie and Robin, anything and everything to do with his sex life. 

And god damn it did her best friends have a lot of sex. 

“Okay, so it’s not Eddie keeping you up,” Robin said, a small pit beginning to form in her stomach. She had hoped it was just them fucking like bunnies and Steve needing to recharge during the mornings, but now she was pretty sure it was the other thing, and that was a lot worse. 

There was no quick fix for that particular problem. 

“You wanna talk about it?” Robin asked softly, turning towards her best friend and trying to be as gentle as allowed. 

“Not really,” Steve said, keeping his eyes on the shelves and avoiding her gaze.

Okay, so not gentle. Trying to get Steve to open up was a weird careful tightrope walk between being gentle enough to lower down his guard, while also being firm enough that he didn’t feel like he was being treated like a child. So far Robin was the only one who managed to succeed most of the time, but even she stumbled on occasion. 

“You know I don’t mind covering for you, but you can’t keep this up, Dingus,” Robin tried, nudging their shoulders together as she did, hoping that a little extra physical contact would open Steve up even more, “It’s not healthy, and they’re not worth it.”  

Wrong thing to say. It was like she could physically see the walls coming back up around him. 

“I’ll be fine, Robin,” Steve said, the forced nonchalance in his tone hurting her almost as much as it was definitely hurting him. 

“You’re not sleeping again,” She stated plainly, putting it out there for both of them to see. Steve flinched at her words as if she had physically struck him. 

“I’m just…still adjusting,” He tried. 

Adjusting was still figuring out how the oven worked at Eddie’s new trailer, or trying to find the best routine for sharing the bathroom in the morning. Adjusting was planning work schedules, learning how to live together, becoming used to each other's rhythms. 

Whatever was happening here wasn’t adjusting. 

“Steve, It’s been almost a month since…” Robin started, trailing off as she tried to find the right words to help him. 

Steve already had them. 

“Since what, Robin? Since my parents kicked me out?” Steve interrupted, his voice hard and angry as he forced himself to meet her eyes, as if challenging her to try and find a kinder way to say it. 

That wasn’t a challenge she was planning to take on. There was no making this better. 

“Yeah, since your parents kicked you out,” She repeated, refusing to meet his level of emotion, knowing that would only make Steve even angrier. Sure enough he pushed away from her, stalking over to the counter and furiously punching returns into the computer, a storm cloud of rage swirling around him. 

“Steve-”

“God Robin, will you just drop it?!” Steve snapped. 

Robin leaned ever so slightly back at his sudden shift and Steve let his eyes slip shut, hanging his head low and taking a slow deep breath. The anger drained from his face, leaving behind only barely there frustration, and a longing that his parents didn’t fucking deserve from a son that was far too good for them.

It wasn’t exactly a shock when Richard and Diane showed up and told their son to pack his shit and leave, but that didn’t make it any less painful for Steve. Robin had never had any faith in them, but for some reason Steve did. He expected his parents to love him just as much as he loved them, and he had deluded himself into thinking that they had only ever done the things they did to try and make him better. 

Letting go of that couldn’t be easy, but it was also one of the few things about Steve that Robin felt she would probably never fully understand. 

“Please.” Steve whispered, Robin’s heart breaking at the pain in his voice, “I just don’t wanna talk about it, Bobbin.” 

Rather than answering she rounded the counter, pressing her body into his side and leaning her head against his shoulder. Steve adjusted to fit her automatically, two becoming one as she let Steve breathe into the pain instead of ignore it. 

“Were you at least having a good dream?” Robin asked, her voice slightly muffled by the soft sweater Steve was wearing, wishing she had a way to help him. 

“Oh yeah, it was great,” He said with a soft laugh, “I was lying back on a mountain of pillows while Eddie was using his massive thick-”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll be forced to smother you next time you fall asleep at work,” Robin groaned, sticking her tongue out and gagging as she pushed Steve away from her. She hammed it up for extra effect, but she couldn’t hide the smile on her lips as she listened to Steve’s laughter. 

He hadn’t laughed as much in the last few weeks, and Robin hadn’t realized how much she missed the sound. It reminded her of everything good, all the stuff they hadn’t really been able to do since he moved in with Eddie. Burning breakfast together, dancing around the house in their socks, even trying to muffle their giggles in her bed so they wouldn’t wake her parents, looking through the skylight that was above her bed at the stars…

Huh. Maybe she did have an idea of how to help. 

“Now that you’re awake, I’m going to take my break,” Robin said in a faux casual tone, stretching and trying to hide the Cheshire cat grin overtaking her face. 

“You built a tape fort around me because you were annoyed I fell asleep and you were alone, so the first thing you do when I wake up is go hide in the back alone?” Steve complained, turning back to the computer and restarting the returns he had begun. 

“Love you too,” Robin said, pecking his cheek as she practically skipped towards the breakroom. She closed and locked the door, pressing her ear to it for a second just to make sure Steve wasn’t eavesdropping before almost bolting over to the phone in the corner, punching in the number for the Thatcher’s Tires and bouncing in place as she listened to the dial tone. 

This was a great idea. One of her best. 

“Hey Pete, it’s Robin. Can you put Eddie on the phone?”

Part two is coming tomorrow!! If you want to be tagged say it in a reblog!!

[annwrites]

⸻ preacher's daughter. part four. ⸻

· pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader · type: part of a series · summary: as promised, billy takes you on a night-ride. just not on the sort of automotive you'd been expecting. and to an unexpected place. · word count: 3,320

It's long past your parents having gone to sleep when you finally get out of bed with a pounding heart and throw on a sundress and sneakers before quietly sliding your bedroom window open and sliding out, leaving it open only a crack before you turn, trekking across that familiar field, through the corn stalks, and emerging onto the other side to find Billy already waiting for you.

You blank when you see him seated upon a quad, taking long drags from a cigarette as he trails his eyes along your body.

"I...I thought you said a night-ride?" You ask, confused.

He flicks his cigarette onto the ground, hopping down and stomping it out with his boot. "Has four wheels, doesn't it?"

You take a step closer, crossing your arms, suddenly unsure. "I've never been on one."

He smirks. "So I get to be your first, sounds like."

You don't reply to that.

He swings a jean-clad leg over the side of it, then looks to you before seating himself. "You comin'? Or does this mean I get out of attending Wednesday night's service?"

You glance behind you, toward the direction where your house sits, then back to him as you take a few steps closer. "You'll be careful, right?"

"Hand to God I'll do the speed limit the whole way there," he says, raising a palm skyward.

"Where is there?" You ask hesitantly.

He nods toward the portion of seat behind him. "Hop on."

You sigh, doing so. You tuck the back of your dress under you, wishing you had now worn something else—anything else.

He kickstarts the bike once, twice, three times and then it finally revs to life as he sits down in front of you, the engine quietly popping.

He turns back toward you, a warm palm sliding up your bare thigh as you come to grasp nervously at your cross necklace at the feel. "Might want to sit a little closer, doll."

You scoot forward a little.

"Closer."

You do so again, until you're pressed up against his backside. You quickly shove your dress down as firmly as you can between the two of you, praying it doesn't fly up as you're going down the road.

He then reaches back, taking both of your hands in his, wrapping them around his waist.

"Hold on tight and don't let go, honey," he says, taking off.

You squeeze tightly, pressing your cheek to his broad back as your thighs tighten against the sides of the quad, eyes closing.

He begins to slowly climb in speed, and when you finally peek an eye open, the landscape around you goes whizzing past, causing you to squeak in fear as you pull yourself impossibly closer against him.

You pray to God to let you both survive his driving.

Especially since he had most certainly lied about not speeding. And using the Lord's name, at that. You feel the need to chastise him for it, but...not right now, perhaps.

"You ready?" He yells over the sound of the engine.

You don't reply, but instead bury your face against his back in preparation for whatever stupid thing he's about to do.

You squeal in terror when you feel the front end of the quad lift, then slam back against the blacktop, Billy just laughing all the while.

Oh, you are never doing this again, that much is for certain. Does he want your 'arrangement' to come to an end the first night of it?

You squeeze your arms around him so tightly that you’re surprised he’s not telling you to let off a little, but, until he does so, you aren’t loosening your grip. 

You peek an eye open again, streetlights and rows upon rows of corn passing by. 

They’d always unsettled you—the thought of what might be hiding out there in the dark of night in those endless fields—but the one by your house seems harmless enough. The only thing you’ve ever spotted in it is a field mouse or two, even a garden snake once, which had sent you running in the opposite direction after screaming bloody murder when it slithered over your bare leg. 

You relax a little as you begin to grow used to it: the sensation of the rumbling engine beneath you, tires spinning quickly to hurry you away to…wherever it is that he’s taking you. And Billy. His strong, solid form that you hold onto for safety, even if it feels wrong. 

You don’t want to admit otherwise: that it feels nice to hold someone. To touch them. And the few times he’s touched you… What you had done to yourself once he left your house that afternoon had been sinful and repugnant. But it was starting to become a habit. You told yourself every time you did it that it would be the last time, until it inevitably wasn’t. 

Even praying for forgiveness wasn’t enough to lift the veil of shame you’d cast over yourself by continually finding your hand between your legs. So you’d instead begun pleading with God to make you stop feeling so…lustful.

But you know your prayers haven’t been answered when you feel a familiar warmth blooming between your thighs at the feel of one of his rough hands settling overtop one of your own for just a moment—squeezing reassuringly—before gripping the handlebar again. It’s pathetic that that’s all it takes for him to do is touch something as innocent as your hand for you to have such a reaction.

You wonder if it’s normal. You’re sure not. You’re sick for feeling this way. But you’re sure that if you continue to pray hard enough, one day it will stop. 

This was what you had been most fearful of when agreeing to his idea: temptation, which he seems to embody. He’s everything you’re not meant to want. Older, egotistical, profane—if not at times plain rude, assuming, and, yes, sinful. Smoking and cursing and touching and speaking to you the way he does. And looking at you. Always looking at you, as if he can see straight through you to your very core.

You worry the devil has already made him his very own mouthpiece.

But you hope tonight can be the first step in you pulling him back from that fiery edge.

Being this close to a boy—perhaps Kathy had been right in him seeming more like a man now—that you’re not married to isn’t right. If anyone from church saw the two of you… You remind yourself that you know what is good and right and holy. You will not fall further into the gaping maw which waits for all just beneath your feet.

Your eyes grow wide and you start to tremble as Billy pulls up before an old, somewhat dilapidated church. “Why’re we—”

He kills the engine, climbing off, turning back to you. “You can make me go to church, but I can’t return the favor?”

You stay firmly seated. “Do…do you know what they say about this place?”

He smirks, stepping back toward you.

He cups your cheek, rubbing his thumb along the apple of it. “Figured you’d be the one person who wouldn’t buy that crap: Old Nick taking the pulpit at midnight. It’s God’s house, isn’t it?”

“Can’t…can’t we just go for a ride like you said?”

He shrugs.

“Just did. And a deal’s a deal,” he says, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

He jerks his head in the direction of the church. “C’mon.”

Very reluctantly, and hesitantly, you climb off the quad, wavering slightly.

“Billy, I don’t…I don’t want to.”

He sighs, settling his hands on his hips.

"So, I’m expected to go to church Wednesday night, but you can’t come with me now?”

He shrugs, pursing his lips. “Guess I’m off the hook, then.”

Your mouth tugs down into a frown.

He takes a step toward the quad, but you step in his way, blocking his path. “Okay.”

He raises a brow.

You look at the church—the dark, open entryway. It doesn’t even have a front door anymore. Maybe someone stole it. Maybe it rusted off the hinges. Who knows?

You look back to Billy, taking a tiny step closer to him.

“Let’s go in,” you say, voice wavering slightly.

He nods, turning back around. “Alright.”

Your skin feels hot and your body on-edge, and you fight against jolting from fright with the sound of every twig that snaps underfoot, every leaf that crunches.

And then a bullfrog croaks and you let out a tiny scream.

Billy snorts, biting his lip, trying to fight back a full-blown fit of hysterical laughing at the panicked look on your face. Finally, once he’s calmed, he extends his hand to you.

You study it for a moment before looking into his eyes.

“Hold it,” he says.

You waver.

He sighs, rolling his eyes. “It’s not a come-on. Just hold it, alright.”

Hesitantly, you slide your palm against his, flushing slightly when you feel how callused his palm is. You’ve always wanted a man with rough hands for yourself someday. One that will take care of you and your home and marriage in one way, while you do the same in your own.

Meanwhile, he just likes that he’s getting to touch you. That, despite the incident at the lake, he provides even a minimal sense of safety for you.

He’s worried, at times, with his temper, that he’s too much like him.

For just this moment, though, he thinks otherwise.

Billy leads you inside.

The two of you are currently seated upon a dust-covered wooden pew. Only, you’re sitting on Billy’s leather jacket.

He’d placed it on the seat for you just as you’d gone to tuck your skirt beneath you, telling you ‘don’t get your dress dirty’. You’d flushed at that, then given him an appreciate smile.

You stare straight ahead at the front of the church—at the pulpit, a large wooden cross hanging behind it.

You hear the flap of wings outside, causing you to abruptly turn back in that direction with wide, frightened eyes.

“What was that? Did you hear that?”

Billy’s lip twitches and he shakes his head, twining his fingers between yours once again. “It was probably just an animal. Relax.”

You stare at him. “What time is it? Is it almost time?”

He raises his right wrist, looking at his watch.  “Three minutes ‘til.”

You blink at him before turning your line-of-sight to the front of the church again.

Your heart pounds in your chest and tears sting your eyes. “What…what if it’s true?”

You chin wobbles, and Billy turns his head, looking at you.

“I don’t want to go to hell,” you say quietly.

He turns his body, removing his hand from yours to instead settle it behind you, taking your now-free hand in his other. “Sweetheart, I’m fairly fuckin’ sure you’re the last person that needs to worry about that.”

Your stomach turns.

“I’ve done things,” you whisper. “Sinful things.”

He has half-a-mind to make an inappropriate comment about that—quite interested in what it is that you’re referring to—but seeing how upset you are… He instead refrains.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” He asks.

He wonders if it has anything to do with your bedroom window being your designated escape route from the house for late-night escapades like this one. Maybe he should ask about that. In truth, he hasn’t stopped thinking about it since you brought it up. He hopes he’s, at the very least, the first guy you’ve ever snuck out with.

He finds it difficult to imagine otherwise. Then again, here you are, seated next to him.

You swallow thickly, a tear slipping down your cheek.

“I…” You grow silent, then shake your head, trailing off.

He reaches up, brushing the tear away. “You’re not the first person to sin and won’t be the last. Every single person who’s ever lived has.”

“Not Christ,” you state.

A beat of silence.

You continue. “We’re supposed to strive to live up to his image. But I fail…every day.”

“Whole point of talking to God—confessing your sins and praying for forgiveness—right?” Billy replies.

He sighs. “Baby doll, if you spend your entire life terrified of sinning, you’ll die without having ever lived. It’s okay to make mistakes. What matters is your intentions.”

You meet his eyes, giving him a wobbly, teary-eyed smile, pressing yourself against his side for warmth.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

“You should be like this more often,” you add.

He smirks. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

He glances to his watch. “It’s a minute after.”

Your eyes widen and you clench his hand tightly. “I can’t look.”

He grins, shaking his head, glancing up front. “Same as it was when we got here.”

He caresses the crown of your shoulder, holding you closer. “Just four walls and roof.”

Your eyes flutter closed while you rest your head against his shoulder, liking how it feels to be held. “Do you ever worry about it? What’ll happen to you when you die?”

He shrugs slightly. “I figure I know which direction I’m headed when the time comes. So, I’m just trying to make the most of things here while I still can.”

Your eyes open once again and you lean back, studying him. “Which direction?”

He slips his fingers into your hair, merely staring into your wide eyes while he gently massages your scalp. “You don’t need to worry about it.”

Your brows bow in worry. “If…if you talk to me, then maybe I can help. We could pray, and—”

He shakes his head, giving you a gentle smile. “It’s okay. I’m okay with it now.”

Your brows turn to furrowing, tears welling in your eyes. “But—”

He presses a firm kiss to your forehead.

“Some people just can’t be saved,” he whispers.

You choke back a sob, upset by how little he seems to care for himself. His soul. His eternal life. How can he so easily brush it aside, as if it doesn’t matter in the least? It matters. It does to you.

“I don’t believe that.”

You cup his cheek in your hand.

“I do worry about it,” you say—a callback to his earlier statement. “I worry about you. I did when you disappeared from church. I…I came by once, actually. But no one was home.”

He gives you a look of surprise. “Really?”

You nod.

“I figured you’d be happy to be rid of me,” he states.

Your eyes flit between his own, feeling guilty that you had, admittedly, felt even a slight sense of relief every Sunday morning that he was absent from a pew, but you simultaneously worried after him; his family, wondering what had occurred to cause such a sudden absence.

Now you assume the cause must’ve been a divorce, with Neil now being gone, that is—leaving Billy to pick up the pieces.

You see him in a different light just then.

Kathy had been right: he is a man now. One that’s willing to look after a family that’s technically not his responsibility; had never been. Not his family to begin with—not anymore, at least. Not legally, nor by blood.

How could God ever turn away such a person?

You refuse to believe that he could.

He won’t. You know it.

So now you get it. Why Billy refuses to believe the same about you. It’s easy to focus on all your faults, while someone on the outside is capable of seeing the good that maybe you’ve forgotten to yourself, or that you think your mistakes have somehow overshadowed.

“You’re a good man,” you say, pulling yourself impossibly closer.

His jaw twitches.

He’s glad it’s dark, so you can’t see his eyes properly that he’s sure are now red.

He leans in toward you slightly, while you rest a hand upon his chest.

His eyes flit between yours, as well as your lips.

Your breaths come in short and shallow—anticipatory.

He slides a hand along your waist, holding you.

You kiss his cheek then, tenderly, and he swallows thickly.

“I’m glad you came back,” you whisper.

He nods, smiling softly. “Me too.”

He pulls away, putting breathing room between the two of you.

You ignore the strong pulse between your thighs while Billy glances toward the entrance of the church.

“I should probably get you home,” he says, turning back to you.

You nod, your heart sinking. “Okay.”

You dismount Billy’s quad and he kills the engine, swinging a leg over the side, looking you over. “Guess this means I have to come Wednesday night.”

You nod, smiling. “It does.”

He smirks. “At least I get to see you again.”

You flush, shifting your weight nervously from one foot to the other. “Will you pick up a Bible like you said?”

He shrugs. “If I have time.”

So the two of you are back to this: the insufferable, flirtatious version of him.

You like to think you’re the only one he showed his other side to.

He’s the only boy you’ve ever let get that physically close to you, if nothing else.

“I could get you one. I just figured…maybe you’d want to get your own? One that you like the look of, at least. That serves you how you need it to. Maybe a study one?”

He snorts. “I doubt I’ll be taking notes, and highlighting passages, and flagging my favorite verses.”

You frown. “You might.”

You take a small step closer.

“I’m not…” You sigh. “I’m not trying to lecture. Maybe just…approach it from a different angle. As a story or history book, maybe. I do that sometimes. It can make it easier to understand; to read.”

You smile. “It’s just a thought.”

He looks at you from under his lashes. “I had a nice time tonight.”

Of course he’s changing the topic, you think.

You let it go, then, not wanting to push things. You’ve planted the idea, and he listened to it. What happens next is up to him. If nothing else, the church has Bibles in the pews for use during services, so no one goes without while daddy is preaching.

You clasp your hands together. “Me too. It was nice talking to you.”

It was nice touching you, he thinks, but keeps to himself.

He really liked when you had called him a good man, even if he doesn’t believe it himself. Maybe he sometimes does things that a ‘good man’ would, but he’s also done things one wouldn’t; wouldn’t even think about.

He also liked that the two of you had nearly kissed. You’d never admit as much, but he knows you’d wanted to.

To think that you feel the same—have as much an attraction to him as he does you… For as long as he can remember he’s always imagined such a prospect as being impossible. He’s suddenly very grateful for this arrangement, and the potential of where it may eventually lead the two of you.

Finally, he throws his leg over the side of the quad. “I guess I’ll see you Wednesday evening.”

You smile, nodding. “See you then. And drive safe.”

He smiles in return, nodding, kickstarting the quad, driving away.

You don’t turn until his taillights have disappeared into the night.

Once you’re at home and in bed…you find yourself with your hand between your legs—your eyes closed—while you think of a heated blue gaze, and golden curls, and strong hands; a mischievous smirk, and a flirtatious tone. A strong, solid male body pressed against your own.

And for the first time…you don’t feel guilty when you finish. Instead, you feel like Wednesday can’t come soon enough, wondering what the night will hold—inside and outside of church.

You’re eager to see him again.

You hope he feels the same, you think, going to sleep with a smile on your face.

[inkblot22]

Can You Keep A Little Secret?

JFC this took me longer than usual I'm so sorry anon. I sort of explained it before, but I didn't exactly use your prompt, based on ineptitude on my part. After I finish reading Oshi no Ko, I might try again! Line divider by @/cafekitsune.

This fic is aimed towards sort of everyone, but the reader possesses afab features (they don't come into play until later, this chapter has no mention of them.) You'll understand what I mean by it being for everyone if you read the first paragraph or so. It has to do with suspending your belief/ employing your imagination.

TW for: lots of confusion, semi-shy reader, creep behavior, mention of death, mention of lobotomy/grippy sock jail, reincarnation. These warnings will get worse, and this takes place when all characters are 18+.

Waking up was never your favorite part of the day, but that feeling increases tenfold when you wake up in someone else’s body. You know for sure you didn’t look like this last week, and the name on your ID is similar to your own, but you don’t recognize the face in the mirror. Whoever you’re inhabiting has a few similar features to your own, but your skin was never this dewy, your eyes never so… hollow and strange. 

When you looked up your name, you found out that you, or your body, at least, had died in your sleep. When you looked up the name on that ID, you found out that you’re the child of some big business man and a prolific model, and you apparently dabble in acting. Your dad isn’t your dad, but he calls you every night to make sure you’re settling into your “new” apartment. Your mom isn’t your mom, but she has popped by once or twice to ask you how you’ve been and make you really good food. She mentioned last night that your acting instructor was worried, since you hadn’t attended your Thursday classes, and also that your agent has been trying to contact you. You didn’t know you had an agent.

When you called your agent, who was literally just titled “Agent” in your new phone, she sounded relieved then irritated, chiding you for living the high life too fast. She said you weren’t popular or loved enough to go on week-long benders, and then she mentioned that she had a job for you and she’d see you on Thursday. According to this phone that isn’t yours, Thursday was tomorrow. 

You made a night of getting prepared- slathering on the fancy face masks, trying on various outfits, scrolling through the pictures on the phone of your new body in the past, painting your really gorgeous nails- and then you went to sleep and woke up to a phone call from your new dad. 

“Hi, sweetheart!”

“Uh… hi, Dad…” You mumbled. You didn’t know him from Adam, but there was no point in being rude to him.

He pauses, and then he speaks slowly, “Did you hear from your agent, honey?”

“Yeah- yeah I did, uh, I have acting class in a little, and she said she has a job for me.”

“Oh, I’m glad to hear it! You know you can always visit me if something is wrong, okay? Just call me or Devin and he’ll come get you as soon as possible.”

You don’t know who Devin is, but you don’t point it out, “Of course. Thank you, dad.”

There was another pause. This one stretches out for a while and then he mumbles, “Okay… love you, sweetpea.”

“Uh… love you too. I’ll call you when I get back home?”

“Sure thing. Bye bye.”

The call ends with a click and you hop in the shower, trying to scrub away the confusion. You pair the lotion with a body spray that makes you smell like a summer afternoon in an apple orchard, and then you dress yourself in a soft off the shoulder sweater dress with a pair of tights with little sequins and gems sewn onto the sheer black material. You pull your hair back, tied at the nape of your neck, and roll on some lip gloss. You grab your bag, which isn’t your bag, and stroll out, walking down the street to get to the talent agency.

The receptionist looks at you in some measure of shock and greets you kindly. You smile and wave. He looks even more confused as you clomp into the stairwell. Once you get to the third floor, mildly out of breath, you hurry to room 3-5 and silently slide into the back.

You’re not sure why you’re acting so covert, as the class hasn’t even started. A woman with dark hair strolls in and flinches when she sees you sitting there, your new name tumbling from her lips with confusion.

“Hello.” You hope that she’s the instructor, “How are you?”

She looks at you like you grew two heads and forces a smile, “Oh, I’m well, dear. Give me a moment to look outside.”

She clicks to the window in her heels and opens the blinds looking around wildly before she turns back to you.

“Well, nothing’s on fire and there’s a distinct lack of flying pigs, so I guess you’re finally serious about getting better at acting?” 

“Uh… I…?” You don’t know how to respond, “I didn’t realize I’d been late so often.”

“Late? Half the time you didn’t even show up. The only person worse than you is-”

The door behind you opens. You clench your hands to stop the shaking you just realized you were struggling with, and turn slightly in your seat to see a willowy young man, tousled lavender hair being haphazardly smoothed by his slender hands.

The instructor snorts, “Speak of the devil. Hello, Mr. Felmier.”

He smiles, but it’s a bit too calculated. When he speaks, his voice is soft, almost artificial, “Ah ha… Good morning, Angie.”

Angie, evidently, rolls her eyes and takes a seat at the front of the room, crossing her long legs, and tilts her head skeptically, “Sure. If a satellite doesn’t crash in this room and kill us all in the middle of class, I’ll be shocked.”

“Mr. Felmier” walks over and smiles at you. It seems even more strained than before, and keeps eye contact with you as he points to the chair next to you, his voice high and sweet, “Mind if I sit here?”

“Oh, of course not. I don’t own that chair, haha!” You joke. 

His face twitches, some micro expression that you’re just observant enough to notice, but not to see, and he takes a seat. Angie gets up and leaves and you look out the window. You can feel eyes on you, and when you turn to look at him, his face is impassive save for a slight narrowing of his eyes. You look down at yourself and pat your cheeks, suddenly nervous.

“Oh, no, is there something on me?” You ask.

He doesn’t immediately respond, his eyes blinking so fast that if he hadn’t done it twice you would have never seen the movement, and then he gives you that sweet, plastic smile, “Oh, no. Your makeup is different than usual. It looks nice. Pretty.”

“I- I’m only wearing lipgloss, so I guess that’s why. Thank you.”

He nods slowly, and tilts his head, still smiling as though he’s trained to do so, “After we’re done here, did you want to go get brunch together?”

You’re about to say no. You don’t remember him, because this is not your life you’re living, but if you did know him, you’d decline anyway. Something feels funny about him. You don’t really have to decline, though, since you have to go down to floor 2 and see your agent afterwards anyway, “Oh, uh, I’m so sorry. I have to do something after.”

“I can wait.”

“I don’t want to put you out. Maybe another time?”

His eyebrows pinch together ever so slightly and his smile doesn’t strain, but it feels wrong as he leans his elbow on the back of his chair to better face you, “Did you hear the news from Mirelle?”

“What news?” You don’t know who Mirelle is.

“Oh, you’re meeting with her afterwards, aren’t you?” He smooths the hair along your temple so it is slicked behind your ear, “Are you wearing that perfume I got you? You said you hated it.”

Okay, so whoevers body this was definitely knew this man, and now you don’t even know his full name. Judging from the way he’s speaking to you, you were friends at least. Your lashes flutter and you look away from him.

“I- I’m sorry. It smells very nice.” You don’t know how you’re supposed to be acting. The irony of waiting for an acting class while not knowing what your role here happens to be is not lost on you.

Felmier sits up like you insulted him and his voice is quiet, so quiet and tense that you don’t think you’re supposed to hear him, “Interesting.” 

You glance at him again, “What?”

“I didn’t say anything. You like that bagel place down the street, don’t you? After you see Mirelle, meet me in the lobby. I think we should have a chat.” Although he is smiling, his voice doesn’t leave any room for argument as he turns back to the front. 

You stand up, leaving your purse in your seat, and walk to the window, looking out of it for a moment until Angie strolls back in. She clicks her tongue and you walk back to your seat.

“It’s just you two? Now I’m really expecting a freak accident. Well, let’s get started.”

Acting class was… interesting. Since it was just the three of you, Angie had you read lines from a script and act out some kind of argument. She seemed pleased with your performance, but Felmier kept stumbling over his lines and making the wrong expression. He seemed tense by the time the two hour long session was over. You didn’t want to follow that thread, and besides, you had somewhere to be. You went down the stairs again and bumped into a woman with silver hair, who looked at you just as confused as everyone else had been, and smiled sweetly, genuinely.

“Hey, you. You’re a bit early.” She says.

“Uh, yeah. I guess so? I don’t know.” You guessed this was supposed to be Mirelle, your agent, maybe. 

“It’s a good change, babe. Why don’t you come into my office?” She doesn’t really ask, since she’s already leading you over.

She takes a seat behind her desk and you take a seat in front of her, and she taps away at her computer for a moment before she says something.

“You remember Epel? Epel Felmier?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess so.”

“Oh? You ‘guess so’? Not that the two of you are constantly arguing, or anything.” She smirks, glancing away from her monitor to look at you, “Regardless, I’ve got something that will help with your little PR nightmare last month. What were you thinking?”

“Uh, I’m sorry.”

Her eyes narrow a fraction, but whatever she was thinking is ignored, “You and Epel are gonna be collaborating on an upcoming short film. Hopefully the two of you don’t get into another screaming match.”

“Um. Yeah. Hopefully.” All this new information and these new people are making your head spin. You don’t want to start panicking- you did enough of that last week- but you’re already exhausted. You wonder if there’s a back entrance to this building so you can just sneak out and don’t have to talk to Epel again. You don’t think you can mentally handle him talking to you over a cup of coffee.

Your agent, Mirelle, is looking at you expectantly, like she just said something. Your heart jumps into your throat, then sinks to your gut and you clear your throat quietly, shifting in your chair.

She laughs airily, “Oh, you didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?”

You shake your head, and she laughs again.

“I just said that production starts Monday. Try not to do anything crazy. This project is monumentally important for your public image.”

“Okay. Sorry for causing so much trouble in the past.” You mutter, standing up.

She shrugs with a happy little grin, “Oh, you’re young. Maybe you’ll grow out of it.”

You just nod. How are you supposed to even respond to that? If you get mad, you’ll probably get hysterical, and if you get hysterical, that is a one way ticket to a stay in grippy sock jail or a lobotomy. Rich people are different, and even though you’re living in some rich person’s body, you did not live this life for longer than a week. 

You purposely walk to the other staircase. Most buildings have two for fire safety. Your eyes water as you pause on the stairs and you sigh before you start descending them. 

Just as you get to the exit, your hand on the door, you hear a voice behind you, “Hey.”

It scares you out of your skin. You jump and spin and squawk, only to meet the wicked smile of Epel. It doesn’t reach his round blue eyes. He tilts his head from side to side, slowly, as if appraising you, and then he starts walking towards you and you push back against the door, opening it ever so slightly. He stops his motion and looks a tad surprised.

Then his eyes narrow, “Come back in.”

His voice sounds different, rougher. You don’t really want to, but it’s hot outside and you figure from all the odd looks and reactions you’ve gotten, running would be too erratic for this poor person’s life you’ve taken over. 

When you close the door and remain leaned against it, Epel’s face relaxes. You didn’t even realize he was making any sort of tense expression. He glances at the spandrel, the area beneath the stairs, and sighs.

“You hit your head last week? That why you were missin’?” Yeah, he’s speaking entirely differently. He has a sort of charming country twang to his voice, an underlying roughness that makes him seem even more boyish than before.

“Huh?”

“‘Huh?’” He mocks, looking back at you. He looks like he might cry, but his eyes are angry, “That all you got to say? For years you’ve told me that I don’t mean shit, and now you’re actin’ like you don’t even know me.”

He is right. You don’t know him at all. Even though you’re still in the cool building, you begin to sweat. You don’t know what to say to this without going through the experiences you’ve had in the past week, so you decide you don’t have to, especially since it seems like he may get aggressive if you say the wrong thing.

You lean hard against the aptly named panic bar, turn on your heel once outside, and take off running. It dawns on you a little late that he might be following, or, seven forbid, that he knows where you live, so you take a different route as dictated by your GPS and call your new father as soon as you get in the building.

It’s the middle of the work day, so he obviously doesn’t pick up. You unlock the apartment door and pant breathlessly, leaving a hasty voicemail, “O-oh, great seven- ugh- okay, hi, Dad. I told you I’d call you when I get home, so that’s what I’m doing. Hope I didn’t disrupt a meeting or whatever. Call me back, bye.”

You flop face down on the bed and groan, rolling onto your back as the ringtone that you would never choose goes off. In bold white letters on the screen, it says “Bumpkin Boy” with no other indication of who it might be. You pick up.

The voice on the other end sounds heated, a quiet mocking lilt to it, “Bet you went home, huh?”

Your blood runs cold and your very ability to speak is ripped from your lips.

“S’okay. You don’t have to talk. I could pay you a little visit, see what it’s like to live like a nepo baby for a day, but I think…” He pauses, and when he next speaks you hear the smile in his voice, “I think I’ll just wait for Monday, since you owe me a coffee date, don’t you?”

He hangs up after that. You stand up and double-check that you’ve locked the door before you hide in your closet and try not to start hyperventilating. You can’t even beat yourself up for this one. These circumstances are entirely out of your control.