#hotel-night-audit-process

[tteokdoroki]

ೀ⋆OCT 31ST LEGALLY BLONDE ━━ seishiro nagi + coercion !

୨୧ — caution, you are now watching. seishiro nagi + coercion. there’s no way someone broke up with nagi because he’s too blonde!? poor baby, maybe you could provide a little emotional support…(5.5K)

୨୧ — rated r. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, dark content, characters aged up to 20s, college!au, strangers to lovers (?), teaching assistant/student relationship, dom/sub dynamics, some switching, reader is lifted up by nagi, coercion, dubcon, handjobs, virginity loss, cherry chasing, oral fixation, mind break, praise kink, creampies, soft sex, clothed sex, unprotected sex, TA!reader, elle woods!nagi.

୨୧ — director’s note. happy halloween my loves! i hope you enjoy the final kinktober fic! its been super fun writing and editing for you all. stay tuned for the bonus in the coming weeks <3 - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ✧

this law school thing wasn’t all what it cracked up to be. 

after the love of his life, reo mikage, had broken up with him for someone smarter, blander and richer than him — nagi had been blessed with the genius idea of following his ex all the way to one of the top law schools in the world. the plan was practically fool proof, the guys at his sorority worked hard to help seishiro study — pulling all nighters for practice tests and rewarding him with naps every time he had gotten a question right. 

rin itoshi had even convinced his parents to reach out to a hollywood director so that they could film nagi’s audition tape. it obviously featured isagi and bachira too. nagi had even worn his best designer swim trunks to impress the board of admissions. they’d all been super supportive of the light haired male in his endeavours and were there when he passed his LSAT exam

with all of this combined, he had managed to get in in — if that wasn’t enough for reo, then what was?

the answer? nothing.

reo still wanted that bland, basic bitch his family was marrying him off to. she was sensible, she was rich and seishiro quickly realised that he had only ever been a bit of ditzy fun to reo — a dumb blonde to stick his dick into whenever the time felt right. eye candy and nothing more. balancing his shattering hard with the complexities of law school had been tough for the white haired male and everything seemed to be going wrong. no one would study with him, reo wouldn’t even look at him and his friends back home were busy with the wedding plans nagi so desperately wished he had. 

however, that’s when you came along. 

after having the epiphany that he didn’t need reo to succeed — nagi knuckles down and studied hard for the law firm internship being offered amongst his cohort. he was relieved to have you as a teaching assistant in the process, not only were you absolutely gorgeous but you were compassionate and empathetic. you were smart, eloquent and everything seishiro wished he could be for his ex.

perhaps that’s what drew him to you, why he followed your every word like a puppy drooling after a treat. you’d been kind to nagi for the entire semester, from helping him out with studying for the internship right down to today, where he would be taking on his very first case in a court of law. it should have been easy, the facts were simple too. the client and fellow fraternity brother  (shidou ryousei) was accused of and arrested for the murder of his wife… but something about the events weren’t seeming to add up. nagi couldn’t come up with an alibi either. 

it was as if the words; the reasonings, the justification for shidou’s freedom were right in front of grey-scale eyes, only scrambled up like morse code. “how about we take a break?” as if you were a vision from his dreams or an angel from up above, you appear behind nagi’s tall frame as he slumps defeatedly against the hotel room desk — your hands fixing themselves to his broad shoulders for a massage. “you’ve been at this all night, seishiro.”

the law student swears your touch could heal all human ailments, the warmth of your palms seeping into the tense parts of his muscles like a cell performing diffusion — relaxation forming a comfortable fog over his brain. “i know shidou didn’t do it,” nagi defends with a grumpy pout, leaning back into you so that his head rests lazily against your stomach. “he told me… he said he was getting liposuction.” 

“we’ll need evidence of that,” you note, jerking your head to the side so that nagi can write it down. this entire time you’d been such a good mentor. “good boy.” something clicks in the light-haired male’s brain, a crackle of electricity shooting down his spine at your praise — swirling around in his guts as if to activate arousal.  “run me through the witness statements again.” there’s a sensual lilt to the tone of your voice and your touch cascades from his shoulders up to his neck like a backwards flowing waterfall.

seishiro isn’t sure if he’s making things up or reading the signs correctly — but he knows that there’s some kind of tension bubbling in the air. particles that resemble an aphrodisiac using kinetic energy to collide together, painting the room with lustful colours. “shidou’s step daughter says she heard a gunshot around 2:15pm after leaving the shower, walkin’ downstairs only to find shidou hangin’ over his wife’s body — covered in blood. ugh, this is too much hassle. this doesn’t make any sense!” he tosses an annoyed sigh into quietness of the room, moaning in surprise when you cup the base of nagi’s neck to pull his head up to face you and your eyes meet.

“you need a break seishiro, we can come back to this later,” you hum, the vibrations of your voice laced with sex appeal. as he swallows thickly, the law student’s Adam’s apple bobs under the pressure of your fairy-light grip on his throat — anticipating more from you. at this point, you’re half bent over him as he leans back in the chair, pink tongue slowly darting out to cover your lips in a spit shine. “how about it?” 

this feels so wrong. nagi’s cock stirring beneath his slacks at how good and kind you’re acting towards him. no one has ever gotten him this hot before — no one aside from reo. and you were still his teacher, by technicality, it would be wrong for nagi to even consider sucking your tongue down his throat. and yet, he can’t find it in himself to stop the temperature from rising between you, for falling into your dangerously salacious trap. 

“y-yeah,” he breathes deep when you squeeze his throat a little to test the waters. “i could do with a break.” 

“me too,” you gasp all too agreeably, bending the rest of the way down to capture seishiro’s lips in a searingly hot kiss. just as he wished you pry his mouth open with the tip of your curious tongue — pushing through his plush lips and curling around his own pink appendage. the lip lock is passionate, ravenous despite the mess and spit that you exchange. he chases your lips until he can’t breathe, sloppily accepting anything you give him, letting you lead where he can’t. 

he’s never done this before, not like this, not without reo. but in this moment, the silver-blonde doesn’t think he could ever go back to making out with his ex. not now that you’re the one kissing him. 

“i-i've never done any of this before.” the blonde gulps, swallowing down the copious amount of spit that builds on the palette of his tongue — looking into your eyes as a sense of hunger dawns on him, as if you’re the very meal he’s set to devour. “not without anyone that wasn’t—“

reo. 

sure they’d done stuff together. naughty touches here and there, hands ghosting over boxer briefs and fingers tweaking nipples (sei’s were especially sensitive because of the cute little piercings his ex insisted he get) — but nothing close to actual sex, nothing with a girl, nothing with someone like you. a burning heat, unlike anything nagi’s ever felt before, begins to brew in his lower stomach. his cock rises beneath his pants that suddenly feel all too tight.

nagi’s girth twitches against his thigh as your nails rake their way down his chest and slowly pop open the buttons of his crisply pressed white shirt. it heaves beneath his clothes — heart hammering against its calcium cage of his ribs. 

“i can tell, pretty boy.” you soothe him by purring into the shell of his ear, teeth tugging at the softness of his lobe. “but you’re a good kisser though. did reo teach you that?” your lips cascade down to his neck like a gentle flowing river at the same time that your hands delve below the belt to squeeze at seishiro’s swelling erection — testing the waters. 

his hips instinctively buck up into the warmth of your palm and a grin spreads across your plush lips at the feeling of his precum soaking his underwater and smearing across your fingers in thick, clingy webs. 

white and seedy and he’s nowhere close to cumming. almost like a little virgin. 

“have you ever done this before, seishiro?” 

the sound of his name, salaciously spelt out on his tongue, earns you a high pitched whine from nagi — his head rolling to the side and his thighs squeezing together with vicious need. “n-no,” he pauses before he grunts out a response and his entire body seizes as you take a firmer grip on his cock — jamming a thumb into his leaky slit to spread his arousal. “but i wanted to i just… reo said not until marriage—“

“— you don’t have to listen to reo anymore.” you announce breathily, setting a steady pace to your fist to jerk him off with. you’ve barely started and yet your hand is already glossed in a slight sheen of pre, soiling your knuckles from its viscousness. it’s so much for someone who’s never gone father than sloppy kisses and grinding while making out. it nurtures a certain seed of satisfaction in your chest to see him so messy so fast. “you can listen to me, sweet boy. do you want this… do you want it with me?” 

without letting go of the fat, drippy cock within your grasp — you shift to stand between the desk and nagi’s chair, shoving papers and court notes to the ground in your lustful haze. nagi thrusts lazily into your closed fist as if it’s instinct, following the sensation like a moth takes to a candle light. his grey eyes grow murky like a pond, swimming with desire for you and only you.

who was reo mikage to seishiro nagi? when there was an angel like you willing to feed this inexperienced man morsels of a heavenly pleasure he’s never felt before. the lawyer in training nods at your words like an eager man fallen to siren’s song as bait. “i want you,” he whimpers airily. “i wanna with you.” 

you rub down his thick, lengthy dick far enough to have your fingertips briefly brush against seishiro’s sensitive, weightly balls — just pulsing full of seed to give to you. the feeling makes nagi jump up from his seat so that he immediately towers over you. his height doesn’t overwhelm you, not when the towering blonde collapses onto you with a case of the shakes. he trembles above you, supporting himself by using one hand on the table while is mouth sloppily finds your neck to suck on and pacify himself.

“good boy, sei,” you coo, voice as sweet as hot sugar or candy. “i want you too. i always have. you’re such a pure, darling boy. glad to see that it’s true.” your praise is hidden in your soft moans as seishiro licks at the crystalline salt on your bare skin. you’re a little too twisted, taking advantage of his inexperience and his position beneath you as a student, but neither of you seem to care in this very moment. 

sweat beads against nagi’s hairline like diamonds on an expensive Chanel necklace and roses bloom across his cheeks with exertion — his hips rise and fall into your sticky fist in fluid motions, changing the steady stream of ecstasy you provide him. your hand is a solace for his aching cock, but you still make your student work for it. make nagi chase you since he only works hard for the things he wants. and right now, he wants to reach the end of the tight rope of pleasure you have him walking on. and to stave off the stormy frustration he feels from the case.

your hand wriggles it’s way into his wet silver locks, dragging nagi’s hungry mouth over yours since he’s so desperate to taste you, to have at you. it shows in the way he roughly grabs your hips too, grip so tight it threatens to leave bruises he’ll have to apologise for later. “ngh… please. g-god. miss…a-angel please,” he stutters, his bucking into your hand faster and harder, back and forth, back and forth through the tight ring of your fist. his bright and angry red cockhead peeks through the other side, glazed in opaque white — it’s a nice feeling, blistering hot and sensitive. “i…hah… gotta—“

nagi’s lashes flutter against your cheek — a strained whine reverbing in the base of his throat while you let him fuck your hands to his heart’s content, let him chase this new pleasure he’s never known. let him fall from the high heavens with blackened and burnt angel’s wings. you make him sin, for the first time ever. something about this should feel off to nagi, his law teacher taking advantage of him like this — but at this point, he’s too far gone, drowning in a hellfire of lust. 

mocking his moans, your mouth falls open in one of your own as you follow along with the pitiful expressions crossing the contours of seishirou’s face. “what is it, sei? what do you need?”

the room is too hot. your bodies against each other are temperate in the sex tainted air — accompanied by wet slapping sounds from your hand around his throbbing cock. “n-need to let go. it h-hurts,” he sniffles out, forcing his tongue into your mouth again to calm himself down. the more you speed up, remorselessly jerking him off, the closer nagi gets to the end of his own tether. this sensation is unfamiliar, the crumbling foundation of his orgasm coming crashing down as you fling droplets of his precum and arousal about the place — some of it landing on your clothes, the desk and discarded papers. 

again, neither of you care. 

“surrender to me baby, it’s okay. i’ve got you.” guiding the pale blonde through his first ever orgasm, you pour your heated words into his slobbering mouth — tongue running over his pearly white teeth and tangling with his drool coated tongue. that’s all sei needs to hear before he crumples against you with a shout — the first wave of his high crashing over him and pulling him under. 

it’s world shattering, brain melting as he cums. his abdomen contracts under your never-ending touch, ropes of hot white dribbling from his stimulated tip like a tap that keeps running. nagi swears he almost blacks out, falling dizzy and victim to your lustful charms as he twitches and cums and cums into your soiled palm. 

“f-fuck,” a soft whimper bubbles up on his raw bitten lips, stuttered out in suprise. “w-what was that?” 

“you orgasmed for me, sei, so pretty baby.” comes another set of your gentle praises. he feels his entire body wrack with a shakes at your words, his cock doesn’t dare to soften either. “you look so good when you cum.” 

his greyish-brownish eyes roll back into his skull when you let him go, his tip slapping against his clothed tummy. the brush of his cotton shirt against the slit on his tip makes him writhe from the sensitivity. “c-can i cum for you again? promise i’ll keep being good.” 

“of course,” you grin, proud that to have corrupted the poor boy. “are you okay to let me touch you again or do you want it now?” 

“touch me. now.” he growls, gripping your hand and guiding it towards his dribbling shaft, aiding the movement of your palm around him to start slow and lazy — working seishiro up into a heat once more. this time, the way your hand languidly jerks him off is made smooth by the evidence of his last orgasm, which you now use as lube. if you weren’t pressed for time and with a court case first thing tomorrow, you would have gotten onto your knees to clean up his copious amounts of mess. 

you quickly reduce him to a babbling mess against you, drool laden on his tongue and dripping onto his skin as you drive your thumb over nagi’s hot tip in tight circles with your free hand — touching what doesn’t fit in the other. “reo treated you so badly, poor baby,” you mewl sweetly, kitten licking at his pulse point just below his neck. “you work so hard, you deserve so much better. you deserve me.” 

he believes you, blindly and naively. nodding tenderly despite the way he widely fucks both of your hands as if they’re a makeshift hole — warm and slick, all for him. dopamine shocks him at the stem of his brain, spreading throughout his body like a wildfire only you can tame — it burns so good and  feels even better to have your dainty, perfectly manicured fingers wrap around his chubby girth so deliciously.

for a moment, you let seishiro go to squeeze at his heavy breeder’s balls — noticing the way they pulsate in your palm to signify the pale blonde’s second impending orgasm. “i think…hah… i think ‘m gonna… c-cum! again!”

pushing at his shirt, you press a kiss to the creamy skin of nagi’s shoulder and hum pridefully. “thank you for letting me know, sweetheart. cum for me. give it to me.”

with your permission granted, another blinding ecstasy takes over nagi, and he falls victim to you and your merciless hands once again. blood rushes through his ears like a storm surge, drowning at your angel coos while you guide him through his high, never letting up as you palm him through it all. he quivers and his knees buckle, shooting a hot and hefty load of seed all over your hand and clothes and the papers nearby.  “o-oh! fuck…” nagi chokes on a weak sob, bleating like an innocent lamb at the slaughter house while he weighed against your shorter frame — allowing you to bare the brunt of his weight and height. 

he’s so pretty when he cums, silvering blonde locks matted to his forehead by sweat — cheeks pink and lips swollen and red. if you could, you’d swallow him whole and selfishly devour your student for all that he has to offer. silly little blonde, stupid for trusting you, for wanting to fuck you.

your hand doesn’t slow around his pulsing cock but instead speeds up, digging your thumb into his oozing slit as arousal pearls at its centre once more. “n-no, s’too much.” seishiro cries quietly, tears stinging a pathway down the apples of his milky cheeks. “it hurts.” 

“poor you, poor baby.” you say harshly, mocking the poor blonde’s sniffles and hiccups. he’s exhausted and frustrated but doesn’t dare to pull away — his hips running after your hand hungrily. “you’re so cute sei, panting for me like a bitch in heat, fucking my hand like the dumb little blonde you are.” he hisses at the overstimulation, gargles on spit as it floods his mouth to accompany his appetite for you. 

“i’m not…ngh… ‘m not dumb.” he whinges in response and before either of you know it, seishiro is cumming again. hard. soiling his lap with abundant amounts of white. his chest heaves as he comes down, collapsing against you. he might deny it later, but being dumbed down and reduced to a stupid blonde seemed to really do it for him. 

finding his lips again, you soothe nagi with short and sweet kisses that grow more feverish by his own demand. all of a sudden you find yourself pinned to the desk below with the tall blonde between your instinctually parted legs so that he can grind against your panty clad core. “you’re…you’re right,” you say, breathing deep through your nose as your composure threatens to fall apart. “you’re so smart, sei. you’re the best lawyer on our team but…” bucking your hips once, you lower your voice by an octave so that your words slip through his ears like molten chocolate. “you’re acting like a dumb slut right now. don’t you wanna be my dumb slut, sei?”

his palm flattens against the mahogany desk just above your head, caging you in against its cold surface. “y-yes i do, oh fuck. please lemme fuck you. lemme be inside. i’ll be good.” 

“are you sure, baby?” 

“please—“ 

“but sei,” you brush a stray hair that curls at the centre of his forehead, the dumb blonde looking down at you with swimming grey eyes because he’s so needy. “it’d be your first time…” 

his face scrunches, nose crinkled at its bridge and brows knitted together in frustration. now that nagi’s had a taste of your sinful elixir he can’t seem to stop, you’re like a drug an addict can’t quit. something that could ruin his life or future prospects if he doesn’t get help. and yet he can’t look away, can’t pull his body away from yours and his achy dick from between your thighs — instead leaning closer so that it sinks between your plush pussy lips. 

nagi licks his lips, tongue rolling over his bottom one as he pants desperately. “please angel,” comes his broken beg, hanging pathetically in the sex tainted hair. “i need you. need it so bad. please please please— mph—!”

satisfied with his begging, you shove a set of cum soaked digits past the swell of seishiro’s pretty lips — chuckling darkly as his tongue laps over and in between them, and he whines at the salty taste of his arousal on your skin. “atta boy,” you coo, thrusting deep into the hot cavern of his mouth until the pale blonde gags around you, swallowing your fingers down like they’re a cock. he sucks so obediently, so desperately as if to please. like a good student too — and all the while, you work on kicking off your panties and flipping up your skirt so that he can get a nice rewarding view of your glistening cunt. 

“c’mere,” you reach out to the blonde and he leans into you, letting you wrap an arm around his shoulders to keep him in place. “sei,” you gasp at the first contact of his thick, long shaft against your throbbing wet mound — mouth agape as if you’ve taken a gunshot wound to the chest. “do you know how to do this, smart boy? do you know how to fuck?”

nagi nods, pressing his forehead to yours while his hips jut forward on their own and his seedy tip brushes against your pearling clit so deliciously. at first, his movements are lax and the room is filled with the lewd squelches of your sexes moving over one another, but your breathing soon grows ragged and the salacious bump and grind becomes stickier and wetter. 

“u-uhuh.” he mumbles in response.

he’s so good for you even when his mouth is full and his mind is dazed, sucking on your fingers while he lets you overwhelm him. however, the blonde is only so well behaved and patient, and it’s not long before he slips his girth past the tight ring of your entrance without any warning. his fingertips dance up to your waist, grabbing at the fat there and using it as leverage to drag you to the edge of the table so he can sink into you further.

“oh…fucking hell!” you whimper wetly against the junction of nagi’s neck, nails digging into his shoulders to steady yourself while he sets the pace to your sinful dance. he’s bigger than what you expected (despite mapping his girth out with your hands), stretching your sloppy walls wide to accommodate for his size. you don’t complain, however, eyes rolling as he brushes up against pleasure spots you could never reach on your own. “o-oh baby, fuck me.” 

you pull your fingers out of his mouth with a lewd pop, desperate to hear the symphony of his sweet, low and sexy moans instead of having them muffled by your fingers while he fucks you for the first time. the pale blonde can hardly believe it — having your warmth wrapped around him and your cunt drool down on him like a waterfall. 

the law student throws his weight into fucking you, bullying his way into the deepest parts of your womb to slothfully fuck up your gooey insides. your cunt, your moans, your whole body has some kind of control over nagi — dumbing him down and reducing him to a sex crazed mess. to the point where he can’t even remember his ex’s name. he’s a mop of pale blonde hair and sweaty clothes, entirely hunched over you. 

“y-you’re so tight,” he tells you in a dreamy sigh, lost in the heat of your core. nagi’s grabs at your pudgy thighs and drags you back and forth onto his dick, the new deepness to his thrusts causing you to squeeze and froth around the fat base of nagi’s cock. “hah, feels so…so good.” 

wrapping your shaky legs around his slender waist, you offer up the same treatment to nagi — pulling him close to the point where he’s buried in your sluice sex right up to the hilt. his precum smears against your ribbed walls and his broken whimper echoes around your hotel room. “that’s it, fuck me like you fucked my hand, sweet boy.” lust sparks against your sex slicked bodies, your breasts bouncing with every one of nagi’s calculated yet sloppy thrusts. you can’t get enough of one another, clinging and clawing at one another’s bodies madly. “you can do it, prove to reo that you don’t need him. only me.” 

“o-only you.” nagi repeats weakly, tucking his face into your neck as he pounds you to the high heavens. the desk creaks beneath the force of his thrusts, threatening to break at the nails and bolts that hold it together. his eyelashes flutter against your skin, his low and deep moans mixed with high pitched gasps send a hot rush of dopamine across your brain and it really is all too much. 

nagi’s already cum three times and managed to fold you in half over his desk as a virgin. he feel as though he might break with how much he loves this, loves fucking you senseless. another fresh set of tears burn tracks down his face and gather in his unfairly long lashes as they tickle your skin. he hiccups and heaves against you, whilst his breathing grows ragged every time his glistening cock escapes the snugness of your tight pussy, precum stringing along your puffy folds. 

“so good baby, s-so fucking good!” your voice is broken and husky as you praise him, making his dick pulse against your g-spot over and over again. you’re fairing no better than he is, your skin blistering hot to the touch and bruised from how tight your student is gripping you — pulling you back onto his cock.

the pale blonde feels though he might burst, cream your insides like he did your hand and ruin that pretty skirt of yours — the one that sticks to his pelvis because of how close your bodies are. it’s rubbed him raw while he fucks you raw. “‘m i the best?” seishiro asks, cherishing the embrace of your viscous walls, his shaft coated in a crude mix of white as it froths from your tight little hole. “t-tell me i’m the best…” 

“t-the best i’ve ever had! f-fuck, sei!” you squeal in response, only egging the law student on, babbling your praises while fat droplets of your arousal flies about the place — painting nagi’s pelvis in a shiny gloss, curling in his white happy trail as well. 

“‘m the best. i’m the best for you.” grunting from the exertion and the very force of his own thrusts, seishiro wraps both of his strong arms around your middle and stands up from the table — taking you with him. at the new angle, the coil in your stomach only tightens and you fling your arms around his neck to prepare yourself for what’s to come next. “s’not enough, not deep enough. fuuuck you’re so wet and warm. i-i can’t,” he drawls lowly, nipping at the shell of your ear on instinct. 

that’s when seishiro begins to use his sheer strength to lift and drop you back onto his thick girth, fucking up into you at the exact same time. “g-good god!” you cry out, your impending orgasm prickling at your pelvis — shooting down each section of your spine. all of it only serves to spur nagi on. 

“give me your fingers,” he demands huskily, cantering into you from bellow — your juices running a steamy track down his heavy balls as they harshly smack against your peachy ass. “wan’ suck on ‘em. give ‘em.”

you don’t have time to register his ask because he grabs your wrist before your mind can even catch up (too occupied with the way he’s churning up your guts) and has two of your fingers in his eager little mouth — sucking on them diligently. you shudder as nagi runs his tongue between them, coats them in spit and drool that tracks across his chin once he’s done with them. 

“touch yourself for me?” he pleads through a wet whine, almost too innocently. “wanna see you cum this time.” 

it’s only then that you realise he’s been holding himself back, staving off his orgasm so he can see you writhe and gush all for him. the overstimulation must be burning at his brain, sizzling off his nerve endings and it’s probably more than the dumb little blonde virgin can take. so you do as he asks, trailing your spit slicked fingers between your bodies as they grind down on one another and you with your sensitive clit, pulling its hood back to draw tight circles over the pleasure nub. 

“o-oh! seishiro!” 

“that’s right, touch yourself f’me. wanna see you lose it like you make me lose it,” he moans softly constraining with how rough nagi pounds up into you. one of his hands slips from your hips to grope at your ass, pushing you down on him and forcing his cock to grind against that one special spot threatening to make you break. “‘m sorry,” he whimpers as though he’s going to cry. “d-don’t think i can hold back, angel.” 

“then don’t,” you gasp at the new friction, holding onto your last strings of sanity as you fumble with your clit tucked away between your ravaged folds. “i know you wanna cum for me, sei. l-let go, yeah? wanna see you break for me, like a good blonde slut.” 

your encouragement doesn’t give seishiro much choice, and while he’s in control of your bodies — his lean, strong frame anchoring you down onto his cock as it bullies your insides, you are in control of his mind. you destroy his train of thought, ruin the self-made man he was and send him tumbling into his final high. nagi’s orgasm breaks the surface viciously, pouring another load of his cum against your ripe and rippling walls. there’s still so much of it, the warm and viscous white seeping from your cunt and smearing all over your hot mound. 

the force of nagi’s high is so strong that he nearly drops you, just about managing to pin you safely to the desk once more. he’s still cumming and cumming and cumming — but that doesn’t stop him from thrusting into you hard and fast, desperate to trigger your orgasm so he can reward himself. it doesn’t take long, he’d already had you seated on the edge before his mind had shattered to pieces just from fucking you. 

you gush down his length and all over what remains of your shitty case notes (he probably didn’t need them anyways) with a pornographic shout when you finally hit your peak. it’s like the crescendo of a beautiful song — the world around you spinning and flashing white as you squirt and gush for the white haired lawyer. 

“f-fuck.” you giggle with a soft smile, fatigue washing over the both of you come down from the gates of heaven — crashing back down to earth with ecstasy still buzzing in your veins. “good boy, sei. you did so good for me,” you hum softly. “do you feel any better?” 

seishiro looks up at you from where his heavy frame has collapsed on your chest — clothes sweaty and askew, and offers you a lazy grin in return. “better,” he mumbles meekly and kisses a slither of your exposed skin, still grinding his seed into you as if to make sure it sticks. “thank you.” 

bringing a hand up to toy with his hair and soothing him, you nod. “good, we should get some rest, you’ve got a big trial tomorrow, pretty boy.” 

“do you think I can do it?” 

“i know you can, sei.” you scratch at his scalp. “i meant it. what i said earlier. you’re the best lawyer on our team. shidou’s defence stands a pretty good chance.” 

nagi grins once more, only this time he leans up to press a chaste kiss to your unexpecting mouth — pouring all of his gratefulness into it. 

because thanks to you, he feels more confident about the trial, — almost as if he’s won the trial already. and even if nagi goes lose, at least he’s won you over.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[vixentheplanet]

five star hotel

"I think you should come and visit. I someone else who isn't you pulling up in a minute."

shuri x black!reader | 18+

Summary: You've recently completed a press tour and a phenomenal award season for your latest film. To celebrate and unwind, you and your friends fly to Mauritius, an island in East Africa. You realize your relaxation time, but you're missing a thrill that can only come from one person. The only problem is that they need to be here.

inspired by five star hotels. by raye

word count: 7.1k

themes: actress reader, dom/sub undertones, this is very filthy...

warnings: smoking, drinking, possessive!shuri, dom! shuri, dom/sub undertones, dirty talk, car sex, shotgunning, thigh riding, fingering, orgasm denial, begging, established safe words, body licking, rough sex, penetrative sex, spitting, choking, throat fucking, wall sex, oral sex

hi - i’m in the process of re-uploading everything so anyone who wants to read can have easy access to find my works which is going to take some time but this was the easiest to post (it’s me not some random person lmaooo) 😔

Mauritius. A small Indian Ocean island nation famed for its beaches, lagoons, and reefs. It was your holiday destination of choice. You'd just returned from a press tour for your new film, Sounds of the Vanished, and you'd finished the awards season as the most-awarded actress for your performance. The response and success to your performance had been magnificent, but with so much traveling and busy schedules, you were relieved to be on vacation.

The island was your destination for relaxation. Liza, Kali, Jade, and Evangeline were among your closest friends. You'd only been here for three of the fourteen days you'd planned, but you were having a great time going on different excursions during the day, such as hiking, snorkeling, and deep-sea diving. At night, you could be seen mingling with both residents and tourists at any number of vibrant outdoor bars and clubs. You were having a great time until last night when you had a little too much to drink.

As an actress, you were a natural social butterfly. You were the life of the party, captivating everyone who came across you. People are scared of your confidence. That was something you'd built up to prepare for audition rejections, award losses, and unfavorable critiques in this line of work. These qualities made up your character and personality that the public loved and adored, but you may be intense for those who didn't know how to handle it. As a single, young, attractive, and accomplished woman, such vibrant, charismatic energy drew a lot of attention, but most people realized they were too intimated by you. All except her.

You and Shuri, the Queen of Wakanda, had been seeing each other for a few months. The two of you discovered a pleasure in one another that you couldn't find anyplace else, which is why you found yourself phoning her the night before. You and your four friends were lounging on the patio of a bar, taking in the atmosphere and the warm climate. With the breathtaking ocean scenery, string lights twinkled above you as the waves crashed against the shore.

You'd been drinking a lot of flights, trying out various whiskeys and margaritas. The more the alcohol affected your bloodstream, the more lustful you became. Feelings that only she could control. You knew she'd make time for you if you asked, but when you slipped away to a quieter corner of the bar to call, she didn't answer.

Even when she's working, Shuri always answers your calls. It was too late for her to have a council meeting, and if she were out on business or Panther duties, she'd let you know so you knew she wouldn't be available, so her phone not answering meant she was busy fucking someone else. You and Shuri had similar lifestyles, both busy, and neither of you liked being tied down. She slept with whomever she wanted, and you did as well.

Who’s that bitch you’re fucking?

I know you’re fucking her.

You texted, which seemed to tease, but the attitude was evident. You were the top priority over any of those other bitches.

She texted back an hour after.

Bet.

That was the end of the conversation last night. This morning, you awoke, smirking all the way to breakfast with your companions. You didn't care enough to "apologize," you both knew you weren't sincere, and everything you said was true.

You missed her body, and you know she missed yours.

She should be here. Nobody can fire her up as you can, and she's told you that several times.

You and Shuri had choices, and you both occasionally explored options before settling back on each other. Sex is sex, but sex with Shuri is unrivaled. Perhaps it's because she has no problem putting you in your place. Neither your fame nor your demeanor could faze her, maybe because you were a challenge to her. In turn, you weren’t intimidated by her being the Queen of Wakanda or the Black Panther.

The entire morning you went on a sightseeing and boat tour. You pause to take pictures with fans or sign autographs for any who happen to pass by before hurriedly exiting the location. Your security was concerned that word of your and your guests' whereabouts would spread shortly. You return to your room in the middle of the day. Jade retreated to her room to nap while Liza, Kali, and Evangeline went to the spa, but you returned to clean your room in preparation for Shuri's arrival.

It was time to get ready for tonight by the time you finished. You prepared by taking a shower, applying skincare and makeup, and grabbing your outfit from the closet—a Dolce & Gabbana black spandex mini dress with sleeves from the 2003 spring collection. When you reunited, Kali whistled, "Yeah, ma, do a spin for me,” She took out her phone and began recording an Instagram story. To humor her, you do a whole spin shaking your ass a little before turning around and laughing.

You know it's just a matter of time before your fans discover it and go crazy for the dress, but this is the only chance they'll see you wear it. Though things were quiet on Shuri's end, you knew she'd come through. “Save it for the club!” Angie yells as your bodyguard holds the SUV’s door open.

You're dancing in the midst of a club, but you can't recall his name. He had approached you, star-struck, and asked if you wanted to dance; why not? Something he might later brag about to his buddies. You left Liza and Kali at the table, watching everyone's drinks. Jade and Evangeline had long disappeared after hearing a few members of the Golden State Warriors were in the lounge: “When Basketball Wives gets rebooted, trust I’ll be there. Let’s go, Angie!” So there you were, grinding back on a nameless man, his hard-on pressing onto you. You didn't mind because he was handsome enough. It was a nice ego boost and even better knowing he'd be dissatisfied by the night's end.

He couldn't keep up with you even now, dancing timidly, because his energy didn't match yours. Nervous. Consider what would happen if a famous actress told him, "I need you to choke me and pound me until I can't walk tomorrow." In all likelihood, he'd flee, leaving you to obsess about the person in your fantasies. You see Kali strolling through the crowd after leaving the VIP section upstairs as if angels answered your prayers. Her phone is in your hand, and her face is filled with worry. You break away from your dancing partner to focus solely on your best friend, and he backs off. "What's the matter, babe?" You yell over the music as she hands you your phone.

"Your phone hasn't stopped ringing!" She yells in your ear, attempting to come as close as possible to you. "You have something like a hundred notifications. I don’t know if something serious happened,” she exaggerates, handing you your phone.

As you check your phone, you find ten missed calls and two texts from 'DP.' Because calling back while the music vibrated the floorboards was pointless, you read the text first.

Come outside.

Now.

Smirking, you bite your lip and glance at the screen, no longer interested in your dance partner. She arrived. You knew 'bet' wasn't a joke. Shuri was one of the most brilliant minds in existence, with access to the most cutting-edge existing technologies. She was undoubtedly aware of your whereabouts before you enticed her to come hunting for you. You told her to come looking for you, and she did. You can't help but wonder how long she's been hiding on the island, waiting for the right opportunity to surprise you.

When you look up, Kali looks at you suspiciously, questioning, "Who the fuck is DP, and why are they blowing up your phone?" She wonders aloud. You wrinkle your eyebrows at her assertiveness, "None of your concern, one. Two, I'm heading out."

Kali's eyes show she wants to push you farther, but secrets are unusual between you, so she knows your secrecy is for a reason. "You'd better be at brunch. That’s all I know!” She demands, abruptly changing the subject. You grin as you lean down to kiss her cheek.

“I will, baby. Tell Liza I’m leaving; you know she worries.” Liza was the eldest and only married woman with two gorgeous children. She knew how to have a good time and party, but on nights like this, with everyone split up, drinking, and in a foreign country, she was bound to be extra careful despite your protection. Her maternal instincts were likely in overdrive, especially with Jade and Angie. In a way, you're one less person to be concerned about.

You gaze down at your phone once more. Shuri's text message arrived seven minutes ago. "Yes, yes. Leave before I come outside with you and start interrogating."

Knowing she's dead serious, you wrap up the conversation. "Love you, and make sure one of them doesn't wind up taking Tristian Thompson to the hotel," you joke, referring to Jade and Angie’s quest to be WAGS. Kali's eyes widen as you joke.

“Girl! You’re messy—get out of here," she giggles, nudging you along.

Moving stealthily through the crowd toward the exit, you keep your head down. The cool night air hits your exposed skin as you scan the area for your target. There's a black unmarked Rolls Royce with dark tints that are probably illegal. Bingo. Once it’s safe to do so, you cross the street and peer across the back to see a familiar figure pressing up against the passenger door.

You're confident none of the dark and disoriented individuals inside and outside the club are paying attention to the fact that the queen of Wakanda is standing out in the open, waiting for you. As you take her in, your lip catches between your teeth. She is dressed casually in black athletic shorts and a white tee shirt. There was no use in putting effort into an outfit that would wind up on the floor, but she looked impressive in whatever she wore.

She didn't bother turning her head to look at you as if she sensed you. "I found you," she says. Her tone is somber and absent of the usual playfulness. She did not find your antics the night before amusing. "Found me," you say as you stroll up the sidewalk to Shuri. Even though she seems off, being in the Wakandan Queen's presence causes your skin to tingle with anticipation. Your body is all too familiar with her.

When you stand before her, she uncrosses her arms, and you naturally fall into them, staring up at her as her arms wrap around your waist. "I thought I'd have to drag you out of there." You bring your arms around her neck, pulling her in.

“Mm,” you hum at the thought of Shuri being rough with you. “Wouldn’t want you to cause a scene to scare away all my potential late-night guests,” you teased. Instead of responding verbally, Shuri takes one of her hands off your ass and brings it back in a disciplining slap. You almost moan as the offensive force increases your eagerness.

You close your eyes, wincing slightly before letting out a breathy sigh. "Why are you upset? I can be with whoever I want, right.” You mock her, peering up at her through your lashes with false innocence. As if you didn't know, your words would provoke that reaction from her.

Shuri looks down at you. She rubs your ass with the hands she used to punish you for soothing the pain. “You can fuck whoever you want, but you still beg me to come out here.”

The reunion is over as she releases you, pushing off the car. Her authoritative nature consumes the air around you, nearly suffocating. "What's your problem?" you questioned as if you hadn't drunk-texted her, telling her she needed to be here.

Shuri sucks her teeth. "My problem is you," she declares emphatically, not caring how you react. “I didn’t come here to argue with you.” There were two choices: retaliate with an equally slick ass statement, or listen and behave. For now, you’ll behave as you decide to reach to open the door.

Shuri's presence is behind you, grasping the handle before you can, "Don't act brand new," she says. When you get inside the Rolls-Royce, you're surprised Shuri can see out the black windows—admiring the starlight headlining. She stays silent after that, getting into the driver's seat. She continues to drive without even trying to pay attention to you. You were aware that you might be a brat sometimes; all that confidence and energy made for a toxic combination now and then. One way Shuri exerts power is by ignoring you. Sometimes it would work, shifting your headspace to a more submissive one. You're too busy being a good girl, begging and pleading for Shuri's praise and care, to be bothered with talking back. Other times, you make her work for your submission, not letting up until she is inside of you, manipulating your body into any position she desires while fucking you senseless.

You knew exactly what you needed tonight. Shuri parks her car in a beach parking space near the hotel and turns off the engine. Silence fills the air as Shuri reclines her seat, and you wait impatiently. You wonder why she stopped here instead of the main lot.

You get your answer as your eyes follow her movements as she reaches in and pulls out a pre-rolled joint, sparking the lighter. Shuri’s gaze lingers on you as she takes a hit of the cannabis. Exhaling, the smoke fills the air around you. You expect her to open her mouth to speak now, but instead, she returns the joint to her lips. Starting to get agitated with her ignoring you, cross your arms, and face her back against the door. "Did you drag me out of the club to watch you smoke?"

"Didn't you text my phone acting crazy? Stop being impatient."

You raise an eyebrow at her comments as if she didn’t want you as much as you wanted her. “You’re acting like if I told you couldn’t hit this anymore, you wouldn’t lose your mind. It doesn’t matter who you’re laid up with. They aren't me." Many women were willing and waiting for Shuri to give them a chance, but she came here to be with you in less than twenty-four hours.

Shuri sucks her teeth and is not pleased with your delivery as she refuses to accept the truth of your words. “You keep talking to me like you lost your mind,” she asserts, frowning in confusion. “I don’t know who else you’re dealing with that lets you talk to them like that, but not me,” she warns.

"I wouldn't be talking if we were inside," your voice whines. Neediness has taken over. She was right here, but she was still too far away.

Shuri grins. "Would you like me to bring you inside? I might use you how I please for my own satisfaction. Have you just lay there and take it? Is that what you want?”

"You wouldn’t do that."

“I wouldn’t?” Shuri challenges, passing the joint to your outstretched fingers.

“Coming all this way and not playing with me,” You inhale in small puffs, pull the smoke into your lungs, and exhale. “Sounds like more of a punishment for you than me.” Your body was something she couldn't resist. Even when she attempts to avoid touching you in order to drive you insane, she always breaks. You didn’t need to dominate to control her.

You return the blunt to her, and she accepts it. "Come here," she says as she pats the empty space in her lap, and you climb over. She absorbs another blow at the same time. Her hand is on your thigh, gradually moving the fabric of your dress up, exposing the skin of your ass to the cool temperature that the AC is trying to maintain.

As you approach her, the effects of the high are visible in her eyes. Your gaze falls to her lips, and without hesitation, you lift your hands to her face and draw her to you. Shuri's free hand pulls you closer in an instant, pressing you even harder against her lips, finally giving in to what you both desire. Shuri's teeth dragged at your lower lip, causing you to part your lips. Instinct took over as you felt the Wakandan royals' tongue glide between your lips. Heat runs through your body all at once, and the hunger building up with the distance causes you to devour each other, leaving you gasping as she pulls away.

You give her a single breath before lowering your lips again. Shuri took the lead this time, more demanding and rough, brushing her tongue over your lips and drawing it between her teeth in the most sinful way possible, your brain shutting down completely as you makeout.

It's your turn to take a breath away from the kiss, and Shuri tries to distract herself by going down towards your collarbone.

"Uh, uh," you pull Shuri's mouth away from your neck, revealing her face. "I know exactly how you get, and I have a lot of skimpy bikinis to wear." Shuri took great pleasure in seeing all of her marks on you. Everyone who fucked you next would be distracted by thoughts of who gave them to you, unable to enjoy themselves to the fullest. Constantly wondering and fascinated as to who had so much claim over you.

"People can't admire me if they're too focused on what's on my skin." Shuri's eyes narrow, not amused by your comment. To console her, you caress the side of her face, beckoning her to lean closer with a finger. You teasingly bite her lip, returning to meet her icy stare again.

"Don't make that face," you mock, knowing Shuri was irritated by the image of you with other people you were trying to paint in her mind. There was no commitment, but neither of you liked being reminded of previous sexual partners when you were together. You give her lips another light peck, humming with excitement at the satisfaction of riling her up. "You can still hit it like it's yours," you whisper, your angelic eyes drowning in seduction.

Shuri finally gets tired of your arrogance and lifts your chin tightly, forcing you to look up at her. "It is mine.” She almost growls in your ear. Your smirk fades as you let out an audible moan, getting off to the sound of her voice, knowing the severity in her tone assured you a long night ahead.

Shuri makes a pleased sound, and her suppressed groan enhances your desire for her. “I love this little attitude you’re putting on. You want to know why?” She asked, waiting for you to respond.

“Mm, why is that?” You take a deep breath, feeling the tension and temperature in the car rise. You desperately wanted to remove that extra layer of clothing between you two. You were aching for her despite your best efforts to appear unaffected.

Shuri relaxes her hold slightly to bring her thumb to your lower lip, her dark gaze following the way your tongue teasingly peaks out to lick the tip of her finger. "Because I get to fuck it out of you," she continues. “Make you my good girl again." Her words penetrate your core, and you feel walls clench around emptiness, knowing she'll make you complete soon.

"You're insatiable, and no one can tame you as I can. Huh, baby,” You nod, unable to speak because your mouth is busy. "That's exactly what I thought. Now move.” Move? You wrinkle your brows as you begin to rise from Shuri's lap, disappointed, not seeing the point of having you get up from your seat in the first place before a bruising hold on your waist stops you. “Move.” She repeats more forcefully, and you realize what she means. You adjust a little so that one of Shuri's thighs is between your legs, then press down until your clit is firmly against her. You're confident she can sense how wet you are for her, dripping on her skin.

"Get nice and wet for me, but you can't cum," Shuri instructs as you roll your hips. You begin cautiously, attempting to follow Shuri's warning not to cum yet. You won't overwhelm yourself if you proceed slowly.

Time passes. Shuri rotates the rest of the blunt between you two, bringing it to your lips for each inhalation. Your hands are gripping the back of the seat. It's hot, and you can feel sweat clinging to your skin, but you don't mind. You're far too mellow. Dazed and whirling, your hips are in sync with the smoke filling the air illuminated by the stars on the ceiling. Using Shuri's body to get off feels like something out of a dream.

Massaging your clit against Shuri’s thighs, a little gasp leaves your lips when the sensation gets too much. Shuri takes one last, deep drag. A hand comes to the back of your neck, pulling you close to her until your foreheads are touching. Before opening your mouth, you purse your lips, pushing a whimper to the back of your throat. Shuri presses forward, your lips touching as she, little by little, blows the smoke into your mouth. You accept everything, inhaling the marijuana and moving in for a kiss.

Her hand goes from your neck to your folds, inserting her middle finger inside till it brushes against your clit. The slightest touch of her fingertips causes your hips to stutter and your rhythm to come to a halt as your thighs tighten around her wrist. "Shuri," you exhale, rocking gently in her embrace.

Your face flushed at the slick sounds as she played in the results of your sexual desire.

"You're not being fair," you protest. Shuri commanded you not to cum while making it more difficult for you. It was easier when you had a choice over your pleasures, but Shuri used her expert fingers to take you apart while expecting you not to cum. Your stomach tightens as you strain to suppress your climax, letting out a few quiet grunts.

Shuri doesn't care what you think of her games. “I don’t have to be fair. I make the rules, and you have to follow them.” Her dominant tone is coming through, making you even wetter. The low, seductive timbre of her voice might set you off. She increases the pressure on her finger, and you're practically writhing in her lap, desperate for the woman to stop. You could feel the euphoric tension rising and—

"Fuck," you scream, curling in on yourself in relief as Shuri comes to a stop, denying you release verbally and now physically. You mistakenly assume she was finished, not realizing she never removed her hand. You could have thought things were over, but now she's moving again.

“Are you going to come?” She questioned. No words are coming out of your mouth, so you frantically shake your head from side to side. Your body betrays you, starved of orgasm and searching for it. On Shuri's fingers, your hips swivel down. Shuri grins with amusement as she watches you break.

The weed always lets you get out of your thoughts and into your body, which was good because it amplified sex sensations when high. Yet, it also proved a disadvantage as you fought to keep it together. "Are you sure?" With a wicked expression on her face, she pushed.

You felt helpless, wanting to obey Shuri yet lacking the strength to resist your release. "Please, please, please," you beg, attempting to escape her. But you're no match for Shuri, and she doesn't back down, aware that if you genuinely wanted her to stop, you'd use the safe word you established.

Your pleading must have worked because a few seconds later, Shuri pauses, preventing you from having an orgasm yet again. Relieved, tears well up in the corners of your eyes as you realize you can break free. She removes her hands this time, and you can see the sticky substances coating her fingers. “Always so messy,”

Shuri raises her fingers to your mouth, and you accept them to clean yourself off her. You look up at her with sparkling eyes as you conduct such wicked acts. She groans as she feels your lips suction around her, tongue circling each finger, properly licking yourself up. “Good enough for me to taste later,” you nod, still sucking.

A humming sound emanates from her lips as she muses, "I'll think about it if you can listen to me. You'll now return to your room while I park the car." Shuri continues to speak. "I want you naked on the bed. If you understand, nod." You do as directed by gesturing your head like a good girl. Shuri kisses you briefly before releasing you.

Faithful to her sadistic nature, she has added one extra obstacle for you to get to your suite. You shakily exit the car, pausing to remove your heels as you walk through the sand. You reach the patio and cross the hotel gardens, cursing Shuri silently. You try to multitask by removing your dress's sleeves. You cross the bridge into the area of the private spaces a few minutes later, smiling at the Hotel personnel as you rush.

You unlock the suite door and kick your heels to the side of the entryway before proceeding to the room. A touchscreen pad on the wall controls multiple functions in the room. You press the center button, which dimly illuminates the room. You rush into the restroom to wash the sand off your feet. Fucking Shuri. On the short walk, you've probably cursed her ten times.

You run into the kitchen, needing a drink. You opened a bottle of wine the other day but never got around to drinking it. You remove the cork and pour two glasses, one for yourself and one for Shuri. You down the smooth red liquid. You understand that the alcohol would quickly combine with the THC in your system. "Fuck," you mutter as you realize you're losing time. Shuri was almost certainly on her way inside.

You hurriedly slip your dress over your head and slide your soaked panties down your legs, throwing both things on the couch at the end of the bed, leaving the bottle and glass of wine you poured for Her on the bedside table. You climb into bed, your head resting in your hands, your elbow propped up, anticipation beating through your skin.

Shuri emerges from the corridor a few minutes later, placing a bag on the carpet. Her pupils dilated as lust darkened her irises, and her eyes took you in. The number of times she's seen you undressed doesn't matter; she's always stunned, unable to speak. She walks around to the other side of the bed and finds the treat you've left for her. “You want to be nice to me now?” Shuri said as she looked at the wine.

"You expect me to show compassion for you just because you pour me a glass of wine?" Shuri reaches out her tattooed hand to stroke your chin. "I'm not," she laughed, tilting her head to the side. "But it was thoughtful of you."

You gasp sharply at her words. You can't wait for her to take off her clothes. You desired her inside of you after being denied two orgasms. "I never asked you to be," you said sarcastically. H oping she'd hurry up and fulfill her promise to fuck the arrogance out of you.

Shuri laughs again, aware of the game you were playing. “You have such a mouth on you.” She takes a couple of sips from her glass. "Lie on your back," she commands, and you do what she says—looking up at the chandelier while resting flat on your back.

Shuri holds the glass at an angle such that the red wine drips between your breasts and down to your stomach from above. The chill the unexpected sensation leaves on your skin causes your breath to catch. Your body stiffens as you try not to move and disturb the liquid on your body. Shuri gets on the bed face to face with the lower half of your body, still completely clothed, admiring her work. She brings her mouth to your heated skin from beneath your belly button, carefully licking up the mess she made.

She stops between your breasts, placing her lips on one of your nipples, and you moan, feeling her tongue circle around the sensitive bud—the bitter chill of the central air hardens it. Shuri moves on to the next one, repeating the technique and sucking until the sensitive buds are tense.

As she approaches, you whimper and finally come face to face. Shuri places two fingers between your legs, just outside your entrance. She was right where you needed her, but not quite near enough. "You're always so pretty and tight for me."

"Shuri," you whine. She was ignoring your desires. "No, that's all you're getting for now.” You sigh and roll your eyes. Shuri catches the action. “Again, with the attitude. That’s okay. We’re about to correct it right now.”

Shuri spreads your legs apart and bends them at the knee. “I advise that you keep your legs like this.” Though it didn’t seem like a complex request, you knew you would feel it in your abdomen the longer you held it. "Wide open, ready for me," Shuri observed, staring intently at your warm and inviting pussy.

You bite your lip as Shuri sinks inch by inch, and by the time she's entirely inside, you're gasping, your eyes shutting abruptly as your face twists in ecstasy. Shuri emits a noise of dissatisfaction, “No, open your eyes. I want you to watch it. Watch while I take you apart.” Her eyes had a sinister glint to them. She pushed in and out a few times to get you acquainted with the sensation of her.

The delayed start provided a false sense of security. Shuri's speed soon became ferocious fucking into you, and all you could do was lay there and receive it as her hips slapped into you. "Fuck!" you yelled, flinging your head back. Your thigh muscles were aching from retaining the position, but you were determined not to obstruct Shuri's entry to you.

Shuri slows her desperate strokes, stilling inside you, giving you a short reprieve. She goes for the bottle of wine and tilts her head back, taking a long sip. You can see her throat bob as she swallows it. It's quite seductive. "Open," she urges, holding the bottle above you, and you do it without question.

You feel like a goddess being poured wine while naked, high, and blissed out. This is why having sex with anyone else will never be the same as having sex with Shuri. Hair in all directions, body sticky from sweat, and the residue of the wine sipped off your skin. You swallow the wine, letting the smooth liquid ease the scratchiness in your throat. "Open," she says again, and although the bottle is nowhere to be seen, you open your mouth wide, putting your tongue out, waiting. Shuri spits directly into your mouth, and you tighten your grip on the strap. It should be disgusting, yet it's hot, and you fucking love it as her saliva hits you. “Such a whore, you know that? Letting me fuck you, ruin you.”

Her hands are widening your legs. "You love that, don't you?"

“Yes, yes, yes,” When she puts her finger to your clit, she doesn't let up until she makes you scream, clutching the sheets while screaming and moaning. Shuri is captivated by the noises you make and how her name slips off your tongue as she abandons you absolutely and completely undone.

"Yes, please make me cum for you," you plead, all the toying and teasing had left you ravenous, and all you wanted to do was reach orgasm. "Fuck me like that, fuck me so good," you scream, your fingers tightly wrapped around Shuri's neck, forcing her to stare at you.

"You always fuck me so good—feel so good in me," You’re babbling, half out of your mind. Loving when you’re vocal in bed. Your word has Shuri double her efforts, her strokes sinking deeper. You gasp in response to a powerful thrust pressed up on your g-spot. "There- right there—don't stop, don't stop, don't stop- "

“Don’t stop, huh?” She asks. "Will you let me have you like this all the time? Fuck you nonstop. Never let you go. Constantly have you naked and ready in my bed."

"I'd let you fuck me again and over," you say, maintaining eye contact.

“You’d let me, wouldn’t you? I'll keep you in Wakanda just to fuck you. Make you cum again and again." Shuri was slamming relentlessly into you. As the dominant continued to drive into you, you shouted. Being treated this way, like Shuri's own whore, made you feel amazing. She treated you like an irresistible toy.

“You want to cum?”

“Yes, please, baby.”

"Do you believe you deserve it?" Shuri continues, not interested in your point of view. "I'll be nice, baby," she says, her voice raspy and low. “I’ll let you come. I'll let you come all over me, then fuck it right back into you so you can give it to me again." You can hear the headboard hitting the wall, moving in tandem with the intensity of Shuri's push, mixed in with Shuri's dirty obscenities. Your moans, her filthy words, and the snap of hips against you all contribute to your symphony. The most sinful thing ever composed. After being denied orgasms, you were going to come, but you still needed more. You grab Shuri's wrist and pull her over to your neck. "Shit baby," Shuri says, recognizing your request. Breath play always intensified your orgasms, and you knew you were on the verge of cumming. Permission had now been obtained.

As the hand around your neck squeezes, power is exchanged. A release from control, you giving it to Shuri and her receiving it. The dominant and submissive. Daddy Panther and her darling. As your airway tightens, you ease into the touch, becoming calmer, more carefree, and wholly trusting.

You finally achieve your high at that instant for a million reasons: the smoke, wine, and the taste of yourself on her tongue. Your body arches as everything stops, and you cry out Shuri's name like a litany as you come. The intensity of your climax causes your thighs to quiver. Shuri fucks you through it. Grabbing onto the headboard to plunge harder into you, a forceful stroke presses you farther into the mattress. You hear a crack that sounds like the wood of the headboard in Shuri's hands, but she does not stop. She continues to fuck you, never letting up on her pace falter. When your nerves are on edge from being too sensitive, she stops.

Shuri pants above you. You lay there for a second, attempting to regain your composure while looking up at Shuri with tearful eyes. "There she is, my girl," Her hand brushes some of the hairs stuck to your forehead. "It's all right, darling. I know she needs a break,” Shuri says, wiping the tears from your eyes. Your pussy had its own heartbeat, pulsing from the rough treatment. The thrill is intoxicating.

Shuri pulls out and stands up, and you whine about the absence of contact. She's now standing at the foot of the bed. "All fours, come here," she ordered firmly. As much as your body protested moving so soon after such an intense orgasm, you were committed to doing the right thing for Shuri. Follow her instructions. She meant it when she said she'd restore you to your former self as her good girl, your attitude replaced by a desire to please her. "Look at the mess you've made." You stare down at the glistening strap coated with your release. Shuri gathers your hair in one hand, the other holding the strap's base.

You get down on your elbows, ass up, spine beautifully curved. Shuri thrusts in, her hand holding your hair and keeping you in position as she shallowly rocks her hips. You bob your head, working more quickly, saliva gathering at the corners of your mouth. “That’s it, baby, tasting my pretty girl.” Shuri breathes, tone rough.

"Are you going to let me fuck your throat?" You give her permission by humming around the object in your mouth. The hand in your hair stops your movement, and Shuri takes charge. When she thrusts, it feels like she's scratching your throat, and your throat feels full and tight as if it's been expanded. Occasionally she goes deeper, triggering your gag reflex and making your eyes water. “You’re working so hard. I can't wait for you to ruin it again." She starts sliding you along the shaft of the strap with your hair. As the strap tip strikes the back of your throat, you make a choked moan. Shuri knows this isn't the first time you've done this, so she keeps you there for a second before pulling you off. You're gasping, spit is dripping down your chin, and your eyes are burning. The sight truly amazes Shuri.

"You look fucking beautiful right now. Can you do it again for me?" Shuri requests. You nod. The harsh treatment ignited the fire in your stomach. "Then I'll fuck you again," she informs you.

Shuri pushes you, slipping the tip in your throat again and securing you in place. You calmly breathe through your nose, but your throat convulses around the strap, and you choke. "Take a breath," Shuri orders, and you listen, your throat spasming before Shuri lifts you back up. You gaze up at Shuri, tears streaming down your cheeks, your chin messier than before. “So perfect for me,” Shuri gasped, and you moaned at the adoration you found in her expression.

“Are you okay?” She asks, checking in.

“Yes,” your voice is hoarse, fucked out. Waiting for Shuri’s next move.

Shuri is effortlessly lifting you from your position and collecting you in her arms, hands under your legs to support you. You tightly wrap your legs around her. Shuri moves through the room. As your body is pressed against the plaster, you kiss her, and the strap slides back into you, undoing all your hard work cleaning it. Your fingers clasp Shuri's shoulder as your arm loops around her neck, keeping her close to your chest. You interrupt the kiss to groan loudly, and your head collides with the back wall. "You're doing well, baby. Taking everything I give you," she says proudly.

That was something you admired about her. She never takes anything from you and always gives you all you need.

Shuri pins you between the well and her chest; sweaty bodies push together. Your heartbeats are racing. "Damn baby, you fuck me so good," you moan, glancing down to where the strap disappeared and reappeared in you.

You have no choice but to accept it as she continues with the fierce, sharp thrust. Her strength is exhilarating, tearing you apart and never wavering, giving it to you hard and fast. "Yes, like that, exactly like that," you pant, encouraging her to keep going, reminding her that her "good girl" can receive anything she has to offer.

This time, you get to your second climax much more quickly. The harder Shuri fucked you, the louder your moans became, unconcerned about who heard. "When you cum, I want you to scream my name," Shuri demands. She couldn't stop herself. She seized your hips and drilled relentlessly into your pussy. “Say it. I need to hear you say it.” It was fascinating to see her lose control. And when you feel the familiar wave of overpowering euphoria pour over you, you give her exactly what she wants. “Panther!” You scream, your walls squeezing the strap while you cum, but there's no time to recover.

Shuri is flinging you on the covers, and she's crawling back between your legs for the second time tonight. Shuri adores the taste of you. You recall her spending nearly an hour spreading you open and licking leisurely, not to make you come but to satiate her thirst. She couldn't stop herself from making you cum on her tongue to end this round.

Her lips are on your abused clit, sucking hard as her tongue licks at it, demanding more. You're going to give it to her because you can't bear the thought of disappointing her. Shuri gave you what you needed to give her what she wanted: your submission, your cum, your moans, your pleasure; it was all hers. She wrecked you for anyone else. There will never be someone who knew your body as well as she did and demonstrated it every time you were together.

You try to get free from her grip by twisting your body to the side, but your efforts are unsuccessful. Shuri pulls your body straight, pinning you on the bed by your waist, uninterested in your overstimulation. She was on a mission to watch you cry and beg for mercy.

Tears cloud your vision as the experience begins to overtake you. It's fantastic—too much of a good thing. "Oh my goodness, baby!" you exclaim. You were taken aback as you felt the release exit your body. Your palm reaches for your mouth to muffle the ugly sobs rattling your body. Your orgasm's shakes and spasms were tremendous, moving your entire body with intensity. The whole thing was extremely sensitive. You can't help but grin with the contented numbness of coming down from a high.

You press your sweating brow against your forearm, your unfocused gaze seeking Shuri. She's to your right, observing you cautiously, knowing she's put you through a lot. And you wouldn't want it any other way, of course. You smile at her in satisfaction. “Perfect, Oscar winner smile.” Shuri is delighted. "My star, you did an amazing job for me, baby."

“Always, Daddy Panther.”

[talia-rumlow]

Bound & Brockened (DARK Brock Rumlow/OFC)

WORDCOUNT: 2235

TRIGGERS: Human Trafficing, drinking, religion, working the street, runaway from home, some sex talk

This is a dark story. DO NOT READ IF YOU'RE UNDER 18, OR IF YOU GET TRIGGERED BY ANYTHING BDSM, TORTURE, DARK MATERIAL!

HAPPY READING!

CHAPTER ONE - GRACE!

“You can still back out,’ Sasha's voice rings out beside her. Grace keeps looking down on the slick black tiles on the floor. They could be used as a mirror, they were that shiny and well taken care of. “Grace?” Sasha tries again.

Grace shifts her attention from the floor and over to Sasha. “No,” she replies. “I don’t want to go back out there again. I don’t want to sleep on cardboard boxes in parking garages anymore,” she continues. 

“Good,” Sasha continues. “Because this is a once in a lifetime opportunity,” she adds. “My friend got through last year, and now she lives in a mansion, a mansion I'm not kidding,” she delivers the information with an enthusiasm that Grace can't quite understand. “Although she still does the ‘work’ and the guy is like really old,” Sasha's enthusiasm dies off a bit along with the really old part, but it doesn't take long before her enthusiasm is back with renewed force. “But aaa, she lives in a mansion, a mansion,” she continues, clapping her hands together and her eyes take on this dreamy look, as if she can see the mansion in front of her. 

Grace can't understand the enthusiasm at all. Yeah, a bed to sleep in would be great; and a lot better than cardboard boxes, parking garages and angry cops following them. And, yeah, a mansion with a fireplace and a working kitchen sounds amazing after about ten years on the street. But the price to pay for all of it; it seems a bit steep for her liking. Not that she wasn't used to it. She had been living on the street since she was sixteen, and you know, selling oneself was an easy and quick way to get her hands on some money. But, even if she saw the price as steep, the price to pay for her other option was steeper. It was like choosing between bad and worse, and she already knew what worse looked and felt like. Sasha had given her a chance to get off the street, and she was going to take it; no matter how steep the price was. 

“They're not all old,” Sasha opens her mouth again. “Some of them are business men, or mafia guys just looking for someone to own,” she tries; not succeeding to ease Grace's nerves. 

“Someone to use, you mean?” Grace cuts her off. She was used to that too. When you sold yourself, like she did, the norm was sorta to be used. To be honest, she didn't know what was worse; to be owned and used by one person, every day for the rest of her life. Or, to have to go out and search for a new one who could use her every night for the rest of her life. At least with the one person option, she would have a roof over her head. 

Sasha shrugs. “Poteto, potato,” she says, and Grace knows she's right. And if someone were to actually pay a fair amount of money for her, they wouldn't ruin her in any way; she hoped. 

🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪

Every year in April, Xander Feldbank Investments held their annual underground auction. It was renowned in the underworld, getting attention from Mafia leaders, shady casino owners, filthy rich and powerful businessmen and other people with way too much money and a narcissistic personality disorder. The entry fee alone was $500, and the starting bid was always somewhere around $100.000 to $150.000; meaning you had to have deep pockets to even get a foot in the door. 

The screening process was just as strict for the girls as it was for the participants. It was an honor to even get into the first round of auditions, and to advance from that was an even bigger honor. Grace had almost felt like she was a part of Miss United States during the whole thing. And now she was here, at the Feldbank Hotel & Conference center; indulging in the comforting luxury. 

Situated in the heart of New York City, the Feldbank Hotel & Conference Center presented a facade of luxury and opulence. Unaware of the hotel's shady business dealings, guests were treated to a lavish experience, with 350 rooms, many boasting stunning views of the city skyline. Tourists from around the globe flocked to the Feldbank, drawn by its promise of comfortable and indulgent accommodations. 

The hotel lobby was an extraordinary experience. It cocooned visitors in a world of luxury and relaxation, far removed from the hustle and bustle outside. Sleek black tiles lined the floor, meticulously crafted and complemented by the dark natural wood of the walls. Carefully chosen plants and Chinese flower trees added to the ambiance, making the space feel like a separate, tranquil world. A majestic fountain nestled in the center, creating a soothing environment that welcomed guests to relax and leave the outside behind. 

Grace, who was about to leave her former life behind, was sitting in one of the dark gray leather couches, sipping her martini while watching all the ‘normal’ people walking around. If someone had told her four months ago that she would be here now, she would've laughed at them. Every girl working the streets in New York knew about Feldbank and his annual auction. Hundreds of girls tried to get through every year, most of which were not successful. But she had marveled at all the nice things they got to keep, even if they didn't go through. Prada bags with tons of expensive makeup and nice clothes,most of the girls sold it of course to pay for their addictions. Drugs were strictly forbidden, if any girl at any point during the audition rounds delivered a positive drug test, they were out. Grace had thankfully managed to stay away from that part of the life she led, though she understood why some of the girls did resolve to that kind of numbing themselfs. Working the street wasn't easy on the mind. 

“Ladies,” a voice sounds from the other side of the table. “Your room is ready,” the voice continues. Grace looks up, the man on the other side of the table is well dressed in a black suit, accompanied by a white shirt underneath and a black tie with a gold pin on. He's slightly older, probably one of Feldbank's right hand guys. One of the ones who accompanies guests for his shady business, such as the annual auction. “I am sure you'll be very pleased with your room,” he continues as they follow him to one of the elevators. “It's on the fifth floor, and it has a stunning view over Central Park,” he adds, clinical like he's talking from a script. Grace can't figure out if the clinical part is because he looks down on them, or if this is the way he talks to all the guests. 

The soothing elevator music calms her nerves a bit, she watches the elevators display as the numbers go up, indicating that they're climbing. She shouldn't feel nervous, though she didn't know what she was about to walk into. Every night for the past ten years has been like that. New cars, new customers, new places, new kinks. She was used to that, the only difference now was that what she was walking into was most likely for the rest of her life. Oh, and yeah it wasn't like she sold herself this time, she had agreed to be auctioned off at the Feldbank annual auction. 

 🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪

The concierge's glowing description of their room was entirely accurate. Two plush queen-sized beds with soft, high-quality linens occupied one wall, while the well-maintained carpet beneath their feet featured a striking black and gold pattern that echoed the hotel's decor. Expansive floor-to-ceiling windows flooded the space with natural light and framed a breathtaking view of Central Park. Grace couldn't recall ever before experiencing such lavish accommodations, and the sense of privilege it evoked was one she had long forgotten. 

The bathroom was a stunning, luxurious oasis. Black and gold accents adorned the walls and floors, creating a cohesive, high-end aesthetic. A jacuzzi tub was anchored against the wall by a large picture window, offering a breathtaking view of the park outside. Gleaming gold faucets stood in contrast to the dark bathroom interior. Overhead, a sparkling chandelier bathed the room in a soft, diamond-like glow.

Grace paused in the doorway, taking it all in with awe. She couldn't wait to indulge in a long, relaxing soak, readying herself for whatever the next day had in store - even if she wasn't quite sure what that might be. One thing was certain, she would need to look her absolute best.

Sasha's voice rang out from the other room, "Champagne!" A pop followed as she opened a bottle. "He said we could help ourselves to anything in the minibar," she continued, pouring the sparkling liquid into two flutes. "And we should definitely celebrate," she finished, draining her glass in one gulp before refilling it.

"Sure," Grace replied, slowly walking over and sitting down next to Sasha. "What exactly are we celebrating?" she asked, lifting her flute to taste the expensive champagne. While she understood that indulging in the luxury was worth celebrating their presence here, she wasn't convinced the celebration was warranted just yet. She could be fortunate, but she could also be disappointed. And she wasn't sure how people who could afford the $500 entry fee typically behaved.

Grace decided not to dwell on those concerns. Instead, she would enjoy this night, which was likely the last she'd spend with Sasha. They could get lucky and be bought by the same client, but Grace saw that as highly improbable. She had to come to terms with the fact that after tomorrow, she would probably never see Sasha again - a prospect that saddened her.

Filled with a sudden pang of regret, she stood up, taking her flute with her over to the window. Standing there, marveling at the amazing view, listening to Sasha laughing and cheering as she pops yet another champagne bottle, Grace thinks back. Memories wash over her as she contemplates how on earth she ended up here. 

 🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪

Grace Shepherd was born and raised in Lake Charles, located in Calcasieu Parish, Louisiana. Her mother, Leah Shepherd was a stay at home mom, devoted to taking care of her family. And her father, Christian Shepherd was a reverend for the local congregation. 

Grace grew up in a well-kept white farmhouse, surrounded by a lush lawn, meticulously crafted flower beds, and apple trees enclosed by a white picket fence. To the outside world, her family appeared to be the picture of piety and devotion, with an unwavering commitment to God and their local congregation. However, behind closed doors, the reality was far from the idyllic facade.

From a young age, Grace had been a challenging child. As soon as she could speak, profanities poured forth, much to the frustration of her parents, especially her mother. Her disruptive behavior extended to church, where she regularly misbehaved, only avoiding expulsion from Sunday school due to her father's position as the reverend.

While Grace performed adequately in school, neither excelling nor struggling, her parents constantly pressured her to do better, to be better, and to wholeheartedly embrace the Christian faith - a path she steadfastly refused to follow.

As Grace entered her teenage years, her acting out escalated, resulting in multiple suspensions from school. At one point, her parents were convinced that the devil had taken hold of their daughter, a belief that Grace herself began to share, though by then, she had simply stopped caring. 

At sixteen, she'd had enough of the constant fighting with her mother. One day, after a particularly heated argument, she hastily packed a bag with her phone, toothbrush, some clothes, and the little money she had - everything her teenage self deemed essential. As she opened the door to leave, her mother's words echoed in her mind: "If you walk out that door, don't even think about coming back!" Determined, she never returned home.

After wandering in the rain for a while, she made the decision to hitchhike from one of the truck stops along I-81, her sights set on New York City - back then, she thought the bustling metropolis was the place to start anew. How wrong she was.

Desperate for a ride, she spent her last few dollars on a pink dildo with a black handle. In the truck stop bathroom, she used it to break her own hymen, figuring a lonely trucker would likely want some form of payment for the journey. Afterward, she discarded the dildo, drawing a parallel to how she felt she'd be treated - used and then discarded, though at least this way she maintained a sense of control. 

She had no idea if her parents had ever searched for her. After a decade, the state had likely declared her deceased and buried an empty casket. Yet she felt indifferent - whether her parents cared or not was inconsequential. This was the first time in years she had even contemplated them.

So her journey had begun. Once a child of God, she had fallen under the devil's sway. Perhaps her parents were right about the wrath of God punishing her defiance. But nothing could be worse than the cardboard boxes and parking garages that had become her existence. Right?

@nekoannie-chan @ladysif8 @the-ero-writer @saiyanprincessswanie @late-to-the-party-81 @rip1009 @here4thefanfics

[reckonfinserv]

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[galaxy-bunbie]

Bandit Flapper

A small Short-Play that I wrote for a School Project. ALL RIGHT RESERVED TO ME. If anyone is at all interested in this piece contact me on Twitter Galaxy_Bunnie or even on here!

THE BANDIT FLAPPER

BY: Karina Cabrera

CAST

HELEN

COP

JAMES

AGATHA

HELEN is at a table her hands cuffed together, around her is darkness and the chair across from her is empty. She's there in the darkness for a while, tapping her foot and fiddling with the cuffs. Moments pass and HELEN stands up holding the cuffs on one of her fingers, throwing the cuffs to the ground she smiles, turning her chair to look at the audience.

HELEN: I remember the first job I went on, like it was yesterday. It runs through my mind everyday, and honestly makes me smile a little bit more each and every time. It was a fun time, I was young, and swift. Was never going to be caught at that age, plus I'm sure I could have played my way out of any trouble. Actually to hell I think I did. Ha, yeah I remember it now that little cop, he really did try to follow my tail. Was close! Real close, but luckily I am an actress honestly, could likely beat Olive Thomas in the audition rooms. But regardless I looked at the fuzz straight in the eye giving him my best doe eyes and pouty lip. Look, watch.

The lights start to shift as the table is taken out by what seems to be movers, then HELEN is there in the dark as city noises surround the space. In the back there are silhouettes to show that she is in the city of some sort. A mover comes out and throws HELEN a trench coat and duffle bag, which she quickly puts on trying to hide the bag in the process. 

COP: Hey you! Stop what you're doing!

HELEN: Oh please sir, can you point me in the right direction? I seem to have gotten lost. I'm new to town and keep forgetting the location of the Miss Agatha's Hotel? We call her Miss Aggie though. 

COP: Oh uh, I see. I'm sorry mam I think I confused you for someone else, so uh well you see just down that street right there, you're going to keep walking until you see the big ol sign that says Main Street. Once there you should be in the home stretch as Miss Aggies hotel is the big ol red building on Main. Ya can’t miss it. 

HELEN: Oh thank you so much sir! I am forever thankful for your help. Is there anything I could possibly do to repay you?

COP: O-Oh no mam, you don't need to do that. I'm just here protecting the citizens of the city and making sure a pretty woman like you gets home alright. Will you be ok walking back to Miss Aggies by yourself?

HELEN: Oh don't worry. I think I’ll be able to manage. Thank you sir, I hope you have a nice night. You've been real. Help.

HELEN starts to make an exit but as she exits the bag drops from her coat.

COP: Oh, mam you seem to have dro-

HELEN: Thank you sir, I am so sorry I guess I must be really clumsy. Well, thank you again sir-

COP: Hold on mam, I am so sorry, but you see just a few blocks from here there was a robbery-

HELEN: Excuse me sir! You're accusing me of robbing a bank? I think you need a pair of glasses sir, I could never do that. I am practically a mere little lady.

COP: Oh, well um I am sincerely mam. I guess perhaps I am in the wrong, well, here you go. You should be on your way. The sun seems to be setting and this town is sadly mighty dangerous at night. Even if we do try to keep it as safe as we can, especially for little ladies li-

HELEN exits, and finally COP realizes that she is gone. He looks around a bit as if looking for her when JAMES runs on stage catching his breath.

JAMES: Did you catch her? She ran this way the Flapper that robbed Newman's bank. Hey, Hey look at me buddy where you looking off to?

COP: Oh detective James, I am sincerely sorry I didn't see you there. I am so sorry sir uh what were you saying just now?

JAMES: Jesus h christ Harold, look up at me and stop bowing your head. You looked like a dog looking after a bone just now. Now look at me and tell me did you see if that Flapper passed by here?

COP: No sir, just a little lady, I was uh looking to see where she went off to. See the sun is setting and it could be a mighty dangerous time for-

JAMES: Harold, I don’t care about that, did you check the lady over? Right not every lady who isn't accompanied by a friend or man is a suspect. So please tell me. Please. That you at least did a search on her or any bags she had.

COP: Well, uh you see sir. She was uh just a little la-

JAMES: Harold! I don't care if she was a little lady, if she wouldn't have been able to do it. Dear god every woman we searched today has said that because guess what genius. These ladies know how to play us, act all sweet and innocent, make us lower our walls. Do you hear me Harold?

COP: U-uh yes sir I. I understand I am sorry I will make sure to search any suspect well next time, uh real well.

JAMES: Good, now at least tell me you were able to confirm that she wasn't wearing what the suspect wore.

COP: Uh, w-well

JAMES: Jesus Christ Harold! You did not. Please tell me that you know that the lady wasn't wearing a flapper dress or so god. If I have to do more paper-

COP: Well uh, you better get that pen ready and b-buckle up sir.

JAMES: God dammit Harold, you son of a- god you're so dumb. Ok whatever its fine, do you know where this lady may have gone? I guess I’ll do your job since your fired.

COP: Oh well you see she went to Miss Agatha- Wait fired?

JAMES: Yes, fired Harold. Now, you are free to go and get out of the way of my work am I clear? (beat) Harold. Am. I. Clear?

COP: U-Uh Y-Yesir.

JAMES: Good

JAMES exits quickly following the direction that HELEN went off in, COP is there looking around for a moment.

COP: God Dammit.

COP exit. The scene starts to change showing the sunset, and we see the city line start to switch to one main building. There is the sound of the bell and doors opening and finally, the lights come up on what seems to be an inside setting. Specifically the lobby of Miss Agatha's hotel. There is a counter and behind it a door. HELEN enters.

HELEN: Ohhhhh Momma. I'm home! Momma? (beat) Oh miss Aggie! Agatha. Oh my god.

HELEN walks over to the counter and spots a bell. She reaches out and starts to ring it continuously with the next line.

HELEN: Oh Momma. Wake up lil Hel is home. Oh Momma Aggie. Miss Aggie. Agatha my Banana Mama. Miss Aggie the mega Ba-

AGATHA enters from the door, HELEN didn't see her and continues until AGATHA places her hand over HELENS stopping the ringing.

AGATHA: Every day you make me regret checking you into this hotel more and more. Now must I remind you. You don't have the right to call me Momma if you don't pay rent. An certainly not the right to call me Aggie or Agatha, or Agatha my-

HELEN: But I do got rent, see.

HELEN places on the counter the bag that had dropped earlier. HELEN also starts to shrug off her coat revealing a flapper dress underneath.

AGATHA: Helen put that damn jacket back on, I don't want people seeing a floozy in my Hotel Lobby. Now let's open this up. Oh goodness! Helen darling this is a nice haul. 

HELEN: Yeah, yeah. Now, how much more time will that buy me Momma. Please tell me you can do me a lil favor.

AGATHA: Of course, I can. That is after you put that damn jacket on.

HELEN: Oh Momma, you don't mean that come on. That jacket is just so itchy and it's hot. See look! My curls are falling out because of how hot it is.

AGATHA: Oh Helen put that damn jacket on, quickly now. Someone’s walking up to the building.

HELEN: Oh Shit. 

HELEN quickly grabs the jacket and moves to behind the counter and tries to go into AGATHA’s room. As the door opens and JAMES walks in, HELEN quickly ducks instead leaving AGATHA and JAMES there alone.

AGATHA: Well hello officer, I'm sorry but I didn't know if you saw the sign outside or not. But this is Miss Agathas Hotel for working girls. I believe it said loud and clear on the door sign “NO MEN: Unless accompanied by a Tenant. So I am sincerely sorry but you're going to have to turn around officer. Unless perhaps, you came to speak to me in which I’ll gladly have the plea-

JAMES: Ok. Mam that's enough. I am here strictly on business-

AGATHA: Now. Now! Hold up there. That is not the type of hotel that we are running-

JAMES: Excuse me Agatha. Um if I may speak so frankly but I am here just wondering about an inquiry on a young woman who's a suspect of a bank robbery a few blocks over.

AGATHA: You’re suspecting one of my girls? Heaven forbid! My girls each came from a harsh broken background. Then they came to me like little puppies in the rain. Sad, Lonely, with no roof over their heads either and no job to help support them. Well, I'll tell you, Miss Agatha. That's me: helped them get back on their feet and find them all a good little working job.

JAMES: Mam, I am just wondering if perhaps any of your tenants are a flapper-

AGATHA: Oh my heavens no! They are so modern, loud and if I dare say a whole lot of Floozys. I don't have a single Flapper here in fact oh look there is my favorite tenant right now. If I dare say she is the cream of all the crop here in Miss Agatha's hotel.

From the section that leads further into the hotel comes HELEN she is dressed in business attire with a hat on her head. But that didn't hide the fact that her hair was also a very different color, but it was still HELEN with the way she carried herself. 

HELEN: Oh Miss Aggie! I'm heading out now for the day. It seems the Office needed me to come in today as Mr. Langston’s other secretary got sick. I hope she is fine, poor girl catch-

AGATHA: Now, now Helen dear. Didn't you learn any manners? Right before you is a fine officer gentleman. He's here to ask a few questions of our tenants. Since you're the first to come down, how about you tell this fine gentleman what you were up to hmmm?

HELEN: Oh now Miss Aggie you know it's embarrassing but if you really insist. You see officer I was working upstairs on my needlework, 

JAMES: Yes well, I'm sorry to ask you mam. However I must say your makeup is very modern for a office job perhaps you should cha-

HELEN: Now now Mr. Officer. Every woman has their preference, and that was extremely rude. So I must say, I believe you owe me something hmmm? Perhaps I should know your name since you know mine. Plus you also just rudely insulted my makeup, which in my defense is the style.

JAMES: Yes, I guess you're right. But you must tell me your full name as well, so I can take you off the list of suspects. 

HELEN: Of course. So you first?

JAMES: James, James Blakely.

HELEN: Helen Debois.

BLACK OUT

[earaercircular]

How a Spanish designer and an Indonesian tycoon teamed up to create a new take-out packaging material

Desa Potatoe Head - Bali

Andreu Carulla, creative director of the Roca brothers' restaurants, was commissioned with a recycling project at a luxurious sustainable resort in Bali. The result was a series of stools or cutlery made from expanded polystyrene.

In 2018, the Catalan Andreu Carulla —designer and current creative director of the Roca brothers' restaurants— made one of the things he is best at and does with the waste generated every night in the kitchen of the Celler de Can Roca[1]. for which he is best known: creating furniture. Specifically, a line of resistant stools weighing less than two kilos each made from expanded polystyrene or porexpan[2] boxes. By injecting steam into the material, it became a mass that could be worked in a mould. With this technique, he manufactured for the Celler a unique daily seat, because none of them resembled the previous one.

Recently, this process reached the ears of the entrepreneur Ronald Akili, one of the great fortunes of Indonesia, in large part because of the luxury resort Desa Potato Head[3], which he founded and runs on the coast of Bali. Influencers, content creators and Carulla travel there with his family. Ten days they were in paradise. “Of course, we were blown away by what they had set up there,” he recalls by video call: “As soon as you arrive they give you an aluminium bottle with a recycled plastic cap to fill it up at the fountains, they tell you that when you go out try to use their bags and backpacks, all recycled too, and the garbage you generate can be stored and taken away because they are in charge of shredding it in a very beastly machine that they have in their recycling workshop”. In this way, the complex has managed to reduce waste to 5% when, according to data from Potato Head itself, that of a standard five-star hotel oscillates around 50%.

This system arose from an observation of the Indonesian businessman, who noticed the enormous amount of garbage that was produced not only by tourism, but also by the citizens themselves with their deep-rooted habit of eating in the street and throwing away the remains, both chopsticks and palm leaf wrappers. So he hired an external audit to clarify the picture. "First, to minimise the impact, and then to transform that material into something that is ultimately useful and beautiful," says Carulla. To put the audit findings into practice, he has hired a large team: Simon J. Pestridge, former vice president of Nike International, is the executive director of brand experiences. The OMA studio,[4] founded by Dutch architect Rem Koolhaas, is behind the design of the resort's buildings. The Japanese architect Kengo Kuma[5] will be in charge of a jungle retreat with modular cabins, still in the project phase. Carulla has been one of the last to join the team as a collaborator.

During his stay in Bali, the Catalan was scheduled a route with daily visits to various artisans specialised in the production and handling of bamboo, rattan, glass blowing or basalt stone, to see what uses they could give to the waste. Before, the English designer Max Lamb[6] had made a chair made of 833 plastic bottles and the London studio Toogood[7] created outdoor furniture with bottle caps. Carulla prepared a braided sofa with plastic strips that simulated natural fibres, a design that the gallery of the Italian Rossana Orlandi[8] wanted to acquire for the last Salone del Mobile in Milan[9], although it did not arrive in time to be exhibited in its June edition.

The good news, he advances, is that things have continued to be done: "From Potato they told us that porexpan (expanded polystyrene) still resisted them, despite the fact that they had already found a solution that compacted it and with which they produce soaps, toothbrushes, the typical hotel amenities. But I didn't know much about them." In Carulla's studio they created a material from porexpan inspired by the rattan technique. They presented it in September at a free workshop during Singapore Design Week. The intention was to raise public awareness about disposable takeaway food items. “Everything with good vibes, not from paternalism or with that ‘you are doing terrible’ speech. It was more of a 'do what you want, but look at what we are doing and you, if you want, you can join", he clarifies. The people who signed up for the workshop turned the Styrofoam into a kitchen spoon, and while the object dried—a process that takes days—the utensils were exhibited at the National Design Centre in Singapore[10] along with the pieces signed by Akili’s collaborators, in a show titled N*thing is Possible. “The interesting thing is that the participants' objects were completely different from each other, because you have to roll up the polystyrene and it's like a plasticine churro. If you add more solvent, it becomes softer and more pasty, and if you add less, you get something like dry paper”, describes the Catalan.

Among those attending the workshop were influencers and friends of the brand, so the underlying question here is clear: isn't Potato Head another experiment of the infinite number of sustainability experiments that already exist? Carulla does not deny it, but makes a small note: "The stool that we designed with the material as a sample is already in production, they have made a first series of ten units and they are going to continue manufacturing it, first for their facilities and then to sell in stores at a price that can be quite reasonable”. He says that the same thing will happen with his cutlery and the picnic backpacks he created for resort guests, with the Max Lamb and Toogood furniture, and with the almost 100 spoons in the workshop that have ended up being 500 in the end. The catalogue with all the products is already in progress, as an advance of a future state of the art design firm.

Carulla also responds to whether something similar could be replicated and scalable in the western design sector. He sees it as extremely complicated: "In this case, the coincidence has been that whoever has had the resources has been sensitive enough to allocate them to a good cause, which almost never happens." What then? "If you want to mass-produce something recycled in Europe, you may not need a millionaire, but you will need a very high investment," he says, mentioning a recent case: recently, his studio in Banyoles (Girona) competed for the design of a Mahou chair[11] that should be made from 100% recycled plastic, and of which the brewery planned to produce around five million units.

They won the contest with a design that provided a contemporary version of traditional Portuguese chairs, and they did so in partnership with the Valencian company Sp-Berner[12]. It was the one that invested several million euros in innovation and development and moulds, so that post-consumer plastic –the most difficult to work with, since it does not have optimal properties– could be used entirely as recycled plastic, injecting it throughout a prototype that nowadays, finally a reality, can already be seen on the terraces of bars and cafeterias throughout the country.

Source

PABLO GANDIA, Cómo un diseñador español y un magnate indonesio se unieron para crear un nuevo material con envases de comida para llevar, in: El País, 12-11-2022, https://elpais.com/icon-design/2022-11-12/como-un-disenador-espanol-y-un-magnate-indonesio-se-unieron-para-crear-un-nuevo-material-con-envases-de-comida-para-llevar.html

[1] El Celler de Can Roca is a restaurant in Girona, Catalonia, Spain opened in 1986 by the Roca brothers, Joan, Josep and Jordi. It was first located next to their parents' restaurant Can Roca, but moved to its current purpose-built building in 2007. It has been received warmly by critics, and holds three Michelin stars. In 2013 and 2015, it was named the best restaurant in the world by the magazine Restaurant, after having been ranked second in 2011, 2012 and 2014, a status achieved again in 2018.

[2] Expanded polystyrene (English abbreviation: EPS) or PS rigid foam is a characteristic and almost always white plastic, popularly referred to as polystyrene foam. Brand names such as Isomo, Tempex, Styropor and Depron are used as generic names. EPS has been used for many purposes for more than 50 years. It was originally intended as an insulation material and still has the largest application in this field. In addition, it is widely used for packaging and in the ground, road and hydraulic engineering sector.

[3] Who says sustainable hotels can’t be cool and luxury? Bali’s Potato Head’s sustainability story is a great case study. Opened in 2010, sustainability was not always a key priority for the hotel until 6 years ago. Today, Potato Head Family champions regeneration, inclusivity, and circularity. Founder Ronald Akili's sustainability ambition has transformed the hospitality company from a beach club for entertainment and food enthusiasts to the destination for all traveller groups. The company's many successes can be attributed to 3 important factors: (1) A problem solver. In 2015, Akili went surfing in Bali with his eldest son, and was taken aback by the amount of trash in the ocean and on the beach. From that day on, he has been committed to making positive impacts by utilizing his businesses as a vehicle of change. Akili has introduced a number of initiatives to transform his hotel to the sustainable pioneer that it is today.(2) A community builder. The brand connects with value-aligned local and international partners across its value-chain creation to implement and amplify climate actions. Sweet Potato Project centres on regenerative agriculture that provides sustenance and jobs for communities in West Bali. Sweet Potato Lab produces creative design solutions to turn daily waste to design objects. Potato Head Studios serve as a place where travellers can interact with the local communities. (3) A storyteller and educator. The company empowers NGOs like Sungai Watch Watch to tell stories and solutions of plastic pollution in rivers in Bali and across Indonesia. The multimedia exhibition Nothing is Impossible at Singapore Design Week 2022 was a powerful visual storytelling experience to showcase that 'a beautiful and sustainable future is achievable.' Sweet Potato Kids Club offers fun activities to inspire and educate the next generation to protect the planet.

[4] The Office for Metropolitan Architecture (OMA) is an international architectural firm with offices in Rotterdam, New York, Hong Kong, Doha, and Australia. The firm is currently led by eight partners - Rem Koolhaas, Reinier de Graaf, Ellen van Loon, Shohei Shigematsu, Iyad Alsaka, Chris van Duijn, Jason Long, and managing partner and architect David Gianotten.

[5] Kengo Kuma (隈 研吾, Kuma Kengo, born 1954) is a Japanese architect and professor in the Department of Architecture (Graduate School of Engineering) at the University of Tokyo. Frequently compared to contemporaries Shigeru Ban and Kazuyo Sejima, Kuma is also noted for his prolific writings. He is the designer of the Japan National Stadium in Tokyo, which was built for the 2020 Summer Olympics.

[6] Max Lamb (born 1980) is a British furniture designer who combines traditional, often primitive, design methods with digital design. He is known for employing unusual approaches to using natural materials, including pouring pewter onto sand, and volcanic rock. His studio is based in North London.[

[7] Toogood is a London-based design studio founded in 2008 by Faye Toogood. Faye has a BA in Art History from the University of Bristol, and was Interiors Editor at The World of Interiors for eight years. Her practice encompasses interior design, homewares, fine art and fashion, and refuses to be constrained by a single discipline or defined way of working. https://t-o-o-g-o-o-d.com/pages/about

[8] The Rossana Orlandi Gallery is a landmark of contemporary design, with articles from international designers of furniture and unique pieces. In 2002 she decided to abandon the fashion world that had been her domain for 30 years to open an art and design gallery. From the moment she made the leap, it became a veritable mecca for Design. https://www.rossanaorlandi.com/about-rossana-orlandi/

[9] The Milan Furniture Fair (Italian: Salone Internazionale del Mobile di Milano) is a furniture fair held annually in Milan. It is the largest trade fair of its kind in the world. The exhibition showcases the latest in furniture and design from countries around the world. It is considered a leading venue for the display of new products by designers of furniture, lighting and other home furnishings. The show, also known as "Salone", "Milano Salone" and "Milan Design Week", is held every year, usually in April, in the FieraMilano complex in the Milan metropolitan area town of Rho. Besides the Salone, in April every odd year Euroluce exhibition takes place and every even year EuroCucina and the International Bathroom Exhibition are held along the Milan Furniture Fair.

[10] The National Design Centre of Singapore is located in the arts, cultural, learning and entertainment district of Bras Basah–Bugis. The complex is a focal point for all things design in Singapore and a space where designers and businesses can exhibit their products, exchange ideas, and even work. It also invites the public to learn about design through its exhibitions and programmes. The centre has two galleries and houses three design labs – IDA Labs, the Materials Design Lab, and the Prototyping Lab

[11] White chair with the logo of the Mahou San Miguel brewery in Spain.

[12] SP-Berner is a Valencian family-owned company, with more than 50 years of experience, leaders in the transformation of plastics. Its commitment to innovation, internationalisation and offering products made from recycled plastic have made it a benchmark in its sector. The company currently markets its products in more than 50 countries. https://sp-berner.com/sp-berner-fabricante-de-productos-de-plastico/

[unwantedtomost]

it had been months — sebastian stan

sebastian stan x fem!reader

word count: 4,401 words

summery: it had been nine months since you and your first real long term boyfriend broke up. but as they say, time makes the heart grow fonder ... and it also made the lust build up.

warnings: angst, smut, thigh riding, cheating, kind of a breeding kink at the end, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it)

a/n: i have never actually posted a whole thing on here before, so i hope this goes well. i know my writing can improve, but it’s pretty good i would say. enjoy!

It had been months since you had broken up with your long-term boyfriend. Your first long-term boyfriend you had since you arrived to the Hollywood scene. Nine months, to be exact. The same amount of time it would have been to carry a child. A hypothetical child. The same hypothetical child that ruined your relationship in the first place.

“You don’t want kids?” Sebastian questioned as soon as you entered the shared apartment. The topic of children came up at dinner with your shared friends. You, offhandedly said: “God, no,” with a laugh, not giving it a second thought. Not till now.

“Not really,” you said as you unzipped your heeled boots. “I never really have, not since I was younger.”

“Never?” He asked, heart starting to beat heavier.

You looked up to him, concerned when you saw his face. It was the same face he had on every time you guys got in a face, mixed with disappointment, maybe even hurt. You smiled, trying to lighten the situation.

“Maybe not never,” you said, putting your shoes away. “But not at least for ten years, maybe even longer. I mean, I am only twenty-two. I would like a good life without children before bringing them into the mix.”

Your warm smile and calm demeanor did nothing to elevate the tension, something inside you saying it did the exact opposite. He looked serious and upset, a combination you never saw much.

“In ten years I’ll be almost fifty,” Sebastian states.

“So? Guys never really stop shooting out good rounds. All my parts will still be intact by that time too.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is it?” You were confused. Why was he acting like this?

“I shouldn’t be old enough to be the kid’s grandfather.”

Anger started to bubble up as well. This tone that he had made you pissed off. He was talking like you were stupid like you didn’t get what he was saying. The brassiness you had in general not helping your temper.

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you started dating someone sixteen years younger than you,” you shot back.

Then the yelling started. Something that could have been a deep, meaningful conversation (one that frankly should have been had way before this point) turned into a full-blown fight. You both started going in at each other, picking at old scabs that you knew would hurt. That was the point, after all, you just wanted to hurt each other. Because you were mad and upset, you guessed, but by the end of it, you weren’t even sure.

The fighting ended two hours later, you sat, slumped on the couch, huffing. You tried to catch your breath from all the yelling. Your throat was hoarse, your cheeks sticky from dried tears.

“It seems like we’re not gonna work out then,” you said, numb.

“Seems so.”

And you left that night, grabbing nothing but your phone before making your way to your closest friend’s house.

After that, you cried for two months straight. You really thought that Sebastian was endgame. That you would be together forever. That you would be happy. Ever since you caught sight of him at your first audition, you felt that he was the one. Then the universe laughed maniacally as it showed you just how fucking wrong you were.

In the past nine months, you had seen him approximately sixteen times, most being in passing, a few being at parties, and one time being at a coffee shop that you both loved. You started to frequent it less after the breakup, too scared to bump into him. Little did you know, he was doing the same thing. The day you two saw each other was both of your first times in three months.

It was all stupid small talk until it wavered, forced laughs and fake smiles fading as the reality of the situation simmered in.

“Look, y/n—”

“Don’t,” you interrupted. You knew what he was going to say, and you didn’t want to hear it. You simply couldn’t. “It was nice seeing you again, Sebastian. I hope you have a good life.” You took a few steps before turning back around for a moment. He looked at you like he was expecting you to run into his arms and make everything go back to normal. “And I really hope you meet a girl that can give you what you need.”

He tried to reach out to you, but you wouldn’t let him. You simply walked away and left him, alone. That was the last time you had spoken to him.

It was five months after the breakup until you let your friends talk you into going out again. And that night you had run into none other than the Timothee Chalamet. Numbers were exchanged then the next thing you knew, you were naked in his hotel room. After that, you went through a bit of a “hoe stage.” Every two weeks you were on a cover of TMZ, E!, or any other celebrity gossip magazine that existed with a “possible new thing.” The people ranged from Tom Holland to Madison Beer, and no one knew what was true or not. After the first few batches came out, you stopped giving a shit. You were allowed to rebound with whomever or however you wanted to, and you were taking full advantage of that.

You were so busy juggling so many people that you hadn’t even thought about Sebastian. Not till right now. Your eyes catch his from across the ballroom that you’re currently in. Your pulse quickens rapidly, you feel like you might even faint. If it wasn’t for Timothee’s hand on your waist, you were sure you would have collapsed on the spot. You watched as Sebastian’s jaw clenched just like it did whenever you did something he disapproved of. Just like it did every time he gave into himself and read one of those stupid gossip sights and saw you all over whatever arm candy you had chosen for the week.

“I’ll be right back, okay babe?” Timothee said, kissing you on the cheek. He waited for you to nod before making his way to one of his friends.

You don’t know what to do and those beautiful blue eyes you fell in love with all that time ago refuse to leave yours. You feel like you want to cry, or scream, or throw up, but you know that you shouldn’t actually do any of those things. You’d draw attention and you don’t want any more people talking about you.

Luckily, one of your best friends, Elizabeth, pulls you into a tight hug and brings you back to earth. Her body feels warm and it makes you feel safe, the smell of her strawberry shampoo bringing you comfort.

“I know,” she said before you spoke. “I saw. Are you okay? I’ll leave with you right now if you want to.”

It takes you a minute to process everything, and even though you’re running everything through your mind, nothing really sinks in.

“I’ll be fine,” you say with conviction, though you don’t know if it’s true at all. “Leaving wouldn’t accomplish anything.” You stop talking for a minute before smiling at Elizabeth. “Now, let’s go give the people what they want and take some pictures together.”

It had been two hours and the event was finally coming to a close. No more than forty-five minutes and the place would be cleared out. With that knowledge, you went to go take advantage of the free bar stocked up with expensive liquor. After schmoozing with people you did not even want to interact with, you deserve it.

“Two shots of tequila and a rum and coke, please,” you say to the rather cute bartender, shoulders slumping.

As soon as the two shot glasses were in front of you, you downed them. It burned like hell and you could only imagine the ungodly face you made. You tried to chase it with the rum and coke, but it didn’t help much. You heard a gruff voice beside you order something, one that was very familiar. When you heard a chuckle, you knew for sure who was right next to you. You froze again, that same dizzy, sick feeling coming back. You turned your head slowly to see those big blue eyes for the second time tonight, your heart surely beating loud enough that anyone in a mile radius could hear it.

“You look beautiful tonight, y/n,” Sebastian said, leaning against the bar, facing you.

“You do too,” you blurt out. Face turning red after you realized that you’re fucking stupid. “I mean, you look—shit. You look very nice, Seb—Sebastian.”

You’re so flustered and red, you want to simply sink into the floor. For a moment, you wonder why he isn’t acting the same way. It could be that he had already had some to drink or maybe he was just better at controlling his emotion. And the thought that makes dread flow through you is that maybe he is just over you.

“Are you going to an after-party?” He asks, sipping from his glass.

“I don’t think so,” you say. You were supposed to go to one with Timothee, where you were finally going to announce that you two had become official, but now you just want to go home. “Are you?”

“Probably not,” he said simply. “I’ll just have a few more of these back home and go to bed.”

“Drinking alone is no fun,” you say, hinting. You know what you are trying to get across but you don’t know why. It’s like your mouth was moving before your brain could understand what you were doing.

“It’s not ideal,” he said. “But I really don’t have a date to drink with, unlike you.” He pointed towards Timothee talking to a director you hastily met.

“He’s not my date,” you shot out. “I mean, he is, but we’re not like, dating.” Why the fuck are you talking!?!?

“It’s none of my business,” Sebastian said. He didn’t sound mean, he sounded like he was trying to comfort you.

“I know … but we’re not … if you were wondering.”

He chuckled, placing a hand on your elbow. “It was nice to see you again, y/n.”

He turned to start walking away but you called after him, making him turn back around. “Wait!” Once he was facing you, you felt like you were in a movie. “I could go for a drink.”

Sebastian smiled but his eyes dismissed you. “What are you doing, sugar?” He warned.

“I don’t know,” you said honestly. “But don’t shut me down.”

With a shared smile, he took your hand and you both left the party. On the car ride back to his apartment (that used to be your apartment), you thought briefly about how you would explain this to Timothee in the morning. Then you turned off your phone so you didn’t have to feel guilty if he decided to text you. Neither of you spoke much on the way. His hand never left its place on your thigh before you were finally there.

When he opened the door, you stumbled lightly into the apartment. Sebastian caught you by wrapping his arm around your waist. He lightly sat you down on the chair by the entrance (the same one you had sat at nine months ago). Once he had closed the door and put his things down, he came back to you to help slip off your heels.

“Are you already drunk?” He chuckled.

“No, just a wee bit tipsy.”

“Your ‘wee bit’ is usually a lotta bit.”

“Not this time, I really mean just a wee wee bit.” You suddenly burst out laughing at the fact you just said wee wee, giving away the fact that you are indeed close to being drunk.

“Maybe you don’t need anymore to drink,” Sebastian said.

“C’mon, Sebby, take that stick out of your ass,” you say, making him laugh. It makes you feel lighter like you weren’t fucking shit up again. Like you weren’t making a mistake you would regret in the morning. 

You watched as he made his way into the kitchen, pouring both of you a glass of red wine. Your favorite and most expensive red wine, the one that you had left at the apartment after the breakup. You wondered if it was the same bottle, or if he had done the same thing he was doing with you with another girl. When he came back, he handed you the glass which you placed down on the coffee table, realizing you were still in a designer white dress that you didn’t own.

“Shit,” you muttered after your realization.

“What is it?”

“This isn’t my dress.”

His eyes wandered down your figure as he thought. “You can take that off and I can hang it up for you. I’m sure there’s something here you can wear.”

You nodded before he was walking towards the bedroom, the one you once shared. You followed after him through the small hall. You looked around the room, noticing how boring it looked now. None of your decorations you had were up anymore, but the small mural you once painted in the middle of the night was still in full view. Did he think about you every time he saw it? If he did, why didn’t he just paint over it? 

Sebastian placed one of his shirts (that was your favorite one to wear) and a pair of shorts you had thought you lost on the bed.

“Well, you can get changed in here,” he stated before going for the door.

“Actually,” you called out, stopping him from leaving. “Can you unzip me please?”

He paused for a moment before nodding, slowly making his way back to you. The room went silent as he softly collected your hair and moved it to one side. Heat started to rise through your body at the close proximity he held. His hands grazed your shoulders momentarily before he steadily unzipped the expensive dress. You caught his eyes in the mirror in front of you, your cheeks immediately burning red. He finished unzipping the dress before helping you slide it off your arms. You had to cover your breasts with your arm since you hadn’t worn a bra. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen your body before, he knew his way around there better than you did, but not covering yourself just felt inappropriate. But, to be fair, the entire situation felt inappropriate. The dress fell to a pool around your feet, leaving you in nothing but a pair of lace black underwear, ones that Sebastian had bought for you one month before you broke up. You stepped out of the dress, eyes never leaving his. He bent down to pick it up, blue orbs never leaving your eyes.

“I’ll go lay this on the guest bed,” Sebastian said plainly before leaving the room and closing the door.

Your heart was beating out of your chest as you let your arm fall. Even though you hadn’t even had a conversation with Sebastian in six months, being in that moment felt more intimate than anytime you had sex with Timothee—or anyone, for that matter. You pulled on the worn-out gray tee shirt that vaguely had ‘Coca-Cola’ printed across it before going out to the living room where you found Sebastian sipping on his wine, now dress in an old tee and grey sweatpants.

The next hour felt like a blur, it was filled with giggles and stupid comments. By the end of it, the wine bottle was empty and you two were officially wine drunk. Now, you were slumped on the couch (the one that you picked out), leaning towards Sebastian, hand dancing along the cushion space between you two.

“Have you realized we never had a goodbye?” You ask, breaking the silence.

“What do you mean?” He asked, not wanting his guess to what you were talking about to be right.

“I mean, we had a fight and I left then we were done. There were no ‘this is for the best’ speeches or attempts at a goodbye kiss. One day there was an us and the next it was … nothing.” You looked up at him, an innocent yet quizzical look on your soft features.

“We don’t have to talk about this,” he said.

Not this shit again. “I know,” you said, “we don’t have to talk about anything. We’re not together anymore. We don’t even need to acknowledge each other’s existence anymore. But tonight, you did, and now we’re on your couch.”

“I don’t—” he started, but you wouldn’t let him finish.

“We don’t have to talk about it then. But, I do have another question. Did you ever fuck anyone here?” The words flowed out before you could think any longer, nothing but courage and alcohol running through your body.

“What?”

“It’s pretty self-explanatory, Sebastian. I just want to know if you ever fucked someone in my—our—this place.”

His eyes bore into yours as he spoke, voice sharp and clear. “No, y/n, I have never fucked anyone in this place. No one but you.”

That answer made you happy. This place, your place, was still pure. No random hookups had tramped through the place where you lived.

“Good,” you accidentally said out loud, making him upset.

“Why does it even matter? It’s not like you weren’t fucking those young things you were all over in public.” He started to get angry at the thought. “Who are you to question me about my sex life after you broke up with me then pranced around tabloid covers for months with different people each week?”

“Because this was our house, I just want to know it wasn’t tainted by blonde bitches with names you didn’t even remember in the fucking morning.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but you’re the only blonde bitch I’ve fucked.”

Suddenly, your hand was moving and your palm was connecting with his face. It shocked both of you, making you both freeze in place. It took ten seconds before Sebastian grabbed the wrist you hit him with, yanking it so you were closer to him. So close you could feel his breath on your face.

“Slap me again and see what fucking happens, I dare you,” he spit out.

Then your heart was in your ass as your stomach erupted with butterflies and your panties soaked with arousal.

It was almost like you lost all control over your body as you smashed your lips against his. Your hands went to the back of his neck, pulling him in closer and tugging at the hair there. The intentional scruff on his face was harsh against your smooth skin, but it only elevated your pleasure. Sebastian’s hands went around the sides of your neck, one kind of cupping your face while the other was closer to the back to pull you closer. You felt like you needed to get closer to him, get as close as possible. You needed every single inch of him over every single part of yourself. Your leg swung, straddling him.

Without thinking, you rutted yourself against his thigh, a guttural moan coming from your lips as you did. It’s not like you hadn’t been touched in a while, you just got fucked a few days ago, but you hadn’t experienced something as hot as this in so long. It was rushed and needed, you felt like you would die if he stopped. Your hips absent-mindedly grinded down against his thigh again.

“Fuck, ride my thigh baby,” he ordered. You listened, slipping into your old ways. You continued to rut against his thigh as you kissed. He knew you were getting close by the moans you were letting out into the kiss. He pulled away from your lips, watching as you were losing yourself. “I want you to cum for me, sugar.”

Your hips slowed as your mind raced a mile a minute. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of making you cum from just his thigh. What would that do to his already inflated ego? It sounded like bullshit to give into him.

“No,” you mumbled out, your hips threatening to halt their movement.

“No?” He repeated.

You sat there for a minute, silent as his eyes frantically studied your face to see what the point was. He wondered if you wanted to stop, he would understand completely, but he knew that wasn’t what it was by the way you keep clenching your thighs together. Sebastian smirked as he realized what was really happening. He grabbed your hips and started to push you down on his thigh. The problem was that you wanted to cum, but you didn’t want to cum for him. Too bad he was determined on it.

You moaned loudly as he started to drag your hips. You were inching so close, the fact that you didn’t want to give in to the feeling made it feel like it was only becoming stronger. Your hands grabbed his old t-shirt as you frantically moved your hips back and forth. Your nose scrunched and your eyes shut tight, your mouth letting out a whisper of “oh fuck”s on a loop.

“That’s it,” you heard Sebastian say even though his voice sounded like it was miles away. “Cum like a good girl.”

Suddenly, all the pressure that was building up deep within your tummy snapped and you were on cloud 9. Your heat pulsed as you road out your orgasm, Sebastian's hands helping you immensely. It took a good minute of pants as you caught your breath before you opened your eyes and came back to reality.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” you muttered to him when you finally made eye contact again.

“I know,” he smirked. “Now be a good girl, sugar, and take off your pants.”

You questioned arguing with him more, but you decided not to. You wanted him, you wanted him so fucking bad. You stood up and pulled down your shorts, doing a little spin so Sebastian could marvel at how wonderful you looked.

“As beautiful as those look on you, darling, they’d look better on the floor.”

You playfully rolled your eyes as you stripped out of the underwear as well, leaving you in nothing but an old grey t-shirt. You went back to your place on Sebastian’s lap, pulling him in for another passionate kiss. You felt like you were melting into him entirely as everything snapped back into place. Your hands roamed lower, palming him through his grey sweats. You smirked to yourself at the realization of how hard he was already and at the fact he wasn’t wearing boxers. He lifted his hips to help you pull down his pants. Just as you were getting ready to place his member in the place you wanted him the most, he halts your movement by grabbing your wrist.

“Shit, I don’t have a condom, y/n,” he warned. You frowned, upset that he had stopped you.

“I don’t care.”

“But you still have that IUD in, right?”

You grimaced because no, you did not. Your five years had run out two months ago and you hadn’t gotten around to making an appointment for a new one. You shook your head slowly side to side before he sighed. He went to pull you off of him but you stopped him by holding onto his shoulders

“I don’t care,” you repeated.

“Y/n, you know why can’t.”

“Why not?”

He looked at you in disbelief. “Besides the fact you could get pregnant?”

“I don’t care,” you said one more time. “I want you.”

He looked into your eyes, trying his best to decipher your intentions.

“Y/n …”

“Get me pregnant, Sebby,” you said, meaning it too. “I want you, I want your kids. Fuck, I want us back. I don’t care if that means kids and a white picket fence. I just want you.”

“Are you sure?”

In response, you slowly leaned down and your lips touched. It was nothing like the kisses you had shared preferably, it was slow and soft. He pulled you closer, finally letting you lower yourself down on him. You both let out loud moans as you sink down on his member.

It was like you had forgotten what making love felt like, probably because you did. In the past nine months since you had split, you hadn’t made love with anyone once. It was all just meaningless sex or hot fucking, but there was no love behind it. You didn’t love Timothee, you hadn’t loved any of your flings. Maybe it was because you never stopped loving Sebastian—you were almost sure it was because of that.

You moved up and down whilst Sebastian thrust up into you. The room was filled with moans, grunts, and praises from both ends. He started to kiss your neck as his thumb started to rub your clit. The multiple amounts of stimulation only brought you closer to your climax.

“I’m gonna, fuck—I’m close.”

“I know, babygirl,” he cooed. “Look at me.” You looked into his blue orbs, feeling your climax inching ever so closer. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you whined out as your hips moved faster. “Cum inside me, Sebastian. Get me—fuck, god—put a fucking baby in me.”

With your confirmation, he flipped you on your back, thrusting harder. The hand that wasn’t toying with your clit interlaced with yours. Your grip on each other squeezed harder as you neared your finishes. You wrapped your legs around him as his hips started to stutter.

“Cum with me, baby,” Sebastian groaned.

You finally let the coil that built inside of you snap with his permission. Moments later, he busted inside of you, making you both yell out. He collapsed on top of you, trying his best not to crush you under his weight. You both panted for minutes before you finally spoke up.

“I love you,” you said. He lifted his head, looking into his eyes. “I never stopped.

“Neither did I,” Sebastian said. “Did you mean it, you want to have kids?”

“I want to do anything if it means I can be with you. Anything.”

[joealwyndaily]

EW spoke with Alwyn about making the show during the pandemic, working with costar Alison Oliver, and bringing Nick to life.

ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: Were you aware of this book before you took this role?

JOE ALWYN: I was aware of the book. I'd read it when it came out. And I'd read Normal People too. I was a big fan of [Sally Rooney's] writing and just thought she was and is brilliant. And then when I saw Normal People, which I really loved, I remember thinking, "I would love to be a part of a show like this." And when Conversations With Friends came around, it was just one of those lovely special jobs where you get to work with the writer you love and the filmmaker [Lenny Abrahamson] you love. I felt very lucky to be part of that world.

When a character has so little dialogue, does that make your job harder? What was the experience like of getting into Nick's headspace?

Yeah, he's definitely one of the quieter characters [I've played]. He's a bit like Frances, I think. He struggles with expressing himself and saying how he's feeling, let alone maybe even knowing how he's feeling. But I like that about the characters that [Rooney] writes, that as much of it is about what's unsaid as is what's said. Particularly at the beginning, he's very aloof and hard to read. When you meet him, he's at a place of recovery and he's been through a bit of a storm, but we don't know that until a while later. And so what can seem quite distant or what can seem withholding, I think is really, he's just holding on, he's quite fragile. And for Bobbi, that's just him being boring. And for Frances, it's both frustrating because she doesn't know what this guy feels or wants, but it's also fascinating because she can sense something else going on. They're both quite similar characters in some ways. They're both used to being next to quite outspoken people. And so it's interesting when they are left alone together, they provide a space for the other one to grow and heal and, for him, to come back to life a bit, find a bit of happiness again. I really enjoyed playing him.

I also like that he could've been this super charismatic, over-the-top charming Hollywood actor, and instead, he's just a guy going through some stuff.

Yeah, totally. No, he doesn't come in and do a song and dance. But I think that's quite accurate. I think lots of actors or people in that industry are maybe more on the introverted side. It felt real.

So when you got the role, did you sit down with Sally and really talk about who this guy is? What was that process like?

I didn't really speak to Sally. We had a couple of emails, but more just me thanking her for giving me a thumbs up with the casting. I spoke to [director] Lenny [Abrahamson] a lot. He was very collaborative from the beginning. We had a few months because filming kept pushing back because of the pandemic and he really was in constant communication. Me, him, and Alison would be on Zooms reading through some of the scenes or just talking generally about ideas and where the characters are, where the characters need to go. And so it was nice to feel embedded in it from the beginning. And then also there was the book, which was a great thing to go back to if you ever felt a bit lost.

Did you and Alison do any type of chemistry read?

We actually didn't. She auditioned separately and I did some tapes and then I think we were cast around the same time. We started speaking pretty soon after that. But because it was lockdown, we were all stuck on the old Zoom. So it wasn't until a few months later that I met her for the first time and I met Lenny for the first time in Belfast. The three of us spent a few nights in a hotel there in the middle of lockdown and just chatted through episode by episode. But we mainly just got to know each other a bit, which was nice.

Because Normal People was such a success, did you feel any sense of pressure about being part of the next great Sally Rooney adaptation? Could you even let yourself think about that?

I tried not to think about it in that way. I mean, of course, I suppose there's pressure because lots of people will be watching it with Normal People in their mind and that was really loved. I loved it as well. Lenny talks about Conversations With Friends like it's a cousin of Normal People. I think that there are definitely themes that are the same. Internally and aesthetically, they belong in the same world. But I do think this is very much its own story and its own thing. It doesn't feel like it's trying to be Normal People: Part Two, which is a good thing. And it couldn't be because it's a completely different book. So I think that separation gives it a nice breathing space, which helps.

What do you feel like is ultimately the message of this show, of this story?

I think it's a few things. It's a coming-of-age story for Frances. It really is her story. And I think within that, it's a very modern love story in some ways. It's essentially asking: Can you love more than one person? And it's asking how we are able to, or are we able to find happiness and love and intimacy outside of the constructs that we've created for ourselves of friendships, families, marriages, whatever? Can we love in more ways than just that? And if we can, where does that leave these constructs? And is there a way to make that work? So I guess it's a modern coming-of-age love story about, can you love more than one person?

One of the beauties of television is the length with which you get to live with a character. This is, for you, the longest you've ever lived with a single character, right?

Yeah. It was a five-month shoot, so that's by a mile that's longer than anything I've been on, which is nice. It's nice to have that length, A, knowing what you're working on, and B, spending time with the same group of people and the same character and having space for that. And I think the 12-episode, half-hour format really works in Sally Rooney world. You're often just spending time with people in a room and it's quite quiet in that way. There aren't huge cliffhangers. And for whatever reason, it fits well in that little pocket of time. So it seems like a nice format for it.

What's your takeaway from spending that much time with Nick? How does it differ from, say, making a movie?

Obviously, you hopefully feel invested in everything, but it's a different feeling being a part of something that you pop into maybe just for three weeks or two weeks or even a week, as opposed to actually sitting in something for that length of time and feeling really grounded and embedded in it. It's really lovely and a luxury. The bonds that you form with people making it is really special. I really liked that we had a solid chunk of time on it.

This interview has been edited and condensed for length and clarity.

Conversations With Friends is out now on Hulu.

[frostironfudge]

Hi, can I request a tom hiddleston imagine/headcanon (you choose) where you're both co-stars in Betrayal and Tom falls for you? Like, you meet on set and as the days go by you both get closer and start dating, etc? Thank you, your writing is amazing ❤

hello! thank you for the prompt! and thank you so much for your lovely words!

i hope you enjoy the way i've written it sort of headconon + imagine mixed together?

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Word Count: 982

proof read not done therefore some mistakes mat be there

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- First Meet:

the auditions were completed over a month ago, your agent reminds you of a casting dinner scheduled tonight she doesn't tell you what cast though.

Your mind cannot get out of the reverie for being casted as Emma in the play.

Night rolls in and you make you way up the steps to the hotel where dinner is held, the flurry of flashing lights has you trip on the last step. A hand grabs onto your left arm to steady you,

looking up, you see Tom for the first time in person, he looks concerned.

"Th-thank you." you manage to say, as he walks with you to the entrance.

He politely smiles in return, "the flashes always take me by surprise too," he adds reassuring.

you look up at him, wanting to laugh that an actor of his caliber is taken by surprise by the paparazzi. You chose not to say anything, nodding instead.

He smiles once more and walks alongside you as you both make way to the restaurant.

You work up the courage to ask him is he on the same dinner list as are you, but when you enter the restaurant a woman comes forth to the both of you.

"Ah there are Robert and Emma!"

"Congratulations, Y/N" Tom smiles, a wider grin and you feel ecstatic.

"Congratulations, Tom."

- Before the first show:

You tend to always take a peak at the audience, theatre is your beloved form of showcasing the art you were entrusted with, your ritual was to always take a peak at the crowd.

"Y/N?" Tom had stepped behind you, two bottles of water in his hand,

"Tom?" You let go of the back curtain and your spying.

"Here, I remembered you saying before your last showcase you were parched." He hands you a bottle and you smile at him.

"I believe I said that quiet a few months ago, thank you for remembering."

He lets out a small laugh, looking away, "well they need me back in dressing." he says trying to clear some of the tension.

"I'm headed that way as well." you inform him.

Tom and you fall into step on your way back.

- During the show on broadway:

Scene: Emma(Y/N) admits to her affair with Jerry to Robert (Tom)

There is a shift in Tom's eyes, as though he is immersed much more than he lets himself, he can feel it as well.

The emotion shifts as the scene progresses, you notice him pulling the veil between himself and the character stitched into place.

- After the show at the hotel the team is being accommodated at:

You look into the mirror hanging on the white bathroom wall, "fuck it,"

grabbing your phone and keycard you leave the room and head towards tom's room as you find the pdf sent to you with everyone's room list in your email.

"2609, twenty-six oh nine.." you mumble searching through the floor for his door. "Ah" you stop at the door raising your hand to knock, only for your hand to land against Tom's shoulder.

He chuckles, "Yes, Y/N?"

then it hits you, that you probably over thought the entire process, over thought the way things had changed between the two of you, from banter to a tad bit flirting here and there.

"Y/N?" Tom's eyebrows furrowed, "Is everything alright?"

"fuck," you shook your head

"I'm sorry?" He was taken aback, he knew you swore often but never directed it at him.

"No, not to you, I well, I was worried about you."

"Why?"

"Well today during our scene where I tell you I've been betraying you, well not me and you but our characters..." You trail off gesturing with your hands.

"Yes..." Tom's cheeks redden, he didn't think you would have caught on.

"Well it seemed like Tom was on stage for a brief moment and then Robert came in." You finished.

"Would you like to come in?" Tom opened the door wider. You nodded.

He closed the door and leaned against it, you stood a few feet away, he was grateful because the impact of the next words was unknown to him.

"I did have a slip between myself and my character." Tom sighed, his shoulders relaxing.

"I want to explain why, if you will let me." Tom gestured towards the two chairs in the room near the window.

"I'd like to hear you out." You assured him.

After you both sat down, Tom looked out the window, gathering his words or donning a persona you couldn't tell.

"The past months, we've grown as friends, do you agree?" He looked at you, his blue eyes searching yours for any form of an answer.

"Yes, we have." it was the truth.

"Recently I have observed that the banter we have has been, well, sort of flirtatious?" He let out a nervous laugh and tried to distract himself with a piece of lint on his pants.

"Yes, it has, Tom?" You maintain your eyes on his face. his hair longer, glasses slightly sliding off the bridge of his nose.

He looks up, fixing his glasses.

"Do you want this, us to be something more than co-workers?" You ask, hesitant to know his answer.

"Yes, I would want to pursue us as a relationship if it goes there." Tom runs a hand through his hair.

And the cards you both were holding have been revealed.

"Where does this take us then?" You ask.

"I presume on a date, first?" Tom smiles sheepish.

"It does yes." You agree.

- A few months and various dates later:

You smile as Tom exists through the gates at Heathrow, Loki's premier event just a day away. He smiles as he sees you. Both of you waving at each other as he walks over.

He leaves his bag at his feet, embracing you.

"I missed you." you both whisper as you tighten the embrace.

----

Hope you enjoyed it!

[sinisterlyhan]

02. kim seungmin /  9435 words

female reader, virgin reader and virgin seungmin, oral (f & mreceiving), unprotected sex (this one is by choice, have safe sex everyone!), making out, fingering, angst with fluff

tw: light mentions of insecurities

a/n: hello, i am back after my sudden mini-hiatus to ruin everyone’s day! i have not written smut in a while, so i hope this piece isn’t too bad. also, the first part of this piece was originally posted on my sfw account so if you find something that is the exact same, that is also me.

you have always gotten emotional over seungmin leaving. even if it was just for a one-week christmas break with his friends, or a two-week music camp field trip with his choir group, or a two-month summer vacation with his family—you have gotten emotional over him leaving one way or another.

not dramatically, of course. it wasn’t like you were spilling waterfalls of tears and throwing temper tantrums over not being able to see or hold him for seven days straight; if that was the case, seungmin knew for a fact that he would not be able to handle it, especially since those absent days happen every single year.

you just get a little naggy, caringly naggy, like you’ve got amnesia every five minutes and you would keep reminding him to take care of himself, or make sure to have a good time, or think about you when he is away.

and seungmin does. he always does. whether it is at night on the soft hotel bed or walking down a loud foreign street, he makes space for you in his head and he shows that he has been thinking about you by sending you pictures and getting you souvenirs.

sometimes he becomes the annoying one because he keeps spamming you with pictures. you still remember playfully threatening to block his number after he sent you a frame by frame set of pictures, where you saw the entire process of jeongin tripping on jisung’s fallen body (because he tripped on thin air first) and falling to the ground.

it was a good blackmail material. you could pinpoint exactly the moment where jeongin realized he would be making friends with the brick ground, his eyes wide in alert and his arms flailing out in a poor attempt to grasp the air for support. when the boys came back from music camp that year, you made sure to give jeongin a big smooch on the head, which he begrudgingly accepted.

you have always gotten emotional over seungmin leaving. but not this time, not in a sense that you didn’t feel anything about his departure, it was just that… you were different this time.

you were ecstatic the first moment you heard that seungmin, along with his friends, passed theit idol audition and would get the chance to train under a prestigious entertainment. it has always been his dream to sing for people, you had been beyond proud of him to achieve the spot. it was until he broke it to you that he would have to move to seoul to pursue his opportunity when the realization finally dawned upon your silly, silly head.

he has to leave. he wasn’t breaking up with you, no, but he has to leave. for however many years it would take for him to qualify for debuting, and after that, there would be years of the dating ban, and then there would also be tight schedules and long distances.

seungmin was only leaving the city, but it felt like he was leaving you.

you left him to his own devices after that, stalling and wasting all the times you could have spent with him to make the remaining days count. you spared no playful nagging and no playful reminders, just unread texts and missed calls.

it was too much for you, you feared too much of the uncertainty—what if you couldn’t be patient enough for him? what if he couldn’t resist another’s seduction for you? what if the both of you couldn’t fight against time, the time that would pick and pinch at your affection for each other until there is nothing left to share?

seungmin zipped up his luggage just as the door to his bedroom knocked. he barely glanced behind his shoulder to look at it, his back arched in pure exhaustion at how his heart had been spiraling depressively for the past week. it was his last night in his home, his last night in his home city, that alone was enough to make him feel anxious and homesick.

but nothing had prepared him for how disastrously affected his heart would be when he realized he might have to leave without seeing you, without touching you, and without hearing that you love him once more.

the impatient knock came again and he finally stood up, his brows furrowed in annoyance. he moved over to his door, ready to tell his mother for the fifth time this night that he would not be changing his mind and he did remember to bring enough clothes, but when he swung open the door, it was you who stood before him instead.

“hey…” you said, clutching your jacket tightly.

he opened his mouth but only air slipped out. you looked as tired as he did, and he could tell you have cried yourself to sleep for the past days. as much as he wanted to immediately wrap you in his arms, to feel you against him, he found himself stepping aside and giving you space into his room first.

his room was as dim as it usually was during night time, when seungmin has the habit of turning off the main light on the ceiling and instead, flipping on the warmer light on the wall. it was a cloud-shaped light; seungmin hated it until you decided to decorate it with cartoon stickers during a sleepover. he has never looked at it the same way again.

the first thing you saw was the luggage on the floor, packed and ready to be sent away. your heart dropped slightly at its indication, then you quickly picked yourself back up. you have talked to yourself about this, you have thought about this and decided you wanted to support his dreams instead of dwelling in your misery until the sadness replaced itself with guilt and missed chances.

“you–you packed,” you said, gesturing towards the luggage on the floor before you turned around to face him.

“yeah.“ seungmin nodded. “i leave tomorrow morning.”

you hummed in defeated acknowledgment. the tension was more longing than awkward, the air waiting for one of you to break out of restraint first. turning to look at his opened closet, you raised a brow at the empty hangers lining up to the side of the closet before you finally caught sight of three colorful hoodies hung at the farthest corner.

you laughed meekly as you pointed at it, hiding the sobs in your throat. “you–you idiot! you forgot to pack your favorite hoodies.”

seungmin looked over, his fingers fiddling together nervously as his mouth hung open in a poor attempt to explain why he had left those there. his mind fired quickly and the first thing he did was only to state the obvious. “i am going to leave them here.”

you frowned at him, your lips curling down and your cheeks bulging out at the pressure. 

seungmin softened at your incredulously curious eyes, his shoulders visibly relaxing as he waited for you to speak. “but why? you should at least take the blue one, you look so good in it and it’s your absolute favorite one.”

he licked his lower lip, a faint smile blossoming on his face. he stared at you, blinking gently. “it’s your favorite one. they’re your favorite hoodies too.”

you sucked in a rapid breath, understanding his intentions. he left those there for you, a token of your relationship, a token of his love. it was a way to tell you that he, until the last minute, still thought about you; a way that didn’t require the use of cheesy text messages or well thought out confessions, which he was never very good at anyway.

just three colorful hoodies in his empty closet, all of them covered in his warmth and his scent.

you bit your lower lip to hold down a sob as you walked over to the closet. it was much less messy than usual, which felt out of place for you. being able to see the shoe boxes stacked at the back of the closet was unfamiliar, they were usually covered by his shirts and sweaters, occasionally seeing the light of day when seungmin pushes the clothes to the side or you steal one of his shirts again.

peeling the light blue hoodies off the hanger, you carefully threw it over your head and marveled at the way that even though its fabric went loose around your torso, you felt fulfilled and warm wearing it. bringing your sweater paws up to your cheeks, you inhaled the sleeves and closed your eyes at the smell of flowery detergent mixed with seungmin’s familiar fragrance.

it was a match made in heaven; it was a smell you could recognize even if you were rid of most of your senses because for so long, it was what home smelt like to you, and it still is what home smells like to you.

would you forget, after years of separating from him? would you still remember it but somehow he stopped feeling like home anymore? would your heart lose him to time and distance?

seungmin sighed with the shattering of his heart when he heard you choke out a sob. you had begun to cry, your tears staining the hoodie sleeve as you wailed your fears and longings away, and he wasn’t very sure what to do. he was never good at handling criers because he wasn’t one, and neither were you before this happened.

“(name)…” he took a step forward but stopped when you turned around.

“i’m so sorry for ignoring you these weeks,” you said, your voice teary and timid, but loud and strong enough to make seungmin’s heart pound against his chest. “i’m sorry if i made you think i don’t support you and your dreams. i need you to know that i do and if you have to leave this place to go after it, you should.”

to be honest, the idea that you didn’t support him has never crossed his mind. he knew you would, for some reason. you had always been there for choir shows, you listened to him talk about all the musical things he did during camp despite not understand instrumental talk, you never failed to praise him for his incredible vocal talent—you had always been the first in line when it comes to him and singing.

you were upset, he understood, that he had to leave you here and he only gave you a two weeks notice that he would be leaving for years, plus the uncertainty that your relationship may never work out as smoothly as it could when he was still an unknown high school boy with big dreams.

he couldn’t get mad at you for avoiding him until the last minute. 

for one, he understood why. he supposed he would be pretty disheartened if you did the same thing as well. for two, he just couldn’t bring himself to get mad at you at a time like this, when he needed his last memories of you to be nothing but loving and heartfelt.

heaving a sigh, he got on the bed and scooted to the middle where he sat with his feet dangling off the edge. he opened his arms and beckoned you over softly. “come here, my love.”

you did, stumbling closer to him until your thigh met with his feet. he leaned in to hold your hands, giving your arms a few childish swings before he pulled you on his lap, helping you position yourself by circling his arms around your waist and preventing you from falling off his thighs.

you sniffed when he kissed your cheeks, giggling in feign disgust when he grimaced with a complaint about your tears having a salty taste, and you burst into another fit of feathery laughter when he went to smooch your cheeks again just to mend the dry trail of waterfalls down your skin.

“i missed you so much,” you muttered, your voice almost giving away as you cupped his jaw in your hands and stared into his heart-shaped eyes.

“i missed you too,” he mumbled under his breath, bringing you closer to him unconsciously. “i am so sorry for making you cry.”

you hummed in disagreement as you lightly shook your head. your fingers pressed against his cheeks, clinging to them and hugging his face carefully in a way seungmin never wanted you to let go. your accepting smile made him fall, again and again, and he had to hold himself down so he wouldn’t kiss you right then and there.

“i’m sorry for wasting all these times, we could have been this close every night,” you said quietly, trailing over his features with your teary eyes. “i hope i am not too late.”

seungmin smiled, his eyes squinting with a crinkle of his nose. you can never be too late for him, his heart is ready for you at any moment of his remaining life, whether it is thinking about you quietly or having you pressed near his body.

seungmin will always be ready for you, all that you will give him and all that he is ready to give you.

“it’s never too late to kiss me,” he whispered close to your lips, feeling your back squirm under the weight of his words.

rolling your eyes at his words, you squeezed his cheeks before gladly leaning in so you could press your lips against his. his fingers gingerly clawed at your lower back as he other hand flew up to hold your wrist, any attempt just to touch your bare skin.

god, your lips. your soft, soft lips, made out of sugar and spice. he could play a thousand strings and sing a thousand words about them; about how kissing you always make him feel so needed and loved, how it makes him feel like there is nothing else he can do better aside from giving you every ounce of strength he has.

it opens a gate to his heart he didn’t even know he had, one only you can open because you are the key.

with the influence of his excited heart, seungmin suddenly started to graze your lip with his teeth, his brows furrowing passionately when he caught your lower lip between them.

you let out a breathy moan, surprised. but you only had too little time to dwell in the shock before you opened your mouth and allowed seungmin to do whatever he wanted.

adrenaline rushed up to your lungs, causing a ruckus beneath your bones as your mind chased itself into chaos. he has never kissed you with such urgency before, with silent pleads pierced in the tip of his tongue and desperate longing tattooed in the way he moved against you. he was kissing you to make you breathless, to make your burn with revelation.

seungmin kissed you intending to linger, so the shape and the taste of his lips will haunt you every day and night when he is away. and damn, it was so good, you were drenched in blissful abandon to let him take full control over you.

amidst this heated moment, seungmin forced himself to pull away for a brief moment to allow his hazy mind to settle down. both of you were adrift somewhere in paradise and both of you had no plans of returning any time sooner.

you kept yourself close to him, your upper lip positioned tenderly against his, taunting him to resist, daring him to let go once more. your eyes were as gone as seungmin’s were when you stared into them, and you inwardly worshipped the way his inky black eyes, devoured in thunderstorms and fallen ashes, could pull you to him so effortlessly.

“i love you, okay?” he declared breathlessly, but his tone was filled to the brim with sincerity. “i love you, three or ten years from now.”

three or ten years from now, whether he only gets to talk to you every weekend or every three months, whether it would be easy to find the right time to catch up with each other or if the process would make him want to pull his hair out—seungmin loves you, and he will wait until he can love you.

“wait for me, please,” he pleaded then, the ocean in his eyes seemed brighter and ready to spill, causing heartache in your chest. he was clutching the hoodie and pressing your hand to his cheek, his shaky movements only calming down at your warmth.

wait for me. seungmin was asking. wait for me, remember me, hold on to me.

you felt like crying again. the volcanic sadness stays no matter how many times you convince yourself things would turn out fine, that you could live without him being near you eventually.

you could deal with the quiet, you could deal with not anticipating his presence when you leave home, you could deal with the untouched skin and unkissed lips. yes, you could, you have to.

“i will, i promise” you replied in a hush, lowering your head. “i’m going to miss you so much.”

seungmin pressed his thumb to your eye carefully, swiping across the wet corners and making you chuckle as you leaned against his palm, looking up at him again.

“i will text you all the time. if i don’t, my friends will,” he grumbled with a scoff, remember how bitter he felt when it took jeongin no amount of effort to get your phone number back then while he had to stall a whole week before mustering up the courage to do so. “we will keep in touch, we all will.”

“you guys better,” you said threateningly, kind of threateningly, making him smile.

and he kissed you again, much softer this time. it was to seal a sacred vow one would find harder to break than any else’s, an oath shared by two teenagers who are so genuinely, so tenderly, and so tragically in love with each other.

“how early are you leaving tomorrow?” you asked after pulling away, adjusting your legs so instead of sitting in a kneeling posture, they wrapped around his lower back, making it much more comfortable for you and giving you two more space to be closer to each other.

“hmm, since we have to take the bus to the train station and we are meeting up at the bus stop around the school before going there together…” he calculated in his head, a pout forming on his lips due to the concentration. “i think i’ll have to leave around seven in the morning.”

that was earlier than you thought. but either way, you never planned to see him off anyway. turning into a crying mess in public early in the morning would not be a plan; if you could, you would rather let him leave just as things are—a soft goodbye to your sleeping form, and maybe you will sob on his bed for a while after you wake up.

“i am not going to the train station with you,” you said, running your hands through his hair before circling your arms around his neck into a hug. you sighed. “so it is just going to be tonight.”

“okay.” seungmin flashed you a faint smile, a bittersweet but endearing one. his pinky gently tucked at a piece of your hair, his fingers brushing back against your temple and falling to your ear. “do you need anything from me before I go?”

“you should be the one getting something from me. i never gave you a congratulatory gift for getting through your audition,” you said with a laugh, tapping his nose with your index finger and pressing your chest up against his for a needed closeness. “i am very proud of you, seungmin.”

he gave you a peck. “thank you.”

and you two just looked at each other. affectionately drawn towards the other like how north sticks to south. you couldn’t help but whisper a loving confession, brushing his hair as the words “i love you” left your lips like a secret only seungmin gets to hear.

“i love you too,” he returned immediately, his eyes shutting for a brief moment to allow the rush of euphoria. then they flutter open so he could look at you and ask, “are you sure you don’t want anything from me?”

you thought for a moment, your brows furrowing in thoughts. there were not many things you wanted to ask from him, most of those you do were out of his ability to accomplish, such as not leaving you here.

“call me when you get there,” you reminded him.

“of course,” he hummed. “what else?”

you sighed, keeping your eyes on him as it hit you that there really wasn’t anything else you needed from him. you just needed him, and you had him the moment you stepped into his room, so you figured you should get the most and the best out of it.

seungmin could see where your eyes were and believe it or not, he was totally on the same page. it was not the type of nights he wanted to spend with words. there were only senses and feelings that he wanted to have threaded through his veins this night, be it loud or quiet, tender or rough, or perhaps both of each opposite.

you leaned in, your eyes moving up from his lips to look into the windows of his brilliant soul. “stay with me,” you breathed into his mouth, “until you leave me.”

seungmin wasted no time to claim your lips once more, rough exhales fanning against your face as he desperately kissed you to fulfill the insatiable desire he held for you. he could feel it in his guts—the cunning and greedy burn beneath his ribs that held so much he wanted to say to you, that the words of his inadequate language were unable to express enough, were threatening to explode from the brisk of his skin. 

in all that the world could offer, languages of all places and phrases of all great minds, the only word he knew were you, you, you. and he wasn’t even able to speak it. all he could show you of how he called out to you was through his action; the tug of his hands at your waist and the bite of his teeth at your lower lip.

you squeezed his shoulders, your eyes closing upon the familiar taste of his mouth on your tongue when he boldly slipped past your gently parted lips. the softness that once graced seungmin’s being was long gone. he was hasty now, needy and desperate for all of you, and all you could do was comply with him. 

your chest heaved with a low moan when he bit your lip again, his hand pressing you down against his abdomen. your body relaxed against his with a shiver, yet your thighs squished at his sides upon the ever-growing arousal under your waist when you felt him, vividly, against you.

“min–“ you pulled away, looking into his eyes with all vulnerability you have ever left hanging at the lashes of your eyes. you looked at him, your hands running up the side of his face and spreading within his hair, and your shaky gaze scanned his entire face as if your patience was running thin. 

he beat you to begging for the intimacy, his face leaning close toward yours just to feel the bone of your nose nudging against his own. there was something about his utter lack of ability to be away from you at this moment. 

he was not physically attached to you, but there was nothing else he wanted more of the world than to be so. he would do anything; he would tear down hell and break through heaven, he would destroy the sun and shoot down the stars if it meant to keep you beautifully by his side. 

he needed to be attached to you, the love of his life. 

“i need you,” he whispered, “please.” 

his breath was demanding, but also teasing in a way that he wanted to make this comfortable and loving for you, as opposed to the upsetting farewell you two were having.

you shivered, your half-lidded eyes staring at each shadow that cast over his face in his dim room. your hands dropped from his hair, causing a faint look of disappointment in his eyes, but that was gone as quickly as it came when he realized that you were reaching for the hem of his blue hoodie. 

you tugged at the soft fabric, making sure you brought your shirt along with it when you slowly slid them up your body and finally over your head.

the first thing his eyes gravitated toward was your chest, covered by a random bra you threw on because you did not anticipate the visit to turn out like this. he watched with an itchy hand and an unbreathable throat when your hand reached behind your back to unhook your bra. you slid it off your shoulders, showing him your breasts, and you tried to hide your shyness by looking away as you discarded your bra somewhere on the floor. 

seungmin’s eyes were glued to your chest, he wasn’t even trying to hide it. you almost wanted to laugh at the hanging of his jaw and the way he was blatantly staring at your close to naked chest, but you kept the amusement to yourself and went ahead to cup the side of his face, bringing his attention back to your face.

you smiled, but then you pursed your lips and begun to shrink into yourself when you realized this was the most naked you’ve ever been with a boy before. not to mention how unconfident you have always been with the way your body looked. the way his eyes were glued to your chest was starting to become a look of judgment rather than an action out of surprise and fondness. 

his eyes widened when you suddenly squealed, your head lowering and your forehead bumping against his shoulder. he laughed a little, his hands moving to your wrists before he gently pushed you away from you. you were frowning slightly, your brows furrowed with an uncertain pout on your face, and you refused to look at him until he tipped your chin up with your hand. 

he wasn’t too sure why you were acting this way, but what he did know was that this was your first time, as well as his. sex is a foreign subject. that kind of intimacy is drastically different than holding hands, or cuddling, or making out, or even having late-night philosophical talks until you fall asleep on the phone. 

both of you were feeling chilled to the bones with both anticipation and nervousness about how things could go, and both of you probably wanted everything to feel good and perfect.

so if you were hiding from him because you changed your mind, then he’d want you to know you could back out. he could deal with what happened in his pants by himself later.

“you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he said, poking your nose, “we can just watch a movie, or we can talk until we fall asleep if you want.”

the pout on your face faded slightly upon his words; a kind offer, but one you didn’t need. you flashed him a deadpan smile, your hands moving to clamp atop of his shoulders again as you spoke, “it’s not that. i do want to do this with you, i don’t think there is anybody else in the world i’d want to do this with! it’s just… my… my boobs…”

his eyes drifted down at them and he looked back up at you. “they’re great.”

“they are.” you were doubtful. 

“they’re boobs, babe. any boobs are great–“

“seungmin.”

“okay, okay!” he nodded with a fit of a giggle, then he moved in to kiss your lips. his hands moved to roam your sides, brushing tenderly across your skin and creating a trail of goosebumps on his way. he kept kissing you as he spoke, a kiss every other word he let out. “they are great. your body, i love it because it’s yours, and i can’t believe i’m allowed to touch you like this right now.”

you blushed with a heat rushing up your cheeks, burning hotly under his words and the way he kept kissing you. how sweet and cheesy, but you didn’t mind it much. you were too drowned in being adored by him to care about criticizing anything he says or does, you just wanted this moment to keep going so you could finally plunge into the real act. 

keeping your hands at the nape of his neck, you moved your lips with his for a second longer before you moved away, making him whine with a low hum.

his hands stayed at your side as if they were afraid, and you were getting impatient. panting, your voice was raspy when you said, “you can touch me more.”

seungmin raised his brows at the permission. his heart sped up at the thought of going beyond your waist and your back. he was thinking about it, but each time he felt the side of his palm brush against the soft skin under your breasts, he flinched away with timidity simultaneously as he grew needier for your body. 

he couldn’t let himself just touch you, he supposed, it would be such a bold thing to do. he felt like if he ever did, he would have to find a way to preserve the feeling, and he was very unprepared for that.

“seungmin…” you called out in a feminine voice when he didn’t respond, one that sounded so needy it would surely get him riled up. your hands moved to grab his, bringing them up your body until they almost met at your breasts. “touch me.”

a tease, what a tease. it was only your first time and you were being a tease, looking so divine and perfect on top of his lap you tested his composure and his control over his patience. 

he exhaled.

you asked for it.

seungmin took you by complete surprise when he moved. hoisting you off his lap, you felt yourself dip sideways before your back met the soft cover of his bed. he hovered over you, his body stuck between your spread legs, and his hands squeezed your waist to set you in place before he reached down to capture your lips again. you followed his lead, feeling his hand roam across your stomach before they finally moved up to your breasts. 

a breath got caught in your throat when he cupped his hands over the roundness. he fondled them, squeezing and pressing his palm against them just to feel your hardened nipples against him. he hummed out in satisfaction when you trembled under his touch, unfamiliar but pleasing, and he let go of your mouth to hear your noises while he moved down your jaw and your neck to leave trails of love marks on your skin as a goodbye gift.

you tilted your head to the side so he has more space to plant his bruises. you could feel his teeth graze you, and he was sucking on your skin so hard you felt pressure within the spot. it was forcing you to make friends with the reality and the level of intimacy you two were venturing into. 

he was on top of you, kissing you, dropping crosses on your body, fondling your breasts, and his hips occasionally grinding at your bottom so he could temporarily press down the impulsivity inside his pants. 

this was the reality; you two were about to become whole, you want you both to become whole.

seungmin moved away in the heat of the moment, his hands hastily reaching to pull his shirt off his body as well before he dove back to your collarbones and went down, his lips worshipping the veins and bones hidden under your skin. he took your breast in his mouth, sucking on your nipple and flicking the bud with his tongue. you arched your back at the sensation, so foreign yet exciting that you couldn’t help but push down on his head with the same hand that once carded gently through his hair, wanting more and more of him.

he was never going to leave you, though. his lips stayed attached to your body, kissing you down and everywhere he could reach, his tongue darting out the lick wet spots on your delicacy. it was until he reached the hem of your shorts when he paused—this was the place. he eyed up at you, catching the weak and pleading look in your eyes once, then he gingerly moved his fingers to unbutton and unzip your shorts. he carefully slid it off your hips, his fingers tugging against your panties on the way until you were completely naked under him.

the last of your clothes dropped to the ground without a care. seungmin was glued to the glistening sight of your exposed heat. your curled your fists, nervous about what he was thinking as he stared at you. your legs felt shaky as you thought of whether you wanted to close your knees or not, and before you could make a decision for yourself, seungmin already stumbled forward on his knees and brought himself to the edge of his bed.

he grabbed your ankles, his grip soft as he brought your legs over his shoulders with a nod of his head. you let him guide you through the ordeal—resting your ankles on his shoulders and pulling you forward to him. he curled his hands around your thighs when you were close enough.

you flinched, a quick and shivering flinch, when you felt his lips against your cunt. your knees almost smashed his head if he hadn’t tightened his grip on your thighs to keep you from moving. your eyes stayed wide open, staring dizzily at the ceiling, as seungmin continued to do experimental kisses against your wet pussy. one, two, three, four, before he decided it was time for him to dart his tongue out. 

he flicked against your clit, miraculously finding it on his first try and staying there when he saw your positive reaction. he abused it, licking and sucking on the bundle of nerves until your bud was protruding and  even a little painful from all the stimulation. but he didn’t let himself stop there. the lovely and filthy noises you were letting out, paired with the call of his name over and over again, was too much of a blessing for him to let up. 

he continued with his pleasuring, grazing his teeth against your skin as he sucked on you, his fingers making an entrance by slowly sliding himself inside your warm cunt. he didn’t want to do too much so he paid attention to your reaction. it was an ego boost each time you arch your back and moan his name. he has never been better than this.

your legs trembled on his shoulders, having never felt such sudden jolts before and your senses were not familiar with receiving such pleasure. your lips were parted to let out huffs of little whimpers and moans as you relish in the feeling of his touch—a brand-new feeling of joy seungmin was graciously gifting you that was unlike all the others. 

you were being touched, you felt touched, and he was willing to do so even when you weren’t sure if you deserved it. such simple ways to make you happy; all he needed was himself, and the lovingness in all of his movements done to your sensitive body. 

“fuck–seungmin, seungmin!” 

you tried to find words to say in the midst of the pumping of his fingers. your walls were clenching down on the intrusion, coating his fingers with your slickness until it became a slip-and-slide to go in and out of you. you were wet, oh so very wet, and it was all his doing. he could taste your arousal on his tongue and he kept wanting more, so he moved quicker with his hand as if he could fuck more juices out of you with it. your legs bent, hitting his shoulder blades, and you moved your hand down to his head where you tugged at his hair.

“seungmin! you–i’m going to–“ you whimpered out, seeing fading stars in your eyes, “please fuck me, fuck me first!”

he stopped, the manic look in his eyes fading at your words. pulling his fingers out of you, the stickiness not bothering him, he stood up and moved onto the bed and left you cold with an approaching orgasm that would soon fade. he wasn’t much thinking about that—he was still thinking about that, but there was something else he needed to make sure first: did you ask him to stop because you wanted to cum with him inside you? did you want to orgasm from him fucking you with his cock? was that what you wanted, that’s why you made him stop?

oh, but the thought alone… the thought of you orgasming because of him, the thought of you reaching that  ultimate pleasure because of him. it would surely be an honor to behold.

he leaned down to your face, his eyes genuine and also somewhat worried as looked at you. taking his clean hand, he brushed the hair out of your sweaty forehead and kissed your eyes. “what do you want?”

you exhaled, your hands awkward so they settled against his warm chest. looking up at him with round and wide eyes, you asked politely, “can you fuck me, seungmin?”

“i was,” he hummed, his other hand casually reaching back down to your heat. 

the confidence came when he realized his ability to please you, and he decided he could set his needs aside and toy with you for some reactions he would savor in his head for the rest of his life. he pressed the tip of his fingers against your hole, dipping in but not letting your feel full by inserting. 

he played with you, watching as you squirm with a needy expression when he wouldn’t give you what you want, feeling as you bucked your hips up for his hand and asked for him to touch you, and finally when you exhaled in relief as he finally moved his fingers inside your pussy.

“i was fucking you, (name), with my mouth,” he said. “i am fucking you right now.”

oh, but it wasn’t his tongue and his fingers that you wanted the most. he knew that. you knew he knew that as well. he was good with them, it was heavenly a moment ago when he was kneeling on the floor, but nothing could beat the excitement in your chest that was waiting for when he finally stretches you out and officially takes your virginity by colliding his body with yours. you wanted it, both the pain and the pleasure that would follow. 

you wanted to be around seungmin and make him feel good as well, and most importantly, you wanted your first orgasm to be when you were near him, the love of your life. you wanted to cum feeling him inside you.

“i want your–“ you shut your mouth in defeat, looking at him with a pout as if that would soften him up. 

seungmin smiled at your adorableness, but he as he dragged the back of his finger down your face, his other hand still pumping in and out of your cunt but his pace has since slowed down, all he asked was, “you want my what?”

“you’re pushing it,” you mumbled as you gave him a deadpan look, “i even acted cute for you.”

pulling out of your heat, he grinned with a roll of his eyes. then he shook his shoulders as if throwing a tantrum, his lips puckering slightly as he playfully hit his fist against your chest. “just say it once! i want to hear you say it!”

“seungmin, i’m shy!” you complained, shoving him lightly.

“you weren’t so shy when you were moaning like a minute ago!” 

“seungmin!”

“just ask me, just say you want my dick and i’ll give it to you, i promise,” he said, knowing well he would have given it to you regardless of you asking or not.

you huffed, the corner of your lips quirking downward as you glared at him before you mumbled, “i want your cock.”

“what?”

“i want your cock, seungmin,” you pleaded louder this time, looking impatient and annoyed with your furrowed brows and the stuttering movement of your shoulders.

“good girl.” he smiled and pinched your cheek. “see? that wasn’t so hard.”

you took your time with grumbling a complaint about his action. but, however you wanted to see it, he did make you feel more at ease with having sex for the first time. the playful way he talked to you just a minute ago made it feel as if this was just any ordinary activity, and there was nothing you needed to be afraid of. it was just you and him together, and he would take care of you like he always has. you would be fine with him. 

the thought diminished for a quick second, though, when you saw that he has taken off his pants and boxers. your opened your mouth, your eyes couldn’t help but stare at his hardened shaft, and all you could do the next second was turn away with an uncontrolled laugh bubbling out your throat. 

seungmin looked up slightly at the noise, trying to recognize it, and when he realized you were laughing, he immediately snapped his head to you with a look of utter disbelief.

“are you laughing?” he asked, accusingly if you listened carefully.

you shook your head, your hand failing to cover up the giggles of your throat. “no, i’m not–not specifically at you, i swear!”

he moved over to you, his elbows supporting his upper body as he grabbed your face and made you look at him. he squished your cheeks together as you continued to laugh, your eyes turning intensely into little moons when you saw the hilarious look on his face. he looked you then, the sight of your lips quirking up into such a bright smile was something he took a mental image of. and your giggles trailed into his ears, hammering against the empty space in his head looking for a permanent home. he let the sound of you in with only a single knock. 

seungmin softened, allowing him a smile as well. looking at you now, feeling you warm and safe against him now, almost made him want to abandon his dream and just stay here with you forever. how could he leave you—his girl, his favorite person, his best friend. he wanted to be with you all the time. 

but he somehow knew you wouldn’t agree to that, you would push him to chase after his goal, so he will. he will miss this when he leaves. the sound of your laughter, the way he could make you snort and scream and make the prettiest and ugliest expressions. 

he will miss everything about you during every waking second of his days without you near him, but even time would fail to take him away from you because he would love you through every second of it until he could see you again.

pressing his forehead against yours, he giggled with you. “what are you laughing at, (name)?”

“nothing! i promise!” you replied loudly, then you settled down with a quiet hum in your chest. you reached up for his hands, smiling at him. “i love you.”

“i love you as well,” he said, moving his nose against yours as his voice came out in a fearsome whisper, “please say you want me again.”

your eyes relaxed into a scratch of affection. they moved across his face, taking him in, soaking his feature in you, and you kissed his mouth to speak it into him, “i want you, kim seungmin.”

it was a risk when he pushed himself inside you, raw and bare, but it was a risk you thought you ought to take at this age, and a risk you knew you wouldn’t have regretted taking. he went in slow, his lips moving across your face to soothe out the pained creases while you clutched his arm tightly upon the burn of the stretch. he was bigger than you thought, it felt different, bigger, than when you looked at it. 

he kissed you when he moved, hoping to get you to adjust to his size and to get himself more acquainted with the warmth of your walls around him. you didn’t mind the slowness of his thrusts, they were soft and undemanding, they were solid and memorable. you could feel every inch of him sliding within, the slickness of your walls helping him move easier amongst the tightness. your bodies collided again and again with hot exhales fanning against your faces as both of you tried not to go crazy for the feeling of each other. 

seungmin kept his hands moving around your body. the map he could never forget; he would always come back to this place in his memories, in the dead of the night when he felt alone. the juncture between your bones, your delicate skin, and your warmth that covered his entirety so perfectly as you sucked him into your body, taking him so well he thought there was no place else he could be. 

he only moved faster upon your request. he rutted against you, trying so hard not to get lost in the euphoric sensation that he would begin snapping his hips against yours at a pace that could bring him to the edge even quicker. he needed to relish at this moment where the sensuality happens, and he wanted to feel all of you here alone. but while knowing he wouldn’t go faster, he did want to go deeper into you.

he kissed your lips, swallowing your moans, as he gently hiked your leg up to his back until it rested near his shoulder. he gave you a sharp pound and you let out a choked noise at the heart-pounding feeling it gave you. he inhaled, moving his cock harsh against it and pushing toward that inner part of your cunt again to get another immediate reaction out of you. 

your eyes rolled up this time, your jaw dropping with a loud whine that you thought his parents would have heard in their bedroom, but you were unable to bring yourself to think at all, you just wanted more.

seungmin smiled. that was the spot. that was the spot he was looking for. 

“is that okay?” he huffed out, thrusting into you, “did you like that?”

“ah–yes, seungmin,” you breathed out, your back arching as the same spot got hit over and over again, waves and waves of pleasure lapping at your veins. you nodded, your hands clutching his arms with whines falling alive at your lips. “fuck, that feels really good.”

he smiled at your approval, feeling the tension at his back relax upon knowing that he wasn’t doing anything wrong. you were enjoying him as much as he was enjoying you. the reciprocation was delightful to acknowledge, especially in a moment as such where he wanted to leave an impression for you to remember by later if you so needed to. he knew he would because thinking about being so close to you would soon be the only escapism he has. 

the gentle yet filthy words he had begun whispering into your ears made you feel all tingly and edged. his words praised you, his words worshipped every move you made and every surface of your being, his words loved you as much as his body was loving you. 

they made you shiver by embracing your little soul, unraveling you slowly by breaking down the walls of your assumed unworthiness, and they did not dump you to the ground to repair yourself. 

seungmin was here, the whole time, for you to reach out to.

he is always ready for you. even with the distance and limits that you were so very afraid of, he will always be ready for you.

sucking in a deep, teary breath, one that paired with a light whimper as you felt your high approaching with each thrust, you reached up for your boyfriend. you circled your arms around his neck, bringing him down to you so you could kiss him fervently. your leg fell off without his support but they clung over his waist to bring him closer with tightening of your muscles. 

seungmin’s hands laid flat to the side of your head upon your beckoning, caging you under him as he slotted his mouth longingly against yours, his brows furrowing at the passionate kiss.

“you’re my heart, min,” you confessed softly against his eyes, “i love you.”

he could feel the tears in your eyes but they weren’t falling just yet. he hoped they wouldn’t fall, he wouldn’t know what else he could do aside from kissing those tears away until he has to leave you tomorrow morning. giving you a nod, he rubbed the side of your face with his thumb and smiled endearingly down at your face. “wait for me, okay?”

wait for him, and he will dream, always, about your eyes when you laugh, the way you shove him when he tells a lame joke, and the mediocre food you cook for him during weekend hangouts. he will dream  about coming back to your side, about holding and kissing you again, about the intimacy he has carefully shifted into a precious spot of his head. 

wait for him to come home so he could make all the dreams come true again.

you nodded hastily, partly because your walls had started to clench on his shaft impossibly upon the tightening of your abdomen. getting closer, seungmin snapped his hips against yours, trying to bring you over the edge and push you down for the ultimate rapture. he looked—stared—at you when your peak approached, a rush of warmth coating his skin as you came around his hard cock, burying him in a blissfully hot place. 

your eyes rolled skyward, and he could feel your fingers tightening around his neck, your nails digging into his skin upon the overwhelming pleasure.

he moved, holding your hands through your orgasm, fucking the intensity out slowly and settling you down. he watched as you breathed, waiting for your panting to come to a halt before he picked up his speed again so he could find his own climax. you held him close to you, feeling him hard inside you and giving out light moans upon the feeling of strange friction against your walls. 

you could tell when he was getting close, considering his movement become even more stuttered and erratic when he was about to lose himself in you.

he knew better than to cum in you, though. before he could reach his high, he pulled out of you and moved away slightly, his hand going down to pump at his length instead. you blinked—right, you forgot, you two did not use protection. the whiny sounds coming out of seungmin’s mouth helped you come back to your senses and you quickly sat up. 

you replaced his hand with yours, an amused gleam evident in your eyes when he stared at you with confusion while being pushed down on the bed by your hand.

you leaned your body down, pumping him to keep him aroused while you found a comfortable position to lay on, and without a second thought, you took him in your mouth. he hissed in surprise, his thighs flexing at the lukewarm sensation of your mouth around his cock, as well as the gentle suction of your inner-cheeks. he pressed his head against the pillow, his mouth hung ajar with whimsical huffs as he buried his hand on your hair, needing something to grab onto as you sucked him off.

the way his cock disappears into your mouth, his tip poking at your cheek with each bob of your head, and how you choked around him when his tip hit the back of your throat was a bliss all too intense for him to handle at once. what was he to do—he knew he could not hold on much longer. 

he has never felt his way before, his own hand was inadequate to provide the satisfaction you were giving him. the licks of your tongue, the graze of your teeth, the wrap of your lips; nothing could compare to this, he was drowning in abandonment and this was no false heaven.

his hip bucked into your mouth when he emptied himself in it, a loud groan leaving his lips. you let out a strangled noise of surprise when the bitter taste hit your throat, your eyes widening in dismay but you made yourself take all of him. you sucked all the way back up to his tip, your lips popping off with an audible noise, then you reached up to wipe away the saliva away. you panted, his cum slowly dripping down your throat, and you smiled at him when he looked at you.

“that was…” he licked his lower lip for a second, then he decided against talking and instead raised his arms to beckon you closer to him. “come here.”

you moved over to him, your body slumping down next to his as he brought you into his arms. your lips locked for the millionth times tonight, unable to get enough of each other when each time there was a new taste to the kiss you shared. 

“that was my first time,” you commented after pulling away, laying your head on his arm.

“so was mine,” he said, even though you knew.

you sighed then, a blissful sigh. “i’m glad it was with you.”

“so am i,” he whispered against your temple, and when he felt that you wanted to make a joke out of his words, he held you tighter against him and he scoffed. “you know what i mean.”

you giggled, “i do… i just want to make fun of you while i still can.”

“i can’t believe i am about to say this but,” he paused for dramatic effect, “you can make fun of me whenever you want to.”

“you’re right!” you exclaimed, turning on your side so you could look at him. “after you debut, if i catch you doing anything embarrassing on variety shows, i hope you know i will never let you live it down.”

“hey, that’s not fair,” he whined. “one of the main elements in variety shows is to embarrass their guest.”

“yeah, that’s why they can be so unfunny sometimes,” you muttered.

he laughed along with you. that was all he could do; talk about the future as if it wouldn’t be painful, talk about it in light-hearted ways until you could surely let it go.

he caressed your cheek with his thumb, his eyes unable to leave your face. “i’ll come back to you. i don’t know how long you will have to wait, but i promise i’ll find the time.”

“text me a lot?” you asked. he nodded. 

“and call me, it doesn’t have to be face time but call me,” you asked. he nodded.

“don’t fall in love with other people,” you asked.

“i won’t,” he answered this time.

and there was nothing more you needed from him. 

you sighed, snuggling closer to his warm body so you could breathe with your head on his chest. even though you might wake up finding yourself alone in his room and your head on a pillow, the hollowness stronger than ever, you still moved closer to him. falling asleep to his heartbeat was worth waking up to his ghost.

“then just stay with me now.”

stay with me until you leave me.

seungmin can do that.

[watchmegetobsessed]

Our song - Harry Styles

this one was inspired by the jingleball performance bc it was pure perfection and UGHH im obsessed.

dedicated to my dear friend @dontworrysunflower

disclaimer: the song Homesick by Dua Lipa is featured in this fic as an original work of Harry and the reader, but it’s obviously an existing song, I just thought that it would be the song they write

pairing: Harry x vocalist!reader

word count: 5.3k

masterlist

You’ve felt the adrenaline rush take over your body many times in your life and they were all different in some kind of way. The one you felt when you were about to write an important test in school, the one that bubbled through your veins when you got your first kiss. The one that rolled through your limbs and chest when you first performed in front of people that weren’t your parents and the one you felt when you got the news that you were chosen to tour with none other than Harry Styles as his vocalist, singing on his stage every other night in a different city and different country.

But none of those were anything like the feeling that takes over every time you stand on that stage, your microphone that’s labelled with your name right in front of you as thousands of people are screaming in the jam-packed arena. Though it’s not you they come to see and listen to, but you are part of the magic and it’s quite enough for you.

You could never be the one standing at the front with all the lights shining down on your frame, having every gaze in the place glued to you, listening to your voice. That brings the kind of anxiety you’re quite sure you wouldn’t be able to handle. You are perfectly fine standing in the back, being the support system while staying on the down-low as someone else shines at the front, in your case, it’s Harry.

You applied for the job with a reason, already having a huge appreciation for him as an artist, adoring his work so far, especially Fine Line. Upon hearing about the opportunity to be part of his tour, you didn’t hesitate to send your application in and following three auditions, you got the phone call that they wanted you on board.

He swept you right off your feet the first time you met him, but you didn’t expect less from him. Everything you heard about him being the most wonderful person to every walk the planet were proven to be nothing but the truth. You hit it off so easily and become close through the process of rehearsals. His odd little jokes, that funny laugh of his and the way he always peeks over his shoulder to meet his eyes with yours made you fall for him faster than you’d have ever thought you could.

Just as fast as your feeling for Harry developed, tour caught up on you and before you could blink twice, you were living on the road, always dressing from your suitcase, waking up in a different city every other morning.

The foreign studio feels a little odd, but still somehow familiar as you walk in with your water and notebook under your arm. Random studio sessions with Harry became a regular not long after tour kicked off. Harry’s creative juices were overflowing and he was aching to record his creations, constantly renting random studios near the hotel you lot were staying currently and one night, when some of you all were hanging out in his suit, he asked if you’d be down helping him record vocals for a song he’s been working on.

“I want to hear it with your voice instead of mine,” he told you leaning against the wall, a glass of whatever Mitch mixed him in his hands.

“Getting bored of your own voice?” you teased him, bringing his dimples out with the smile that plastered across his lips.

“Could say that. Are you up for it?”

There was no way you would have said no. So the next morning you found yourself in a studio somewhere in Sacramento, singing the vocals to a song no one else has heard other than you and Harry.

The tour has now reached Denver, you can’t wait to be on the stage tonight, but before that, you are having another quick session with Harry in the studio.

When you walk in, his head perks up from his leather notebook he always keeps on himself, filled with his scribbled lyrics. A smile stretches across his lips when his green eyes fall on your frame.

“Hey! Hope it’s not too early for you,” he softly says standing up from the chair as you put your stuff down to the small table in the corner.

“No, managed to get a good night sleep still,” you smile at him, taking a quick look around, though this recording room is just like the others you’ve been in.

“I think I figured out that part we struggled with last time. Changed up the ending a bit, would you mind giving it another go?”

You nod looking down at his notes, seeing the changes he has made in the vocals.

“Changed anything else?” you ask as you watch him get ready for the recording.

“Yeah, rewrote a few lines, think they are fitting better now.”

“Have you recorded them yet?”

“Will do now,” he tells you shaking his head.

Soon enough you find yourself standing behind the mic, headset covering your ears as you are waiting for Harry to start recording and the music to play in your ears. Once he shows up his thumb you do the same and a moment later the song you’ve heard last time you two were working starts flowing from the headset and you stare down at the notes in front of you, waiting for the moment when you have to start singing.

It takes you a few runs to nail it down, but when you finally do, you can see the satisfied grin on Harry’s face and you think to yourself that there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to make him like this anytime.

“That was fantastic,” he beams once you join him at the screens where you see your voice appear as a pattern over a straight line. Harry does his usual magic before leaving it be. “Mind assisting recording my part?” he asks turning to you with an excited smile.

Nodding you let him tell you what to do and once he is all set behind the mic, you start the recording and the song. You listen to him in awe. There hasn’t been a moment when you didn’t feel the shiver running down your spine when he started singing. You are convinced a choir of angels is hidden in his throat, because it’s hard to believe he is just as human as everyone else.

He sings the whole song three times before he joins you again, listening back to what you have so far. The song is coming along pretty well and you can tell by the time he finishes it, it’s gonna be perfect. Everything he does is just pure perfection, whether he likes to admit it or not.

“You know how it would be absolutely perfect?” he asks you on your way back to the hotel. The two of you grabbed a coffee as well, so now you’re sipping on the hot drink, enjoying the somewhat sunny weather.

“Hm?”

“I think it would be best if a female voice sang the whole thing and the male was just the vocal.”

“Who do you think would fit best for it then?” you ask, immediately thinking of singers that could be perfect for the song. It wouldn’t be the first time Harry would sell a song to someone else, so you’re not surprised he is thinking about this kind of change.

“Y/N, I found the voice already,” he chuckles and you give him a puzzled look. “You. You are singing the song, I don’t need anyone else.”

“I’m not a solo singer,” you protest.

“There’s no such thing as solo or not solo. You’re a singer and a bloody good one. I want you to sing it.”

“But it would go to waste, because I would never actually perform it.”

“How are you so sure about that?” he smirks slyly at you, immediately making you nervous.

“Harry, I don’t sing solo,” you shake your head stubbornly, but he rolls his eyes at you.

“You could just try it. Let’s just record the song next time with you in the lead and then we can talk about the rest.”

“I’m fine recording, but I will never perform it,” you tell him, but his look makes you think he has other plans.

When tour reaches Dallas, the song gets a version with you singing solo and Harry doing the vocals in it. And though you had doubts about the switch, listening back to it you can tell how much it helped. It really is better with a female voice, though you are still convinced it shouldn’t be you.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sell it to someone? I’m fine with that,” you ask him before the show in Dallas. You’re sitting on the table in his dressing room while he is painting his nails, his tongue poking out in concentration.

“I told you, I like it with your voice. Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Because I’m not a—“

“Fuck’s sake if you dare to tell me one more time that you’re not a solo singer, I’m firing you, Y/N!” he snaps, giving you a hard look, but you just laugh at his temper.

“It’s the truth.”

“Have you ever tried to go solo?”

“Not for years,” you admit and watch him screw the nail polish closed, pushing it aside, his hands lying flat on the table as he is carefully waiting for them to dry.

“So then how do you know you are no good at it?”

“Because I hated it back then, so I most likely would hate it now as well,” you state matter-of-factly, but Harry doesn’t seem amused by your answer.

“So you think you haven’t changed a bit in years? I hope you know that’s absolute bollocks.”

“Why are you so keen on making me sing solo?” you sigh, giving him a tired look. It feels like the two of you have been running the same circles since forever. It’s not his first attempt to get you sing more than just the vocals, he once wanted to do a cover and needed a partner because it was a duet and begged you for weeks to sing with him, but you didn’t give in. You just couldn’t.

“Because I think that you are a talented singer and I want you to feel the adrenaline rush performing gives you.”

“I do get that rush every time I sing behind you. That’s enough for me.”

Harry shakes his head pressing his lips tight together.

“That’s not the same as being in the lead. It’s a whole different world.”

“Yeah, one that makes me shit my pants,” you chuckle and he can’t push a smile back.

“Maybe we should just work on it. Your anxiety. I think we could actually make you feel better if we tried.”

“I still don’t know where this obsession with me being solo comes for you.”

Harry stands up, takes one last look at his nails before he steps closer smiling down at you softly and you bite into your bottom lip, realizing how close he is standing to you. His fingers tap in your cheek gently, running them down to your chin as he tilts your head up a bit.

“Just accept it, Love,” he smiles softly before stepping away and carrying on with his routine.

That evening, you stand at the back with the other two vocalists, eyes glued to Harry’s figure at the front of the stage, you watch him pour his soul out to the audience, interact with them and reach that state of mind you have never been able to get into. You know what he told you about performing is true, yet you are still terrified to do it yourself. It’s too nerve wrecking to have everyone look at and listen to you, so many chances to mess it up and make a fool out of yourself.

But when Harry’s eyes meet yours and he shoots you a warm smile, something shifts in you. The urge to have this connection with not just the audience and the song, but with him takes over your whole body and you make up your mind to at least give it a try.

Harry is ecstatic when you tell him later that night that you changed your mind. You see that sparkle in his eyes and it was already worth for you, just seeing him react like that.

“Though I have a few suggestions to change the lyrics.”

“You do?” he asks, seemingly surprised, but mostly amused that you had the balls to come out with it.

“Yeah. Just some tiny details.”

“Why haven’t you told me about these before?”

“Because it was your song. But if you want me to sing it, it has to be mine as well.” Harry stares back at you with a smile that’s filled with pride and joy, making your heart flutter in your aching chest as you think about performing solo.

“Our song,” he softly says nodding his head.

Arriving to Houston the two of you are quick to book a studio and work on the song. Harry lets you make any changes you desire on the lyrics, even says you did justice to it and that you should have spoken up earlier about your ideas. And then you record it.

It’s not that you have to sing the whole song and not just the vocals this time. You are completely fine with Harry hearing you sing, it’s the thought of performing it in front of anyone that’s not him, that’s what makes you turn into a wreck.

You record Harry’s vocals and once it’s all put together, you are blown by the outcome. You wouldn’t have thought Harry’s voice as the vocal would compliment you in the lead, but it’s just absolutely perfect and even you can’t find anything wrong with it.

“Love, this is what Heaven sounds like, I’m telling you,” he smirks at you from the chair beside you, playing the song for the tenth time, not able to get enough of the final product.

“You are so cheesy,” you shake your head, but feel the blush heating up your cheeks. His eyes linger on you a little longer before he turns back to the screen.

When the song is over he finally stops is so silence comes over the studio. Harry turns back to face you, his green eyes basically burning a hole into your head.

“So, when are we going to perform it?”

“I really don’t think it’s a good idea,” you sigh looking down at your hands fumbling with your shirt.

“And I do think it is. So I’m not stopping until you at least try it.”

Harry Styles gets what he wants. Always. And this time, no matter how hard you try to resist him, you just can’t deny this from him. Though it takes him time to talk you up, in Washington he finally gets you to give it a try in an empty stadium.

Most of the crew is out, since the building has been finished about half an hour before, so everything is perfectly set for tonight’s show when you walk out to the stage, following Harry in his heels. He asked the piano to be brought to the front along with a mic on it and another one on a stand next to it. The two of you quietly put on your earpieces, doing everything as if it was a usual occasion before a concert, only that this time the roles will be entirely switched.

“It’s fine, alright? No one is around,” he tells you when he sees how nervous you are to sing the song for the first time outside a studio.

“There are some backstage,” you mumble under your breath, not expecting him to do anything about it.

But he does. You watch him walk backstage, completely dumbfounded about what he is doing. He disappears from your sight and a few moments later you hear him shouting at the back.

“No one comes to the stage until I say so! Yea? Thanks!” he orders and then walks back as if he didn’t just boss around the whole crew.

“They will think you’re some kind of crazy celebrity,” you chuckle when he returns, a small smirk playing on his pink lips.

“Don’t care, Darling. Now sing you heart out for me.”

Harry sits on the piano bench, his fingers getting settled on the keys before he looks up to meet your anxious eyes.

“It’s alright. Just you and me, yea?”

Nodding you gulp hard and jump a little when he starts playing the melody the two of you have been working on for so long. You hear all the notes and you know you have to start singing, but you miss the opening. Harry stops and looks at you, as you move your eyes down to the ground, ashamed you messed up immediately.

“S-Sorry, I just—“

“How can I help?” he asks right away, not even caring about the fact that you messed up, focused on figuring out a way that would help you.

“I don’t know. I really don’t,” you sigh, feeling your nerves getting worse with each passing moment.

“Come sit next to me,” he then tells you motioning for you to join him on the bench.

“What?”

“Take your mic and sit next to me,” he repeats, scooting over to make you space. Hesitantly, you pull the mic out of the stand and walking over you sit next to him. “Now you are not in the center. Just listen to the music, watch my hands on the keys, okay?”

You nod, running your tongue over your dry lips as you hold the mic to your mouth before Harry starts playing again.

After the first few notes you close your eyes and when it’s time for you to start singing, Harry leans a little against you, giving you a kind of push to just do it. And it works.

It feels a little as if it’s not even you who starts singing, but it is. Your voice fills the empty arena along with the piano’s melody and keeping your eyes closed a little longer you let your mind settle. When the first verse ends you open them and watch his hands work on the keys, right as he starts singing the vocals, leaning a little forward so his voice reaches his mic.

It’s different. It’s electric and freeing, hear your voice through the massive speakers, to be in the lead and have Harry be just the support in the song. But it feels so right, better than anything you’ve ever felt.

Line after line, you hit all the notes and by the end of the song you are able to strip all your fears down and give yourself over to the music completely. As you sing the last few notes you feel Harry’s eyes on you and turning to face him, you are met with his warm, pride-filled smile and bright eyes, glued to you while his fingers press down the last notes.

The music dies down, the voice of the piano vibrates in the air a little longer until it completely disappears and the silence returns into the stadium.

“Love,” Harry quietly calls out for you and you turn completely towards him. “That was absolutely perfect.”

“You think so?” you ask, voice barely more than just a whisper, your eyes never leaving his gaze.

“I know so,” he huffs, smile widening. He brings an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into a hug, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead as you let out a breath you’ve been holding in for way too long.

He doesn’t try to make you perform that evening, knowing well it was enough for one day, but he does make you sing it with him in each city in the upcoming weeks. Before every concert, he empties out the area around the stage and the two of you sit down at the piano, singing your song until you feel comfortable enough to stand next to the instrument instead of sitting next to him.

The tour reaches New York and Madison Square Garden is getting ready to host Harry Styles for two evenings. The place is massive and you find yourself sitting at the edge of the stage when Harry emerges from backstage.

“Looks wild, right?” he asks sitting next to you, his thigh brushing against yours as he gets seated.

“Yeah. Pretty amazing.”

“This place has the most magical vibe.” “Yeah?” Turning to him you watch him take the arena in, his eyes glistening at the sight in front of him. You know it’s not his first time performing here, but it’s nice to see the excitement in his eyes regardless.

That feeling returns to your chest, the one you felt when Harry told you he wanted you to sing the song. The urge to be part of this amazing something that’s so much bigger than you.

“H?”

“Yea?” he turns to you smiling.

“Can I… Do you think we could sing our song tonight?”

You watch the pure surprise and excitement wash over his face, his smile stretching across his face as he stares back at you in awe.

“You want to sing it?”

Shyly, you nod your head and in a heartbeat his arms lock around you, pulling you into the tightest hug. The two of you almost fall off the stage, laughing together at his dramatic reaction.

“Of course we can sing it, Love. Would be an honor!”

Harry is quick to let the band know about the addition for tonight’s set and though everyone seems surprised, they are all supportive about your solo. As the time goes and the concert gets closer, you can feel the nerves building up and soon enough, you start to doubt your choice to sing the song tonight.

Right before it’s time to go on stage Harry takes your hand and pulls you aside, taking your face in his hands gently, making you look into his eyes.

“I know you are doubting yourself, but just know that I’m very proud of you, even if you decide to not sing the last minute.”

“I could do that?” you whisper, your hands finding his sides and you let them rest on him, a way to ground yourself in the windwhirl of your thoughts.

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to make you do something you don’t really want. Though I know you will be amazing if you choose to sing.”

Nodding you let a weak smile appear on your lips and you notice as his eyes flicker down to them before he moves his gaze up to your eyes. He then pulls you into a proper hug before walking back to the rest of the band and vocalists.

Everything goes as usual and once again, you can’t take your eyes off Harry on the stage. Just watching him perform fills you up with life, enough to keep you from running away. About halfway into the set, as the crowd is still cheering after the previous song, Harry jogs over to you.

“You ready?” he asks over the noise and before you could think about it, you nod your head.

Two guys from the crew pushes the piano further to the front and they help to set everything up as you awkwardly stand at the side. Once your mic is in the stand you walk over there, heart hammering in your chest, hands shaking like crazy.

“I have a special song for you tonight,” Harry announces into the microphone as he makes his way over to the piano. “Please welcome the lovely Y/N here, who is gonna enchant you with a song we’ve been working on lately.”

The crowd screams and you allow yourself to look around with a weak smile. So many people, you think to yourself, everyone watching you.

“It’s called Homesick, and it means so much to us, so we hope you’ll like it Justas much as we do,” Harry adds before settling on the bench and his eyes find yours. “I’m proud of you,” you see him say, only able to read his lips since the crowd is screaming so loud. “Ready?” he asks and you nod, taking a shaky breath.

He sends you a warm comforting smile before glancing down at the keys and then he starts playing. 

Just like the first time, you close your eyes, forcing yourself to focus on the melody and nothing else. The lump in your throat is quite uncomfortable, but you open your eyes and see that Harry is looking straight at you, nodding in encouragement, as his fingers push down the keys to the notes right before you have to start.

“Here, where the sky’s falling, I’m covered in blue, I’m running and I’m crawling, fighting for you…”

Harry smiles wide when your voice flows through the speakers, filling the whole place, making everyone go quiet in a heartbeat as the song carries on. You feel your chest slowly deflating, the nerves cooling down with each sung note.

“You give me a reason, something to believe in, I know, I know, I know. You give me a meaning, something I can breathe in, I know, I know, I know…”

The chorus comes out perfect, your voice melting together with the piano and you finally feel your muscles relax as you slowly let go of every toxic thought that’s been tainting your mind. Harry leans closer to his microphone and his voice gently joins yours in the next verse.

“There’s a crack in my window, a bird in my room, angels all over that watch over you…”

Chills run down your spine hearing his voice, your eyes never leaving his gaze that’s fixated on your standing figure. You get lost in him and the song, something that came from the both of you, a piece of you and him. Standing there, singing this piece makes you feel closer to him than ever and you desperately want this feeling to last forever, hoping the song never ends though you know it’s gonna happen.

“When I’m walking on water all my dreams have come true. Still nothing means nothing without you…”

Homesick is exactly the feeling that bubbles inside you when you think of Harry. Because there’s this man you love so much, who is a home away from home to you, yet you still feel like you can’t be home entirely. Not in the way you’d want to. But standing on the stage in the spotlight, singing together with him as thousands of people are watching the two of you, yet you still manage to forget about them, for a moment, you feel like you finally arrived home. You are there, with him.

“Tell my heart to lie, but I know deep inside it’s true. That I wish I was there with you. That I wish I was there with you, oh I wish I was there with you.”

He plays the end of the song without tearing his eyes away from you, and there’s just a heartbeat of silence before the crowd starts screaming deafeningly, but that short moment… is yours and his.

Tugging your hair behind your ears with your shaky hands, your eardrums on the verge of breaking as you let out a laugh that was kind of a sob as well, relief washing over your body. Harry is quick to jump to his feet and rushing over he envelopes you in a tight hug.

“I’m so so so proud of you, Love. You were everything!” he mumbles, arms holding you so tight you almost lose your breath, but you want him this close, or even closer. You need to feel him, because it doesn’t feel real. His hold brings you a sense of existence only he can give you.

“Thank you, Harry,” you breathe out when he pulls back to look into your eyes, the screaming hasn’t died down even a tad little.

“No, thank you, Darling. You shined like the star that you are,” he grins, playing a sloppy kiss to your cheek before his arms fall off you.

You’d die to stay in this moment a little longer, but the show must go on. The crew pushes the piano back and soon enough, the next song starts. You stay in your spot for the rest, but you keep catching Harry smiling in your way, always making you blush.

The end of a concert is always a little hectic, everyone is all over the place. Still coming off the high you just experienced, you head to the dressing room you share with the other vocalists. They are going on and on about how amazing Homesick was, and you somehow still can’t believe tonight happened. Packing your stuff you barely notice that the door flies open, but you see Harry appear from the corner of your eye.

“Ladies, would you please give me a moment with Y/N?” he asks and the girls are quick to leave the two of you alone. You stand there, kind of dumbfounded, not sure why he is acting so dramatic. Once the door closes and it’s just you and him, he stares at you, chest heaving, his hair wet from his sweat, but he still looks breathtaking.

“Harry—“

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” he cuts you off, your breath gets caught in your throat as you stare back at him, completely frozen. Opposite to what he just said, he remains standing in the same spot and you’re not sure what’s happening. “Can I? Please say yes, I can’t hold myself back for any longer,” he then adds.

“Yes,” you breathe out without even thinking about it. In a heartbeat, Harry crosses the room, chest smashing against yours as he wraps his arms around you, lips crashing onto yours in a kiss that almost makes you moan into his mouth.

It’s all a hot mess, teeth clashing, hands all over each other before his palms run down to the back of your thighs, urging you to jump. When you do, you wrap your legs around his waist and let him walk over to the table nearby, so he can place you on top, standing between your thighs as he keeps kissing you hungrily, his tongue melting together with yours in this sweet chaos. It keeps going on and on, neither of you wanting to let go of the other, but you are eventually forced to stop, coming short of air. Panting wildly, lips swollen from his kisses, you look at him to meet his gaze.

“You have no idea how hard it was to stop myself from kissing you on stage.”

“What?” you breathe out.

“Y/N, I’m fucking crazy about you and seeing you come over your stage fright, sing that song… our song, fuck, that did some unbelievable things to me. Please tell me you felt the same thing!” He is begging, not just with his words, but with his eyes as well and it crushes your soul entirely.

“I did. Harry, I always do when I’m with you.”

“Fucking Hell,” he breathes out before kissing you again. “You are… everything, Love,” he mumbles against your lips and you can’t push down the smile stretching across your face, hearing him say the same words he said right after the song.

“You’ve told me that,” you tease him, his gaze meeting yours as he flashes you his famous half-smirk, heart fluttering at the sight of him.

[brandyllyn]

War makes thieves, and peace hangs them (pt1)

Summary: When Santi needs people for a mission he knows just who to call. But it quickly becomes apparent they’re short one key role - a thief. Preferably one with nice breasts who makes friends easily.

Told from POV of Triple Frontier characters and while it’s an OFC she is never described. Her "name" is a radio handle. 

Other chapters... My Masterlist

Word count: 2319. Read it on AO3.

Author’s note: Look, I’ve been itching to write something hella raunchy and while I love my other fics they’re full of soft people being dorks and falling love. This is not that. This is filthy smut basically from the go. The plot (what of it there is) exists solely to allow these people to have sex. Also, Fuck Tom. He’s in this fic for like 90 seconds before I summarily get rid of him.

Rating: R swearing. objectification. drugs (mentioned, not used). gendered slurs. no sex in this chapter.

"It’s a five man job," Santi was saying it for the third time that night but Benny just kept shaking his head at him. Across from Benny, Frankie pushes his ball cap off, tossing his arm over his chair and letting it dangle from two fingers.

"C’mon you guys," Frankie starts to say but is cut off.

"Maybe, but not this five," Will points out.

"You had no right to call in someone else without talking to me," Santi can feel the edge to his voice.

"Am I wrong?"

The question deflates the irritation out of Santi. No, he wasn’t. That was the shitty part. The more they found out about this job the more he realized they were going to need someone with a different skillset than the five of them. "Fine, who is he? How do you know him?"

"We ran into each other in South Africa. Ended up on the same job, different sides," Benny taps a finger against his beer bottle. "A few other, less than legal, follow-ups. They’re the best I know of Santi."

"Yeah," Santi picks his bottle up, draining the last of it. "But all things considered I’m not sure that means much."

Benny rolls his eyes. "Whatever man, they’ll be here tonight. I’ll introduce you and you can make your own decision. Fair?"

Santi nods once and watches as Benny gets up. "I’ll get the next round." The other men waggle their beers and Benny doesn’t even bother counting before heading off the empty outside patio and back into the bar.

It was a quiet night, at a quiet out of the way bar. From their vantage on the patio over the water they can see people as they arrive, but also are surrounded on three sides by water, minimizing eavesdroppers.

"I don’t like it," Tom grumbles and Santi turns to him.

"I feel like we’ve covered that," he points out.

"Some new guy we don’t know? Fuck Pope, this whole thing is already too dangerous," Tom continues.

"What do you want me to do," he hisses. "I’ve come too fucking far to back out-"

He pauses when he hears the door to the patio open, a waitress coming through with a tray of beers. He’d clocked her from the corner of his eye, about eight miles of the longest legs he’s ever seen in his life, bare from tiny denim shorts down to a pair of unlaced combat boots.

Those were odd. Not necessarily what he would have expected. He studies her a bit more closely as she sets the tray of beers down, squatting next to the table to transfer the tray from her shoulder to the table. Tom had already fallen face first into the girl’s cleavage - which was either ample or benefitting greatly from being on display in a bright orange halter top that started somewhere around her rib cage. She returned Tom’s lascivious stare with a wink, brushing her body against the man’s as she stood back up and passed one of the bottles to him.

Santi reached for one but was blocked by her body as she leaned across the table, sliding a bottle to Frankie who rubbed a hand over his mouth and tried in vain to make eye contact with something other than her breasts. Will was silent on receiving his, a half smile on his face as he watched her stretch a bottle to him. Finally she turns to Santi, placing the last beer in front of him and flipping the tray up under her arm.

"Tu amigo pagó," she smiles, gesturing with her chin inside. He glances that way and sees Benny nodding back from the bar, tucking bills into his wallet. "Tienes algo…" she starts to say and he turns back to see her pluck a bit of fuzz off the collar of his shirt. Smiling, she pinches it between her fingers and flicks it over his shoulder. "De nada."

"Gracias," he winks at her and she winks back before flouncing off the patio and back into the bar. Both Frankie and Tom turn around fully in their chairs to watch her - but Santi was perfectly positioned to watch the sway of her ass as she went back inside.

"Hot damn," Tom gives a low whistle.

Santi rolls his eyes, focusing on the beer in front of him. To his left, Frankie is fiddling with a coaster before he suddenly jerks and looks at his hand with suspicion.

"What the fuck?" Frankie snaps. "Where the fuck is my hat?"

"What?" Will asks.

"My hat. My fucking hat." Frankie holds up the coaster and glares at it, then at Santi. "Where is my fucking hat?"

"Did you set it-" Santi starts but Frankie cuts him off.

"I was holding it in my goddamn hand. And now I’m not." Frankie pushes himself back from the table, peering under it.

"What’s got Fish riled up?" Benny asks, sliding into a chair on the other side of the table.

"He’s throwing a fit about his hat," Will fills him in.

"Fuck you, I liked that hat," Frankie grouses, eyes still scanning the floor.

Ben laughs and Frankie shoots him a dirty look. "Ah, I see you’ve met our thief then," Benny says with a satisfied smirk.

"What?" Frankie jerks forward, the legs of his chair hitting the wood of the deck with a thunk.

Santi cocks his head, "You set up a little audition did you?" When Benny nods Santi grins. "The waitress?" Will nods again and gestures to someone inside. A minute later, the woman pulls up a chair next to Ben - wearing Frankie’s hat. He had to admit, she looked cute. He hadn’t gotten a good look at her face before, a little preoccupied with other parts of her, but she was quite stunning.

"You should give Frankie his hat back," Santi tells her in a low voice.

"Nah," Frankie quickly interjects, a little slack-jawed. "You can uh… you can keep it. For a bit." She grins at Frankie and judging from the look on his friend’s face, Santi had an idea of what mental image Frankie would be jerking off to later that night.

"Boys, this is Wildcat," Ben wraps an arm over the woman’s shoulders, "the best thief I’ve ever met. And ours for this mission."

"Neat trick with the hat," Tom says to her breasts.

"Not to burst your bubble Benny," she turns to him, "but I can’t take the job."

"What? Why not?"

She reaches into her top and while Santi would have sworn that you couldn’t fit so much as a tic-tac in there she manages to pull out a small baggie of off-white crystal powder. A flick of her wrist and it lands in the middle of the table. "I don’t deal with this kind of shit."

Santi reaches for it, getting there just before Tom who mutters 'bitch' under his breath. Holding it up for a moment he studies it before hiding it under his palm on the table. "Who’d you take it from?"

"Me," Tom sounds defeated.

"Yeah, like I said, I don’t deal with this kind of shit." She turns to Benny and shrugs, "Sorry babe, you’ll have to find someone else." She gets up, leaning over the table and placing the ball cap back on Frankie’s head and giving it a flirtatious tap. From his angle, Santi can see practically the same view as Frankie, as well as the line of her back and the curve of her ass as she leans over.

She kisses the top of Ben’s head when she stands up, giving Tom a wide berth and going around the table. Santi doesn’t watch her past that, eyes on Tom.

"What the fu-" but he’s interrupted by something shiny dropping onto the table.

"Sorry," her voice was right next to his ear, "forgot this."

It takes Santi a full five seconds to process what he’s seeing. One of his dog tags. He pulls his chain out of his shirt quickly, sees the primary one… and the loose shorter chain hanging empty.

"Son of a-" he turns but she’s at the door already, winking and blowing him a kiss before leaving.

"Pope let me-" Tom starts but Santi turns on him.

"Fucking meth, man? What’s wrong with you?"

"Hey, it’s just a bit to help me keep going," Tom raises his hands, "don’t fucking act like it’s the end of the fucking world."

"You’re out," Santi says it with finality.

"What?"

"Anyone have a problem with that?" Santi looks at the other three men but they all shake their heads.

"Fuck you," Tom spits, "fucking Fish has a coke problem and I don’t see any of you-"

"Hey," Frankie leans forward, pointing a finger at Tom, "you can go fuck yourself."

"Not if I-"

But Santi is on his feet, hands in Tom’s shirt as he walks the man backwards a few steps and shoves him against the low railing on the patio. "I love you man, but I can’t have this shit. It’s too important. Go back to the hotel."

Tom deflates. "It’s just to help man. Just to help."

"I know," he pats Tom on the shoulder. "I know. But you’re gonna have to sit this one out." Santi watches the other man leave. "Go get her back," he tells Ben.

Will swipes the baggie from the table, raising an eyebrow in question and Santi nods. Will quickly turns and tosses it into the lake beyond.

She slid into Tom’s chair without so much as a twitch of her eyebrow that the other man is gone. "Are we trying again?"

Santi sits down to her left. "First tell me how you got my dog tags."

"And my hat," Frankie asks.

"Quick fingers," she says, "two distractions."

"Two?" Frankie asks and she winks at him.

"One. Two." She shrugs each shoulder, making her breasts jiggle with the motion. Frankie blushes and reaches up to cover his face with one hand, pretending to scratch his beard.

"Seriously," Santi grabs her attention again, "how’d you do it?"

She shrugs again, "People don’t watch for the things they should be watching for. You guys… you’re perceptive. Situationally aware. You could probably tell me every weapon within sixty feet of this table." She smiles, "You’ve noticed my hand on your arm, and you’ve noticed my foot against your ankle." He had, was enjoying the feel of her fingers against his skin and her toes rubbing along his sock. "But where is my other hand?"

Santi startles, looking down. Her other hand comes into his line of sight and he sees she’s holding a watch.

"Wait that’s-" Will splutters.

"Son of a bitch," he mutters and hears Ben laugh. He turns on Will, "What were you watching?"

She answers for him, "He’s been watching my mouth." Will coughs but doesn’t deny it. She grins at them both before leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms, waggling her fingers. "Figure out where someone wants their attention to go and you can make them concentrate on anything."

Santi bites his lip before he looks over at Benny. "You trust her?" Ben nods. "Then she’ll do."

"Oh goodie," she snarks, "a dream come true. So what’s the job?"

Santi lowers his voice as he outlines the next few days. She asks good questions and the five of them roughly map out their plans. When they finish, Santi leans back in his chair. "So, we’ll meet in the hotel lobby tomorrow morning, 0600?" Everyone around him nods except for Ben who just curses.

"Fucking hell Pope, you know I hate mornings."

Will rolls his eyes, smacking his brother in the arm, "How the hell did you get through Airborne with an attitude like that?"

"By being a damned good Ranger," Ben grouses back.

"And cheating on the written shit," Frankie mumbles into his beer. Ben shoots him a glower but Frankie just smiles to himself, ignoring the other man.

"Well, if you boys are done," Cat breaks in, "I have a date." For just a split second Santi thought she was looking at him, but he follows her gaze over his shoulder and sees a petite brunette wearing a leather mini-skirt and white tank top crooking a finger their way. Cat winks back at her and rises gracefully from the table, palms flat against it. He couldn’t help but notice her long fingers.

When she gets to the other woman she wraps a hand behind her neck, pulling the brunette into a kiss. Even in heels, the woman was a good three inches shorter than her. The brunette breaks the kiss and leans into her, whispering into her ear. Santi sees her eyebrow go up, a half smile, and then she was looking back at their table and those beautiful legs were coming their way.

"Ben?"

"Yes Cat?" the man answers with a raised eyebrow.

"Can you vouch for your friends?"

Benny doesn’t hesitate before answering, "With my life."

"That’s good to hear," she grins. "Frankie?"

The man’s head whips around. "Yeah?"

"Would you like to come with us?"

Frankie blinks and Santi almost felt sorry for the man. Almost.

"Wha-?"

"Teresa would like for you to come along. And I’m not opposed. So…?"

Frankie’s moment of confusion passes in a heartbeat and then he is shoving his chair back and scrambling to his feet. "Fuck yes."

She laughs, leading him back to the brunette who is grinning. The brunette wraps one arm around Frankie’s waist and the other around Cat’s as they leave. The three men left at the table watch them go in varying stages of disbelief.

"Lucky son of a bitch," Will mutters and Santi can’t help but nod.

"Some thief you found us Ben," Santi says into his beer as he leans back in his chair.

"She’s the best," Ben grins back. Part2

[verymuchimmortalcat]

Maribat March Day 4: Internet Friends

ao3

@maribatmarch-2k21 

Marinette looked up from her phone as she heard a notification go off on her laptop. She had just finished posting the pictures from the photo shoot for her first official line. After years of making items for mainly Jagged Stone and Clara Nightingale, she had released her first line under the pseudonym of MDC at the age of 17, a year after Hawkmoth’s defeat. One message from Arrow Girl, it was a message from Cissie, which given that she had just released a new line wasn’t that surprising it just meant that Cissie had stayed up past midnight again. It should be around 3 am for her right now. Opening the message, she laughs.

Arrow Girl: HAVE YOU SEEN THE NEW MDC LINE, M????????

ITS SOOO PRETTY

WHO AM I KIDDING YOU LIVE IN PARIS AND WANNA BE A DESIGNER YOU’VE DEFINITELY SEEN IT ALREADY

So, yeah Cissie didn’t know she was MDC and sue her, Marinette found it funny how Cissie ranted about her designs to her. It’s not like Cissie didn’t laugh when Marinette obsessed over the costumes on TV and the people wearing them.

Designs&Coffee: Ya, I did

Which one’s your favourite piece?

Arrow Girl: The second one

It’s a master piece

Designs&Coffee: I love that one the most too!!!!!

That was true, the only thing Cissie didn’t know was that she designed that piece.

“Marinette, Adrien’s here,” her mother called suddenly.

“Coming Maman,” she replied.

Designs&Coffee: I’ve got to go, my mom’s calling

Talk later. You should sleep.

Arrow Girl: Says the girl with Coffee in her username

Bye.

Closing her laptop, Marinette headed downstairs, grabbing the Black Cat miraculous on her way. Adrien visited from London once a month but he had left behind his miraculous saying that he’d rather put it all behind with everything his father did. But both him and Plagg missed each other so Plagg came along on their monthly visits. Marinette still wore her earrings and Tikki went with her everywhere but she was more of a pocket best friend at this point then a pocket goddess who gave her the ability to become a superhero. Both Cat Noir and Ladybug had retired after Hawkmoth, they dealt with a miraculous threat and if another arose, they’d be there to help, but for right now the two of them were focusing on their goals and dreams outside superheroing. That was actually how she had ended up talking to Cissie, some random person had started questioning young heroes retiring online, and Cissie and Marinette had both jumped to the defence and they had just continued talking. That had been about six months ago. Now, they spoke almost every day.

Marinette hugged Adrien as soon as she saw him, calling out a bye to her parents she dragged him out of the bakery and they headed to the park. They had a few hours to catch up before they had to meet Alya and Nino.

.oOo.

A week or so later, Cissie was stuck in the makeup chair when she heard the notification that she had set for M’s messages go off.

Designs&Coffee: DID YOU KNOW THERE’S A NEW CISSIE KING-JONES MOVIE COMING OUT IN A FEW MONTHS.

IM SO FREAKING EXCITED

Arrow Girl: I could tell.

Designs&Coffee: I feel like you should be more excited.

ONE OF THE MOST AMAZING ACTRESSESS WHO SHARES A NAME WITH YOU IS STARRING IN A MOVIE

Sometimes, Cissie wondered how M didn’t figure it out. Her username was Arrow girl, she knew her first name was Cissie and M knew that she was working in the movie industry. But then M treated her like a normal human being and not like those other fans and Cissie really didn’t want that to change that at first, she knew now that she would not treat her differently but Cissie had no idea how to go about telling her that I’m the actress you fangirl about.

However, before she could reply to M she was called so they could start shooting. Telling her that she had to go, she’d talk later and that she should take her own advice about sleep, she rushes out onto set.

.oOo.

A few months later, Cissie’s agent gets her an audition for a period drama set in the 1800s when women walked around with corsets and large skirts and Cissie for some reason agreed to audition. So, she auditioned and got the part. The first week on set was just them going over the beginning measurements for the costumes and other things like that. When she asked the director, who was going to be designing the costumes, he said that it was a rather high-profile designer who would be arriving in L.A. next week. That confused Cissie, this movie wasn’t that much of a big deal that they got a high-profile designer. She decided to ask the assistant director who seemed to be a boy around her age, so maybe seventeen or eighteen, who seemed to be always wearing a cap and headphones.

She went ahead and introduced herself to him, holding out her hand and saying, “Hi! I’m Cissie King-Jones.”

He laughed and shook her hand, “I know dudette, you’re the star in the movie. I’m Nino Lahiffe.”

He had an accent she thought was French but she wasn’t quite sure. “I was wondering about the designer, the director said it was a high-profile designer and that they would be arriving next week-“

“And then he asked you to talk to me?” he asked with a smile.

“No? Should he have?”

He chuckled, “The designer is one of my best friends, we’ve been friends since we were about five. She wanted to work on something different and when I suggested this she agreed immediately. Honestly, I think she only agreed because you’re on this movie but who knows with her.”

“Well then, I look forward to meeting her.”

.oOo.

Marinette had arrived in L.A. the day before and was now headed to set with Nino. She was nearly shaking with excitement; she was going to meet the Cissie King-Jones. Nino was laughing at her excitement, “you’re being mean,” she said.

“And you’re acting like a little child, when all of us know when you actually meet her, you’ll be too busy in your designing mode to actually say anything to her, so I took the liberty to do so for you.”

“You did what?” she screeched, earning weird looks from people around them.

“I told her that her being in the movie was probably the actual reason you agreed to work on it. Which is undeniably the truth. Feel free to thank me later.”

“I’m never going to thank you. She probably thinks I’m some crazy fan now.”

“You need to stop catastrophising, Mari. It’ll all be fine in the end.”

“Why am I friends with you?”

“We’ve been friends for too long and now you no longer know how to survive without me.”

She snorted at that, “keep telling yourself that, Nino. Keep telling yourself that.”

.oOo.

Cissie was talking to one of the other members in the cast, when she saw Nino walk in with a petite girl, with shoulder length black hair and blue eyes, who was carrying a few sketch books and a bag that looked really heavy to be carried by someone that small.

When the makeup artist told her she was done, Cissie headed in the direction of Nino and who was probably the designer. Joining the two of them, she held her hand out to the designer, “you must be the designer, I’m Cissie King-Jones.”

“Hi, it’s wonderful to meet you. I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Cissie definitely didn’t know that name, her confusion must’ve been clear on her face because Marinette laughed, “I don’t go by that in the fashion industry, I’m MDC.”

Cissie took a bit to process that bit of information, she was meeting one of her favourite designers ever who was apparently a fan of hers. She was in heaven, she had to be.

“I love your work. Your new line was breath taking. I loved the second piece the most, the colours and design were amazing,” she blurted out, before she could think clearly.

Marinette just laughed, a clear sounding laugh, and said, “Thank you, I’m really glad to hear that. The second piece on the line happens to be my favourite too. And I think your work is amazing too.”

Cissie smiled, “Thank you.”

And then they proceeded to talk while Marinette showed her the designs and ideas she had.

.oOo.

Marinette and Nino returned to the hotel late in the evening and were hanging out in his room.

“I told you that you need to stop catastrophising and everything turned out fine.”

“Why yes, thank you Nino,” she drawled sarcastically.

“I thought you were never going to thank me?”

“Sarcasm, my dear friend. Sarcasm.”

“So, you were being sarcastic when you said you would never thank me ‘cause it sure didn’t sound like it.”

Throwing a pillow at his face and calling out a Good night Marinette ran to her room. She opened her laptop to check if she had missed any messages. There were 10 messages from Arrow Girl. Opening their chat Marinette wondered what Cissie had sent. What she saw left her feeling shocked and incredibly stupid. In hindsight it was extremely obvious but then again she didn’t know Adrien was Cat Noir until he detransformed in front of her.

Arrow Girl: M!!!!!!!!!!!

I MET MDC TODAY AND MADE A COMPLETE FOOL OF MYSELF

SHE’S DOING THE COSTUMES IN THE NEW MOVIE IM DOING

AND LIKE HER FRIEND TOLD ME YESTERDAY THAT SHE LIKES MY WORK

AND THAT WAS PROBABLY WHY SHE HAD AGREED TO WORK ON THIS PROJECT

AND THEN I GO UP TO HER AND INTRODUCE MYSELF AND SHE INTRODUCES HERSELF WITH HER REAL NAME AND I MUSTVE HAD A BLANK EXPRESSION CUZ THEN SHE SAID I GO BY MDC

AND THEN I BLANKED OUT

AND IF THAT WASN’T BAD ENOUGH I BLURTED OUT I LOVE YOUR WORK YOUR NEW LINE WAS BREATH TAKING AND I LOVED THE SECOND PIECE THE MOST AND THAT THE COLOURS AND DESIGNS WERE AMAZING

AND THEN SHE WAS SO SWEET AND NICE TO ME AND THANKED ME AND SAID THE SECOND PIECE WAS HER FAVOURITE TOO AND THAT SHE THOUGHT MY WORK WAS AMAZING

M!!!!!!! ANSWER ME PLEASE IM DYING OF HUMILIATION.

She thought about her reply for about a minute and the sent it off.

Designs&Coffee: I’m sure she didn’t think you were awkward.

She was probably concentrating more on the fact that she was talking to CISSIE KING-JONES

Her response was instantaneous.

Arrow Girl: How can you be so sure?

Also how did you finally figure out that I’m that Cissie

Designs&Coffee: I’m so sure because I’m that M

As in the M in MDC. Also how I figured you were that Cissie

Hi again! I’m Marinette. I’m 17 and sorta run a fashion empire

Arrow Girl: Cissie King-Jones. I’m seventeen too and currently an actress.

Marinette breathed a sigh of relief, she was worried that this might’ve ended badly

Arrow Girl: Wanna actually hang out tomorrow?

Designs&Coffee: sure!

.oOo.

Cissie woke up two mornings later to nearly a hundred notifications on her phone. About twenty of the notifications were from news channels, which was strange she was supposed to get those only when her name was mentioned in an article and 20 articles in a day were strange. There were another fifty from Bart, which happened occasionally. Ten each from Cassie and Marinette. And a few messages each from Tim, Kon, Greta and Anita.

Checking the news articles first because they would probably give some insight on the dozens of messages, she saw that someone had seen her out with Marinette yesterday and taken a photo which the tabloids had eaten up like starved wolves.

Bart had clearly lost patience fast, his messages were getting more and more pleading as she scrolled through all fifty. Laughing she told him that she had just woken up and would answer all his questions, and she and Marinette weren’t together it was just a misunderstanding, like the one Tim deals with all the time. Kon, Anita and Greta used to the several articles that came with Tim had picked out articles that had the most ridiculous theories and had sent it to her. Cassie had done the same along with several other questions. Choosing to answer Cassie first, she calls Cassie and spends nearly an hour talking to her even though it took Cissie only five minutes to explain the whole tabloid mess. Tim had sent a message saying “welcome to the world where if you’re seen outside your house with someone, everyone is going to believe you’re in a relationship.” Cissie just responded with a laughing face emoji.

Marinette had apologised for her friends’ behaviour, strange as that was. Saying that if she gets e-mails from Adrien Agreste, Luka Couffaine, Alya Césaire or Kagami Tsurugi it would be best to ignore them. They were just over protective and annoying. Cissie pointedly ignored how Marinette had casually brought up four very prominent people in the world. Apparently Marinette’s friends not used to the whole invasiveness of paparazzi had decided to deliver Cissie a shovel talk over e-mail before Marinette could clear up the confusion with her friends. She had also added that they were supposed to apologise and to please tell her if they didn’t.

And that was when she remembered her own friends’ highly similar behaviour and sent a text in the Young Justice group chat that she’d use them as moving target practice if they decide to induct her into their group with threats, and then sent another message to Tim to stop whatever extensive background check he was doing. She groaned as she got a smiley face in reply. Then the notification she had set for Marinette went off.

Designs&Coffee: I’ve been meaning to ask you about why you had all the points you had for young heroes retiring???? so, uh, why did you?

Groaning she flopped back onto the bed, this was going to be one hell of a day.

So my thoughts on how it would go ahead:

Marinette and Cissie meet up to talk about her text but Cissie doesn't really tell her about Arrowette. She changes the topic, after all Marinette was also ready with several points on the same topic. Maybe they eventually tell each other maybe they don't, i don't exactly know.

Marinette's friends calm down pretty soon after, Alya takes some more time but eventually calms down too.

When Cissie says, 'Marinette had casually brought up four very prominent people in the world', Its because at this point Adrien's run as a model still hasn't died out with it being only a year after Hawkmoth's defeat. Kagami is a world famous fencer, Luka joins Jagged Stone on tour and becomes pretty famous too and Alya listened to Marinette, (It ends up being Marinette and Adrien after the reveal who get through to her), she ends up making a name for herself in the year after Hawmoth's defeat, though her work still focuses around heroes/vigilantes which is why Cissie knows her, she's not really that prominent outside France.

Sometime after Cissie finishes talking to Cassie and sees Marinette's text Bart shows up demanding answers. They don't actually know it's Marinette, as in they don't know her name. Marinette Dupain-Cheng isn't really well known, MDC is, and no one knows who MDC is. Tim would probably do a facial recognition scan find out who she is and continue on with his extensive background check and probably figures out she's MDC somewhere along the way. Traya asks about Marinette the next time she sees Cissie

[wehatejulietsimms]

I said there would be a part three on the WTHTD video and I decided to keep it quiet a couple days ago until my gut told me to post.

Please stick with this read as it will get deep into lore and connections

My conspiracy on the scorpion tattoo part two:

In the WDHTDANCE video

there’s two girls; one blonde and brunette.

At first, a regular person might pass it off as

“Oh, two girls in the background! MV standards.”

Sadly, no.

It’s Juliet and Angie before and after Andy found out about Scientology and their wickedness.

Let me explain and backtrack the beginning theory of the music video.

It starts with Andy walking into a hotel building with a monster holding the door for him. He walks into a dark movie theatre room that relives his past memories, AKA the AUDITING ROOM or what other people refer to as the *fake* Akashic records room. (A spiritual place that stores memories that many fake spiritual gurus love to talk about in *awakening*)

What’s with this room, you ask? Scientology is known to bring people into rooms to “clean their memories and get their stories straight.”

While Andy is watching on the screen, there’s two innocent girls, as previously mentioned before, living their best life and looking flirty at a party. Sources say Andy and Juliet met at parties/festivals back in the day with Juliets family near always, which includes her sister who was trying to become an influencer as well.

Throughout the video shot, Andy’s being watched by this monster man in the background, making sure Andy is watching attentively and he’s looking at the scenes worried in regret. Furthermore, these two girls turn into hideous morphed demonic beings at the foot of this monster.

Then shows the shot of an innocent woman drowning in water.

“Oh how don’t you drown in a rain storm”

He’s asking Juliet why she isn’t exposed from the spotlight from all the shit she’s put herself in. Hint, nobody knows who the fuck she is and Andy’s asking why karma doesn’t punish her yet. (It’s coming! It’s already been hitting her!) Why hasn’t she drowned in all the fucked up situations she’s created through the years.

During the auditing process, Andy is being purged of Juliet and the Simms family secret of darkness so he can view Juliet as an angel,

like how the women think they are the monster’s little wh*re princess (excuse my language) because they think THAT monster is in control of Andy’s wording and thoughts during the auditing process. Aka Scientology, and Juliet’s father.

I believe Andy is watching carefully around their father because they come from money as well as

Jeff is an A class narcissist himself and says “peace is everything when you can fuck everyone over!” and tries to make Andy something he’s not, which is an asshole.

We don’t have to dance, is a song toward Juliet saying I’m not going to make this relationship something it’s not up to be. I know who you truly are and it’s not something that I’m going to keep loving you toward, so we can still be in a relationship because I’m stuck with you but I’m not ever going to love you (.) like I did when I was young and naive ever again.

Record scratch (auditing) ; Steve Miller Band (the joker is one of their classics)

Tattooed necks and tattooed hands

(Facade to hide in and be the person that they want him to be, so he tries to be comfortable as much as he can. ALSO, the song THE JOKER BY STEVE MILLER BAND GOES INTO DETAIL ABOUT ALWAYS BEING IN MASKED PERSONALITIES and being seen differently by everyone, which Andy feels like)

Oh, how don't you drown in a rain storm?

(Previous statement above ⬆️)

Fresh regrets, vodka sweats

(He regrets meeting her and getting married so soon and he drowns her out with vodka getting too drunk and having night terrors)

The sun is down and we're bound to get

Exhausted and so far from the shore

(I think that line perfectly states how far they’ve tried to drive him out of his “let’s create a better world” mentality & bright eyed personality into feeling exhausted and enslaved, overall not like the inner child he once had. Fucking Juliet being an older cougar and taking advantage of Andy’s youth while his parents sold him out and Ashley was a weirdo who gained half the rights to the band, not only that but his record label’s pressure, band mates, crew, friends (which are mostly Scientologists) to always go along the dotted lines like a script, literally.) He was only 18-20! A baby! who was groomed up by old Hollywood cults for selling him a dream that left him almost dead.)

You're never gonna get it

I'm a hazard to myself

I'll break it to you easy

This is hell, this is hell

You're looking and whispering

You think I'm someone else

This is hell, yes.

Literal hell.

(The fan base used to think Andy was this confident almighty saviour because he cared about us, his young sweet heart cared about helping people and he was drowning in regret and shame from the fake industry and kinfolk behind him making him feel left out, delusional, and not belonging. He was feeling a moment of weakness in these lyrics and had to put on a facade that he was some big seductive rocker dude for financial and status sake, which in multiple interviews he feels bad about because HE HAD TO DO THAT out of survival mode and not because he wanted to! Now, today he’s seasoned and getting in control)

We don't have to talk

We don't have to dance

We don't have to smile

We don't have to make friends

It's so nice to meet you,

Let's never meet again

We don't have to talk

We don't have to dance

We don't have to dance

(This is basically an ode to meeting Juliet for the first time. Or getting into a relationship with her in the beginning. He’s writing what he now would have done instead of marrying her in 2012. Didn’t they say they both hated each other when they first met? He wanted to listen to his gut instincts and he felt deep regret in those lyrics)

Bottles smash, I raise my hand

How can you all even stand it

Why is there joy in this poison, oh

Faking smiles and confidence

Driving miles to capture this excitement

I can't take anymore, oh

(He’s asking why isn’t anyone caring about fake people including literally everyone he’s surrounded by, including us.

Why we used to not care about diving into the abuse and delusional shows everyone put out there, fake smiles and fake personas to keep fans alive and happy, which is coincidentally the most popular BVB was.

I wish Andy knew that for us, it wasn’t fake and that even though he was depressed and angry inside and still showed up for BVB army is a very selfless act, because he wasn’t forced to be nice to anyone but only put on a stage act by management.

Now he’s really shining and we get to see the person he has always been for us, a neighborly seasoned person who sings his truth and we, as BVB army fans, relate to the sad darkness and happiness overcoming it too.

He’s real and always has been, even if he’s had to hide and mask for his protection.

He gained popularity and support because he was authentically himself and showing up for him when he felt the shittiest (even when he thinks he didn’t handle it correctly with fighting and alcoholism,) still he showed up and gave everything in authenticity and pure emotion, Andy style. I think he’s come to conclusion that his stage presence is something special outside of his personality and that it’s okay to express your soul on stage even if it’s changing, he’s coming back to who he’s always been inside. I think he’s channeling it in such a badass empowered way on the IN BETWEEN tour.

Congrats Andy! That man IS a true soul warrior.

Dude was fighting predators, groomers, and multiple cults by himself and still showed up (AND bettered, healed, unlearned things about his surroundings and himself) even when he felt isolated and alone! Props to Andy!

I personally interpret the scorpion tattoo as death and not forgetting to go back to the place that he was left FOR DEAD even if he feels scared or lonely.

You’re not alone, Andy! We are here and we see you!

I’m so proud of him. He’s such a diamond in the rough. I’m proud to be a supporter and recognize what he’s done for himself and how it translates into his art.

.

[reckonfinserv]

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