#i blink and then it's 2000 words later

[rockalillygirl]

Mamma mia here we go again…

So I have more thoughts because apparently there’s no bottom to the murderbot mindhole I’ve fallen down.

(Spoiler warning- minor stuff from several of the books, pls check tags etc.)

I’ve been reading a lot of things recently exploring Murderbot as an unreliable narrator, which I think is a cool result of System Collapse (because we all know our beloved MB is going through it in this one). There’s also been some interesting related discussion of MB’s distrust of and sometimes biased assessment/treatment of other constructs and bots.

And I’ve been reading a lot about CombatUnits! And I want to talk about them!!

Main thoughts can be summarized as follows:

We don’t see a lot about CombatUnits in the books, and I think what we do see from MB’s pov encourages the reader to view them as less sympathetic than other constructs.

I’m very skeptical of this portrayal for reasons.

The existence of CombatUnits makes me fucking sad and I have a lot of feelings about them!

I got introduced to the idea of MB as an unreliable narrator in a post by onironic It analyzes how in SC, MB seems to distrust Three to a somewhat unreasonable degree, and how it sometimes infantilizes Three or treats it the way human clients have treated it in the past. The post is Amazing and goes into way more detail, so pls go read it (link below):

https://www.tumblr.com/onironic/736245031246135296?source=share

So these ideas were floating around in my brain when I read an article Martha Wells recently published in f(r)iction magazine titled “Bodily Autonomy in the Murderbot Diaries”. I’ll link the article here:

(Rn the only way to access the article is to subscribe to the magazine or buy an e-copy of the specific issue which is $12)

In the article, Wells states that MB displaced its fear of being forced to have sex with humans onto the ComfortUnit in Artificial Condition. I think it’s reasonable to assume that MB also does this with other constructs. With Three, I think it’s more that MB is afraid if what it knows Three is capable of, or (as onironic suggests in their post and I agree with) some jealousy that Three seems more like what humans want/expect a rogue SecUnit to be.

But I want to explore how this can be applied to CombatUnits, specifically.

We don’t learn a lot about them in the books. One appears for a single scene in Exit Strategy, and that’s it. What little else we know comes from MB’s thoughts on them sprinkled throughout the series. To my knowledge, no other character even mentions them (which raises interesting questions about how widely-known their existence is outside of high-level corporate military circles).

When MB does talk about CombatUnits in the early books, it’s as a kind of boogeyman figure (the real “murderbots” that even Murderbot is afraid of). And then when one does show up in ES, it’s fucking terrifying! There’s a collective “oh shit” moment as both MB and the reader realize what it’s up against. Very quickly what we expect to be a normal battle turns into MB running for its life, desperately throwing up hacks as the CombatUnit slices through them just as fast. We and MB know that it wouldn’t have survived the encounter if its humans hadn’t helped it escape. So the CombatUnit really feels like a cut above the other enemies in the series.

And what struck me reading that scene was how the CombatUnit acts like the caricature of an “evil robot” that MB has taught us to question. It seems single-mindedly focused on violence and achieving its objective, and it speaks in what I’d call a “Terminator-esque” manner: telling MB to “Surrender” (like that’s ever worked) and responds to MB’s offer to hack its governor module with “I want to kill you” (ES, pp 99-100).

(Big tangent: Am I the only one who sees parallels between this and how Tlacey forces the ComfortUnit to speak to MB in AC? She makes it suggest they “kill all the humans” because that’s how she thinks constructs talk to each other (AC, pp 132-4). And MB picks up on it immediately. So why is that kind of talk inherently less suspicious coming from a CombatUnit than a ComfortUnit? My headcanon is that I’m not convinced the CombatUnit was speaking for itself. What if a human controller was making it say things they thought would be intimidating? Idk maybe I’ve been reading too many fics where CombatUnits are usually deployed with a human handler. There could be plenty of reasons why the CombatUnit would’ve talked like that. I’m just suspicious.)

(Also, disclaimer: I want to clarify before I go on that I firmly believe that even though MB seems to be afraid of CombatUnits and thinks they’re assholes, it would still advocate for them to have autonomy. I’m not trying to say that either MB or Wells sees CombatUnits as less worthy of personhood or freedom- because I feel the concept that “everything deserves autonomy” is very much at the heart of the series.)

So it’s clear from all of this that MB is scared of CombatUnits and distrusts them for a lot of reasons. I read another breathtaking post by @grammarpedant that gives a ton of examples of this throughout the books and has some great theories on why MB might feel this way. I’ll summarize the ones here that inspired me the most, but pls go read the original post for the full context:

https://www.tumblr.com/grammarpedant/703920247856562177?source=share

OP explains that SecUnits and CombatUnits are pretty much diametrically opposed because of their conflicting functions: Security safeguards humans, while Combat kills them. Of course these functions aren’t rigid- MB has implied that it’s been forced to be violent towards humans before, and I’m sure that extracting/guarding important assets could be a part of a CombatUnit's function. But it makes sense that MB would try to distance itself from being considered a CombatUnit, using its ideas about them to validate the parts of its own function that it likes (protecting people). OP gives what I think is the clearest example of this, which is the moment in Fugitive Telemetry when MB contrasts its plan to sneak aboard a hostile ship and rescue some refugees with what it calls a “CombatUnit” plan, which would presumably involve a lot more murder (FT, p 92).

This reminds me again of what Wells said in the f(r)iction article, that on some level MB is frightened by the idea that it could have been made a ComfortUnit (friction, p 44). I think the idea that it could’ve been a CombatUnit scares it too, and that’s why it keeps distinguishing itself and its function from them. But I think it’s important to point out, that in the above example from FT, even MB admits that the murder-y plan it contrasts with its own would be one made by humans for CombatUnits. So again we see that we just can’t know much about the authentic nature of CombatUnits, or any constructs with intact governor modules, because they don’t have freedom of expression. MB does suggest that CombatUnits may have some more autonomy when it comes to things like hacking and combat which are a part of their normal function. But how free can those choices be when the threat of the governor module still hangs over them?

I think it could be easy to fall into the trap of seeing CombatUnits as somehow more complicit in the systems of violence in the mbd universe. But I think that’s because we often make a false association between violence and empowerment, when even in our world that’s not always the case. But, critically, this can’t be the case for CombatUnits because they’re enslaved in the same way SecUnits and ComfortUnits are (though the intricacies are different).

There was another moment in the f(r)iction article that I found really chilling. Wells states that there’s a correlation between SecUnits that are forced to kill humans and ones that go rogue (friction, p 45). It’s a disturbing thought on its own, but I couldn’t help wondering then how many CombatUnits try to hack their governor modules? And what horrible lengths would humans go to to stop them? I refuse to believe that a CombatUnit’s core programming would make it less effected by the harm its forced to perpetrate. That might be because I’m very anti-deterministic on all fronts, but I just don’t buy it.

I’m not entirely sure why I feel so strongly about this. Of course, I find the situation of all constructs in mbd deeply upsetting. But the more I think about CombatUnits, the more heartbreaking their existence seems to me. There’s a very poignant moment in AC when MB compares ART’s function to its own to explain why there are things it doesn’t like about being a SecUnit (AC, p 33). In that scene, MB is able to identify some parts of its function that it does like, but I have a hard time believing a CombatUnit would be able to do the same. I’m not trying to say that SecUnits have it better (they don’t) (the situation of each type of construct is horrible in it’s own unique way). It’s just that I find the idea of construct made only for violence and killing really fucking depressing. I can’t even begin to imagine the horror of their day-to-day existence.

@grammarpedant made another point in their post that I think raises a TON of important questions not only about CombatUnits, but about how to approach the idea of “function” when it comes to machine intelligence in general. They explain that, in a perfect version of the mbd universe, there wouldn’t be an obvious place for CombatUnits the way there could be for SecUnits and ComfortUnits who wanted to retain their original functions. A better world would inherently be a less violent one, so where does that leave CombatUnits? Would they abandon their function entirely, or would they find a way to change it into something new?

I’ve been having a lot of fun imagining what a free CombatUnit would be like. But in some ways it’s been more difficult than I expected. I’ve heard Wells say in multiple interviews that one of her goals in writing Murderbot was to challenge people to empathize with someone they normally wouldn’t, and I find CombatUnits challenging in exactly that way. Sometimes I wonder if I would’ve felt differently about these books if MB had been a CombatUnit instead of a SecUnit. Would I have felt such an immediate connection to MB if its primary function before hacking its governor module had been killing humans, or if it didn’t have relatable hobbies like watching media? Or if it didn’t have a human face for the explicit purpose of making people like me more comfortable? I’m not sure that I would have.

Reading SC has got me interested in exploring the types of people that humans (or even MB itself) would struggle to accept. So CombatUnits are one of these and possible alien-intelligences are another. All this is merely a small sampling of the thoughts that have been swirling around in my brain-soup! So if anyone is interested in watching me fumble my way through these concepts in more detail, I may be posting “something” in the very near future!

Would really appreciate anyone else’s thoughts about all of THIS^^^^ It’s been my obsession over the holidays and helping me cope with family stress and flying anxiety.

[plutotheplum]

Socks and Kisses

leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: a spontaneous shopping trip has leon re-evaluating his friendship with you.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, p in v, spanking, oral sex, praise kink, fluff, friends/roommates to lovers, fantasizing

wc: 3.7k

also posted on ao3!

There’s a shriek leaving you when you trip over a bundle of shoes in the doorway. It nearly sends you hurtling towards the floor, but there’s an arm curling around your waist, tugging you up before you can fall. Leon.

You glare up at your roommate, shoving at his chest so it sends him stumbling.

“Seriously, Leon? How many times have I told you to put your shoes to the side of the doorway?” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest.

He winces at your shrill voice, his hand rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“I was busy,” he says, his eyes pleading with you, “you know with… with work.”

You’re shooting him an unimpressed look, pushing past him to put the groceries on the kitchen counter. It was your day to collect them anyways. Living with Leon had happened entirely by accident. One shittily written apartment listing later and the poor guy was standing outside your door, begging you to let him move in. It hadn’t been so bad. Leon had been nice, and you two had gotten along well, becoming friends even. The only thing you couldn’t stand was how messy the man was.

Empty boxes from delivered packages, stray parchment sheets from when he’d bake himself something and socks strewn haphazardly across the floor, much like his shoes. Leon had practically turned your apartment into a deathtrap. 

You don’t get to reminisce for much longer, not when he’s reaching for the pack of popsicles you’d bought. Leon lets out a low whine, like a kicked puppy, when you swat his hand away and shoot him an irritated glance. “I’m putting my foot down,” you tell him firmly, “no more unorganized socks, shoes or- or anything for that matter!”

Leon only tilts his head, blinking over at you. You glance towards the clock before your eyes are flitting back to meet his.

“Ikea,” you explain, “we’re going to Ikea to get you some organizers or whatever.” 

“ Now? ” Leon asks, raising his brows “but I was going to go to the gym with Chris and-” he’s shutting up when he sees your hardened glare.

Leon lets out an exasperated huff, and you’re smiling over at him, happy you’ve won this argument. Just to reward him, you’re digging out a popsicle from the pack and handing it to him. “So stubborn,” he mumbles under his breath, freeing the popsicle from its wrapper. 

“I heard that,” you reply, sticking your tongue out at him.

You both finish up your popsicles, and you’re tossing him his car keys while you pull your shoes on again. 

“Why do I have to drive?” he complains, leaning against the doorway.

“Because it’s your mess,” you retort, rolling your eyes, “and you’re paying as well.”

Leon lets out a scoff, “oh, fuck you.”

You smile back at him, patting him on the shoulder for some comfort. You manage to annoy him a little more during the drive to Ikea, and Leon’s contemplating whether he should just stuff your mouth with the rolled up catalog you’re currently holding

It’s when you both get to the kitchen area that Leon realizes something’s wrong. His eyes are watching the way you bend over the model kitchen counter, gaze trained on the way your skirt rides up slightly, exposing the backs of your thighs. He swallows harshly, wondering what it might be like to come up behind you, grab your hips and grind his cock against your ass. 

Your voice breaks him out of his dazed thoughts, your hand waving him over as you point to the price tag.

“Don’t you think this is a catch?” You ask him, head tilting back to meet his eyes.

“A catch?” He echoes, raising his brows, “it’s $2000 . Do you even have $2000?” 

You roll your eyes, elbowing him in the stomach. “Don’t be such a jerk, Leon. I think it’d look good in our apartment.”

There it is. Our apartment. The words are so comfortably domestic that it has Leon’s knuckles squeezing tight around the basket he’s holding. He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t imagined you two dating. Especially after that time he’d come home drunk one night. You’d taken care of him so sweetly, despite all of your grumbles and chastisements, that Leon felt like he was falling in love.

That had only happened once though, and Leon wasn’t prepared to make a big deal about his feelings so he buried them deep down and carried on with his life.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on his little crush any longer, brows furrowing when he feels the basket in his hand grow heavier. You’ve been milling about, dumping various little trays and organizational tidbits into the basket.

“At this point, I think you’re trying to max out my card,” he drawls, trailing after you.

“I’m helping you, Leon” you shoot back, bringing a candle up to your nose to smell its scent.

It’s not until you both get to the bedding area that Leon realizes he might actually be losing it. 

He’s sitting down on the edge of one of the beds, the basket settled on the floor with how heavy it’s become. 

You’re fluttering about, checking out the duvet covers and pillow cases. His eyes watch over you, letting you take a seat beside him on the bed when you find a duvet cover you like.

“Pretty, right?” You ask him, showing him the design.

“I guess,” he murmurs absentmindedly. 

He thinks you look prettier though. Besides, it’s not like he can tell you that he’s imagining taking you on this very bed. Your face pressed into the pillows, his cock stuffed into your pussy. You’d probably make cute noises too, clench around his cock while he thrusted into you. He’d let everyone watch, he thinks, make sure everyone knew that you were his. 

You’re snapping your fingers in his face, trying to get him to pay attention to you.

“Are you okay?” You ask, staring into his eyes “you keep getting distracted.”

“What?” Leon flushes, clearing his throat “yeah- yeah I’m fine… just had enough of you is all.”

You swat his shoulder and he rolls his eyes. Both of you manage to get to the checkout without any further bickering. Leon’s card doesn’t max out thankfully, but you wince when you see the total, ignoring Leon’s glower as he tears the receipt from the machine.

To make up for the spontaneous shopping spree, you buy him a soft serve and hand it to him with a smile. 

Leon takes it with a grumble, his eyes dropping to the way you lick at your soft serve. The icy treat smudges across your lips, and he’s reaching out before he can stop himself, his thumb swiping at the corner of your mouth to clean the mess. 

“Think you might be the messy one,” he mutters gruffly, drawing his hand back. 

“Your socks alone have nearly crippled me” you reply, nibbling at the cone to try and quell the race of your heart at his unexpected action. 

Leon lets out a loud sigh, shaking his head. The drive home is quiet, the soft sounds of the radio filling up the car’s space.

You help Leon with the stuff you bought, leaving the goods in his room before letting out a satisfied nod.

“There. Now you don’t have an excuse for being messy. Better start cleaning up, Leon” you chirp, giving him a snarky smile before tugging his door shut.

You sigh happily, mind feeling at ease. You’re sure that your apartment won’t be so messy anymore. The sounds of Leon rummaging inside his room almost make you feel bad, but this had been going on for months and you were glad you had done something about it. 

Deciding to grab some food, you reach for the can of peaches on the kitchen counter. By some misfortune, your hand accidentally knocks the can, sending it rolling towards the edge. Letting out an irritated huff, you’re reaching across the counter to grab the can before it falls off. 

While this happens, you’re blissfully unaware of the fact that your skirt is riding up. Leon feels his heart nearly jump out of his chest at the sight when he had wandered out of his room to grab a garbage bag. 

He can see the swell of your ass, your cheeks peeking out from your panties as you’re bent over, grabbing the can of peaches. 

“Have you made it some sort of mission to bend over every kitchen counter you see?” he asks dryly, his arms crossing over his chest.

You squeak in surprise, body jolting. The can of peaches slips from your hand pitifully, landing on the floor with a loud thunk .

“Why are you sneaking up on me?” You whine, turning to give him a glare.

Leon doesn’t reply, coming to a stop in front of you. His blue eyes are dark, dirty blonde hair hanging over his forehead.

“Um… Leon?” You wave your hand in front of his face. 

“I’m starting to think you’re doing it on purpose,” he murmurs, his hand catching yours.

“Hm?” he squeezes your hand, his head lowering so he can stare right into his eyes, “bending over every kitchen counter so I can see your pretty ass?” 

You manage to gather your wits, letting out a loud scoff and push at his chest.

“You’re such a perv, Leon!” you accuse, narrowing your eyes and placing your hands on your hips. 

“I’m not a perv if you keep bending over like that!” he shoots back, his hands grabbing at your forearms to tug you towards him. 

You swallow harshly when his calloused hands drift past your wrists, finding your hands and lacing his fingers with yours. The warmth of his body seeps into yours and your head is tilting, eyes finding his.

“We- we are not fucking,” you whisper, shaking your head.

“Who said anything about fucking?” Leon asks, his head lowering again. 

His body presses against yours, causing your breath to hitch. You’re biting your lip at the way it feels, the hard planes of his body molding against yours.

“One kiss,” he whispers, peering into your eyes, “please? Just one kiss and it’ll be over.”

You’d be doing yourself a disservice if you denied his request. Leon was stupidly handsome even if he was a little annoying at times, and you had maybe masturbated to the thought of your roommate before.

“Did you happen to forget that we’re roommates?” you raise your brows, trying to voice your concerns.

“Roommates kiss all the time,” he says, his nose nudging against yours gently, “now c’mon, gimme a kiss.”

You don't know what sort of roommates he’s been hanging around, but you’re almost certain that roommates don’t kiss or do whatever the hell you two are doing right now. 

Leon doesn’t know what he’s doing either. That one shopping trip had seriously messed up his brain, but he was here now so there was no going back. Your lips look so pretty, your eyes all starry. He wants to kiss you senseless and bend you over that stupid kitchen counter while he fucks into you until you’re crying on his cock.

As if to encourage you a little more, he nudges his nose against yours again. You send him a glare, eyes slipping shut as you rock up on the tips of your toes and brush your lips against his. The kiss is fleeting, a mere touch of your lips against his, and it’s safe to say Leon is not impressed.

“There,” you say, trying to hide the smirk that spreads across your face, “you got a kiss. Now leave me alone.”

Leon lets out a low groan, his head falling against your shoulder, “you’re a fuckin’ tease, you know that?”

You hum, pushing at his chest, taking the opportunity to free yourself from the confines of his grasp.

“Not so fast,” he murmurs, his hand snagging onto your shirt, “c’mere baby.”

His low voice has the butterflies in your stomach fluttering, your eyes widening when his hands cup your cheeks and he presses his lips against yours.

It doesn’t take you long to respond, arms wrapping around his neck as he kisses you fiercely. He groans into your mouth, his arms winding around your waist to pull you closer. 

You’re both flush against each other and you let out an irritated noise when he shoves you up against the kitchen counter, feeling the solid surface dig into your back.

“Drove me crazy at that Ikea,” he whispers against your lips, his hands sneaking under your skirt to give your ass an appreciative grope, “thought about fucking you on one of those beds.”

The idea of it is so obscene and indecent that you find yourself moaning out loud.

“Yeah? You like that, baby? Me fucking you in front of everyone, letting them know that you’re mine?” 

You’re nodding desperately at his filthy questions, trying to tug his shirt off so you can see his chest and abdomen. He obliges you, quickly shrugging off his shirt. Your teeth sink into your lower lip at the sight, eyes half-lidded. 

You can’t help the way your body leans forward, lips pressing soft kisses across his chest and his pecs. Leon sucks in a sharp breath, his hands moving to cradle the back of your head.

“Just kisses, huh?” he murmurs.

You nod, peering up at him “no fucking, remember?”

He hums, tilting your head so he can kiss you again. Leon kisses you over and over until you can’t breathe. You’re feeling so dazed that you don’t even notice he’s spinning you around, bending you over the kitchen counter. There’s a soft whine escaping you when he flips your skirt up, his hands squeezing at your ass before his fingers slip under your panties, tugging the fabric back and letting it snap back against you.

Your fingers are scrabbling at the counter top when you feel him drop to his knees, his lips pressing against the skin of your ass. He kisses your body so reverently, you think you might actually pass out.

“Wanna kiss your pussy too,” he mumbles, tugging your panties down. You shudder when you feel his breath hit your sensitive skin, hips swaying back to meet the kisses he places on your clit.

His tongue lolls out before long, lapping at your cunt, collecting the slick that drips from you. 

“That- that is not kissing,” you whimper out, head falling against the coolness of the counter.

“Sure it is,” he whispers, burying his face deeper into your pussy, “just dirty kisses, sweetheart.”

The way he eats you out is messy. Leon’s trying to shove his face deeper between your thighs, his lips suctioning around your pussy. You mewl when he draws back and spits on your cunt, his mouth latching on soon after. You’re not sure how much longer you can hold on, knees beginning to shake. Leon delivers a particularly toe-curling suck to your clit and you’re shuddering, letting out whines and whimpers when he lets out a low laugh, his tongue swiping over your cunt repeatedly.

“Leon- fuck! Leon, ‘m gonna-” you can barely speak properly. 

“Then come , baby,” he whispers, his tongue pressing into your fluttering hole.

You squeal at the unfamiliar sensation, knuckles turning white as you come on his tongue. He licks up your slick eagerly, his wet lips pressing soft kisses against the swell of your ass as you pant.

He stands up, tucking his face into the crook of your neck. You press your back against his chest, turning your head to kiss along his jaw. His eyes flutter shut, his hands smoothing along your back to undo the clasp of your bra. 

Your arms lift and Leon helps you take off your shirt and bra, letting out a soft sigh as your head falls back against his shoulder. Leon’s hands are restless, reaching for your breasts. 

He hums at the sight of your hard nipples, pinching and rolling them between his fingers before letting go to squeeze your tits. 

“You’re real pretty, sweetheart” he whispers, kissing your cheek.

You mewl, cheeks flushing. You hadn’t expected him to talk to you so sweetly. Leon feels your body lurch forward, tits pressing against his palms. He laughs, giving another firm grope to your tits and finds your lips to give you another filthy kiss. While he kisses you, Leon grinds his hips against your ass, and you gasp into his mouth, feeling the outline of his cock through his shorts.

“Think my cock wants to give your cute pussy some kisses too,” he says, his mouth pressed against your ear, “you up for it, baby?”

You could be a bobblehead with how fast your head is moving up and down. Leon grins against your ear, placing another kiss to your cheek before he’s bending you over the counter. The coolness of the counter startles you slightly, but Leon’s hand rubs up and down your back, warming your skin. 

Tits squished against the hard surface, your feet on the tips of your toes, pussy glistening with his spit and your arousal, Leon can hardly believe his fantasy has come to fruition. He wants to take a picture, keep it safe and jerk off to the sight of you when he’s alone. There’s no pictures taken though, instead Leon’s hand delivers a heavy slap to one of your ass cheeks.

You moan, back arching slightly as you try and chase the feeling. It hurts and you can feel the sting of his palm prickling across your skin, but you want him to spank you again so badly.

“L- Leon, want more,” you mumble, looking back at him.

Leon takes your request in stride, his hand coming down on your ass repeatedly. Your body slumps against the counter, soft noises escaping you as he rains slap after slap onto your reddening skin. 

“Shit, sweetheart” he whispers, his hands smoothing over the damage he’s done to your ass “so fuckin’ pretty.”

There’s a babbled noise escaping you. Mind feeling like mush, all you can think about is Leon. He smooths his hands over your sensitive skin a few more times, trying to soothe the pain before you feel him squeeze gently as he presses the head of his cock against your aching hole.

Leon pushes into your pussy with a groan, his hands squeezing at your hips. It almost feels like he’s trying to ground himself.

“Fuck-” he hisses, drawing his hips back to thrust back into you again, “ fuck - you’re so tight, baby.”

You whimper at the feeling of his cock stretching you out. Leon’s thrusts are beginning to pick up in speed and you’re whining, the force of his thrusts making your body rub against the kitchen counter.

“Leon, Leon, Leon,” you chant his name and his body is draping over yours, lips pressing kisses to your shoulder and back, “feels so good,” you slur. 

His hips are rutting against your ass, cock stuffing you full. You’re moaning so loudly that Leon has to slip his hand over your mouth in an effort to quieten your noises. His balls are slapping against your clit and the combined stimulation is making your head spin.

Soon, his hand is leaving your mouth to grip your hips again. 

“Take my fucking cock,” he grunts, each word punctuated with a harsh slap to your ass. 

“It’s too much!” you wail, nails clawing at the counter to try and crawl away.

He growls, grip tightening as he keeps you in place, “don’t you dare run. Take my cock like a good girl, baby.”

“You’re insane,” you cry, but there’s a cockdrunk smile spreading across your face as he fucks into you. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, his head lowering so he can whisper into your ear, “and it’s all for you, because- because I like you.” 

There’s a loud whine ripping out of you at that, wet heat clenching around him. No one’s confessed to you before, like ever . You suck in a sharp breath, trying to calm your heart and stop the excited flipping of your stomach that comes with his confession.

Leon moans when he feels the clench of your walls around his cock and he’s fucking into you with renewed fervor. 

“I like you,” he whispers again “like you so much, sweetheart. Always taking care of me, looking out for me, makes me feel special.” 

“Only do that ‘cause you’re an idiot, Leon” you mumble, swallowing back another moan that threatens to spill out. 

“But you do it anyway,” he murmurs, driving his cock into you.

You gasp, eyes squeezing shut as his fat tip grazes the spot deep inside of you. He grunts when he feels you getting tighter, feels you clenching hard around his cock.

“You gonna come for me?” he asks, sucking little love bites onto your neck, “hm? Can feel you clenching around me, baby.”

“Wanna- wanna come at the same time,” you babble “right, Leon? Since- since you like me, we gotta come at the same time.”

He’s letting out a hoarse laugh, kissing your shoulder again, “yeah baby, I’m right there with you.”

All of a sudden, he’s burying himself to the hilt inside of you and your mouth drops open, a sharp noise leaving you as you both come. Your body is limp against the counter, body covered in a thin sheen of sweat as you pant. Leon kisses your neck, letting out a whine as his cum spurts into you. It’s warm and thick, filling you up so perfectly that it has a serene smile settling on your face.

He helps you onto your feet, his hands rubbing up and down your sides to soothe your shaky legs. You feel him press a soft kiss to the side of your head and you’re rocking up on the tips of your toes, returning a kiss to his cheek.

“I like you too, Leon” you whisper, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him down for another kiss. 

You can feel him smile against your lips and he’s kissing you back sweetly. Leon keeps you there for a while as you both kiss, his hands petting across your tired body.

He takes you to his room later, his hand encasing yours. The moment is almost perfect, if not for the sock on the floor that sends you careening into his desk. “Leon!” you grit out.

He only laughs, his arms wrapping around your waist as he picks you up and tosses you onto his bed.

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

[arkaiveofurown]

Kikoku’s Secret Charm

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Reader

“Don’t tell the crew I like this.”

You catch Law admiring a cute keychain in a marketplace. You buy it for him later—and to your surprise, he actually attaches it to Kikoku (his sword) when no one’s looking.

Words Count: ~2000 words

tag: fluff, law likes cute things

my masterlist here ♡

——

The air smelled like sea salt and grilled skewers as the Heart Pirates scattered across the town’s open market. You were trailing behind Law, not because he asked you to, but because you always somehow ended up keeping pace with him when the crew made port.

He didn’t talk much, but his presence was…comfortable. You liked how he moved with purpose, always scanning quietly, arms tucked in his pockets. You weren’t even sure if he noticed you next to him most of the time.

Then something unusual happened.

He slowed near a small stand. Handcrafted trinkets swung from a canopy strung with beads—keychains, hairpins, and other things that screamed cute. That alone was enough to catch your attention. But what caught your eye more was him. Staring. At a chubby white seal keychain with a tiny pirate hat.

You blinked. No way.

You glanced at him again, noticing that he was still staring at the keychain, his expression unreadable. But you could see the way his fingers twitched, just barely, as if he wanted to reach out but was stopping himself. A strange flutter tickled at your chest.

He quickly stepped back, eyes scanning the crowd like nothing had happened. But you could feel a warmth spread through you at the thought that he—Law, the stoic and always composed captain—had been admiring something so… cute.

You couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at your lips.

⸻

You waited until the crew had returned to the ship. When Law had gone to oversee the loading of supplies, you slipped back to the marketplace and made your way to the vendor. The old woman with the sunhat noticed you right away.

“Back for that seal?” she asked, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

You picked it up, holding it in your hand as you smiled at her. “Something like that,” you said, trying to keep your tone casual.

She chuckled knowingly and wrapped the keychain in a piece of cloth before handing it to you. You paid, feeling a small excitement building in your chest as you thought about what you were about to do.

It wasn’t much—a simple keychain. But you had a feeling it would mean more than Law would admit.

⸻

Later that night, on the Polar Tang, you stood outside the captain’s quarters. Your hand hovered near your pocket. Nerves bubbled in your chest like carbonated soda.

Just give it. It’s not a confession. It’s just a keychain.

Knocking lightly, you stepped in when he called.

Law glanced up from his maps. “What is it?”

You tossed the wrapped keychain on his desk. “Don’t open it until I leave.”

His brow lifted. “Why?”

“Because if you make a face, I don’t want to see it.”

That got a rare smirk out of him. “You’re assuming I’d react.”

“I know you’d react,” you said, backing toward the door. “And you better not throw it out.”

You were gone before he could say anything else.

⸻

A few days had passed, and the crew had been busy with the usual preparations. You were securing boxes with Penguin when you spotted something strange on the deck.

Law stood by the stern of the ship, his ever-present sword, Kikoku, resting on his shoulder as usual. But this time… something new had been added.

A tiny white seal keychain dangled from the guard of Kikoku. The sight of it made your heart skip a beat, and before you could stop yourself, you rushed over to Shachi, who was standing nearby.

“Wait, is that…?” Shachi leaned in closer, his eyes widening. “That wasn’t there before, right?”

You quickly tugged him away, your face flushing with a mix of excitement and embarrassment. “Don’t ask.”

Shachi raised an eyebrow, clearly puzzled. “Why not?”

You smiled, trying to keep the moment between you and Law private. “Because he doesn’t want anyone to know.”

⸻

Later that day, you found yourself walking down the hallway, lost in thought. You hadn’t meant to run into Law, but of course, you did. He was standing there, leaning against the wall as if lost in his thoughts.

For a moment, you just watched him, noticing the way his shoulders relaxed, his usually guarded expression softened just a bit. He hadn’t noticed you yet, but you couldn’t resist the urge to speak up.

“It looks good on Kikoku,” you said, your voice quiet but carrying through the space between you.

Law turned slowly, his eyes locking onto yours for a brief moment before shifting away again. “You said not to throw it out,” he replied, his voice low, but there was something almost… shy in his tone.

You smiled, feeling a warmth spreading through your chest. “I didn’t expect you to actually use it,” you said softly, walking toward him with a teasing glint in your eyes.

Law’s eyes flicked down to the keychain, then back to you. He didn’t say anything at first, as if weighing his words carefully. Then, in a voice so quiet you almost missed it, he muttered, “Don’t tell the crew I like it.”

You blinked, a slow smile tugging at your lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He didn’t respond, but his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than usual, as if unsure how to continue. And you, for the first time in a while, felt that fluttering warmth deep in your chest. Something had shifted between the two of you, something unspoken but undeniable.

⸻

That night, after the rest of the crew had retired for the evening, you stayed behind in the mess hall. The air was thick with the scent of leftover food and the faint hum of the ship’s engines. You sat at one of the tables, your fingers idly tracing the rim of your cup.

A few minutes later, Law walked in, holding a cup of tea in his hand. He looked around, and when his gaze landed on you, he paused for a moment, clearly surprised that you were still there.

He walked over to the table and sat across from you, his posture relaxed, as if he’d grown accustomed to having you around. The silence between you was different tonight—easier, comfortable even. It wasn’t heavy or awkward.

After a few moments, he broke the silence. “Why do you always sit near me?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

You looked up at him, a playful grin crossing your face. “Because you let me,” you said, leaning back in your chair.

He stared at you for a moment, his lips slightly parted as if unsure how to respond. “It’s not that I mind,” he muttered.

You raised an eyebrow. “So, you do mind?”

He caught your gaze, then looked away, his cheeks slightly flushed. “That’s not what I said.”

Your heart fluttered at the unexpected vulnerability in his voice. You leaned forward slightly, your hand resting on the table. “Do you like cute things, Law, or just that seal?”

He didn’t look at you right away. Instead, his fingers tapped his cup thoughtfully. “…I like some things,” he said, his voice unusually soft.

You tilted your head. “Like what?”

Law finally looked at you, his eyes intense. He paused for a beat before speaking, his words carrying an unexpected weight. “Like you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, neither of you moved. You couldn’t believe he had just said that. The air between you felt charged, thick with unspoken emotions.

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. “You think I’m cute?”

His lips twitched slightly. “You’re cute when you’re not annoying.”

You laughed, feeling the warmth rush to your cheeks. “Wow. High praise.”

He smirked, clearly amused by your reaction. But there was something softer in his eyes now—something that told you he wasn’t just teasing.

⸻

The conversation lingered between you both like a quiet melody, filling the empty space of the mess hall. You could feel the tension building, the unspoken words that hovered between your breaths. The moment felt fragile, as though it could slip away if you didn’t do something.

You stood slowly, feeling the weight of his gaze on you as you moved. “What’s the matter, Law?” you said, your voice low, teasing. “You going to do something about this?”

He didn’t move. His gaze stayed locked on yours.

“Try me,” he said.

So you did.

You leaned down, kissed him gently—warm, slow, real.

And when you pulled back, you caught it. That flicker of red near his ears.

“Don’t tell the crew about this either?” you whispered.

His voice was husky. “Especially not them.”

[shetheabsolute]

— Fruit for Thought

(Sinners, 2000s au)

Stack × Original character (Imaan Irie Miller)

Episode 2: Off balance

The door swung open with a loud chime as Grace and I stepped inside, the cool air from the store wrapping around us like a prayer.

I blinked, adjusting to the hum of the refrigerators and the smell of cleaning bleach and something sweet like air freshener, still stuck on what she just said.

“They back? Grace, you playin’ me right now?” I said, stepping over the welcome mat with my heart catching in my throat.

Grace pushed her long silky black hair off her shoulder and gave me that look—half-smirk, half-truth. “I’m serious, boo. Stack and Smoke’s Juke Joint. That’s what it’s gon’ be. Annie say Smoke paid her a lil visit the other night.”

We both froze for a beat, eyes catching. And then—

“Oh I know what visit mean,” I said, grinning wide. “Annie still got them weak knees.”

Grace burst out laughing, covering her mouth. “That woman could raise the dead with the way she do. You know.”

The front door jingled again as Bo came out from the back, holding a clipboard and looking about half-interested in the world around him.

“Imaan,” he greeted with a lazy smile, waving me over as he stepped outside behind a group of teenage boys hauling the crates from my truck bed.

He pointed a finger at one of them—tall, lanky boy with his jeans too low and confidence too high.

“But—aye! Keon!” Bo barked. The boy froze mid-lift. “Don’t none of y’all be tryin’ no funny stuff with my daughter. I know how you get. And don't forget I know y' mama.”

The other boys howled laughing while Keon just rolled his eyes. “Ain’t nobody worried ‘bout Lisa, man.”

Bo gave him the look.

“Go on now,” he grunted, jerking his chin toward the crates.

Grace laughed under her breath, swatting Bo’s arm as he came back in.

“Leave them boys alone,” she teased. “Lisa got it handled.”

Bo grinned and pulled her close by the waist, kissing her like other people weren't around. “Mmhmm. And I got you handled.”

“Boy, go somewhere,” Grace murmured, flustered, before turning to me. “He act up all the damn time.”

Bo slapped his hand over his chest. “Now that hurts. Now, Imaan, don’t worry, I’ll pay you good like always. You just keep bringin’ me the best mangoes in the state.”

“Best in the whole South, you mean,” I said with a wink.

Bo headed toward the back again, clipboard in hand, while Grace slipped behind the front counter. I followed without thinking, like I’d done a thousand times, perching myself behind the glass barrier where the peach rings and dried plums lived. My feet swung a little, bare calves brushing the cool metal as Grace flipped through an old issue of Vibe magazine.

I watched the way her eyes scanned the page slow, but I knew her thoughts were still stuck where mine were.

I lingered before asking, “...and you sure Annie said they both back?”

Grace didn’t look up right away. She flipped a page, then nodded slow.

“She said she saw Smoke first. Said he walked in like he ain’t aged a day, talkin’ slick like always, askin’ if her number was still the same.” Grace smirked. “And then she said Stack came in later. Real quiet. Looked a lil tired, but chu know, still him.”

I swallowed something dry in the back of my throat. My fingers traced over the glass counter without lookin’.

“She say anything else?” I asked, voice soft.

Grace tilted her head, finally lookin’ at me. “Just that he was lookin’ for a spot. Said he wanted to ‘build sumn familiar.’ She ain’t know if that meant the Juke Joint idea or…”

“Or me,” I finished for her, eyes unfocused. The word sat heavy in my mouth.

Grace didn’t say nothing for a moment. Just hummed and nodded slow.

“Could be both.”

I leaned back, letting my body rest against the wall behind me. My eyes drifted toward the front window where the kids were still hangin’ around, laughin' and pushin' each other near the truck. But my mind… was somewhere else.

Back on that couch. Back on his mouth, brushing over mine like a secret.

Back on those damn dog tags sitting in the box under my bed.

Grace tossed the magazine onto the counter and leaned her elbow on it, watching me, eyes glinting with mischief. I could tell she was already ready to clown me.

“You gon’ go see him?” she asked.

I didn’t answer. Not yet.

I just stared at the sunlight spilling through the front window, warm and golden and unfamiliar.

“I don’t know if I’m gon’ go see him,” I said, leaning down to adjust the strap of my sandal. “Not if him still messing wit’ the pale lady.”

Grace let out a loud laugh and gently pushed at my thigh with the back of her hand. “Who? Mary? Girl, you a trip. Easy, easy—you know that girl family.”

“To y’all,” I said with a pointed look, twirling my finger in a slow circle. “I do not conversate with her. She still think I was tryin’ to—on quote—steal her man. I mean, wasn’t she married to some white dude at that time?”

“Mhmm,” Grace hummed as she reached below the counter, grabbed a pack of peach rings, and tore it open easily. “But, girl, you know she divorced him. Got his money too.”

My brows lifted. “Really?” I reached over and plucked one of the peach rings from the bag, slow and casual.

“Yup.” Grace nodded like she’d just delivered gospel. “She livin’ up in them big neighborhoods now. Behind the gates. She come through downtown like twice a week. I’m surprised you two ain’t ran into one another.”

“I don’t want to,” I said flatly, chewing slow. “She’s so petty. Act like Stack and me was in a relationship. She catch herself havin’ beef with me. But I don’t beef. I will taze that woman.”

Grace nearly choked, laughing. “Girl hush!”

Just then, the back door creaked open and Bo stepped in with a little notepad in hand, head tilted halfway like always.

“I got my half of the load,” he said, waving the pad. “So I’mma go ahead and write you up a check. You good with that?”

“Yes, Bo,” I said softly, slipping down from the counter to follow him over to the register. “You always treat me right.”

Bo smiled, his hands already scribbling down numbers in his tight, neat handwriting. “You know we appreciate you, Imaan. Ain’t nobody else bring fruit like you do. These mangoes? Got folks thinkin’ we got a tree out back.”

I chuckled, leaning against the counter beside him. “Das love, Bo. Thank you.”

“You got it,” he said, tearing off the check and handing it over. “Give Annie my love when you see her.”

“I will.” I tucked the check in my purse. “Tell Lisa I said bye.”

Grace waved from the counter. “Bye, sugar. Don’t taze nobody!”

“Can't make no promises,” I teased.

The sunlight hit me hot and bright when I stepped back outside. I rounded the corner to the back lot and spotted Keon leaning up on my truck like he paid the note, talking to Lisa with a little too much smile in his face. I slowed my step just enough to watch him hold her hand—Lisa giggling, bashful, twisting one of her strands.

“Oooo...” I called out, smirking as I approached. “Y’all betta hope Bo don’t catch this.”

They jumped back like they got caught stealing. Lisa turned beet red. Keon just laughed nervously, scratching his head.

“I ain’t doin’ nothin’, Miss Imaan. Don't tell daddy,” she said, all innocence.

“Mmhmm,” I hummed, pulling open my driver door. “I didn’t see this, for now. Yall take care! And keep yall hands to y' selfs.”

I climbed into the front, the engine coughing once before roaring alive. I cracked the windows back down and began to back out the lot. I hit the main road, the city slowly peeled open more. Pasting faded murals and tall buildings as my mind starts to drift back to Grace’s words.

Stack was back, and with him I just knew the balance I had gained for myself over the years was about to be knocked off its rocks.

masterlist

[the-internets-girlfriend]

Bittersweet Memories: Layers of Truth

George Clarke x Reader (Series)

There was something sweet - until it all fell apart. Years later, a viral video stirs up a past neither of them ever quite let go of. In the city where they both changed, something is quietly rising again.

warnings: soft angst, emotional miscommunication, heartbreak, swearing, slow-burn, alcohol consumption, hungover

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

series | masterlist | previous part | next part

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Part Five: Layers of Truth (2000+ words)

It’s Thursday when I run into him again.

The podcast episode went live yesterday. I haven’t listened to it. I can’t, not yet – not ready to look at him and my vulnerability. Maisie has watched it though – twice. She made exaggerated gasping sounds during Max’s love life ambush and texted me a flurry of emojis that I’m still trying to decode.

She even mentioned the chemistry that she saw between George and I – but I ignored her.

The bakery has been chaos since.

Orders are up. Walk-ins are nonstop. Someone posted a clip of George eating the jam pastry with that stupid – handsome… smirk on his face, and suddenly it’s the only thing half the city wants. We’ve been making batch after batch, running out of flour twice, and I’ve barely had time to think – which is honestly a relief.

But today is slower – and I have the rain to thank for it.

The first real storm of the season rolls in like it’s been waiting for this exact moment – thunder heavy, air thick with the kind of rain that feels personal.

It’s nearly closing – but I’m not planning on going anywhere anytime soon with the rain.

The bakery is half-lit, music down low, a slow hum of Fleetwood Mac playing Silver Springs in the background. I’m behind the counter, icing the last row of cupcakes for tomorrow’s birthday order, when I hear the bell jingle.

And there he is.

George.

Hood Up. Trainers soaked. A victim to the thundering rain although a sheepish grin tugging at his lips,

“Hi,” he says softly, pulling down his hood, “didn’t know if you’d be working.”

“I always work,” I reply, a little too fast.

He steps closer, but not too close – he’s stood two steps away from the counter, I know because I can just smell his cologne. “Do you have any of the… jam ones?

I blink, “the ones from the podcast?’

He nods. “Figured I owed Max an apology pastry. Maybe two.”

I should tell him np. That we’re sold out. That they’re cooling. That we’re closed. But I don’t.

Instead, I point toward the cake stand.

“Still warm.”

He reaches for his wallet, but I wave him off, “it’s on the house.”

A beat passes.

“Are you sure?”

“No,” I say honestly. “But I’m doing it anyway.”

He takes the two pastries gently, like he’s worried it’ll crumble if holds it wrong. He bids his goodbye, and heads towards the door.

A thundering sound is heard outside which stops him in his track.

The he just… stands there. Looks at me.

“Can I sit?” he asks after a moment, gesturing to a table pushed against the window of the bakery.

I hesitate. My heart thundering along with the thunderstorms. I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. But I nod – still deeply caring for his safety and not wanting him out in the storm.

He shuffles to the stool to wait out the thundering storm.

I hum to myself as I clean the counter, preparing to close the bakery. On my way to the door, I grab the last chocolate éclair from the cabinet.

His favourite.

I slowly walk to the door, feeling George’s eyes lift from his phone to me.

I flip the open side to read closed – before taking a deep breath and placing the chocolate éclair in front of him.

I sit across from him. He doesn’t speak right away. Neither do I.

Then, softly; “You remembered.”

“Remembered what?”

He takes a bite of the dessert. “What I like.”

“Well, yeah.” My sentence gets trapped in my throat as I look away.

“You didn’t reply to the podcast.”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to,” I answer.

“You didn’t have to. I just… I don’t know.” He exhales. “You looked at me. During that question. About your love life.”

“You looked at me first,” I defend before I can stop myself.

He lets out a chuckle at the banter – as his eyes search mine. They’re warmer than I remember, or maybe I’ve just spent too long pretending I forgot.

“Did you mean it?” He asks, “when you said you’re focused on the bakery?”

“I do mean it,” I say. “It’s the only thing I’ve ever been able to count on.”

He nods, slowly. “And me?”

I flinch.

“I meant… back then,” he says quickly. “Was I—did I ever feel like something you could count on?”

There it is. The real question.

I breathe in, and it tastes like cinnamon and jam and rain-soaked ghosts.

“You were,” I whisper. “Until you weren’t.”

His face falls, like he expected the answer but hoped it would hurt less.

“I never wanted to stop being that,” he says. “I messed it up. I know that. But you—God, Y/N, you were home. And I’m sorry.” He finishes, running a hand through his wet hair.

“George-“ I start but am interrupted.

“I know I don’t deserve anything. But if there’s a chance – for you just to be in my life, I would be grateful.”

I smile at George, and his stressed, nervous expression changes as I nod along.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

We sit for a while, just watching the rain coast the windows in silver – we speak of what each other have been up to recently, with George expressing about his holidays he has had the chance to go on and I mentioning the startup of the bakery and meeting Maisie.

No mention of a girl was stated by George – and I brighten at the observation, unaware as to why.

“People are starting to ship us,” George says finally, a wry tilt to his mouth.

My stomach flips. “Yeah Maisie showed me.”

“They think we’re strangers who have only just met and have chemistry.”

I laugh once – soft. “Imagine if they knew the truth – about us.”

He looks at me. “They don’t need to.”

And somehow, that matters more than I expect. That it’s ours. Still.

“Your fans are nice. They’ve been visiting,” I say fiddling with my apron. “Loud. But nice.”

He smiles. “They love you.”

“They don’t even know me.”

“They like who I am around you.”

That shuts me up.

I look to George, heart beating as it’s now my turn to apologise. “Sorry I never came to you events when you first started. Not back then. Not really.”

George blinks. “You don’t have to apologise.”

“I think I do,” I say. “You were doing big things. And I didn’t know how to be part of that without feeling like I didn’t belong. I was scared – back then.”

He takes a breath. “You did belong. I just… never wanted to make you choose.”

A pause.

“I’m glad you came on the podcast,” he admits.

I look at him. “Yeah?”

“I think we both needed it. Even if it was… weird.”

“Very weird – thanks Max.” I agree, grinning.

But it opened something. That much is clear.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

A few days have passed since George and I shared the conversation in the bakery. We don’t label anything, but he starts showing up again – always with a reason.

Maisie pretends not to be obsessed with the whole thing. She fails – always bringing up the second chance with excitement.

We go for coffee one day after I close up. Walk to the canal like old times. Sit on benches until the streetlights flicker on. Some nights, we talk about the gap between then and now. Other nights, we don’t say much at all.

We talk about the video – the one that started it all. How Maisie and I had only posted it as a joke, and at one point I had almost deleted it.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” George says.

“Why? So you could storm into my life unannounced just like the first time?”

He shrugs. “Felt like the universe owed us a second take.”

I roll my eyes, but my heart agrees. Something floated in the air, unsaid, but we both understood.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

One afternoon, he helps me haul boxes into the kitchen — deliveries for the weekend market stall. He leans against the bench, watching me work like he used to, arms folded, mouth twitching with something he won’t say.

“Spit it out,” I say, reaching for the baking trays.

“You’re good at this,” he says.

“At lifting things?”

“No.” He gestures vaguely. “All of this. Building something. Staying. I used to think running was brave, but… staying’s harder.”

That stays with me. Especially coming from him.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

We don’t talk about the past in specifics. Not yet. But it lingers, between every laugh. We both know what we want to say and both understand that. But every look between us was too long to be causal.

Still, we try to take it slow.

“Let’s just… be in each other’s lives again,” I say one night, fingers wrapped around my mug. “No expectations.”

“Friends,” he says.

I nod. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t say anything for a second. Then, “Okay. But real friends. The kind who show up.”

“I’ll try,” I whisper.

“So will I,” he says.

And I believe him.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The next time he comes in, it’s sunny. People are queued out the door. He waits like everyone else, hood low, sunglasses on, but still spotted by a group of girls who whisper loudly behind him.

When he reaches the counter, he grins. “Sold out?”

I nod. “Maisie’s idea. She renamed the jam ones ‘George’s Regret’.”

He snorts. “Charming.”

I lean in. “You good?”

He shrugs. “Bit overwhelmed. But this helps.”

“Being here?”

He nods. “Feels like breathing again.”

Something in my chest stirs.

That night, as I lock up, he’s still there, leaning against the wall like a character from a film he’d make fun of.

“You walking me home?” I tease.

He grins. “Trying to earn back my bakery privileges.”

“You already get too many free pastries.”

“I don’t want pastries.”

I stop. Look at him.

He clears his throat. “I mean — I do. But also… this.”

He gestures between us. Whatever this is.

I tuck my keys into my coat pocket. “We’re not rushing it, remember?”

“I know,” he says. “But I’m glad we’re not pretending it never happened.”

“Me too.”

He offers his arm. I take it.

And we walk.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

By the end of the week, we’ve started texting late again – with the occasional call here and there. Always casual. Always friendly, but we both still know something lingers.

Some nights, I hear his voice in my ear long after I hang up. His laugh tucked into my pillow like it belongs there.

We don’t talk about what we’re doing still. No label. Just… a quiet rhythm falling bac into place. One I missed without realising.

Maisie find my phone on the bench one morning, reading aloud a message and yells, “Did George Clarke just say he’d fight anyone who insults our croissants?”

I whip my head around, icing bag still in hand. “Maisie –“

She holds the phone out of reach, dancing backwards on socked feet like a gremlin. “I mean, he used actual capital letters! Look – oh my god, he’s in love with your pastries. And you.”

I snatch the phone back, cheeks burning. “He’s just being stupid.”

A pause. Then a grin blooms across her face.

“You love him still!”

I go very still. “I do not.”

Maisie raises a single brow, crosses her arms, and simply waits.

I hate her.

But I smile anyway.

Because yes. Maybe I do.

Still.

Always.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

LOOK AT THEM! Being adults and talking about their feelings! How mature of them.

But only one part left everyone :(

I'm going to be sad to finish up this story... but I do have some things planned for them and another series to finish too, whoops.

See you next time for the last part,

mwah x

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

taglist x

@mothersversiononly @whisperturnedecho @lovingaphroditesworld @reidyourpalms @liz140569 @swizzlemynizzle @wherethezoes-at @clarkeyzzz @swiftlyjo @madforgeorge @smzyyx @graceln4 @norrizzandpia @heyitsmefall @oliviaohanessian1 @clarkey4life @dopeysunflowers @hey-there9-its-me @ooostarwarsfandom501st @canyouseethesainz @cheesystylesig @burkayyy @mia-maybank @smzyyx @simp-hub @sundarksposts

[kanescrochet]

Two Lines and A Promise

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick X Pregnant!Reader

Word count: 2000

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

The test sat on the bathroom counter like a bomb that hadn’t gone off yet. Two lines. Not one. Definitely two.

You stared at it like looking longer might somehow change the result. But it stayed the same—bold, pink, and terrifying. You felt the floor tilt beneath you slightly, the same way it had when Kyle called you from a war zone and said, “I’m alright, love, but it was close.”

But this time, he wasn’t halfway across the world. He was coming home. Tonight.

You wrapped the test in tissue, shoved it into the back of the bathroom drawer like you were hiding a classified file, and stood in front of the mirror trying to recognize yourself.

You weren’t a soldier. You didn’t do well with sudden change or unpredictability. Kyle always made you feel steady, like you could breathe no matter what chaos existed outside your apartment walls. But this? This was a different kind of mission—one neither of you had trained for.

It was nearly midnight when his key turned in the lock.

The sound always made your heart stutter, even after all this time. Combat boots on hardwood. The low, familiar exhale as he dropped his duffle. Then the soft smile, only for you.

“Hey,” he said, eyes crinkling as he crossed the room.

You went to him without thinking, burying your face in his chest, arms wrapping tightly around him.

“Missed you too,” he murmured, rubbing circles into your back. “You alright?”

You nodded into his shirt. Lied, maybe. Because how did you say I’m pregnant to someone who just got back from a battlefield?

You made it through dinner—pizza, like always—and listened as he told you stories he’d never repeat in public. You laughed, smiled, kissed him like nothing had changed. But your hands trembled a little when you held his.

“Babe?” he asked gently, later, when you sat curled on the couch and he noticed the way your fingers picked at your sleeve. “What’s going on?”

You looked up. His brows were furrowed in concern, his eyes soft and searching. Kyle had always been observant—dangerously so, sometimes. He could read a room in seconds. Reading you? That took half the time.

You swallowed hard and forced yourself to meet his gaze. “I, uh… I have to tell you something.”

“Alright,” he said slowly. “You’re scaring me a bit.”

You reached behind you, pulling the wrapped test from where you’d hidden it under a pillow. He took it from you cautiously, like it might be something sharp.

The silence that followed was deafening.

He peeled back the tissue, looked down at the test. Blinked. Then looked up at you again, eyes wide. “Is this…?”

You nodded, suddenly unable to speak. “Two lines,” you whispered. “It means I’m… we’re…”

He didn’t speak for a second. Just stared at the test like it was some ancient riddle, like maybe he’d misread it. But then his eyes filled—not just with shock, but something softer. Brighter.

“Bloody hell,” he breathed. “We’re having a baby?”

You nodded again, bracing for a hundred reactions. Fear. Doubt. Maybe even regret. What you weren’t prepared for was the way he leaned forward, cupped your face, and kissed you like you’d just handed him the most precious thing on earth.

When he pulled back, his thumb brushed your cheek.

“You scared?” he asked quietly.

“A little.” Your voice cracked. “Are you?”

He chuckled, though his eyes shimmered. “Terrified. But also… I dunno. Happy? It’s weird. I didn’t think I’d feel like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like everything just made sense,” he said simply.

And that was when you let the tears fall—because Kyle, who had seen war, who had lost brothers, who never planned past next month—was smiling about a future he didn’t know he’d get.

He pulled you into his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist like he could shield you both from the world. His hand settled instinctively over your stomach, not even showing yet, but already everything.

“I’m gonna do right by you. By both of you,” he said firmly. “I don’t care what I have to change. I’m not missing a single thing.”

You believed him. You always had.

Later that night, as you lay tangled in sheets and quiet breaths, he spoke again—voice low, like he was afraid of waking the future.

“Think it’ll be a boy or a girl?”

You smiled in the dark. “I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. As long as they have your heart.”

He snorted. “Let’s hope they have your patience.”

You both laughed, and in that sound, there was something sacred—something new.

[chvoswxtch]

a little more time

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: you're starting to question just how much patience you have left for frank.

warnings: swearing, frank getting ganged up on by our latest dynamic duo, more angst than an early 2000s emo playlist

word count: 3k

a/n: & here is the second half of this week's double drop. enjoy the calm while it lasts, bc the storm is right around the corner. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

[previous chapter] | [next chapter] | [series masterlist]

Frank raised his right fist to knock three times against an apartment door labeled 6F. The person who the apartment belonged to was still a mystery to you. Neither you or Frank had spoken a single word to each other the entire short drive over. Instead, you’d sat stiffly in the passenger seat, arms crossed tightly over your chest, glaring out the window.

A minute later, the sound of a lock twisting broke the tense silence, and the front door was opened. A tall man stood in the doorway, his dark brown eyes wandering over Frank from head to toe and back up again. He was somewhat obstructed from your view since Frank was standing right in front of you, but you saw the way his full lips pursed in lighthearted disapproval before he lightly smacked them.

“Aw, shit.”

“Good to see you too, Curt.”

“Wish I could say the same. You know, most friends do normal shit. Go fishin’ down in Florida, maybe golf or somethin’, but you, you’re always draggin’ me into some bullshit. So what kinda trouble you bringin’ me now, Frank?”

“Told ya I needed you to look after somethin’ while I was gone for a bit.”

The man wore a light gray long sleeved henley, and the top of three buttons was undone. The waffle knit fabric stretched tightly over his biceps when he crossed his arms over his chest, lifting one of his dark brows in question with a look of suspicion on his face.

“Yeah, you didn’t say what though.”

Frank finally stepped aside, and the man fully came into view before you. When his dark brown eyes landed on your figure, an expression of surprise softened his skepticism. His onyx brows lifted in a show of disbelief as he glanced between you and Frank, giving him a pointed look.

“She’s with you?”

“Yeah. Curt, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Curtis.”

Looking up at Curtis, you did your best to give him a polite smile along with a faint nod of your head.

“It’s nice to meet you, Curtis. Frank’s told me nothing about you.”

“Well that makes two of us.”

Indents of puzzlement creased along his forehead and without another word, Curtis reached his right hand out to wave his palm back and forth in front of your face, which took you by surprise and made your brows knit in curiosity while you blinked a few times. Frank looked at Curtis inquisitively. 

“The hell you doin’?”

“Just checkin’ to see if she was blind.”

“Why?”

Turning his head to look at Frank again, Curtis looked him up and down once more with an expression of dubiety.

“Couldn’t think of another logical explanation of what the hell she was doin’ wit’cho ugly ass.”

Blowing a puff of air past his lips, Frank shook his head and turned to glance around to his left. Meanwhile, you had to cover your mouth to stifle the laugh that Curtis conjured with his quick response. Shaking his head, Curtis reached out to take your bag from you, stepping aside and gesturing for you to come inside, all the while side-eying Frank.

“Could’ve at least carried her bag for her, damn.”

Frank looked genuinely offended by the implied accusation that he hadn’t even attempted to be a gentleman, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop from smiling at the way he scrunched up his face in defense.

“She wouldn’t let me.”

“Mhm.”

Curtis’ apartment was modest and simple, not overly decked out in furniture and decor, but definitely more homely than Frank’s. It felt awkward standing in the middle of a stranger’s living room that you had just met, knowing that you were supposed to be staying here for a few days. That thought had something from Frank and Curtis’ exchange suddenly sticking out in your mind.

Frank had told Curtis he needed him to keep an eye on something, not someone. 

Turning around to face them, your narrowed gaze landed on Frank and creases of irritation swiftly knit between your brows.

“You didn’t tell him that I was coming, did you?”

Both men’s heads snapped in your direction when you spoke. Curtis glanced between the two of you with a comical look on his features as he picked up on the fact that Frank seemed to be in trouble with you. It was evident how hard he was trying to suppress a smirk. Frank on the other hand turned to face you fully, and he returned your expression of irritation with his own annoyed, broody scowl. 

“Didn’t wanna ask over the phone-”

“And you didn’t think to ask in person before you packed me up and dropped me off?”

Curtis had his arms folded over his chest, and he was fighting to hide his amusement behind his right fist. His broad shoulders were subtly bouncing, and the sound of his snickering caused Frank to snap his head in his direction with a deep frown. Clearing his throat, Curtis turned to look at you with an easy going smile and gave a loose and dismissive wave of his right hand.

“Look it uh, it ain’t a big deal, alright?” 

“It is when he’s the only one here who seems to know what the fuck is going on.”

The tension between you and Frank was thick, almost visibly lingering in the air, and Curtis quickly picked up on it. He’d placed your bag on the floor by his feet, but in an effort to diffuse the situation, Curtis reached down to pick it up in his left hand and loosely gestured with his right towards a hall around the corner from you.

“Here, why don’t we get you set up, alright? I uh…needa talk to Frank right quick.”

Curtis regarded you with a sympathetic glint in his eye, and it had guilt filling your bloodstream like lead. Your presence here was an imposition, whether he would say that out loud or not, which you figured by his kind nature he wouldn’t. It wasn’t fair of you to stand in the middle of his living room and argue with Frank, disrupting the peace of his home and causing him to feel uncomfortable. Silently nodding your head in agreement, you gave Frank one last forlorn glance before you turned to follow Curtis. 

In the midst of your disappointment, both in Frank and yourself, you noticed that Curtis seemed to walk with a slight limp. It wasn’t overly apparent, and you’d only observed it because your eyes were on the ground in front of you following the heels of his shoes, but it stoked your curiosity. Frank hadn’t told you anything about him, you hadn’t even known he existed until today, but he was clearly someone important if Frank was leaving you in his trusted care. Your mind began to wonder where that integrity stemmed from. When he placed your bag down on the edge of his bed, you quickly shook your head and spoke up. 

“I’m not kicking you out of your own room.”

Curtis turned his head to look at you and studied you silently for a moment. His deep brown eyes flickered between the door of his bedroom and your own gaze. Taking a step in your direction, he reached out with his right hand and gave your shoulder a comforting light squeeze. 

“We’ll talk about that later. Why don’t you just sit down for a minute, take a deep breath. Unclench your jaw and relax your shoulders.”

You hadn’t even been consciously aware of the fact that you were doing all of those things until Curtis pointed them out. Sucking in a deep breath, you let it out in a slow exhale through your lips, trying to release the frustration and stress in your body along with it. When you sat down on the edge of his bed, your shoulders slumped in exhaustion, and you folded your hands in front of you with your forearms resting on your thighs, staring blankly ahead at the wall.

“So, this kind of thing is normal with him?”

Slipping his hands into the pocket of his jeans, Curtis looked over at you while leaning back against the wall and granted a nod of his head.

“I’ve known Frank a long time. Kinda gotten used to him bein’ a pain in my ass.”

“And you put up with it?”

There seemed to be an unspoken understanding between the two of you at that moment. The way that Curtis looked at you told you that he knew what you were really asking him with your veiled question. 

Should I continue to put up with it?

Letting out a deep exhale of his own, Curtis pursed his full lips and a contemplative look covered his features. After a moment, he returned your interrogative stare with an expression of empathy and lightly shrugged his broad shoulders.

“I’ve never known Frank to do somethin’ without a purpose. Whether it’s right or wrong, I can’t say. But, the intentions come from a good place. Most of the time.”

The way he spoke that last part caught your attention, and you looked up at him in intrigue. He had trailed off a bit, his dark brown eyes wandering towards the empty space next to your side. You wished you could read the thoughts currently passing behind his eyes. Curiosity creased along your forehead as you tilted your head to the side in question. 

“Most of the time?”

Curtis’ eyes focused back in your direction and he held your gaze silently for a few seconds. You could see on his face that he knew he had said maybe just a little bit too much. He turned his head to glance towards the open bedroom door once more before returning your look of query. His lips faintly tugged into a reassuring smile when he nodded his head in your direction.

“Like I said, there’s always a purpose.”

While Frank and Curtis were conversating in the living room, you took a moment to look around the quaint space of Curtis’ bedroom. Eventually your eyes fell on your bag that sat on the mattress to your right, and all of a sudden it seemed to dawn on you that Frank had packed it for you. Unable to deny your curiosity, your fingers reached out to tug back the zipper, peering inside to see what clothing and necessities he’d chosen.

On one side of the bag, a pile of clothes were folded neatly, and on the other was your toiletry case. Thumbing through the pile of clothes, you felt a tightness in your chest seeing that Frank had chosen outfits that you would’ve picked for yourself. They were ones you wore regularly, and he’d even packed your favorite pajamas. Knowing that you liked to be overly prepared and have options in case you changed your mind, he’d made sure you had enough choices for a week, and he even managed to fit two other pairs of shoes in the bottom.

Frank had grabbed all of the essentials to pack in your toiletry case, everything that he knew you used regularly, and even a few things he must have just thought you might need. He hadn’t just randomly grabbed a bunch of things to shove in a bag and go. Frank had thoughtfully chosen every single item in this bag with you in mind. While you sat there with your bag open, staring at the contents inside, an unexpected wave of emotion built up along your waterline, and you hadn’t even noticed until you felt a trail of wetness cascading down your cheek. 

A light knock on the bedroom door made you quickly wipe away the evidence of your emotional turmoil with the sleeve of your shirt, and when you turned your head, you saw Frank standing there in the doorway. He looked considerably calmer than he had twenty minutes ago, and seeing the remnants of sorrow shining in your eyes, his rough features softened into raw remorse. Glancing at your open bag sitting beside you, Frank looked down for a moment and cleared his throat.

“I uh…grabbed what I thought you would.”

Hesitantly lifting his head to meet your gaze, you saw that his warm brown eyes were full of unspoken apologies. Giving a faint nod of your head, you dropped your gaze down to your lap and spoke quietly.

“Yeah, thank you.”

Both of you had so much you wanted to say, but neither of you knew where to start, or what the right words were. The silence echoed loudly and the walls felt like they were tauntingly closing in around you. A sinking stone of intuition in the pit of your stomach had you prophesying the very real possibility that this would end with you left in bereavement, and that the romantic daydreams you had hand crafted in the back of your mind had been false fortune telling. 

Frank took a few cautious steps towards you, and you could see his boots come into view in your peripheral as you kept your eyes downcast towards the floor.

“Sweetheart.”

God, the way he uttered that one word made your chest ache. There were a million different emotions packed into those two simple syllables, and you could hear the tender longing in his deep voice softly calling to you. Frank knelt down in front of you, his large hand reaching out to cup your face. He slipped his fingers into your hair right beside your ear, gently grasping the back of your neck and he tucked his thumb under your chin to lift your head slowly. 

“Hey-”

Frank dipped his head to try and catch your eye. Swallowing thickly, you slowly lifted your line of sight to look at him, and the expression on his face broke your heart. His warm brown eyes were desperately pleading with you, darting between your lips and crestfallen gaze.

“-c’mon I don’t…I don’t wanna leave it like this.”

The warmth of his breath could be felt against your lips, and his eyes were frantically searching every inch of face for something…anything that could temporarily relieve this anguish until he returned with a permanent fix.

“Look if I could…if there was another way…”

Frank let out a deep sigh that trembled past his lips, and it was clear he was struggling to find the right words.

“Just…please. I’m gonna make this right, okay? I swear to you. I just…I need you to give me a little more time, alright? Just a little more. Can you give me that?”

It was hard to see Frank like this, the somber sheen to his eyes and the misery weighing heavily on his shoulders. He was asking for another strand of patience, but you didn’t know how much you had left, and it scared you to even think about what would happen when you ran out. It was unclear in your mind whether the love you had for Frank that was embedded deeply in the chambers of your heart could be enough to salvage the pieces he was leaving you with.

“Okay.”

Frank could hear the lack of conviction in your defeated tone, and it killed him. Deep down he knew he was asking too much of you without giving you any concrete reassurance in return, but he couldn’t see another path. All he could do was hope that your faith in him wouldn’t run out like grains of sand slipping through the narrow bridge of an hourglass, and that the consolation of your forgiveness could still be earned. 

His soft lips parted, and there was an intense emotion in his eyes when he stared deeply into yours. It looked like he wanted to say something so badly, but he cut himself off before he could. Leaning in, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead and let it linger for a moment before pulling away and retracting his hand from your face.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can. You’ll be safe with Curt, alright?”

A pang of disappointment quickly spread through you. For a second you thought Frank might be the first one to speak those three words. If there was ever a time you needed to hear them, it was now. But then again, you didn’t know if you were ready to say them back.

Running your hand through the roots of your hair and pushing it out of your face, you sucked in your bottom lip and grazed it with your top teeth before letting it go and nodding.

“Yeah.”

Frank eyed you wearily for a moment before hesitantly rising to his full height. He didn’t want to leave things between the two of you so unfinished like this, but he didn’t have a choice. He didn’t know if he’d made things better or worse in attempting to leave on a smoother note. When he reached the doorframe, he paused and turned to look at you again, and it bothered him that you wouldn’t look at him.

“I’ll see ya soon, sweetheart.”

There was no verbal reply from you, just another nod of acknowledgement. Frank lingered there for a moment in the doorway, silently begging you with his eyes to look at him, but your gaze seemed to be permanently fixed on the floor. The image of you sitting there looking so dejected and disappointed burned into his memory, and he knew it would haunt him, even long after this was all over. He wouldn’t forget the moment he’d let you down so badly.

The only goodbye you got was the resonation of Frank’s heavy boots fading, getting fainter and fainter the further away from you he got. A few seconds later, the front door opened with a soft creak, and a murmur was exchanged before the sound of heavy wood sliding back into a worn frame was completed with the soft click of a lock.

The golden hour dripped through the thin plastic blinds, coating the entire room in a sundrenched glow, but the warmth couldn’t penetrate the endless and echoing loneliness that dug deep into your bones knowing that Frank was gone, again.

tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @avengerstower-houseplant @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads @sumo-b98 @blackhawksfanatic @gloryekaterina @whistle1whistle @starbritestarlite @callmebrooklynbabes @hallway5 @scarletfvckingwitch @bifuriouslatina @soupyspence @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @wonwoosthetic @linguist-breakaribecca @nerdytreeflower @mrs-bellingham @smhnxdiii @s3riou2 @slavic-empress

[diorsdolliest]

𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐒; min ho

summary: y/n is heartbroken after being stood up on valentine’s day, but when min ho confesses his feelings, she begins to question everything she thought she knew about him—and herself.

warnings: N/A

word count: 2798

VALENTINE’S DAY WAS THE WORST !

every year, you swore it wouldn't bother you.

and every year, you watched your friends get grand gestures, love confessions, and sweet surprises while you got... nothing.

you saw it in the way yuri's eyes lit up when juliana asked her to be her valentine, the way they looked at each other like the rest of the world didn't exist.

you wanted that.

no—you needed it.

too bad you didn't have a boyfriend. or anyone remotely interested in you.

and as if that wasn't bad enough, kitty refused to let it go.

"kitty, just face it—i'm never getting a valentine. i've accepted it, why can't you?" you sighed dramatically, flopping onto the couch.

kitty, ever the optimist, shook her head. "i'm a matchmaker, y/n! someone out there would be so lucky to have you."

before you could respond, the dorm door swung open.

and, of course, it had to be him.

min ho.

he took one look at you and scoffed. "do you have to be here?" his accent curled around each syllable, laced with irritation.

you rolled your eyes. "yes, i do. if you have a problem with it—frankly, i don't care."

his jaw ticked. "shocking."

"god, you are so insufferable," you shot back, shifting to face kitty instead. "anyway, what's your plan for valentine's?"

at the mention of it, kitty's expression faltered. "nothing, i guess. dae hasn't asked me or anything yet."

you gasped. "excuse me?"

kitty shrugged. "he probably will, i just—"

"if he doesn't, we're having a girls' night," you decided, already springing to your feet. "just us, old 2000s rom-coms, and—"

your eyes flickered toward the kitchen. without thinking, you strode over and snatched the freshly popped popcorn min ho had just made.

he turned slowly, gaze darkening. "put. that. back."

you smirked, tossing a piece into your mouth. "make me."

for a second, neither of you moved.

min ho stepped closer, his presence overwhelming as he stared you down. "you're so annoying, you know that?" his voice was lower now, quieter.

your heart kicked up—whether from irritation or something else, you refused to acknowledge.

"and yet," you popped another piece into your mouth, "you're still standing here."

his eyes flicked to your lips for half a second.

you blinked.

before you could react, you turned on your heel and skipped back to kitty, plopping down beside her.

"i'm sure dae will ask me, though... right?" kitty asked, her voice hopeful.

you forced yourself to focus, nudging her playfully. "of course he will. he loves you."

but as you spoke, you could feel min ho's stare burning into you from across the room.

and for some reason, you didn't hate it.

a week later, you were caught completely off guard.

jaehyun—a boy you barely spoke to—approached you in the courtyard, a single rose in his hand and a box of chocolates tucked under his arm.

your first reaction was to laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “me?”

jaehyun grinned, nodding as he stepped closer, the faint scent of cologne lingering in the air. “y/n y/l/n, will you be my valentine?”

you blinked, glancing around like this was some kind of joke. but there were no snickering friends hiding nearby, no cameras pointed at you for some cruel prank.

just him, holding out the chocolates, slipping the rose behind your ear with careful fingers.

and for once, for the first time ever, you felt chosen. wanted.

a slow smile spread across your lips. “yeah, i will.”

jaehyun smirked before walking off, his friends clapping him on the back.

you watched him go, your heart thrumming in your chest, warmth blooming in your stomach. then, clutching the chocolates, you spun around and ran back to your dorm, excitement bubbling over.

for the first time, valentine’s day wasn’t something to dread.

it was something for you.

february 14th.

you spent an hour getting ready, carefully picking out your outfit, fixing your hair, and perfecting your makeup.

by the time you arrived at the restaurant, you were practically glowing, heart hammering with anticipation.

you found your table and sat down, smoothing your dress.

the waiter came over, pen poised over his notepad. "would you like to order?"

you shook your head, smiling. "oh, i'm waiting for my date. he'll be here soon."

the waiter nodded and walked away.

you checked your phone. no messages.

he's probably just running late.

thirty minutes passed. you were still sitting there, hands folded neatly in your lap, foot tapping against the floor.

an hour.

the waiter returned with a hesitant look. "would you like to order something while you wait?"

your stomach churned. "no... i think he'll be here soon."

you pulled out your phone, hesitated, then finally texted him.

no response.

you clicked on his profile.

blocked.

your breath hitched.

the realization crashed over you like a wave, drenching you in humiliation.

he wasn't coming.

two hours later, you ran out of the restaurant, the cold night air biting at your tear-streaked cheeks as you rushed to kitty's dorm.

the moment you reached the door, it swung open.

min ho.

you froze.

his gaze flickered over you, taking in the trembling shoulders, the ruined makeup, the way you clutched your arms around yourself like you were trying to hold the pieces together.

and then his expression shifted.

the teasing smirk he usually wore was gone. instead, his brows furrowed, lips parting slightly as he took a step forward.

you didn't give him the chance to speak. you shoved past him, storming into the room and collapsing onto the couch, burying your face in your hands.

min ho followed, shutting the door behind him.

silence.

then, the rustling of fabric as he moved closer.

the couch dipped beside you.

you flinched, immediately shifting away from him. "if you have something to say, i don't want to hear it!" your voice cracked, betraying you.

min ho exhaled, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer. "y/l/n... what happened?"

his tone. you weren't used to it. not from him. it wasn't condescending, wasn't laced with the usual irritation. it was something else.

something dangerous.

something that made your walls tremble.

you shook your head, wiping the fresh tears that spilled down your cheeks. "it's nothing."

min ho didn't move. "you look like you just had the worst night of your life. tell me."

you swallowed the lump in your throat.

for a moment, you considered shutting him out.

but then his eyes locked onto yours—deep, searching, unwavering—and suddenly, everything poured out.

"i was asked out by this guy," you whispered.

"jaehyun. and he—he asked me to be his valentine, and i thought, for once, someone actually wanted me. and then he stood me up." your voice broke on the last word.

"he blocked me."

the weight of it hit you all over again, a fresh wave of embarrassment and hurt crashing down. your chest tightened as more tears slipped down your face, shoulders shaking.

min ho was silent.

then, before you could react, he reached for you—his hands gripping your wrists, gently pulling them away from your face.

and then he did something you never expected.

he pulled you in.

your breath hitched as you crashed against his chest, his arms wrapping around you, warm and secure and safe.

the shock nearly knocked the air out of your lungs, but the moment his hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, the dam inside you broke completely.

you sobbed into his shoulder, hands clutching at the fabric of his hoodie. "i feel so stupid," you choked out.

min ho tensed. "you're not stupid."

you shook your head, unable to stop the spiral. "i just—i wanted it so badly. i wanted to feel special. but i guess i'm just—"

"don't."

his voice was firm.

you blinked up at him, sniffling.

min ho exhaled sharply, his grip tightening. "you are so much more than what that asshole saw you as. he's an idiot. he's a coward. and he just lost the chance to be with someone beautiful, talented, annoyingly stubborn—"

you let out a watery laugh.

"—and actually gives a shit about people," min ho finished. his voice lowered. "you deserve more than that. so much more."

you swallowed hard, your heart pounding.

it wasn't just what he was saying.

it was how he was saying it.

the way his gaze flickered down to your lips for half a second before snapping back up to your eyes.

the way his fingers curled slightly like he had to stop himself from holding you closer.

the way he was looking at you.

like he was realizing something.

like maybe he should've been the one to ask you first.

your breath caught in your throat.

min ho must've realized how close you were because he cleared his throat, quickly pulling back—but not before his fingers lingered for a second longer than they needed to.

you stared at him, your heart hammering against your ribs.

he let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. "you should get some rest," he muttered. "you look exhausted."

you shook your head, wiping your cheeks. "stay with me, please." you looked down, avoiding his eyes.

min ho went completely still.

you didn't dare move, didn't even breathe as the weight of your words hung in the air between you.

stay with me, please.

you hadn't meant for it to come out so desperate, so raw. but now it was out there, and there was no taking it back.

his breath was slow, measured—like he was carefully choosing his next move.

then, without a word, he leaned back into the couch, his body still tense, but he didn't leave.

"i'm not gonna leave you alone like this," he murmured, voice quieter now.

you nodded, but you didn't look at him. couldn't.

because if you did, you knew you'd break all over again.

the silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. the only sound was your shaky breathing, the occasional sniffle as you wiped at your cheeks.

and then—just barely—you felt it.

min ho's fingers, brush against yours.

a hesitation.

a pause.

and then he held them.

not in the way a friend would. not in the way someone offering comfort should.

his grip was warm, steady—but his thumb traced over your knuckles, slow and deliberate, sending a shiver down your spine.

your breath hitched.

what is he doing?

min ho cleared his throat, but he didn't let go. "you're such an idiot."

your head snapped up, eyes narrowing. "excuse me?"

he let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head.

his grip on your hand tightened for half a second before he finally let go, dragging his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"i mean, really, y/n?" he muttered.

"some guy gives you a rose and suddenly you think you're in some fairytale romance? you actually believed he—" min ho cut himself off, jaw tightening.

he looked away, breathing heavily through his nose.

you stared at him, something in your chest twisting. "why do you care so much?"

his head snapped back to you, eyes burning. "because it's you."

the room went deathly silent.

you barely had time to process before min ho was speaking again, voice lower, rougher. "do you have any idea how fucking frustrating it is to watch you chase after people who don't deserve you? to see you get your hopes up just to end up crying like this?"

your throat tightened. "min ho—"

"i would never do that to you," he interrupted, his voice breaking slightly.

"i would never make you feel like you're not enough. and you—" he huffed out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "you don't even see me, do you?"

you froze.

your pulse pounded in your ears as you stared at him, at the way his chest rose and fell unevenly, the way his hands clenched into fists like he was trying to hold himself together.

like this confession had been clawing its way out of him for way too long.

"...what?" your voice was barely above a whisper.

min ho let out a sharp exhale like he'd already said too much. but then his eyes locked onto yours, and something in them shifted.

screw it.

he surged forward, his face just inches from yours. "i like you, okay?" he muttered, the words dripping with frustration, desperation, something dangerous.

"i have liked you. and it's driving me insane watching you throw yourself at guys who don't even know how lucky they are to have your attention."

your lips parted, but no words came out.

min ho's jaw tensed, his eyes flickering between yours, searching—waiting.

for what, you didn't know.

for you to push him away?

to laugh in his face?

you didn't.

instead, you did the only thing you could do.

you reached for his hand again, gripping it tightly in yours. and this time, he was the one who sucked in a sharp breath.

"say it again," you whispered.

his brows furrowed slightly, his voice barely above a breath. "what?"

you swallowed, heart hammering against your ribs. "say it again."

min ho's fingers curled around yours. his voice was quieter this time, but just as intense.

"i like you."

you could barely think. barely breathe.

but then min ho leaned in, so close that his lips ghosted over your cheek, lingering there for a heartbeat too long.

his breath was warm against your skin, his grip on your hand tightening like he was grounding himself.

his voice dropped even lower, barely a whisper.

"...and i'm so fucking tired of pretending i don't."

you didn't move.

didn't breathe.

min ho's confession hung between you, thick and suffocating, as if the weight of it alone could crush you.

his breath was warm against your skin, his grip on your hand firm—like he was daring you to pull away, begging you not to.

but you couldn't.

your heart pounded so loudly you swore he could hear it.

every nerve in your body was on edge, hyper-aware of him—the heat of his body so close to yours, the tension radiating off of him like an electric current.

you forced yourself to swallow. "min ho..."

his name came out weaker than you intended, barely more than a whisper.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his brows furrowed, his lips parted slightly like he was preparing for the worst.

like he expected you to shut him down.

and maybe you should've.

maybe you should've laughed it off, teased him, acted like this was some sick joke—because what other explanation was there?

this was min ho.

min ho, who bickered with you like it was a second language.

min ho, who always had something sarcastic to say, acted like he barely tolerated you most of the time.

min ho, who was right here, so close you could feel every breath he took.

"i—" you swallowed again, voice barely steady. "you can't just say things like that."

his jaw tightened. "why not?"

"because..." you hesitated, your grip on his hand loosening, but he didn't let go.

because it would change everything.

because it was easier to keep pretending.

because if you let yourself believe him—if you let yourself hope—you wouldn't survive it if he took it back.

min ho exhaled sharply, his frustration barely contained. "you really don't get it, do you?"

you blinked at him, heat rushing to your cheeks. "get what?"

"that i see you." his voice was quieter now, raw in a way that made your stomach twist.

"i see all of you, y/n. not just the part that laughs too loudly, or the part that annoys the shit out of me daily. i see the part that cries when no one's looking. the part that wants so badly to be chosen—" he broke off, shaking his head.

"and it pisses me off that you don't even realize you already are."

your breath hitched.

min ho's gaze flickered between your eyes, your lips, and back to your eyes.

his fingers twitched like he wanted to touch you again, but something was holding him back.

you.

you were holding both of you back.

you squeezed your eyes shut, your pulse thrumming wildly against your skin. "min ho, i don't—"

"tell me you don't feel it." his voice was low, almost desperate. "tell me i'm wrong."

you opened your mouth, ready to deny it. to throw up your defenses, to make this easier.

but nothing came out.

because you did feel it.

you felt it in the way your chest tightened whenever he was near.

in the way his absence left a void, you hated to acknowledge.

in the way, his touch, his words, and his presence sent something sharp and terrifying through you.

you felt it.

and min ho knew.

his lips parted like he was about to say something else—one final push to make you admit what was already written all over your face.

but then, a sharp knock sounded on the door.

you jumped.

min ho jerked back slightly, his grip on your hand loosening for the first time. the moment shattered the intensity between you dissipating like smoke.

the door creaked open, and kitty's voice rang out.

"oh—uh, am i... interrupting something?"

your head snapped up, your breath still uneven.

min ho let out a slow exhale, running a hand through his hair, forcing his expression back into something unreadable.

"no." his voice was flat, distant.

"nothing at all."

liar.

he shot you one last look before standing up, jaw tight.

then he walked out, leaving you alone on the couch, pulse still racing, heart still pounding, and everything left unsaid.

pt 2 - all i really want is you

[joostglazer]

maar ik ben er nog en jij ook

(but im still here, and you are too)

female reader x vampire!joost

summary: while on vacation in the netherlands with a friend, you find yourself enamored by the strange employee at an internet cafe

word count: 7424

content warnings: 18+ RPF SMUT, biting, blood, blood play, blood drinking, pain play, unprotected piv

a/n: This is for 80 followers!!! Thank you all so so much, I love you all, I love getting comments and questions and all the brilliant kindness you all have shown me in the short time since I joined!

Also, this is a early 2000s AU, not that i lived through that in any meaningful way besides being a dumb child but i have such an affinity for it i had to. internet cafe is soooo 2004-2007 to me.

i think about vampire!joost so much i mind need to make my own headcanons posts because its like bad bad, im obsessed.

You stare at the dingy storefront building, trying to decide if you want to go in or not. It looked…scuzzy. A big sign hangs on the front, kind of flapping in the wind, that reads "YES WE ARE OPEN", a neon sign blinks "OPEN", on the glass door vinyl letters read "Internet Cafe 24/7".

It's two pm on a Monday, so you're not exactly shocked they're open. There's a couple of patrons at the desks, you slink past them as you enter. A stern looking man sits at the desk, he has an eye patch, and a pin on his suit jacket says 'manager'. You're as thrilled as he is to be here, which is to say not very. But your friend wanted to check her email and she had met a guy that recommended this place, so you rent two computers and wait for her. She had gotten sidetracked talking to another girl on the street.

But the next time you come back, two days later just after one in the morning you are a little surprised to see it is in fact still open. You couldn't sleep, and figure it's probably the most pleasant place to spend the night. There's a different employee behind the desk now, of course. He's wearing headphones and an unfriendly scowl on his face, and you want to talk to him less than the manager.

You sigh and steel yourself, approaching the desk. He looks up before you have a chance to say anything, there's a cigarette hanging from his lips despite the No Smoking sign on the wall behind him.

"Ja?" He says simply, blowing the smoke away from you, pushing his headphones to rest around his neck.

"Uh, hi. Can I get two hours on a computer?" You give a small smile.

He blinks at you, his lashes darkened by mascara fluttering. You realize how cute he is when he looks up at you like that, the black eyeshadow around his eyes, they're blue, like ice blue, lighter around the pupil slightly. You're so focused, so entranced by his eyes that you almost don't hear what he's saying. "Why?"

"Huh? Why?" You ask, trying to process the question. You know what he's asking, the manager guy asked the same question the other day.

"Ja. What do you want to use the computer for?" He ashes the cigarette and takes another drag.

"Um. Internet. I'm just here to check my email and like- MySpace." You fumble to get the money from your bag.

"Sending email is extra." He says simply. He doesn't wear a pin like his manager does. You wonder if it would just say 'Internet Cafe Employee' if he did.

"I know. I was here the other day." You sigh, handing over the banknotes.

"It's dumb, huh?" The Employee messes with the little cash register machine on the desk.

"Yeah. A little." You chuckle, watching him put the cash away and gather up your change and a little receipt. He takes a moment to scribble on the receipt before handing it over.

"You're at fourteen." He points out into the rows of computers. You glance at the receipt quickly and see he wrote the number there too and pocket it.

"Thanks, dude." You say, smiling.

He smiles back, it's small, courteous, but it's cute. He's cute.

You find your way to the computer, and are secretly glad the employee didn't sit you next to any of the few patrons here. It's a little close to the desk, actually. But maybe it's just because you're a foreigner and he doesn't trust you, you do feel his eyes on you. Though, everytime you glance over he isn't looking, so you tell yourself you're imagining it.

You're there for about an hour before someone has a problem that the employee has to address. He walks past you to get there, you glance up after getting a chill, goosebumps on your arms, to see him walking down the aisle away from you. You go back to what you were doing, commenting on someone's MySpace blog, but when the employee goes back to his desk, the computer you're at shuts off. "No, wait..What the-" You splutter, watching the screen kind of blink before going black.

You’re scared to touch it. What if the guy thinks you did this! You were just on MySpace, you didn't download any viruses or anything. You stare at the monitor hoping it will come back but it doesn't and you have to stand and drag your feet over the front desk.

The employee is focused on the monitor on his desk, he's typing something, but quickly glances up when you approach. "Uh, hi. Sorry, um- My computer just shut down and like-- I didn't do anything." You gesture behind your back, giving the employee an anxious smile. God, you don't have the money to pay for the computer if you killed it somehow.

He sighs a little. "Ja, ja. Give me a second. You can go sit back down." He waves you off, going back to typing.

You're hesitant to go back, but you do, sitting back down on the plastic chair feeling like that might break under your weight too. It'd be just your luck. "I dunno what happened," You sigh when the employee appears next to you. You didn't even hear him, you don't know how, with those huge boots he's wearing. "I was just on MySpace and then it like flashed or blinked and pbbt- dead. I didn't wanna do anything 'cause-Like, you're the professional."

He listens to you ramble, a smile on his face. You're surprised by how genuinely kind he looks in the moment, not frustrated by your silly incompetence like you expected. "I'm not a professional, but I'll give it a look. Let me in." He plops down in the chair at the terminal next to you, and both chairs squeak obnoxiously as you scoot to make way for him. You would have let him sit where you are but, he insisted.

His knee brushes yours as he leans in to poke at the tower, pressing the power button. Once the machine starts humming he leans back and both of you watch the monitor. He shifts a little in his chair to slip a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his front pocket and lights one as he waits, setting the pack on the desk. You find yourself watching him take a drag from it, exhaling the smoke, but quickly look back to the monitor when his eyes flick to you. You see the smug grin spread across his face in the dark reflection but it's quickly replaced by the boot screen.

The logo for the operating system appearing on a deep blue background, 'unityOS' in white with stars around the word, a little loading bar underneath. It's a good few seconds before the log-in screen comes up, a little jingle playing in the transition and the employee sits up and reaches over to enter the admin password. The desktop has the same OS logo in the corner, you've never heard of it before.

"There. It's fine," He sits back, and smiles at you, pleased with himself. His canine teeth are a little longer, sharper than most people's. But, well, everyone's different. "These things are old, they tend to just crash sometimes."

"Thanks. Sorry for wasting your time, I just didn't want to fuck it up." You sigh a little, feeling embarrassed now. You could have just turned it on yourself. Stupid shit, you mentally berate yourself. Both of you flinch back at the same time, though you don't notice the employee's pouting expression. You're too focused on the sudden pain in your brain.

"That's what I'm here for. I'm happy to help." He assures, still smiling. You nod and hold a hand to your forehead, a dull throbbing there. Probably a headache from being up late and staring at the screen.

"Sure," You kinda just mumble, watching him stand and stretch. His shirt rides up and you get a glimpse of his belly before you quickly look away. "Uh-..I think I got it from here. Thanks, um- Again, yeah."

You hear him chuckle softly above, and you don't look away from the monitor, trying to remember what you're doing. He scrambled your thoughts. He's pretty, too pretty. "Of course. Don't be afraid to ask if you need anything else." He says, putting the chair he used away and left for the front desk.

You log back into MySpace, and go back to what you were doing before the computer crashed. You finally leave the comment on that blogpost, though you can't remember exactly what you wanted to say. You spend the rest of the time making idle chatter with a friend in America who is awake. Though you kind of can't stop thinking about the employee. You had seen his stomach, you were too embarrassed to look too long, but you looked. You keep replaying the moment, him stretching, the skin pale but covered with a layer of hair.

You leave fifteen minutes before your time's up, and feel eyes on your back as you gather your stuff and go. But you don't look back, digging in your bag for the directions back to the hotel you had printed out last time you were there. During the walk back you stick your hand in your pocket and rediscover the receipt, pulling it out to look at it while you wait at an intersection. You realize there, already halfway to the hotel that the employee didn't just write the terminal number on the receipt but his number too. And his name, Joost. You feel foolish for not having looked at it before, but you feel satisfied knowing his name now.

You're out in five minutes by the time you get back to the hotel. You don't dream the rest of the night, which your friend is disappointed to learn the next morning, and she spends brunch telling you all about her dream. You talk about how you went back to the Internet Cafe, but don't tell her about the employee, Joost. You still have the receipt with his phone number on it, but you're too nervous to call. You know your friend would insist you call if you told her, she'd insist you let her listen.

Later that night, your friend tries to get you to go clubbing. You refuse, say you don't feel up to it, say you think you're just going to stay in. It's not totally a lie, you really don't feel up to it, but just because you want to go back to that dumb Internet Cafe again. You don't need to, you could just go out with your friend and forget all about it. You can't, for some reason, you can't just forget the building and guy who works there. Joost.

You fumble in your pocket for the receipt as you walk to the Internet Cafe. He's just cute and kind of interesting that's all. Your friend wouldn't blame you for wanting to talk to a cute guy, you're sure of it. You rub the slip of paper between your fingers, just something to ground you. You pull open the front door and step into the storefront, immediately surrounded by the cool air inside. There's a few people, two of the same people from the night before.

The same employee sits at the desk, you're grateful for that. You'd probably turn right around and leave if Joost wasn't there. He looks up as you approach, smiling already. Like he knew you were there before he looked. He pushes his headphones off his ears, you see this time they’re plugged into a PSP. He puts that down and focuses his attention on you. It’s dizzying almost, his eyes on you like that. They’re so…Almost piercing, so blue, his pupils little pinpricks as he looks you over.

"Didn't expect to see you back so soon." He says, and you look away. You're embarrassed for coming back at all, for not even calling him, for not turning around when you noticed his number. It doesn't help that he was looking into your eyes as he spoke, the eye contact making you squirm a little, discomfort gnawing at you for a moment too long.

You play with the little laminated placard displaying the different services offered. "Um, yeah. Sorry, for- Not calling you, or whatever. I only saw that after I got back to my hotel room." You fib slightly, so you don't feel as embarrassed.

You hear a soft huff of laughter come from him. "It's okay. I thought I creeped you out."

"Oh, no. You're like really cool, actually.." You trail off a little, losing what you were going to say when the bell on the door rings.

"So, how long?" You look back up at the question and find him looking at you head tilted slightly.

"Two hours, I guess is fine. No email, nothing, just using the Internet. Myspace." You fish out the money from your pocket and hand it over.

He scribbles on the receipt, holding it out after completing the transaction. "You're at fourteen." He says, pointing at the computer again.

"Thanks, Joost." You smile as you go to take your seat at number 14 again.

You don't pay attention to the person who came in behind you, logging into Myspace and quickly getting caught up in everything. A few minutes of trying not to eavesdrop but hearing the patron complain about the computers here, you start digging through your bag for your iPod and headphones.

One of your fingers catches something in there and you pull your hand out with a sharp gasp at the sudden pain. You don't even know how a thumb tack got in there but when you reach back in with your other hand, you find that's indeed what hurt you when you fish it out. You wait quietly, patiently, until the other person has given up and left the Internet cafe before you go back to Joost.

"You're bleeding!" Is the first thing he says when you step up. You're caught a little off guard by how quick he noticed but brush it off.

"Yeah, there was a thumb tack in my bag. I dunno where it came from but whatever, uh- Do you guys have like a first aid kit, I just need a little Band-Aid." You mumble, kind of cradling your finger, it doesn't hurt but you don't want to drip blood on the counter.

"Ja- Yes, we do. In the back. I can help, let me help." He stands and steps out from the desk and points at the beaded doorway, pushing open the yellow door and ushering you in.

"Wait, are you the only employee?" You ask, glancing back briefly before the door shuts.

"They won't do anything. Don't worry." He says, turning on the lights. You could have sworn his eyes glinted red in the dark, but there is a little security camera in the corner of the ceiling. You just saw that, you tell yourself that's all it was. The little red light of the camera.

It's a small employee break room with a fridge, microwave, even a coffee machine. It makes you wonder why coffee isn't served in the actual Internet Cafe, the one you've been to before was an actual cafe. "Here, sit." He gently directs you to sit at the small square table.

"Thanks, y'know for doing this." You mutter awkwardly, watching him. He opens a couple of the cupboards, looking for the first aid kit. He's not listening, you hear him mumbling to himself as he looks, 'ik denk..ik denk..'. You feel silly for caring so much about this guy who's basically a stranger, why are you so interested? Why are you even here? You could have just waited for the little poke to stop bleeding and go back to Myspace. You couldn't help yourself.

He sets the first aid kit on the table when he retreives it, and starts going through it before stopping to feel at his pockets. You almost start laughing when you see what he pulls out, a pair of thin rectangular glasses. "You wear reading glasses? How old are you?" You ask, unable to keep the laughter from your voice.

"How old do you think I am?" He asks smoothly, looking close at something he pulled out before opening it. He's careful to grab your hand, holding your finger as he wipes it clean with a little alcohol wipe.

"Uh. I dunno. Twenty five, maybe?" His fingers are cold, you can't really feel the rest of his hand due to the fingerless gloves he's wearing, but his fingers are cold. Maybe he should wear full gloves, you think, if he has poor circulation. But you're not about to lecture a stranger.

"Close. Twenty seven." Joost smiles at you, not quite a toothy grin but you see his sharp teeth. He's pretty, his smile is cute, you can't help but smile back. He finds the antibiotic and smears a little on the small wound.

"You look good. I mean. Y'know. For your age." You stumble over your words, quickly looking away from him. Those eyes.

"Ja? You think so," He smooths a small bandage around your finger. It's intimate. All of this is intimate. It should feel weirder than it does. "Do you think I'm pretty?"

Your brain short circuits a little. Like that computer did yesterday. It's almost like he read your thoughts, though you know better. Telepathy, or whatever, mind reading, isn't real. "Uh- We should be getting back. You should be at work." You chuckle a little, an almost anxious sound.

He sighs and nods. Standing up straight and shutting the first aid kit, gathering the bandage wrappers and tosses it in the trash can. "You're right. Though, you should know..There's hardly any customers at night. We're okay." His voice is low as he walks you to the door back to the Internet Cafe, turning the light off as you go.

"Thanks, again. And sorry, for interrupting your work." You say as if he hadn't been playing on a PSP this whole time. He sits back at the desk, folding his glasses and tosses them onto the desk.

The phone on the desk starts ringing. He says, "Fuck- I'll give you an extra fifteen minutes free. If you want." before picking up and taking the call.

You kind of mumble a yeah, maybe and go back to number 14. You frown at the thumb tack still there on the desk and glance around to see if you can spot a trashcan where you can get rid of it, but almost make eye contact with a guy who is upset his computer shut off. So you quickly put your head down and finally pull out your headphones so you don't have to listen to…Well, everything.

Time passes much faster when you tune out everything around you. You don't realize how long you've been there until Joost is right next to you, smiling as he taps your shoulder a little. "Time's up, unless you wanna pay for more."

"No, no. I should be going, I guess." You shake your head, closing the Internet browser, and starting to put your iPod away.

"Are you going to come back tomorrow?" He asks, watching you pull your bag over one shoulder.

"Maybe. I dunno. why?" You ask, looking up at him, drawn into those ice blue eyes. God, he's almost too much.

"Oh. 'Cause, I have tomorrow off. So." It's like he knows. How does he know the only reason you didn't turn around was because he was here.

"So, I don't have any reason to come back, then." You go ahead and just say it. You watch his eyes shift, the way he looks you up and down again. Really properly taking you in.

"Ja? Just here for me, are you?" He steps a little closer, and you half wonder if his boots are like, platforms or something because he seems so big.

"Yeah, basically." You huff out a little laugh, you're awkward, looking him in the eyes makes you feel funny.

"Do you want to come over to my place tomorrow?" Joost gives a sweet smile and tilts his head slightly as he asks. And…You just can't say no.

"Okay, sure." You nod a little, impossibly endeared by him. There's a funny feeling in you, you chalk it up to a beautiful boy looking at you, inviting you over to his place.

"Cool. Come here, I'll give you the address." He beckons you to follow him to the reception desk, and you do. He sits back down and rips a card off the Rolodex to write down his address. You peer over the desk and watch.

And you notice a small container of thumb tacks by the keyboard. The same kind that was in your bag and hurt you. But before you can think to say anything he's handing over the little card. "I'm up and awake by midnight."

"Really? Real night owl, aren't you?" You slip the card into your pocket, knowing if you put it in your bag your friend would find it.

"Something like that.." He smiles and you feel dizzy. Your head's fuzzy and you don't know when it started. You're tired, you haven't been sleeping good.

"Okay. I'll see you then." You nod a little, and smile back. Stepping into the night seems to clear your head, it's a cool night and it makes you feel much better to be in it.

You look at the little card Joost gave you, just to make sure it's real. It's hard to believe, you don't know what you did to deserve it. A cute guy's number and his address.. You wonder if you really should go, a stranger's place in the middle of the night. But he seemed so nice and genuine. You don't entertain any of the thoughts that come after 'whats the worst that could happen'.

Your friend isn't back when you get to the hotel, which you're glad for. You fall asleep almost immediately. When you wake up later, much later into the next day, your friend still is gone but she texted you about going back with a guy. You find a place for food and fall asleep in the hotel room again. Your friend comes back and wakes you up shortly after. She talks about the guy she met, and you keep thinking about the guy you met.

She talks about going out again, and is so dissapointed when you say you don't want to go out again. You can't tell her why, she'd freak out. Meeting a guy is one thing, she'd be thrilled if it was just that. But you know she wouldn't let you go to a strange guy's place at midnight. You tell her maybe you'll go to the Internet Cafe, and it's not a lie, you need to print directions to Joost's place. She's displeased with that answer, but you know the truth would make her a nervous wreck.

You're not a nervous wreck per se, but you are nervous. It was weird going back to the Internet Cafe and talking to a different employee, a man with dark curls, tattoos on his face and a nose piercing. He was really nice. You hang out in the Internet Cafe until midnight rolls around and then you start the walk, following the directions you printed out.

Your hands shake a little as you walk, as you go to the apartment building, ride the elevator up to the third floor. You worry that this was a bad idea, worry that you should have never agreed to go to the Internet Cafe in the first place. Until you knock twice on the door and wait for a few moments and Joost opens the door. The apartment is dark inside, and he blinks and squints at the bright light in the hallway.

"Hallo. Wasn't sure if you'd come or not." He chuckles as he steps back and lets you in.

“I wasn’t sure either.” You admit with a nervous laugh, blinking trying to adjust to the dark. Letting him take your bag and hang it on a coat hook.

“Well, I’m glad you did." He smiles and starts leading you deeper into the apartment.

"Wait up, please. Ow, fuck." You stumble into the corner of a side table.

"Here, take my hand," He says, reaching out to you, and you do so. Holding his hand, he's cold, noticeably cold. Like your hands get in the winter, but it's summer, and the apartment isn't cold. Maybe just his room is. "Do you want anything to drink? Wine? Beer?" He offers, nodding to the little kitchen space.

"Uh, I dunno. Are you going to?" You ask, leaning on one of the counters, watching as he opens the fridge, making a small bit of light in the dark room. You finally get a decent look at his outfit, a long sleeved polo shirt and a pair of jeans. It's simple but incredibly attractive.

"No, but you can. Don't worry." He assures, and you do feel calm with his words.

"I don't think so. I'll just have like- I dunno, a soda or something, I'm fine," He hums a little but passes you a cherry cola, and takes your hand again, leading you to his bedroom. "So, what did you wanna do?"

The room is decently sized actually, lit dimly with a candle lamp on his dresser, a small TV also on the dresser, displays the DVD menu for a movie you don't know. On the wall, above the bed shoved in a corner is a Nosferatu poster. A cluttered computer desk in the corner, he takes a moment to close everything and power it off. "Uh, I was thinking we could just watch some movies. My roommates are sleeping so we have to be quiet." He sits in the chair by the desk.

You set your still unopened soda on his night stand. "Okay. What kind of movies do you like? Horror, I assume? You like vampires?" You nod to the Nosferatu poster, sitting on the edge of the bed..

"I like them, yeah. A lot. They're really cool, don't you think?" He props an elbow on the arm of the chair, and leans his chin in his hand, watching you, waiting for your answer.

"I mean, yeah. I like Dracula, the original one." You finally open the soda, holding it just so you have something to do with your hands.

"I have that one, you want to watch it?" He offers, sitting up straight. His eyes are bright, the candle and the red walls give them that red shine again. You glance to the small TV and try not to think about it.

"On that? Sure, why not?" You chuckle, even the TV in your hotel room was bigger than his. But you think, he probably can't afford a big, new expensive TV working at the Internet Cafe.

Joost stands and comes over to the bed, feeling around under it and pulls out a big disc binder, swapping the disc in the TV with Dracula. He sits on the inside of the bed, letting you take the outside so you don't feel trapped. You don't, anyways. It's comfortable, sitting with him and talking over the classic film. Neither of you feel the need to pay attention. It's not long, the movie's hardly past the halfway point when his hand comes to rest on your thigh. A silent gesture, though it's obvious what it is.

You knew it when you agreed to come over, you knew more likely than not that he would want to hook up. And, well, you're here aren't you? You're in the stranger's apartment, in his bed, letting him talk to you and touch you. Your friend would be shocked if she knew what you were up to, she was the one who regularly had flings, you rarely if ever did. It wasn't often you found people you were actually interested in. And you certainly didn't go back to their place so quick, you're not a prude but you didn't do this often.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks quietly, his voice light and gentle, his hand moving up to brush your shoulder, creeping toward your neck.

"Okay." You answer with a nod and don't have to wait until he's pressing his lips to yours, and, they're cold. There's a fan rotating in the room, but you can't even feel it where you sit on the bed, and he's still cold. The kiss is fine, but Joost is pushy, his teeth brush your lips almost like he's trying to nip you. He shifts on the bed, hands on you, on your belt loops, tugging.

Quickly he gets you on top of him, hands roaming your body as you make out. He's so much, almost overwhelming, you've never been kissed like this before. With a raw sort of hunger, so needy. It's dizzying almost.

"Ow! Fuck." You gasp suddenly, pulling away, hand instinctively going to the wound. The small cut on your lips.

"I'm sorry.." He mumbles, wrapping his arms around you, burying his face in your neck.

"It's fine. It was a mistake, my lips are dry anyway." You answer, kind of caught off guard by his reaction. By the snuffling you can hear at your neck. Just smelling your perfume, surely.

Joost doesn't say anything before his lips are back on yours, tongue licking at the little split, moaning into your mouth as he licks up the blood. There's not a lot, it's such a small wound.

"I need…I need to," Joost sighs, finally pulling away, almost panting. "I need to taste you, please."

"Okay." You're breathless from the kissing, your mind's fuzzy too, you can't think of a better way to respond.

"You're sure? You want this too? Will you let me bite you?" He asks, looking in your eyes, and you can really see it, the red glint. It's a little scary, the look in his eyes, dark. The very nature of the question.

"Okay. Yes, you can bite me." You nod a little, you trust him, somehow you do. You’re scared, but you trust him. Joost is.. otherworldly, his eyes, ice blue yet so dark, hungry as he looks at you. Those soft hands, cool on your skin as he touches your neck, gently tilting your head. He’s something else entirely, and it’s not hard to deduce what.

He breathes against your skin, tongue flat against you as he sniffs, finding the best spot, you think. Like some predatory animal. “It won’t hurt,” Joost murmurs just loud enough for you to hear. “Promise it wont hurt, just a little poke.”

And it doesn’t hurt. Not how you expected, it’s like getting that big needle popped in you at the doctor, just another blood draw. It runs down your neck, you can feel it, you feel his tongue too, smearing sloppy over the wound. He laps at the blood that runs out, moaning against your skin. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t have an effect on you. You shouldn't feel this way over being bitten but you're hot all over all of a sudden. Maybe it's like, an aphrodesiac or something, or you're just way more perverted than you ever knew.

“Thank you, thank you..Needed this…” Joost’s hands feel you up, slip under your shirt, and you can feel the warmth in his palms as he drinks from you, your blood warming his body.

He groans, rocking his hips up into you as he drinks, sucking at the wound, mustache tickling slightly too. You can feel him as he grinds upward, his cock hardening in his pants. It’s thrilling, you can’t help but marvel at how turned on he is by feeding. The way he moans against you, panting, breath hot on your neck. He comes back up to kiss your lips, smearing your mouth with your own blood, getting it in your mouth, the thick taste of it.

“Can I,” He asks, holding your hips and rutting his into you. “Need you..So bad. Fuck…” Joost whines, eyes stuck to your neck, watching the wound drip. Still so hungry. You’re dizzy, whether from the blood loss or everything else, you’re not sure. You think his head must be fuzzy too.

“Yes, please. Need you too.." You grind down into him, letting him know you need him just as bad, you've soaked your underwear you know that much, leaking pathetically as you dryhump him.

“Oh, fuck,” Joost sighs, shuddering under you. “Mh, hold on. Let me..” He dips down, giving a few more licks to the wound before you watch him nick his finger on a tooth and he rubs the digit to your neck, sealing up the wound with the inky black substance that drips slowly from the cut.

Then he’s tugging your shirt off, pulling his off right after. his chest is hairy and soft slightly. “Can I touch you, please?” You ask, unable to take your eyes off him, finally getting to see him how you wanted to the first day when you saw his tummy, which is also soft. He’s a little pudgy and it’s so beautiful.

“Ja, oké.” He nods softly, watching you. You reach out and feel his chest, careful, gentle with him. He is so warm now, such a contrast to how cold he has been, it’s good to feel his soft, warm body under your hands. You thumb at his nipple with one hand and he stifles a whimper at the feeling.

“You’re so pretty,” You look at his face, your blood smeared all over him, and it’s so hot. “You know that’s like the first thing I thought when I saw you. That you’re so pretty.”

“Really,” You nod at his question, and he smiles, lips splitting to show his sharp teeth. “‘Cause I thought the same thing.”

You pet at his chest, really feeling how squishy he is, before slipping your hands down his sides to feel his hips, the way his waistband has flipped down. He really is so pretty, and still you're surprised you trust him so much. He must trust you too, you realize, the way he sits quietly, letting you touch him all over.

"Can I touch you, too? Please, please…Fuck, you're so pretty, and-Oh.." Joost trails off when you take his hands and place them on your chest, letting him feel you up in return. You can see a trail of blood down your chest, the way he smears it with a thumb, not fully dry.

His hands go for your belt loops, hooking in to pull you down against him as he ruts up. "So pretty like this, covered.. In blood. Fuck," He huffs, swallowing hard. It's so erotic to him, drinking your blood and seeing it drip and smear on you. Well, you're not one to argue. "One more, please. I'm-…I won't take too much. You're okay right? I can..?" He groans, almost a growl, his hips bucking again.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I can take it, you can go for it." You nod, biting your lip a little, feeling the nip of pain of the split there. He whines, obviously watching you. He pulls you against him as he kisses you, your chests pressed together. He delves right into licking into your mouth and moaning against you, the kiss quickly becoming sloppy, the drool running down your chin. Then he's kissing down the other side of your neck and biting into you without any preamble, just taking greedy mouthfuls of your blood. And god it's fucking thrilling, the needy way he kisses the wound and sucks it, like he can't get enough of you. But he's true to his word, not drinking too much from you before he's healing the small wound. He kisses you with blood still in his mouth, it’s filthy and wet and runs down your chin, mixed with spit.

“You’re gonna fuck me now, right?” You ask, more than a little pent up by now, with the way the two of you keep rutting your hips together.

“Ah, ja. You want my cock?” Joost fumbles with his belt, managing to loosen it and unzip his pants.

“Yeah, can’t stop thinking about it when I can feel how hard you are..” you nod, watching him. He shoves his boxers down enough to pull his cock out. It's as if that’s where all the blood he drank went, throbbing in his hand as he strokes himself, just a little relief after finally freeing it. You can't help but stare at the way he leaks, and if you weren't so needy too you'd love to get your mouth on him.

You struggle slightly to get your own jeans and underwear off, but eventually manage. Joost doesn’t even think to ask before his fingers are at your thighs, petting the soft pale skin, creeping upward quickly. He doesn’t waste much time there, feeling how slick you are before grabbing your hips and pulling you close. You sink down slow and careful, both of you sighing when you bottom out.

He shifts a little, squishing one of his pillows behind his back and leans back. Steadying himself so he can hold onto you and thrust into you. He pants against your neck, kissing there, licking at the not yet dry blood on one side. You feel his teeth scrape but not puncture, just teasing. It makes you tense almost, thinking he’s going to do it, going to bite you again. He doesn’t, he just keeps mouthing at your neck.

You grab gently at his hair, tugging it slightly to get him to stop, he moans and his hips jerk up, slamming his cock into you. You’re both still for a moment before you’re holding his face in both hands and kissing him. Both of you muffling each other’s moans as he fucks you. When he pulls away you cover your mouth with your hand, keeping yourself quiet because his roommates are asleep. He's relentless, and you're fuzzy and hot all over, everywhere his hands touch light up with pleasure. He palms your chest, rubbing your nipples and pinching.

"Fuck, Joost," You gasp, rutting your hips down into him, matching his rhythm. "I'm- Oh, fuck I'm close.."

"Me too.." He whimpers, hips stuttering slightly but he keeps his eyes on yours. You can't even think as he stares into you, your brain all scrambled. He feels at your neck, you can feel the spot where he bit you the first time prickle under his touch. You can only sigh and tip your head to the side when he moves in again, you know what he's going to do before he does it, you know what he's going for when he starts probing your skin with his tongue again. Finding that spot, moving down to where your neck meets your shoulder, and biting into the muscle. You can't tell what comes first, your orgasm or the bite, but they coincide and you have to keep your mouth covered as you sob and shake in his arms. It's nothing like anything you've ever felt before, you've never cum this hard in your life, it's just so much.

You don't realize he's finished as well until he's pulling out of you and you can feel it running down your thigh. "Oh, shit, are you okay? You're okay right?" He asks gently, cupping your cheek.

"Uh-huh, I'm okay. I think I need a moment," You nod, kind of slumping in his arms, wrapping yours around him, his sweaty chest pressed against yours. "I just…Fuck.." That was a lot, you're dizzy, your vision a little spotty like you stood up too fast.

"I know…It's okay, you're okay. I'm sorry, I took too much, didn't I? I can't help myself, I've been so hungry and you taste so good.." He sighs, holding you and rubbing your back.

"I'm okay…I don't think I can stand right away, though." You manage a little laugh, resting your forehead against his neck. You kind of wish he were cool right now, his hot sweaty skin isn't the most pleasant thing in the world. He's talking to you, you can't really focus on it, you feel your fingers tingling slightly.

That's the last thing you know before you're blinking awake in a bathtub. The water's cool, reassuring on your skin. "I'm sorry," Is the first thing you hear. It's Joost, he's kneeling next to the tub, gazing at you big eyed, bushy brows pinched slightly in worry. "I didn't mean to, you just taste so good.." His cheeks and nose are a little rosy, it's cute. He's still so cute to you, he drained so much blood you passed out, but he's still cute. He's dressed again, you can see a white tank top in the dim light, one light over the mirror.

"I'm okay, I think. I'm still…I dunno. Dizzy like, out of it, I think." You slip a hand out of the water, wanting to hold his, needing that connection. Not well, human touch, but touch. He's still warm.

"I know, I'm sorry. Um- I have iron pills and there's a good shawarma place down the street that's still open." He rubs your hand lightly with his thumb.

"How do you know it's good?" You ask with a laugh.

"I haven't always been like this you know." He laughs too, it's a nice sound. He's nice, he took you to the bath, didn't leave you there, didn't really hurt you, you didn't feel any pain.

"Yeah, I just I dunno…Usually, you guys- Uh, vampires," It's weird to say it out loud after everything. "Are like depicted as super old and stuff. And you have reading glasses."

"I'm just farsighted, try to go without them usually." He smiles, that pretty smile where his lips curl up all cute.

"Well, anyway, I would like to take you up on your offer. If it's a date..?" You tilt your head a little, regretting it, it's sore now.

"Ja, sounds good. Wanted to ask you out since I first saw you, but it's hard." He frowns a little, looking down.

"Oh, yeah. I guess so, huh? Do you do this to every girl you want to take out on a date?" You slip your hand back, sinking it back in the cool water. It's clean, he must have washed you off and then refilled the tub while you were out of it, you think.

"No. I don't normally fuck my food either, just had to have you though.." It makes you feel special, in a perverted sort of way, even though you can tell it embarrasses him.

"Well, I'm glad. It would've been disappointing if you just bit me and kicked me out," That makes him laugh a little and smile again. Which makes you smile too. "I think I'm ready to get out, now."

"Okay," He stands quickly, his keys on his shorts jangling as he does so. "Here, take my hand. I've got some shirts you can wear if you want, your other one is kind of ruined."

"Oh, man… How am I going to explain this to my friend.." You muse, stepping onto the towel he prepared, glad to be holding him, still feeling lightheaded and weak.

"Oh, no," He laughs, wrapping a towel around you and holding you against him after. "I'll help you figure something out."

You thank him quietly, and lean into his embrace. Enjoying the quiet, calm moment after everything. You really don't know how you're going to tell your friend what happened. How you met a guy at the Internet Cafe, who actually works there, who is actually actually a vampire and you almost died from blood loss maybe but he gave you the best orgasm of your life, and he's also really pretty so you're not mad he almost killed you.

Well, whatever. You'll figure it out, ideally over dinner. And maybe you can exchange numbers so you can keep in contact when you go back home.

[honeydippedfiction]

Hi girlie, congrats on 1k!! Could you do ‘"You can do better than that, baby. I want (him/her/them/ everyone) to know you're mine."’ with Luke Hughes please!!

1k & Birthday Bash nav | main navigation | reqs | table of contents

"You can do better than that, baby. I want (him/her/them/ everyone) to know you're mine."

Luke Hughes x black!femreader

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

The house on Washtenaw Avenue was packed, its walls vibrating with the beat of early 2000s throwback hits and the hum of too many voices speaking at once. Outside, the air was sharp with late fall chill, but inside, sweat clung to the backs of necks and drinks were already spilling down the fronts of faded Wolverine T-shirts. It was a classic Friday night at the University of Michigan—and the hockey team knew how to throw a party.

Y/N stood in the kitchen, a plastic cup of ginger ale in hand, her gold hoops glinting every time she turned her head. Her soft brown curls were pulled up into a loose puff, edges laid to perfection, her deep brown skin glowing under the warm kitchen lights. She looked like she didn’t belong in a place so chaotic—too put-together, too grounded, too magnetic. Which is probably why half the guys in the room, including a few from the Michigan hockey team, kept circling like moths drawn to a flame.

She didn’t seem to notice.

Ethan, one of Luke’s sophomore teammates—tall, cocky, and annoyingly charming—leaned in closer than necessary as he cracked a joke about the team’s last skate drill. Y/N laughed, not because she was flirting, but because she was polite. She was like that—warm and welcoming in a way that made people feel comfortable around her.

AJ joined a moment later, adding something crass about Coach’s pregame speeches that had Y/N rolling her eyes but still smiling. A few of the boys nearby elbowed each other, clearly entertained, not just by the conversation, but by how close they could get to her before Luke inevitably noticed.

It didn’t take long.

From across the living room, Luke Hughes had been watching the interaction unfold with a clenched jaw and a white-knuckled grip on his solo cup. He was usually the calm one among his friends—cool-headed, composed even under pressure—but seeing his teammates hovering around his girlfriend like she was fair game had his blood simmering.

She was his.

And they knew it.

Luke wasn’t stupid. He knew Ethan, AJ, and even Matty weren’t interested in Y/N for real. They were doing it to get under his skin. Testing him. Poking the bear. But still—Y/N was laughing. She was brushing her hand over her shoulder, casually stepping sideways when one of them leaned too far into her space. She didn’t push them away. She didn’t call them out. And maybe she didn’t realize what was happening.

But Luke did.

He handed his half-finished drink to a freshman and made his way through the crowd. A few people called out to him—teammates, friends, some random guy from one of his business electives—but he ignored them, his eyes trained on the kitchen like a missile locked onto its target.

He slid in behind Y/N without a word, slipping his arm around her waist like it was second nature.

She jumped a little, surprised. “Luke—hey.”

He didn’t return her smile.

“Can we talk?” he said, his voice low, barely audible over the music.

She blinked. “Now?”

“Yeah. Now.”

Y/N hesitated, glancing around the room. The energy was light, the conversation still flowing, but Luke's tone was off—tight, serious. She could feel the tension radiating off his body. Without asking any more questions, she let him take her hand, fingers lacing easily with his.

He didn’t say a word as he led her out of the kitchen, past the makeshift beer pong table, through the crowd of half-drunk undergrads, and down the hallway toward the bathroom. She had to pick her way around bodies pressed against walls, dancing and swaying in time with the music. She followed him anyway.

He opened the door to the small bathroom and gently tugged her inside before closing it behind them. The sudden silence was startling. The bass still thudded faintly through the walls, but in here, it felt like a completely different world.

Y/N leaned against the closed door, crossing her arms. “Okay… what was that about?”

Luke ran a hand through his thick brown hair, pacing once before leaning over the sink with both hands braced on the counter.

“You seriously didn’t notice?” he asked, voice sharp but controlled.

“Notice what?” she said slowly.

He looked up at her then—his blue eyes intense, stormy. “The way Ethan and AJ were all over you. Laughing too hard, standing too close. And Matty? He couldn’t stop staring. You didn’t think that was on purpose?”

Y/N frowned. “I mean… they were just talking.”

“They were flirting.”

“They were not—”

“They were,” he cut her off, stepping toward her now, his voice quieter but no less firm. “And they were doing it to get to me. You don’t see it because you’re too nice. Too… open.”

She tilted her head, trying to read him. “So you’re mad because other guys were talking to me?”

“I’m mad because they were my teammates,” he snapped, then took a breath, lowering his voice again. “They know we’re together. They know how I feel about you. And they’re still willing to push the line. That’s not just disrespectful to you—it’s disrespectful to me.”

Y/N let out a slow breath, processing. “You think I was encouraging it?”

“No,” he said quickly. “No, babe, that’s not what I’m saying. I know you weren’t. But you didn’t shut it down either. You didn’t see what they were doing.”

“Maybe not,” she admitted. “Because I trust the people you surround yourself with. I didn’t think your teammates would act like that—like I’m some prize to win if they push the right buttons.”

Luke’s shoulders tensed again, guilt flashing across his face. “That’s what they were doing. And it drove me crazy.”

There was a beat of silence between them. Not angry—just heavy. Honest.

“I’m yours, Luke,” she said finally, her voice soft but unwavering. “You don’t have to claim me. I claimed you a long time ago. They don’t matter.”

Luke’s expression shifted, a spark igniting in his eyes. “Still want everyone to know it, though.”

Y/N felt her heartbeat quicken. She knew that look—the heat in his eyes, the shift in his voice. She knew what it meant.

She pushed off the door and stepped closer to him. “You want to stake your claim?”

He closed the distance between them in one step, his hands cupping her jaw, thumb brushing over her cheek. “Want everyone to know exactly who you belong to.”

Her breath hitched, skin tingling with goosebumps as his fingers slid into her hair. She could see the desire burning in his eyes, his gaze flicking from her eyes to her lips and back again. He leaned in slowly, giving her time to back away if she wanted to.

She didn’t.

He kissed her softly, his mouth gentle against hers, testing, teasing. She kissed him back, her hand sliding over his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt. She’d missed this—missed the warmth of his body against hers.

Luke made a low sound in the back of his throat, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers as he backed her up against the wall. His hands moved down her body, tracing the curve of her waist, the swell of her hip. She could feel the heat of his skin through her shirt, the hard length of him pressed against her stomach.

“Luke,” she breathed against his mouth, her body aching for him.

 She wanted him to touch her, needed him to. His hand slid under her shirt, fingers teasing the edge of her bra. He kissed down her neck, his teeth scraping over her skin, sending shivers down her spine. “God, Luke. Please.”

His hands gripped the backs of her thighs, lifting her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist, moaning as he pressed her back into the wall. She could feel how hard he was, the length of him rubbing against her through their clothes. His mouth moved down to her neck, teeth scraping over her skin. She tilted her head to the side, giving him better access. He sucked on her pulse point, hard enough to leave a mark. She moaned, her hips rocking against him. “Fuck, baby. I want you so bad.” He set her down on the counter, his hand going straight between her legs. She gasped as his fingers brushed over her, teasing her through her skirt.

He kissed her again, his tongue sliding into her mouth as he pushed her shorts down. She lifted her hips to help him, breaking the kiss to pull her shirt off. He groaned when he saw she wasn’t wearing a bra. “Fuck. I missed you so much.” His mouth closed over one nipple, sucking and biting as his hand moved over her pussy again. She moaned, hips bucking up into his touch. “Oh God, Luke.”

His fingers dipped inside her, curling up to rub against that spot. Her head fell back against the mirror, eyes slipping shut as he fingered her. His mouth moved to her other breast, tongue swirling around her nipple. She was so wet, so ready for him. Her hips moved with his fingers, her breath coming in short gasps. “Luke. Luke, please.” She needed him inside her. Needed to feel him. He kissed her again, his fingers still working her pussy. “Not yet, baby. Not yet.” He added another finger, stretching her, filling her.

He knew exactly how to touch her, exactly where to rub. She was close, so close. She gripped his shoulders, pulling him closer. She wanted to feel his skin against hers. He obliged, pulling off his shirt before going back to her breasts. She ran her hands down his chest, his abs, feeling the hard muscles under her fingers. His skin was hot, burning against her palms. She traced his v-lines, following them down to his pants. Her fingers worked at his belt, pulling it open before going for his button and zipper. She reached inside, wrapping her hand around his hard length. He groaned, his hips bucking into her touch. She stroked him, thumb brushing over the tip.

“You keep that up and I won’t last long,” he said, his voice low and strained.

“I want you inside me.” She let go of him long enough to lift her skirt. He pulled off the rest of his clothes before standing between her legs again. He kissed her, his hand moving back down to her pussy, fingers dipping inside once more. She moaned into his mouth, hips arching up. “Please, Luke. Fuck me.”

He smiled against her lips. “Whatever you want, baby.”

He gripped her thighs, pulling her to the edge of the counter. She wrapped her legs around him as he lined himself up with her entrance. He pushed into her slowly, filling her inch by inch. She bit her lip, moaning softly as he stretched her. “Oh God. Luke.” He kept going until he was fully sheathed inside her. They both breathed heavily, adjusting to the feel of each other. He pulled out before pushing back in, setting a slow, steady pace. She clung to him, her nails digging into his skin as he took her. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he said against her ear. 

He was smug, taking his time to angle his hips, finding that spot that always caused her to scratch down his back as he pounded into her.

“Oh fuck Luke, right there,” she moaned.

Luke smirked against her skin and kissed her deeply. “You can do better than that baby, I want everyone to know that you’re mine.”

He picked up the pace, fucking her hard and deep, his hips slapping against hers. She could feel him hitting that spot with every thrust, sending waves of pleasure through her body. She moaned his name, her head falling back against the mirror. “God Luke, you feel so good.”

“That’s it baby, let them hear you,” he encouraged, his voice husky with desire. He gripped her hips tighter, pulling her closer with every thrust.  “Who’s fucking you this good, baby? Hmm?” He took one of her legs and lifted it higher, making her feel him even deeper. She screamed, her entire body tensing up as the pleasure built. “God you, Luke! You!” Her nails raked down his back, leaving long red scratches in their wake. He hissed in pleasure and pain as his hips snapped against hers. 

The sound of their skin slapping filled the room along with her moans and his heavy breaths. “Who’s fucking you this good, baby? Hmm?” he said, pulling her bottom lip with his teeth. “Come on, don’t be shy, say it.”

The noise that came out of her mouth was somewhere between a scream and a sob. “My boyfriend! My boyfriend is fucking me.” Her back arched off the counter, head pressing into the mirror. 

He knew at the end of the day she was his. He just needed everyone to know that, and the best way to do that was to fuck her so good that everyone heard her screaming his name.

He was the one balls deep in her pussy. No one else. And God he loved it.

Her moans were getting louder as he felt her pussy clamp down around him. He knew she was close, but he didn’t stop. He couldn't.

“Say my name baby.” His voice was low, but it held so much authority you were almost scared not to do it.

“Luke! Oh my god! Luke!” He smirked as he felt himself get close.

“That’s right baby. Tell them who’s fucking you.” He moved faster, hitting that spot deep inside her.

 “Who’s making you feel so good?”

“Luke! Luke! Fuck! Please!” She was screaming as he continued to fuck her as hard as he could. His grip on her hip tightened, making her scream even more.

He knew he was leaving marks on her hips, but he didn't care. She didn’t either. Her eyes were rolling back in her head as she got closer to her orgasm. His thrusts were getting more and more erratic as he got closer as well.

“Say it. Say it baby. Say you’re mine.” He was breathing hard as he waited for her to finally give in.

She screamed his name as you came, your pussy clenching around his dick so tightly he almost lost it right then and there. But he wasn’t done with her yet, and neither was she. She screamed his name over and over as he continued to thrust into her.

“Luke! Oh my god! Please!” He smirked as she begged.

“What do you want, baby?” He was starting to sound out of breath. The grip on her leg was still firm, but she could tell he was starting to get tired.

She felt him slam into her a few more times as her screams and moans got louder and louder. “You. Just you. Oh my god Luke.” His eyes fluttered shut as he felt his orgasm building.

“You’re mine.” He stated, his voice husky as he was close.

“Yes! Yes!” You moaned. He smirked again.

“Mine. All mine.” She felt him push deeper as he came. His hand tightened on her hip as he filled her, both of you breathing hard as she tried to get her breath back. Luke was the first one to speak as he pulled out. She was trying to clean herself up with the help of paper towels from the dispenser.

“You look so fucking hot with my cum dripping down your legs.” She blushed at his words, but she knew they were true.

She was in a skirt and her panties were ripped in half. There was no way she could walk around without everyone noticing. He smirked, knowing exactly what she was thinking. He took his finger and gathered some of the cum on her thigh. She watched in awe as he brought it to her lips. She opened her mouth, letting him put the cum in her mouth. He smirked at the sight. His girlfriend was a little slut for him.

“Maybe this will teach you to stop leading all those guys on.” She looked at him with confusion.

“I wasn’t leading anyone on. They were just being nice.” She was confused. Luke sighed, running his hand through his hair.

“Baby. You’re fucking hot as hell. You were flirting with my teammates. Of course, I got jealous.”

She laughed as he helped her up. “Luke. You’re the only guy I see. Besides, they were just doing it to rile you up.” He laughed, kissing her forehead.

“I know. But I couldn’t let them think they had a chance.”

She laughed, shaking your head. “Okay, caveman.” He smirked, kissing her deeply.

“Caveman or not. You’re mine.” She kissed him back as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Yours.” He grinned, kissing her again.

“I love you.” She smiled as she looked into his eyes. He smiled back.

“I love you too, babe.”

[yena-enha]

Request - 9 by my darling

𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 - 𝐋𝐇𝐒

Warning – Fluff, extreme sweetness, emotional vulnerability, one curse word

Note – SFW CONTENT

Genre – Romance, Domestic Fluff

Pairing – Idol!Heeseung x Fem!Reader

Song Inspiration – "Until I Found You" by Stephen Sanchez

Word Count – 1.8k

Prompt –

#37 – When he makes you playlists that say what he can't.

#48 – When he lets you win just to see you smile.

It started with a soft ping.

You were curled up on your bed, one hand lazily scrolling through your phone while the other was tucked under your cheek.

The night outside was quiet, stars blinking softly through your window. You reached for your headphones, expecting a random notification.

Instead, it was a shared Spotify playlist.

“My Love”By: heeseungieee

Cover: A picture of you—taken months ago without you knowing. You were mid-laugh, eyes nearly closed, mouth open, sunlight dripping across your cheeks like golden sugar.

Your heart stuttered.

You clicked it.The first song was slow. Gentle strums of guitar. A male voice confessing feelings too fragile to speak out loud.

The lyrics whispered about falling harder every day, about someone who makes the world brighter just by existing.You scrolled through the rest.

Every single song was intentional—like pieces of a letter Heeseung couldn’t find the words for.

Some were nostalgic, reminding you of your early days: shy eye contact over coffee, knees brushing under library tables, the first time he held your hand and his thumb trembled like he was holding something sacred.

Some were sweet and slow, echoing late-night drives where he whispered your name like a prayer between songs on the radio.

Where he’d grip your thigh softly at red lights just to make sure you were real.

And others? They were silly, upbeat, full of inside jokes and memories: dancing in the kitchen to bad 2000s pop, mock-serenading each other with hairbrushes and too much autotune.

Tears welled in your eyes. You didn’t even realize you were smiling until your cheeks hurt.—“Heeseung,” you called softly as you wandered into the living room.

He was sprawled on the carpet, surrounded by snack bags, a bowl of popcorn between his legs, wearing your fuzzy purple socks because he said his were "too far" to reach, that was just straight up hilarious.

He looked up, eyes warm. “Hey, baby.”You held up your phone. “You made me a playlist?”His ears turned pink instantly. “...Maybe.”

You sat down beside him, crawling into his lap. “It’s perfect.”He ducked his head, suddenly shy. “I didn’t know how to say all that. I mean… I say I love you, but sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough.

So I made that. Each song is how you make me feel.”You kissed his jaw, slowly. “You make me feel like every love song was written just for us.”

He held you tighter.“Play your favorite track,” he said, and rested his chin on your shoulder while you pressed play.The song started soft—almost like a lullaby.

The singer murmured about someone whose laughter could light up the darkest corners of their soul. About feeling like they’d finally come home.

You pressed a kiss to Heeseung’s knuckles. “This one’s so us.”“I know,” he smiled.—An hour later, the two of you were tangled on the floor in a pile of blankets and lazy cuddles, half a movie playing in the background.

Suddenly, he nudged you with his shoulder.“Arm wrestle me.”

You blinked. “What?”He sat up, pushing the snacks aside. “Let’s arm wrestle. Right now.”You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “Are you trying to distract me from how emotional I got earlier?”

“Maybe,” he said with a grin. “Or maybe I just want to give you a chance to win something today.”You gasped dramatically.

“Excuse me? You think you can beat me?”“Oh, I know I can beat you,” he teased, winking. “But I won’t.”You both settled at the coffee table, hands clasped, elbows planted firmly.

“Ready?” he asked.“Three… two… go!”You pushed with all your might. He didn’t even budge.Then—suspiciously—he started losing.

His hand tilted back slowly, and he bit his lip like he was struggling, but you knew that face. He was pretending.“You’re faking it!” you accused, laughing.“No, I’m not,” he insisted, voice tight like he was being crushed.

“You’re so strong. Ow, my pride—!”“Liar!” you shrieked through giggles. “You’re letting me win!”

He let you pin his hand down with dramatic flair, then flopped backwards like he’d been slain. “She’s too powerful,” he moaned. “I didn’t stand a chance.”

You launched yourself onto him, both of you laughing as you collapsed into a tangle on the carpet.“Why do you really let me win?” you murmured against his chest.His hand found yours, fingers weaving together.

“Because your smile is worth losing every time.”You froze, heart stuttering.And he just looked at you—so openly, so softly, like there was no one else in the world. Like you were everything he’d ever wanted.

—Later that night, he tucked you into bed like you were made of porcelain. The playlist still hummed quietly from the Bluetooth speaker in the corner.

He lay beside you, arm under your head, his free hand tracing your cheekbone like you were a masterpiece.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he whispered into your hair.You turned to him, eyes heavy with love.

“I’ll never stop choosing you.”“I hope you keep listening to that playlist,” he said softly.“Why?”“Because I’ll keep adding to it,” he smiled.

“Every time I fall a little more in love with you.”You buried your face into his chest, cheeks aching from smiling.

And as sleep pulled you under, the lyrics played softly behind you—

“You’re the song I didn’t know I was waiting for, My love.”

Masterlist||Introduction

Tell Me Your Desire|Prompt List|200 Yennies Celebration

[hockeyluvrr]

Meeting the family

au masterlist all other works

pairing: umich luke hughes x plus size oc

summary: meeting the family? terrifying. but at least Luke’s there to keep her calm.

warnings: mild language, body image/insecurity, anxiety, jack being jack (lol), that’s it I think idk…

author’s note: I decided to split it into two bits, one where she meets Jack and Luke and one where she meets Ellen and Jim. I just couldn’t find a way to write the two as one so you get two different meetings (yay!!)

word count: 1,536

MEETING THE BROTHERS

She almost backed out on the drive up.

Not because she didn’t want to go, she wanted to. Luke had been talking about this summer trip for weeks, practically vibrating with excitement. “You’ll love it,” he’d said. “Jack and Quinn are so chill. They’ll love you.”

That’s what he said.

But her brain was much louder.

They’re NHL stars. They’re tight as hell with Luke. They’ve seen the kind of girls hockey players date, gorgeous, model-adjacent types. Not someone like her.

Not someone plus-size, not someone who still sometimes flinched when a mirror caught her wrong, not someone who looked like her.

But Luke had held her hand the entire drive up. Kissed her knuckles. Sang embarrassingly loud to early 2000s hits when he could tell her thoughts were spiralling.

And now they were here.

The lake house was bigger than she expected. White siding, big windows, the sound of water gently slapping the dock in the distance. It looked like something off a postcard.

Luke helped her out of the car like they were arriving at a gala, not just walking into a house with his brothers.

“You ready?” he asked.

“No,” she said honestly.

He grinned. “Too bad.”

———

Jack opened the door.

Shirtless. Hair wet. Grinning like a devil.

“There he is!” he yelled, pulling Luke into a hug that was more of a headlock. “And this must be the girl we’ve heard so much about.”

Luke groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Don’t be weird, please.”

Jack stuck his hand out. “Jack. Middle child. Arguably the funniest and most charming.”

She laughed, instantly a little more at ease. “Nice to meet you.”

Quinn appeared behind him, slower, quieter, towel around his shoulders.

He gave her a polite smile. “Hey. You want something to drink? We’ve got water, soda, beers…”

“Water would be great,” she said, grateful for something to do with her hands.

Luke leaned in, whispered, “Told you they’d be normal.”

She elbowed him gently. “You told me Jack was normal?”

“Okay, technically I said Jack was manageable.”

———

The first hour was a blur.

Jack was loud and playful, constantly throwing jabs at Luke that only made Luke pull her in closer. Quinn was more reserved, but asked quiet questions. He asked her about her major, how she liked Ann Arbor, what books she was reading.

She noticed the way Quinn watched Luke when Luke wasn’t paying attention. The way his gaze would flick from her to his little brother and back again, like he was measuring something.

Not judging. Just…assessing.

She understood that. If she had a little brother and he brought home someone serious, she’d be doing the same.

At one point, Luke got up to grab something from the kitchen, and Jack immediately dropped into the seat next to her.

“So,” he said, “how’s he doing?”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

Jack smirked. “You’re his first real real.”

“First…?”

“First one he actually brings home. First one he won’t shut up about. First one where he looks like a kicked puppy if we so much as yawn when he’s talking about you.”

She felt her face heat up.

“Oh,” she said.

Jack bumped her shoulder. “I like you. Just don’t break him. He’s a pain in the ass when he’s heartbroken.”

She smiled. “I’ll do my best.”

———

Later, she and Quinn ended up alone on the back deck, sipping drinks while the sun started to dip over the lake.

He was quiet for a while, then said, “He’s been happier since he met you.”

She looked up.

Quinn wasn’t smiling, but his eyes were soft.

“I haven’t seen him this…settled. It’s a good look on him.”

She shrugged. “He makes it easy. Most of the time.”

Quinn’s gaze didn’t waver. “You don’t have to pretend you’re not nervous.”

She swallowed. “That obvious?”

He nodded. “But I get it. It’s a lot, coming into someone’s family. Especially ours.”

There was a pause.

Then he added, “But you’re doing fine. Better than fine. And Jack’s already planning some nickname for you, which means you’re in.”

She laughed, the tightness in her chest loosening a little.

“Thanks, Quinn.”

He nodded once, then leaned back, tipping his beer toward the sky.

———

That night, after dinner and a movie and too many smores by the fire pit, Luke pulled her aside, into the cool quiet of the upstairs guest room they were staying in.

He wrapped his arms around her from behind, nose tucked into her neck.

“You did amazing,” he whispered.

“I don’t think I said more than five words during the entire movie.”

“Yeah, but they were all very intelligent words.”

She turned in his arms, rolling her eyes. “Jack thinks I’m a goddess and a threat to your emotional stability.”

Luke grinned. “He’s not wrong.”

“And Quinn said I passed.”

He tilted his head. “He graded you?”

“More like… evaluated me silently with wise older brother judgment.”

Luke kissed her forehead. “You passed with flying colours.”

She hesitated, fingers curling in the fabric of his hoodie.

“Do you really talk about me that much?”

He blinked. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I just… I don’t know. I guess I didn’t realise how serious this was for you.”

Luke’s brow furrowed. “You’re serious to me. Always have been.”

Her heart twisted, soft and a little raw.

He leaned in, kissed her slow.

“You’re not temporary,” he said. “You’re not a footnote. You’re the headline.”

And for the first time that day, the nerves stopped whispering.

Because his brothers didn’t just like her.

So did Luke.

Completely.

MEETING THE PARENTS

She almost backs out twice.

Once in her apartment, standing in front of the mirror and reapplying lip balm with shaking hands. And once more as she walks toward the café and sees Luke already inside, seated by the window with his parents.

She knew they were visiting. Luke had mentioned it earlier in the week—casual, offhand, like it wasn’t a big deal. “They’re here for a couple nights. Probably gonna grab dinner, maybe walk campus a bit. You should come.”

And somehow, she’d said yes.

Now she’s panicking.

Because it’s Ellen and Jim Hughes. Hockey royalty. Actual, real-life parents of NHL players. And she’s just…her. A physics major with anxiety and a thrifted denim jacket who still doesn’t totally understand icing.

She hesitates outside the door, heart pounding.

Then Luke looks up. Spots her.

And smiles.

Warm and wide and just for her.

He pushes up from the booth, excuses himself to his parents, and walks straight outside like he knew she might need him.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft. “You came.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I’m not. I’m just really glad.”

She exhales, lets him take her hand.

“They’re gonna love you,” he says, like it’s a fact.

She stares at him. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Luke replies, and kisses her cheek before guiding her inside and over to the booth.

Ellen stands first. Pulls her into a hug that’s firm but not overwhelming. “We’ve heard so much about you,” she says, smiling like she means it.

Jim’s handshake is warm. “You keeping him out of trouble?”

She laughs, surprised by how easily it comes out. “Trying my best.”

They sit. The café is cozy, quiet enough for real conversation but not so quiet that her voice will shake and echo.

Luke sits beside her. Not across from her, beside her. His hand rests against her leg under the table, thumb tracing small circles. Always anchoring her.

Ellen and Jim ask questions, easy ones. What’s your major? How long have you been in Ann Arbor? What’s your favourite part of campus?

She answers as best she can. Tries not to fidget. Luke helps fill in the gaps.

“She tutors me in physics,” he says proudly. “Basically the reason I passed midterms.”

“She’s also the reason you eat three meals a day,” Ellen teases.

Luke grins. “And the reason I get up for my 8 a.m.”

Jim hums. “Sounds like someone important.”

She blushes. Luke squeezes her knee.

———

They all walk together for a bit, just down the street, a lazy campus loop.

Eventually, Ellen hangs back with Jim, letting Luke and her walk a few steps ahead. She can feel the buzz of approval in the air, even without words.

Luke bumps her shoulder gently. “You okay?”

She nods. “I think so.”

“They loved you.”

“You think?”

“I know. You’re smart, sweet, and you didn’t stumble over your words once. That’s a win.”

She laughs, finally feeling her nerves start to drain. “You sure they didn’t think I was weird?”

“I’m in love with you,” Luke says, like it’s nothing.

Like he’s just talking about the weather.

She stops walking. Blinks up at him.

“I’m just saying,” he adds quickly, a little breathless now, “that you didn’t need to be nervous. Because I love you. And they saw that. It’s enough.”

She kisses him softly before she can stop herself. “I love you too,” she mutters against his lips.

When she pulls back, he’s smiling.

“So,” she says. “I passed the parental exam?”

“Flying colours,” he murmurs, leaning in again. “A+.”

[nnnaaahhhiiiaaa]

Appearence - choi seung-hyun

Summary | You've been in love with Seung-hyun since you were thirteen. You've always stood up for him when he was bullied for being overweight. He's always been a rap fan, and when he was rejected for being chubby in YG entertainment, he disappears for two months, only to find a completely changed Seung-hyun later.

Pairing | Bullied! Choi Seung-hyun x Fem! Reader.

Genre | 2000s school era. Pre-debut T.O.P.

Warnings | Angst to fluff, bullying.

Author's note | English isn't my first language, so I apologize for any spelling mistakes.

1997 -

"That's right! Run away, you cowards!" you shouted furiously, watching as the group of kids fled in terror, putting as much distance as possible between themselves and the two of you. Still fueled by adrenaline, you clicked your tongue in disdain. "Tch, idiots."

Behind you, a chubby boy with a round build and a fearful expression remained frozen in place. He seemed to be your age, though his hunched posture and downcast gaze made him look smaller. His eyes shone with a mix of surprise and admiration as he watched how you had made his bullies run away just by raising your voice.

But when you abruptly turned to him with a deep frown, he flinched, shrinking slightly.

"You," you pointed at him firmly, locking eyes with his. "You shouldn't let them treat you like that. You have to stand up for yourself."

Your tone wasn’t kind, but it wasn’t cruel either. It was an order, an undeniable truth that you expected him to understand. Because in a world where the weak were trampled on, there was no room for submission.

The boy blinked several times, as if trying to process what you had just told him. His chubby hands trembled slightly, gripping the edges of his shirt nervously. His lips parted, but no words came out.

"What? You’re not going to say anything?" you insisted, crossing your arms impatiently. "If you keep staying silent, they’ll come back. And next time, I might not be here to help you."

He lowered his gaze, his face flushing with embarrassment. His fingers twisted together, as if searching for the courage to respond.

"I… I'm not strong like you," he finally murmured, his voice barely a whisper.

You sighed in frustration. It was always the same story—kids who let themselves be stepped on because they didn’t know how to fight back. But something about the way this boy spoke, the defeated look in his eyes, made your anger subside just a little.

"You don’t have to be strong," you said, this time more gently. "You just need to learn not to let them walk all over you."

The boy looked at you hesitantly, as if he couldn't imagine ever standing up to those who tormented him.

"Mmh, my name is Y/N," you introduced yourself with a confident smile, watching in amusement as the boy in front of you blushed slightly, averting his gaze awkwardly.

"I… I'm Choi Seung-hyun…" he replied in a barely audible voice, as if even saying his own name felt heavy on his lips.

"Well then, Choi-Choi, from now on, I’ll protect you!" you declared enthusiastically, raising a determined thumbs-up.

He blinked, startled. "Choi… Choi?"

"Yep! It’s a cute and sweet nickname… just like you," you explained without thinking too much. But as soon as the words left your mouth, you felt heat rise to your cheeks. Still, you refused to look away, keeping your smile intact.

Seung-hyun’s mouth opened slightly, but no response came out. He just stared at you with those big, dark eyes, as if he couldn’t understand why anyone would want to protect him.

From that day on, you and Seung-hyun became inseparable. So inseparable that, in the end, you fell in love with him.

2005 -

Eight years had passed since that first encounter, and five since you had completely surrendered to his tenderness, his humor, and that voice that seemed to wrap around everything.

"So... you're going to audition for YG Entertainment?" you asked, excitement shining in your eyes.

Seung-hyun lowered his gaze for a moment before nodding timidly. "Yeah... I've thought about it a lot, but in the end, I decided to take this opportunity," he admitted, a hint of nervousness in his tone.

You couldn't hold back your smile. "Ah, they're definitely going to choose you! You have an amazing voice, and your rap is incredible," you assured him with absolute conviction.

His cheeks, already slightly flushed, turned an even deeper shade of red. He raised a hand to the back of his neck, uncomfortable yet flattered. "I-It’s not that great..." he mumbled, avoiding your gaze.

But you knew the truth. You knew how much talent he had, how much effort he had poured into every word, every note. And more than anyone, you wanted to see him shine.

The big day had finally arrived. Seung-hyun was about to audition, but it seemed like you were even more excited than he was. You couldn’t stop smiling, encouraging him, and transmitting that energy he, overwhelmed by nerves, could barely find within himself.

"I wish you the best of luck, Choi-Choi…" you whispered sweetly before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

Seung-hyun blinked, surprised, feeling a sudden warmth spread across his face. A shy smile—one he only showed when he was too overwhelmed to find the right words—appeared on his lips.

The trembling in his hands hadn’t disappeared yet, but your gesture made his fear momentarily fade away. Because if you believed in him so firmly, then maybe… maybe he could believe in himself too.

Seung-hyun took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment to calm his nerves. When he opened them again, there was a new gleam in his gaze—more determined.

"I have to go in. They’re calling me," he murmured, adjusting his jacket with shaky hands.

"Go and dazzle them!" you exclaimed enthusiastically, raising your fists in encouragement. "Don’t forget that you’re amazing, Choi-Choi."

He let out a small laugh, that low and warm sound you adored so much. "Thank you, Y/N… for everything."

Without another word, he turned on his heels and walked toward the audition room. You watched him disappear behind the door, feeling excitement and nerves mix in your chest.

The minutes passed at an unbearably slow pace. You kept glancing at the clock, biting your lip impatiently.

Finally, the door opened, and Seung-hyun stepped out.

His expression was darkened by a seriousness you rarely saw in him. His lips were pressed tightly together, as if he were trying to hold something back. Without stopping for even a second, he walked past you, ignoring your presence completely as he hurried out of the building.

"Seung-hyun? Seung-hyun, wait!" you called out, running after him with your heart pounding. "What happened? Didn’t they pick you…?"

Suddenly, Seung-hyun stopped dead in the middle of the street. His rigid back and clenched fists were enough to tell you that something was wrong. But what really unsettled you was that he didn’t even turn to look at you.

"They didn’t pick me because of my appearance…" he muttered, his head hanging low.

"What…?"

"They didn’t pick me because I’m fucking fat!" he suddenly burst out, his voice breaking between frustration and pain.

The outburst took you by surprise. You had never seen him like this. You had never heard him sound so hurt.

"Choi-Choi…" you whispered sadly, feeling a lump form in your throat.

You had always believed in him, in his talent. He had an incredible voice, sang with passion, and rapped with a power that sent chills down your spine. But apparently, in the world of K-Pop, visuals mattered more than raw talent.

You took a step toward him, wanting to offer comfort, to tell him that this didn’t define his worth. But before you could touch him, he pulled away abruptly and took off running without looking back.

"Seung-hyun!" you shouted his name desperately, but your voice was lost in the air.

You stood there, heart aching, watching him disappear into the distance. Maybe, at this moment, the best thing to do was to let him go… to give him space. Even though it hurt, even though all you wanted was to catch up to him and hold him until all the pain faded away.

Damn it… It had been two months since the last time you saw him, and you hadn’t managed to meet Seung-hyun again. He didn’t even show up at school. The uncertainty slowly took over you, and with each passing day, the weight of worry hit you harder.

You tried calling him several times, but it always went to voicemail. You even tried calling his house, hoping to hear his voice, even if it was just a simple "Hello." But it was always the same response. His mother would say he couldn’t answer, and when you asked if he was okay, she would give you a vague "Yes, he’s fine." Something didn’t add up.

Could it be because of the rejection at the audition? You couldn’t help but think something else had happened, something that had made him withdraw from the world, distance himself from everything. But you didn’t know what it was.

You were devastated. You needed to see him, hear his voice. Anything that would confirm that, at least, he was okay. But no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t contact him.

Finally, the school bell rang, signaling the end of classes. Without thinking, you quickly left the school, determined not to give up. You had gone to his house several times, but they always told you he wasn’t there, or didn’t answer the door. This time wouldn’t be the same. This time, you wouldn’t leave without an answer.

Your heart raced as you walked quickly toward his house. You knew the address by heart, having walked that path so many times… but, before you could reach it, you bumped into someone.

"Ah, sorry!" you apologized quickly, not looking at who it was, too focused on your mission to find Seung-hyun.

"Y/N…?" The voice sounded familiar, although you hadn’t heard it in a long time.

Confused, you looked up to find a cute guy, tall and thin with fallen hair, who was looking at you with an expression you couldn’t immediately decipher. He seemed familiar, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t put a name to his face.

"Y-You…?" you murmured, your mind racing to place the piece in the puzzle. Who was this guy?

The guy looked at you with a small, shy smile, as if he was trying to hide something behind his eyes. It was when he took a step closer that you recognized the light in his gaze.

"It’s me… Seung-hyun," he said, his voice a bit hesitant but filled with a sincerity that made you freeze in place.

A flood of emotions hit you immediately. You couldn’t believe it. He was there, in front of you, as if time had stopped. But something about him had changed. Not just in his appearance, but in the way he stood before you, in the way he looked at you. That energy he used to have, the same one that had made you fall in love with him so many years ago, now seemed more… contained, more calculated.

"Seung-hyun…? But… What…? Why are you… like this?" you asked, unable to stop the lump in your throat as you saw how different he was.

He nodded slightly. "Yes… Sorry for not telling you before, but… after the audition, they told me I had to lose weight if I wanted to be accepted. I lost 20 kilos in a couple of months… and then, they chose me. Now I’m in a band called BigBang with four other guys." His voice was firmer, but there was a tension that made you think he wasn’t entirely comfortable sharing this with you.

"But… Why…?" The question escaped your lips without you being able to stop it. "Why did you change so much? Why did you change… for them? I… I loved you for who you were, for how you were before…"

Seung-hyun lifted his gaze, and in his eyes, you could see a mix of surprise and some guilt. "I did it for myself… To prove that I could do it. I wanted to fit into the world I always dreamed of, and I thought that if I changed, if I became someone else, maybe…"

"Maybe they would see you, right?" you interrupted, unable to contain the sadness in your voice. "But… what about me? Didn’t you care what I thought? Because I loved you, Seung-hyun. Just the way you were… with your insecurities, your awkward smile, your silly jokes. Everything about you, even the things you didn’t like about yourself, is what made me fall in love with you. You don’t need to change to be perfect… you already are."

A heavy silence fell between you two as Seung-hyun seemed to struggle with his words. Then, slowly, he took a step closer to you, and with a more vulnerable look than ever, he whispered, "I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t think that would affect you…"

"Well, it did," you said, the pain cutting through your words, but also a spark of hope. "And I don’t want to see you turn into someone else just to be accepted. I want the guy you were before, the one who made me laugh, the one who made me feel special without having to try to be someone else."

Seung-hyun closed his eyes for a moment, as if realizing everything that had happened. And, for the first time since you had seen him, he smiled in a sincere, albeit shy, way.

"Maybe… maybe I’m still that guy," he said, stepping even closer to you. "Maybe I just need to remember who I really am."

And there, under the dim light of the afternoon, with the city around you and the fresh air that seemed to ease the tension, Seung-hyun looked at you with renewed tenderness. The guy you had loved was there, and although the scars of change were still present, you could see that some of that Seung-hyun you had known still remained. And that was enough for you to believe in a new beginning.

"Can I try, Y/N? To be who I am, without changing for them…" he whispered, his eyes fixed on yours.

You simply smiled, a smile full of hope, as you replied, "Of course, Seung-hyun. I’ve always believed in you. And I’ll keep believing."

[zepskies]

Code Red

Pairing: Boaz Priestly x Female Reader

Summary: When you call him for help, Priestly realizes that he finally has the relationship of his dreams.

AN: So I didn’t think I’d ever write for this character, but it was prompted by a lovely anon and encouraged by my friend @thatonewriter15! I hope you enjoy. ❤️ 

Song Inspo: “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran. “I’ve found a love…”

Word Count: 1,500 Tags/Warnings: Period talk, suggestiveness, mega fluff

He was in the zone.

Four six-inch double buffalo chicken clubs with banana peppers on whole wheat bread (gross, but he wasn’t the one eating ‘em), two spicy Italians, and a tuna on rye.

Priestly wrapped them up with practiced precision and slid them down the line to Piper, Mission Impossible-style. She smiled at his antics and took them and brought them over to Tish at the register.

Priestly had another turkey and provolone on his docket, hold the mayo, when his cell buzzed in his pocket. Today he actually did have pockets. As in, he was wearing joggers, boots, and a graphic tee that said: NO TEQUILA, NO ENTRY.

He swiveled his phone in his hand like a drummer with a drumstick. He smiled when he saw your name flashing across the screen, and he answered it.

“Hey, Beautiful. What’s up?” he asked.

“Boaz, I need you,” you said. To his ears, your voice was sultry, and a bit strained.

He perked up with raised eyebrows.

“What’s holding up the turkey and cheese?” Piper asked.

Boaz held up a finger to the blonde and tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder. His hands busied themselves with the next sandwich order, but he was all too attentive to your every word.

“Oh yeah?” he replied to you. His smile deepened. “Well, that’s convenient. Because I’m craving some of you, baby.”

You gave a breathy chuckle. “Normally I’d take you up on that, but no. I need you. As in, I really need you to do something for me.”

Priestly arched a brow. His brain was already filling up with ideas of how he could best help you. He mentally took an inventory of the “tools” in your nightstand drawer, and which ones he could best use to his advantage when he—

“Uhh, well, I got about one more hour in my shift,” he said, lowering his voice, even as it deepened a notch. “But if Jen covers me, I can be outta here in half the time.”

“Oh my God, good,” you gasped. “I’m in so much fucking pain, you have no idea.” 

Priestly blinked, and any thoughts of kinky fun times came to a screeching halt. Concern took over when he realized that the strain in your voice wasn’t from the sexy kind of need.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quickly.

“I’m out of Midol, my uterus is rioting like it’s a Vietnam War protest, and…oh yeah, I need more tampons too,” you said. “But I legitimately cannot move from this couch.”

Priestly couldn’t help but smile in amusement.

“Ech, I hear ya. Are we in a Code Green, Code Yellow, or Code Red situation?”

Jen glanced over at him from where she was mopping the floor, and she gave him a questioning look.

What’s wrong? she mouthed.

“Code Red, definitely,” you answered with a sigh.

Priestly grimaced in sympathy. He mouthed back to Jen, Code Red.

She nodded in female understanding, and raised a hand that said, Say no more.

“Okay, yeah,” Priestly replied to you. “Don’t worry, I got you.”

You released a sigh of relief. “And if you want to throw in a Snickers, I wouldn’t hate it.”

He chuckled at that one.

“You got it,” he said. “I’ll be home in T minus an hour, give or take.”

You groaned. “Can’t you just steal a DeLorean or something?”

“You know, I could, but that would mean I’d be going back further into the past before you even needed to call me, and I’d still probably be making sandwiches since I’ve been working here since damn near 2000 B.C. But you know what, they should really call that movie Back to the Present, since they don’t actually go to the future until—”

“Okay,” you had to laugh, even though it was edged with discomfort. “I’ll see you later.”

At the supermarket, after his shift at Beach City Grill, Priestly had most of the supplies he needed for a successful mission. All he was missing was his old enemy on Aisle 2.

Once again, he faced a wall of tampons. All bright colored boxes and numbers and sizes…

Okay, not Code Green, so not the slender ones that might as well be match sticks. Not Yellow, so no to Regular…ah! Here we are. Super Plus.

AKA: Code Red. Complete with leak guard, no latex. He grabbed the blue box and threw it into his basket of essentials, including no less than three assorted chocolate bars and a pint of Ben & Jerrys. He knew his girl, and you liked your Half-Baked ice cream with chocolate chip cookie dough and brownie pieces.  

He brought over his haul to the checkout line. Sure enough, Gerry, one of the locals, was finally old enough to buy a case of beer by himself. He glanced at the blue box Priestly was taking out onto the conveyor belt and smirked.

“No slender regulars this time?” Gerry remarked.

Priestly’s smile was tight. “No, Gerald. Slenders are for pussies.”

“Literally,” the blonde beanpole snorted. “What, your girlfriend got a heavy flow this month?”

Priestly rolled his eyes, and his mouth pressed in a line. The word flow still kind of grated on him like nails on a chalkboard, but what irked him more was this guy imagining any part of your intimate parts.

“All right, my girl’s flow is none of your business,” he said. “Once you hit puberty and grow your first pubes, you’ll understand.”

Gerry floundered while Priestly continued on to make his purchases. Even the cashier was smiling, trying not to laugh as he silently gave Priestly his props for a burn well made. Priestly shot the guy a nod and a smile before he left with his spoils.

“Honey, I’m hoooome,” Priestly sing-songed.

He stepped through the door with his keys still jangling in his hand. He was trying to balance the big bag of groceries while closing the door to the apartment he shared with you.

Your head perked up from the living room couch, and your hand slowly curled up, beckoning him over. Priestly obliged you. He peered over the side of the couch and smiled at the way you were all curled up under a throw blanket, already in your pajamas, while FRIENDS reruns played on the TV.

“Finally,” you said with a tired smile. But not the kind of finally that just meant you were impatient for the goods he carried. The kind of finally that also meant you were happy to see him.

He laid a comforting hand on your head, leaned down, and pressed a kiss above your brow. You held him there by the collar of his shirt, prompting him to kiss you for real. Your hand moved up his tattooed neck and your nails gave the back of his head a little scratch, careful not to disrupt the blue mohawk.

He reluctantly pulled away from your lips, just enough to try and gauge how you were feeling.

“How’re you holdin’ up?” he asked.

“Like a beach umbrella in a hurricane,” you replied wryly. “You got the stuff?”

Priestly held the grocery bag tucked under his arm like it was a drug deal.

“Oh, I got the stuff, if you got the money,” he said.

You nodded, and your small smile turned mischievous. “I got your money, Big Man.”

With your hand delicately hooked behind his neck and the other gliding up his arm, he didn’t realize he was falling into a trap.

You tugged his arm hard enough to try and get him to fall over the back of the couch.

“Hey!” he yelped. Yet he also laughed while you tried your best to pull him overboard.

He had to toss the bag of groceries to the floor next to you, but he managed to get over and onto the couch without crushing you. He probably smelled like old sandwich and mayonnaise, but you didn’t seem to care. 

You just helped him settle in behind you, with your back to his chest. This was the only way you’d find comfort for your lower back. It had been aching since you woke up this morning.

You grabbed his closest hand and guided it under your overlarge sleep shirt, then under the waistband of your panties. You laid his warm hand flat against your cramping lower belly.

Priestly pressed a kiss behind your ear and tucked his arm underneath your head. He felt the rise and fall of your sigh as you leaned back against him, and his smile softened.

“You’re gonna fall asleep without digging into your treasure trove,” he teased. “I even got your favorite ice cream.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder in interest.

“Half-Baked?” you asked.

“Yep, for extra brownie points. Eh? See what I did there?”

Your body shook with a quiet laugh. You reached your hand back to touch his bearded cheek this time. Your fingers toyed with his many earrings.

“Did you know that you’re my favorite human?” you said. “Like, ever?”

He smiled against your neck. “Could’a sworn I was your third favorite, behind Ben and Jerry.”

“Nope, just you,” you said, snuggling back further into his warmth. “Thank you, baby.”

Priestly realized then that he’d found it.

He’d really, honest to God found the life he didn’t think he’d get, with a woman who didn’t want him to change; who just wanted him to be here.

Though he smirked when you reached for the bag and dug out the pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

“That’s what I thought,” he said.

You giggled. “Shut up.”

AN: Priestly was such a fun character lol. I rewatched 10 Inch Hero this past week and this was the first thing I thought to write! If you liked this, let me know! (And if you want more Priestly.) 😘

Read the Prequel!

If you liked Code Red, read the start of their story:

▶️ The Miracle Man

Priestly Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Tag List:

(Lovelies from my "Everything" tag list. If you want to be tagged on Priestly stuff specifically, check out the Tag List link in my bio.)

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog

@globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady @leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @emily-winchester @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy @kmc1989

[pavlovianfuckery]

lets not pretend we're not all nuts for The Voice

This is an 18+ space, if your blog is empty I will assume that you're either a bot or a minor and act accordingly.

A/N: Re-uploading all my fics after having a slight mental breakdown and deleting everything so this is kind of old, but bone apple tea and all that anyway

AO3

The Master-masterlist

Fandom Masterlist

Summary: I blame the dreamcast and Tom Sturridges voice entirely for this, it's all his fault really, here is some lazy hypnosis for you

Pairing: Dream/F!Reader

Notes: Hypnosis, (imaginary) oral, no use of y/n

Length: 2000~ words

That you found his hands beautiful had never been a secret. It seemed to amuse him how you could watch him do the most mundane things, never tiring of simply looking at him. The first time he'd truly noticed the extent of the effect his hands had on you, it had been completely by accident. You'd simply been reading in companionable silence after a long and tiring day, as you sometimes did. As per usual, you couldn't help sneaking glances at him from time to time, like a schoolgirl with a crush still. Taking in the lean lines of his body, your gaze ended up lingering on his hands again, which was not unusual in itself.  What was interesting was the way he absentmindedly kept drumming his index finger on the back of the book in his hands. At first, you simply enjoy the graceful way his tendons move, the delicate look to his wrist as he turns the page.

Tap... Tap... Tap...

The rhythm was almost like a heartbeat, and soon you found yourself unable to look away. Your body felt a bit heavy, thoughts going a bit fuzzy at the edges, the book you had been reading forgotten in your lap. 

Tap... Tap... Tap...

It was...nice. You didn't want to look away. Your own heartbeat was a dull thunder in your ears as everything was reduced to that one small movement of his finger.

Tap... Tap... Tap...

Everything felt warm. Relaxed. Soft. You were vaguely aware that he was speaking, but it was hard to pay attention. Shaking your head, you tried to clear your thoughts. "Sorry. Guess I spaced out for a minute there..." "Is that so?" He put the book to the side and gave you a curious look, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You scarcely even blinked for quite some time, my love." You winced, a bit embarrassed. "It is quite alright. In fact, you might have given me...an idea, of a sort."                                                                      ⁂

You're not sure what he meant by 'idea', but you supposed you'll find out sooner rather than later. He hasn't been secretive per se, but not exactly forthcoming either. Watching him shrug off his coat and leave it folded over the back of the couch, you wrack your brain, trying to figure out what he's planning. You come up empty though, distracted by the way the muscles of his forearms move as he unlaces his boots, taking them off. Everything about him looks softer like this, more touchable. But he's rarely in this kind of playful mood and you're too curious to see what he's going to do to risk derailing it somehow, so you wait, fighting down the urge to run your hands across his shoulders, so tempting in just the thin t-shirt.  "Do you trust me?" "You know I do." That seems to please him, otherworldly eyes softening as he kisses you lightly, fingers brushing your cheek. "Will you indulge me for now, then?" You kiss him back, unable to hold back a smile. "Of course, I will." "Good." With that, he gets on the bed, leaning back against the pillows, resting his hands on his bent knees. "Undress for me." His voice feels like molasses sliding over you, and you waste no time obeying, his eyes on you the entire time. The look on his face can only be described as mischievous as he pats the covers next to him. "Come here." He doesn't need to ask twice, the words barely have time to leave his mouth before you join him on the bed, eager to please. With the barest flash of a smile, he spreads his legs a bit wider, beckoning you closer. "Here. Let me hold you, my sweet." Not what you thought he was going to say but you don't object, letting him pull you close, enjoying the press of his chest against your back. When he speaks, his voice vibrates against your skin like something almost solid. "I simply need you to relax for now, will you do that for me?" It's a bit of an odd request, but you don't see any harm in it, leaning back against him a bit more, unable to suppress a grin. "What are you up to?" "You will see. For now, just breathe." It's not hard matching your breaths to his, slow and even. His shoulder is a surprisingly comfortable headrest too, and it doesn't take long to feel like you could almost drift off, right there in his arms. When he speaks again his voice is low, words dripping like honey, slow and sweet. "You enjoy my hands, do you not?" "Yeah, a lot." It's a bit of a silly question, and you can't help smiling. "You enjoy looking at them too, yes?" "Mm-hm."  "Would you look now?" With that, he brings one of his hands up in front of you. "You do not need to do anything, simply keep your eyes on my fingers for a while."

At first, he simply turns his hand over unhurriedly, back to palm and back again. You love how his hands look so delicate yet strong at the same time, and you want to keep watching, feeling too heavy and content to move. As he flexes his fingers gently a phrase springs to mind; piano fingers. You can't quite remember where you first heard it though, only that it must have been long ago. It's hard to think, to focus. Almost as if he heard what you were thinking, his fingers start moving slowly in front of your face, as if playing invisible keys. The movement is graceful, mesmerizing as his hand flits effortlessly across your field of vision, this way and that.

It's beautiful, and you don't want to look away. It reminds you of all the times he's touched you, always knowing precisely where and how. Your thighs squeeze together without you meaning to do it, seeking relief from the heat pooling at your core. He notices, of course, his breath soft against your cheek as he speaks. "You are enjoying this, good."

You love his voice, if you could eat it, you would. Did you say that out loud? Without taking your eyes off his fingers you can tell that he's smiling, hear it in his voice and it makes your chest swell with pride; you love making him smile. To make him happy. You feel so heavy though, like you might sink through the mattress if he wasn't holding you. It feels good though. Safe. The fluttering motion of his fingers is making your head swim. Turning you on. You squeeze your legs together again, wishing you could lie down with him, that he would touch you. "We can lie down, if you wish."

You don't remember asking, but he lowers you gently down next to him all the same, fingers still moving lazily in front of your face. Your eyelids feel heavy and you blink once, twice, everything moving at half speed. "You can close your eyes, if you need to." Maybe just for a minute. With your eyes closed, his voice wraps around you, sinking into your every pore. "Can you feel my touch? How well your breasts fill my hands, like they were made for me alone?"

 At first, you're not sure if you can feel him, but then there is the distinct feel of his hands cupping your breasts gently. "I can." The words feel slow, clumsy in your mouth. You bite your lip, enjoying the teasing but still wanting more.  "The tips of them are so sensitive for me, are they not?" He rubs his thumbs over your nipples until they're stiff, fanning the embers of your desire into a flame until you feel like you might combust. "Let me see you. Spread your legs for me."

You feel the bed shift as he moves in between your legs, gripping your thighs as he talks, forcing them wider, stroking ever closer to where you really need him. "You open your thighs so willingly for me, so obedient. Do you want me to touch you?"  "Yes, please." It's hard, talking. You don't remember it being this hard. "Feel how easily you part around my fingers," he murmurs, dragging his fingers between your folds. "So lovely, all but dripping already. And this little nub must be aching, for only the faintest touch," he rubs the pad of one finger across your clit, making your hips jerk,"to affect you like this."

He pauses for a few seconds, keeping his finger pressed to your clit but not moving, his voice filling your head like treacle, pushing every thought away. "You need to come, I think. Would you like that?" Your mind feels sluggish, his words landing like smooth pebbles in a bowl of jello. Coming sounds good though, you know that much, want to, badly. "Uh-huh."  "Tell me what you want." As he whispers it you can feel the words bouncing off of you like the lights of a sparkler, making your skin tingle. All you can think about is his mouth. It takes a while to get the words out though. "Give me your mouth?" It comes out sounding like a question, and you're not sure why. "Of course you can have my mouth, my love. Can you feel my tongue, lapping at you?"

And you realize that you can. The slide of his tongue against you is unmistakable, making you moan as it flicks over your clit. You can feel his breath against your ear though, and you're dimly aware that he's still talking, his voice flowing into you like waves. You don't know how he's doing it, but it doesn't seem important. Nothing matters except the way he's making you feel. "You always respond so beautifully to my touch." His voice is scrambling your thoughts, making it hard to do anything except listen, letting his words wash over you like a thick syrup until you can nearly taste them. "Particularly when I suck on that little nub, you love that, do you not?"

And he does just that, making your back arch of its own volition. You can't help grabbing at him then, the skin at the nape of his neck so soft under your hands, hair made to wind your fingers through. Perfect. Somebody is making noises and you think it might be you, but you're not sure of that either anymore. Everything feels so far away, everything except his mouth, his voice, his touch. "Are you going to come for me, my sweet?" His voice is so warm, so soft, enveloping you. "Y-yeah, 'm so close," the words come out stuttered and slurred, but you don't care, the pleasure short-circuiting your brain. "Go on then," he's smiling again, you can tell that much, "come."

And you do, fisting your hands in his hair to keep his mouth on you as your hips rock against him helplessly. The waves of pleasure are drowning you, making it hard to breathe, but you can hear yourself whimpering. Coming apart on his tongue feels like shattering, like being unmade and remade again. "Morpheus!" His name is ripped out of you, tumbling from your lips like a prayer. Maybe it is. As you come down from your high your heartbeat is loud in your ears and you feel like if you looked, you could see your ribs moving from the pounding of it, heart trying to break free. It's easier to think again though. To move. "Open your eyes, my love."

As you do, you realize that he's right next to you, inches away from even touching you, still perfectly composed. The look on his face might be the smuggest you've ever seen him, though. "If I had known that I could bring you to release with my voice alone, I would have done this a lot sooner." "Wha...no, that's not a thing." You blink, confused. "You seemed to enjoy it well enough."  "But you were touching me, I could feel you, feel your mouth..." "I was right here next to you the entire time," his voice is almost a purr, he's so obviously pleased with himself, "but I never touched you." You can't help being embarrassed, hiding your face behind your hands. "Oh my god, Dream, fuck." He chuckles then, gathering you against his chest again before pressing a tender kiss to your temple. "Maybe later. For now, just rest." "You break my brain sometimes, you know that? Fuck, I love you."

⁂

The Master-masterlist

Fandom Masterlist

If you liked this spicy snack even a little, please consider supporting your local smut-slinger and hitting the reblog button on the way out, perhaps even drop a comment if you're feeling generous, it really helps with the motivation side of things a lot!

[papersoilder]

(Yandere Oc) Ian x Male Reader

ˑ 𖥔 ּ ִ 𖦹 WARNINGS: none

̽𖧧 word count: 2000– more Ian content because why not can be viewed as a part 2 of this

You heard the cigarette before you smelled it. That flick of a cheap lighter, the hiss of the flame catching. Then the smoke bitter and clinging, the smell crept into your lungs as you stepped out of your apartment building.

Ian was leaning against the rusted railing like he always did. One hand in his pocket. The other bringing the cigarette to his lips.

“You’re late,” he said, not looking at you.

You didn’t ask how he knew your schedule. He always knew.

“I didn’t say we were meeting,” you replied, adjusting your backpack.

He tilted his head like a dog hearing something only he could. “Didn’t need to.”

You started walking. He fell in step beside you without asking, like he always did. You didn’t ask him to leave either. That never worked. You’d tried before.

“You’re quiet today,” he said after a block. “Something happen?”

“Nope.” You replied calmly popping the p.

“You sure?” His voice was light, but his stare cut sideways those sleepless eyes scanning your face like it was a confession waiting to be read. “You didn’t text me back last night.”

“I was busy.”

“With him?”

There it was. That drop in his voice. The shift from casual to possessive in half a breath. You stopped walking and turned to face him.

“Ian.”

His stare didn’t waver. He held his cigarette between his fingers like it was keeping him from grabbing something else. Maybe you. Maybe his self-control.

“If I find out you followed him again,” you said, low and flat, “we’re done. No more talking. You won’t see me again.”

He didn’t blink. But his mouth twitched. “Did something happen to him?”

“No. But if you keep pushing, something will.”

Ian took a long drag from his cigarette. Then he tossed it to the curb and stepped on it. “Fine.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Just like that?”

“I said fine, didn’t I?” His hands went back in his hoodie pocket. He turned and started walking again. “Come on. You’ll be late for class.”

You stood there for a second longer, watching the back of his head. The way he slouched when he walked, like he carried too much weight in his shoulders. Then you sighed and followed him.

The first time Ian showed up at your window was a year ago. Second story, middle of the night, rain hitting the glass. You should’ve screamed. Called the cops. Instead, you opened the latch.

“What are you doing here?” you whispered.

He was soaked. Hoodie clinging to him like a second skin. “Saw you get into that guy’s car earlier.”

You stared at him. “So you climbed two stories.”

“He put his hand on your leg,” Ian said, like it was a crime. Like that alone justified trespassing.

You didn’t say anything. You just stepped aside and let him in.

Since then, he never really stopped. He didn’t ask. He didn’t knock. Sometimes he waited outside your class. Sometimes you woke up and he was asleep on your couch like he belonged there. You stopped being surprised around the third or fourth time. Maybe that was the mistake.

But it wasn’t that you didn’t care. You just… got used to it.

That afternoon, you were alone in your apartment when Ian texted.

Ian [4:31 PM]: can i come up?

You [4:32 PM]: door’s open

Five minutes later, he was at your table, picking at your leftover takeout without asking. You sat across from him, scrolling on your phone.

“Why do you let me do this?” he asked, breaking the silence.

You looked up. “Do what?”

“This.” He gestured around vaguely. “Be here. Be close.”

You set your phone down. “Because if I said no, you’d show up anyway. You’ve never cared about boundaries.”

His jaw flexed. “You hate me?”

“No.” You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed. “If I hated you, you’d know.”

He stared at you again unblinking, unnerving. You’d gotten used to that, too. There was something sad buried in it, like he didn’t know what to do with his own intensity. Like no one had ever taught him how to want something without ruining it.

“I don’t want to scare you,” he said quietly.

“You don’t scare me,” you said. “But you do piss me off.”

He blinked. That startled him more than anything else.

You stood, walked around the table, and stopped in front of him. “You want me to be okay with you being like this? Fine. I’ve accepted it. But that means you follow my rules now.”

Ian looked up at you. “What rules?”

“No hurting people. No following people. No threats. No sabotage. No ‘accidents.’ You want to be close to me? Don’t make me regret it.”

His mouth opened, then closed again. You watched the storm roll behind his eyes—violent, needy, desperate. But he nodded.

“Okay.”

You nodded back and sat on the couch. “Now get over here.”

He didn’t even hesitate.

Later, you were half-asleep on the couch. Ian was beside you, arms folded, eyes glued to the ceiling like sleep was a language he couldn’t speak. You shifted, your shoulder brushing his.

“You ever gonna stop looking at me like I’ll disappear?”

He didn’t answer for a long time.

“You ever gonna stop pretending you don’t want me to look at you like that?” he said eventually.

You chuckled. “Maybe not.”

There was quiet again, but it wasn’t awkward. You could feel his breath slow beside you. Like proximity calmed something in him. You didn’t need to ask what. You knew.

“You’re not a monster, Ian,” you said, eyes closed.

“Sometimes I think I am.”

You opened your eyes and turned to him. He was already watching you.

“You do anything like last time again like hurting someone for being too close and I’ll walk. For real.”

He nodded, solemn.

“But,” you added, “if you want to be here, and you can hold that shit back, I won’t go anywhere.”

His hand twitched like he wanted to touch you, but didn’t know how. “I can try.”

You stared at him for a second, then reached over and put your hand over his. “Try harder. Because I do like you, Ian. I just need you to act like you’re worth being liked.”

His fingers closed around yours.

And for once, he didn’t say anything. Just held your hand like it was proof you were real. Like if he let go, he’d wake up back in that hollow place he came from.

You didn’t pull away.

Not that night.

Not yet.