#i had to figure out if he was revealed or not ;A;(he is and im forgor)

[lune-moon-nuit]

This is definitely one of the best analysis of Mike Wheeler arc on the series I seen ! I love it, I love this character and his complexity so much

ok. look at these.

look. that's the same look. right?

let's take a closer look. to do that, i'm gonna have to zoom in a bit on the first one. because, as you can immediately see, the shots are slightly different. the first is a little farther away, showing both mike and el, walking next to each other, whereas the second is much more intimate, a closeup on mike's expression as he looks at will's face in the foreground. a minor but telling difference about the levels of emotional intimacy in each scene.

so, moving past that first element of contrast, let's look at each shot in full, because in both of these scenes, mike goes on a bit of a face journey before he gets to that final smiling expression, seen above.

personally, i think studying actors' body language and micro-expressions is inconclusive at best, but i won't deny that these look similar. however, it's pretty clear to me that they aren't the same.

toward el, i see confusion, intrigue, maybe pleasant surprise, followed by a glance down (to emotionally process and/or watch his step), and then a nervous but friendly smile.

toward will, i see awe, relief, and overwhelming affection, followed by a shy glance down and a slight schooling of his slack jawed expression into a warm smile.

but, again, that's just my interpretation, and i can't say with any certainty what the intention of all of finn's micro-expressions are. but from my perspective, even a surface level viewing of these two expressions depicts a very different emotional experience. however: there's no denying the connection between these two scenes. they clearly mirror each other, just like a lot of things about mike's relationships with el and will mirror each other. i don't think that's an accident.

whatever you think his sexuality is, mike is undeniably in a romantic narrative with el. beginning in season one episode three, when the concept of their romantic relationship is introduced, the narrative arc mike and el share is heavily focused on that relationship. the first scene above actually happens in that same episode (s1e3), not coincidentally almost directly afterward. and the former scene, with mike, lucas, and dustin behind the baseball field, provides very interesting context for several reasons:

first: bear with me, because we're going back to look at the context behind this context. this is only episode three of the show, but already there's a lot going on, both in text and subtext.

and since we have the entirety of their relationship so far presented to us on screen, when lucas accuses mike of looking at el romantically, we're easily able to go back and figure out where he got that impression: we can examine every time lucas has seen mike look at el at all.

the first night, after finding el in the woods instead of will, and while insisting that the next day she'd be gone and they could focus on will again, mike's behavior is directly reminiscent of benny's. taking el in, and providing her with shelter, food, and clothing.

the next day, after learning that she's in danger and changing his mind about pawning her off on his mother, mike infers that she might know something about will. when lucas arrives, he exclaims that she recognized him and knew he was missing.

later, when lucas tells her that will is their friend, she asks what that means and mike explains. a friend...

and then she displays that she might really be able to help them find will. and mike looks at her like this:

each and every one of these interactions is directly related to will. but lucas, through the omnipresent lens of heteronormativity that surrounds boys' interactions with girls (especially a group of boys who have no experience with girls... more on that in a bit), only seems to consider the fact that mike's behavior, which is undeniably about will, is being directed at el.

throughout season one (and beyond, in more subtle ways), will and el are repeatedly connected to each other through the trope of mistaken identity. will is abducted on the same night (and due to the same series of events) that el escapes the lab. hopper, in his investigation into will's disappearance, keeps running into clues about el. and mike, lucas, and dustin, sneaking out in episode one to search for will, find el instead.

later in the season, hopper eventually realizes the truth of his own more overt mistaken identity arc: while he was under the assumption that he'd been following will's trail, he'd actually been following el's. interestingly, the realization is triggered by one specific distinguishing difference, which tells him beyond a doubt that he's been looking for two different kids: their art.

though much more subtle (aka hidden in the subtext), mike's arc with his feelings about will and el follows a very similar pattern. the main difference, though, is that in season one, the swapping of places is eventually reversed but never acknowledged as such, and mike ends season one with el now missing and will back in his life, but a lingering sense of something yet unresolved.

second: (i'm not going to deep dive into this one here, because it's a whole analysis in and of itself, but i need to mention it because it is relevant) this scene introduces the recurring motif of superheroes being directly connected to mike's feelings for el, which is an association we see follow them all the way into season four and become a defining metaphor for their incompatibility.

third: lucas is the character who first introduces mike's romantic feelings for el into the narrative. and instead of giving any indication that lucas' interpretation is correct, mike's reaction is... difficult to read. his response is immediately defensive, both verbally ("what are you talking about?" "shut up, lucas,") and physically (leaning away and shielding himself when lucas hugs him). we can infer from the original character descriptions why mike might be defensive about this subject:

obviously, this description is only a vague impression of what Mike Wheeler became, but it's clear that the core elements of his character outlined here did come to fruition on screen. here, mike's insecurity is linked both to the bullying he undergoes, and to his inexperience/ineptitude with girls. and it's presented as key to his character motivation (the original concept of his character arc put forth here is very straightforward: at the start, mike has insecurity centered around bullying and is romantically inexperienced. by the end, mike has courage against monsters and romantic experience.)

in any case, this scene is the first hint of this aspect of mike's character in the show itself (the earlier scene of bullying in the show focusing on mike consoling dustin over what he’s being bullied for (“i think it's kinda cool. it’s like you have superpowers or something!”)... see my last point here… mike holds the idea of superpowers in high regard, and they are consistently connected with his feelings about el. something about the mistaken identity through-line feels apt here: mike mistakes his feelings of admiration for el as feelings of romance.) in this scene, mike is confronted with both romance (in direct relation to himself for the first time in the show) and bullying.

but due to the way this is shot, it's impossible to get a read on what mike is truly feeling. it reminds me a lot of another scene, actually...

in both of these scenes, mike's genuine emotional reaction is hidden from us. in the first, lucas forcibly hugs him, teasing him about how much he "loves" el, and in effect introducing the idea of el as a romantic prospect to mike. in the second, el hugs mike tightly, her hand still around his neck from their kiss and his arm trapped in between them, similar to the way he shields himself from lucas. we're then shown that he's signed the card on the flowers squished between them "from, mike." hm. so... not love, as lucas suggests.

we come to learn over the course of season four that this is something mike is actively struggling with: his inability to "love" el in the way that she wants, expects, and deserves. this scene, introducing that season-long arc, conceals mike's true emotional state and motivations from us, again, mirroring the first introduction to their entire romantic plot line way back in season one.

(an aside: lucas' "if you love her so much, [then] why don't you marry her?" aka the inciting event of their romantic arc, is a based on a conditional statement with the hypothesis that mike loves el. as mr. clarke might posit (in, say, season one, episode one): what's the difference between an experiment and other forms of science investigation? ...well, an experiment is a controlled test of two or more variables against a hypothesis. does that remind you of anything happening in mike's romantic narrative? something about...... [murray voice] experimenting sexually?)

anyway. then, after extracting himself from el's embrace, mike finally drops his bag(gage) and opens his now empty arms to will, before preemptively cutting himself short with a punch to the shoulder.

...did someone say internalized homophobia?

and then immediately upon being introduced to argyle, mike is called out for his presentation here not being genuine. ("it's a shitty knock-off,"/"i really thought it was ocean pacific...") we're being told that something about mike's performance is not what it seems (and may even be a case of one thing being mistaken for something else).

and speaking of homophobia...

fourth (and finally): this scene, of lucas' teasing mike about his "love" for el, which i'll remind you again is tied directly to lucas mistaking mike's behavior regarding will as being solely about el, is quickly interrupted by an onslaught of homophobia, during which mike is specifically targeted (read: tripped) by the bullies.

the juxtaposition is immediate and obvious: mike's friends lovingly teasing him, even embracing him, over a crush on a girl vs. bullies maliciously taunting them about will being killed for being queer and then physically harming mike.

(there's also something to be said about the later scene in which these bullies force mike to drop his bike in the woods and chase him to the edge of the quarry, mirroring exactly how the cops assume will must have died... and, to be clear, i'm not saying that mike himself is being bullied for being queer in the way will was. no, mike's queerness is invisible to those around him in a way that will's isn't, so his relationship with it and the ways it affects him are hidden in subtext.)

which brings us directly to the following scene in the woods. el asks about mike's injury (sustained from the aforementioned bullying, thereby linking these two scenes even more concretely) and with a little prodding ("friends don't lie"), he opens up to her about what happened, and about being bullied at school. she listens, tells him she understands (this also follows her recent flashback of brenner's abuse in the lab), and they share a "cool," "cool," and a smile.

so... let's quickly jump over from here to the van scene with will. something similar, yet notably different, is happening in this scene, leading up to that infamous smile at the end. mike is sharing his insecurities with will now, but instead of will prodding him to open up, mike, prompted only by will's "she's gonna be okay," begins rambling so much about his insecurities (while speaking in superhero metaphors) that he eventually cuts himself off, saying it's "stupid." will tries to placate him, ("of course she needs you,") but when that doesn't work, he gives him The Painting (a symbol of his love for mike) and a long speech about feeling lost and different, while insisting upon mike's value (you're the heart, leading us, inspiring us, etc). and then they share a "yeah?" "yeah," and a smile.

so we can see the similarity in the way the shots are set up, the progression of the conversations, and mike's visible reactions. but we can also see distinct differences, all of which together inform a significant difference in emotional weight between these two scenes.

while mike's conversation in the woods with el takes place in the third episode of season one, at which point mike has known her for less than 48 hours, the van scene is in the second to last episode of season four, and is the fourth of five heart-to-hearts mike and will have this season alone (and following three previous seasons and beyond that years of close friendship). it is also arguably the climax of their shared arc this season. on the other hand, mike and el's season one moment is part of the introduction to their storyline, and the introduction to their romantic arc. in this moment in the woods, mike is looking at el romantically (did you think i was gonna argue that he isn't? because no, he definitely is). in fact, this is the beginning of mike's entire romantic arc, which sets out to address the foundational insecurity that is key to his character. we, as an audience, right alongside mike, have just been told (by lucas) that mike has romantic feelings for el. and then we are presented with this scene. we are supposed to view this as romantic. because mike is starting to view it as romantic.

had stranger things been one season long, then the climax of their romantic arc would have been the kiss they share in the cafeteria, followed by the denouement of el's symbolic death (the gay implications of which i could write another whole essay on...). but the end of season one was not the resolution of mike's full romantic arc. by the nature of the five act structure (which is what stranger things has, being five seasons), the entirety of season one serves as exposition for our full narrative. which means, in effect, that the entire arc of mike and el's season one relationship is there to serve as groundwork, a foundation for mike's complete five season arc. season one, starting from before he even meets el, all the way through to when he eventually kisses her and then loses her, is only act one of that arc. the first act of five act structure is when the driving conflict is presented. so in the context of the entire show, for us as the viewer, mike's narrative arc surrounding the romantic aspect of his insecurity begins with his season one "romance" with el.

and we know that this insecurity is an element of the full five-act narrative, rather than being presented and wrapped in the course of the mini "self contained" narrative of season one, because we can see plainly, three seasons later, particularly during mike's heart-to-hearts with will, that this insecurity has not yet been resolved. we know this, on a basic level, from having watched mike and el's relationship struggles progress, but it is still explicitly laid out for us in season four. and will is consistently the only person who genuinely hears mike out, encourages him to open up, and addresses his insecurities, instead of brushing him off, like most other people in his life (including will at some points) have done. will understands him in a way el only claimed to in season one.

looking back to the character outline: mike has now "kiss[ed] a girl" and even "had a girlfriend" and still hasn't resolved his insecurities even remotely. in fact, after the first season arc wraps up, this romantic relationship becomes the main source of that insecurity. his difficulty navigating a real romantic relationship with el is the basis of their arc in season three. and by season four, mike is consciously struggling with being unable to tell el that he loves her. despite will's reassurances that things will be okay (which stack onto lucas' constant relationship advice in season three), mike keeps circling back around to it. because he can't move forward on the path he is on.

he has reached a point of no return, like a “fight you can’t come back from.” he is unable to find the security he is searching for in his romantic relationship with el... and this is where we arrive back at the van scene with will.

if the scene in the woods marks the beginning of the introduction of mike's romantic arc, then the scene in the van marks the beginning of the conclusion of mike's romantic arc. if the introduction of his romantic arc (season one) presents his insecurity, then the natural conclusion of that arc (season five) is security. throughout season four, mike lays out for will the insecurity that his relationship with el still brings him. he is unable to find that security with el, and, in the van scene, finds it with will instead.

or, should i say, begins the journey to finding it. because, especially after the lie that brings them into that moment, and then traumatic pizza dough freezer incident, we're still at the beginning of the conclusion. there's still a lot to resolve, but season four (alongside mike, who now understands what he's been going through) finally began moving the subtext of mike's arc into the actual text. and this moment indicates that season five will take that next step to fully, textually, actualizing it.

so, getting back to the parallel we're looking at here: each of these scenes is a catalyzing moment in mike's romantic arc. in season one, when lucas suggests that mike has a crush on el, and then what follows is a conversation with el where she is (to quote lucas) "not grossed out" by him, he actively begins his journey toward resolving this character motivating insecurity. he looks at el and he sees the possibility of romance.

and just look at him. he looks excited. hopeful. a little nervous. but... i want to remind you again: mike has known el for less than 48 hours at this point. this is the first conversation they've had in which they've related to each other as equals. for their entire relationship before this and afterward, outside of their romantic interactions (and also. often. disturbingly. concurrent with their romantic interactions...), mike's role has been as el's protector, a makeshift father figure, the elliot to her E.T. here, though, el tells mike that she understands him.

in season one, mike is twelve years old (read: pre-pubescent). he has no personal understanding of or experience with romance. dustin starts to comment in s1e2, "you're letting a girl...?" and ted later scoffs "our son with a girl?" and outside of the queer coding, what we can take from both of these (which draw back to the original character description) is that mike has no experience with girls whatsoever. (outside of, you know. family. but that's not what this post is about.)

and again, this scene happens almost directly after lucas first introduces the idea of romance between them, both to the narrative, and to mike himself, who, very significantly, up until this point, has shown no romantic interest in el. the sequence of these events is not a coincidence. 1. lucas assumes mike has romantic feelings for el. 2. el and mike have a moment of personal connection and understanding 3. mike "boys only" wheeler puts these two together and assumes the connection between them must be romance. but the expression on mike's face here isn't a representation of already existing romantic feelings. there's no basis for those. again, this moment represents for mike the potential for romance.

which... makes his expression in the van scene hit even harder. because unlike el, will isn't a stranger he barely knows, but rather his best friend of ten years. and it isn't lucas telling mike how mike feels. it's will professing his own feelings about mike, in direct response to mike's self-professed insecurities. (ding ding ding, are your alarm bells going off?) mike's expression at the end of this scene, if we're viewing it as a reprise of his season one expression, is a representation of hope for his romantic future. but this time, heading into the resolution of mike's romantic arc, with all of the knowledge and context we (and mike) have gained over the course of the past four seasons, it's directed at will.

ok. so. with the basic connection between these two scenes established, i'm gonna move a little bit sideways here. at the end of their romantic arc in season one, el disappears from mike's life and will reappears in it, effectively swapping their places (remember that we've been dealing with the mistaken identity trope between these two), and leaving the question of mike's romantic security glaringly unresolved.

and we know why - this is a five act narrative we're watching - but just within the context of the season one arc... the climactic moment of mike finally asking the girl to be his sister kissing the girl was preceded by her locating will in the upside down (leading to his rescue) and followed by a resolution in which she disappeared... and will took her place. at the end of the season, mike is left in the same place he started: playing games in his basement with will, his first attempt to resolve his arc of romantic insecurity, with el, ultimately ending in tragedy.

after season one, this arc picks up again, but this time will the one present in mike's life. and mike's behaviors toward el in season one, during which they were undergoing a romantic story arc, begin showing up again in his behavior towards will. but unlike with el, mike's particular (read: romantic) behavior toward will happens without outside intervention, and in fact, often in spite of outside intervention. now, this isn't to say that all of mike's behavior with el was a result of others' influence. when el reveals to mike that she is on the run from "bad people," mike is immediately protective and caring toward her. however, as i've already explained, this caring behavior (which, again, we know right off the bat is not romantic because it directly mirrors the way both benny and hopper care for her) doesn't turn into romantic behavior until lucas introduces that idea.

on the opposite side of the spectrum, right from episode one of season one, mike's behavior toward will is fully self motivated, even in the face of opposition.

and as we move through season one and beyond, we can see that mike continues to rely on constant guidance in the way he cares about el (particularly and most consistently from lucas).

stranger things is, at it's horror filled core, a coming of age tale. like many of our other characters, mike's full character arc, romantic and otherwise, is about self-actualization. from the very conception of the show, his insecurity is presented as a central character flaw to overcome, while also being directly linked with his romantic fulfillment. the overcoming of this fatal flaw, the resolution of his romantic arc, and his final achievement of self-actualization are all inextricably intertwined.

the reprisal of this specific expression of romantic hope as we enter the end of mike's romantic arc is not an indication that mike is in the same place emotionally at the end of season four as he was at the beginning of season one, just with a different person now. instead, it is an indication of his romantic arc coming full circle. mike began in a position of hope for his romantic future with el, only to have the actualization of that hope (their romantic relationship) gradually degrade his romantic fulfillment and self-esteem. the longer mike and el are together, and the more serious their romantic relationship becomes, the worse mike's insecurities become. this is, i would argue, directly related to the fact that mike's pursuit of a romantic relationship with el is not due to his own genuine desire, but instead a combined result of heteronormativity (lucas assuming mike's feelings for el to be romantic), compulsive heterosexuality (mike's subsequent assumption that his feelings for el must be romantic), forced conformity (mike's attempt to resolve his insecurities firmly within these heteronormative boundaries, under the assumption that a rejection of these boundaries is unacceptable), and the trope of mistaken identity that has been following will and el since season one.

and of course i don't know with any concrete certainty what season five will contain, but based on the narrative so far, and optimistically expecting a satisfying resolution to his character arc, the actualization of his romantic hope regarding will is going to lead to true romantic fulfillment and coincide with his self-actualization (a big part of which is coming to terms with his sexuality).

now, i'm not going to conclude this whole analysis by saying, "and that's why mike is gay!" because while i think this all is a good indication of that, based on all of the context and my impression that this narrative is being presented in a way that focuses on the subtext and deeper symbolism of each of these relationships rather than being a case of specifically el vs. will, you might still have a different interpretation than me. that's fine. however, i am going to end by insisting (me when i argue with the wall), based on everything i've laid out, that this parallel and others like it (ie parallels between byler & miIeven's romantic arcs) are not evidence of mike's feelings, specifically whether they are genuinely romantic or not. this parallel serves as a narrative device in his romantic character arc... the conclusion of which is mike realizing and coming to terms with the fact that he is actually in love with will, and not el.

just to be very clear, i'm not saying these parallels alone are proof against mike being bisexual, but i am saying that they are not evidence in support of his being bisexual. again: they do not indicate that mike is romantically attracted to el. what they indicate is that will and el are foils in mike's romantic arc.

before i finish, i want to address a couple misconceptions:

1. the fact that mike actively and willingly participates in a romantic relationship with a woman means he can’t be gay. this is straight up homophobia. gold star bullshit. no.

2. mike and el being presented in a romantic light means that they have genuine romantic feelings for each other. this is a misconception of the way narrative tools are used to tell a story. going right back to my first point: it is an irrefutable fact that many gay people have romantic relationships with the people of different genders (read “the opposite sex”) before they come out/realize their true sexuality. it is also a fact that many of these gay people fully believe their feelings to be genuinely romantic before realizing that they are not. as i've already gone over, mike is twelve years old when his romantic arc begins. on the surface, his relationship with el is presented as romantic. he participates in (and even initiates) romantic behaviors because he believes that his feelings for el are romantic. in seasons one and two, mike is one of our main POV characters. we can see a romantic tilt to the way some of their scenes are shot because, to mike, while they are happening, they are romantic (keeping in mind what i said before about mike having no experience and therefore no personal knowledge informing his perspective, AND keeping in mind that many of these on-the-surface "romantic" scenes are also consistently subtextually linked (read: paralleled) to familial relationships for both of them... and i haven't even touched the cultural context surrounding homosexuality in 80's. there's so much nuance informing the way this story is being told). and we, as the audience, are supposed to read them as romantic on first viewing, because otherwise the season five plot twist, revealing the truth of mike's feelings, would not work.

it is not a coincidence that the active degradation of their romantic relationship (outside of all of the other context, parallels, symbolism, family coding, etc, that are there to hint along the way that things are not as they might seem) begins full force in season three, at the exact point when the two actually enter a real relationship for the first time, and also when our characters are entering puberty, the time during which a person's sexuality (in a general sense, but also in regard to sexual orientation) begins to fully emerge. after his season one arc with el, mike underwent another season-long romantic arc: this time, with will. it's more subtle, because (i believe) mike doesn't realize yet that it's romantic, but it's there. then at the end of season two, mike makes a choice: he encourages will to dance with a girl and he dances with el, re-writing their tragic ending from season one, but now leaving his romantic arc with will frustratingly unresolved, again mirroring the sense of unresolution from season one: mike has swapped out the end of each romantic arc with the wrong love interest.

and then in season three, now having had the experience of both romantic arcs, and now, for the first time, with both will and el right there beside him, all we can see anymore is the overt contrast between the two relationships, depicted most blatantly through the same type of visual and narrative "parallel" we've been looking at here.

but at the end of this season, instead of making a choice, mike's choice is made for him. he has a romantic moment with will, and then el kisses him, confusing the resolution of these two romantic arcs once again.

mike's season four arc closely mirrors his season one arc (searching for one love interest with the other by his side, mistaken identity trope abound), but with important distinctions: 1. mike is a little older, a lot more experienced, and has a better understanding of both the context of romantic relationships and the scope of his feelings for both el and will. and 2. mike's only real guidance in season four comes from will, and he doesn't simply listen and act based on will's advice, as he did with lucas' in seasons 1&3. now, he fully engages with will's input, pushing back against it when he doesn't agree, and accepting it when he can acknowledge its truth (up until, of course, our fourth (and hopefully final) tragic, incorrectly resolved ending). mike is finally taking control of his romantic narrative in a way he hasn't previously, and the direction it's heading in now is toward security, self-actualization, and will.

so the point of all of this is: nothing is as simple or straightforward as it may seem on the surface. the narrative has always been deeply complex and layered with subtext and symbolism. and most of all, when interpreting the meaning of anything presented directly to us on screen, context matters.

also uh. yeah, mike gay

[bluemerakis]

───────── ᝰ bluemerakis ༝༚༝༚ ────

❝ memory foam ❞

─ ۶ৎ ─

pairing ୨୧ soldier boy x fem!reader

synopsis ─ soldier boy teaches you how to roll a blunt and then makes you hold it between your lips while he fucks you into insanity. just filth honestly bc this man is filthy and i love it

warnings .ᐟ cussing, light misogyny throughout (i mean,, come on), v light dirty talk, masturbation f receiving, hair-pulling, grinding, edging/overstimulation, spanking, fingering, unprotected sex p in v. i feel like these warnings have y’all opening this fic with a therapist on speed dial. if i forgot anything pls lmk!

word count ~ 7.3k (this was supposed to be a drabble 😀)

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Lithe trails of smoke crept over the horizon of your laptop screen, which called your attention toward Ben’s seated figure at the small, rounded table near the kitchen. You reached to lower your laptop screen an inch—just enough to properly reveal the schemes unravelling beneath your boyfriend’s hunched over frame. You didn’t doubt that he was currently unravelling some recent haul of self-indulgent narcotics because as much as you loved your severely traumatised, addict boyfriend, he didn’t have any other tasteful way to pass time. Well, when he wasn’t ploughing you into the mattress and pummelling your senses into an otherworldly abyss of pleasure, of course.

Ben had slipped into the apartment an hour ago with that dubious, white plastic bag in clutch—no print to identify any luxurious takeaway you’d have killed to plunge into your gurgling stomach. You’d been tempted to ask about it then, but he’d entered with such a thick swathe of broodiness cramping his brows that you’d laid off the interrogation entirely. Though, just by stealing a single glance of the bag in its own, unassuming simplicity, it could have branded itself as some sketchy stash of drugs he’d picked up from one of his regular dealers on the way home.

You honed in on the man of the hour, your unflattering nosiness taking the cake on the mental debate of whether or not you should interfere with Ben’s activities. It was a debate that had never happened to begin with because meddling in anything and everything that he did was practically your brand—no questions asked. You’d once called it a loving obsession, but Ben had called it a hounding cock block on his highs. You’d been quick to rebrand your pestering of him as your own guilty addiction, and he hadn’t had much to say in response to that. He had his addictions, and you had yours—him. Oh, he so must’ve regretted accommodating you into his life.

Your boyfriend’s sharp features were currently kneaded into a focused frown, his head tilted down to where he emptied out the plastic packet onto the table. Your chin perked with sly interest, no further surprise to be unwrapped when you glimpsed a sprawl of paper and herbs. Drugs, as expected, but nothing nearly as hard as his usual indulgences. Your attention flickered up to the blunt currently clutched between his lips—the bane of your existence—before you lowered your focus back down to the table, where his busy hands alternated between segregating the devious mess and popping out his smoking stick to dispel a pull.

You didn’t need to squint hard to confidently label said herbs as weed—once the distinct scent left his lips to shroud the modest apartment and assault your sensitive nose, it was a dead giveaway. You’d never been much of a fan of smoking to begin with, and weed might’ve been the rankest pick of it all, but it’s something you’d gradually grown tolerant of. It’s not like you had much of a say in the matter, anyway, given that your boyfriend had his lips wrapped around a cig almost as often as he had them wrapped around you. It was a relationship that had existed long before yours, so who were you to complain, really?

Besides, this was his apartment, which meant that his guilty pleasures were anything but your business. And you doubted that your complaint would manage a graze of his ears before his cock would plug your lips to shut you the hell up about it. He didn’t much like when you had an attitude about his aforementioned hobbies.

“Ah, shit!” Ben exclaimed angrily around the blunt’s body—a muffled sound that banished smoke from his pursed lips. You watched as he tossed aside the plastic packet, seizing his tempter by the throat as he thudded his palm against the table. “Fuckin’ dickless prick sold me short,” he grumbled to nobody in particular, releasing the blunt for a disgruntled exhale before his lips took to it once more like his next, dire breath.

You plugged your lips at his temper tantrum, throttling a chuckle you knew would be severely misplaced during this fit of his. You couldn’t help it, though. Ben loved to pretend that he was ‘man enough’ to be unbothered by trivial things, but it never took much to get under his skin. The irony was so palpable that you could’ve poked and prodded at it with ridicule. “What’re you doing?” You called to him with an accentuated chirp to your tone—you’re curious, oblivious, not probing.

Ben’s eyes lifted from the table for a second to glance in your direction, where you sat comfortably cushioned against the headboard of his bed. His glare hovered for a few measly seconds, holding no adoration at this particular time. It made you utter a mental damn. At most, he’d give you a wink or a scheming narrowing of his eyes that spoke all sorts of dirty he’d have loved to work you through. But he merely turned back to the task at hand, freeing the blunt from his tightly-wrung lips.

Yeah, women are the moody ones, you remarked mentally. What a chuckle-fest.

The supe gave a hefty exhale, smoke streaming out in a slow gust that told you a somber story of a shit-filled day. His whole demeanour was off-put. A good girlfriend would’ve asked him about it, but a smarter one—like yourself—knew err on the side of caution. You’d long since learned not to pester him about his emotions because, to quote Ben: ‘only pussies hold hands and waste daylight wailin’ about this ‘nd that. Me? I ain’t strokin’ anybody’s cock with some me too bullshit. You gotta act the man and suck it up.’

Yeah, you weren’t going to open that can of worms again.

Without sparing you another glance, Ben jerked his head in your direction. “Get over here,” he demanded distractedly. “It’s ‘bout time I teach ya the hustle o’ this shit.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll leave the lung cancer to you,” you poked light-heartedly, but you shifted your laptop aside to scamper across the mattress regardless. Unfortunately, you were the type to spend any given chance at your boyfriend’s side, and it didn’t matter how trivial the activity was—it was all about the quality time. Ben was overly tolerant of your clinginess, so much so that you almost thought he enjoyed the attention more than you did. But that wasn’t anything he’d ever admit to, were it true to begin with.

You ambled across the open-plan apartment towards his smoke-enveloped figure, and upon reaching the table, you pulled out the chair opposite him to take up his company. All the while, Ben’s attention remained fixed on his concoctions, never once straying from the table to acknowledge that you’d joined him.

“Why would I need to know how to do any of this, anyway? You know I don’t smoke,” you asked once you sat yourself down, hand swivelling through the air to disperse the suffocating haze of the weed, lingering under your nose like an intoxicating fart. You watched his free hand sort the dried and shredded weed into evenly-sized piles with one of your ancient loyalty cards—a card you’d lost a few weeks back. The bastard must’ve nicked it from your purse. And knowing him, he’d probably used it for plenty more than sorting weed.

“No,” he agreed, “but I do. Besides, it’s somethin’ every fine woman such as yourself oughta know. It’s not usually what women waste their time learnin’, but I’m sure I could have ya mastering this shit in no time. You’re a surprisingly quickly learner,” he murmured busily, pausing only to secure the blunt between his lips once more.

You didn’t know whether to feel offended at that observation, or to accept it with the knowledge that Ben didn’t usually hand out compliments—even backhanded ones—outside of, well, being inside of you. You dismissed the thought with a flick of your eyes, but soon, you were drawn to his face once more. You could have grown jealous with the amount of time his lips spent wrapped around that paper-wrapped crap, but you’d long since laid off the visuals. He enjoyed your pouting way too much—always finding a way to ridicule you for it.

“Why the sudden insistence that I learn this crap?” You asked.

After a deep pull, Ben retrohaled the smoke off to the side, conscious not to direct it onto your intolerant senses. “Cause it sure hits the spot when your girl can slip you a win after the day’s been a fuckin’ ball-buster,” he mumbled.

“Or,” you countered, head tilting with a pretence of consideration as you watched him sort the piles of weed into small plastic bags. “Here’s a thought—and just humour me, would you? You could make yourself one,” you finished, hands coming forward to fold onto the table as your eyes flickered up to Ben expectantly.

He lifted his head to fix you with peeved eyes, the card’s rim stilling against the last herded pile of weed as his free hand plucked the stick from his lips. “The hell you think I been doin’ all this time?” He challenged pointedly. The blunt’s ignited end pulsed with heat—as if to emphasise his words. “Is it too much to ask that you fix me a goddamn escape after a long fuckin’ day?”

“It is in that tone, Mister,” you scoffed, leaning yourself across the table in an attempt to pluck the blunt from his fingers, but he was quick to catch you at the wrist. Your lip quirked at the force with which he restrained you, your eyes slurring up to his with a heavy, seductive whisk of your lashes.

Ben always caught the intention behind your every act of defiance. He enjoyed it, even, despite the permanent hint of dour in his expression. “Hands off my shit,” he warned, his pretty green eyes drilling into yours to emphasise his point. “Don’t make me fuck the nerve right outta you—you know better.”

You took your lower lip into an amused bite, enjoying the way you so easily seemed to rile him up. Yeah, your boyfriend was a Supe, but it was moments like this that made you feel like you held all the power—and you revelled in it. ‘Nobody controls me’, your ass. You had Ben wrapped around your finger. He knew it, too, he just wouldn’t admit it because what man wants to admit that he’s pussy-whipped? No, he’d rather bathe in denial by fucking you senseless each night, smothering your head into the sheets and coaxing his name from your foul lips so that he felt he had some semblance of control over the way you made him feel.

You succumbed to his possessive grasp, leaning your body further across the table as your head tilted in cheek. “Do I know better?” You absolutely did, and so did he. But part of the fun—part of what made this dynamic between the two of you so riveting, is that you pretended to act stupid, and Ben eagerly indulged it as an opportunity to condescend you and further inflate his toxic ego. And something more.

The supe’s lip quirked in amusement as he glared you down, but the sentiment didn’t reach high enough to mould his eyes into kindness. “Gonna play it like that, hm?” he murmured, bringing the blunt back to his lips before he leaned further into your proximity, his lips brushing against yours with the tease of a kiss. But he didn’t follow through with his unspoken promise. Instead, his lips parted only to huff the smoke directly into your face.

Your nose scrunched at the scent, your free hand lifting from the table to shoo away the smoke. “Ben!” You protested, but his grip on you didn’t budge until the intrusive fog thinned out into the rest of the room. You gave a light cough at being a forced second party to his smoking, and that’s when he finally released your wrist—more like discarded it in a careless toss. You retreated with a huff and sat yourself back down. “Dick!”

“Pussy,” he retorted through a shit-eating smirk, but he quickly came to realise that the amusement was wholly one-sided when he glimpsed your ruffled brows. There were very few times you could have convinced him that his actions weren’t funny. “Ah, come on,” he drawled, attention lowering back to the weed as he suckled on the smoking stick once more. “You know ya love it,” he mumbled.

“Oh, bite me,” you murmured lightly, crossing your arms as you watched him continue his work. You could have chosen to pout a little longer, but you’d have been naive to settle down with somebody like Ben and not expect him to pull a nasty stunt now and again. Besides, you did like him mean. The subtle glow that beamed briefly within the crook of your thighs was testament to that.

“You ever roll a blunt before?” Ben muttered, eyes downturned to where his hands began prepping an irregularly squared piece of paper. The question was sheer stupidity—so much so that you felt the the weight of the frown on your brows as you parted your lips to answer him with far too much eager spunk. But Ben pulled the cancer stick from his lips and interjected without missing a breath.

“Just pullin’ your leg—‘course ya haven’t. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the fuckin’ Mother Reverend of the Church of Holy Smokes.” At that jab, his eyes lifted to yours with a smugness that wound his lips thin.

You gave a dismissive roll of your eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” you hummed, your arms unfolding to rest your hands against the table. “You can keep shitting on me, Benjamin, but let’s not forget just how ancient you are. Once your light’s snuffed out, old man, maybe—just maybe, I’ll consider learning how to smoke, and it’ll be your ashes I probe in that damn ashtray.” Oh, how the roles would reverse.

Ben neglected the piece of paper he’d been gripping and straightened himself from the table. He leaned back into his chair with a gruff chuckle, his gaze raking you over with a light air of amusement. He plucked the blunt from his lips and hovered over the table as he gave a compliant cock of his head—a gesture that said, yeah, I could get behind that.

“Just make sure you put the tray somewhere I can get a good view of your ass,” he retorted with a brisk wink before he pressed the cigar’s inflamed nose into the ashtray loitering beside his hand. “And the tray better not be this ugly fuckin’ thing. Get me somethin’. . . quaint—none o’ this modern day lifeless shit and a half that’s got fuckin’ pussy power or some ball-less, feministic propo shit like that scribbled on the side.”

You narrowed your eyes mischievously. “Only you will demand everything your way even in death,” you chuckled, then you tilted your head inquisitively. “So you’re telling me that if I had to get my breasts casted with clay to make two matching bowls for your ashes, you’d have a problem with that? Is it too modern for you?”

Ben’s brows hoisted up a look of consideration, then his lips pursed with content acceptance. “Baby,” he drawled. “You do that and I’ll be back to fuck you in your dreams every. goddamn. night,” he promised.

“I guess that might help me not to forget you,” you retorted cheekily.

“Damn right,” he mumbled cockily. “Can’t forget a dick as givin’ as this one, anyway—and you’d be kiddin’ yourself otherwise. Little cock-slut like you? You were made to memorise every inch of my dick like a butt-print in a shitty velvet sofa.” He birthed a grin so condescending that it barely left room for you to breathe.

Smug, obscene asshole, you scoffed silently, but you couldn’t deny the truth behind his claim, and you had countless memories to serve as evidence. Ben knew that—it was the singular thing that warranted his sheer audacity to boast. For lack of better words, you flashed him the finger before bundling yourself back up, arms crossed against your chest as a ruffled gesture for him to continue his little project.

He made an amused noise halfway between a grunt and a chuckle before shifting in his seat and guiding his hands back to the concoction before him. “C‘mon, take a look,” he urged, plucking up some of the shredded weed between his fingers and gingerly placing it onto the squared paper. He took a moment to prod along the scattered herbs until a coherent line was formed atop the material. “This right here,” he said, prodding the paper, “s’called rollin’ paper. Gotta wrap it around the weed real nice and tight, like the foreskin of a sexually-abstained father of the church. Or some creakin’, ol’ geezer.”

“So like you, then?” You interjected, and you could’ve sworn you heard the snap of his neck as his eyes darted up to scorn you.

“Callin’ me old when you’re the one who can’t walk after one night in my bed is a li’l comical, don’tcha think?” He retorted, eyes lowering to where he rolled his thumb along the ball of his index finger to dislodge the clinging weed scraps. “Man,” he laughed in disbelief. “You got helluva mouth on ya.”

“Oh, so that’s what it’s called?” You chirped sarcastically, rubbing your lips together as though smearing some chapstick along the edges. You knew it was a stupid, bratty punch to throw, but you thought it worth it if it would coax any sort of reaction from Ben—and it did.

He glanced up at you from beneath hitched brows, pushing out a chuckle so forced, it could’ve starred the backtrack of some poorly made sitcom. But the faux amusement in his expression was dropped in an instant, his chin making an impatient jut in your direction—like the firm finger of a mother’s chide. “Shut the fuck up and pay attention.”

Your eyes widened in mock as you muttered a “yes, sir,” and turned your attention back to the table, your heading craning with far too much curiosity for your liking. Your eyes trailed every whisk and wander of his skilled fingers as he prepped another paper like the last. “Does it matter how much weed’s in a single blunt?”

Cautiously, Ben moved back to the first paper, his lips subconsciously jutting into a focused pout. It was something he did often without a notice, and you couldn’t help but savour the scene with a subtle grin. It was adorable, but for the sake of preserving the clueless tradition, you never said anything about it. You knew he’d find some way to get butt-hurt over you pointing it out, and then you’d be stuck with him forging some permanent, stoic expression to fend off the horrors of being called adorable.

He anchored the topmost corners of the rolling paper with his middle fingers before grabbing the bottom corners between his thumb and index finger, finally folding the square in half. “‘Bout a gram or two’ll do,” he finally replied. “But the paper’s already sized, so it’s just gotta be enough to fit in it. . .” he murmured busily, trailing off as he focused his attention onto carefully lifting the assembly from the table—determined not to spill any of the contents and further rob himself of the stock he’d been sold short on.

“Now,” Ben cleared his throat with utmost enthusiasm, his eyes momentarily lingering on the wrap before they flickered over to you with a scheme glinting in their green depths. Just what the hell was he up to now? “We gotta wet this baby real good, so why don’tcha stick out that tongue o’ yours for me, yeah? Lend an old man a helpin’ hand once in a while.”

He held the makeshift blunt tenderly between his thumbs and index fingers as he presented it in your direction with an annoyingly smug furnish to his handsome features.

Your eyes widened in surprise at his request. “You do it,” you told him through a chuckle, pressing your index finger against his nearest hand to gently nudge the dissembled blunt back in his direction. “You’re the pro of the fucking cancer sticks, so you show me how it’s done. Like you said.”

Ben cocked his head in slight disappointment, a smirk pitching up the corner of his lips as he withdrew the blunt with a light huff. “To think you’re usually all I can do it myself, Ben, I don’t need your help, Ben,” he mocked deeply, which caused your face to contort with a hint of offence.

“I don’t sound like th—“

“Yeah, you do,” he cut you short, the smirk on his lips playing into a full-blown grin as he drank in your affronted pout. “You and your fuckin’ feminist high,” he scoffed, bringing the paper up to his lips. “Now, stuff it and watch, ‘cause I’m only gonna show you once—and I expect ya to nail it off the fuckin’ bat.”

You hitched a brow at his subtle threat. “Or what?” You challenged.

He left that question unanswered—verbally, at least. But he fixed you with an intense glare as his tongue slipped past his lips to drag a slow, accentuated line along the edge of the paper, and you knew that to be answer enough. A promise—and hardly one of a good time when he was calling all the shots with the intent to punish you. Still, you felt your core jolt at that singular gesture, your thighs discreetly pressing together with the memory of that very movement that must’ve become etched into your folds by now. That teasing bastard, getting you all hot and bothered just for the sake of it.

When he reached the end of the jagged material, he drew the line back up one more time before his tongue retreated back to the concealment behind his lips. He lowered the concoction to the table, gaze still trained on you. Then, with a beckoning gesture of his chin, he said, “get over here.”

You obliged silently, quickly—guided by your arousal more than your own will, if you were being honest. Your chair screeched in protest as you pushed yourself up from your seat and slipped around the circumference of the table towards Ben’s seated frame. You’d barely reached his side when he freed a hand to eagerly outstretch and receive you, his large palm snaking along the small of your back to hook around your waist. He pulled you into his lap, legs spread in a wide v to comfortably accommodate your frame onto his.

As you settled yourself onto his lap, you made a point to dramatically shimmy your ass into the crook of his legs, causing him to grunt as you ground yourself against his prominent manhood. His free hand snaked over your thigh to settle at the tender, inner skin with a warning squeeze, his lips coming to press against your ear.

“Careful, baby,” he murmured lowly—a gruff sound that sent a jolt directly to your already-compromised core. And it was hard to ignore your arousal with the added stimulation of his stubbled jaw grating the sensitive skin of your cheek.

You turned your jaw partially, causing his soft lips to trace a seductive line along your cheekbone. “Always am,” you murmured in return, a cheeky grin beaming through as your gaze flickered down to his lips. Those darn lips. A taste you’d never get sick of, despite your tendency to grow bored of things rather quickly. Maybe you were no better than Ben—a shameless addict infatuated with the highs, only, your highs were being fondled by him.

For a moment, Ben entertained your play with a second of silence, and you were almost hopeful to feel his lips snag onto yours, but instead, they retreated from your jaw and left you in a state of hot disappointment.

“Pay attention,” he ordered, removing the hand he’d burrowed at your thigh to frame your jaw firmly. He turned your head forward and downwards, forcing your attention onto the makeshift blunt gripped in his other hand. His thumb trailed to your lips, kneading the tender skin aimlessly before slipping his hand from your jaw entirely. “Stick your tongue out.”

Obediently, you did as told, your tongue slipping through until you felt too ridiculous to go further.

“Atta girl,” he praised, your waist now straddled by both his arms as he held the corners of the makeshift blunt in his fingers and lifted it to your dangling tongue. “Now, I want you to lick it, just like I showed ya—and don’t crap out on showin’ it a good time, yeah?”

You gave a small nod and leaned your head down to meet the paper with your tongue, starting at the left corner. When the tip of your tongue made contact with the sheet, you could feel the cool, lingering trace of Ben’s saliva. It felt so primal, but you knew that he was enjoying every second of it—you lapping up his taste like an eager mutt, so you decided to give him one hell of a show.

You pressed your tongue against the paper more firmly now, and you began to drag a slow, sensual line toward the other corner, making sure to deliver a quick flick over Ben’s waiting thumbnail. He made a hald-amused, half-entertained noise, but waited patiently as you retraced the line back to the starting point.

Pulling back your tongue, you smacked your lips triumphantly. “All wet now,” you said.

“Bet you are,” he chuckled lazily, fingers moving to seal the paper and twist the ends into a reputable blunt. He brought the finished product up to your lips, urging the nozzle between them. “Be a good girl and hold onto that for me.”

You pulled your lips inward to deny the entrance of the blunt, turning your jaw to reject the offer. “No, thanks,” you said, but Ben wasn’t having it.

You felt his hand stroke up the curve of your thigh before forcing way beneath the hem of your shorts and underwear, where his fingers stroked a rough line through your folds. You gasped at the feel of his cool fingers playing at your hot core, and before you could process his foul play, his other hand was quick to push the fresh blunt between your parted lips.

“You talk too fuckin’ much,” he murmured against your ear, delivering a harsh squeeze to your clit. Your lips tightened around the blunt and you moaned into the smoking stick, eyes screwing shut as your head collapsed back into the crook of his neck. He pressed a hasty kiss to your temple, and you knew that it was more of a branding than a gesture of adoration. You were his to cherish, exploit and discard, all at once.

“What, you gonna tell me you didn’t see that comin’?” he chuckled lowly, the mocking sound vibrating against the crown of your head. “Been actin’ the brat this entire time, just hopin’ I’ll shut you the fuck up, huh? Yeah, I heard ya—loud and clear, baby.”

Your lips tightened around the blunt as Ben brutalised the pace of his fingers between your folds, vigorously toying with your clit like it were the worn strings of the guitar he couldn’t seem to master the tuning of. Your lips tightened around the blunt as his finger prodded at just the right spot, an explosion of pleasure slinging your thighs into a weakened and sprawled mess. All control over your body seemed to retreat as you slumped further into his strong frame, which cocooned you like it were your last hope at survival. Oh, you were done for, all right.

“You like that, huh?” Ben cooed into your ear, his free hand sliding beneath your tank to grab ahold of your breasts. He palmed both in a rough, careless motion, then settled on one with a teasing pinch to your nipple. The combined stimulation of his toying at both ends rendered you so speechless that you couldn’t even salvage a coherent moan, so you laid there in complete arrest, succumbing fully to your boyfriend’s mean ministrations. “What, nothin’ to say now? Not even a fuckin’ please or thank you? I know chivalry died when I was buried on ice, but I didn’t think the women had lost their manners, too.”

In all honesty, you could barely comprehend your boyfriend’s words through your numbed haze. Your vision slurred into darkness as your eyes fluttered closed, your saliva beginning to seep into the blunt’s contents as your lips clutched it like a lifeline. Ben released your breast, but the weaving of his fingers down below didn’t stutter. You felt his free fingers graze both your temples in sequence, where his knuckle pushed back the foremost strands of hair that had slipped the keep of your ears. Your heart fluttered an inch at what you thought to be an intimate gesture—which he gifted very few and far between. But knowing the type of man Ben was should have clipped your wings of hope and had you grounded from the get-go.

Suddenly, his hand trailed through your hair and fastened through as many strands as he could collect. Then, with a smooth roll of his wrist, he twined it into a harsh grip, your neck arching at an angle you couldn’t have achieved out of free-will. A weak protest slurred within your throat, which made Ben utter a sound half way between a low laugh and a scoff—the sound so demeaning it flushed your cheeks red. His exploitation hurt—but at the same time, it felt so good, so much so that your body did anything but pull away from his touch.

“Now this is a view I can get behind—you, all pretty and practically fallin’ apart on my fingers,” Ben murmured, his head lowering to your ear so that the sharp button of his nose nuzzled at your temple. “Fuck, I could take you right here, right now,” he continued sultrily. “You want that, sweetheart? Want me to give you exactly what you’ve been cravin’ all fuckin’ day? All you gotta do is ask. Nicely, you know, stroke my cock with your good-doer attitude. That achievable for a brat like you, hm?”

For all the questions asked, you couldn’t offer one damn answer—not with your lips plugged by Ben’s newest fix. You moved a hand to reach for the blunt, eager to pave way for the word that would lay your urges to rest for the night, but the hand he’d buried between your legs were quick to come up and seize your wrist in disapproval. A hot, disgruntled tut from Ben streamlined your ear, but all you could focus on was the sudden barrenness between your legs, a cold neglect left in the wake of his hand.

You weren’t afforded the opportunity to mourn that loss for long before he had both your palms pinned flat onto the table in front of you, the hand in your hair tugging further so that your upper body became suspended within a ruthless game of tug and war. Only, the two contestants—both his hands—were playing for the same team. Ben’s. The advantage was far from yours.

“Dirty stunt,” he hummed almost admirably, his nose tracing your jaw to place a single, devouring kiss over the arch of your neck. You felt the way his lips lapped at your skin in a large motion, like he craved to garner every inch of you in that single touch. He solidified that point with a harsh nibble, the sort that would pucker your skin for a good few minutes, before he brought himself back to your ear. “You don’t get to use your words for this, baby. Your right to an opinion has been worn out for the day, and quite frankly, I’ve had enough of all your fuckin’ chitchat. You wanna get fucked, you’re gonna show me just how much y’want it,” he husked with a dramatic pause, then added in a low murmur, “with your body. Got that?”

With your head practically immobilised by his grip, you echoed a muffled mhm. Your response seemed to be satisfactory enough because he relented his hold—just enough to relieve your pipes so that breathing came with a little more ease.

“Atta girl. It’s gets my dick salutin’ when you’re all obedient,” he praised. His claim was firmly backed by the bulge you felt growing beneath you. It pressed between your thighs like a brash beckoning, and it was enough to cause all the heat that had dissipated between your folds to re-emerge in full force. “Well? The hell you waitin’ for?” He asked in a tone a lot louder—and firmer—this time around.

You pushed out a clueless noise, which made Ben shift a thigh beneath you. Suddenly, the bulk of his leg was hoisted up between your own, the blunt force striking your core at just the right angle that sent a jolt up your body. You gasped a breathless sound into the blunt, your teeth burrowing into the softening paper, and your eyes screwed shut with the pleasure currently coursing your entire being.

“Get that body o’ yours movin’, or we can call it a disappointin’ night,” he instructed. God, you couldn’t come up short after all you’d endured thus far, so instinctually, your hips began to roll against his thigh at a jagged pace, seeking out the only stimulation you could manage in your stilted position. “Yeah, that’s it,” he cooed. “All yours for the takin’, if you’ll hold out long enough to see fuckin’ rainbows. A lot like bein’ on a high, ain’t it? Got my own li’l addict in the makin’.”

He was right. Actually, you thought this felt a whole lot greater than sniffing a line that would simultaneously have you losing your sanity for a few hours. Desperate whimpers began to stew in your chest, polished with so much passion that the sounds felt saturated, almost animated. And Ben, he was devouring every second of it. You couldn’t glimpse enough of his face to say that, but going off of everything you knew about him, and how mean he liked to get with you, you absolutely knew that you were something akin to his own personal heaven right about now. Oh, he’d forsake every personal belief to follow the religion that was you—your undoing.

Almost as though your body had grown frustrated with all the prolonged teasing, your high came on at a rapid pace that made you chest heave in desperation. You felt the arousal bundle into a tightly-knit ball, just yearning to be yanked at by the singular thread that would make it come undone. But the satisfaction was plucked out of reach within seconds when Ben released the grip on your hair to grab at your thigh, forcing your hips to still against his leg. And just like that, the fire within was snuffed out.

Your lips fell loose in exhaustion, the blunt you’d been so loyal to finally making an escape and toppling into your lap. “Ben,” you pushed out frailly, the disappointment heavy on your brows.

“The nerve o’ you,” Ben scoffed, utterly dismissive of your feeble protest. He released your thigh to dip into your lap, and shortly after, he pulled up with the blunt in clutch, wasting no time in pressing it back between your lips. You fumbled with the paper for a few seconds before you finally took it in, but you knew your boyfriend would have something to show for your disobedience. “Yeah, you are a brat,” he said, the hand pinning your wrists suddenly tightening as he pulled your arms to one side, his other hand hooking around your inner thigh.

In one large and effortless motion, he managed to sling you over his lap, releasing your wrists so that you were able to grasp the legs of his chair for support. You clutched the blunt between your lips a little tighter, fighting the villainous pull of gravity, and stifled a moan at the sudden spank that struck the curves of your ass. The aftermath of that contact had your body contracted with a mixture of shock and painful arousal, air blowing from your nostrils like harsh gusts.

“Fuckin’ quiverin’ already?” He chuckled, his large palm smoothing up the fabric of your shorts until you felt every inch of your ass dimple under the cool air of the room. You felt utterly exposed. “Baby, I’m just gettin’ started with you.”

Oh, you were so fucked.

His palm came down for another assault, this time louder than the last. The raw contact echoed through the apartment, narcissistically suffocating the whimper that rattled your chest. Tears began to hoard along the rims of your eyes, but you blinked enough to scatter the moisture. You didn’t need to give him another kick out of this—some lingering stubbornness wouldn’t allow it.

“Fuck, all that noise o’ yours is makin’ me lose count,” Ben scoffed. He rubbed soothing circles over your aching skin, which no doubt glowered an angry red that should have made your boyfriend feel some ounce of sympathy. But then the next words left his mouth, and you knew then that the Supe had no concept of remorse. “Guess I gotta start right at the beginning.”

You braved yourself against the rest of his spanks, your legs drawing together more and more with each touch—not from a place of pain, but from hot, embarrassing enjoyment. The slick within your folds was hard to ignore now, and it seemed to have snagged Ben’s attention because he let up on the harsh punishment, his fingers finding way beneath your shorts and drenched undies. You felt his fingers play at your slick, dragging a line all the way down to your yearning entrance.

“It’s a damn oil slick up in here,” he chuckled, his thumb teasing circles at your hypersensitive clit. “Whaddya say I give her some love, hm?” His finger dipped an inch into your entrance, as if offering a measly taste of his proposal. You rocked your hips back into him as a reply, urgently seeking out the length of his fingers. He gave a low chuckle, and to your shock, actually indulged your plea. Maybe it was your reward for finally playing by his rules.

You weren’t going to fucking question it.

Your back arched by instinct as you felt his fingers prowl into your entrance, your hands clutching the wooden legs of his chair as your eyes rolled into the back of your head. The full force of multiple of his fingers should have coaxed forward some fleeting sense of pain, but you’d been so incredibly aroused for so incredibly long that your entrance welcomed him in like an open-house party. He pumped into you as deep as he could, an appreciative grunt leaving his lips as he revelled in your velvety warmth. His other hand came to wrap around the front of your neck, offering some much needed support as your strength began to collapse with each pump of his fingers.

Your whimpers became more frequent and dishevelled as he picked up the pace, his fingers curling at just the right angle. Every. Fucking. Time. Ben knew how to do the job well—a tactic that had you coming back time and time again, begging for more.

“That’s it, baby, you’re doin’ so good f’me,” he husked out, his own voice slightly abraded by exertion. The subtle breathlessness woven through his words spurred you on even further, making you feel some type of special with the knowledge that he was giving you his all. Just to see you break. Just so that he could put you back together with cherishing kisses.

It only took a few more pumps of his fingers to have your eyes clenching in wait, your lips throttling the blunt as his fingers curled right into your blooming bundle of pleasure. And then he struck it head on, causing an explosion of colour to invade your vision. For a few seconds, you couldn’t comprehend anything beyond your own ragged breaths, your ears ringing with the overwhelming aftermath of your high. You felt your juices trickle from your entrance, and you heard the squelching as Ben slowly retreated from your entrance.

“Holy fuckin’ shit,” he chuckled with a minuscule, congratulatory pat to your ass. “That was one o’ your best runs yet. Think ya can handle one more round?” Ben murmured, releasing your neck to rub a soothing line down your back. You didn’t honestly think you could, and you felt the way every inch of your body ached in an answering protest, but something else tugged your chin into that subtle permission, and then the Supe had you hoisted up in his arms bridal style as he carried you to the bed.

He laid you onto the mattress rather gently, but the caution was instantly discarded as he flipped you over and tugged your hips sky-high. His fingers hooked under the hem of your shorts and undies, and he couldn’t have yanked them over the curves of your ass at a faster pace. Your garments were tossed to some other corner of the room, followed by the rustle of fabric as Ben freed his stoic erection. You heard him huff a breath of relief, and you glanced over your shoulder in time to see him whisk across his shaft with a hasty pump.

You met his eye patiently, making a point to pout around the blunt so that he couldn’t miss the visual image of your dedication to this wretched thing. It made him smirk with satisfaction, a hand coming forward to hook around your pelvis and tug you back an inch. You grunted at the rough yank, turning your head forward as you settled yourself into your folded arms. You felt his tip nestle between your ass before dipping down to glide with ease into your slicked entrance. Both his hands took up firm grip at your pelvis, his large palms fanning across your navel as he pummelled into you with a guttural noise.

“Fuck,” he spat, his length retreating only to return with a force more brutal than a last. His hands shifted across your ass, delivering a hard spank before they slunk up to the small of your back. There, he pushed your stomach into the mattress, and you burrowed further into the material with every possessive thrust of his hips. “You’re just the fuckin’ release I needed after this shitty day—and god, you never disappoint,” he breathed out.

You whimpered in response, pressing your forehead into the sheets as your fingers curled into the bedding. God, this man was overstimulating—he seemed to forget that your frail body was no match for his super-abled one. Or, he simply revelled in that fact. Either way, you were done for.

The blunt’s body quirked against your lips as you practically smothered it against the mattress, but you could hardly be arsed about that now. Ben’s figure came to hover over you, his clothed chest pressing into your back. His hands came up beside your head, frantically searching for yours, and once he found them, his fingers threaded between yours. He held you firmly as he spread your hands out in front of you, trapping you below him as he continued to drive you into the bed. The worn bed frame was creaking so loud that it was almost absurd, and you half expected one of the neighbours to blare a shut the hell up from the top of their lungs. But the only noises to be heard were the gruff moans spewing from Ben’s lips, and your own muffled whining.

The mattress wasn’t anything as fancy as memory foam, but you were sure that by now—with how brutalised Ben’s pace within you was—that the mattress would never forget. You supposed you both had that in common.

──────────────────────

a/n — i’m not gonna lie, i was starting to think this piece would NEVER see the light of day good gawd i think i have commitment issues. anyhoo, if you are a pro at making blunts, mind your business! 😭 i did a quick google search and rolled with it (pun unintended), so if something’s inaccurate you can blame google pls and ty LMAO. i’m just a non smoker girly trying to bring the drug-addled fantasies of loving soldier boy to life, as best as i possibly and very limitedly can. if this fic traumatised you im sorry (also you’re welcome). y’all know the drill, it’s 2 am—if there are typos; no there’s not.

thank you for reading! all likes, comments & reblogs are deeply appreciated ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

tags — @gibson-g1rl @fallbhind @bohemianblasphemy @figthoughts

other works — the boys masterlist

© bluemerakis — do not plagiarise or steal any of my works.

[hees-mine]

Birthday girl - L. Heeseung

Pairing: heeseung X fem reader

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, alcohol consumption, multiple orgasms, cursing, stepcest, daddy kink, dirty talk, cheating.

Genre: 18+, stepcest.

Word count: 2k+

Decided to just post the full story here cause it got taken down on Patreon :/

-

“Mom, just one, please. I promise it’ll only be one.” It was your 21st birthday, and you celebrated in the kitchen with your mom and your stepdad as you begged her to let you have your first shot on the day you officially turned 21.

“No, I never had a shot at 21,” she simply answers, turning away from you and putting away the leftover cake she had your stepdad buy from the store cause she apparently couldn’t be bothered to get one for you herself.

“Mom, come on, that’s not fair!” You whined. “I’m literally an adult,” you reasoned.

“And you’re literally under my roof,” she replies back nonchalantly like she always does. You hated it when she acted like this.

She would always hold things over your head: no sleepovers, no parties, no boyfriends, no nothing, and it’s not cause she was looking out for you. It’s cause she was jealous of you.

She always told you how she never got to have any of those things, and now you can’t shake the feeling that even though she never directly said it to you, you feel like she’s taking it out on her only daughter, which just isn’t fair.

“Dad!” You turned to heeseung your stepdad, looking for his approval, and he gave you the tiniest hint of a smile while folding his arms over his chest and resting against the kitchen counter.

You and your stepdad had a much better relationship than you and your mother, unlike her. He seemed to actually care about you, which is comical cause he wasn’t even your real dad, and he treated you better than your mom ever did.

He’d always vouch for you, defend you when arguments got too heated, and he never made you feel like you were always in the wrong, unlike your mother did.

His care for you did go a lot further than just how a stepdad would care for their stepchild because his hugs would last a couple of seconds too long. His kisses on the cheek were a little too affectionate, and he'd eye you when you wore revealing outfits a bit too much.

You didn't mind, though. You did it on purpose cause you liked the attention. He wasn't your real dad, and besides, you had met him so late in your life that you were already fully grown, and you didn't even see him as a father figure at all.

Dad never even crossed your mind when you thought about him. All you saw was a very attractive man, and you wondered how your strict, bitter mother landed a gem like him.

“You heard your mom.” he swipes the cake as your mom sets it in the fridge and licks the frosting off his fingertip, humming at the sweet taste. “Now go upstairs and get ready for bed, young lady.”

You rolled your eyes and did as he said. You thought he’d vouch for you this time, too, but apparently not.

Little did you know he had other plans up his sleeve. He only said no to you cause he was not about to start a fight with his wife over you taking one measly shot, especially since it was your birthday.

His wife always had a way of making things about her. Just cause she didn’t get a shot at 21. Why couldn’t you? If he didn’t know any better, he’d say his wife was jealous of her own daughter, and if he’s being honest, it was kinda getting on his nerves the way she’d bitch at you all the time for virtually nothing.

When he married her, she was not like that at all, but once he moved in and you all became family, the whole dynamic changed. She paid more attention to scolding you than him.

He wasn’t needy necessarily, but he did get lonely sometimes, especially in the bedroom, and heeseung noticed that you talked to him more than his own wife.

Which resulted in him developing maybe not a crush but a certain attraction to you, and to his luck, it was mutual between the two of you, considering all the shameless flirting you did back and forth.

At first, he felt a bit guilty, but with the way he was feeling in his marriage, he might as well have been single. He’s not excusing his actions, but he definitely doesn’t care or feel any shame in checking you out from head to toe on a daily basis.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t spill his load in his palm once or twice at the thought of you.

How could he not when you’d purposefully bend over in front of him pretending that you dropped something or the way you’d push your chest against his whenever you’d hug?

You had already gotten ready for bed, sulking a bit as you leaned against the bed frame, scrolling on your phone.

Heeseung had joined his wife upstairs, lying next to her and sharing a quiet goodnight before they turned off the bedside lamps.

It was always like this: completely silent, no conversation, no talking about the day, no intimacy, absolutely nothing.

Even if he did try to talk, she’d always say she was stressed or tired.

Another one of the reasons Heeseung didn’t feel guilty for having feelings toward you was that you gave him the time of day.

He sighs putting his hands behind his head and staring at the celling finally after an hour passed his wife was fast asleep so he silently slipped out of bed and went to the kitchen where the cupboard was located pulling out a bottle of liquor one he bought expressly for you cause you had been going on all week about wanting to take a shot on your 21st.

He snuck over to your room, knocking on it softly, knowing you’d still be up. You were always up late.

You sighed and got out of bed tossing your blanket to the side and ripping open the door ready to be faced with your mom and some more of her shenanigans. “Wha-“ you stopped mid-way through, shocked to see that it was actually your stepdad instead, and you were pleasantly surprised to see he was in nothing but his underwear and a shirt.

“Hey,” he laughs softly, waving a bottle of liquor in your face along with two shot glasses.

“H-hi,” you smile upon seeing the bottle.

“Are you gonna let me in? Or are you gonna wait for your mom to catch us?” He smirks and you open the door further to let him in.

He bites his lip when you turn around to walk to your bed, eyeing the way those tight little sleep shorts hug your ass.

“I thought you said no?” You pressed your knees to your chest, patting a spot on the bed for him to sit.

He shrugs and takes a seat a little too close to you, but you don’t mind. “Thought I might break the rules a little bit. After all, you are the birthday girl.” he clicks his tongue and winks at you, placing the shot glasses on the nightstand, popping the cap off, and pouring you a drink and one for himself as well.

Feeling daring now that you two are finally alone, you decide to take things a little further than just your usual flirting. “Thanks, Daddy.” You bite your lip to hide your smile as he turns to you with a wide grin on his face.

“Of course, babydoll.” he lifts his hand up to stroke his thumb along your jaw. “Can’t have you going to bed mad at me now, can we?”

“No, Daddy,” you whisper, leaning into the warmth of his palm, and he could already feel himself twitching in his boxers, your skin so soft under his fingertips, so Inviting.

He hands you your shot and takes his, clanking your glasses together. “To the birthday girl,” you smiled shyly and downed the shot in one go.

Your face contorted from its strong taste, your tongue burning in the aftermath, but the aftertaste that was left in your mouth was enough for you to want another one.

He sees the mischievous glint in your eyes and pours you one more. “Only one more pretty girl,” he smiles, giving you one last shot, and you down it. Something about the way your throat bobs and your lips wrap around the rim of the cup makes his lower region feel warm.

“Happy birthday, baby girl.” he extends his hand to your thigh, rubbing his palm over it. Your legs relax under his touch, and you take your second shot before leaning back on the headboard, giving him more space to gently squeeze your thigh.

“Mmm,” you close your eyes as his other hand comes in contact with your right thigh, and now he’s kneading both with his strong hands going up higher and higher till his right thumb begins rubbing your clit over your shorts. “Daddy,” you whisper, rolling your hips against his fingers in desperation without an ounce of shame for being intimate with your mother’s husband.

His mouth parts open, shallow breaths escaping as he watches you succumb to pleasure. “That feels good, princess?” You nod, and he massages your clit some more, adding a bit of pressure as he circles the bud through your clothing. Your whole body heats up, and you can feel an orgasm building embarrassingly quickly inside you.

“Yes, please keep going,” you say breathlessly, your sensitive nipples hardening beneath your shirt, soft whimpers leaving your lips as you get closer.

“Gonna cum already, little one?” his words only push you closer, and he leans down to kiss your thigh. The softness of his lips tip you over the edge as you clamp around, nothing feeling your high being gently coaxed out of you.

“Oh god, Daddy, it feels so good.” You shudder and grip your bedsheets as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He rubs you through it until you come down and catch your breath. “You did so well, baby. Keep this between you and me, okay, sweetheart?” You nod, and he kisses your thigh again before capping the liquor and getting ready to make his exit, that is, until you grip his wrist to stop him.

“More,” he can’t help but smile, and he can’t say he didn’t want to do more cause the hard-on in his boxers was in need of immediate attention, but he tries to use his better judgment and say no.

“We shouldn-“

“Please, I’m so wet for you been thinking about you every day since we moved in” The admission makes his heart rate pick up and his cock throb in his underwear, and he’s too weak to resist you because like you, he has also been waiting that long to have you.

He sighs, putting the alcohol back down on the nightstand. “Just this once,” he says as if that somehow makes it better. You both know no matter what, it’s wrong, but you couldn’t care less. You just wanted him, so you would take any opportunity that presented itself.

You nodded immediately, and he stood up, hooking his fingers in the waistband of his underwear, pulling them down his hard cock, flopping out thick and veiny for your eyes to feast on. You feel drool pool in your mouth from the sight, and the little bead of precum dripping off his tip was just the cherry on top. You wanted to feel him on your tongue badly.

His clothing falls around his ankles, and he climbs on the bed, hovering above you, his breath heavy with anticipation.

He grabs your shorts using his toned bicep muscles to easily yank your shorts down all the way. “So pretty and wet for me” he eyes your slick pussy and grabs hold of his thick base, guiding his tip between your soaked folds.

His breath stutters as he moves his hips forward and back, coating his thick shaft in your arousal. “Fuck” he twitches in excitement. You feel so warm and wet, and he’s not even inside you yet.

“Daddy,” you whimper desperately, and he knows exactly what you want by the tone of your voice, so he doesn’t want to tease you any longer.

“Don’t worry, sweets. Daddy’s got you.” he guides your hands around his waist, and you dig into the flesh, making him hiss with pain and pleasure.

He nudged the head on your entrance and pulled back a thin, clear string of arousal connecting you and bringing you back together as he pushed the thick tip inside your warm walls.

You wince slightly from the feeling of him stretching you out. Just his tip felt like heaven already, and you couldn’t help the way you squeezed so tightly around him. “Daddy,” you moan out, throwing your head back into the pillows as you gasped for air.

“Shit, there you go,” he grits through his teeth. “Take it in, princess. Take it like daddy’s good little girl” Your walls tighten around his tip, sucking him in even deeper. “You feel so good squeezing on your daddy’s cock. Your little pussy is so wet and warm” his hot breath blows against your face from the close proximity.

Pushing up your shirt, he reveals your chest, his big veiny hands kneading on your soft breasts that you put on display for him so many times, and now he finally got to see them up close and feel them.

Felt so much better than his imagination could ever even think of.

“You’re so big, Daddy,” you breathe out, taking all that he’s giving you obediently or maybe not so obediently cause you couldn’t help but grind down on his dick, forcing him to go in deeper.

His breath gets caught in his throat as your hole swallows him up, and he can’t help but thrust faster, your slick hole getting creamier by the second. “Fuck” his eyes roll back in his head, and he sticks his dick in you even further, watching as your pretty little face contorted in so much pleasure from being filled by his inches. “You’re taking my cock so deep, pretty girl. I’m all the way inside,” he whines, feeling your tight entrance rubbing along his tip, and it sets him off quicker than he’d like to admit. “Daddy’s gonna cum baby”

“Yes, Daddy, please cum all over me” he cups your face holding onto your cheek as you look at him with big round pleading eyes. Your words make him thrust his hips faster, his clammy skin smacking against your own, only adding to the pleasure as he fucks into your silky cunt so deep that his tip bumps your cervix and your breast jiggle with every harsh rut of his hips.

Feeling his high approaching, he lowers his hand to fondle your delicate clit to bring you to the point of no return alongside him.

“Daddy, I’m cumming!” Your body tenses at his actions, your walls clamping down on him tightly as your cunt creams around his cock, the tightness of your pussy feeling heavenly on his throbbing dick.

He lets out a lewd moan and quickly pulls his dick out, hot spurts of cum shooting all over your lower stomach. “Oh fuck fuck” he curses, watching as his dick throbs and paints you in his milky white cum.

You’re both moaning in pleasure as he rubs his cock against your stomach, releasing every last drop of cum on your pretty smooth skin. You both pant heavily while he empties himself completely.

You can’t help but swipe your finger in the puddle of warm cum and hold it to your tongue, sucking off the sticky remnants of his orgasm and savoring his taste.

“Daddy’s good girl,” he smiles in satisfaction, bending down and giving you a short but deep kiss on the lips before he gets up, and you miss his warmth already as he slips back into his boxers.

You watch him disappear into the bathroom and come back with something to clean you up.

He does it ever so gently, eyes full of care and concern, and once he’s finished, he helps you into your clothes and tucks you in for the night. “Happy birthday, baby. Daddy loves you.” he pecked your forehead, your eyes feeling heavy after those two unbelievable orgasms he gave to you.

“Love you too daddy” he smiles softly and takes the liquor and shot glasses heading to the door he took one last look at you puckering his lips and making a kissing noise you giggle and hide your face with the covers before he leaves. “Night, birthday girl,” he whispers to you.

“Goodnight, Daddy,” that’s all you remember before your eyelids fall shut. There’s a faint, satisfied smile on your face as you slip into slumber. This was the best birthday ever, all thanks to your stepdad.

-

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[elryuse]

ISLAND PT. 4 Yeji

ITZY X MALE READER

Tags : Beach Sex, Public Sex, Intimacy, Cowgirl, Riding Creampie, Creampie, Romance, Smutty Smut Smut

For My Other ISLAND Stories Please Kindly Check it Over Here.

The sun filtered through the thin curtains of Y/n's hotel room, casting a warm glow over the messy sheets and discarded clothes strewn across the floor. The faint hum of the air conditioner mixed with the muffled sound of waves crashing outside. Y/n groaned as his alarm blared from his phone, pulling him reluctantly from his deep slumber. He reached out blindly, slapping the device until the noise stopped, then let his arm flop back onto the bed.

Damn, I overslept, he thought, rubbing his eyes as he tried to shake off the haze of sleep. His body still carried the pleasant ache from the previous night’s escapades—Yuna had been insatiable, her curiosity turning into pure, unfiltered desire. But now, it was morning, and the world outside his cocoon of pleasure was waiting.

As he blinked his eyes open, he noticed someone sitting at the edge of his bed. It was Yeji, her long legs crossed elegantly as she leaned back on one hand, watching the television mounted on the wall. She hadn’t noticed he was awake yet, her attention focused on the drama playing out on the screen. Her black hair cascaded over her shoulder in soft waves, and she wore a casual oversized sweater that slipped slightly off one shoulder, revealing the delicate curve of her collarbone.

“Good morning,” Y/n croaked, his voice rough from sleep. He yawned widely, stretching his arms above his head.

Yeji turned her head, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. “Morning,” she replied softly, her voice smooth and melodic. She reached for a tray on the bedside table and handed it to him. “Here. I brought you some breakfast. The buffet closed already, so I grabbed whatever I could.”

Y/n sat up, propping himself against the headboard as he accepted the tray. A plate of fluffy scrambled eggs, toast, and a small bowl of fruit greeted him, alongside a steaming cup of coffee. “Thanks,” he said, offering her a grateful smile before digging in.

She watched him eat for a moment, her gaze lingering on him in a way that made him feel both comfortable and slightly self-conscious. Then, almost casually, she said, “The others want to go to the beach later. It’s just across the resort. We figured since we’re here, we might as well enjoy it.”

Y/n hummed around a mouthful of toast, nodding as he chewed. The idea of spending the day by the ocean sounded perfect—relaxing, refreshing, and maybe even a little indulgent. Once he swallowed, he gave her a thumbs-up. “Sounds good. Count me in.”

Yeji’s smile widened at that, her cat-like eyes sparkling with amusement. “Great. I’ll let them know.” She stood gracefully, smoothing out her sweater before heading toward the door. Just as she reached for the handle, she glanced back over her shoulder. “Don’t take too long, okay? We don’t want to miss the best part of the day.”

He chuckled, raising his coffee cup in a mock salute. “I’ll be ready soon. Promise.”

With that, she slipped out of the room, leaving Y/n alone once more. He finished his breakfast quickly, savoring the last sip of coffee before setting the tray aside. As he got out of bed and started getting dressed, his mind wandered to the possibilities the day might hold. The beach, the sun, the girls… This is going to be interesting, he thought, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

---

By the time Y/n stepped out of the hotel lobby, the rest of ITZY was already gathered outside, chatting animatedly among themselves. Ryujin and Chaeryeong were playfully bickering about something, while Yuna giggled beside them, her cheeks flushed as she avoided eye contact with Y/n. Lia, ever the calm one, was scrolling through her phone, though she looked up and smiled when she noticed him approaching.

“Ah, finally! Took you long enough,” Ryujin teased, crossing her arms over her chest. She wore a loose tank top paired with denim shorts, her toned legs on full display.

“Got held up,” Y/n replied with a wink, earning a giggle from Yuna and an exaggerated eye roll from Ryujin.

“Let’s just go already,” Chaeryeong interjected, grabbing Ryujin’s hand and tugging her toward the path that led to the beach. “I want to see if the water’s as clear as they say it is.”

The group followed the sandy trail, the sound of waves growing louder with each step. When they finally arrived, the sight took their breath away. The ocean stretched out endlessly, its crystal-clear waters shimmering under the bright sunlight. Palm trees swayed lazily in the breeze, and the white sand felt warm beneath their feet.

“Wow,” Yeji murmured, her eyes wide as she took it all in. “This place is… beautiful.”

Ryujin wasted no time kicking off her flip-flops and running toward the water, letting out a loud whoop as she splashed into the waves. Chaeryeong and Yuna followed suit, laughing as they chased after her. Lia, meanwhile, found a spot to lay out a towel and stretch out under the sun, her sunglasses perched on her nose.

Y/n stood at the shoreline, feeling the cool water lap at his feet. He took a deep breath, savoring the salty air. This… this was paradise. But before he could fully relax, he felt a presence beside him. Turning his head, he saw Yeji standing there, her hands clasped behind her back as she gazed out at the horizon.

“You’re not going to join them?” he asked, gesturing toward the others, who were now waist-deep in the water, splashing each other like children.

Yeji shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Not yet. I like taking my time.” She paused, then added, “Besides, I wanted to talk to you.”

That caught his attention. He turned to face her fully, tilting his head curiously. “Oh? About what?”

Her eyes met his, and for a moment, she seemed to hesitate. But then, she stepped closer, her voice lowering so only he could hear. “About… us. About everything that’s been happening between you and the members.”

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat. So she knows, he thought, though he wasn’t entirely surprised. Yeji was observant, always noticing things others might miss. Still, he stayed silent, waiting for her to continue.

“I’ve seen the way they look at you,” she went on, her tone thoughtful but not accusatory. “And the way you look at them. It’s… intense. Passionate. But I can’t help wondering… where does that leave me?”

Her question hung in the air between them, heavy and loaded. Y/n searched her face, trying to gauge her emotions. Was she jealous? Curious? Something else entirely? Before he could respond, she took another step closer, closing the distance between them.

“I’ve spent so much time being the leader,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Always making sure everyone else is okay. But sometimes… I just want to be selfish. To have something—someone—for myself.”

Her words sent a shiver down his spine. Without thinking, he reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “Yeji…” he began, but she cut him off.

“Don’t tell me,” she said, her lips curving into a slow, sensual smile. “Show me.”

His breath hitched at the boldness in her gaze, the unspoken challenge. And then, with a subtle shift in her stance, she pressed herself against him, her lips finding his in a kiss that was both tender and demanding. It was different from the playful kisses he’d shared with the others—this one carried a depth, a raw need that left him reeling.

When they finally pulled apart, her eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and desire. “Now,” she said, her voice low and sultry, “let’s see if you can keep up with me.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned and began walking along the shoreline, her hips swaying with every step. Y/n stared after her, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn’t know what lay ahead, but one thing was certain: today was going to be anything but ordinary.

Yeji’s hand tightened around Y/n’s as they left the others behind, her long legs carrying them further down the beach. The golden sand shifted beneath their feet, warm from the relentless sun, and the sound of crashing waves grew louder with each step. She glanced over her shoulder at him, her lips curling into a sly grin. “You trust me, don’t you?” she asked, her voice playful but laced with something deeper—something that sent a shiver down his spine.

“Of course,” Y/n replied, though his heart was pounding in his chest. There was an electricity in the air between them, unspoken but undeniable. Yeji had always been the leader, confident and commanding, but now there was a new edge to her demeanor—one that made his throat dry and his palms sweat.

She led him to a hidden cove, its entrance partially shielded by jagged rocks and tall seagrass. The moment they stepped inside, the world seemed to shrink, leaving only the two of them and the rhythmic crash of waves against stone. The cove was bathed in sunlight, the water sparkling like liquid sapphire, and the air was thick with the salty scent of the sea.

Yeji turned to face him, her eyes darkening as she took a step closer. Her fingers brushed against his chest, tracing the line of his collarbone before moving to the buttons of his shirt. “You’re overdressed,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing. One by one, she undid the buttons, her touch deliberate and unhurried. When the last button came undone, she pushed the fabric off his shoulders, letting it fall to the sand. Her hands slid down his chest, her nails grazing his skin lightly, eliciting a soft gasp from him.

Yeji was different, he realized. She wasn’t just seeking pleasure; she wanted control. Every movement, every glance, held a purpose. She leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear. “Your turn,” she whispered, her breath hot against his skin. Her tone was a command, not a suggestion, and Y/n felt his body respond instinctively.

He reached for her, his hands trembling slightly as he gripped the hem of her tank top. She tilted her head, watching him with a mix of amusement and approval as he pulled it over her head. Her swimsuit clung to her curves, the fabric damp from the sea breeze, and Y/n couldn’t help but stare. She smirked, clearly enjoying the effect she had on him, and guided his hands to the clasps of her bikini top. “Go on,” she urged, her voice a sultry purr.

With shaky fingers, he undid the clasps, and the fabric fell away, revealing her perky breasts, the nipples already hardened by the cool air. Yeji let out a soft sigh, arching her back slightly as his hands explored her, tracing the curve of her waist and the swell of her hips. She stepped back, her movements fluid and deliberate, and began to slide her shorts down her legs. Y/n’s breath hitched as she revealed herself fully, her body glistening under the sun.

She approached him again, her hips swaying hypnotically, and pressed herself against him. His hands instinctively went to her waist, gripping her tightly as she ground against him, her heat pressing into his growing hardness. “You’ve been busy with the others,” she said, her voice dripping with mock jealousy. “But today… you’re mine.”

Her lips captured his in a searing kiss, their tongues tangling as she pushed him backward until his knees hit the edge of a smooth rock. She broke the kiss, her eyes locking onto his as she gently pushed him down until he was seated. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she straddled him, her thighs caging his hips. Her hands rested on his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as she leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Let me show you…” she breathed, “…how I like it.”

Y/n’s hands gripped her hips as she began to move, grinding against him with a rhythm that was both teasing and maddening. Her breath hitched, her lips parting as she threw her head back, sunlight catching the beads of sweat forming on her neck. She was relentless, her movements growing more urgent as she sought her own pleasure, all while keeping him on the edge.

“Yeji…” he groaned, his voice strained with need. Her name escaped his lips like a prayer, and she smiled wickedly, savoring the way he trembled beneath her. She leaned in, capturing his lips once more, her tongue delving deep as her hips continued to move. The sound of the waves echoed around them, blending with their ragged breaths and muffled moans.

Finally, she reached down, her fingers wrapping around his length as she positioned him at her entrance. “Don’t hold back,” she commanded, her voice breaking slightly as she sank down onto him, inch by agonizing inch. Y/n’s hands flew to her hips, gripping her tightly as she took him fully, her walls clamping around him in a vice-like grip. She let out a low, satisfied moan, her body shuddering as she adjusted to his size.

Then, with a slow roll of her hips, she began to ride him, her pace steady and controlled. Her hands roamed over his chest, her nails leaving faint red lines as she moved. Y/n could do nothing but surrender to her rhythm, his groans mingling with hers as the tension between them built.

The heat of the sun above, the cool mist from the waves, and the intensity of her gaze—it was overwhelming, intoxicating. Yeji’s pace quickened, her thighs gripping him tighter as she chased her release. “That’s it…” she gasped, her voice trembling. “Just like that…”

Her climax hit her like a tidal wave, her body convulsing around him as she cried out, her nails digging into his skin. The sensation of her tightening around him pushed Y/n over the edge, and with a guttural groan, he spilled himself inside her, his vision blurring as waves of pleasure crashed over him.

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. Yeji collapsed against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder as they both tried to catch their breath. The sound of the waves seemed to fade into the background, replaced by the rapid thud of their hearts.

After a moment, Yeji lifted her head, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of satisfaction and something softer—something that made his chest ache. “Not bad,” she murmured, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

Yeji’s lips crashed against Y/n’s with a hunger that left him breathless. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as if she couldn’t get enough of him. “I’ve been waiting for this,” she whispered between kisses, her voice trembling with desire. “Do you know how much I’ve wanted you? How much I’ve needed you?”

Her words sent a shiver down his spine, and he felt himself hardening again beneath her. She shifted her weight slightly, grinding against him as if to remind him of exactly what she was capable of. His hands instinctively found her waist, gripping her tightly as she leaned back just enough to guide his hands higher.

“Touch me,” she murmured, her voice low and commanding. “Love me.”

Her hands moved his until they were cupping her breasts, the softness of her skin a stark contrast to the firmness beneath. Y/n obeyed without hesitation, his fingers sliding over her nipples, teasing them until they hardened under his touch. Yeji’s breath hitched, and she arched her back, pressing herself further into his palms.

“Like that… yes,” she moaned, her head falling back as he leaned forward to capture one of her nipples in his mouth. His tongue swirled around it, coaxing another sharp gasp from her before he bit down gently. The sound she made—half a moan, half a whimper—was almost enough to break his composure entirely.

But Yeji wasn’t done. Her hips rolled against him, her wetness dripping onto his length as she teased him mercilessly. “Fuck me,” she demanded, her voice trembling with need. “I want all of you.”

Y/n didn’t need to be told twice. His hands tightened on her hips as he guided her down onto him, inch by torturous inch. Yeji gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as she took him fully, her walls clenching around him like a vice. For a moment, they stayed still, their breaths mingling as they adjusted to the sensation.

Then, slowly at first, Yeji began to move. Her hips rose and fell in a steady rhythm, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through both of them. Y/n’s hands roamed her body, tracing every curve as if committing her to memory. He could feel the tension building inside him, but he forced himself to hold on, determined to make this last.

“You feel so good,” Yeji moaned, her voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t stop… please don’t stop.”

Her plea was all the encouragement he needed. His hands gripped her hips tighter, guiding her movements as he thrust up into her, matching her pace stroke for stroke. The sound of their bodies coming together echoed in the cove, mingling with the crash of the waves against the shore.

Yeji’s thighs trembled as she rode him, her pace quickening as she chased her release. “I’m close,” she gasped, her nails digging into his skin hard enough to leave marks. “So close…”

Y/n could feel her tightening around him, her climax imminent. With a groan, he let go, giving in to the pleasure that had been building inside him. Yeji cried out as she came, her body convulsing around him as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over her. The sensation pushed him over the edge, and with a guttural groan, he spilled himself inside her, his vision blurring as he gave her everything he had.

They collapsed together, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. Yeji rested her forehead against his, her eyes closed as she tried to catch her breath. “That was… incredible,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the waves.

Y/n chuckled softly, his hand moving to brush a strand of hair from her face. “You’re incredible,” he replied, his voice hoarse from exertion.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms as the world around them faded away. But then, slowly, Yeji lifted her head, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Round three when we get back to the resort?” she teased, her lips curving into a wicked smile.

Y/n groaned, unable to suppress a laugh. “You’re going to kill me,” he said, though there was no real complaint in his tone.

Yeji just smirked, leaning down to kiss him once more before climbing off him and reaching for her clothes. As she dressed, Y/n couldn’t help but admire the way the sunlight caught her skin, making her glow as if she were something otherworldly. When she was done, she turned to him, holding out a hand to help him up.

Together, they made their way back to the group, their steps slow and leisurely. Ryujin was the first to notice them, her eyes narrowing as she took in their disheveled state. A slow smirk spread across her face, and she nudged Chaeryeong, who was lounging nearby.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to join us,” Ryujin drawled, her tone dripping with amusement. “Enjoy your little walk, Yeji?”

Yeji blushed furiously, but she held her head high, refusing to give Ryujin the satisfaction of seeing her embarrassed. “None of your business,” she shot back, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way her voice wavered.

Ryujin laughed, clearly enjoying herself. “Oh, I think it’s very much my business. You two look… refreshed.”

Chaeryeong giggled, hiding her face behind her hands as Yuna glanced between them, curiosity shining in her eyes. “What are you talking about?” she asked innocently, though the faint blush on her cheeks suggested she might have an idea.

Ryujin winked at Yuna, her grin widening. “Oh, nothing, baby girl. Just grown-up stuff.”

Yeji groaned, burying her face in her hands as Y/n chuckled, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Alright, alright,” he said, trying to diffuse the situation before Ryujin could embarrass Yeji further. “Let’s get back to the resort. I think we could all use some rest.”

As they started walking back, Yeji leaned into him, her voice low so only he could hear. “I meant what I said earlier,” she murmured, her breath warm against his ear. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Y/n smirked, his hand squeezing her hip gently. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

But even as they walked, he couldn’t shake the feeling that things were far from over. Not with Ryujin’s knowing looks, or the way Yuna kept glancing at him with that same curious expression. And definitely not with the promise Yeji had made about round three…

As they approached the resort, Ryujin fell into step beside him, her smirk never fading. “You know,” she said casually, “if you’re not careful, you’re going to end up spoiling her.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “And what makes you think I haven’t already?”

Ryujin laughed, shaking her head. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Y/n. But hey…” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “If you ever want a little break from Yeji, you know where to find me.”

Before he could respond, she sauntered ahead, leaving him with a teasing wink and a whirlwind of thoughts. Yeji’s grip on his waist tightened, and she shot him a playful glare. “Don’t even think about it,” she warned, though there was no real heat in her tone.

Y/n just smiled, pulling her closer as they stepped into the resort. The day was far from over, and if the looks he was getting from the others were any indication, things were about to get even more interesting…

[yolothh]

Viktor really meant the "in all timelines, in all possibilities" line BECAUSE IT'S OUR TIMELINE TOO! THEY EXISTED!

Please take a moment and let me introduce you to: Giacomo Leopardi and Antonio Ranieri's partnership.

Leopardi was an italian poet, author, philosopher and philologist. He is an important figure in Romantic literature (albeit, he did criticize the Romantic worldviews).

All throughout his life he suffered from a debilitating chronic illness (juvanile ankylosing spondylitis) that had him suffer horrendously from a young age, until it eventually took his life in 1837, when he was 39 years old.

He dedicated most of his life to studies, translating old tomes, writing poems and treaties diverting on humanity's degeneration from our glorious past to our suffering present. He exhorted modern folks to take action against the unjust present, aiming to a revolution of our pitiful condition.

In 1827 Leopardi meets Antonio Ranieri a young man that is described (verbatim) as a "very young and handsome in person and spirit".

Ranieri had been exiled from his city during his youth, because of his excessively liberal views in regards to politics.

The two become very close friends, but it's in 1830 that their "partnership" (literally, not making this up, Ranieri himself wrote a book about it if you care to check it out "Seven years of partnership with Giacomo Leopardi") starts. They move together from Firenze to Naples and Ranieri attends to Leopardi's every wish (noted that this man was a fanatic for sweets) paying with money from his own pocket.

Now, friendship at the time was different than what it is now, and they might’ve been very close friends, yes. But I'll give you some words from their letters and what Ranieri wrote down in his book and leave it to your judgment.

-----------------------------------------------------

Ranieri, Naples, 1833:

"I- left my own bed- used to sleep in a room that was not mine (scandalous at the time) to sleep by his side"

Leopardi, Florence, 1832-33, from when they got separated because Ranieri needed to tend to some family issues:

"My Ranieri, you will never abandon my side, nor will your love for me grow colder. I don't wish for you to sacrifice yourself for me. In fact, before anything else, I strongly wish for you to take care of yourself first: whatever you choose to do, you will do it so because we live for one another, or I know that I do for you; my last and only hope. Farewell, my soul. I keep you close to my heart, which in both possible and impossible occurrences, will forever be yours"

Leopardi, Florence, 1832-33, on someone making a joke out of Ranieri for staying by Leopardi's side:

" [...] Oh, my Ranieri! When will I get you back? I won't stop trambling until I'll recover this immeasurable love, until I know it's true. Farewell, my soul, with all my spirit's strength. Don't get bored of loving me"

And more:

"Ranieri of mine, I need not say that in every way you wish, I will be there with you (...). My resolution has been so for a great time now: that I will never be parted from you. Farewell"

In 1833, Ranieri sends a letter where he says he intends to set off to get Leopardi and go live together in Naples, to which Leopardi answers:

"My Ranieri, will this [letter] reach you in Naples still? I must warn you, I cannot live without you no longer, I'm overtaken by a morbid impatience to see you again, and that I am sure that if you will be late, I will die from the malencholy of not having you still. Farewell, Farewell"

Ranieri, on the landlady that took them in in Naples:

"She revealed this: that I had introduced a consumptive in the house: that, loving him so much as to stay up at night by his side, there could be no reason I could not do that as well in mine own house"

--

So now, take it as you will- because maybe I am way too much of a nerd about this stuff- but I can't read ANYTHING Leopardi and Ranieri related without seeing Viktor and Jayce. I will gladely add more in the future.

--

Addition! If you want to watch/read on them (but mostly Leopardi, which is a catch) I STRONGLY advice you:

Leopardi. Il poeta dell'infinito - I don't personally love it but if you want more on them, thats the place

Il giovane favoloso - AMAZING movie

Canti - by Leopardi, it is a collection of poems he wrote and I think it is absolutely useful to understand his marvelous mind and character

Sette anni di Sodalizio con Giacomo Leopardi - the one I mentioned before, written by Ranieri on his time with Leopardi

[st4rbwrry]

𝓗𝓐𝓤𝓝𝓣𝓔𝓓.   charlie mayhew.

ᰔᩚ warnings . . . 3.0k, fem!reader, lowercase intended, sacrilegious acts/blasphemy, rough sex, unprotected sex, ‘father’ kink, fingering, teasing, praise, oral fixation, infatuation, minors aren’t allowed! reblogs + comments are appreciated. ♡

꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 ! ꒱ . . . dunno if nicholas is still canceled or not but idc, he’s still hot n i’m feeding my lust w his character from grotesquerie. here's an edit, oop another for visuals. <3

“forgive me father . . for i have sinned.”

father mayhew found himself drawn to your presence beyond the usual pastoral concern. your gentle demeanor, soft-spoken words, and captivating features. from your luscious curls to your plump, inviting lips stirred something deep within him. something sinful. as the weeks passed, his fascination grew. he looked forward to your weekly visits, anticipating the chance to hear your voice, to offer guidance while secretly drinking in the sight of you. he found himself lost in thought about you during sermons, imagining the curves of your body beneath your modest attire, or the perverted delicacy of your moans. he realized his attraction had evolved from mere curiosity to a full-blown obsession. vivid images of you haunted his mind. he replayed the cadence of your voice, the way your hands clasped together in supplication, and the tantalizing glimpse of cleavage when you bent to recite your prayers.

father mayhew had succumbed to his darkest impulses.

driven by a hunger he'd never known, he began to concoct scenarios in which he could be alone with you, away from prying eyes. late nights found him poring over scripture, searching for justification for his forbidden desires. his once pure intentions as a priest had given way to a dark, all-consuming lust.

father mayhew stood before you in his full priestly regalia, the crisp white collar stark against the black fabric of his cassock. the garment fell to just above his ankles, the hem swaying gently as he moved. a wide, white stole draped across his chest, the vibrant red embroidery glinting in the candlelight. his hair is always neatly combed back, revealing the strong contours of his face. dark eyes gazed at you intently, a look of stern authority tempered by the lingering heat of desire. he held a heavy, leather-bound bible in his right hand, the pages well-worn from years of use.

“confess your sins.”

inhaling sharply, you fiddle with the hem of your dress before speaking. anxiously gnawing at the plush of your bottom lip. this felt embarrassing, unsure of how to start, but aware that if you didn’t it, would continue to eat at your soul. if it wasn’t put into the air now, you’ll never let it out.

“i’m not exactly sure how to say it.”

“be as honest with me as you can.”’

gently, you inhale a rigid breath. “lately i’ve been having . . what you call erotic dreams of someone i’m close to. someone whom i deeply admire and respect. i even find myself tending to those urges almost daily since i’ve known him."

his eyes widen briefly at your admission before regaining composure, his voice low and measured. he must ignore the faint burn of jealousy that scorns in his chest. the recent events of infatuation for you turning possessive.

“i appreciate your honesty. it takes tremendous strength to bear one's soul in this way. please know that you are not alone and there is no shame in struggling with temptation.”

“i don’t feel like myself lately. i’ve never felt so consumed by a person. my thoughts are overbearing, it’s nearly driving me off edge. i don’t believe this is of normalcy.”

he nods. “i too have grappled with impure thoughts and desires. as priests, we are human beings first and foremost . . imperfect vessels striving to serve god and his flock. never doubt that your feelings aren’t valid and worthy of compassion.”

you swallow, heart thrumming against your ribcage, slightly turning your body to face the man whose figure you faintly see behind the barricaded gate. you swear you see him tense, eyes drifting to yours before clearing his throat and squeezing at the bible in hand, bowing his head with eyes shut, trying to block off your sweet scent enveloping the small confinement.

“do you wish to speak more?” he asks, voice raspier.

“i-i . . have a more dire truth.”

“which is?”

“those impure thoughts, taunting me day and night. . are of you, father charlie.”

in a normal setting, he’d react with amusement. though this wasn’t the place to express and endure those primal thoughts, he had to remain diligent. the heat emerges within his body in waves, tonguing his cheek hard before fixing his posture and deciding to respond.

“i would be remiss in my duty as both your priest and confidant if i did not offer solace. being said, perhaps we can meet privately. tomorrow night . . so we won’t be disrupted.”

your pulse quickens at the thought of meeting him alone, intimately, without a prying eye to judge. you don’t question how quickly he is to come to that decision, a part of you knowing that he felt the exact same. that only enticed you.

“yes, father. of course."

and on that saturday night, you find yourself making your way to his modest quarters above the rectory, the nervousness coats your entire body, thoughts racing on what could happen tonight. one sticking out in obvious detail. the snow white of your sundress imprinted with tiny flowers is anxiously toyed with at the ends by your french manicured nails. your hair is pulled back from your angelic face, held up by a claw clip. the hallway towards his private bedroom seemed excruciating long, wind from the open windows blowing in warmth, flowing with the white curtains eerily.

knocking on the wooden door, the last thing you expected to see when you arrived was father mayhew greatly exposed, his hair slightly damped, combed back per usual, coils of curls sticking up on the nape of his neck. beauty marks littered along his torso in constellations. he’s fixated, slanted eyes glaring down at you intensely with longing. he hums, scanning you from head to toe. a white towel is the only fabric piece on his body, covering his lower half, vein-covered arm stretching the door further, greeting you with a smile that borders on sinister.

“꒰♡꒱,” he ushers you inside, the scent of his cologne making you dizzy.

a gasp releases softly as you enter, continuing to take in the sight of father mayhew’s toned physique, chiseled features illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the vintage window. you feel a rush of heat coursing through your veins, body responding instinctively to his raw, unbridled desire.

“father . . .” you whisper, voice trembling slightly as you step closer, drawn to the aura of masculinity emanating from him. your eyes roam over his exposed skin, taking in the sight of his defined muscles and the trail of dark hair leading down from his navel. the itch to reach out and trace a finger along the edge of his towel strikes you hard, needing to remain somewhat composed.

the silence is deafening, the creak of the door shutting and the broadness of his body hovering over you makes your clit pulse hard. words weren’t necessary to exchange, both of your eyes read what you equally wanted, and needed. he stands before you, placing a hand on the wall behind you, his other reaching out to gently cup your cheek, thumb stroking your soft skin, eyes locked onto yours searching for any sign of hesitation or regret.

“father,” your eyes shyly avoid his stern gaze, the imprint of his dick hard behind it’s towel, close to touching your stomach. “is this okay? i mean . . this is a sin. for the two of us.”

his breath mingles with yours, expression turning solemn as he begins to speak. “what we do remains within these walls. we are all embodiments of a sin. we will give grace, and we will be forgiven.”

savoring the warmth of his touch, you can see the fire burning in his eyes, mirroring your own desire. ample curves mold to his firm contours, his hands taking yours to raise them above your head, pining you still amongst the wall. his breath on your neck makes your skin prickle with heat, squeezing your thighs together when his lips hover by your earlobe.

“lust is a temptation we must all face. it is a primal urge, a craving for physical connection and pleasure that can lead us astray if not kept in check,” he rasps, mouth falling open to kiss and slide his thick tongue against your collarbone, tasting you with a greedy moan.

the act makes you whimper, fingertips reaching for his towel, deliberately tugging to let it fall to the floor and pool at his feet. a low groan escapes his throat, dick hard and slapping on his thick thigh. his mouth trails along the other side of your neck, pushing his hips forward as you moan into his ear, trailing your fingers up to the dark brown tresses of his hair to fist.

“lust is not inherently evil. in its purest form, it is a natural part of the human experience, a drive that propels us toward union and creation,” father mayhew finally captures your lips in a heated kiss, tongue delving into your mouth with a hunger bordering on feral, your throat evoking a deep moan, catching up with his pace.

he breaks the kiss to your displeasure, panting harshly, his eyes glazed with lust. father mayhew keeps your body up against the wall, removing his hands from your wrists, not before sternly saying, “keep them there.”

that voice again, so deep and salacious it goes straight to your clit. the dampness of your arousal seeps through your panties now, physically announcing your desperate need for him. within seconds, he’s crouching below you, pink lips peppering kisses along your navel after lifting your dress up, hot fingers indenting into the flesh of your hips he slicks his tongue on. you can’t help but continue whimpering, shifting your waist as a show of urgency.

“i wonder," he trails off, slender fingers gently sliding off your thong, a string of slick coming along with it. you hastily step out of them, watching him throw your right leg over his shoulder, mouth so close to your pussy. “if the key is to recognize when our desires become excessive when they begin to consume us rather than serve as a healthy expression of our needs.”

“i don't care anymore, father,” you breathe, his lips hovering your mound. “i crave you, i need you. we can repent for our sins later.“

the muscles in his jaw clench, lashes angelically kissing his cheekbones. he wetly gives an open-mouthed kiss to the curve between your hip and thigh, staring at you. “so fuck it.”

“fuck it,” you nod, chest heaving, your pent-up arousal unbelievable.

“i want to lose myself in you, consequences be damned.”

with his jaw slacking, his mouth encapsulates your clit, rough tongue following the lead. a thankful shudder emits from you, keeping your hands molded to the wall like he told you. his eyes never leave your face, the wet interaction sounding the room as he sucks and pulls on your engorged clit with his lips. separating your legs further so he can taste everything that leaks from you.

“mhm, fuck. that's what i needed,” he growls into your pussy, chin getting wet and head moving to slick his face up and down, swallowing and moaning. he begins to delve his tongue into your opening where it only gets wetter, fucking into you with his nose to your clit and your inner thighs trembling.

you can’t take not touching him, going to fist his hair with your eyes scrolling to the back of your head, lips quivering from the ache of finally being given the pleasure you dreamt of.

“put your fingers in me, baby,” you whine, gripping at the nape of his neck to gently pull him back, needing it now.

“let me handle you. don’t speak.”

whining from the harsh hit he gives your outer thigh, you nod your head to his need, gathering more of his hair to tug while he gives your pussy one more big kiss and sucking at his own fingers quickly after. his salvia trickles down to his knuckles as he wets his fingers, sinking his pointer and middle simultaneously into your awaiting pussy.

“fuck,” he curses immediately after, the clench and greedy pull your pussy does around them only makes him spank you again. they’re so thick inside of you, squelching around them along with grinding down pleadingly, and he thinks you look angelic.

“my sweet, sinful girl," father mayhew’s lips continue to curl up wickedly, dropping your leg and standing back to his full height, missing your face in his.

the pads of his fingers roll over your clit, spread open completely for him, his head slightly cocked to watch you, faces inches apart. he studies the way your mouth falters open as he gathers your cum around his fingers after dragging two of them between your folds, slowly sinking them back inside, testing the waters. your toes curl instantly, bucking your hips into his hand as his thumb presses your puffy clit and you finally breathe out a loud moan. he takes his time savoring the way your walls clamp around him, begging without words to pull him deeper.

“there you go," he gasps with you as he fucks into you faster, knuckles deep, palm slick and slapping against your clit. you shudder under his control, gut twisting when he kisses you, tongues swirling together, eyelids droopy as you suck each other's lips, biting him to taste a hint of blood.

“i need to be inside of you,” he heaves, having enough of the foreplay. he’s been thinking about this for far too long. it was painful enough having to restrain himself. “fuck, you’re pretty.”

it ignites something nasty inside of you when father mayhew tucks your body beneath him to align his throbbing dick dripping with delicious precum to your pussy, stuffing and stretching you within the blink of an eye. he cooed after hearing you squeal and whimper, leveling his body to lock his forearms underneath the backs of your knees, hovering you above him and backing away from the wall. he easily balances both of your weights, your arms holding onto the back of his neck with your back arching and stomach pressing hotly to his scorching skin.

“that’s it, take it all,” he grunts, fingers sprawled across your hips and ass to push you down so his dick is engulfed into you. “fuck, you feel real good.”

“fuck me, please. m’begging you,” the tears welling in your eyes activate something inside of him he’s never felt before, heart thrashing in his chest as he grants you a rough kiss on your mouth before drawing his hips back to slam you up and down on his thick dick, the veiny ridges catering to every aching part inside of you.

“o-oh, my g-god,” you whisper in his ear, clawing into his back and burying your face into the crook of his neck, listening to the harshness of your ass clapping down onto his broad thighs the heavier he drops you down. “ngh, s’fuckin’ good.”

“mhm hmm,” is all he can get out, hissing and holding you up so the tip is only kissing your entrance before pounding into you with steady, rough strokes. the burn on his back from your scratches fuels him, grunting in your ear and fucking you deep. so deep you can’t control those filthy sounds he loves too badly.

“call me by my name,” he grits his teeth, your juices dripping down his balls that jump out of reaction from your dulcet voice. “right now, ꒰♡꒱. don’t be scared now.”

“charlie,” you whimper, pulling your face up to stare into his crepuscular eyes, near gone.

“nah,” he shakes his head. “how do you address me, ꒰♡꒱.”

lips pouty, you lean in to kiss him, mouths smacking together wetly, his hips hastening, your mouth slacking and cries falling when he begins to hit that good spot, almost losing your mind. “f-fuck, y-yessss! stay there, stay there please, father!”

“god, yes,” the dark bush of his eyebrows furrow on his face as he focuses on the tightness around his cock, sticking his tongue out of his mouth needing you to do the same. your tongue glides along his, father mayhew sucking on yours and thrusting harder. “greedy girl.”

your body begins to convulse, muscles tensing as the coil in your tummy tightens, aiding you to cum hard on his dick. he probed deeper, swiveling his hips and knocking into you rough and your pussy creams on him, tightening and pulsating as you cum and shake almost violently.

“anh—ughhh, b-baby.”

father mayhew watches your voice contort from your pleasure, crying out and sniffling from the feeling in your tummy that wouldn’t stop, looking like you’ll cum again. he can feel it, in fact.

“tell me you want this," he grunts, his voice rough with need. "tell me you crave my dick buried inside you. that it makes you feel so good. that you’re mine every fuckin’ time you come see me. tell me.”

“y-yes, i wan’ it,” your voice quite literally trembles, gasps coming out broken. “i wan’ you, need you. . fuckin’ me.”

“good fuckin’ girl, ꒰♡꒱. g-good fuckin’ girl. god, give me permission to cum.”

your voice gets caught in your throat when he stumbles back towards the wall, hiking you further up and pressing his palms flat to the wall, your ass recoiling and hitting the surface as he fucks you faster, and harder, keeping your knees high up. a death lock he has on you, you can barely move an inch. sinking and pulling out his girth by every filthy pound. your breath on his skin with his on yours. it was the ultimate embodiment of erotica.

“cum in me, cum in meeee!”

guttural moans and heavy panting stir between your neck, father mayhew giving you one final, heavy thrust before he’s cumming inside of you while you orgasm once more. gripping onto his hair tightly with your mouth faltering open, hiccuping and whining loudly. grounding your hips down to squeeze and milk him of everything he had for you. his release is loud, waist shuddering, and primal growls in your face with his forehead pressed to yours, bodies entwined in a sticky mess.

he keeps you stuck in this position for a while, heaving in your face and taking your lips to his again for another kiss, growing high off your shared taste.

“you ignite a fire within me unlike anything else.”

© 𝒮𝒯𝟦𝑅𝐵𝒲𝑅𝑅𝒴! all rights reserved. please do not repost, steal, or modify my work simply because it is mine. stealing isn't cute. i'll ruin your life ♡

[ribbonskiss]

THE LEANOVER → OP81

Part 2 of 2. Read Part 1 here.

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader

Summary: You come home on uni break to find your brother’s best friend, Oscar, is visiting. You both fall back into old habits, but some things are not the same.

Tags: brother’s best friend, friends to lovers, slow burn, SMUT (18+), masturbation, Jack Doohan is from Melbourne in this one for logistical reasons, not proofread at all hah

A/N: finally!!! The end of The Leanover!!!! Sorry for the extended deadline, this one turned out chunkier than I expected and honestly I don’t know if I’m quite satisfied with it but it is what it is. Anyway, enjoy!

Oscar is a handsome boy. This is a fact you find to be so uncontroversial it may as well be accepted as a universal truth. There has never been a time where girls did not whisper amongst themselves when he would enter a room, where the mothers of his friends would not rave with great emphasis to his about how strong and handsome he’d become, where his presence at a function did not brighten up the place, because not only is he handsome, he is beautiful. Beautiful people are magnetic, you think; their beauty lies in their nature, their fundamental quality of supernatural grace, a gift bestowed by the forces that be towards the lucky few.

You recall his last year of high school. You were sixteen, still growing into your body and learning how to use a felt-tip eyeliner pen. Teenagers are fascistic about social hierarchy; they are greatly cognisant of their standings in the high school pecking order, intensely anal about preserving the rigidity of the structure, and thus you had long accepted your status as the forgotten sibling. Oscar and your brother were athletes, students with clout attached to their names; you were awkward, unaware of your own intensity, intimidating to a fault, but more than happy to lay low. Two individuals of such different standings in the social order should never interact—but for the first (and only) time you were now going to the same house parties and birthday bashes, and here was the greatest display of Oscar’s beauty. You can never forget that image: the figure of him standing on the other side of the room, so broad-shouldered and trim, freckles of sun damage littered over his skin all the way down his neck like constellations, his head turned away from you to reveal his chiselled jaw as he speaks to someone while holding a can of Reschs. And suddenly his eyes would meet yours, catching you in the act, and he’d give you a gentle smile.

You were always so grateful for this. So grateful he would look your way and beam so brightly, a glimpse of his inner calmness, his quiet gentle bliss. You were never under the impression you were the only one to be so blessed by his grace; you were just happy to be around him. Sometimes when he would come over, sprawl himself over your couch or lay on the floor, pissing himself laughing at your brother’s antics into the late hours of the night, you’d ask yourself whether you should feel guilty for being the only witness to this part of his life. This secret of his: that Oscar is so much more beautiful than most people will ever know. Not his fans, not his colleagues, not the majority of the world. This is between you and him.

And now you have him all to yourself. A bit greedy, isn’t it? The past week you’ve spent together has been nothing short of lovely. You find out that he’s strangely disciplined. Oscar’s a dutiful housemate, doing the chores you even forget about without the need to be prompted, unlike most guys his age. He likes to hum to himself when he’s got the vacuum going and he thinks you can’t hear him butcher the tune of “Uptown Girl” by Billy Joel. He’s a good cook who prefers careful measurement over eyeballing. He doesn’t read books like you do, but he’s happy to lie on the couch all day and watch a show with you on the telly. And he’s surprisingly touchy—he seems most pleased when you’re both on the couch, your legs crossed and stretched out, resting on top of his, his hand on your foot, thumb rubbing circles into your skin. You don’t speak during these moments. Nothing needs to be said; things just sort themselves out.

At some point in the afternoon you get tired, yawning to yourself, and without even needing to look at you Oscar reaches over, tugs at your arm to tell you wordlessly to turn around. You oblige; your head against his chest, his fingers trail up your forearm to your shoulders and, eventually, the back of your neck, smoothing over the soft, fine hairs that reside there. You’re too tired to mind the goosebumps the feeling of his fingertips on your skin gives you, or the increasing thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat underneath you. You shift in his arms, folding your legs up in a way that makes the hem of your shorts ride up, exposing the curve of your thighs all the way up towards the swell of your—well… It would be so uncouth for him to look there.

It never occurs to either of you that the hardest part of the process is done. The feeling returns: the feeling that arises in you when he looked at you from across the room at those parties all those years ago. The feeling of knowing that person so incredibly well. Of sharing a secret together, and letting that secret grow bigger and bigger until it takes on a life of its own. Of sharing that life together. These things do just sort themselves out, but you would never know until you speak of it.

You are growing increasingly needy. There’s no other way to put it. You’re fucking dying. The heat of the dry, punishing Australian summer is starting to get to you, even with how skimpy your attire has gotten, and having him around twenty-four seven is starting to feel more like divine punishment than intervention. You were wrong all along: Oscar is not an angel, but a demon sent to terrorise you all your life until you give in and the Devil can steal your soul for all of eternity.

He works out every other day. That’s at least three days where he’ll disappear into another room in the afternoon for hours, slips right out just to slip into the bathroom, and then waltz back into the living room as if nothing has happened. But something has happened.

Oscar has a very basic wardrobe at home. He likes his soft, mild colours—dark greys and soft whites, beige tones, navy and olives… It’s very on brand for him, yes. And here he is again, today, emerging from the bathroom, a cloud of steam following him out the door as he runs a hand through his slightly damp hair. He’s wearing a crisp heather grey t-shirt, fresh from the pile of laundry you’d folded yesterday. The sleeves can barely withstand the size of his biceps; he’s just gotten new dumbbells in. And god, the smell of his skin, the musk of him mixed with the soft clean scent of soap still radiating off of him. It’s like crisp hot white bedsheets, fresh out the dryer, already crumpling under the weight of two lovers, bodies sticky from tangling into each other; like soft detergent left out in the garden, where the grass is freshly cut, and the warm sun hits your skin.

This is as close to a primal urge as it will ever get for you. The first few times you could just tell yourself to look away, but now the smell of him is unavoidable, overwhelms your senses, and lights your entire body on fire. You stick your nose into your book the entire time and pray he goes away. Oscar retreats into the kitchen and wonders if your book is really so good that you’d be that engrossed by it. He’ll have to start reading again soon.

“The worst thing a woman can do,” you say, hand in the air with great feeling, “is be cut down in her prime by a man.”

Three beers in and you’re starting up your great tirade already. Oscar watches with an amused smile as he sits on the grass, green Peroni bottle in hand. “I know it sounds so pathetic and untrue, but it is true,” you continue, pacing back and forth with a giggle. “It’s true! I’m so much better off now. No offence, Osc, you’re one of the good ones.”

“I’m very flattered.”

“You should be,” you nod.

He reaches over and grabs a fresh beer from the esky, flicks the cap off with the belt he’s taken off, and hands it to you. You thank him; “just trying to stay in your good graces, missy,” he chuckles.

You sigh, taking a swig of it as you look up to the sky. “Frankly, I’m glad that part of my life is over already,” you say. “I’m not happy to admit it, but for a long time, I had just thought of myself as undesirable. Invisible.”

Oscar furrows his eyebrows with great concern, an ocean tide of emotion threatening to wash over him. “Impossible.”

“Possible,” you nod, with a bitter smile that’s less regretful than accepting of your past. “You know. Surely you remember.”

Of course he does. He remembers every little thing, because they’re not little to him. He remembers it all, how he’d scare off sleazy, drunken boys from approaching you at parties. Even after he graduated, the threat remained: you mess with her, you mess with Oscar Piastri, the F1 big shot. Boys never looked your way because of that; he used to hold you by the end of the party, sitting on the porch of whatever house you’re at, you latching onto him in your drunken half-slumber, both of you silently wallowing in your desires. Drowning, suffocating in each other’s warmth. Then he’d stay over at your house and wait until your brother fell asleep to press his ear against the wall, listening to your muffled sobbing. You were always too eager to suffer alone, to make a martyr of yourself and accept the cards you had been dealt.

But you stand tall now, a soft smile on your face suggesting a great deal of growth. It’s what he’s always found so beautiful in you. Beauty, he thinks, lies in the spirit, an ability to have infinite love and bliss in the face of the frustrations of one’s life. You are a complete soul, whole in ways he may never be, capable of learning to love over and over again and of light-heartedness in the face of turmoil. He knows he cannot truly achieve this because you are his Achilles’ heal. He cannot bear to think of you off on your own without him, doing things with other slimy ratty boys, going places he may never know of. Having a life without him in it. Oscar frowns; had he been too selfish in denying you all your opportunities? You had graduated high school without losing your virginity, without ever being in a relationship, and he wasn’t sure your first kiss would even count as a kiss. He can’t imagine how much that must’ve crushed you—and he was away, far away on his stupid little racing circuits instead of being at home, comforting you, as he should’ve been.

You wave it all off, as if you could hear his thoughts. “Well, I’ve done all of it now anyway, and I’m happy to report that it’s not for me.”

He cocks up an eyebrow. “And what exactly is ‘it,’ Tiny?”

“The hookup thing,” you shrug.

Oscar’s chest feels like it could explode; cold flashes wash all over him. “Oh?”

You playfully shush him. “Don’t tell my family, okay?” you chuckle. “But, yes. I tried it. It was good, until it wasn’t. Very quickly I realised I’m kinda, like, spiritually forty. I need to stretch in the mornings and tuck in by eleven.”

“And kick-ons aren’t until at least one,” he tuts. “You’re always been a sleepy girl.”

“That is true,” you nod, taking another sip of your Peroni. “Anyway, it was worth it, at the very least just to get it all out of my system. I’m very comfortably single now.”

The sky is darker than it should be. The sun has already tucked itself away, and it’s not even evening time yet. “You know, it’s so cliché,” you continue. “That Sally Rooney quote, it’s just like that. I went to uni and got pretty. And all of a sudden men saw me—I mean, I was pretty much invisible before. Before in school, when you and my brother were still around, guys used to do this stupid, horrible thing where they wouldn’t speak to me, they’d just speak to you instead. Even when the topic was about me. Well, no one knows I grew up with Oscar Piastri when I’m at ANU. I’m just me, and I’ve got a nice haircut and a decent rack of tits. And they see me, they see me now and I realise now that they’re all just sort of stupid. I’m very sorry, Oscar, but boys are stupid.”

“No need to apologise,” he snickers softly. It makes you smile a little wider. “But surely they were not all so bad?”

“No, I really don’t know how to pick ‘em. They really were all that bad,” you chuckle, eyes creasing as your cheeks push up in laughter. “Think the best one might’ve been the guy I lost my virginity to.”

Oscar’s eyes widen. He hums, pretends to be normal about it. “Tell me more,” he says.

You nod and oblige. “It was early in the school year. I went on four dates with him,” you start. “He seemed right on paper. Double major, worked for a diplomat, spoke two languages and was well-travelled. Maybe a bit pedestrian in his taste in music and films, but it didn’t bother me so much. We talked okay. He knew what to do, how to be courteous, held doors open and shit—I didn’t know what the whole dating thing was meant to be like, and I was easily impressed. He took me back to his after the fourth date and we listened to his vinyls: corny 70s Greatest Hit compilations and his favourite Kanye albums.”

You take a break, pulling out a thing of lip balm and unscrewing the cap before squeezing it out. “He told me he used to take ballroom lessons for some weird high school thing he did, and he twirled me in his arms, and it made me feel so light and small and girlish that I felt like I was floating.” Your finger spreads the balm over your lips, the feeling cool and tingly on your skin. “He told me I was funny. He kissed me, and his stubble was so sharp and gritty against my skin that it gave me traction acne the day after. He held my hand the whole time. He was an awful kisser. Just kept jamming his tongue in. But it was sweet enough. No one’s first time is good, anyway.”

Oscar tries to swallows down the lump stuck in his throat. His fingers and toes are tingling, chest tight and contracting still. You take another swig. “I’ve had too many of these,” you say.

“You’ve had three, Tiny.”

“That’s more than enough for me,” you shrug, yawning as you set the bottle down on the wooden table outside in your garden. “I think I’d better fuck off to bed now. Sleep tight, Osc.”

He doesn’t sleep in your brother’s bed that night. No, he takes out the spare mattress again and drapes the spare velvet blanket over himself, because he could never forgive himself if he jerked off in his best friend’s bed to the thought of his best friend’s sister. No, there would be no good excuse for that, but tonight is one of those nights where a man simply cannot hold himself back anymore. The alcohol is still burning in his stomach; when Oscar shuts his eyes, all he can see is these elaborate images crafted by his mind’s eye of you, placed in all the scenarios you’d described to him, only replacing that dirty fucker was him, being so gentle and delicate and loving, just how you deserve it. It should have been him there instead to do it all right; it is true that losing one’s virginity is often an awkward affair, his own experience was no less lousy, but if anyone were to have a perfect instance of it it should be you. Oscar can see it all now, how he’d go about it. Holding onto your soft curves as he pushes himself in slowly, the little gasps that would escape your honey-sweet mouth, so warm and wet on his lips. He would die happy, he thinks to himself, as his hand roughly palms his length, hair dampening from sweat in the blistering summer night heat. Cicadas sing outside his window; he heaves wildly, chest rising and falling dramatically as his hand gets slicker with each stroke. He had no idea he could even leak that much.

Thank god you’re sound asleep. He grips tightly onto the soft blanket, balling it in his fist as his eyes shut again tightly, the guttural noise he lets out much louder than he intended. Then Oscar collapses; his limbs go slack, heart beating out of his chest still as he lets out a long, drawn-out sigh, hand now sticky with his spent. The mattress is damp with his sweat. If he wasn’t before, he’s royally fucked now.

Your parents called; they’ll be home on Christmas Eve, but only in the afternoon, and they’re picking your brother up as well. Which means the two of you have some shopping to do; the house should be looking festive in time for their arrival. Oscar pushes the shopping cart, following you deep into the maze that is Kmart. He helps you haul the Christmas tree box in and out of his car. And he watches as you pull its branches down, giving it shape before littering it with baubles and tinsel. And when it comes time to finish the tree, you look him with bright eyes. He smiled at you, takes the Angel Gabriel out of your hands and places it on top of the tree carefully. You put on your silly little Santa hats and poorly bake gingerbread men.

You never end up throwing the rager Oscar jokingly suggested, but you do hold a small get-together after running into some old schoolmates at the shops. So it turns out that a few girls you used to do drama class with are in town, and of course anyone Oscar invites is going to show up—he’s Oscar fucking Piastri—so here you are, with a decent turnout of people currently congregated in the back garden and the living room. You’re thankful enough of them showed up on such short notice, with Christmas Eve only a few days away, and you’re thankful everyone seems to have gotten more civil and mature since you’ve left school.

The doorbell rings more than once, and you peel yourself off of the couch to go answer it, Balter tinnie in hand now that you’re all out of Peronis. Your eyes widen once you fling the door open, revealing a familiar face, standing with a smile on his face and a couple guys behind him.

“Surprise,” Jack chuckles.

“Doohan in the flesh,” you quip with a smile. “You cheeky boy. Since when were you in town?”

“Since yesterday,” he shrugs, and the guys behind him file past you into the house at the sight of some of their mates. “Heard you were throwing a thing with Big Shot Oscar. Hope you don’t mind that I’m crashing—I come bearing gifts.”

You shake your head. “Of course not, no, I’m glad to see you,” you say, though you sigh at the sight of the twelve-pack he’s got in his hands. “Mate, Strong Zero? It’s not that kind of party.”

“Some of us can handle our liquor,” Jack laughs, putting the pack in your arms before smoothing his hair back. “Don’t spoil the fun for the rest of us.”

You roll your eyes, turning your back to him as you walk down the hallway back to the kitchen. “Congratulations, by the way,” I say. “I’m glad to see two of our finest graduates succeeding.”

“I can tell. You’re beaming, clearly,” he jokes, following you in. “It was never in doubt for Oscar, anyway, so I think I deserve a bigger congratulations for making it, no?”

You peel apart the drink packaging, the tins of drink coming loose on the kitchen counter. “Let me get this straight: you want me to be more proud of you for being a worse driver than Oscar?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“I’m just repeating your words, Jack-Jack.”

“Never said I was a worse driver,” he snickers, shaking his head as he folds his arms over his chest. “You snuck that in yourself. But I always knew you were biased, so I won’t take offence to that, Tiny.”

You turn over your shoulder, glaring at him. Dramatically, he throws his hands up in a display of surrender, but your conversation is cut short.

“Well, well, well,” Oscar grins, strolling into the kitchen and approaching Jack with wide arms. “Fancy seeing you here, F1 driver.”

“Fancy seeing you here, F1 driver,” Doohan beams, dapping Oscar up before pulling him into a hug. “How you been, mate, good?”

“Nah, yeah,” Oscar chuckles, glancing back to you with a smile. “It’s been a splendid break for me. You been good? Didn’t realise you were back.”

“Yeah, just landed yesterday,” Jack nods, a hand on the back of his neck. “Heard you two were doing a thing, thought I’d be jet lagged out of my mind but nah. Wouldn’t miss this.”

You notice Jack’s a little taller than Oscar, who’s having to tilt his head up a little. “Appreciate you showing up, mate,” the older one says. “I’m gonna go catch up with some of your mates, but stick around, yeah?”

“Absolutely, man,” the younger one says with a smile. “Good seeing you again.”

Then Oscar leaves, fingers gliding over the skin of your cheek in passing, a gentle action of tenderness, as if to say goodbye wordlessly. Doohan wiggles his eyebrows. “What the fuck was that?”

“What was what?” you exclaim, eyes avoiding his gaze as you snatch a Strong Zero for yourself.

“That,” he presses on, finger extended now to point to where Oscar had put his hand on your cheek. “The little hand-cheek-look thing. The fuck? Do you have something to tell me, pal?”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Please mate, just be normal—”

“Don’t gaslight me,” Jack says, as stern as he can be.

“He’s been living in my home!” you gasp. “Of course we’re a little close!”

“Living in your home—”

“Not by choice,” you roll your eyes. “Just—my family’s all out of town right now. He’s kind of all I have at the moment.”

“Agh!” Jack groans, smacking himself on the forehead. “Genius move. Fuck, I should’ve locked you two in a room myself years ago—”

You put the tin back onto the counter and slowly turn to face him. “Excuse me?”

He frowns. “Oh, man,” he pouts. “You don’t mean to tell me you two are still doing the thing?”

“What thing?” you furrow your eyebrows.

“You know, the thing,” he says, eyes innocent and wide as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. “The weird game you two play. I thought you guys would have gotten over it already.”

Your breath hitches in your chest, making you stammer and go red in the face as your confusion worsens. Jack notices this. “What, you really don’t know?”

“No, Jack, I do not,” you manage to breathe out. “Please, enlighten me.”

He shakes his head, lets out a strange chuckle as he leans back against the wall, having taken a tinnie off the counter. “This would be funny if it weren’t so tragic,” he starts, grimacing. “Oscar used to push guys on the soccer team around for talking about you. He’d go silent whenever you were around and get clammy in the hands. He got weird whenever he’d even hear your name. And I’m sure I don’t have to list out your incriminating actions.”

Needless to say you’re taken aback by this. Eyes wide and blank, you look at him with shock as your mind oscillates between delight and horror, hand resting on your chest as if your heart needs the help. Jack sighs, and after a moment of tense silence he speaks again. “I take it that’s enough proof for you.”

“Why didn’t you say?”

“We thought you knew,” he shrugs. “And it wouldn’t have been my place to meddle, and also, it was kind of amusing to watch.”

You scoff bitterly. “Amusing.”

“Well, not so much now,” Doohan nods.

Silence fills the kitchen again, the chatter outside quiet against the deafening quietness inside. “You do like him, don’t you?” he asks earnestly.

You don’t answer, but all he has to do is look at your solemn face and see the emotions threatening to spill out of you. He comes closer, puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Hey. Just take your time, mate.”

You nod, but you hear Oscar’s distinct timbre in the distance, speaking rapidly to someone. You turn your head and see him standing in the living room near the couch, and then—like magnets—he seems to feel your eyes raking over his figure, and meets your gaze as his head turns a little. Suddenly you’re sixteen again. He’s smiling at you like he used to, so fondly and sweetly, all the way from another room. Everything has changed but this feeling is the same. Oscar nods his head gently, as if to tell you ‘I’m doing okay over here, and I hope you are too,’ and you realise he’s dropped out of his conversation now just to look at you. He has always done this.

The hard part is over, but you didn’t know until it was spoken of.

You sweep the crushed cans off the table and into the garbage bag, back starting to hurt from all the cleanup you’ve had to do. Thank the lord they all left early; you haven’t been able to enjoy yourself fully since that talk with Doohan. Since then his words have just been eating away at you the whole night, but you can speak to Oscar just fine, you think. You’re trying your best, at least.

“Jesus, have the lights always been this bright?” he says, and by the way he’s stumbling onto the couch and slurring his words a little, he’s probably more tipsy than he’d like to admit.

You shake your head, turning around to face him. The cans inside the bag you’re holding clank against one another. “Fun night?”

“Not particularly,” he says, eyes shutting as he throws an arm over his face, lying down flat on the couch. “Just, those fucking Strong Zeroes, man.”

“I told Doohan he shouldn’t have!”

“He really shouldn’t have.” Oscar groans, eyes shutting tighter as he tries to push his face into the couch, and you chuckle before going back to cleaning up, moving towards the pile of cans on the kitchen island.

“Don’t leave,” you hear him say behind you.

You turn around, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What?” you say. “I’m not. I’m just going into the kitch—”

“No,” he whines quietly, muffled by the fabric of the couch. “That’s too far. Stay.”

You stand still, still holding the bag in your hand, visibly confused.

“We should always be in the same room,” he continues. “I don’t want to be away from you.”

You flush at his words. You’re not sure if he quite grasps the implications of what he’s saying, but you chalk it all up to his current state—surely he’s just a clingy drunk. You put the garbage bag down against the wall, approaching the couch as he pulls his legs back to make room for you.

You sit down. “Are you feeling alright, Osc?”

“No,” he replies, too quickly for your liking. Oscar shuffles back onto his back, eyes still shut as his tone is reduced to grumbling. “I had this really awful thought the other day that we’re so far apart. I’m off doing my races and now you’re off at uni doing whatever.”

You cock your head to the side, clearly about to protest, but he starts up again. “I just want to know what you’re doing all the time,” he admits. “And how you’re feeling. I miss you all the time, and I wanna know you’re okay.”

“Oscar,” you frown, putting a hand on his arm tenderly. “If you want to stay in touch more, of course we can—”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I don’t want to stay in touch. I wanna be with you.”

You pull your arm back. He winces, missing your touch. “Tiny, this must sound so crazy.”

“No,” you assure him, though you’re struggling to comprehend his words. “I just don’t know what you me—”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Your blood runs cold even as your stomach shatters and explodes into a million butterflies that feel hot like lava inside of your body. “I know it must sound so crazy,” Oscar chuckles bitterly. “I know it must be so crazy…”

“No,” you shake your head. “I don’t think it’s crazy. I just, I wonder how you’ll feel in the morning.”

“It’s not the alcohol.”

He opens his eyes only to look at you, pupils darting around slowly to find you, the only soothing sight when the lights are still killing him. Oscar smiles a little at your familiar face. “I spoke to Doohan,” he explains.

“Ah,” you mumble, flushing. Of course he did.

He pauses a bit, tries to find the courage to speak again. He finds it in how your eyes seem to shine a little brighter where you’re sitting, mesmerised by how beautiful you are tonight. “He’s right, you know. I feel a bit silly, or stupid rather, like I don’t know how to explain myself.”

“Well,” you chuckle timidly, looking down at your hands. “I would have some explaining to do myself, too.”

Oscar smiles to himself. He takes a moment to catch his breath; he didn’t even realise he’d been holding it in this whole time. “You don’t know how happy it makes me to hear that.”

At his words, you look up to meet his eyes again, to see how he’s smiling now, and it makes your chest expand with warmth, heart pumping fast. “I’ll feel the same in the morning,” he says, sitting up clumsily now just to look at your face better. He doesn’t want to look away ever again. “I promise you that. I’ve felt this way since forever—I just didn’t know the word for it yet.”

Your eyes widen just a little more at his words; you don’t recognise the inexplicable feeling that’s captured your body, but you think this is what he means. The thing he didn’t know the word for. But you know the word for it now.

“I think I love you too,” you say.

Oscar lets out a quiet noise of relief. He finds your hand in your lap, takes it in his, and just holds it. You look at each other for a long while, taking in the details of one another’s faces. “You don’t look a day over seven,” you chuckle, and it makes him grin softly.

“That’s alright. Did you feel then how you feel about me now?” he asks.

“I think you sealed the deal when you helped me get up on my feet after falling off the slide,” you quip with a smile, and he squeezes your hand a little approvingly.

“You remember that.”

“The little things aren’t little to me, either,” you say, and his heart soars at your words. Oscar can’t resist it anymore; he tugs on your hand a little and pulls you into his arms, hands latching onto your waist as he holds you tightly. You fall into each other like magnets. It just feels right, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, but nothing in this world is truly given this way. You had been working for it your entire life, but you’re only knowing this now.

His lips hover over your cheek, and it makes you shiver, but it shouldn’t be like this. “I don’t want our first kiss to be when you’re drunk,” you tell him, pulling away from his flushed face. “It’s… You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this. It just has to be right.”

Oscar swallows dryly, but he nods. “You’re right,” he says, with a gentle smile that tells you he’s being sincere. “You’re right. Not like this.”

He pulls you in again, holding you even tighter this time. You feel his heart beating out of his chest against yours, his warm breath against your skin, the warm his arms keep contracting as if he’s afraid to let you go. A warm waft of air filters through the window, left ajar, and swirls around the two of you, bodies now entangled. Neither of you can find a reason to leave, so you don’t. You never end up cleaning the kitchen that night.

The sun’s starting to filter through your blinds now, and you know you have no excuse to stay in bed anymore, but you don’t have the heart to wake him up. Your brother’s bedroom is probably collecting dust already; ever since that night, Oscar’s been sleeping in your bed now, and you both sleep so much better with a cuddle buddy by your side. He likes to be big spoon, but he’s happy to hold you face to face as well, duh! Why would he upset with getting to see your face, eyes shut so peacefully in slumber? He likes to wake up before you because of this, just so he can catch a glimpse of you so soft and pliable in his arms, comfortably happily asleep, but today you’re the one who wakes up first, stirred awake by the birds chirping outside your window.

You try to slip out of his grasp, but he just tightens his arms around you, furrowing his eyebrows in his sleep. You try again and he does it again, this time with a grumbling noise that makes you chuckle.

“Oscar,” you smile, press a gentle kiss onto his forehead. “They come home today.”

“So?” he grumbles back, eyes still shut as he pulls you in, tucking your head under his chin. “What’s it got to do with us?”

“We’ve got to make them brekky, babe,” you chuckle. You press a kiss to his neck now, before deciding you can’t really resist littering them all over his skin. “They’ll be starving by the time they get here.”

Oscar makes a strange, hushed noise. “Well, doing that certainly won’t get me out of bed.”

You’re confused, but then you realise something’s been pressing up against your thigh, worsened by how he keeps pulling you back into his arms. “Oh my god, Osc,” you yelp. “Just from a few kisses?”

“And maybe a very good dream,” he mumbles back. If he were awake, he’d surely be laughing, pleased with himself.

“You dirty, dirty pervert,” you snicker, but you’re tutting at him in a way that sends a tingle down his spine, and your fingers inching down the trail on his stomach is making him shiver. “You’re shameless.”

“Yeah, but something tells me you like it,” he says, but he can barely finish the sentence before you tug at the waistband of his sweatpants, shimmying them down. His length springs free; your eyes beam a little too brightly at the sight of it, making him laugh.

“Someone’s eager.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been dreaming about riding you into the bed for actual years,” you chuckle, long fingers wrapping around him. “You look delicious in the morning, you know that? All sleepy and dishevelled. It’s very sexy, Osc.”

“Ah?” he says, a moan disguised as a word. Your hand starts to move and he can barely hold himself back. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Your mouth is hovering over his cock now, warm breath making him shiver before your tongue makes contact with his tip, swirling all around the head in a way that makes his eyes roll back. “Holy shit,” you hear him mutter to himself, and you smile as you drag your tongue all over the length of him.

“Babe, I love the teasing,” he breathes out. “But I don’t think I can quite take it this morning.”

You hum to yourself, biting back a cheeky smile as a thought pops up in your head. “You know, you’re right,” you say. “We’re running on a tight schedule. And we could use something that saves time, so… if you’re getting head, you could give it too, no?”

Oscar’s face lights up at your words. “You wanna sit on my face? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I mean, if you’re offering.”

“Fuckin’ hell, any day of the week, missy.”

With that, he puts his hands on your head and pulls you up for a kiss that deepens into a little more. His lips are soft, mouth hot and wet; you feel yourself dampen a little against the cotton of your panties, something he feels too as his hands travel all the way down to your ass, fingers reaching past the fabric of your shorts inside to find the wet patch growing at your cunt. Your fingers hook into the waistband of both layers, tugging them off eagerly as he steadies his hands on your hips again. You turn around, and now Oscar’s got your pussy hovering right over his face. He think he’s salivating at the sight of it. Is that too crude? Jesus christ, it’s just so much fucking better than he could have ever imagined, waking up with you by his side, having the girl of all of his dreams with him now, eating your pussy first thing in the morning.

“You’re not so tiny anymore, hey? You’re a big girl now.”

You flush at his words. “Just get to it, Piastri.”

He needs no further encouragement, hands on your hips pulling you down to his face, tongue flicking a long stripe all the way down your cunt. You cry out at the sudden contact, and you realise very soon that he is very good at what he is doing, soft wet tongue sliding between your folds carefully, lips wrapping gently around your sensitive clit, hands gripping onto the meat of your ass, an action that signifies a clinginess you’d never know from how soft-spoken he is. He eats you out like a hungry man, lapping up the wetness that soaked your panties before eagerly. When you wrap your lips around his cock, taking all of him in until he hits the back of your throat, it makes him groan against your pussy, and it feels so strangely good that you keep throating him just like that every once in a while, just to feel him shift underneath you and thrust into your mouth a little. He wants to be gentle with you so badly, and he is, but he just can’t resist it when you’re doing that.

“Fuck, babe,” Oscar gasps out, pulling away as his fingers continue to rub at your clit. “If you keep doing that thing, I won’t last very long.”

You can tell by his tone he’s slightly embarrassed about taking such little time to get there. “We’ll get there together, I promise,” you say. “Just—ah!—keep using your fingers.”

He smiles, happy to oblige. This time he dips a finger inside you, tongue now swirling around your clit as his finger curls, finding that cushiony spot inside you that makes your back arch a little. There it is. He slips another finger in, tongue flicking fast against you, fingers pumping at a steady pace as you suck his cock sloppily, drool pooling at the base, fingers still wrapped around his length, lazily moving up and down. It’s all too much for the both of you, both moaning and whimpering against one another as your bodies start to get more and more sensitive, responding to each motion with a little more volume. Your back arches, his hips thrust; you know you’re both getting to that climax.

“Babe, fuck—”

“I know,” you gasp, a long mewl drawing out of you as his fingers, soaked in your slick now, keep thrusting in and out of you. “I’m—hah—almost there, too.”

He nods his head eagerly and latches his wet mouth back onto you, eating you out desperately as his hips start to move on their own, filling your mouth and muffling your increasing cries of pleasure as your eyes shut and roll back.

“I can’t take it,” he moans loudly. “Babe, I—oh my god!”

Just as Oscar starts to flood your mouth, you collapse onto him as your orgasm washes over you, leaving you breathless, body slack and limp. “Jesus,” you heave out, flipping onto your back off of him, swallowing all of his load down your throat. The sight of it makes him whimper. You take a good look at him; he’s got your slick all over his face, glistening from his lips down to his chin.

“Christ, I made a mess of you,” you chuckle, embarrassed, but he seems proud of himself.

“A souvenir, yeah?” He jokes, and you push his chest, rolling your eyes, but he pulls you into his arms. “God, that was fuckin’ amazing. You’re fuckin’ amazing.”

You pull the duvet back up over the both of you as you lie down once again, resting your head on his chest now as you look up at him with a smile. You wipe at his mouth with your hand. “There.”

“Aw,” he frowns playfully. “I quite liked it.”

“You fuckin’ pervert,” you say, going to push his chest again but he catches your arm with his hand.

“Don’t get feisty,” Oscar chuckles, shaking his head before pecking you on the forehead. “Let’s just lay here for a bit. And you know, I’ve been thinking.”

Your finger traces shapes on the freckled skin of his bare chest. “About what?”

“About you, coming to see me,” he says. “You know… I was thinking, maybe you could schedule your classes with me in my mind? You know, money’s not an issue. Transport, accommodation, passes, I can take care of all of that. I just need to know you can see me. Not for every race, obviously. But some of them. It’d mean so much to me, Tiny.”

You look up at him now, smiling. “Of course I can,” you nod gently. “It’d mean everything to me too, Osc.”

His face blooms into a smile, eyes raking over the details of your face, savouring it as if he hasn’t a million times before. “Then it’s done,” he says, bringing your hand up to kiss it. “You can’t escape me now.”

“Like I’d ever want to,” you roll your eyes.

Before Oscar can counter with a snarky remark, the door flies open.

“Piastri—seriously? My fucking sister?”

That’s the end! Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Leave em all in my askbox, and again, thank you so much for reading!

[silvertheduckling]

Shadows in the Rain

This is a Shadow one shot! I could make it into a series if everyone likes :3 Music I recommend for this fic, (if you like listening and reading) is Sailor by Alex Kehm. Also her song called Howl also fits the mood ♡

Summary: You find Shadow in the park during a rainy afternoon, and you share an umbrella.

Reader is a mobian and GUN agent. (1,347 words.) Hope you enjoy! 💙

It was a misty afternoon, as soft rain drops fell from the sky. Small puddles pooled in curbs and in the imperfections of the sidewalk. There was no breeze or movement, just calm, peaceful silence. Except for the patter of the rain drops, making a pleasant hum. You had taken the afternoon off, to enjoy this serene atmosphere. Umbrella in hand, as your boots made little splashes on the wet sidewalk. 

That morning, you had been assigned to work with Shadow, only for Shadow nowhere to be found. It was unusual for him to be absent, for he was always very punctual, especially if others were relying on him. You worried about him, for how uncharacteristic it was. But you were left with your thoughts and the soft sound of the rain.

 He was a very intriguing person; Rouge herself had told you about how he was. She always teased you about Shadow, saying you had a way of pulling words out of him that no one else could. Though you were never sure if you believed her. Over the few months together on missions, he never conversed more than necessary.

Only, his eyes always spoke more than his voice ever did. You could swear you'd seen a hint of vulnerability in his deep, ruby eyes. A hidden struggle behind those beautiful gems. 

 His gaze always seemed to stiffen as soon as it became too revealing. Making you wonder if those moments were all a work in your head.  

Over these past months, he'd warmed up to you more, though never getting too comfortable. On those riskier missions he always would choose the more difficult front-line assignments. Saying you wouldn't be able to keep up. 

Those missions when you could see the flash of panic when you made a close call, the strong reprimand to never do that again on the ride to headquarters. When you'd see that deeper look in his eyes. Those moments when you understood he did care. 

He had showed it many times. When he had saved your life. When enemies got a little too close and he stepped in front of you. Shielding you with himself. Though, more recently, he had grown distant. 

Ever since you both had been on a mission that cut very close. Too close. In the moment he insistently asked if you were alright, looking you over many times. That desperate worry in his eyes as he looked in yours. He held you by your shoulders making you look in his eyes, his grip firm but gentle.

"Don't do that again."

The passing of a car splashing in the little stream brought you out of your thoughts, the blur of fading headlights melting in the hazy fog. 

 Faint glow from a light pole shined a misty haze over an approaching bench, a figure lightly illuminated there. Curiosity bubbled in you as you wondered who the figure was. Once close enough the misty glow revealed an empty stare, Shadow. 

Raindrops trickled from his fur to the cool ground. He looked so distant, so lost. Gazing in no direction in particular, tension in his hands as they clenched. 

You stood there for a few moments, wanting to greet him happily but biting your tongue, knowing that's not what he needed right now. With a soft movement, you sat on the bench, an arm length between you. 

You debated in your head if that had been the best idea, that he probably wanted to be left alone. It's too late to turn back now.

You inched closer, wondering if he noticed your presence. Slowly, you shifted your umbrella, letting its brim cover him. After a few moments he seemed to notice. His ruby eyes softened slightly as they met yours, revealing a flicker of emotion beneath his usual hardened gaze.

Though, he was silent. His irises looking impossibly deep in yours. It felt like he was looking in your soul. Like, he was.... searching. Searching for your angle, why you were showing him grace. 

All he seen was your honest sweet gaze. The kindness in your eyes... They were genuine. It had been so long since he had seen such tender, empathetic eyes directed towards him... He hesitantly met your gaze once again. 

"What are you doing?" 

His voice soft and quiet matching the gentle hum of the rain.

"You weren't at the meeting for our mission this morning, so I took this afternoon off; and found you here."

You had noticed? That alone made Shadow soften ever slightly. His gaze left yours to the rest of the misty central park. 

"I'm sorry."

he murmured, lowering his gaze to his lap as if the weight of the words pained him.

"You have nothing to be sorry for." 

He looked up again, as his eyes found yours once more. His facial features softened gently, his brow less furrowed, his frown less prominent. 

"It's okay to take a break sometimes. I just... I was worried about you."

He froze a little after that statement. The idea that his presence... was missed. 

That look in his sanguine eyes revealing how much that sentence alone meant to him. 

The buzz of a phone interrupted the exchange as you sheepishly took out your phone with murmured apologies. It was Rouge asking where you were, you had forgotten your plans with her. 

"I'm sorry. Rouge is waiting on me and you know how she is."   

You said hurriedly embarrassed as you gathered yourself. 

"Um... where I'm going isn't far, you want my umbrella?"

Kindness in your eyes as you smiled gently offering the umbrella. He looked at you for a lingering moment, then he gently reached for it. Your hands brushed each other softly as he took it from your hand.

For a moment that felt longer than it was, his hand lingered over yours on the umbrella. In the gentle shower you both stood under the cover of the umbrella. You both clung onto this moment preserving it gazes locked. 

Time seemed to slow as your eyes searched his and his prodded yours. He remained silent, his eyes speaking for him. His deep gemstones caught the faint cast of light, showing the vulnerability in them. They wavered between yours. Your presence comforted him. Though silent, his eyes betrayed the truth—he didn't want you to leave.

The buzz of a phone call in your pocket disrupted the eye contact. You both knew who it was. 

"I should go. You have a good afternoon, ok?"  

You spoke apologetically as you pulled your hand away fully giving him the umbrella. 

"See you later."   

 He nodded faintly at your soft tone, as his grip on the umbrella grew tighter. You turned walking down the path, taking the phone call. Your figure growing farther in the misty afternoon. Blurring into the rain. He stood there watching you go, left with his thoughts. 

"Bye (name)."

He murmured, his voice barely audible over the rain, as though speaking to the memory of your presence more than to you. He gazed where you once were, umbrella in hand. 

As he walked home, he held tight to the look in your eyes. The rain continued to fall, but the memory of your warmth lingered. A contrast to the cool misty atmosphere. 

It had been a few days since that late afternoon, you were at your home enjoying a lovely clear morning making some breakfast. There was a gentle knock at your doorstep, as you gazed curiously in that direction. After a few moments you walked to the door opening it, revealing no one there. Your gaze fell and there you saw your umbrella and beside it a vase of red roses and little white flowers. You picked both up bringing them inside. You set the flowers on the counter. 

A soft smile crossed your lips as you traced the delicate petals. The roses, their crimson petals catching the morning sunlight; reminded you of his gaze—vulnerable, yet unyielding. Even in his silence, Shadow's gratitude spoke volumes. You noticed a little card in the middle, and you pulled it out. Opening it gently it simply read;

"Thank you ---Shadow."

Hope you enjoyed! Let me know! Reblogs, comments and likes much appreciated! 💙

[treatbuckywkisses]

hello I am HERE :))

Still as alert as ever, the looming threat of danger is never something that will leave him; but he no longer needs to worry about being unsure of himself in this small bit of his routine. The cart appears right in front of him quicker than he expected, his walk seeming all too short when you’re not there to enjoy it with. - the subtle shift you've given him to be alert without being afraid is so so so so so personal to me

Everything seems to remind him of you. Lovely and nothing short of exquisite. It would be sinful if Bucky didn’t buy these– you’re deserving of something almost as telling of your effervescent glory. - I'm sick over this I'm going to think about this paragraph for DAYS

There was never a defining title placed on it, but hell if he’d let that stop him from claiming something so necessary for once in his damn life.  - this is so mushy :(( HIS GIRL im sick

Bucky could already die a happy man from the overwhelming thought of you, grabbing for the bouquet with the most precious of hands, smiling down at the soft peach petals then up at him with those eyes– like he just handed you the damn keys to every castle in the world. - this part is oh so soft to me and that is so very precious 

But you weren’t. And how was he meant to explain to a person he had no interest in revealing any part of himself to that his angel was the very strength powering the flow of the waters of the earth; the very life twinkling, lighting the night sky?– That reducing her to a “pretty special beauty”, while undeniably true for every commoner to see, was the closest thing Bucky could think to being an insult? -, paired with No. You don’t understand– she’s not… she isn’t a pretty special beauty. That’s lazy. Words can’t describe what it’s like lookin’ at her, bein’ near her. Bein’ looked at and loved by someone so divine. She’s not… there’s no preparin’ yourself for her. She is beauty. - is CRIMINAL YOU MAKE ME SICK HOW COULD YOU WRITE SOMETHING SO SOFT AND MAKE ME LIVE WITH THIS I am unwell and it's all your fault 

Maybe, his girl and all the violent thoughts he has surrounding her– how she’s the embodiment of radiance, the very definition of the most torrential depths of beauty– is just enough for Bucky. And he plans to worship the feeling of knowing your beauty for the rest of his days. - why are you doing this to me he is perfect :( 

His hand drifts up your side, caressing the figure he reveres as nothing less than shattering to capture your face. Bucky’s certain he’ll faint from the thrill of feeling you, from the need to keep tasting you– drifting, spinning, floating. It warms you both from the inside out, numbing the sound of the outside world and replacing it with the pulse of need rushing through your veins. It’s so good– forever needing more, more, more him.  - oh my God I need to be adored this way I'm so speechless this is literally just so perfect the ideal love :( mir 

Your writing is something so deeply personal and special to me I hope you always know that<3 you write so beautifully vivid and clear. The way you write bucky (especially in love) is so unmatched, nobody is doing it like you baby!!!!!! This is so mushy and soft absolutely the kind of love we deserve! Thank you so much for sharing this with me 🫶🏻❣️

I was just re-reading you deserve a soft epilogue, my love and this popped up on my pinterest home page:

https://pin.it/1gHYpch

and I thought if Bucky was roaming the farmers market by himself, these looked like the type of arrangement he’d get for you when he stumbled across them 🥰🌹🌸🌷🌻🌼💐 and if it’s in the beginning he’d be all shy giving them to you.

in layman's terms

beefy bucky x f!reader (you deserve a soft epilogue, my love AU)

warnings: slight angst, entirely too much fluff

wc: 2k!

a/n: this is the first thing i've written in months. i'm feeling a lot of emotions, i really thought i'd never share something on here again– but i'm thankful my brain let me think on the sweetest boy for a brief moment in time. and a special thank you to my Col for always encouraging me and being the best cheerleader ever <3

𝐢 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤. 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐧𝐢

The uneven cobblestone streets seem just a bit more solid under Bucky’s heavy boots.

Walking swiftly through the once frightening streets of Bucharest, his careful gait grounds him steady along the known trek, and the low bun laced with your hair tie bounces against his neck as an annoying reminder of the heat– just a couple more errands and he’ll be home with you. A few loose tendrils tickle his skin as his feet briskly carry him towards a cart he remembers you stealing glances at, several times, during your countless walks together.

The smell of honey and loaves of fresh bread swirl by him as he strides past more meaningless produce and knickknacks alike, pondering why you’ve never asked to grab a quick bite and stop to actually admire the flowers now directly in his line of sight.

The crowding of somewhat blurry and familiar faces doesn’t seem to bother him the way it used to– no reason to cause him to cower, to keep his head down with the threat of being seen.

Bucky has you to turn to, to encourage him when he needs reminding of who he is. He has you to go home to. He never imagined walking so weightlessly.

Still as alert as ever, the looming threat of danger is never something that will leave him; but he no longer needs to worry about being unsure of himself in this small bit of his routine. The cart appears right in front of him quicker than he expected, his walk seeming all too short when you’re not there to enjoy it with.

The sun beats down on him with a cool breeze, kinder than it’s been in a very long time– maybe, that’s why a faint smile has been stretched across his lips since he left his apartment. Maybe, that’s why he doesn’t pay any mind to the kids playing a rough game of tag or the loud arguing of the people just behind him. He feels a calm kindness meant for him; Bucky breathes along with it.

The breeze follows his content steps and at the prospect of one of your “secret” joys– one where he finds himself alone and able to indulge in his own selfish desire of loving you–, the flowers and stems you always gleam at, bustling with their vibrant hues of corals and luxurious creams, immediately caught his eye.

The blush of the petals reminds him of the sound of your honeyed laugh; the ghostly whites nestled between an almost neon green array of garnish indulge him with the fuzzy feeling of melting inside your sweet embrace.

Everything seems to remind him of you. Lovely and nothing short of exquisite. It would be sinful if Bucky didn’t buy these– you’re deserving of something almost as telling of your effervescent glory.

Even now, walking alone, the small walkways between seas of overbearing people and bruised fruit now sound of only delicate fingers held tightly in his; of soft whispers nestled just behind his ear only for him to hear; of those hidden kisses teasing at his neck, crashing against the life of his pulse.

Bucky reaches for the arrangement without a doubt in his mind.

“And who might these be for?” the smirk rests playfully in the florist’s brown eyes before Bucky even notices someone standing right there, watching him. It wasn’t meant to be patronizing, but embarrassment and something naggingly familiar floods his chest. The sudden swell is all too warm and somehow, anxieties of being questioned by an unknown person aside, it’s welcomed.

Almost as if he was a 14-year-old boy again. Almost as if he felt his ma’s voice taunting him while she stood over the stove, stirring his favorite afterschool soup in her dented pot and prodding him about the crush she heard him and Steve giggling about.

“My girl. Uh, well my gir– she…”

Girl? His girl?

Did he really say that out loud?

But that wasn’t what had Bucky’s brain diving headfirst 100 miles per minute into the depths of his chest trying to revive the unrelenting muscle.

No, it wasn’t girl. It was the two-letter guarantor of possession sitting right before it.

My.

What were you? Surely, he was yours– wholly and completely.

But what were you?

Looking at the delicate velvet petals brush against his glove– a lot of things, Bucky realizes.

Sunrise and sunset. Understanding. Fresh air. Relief. The bundle of pale petaled softness tucked safely within his black leather gloves. An angel. His angel– his girl.

There was never a defining title placed on it, but hell if he’d let that stop him from claiming something so necessary for once in his damn life.

“They remind me of my girl. And she’ll love ‘em.” His confidence hardly surprises him– these flowers reek of you. How you lay nestled against him at 3 in the morning under cream sheets with the pale white of the moon dusting the tops of your cheekbones, your hands tracing shapes along the scars of his back. How your eyes crinkle looking right at him and that calming, gentle sound that fills the air as you tell him all about your dreams, your fears, your joys.

Bucky could already die a happy man from the overwhelming thought of you, grabbing for the bouquet with the most precious of hands, smiling down at the soft peach petals then up at him with those eyes– like he just handed you the damn keys to every castle in the world.

“Must be a pretty special beauty then, huh?”

Bucky could feel the boyish pink flooding his stubbled cheeks, out of his control and entirely too revealing. And for once, his flustered state doesn’t deter him from looking an intrusive stranger in the eye.

Maybe if you were there with him, that blinding light and stunning glow that seemed to follow you and infiltrate every last molecule of the very air he breathed, he’d find his words.

You’d be there, looking up at him while he stumbled through the sludge of muddled thoughts and feelings, gracious fingers stroking soothingly at the nape of his neck as he laid his heart out for you and only you.

But you weren’t. And how was he meant to explain to a person he had no interest in revealing any part of himself to that his angel was the very strength powering the flow of the waters of the earth; the very life twinkling, lighting the night sky?– That reducing her to a “pretty special beauty”, while undeniably true for every commoner to see, was the closest thing Bucky could think to being an insult?

With a quiet sniffle and a shake of his head, Bucky’s tearful smile told the kind stranger all he couldn’t seem to articulate with words.

No. You don’t understand– she’s not… she isn’t a pretty special beauty. That’s lazy. Words can’t describe what it’s like lookin’ at her, bein’ near her. Bein’ looked at and loved by someone so divine. She’s not… there’s no preparin’ yourself for her. She is beauty.

His ma would be out of her mind with emotions– Bucky knows now, looking into the knowing eyes of this stranger. It’s all she ever wanted for him.

The florist only smiles, handing Bucky the perfectly paper-wrapped bundle with a quick “It’s on me, hope she enjoys them.”

His walk home has an extra incentive of speed in his step. The colors of garments people wear blend together in a frantic flurry with the elements of nature around him, everything a blur but the ingrained compass guiding him home– the promise of his girl waiting there for him.

Milling over every possible way he can present these flowers to you, the most pathetic attempt at showing you a fraction of the way you plague his every breath– there’s no right way to hand these to you.

No. Bucky wishes he could piece together his thoughts eloquently enough to offer his love in the way he so desperately wants to. If he could place his words as well as he’s learned to with his emotions…. Maybe, between the distant scribbles of things he quickly jots down as fleeting memories of a distant time, Bucky could find himself writing the words this beauty of his has gifted him.

Feeling.

Bucky’s no poet, not much of a talker, either. But you make him feel things with the clarity of crystal glass.

Delicate, fragile, sparkling things. Maybe, feeling is just enough.

Maybe, his girl and all the violent thoughts he has surrounding her– how she’s the embodiment of radiance, the very definition of the most torrential depths of beauty– is just enough for Bucky. And he plans to worship the feeling of knowing your beauty for the rest of his days.

The gods above only know the tenderness your soul has granted him. The understanding that there’s more to life than pain; finding that self-healing he’s been able to strive towards with your patient encouragement.

Bucky has no more time to think about how he’ll offer these to you. You open the door the second you hear his hurried and frantic stomps bypassing the elevator, rushing the many flights of stairs 4 steps at a time.

“Bucky what’s–”

“I love you,” never have words been so easy, so heavy and at home in his chest. He exhales them so certainly, hoarse and breathless forming so perfectly between the pink plump of his lips. “I’m so in love with you. And I saw these and needed you to have ‘em.”

He never gets the chance to bashfully feel the weight of actions, doesn’t get to admire the love swimming in your eyes, the tears threatening to spill with that gaze you know there’s no controlling when it comes to him– you rush forward, capturing his lips in a kiss that nearly launches his anxious heart straight into the sanctuary of your palms. Breath escapes him for more reasons than one, melting under your honest passion and the need to have him– to love him as he is. His metal arm latches around your waist, pulling you as close as you can get while standing in his small doorway trying to protect a bouquet of flowers from being crushed.

His hand drifts up your side, caressing the figure he reveres as nothing less than shattering to capture your face. Bucky’s certain he’ll faint from the thrill of feeling you, from the need to keep tasting you– drifting, spinning, floating. It warms you both from the inside out, numbing the sound of the outside world and replacing it with the pulse of need rushing through your veins. It’s so good– forever needing more, more, more him.

How is it never enough?

Cradling his world between his fist, Bucky tilts your head, his restless lips hungrily breathing in you despite the fact you’re both dizzy, on the verge of collapsing and only still standing because of the other. His gloved-metal thumb swipes away the few tears that have fallen, brushing tender strokes into the high point of your cheek.

Soft moans rumble low in his chest, rising and rising to plead for more– the need to always feel your soft lips move so desperately against his, warm tongues claiming the unbridled desire to never stop– he’ll tell you he loves you with every breath he breathes, or the ones only you could steal from him so sweetly.

When you reluctantly break away his lips move to chase yours, and the red flush staining his flustered love-dazed face is enough to make you cling tighter to the back of his neck, pulling him back down to press kiss after kiss over his shy, boyishly babbling face.

“Bucky… they’re absolutely beautiful, baby.” Oh, he knows. He knows all too well– and the breathless way your voice calls for him, those eyes rendering him the most helpless-in-love man of all time– well. He’s an earnest devotee of this fate.

“You’re the beauty in life, angel.”

💐

[melminli]

ex, for a reason

summery - your boyfriend was the sweetest guy in the whole world, but maybe that was the problem.

pairing: kang dae-ho x fem. reader

word count: 1.4k

contains: modern au, angst w/ comfort, fluff

the request.

He really shouldn't worry about it as much as he did right now because the whole thing was just totally stupid, and all the stuff that had been going through his head was irrational. Dae-ho knew that and yet, he just couldn't stop himself from imagining multiple crazy scenarios in which you were breaking up with him - he didn't want any of this, why would he? The only heart that got broken in the process was his and it was all because of nothing.

Well, maybe there was this one thing, and that was that Dae-ho had been feeling a bit - well let’s just say - insecure about your relationship. He was very much aware of the fact that he had zero resemblance to the guys you usually date because he wasn't, well - he wasn't an asshole. You and even most of you’re friends make fun of it now that you two are together and it actually turned into some kind of inside joke that you broke the curse with him. Though, Dae-ho didn’t really feel like laughing about it right now.

This whole thing is so stupid, he thought to himself as he absently watched some show on the TV before he suddenly heard you laughing next to him. He just looked at you shortly and knew that it was probably because of something funny you saw on your cell phone. But, he just couldn’t restrain himself and had to remember the conversation you had a few days ago. He sighed again with a heavy heart at the memory because apparently, your last ex - some guy named Thanos? - had messaged you out of the blue and asked you what you were up to.

"Hey, look who just sent me a text. I thought I had blocked him everywhere?" you exclaimed, laughing as you shoved your cell phone in his face. Dae-ho just looked a bit confused at the message after he read it because he didn’t really get what you were talking about. He read it one more time, though, he was still kind of lost because it honestly just looked like a normal message, how was he supposed to figure out what was going on?

You then decided to reveal the whole thing since your boyfriend just continued to send you confused glances. "It's my ex. You know, I told you about him. The one I dated before we met."

Yeah, he could remember bits and pieces of that. "So, what does he want?" he asked, still not quite sure what was going on.

You sighed at his innocence. "He obviously wants to get back together.“

"Does he?" Dae-ho asked and was seriously surprised. He pointed at your phone while he talked. "But he just asked if you still had his old sweater, that could mean anything."

You waved as you laughed. "Oh, trust me. I know what that means.“ you assured him and thought back to the old days, which was something you didn’t like to do. „We were pretty much on and off in our whole relationship because I always tried to break things off after fighting - but then always take him back afterward. So, it just started to turn into a really bad cycle at some point, I guess.“ you tried to explain. „Anyway, he used to text me about some meaningless thing as soon as he wanted to get back together and this is one of those texts since he's also not the kind of person to send you a message if he doesn't want anything from you. I’m just surprised that he would try this again because I broke things up with him for real the last time, trust me.“

Oh. It felt like Dae-ho should be laughing at your ex's desperate attempt to get back together with you now, but he felt more like ugly crying, to be honest. „Yeah, that is pretty funny.“ he just decided to say with a forced smile on his face.

Since then, the whole situation just wouldn't let him go. No matter how hard he tried to. The way you told it, made it seem like you two got back together a lot and who was to say that maybe a part of you wouldn't want to try again - purely because of muscle memory? He wasn't the type to get irrationally angry over something like that, but he'd be lying if he said that all these negative thoughts didn't make him incredibly depressed the past few days.

"Hey, I know I've asked you this a few times now, but are you sure everything's okay?" you finally asked him when you noticed how he wasn't really paying attention to what was going on in his show. It was unusual for him to be so quiet when usually some comment about what was happening would leave him every minute.

He just nodded under his breath. "Yeah, yeah, everything's fine," he said, feeling guilty again for being the way he was right now.

You moved a little closer to him and hugged him lightly from the side. "You're lying and I'm tired of waiting for you to come to me on your own because, as you know, I'm not the most patient person on earth."

He avoided your gaze guiltily. "It's stupid."

"It's clearly not, because you've been acting like a depressed housewife for days."

He laughed lightly along with you at that little joke of yours. "And how is that supposed to look like?"

You smiled. "You know, you're like you always are - you make dinner, you bring me my favorite tea, but you sigh very loudly every now and then plus you're also a bit distant." you continued to broach the subject in a slightly joking manner to get rid of the heavy air around you two.

Of course, you would be aware of his bad mood. "Well, I just noticed that I'm not like the other guys you've dated before," he whispered casually while playing with the fabric of his shirt. Even though, you both knew that it seemed to be a topic that was bothering him.

You nodded. "So?" you just asked him, thinking something other would follow since you couldn’t see what the problem was. Though, there didn't seem to be anything more coming. "That's all? You’re upset because you're not like my shitty boyfriends in the past?" you repeated a bit in disbelief.

Dae-ho looked to the side, embarrassed. "I told you it was stupid..." he whispered. "I just don’t want you to think that I’m too boring or something…"

You just took him in your arms and tried to suppress your laughter so as not to add salt to the wound. "I didn't mean it like that, but I'm telling you this now because you obviously to need to hear it," you said as you placed a kiss on his head. "You're not boring. You’re the sweetest boyfriend in the whole world and I would never trade you for any of my past relationships. I love you and I've never even said those words to any of my exes, did you know that?" you asked him, watching as he slowly looked up to you. "…really?" he asked you shyly, even though you had been together for a while now.

You smiled. "Really," you assured him and were glad to see your boyfriend in his normal happy state again. However, you then remembered the conversation you had a few days ago. "Was this whole thing about Thanos? You don't have to worry about him. I hate that guy, he like probably cheated on me more times than he admitted." you laughed and stopped when something else came to mind. "Besides, I think he also stole some money from me..."

Dae-ho looked at you worriedly as he held you even tighter. "Oh my god, are you serious? You never told me that, is that why you broke up with him?"

You looked away a little embarrassed yourself this time and didn't dare to confess to him that it had unfortunately taken a lot more than that for it to end between the two of you. Those weren't your proudest moments in your life. "Yeah, sure..."

But who cared about all that, right? You were the happiest you could ever be with Dae-ho and that was all that mattered. Maybe you should remind him more of that because he really didn't deserve to feel inferior to someone like that damn Thanos.

[sirenpearldust]

Broken Doll - Chapter one

series masterlist ⋆ Chapter two

Pair: Azriel x reader, Eris x reader

Word count: 7.074

Warnings: violence, jealous boys, possessive characters, reader is not nice, Elain slander

The music muffled the chatter of your classmates, but your focus was elsewhere. It was already 7:20.

You bit your nails nervously, waiting for him. He still hadn’t read your message, and he couldn’t afford to be late, not on the first day of school. 

You had math in the first period, the worst subject. Why did it have to be math on the first day of school?

You rubbed your temples, barely able to drown out the sound of your class monitor - Irina scolding Cass and Rhys, cutting through your earphones. Every year, it was the same, and every year, you wondered the same thing, how could they have so much energy, this early?

Turning away from the window, a familiar figure caught your attention.

“Why are you moping?” Eris asked, leaning in close with that familiar, cocky grin.

His freckles had darkened over the summer, standing out against his sun-kissed skin. His amber eyes studied you intently as you slowly pulled out your earphone. He smelled of cologne and an incoming headache.

“I thought gingers could only turn red. Whose skin did you steal?” you quipped.

Eris’s smile stretched into a wide grin before he reached over and ruffled your hair.

You smacked his hand away, hissing, “Fuck off!”

“You’re just a ray of sunshine in the morning,” he teased, clearly unfazed by your temper.

“I’m happier when I don’t see you,” you shot back, scowling as you tried to fix your hair. It had taken you an hour to have it the way you wanted and now this Gingerfuck had to ruin all your good work.

“Here, let me help,” he offered, leaning in with that smug grin still plastered on his face. 

Evil fucker you seethed internally. 

“No,” you said firmly, grabbing his wrist before he could try anything. You locked eyes with him, raising an eyebrow as if to say, I know exactly what you’re planning, and it’s not happening.

Eris rolled his eyes dramatically and let his hand fall.

Instead of leaving, he slid into Azriel’s seat beside you, his gaze fixed on you. His usual teasing expression softened as he watched you fussing with your hair. For a moment, a small smile played on his lips.

Before you could react, his hand reached out. 

Why did he have to annoy you so much? He knows Azriel doesn’t like it when he touches you.

You turned sharply toward him, ready to snap, but he simply tucked one stray strand of hair back into place.

“Thanks,” you murmured, still scowling. Fucker ruins it first and now helps.

Eris had missed you over the break, more than he wanted to admit to himself. 

For a few seconds, you both stayed like that, looking at each other. Time seemed to stretch as you got lost in his gaze, forgetting everything else around you. 

It was crazy how you had known each other since you were born. You went to the same elementary school, middle school, and now high school.  But there was still a small possibility he would be accepted into a different Ivy League than you. The thought of seeing Eris for another couple of years was starting to make you feel nauseous.

“Please don’t follow me to college,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. Your intrusive thoughts had been louder than usual, and now you regretted speaking them aloud. You immediately looked at him, hoping he wouldn’t be mad.

“You do know that you’re the stalker who follows me around, right?” Eris said, smirking as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“You were born after me, remember?” Eris teased, his smirk widening. 

“You cried until I was in the same class as you, and then you didn’t let me have other friends. You always wanted me to be your only friend.”

You felt your face heat up, your old childhood habits suddenly being revealed. 

“Eris, I was a kid, stop bringing that up.”

Eris leaned in with a mischievous glint in his eyes, his voice low.  “Oh, but you were so sweet back then. Always clinging to me like I was the only person in the world you trusted. And now, look at you. Still can’t get enough of me, huh? What would your boyfriend think, his enemy being stalked by his girlfriend?”

But before you could deny it, the door opened, and Azriel stepped in. He was accompanied by a girl who came up to his shoulders. Her brown hair fell to her shoulders, and her big, doll-like brown eyes were fixed on Azriel as he spoke to her. When he finally looked up and saw you, a smile spread across his face.

Your boyfriend looked absolutely handsome, mouthwatering, honestly, it should have been illegal for him to walk around looking like this in the uniform. His black hair fell messily over his forehead, still damp from the shower he’d just taken. The dark blue uniform pants hugged his thighs perfectly, emphasizing every inch of his toned frame. You couldn’t help but stare, your thoughts drifting somewhere they shouldn’t before you caught yourself.

Eris was still watching you, and he could tell from the happy expression on your face, the one you didn’t often show around him, that Azriel had arrived. 

Azriels eyes quickly shifted to the seat Eris was in, his seat. His smile faded slowly, his jaw tightening as his eyes narrowed.

Forgetting the girl, Azriel quickly walked toward you, an annoyed expression on his face. 

Eris stood up, slowly turning toward Azriel.

You sighed, watching the familiar tension build. They were always at each other’s throats, never able to let anything slide.

“Hi, babe,” you said, walking past Eris before leaning in to kiss Azriel on the cheek. His warmth engulfed you, he smelled of leather and cedar. He kissed the crown of your head before glaring at Eris again.

 Children

Azriel had arrived just before the bell rang, but now you feared both of them were on the verge of beating each other again. You did not need a repeat of last year.

Leaning forward, you were about to intervene.

Irina suddenly stepped between them, clapping her hands loudly.

“Try fighting again, and I might kill you both. Don’t test me,” she warned, cutting off any chance of Eris’s snarky remarks. Then, glancing over her shoulder, she glared at Cassian and Rhys, who were still making noises in the front, oblivious to the tension in the back.

 “Sit down, both of you! I don’t want to explain again how you two monkeys got into a fight!”

Both of them listened to her, knowing any backtalk would ensure that their coach would find out and that they would bench out on some games.

Irina walked toward the new girl, greeting her.

Eris nodded, moving toward his seat right behind you. You sighed in relief as Azriel slung his shoulder bag next to the table and plopped down into his seat, still a little annoyed that he had to see Eris first thing in the morning.

Eris, never one to shut up, added, “Also, we’re coming over today.”

You turned in your seat, confused. “What?”

“Yeah, my parents want to have dinner with yours because of the deal they’ve sealed,” he explained casually.

“Oh, great,” you muttered, though you couldn’t hide the surprise.

“You should look happier to see me again. There are girls who’d kill for this chance,” Eris teased, grinning at you.

Azriel coughed, loudly. 

Eris ignored him completely, still smiling at you. You shook your head, silently telling him not to add anything else to the conversation.

A few seconds later the new girl walked up to Eris, her big eyes on him as she asked, “Is this seat taken?”

“Yes,” Eris replied without looking up from his phone, ignoring her completely.

 Liar

Your face must have betrayed you, giving away your disbelief at his blatant lie. 

She turned bright red, embarrassed by his obvious lie and glanced at Azriel. 

You gave her a soft smile and pointed toward the front.

“There is a seat free next to the guy with the black hair. His name’s Calix.”

She thanked you quietly, then quickly glanced at Azriel again before heading toward the front.

The bell rang, and just as everyone settled into their seats, your Math teacher walked in, signaling the start of the lesson.

• •

“Azriel, you need to explain this to me, I don’t understand it,” you whined, frustrated as you stared at the page of notes in front of you. Math was the one subject you couldn’t quite wrap your head around, no matter how hard you tried. Luckily, Azriel and sometimes even Eris stepped in to help.

“Sure,” he replied casually, packing the heavy books into his bag. After the last person left the room and it was just the two of you now. He slung his bag over his shoulder, he leaned in closer, kissing your forehead. You were thankful he was this affectionate, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

 “You’ve got a little something right here,” he said with a grin. 

You blushed deeply, the intensity in his hazel eyes made your heart race. His thumb lightly brushed your upper lip, and your eyes fluttered shut, your breath catching as the moment seemed to linger in the air.

He gently cupped your face, his breath catching as he leaned in, his lips softly pressing against yours. He kissed you slowly and softly, his touch slow and tender.

The initial sweetness of the kiss deepened as you tilted your chin, a silent plea for more. 

You gasped as you both couldn’t ignore the hunger and need. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling your body into his. The world outside disappeared, it was only you two.

Your hand rested on his chest, slowly trailing upward until it tangled in his hair. When you gave it a gentle tug, he groaned, the deep sound vibrating through his chest and against your body. You clung to him, breathing him in, the familiar scent of leather and cedar stirring something warm inside you.

It was hard to believe there had been a time when this was just a distant dream, and now here you were, kissing him for real. 

Before you two could go any further, Irina interrupted, slamming the door open and standing in the doorway. 

“You two!” she shouted, making you and Azriel jump apart. 

“No fucking in here,” she added, her Finger pointing accusingly at both of you. 

Azriel and you blushed, quickly moving apart. Trying to explain yourselves you both stuttered.

She waved her hand dismissing your explanation, she looked unsurprised at catching the two of you making out, but there was stress written all over her face. Her ash brown hair was tied messy, and her uniform was disheveled, like she had just been in a rush. It was as if she had run straight here.

“Now get out. I need to lock the room,” Irina ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

You both scrambled to gather your things and quickly walked out, hoping she wouldn’t lock you in if you took to long, something she definitely would do if given the chance. 

You and Azriel couldn’t meet her eyes, shame written all over your faces.

“Wait a minute,” she said sharply before either of you could make a break for it. 

Azriel’s grip on your hand tightened, his whole body tense, bracing himself for yet another scolding.

She took a deep breath as she adjusted her disheveled uniform and smoothed her hair as she spoke.

“Coach wants to see you, something about the games and your scholarship.”

Azriel’s eyes widened slightly. “Did he look angry?” he asked cautiously.

“No, he looked happy as a clam.”

Azriel exhaled in relief, his shoulders relaxing.

“Also, Y/N,” she added, turning to you, “Miss Norton wants to see you about the upcoming art exhibition. Congratulations your art was accepted. You are the last person that had been added”

Azriel smiled brightly, pulling you into a hug. “You did it,” he whispered, his voice filled with pride. “I told you there was nothing to worry about. Your art is too great to not be exhibited ”

You felt your cheeks warm, blushing slightly at his words.

He leaned in to kiss you, and you returned it softly, but then gently pushed him away as your eyes darted to Irina. “Sorry,” you mumbled, feeling a bit awkward under her blank, unreadable stare.

“No worries,” Irina said a slight corner of her lips quirked up.

 “I’m glad you got in. Miss Norton and Calix spoke highly of your art.”

You blinked, surprised, warmth spreading through you. That was probably the nicest thing she had ever said to you.

“I better go before I get another scolding,” he said, quickly kissing you on the cheek.

Irina looked at you and you waved before walking toward the art room, the path opposite from Azriel.

• •

Standing at the same spot, Irina took a deep breath before calling out, “Eris, come out. I know you’re there.”

Eris stepped out from behind the pillar he had been hiding behind, his face slightly flushed.

“It’s not what it looks like,” he mumbled, meeting her sharp gaze, with his own.

“You mean stalking the girl you have a crush on and watching her kiss her boyfriend, who happens to be your arch nemesis?” she shot back, crossing her arms.

“Who said I have a crush on her?” he retorted quickly. “She’s-”

Irina cut him off, her tone firm. “ I see the way you look at her. Both of them. And I see how you watch Azriel too.” Her eyes narrowed, and her voice dropped into a warning. “Just a heads-up if you have another conflict with Azriel, Coach is going to kick you off the team. You’ve been causing him way too much trouble, and so has Azriel. Don’t make things worse.”

Eris looked away, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t argue. Irina gave him one last pointed glance before turning and walking off, leaving him standing there in silence.

Eris wasn’t a pervert he had been there because he needed to know, needed to test the theory if he really had feelings for you. He’d read more than once that jealousy was the clearest sign of feelings like the ones he thought he might have. And he did get jealous, it was the only time he would admit to himself that he was envious of Azriel.

He was jealous of the way you looked at Azriel, the way your eyes softened for him in a way they never did for anyone else. He was jealous of the way you kissed him, how you would let him touch you and the way you naturally leaned into his body like he was the only pillar you could lean on.

But what haunted him most were the sounds you made, soft, breathless, completely yours and the maddening thought of what sounds you’d make for him.

Would they be the same?

Or would they be even sweeter?

The questions twisted inside him, they burned like a fire he wasn’t sure he wanted to put out.

He was plagued by dreams of you for a few moths now, dreams so vivid they felt like memories of a life he could never have. He dreamed of you as his wife, your laughter filling the air as you leaned in to kiss him, your touch soft and familiar. He dreamed of a child, a daughter with your eyes and your smile, who looked up at him with unconditional love, something he had yet to experience.

He didn’t know where this was coming from. Sure, he’d always been attracted to you, your confidence, your wit, the way you carried yourself, but this?

This was something entirely different. It wasn’t just attraction anymore, he could say it was an obsession. You had rooted yourself in his mind and no matter how hard he tried to push the thoughts away, they kept returning, stronger than before.

• •

You walked in silence, feeling a bit nervous as you approached the art room. The closer you got, the worse the feeling in your belly became. It twisted and churned, a mix of unease and anticipation that you couldn’t shake. Something was wrong, you could feel it, even if you couldn’t explain why. 

Before you could open the door it swung open, you were greeted by a wild-eyed Calix, who stood in front of you, his black eyes so dark and angry.

“Good, you’re here,” he said quickly, his voice tense. You were confused. 

What is happening?

Stepping in, you watched as Miss Norton smiled warmly at the new girl, laughing loudly at something she had said. She absentmindedly rubbed the new girls shoulder. When she noticed the two of you standing there, her eyes quickly shifted to you.

“Oh, thank God you’re here,” she said, adjusting her glasses.

“I’ve got some great news for the exhibition, but let me first introduce my guest,” Miss Norton began, her excitement evident, ignoring the angry look from Calix. 

She gestured to the girl beside her.

“This is Elain Archeron.”

The girl gave a shy smile, her big brown eyes never leaving yours. 

She blushed deeply as Miss Norton continued, “Before Elain switched schools her artwork was kind of famous I would like to display it at the upcoming exhibition.”

“Miss Norton this is impossible!” Calix interrupted, his voice sharp. He clearly wasn’t amused or excited about the news. Your expression was a mix of confusion and frustration, as you glanced between Elain and Miss Norton. 

You were equally shocked. Everything had been organized over the summer, and if you were accepted, everyone already had their spot. 

Miss Norton then turned to you, saying, “YN, you’ll need to share your corner with Elain , as you have submitted your art last.”

Calix spoke up, his tone firm. “I’m sorry, Miss Norton, but Elain’s art is way more different than the pieces that are meant to be presented for the exhibition.”

You felt your cheeks heat with anger.

How could she do that? You had worked hard on your own art, and now you had to share your spot with someone who wasn’t even part of the original selection. 

Miss Norton turned red, clearly flustered by the unexpected critique.

“We can make an exception this time, it would be a good idea to introduce her like this to the school,” she suggested, trying to smooth things over.

Calix chuckled frustrated, shaking his head, before fixing Miss Norton with a sharp, unwavering gaze.

The room fell into silence Calixs’s anger was evident to everyone by the way he huffed and puffed, he usually was quiet and kind, never one easily to anger. 

“I don’t see why you are so angry Calix I decide who is to display their art and I don’t think y/n minds sharing her spot. Right y/n? “ 

You couldn’t help but stare at her. Was she even right in the head?

How bold of Elain to take over your half of the space without a second thought and how could she speak to Calix like that?

He was the one who had to organize, book, print, and handle so much more work, work that she conveniently left for him while she lounged around like it wasn’t her responsibility. The audacity left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Calix answered for you. “She’s not okay. Nobody would be if things were changed last minute. Miss Norton, there are other exhibitions she can be a part of.”

“Calix, my word is final,” Norton said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Nothing is going to change my opinion.”

You caught the subtle quirk of Elain’s lips, a self-satisfied smirk that made your stomach twist. You had thought she’d just been dragged into this mess. But now it seemed she was far more of a bitch than you’d initially believed. That smug look on her face, the way she seemed to revel in the chaos, it was clear she wasn’t as harmless as you’d assumed.

“And now you two leave,” Norton continued, her sharp gaze cutting through you both. “I didn’t call you here to hear your opinions.”

Without another word, you followed Calix out, swallowing down your frustration. 

As soon as the door closed behind you, you let out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“You saw her smirk too, right?” Calix asked, his voice low with irritation.

You nodded, still fuming. “Is her art really that good?” you asked, needing to know if there was any justification for the favoritism.

“It’s good,” he admitted, but then added quickly, “but I still think yours is a way better fit, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He said taking out a cigarette to smoke.

His words soothed you a little, but the tension in your chest didn’t entirely fade. Elain’s smug expression was burned into your mind, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the end of it.

• •

You cried a little in the bathroom, the frustration of it all finally catching up to you. How could this even happen? It felt so unfair.

Once you stopped crying, you stepped out of the stall, dried your mascara-streaked cheeks, and carefully fixed your makeup. The process was almost therapeutic, and by the time you were done, you felt a little better, lighter, even. Your eyes were still slightly red, but a few drops of eyedrops worked their magic.

Grabbing your bag, you packed up your things and made your way to French class, feeling a bit more composed, ready to face the day again.

You were eager to tell Azriel and your friends what had just happened.

As you opened the door, the sound of laughter spilled out. Mor, Cassian, Rhys, and Azriel were gathered inside, chatting with her, Elain.

You stopped in your tracks as soon as you saw her, Elain, sitting in your seat next to Azriel, her fingers lightly brushing against his arm while laughing. 

What the hell was she doing there? It was supposed to be your spot, your place next to him, and now she was acting like it was all hers.

“Hi,” you greeted the others, deliberately ignoring Elain as you placed your bag on the table in front of her, where her things were already spread out. Morrigan’s eyes met yours instantly, and without saying a word, you both understood-later. She could tell something was off.

Azriel, oblivious to the tension, immediately grabbed you into his lap, kissing you softly before nuzzling into your neck. His hand rested gently on your waist, pulling you even closer, as if he felt your need for his warmth and to ease any unease.

“ Now I miss Emory,” Morrigan said with a wistful smile, her voice light but her gaze still focused on you.

“If you haven’t met her, this is Elain,” Azriel said, gesturing toward the bitch with a small smile. “She’s new and the reason I was late this morning.”

You shot Elain a sharp smile. “We already met,” you said, your voice cool and laced with tension.

Elain met your glare with one of her own, not backing down. The two of you locked eyes, a silent battle brewing between you, neither willing to yield.

Cassian and Rhys sat next to each other, completely dumbfounded. They exchanged confused glances, clearly caught off guard by the strange atmosphere between you and Elain. They were unsure of what had happened to cause such an icy atmosphere.

Morrigan, sensing the tension and eager to defuse it, chuckled and said, “I don’t think Cassian told you about his crush, guys.”

Cassian’s face immediately turned red, his eyes widening as he shot Morrigan a look of disbelief. You and Rhys burst out laughing, while Azriel raised an eyebrow in amusement, completely oblivious to the situation that had just unfolded.

“Oh, here we go,” Rhys said between laughs, nudging Cassian. “This ought to be good.”

Cassian groaned, running a hand through his hair. “You better not say a word, Morrigan.”

But Morrigan only grinned, clearly enjoying every second of his discomfort. “Oh, I’m not saying a thing. But maybe someone should tell us who this mysterious crush is?” She shot a teasing look at Cassian.

Cassian leaned back and laced his hands behind his head. “Well, I have someone in mind.”

“Who’s the poor woman?” you teased, the others chuckling along.

Cassian smirked but didn’t answer. “Not gonna tell you. You’ll just see me kiss her, and then you’ll know.”

“It’s probably Irina,” Azriel said with a smirk, glancing at Cassian.

“That’s why you keep annoying her,” you added, high-fiving Azriel as you shot Cassian a teasing grin.

Cassian’s face turned a deeper shade of red, and he groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“You two are the worst,” he muttered, but the laughter from the group only made it worse.

Morrigan grinned,  “You could just ask her on a date instead of annoying her. We’re 18, Cass, not 6.”

Rhys smirked and added, “Guys, he’s already planned their future together.”

Cassian’s face turning an even deeper shade of red as he threw his hands up in frustration.

“I’m not planning anything!” he protested.

Azriel chuckled, watching his friend squirm. “Maybe it’s time you stop talking about it and actually do something about it, Cass. It worked when I did. ”

You kissed his cheek.

Cassian sighed dramatically, slouching in his chair. “You guys are the worst.”

Elain smiled at Cassian, her voice saccharine. “She probably will like you. You’re so nice and funny, who wouldn’t like you?”

Cassian awkwardly muttered, “Thanks,” clearly flustered by the attention.

Morrigan and you exchanged a look. Rhys caught it too, his smirk widening as he picked up on the tension, he enjoyed the drama. You glanced at your watch, realizing you only had two minutes before your next lesson.

“Elain,” you said, your voice calm but firm, “Could you sit somewhere else? I’d like to sit next to my boyfriend.”

You knew she couldn’t refuse without drawing attention. With a quiet sigh, Elain gathered her things and wandered aimlessly, asking people around the room if she could sit next to them. You watched as Elain’s face turned red, her cheeks burning with embarrassment as she awkwardly searched for a place to sit. 

She looked flustered, rejected by the group she had so confidently tried to insert herself into. It felt satisfying, seeing her brought down a notch. She deserved it after everything, the smug looks, the attitude, the way she’d tried to claim space that wasn’t hers and the way she dared to touch your Boyfriend.

She finally plopped down next to Irina, who shot a quick, knowing look at Calix. It seemed she was told about what had happened.

You settled down next to Azriel, feeling a small sense of relief wash over you.

He was blissfully unaware of the silent victory unfolding in your head. You couldn’t help the small smirk tugging at your lips, one that Morrigan mirrored.

But you knew a snake like her would strike again.

• •

School finally ended, you and your group strolled out of the school together, the sun still high in the sky. You were lingering by the gates, waiting for Azriel to finish his advanced chemistry class so you could drive home.

As you leaned against the railing, you told your friends what had happened.

“Damn,” Rhys said, shaking his head. “Seems like you’ve got an enemy.”

“And you’re sure you didn’t know her before?” he added, raising an eyebrow.

“No, Rhys, I didn’t,” you replied with a sigh.

“She’s a bitch,” Morrigan declared flatly, arms crossed as she leaned against the wall.

“Mmh,” Cassian muttered absentmindedly, his attention focused elsewhere. He was turned slightly away from the group, scanning the area, searching.

“You searching for Irina?” Morrigan teased.

Cass ignored her and frowned instead. “Since when are Eris and Irina friends?”

“Huh?” you all turned toward the gate at his words.

There she was, Irina, walking and talking with Eris. The two seemed friendly with eachother, their laughter carried by the breeze. Irina playfully shoved him and Eris, for once, didn’t look annoyed. Instead, he spoke with animated gestures, his face lit up in a way you rarely saw.

It was so different from the usual guarded, cold demeanor he wore like armor. Both of them were at ease, carefree, and it stirred something unfamiliar in your chest. A tug, faint but undeniable, made your stomach twist slightly.

You couldn’t look away, even as you told yourself it didn’t matter. It wasn’t your concern. And yet, the sight of them laughing together lingered in the back of your mind.

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the strange feeling. Why did seeing him like that with her bother you so much?

“Babe,” Azriel called, breaking through your thoughts.

“Huh?” you blinked, realizing he’d been trying to get your attention.

“I called you multiple times. Let’s go,” he said, his voice clipped as he grabbed your hand, leading you toward the car.

• •

After dropping off the others one by one, the car grew quiet, almost uncomfortably so. It was just you and Azriel now.

He hadn’t spoken much the entire ride, only offering polite nods or brief words as he said goodbye to your friends. 

You stared out the window at the passing scenery, but your mind wandered back to the earlier scene with Eris and Irina. Something about it still lingered in your chest.

Azriel’s silence, however, soon pulled your attention. You turned to look at him, taking in his features, the sharp angle of his nose, the perfect bow of his lips, the long dark lashes that framed his striking hazel eyes, and the dark curls that fell messily over his forehead. He was gorgeous, as always, but it wasn’t his looks that drew your focus.

His posture was tense, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel, and his jaw ticked with barely restrained frustration.

He was angry.

“Az?” you asked softly, breaking the silence. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer right away, his lips pressing into a firm line as if he was weighing his words. The tension in the air was thick, and it made your heart race in uncertainty.

“Nothing,” Azriel muttered.

“Please, did something happen?” you pressed, your voice soft but insistent.

He shook his head, his jaw tightening as he pulled the car over to the side of the road. Turning to face you, his hazel eyes burned with emotion. “Why did you stare at Eris like that?”

You froze for a moment. He noticed. Shit.

“Because of Irina,” you explained quickly. “He was talking to Irina, and Cassian asked if they were friends. That’s why.”

Azriel stared at you, his expression unreadable. He was clearly thinking it over. You reached out and took his hand in yours, squeezing gently.

“Azriel, I only love you. You know that, right?”

He sighed, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. “I just don’t like the way you two are so close. It’s hard to ignore.”

You shook your head, your voice firm yet reassuring. “Azriel, I wish I could avoid talking to him altogether, but our parents are close. His mom has even slept over at our house before, our dads golf together and our Brothers are in the same clubs. I don’t like it either, how he talks about you, or our relationship. He’s arrogant, obnoxious, and so damn annoying.” You paused, your lips quirking up into a small smirk.

“I only love you. You don’t have to worry about the ginger.”

Azriel let out a laugh at that, a genuine sound that made your chest warm. You watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he chuckled, and your breath caught. He was stunning when he laughed, his worry fading away. 

He noticed you staring, his lips curving into a shy smile. “What?”

“Can I kiss you?” you asked, your voice soft.

Azriel nodded, his cheeks slightly pink. 

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his, and the kiss deepened quickly. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

It grew hotter, more intense, as his free hand gripped your waist, and your fingers tangled in his hair.

You pulled away from the kiss, and Azriel let out a low whine. It wasn’t a sound you heard often, and it sent a shiver through you. His hand bunched the fabric of your white shirt, pulling you closer as he tried to capture your lips again. Both of you were breathless, his lips glistening with spit, and his eyes locked onto your mouth.

“Azriel, wait,” you managed, gently pushing him back.

He ignored your words, instead dipping down to press kisses along your neck. You gasped softly but pushed his hard chest.

“No hickeys, Az. I have to see my parents later.”

He groaned in protest, biting down lightly but just hard enough to make you gasp again. “Azriel,” you warned, your tone sharper now.

Suddenly, a thought struck you. “Azriel, is your mom home?”

He stilled, lifting his head to look at you. “No,” he said slowly, his brow furrowing. “Why?”

“When will she be back?” you asked, brushing your fingers gently through his hair.

“About six,” he replied, still confused. “Why?”

“Think, baby,” you said, caressing his scalp, your voice teasing but patient.

It took a moment, but realization dawned on him. His eyes widened slightly. “Oh.”

You nodded with a playful smirk. “Yes, Azriel. We can go to yours for a few hours.”

His lips twitched into a grin, and he leaned in to kiss your cheek as you laughed. 

He drove, his excitement now focused on getting home before the clock ran out.

• •

You were late. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

How could you forget?

Your mom had called you multiple times, you knew you were in trouble. Thankfully, your sister had covered for you, telling your parents you were at the library.

Slipping into the house as quietly as possible through the back door, you silently crept upstairs.

From the hallway, you could hear your father and Eris’s father laughing loudly downstairs.

Your heart raced as you tiptoed toward your room, opening the door slowly and shutting it behind you with a soft click.

You turned around and nearly screamed.

There, sitting at your desk, was Eris. His long legs, in black pants, stretched out comfortably as he leaned back in your chair, a painting of yours held delicately in his hands.

His golden-red hair caught the faint light from the desk lamp, but his amber eyes were focused on the artwork.

“Eris, what the fuck are you doing here?” you hissed, your voice low to avoid drawing attention. Fucking psycho! How did he get in? Why was he even here?

He didn’t respond right away. He held one of your more personal pieces, a ballerina staring at her  reflection in a broken mirror. Her red, tear-filled eyes glared back at herself, mascara and tears streaking down her face. Bound in her hair were white feathers. Immense rage in her expression. It was a piece that helped you remember your pain and how far you’d push yourself to reach perfection.

“It’s beautiful,” Eris whispered, his voice softer than you’d ever heard.

Your heart hammered in your chest, faster than before. “Put it down,” you said, though your tone lacked conviction.

“Is it you?” he asked, finally looking up at you.

“Yes,” you admitted hesitantly.

Eris turned the painting back to study it for a moment before meeting your gaze again. There was something in his eyes, something vulnerable, something you didn’t expect.

“You’re incredible,” he said, his voice so soft it almost didn’t register. 

For a moment, you forgot to breathe. The words were simple, but the way he said them, the sincerity in his tone, made your chest tighten.

No one had ever said that to you before, not about your art. Azriel hyped you up sometimes, but mostly saw it like your parents, a silly hobby you could enjoy to keep you entertained. Even Miss Norton had pushed you away for Elain and saw it less then hers. 

But art was more than that, it was a lifeline for you, it was like a diary where you expressed your emotions.

You never showed anyone your personal pieces, not even Azriel. This painting, raw and emotional, was yours alone - until now.

Licking your dry lips, you asked, “How did you get in here?”

Getting up, his hands casually shoved into his pockets, Eris began to walk toward you. One hand slid out to push his hair back before ruffling it slightly. He chuckled softly under his breath, a sound low enough to unnerve you.

It was the quick shift in his demeanour, the way he was always unpredictable, it made your stomach tighten.

Even as you took a step back, he didn’t stop. His strides were slow but purposeful, his presence quickly filling the space until your back hit the wall.

Your heart raced, but you tilted your chin up, meeting his sharp gaze head-on. You straightened up, you weren’t afraid, it was your house after all, he could not intimidate you.

“I opened the door,” he said simply, as if it were the most natural, normal thing in the world.

You scoffed. “Why?”

“I wanted to see the reason,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “The reason why your art is tucked away in some insignificant little corner if it’s not worth looking at.”

He lightly tugged at a strand of hair that had fallen in your face. Your jaw clenched, the anger bubbling beneath your skin. Every instinct was telling you to punch him, to push him away.

Before you could react, his hand brushed your throat.

Eris didn’t seem fazed, his gaze still locked on you, unblinking. He smirked slightly, clearly enjoying the way he riled you up.

“But,” he continued, softly brushing against of your neck, “it turns out it’s the best I’ve ever seen from any artist. Way better than that Archeron kid’s work.”

Your eyes widened as you grabbed his wrist, your pulse hammering beneath his palm. His tenderness was a stark contrast to the way he spoke to you and watched you. It was as if he was trying to see every emotion, every reaction from you, how far you would let him go. It was too intimate.

It made your head spin, he was testing your boundaries, and the next, his touch was almost considerate. 

It left you feeling unsettled, confused, angry at how easily he seemed to have the upper hand, how easily he could shift the power dynamic, the way he asserted control.

“How do you know about that?” you demanded, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Irina,” he said simply, smirking.

Of course. That’s why he was talking to her. He probably already knew about Cassians little crush on her and thats why he made her laugh for him. 

Manipulative fuck

“But don’t worry,” he murmured, his thumb still stroking the sensitive skin of your throat. “I’ll take care of it.”

“What?” you asked, confused and uneasy. His words sounded more like a threat than reassurance.

“Eris, what do you mean?” you demanded.

“Don’t worry about that,” he said, his smirk deepening.

“Worry about the marks your boyfriend left.”

Your heart skipped as his grip on your throat tightened ever so slightly. The room seemed to shrink around you, his intense stare rooting you in place.

Eris’ gaze darkened, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your lips.

“Maybe you should Take a shower before your parents get suspicious of why you smell like that,” he said, his tone a little too sharp.

“You wouldn’t want them to find out about what you’ve been up to, would you?”

You clenched your jaw at his words, irritation bubbling inside you. “Don’t worry about me. Take care of your own issues. I’ll handle mine.”

“You’re so cute when you’re angry,” he taunted, pushing you further over the edge.

Without thinking, you slapped him hard. His head snapped to the side, his cheek turning bright red, and the sting of the slap echoed in the air.

Furious, you slapped him again, pushing him backward until he fell onto your bed. You crawled over him, straddling his waist as you glared down at him.

“Why do you keep pushing me, Eris?” you spat, your voice low and tense.

“Why do you always make fun of me or threaten me? What do you gain from it? I’m not a toy, and I’m not scared of you.”

You placed your hands on his throat, the anger in your chest burning hotter. But before you knew it, he had pinned you beneath him. His body pressed between your soft thighs, your skirt pushed up around your waist, and all you could feel was his weight, his part touching another and the heat of his breath against you lips.

You were beyond furious now, you pushed him again. Your hands gripped his shirt, your nails digging into the fabric. You heard the fabric rip as you tugged harder, buttons were flying, you were unable to stop yourself. You scratched him leaving red marks on his chest. 

He grunted, his eyes narrowed, his posture shifting to overpower you. You fought back, not willing to give an inch, your breath coming in sharp bursts.

The confrontation had escalated, your bodies tumbled down. His hand gripped your wrists, his touch firm as he tried to gain control, but you weren’t backing down.

“I won’t be treated like this,” you spat, words dripping with anger.

He stared at you, lips curled in a mocking half-smile. “You think I’m the problem here?”

“I don’t care what you think anymore.”

His grip on you tightened as he leaned in, pushing his hips into yours from behind, his voice low and controlled. “You started this, not me.”

Before you could headbutt him, the door suddenly swung open. Both of your parents stood there, frozen in shock, their eyes wide. Both of your mothers gasping loudly, the sound of it echoing through the room.

Main Taglist: @bubybubsters @lilah-asteria

Broken Doll Taglist: @historygeekqueen @bubybubsters @lilah-asteria @onebadassunicorn @anainkandpaper

[owlwithanapple]

Eternal Engagement

An unexpected new life?

Y/N Kent, daughter of Superman Clark Kent and twin sister of Superboy Jonathan Kent. You thought you were born with innate powers and talents, but you haven't awakened any superhuman powers since birth. Not to mention flying, you don't even have the strength to break a piece of iron rod. Your mother Lois Lane once doubted whether you were incapable and born mortal?

Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne, Superman and Batman, Guardian and Dark Knight, are also the best of friends. Their relationship is complicated, characterized by mutual respect and protection for each other. The relationship between the two occasionally causes tension due to their different approaches to the arts heroism.

Being in harmony is a good thing, but unexpectedly...your father and Bruce Wayne made a marriage engagement for their children when they were young, that is, you and Damian Wayne. Until you were an adult and just turned 20, you learned the truth of this matter. Your first reaction was of course anger. Don’t know how many arguments you had with your father, but in the end, it ended in failure.

Metropolis, a certain cafe -

As usual, you spent your time at work, a black luxurious car stopped at the main entrance. An ominous premonition came up, a familiar figure walked out of the car. The man in a black suit, he opened the door and walked in, stealing the attention of many women. When his emerald eyes met yours, you suddenly realized who he was, Damian Wayne.

You avoided his gaze and walked behind the counter, facing away from him, silently wiping the cup with a piece of cloth. At the same time, an enthusiastic female colleague came forward to take his order. He raised his index finger pointed at your back, revealing a hint of arrogance and a demanding attitude in his tone, "Black coffee, I want Kent to make it."

"Huh? Oh...Kent, are you available now?" Your colleague approached and asked.

You stopped the work in your hands and nodded helplessly. You used the coffee machine to brew, the aroma of the rich coffee came out, and every drop of coffee dripped into the mug. You brought the brewed coffee to him, his emerald eyes slowly moved from your face to hands and then to the cup of coffee.

"Sir, your black coffee, please enjoy it." You nodded and returned to your post.

"It's Damian, your fiancé's name." He answered after sipping his coffee.

You were helpless and annoyed, wondering why your father wanted you to marry this arrogant and ruthless man, even uncle Bruce agreed. Really don't understand what they’re thinking. You put down the tray, "I don't want to hear the word fiancé."

"Facts are facts after all. Kent, who has no talent." His tone was biased.

You put your hands on hips and retorted to him, "Gene mutation, there's nothing can do about it."

You always felt inferior because no talent, it hurts your scars exposed by him. After the quarrel, you feel relieved and continue to work. His eyes locked on you, and you avoid him several times and continue to ignore him. He taps the counter with finger to attract your attention, as if he is ordering you.

You approach him and ask nicely, "Sir, what else would you like to order?"

"Where's the engagement ring?" He takes a sip of coffee and glances at you, focusing on your finger.

This question makes you feel very embarrassed. Last month, your father suddenly brought a black exquisite ring box from Gotham, which contained an engagement ring. You dare not wear it at all, "It will affect my work and hinder me."

"Terrible excuse." His tone was arrogant. He finished the remaining coffee. Before leaving, he took out a few bills and put them next to the cup. You were surprised that the hand he stretched out was wearing your engagement ring.

You were silent, hating this inexplicable feeling. It's not a relationship between lovers, which makes you feel very heavy. He and your brother are partners, the Super Sons are the duo of Damian Wayne, the Robin, and Jonathan Kent, the Superboy. But you are just a superfluous Kent, with no talent, no strength, and no ability to help others, proving that you are a mortal.

"Fuck..." You clenched your fists and gritted teeth.

Kent Farm, Smallville —

You went home, and held the doorknob still struggled with heart. You smelled the aroma of food coming from the house, almost dinner time. You adjusted your emotions , opened the door and stepped into the house, you sat in the entrance and untied your shoelaces. You were shrouded by a shadow, and you turned around and saw that it was Damian.

"You... why are you here? Didn't you go back to Gotham City?" You stood up immediately in surprise, you thought he only came to your workplace, but he even came to visit your home.

"Little princess, welcome home. Damian is staying at our house tonight, he will sleep in Jon’s room." Lois smiled and poked her head out of the kitchen.

"Huh?! This guy sleeps in Jon's room?! Jon's bed is very hard!" You told Lois in confusion, but you heard your mother's happy laughter.

"Hahaha, indeed. Or do you want to sleep with your fiancé?" Your mother laughed after hearing your words and couldn't help but want to tease you.

Your mom's words made you feel extremely embarrassed. Even if you two are engaged, actually have no relationship. It's purely because of the relationship between the two families. You glared at Damian and walked past him to upstairs. "No way!!"

Damian watched you leave and sighed helplessly. Seeing that his figure did not seem as arrogant as usual, Lois took the initiative to step forward and put her hand on his shoulder. "My little princess is a little stubborn, but not bad."

"TT. The only shortcoming is that she has no superpowers." The cold response from Damian hit Lois's pain point. Lois took her hand back. Damian sat on the sofa and browsed his phone, his eyes occasionally peeking at the stairwell.

You turned on the desk lamp. You opened the drawer to take out a book but saw the ring box placed inside. Your mind was in a mess. Why is your life so unsatisfactory? You took out the ring box and opened it. Inside was an exquisite engagement ring with the words of eternal love of Y/N & Damian engraved on it.

"He doesn't know the size of my finger..." You put the ring on, but it unexpectedly fit the size of your finger. You were surprised. How did he know your size?

When you wanted to remove the ring, found that it was stuck and couldn't pull it off no matter how hard you tried. You carefully looked at the details, felt that it was so expensive. Wayne's family has money. The engagement rings were made by experts. You touched it lightly, thinking how valuable it is.

"Little princess! Come down for dinner!" You pulled out the ring with all your strength, but nothing happened until you heard Daddy's voice coming from downstairs, and Jon's laughter came too. The two of them finally finished saving the world.

You left the room and went downstairs, and saw Mommy and Daddy bringing food to the table. Jon and Damian were discussing what happened today, such as aliens invading the earth. You seemed out of place without a common topic.

You went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Mommy noticed your emotions change, and what Damian just said made her care more about your feelings. She took the initiative to ask you, "Little princess, did your work go well today?"

You held the cup felt a little sad. You pretended to be strong and nodded, "Yes, I was so busy, almost forgot to get off work."

At this time, Daddy walked in. His super hearing heard your heartbeat and was very flustered. He realized your mood change, he first gave you a hug, patted your back gently and comforted you, "Little princess, what's wrong? Tell Daddy?"

"I... I'm fine. Just a little tired." You answered vaguely.

"Little princess, don't be like this. I'm worried. Don't suppress yourself." Daddy said after loosening the hug and holding your shoulders, his face full of worry.

"I'm really just tired." You left the kitchen and walked to the dining table to sit down. Lois and Clark looked at each other and guessed your thoughts.

"I'm telling you! Today, Superboy and Superman are teaming up together - puff!" Before Jon could finish his words, Damian threw a pillow on his face.

Jon was confused, Damian ignored him and walked to the dining table. He pulled out a chair and sat next to you. You avoided him, but his eyes stayed on you. He was surprised to notice your emotions and expression changes, and to notice that you were wearing the engagement ring.

"Why are you wearing a ring?" His tone was like an accusation.

As expected, he found out. You put your hand under the dining table awkwardly and trying pulled out the ring. "Just try it on. I didn't expect the size to be so perfect. Now I can't pull it out."

"Haha, your knowledge is really low. We were taught in elementary school that you can take it out by applying soap on hands. You not only have no talent, but also no knowledge." His tone was humiliating and sarcastic, as if he was accusing you.

At first Jon thought it was just a bickering, until he realized something was wrong, and immediately rushed forward to stop Damian's bad behavior. He held Damian's shoulders and said, "Hey, buddy, don't say that. She is a girl after all, and also your fiancée, be gentle."

"It's the truth, she knows it best. It's a pity that Superman's daughter has no superpowers. Ah, no, it's so pitiful." Suddenly you felt like the sky was falling. You couldn't refute his bad words. What he said was... the truth.

Everyone knows Damian's character. He is a proud and self-centered person. He always spits out some facts when he speaks. Mommy approached Damian and flicked his forehead with her index finger, leaving a red mark. "Damian Wayne, we agreed to marry our little princess to Wayne family because of trust, not to humiliate and belittle her. This is not what a future husband should do."

Daddy came forward and ruffled Damian's hair, with a smile and tenderness on his face. He once said that Damian's personality is exactly the same as Bruce's. He always speaks harshly, but still very gentle in his heart. "Damian, treat her well. When she is frustrated, you should encourage her instead of mocking her."

"She should thank me. If our two families were not good friends, who would want to get engaged to this untalented idiot." He emphasized made his words more unpleasant.

"Damian, you-" Just as Jon was irritated, you stood up from the dining chair.

Except for Damian's expression, which was equally annoying, everyone else was worried. You wanted to scold him but you didn't have any advantage over him. He was an experienced Robin. He struggled to this day with his own efforts and perseverance. He is a very brilliant person. But you have no talent at all, unlike Jon who is strong and reliable.

"I'm not hungry. I'm going back to my room." You walked away silently. Dad followed you but you stopped him. You wanted to stay quiet didn't want to hear any more sounds.

"Buddy, what are you doing? You know my sister-" After you left, Jon glared at Damian in front of Clark and Lois, his eyes glowing red as if he was going to shoot a laser at him.

At this time, you were in the bathroom. You applied soap to hands to wash them as Damian said. Just as he said, the ring was successfully taken out because of the moistness of the soap. You put the ring back in the box and closed the drawer, drew a cross pattern on the calendar to indicate that no signs of awakening.

"Maybe I have no hope..." You fell on the bed, looking at the ceiling and sighed silently.

Knock Knock—

There was a knock on the door, you got out and opened it. As soon as you saw Damian's face, you slammed the door and locked it, venting your anger on the door. Damian outside the door did not feel disgusted with your behavior. He knocked on the door again, but you did not respond and curled up in bed.

"I'll leave the food outside, don't starve." You heard his voice fade away, and out of curiosity, you opened the door to peek. He really brought dinner, you were stubborn and didn't want him to meddle in other people's business, which would give him the opportunity to feel superior. But in the end, you were defeated by hunger, you compromised and brought the food into the room to eat.

"Help—I can't swim—" Suddenly you heard a strange noise, like a cry for help. You thought it was an illusion, maybe someone downstairs was watching a TV series, until you heard "Superman—Anyone—save me—"

"Help?" you murmured.

You didn't even touch the food, pricked up your ears to listen carefully. The painful cry for help, the sound of water rising and falling in the waves circled intermittently. You ran downstairs in a panic and saw Daddy washing dishes in the kitchen and Mommy tidying up the dishes. Life was just like usual. Jon and Damian put on their hero suits and were discussing today's patrol work and adjusting the route.

"Um... Daddy, Jon. Did you hear a girl's cry for help?" Your voice trembled, but your question instantly attracted everyone's attention.

"Little princess, what did you just say?" Mommy asked with a puzzled look, and Daddy, who was standing behind her, noticed your abnormality and wanted to get closer to you.

"Help me—I can't breathe—" The cry for help came again.

"Again! I heard it again—" Just as you panicked and tried to prove that you were hallucinating, Jon and Dad heard it later than you. Two red lights flew out from in front of you with lightning speed, the impact of the wind made your hair messy as if you were hit by a tornado.

"Super hearing..." Damian murmured, he stood by and stared at you with his cold emerald eyes like a knife.

"Little princess, how long have you heard it?" Mommy put her arm around your shoulders and let you sit down.

"About... a few seconds ago. I thought it was a hallucination, so I didn't pay too much attention to it." You tidied up your messy hair and looked directly at your mommy to answer the question.

"Several seconds faster than Superman and Superboy, should we say they were stupid enough to ignore the cry for help or it was just a coincidence..." Damian deduced the result from your answer.

"Little princess!" Daddy's voice came, a gust of wind blew and messed up your hair again. Daddy rushed back home and appeared in front of you at the speed of lightning.

"Buddy! Someone almost died just now!" Jon rushed into the house and rushed towards Damian, muttering non-stop, so fast that his cloak blew on Damian's face.

"TT, shut up, you're making so much noise." Damian slapped Jon in the face impatiently and pushed him away, then approached you and Superman.

Daddy didn't even change out of Superman costume before he immediately knelt on one knee in front of you and held your shaking hands tightly, with a serious and shocked expression, "Little princess, what you just heard was not an illusion, someone really was drowning."

"So it's not an illusion... Wait, why can I hear it?!" You were shocked.

"Idiot, one of Superman's powers is super hearing. Maybe it's a coincidence, maybe the awakening period has come, after all, it's just a short reaction." Damian intervened between the two of you, his words were as harsh as usual.

"Little princess, try to concentrate and see if you can hear mommy's heartbeat." Daddy was a little nervous, his palms were sweating.

You nodded and tried it as he said, looking in the direction of your mommy, you took a deep breath and closed your eyes. After waiting for several moments, you could only hear your own heartbeat and everyone's breathing. You opened eyes and looked at your daddy, sighing and shaking your head to indicate no, it was just a coincidence.

"I didn't hear any sound..." You muttered in frustration.

"Oh... But little princess, thanks to your reminder, Jon and I were able to save people in time. Thank you." He hugged you in his arms and stroked your head.

Damian stroked his chin gently, his eyes focused on you. For a moment he guessed that you were about to wake up, just like a caterpillar showing signs of growth. An idea came to him, he took out a piece of Kryptonite from his utility belt to do an experiment, but Jon quickly stood in front of him to stop him.

"What are you doing?! Using that thing to murder your fiancée?!" Jon panicked.

"It's an experiment. If she really has a part of superhuman genes, then this thing will definitely weaken her if it touches her." Damian said to Jon expressionlessly.

"That doesn't mean you have to use this-" Jon grabbed Damian's arm.

"Damian, try touching her with Kryptonite. I want to see what changes will happen to her body." Superman was worried but moved away from you.

"That's-" Before you could even finish your words, Damian put the Kryptonite on your arm, suddenly you felt a wave of weakness and anxiety. You were about to fall dizzy, Damian came forward to catch you.

"Sure enough, she is not an ordinary person, there is a superhuman part in her body." Damian muttered.

"Damian, she is temporarily in a coma, take her back to the room and let her rest. I will contact Bruce and then decide how to deal with this matter." You can't feel any strength in your body, as if you have been completely hollowed out, but you can hear the conversation between Daddy and Damian.

"Wait, Damian. You will take good care of her, right?" Mommy pointed at Damian's chest and angrily like warning him, because he was not gentle to you at all, even said something sarcastic to his own fiancée.

Damian ignored Lois's words, easily picked you up and went upstairs with his hands. Jon and Lois were worried and wanted to follow, but they were stopped by Clark. He shook his head to signal them not to worry and said, "Don't worry, let Damian take care of her. They will be husband and wife in the future, and the little princess' husband should take care of her."

"Hubby, you just heard what he said to your daughter—" Lois was dissatisfied.

"I know your concerns, but always protecting her is equivalent to alienating the distance between the two of them. Damian and little princess need each other, believe them." Clark put his hand on Lois's shoulder and comforted her gently.

Damian carefully put you on the bed, covered with a quilt, then pulled a chair to sit beside the bed. He took off the Robin mask, crossed his arms under chest and quietly stood by you. Thinking about the possibilities and changes that will happen next, he raised his head looked at the ceiling to deflate.

Buzz-buzz-buzz-Damian took out his phone and browsed the chat interface.

Dick: Hi~ are you getting along with your fiancée?

Damian: Something happened.

Jason: You abused her?

Tim: Didn’t Dick tell you to be gentle with her?

Damian: No, you guys should stop meddling in other people’s business.

Bruce: Clark contacted me just now, and I think I know what happened.

Dick: Damian didn’t abuse her, right?!

Damian: I’m not that shameless.

He logged off and closed the chat room, scratching his cheek. He stared at your sleeping face, quietly approaching your bedside to avoid waking you up, his index finger gently brushed your forehead, he leaned down and gently pressed a kiss on your forehead.

Lois was still worried even if Clark trusted Damian, she came to your room, quietly turned the doorknob and peeked in through the crack, she found out what Damian did to you, she was shocked but still chose to leave and let him take care of you.

READ IT ON AO3 owlwithanapple

Like and Repost to motivate me!

Tag : @chibiduck

[yassbishimvintage]

Trick'n (Studio pt 2)

Warnings: Fluff, Smut

A/N: This is for the grown and sexy. Enjoy.

Word Count: 10.1k

Banner by @cafekitsune

Amari sits in her townhouse, her thoughts swirling as she absentmindedly stirs her drink. The past few days feel like a blur of emotions, decisions, and moments that are slowly becoming more complicated. She glances around the room, taking in the familiar surroundings of her space—the soft glow of the lights, the calm of the evening settling in. Yet, her mind keeps drifting back to Brendan and everything that’s unfolded between them.

The gift of the G-Wagon, the lingering moments of closeness, the kiss... it all feels like more than just a casual connection. She never imagined things would move so fast, especially when they had so much unspoken tension hanging between them. She thought she could keep things light, professional even, but now? It’s hard to ignore the pull between them.

She can’t help but smile at the memory of his easy grin when he handed her the key, his confidence and sincerity almost disarming. But with every action, with every gesture, she starts questioning where this all leads. He’s given her so much—more than she expected, more than she’s ready for. A part of her feels overwhelmed, another part feels grateful, and yet another part wonders if this is really what she wants.

Amari stands up and moves to the window, staring out at the quiet street. It’s a calm night, the city lights twinkling in the distance. She takes a deep breath, trying to clear her mind, but her thoughts are stubborn, always returning to Brendan. The way he looks at her, the way his touch feels, it’s undeniable. But does that mean she’s ready for more? Is she ready for the messier, deeper side of what they’re starting to build?

She turns back toward her couch, her eyes falling on the key sitting on the coffee table. It’s a symbol of his intentions—he’s not just giving her a car, he’s giving her something bigger, something more meaningful. It’s easy to feel torn when someone offers you everything, and yet, it feels like there’s so much she hasn’t figured out yet.

Her phone buzzes on the table, pulling her out of her thoughts. It’s a message from him: "Hope you’re good. Just wanted to check in."

Amari sighs, running a hand through her hair. She knows what she wants to say, but there’s a hesitation. What exactly does she want from this? What does she need? She could respond, keep it light, or she could dive deeper into what’s between them. It’s a choice she’s going to have to make sooner or later.

With another deep breath, she picks up her phone and starts typing.

The truth was, she had no idea where things were headed with Brendan. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized one thing: she couldn’t ignore the chemistry between them. She couldn’t pretend that his presence in her life didn’t make everything feel just a little bit more alive. But, she knew it was going to be a balancing act—between who she was, who he was, and the world they both occupied.

She glanced at her phone again. Another message from him popped up: "You still thinking about things? Or can I convince you to join me for dinner?"

She hesitated for a moment before typing back: "I’ll be there. But we need to talk."

She hit send, already knowing the conversation ahead wouldn’t be easy, but it was necessary.

Amari stood outside the door to Brendan’s penthouse, a mix of anticipation and apprehension settling in her chest. She had been thinking about this conversation for hours, replaying her pros and cons list, trying to decide how best to approach the situation. One thing was clear—she wasn’t walking into this blindly. She wasn’t just some fleeting moment in his life. But as much as she wanted to hold her ground, there was a part of her that still yearned for the connection they had.

She took a deep breath and knocked.

The door swung open, revealing Brendan standing shirtless in the doorway, his toned frame illuminated by the soft light of the apartment. He flashed that easy, confident smile that always made her heart skip a beat. In his hands was a plate of food, and the rich aroma of the meal hit her instantly.

“Hey, Mari,” he greeted her, stepping aside to let her in. “Dinner’s ready. Hope you’re hungry.”

Amari stepped inside, the warmth of the room wrapping around her. She noticed the dim lights, the table set with candles, and the relaxed vibe of the space. Despite his casual appearance—shirtless, a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips—there was a certain charm to his laid-back demeanor.

She smiled weakly, but her mind was still on the conversation she needed to have. “You didn’t have to go all out,” she said, trying to keep her tone light, even though her heart was heavy with the weight of their unspoken issues.

He gave her a knowing look, his eyes soft but mischievous. “I didn’t think you’d mind,” he said as he moved to place the plate down on the coffee table. “Come on, let’s eat.”

Amari took a seat, her fingers brushing the edge of the plate before she glanced up at him. “We need to talk about us, Brendan.”

He paused, looking at her with an intensity that told her he was listening. His lips curled slightly, but there was something behind his expression—curiosity, concern, maybe even a hint of apprehension. He sat beside her, the space between them charged with tension. “Alright,” he said, his voice steady. “What’s on your mind?”

Amari took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts before speaking. “I’ve been thinking about everything. About us. About what we’re doing. I can’t pretend like things are just simple, like I’m not getting emotionally involved in something that feels... bigger than I expected.”

Brendan shifted slightly, leaning back as he gave her his full attention. “You’re not wrong. This thing between us—” He trailed off, seemingly weighing his words carefully. “I get it. It’s not just some fling for me either.”

She frowned, her gaze searching his face. “Then why does it feel like we’re both just caught up in something we don’t fully understand? Like you’re living this life that I’m not sure I’m ready for... or even if I can handle.”

Brendan’s expression softened, and he gently took her hand in his, his thumb brushing against her skin. “Mari, I get it. I know what I’m offering isn’t always... stable. My career, my life, it’s a rollercoaster, and I can’t promise that everything’s going to be perfect. But I’m not asking you to be a part of some mess. I just want you in my life. I want you with me. The rest, we can figure out.”

She looked down at their hands, her heart pounding in her chest. His words were sincere, but there was still so much uncertainty. She had questions that she needed answers to. “What happens when things get harder? When your schedule is even more chaotic? When the attention on you gets more intense? What happens when we can’t just turn everything off and pretend like we’re just two people having a good time?”

Brendan paused, the weight of her questions settling in the room. His voice was quieter when he spoke, but it held a sense of honesty that she couldn’t ignore. “I can’t promise that everything will be easy, Mari. But I can promise I won’t just walk away when it gets tough. You and me—we have something real. It might not be the easiest thing, but I want to try. Do you?”

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she looked into his eyes, searching for the truth behind his words. What they had was undeniable—intense, passionate, and full of potential. But could she trust herself to navigate the complexity of their connection? Could she handle being in his world, knowing that it would never be simple?

Finally, she spoke, her voice soft but firm. “I’m willing to try. But I need to know you’re all in. That this isn’t just some phase, that you’re not going to disappear when things get difficult.”

Brendan nodded, his grip on her hand tightening just slightly. “I’m in, Mari. I’m all in. And I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it.”

The tension between them seemed to ease, the air feeling lighter as they both sat there, surrounded by the quiet hum of the apartment. The future was still uncertain, but for the first time in a long while, Amari felt like she had a clearer sense of where she stood.

With a small, tentative smile, she finally said, “Alright. Let’s figure this out together.”

Brendan smiled back, his relief palpable. “Together.”

As Amari smiled, her gaze met Brendan’s, and for a moment, it felt like time had slowed. His hazel eyes, warm and intense, seemed to search her face, as if he were looking for something—reassurance, perhaps, or confirmation that she truly meant what she had said. She could see the sincerity in his expression, the vulnerability in his eyes that mirrored her own.

The way he looked at her made her feel seen—really seen—in a way that was both comforting and terrifying. It was like he could read her thoughts, understand the conflict in her mind without her saying a word. For a brief moment, the weight of everything they’d talked about seemed to lift, replaced by something softer, something more genuine.

She swallowed the knot in her throat, her heart fluttering as she reached out and gently touched his arm. The warmth of his skin under her fingertips sent a spark through her, grounding her in the present.

“I don’t know where this will go,” she said, her voice quiet but steady. “But I want to try. To see where it takes us.”

Brendan’s smile widened, and he leaned closer, brushing his lips against her forehead in a tender kiss. “That’s all I need to hear, Mari.”

His kiss lingered for a moment longer, and she closed her eyes, allowing herself to bask in the comfort of his touch. In that instant, everything else—the confusion, the uncertainty—seemed to fade away, leaving only the connection they had built together.

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a mix of playfulness and vulnerability. “So, are we going to eat, or are we just going to stare at each other all night?” she teased, trying to lighten the mood, though her heart still raced in her chest.

Brendan chuckled, the sound low and warm, before reaching for the plate of food on the table. “We can stare at each other later,” he said, his voice teasing but affectionate. “Let’s eat first. Then we can figure out the rest.”

Amari smiled, her anxiety eased for the moment, as she settled back into the couch, feeling a sense of peace she hadn’t expected. She was here, with him, ready to take the next step—whatever that might be. And for now, that was enough.

Later, as the evening settled into a quiet rhythm, Amari found herself sprawled out across Brendan’s chest, her head resting comfortably against him. The faint beat of his heart thumped softly under her ear, a reassuring sound that calmed her racing thoughts. The apartment was dimly lit, with only the soft glow from the city lights filtering in through the windows, casting shadows across the room.

Brendan’s arm was draped around her, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on her back, his touch slow and deliberate. It felt like the world outside was fading away, leaving only the two of them in this intimate, peaceful bubble.

She took a deep breath, breathing in the scent of his skin, the faint cologne he wore mixed with the smell of the food they’d shared earlier. The closeness, the softness of his touch, it made her feel both grounded and vulnerable in ways she hadn’t anticipated. She knew they had just begun to scratch the surface of whatever this was, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was more than just a fling.

Amari tilted her head to look up at him, catching his gaze. His hazel eyes were soft, almost sleepy, but there was something more—something unspoken between them that seemed to hang in the air.

“You know,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper, “I never really thought about what I wanted in all this... I was too focused on the fact that I shouldn’t want it.”

Brendan’s gaze softened, his hand gently running through her hair. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice low and soothing.

Amari hesitated, her fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. “I mean, I spent so much time convincing myself that I should stay away from someone like you... That it would just be a mess. But now… I’m not so sure anymore.”

Brendan’s fingers stilled on her back, but his expression didn’t change. “And now?” he asked, his tone patient, as if waiting for her to find the words.

She looked up at him, her heart hammering in her chest. "Now, I think... I think I might be ready to stop running from it. From us." Her voice trembled slightly, but there was a quiet confidence behind her words. "I’m not saying it’ll be easy. I’m not saying I won’t second-guess myself at times. But maybe it’s time I stopped overthinking it.”

A soft smile tugged at Brendan’s lips as he leaned down, brushing his lips against her forehead. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said quietly. “Because I’m not going anywhere, Mari. I’m here. And I’ll be here when things get complicated, when the world starts pushing against us.”

Amari closed her eyes, his words sinking in, and for the first time in a long while, she felt a sense of certainty. Despite the chaos that life would inevitably throw their way, she knew she wasn’t alone in it anymore. They had something, and it was enough for now.

Brendan’s hand continued to run through her hair, his touch gentle, comforting. “Let’s just take this one step at a time,” he murmured. “We’ve got time, Mari. We’ve got time.”

She nodded against his chest, the warmth of his embrace wrapping around her like a shield. There was still so much they didn’t know, so much uncertainty in the future. But for tonight, as she lay there in his arms, everything felt exactly where it needed to be.

Amari shifted slightly, her movements slow and deliberate as she adjusted herself, now straddling Brendan. The change in position brought them even closer, her knees resting on either side of his hips. She could feel the warmth of his body beneath her, the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath.

Brendan looked up at her, a mix of surprise and something deeper flickering in his hazel eyes. His hands instinctively moved to rest on her hips, a touch that was both grounding and possessive. There was a quiet tension in the air now, a shift in energy that pulsed between them.

Amari paused, her gaze meeting his, searching for something—confirmation, perhaps, or a sense of clarity. She was still feeling the weight of their conversation, the admission of vulnerability that had passed between them, but there was something undeniable about the chemistry that sparked whenever they were this close.

“You sure about this?” Brendan’s voice was low, almost a whisper, his hands gently brushing against her skin. His eyes held a mixture of curiosity and care, making sure she wasn’t just acting on impulse.

She nodded slowly, the quiet confidence she’d felt earlier now solidifying in her chest. “Yeah,” she whispered back, her voice thick with intent. “I’m sure.”

Without waiting for further confirmation, she leaned down, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that was gentle at first, as if testing the waters. But as they both deepened the kiss, the tension from earlier seemed to dissolve, replaced by a sense of urgency, a shared understanding that neither of them wanted to pull away just yet.

Her hands roamed to his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his skin, and his fingers tightened around her waist, guiding her movements. The energy between them shifted again—this time, it was as though the world outside had disappeared entirely, leaving only the two of them in this charged space.

She pulled back just slightly, her lips brushing against his, a soft exhale escaping her as she whispered, “I don’t want to hold back anymore, B.”

Brendan’s gaze darkened slightly, his breath shaky as he nodded, his hands running up her back, pulling her closer. “Then don’t,” he murmured, his lips capturing hers once more, this time with more intensity, more hunger.

The air between them grew thick with desire, each touch, each kiss, an exploration of unspoken emotions, a bridge between uncertainty and something real—something they both knew they couldn’t ignore.

Brendan’s expression softened at Amari’s words, the weight of her trust settling over him like a heavy, but welcome, responsibility. His hands gently cupped her face, his thumb brushing over her cheek as he met her gaze. There was no rush in the way he looked at her, just a quiet understanding and respect.

“I don’t take that lightly,” he said softly, his voice low but full of sincerity. “You mean more to me than you realize, Mari. I won’t do anything you don’t want, and I’ll make sure you’re comfortable with every step.”

Amari could feel the warmth of his words, the reassurance in the way he held her. In that moment, she realized that this wasn’t just about the physical. It was about connection, about trust, about the depth of what they were starting to build together.

She nodded, her heart steadying as she smiled down at him. “I know. I’m not afraid with you.”

Brendan smiled back, his hand moving to the small of her back to pull her in closer. “Good,” he whispered, brushing his lips against hers once more, as if sealing the promise they had just made. There was a mutual understanding now—this wasn’t just about the moment, but about the trust they were giving each other, the respect they would continue to show.

They were both learning and growing in this, but for now, all that mattered was the quiet connection they shared, the honesty of the moment, and the warmth of knowing they were both choosing to take this next step together.

As Amari smiled, the soft warmth of the morning light still casting its glow across the room, she shifted, leaning into Brendan’s chest. He stirred slightly at the motion, but didn’t fully wake, his arm instinctively pulling her closer as she nestled herself under him. She felt safe and content, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothing in the quiet morning.

She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the feeling of being wrapped in his arms, the connection they shared growing deeper with each passing day. There was a sense of calm between them, a peaceful reassurance that even though the world outside could be chaotic, here, in this space, they were just two people learning to trust and understand each other.

Brendan shifted slightly, his voice low and groggy as he mumbled, “You good?”

Amari smiled, her fingers lightly tracing the tattoos on his arm as she nodded, her body still relaxed against his. “Yeah,” she whispered, her voice soft. “I’m good. Better than good.”

He hummed in response, tightening his embrace, his lips pressing gently to her forehead in a silent gesture of affection. For a moment, there were no words, just the comfort of shared presence, both of them content to stay like this a little longer, wrapped in each other’s warmth.

It wasn’t just the emotional connection that made her smile—it was the understanding that they were building something real, something that went beyond the surface. And in that moment, with the quiet of the morning surrounding them, she felt more certain than ever that this was exactly where she was meant to be.

Amari watched as Brendan moved around the room, his energy a stark contrast to the stillness of the morning. She smiled softly, her eyes following the way his muscles flexed as he searched through his drawers. There was something about the way he carried himself, effortlessly confident yet grounded, that drew her in even more.

She wrapped the covers around her waist tighter, feeling the warmth of the fabric against her skin as she sat up in bed. Her thoughts lingered on the moments they’d shared last night, and the quiet morning they were now experiencing together. It felt surreal in the best way—like they were in a bubble that no one could touch.

Brendan glanced over his shoulder at her, catching her watching him. His lips curled into a playful grin, and he shrugged casually. “You look comfy there,” he said, his voice teasing but soft.

Amari couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound light and carefree. “I was just enjoying the view,” she replied, her gaze lingering on him, unabashedly appreciating how relaxed he seemed.

He chuckled, his eyes warming as he returned to his search. “I’m looking for my wallet,” he explained, pulling open another drawer.

Amari leaned back against the headboard, feeling a contentedness she hadn’t experienced in a while. She hadn’t expected to wake up like this, not so peaceful, not so sure about what came next. But as Brendan moved around the room, she realized that things didn’t always have to be figured out right away. They could just exist in the moment, and that was enough for now.

When he finally found what he was looking for, he turned back to her, a slight smirk playing on his lips. “You sure you don’t want to get dressed before I take you out for breakfast?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he noticed the way the covers pooled around her.

Amari rolled her eyes playfully. “Only if you’re paying,” she teased, her tone light.

Brendan grinned, his eyes softening. “Of course. Just don’t take too long,” he said, as he began to head for the door. “I’m starving.”

As he left the room, Amari leaned back, still feeling the warmth of his presence lingering in the air. There was something effortlessly comfortable about him, and for the first time in a while, she felt like maybe—just maybe—things were falling into place.

Brendan paused, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips as he looked at her. His gaze softened as he settled in closer, but there was a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Mushy?” he repeated, his voice low, teasing. “I’m just trying to show you how much I appreciate you, Mari.”

Amari raised an eyebrow, her smile widening as she pushed him playfully off of her. “Uh-huh. Appreciation, huh?” she said, rolling her eyes but still laughing lightly. “You don’t get to just turn it on and off like that, B. I already told you. We’re not doing this whole push-and-pull thing.”

Brendan chuckled, his eyes never leaving hers. He sat back, taking a moment to adjust himself, his playful expression melting into something more genuine. “Alright, alright,” he said, his tone softer. “I hear you. No more trying to be all sweet and cuddly if it’s gonna make you roll your eyes at me.”

She smiled, her arms crossing over her chest, but there was a certain softness in her gaze that wasn’t lost on him. “You’re not bad when you’re not being all dramatic,” she teased, nudging him with her shoulder.

“Hey,” he said, feigning offense. “I’m not dramatic. I’m just—” He cut himself off, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. “—just trying to be here with you. And, yeah, maybe it’s a little different for me. But I can’t help it.”

Amari's expression softened at his words, and for a brief moment, the playful teasing gave way to something deeper. She could see the sincerity in his eyes, the vulnerability that he was letting slip through, even if he wasn’t always great at showing it.

“You don’t have to try so hard, B,” she said quietly, reaching up to touch his face. “You’ve got me already.”

The room fell into a brief silence, the air between them filled with unspoken understanding. There were no walls up now—just the two of them, navigating this complicated thing they were building together. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t easy, but it felt real. And for now, that was enough.

As Amari kissed him, her hands slid to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, a quiet yet powerful shift in the energy between them. The playful teasing melted into something more tender, more grounded, as their lips met with a deeper connection than before.

Brendan responded instinctively, his arms wrapping around her waist as he leaned into the kiss, his chest pressing against hers. There was no rush, no urgency—just the softness of the moment, both of them savoring the intimacy, feeling the warmth of each other's presence.

When they finally broke the kiss, their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the quiet space between them. Amari smiled, her fingers gently tracing his jawline as she met his gaze. "You know, you're not so bad when you're not being all dramatic," she teased softly, her voice laced with affection.

Brendan let out a quiet laugh, his hand brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I guess you’ve got me figured out, huh?" he replied, his tone light but his eyes filled with sincerity.

Amari shrugged, still smiling. "Not fully," she said with a playful gleam in her eye, "but I’m working on it." She leaned in for another soft kiss, this time lingering just a little longer, letting the kiss speak for everything they hadn’t said out loud.

It was moments like this that reminded her—there was something real here, something that didn’t need to be defined right away. She wasn’t sure where things were going, but for now, she was okay with letting them unfold naturally.

“Now I can say the Mid Sized Sedan is my boyfriend.” She says holding back a laugh. He gives her a fake hurt look. 

Amari laughed, a soft sound that bubbled from her chest. "Well, you’ve got all the features—good looks, reliability, and the ability to keep up with me when I need you to." She leaned in, pressing a light kiss to his lips. "Plus, you’re surprisingly comfortable."

Brendan chuckled, his arms tightening around her in a playful yet affectionate gesture. "You’re lucky I like the nickname," he said, his voice teasing but with a warmth that matched the softness in his eyes. "But if you keep calling me that, I might have to start charging you for the ride."

She rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t fade. "You’re ridiculous," she teased, though there was an undeniable affection in her voice. "But you’re my ridiculous boyfriend, so I guess I’ll let it slide."

Brendan kissed her forehead, his hand gently brushing through her hair as he relaxed back into the bed. "I guess that makes two of us, then," he said quietly, his tone softening as he spoke the words he hadn’t quite expected to say, but found himself feeling anyway.

Amari looked at him, her heart fluttering at the thought of how naturally everything was falling into place. It didn’t matter what nickname he carried or what complications came along with their relationship. In this moment, it was just the two of them, and that was enough.

"Yeah," she murmured, leaning in closer. "It does."

Brendan chuckled softly, pulling her a little closer before letting her go with a playful smile. "Alright, alright. Go get your shower, Mari. I know I’m irresistible, but even I can't compete with a hot shower and some fresh clothes."

Amari rolled her eyes but smiled as she slid out of bed, the warmth of their moment still lingering in the air. "You’re lucky you’ve got that charm," she said, tossing him a teasing glance over her shoulder as she walked toward the bathroom. "Or you’d be getting the cold shoulder right about now."

Brendan laughed, his eyes following her as she disappeared into the bathroom. He stretched back onto the bed, his mind still lingering on their earlier conversation and the shift in their relationship. It felt different now—more real, more grounded. They weren’t just having fun or living in the moment anymore; they were finding something deeper between them.

He shook his head with a smile. "Cold shoulder? Yeah, right."

As the sound of the shower started, Brendan lay back, his thoughts drifting to the future and what it might hold for him and Amari. Whatever happened, he was starting to feel like he was ready for whatever was next.

A few days later she’s missing him. 

Amari sat on her couch, her legs tucked beneath her, absentmindedly scrolling through her phone. The TV was on in the background, playing a show she wasn’t really watching. Brendan was out of town for a shoot, and for the first time in weeks, she had a quiet evening to herself.

But her mind wasn’t quiet.

She couldn’t stop thinking about him. Specifically, about how they hadn’t crossed that line yet. She was surprised. It wasn’t like she didn’t want to—hell, she wanted to. Brendan wasn’t shy about his feelings either. The way he looked at her, touched her, kissed her—it was clear he was just as ready. Yet, somehow, they hadn’t gone there.

Her phone buzzed, breaking her thoughts. It was a text from him.

Brendan: Hey, you miss me yet?

She smiled, biting her bottom lip as she typed back.

Amari: Maybe. Why? You miss me?

The dots appeared, then stopped, then started again. Typical Brendan, always taking his time with the perfect response.

Brendan: Of course I miss you. Who else is going to keep me humble?

She laughed, shaking her head. He always knew how to lighten the mood, even from miles away. Still, her thoughts lingered on their relationship. They’d been dancing around the idea of taking things further, but something—maybe timing, maybe hesitation—always seemed to hold them back.

Why hadn’t they done it yet? Was he waiting for the right moment? Or was he afraid of messing up what they already had?

She sighed, setting her phone on the coffee table. The truth was, she liked what they had now, but she also couldn’t deny that the thought of being with him in every way sent a thrill down her spine. Maybe it was just a matter of time.

Her phone buzzed again.

Brendan: Be honest. You’re thinking about me right now, aren’t you?

Amari smirked, shaking her head as she typed her reply.

Amari: What makes you so sure?

His response came almost immediately.

Brendan: Because I’m thinking about you.

Her heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, she wondered if tonight would be the night they finally had that conversation. Even if he was out of town, it felt like they were closer than ever.

Amari stared at her phone, her thumb hovering over the screen as a smile played on her lips. Her heart was racing, the thought of finally addressing the unspoken topic between them both exciting and terrifying. She wanted to ask the question, but what if it made things weird?

Still, the way Brendan had been so open lately, his texts filled with warmth and teasing affection, gave her the courage she needed.

Amari: Can I ask you something?

She hit send before she could change her mind. The three dots appeared almost immediately.

Brendan: You can ask me anything, Mari. What’s on your mind?

She bit her bottom lip, staring at his words. Taking a deep breath, she typed out her response.

Amari: Why haven’t we, you know… done it yet?

She hit send, then immediately tossed her phone onto the couch as if it might explode. The seconds that passed felt like an eternity, and she almost regretted asking. But then her phone buzzed.

Brendan: You mean why haven’t we had sex yet?

Amari felt her cheeks heat up. Of course, he’d just say it outright.

Amari: Yeah. I guess I was just wondering if there’s a reason. Or if you’re waiting for something.

This time, the dots took longer to appear, and she held her breath, anxiously waiting for his reply.

Brendan: Honestly? I’ve thought about it. A lot. But I didn’t want to rush you. I know what we have is special, and I didn’t want to mess it up by moving too fast.

Her chest tightened at his words. Brendan wasn’t just some guy who was looking for the next thrill—he really cared about her.

Amari: I appreciate that. But you know, I’m not holding back because I don’t want to. I think I’ve just been waiting for the right moment too.

There was a pause before his next message came through.

Brendan: Maybe when I’m back, we stop waiting and just see where the moment takes us.

She smiled, her heart fluttering as she typed her response.

Amari: I’d like that.

For the first time that night, Amari felt at ease. Whatever happened next, she knew they’d handle it together.

Amari leaned back on the couch, her phone still in her hand as another thought hit her. Before anything else, she’d been Brendan’s hairstylist. It was how this whole thing between them had started—the playful banter, the lingering glances, and eventually, the deeper connection.

She smirked as she typed out a text.

Amari: You could use a retwist, by the way. Just saying.

It didn’t take long for his reply.

Brendan: Wow. I’m out of town for two days, and you’re already throwing shade?

She laughed out loud, shaking her head.

Amari: I’m just saying, B. Don’t forget who keeps you looking this good.

The dots appeared and disappeared before his message came through.

Brendan: How could I forget? You’re the one who has me sitting between your legs every other week.

Her cheeks flushed at the double meaning in his words.

Amari: Careful, or I’ll start charging extra.

Brendan: You already charge me in other ways, remember?

She rolled her eyes, her smile growing. He always knew how to keep the conversation light and playful, even when there was an undertone of seriousness.

Amari: Fine, but when you get back, I’m fixing that mess on your head.

Brendan: Deal. Only if it means I get to see you sooner.

Her heart skipped a beat at his response. She placed her phone on the coffee table, her mind drifting again. No matter how their relationship unfolded, she knew one thing for sure—Brendan always had a way of making her feel seen and wanted, whether it was in his texts or the way he looked at her during those moments in the shop.

It made her excited for whatever was coming next.

When Brendan finally got back to the city, Amari wasted no time texting him to come over. True to her word, she had her tools ready and a fresh jar of gel waiting.

He walked into her townhouse, his hazel eyes lighting up the moment he saw her. "You ready to fix this mess?" he asked, gesturing to his hair with a grin.

She smirked, rolling her eyes. "You’re lucky I care, B. Sit down."

Brendan dropped onto the floor between her legs like it was second nature, leaning back slightly as she started sectioning his hair. Her hands worked expertly, parting and twisting with precision. The familiar intimacy of the moment settled between them as they talked about his trip, her latest clients, and everything in between.

“Feels good to be home,” Brendan murmured, his voice soft and content.

She smiled, finishing one twist and moving to the next. “Feels good to have you back. You were starting to look wild out there.”

He chuckled, tilting his head to give her better access. “That wild look got me some compliments, though.”

Amari laughed, playfully tugging at one of the twists she’d just finished. “Yeah, well, those people clearly don’t know quality when they see it. Now hold still.”

The minutes passed in comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional hum of approval from Brendan as she worked. When she was done, she leaned back, admiring her handiwork.

“There. You’re human again,” she teased, brushing stray hair off his shoulders.

Brendan turned slightly, his hazel eyes meeting hers. “You always know how to take care of me, Mari.”

Before she could respond, his hands found her thighs, gently rubbing them as he stayed seated on the floor. His touch was slow and deliberate, his thumbs pressing into her skin in a way that made her breath hitch.

“B…” she started, but her voice trailed off as his hands slid a little higher, his gaze never leaving hers.

“You good?” he asked softly, his tone laced with a quiet intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

She swallowed, nodding. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“Good,” he said, leaning forward slightly. His hands stayed on her thighs, his touch both grounding and electrifying as he closed the small distance between them.

Neither of them moved to get up. The moment stretched on, heavy with unspoken words and unrestrained tension, until Amari finally gave in, leaning down to kiss him. Whatever came next, they both knew they were exactly where they wanted to be.

Amari tried to stay composed, but Brendan’s hands were doing things to her she couldn’t ignore. His thumbs rubbed slow, teasing circles into her thighs, and every time his hazel eyes flicked up to meet hers, it sent a jolt of heat through her.

She shifted in her seat, trying to focus on anything else, but the way he stayed on the floor, his strong frame relaxed between her legs, made it impossible to think straight.

"B…" she whispered, her voice shaky.

His gaze didn’t waver. “What’s wrong, Mari?”

She inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself, but it was no use. The warmth of his hands, the way his thumbs crept a little higher each time—it was all too much. "I can’t…"

"You can’t what?" he asked, his tone soft, almost teasing.

She bit her lip, her restraint dissolving with every passing second. “I can’t take it anymore,” she finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Brendan’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. “Then don’t,” he said simply, his voice low and inviting.

That was all it took. Amari leaned forward, her hands finding his face as she kissed him with a desperation she couldn’t hold back anymore. He responded instantly, his hands gripping her thighs tighter as he pulled her closer.

She slid off the chair and onto the floor, straddling him as the kiss deepened. Brendan’s hands moved to her waist, anchoring her to him as her fingers tangled in his freshly retwisted hair.

“I knew this would happen,” he murmured against her lips, his voice husky.

“Shut up,” she replied breathlessly, pulling him closer as the last of her self-control slipped away.

The living room disappeared around them as they gave in to the moment, the tension that had been simmering for weeks finally boiling over. Neither of them cared about what came next—right now, all that mattered was each other.

Brendan’s hands slid up her sides, taking her shirt with them. When he lifted it over her head and tossed it aside, he froze for a moment, his hazel eyes taking in the sight of her. She was wearing a black lace bra—the one he’d mentioned was his favorite before.

He ran his fingers along the delicate material, a small, appreciative smile forming on his lips. “You knew I’d like this, didn’t you?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

Amari’s cheeks flushed, but she smirked back at him. “Maybe. Or maybe it was just laundry day.”

He laughed softly, his hands traveling to her back, tracing lazy circles along her skin. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

His lips found her collarbone, pressing soft kisses along the curve of her neck and shoulder as his hands explored the familiar contours of her body. Every touch, every kiss, sent shivers down her spine.

“You’re so damn beautiful, Mari,” he whispered against her skin.

She tipped her head back, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he moved lower, his lips brushing along the edge of the lace. The way he touched her, like she was the only thing in the world that mattered, made her heart race.

“Brendan…” she breathed, her voice trembling with need.

He looked up at her then, his eyes smoldering with a mix of affection and desire. “Tell me what you want,” he said softly, his hands resting on her hips, grounding her.

“You,” she whispered without hesitation, her hands tangling in his hair. “Always you.”

His smile widened as he pulled her closer, sealing her words with a kiss that left no room for doubt.

Brendan smirked, his hands gripping her hips a little tighter as he kissed the sensitive spot on her neck. “You sure about that?” he teased, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers through her.

Amari tilted her head back further, her body arching into him. “Yes,” she said, her voice breathy but firm. “Fuck this foreplay, B. I need you. Now.”

His smirk turned into a grin as he looked up at her, his hazel eyes dark with desire. “Well, if that’s what you want…” he murmured.

Without another word, he stood up, taking her with him as if she weighed nothing. Amari wrapped her legs around his waist, her fingers clutching his shoulders as he carried her effortlessly toward the bedroom.

“Brendan—” she started, but he cut her off with a kiss so deep it stole her breath.

When he reached the bed, he gently laid her down, his body following hers as he hovered over her. “No turning back now,” he said, his voice low and serious, though the corner of his mouth quirked up in a teasing smile.

She reached up, pulling him down to her. “I wasn’t planning to.”

Their bodies moved together, the tension that had been building between them for so long finally snapping as they gave in to everything they’d been holding back. Time seemed to stop as the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them in the heat of the moment. Moans and skin slapping was all that filled the room. 

Amari blinked awake, her body still deliciously sore from the night before. The sunlight streaming through the blinds made her squint as she adjusted to being awake. She shifted slightly, realizing she was sprawled out in her bed, her covers barely clinging to her.

Turning her head, she saw Brendan sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed in his boxers and one of his favorite hoodies. His broad back was to her as he tapped away on his phone.

"Morning," she murmured, her voice still heavy with sleep.

He glanced back over his shoulder, his hazel eyes softening when they met hers. “Morning, beautiful,” he replied with a small smile.

She stretched lazily, her body still buzzing with the remnants of last night. “What are you doing?”

“Texting my manager,” he said, holding up his phone briefly before turning his attention back to the screen. “She’s asking about studio time later today.”

Amari sighed, propping herself up on one elbow. “You’re already working?”

He chuckled and set his phone down for a moment, turning to face her. “Gotta stay on my grind, Mari. You know how it is.”

She reached out, tugging playfully at the hem of his hoodie. “Yeah, but can’t your grind wait for breakfast in bed? Or… you know, round two?”

Brendan’s grin widened, and he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “As tempting as that is, I gotta handle this first. But don’t worry,” he added, his voice lowering as he kissed her again, this time on the lips. “I’ll make time for you.”

Her heart fluttered at his words, and she smiled against his mouth. “You better.”

He pulled back, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Always.”

As Brendan stood up, preparing to grab his jeans from the nearby chair, Amari reached out, her fingers slipping into the waistband of his boxers. She tugged gently, a sly smile spreading across her face as she leaned back against the pillows.

“Leaving already?” she teased, her voice soft but playful.

He paused, glancing down at her with an amused smirk. “I told you, Mari, I gotta handle this,” he said, though he didn’t make a move to step away from her touch.

She tilted her head, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “You’re really going to leave me here like this? After last night?” Her fingers trailed along the edge of the waistband, sending a shiver up his spine.

Brendan let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

She grinned, tugging at the waistband a little more insistently. “Maybe. But you like it.”

He leaned over her, bracing his hands on either side of her body as he met her gaze. “You’re making it real hard to leave right now.”

“That’s the point,” she said, her voice dropping into a whisper as her fingers toyed with the fabric.

For a moment, he hovered there, torn between his responsibilities and the undeniable pull of her presence. Finally, he let out a resigned sigh and kissed her deeply, his hands sliding to her waist.

“Fine,” he murmured against her lips, “but only for a few more minutes.”

Amari laughed softly, wrapping her arms around his neck as she pulled him closer. “That’s all I need.”

As Brendan finally left with a lingering kiss and a promise to call her later, Amari flopped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. She let out a long sigh, the faint scent of his cologne still clinging to her sheets.

For a moment, she stayed there, basking in the afterglow of his presence and the memory of the night before. But reality crept back in. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, reminding her of the packed schedule ahead.

With a groan, she dragged herself out of bed, stretching as she made her way to the bathroom. “Alright, Amari,” she muttered to herself, splashing water on her face. “Time to get it together. You’ve got clients waiting.”

After a quick shower, she threw on her go-to stylist outfit—something comfortable yet chic—and tied her braids up into a neat bun. As she gathered her tools and checked her appointment book, her mind kept drifting back to Brendan.

She shook her head, smiling to herself. “Focus, girl,” she whispered. “You’ve got work to do.”

By the time she walked into her salon, the familiar hum of chatter and the smell of hair products snapped her back into her professional zone. Her first client was already waiting, scrolling on her phone.

“Hey, Mari!” the client greeted, looking up. “Ready to work your magic?”

Amari smiled warmly, setting her tools on the counter. “Always,” she replied, pushing thoughts of Brendan to the back of her mind—for now.

During a brief lull between clients, Amari slipped her phone from her pocket. She smiled when she saw it was a text from Brendan.

“Hey, I’ve been thinking about last night… You’re still on my mind.”

Her heart fluttered as she typed a quick reply. “I’m flattered. You’re still on mine too.”

Almost instantly, his response pinged back. “I know you’ve got clients, but when you get a moment, can I see you later?”

Amari bit her lip, considering for a moment. She had a few more appointments, but there was something about him that made her want to say yes without hesitation. She glanced at the clock—she still had some time before her next client arrived.

“I’d like that. Let me wrap up here first, and I’ll text you when I’m free.”

Brendan’s reply came almost immediately. “Looking forward to it. I’ll be waiting.”

Amari smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. As much as she tried to focus on her work, her mind couldn’t help but wander back to Brendan—his smile, the way he made her feel… and what could happen next.

By the time Amari finished her last client of the day, the evening was settling in. She felt a mix of exhaustion and excitement as she quickly tidied up her station and grabbed her bag. A quick glance at her phone revealed a text from Brendan.

“I’m already at the spot, waiting for you. Can’t wait to see you.”

A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She typed back quickly. “Be there in 20.”

After a quick change into a simple yet stylish outfit, Amari made her way to the restaurant. It was a cozy, upscale spot known for its quiet ambiance and excellent food, a place Brendan often chose when he wanted to get away from the chaos of his life.

When she walked through the door, her eyes scanned the room until they landed on him sitting at a corner table, looking effortlessly handsome. His hazel eyes locked with hers, and he stood up with a smile, greeting her as she approached.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said, his voice warm and inviting as he kissed her cheek.

“Hey, you,” she replied, feeling a flutter in her stomach. She slipped into the seat across from him.

Brendan’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, and she noticed a quiet admiration in his eyes. “You look stunning, as always.”

“Thanks,” Amari smiled, settling in. “You clean up well yourself.”

He chuckled, glancing at the menu. “I wanted to make tonight special. So, what’s your vibe? Something light, or are you ready for a feast?”

She laughed softly, glancing at the menu as well. “I’m thinking something hearty tonight. I’ve been craving steak all day.”

Brendan grinned, knowing exactly what she was referring to. “I’ll take that as a challenge. You know I’m a steak guy.”

As they talked over dinner, the conversation flowed easily. It was casual yet filled with moments of genuine connection—laughter, teasing, and quiet glances shared between bites of food. Amari found herself relaxing in a way she hadn’t expected, enjoying the simple act of being with him without any pressure.

When the meal was over, they lingered over drinks, talking about everything and nothing. Brendan seemed at ease, and Amari felt the same way. The connection between them felt deeper now, like a shared understanding and unspoken promise.

“So, what’s next?” Amari asked, her voice softening.

Brendan looked at her, his eyes reflecting something more than just the fun of the evening. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t want this night to end just yet.”

She smiled, knowing exactly what he meant. “Neither do I.”

With that, the night began to feel like it was just the beginning of something new, something real.

“You still owe me for round two. But I’ll settle for a make out.” she says.

Brendan grinned, clearly amused by her words. "Oh, so now you're keeping score, huh?" he teased, his fingers gently brushing her arm as he pulled her closer. "Guess I’ll just have to make it up to you tonight."

Amari raised an eyebrow, her playful smirk never faltering. "You better, B. I’m not going to let you off easy after this morning’s… 'round one'."

He chuckled, his hand cupping her cheek as he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a slow, deliberate kiss. "I’m up for the challenge," he murmured, his voice low and confident.

Amari couldn't help but smile into the kiss, the tension of the morning finally melting away. It was as if all the teasing, all the playful banter, had led them here—right where they both wanted to be.

"Just remember," she said, pulling back just slightly, her eyes sparkling with mischief, "You promised a long night of making up for it. No backing out now."

Brendan leaned in again, his lips finding hers with a renewed intensity. "No backing out," he murmured against her lips. "I plan to keep every promise I make to you, Mari."

And with that, the night stretched out before them, filled with promises, laughter, and the kind of chemistry they both had been craving.

A few days later she’s standing at his door. She hears Jacquees’ ‘No Questions.’ playing through the door. 

The soft, rhythmic beats of Jacquees' "No Questions" filled the room as Amari and Brendan found themselves nestled together on the couch, the dim lighting of the penthouse casting a warm glow over the space. They were both still feeling the lingering energy of the day—the shoot, the playful chemistry between them, and now, this quiet moment together.

Brendan pulled her closer, his fingers tracing the line of her arm as she leaned into him, her head resting against his shoulder. She could feel the tension of the day melting away, replaced by the soft hum of intimacy.

"You were amazing today," Brendan whispered into her ear, his breath warm against her skin. "The way you just owned that shoot... I couldn’t stop watching you."

Amari smiled, a soft blush creeping across her cheeks. She wasn’t used to this side of Brendan—the way he could be both the intense artist and the caring, attentive man in front of her. But tonight, it was just them, no pressure, no cameras, just the music, and the feeling of being close.

"I love when you say stuff like that," she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she shifted to face him. "Makes me feel like I’m really a part of this, you know?"

He cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing along her jawline. "You’re more than a part of this, Mari. You’re everything."

The song played on, its sensual beat matching the quiet, passionate exchange between them. There was no need for words, just the shared understanding that this moment was theirs. As the music swirled around them, Brendan leaned in and kissed her softly, their lips moving in sync with the rhythm of the song. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the connection they shared.

"No questions," he murmured against her lips, the lyrics of the song perfectly echoing their unspoken bond. "Just you and me."

As Amari settled into his lap, her body relaxed, and she closed her eyes, savoring the peace and comfort of the moment. The sound of Jacquees’ smooth voice blended with the soft rhythm of the music, creating the perfect backdrop for their quiet time together. She could feel Brendan’s warmth radiating through her, the gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath her as he stroked her hair with a calm tenderness.

For once, there were no distractions, no demands pulling them in different directions. Just the soft glow of the penthouse lights, the hum of the music, and the feeling of being safe and cherished in his presence.

Brendan watched her, his eyes soft as he traced small circles on her arm, lost in the stillness of the moment. He could tell she was content, and that peace between them was something he never wanted to lose.

"You’re perfect like this," he said quietly, almost to himself, as he continued to play with her hair. "So calm, so beautiful... I just want you to always feel this safe."

Amari smiled faintly, her lips curving as she gazed up at him. “I do. I feel like I can be myself with you. No pressure, just... us.”

Brendan’s heart softened at her words, and he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "That’s all I want, Mari. Just you."

The song played on, and they stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s company, neither needing to say anything more. In that moment, they were everything to each other, and it felt like the world could wait.

Amari rubbed her eyes, groggily sitting up in bed as the sunlight filtered through her curtains. She stretched, then froze when she noticed the delivery outside her door. Curious, she quickly got up and walked over, finding a bouquet of fresh flowers—roses, lilies, and some baby’s breath—arranged beautifully, their vibrant colors almost glowing against the sleek Louis Vuitton box placed next to them.

Her heart skipped a beat as she carefully bent down to pick up the box. It was heavy and well-packaged, sealed with the signature LV logo. She bit her lip, a smile spreading across her face as she wondered what Brendan could have sent her.

She brought the items inside and sat on the couch, the flowers resting on the coffee table beside her. Slowly, she opened the box, revealing a stunning leather bag—an elegant and timeless piece that instantly caught her eye. It was a classic Louis Vuitton Speedy, the rich monogram canvas shining with perfection. Amari’s breath caught in her throat as she ran her fingers over the smooth, luxurious leather handles.

A note was tucked inside the bag, and she unfolded it carefully:

"For my beautiful Mari. I know we’re figuring things out, but I couldn’t help but show you how much you mean to me. I’m thinking of you always. – B"

Her heart warmed as she read the note, the gesture leaving her feeling both cherished and slightly overwhelmed. She had always appreciated his thoughtful side, but this... this was next level. She could feel how much he cared for her in every stitch of that bag, every petal of the flowers.

She smiled to herself, her fingers still tracing the bag’s edge. Her thoughts drifted back to last night, the softness of his words, the comfort of his presence, and how easily everything felt with him.

What are we doing, B? she thought, unsure but excited to see where this connection was leading them. Still, she couldn’t deny how much she loved the attention, the gifts, the thoughtfulness. It felt real, and she felt wanted in a way she hadn’t expected.

As she texted Brendan a quick thank you, she knew she’d have to figure out what all this meant for them, but for now, she could just enjoy the moment and the man who was clearly more than just a passing chapter.

Amari stood behind her chair in the shop, glancing at the clock as she finished organizing her tools and equipment. It was a quiet morning, the usual hum of the shop barely audible as she prepped for her next client. Brendan had left town for a few days, leaving her to handle her work on her own. She wasn’t exactly complaining—she was used to working solo, but there was a lingering thought in her mind.

After the last few days, the gifts, the intimacy, the way things felt when they were together, it was hard not to wonder what the future held for them. Her mind kept drifting to that note he had written, how he’d thought of her even when they weren’t physically together. It made her feel special, but also uncertain about the space between them. She wasn’t used to feeling this vulnerable. With clients constantly in and out, and the music from the speakers keeping her grounded, it was easy to keep busy and push thoughts aside.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she pulled it out to see a text from Brendan.

“Just wanted to check in on you. How’s the day going? Miss you.”

She smiled softly at the message, her fingers lingering over the keys as she thought about her reply. She missed him too—more than she had expected. She typed back quickly.

“It’s good. Quiet, but that’s a blessing some days. Miss you too. Can’t wait for you to get back.”

She hit send, leaning back in her chair as she waited for her client to arrive. As she stared at the phone, another thought crossed her mind. What was she really looking for in this? She’d always kept things casual, enjoying the attention and the fun. But with Brendan, it was different.

She let out a soft sigh, mentally shaking off the thoughts. For now, she had to focus on the work in front of her. There would be time to figure things out when the time came.

Tags 🏷️

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @avoidthings @nayesworld @haechvn @writingsbytee @grlsbstshot @ovohanna24 @skvrpion @megamindsecretlair @notpradagurl7 @kimuzostar @kenshisluvrgirl @planetblaque @pocketsizedpanther @bimbosnbutterflies2026 @chewingmy3xtragum @easybrezzy @blowmymbackout

[annebd]

This is not!fic. Inspired by this gif and the way that the maxiel brain rot immediately threw this idea at me.

Max is a student in some sort of art-adjacent course. Perhaps architecture or some kind of engineering program that has a significant design component.

For hand-wavey reasons, his program requires that he take at least one traditional art class. He can’t escape it, despite his best efforts, so he gets stuck taking Drawing and Painting 101.

It’s just as terrible as he suspects. He has a decent level of natural artistic ability, but he can’t be bothered to put in any effort at all. He insists on drawing one single apple for the still life unit. He adds a worm to it. His landscapes are indistinct blobs of blue and green oil paint. His charcoal work is just a series of black smudges on page after page of his sketchbook.

His professor is wholly unimpressed and is on the verge of dropping him from the course entirely and requiring him to start over again next semester. They have several tense meetings during office hours about it, with the professor practically begging him to just try. Max stubbornly refuses to admit that this isn’t the best work he’s capable of. No one believes him.

Then they get to the life study module.

Max shows up and sulks over to his usual spot towards the back of the room and slumps into his chair. He hasn’t even looked at the model yet. He hadn’t planned to look at all. His plan was just to draw a random person- perhaps a series of stick figures- and call it a day. 
He’s scrolling on his phone, waiting for class to start, and he hears a big honking laugh. It’s distracting enough that he looks up, only to meet eyes with the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen. Who is in the middle of dropping his robe to reveal the most gorgeous cock Max has ever seen.

He grabs his stuff and moves right up to the front row, where he has never, not once, sat before. The entire class just stares as he whips out his sketchbook and a drafting pencil- completely the wrong implement for this sort of class- to start drawing like a man possessed.

The model (whom the professor introduces as Daniel and says will be joining their class for the next three weeks as they move through the life study segment of the course) hasn’t even had a chance to get into position yet. He’s just standing there, dick blowing in the breeze, and Max is sketching up a storm.

Within minutes, he’s produced a practically photorealistic rendition of Daniel- or at least, approximately six and a half inches’ worth of Daniel. Then he does another. And another. Daniel is moving through the poses that the professor has asked him to do- two 30 minute poses, a couple 15 minute ones, and then a few that he holds for just 5 minutes each. Max is unconcerned about the change in poses. He’s just churning out sketch after hyperrealistic sketch of Daniel’s cock.

He’s painstakingly penciling in every single one of Daniel’s individual pubes. He’s leaning in as close as he can get in order to map out the exact curve of the flare of his head. At one point, he nearly reaches out to grab Daniel’s hip to turn him a little more to Max’s direction, but before he can make contact, his professor grabs him by the back of his hoodie and yanks him back into his seat.

Max blushes a little at that but doesn’t stop sketching.

After the class, he waits impatiently for Daniel to get dressed (he wasn’t raised in a barn. He has some manners) before he goes over and says “I’m Max. Can I please buy you a coffee? And then also suck you off?”

Daniel is charmed and also a little confused, but he’s not going to turn down caffeine and a blowie from a beautiful boy.

They live happily ever after.

(Max submits all of the sketches that he does of Daniel’s schlong as part of his final portfolio, and the professor agrees that they’re evidence enough of his abilities, so Max passes the class- just barely. He says it was by the skin of his teeth. Daniel says it was by the foreskin of his dick.)

[theorderisgone]

ꕀ ﹒Under the Same Sky

PAIRING // KARASU TABITO X GN!READER

SUMMARY // Amid years of playful rivalry, Karasu Tabito subtly reveals his long-held feelings for you during a rainy walk home, leaving you questioning the true nature of your relationship.

CONTENTS // oneshot, fluff, academic rivals to lovers, pre blue lock, ooc (??) karasu. wc 681

Karasu Tabito had always been good at keeping secrets. His talent for masking emotions was as sharp as his instinct on the soccer field or his knack for solving equations in record time. But there was one secret he couldn’t shake, no matter how much he tried: he’d liked you since middle school.

Not that you’d ever notice.

You were his academic rival, after all. The one person who could make his blood race for reasons he’d never admit. Since the day you walked into his life—head held high, confidence radiating like the sun—Karasu had been hooked. Not that he’d ever let it show. Instead, he let the rivalry take center stage, a perfect excuse to keep you close without revealing too much.

It was late in the evening after school, and the two of you were stuck in the library. Finals were around the corner, and neither of you would back down from the unspoken competition of who could study harder—or longer. The rain pattered against the tall windows, the only sound besides the occasional rustle of pages and the rhythmic tapping of your pen against the table.

“Do you always fidget when you’re stuck on a problem?” Karasu teased, leaning back in his chair. His sharp eyes flicked up from his notes to you, a smug grin tugging at his lips.

You shot him a glare, tapping your pen harder just to annoy him. “Do you always run your mouth when you’re pretending to study?”

“Pretending?” he echoed, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know, I’m a genius at multitasking.”

“You’re a genius at being obnoxious.”

He chuckled, kicking his legs up onto the empty chair beside you. “That too.”

By the time the library announced its impending closure, the rain had only gotten worse. You gathered your notes and textbooks, trying to figure out how to make it to the train station without ruining all your hard work.

Karasu slung his bag over his shoulder, lingering as you struggled to balance everything. “You really gonna walk in this storm?”

“Do I have a choice?” you muttered, double-checking that your notes were safely tucked away.

He shrugged, his usual smirk replaced by something softer. “Guess not. But you could let me carry that.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Why? So you can hold it over my head later?”

“Nah,” he said casually, but his tone was surprisingly genuine. “Just thought I’d help.”

You hesitated, but eventually handed him one of your textbooks. “Fine. But if you drop it, I’m never letting you live it down.”

“Deal.”

The two of you walked side by side under the dim glow of streetlights, the rain soaking through your shoes as Karasu balanced your book in one hand and held his bag with the other.

“You know,” he said after a long stretch of silence, “we’ve been doing this for a while.”

“Doing what?”

“This. The whole ‘rivals’ thing.”

You glanced at him. “What about it?”

“It’s just...” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s kinda funny, isn’t it? How we’re always trying to one-up each other.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Funny how?”

He shrugged, staring straight ahead. “I dunno. Guess I just... don’t mind it as much as I used to.”

That made you pause. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Karasu tilted his head, smirking down at you. “You’re sharp, aren’t you? Figure it out.”

You frowned, trying to decipher the meaning behind his words. But before you could ask, he changed the subject, his voice light and teasing again.

“You know, I’m still gonna beat you on the next test.”

“Oh, please.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“Keep dreaming,” he said with a laugh, but the faintest hint of pink dusted his cheeks as he glanced away, hiding his expression.

And for the first time, as the two of you walked through the rain, you couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more behind his playful words—something he wasn’t quite ready to say aloud.

author's note // idk how to feel about this one lowkey. kinda wna write a rin version of this, but we'll see how it goes!!

[margeoww]

Heyy, I loved ur recent fic about Toto meeting the reader’s family and was wondering if I could please request an angsty one shot of Toto x age gap Reader where she meets his family (maybe even his older children) and they maybe think she is too young for him or like disapprove in general in the beginning. But pleeeaaseee happy ending???

Through Their Eyes

back to my masterlist

pairing: toto wolff x gf!reader

summary: On Christmas Eve, Reader meets Toto’s children—Jack, Rosa, and Benedict—for the first time. Despite initial skepticism over their age gap, holiday laughter and shared moments help her earn their acceptance, proving love knows no bounds.

warnings: family disapproval (not so hard) and mentions of y/n.

The Wolff estate glowed under a blanket of snow, its windows framed with warm golden lights. Y/N took a deep breath as she stood beside Toto at the front door, clutching a neatly wrapped gift in her hands. She had insisted on bringing something for each of his children, though Toto had assured her it wasn’t necessary.

—It’ll be fine. —he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. —They’re just protective. Once they see how happy you make me, they’ll understand.

The door swung open, revealing Rosa, who greeted her father with a warm hug. —Dad! You’re here. —She stepped back, her curious eyes flicking to Y/N. —And you must be Y/N.

Y/N smiled, offering the younger woman her hand. —It’s so nice to finally meet you, Rosa.

Rosa shook her hand, her expression polite but reserved. —Likewise. Come in, everyone’s in the living room.

Inside, the smell of cinnamon and pine filled the air. Jack and Benedict were already by the fire, talking and laughing. When Toto entered, the boys stood, their expressions shifting from cheerful to guarded as they took in the sight of Y/N at his side.

Jack, the eldest, extended a hand. —Jack. Good to meet you.

She smiled, meeting his firm handshake. —Y/N. I’ve heard so much about you all.

—Same. —Jack replied, his tone unreadable.

Dinner was lavish and beautifully prepared, with everyone seated around a long oak table decorated with garlands and candles. Though the conversation was cordial, Y/N couldn’t ignore the occasional glances exchanged between the siblings. Questions were asked—about her work, her family, and how she and Toto met. It wasn’t overtly hostile, but there was an undercurrent of skepticism, especially from Jack.

It wasn’t until after dessert, when the family gathered by the fire for games, that the mood began to shift.

—Charades? —Rosa suggested, her voice light. —We haven’t played in ages.

Jack smirked. —Perfect. Let’s see how good Y/N is under pressure.

Y/N glanced at Toto, who gave her a reassuring smile. —You’ll be fine. Just don’t take it easy on them.

The game began, and to everyone’s surprise, Y/N threw herself into it with enthusiasm. Her exaggerated gestures and quick thinking had Rosa and Benedict laughing so hard they were wiping away tears. Even Jack cracked a grin when she acted out “skiing penguin” with theatrical flair.

—Okay, I admit it. —Jack said after her team won. —You’re pretty good at this.

—Pretty good? —Y/N teased, catching Toto’s eye. —I think you mean unbeatable.

By the time the game ended, the tension had dissolved into genuine camaraderie. As they gathered around to exchange gifts, Rosa handed Y/N a small box.

—This is from all of us. —she said with a shy smile.

Inside was a delicate silver bracelet with a snowflake charm. —We figured you’d want something to remember your first Christmas with us.

Y/N blinked back tears, her voice soft. —Thank you. This means so much.

Benedict stepped forward, clearing his throat.—Look, I know we were a bit… skeptical at first. But it’s clear you make Dad happy. And that’s what matters.

Toto placed an arm around her shoulders, his expression full of pride. —See? I told you they’d come around.

Later that night, as the snow fell gently outside, Y/N and Toto stood by the window, watching his children laugh together by the fire.

—Merry Christmas. —she whispered, leaning into him.

Toto kissed her temple, his voice warm. —Merry Christmas, liebling. You’re part of this family now.

And for the first time, Y/N felt like she truly belonged.