#i like to think he's got a mirror in there and he's just practising his evil smile

[narklos]

I'm obsessed with this G-Man animation that got datamined recently. What is this devious little guy up to

(thread is from @/frogsnatcher on twitter)

[gyuuberryy]

professional-ish!

pairing: boss!jake x reader

synopsis: you’re just trying to survive your 9-to-5 without spontaneously combusting, but your painfully attractive boss seems to think you’re flirting. every awkward smile, accidental wink, and misfired message only makes it worse. now he’s looking at you like you’ve got some secret agenda. the truth? you just short-circuit around hot people. it’s not seduction—it’s social malfunction.

genre: workplace romance, crack, accidental flirting(?), some suggestive content

warnings: making out, some touching, jealous!jake, swearing, the writer has slapped all the office lingo known to her

note: sorry for the late post!! this is the last installment for the 2k event yayy! i feel like the ending is kinda rushed, i rewrote the last half so many times i kinda hate this. also i realised this is lowkey similar to the tutor!jungwon fic after writing haha. anyway i hope you enjoy reading!

word count: 4.4k

if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3

2k event | previous

three days. that’s all it had been. 

three days of nervously memorising names, of smiling too wide at people whose roles you hadn’t quite figured out yet, of laughing a little too loudly at jokes you only half understood. but you were getting there. you’d even found a few coworkers who didn’t seem to mind your presence—who invited you to lunch, who nodded at you in the hallway like you belonged. it was progress.

and then today happened.

you’d walked into the office that morning feeling oddly optimistic. the sun was streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the coffee in your hand was still warm, and you’d actually managed to pick an outfit that didn’t make you look like you’d dressed in the dark. for once, you didn’t feel like an imposter.

that should’ve been your first warning.

your hr manager, ms. cho, had intercepted you before you could even reach your desk. “good, you’re here early,” she’d said, her tone brisk but not unkind. “let’s go introduce you to your boss now—he’s been out of town, but he’s back today, and he wants to meet you.”

your stomach had twisted. you’d known, logically, that you’d have to meet him eventually. but you’d hoped for at least another week to settle in, to maybe practise not sounding like a complete disaster in front of someone whose opinion could dictate your future here.

ms. cho led you down a hallway that felt too long, your heels clicking against the polished floors in a rhythm that matched your racing heartbeat. the air smelled faintly of citrus cleaner and expensive cologne, the kind that lingered in elevators long after the person wearing it had stepped out. your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your blazer, your mouth dry as you mentally rehearsed your greeting. nice to meet you, sir. looking forward to working with you, sir. please don’t think i’m incompetent, sir.

then the door opened, and all those carefully prepared words dissolved into static.

because jake sim was—

well.

he wasn’t just your boss. he was a vision.

he stood near the window, the morning light catching the sharp lines of his profile, one hand tucked casually into his pocket like he’d been waiting for you without a single ounce of impatience. his suit was immaculate, the fabric draping over his shoulders in a way that made it clear it cost more than your rent. his hair was styled just so, not a strand out of place, and when he turned to look at you, his lips curled into a charming smile that showcased his quiet confidence.

your felt like you had been submerged into thick viscous honey, your brain too muddled to function.

“ah,” he said in an unfairly smooth and deep voice. “you must be the new hire.”

your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

this wasn’t happening. you were a professional. you’d practised this. you’d literally rehearsed in the mirror last night.

so why were your palms sweating? why was your pulse hammering in your throat like you’d just sprinted up a flight of stairs?

“nice to—nice, sir. i mean. meet. you.”

the second the words left your mouth, you wanted to claw them back. your voice had pitched up, cracking like you were fifteen and going through puberty all over again. your face burned, your ears hot with humiliation, and in a desperate attempt to play it off, you let out a laugh—or at least, the mangled, high pitched attempt at one.

it echoed in the silence.

ms. cho coughed politely. jake’s eyebrow lifted, slow and deliberate, his smirk deepening like he’d just discovered something fascinating.

you were going to die.

in your panic, you took a step back—only for your heel to catch on the edge of a decorative potted plant. your arms pinwheeled, your balance teetering dangerously, and for one horrifying second, you were certain you were about to crash directly into the very expensive looking side table beside you.

somehow, you didn’t. but the damage was done.

jake’s gaze flickered from your flailing limbs back to your face, his expression shifting into something dangerously close to amusement. like you were the most entertaining thing he’d seen all week.

oh god.

you wanted to vanish. you wanted to teleport directly into the nearest trash chute. you wanted to go back in time and never apply for this job.

you see, you had a problem.

a big, humiliating, soul crushing problem that no amount of deep breathing or positive affirmations could fix. it wasn't that you were incompetent—far from it. you'd graduated top of your class, aced every interview, and somehow landed this prestigious position through sheer skill and determination as your first job. no, your problem was far more specific, far more devastating in its simplicity:

you malfunctioned around attractive people.

and not just the casual, oh-they're-nice-looking kind of attractive. no, you short circuited around the kind of devastatingly gorgeous humans who moved through the world like they'd never once doubted their place in it. the kind who could reduce you to a stuttering, blushing mess with nothing more than a glance.

and jake sim?

jake sim was the human embodiment of your downfall.

when hr informed you that you'd been reassigned as his junior assistant, your first reaction had been to laugh—a high, slightly hysterical sound that made the hr manager eye you with concern. 

"this is a great opportunity for you to learn," she'd said, her tone suggesting she didn't understand why you looked like you were about to pass out.

you'd nodded mechanically, your mind already racing through every possible disaster scenario. daily interactions. emails that required actual coherence. eye contact. 

how were you supposed to maintain eye contact when looking at him for too long made your palms sweat and your thoughts scatter like startled birds?

the first week was a special kind of torture.

you arrived early every morning, rehearsing conversations in your head like an actor preparing for a role. you studied his schedule like it was a sacred text, memorising every meeting, every deadline, every detail that might give you even the slightest edge in appearing competent. you told yourself you could do this. you were a professional. you'd worked too hard to let something as trivial as a pretty face unravel you.

but then he'd walk into the room, all sharp suits and effortless confidence, and your carefully constructed composure would crumble like a sandcastle at high tide.

like today.

you'd been reviewing project updates at your desk, your notes meticulously organised, your thoughts clear and focused. you were prepared. you were ready. and then—

"did you get those figures from marketing?"

his voice, smooth and deep, came from directly behind you, closer than you'd expected. you could smell the faint, expensive scent of his cologne—something warm and subtly spicy that made your stomach do a slow, treacherous flip. your fingers froze over the keyboard.

you'd meant to say, "i'll get you those files right away." but what came out was:

"i'll get you anything."

the second the words left your mouth, time seemed to slow. your brain, in its panic, replayed the sentence on a loop, each repetition more horrifying than the last. your pulse pounded in your ears, a frantic drumbeat of oh god oh god oh god.

you tried to laugh it off, but the sound that escaped was less a laugh and more a strangled wheeze, the kind of noise that made people edge away slowly. the silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.

jake didn't move. when you finally dared to glance up, his expression was unreadable—just the slight tilt of his head, the faintest arch of one eyebrow. then, slowly, his mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"that's a dangerous thing to offer," he said, his voice low and far too amused.

before you could even attempt to salvage the wreckage of your dignity, he was walking away, leaving you sitting there with your face burning, your hands clenched into fists in your lap.

you wanted to disappear. you wanted to rewind the last thirty seconds and try again. you wanted to march into hr and demand a transfer to a department where you'd never have to speak to another human being again—preferably one located in a remote, soundproof bunker.

but instead, you took a shaky breath, straightened your shoulders, and opened the marketing files with exaggerated focus. you could do this. you would do this.

even if it killed you.

the office whispers started innocently enough. a stifled chuckle when you dropped your pen for the third time during the monday meeting. knowing glances exchanged over cubicle walls when you developed a sudden, intense interest in your shoes every time jake entered a room. at first you thought nothing of it—until you overheard lisa from accounting whisper "someone's got a crush" loud enough for half the floor to hear.

today had been particularly catastrophic.

early in the morning, jake had leaned over your desk to point out a formula error, his crisp white sleeve brushing against your forearm. 

"the pivot table in this spreadsheet needs adjusting," he'd said, his voice dipping into that low, measured tone that did something inexplicable to your breathing patterns. 

and then—god help you—you'd giggled. not a polite professional chuckle, but a high- pitched, borderline hysterical sound that seemed to startle both of you. jake had frozen mid sentence, his pen hovering over the document like he wasn't sure whether to correct the numbers or call hr.

"i—sorry, sorry," you'd stammered, your face burning as you desperately tried to salvage the moment, "it's just—pivot tables are so—they're just really—" 

you'd waved your hands vaguely, as if this explained anything. jake had simply blinked, slow and deliberate like a cat observing particularly baffling prey, before continuing his explanation as if nothing had happened. which was somehow worse.

later, you'd been printing reports when jake appeared beside you—silently, like some sort of corporate vampire—reaching across you to grab a stack of documents. his forearm brushed against yours, warm and solid through the fabric of his dress shirt, and your entire nervous system short-circuited. your breath hitched audibly, your fingers spasmed on the copier lid, and for one dizzying moment you were certain you were going to either pass out or vomit directly onto the machine's control panel. 

from the way your coworkers suddenly found reasons to walk past the copier area, you weren't as subtle as you'd hoped.

"you know," maria from marketing had said later in the break room, stirring her coffee with exaggerated casualness, "if you wanted his attention, you're doing great." the grin she shot you was equal parts amused and merciless.

"that's not—i'm not—" you'd sputtered, your coffee cup trembling in your hands. "i have this thing where i just—when people are really—i mean my brain just—" your words dissolved into incoherence, which only made her smirk widen.

the worst, most embarrassing thing was the email disaster which happened at 3:17 pm on tuesday. you remembered the exact time because you'd stared at the timestamp in mute horror for a full minute after hitting send. 

you'd meant to type "i need you to look at it" regarding the quarterly report draft. what you'd actually sent to jake's inbox read: "i need you to look at me."

your blood turned to ice. for thirty full seconds, you simply sat there, fingers hovering over the keyboard like you could somehow un-send the message through sheer force of will. your first instinct was to feign a sudden illness and flee the country. your second was to claim you'd been hacked. 

in the end, you'd settled for sending a follow-up email with the subject line "CORRECTION" in all caps and the body simply reading "THE REPORT. I NEED YOU TO LOOK AT THE REPORT." you didn't explain further. you couldn't.

the afternoon meeting was where everything came to a head. you'd been doing remarkably well—keeping your gaze firmly on your notes, responding in complete sentences, even managing to contribute to the discussion without sounding like you'd suffered a recent head injury. then, as you reached for your water glass, your traitorous hand trembled just enough to send the glass tipping. water cascaded across the conference table in a shimmering wave, soaking documents, laptops, and—most horrifyingly—the front of jake's perfectly tailored trousers.

the room fell silent. your pulse roared in your ears. the water droplet sliding slowly down jake's thigh was the most obscene thing you'd ever witnessed.

"i—oh god—i'm so—" you shot to your feet, knocking your chair over in your haste. napkins appeared as if by magic from various coworkers, though none of them made a move to help, this was clearly too entertaining to interrupt. 

"i'll just—bathroom and paper towels—" you managed to choke out before fleeing the scene, your heels clicking a frantic staccato against the polished floors.

as you rounded the corner, you could have sworn you heard jake murmur something under his breath. later, you'd learn from multiple "helpful" coworkers that what he'd actually said was "she's something else," in a tone that could have been exasperated or amused or—most terrifyingly—intrigued. 

the office gossip mill had already spun this into at least three different romantic subplots by the time you returned with a wad of paper towels and the shattered remains of your dignity.

the worst part was that this was only tuesday. you had three more days of this to survive. as you sat at your desk later, staring blankly at your computer screen, you made a mental note to research whether it was possible to die from secondhand embarrassment—specifically, embarrassment generated by your own inability to function like a normal human being around your unfairly attractive boss.

things escalated in the worst possible way when jake started hovering more.

it began subtly—a coffee cup appearing on your desk when you hadn’t asked for one, the rich, bitter scent wafting up as you stared at it like it might be a trap. you’d glanced around, searching for the culprit, only to find jake already walking away, hands tucked into his pockets like he hadn’t just disrupted your entire morning with an act of kindness you weren’t equipped to handle.

then came the project updates. suddenly, he was asking for your input on things that weren’t even under your purview, leaning against the edge of your desk while you fumbled through explanations, your throat dry under the weight of his attention. 

and then things somehow got worse when he started leaning down towards you. not enough to be inappropriate, but enough that you could smell the faint, expensive cedar of his cologne, enough that his voice dropped into a low, private timbre that sent your pulse skittering. it felt deliberate. it felt like a test you were failing spectacularly.

like today.

you’d been caught staring. again. 

this time during a department meeting, your gaze drifting helplessly toward where jake sat at the head of the table, his fingers steepled under his chin, the sharp line of his jaw illuminated by the too-bright conference room lights. you hadn’t meant to look. or maybe you had. maybe you were a glutton for punishment, for the way your stomach swooped when his eyes flicked up and caught you, his eyebrow lifting just slightly.

"you good?" his voice was quiet, just for you, the words curling around you like smoke.

your brain short circuited. you could feel the heat creeping up your neck, your fingers tightening around your pen like it was the only thing tethering you to reality. play it cool, you begged yourself. just say something normal.

"low blood sugar," you mumbled, the lie tumbling out before you could stop it. you weren’t even sure what that meant in this context—were you implying you were dizzy? hungry? medically compromised?—but jake didn’t call you on it. he just smirked, slow and knowing, like he could see right through you.

you should’ve known then that you’d made a mistake.

because after that, snacks from him started appearing. protein bars tucked into your desk drawer. a banana left beside your keyboard with no explanation. once, horrifyingly, a lollipop—bright red and obscenely shiny—placed directly on top of your morning report. you’d stared at it for a full minute, your face burning, before stuffing it into your bag like contraband. 

you swore he watched you eat them. not obviously, not in a way you could call him out on, but in those fleeting moments when you glanced up from unwrapping a granola bar to find his gaze already on you, dark and unreadable.

it all came to a head when you thought he was out of the office.

you’d been ranting to yuna in the break room, your voice a hushed, frantic whisper as you paced in front of the microwave. 

"he keeps looking at me like i’m trying to seduce him," you groaned, dragging your hands down your face. "i’m not. i just—i don’t know how to behave around him, it’s like i’m socially defective."

yuna had opened her mouth to respond—probably to laugh at you, the traitor—when a cough cut through the room.

your blood turned to ice.

jake stood in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, his expression perfectly neutral. how long had he been there? how much had he heard? your stomach dropped straight through the floor as your brain replayed your own words in brutal, high definition clarity. socially defective. oh god.

for one endless second, no one moved. then jake tilted his head—just slightly, like he was considering something—and walked away without a word.

you died a thousand deaths in that moment.

you expected things to be awkward after that. unbearable, even. but the next day, jake was... different. he smiled more—slow, deliberate smiles that made your palms sweat. he stared longer, his gaze lingering even when you ducked your head, even when you pretended not to notice. and then, over lunch—a lunch he had invited you to, a lunch you’d agreed to out of some masochistic impulse.

he leaned back in his chair and asked, casual as anything, "what kind of guy do you like?"

you choked on your drink.

your mind raced through a dozen possible responses—professional, respectful, not my boss—before settling on the dumbest possible answer. "alive," you croaked.

jake snorted, his lips quirking in a way that made your chest ache. "good start," he said, and something in his voice that sounded warm and interested, sent your heart into freefall.

the office that night was too quiet, the silence pressing on your ears and making them ring. 

you'd stayed late to finish some work, the blue light of your computer screen the only thing cutting through the dark. outside, the city hummed—car horns, distant sirens, the occasional burst of laughter from people who still had lives at this hour. your coffee had gone cold hours ago, but you kept sipping it anyway, the bitter taste matching your mood.

when the door creaked open, you didn't even look up. probably just the cleaning crew. but then you caught that scent—something expensive and faintly spicy, cutting through the stale office air. your fingers froze over the keyboard.

"still here?"

jake's voice was rougher than usual, tired around the edges. when you finally turned, he was leaning against your desk, two fresh coffees in hand. his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing those stupidly perfect forearms. his tie hung loose around his neck like he'd been yanking at it all day. he looked rumpled in a way that made your stomach do something complicated.

"uh. yeah." you swallowed, suddenly aware of how dry your throat was. "report."

he set one of the coffees down in front of you. the good stuff, from that place around the corner that charged way too much. "drink that before you pass out."

you wanted to say something clever. instead, your fingers fumbled with the lid, the plastic making an embarrassingly loud crack in the quiet office. 

jake didn't leave. just sank into the chair across from you with a quiet groan, stretching his long legs out until his shoe bumped yours. you jerked back like you'd been shocked.

for a while, the only sounds were your typing and the occasional sip of coffee. except you couldn't focus, not with him sitting there watching you. your fingers kept slipping, typing "jaje" instead of "jake" before you could stop yourself. you deleted it so fast your mouse clicked echoed.

"you're staring," he said suddenly.

you choked on your coffee. "i wasn't—"

"you were." he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "at my mouth, specifically."

your face burned. you had been. just for a second. because his lips were chapped from the cold outside, and he kept worrying at the bottom one with his teeth, and—

"am i distracting you?" his voice dropped, taking on that low, teasing quality that made your pulse jump.

"no," you lied, your voice cracking.

a beat passed and then a tiny, pathetic noise escaped you—something between a whimper and a hiccup. you wanted to die(again). 

jake's eyes darkened, his smirk turning predatory. he leaned in closer, close enough that you could see the faint stubble shadowing his jaw, close enough that his knee pressed against yours under the desk and stayed there.

"if i didn't know better," he murmured, his breath warm against your cheek, "i'd say you like me, sweetheart."

your brain paused all activities and all you could manage was a strangled "jake—" that sounded more like a plea than a protest.

he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his grin all sharp edges. "i'm kidding."

but the way his fingers brushed yours as he took your empty coffee cup said he absolutely wasn't.

over the past few days, something subtle had shifted between you and jake without either of you acknowledging it. the nervous stuttering that used to plague your conversations had faded into something smoother, something more natural. 

the late night coffee incident had been weeks ago, but its ghost lingered in every interaction since. you'd noticed the shift—how your pulse no longer raced quite so violently when jake entered a room, how your hands remained steady when passing him files. you still noticed the way his dress shirts stretched across his shoulders when he reached for files, still caught yourself staring at his hands when he typed, but the panic those observations used to trigger had mellowed into a warm flutter low in your stomach. you could even hold his gaze for entire sentences now without feeling like your skin might catch fire. progress, you'd thought. until today.

the copy machine hummed its familiar tune as you leaned against it, listening to the new marketing associate—ethan? evan?—recount his disastrous first client meeting. 

his animated storytelling had you laughing, the sound louder than intended in the quiet office. when his hand brushed your arm in emphasis, you didn't stiffen like you would have weeks ago. which made jake's sudden appearance and grip on your elbow all the more startling.

"conference room. now." his voice carried that particular edge you'd come to recognise—the one that brooked no argument.

you barely had time to mutter an apology to not-ethan before jake was steering you down the hall, his fingers burning through your blazer sleeve. the break room door clicked shut behind you with finality. 

jake paced like a caged animal, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair until it stood in disarray.

"you and the new guy looked awfully friendly." the words came out clipped, his back turned as he pretended sudden fascination with the microwave's keypad.

you blinked. "we were just talking."

"talking." he scoffed, finally turning. the fluorescent lights caught the tension in his jaw. "is that what they're calling it now?"

the realisation dawned slowly, then all at once—the way jake's coffee deliveries always seemed to coincide with your conversations with others, how he'd suddenly taken interest in your lunch plans, the barely concealed irritation whenever someone lingered too long at your desk. your stomach swooped.

"wait." you stepped closer, watching his adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "are you... jealous?"

jake's laugh was humourless. "don't flatter yourself."

but his eyes, dark and stormy, betrayed him. you saw it then: the insecurity beneath the polished exterior, the fear that your newfound ease around him wasn't comfort earned through shared late nights and inside jokes, but because your attention had wandered.

the elevator ride down that evening was thick with tension. jake stood unnaturally still, his reflection in the metal doors betraying clenched fists and a ticking jaw. you watched the floor numbers descend, exhaustion weighing heavy on your shoulders.

"you think i'm playing some game," you said quietly, not quite a question.

jake's reflection met yours. "aren't you?"

the doors opened on the empty lobby. neither of you moved.

"all those blushes and stammers," he continued, voice rough. "the way you'd trip over yourself whenever i got too close. and now?" his hand shot out to stop the doors from closing. "nothing. like i've become... ordinary."

the raw vulnerability in his words stole your breath. you turned, really looking at him—the faint shadows under his eyes, the way his tie hung slightly crooked. the man beneath the polished veneer.

"jake," you breathed, stepping closer. "you could never be ordinary."

something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "prove it."

the first kiss was all collision—lips bruising, teeth clashing. you gasped as jake backed you into the wall, his hands finding your hips with a possessiveness that set your nerves alight.

"fuck," he growled against your mouth when your fingers tangled in his hair. "you have no idea how long i've—"

you cut him off with another kiss, revelling in the way his body shuddered against yours. his palms slid under your blouse, calloused fingers mapping your skin like he was committing you to memory.

"still think i was seducing you?" you managed between kisses, arching into his touch.

jake nipped at your bottom lip, drawing a whimper you'd deny later. "sweetheart," he murmured, breath hot against your skin, "you've been wrecking me since day one."

some distant part of your brain registered the security cameras, the professionalism you were shattering, the inevitable hr disaster. it was drowned out by the way jake's hands trembled as they traced your ribs, by the broken sound he made when you scraped your nails down his back.

when you finally broke apart—lips swollen, breathing ragged—jake rested his forehead against yours. his thumb traced your cheekbone with unexpected tenderness.

"we're going to get fired," you whispered, even as your fingers toyed with his belt loop.

jake's grin was all sinful promise as he stole one more kiss. "best damn termination notice i'll ever receive." (don't do this guys)

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

[luveline]

jadey, could I request some hurt/comfort with hangman (or Steve or Eddie if you’d prefer) where he asks reader out and they’re like “are you sure this isn’t a joke? or a prank? or a bad decision you’ll regret tomorrow?”? and he’s really sweet and kind about it? cause ngl with how shitty my dating life’s been so far, any man that approaches me with romantic intent is gonna have to do so with the same gentleness and tact as someone who rescues and rehabilitates neglected dogs.

“Look out,” Liv says, nodding toward the front of the arcade and then quickly turning away, “Harrington’s back.”

Why she says it like a chore you’ve no idea. You hurry to clip your mirror compact closed and shove it under the desk into a bucket of Chinese finger traps and pencil toppers. You look ridiculous in your polo with your Palace nametag taking up a solid two inches of your chest, but Steve Harrington used to wear a little sailor’s uniform with tiny teeny shorts, so perhaps he doesn’t hold it against you. You really hope he doesn’t. 

Steve looks less smiley than usual —he isn’t surrounded by his troupe of friends, the younger kids, Nancy Wheeler’s brother and the gaggle of dorks that keeps getting bigger. He pretends they piss him off and sometimes they really do, but when Max needs to go stand outside for a minute he always goes with her, and when Dustin flinches at a seriously loud noise, he clasps the boy by the shoulder and tells him it’s alright. He clearly doesn’t mind that he’s inherited a brood of younger siblings.

But today he’s frowning, nearly, something steeled about him as he stops at the desk. You smile carefully and he smiles back, but it quickly fades as he opens his mouth. For a second, nothing comes out. 

“Hi,” he says finally. 

“Hi, Steve.” 

“How are you?” 

“I’m good, yeah. Thank you.” You raise your eyebrows. “How are you?” 

“Nervous.” He scratches the back of his neck, peeking quickly down at his hand and then wiping it roughly into his thigh. “Shit. Listen, I think you’re so pretty, and I practised this part in my head but it’s not– I got another look at you as I was coming in and I forgot what I was gonna say.”

You don’t mean to ask, but, “You think I’m pretty?” 

“It’s dire,” he says seriously, hair flopping into his eyes and half-heartedly batted away. “You’re beautiful.” 

He says it so simply, it doesn’t compute. 

“Oh. Well, thank you,” you say softly. 

“Shit.” Steve shoots a look at the door. You follow his gaze, wondering what the hell he’s looking at. Did he bring somebody with him?

���Steve, are you okay?” 

“That’s why. This is why I’m– I’m fucking up monumentally. I didn’t think I’d be nervous. Like, sure, I felt like I was gonna throw up all morning but I’m usually better at the asking part.” Steve straightens up. A light beige polo is neatly buttoned at his neck, and his hair looks nicer than most days, super shiny under the overhead. When he turns to you, the red light coming off of Dig-Dug paints him with a pink hue, emphasising the dash of blush filling the tops of his ears. “You wouldn’t want to hang out some time, would you? Or– shit. I don’t want to hang out. I do, but– Do you want to go on a date?” 

“With you?” 

He winces. “With me, yeah.” 

You’re quiet for so long it makes you both uncomfortable. Slowly, Steve’s face starts to lose the squirmy nervousness he’d brought in with him, and a familiar softness fills his eyes, his brows pinching at their starts, lips pursed. 

“You look upset,” he says. 

In the tens of times you’ve seen Steve Harrington come in here, and the fewer times he’s come up to the desk to talk, you can’t confess to thinking he’d ever ask you that. You’d imagined it once, how he’d lean against the display of teddy bears and smile at you just so, like you already knew what he wanted. 

“No,” you say, watching his expression for some sign that this is a trick. It doesn’t seem like it is. You can’t say you think he’d be that cruel, but you can’t not ask, either. “I’m wondering if this is a joke.” 

“A joke? No.” Steve frowns. “Did someone do that before?” 

“Just doesn’t make any sense.”

Steve is a nice guy. He’s asked you so many questions about yourself you can’t remember what he knows and what he doesn’t, but you aren’t eager to tell him why you think what you’re thinking now. 

You shy away from him, letting your eyes fall to the pencil erasers. 

“Hey,” he says softly, reaching across the desk without touching you, “hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m not kidding around, I’ve wanted to ask you out for ages, but I– guess I thought this would go better if I waited. You don’t have to say yes.” 

“You really want to go on a date with me?”

“Yeah, I do.” 

“You swear?” 

“I swear. I mean, duh. Who wouldn’t want to go on a date with you? I sort of wake up thinking about you.”

Your eyes fly to his face. “What?” 

“Not in like, a loser way. In a cool way.” 

You still don’t really believe Steve wants to take you on a date until he’s knocking on your door, 7PM sharp, handing you a bouquet of twelve red roses and a hopeful smile. “Told you,” he says, grinning as you step down onto the path with him, something you recognise as nervousness in his smile, but elation, too, “Jesus, I knew you’d look pretty, but this is just something else. Who wouldn’t want to take you out?” 

You hit him very gently with the flowers. “Stop.” 

He grins. “No. Don’t think I will, babe.” 

[tavolgisvist]

'I look in the mirror'

19 February 1963, the Cavern, photo by Michael Ward

Photo by Mike McCartney

August 13, 1966, photo by Bob Bonis

We wrote with two guitars, John and I. And, as I’ve mentioned previously, the joy of that was that I was left-handed while he was right handed, so I was looking in a mirror and he was looking in a mirror. We would always tune up, have a ciggie, drink a cup of tea, start playing some stuff, look for an idea. Normally, one or the other of us would arrive with a fragment of a song. ‘Please Please Me’ was a John idea. John liked the double meaning of ‘please’. Yeah, ‘please’ is, you know, pretty please. ‘Please have intercourse with me. So, pretty please, have intercourse with me, I beg you to have intercourse with me.’ He liked that, and I liked that he liked that. This was the kind of thing we’d see in each other, the kind of thing in which we were matched up. We were in sync.

(Paul McCartney, about Please Please Me in The Lyrics, 2021)

gifs by javelinbk

A lot of what we had going for us was that we were both good at noticing the stuff that just pops up, and grabbing it. And the other thing is that John and I had each other. If he was sort of stuck for a line, I could finish it. If I was stuck for somewhere to go, he could make a suggestion. We could suggest the way out of the maze to each other, which was a very handy thing to have. We inspired each other.

(Paul McCartney, about Eight Days A Week in The Lyrics, 2021)

gifs by nikidontsurf

When John and I met, the first year of our friendship was spent talking about these cover versions, the records we loved, and then playing them again and again. As we got to know each other, we practised these various covers until one day the conversation went, ‘You know, I’ve written one or two songs.’ And he said, ‘Yeah, so have I.’ That gave us something in common that was itself wholly uncommon. I went to a school of a thousand boys and I’d never met anyone who said he’d written a song. Mine were just in my head. So were John’s. We took each other by surprise. And then the logical extension was, ‘Well, maybe we could write one together.’ So that’s how we started. And we became versions of each other.

(Paul McCartney, about The Other Me in The Lyrics, 2021)

gifs by stewy

Q: "Can I ask you about Lewis Carroll?" A: "Oh, Lewis Carroll. I always admit to that because I love 'Alice In Wonderland' and 'Alice Through The Looking Glass.' But I didn't even know he'd written anything else. I was that ignorant. I just happened to get those for birthday presents as a child and liked them. And I usually read those two about once a year, because I still like them."

(John Lennon, June 16, 1965, interview for BBC)

Paul McCartney in his garden at Cavendish Avenue, 7; photo by Barry Lategan (for Observer 'What Makes A Man Stylish?', July 1968)

I think of the imagined world of Lewis Carroll [Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There] that John and I both loved so much.

(Paul McCartney, about I’ll Get You in The Lyrics, 2021)

We’d been together so much that if you had a question, we would both pretty much come up with the same answer. [about their hitchhike to Spain by way of Paris] <…> It’s a bit crude, but it’s fair to say that, in general, I’d had a good life and John hadn’t. His life had been tougher, and he had to develop a harder shell than I did. He was quite a cynical guy but, as they say, with a heart of gold. A big softy, but his shield was hard. So that was very good for the two of us. Opposites attract. I could calm him down, and he could fire me up. We could see things in each other that the other needed to be complete.

(Paul McCartney about Ticket To Ride in The Lyrics, 2021)

Sometimes I look in the mirror Is nobody there? But I just keep on staring and staring No Can it be? Can it be? Can it be? And if I look in the mirror And nobody´s there But I just keep on staring, and staring No Is it me? Is it me? Is it me?

(John Lennon, circa 1977)

+ this

[idkyetxoxo]

Eleven | Ignite Me | Little Star

Pairing - Azriel x reader

Word count - 2.7k

Warnings - Violence, misogyny, angst?

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"I need you to go on a mission for me."

Rhys leaned against the edge of his grand oak desk, the rich mahogany darkened by the shadows cast through the tall windows behind him. 

His violet eyes, normally brimming with sharp amusement or cool command, were dulled, ringed with fatigue. They mirrored my own exhaustion and worry etched into both our expressions like twin reflections.

I nodded, swallowing hard, forcing the anxiety that threatened to strangle me back down. 

I gestured for him to continue, even though my instincts screamed otherwise. I hadn't trained in years. I hadn't used my power in years. Not truly. Not since... well. That didn't matter now. 

My shortcomings were mine to bear, but I would not—could not deny my brother. Not when I would move entire mountains if he asked me to.

"There's unrest brewing in one of the Illyrian war camps," he said, his voice low but steady. 

"Tension's been rising for months, but now it's nearing open rebellion. There are whispers, dangerous ones, circulating. Accusations, lies, slander about the Night Court interfering too much in their affairs. They think we're weakening their traditions, threatening their autonomy."

He paused, jaw tightening. "I need someone to go. Under the guise of a routine visit. Someone who won't raise suspicion but who can observe, assess how far the rot has spread."

"Why me?" I asked, voice soft, careful. There was no accusation in it just honest curiosity.

Rhys didn't answer right away. He pushed off the desk and crossed the room, resting his hands on the back of the chair opposite mine. "Cass would barge in like a battering ram. He's too loud, too blunt. The commander would be halfway to drawing steel before lunch."

I smiled faintly. Fair enough.

"If Feyre or I go, it'll send a message—we'd be admitting we know something's wrong. That could trigger an even bigger backlash. And Mor's still out of the city."

"What about Az?" I asked.

The room darkened not with the absence of light, but with the presence of something older, deeper. 

The shadows came first, curling through the corners like sentient smoke. Then Azriel emerged from them, silent and still as death, arms crossed over his chest. His chin dipped in a quiet greeting, the only acknowledgement he ever offered unless words were absolutely necessary.

"I'll be accompanying you," he said simply, his voice a soft rasp, the sound of secrets.

Rhys's grin returned, faint but wicked. "It's no secret Azriel terrifies just about everyone he meets."

A flicker of something close to amusement ghosted across Azriel's face, a barely-there twitch of his lips that could almost be mistaken for a smile.

"You'll go to ensure the 'female recruits are receiving proper training,'" Rhys explained. "That's the official reason. The camp in question is... more traditional than the others. Resistant. They've been quietly ignoring our reforms, especially when it comes to training females. Azriel will be there because we both know Lord Kain would rather eat glass than take orders from a female—let alone you."

I raised an eyebrow. "So Az is my muscle?"

A short huff of breath escaped the shadowsinger—his version of a laugh.

Rhys chuckled as well. "You, my little star, don't need muscle. Not when you've got enough power running through your veins to make even me flinch now and then." His grin softened. "We're siblings in more ways than one, remember?"

I smiled at that. A lie, but a good one. Convincing enough to pass. 

My brother didn't exactly know how dull my magic had become, how useless I was now.

"Then I am at your service, High Lord," I said, standing with a practised grace I barely felt inside anymore.

Rhys stepped forward and pressed a kiss to my temple, his touch warm and lingering. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't believe in you."

I gave Azriel a wave as I turned to leave, his shadows already trailing me like a second escort. I didn't look back. 

Instead, I headed for my room because I had a mission to prepare for. And whether I believed in myself or not... Rhys did.

 "Lord Kain. Where are the girls?"

The words left my mouth in place of a greeting, flat and edged with ice.

I stood tall at the edge of the training field, arms crossed, boots planted firmly in the frost-hardened earth. 

My leathers were immaculate, polished to an uncompromising shine and my posture made it clear that I wasn't here to play games.

Lord Kain turned at the sound of my voice, his face twisting into something between disdain and amusement. The irritation rolling off him had been thick since the moment Azriel and I had winnowed into the camp. 

He hadn't tried to hide it. He didn't care to.

"Well," he drawled, folding his arms with mock casualness. "The High Lord sends his sister to check in on a few recruits. How interesting." His gaze slid over me like a sneer. "Have you not got anything better to do, princess?"

Behind me, Azriel didn't move, but his shadows curled forward, whispering along the ground like they could sense the disrespect, eager to respond in the only language they knew, violence.

I didn't flinch. Didn't even blink. My expression remained as carefully sculpted as a marble statue, cold, unreadable, bored. 

It only made Kain's upper lip twitch in further aggravation.

"This would go much more smoothly if you simply told me where the girls are," I said, voice even, silken with the quiet authority of someone who had no interest in his posturing.

He scoffed, nostrils flaring. "They have chores," he spat the words like a challenge.

"It's already afternoon," I replied calmly. "Their chores should have been done by noon."

"That may be," he said, tone sharpening. "But they'll come out when they're done. Those were the terms, weren't they? Unless you're here to change them... again."

My jaw tightened just a fraction, but I kept my tone level as I spoke. "They'll come out now. They'll train while we have lunch and discuss, clearly, what terms you seem to have misinterpreted—or willfully ignored."

There was a beat of silence, thick and humming with tension.

Kain's mouth curled into a sneer. "Whatever you say, princess," he mocked, drawing out the title like it was a slur. He gave a nod to one of the warriors standing nearby before stalking off, his broad shoulders tight with contained rage.

I waited until he was out completely of earshot before exhaling a slow breath through my nose. "He was this close to snapping my neck," I muttered, turning toward Azriel with a dry laugh.

Azriel didn't share it.

His eyes were dark, his expression carved from stone. Shadows coiled tight around his boots like hounds straining on a leash.

"He should learn to watch his tongue," he said, low and dangerous. "It'll cost him his life one day."

The promise in his tone wasn't empty. Azriel didn't make empty promises.

I waved a hand dismissively, already walking toward the largest of the tents—the warlord's meeting space and my temporary domain for the afternoon. "Mhm. I'm sure there's plenty more misogyny waiting to be endured before the sun sets."

Azriel trailed a step behind, silent, his shadows already peeling away from him to slither through the camp like smoke, seeking out secrets and soft spots.

The dining tent was stifling, despite the breeze outside. The air inside was thick with spiced meats and tension, both equally hard to stomach.

I sat across from Kain at the long wooden table, Azriel at my right, silent and still as a shadow, his presence enough to keep the rest of the gathered warriors at bay. 

The other commanders, hand-picked by Kain no doubt, sat further down, pretending to eat while they listened with sharpened ears.

Food had been laid out, smoked lamb, roasted roots, dense bread, a bottle of something strong poured sparingly. 

Kain hadn't offered me any, of course, and I hadn't asked.

"I must say, I didn't expect royalty to find the time to visit a backwater camp like ours," Kain said as he tore a hunk of bread in half, voice casual, words laced with disdain. "Must be a slow week at court."

I speared a piece of lamb with calculated grace. "The strength of the Night Court rests in all its corners," I replied coolly. "Even the ones most neglected."

His smile was tight. "Neglected, huh? I'd say we're just left alone. Some of us still prefer to run things our way—without constant meddling."

I gave a delicate shrug. "And yet, here I am."

Azriel said nothing, but the slow scrape of his thumb across the handle of his blade was answer enough.

"I'm sure you believe you're keeping things in order, Lord Kain," I continued, sipping water, not wine. "But reports suggest otherwise. Constant injuries. Poor equipment. Untrained recruits. Females who were promised a chance to fight being made to scrub tents."

"Reports," he snorted. "You mean whining. From soft, pampered soldiers who don't understand how things are done in the mountains. These females—you can call them recruits all you want, but they're weak. Soft. They're a distraction."

"They're Illyrian," I said softly. "Same as you. Same as any male at this table. If that's how you speak of your own, I'd hate to hear what you say about your enemies."

A flicker of silence passed. Sharp and brief.

Kain leaned forward, hands splayed on the table like he was trying to loom without standing. "We train warriors here, not bleeding hearts."

I smiled sweet, sharp and deadly. "And yet, I don't see many warriors. Just a lot of noise."

His eyes narrowed at that.

Azriel didn't move, but his shadows hissed at the edges of his shoulders. Kain noticed. Everyone did. But the warlord only stood, brushing crumbs from his tunic.

"If you'll excuse me, I have real matters to attend to." He didn't wait for permission. Just turned and stalked out of the tent, tossing a glance over his shoulder that promised this wasn't over.

As the flap swung closed behind him, I leaned back slightly. "He's hiding something."

Azriel rose wordlessly, a silent promise in his shadowed form. "I'll find out what," he said, and slipped into the dimming daylight without another word.

I watched him go, then pushed away from the table myself.

The true purpose of our visit might've been uncovering what Kain was plotting—or hiding but my reasons went deeper. 

These girls... these recruits... they weren't pawns in a game. Not to me.

I wove through the camp slowly, taking in everything with an experienced eye. The uneven terrain of the training ring. The warped dummies. The shortage of practice weapons, wooden blades cracked and splintered from overuse. 

The scent of overworked bodies and underfed ambition. It was a battlefield disguised as a camp, and not a well-maintained one.

Near the back, I found them.

A cluster of young Illyrian girls crouched beside a water barrel, scrubbing pots and pans with red-raw hands. Mud on their boots, braids fraying. 

They looked up as I approached, wary, eyes darting past me to check for a watching male.

I smiled gently before crouching to their level. "What are your names?" I kept my voice soft and even.

They hesitated, eyes flickering amongst one another. Before one brave voice—barely above a whisper answered. "Mira."

I nodded encouragingly. "Mira. Beautiful name. You were promised combat training, weren't you?"

She blinked slowly, fearfully, as if her answer could change the trajectory of her life. "Yes."

I stood firmly. "Then you'll get it."

Their faces didn't light up, not yet, but something flickered in their eyes. Hope, maybe. Or disbelief. I could work with either.

I hadn't come all this way just to play diplomat. I came to remind them what power looked like when it wore a woman's face.

And I had every intention of leaving this place better than I found it—whether Kain liked it or not.

The path back to the main tent was quieter than it should have been. Too quiet.

The sun was lowering, casting long, spindly shadows between the training dummies and rows of tents. Most of the camp had migrated toward the mess hall or the sparring ring, voices distant. Here, among the supply crates and discarded weapons, it was deserted.

I should've known.

The moment I turned the corner past the armoury tent, I felt them. A whisper of wind, a crunch of boots behind me. 

I stopped. Too late.

Rough hands seized me from behind, one on my arm, the other curling around my throat. Another body stepped into view in front of me. A warrior. Illyrian. Grinning like he'd already won some prize.

"Well, look what wandered too far from the High Lord's leash," he sneered. "Thought you could just waltz in here and start tearing down centuries of tradition?"

"Let me go." My voice came out calm, too calm. I tried to twist in his hold, to channel the heat under my skin, the power I knew lived inside me.

But it didn't come. It hadn't in a long time.

It was like trying to breathe in a vacuum. My body remembered power, but my heart didn't believe in it anymore.

Another male stepped out of the trees. And another. And another. There were four now maybe more, circling like wolves.

"You're not welcome here," one growled. "We fight our way. We train our way. You and your court can't change what's always been."

"She needs to be taught a lesson," another spat.

I swung my elbow back hard, landing it against ribs, but it barely made the male flinch. 

I reached—desperately for my magic. For that starfire in my blood. The twin flame to Rhys's. The power that once made whole cities tremble.

Nothing.

The male behind me shoved me forward and my knees hit the dirt, hard. More hands yanked my arms back, pinning me in place and pain blossomed across my cheek as a fist struck.

I tasted blood.

"You're just a girl playing warrior," one of them sneered. "Your kind doesn't belong here. You never did and nothing you say or demand can change that."

I closed my eyes, not in fear. Fear would've meant I still cared about surviving this. No, what curled in my chest was worse. Shame.

Because this wasn't who I used to be.

This wasn't the girl who had once scorched battlefields in the name of her court. Who had walked into enemy territory with her chin held high, who had danced with gods and come out alive.

That girl had died somewhere along the way—quietly, invisibly. And I'd let her.

And now? Now I couldn't even save myself.

Another hit came. I barely registered it. My lip split open and my vision blurred at the edges as the voices around me dwindled.

Silence followed. A different kind. A deadly kind.

A shadow moved. A gust of wind that carried no sound, only finality. And then—

Screams. Short. Cut off.

The hands that held me vanished and I fell forward, catching myself on trembling arms. I blinked the haze away just in time to see it. See him.

Azriel.

He stood just ahead of me, his wings spread wide in the dying light. Shadows dancing at his back like death. Blades sang in his hands, one curved, one straight. One still dripping red.

He moved like a wraith—like darkness incarnate.

He didn't fight. He ended. Swift. Brutal. Beautiful in the way only something deadly could be.

Each movement of his was efficient, precise. Lethal. There was no sound from him. No grunt of effort, no yell of rage. Just the dull crunch of bones and the wet whisper of blade through flesh.

Within seconds, it was over. Four bodies lay on the ground. Blood pooling dark beneath them.

Azriel didn't even look winded. There was not a drop of blood on his leathers. Not a single hair out of place.

He turned to me then, shadows still flickering faintly around him. His gaze raked over me, slow, clinical, burning.

I pushed myself up slowly, swallowing the thick lump lodged in my throat.

I hated that he'd had to come. Hated that I hadn't been enough. Again.

He knew it. Of course he did.

"You don't need saving," Azriel said, voice quiet but firm, stepping closer to me. "You need remembering."

I looked down at my bruised hands, at the dried blood flaking across my knuckles. "I want to stop being afraid," I whispered. "Afraid of being powerful again."

Azriel's eyes softened, just a flicker. And then, he smiled. A rare, real thing. Sharp and full of dark promise. The shadows settled around him like a crown.

"Then you'll terrify the world once more."

He offered a hand and I took it.

For the first time in years, I felt the fire within me stir to life once more. Not raging yet but waking slowly. Ready and mine.

A/n - Yes, I did indulge in a little forced proximity, sue me x There’s just something delicious about Azriel trailing in the background while reader is the one walking into the lion’s den.

Of course, I couldn’t resist letting Az have his moment too towards the end because overprotective Az? Always a yes!!

Next part is fluffy and sweet and Cass makes an appearance so look out for that (forgive me for the pain please) <33

Little Star tag list - @jaybbygrl @writtenbypavani @fall-winter-heart97 @coeurdeveea @lilg101010 @krazykangaroo712 @moonlitlavenders @lil-lupa @jasmineee05 @pinksnowtiger @yourdarkrose @nerdybee123 @bookwormysblog @thoughtfulcoffeeflower @suspicious-stain-in-spain @anainkandpaper @theflowerswillbloom @queenoffeysand @historygeekqueen @lexi-in-wonderland @tele86 @saamanthaag3 @whydohumansss @xlosttdreamss @bookishwondersworld @plants-w0rld @i-am-infinite @ly--canthrope @lreadsstuff @urfunnyvalentin3 @dnfhascorruptedme

[youryanderedaddy]

Summary: You're a princess locked in a tower and guarded by a big, scary dragon. But is he as scary as it seems? tw: female reader, deceit, manipulation, murder (not reader), stockholm syndrome(?) My ko - fi <3

As the youngest princess, you'd always known you would end up like this. In some far off land with little to your name other than some jewels, stuck in a tower just like your mother had been before she got married to a foreign lord, and finally allowed to re-join society. It was such a cliche it was funny at first, but now you just felt like screaming at the top of your lungs from boredom.

At first you didn't feel the unknown presence. The tall man was lurking in the shadows, as if part of the ancient building. You could smell the herbs in the air around him - the minthy fragrance trailing long after he had retired to his chambers. Then little by little you started to recognise him - in certain shades of sunlight, in the back of mirrors, in the tiny lizards crawling at the corners of the stone walls. But nothing could prepare you for that first morning when you saw him - really saw him.

You had woken up early, startled by noise reminiscent of that a bird makes during flight - but multiplied tenfold. You had looked through the window with a weak, fluttering heart. And then you saw his true form - massive yellow wings covered in what looked like pure gold burning brightly in the sky. Long, hard body made of sun - kissed flakes; so sharp they could be used as arrows. And a thin, curled tail drawing circles around your tower.

One of his empty moonlit eyes turned towards you, and it was all over. He immediately dissapeared into thin air, the only evidence of his existence being miles of thick gray smoke. But you weren't going to let the only living creature around run away so easily.

"I saw you!" You screamed long before you could even begin thinking of proper etiquette. Ladylike behavior be damned, you were dying of loneliness in this stupid tower. "Please..." You begged, voice hoarse and desperate from weeks of forced silence. "Come here." You continued ruefully, playing with your hair, chest riddled with anxiety - after all you hadn't spoken to a human being in so long.

You heard a long, almost pained sigh, which made you turn around. You were greeted by a tall brooding figure. It wore the face of a man, but its long golden hair and broad, muscular shoulders pointed to something a lot less human and a lot more devine. He must have been twice your size - trully intimating in all his shining glory. Even in his human form his skin seemed to glow just like his sharp almond - shaped black orbs, constricted in his yellow pupils.

"I'm always here, Your Highness." You remember his exact words simply because you were taken aback by how soft his voice was - just like fine silk. It wasn't the voice of a dragon, but the voice of an angel. "You just never see me." He added with what you then assumed was a hint of playfulness, but now recognised as annoyance. With that he leaned against the wall, crossing his hands together.

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

Many months passed since that fateful day. You slowly got to know your new companion - or perhaps, guardian. You learnt that many called him Cain after the fallen son* - once a strong soldier of the Lohemian Kingdom, his injuries had made it impossible to keep fighting. That's how your father found him - abandoned by his brothers, lying in a mudded puddle of his own blood. The rest was history.

He didn't speak very much - but he never left your questions unanswered.

"Cain..." You'd call out with practised uncertainty. Even so far removed from your peers, you still couldn't escape the twisted societal ideals of propriety. You could never be too eager to speak to a man - even if he wasn't fully human. "Is that your real name?" You wondered, genuinely curious. You slowly looked away from the book you were holding and towards your friend, the book long forgotten. The dragon was sitting in the other corner of the room. Despite all the time you had spent together so far, he was still hesitant to come near you. There was a certain stiffness in his strong shoulders - as well as his jaw.

"Princess..." The man mumbled softly, your heart aching by the sheer tenderness of the term. Usually you'd pay it no mind as it was your right from birth, your title - but titles didn't matter here. There was no place for status or riches between those four intimate walls that always felt small despite the spacious squares. "Don't you know curiousity got the cat's tongue?" He responded with a crooked smile that didn't quite reach his eyes - even his smiles were serious and stoic.

"You have it all wrong." You huffed, standing up from your comfortable chair just to make a big, dramatic gesture with your hands. "It's curiosity killed the cat." You stated confidently, waving your finger at the dragon. He let out a soundless chuckle and averted his gaze away from you. He still couldn't get over the fact that you weren't afraid of him.

"Whatever my Princess says, goes." Cain teased, eyes narrowing further - now they looked like two pitch black slits. He tuck one disobedient lock of gold behind his pointy ear, making the glass beads of his earring jingle in tone. "Just don't say I didn't warn you." He whispered with slight condescension, toying with the dancing little crystals. "My name is Kaajin, if you must know. I doubt you can spell it. It's in Lohemian." He suddenly stared at you as if in a challenge. "Does this change anything? Anything at all."

You shook your head - of course no. There was little your protector could do to make your feelings change; not when you had been so terribly alone without him. Not when he looked at you as if you were precious - breakable, yet precious.

************************************************************************

The days went by slowly. There was nothing there to help pass the time - just your voice and his voice blending together in the echo of the tower. Again and again and again.

"Entertain me." You asked authoritatively, looking at your friend from down below while you were sitting on the ground. You were bored - so very bored. "I don't remember ever signing up to be your personal jester, my Princess." Cain, no, Kaajin replied succinctly, showing off two pointy fangs - and you couldn't help recalling the story of the Sleeping Beauty and the spindle that sent her into deep, eternal slubmer. You wondered how his teeth would feel against your finger - and your throat. Whether they'd tire you or save you with the kiss of true love.

"Please?" You asked sweetly, just the way he liked - just like you had done that cold winter day in December when you first met face to face. It seemed to work, because soon after that you could feel him move through the room with a tired step - ever so dramatic, closing in on you. "Sure." The dragon breathed in your ear, enjoying the way the flesh quickly reddened with emotion. He reached behind the sensitive shell and slowly waved his fingers just short of your nose. In his hand just milimeters from you was hanging a thin silver chain with a little red rose dangling down. "Here. Have fun." He let it slip past his slender fingers and you swiftly reached to catch it before it could break in thousand pieces.

"What am I supposed to do with it?" You asked, puzzled - still looking at the delicate bracelet and the way it seemed to come alive under direct sunlight. "I am not a child." You suddenly puffed, stuffing it into the pocket of your long skirts. Kaajin only clicked his tongue, gently tugging at your wrist until you took it out of your pocket. "Don't be so ungrateful." His strict yet plush voice took you out of your little outburst, and you finally looked up. His eyes were measuring you up, scanning for any hidden movement - any secret emotion. "I am a dragon, remember? We tend to be awfuly protective of our things."

Your eyes filled with curiosity once again. "You mean your jewels?" He nodded rhytmically, trying to keep his composure at the mention of his old, forgotten customs. "I've read some stories about dragon kings stealing piles of golden coins and locking them away for all eternity. "You chuckled to yourself. "Like they could ever use them." Even after all those years you still found the thought amusing. Humans spent their youth slaving away so they could waste the money gained once they were old and wise. Dragons, on the other hand, were satisfied with holding onto wealth and jewels and all those shiny human things - with little understanding of the subejctive value they held in the human world.

"Yes. It's true indeed. Dragons-" Your guard nodded yet again, now somewhat uneasy. "We take good care of our..." He averted his eyes far away from you. "treasures." He finished stiffly, gaze basically burning the ground. "So you shouldn't take my gift lightly. You should wear it with pride. And perhaps in time you'd find another use for it, too." The man explained, a slight blush spreading across his usually high, cold cheeks.

You smiled gingerly, kissing your fingers around the chain before pressing it to your chest - close to your heart.

"I shall cherish it forever, then." You exclaimed, feeling warm inside. You were uncertain as to why, but your stomach was spinning wildly, as if filled with bubbles. "But you still owe me some fun." You giggled, running to start the old phonograph in the corner of the room. It was your favourite thing in the whole world - which didn't mean a lot up here, but it was enough to make your legs move on their own.

As you danced to Vaarlen's famous spring waltz, the air seemed lighter and the cramped hall just slightly more grandiose. It was easier to breathe. You extended your hand towards your dragon, asking him to join.

"You know I don't dance, princess." He grunted, his mood souring. He never told you why he hated it so much, but the man was never too fond of music. Still, you decided to try again. "Oh, come on. Just this once." He didn't seem convinced. "Let me teach you as a thank you gift. I'm serious." You tapped your chest playfully. The man rolled his eyes, then gently took your hand in his. You almost broke into a giddy giggle - for the first time since your family locked you up in the rotten tower you felt happy.

And he always gave into you.

So you two danced, both lost to the music and your own racing thoughts. Kaajin kept his distance, but his hold was strong onto your wrist - unrelenting, like he never wanted to let go. Your body twisted and turned, perfectly synced to the chords, blind to the pass of time. You only realized it had become evening once your back hit the window - it was dark outside. Yet another day gone. Yet another day lost.

"Kaajin..." You could feel the tears burning at your wet lashes before you could stop yourself. You had promised yourself not to think about it anymore - not today, or ever for that matter, but it was impossible once you were faced with the Creator of All. The Master of everything, of everyone - time. How could you ever pretend otherwise?

"Do you think-" You bit the inside of your cheek, your hands fighting the guilt as you let go of his. "Do you think my father would ever let me go into the outside world?"

The guard gulped dry, taking a step back to give you space.

"I-" He took a deep breath, gaining the courage to look at you. "I don't know. The war is still going. Your kingdom has lost many brave men and women. Even the strongest soldiers are starting to capitulate." He couldn't bear to look at your pretty face all messed up by the pain and sorrow, but it was for the best.

"I understand." You muttered, turning your back to him - curling back into yourself. You felt his arms wrap around you, and you remained quiet - neither fighting it, nor embracing it. "Don't cry, my princess." The man whispered. "No matter what happens, I will always be by your side." He meant it. You knew it by now, and that only made it all the more tragic. "I swear on my life." You believed him, you had no reason not to - he was the only one you had left.

As for your father, he couldn't really give a proper order now, Kaajin thought. After all, dead men tell no tales.

[gothicpaperback]

THE ART OF THE DEAL | PART FIVE

<<< PART FOUR: SIGNS OF INSTABILITY | PART SIX: COMING SOON >>>

wc: 3,1k | rating: 18+ for eventual smut | Harry Castillo x You | FALSE RELATIONSHIP

summary: you don’t believe in love. neither does he. that’s the only thing you agree on. after swearing off romance, you’ve built a quiet life in art preservation and avoiding anything resembling vulnerability. but when Harry Castillo, arrogant, infuriating, and stupidly rich, proposes you pretend to be his fiancée for the sake of getting his overbearing mother off his back, you’re thrown. but the money is good and with your detached views on romance and love, you make the perfect polished, commitment-free partner. It’s just a deal; cold, clean and temporary. but pretending to be in love with a man you can’t stand has a way of making you feel things you promised yourself you’d never feel again. especially when he starts looking at you like you're more than just a line item in a contract. And worst of all? You start looking back

the MC female character is YOU. she is not named and barely described physically aside from being able bodied and having hair long enough to grab.

tags/warnings: false relationship, mentions of materialists film spoilers, smut, enemies to lovers. i will add more tags as they become relevant.

taglist: @chasingthepoguelife | @tnsmara | @sarahhxx03 | @taehyungxjungkookistaekook | @bluenightmarepost | @kakiki3 | @pascal-mynightlyobsession | @immyowndefender | @dedicatedfangirl2001 | @dotyoureyez | @decadent-hag1 | @madmelz | @sarahhxx03 | @orcasoul | @papapappapapapa | @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 | @greenwitchfromthewoods | @insertclevernamehereplease | @titlee78 | @thedisagreeablegirl | @millersgirll | @brinapedroswife | @15christyxoxo |

THE ART OF THE DEAL | PART FIVE | AT RISK

You stick beside Harry the first few innings, drinking chilled wine as Mona and Adrian murmur about the players. Harry’s hand rests lightly on your knee; just enough for show, not enough for you to forget it's staged. 

Harry is sure to give you that grin, the one he’s practised in the mirror, the one that screams, “I’m so lucky to be marrying her!” even though last night he met a woman at the bar near his home and got her number. 

Harry is not delusional, he knows that you're both playing a part and he's fine with it. You're like a colleague of sorts, someone he can be real with, and someone with a goal. And it feels good to get female attention. It sews up the wounds of his twenties when he felt resentful and hideous in a body with a height that didn’t match how he felt outside.

You're seated between Harry and his mother in cozy leather recliner chairs feeling trapped. 

Ada and Adrian stand by the large windows, eyes trained on the game. Every so often you feel her eyes trail your way and you’re sure to be looking away when they land on you. Your back feels sweaty, your nerves on edge. Even though you're not saying anything you're continually wondering how you appear to everyone else. 

Mona leans over from her chair. “Soooooooo,” she says, drawing out the word like she already knows the answer, “How are wedding plans coming?”

You go wide-eyed and clumsily take a sip of wine to buy yourself time. Thankfully Harry jumps in immediately.

"We're not in a rush." 

Mona looks like she's about to reply when Lindor hits a double. You're grateful that the family is genuinely interested in the game. And now the room erupts into light applause and you think you hear Ada whistle, but you're not sure. 

When a belated Mason and Eleanor arrive, full of apologies you're thankful the attention is taken away from you and Harry who sit next to each stiffly. When his mother exits her chair to greet Mason, Harry removes his hand from your knee. You're thankful.  

When you're walking or chatting with his family it feels more natural to hold his arm or his hand.  The arm around your waist is still foreign as are the kisses he presses to your cheek and back of your hand between innings. 

You're thankful he showed up when he did with Ken though. He didn't need to, he gained nothing by it for him, and he was just being kind. 

"About time," Ada sniffs as Mason kisses her cheek in greeting. 

"Traffic was horrible."

"So I've been told." Ada looks at you before her ice flick through the window to the scene below. The game is heating up. 

“I meant to ask, where did you go before?" Harry murmurs from beside you.

"There's this souvenir shop not everyone knows about. Less touristy, more unique finds."

Harry frowns. "If you wanted something specific..."

"I got what I needed, thanks." 

You're not cold in your response, just guarded and Harry can sense it. He just can't understand it. 

You watch Mason and Eleanor covertly in the large leather sofa. His arm goes around her naturally and she snuggles up against him. 

It makes you realize what a real couple would be doing right now; sharing a soft pretzel, whispering dumb jokes, leaning in without thinking about who’s watching. Harry nudges you. You realize he asked you something.

“Huh?" 

"I asked if you wanted to sit outside the suite."

He's pointing to the chairs outside the suite doors on the private balcony. The ones high enough to let everyone know that you're made of money. You nod, following him out and nestle into the seat next to him.

"I was glad to see you're using the card," Harry mentions over a beer a short while later. "Quite the shopping spree."

"I'm returning most of i-"

You stop mid sentence to give a cheer as Lindor rounds the bases. You stand up, forgetting yourself and making a whooping sound. 

This isn't how his family acts in public and with a grimace Harry grips the back of your shirt, urging you back. You glance down to see his wince, looking over his head into the suite to see his family staring at you. You feel Ada's eyes scan your face, looking for the cracks.

Shit. 

You collapse into your seat, hunching slightly. 

"I didn't realize you were so enthusiastic," Harry murmurs,  his eyes on the game. 

You feel the sweat on your back drying, leaving behind that itchy, sticky feeling.You hate this. Not just the faking, but the way he always seems to think he's better than you. 

"That's because you don't actually know me, Castillo." 

Harry feels the ire rising from your body like a nuclear blast. Just as he's about to remind you that you're still on the clock the screen flashes.

KISS CAM.

You don’t notice at first, you're too busy trying to ignore Harry. But then the crowd below you starts hooting, and you glance up. There you are: Giant and on the centre screen.

You're eyes are wide, turned on Harry. His smile is frozen, practised and false. 

“We don't have to do this,” you mutter. "Right?"

“It'll look pretty weird if we don't,” he says between clenched teeth, already turning to you. “And according to you, I need the practice anyway.”

You can't help but laugh when he does as well, nodding after a moment's pause. What the hell, sure, why not. You have to pretend to be a couple; you knew this was part of the deal. He spins your baseball cap backwards by the brim as the crowd cheers. Your face is warm and Harry is amused by your sudden quiet.    

So she does get shy.

Harry plans on a peck; something simple and cute to appease the fans. But also enough that his ego might be salvaged. The last kiss was terrible. So dry and harsh and unsettling. You brace yourself for a similar experience. 

He's not expecting the buzz of something that hits him below the navel the second your lips connect.

Your hand goes to rest on his shoulder, his hand at the side of your neck. You hold your breath as his mouth moves over yours. You anticipate that he'll pull away immediately. But he doesn’t. Instead, his lips linger. Warm and firm and pressed just long enough that something shifts under your skin. You feel it in your spine first, this continual tension loosening in the muscles near your jaw.

His hand is still on your face, and it’s no longer stiff. It’s kind of… . gentle.

But then his other hand finds your waist. Not possessive or preformative. And the kiss deepens, just slightly a tilt of his head.

He notes the change in your breathing. His mouth parts, brushes yours again, slower this time, softer. He feels something unfurl inside him, unexpected and hot.

Fuck, this feels so good. You feel so good.

 He doesn't know you feel it too, doesn't know that your body is suddenly on fire from the inside. All he knows is that the fingers resting on his shoulder curl, pulling his T-shirt onto a fist as the kiss deepens.

You're confused that his mouth is making you feel prickles of heat everywhere, expanding when his arms move to snake further around your waist, pulling your chest against his, kissing you deeper. Then there’s the flick of his tongue, the briefest hint of impropriety.  

And he can hear the whimper you offer as his kiss turns more insistent, his eyes shut as he licks into your mouth. He tastes the sweetness of the wine on your tongue.  It's only when your arm goes to crook around his neck that the cheering crowd erupts into a fever pitch at the sight.  

You break away first at the uproar, blinking rapidly. His eyes search your face like he’s trying to decode something. You feel breathless and exposed, like you just said something intimate without speaking at all.

You turn your hat the right way around before pulling the brim low over your face, embarrassed when the crowd below starts to whistle and cheer. 

You hope that the humiliation is over but when you glance at the screen, the kiss is playing on a loop. Lovebirds is written in just script with a cartoon dove making a heart trail around your pixellated figures. 

Harry watches this too, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment. You can't help but observe the way you cling to one another, the way Harry's eyes flutter shut and the slight slip of his tongue along yours. It's hot. 

You meet eyes and out of nowhere the two of you collapse into laughter, grinning like idiots as you watch yourselves on the big screen. The whole thing is so preposterous. 

"I can't believe we just did that," Harry chuckles, his hand on your knee again. 

"I know! I just-"

"Honestly Harrison. So low brow."

Ada has come to ruin the fun, not that anyone is surprised at this point. She stands by the railing, her posture straight, hands clasped behind her back. Her silver hair is neatly coiffed; her gaze sweeps the field, then lands on you.

And just like that, you’re back in the performance.

"Harrison," Ada whispers, "leave us a moment." 

Harry eyes his grandmother warily before standing. He shoots you a look before walking past, back into the suite to join the rest of the family. 

This leaves you and Ada alone, the crack of the bat echoing as the crowd roars. 

“Enjoying the game?”  Her voice is calm and enunciated, as though each word is chosen with care. 

You offer a polite nod. “Very much. Thank you for the invitation.”

Despite her advanced age and her bowed posture, she continues to stand, her eyes boring holes into your forehead. 

“It’s important, you understand, that you carry yourself with refinement if you're to be a part of the Castillo family." 

You don't answer her immediately. Instead, you study her expression: the faint narrowing of her eyes. You grasp the unspoken expectations of this household. You're thankful that your engagement is a sham. You'd never let anyone actually talk to you like this in your real life. 

Satisfied with your lack of response she continues.  "Your engagement to Harrison came as quite a shock to me.'"

"Oh?"

 There’s no warmth here only relentless expectation "Why it was only a few months ago he was asking for the family ring, citing that he'd found the perfect wife."

"Oh right, Lucy."

"Yes. Lucy." She sniffs. "An opportunist to the core, that one." 

You shift in the seat. You never met Lucy so you don't know if her assessment is correct. But still it feels disingenuous to insult a woman you've never even interacted with. She inclines her head slightly, but the corners of her mouth don’t soften. 

“Any member of the Castillo family must enhance its standing,” she inclines her chin at you, “You understand how that works socially and publicly. With your job you know the inner workings of social expectations.” 

How does she know about your job?  "How did-"

"Let's not be naive," she says as she drops her voice. "I know people. And I learned what I needed to about you. Intelligent, well liked, divorced." 

Her words hang in the air. She hums to herself, eyes on the field to watch Juan Soto step up to bat. For a minute you wonder if she just needs to watch the rest of the game standing beside your chair, you decide that you could probably handle that, but you still wish Harry was here to act as a buffer. 

But your dreams of a peaceful and quiet existence are easily shattered when she moves her eyes back on you. 

"If you're with my grandson just for the money you'll be disappointed to know that anyone who marries into the family is required to sign a hefty prenup." Her scowl deepens. "If your marriage is dissolved you will leave the marriage with only what you brought into it."

You have no real skin in the game, so it's fine for you to just shrug. "Of course."

She surveys you for what feels like several minutes, the game is forgotten, all you can feel is her eyes on you."We have the benefit gala next month. I trust you’ll be there and that you'll keep in mind this chat." 

Her tone implies everything: attend with grace, impress without attention-seeking. The suggestion resonates with the subtle, disciplined power of a royal matriarch.

You nod again.

"Good. There are people there that I wish you to meet."

The game is over. The score abysmal. The Mets have lost and you feel you can relate.  Ada gives you the briefest smile; thin, professional and far colder than polite.

“Have a pleasant rest of your evening.” 

Then, without another word, she turns and glides out of the room: a predator strolling away from her prey, having made her point without ever baring claws. Harry arrives seconds later, a worried look on his face as he holds out his jacket to you.

"I told them you were getting cold and I needed to get to you right away."

You smother a smirk as you take it from him gratefully, tugging it over your shoulders. It's heavy and warm and smells like his cologne

"Was it alright? She wasn't rude was she?"

"No. Just direct." You take his hand when he extends it. "She wasn't a big fan of Lucy though."

"She's not a big fan of anyone I date."

You give the family your farewells as you leave. You really do enjoy spending time with Harry's family minus Ada. 

They're warm and prone to laughter and much less uptight than you ever thought they'd be. 

"Let's have lunch this week," Mona says pressing a kiss to your cheekbone. "A girl’s day. I want to get you know you better." 

You feel terrible but 1:1 lunches with family was not part of your deal with Harry. Its hard enough keeping up a lie with him at your side, The scrutiny of a luncheon would prove to be too much. 

"I'd love to but I'm afraid work is very demanding this week,” you offer diplomatically. “I have a new piece coming in that I need to devote my time to."

You don't miss the way Mona looks crestfallen. You feel like an utter asshole and quickly rally. 

"Raincheck?" 

Inside the town car you hold in a groan. You have a splitting headache and there's still much you have to do before calling it a night. Raj still doesn't engage in conversation with you, but maybe that's for the best. You're not feeling particularly chatty. 

Harry shifts in the seat next to you, noting that you still wear his jacket around your shoulders. Something about the sight intrigues him. 

"I'm sorry my mother sprung the luncheon on you," he says truthfully. "She's never done that with any of my past relationships so I didn't anticipate it." 

You look his way. "I just don't know what to do if it comes up again." 

"I'll handle it." 

Outside, the city lights blur past like smudged ink, too soft and too fast. Inside, your stomach churns in quiet war. 

Your mind is on that kiss.

You try not to think about it now, about how he looked at you for half a second longer than he needed to, those calculating eyes betraying just a flicker of surprise, as if he wasn’t expecting you to kiss back. 

But you did. You did more than that. You leaned in like you meant it, clung to him like it wasn’t just part of the deal. Like maybe something sparked and you felt it in your ribs. But this isn’t real. You’re being paid, hired to play a role: the doting fiancée, the perfect buffer, a human shield between him and whatever pressure his family keeps pressing into his spine.

But now, in this stupidly comfortable car with the low golden lights stroking over his jawline, you feel something beginning to fray inside you.  Not affection, but curiosity, maybe? You can feel his gaze flicker your way, reading you like a stock report, and you resist the urge to look back.

“Long night,” he says, like it’s casual. Like he didn't kiss you like something out of a romance book.

You nod once, stiff. “Mhm.”

“So have you started to reassess my kissing prowess?” he asks, and there’s something dangerous in the way he says it: soft and amused like he’s setting bait.

"I believe you rate a bit higher now," you tease back. "A solid seven out of ten." 

"Ah, well, good to have something to aspire to," he grins. 

You nod with a smirk, watching the traffic as the car moves towards your apartment before you remember something Ada mentioned. 

"Your grandmother mentioned the benefit gala next week?" 

Harry sighs, the back of his head tilting back against the seat in exhaustion. Between his job demands and this farce he's feeling completely strung out.  

"I forgot about that." 

He pulls out his phone, glancing at the messages. His abrupt severing of the conversation irritates you. 

"You said one family event per month. Pretty sure this is the third in two weeks."

"I know, I know," Harry says caustically. "But c'mon, it's not like you're really suffering. You love baseball, you said so yourself."

"I didn't exactly get to enjoy myself. Did I?" You bite back. "I was so paranoid I was going to say the wrong thing." 

"Didn't stop you from dancing around and making a fool of yourself at the game today." 

That feels like a low blow, and you turn your furious glare on him. He doesn't meet your eyes, his own gaze trained on his phone. 

"I'm sorry that I feel emotions, Castillo. It's nice you might want to try it out for yourself."  

Harry is quiet, eyes on his phone as he begins to type. He's texting someone or maybe just making notes on how irritated he is. But you do notice the telltale pink at the tips of his ears that let you know he knows he said the wrong thing. 

You're so angry right now that you want to do something drastic. You can't tell Harry off and risk losing your money. Instead you bring your own phone out, punching in a text to George. 

Let's skip dinner and get right to dessert at my place tonight. Wdyt? 

The reply is instantaneous. 

Send me the address and I'll bring the wine. Can't have dessert without wine. 

authors note: i really appreciate all of the comments that have been left and i hope my taglist works. does this feel like an old rom com to you? it helps me write if i know what parts you like. and i wonder what will happen next with these 2.

xx

💋💋💋💋

i got the line dividers from @saradika-graphics

[haikyu-mp4]

Baby fever

word count; 979 – f!reader, suggestive

It was way past ten in the evening by the time you and your husband, Bokuto Koutarou, walked through the doors of your home. You’re both absolutely spent and still undeniably giddy, all from being around children the whole evening.

About a month ago, Kuroo came to Bokuto with a proposition. He wanted to set up a special class with an MSBY player who could spend a few hours teaching children who were interested in volleyball. Keep the spark alive.

Koutarou was beaming with joy throughout the whole thing, mostly following the script he practised with Kuroo beforehand, even though he definitely went off track a couple of times. You helped him with preparation of course, and when the day finally came, you just had to join them. Standing on the sidelines, you mostly helped with picking up stray balls and managing the children. Your husband’s eyes met yours every now and then, which felt like a silent conversation between the two of you. Both with stars in your eyes.

You finally got home and dropped your bags by the door to deal with later. While Koutarou kissed your cheek and then headed to the toilet, you headed straight to the kitchen to prepare some food. The smile on your face just wouldn’t rub off as you prepared ingredients, feeling the stir in your stomach when thinking back to how Koutarou looked handling those young children. One particular image of him holding a little girl in his arms seemed to be recurring.

In the bathroom, Koutarou was the same as you. There was a dazed smile on his face as he stared in the mirror, splashing his face with cold water as if it would rub this feeling off. Your soft voice was ringing in his ears, images of you playing with some kids who were waiting for their turn replaying in his mind.

The two of you had baby fever.

Koutarou walked into the kitchen, knowing you’d want food before showering and heading to bed. He skipped over to where you stood by the counter, softly pressing kisses to your neck and letting his hands roam over your hips and stomach. “Need help?” he asked.

You leaned into his touches for a moment before carefully putting the knife down beside the rest of the uncut vegetables. “If you finish this, I can start with the rest,” you said and kissed his cheek before moving over to the stove, pulling out a pan and cooking the meat.

Koutarou got right to it, a little clumsily cutting what you needed. “Did you see that one kid who wouldn’t stop kicking the ball?” he chuckled, glancing at you between cutting. That one sentence was all it took to raise the energy in the room.

“Yes! I think his parents should try him out for soccer instead.” you giggled. Does he feel it too? “But that other kid who he hung out with totally reminded me of you!” you said, explaining in detail how the kid reminded you of your husband when he cheered obnoxiously loud every time he got the ball over the net. Koutarou laughed loudly, putting the knife down. He gathered the chopped vegetables in his hands and scooped them over to you, dropping them in the pan.

“What about that girl, the one who challenged him? You have to admire her guts,” he said, wiping his hands off on his pants and sliding them around you again as you cooked everything. You agreed with what he said and leaned into his touch again. You and Koutarou were happily married, both with stable jobs and a big house. Who could blame you for thinking a little version of each of you would fit in perfectly?

“She was raised well, I think she’ll be a future star in whatever she chooses to do,” you added, chuckle drifting off into the air. It was still unspoken, this fever. However, there was something in the way his hands finally stopped moving, both holding your stomach with his fingertips resting just under the top of your pants. “Kou…” you whispered, turning down the heat as the food was almost done, so you could turn halfway to him and look at his face. His eyes immediately searched yours. “What would you want, a girl or a boy?” Of course, you had talked about kids before, and you knew before marrying each other that you both wanted them in your future. Is now that future?

He smiled wide, the kind of bright smile only he has, in your opinion. His lips met yours for a kiss, deepening it by brushing his tongue against your lips. He only pulled away when he had to for breath. “Either way, they‘ll be perfect,” he said as if it was the easiest thing. “Are we almost discussing what I think we’re almost discussing?” he asked, a reference from Modern Family, which you often had playing on your TV as background noise.

You smiled even wider, an ache starting between your legs as his hands moved around to your ass so he could pull you chest to chest. “Wouldn’t it be kind of perfect now?”

Koutarou turned off the stove and moved the food off the heat before putting his hands back on you. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You squealed his name as he picked you up, supporting your thighs and letting you kiss him silly while he carried you to the bedroom. He ignored any protests you had about the food getting cold, insisting you could heat it up again later.

“You’ll look so beautiful, I’ll take such good care of you. All of you,” he promised, putting you on the bed and crawling over you.

“How many are you thinking, mister?” you giggled.

“As many as you’ll give me.”

“Let’s start with one, my love.”

masterlist

[ihaznoclue]

Can I request headcanons for Bayverse Adult! Mikey, Donnie, and Leo reacting to his gn s/o asking him if you can introduce him to your family please? Only if he wants to!

Pairings -> Bayverse!Mikey x Reader, Bayverse!Donnie x Reader and Bayverse!Leo x Reader

Warnings -> None

Note -> Reader wants to see if they want to their family if they want to of course!

Genre -> Fluff

MICHELANGELO - MIKEY

His face just lights up the room when you ask him that question

Like a kid-on Christmas level type of excitement

"You serious babe!? Like Right now?!"

He would start to overthink this whole scenario is the most adorable way possible - asking raph to help him or Leo, one of his two older older brothers

Hes nervous sure but he is really glad that you asked him this as he was waiting for a long time

No one can tell me otherwise but I bet he would practise on what to say in the mirror

He takes this a sign that you want to up your relationship and that this is real

It make him feel more loyal even though your family doesn't know that he is a full grown mutant talking turtle

But he knows that you're family will hopefully understand

DONATELLO - DONNIE

He stops what he's doing in the lab as he was typing away on his computer, sipping on a apple juice that he got from the fridge

Then when you ask that question, suddenly choking on his juice as he was completely shocked that you asked him that all of a sudden

I mean he would love to but "You mean.. like your family-family?"

Immediately started to think of possible outcomes on this situation and what would happen

Then when you hit him with the "Only if you want to" hits him hard enough

Like wow, you really care about his comfort and his boundaries, he loves you all over again

Lowkey he would be terrified though deep down

I mean he's a huge over 6 foot turtle

But he really wants to meet your family

Would definitely spend most o this time trying to calm down before meeting your family

LEONARDO - LEO

A sudden pause as he stops wielding his swords as you suddenly ask him that one specific question if he wanted to meet your family

I mean it's not because he doesn't want to but because he feels a sudden weight on his shoulders

"But only if you want to"

That echos in his head over and over again as if that's going to help

But in the end he looks up at you with a calm and gentle smile

"I'd be honored"

He mostly gets introverted as it remind him that while he's always protecting others

But this one time, someone is willing to offer him something rather than demanding

Will go on a full-respectful mode if he does meet your family

Will spend most of his nights meditating to get this off his mind

-A<3

[seonghwaddict]

say my name — song mingi

request by anon. "This is my first request to anyone ever so forgive me if this is..idk incoherent 😭. But lately I've been thinking about a short smut story where the reader (fem) being a backup dancer for ATEEZ and Mingi catching feelings for her over time and then end up fucking in the dressing room and maybe one of the members walks in idk have fun with it. 🤭"

idol!song mingi x backup dancer!reader. genre. smut. warnings. smut below the cut, explicit sexual content minors dni, fingering, some dirty talk, use of petnames (doll, baby), slight dom/sub dynamics, dom!mingi, swearing, intentional lowercase. please let me know if i missed anything. wc. 1.2k.

lilo's notes. i'm back!! this is the first request i've received, hopefully i did it justice. by the time i finished writing i forgot that anonie asked it it's possible for another member to walk in and join.... sorry about that. but anyways, i hope you all enjoyed this!!

listening to. perceive by doma cyno.

masterlist

“fuck, baby,” a hand swiped through your folds, gathering the almost embarrassing amount of arousal from your core. “you’re so wet.”

you like to think your day started off like every other day. you woke up at 7 am, ate breakfast, got ready for the day and arrived at kq two hours later. you went through some choreographies with the other backup dancers until 4 pm, left to run some errands, and then returned to practice some more on your own.

since your first day at the company only a few months ago, you’d always take a few hours after your shift to perfect your art more than you already have. sometimes you’d spend those hours with the other dancers who showed up for the same reason, but surprisingly, a lot of the time it was mingi who found himself practising his group’s or his own choreography alongside you.

the first few times felt awkward, to say the least.

you yourself weren’t really one to strike up conversations with random people, and considering he was part of the group you had to dance for, you were afraid of slipping up and losing your job. but, eventually, he talked to you. after that, things were easier—you’d joke around, take breaks to go eat something, help each other and sometimes even stop what you were working on to choreograph something together; just the two of you.

it was only a month or two later that you caught yourself looking at him in a less than friendly but rather heated way… and much to your surprise, you slowly started noticing his own lustful glances—lips red from biting them and hooded eyes tracking your every movement. but, alas, you weren’t one for first moves.

considering all of this, you weren’t surprised at the position you were currently in; on the floor of the practice room, legs hooked around his as you sat between them, mingi’s lips against the side of your neck, one arm around your waist and the other with his hand inside your panties (your shorts had been discarded long ago, along with his shirt) as he faced you to lthe mirror, forcing you to watch his every movement.

he swiped his middle finger through your folds, gathering some arousal and then slowly circling your swollen clit. a breathy whimper escaped your lips as you threw your head back on his shoulder. the combined sensation of his finger around your nub and his lips kissing and sucking on the sensitive skin of your neck sent another wave of wetness gushing out of you.

“eyes on the mirror, doll,” he moved his head up to whisper right into your ear with that husky voice of his, gently biting down on your earlobe. he removed his hand from your pussy for a moment, letting your legs down to slip your panties off before hooking them over his thighs again. you were practically dripping as he exposed you. “i want you to see what i’m doing, watch how your beautiful little body reacts to me.”

reluctantly, you nodded and pulled yourself off his shoulder, eyes zeroing in on the arousal smeared between your thighs. a moan escaped your lips as he gave your clit a particularly firm tug, his ring and middle finger pressed against the skin on either side of it and pinching gently. you tried holding back your following moans, but the quiver of your thighs gave you away. though, you felt better knowing you weren’t the only enjoying this so much, his erection strained against his pants and poked at your ass. 

his movements against your heat were slow but precise, eliciting pretty little whimpers and moans from you. the hand wrapped around the front of your waist moved up, featherlight touches leaving a trail of goosebumps behind as he gently brushes his fingers over the fabric of your bra. then he nudge the straps down your shoulder and let the bra cups fall, his hand immediately going to tweak at your nipples. 

“f-fuck…” you cursed quietly, trying your best to stop your eyes from fluttering shirt from all the pleasure and keep your eyes on the mirror as he asked.

two of his large fingers circled your entrance, massaging it before slowly pushing in. jaw slack at the stinging stretch, you watched as they disappeared into your vagina, breath stuttering when he curved them just enough to brush against the right spot. your hand snaked it’s way behind his head, tugging on his hair gently.

“oh, look, doll,” you heard him groan behind you, feeling his smirk against your neck, “look at how well you take my fingers…”

and with that he slowly began pumping his fingers in and out of you, digits firmly pressing against the spongey spot inside you each time, increasing his speed more and more as his thumb continue circling your clit. he watched your face in the mirror, analysing each twitch of your muscles and each flutter of your lashes to perfectly adjust his movements. in any other context, you perhaps would’ve appreciated how perceptive he was. but right now you wanted nothing more than to savour the feeling of his fingers, anticipating how his cock would feel in you. 

before you knew it, the familiar knot of an orgasm began tightening in your abdomen, your body squirming.

“shit, mingi…” his name tumbled out of your mouth in a drawl and his movement stopped for a moment.l before he continued at a more rigorous pace. you could’ve sworn you felt his erection twitch behind you. 

“say that again,” he growled, “say my name.”

the rough scratch of his voice made you impossibly wetter as you obeyed quickly. “mingi, o-oh…”

after that it didn’t take much longer for you to snap, coming down hard on his fingers, muscles jerking and back arching as his hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your noises.

“keep it down, baby, someone might walk in and see you at my mercy.”

he pulled his fingers out of you and caressed your thighs. it didn’t take to long for you to calm down from your high, chest heaving with deep breaths as he whispered praises in your ear. despite the fact you just had an orgasm, you knew you still wanted more.

“i-i need… i need you,” you tried, face flushed as you hinted the best you could.

“hm?” he chuckled. “and what exactly do you need of me?”

with a huff, you grinded yourself back against him, against his cock, but he moved his hands to grip your hips firmly and stop you. 

“that won’t do,” he shook his head. “i want you to use your words, doll. can you do that for me, baby?”

a moment of silence passed between you. it was awkward or anything, a teasing grin on his face as he looked you in the eyes through the mirror, your brows furrowed before you sighed.

“god, mingi, i need your cock in me.”

he grinned, hands tugging your shirt and bra off before sitting back on his knees and turning you around. mingi leaned over you, cupping your chin before kissing you with a bruising hardness. once he broke the kiss, a malicious spark shined in his sharp eyes.

“anything for my doll.”

network. @cromernet

[daceydeath]

Dance Practice

Pairing: Yeosang x reader Word Count: 1.6K Genre: Smuty smut smut Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Explicit Activities

What started as some friendly assistance in helping you master some choreography morphs into something so much more

You were meant to be concentrating, but Yeosang wasn’t making that easy, being a trainee was everything you wanted and although you had tried to audition for so many companies, you ended up only having one option, KQ. It had its disadvantages but the advantages far outweighed them. One of the biggest was being in the vicinity of Ateez. So here you stood as Yeosang so kindly offered to help you out with the choreography after watching you utterly failing to pick it up as fast as the other trainees that were using the spare practise room that he had reserved for the afternoon, and you could not keep your mind on anything other than how his arms loong in that black tank top. Biting your lip hard you tried desperately to stop your mind from undressing him as you watched him move so gracefully in the mirror in front of you, his movements precise and perfect, which of course they would be it was choreography that he performed constantly that you couldn’t seem to be able to even begin to master.

“I know Hala Hala is intense but I’m sure you can get it” Yeosang smiled in the mirror looking at you as you pinched your eyebrows together, you were unendingly grateful that he thought your frustration was to do with the choreography and not the ache developing in your lower half,

“Thank you for helping me Yeosang sunbaenim” you smiled genuinely, bowing as he turned to look at you properly. “You are far too kind”.

“Do you want me to go over it again or would you like to practice tomorrow?” he asked in his honey voice, making it even harder for you to keep your mind on the task at hand.

“Oh perhaps tomorrow? I don’t want to take up anymore of the time you had reserved for yourself” you bowed again not wanting to take advantage but also desperate to be slightly further away from him so you could clear the thick fog of lust from your brain. 

“It’s really fine. I only wanted to work on some of our choreography for our comeback. I can do that later, I really think I can help you if we give it an hour” he smiled cheerfully, already moving to get the music cued up. Tying your baggy dance shirt at your waist so that you had some control over it you nodded and accepted your fate that you would learn the choreo then go home and have a long evening with your vibrator. “Let’s do it one more time without the music and then we will try it faster”.

Nodding you got into position to his right watching him run his hand through his hair as he counted you in and started to teach you the first half of the song grinning everytime you picked something up easily and slowing his movements every time you struggled. He repeated himself over and over until he could see each movement click in your mind,  walking to the back of the room you saw him grab his own drink bottle sipping slowly as he watched you finish the last run through on your own.

“Take a water break” he urged, handing you a bottle of water.

“Thank you” you breathed heavily gulping down a few mouthfuls of water.

“Is there anyone you need to let know why you’re late home?” he asked suddenly, looking slightly guilty, that he was taking up your time.

“No, I’m allowed to come and go from the dorm for practice” you blinked confused at the odd expression clouding his pretty face.

“Good, just didn't want to be responsible for causing you trouble” he sighed pleased.

“I’d happily get in trouble for you” you whispered softly, unable to stop yourself and when he curled one of his perfect eyebrows towards you, you slapped your hand over your mouth, your face burning with embarrassment. “I am so sorry” you swallowed hard looking at the floor hoping a sink hole would open up beneath you.

“I didn't quite catch that” he smirked, stepping closer to you until he was almost standing right before you. “Care to repeat that princess?”.

“Um…I…uh” your fumbling just made you feel worse until Yeosang took your chin between his fingers forcing you to meet his eyes.

“I thought I heard something about getting in trouble?” His smirk morphing into a shit eating grin that had your heart racing.

“Yes trouble” you breathed unable to move a muscle.

“I'm going to get you in so much trouble, princess” he continued his other hand locking onto your hip and pulling you hard against him, with your bodies now flush you could feel the way his cock twitched against you and it made your mouth go dry. He gave you a few moments to move away and when you didn't his lips crashed into yours making you gasp, taking the opportunity you gave him he licked into your mouth his tongue dancing with yours. Your lips stayed locked together until you were almost dizzy, breaking away only long enough for him to thread his fingers into your hair and pull you back to him. Backing you up until you were trapped between his hard body and the cold glass of the mirror.

“Yes” you moaned breathily as he kissed his way across your cheek to your jaw then down your neck.

“Tell me to stop if you don't want this” Yeosang mumbled into your hot skin.

“Want this sunbaenim” you whimpered, his hands cupping your breasts and massaging them roughly through your clothes. You could feel him smile against your throat as his hands moved to push your sweat pants down your hips enough that he could slip his fingers between you waiting wet folds.

“It's Yeosang, just Yeosang” he purred, quickly finding your clit and circling it with his fingers making your body jolt.

“Fuck, Yeosang” you yelped softly, spreading your legs wider for him and letting your head fall back against the glass.

“You going to let me have you angel? Right here where anyone could walk in and see you?” He teased his fingers shallowly pressing into your entrance. You nodded silently, breath coming out in short pants the more he toyed with you. “Need to use your words my pretty little angel”.

“Yes Yeosang. Please” you finally gasped, pleading for him to continue touching you. His smile turned almost predatory as he finally pushed two of his fingers inside you stretching your walls in preparation.

“Get undressed” he ordered, chuckling as you fumbled to get your shirt and bra off while he continued pumping his fingers inside you his cocky smile returning as you whined in protest as he slipped his fingers from you to pull his own tank top over his head his wet fingers deftly untying his own drawstrings as he kicked off his shoes. “We don’t have all day, angel”.

Swallowing hard you toed your own shoes off stepping away from the mirror towards him and shimmying out of your pants leaving you in only your underwear in the empty dance studio in the middle of the afternoon. Pulling you back into his arms he kissed you again running his hands over your body, squeezing your arse and things while you ran your fingers across his perfect abs. Sliding his hands down your thighs he hoisted you up encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist before pressing you against the wall next to the mirror.

“So you can watch me fuck you angel” he whispered huskily making your shiver against him. Slipping the cotton of your underwear aside you expected his fingers to return to you core but when the blunt and swollen head of Yeosang’s cock began stretching you open you had to bite down on your lower lip hard to stop from crying out.

“Yeosang” you mewled as he bounced you roughly on his cock his length stretching you walls harshly as he snapped his hips against your arse.

“Fuck you feel like heaven” he groaned lowly against your throat when he mouthed at your flesh licking and sucking at your skin. The quiet of the room was broken by heavy breaths and slapping skin until a loud knock against the door started. You gasped your walls, quivering around Yeosang who grunted softly and thrusted harder into you as a wave of your arousal soaked him.

“Sangie? You in there?” Wooyoung yelled, waiting a few seconds before trying the handle which rattled a few times. Yeosang pressed his lips to yours, his tongue tangling with yours to silence your noises as he continued pounding into you until Wooyoung left, leaving you teetering on the edge of orgasm, your walls quivering around him.

“Yeosang, Fuck” you choked out while your eyes rolled back your walls clamping down on his dick as you came hard Yeosang followed you over the edge letting your walls milk him of his hot seed before kissing you softly on your cheeks and nose.

“So you like being caught huh?” he chuckled teasingly, continuing to hold you against the wall “I’ll remember that for next time”.

“Next time?” you breathed unevenly trying to catch your breath.

“Yeah when I take you out on a date” he smiled, genuinely lowering you to the floor carefully to make sure you could stand properly, you grinned letting him collect your clothes from the floor before he helped you into them and helped you leave while avoiding any of his members who may still have been lingering.

a/n: Thank you my lovelies for reading this and leaving me likes, reblogs and comments as little breadcrumbs of joy xx

Taglist (open): @christopher-bangnaldoskzz @armystay89 @damnyouficc @roamingpolar

@tara-skyhold @bakedlilgoonie @krishastumblernow @mrsseals16 @fawnpeaks

@leeknowinggg @tanzen-ist-gold @uno7 @ocean-dreamer-sky-chaser @skersey33

[satoruhour]

hello!! ive been lurking on your acc for a little bit and i absolutely adore your writing like omg!! but earlier i got to thinkin about toji (as we all do) and i was thinking about how vulgar i imagine him to be in a sexual context and it makes me like soo shy and im not shy 🙄 im just obsessed with the idea of him saying really filthy shit to us and then practicing what he preaches yk

PRACTISE WHAT YOU PREACH

a/n: i keep falling asleep on the couch writing. and thank u for the inspiration for the name LOL

wc: 2.4k

warnings: reader has the same bite to her as toji does but gets shy when said man says filthy things, dom!toji, implication of sex in parts of the drabble, (public) dirty talk, pet names, he calls you ‘whore’ and ‘slut‘, toji calls you ‘mama’ once, oral (m receiving), deepthroating, spitting (on hand and in mouth), p -> v penetration, clit stimulation, unprotected sex, riidng, praise, degradation, daddy kink at the end, creampie / breeding kink, brief oral / cunnilingus @ the end, n*sfw under the cut

fushiguro toji is a vulgar man inside and out. It’s obvious when he tells the teenage boys to go fuck themselves when he catches them looking at you and you have to slap his bicep, or perhaps grabbing a piece of your ass while waiting in line to pay for groceries and all you can do is send him a nasty glare and a strong nudge of your elbow.

he doesn’t mind his baby fighting back, especially with how easily he can overturn the tables and have you squirming and breathing heavily whenever he gets you under him in the bedroom.

it comes to light first when you’re talking with a co-worker at a company party, talking casually with them before toji comes over with both your drinks. he’s tamer, then, sucking up to your insufferable colleagues even if they didn’t know what they were saying. this dude was clearly eyeing you, too, despite knowing toji was your plus one, and at that point the poor man has had enough.

“how ’bout you invite him back to our hotel and let him watch as i fuck you? maybe then he would stop fucking starin’.” toji passes you your drink as he whispers it, albeit the last part filled with mild bitterness, not entirely as secretive as he would like to be because the colleague’s eyes are widening immediately. he swallows his saliva at the large stature of your boyfriend’s and you just know he did it on purpose. but when you don’t reply and bark back at him with annoyance, toji’s lips curl in a smile, a light bulb going off in his head at his discovery and he’s been incessant since.

“yeah? how ’bout you clean a bathroom for once, fucker,” you roll your eyes, throwing a rag into the bathroom sink, disgruntled at how your boyfriend couldn’t even clean his own sink. it was beyond him to clean the place where water flowed everyday but when he told you that all you could muster was a look of disgust.

you were in no mood for him when you saw him creep in behind you in the mirror, eyes trained on the male who just mutters apologies into your neck, kissing the skin there like a tease and resist the urge to shiver, keeping up your angered expression.

until his words hit. “’m sorry baby, shoulda known better than to say stupid shit like that. how ’bout i make it up to you?”

“like what, toji? you gonna get on your hands and knees and scrub the floors yourself? cause i’d like th—”

“i’ll do it,” but not for the reason you think, “i’ll do it if i get to eat my pretty girl’s pussy out. and then let me pound her while she watches how good i make her feel.”

needless to say, your panties were thrown in the washing machine immediately as he made your moans echo in that squeezy bathroom, and the sink ended up being squeaky clean for the next few weeks.

it’s the best way to get you to shut up and sometimes the way your lips move as you’re rambling about something or how your figure looks as you’re reaching for the tv remote and spouting profanities is just so hypnotising. he’s obsessed with you.

toji stares blankly at you while you’re explaining the way to work the air fryer for the third time that day, and it’s not his fault you’re currently in a camisole. it’s accentuating your tits and the home shorts you’re in isn’t helping either, because he can easily swipe it to the side to fuck into you.

you snap your fingers in front of his face, “wha—? listen to me when i’m talking to you, babe.”

toji just rolls his eyes, something he knows you hate, and he watches your outburst with a lovestruck smile. he catches your snapping hand with ease, switching to holding it. “hey! what did i say about rolling eyes?”

he leans forward, placing his other hand dangerously close to your ass, but the forehead peck distracts you. “i heard you the first time, darling.”

“you—!” toji just laughs at your surprise. sure, he was old as fuck but he wasn’t entirely clueless about the air fryer, but he let you explain and drone on about the settings, knowing you’d be focused on the device. that way, his eyes could travel unforgivingly and just like that, the playful moment is overcome by his vulgar disposition again, the act of his body craving yours before his words made you freeze on the spot.

“but enough about air fryers, hm?” the sight of toji’s hand almost covering yours was enough to send you reeling, but it’s increased when he drags your hand down the hardness of his front. you can feel the ridges of his abs, down, down, down until his bulge. he guides you to squeeze his dick, a guttural groan making its way to the front of his throat. “how ’bout you show me how much your eyes can roll back as my cock disappears into you, huh?”

your breath hitches at the proposition and toji’s smile spreads into a grin at your reaction because it’s like this every. single. time. unconsciously your hands start to undo the knot of his sweatpants, pulling it under his hardened shaft, the other sighing when your hand finally wraps around it. it aches so much that he finds himself thrusting into your hand briefly before you start stroking.

toji gathers a blob of spit on his tongue and maintains eye contact, spitting directly onto his cock for some lubrication and you take a deep breath, slick noises sounding out throughout the house. he makes sure to do it again later. “getting it ready for your pretty little cunt, aren’t you? filthy girl— f-fuck…”

the words make you rub your thighs together, stepping closer to him while you continue stroking, up, down and up, down, determined to give him a taste of his own medicine. pushing him until you’re out of the kitchen, he lets you shove him onto the couch, a loud groan leaving his lips when you descend to your knees and your mouth closes around his cock.

“s’big,” you whimper, swirling your tongue around his angry tip and going back to deepthroating him, desperate to feel his dick down your throat.

“oh— s-shit, baby,” toji pulls back the hair from your head, seeing your eyes barely being able to focus as it hits the back of your throat, “that’s it… suck it like the dirty whore you are.”

the degradation is reason enough for you to bob your head quickly, moaning around his length as your mouth drips drool mixed with the pre-cum from his tip. toji chokes out your name, hips bucking into your warm mouth while your hands find purchase on his thick thighs, taking him down your throat until your nose meets his pelvis. soon he‘s cumming down your throat with grunts, feeling the hot semen rush into your cavern.

“stay there, good fuckin’ girl,” the other groans out when your eyes shift to him, swallowing bits of his cum with a small stream of tears filling your lash line that threaten to fall. he notices your hand sneaking into your panties and he smirks, bringing you off his cock to catch your breath. you sputter and gasp, hand still lightly wrapped around him. he’s still hard after cumming, but he’s also more sensitive.

“can i ride you now?” you ask like it’s any other question, shimmying out of your underwear before wasting no time to straddle him. his tip pokes your pussy and you grab him, dragging him up and down your folds to collect your slick. before long, you’re grinding on the bottom of his shaft, your labia spread along his dick and toji is charmed by how you move on him with needy moans and two hands on his torso.

“sure ya can, doll, but…” you can tell toji’s impatient, as with you, so with a roll of your eyes (toji mumbles under his breath that you’re a hypocrite), you sink down slowly on him, the arousal of your cunt wet enough to take him without prep. inch by inch you take him deep, head thrown back as toji enjoys the view — the curve of your body, how your nipples poke through your camisole — and he smiles as his baby calls out his name from being so full.

“o-oh my god… toji—” the last bits of his name fades out when he moves his hips experimentally, the pain soon fading into pleasure and the feel of his cock in you causes you to lean forward.

“yes?” he grins, body now propped up with his elbows, meeting you halfway, “is my princess tired already?”

“n-no, i can do it,” you mewl when your hips start to bounce, the stretch of his dick feeling so good. he’s reaching places in you that you can’t even fathom, “i can take you…”

toji groans softly at your declaration, body twisted in such pleasure as you soon find a rhythm on him, relishing in the way toji watches you with lust in his eyes. he helps you with a hand on your hips, but the other pushes your top past your tits, mouth latching onto your nipple and taking one into his mouth and the gesture halts your movement for a bit. a chill runs through your body as he swirls his tongue around your bud, a breathless moan leaving you as toji looks up at you through hooded eyes.

it’s got you clenching, and toji hums into your chest, moving to your other nipple before releasing it with a pop! “tired?”

you make a small sound of agreement, the sensations of his thick cock in you paired with his lips on your tits and the burn of your thighs too much for you. he happily indulges you, bringing your body close to him before he plants his feet on the sofa and fucks up into you, a choked moan leaving you. that one thrust was just to tease you, limping into his embrace as he hears the slap of his balls onto your ass.

“you’re taking me alright,” toji laughs, cut off by a moan when he continues his ministrations, entranced by how you’re so wet you manage to leak down his length. with how your pussy is drooling, he rams into you easily, obscene noises of your sopping cunt against his pelvis as your sounds of pleasure comes out in little breaths.

“so wet,” toji comments softly, cock twitching from how your boobs felt against him and how your pussy feels so damn tight. it hugs him so snugly he has to will himself not to cum, but you’re making it difficult by how you call out his name in whines. “don’t tell me she was wet earlier already?”

you can hardly focus on his questions as he bullies his cock into you, body rocking from his relentless hips and the friction of your clit against his skin, but you mutter out a yes, a high-pitched one that’s got toji chuckling.

“my baby loves it when i talk dirty, huh?” you whine into his neck, arms tightening around his neck, “she loves it when i tell her how much i want to slam my cock into her pussy, yeah?” toji is ruthless, continuing to thrust while his words have very much the same effect. “or maybe she wants me to say how i want to cum deep in her cunt, filling her to the brim. shit… does she want me to fuck a baby into her?”

you clamp down around his cock with a loud moan and he stutters, “gotta stop clenching around me, darlin’, f-fuck.”

“y-yeah… wan’ that…” you pull away from your hiding place to babble out, eyes close to closing and drool dripping down the sides of your mouth. “wan’ all your cum, daddy.”

toji sucks in a breath at the name drop and in a second, he’s switching the positions. he admires the sweat on your skin and your heaving chest, and for the first time he’s able to see just how soaking wet you are, along with the stretch of your pussy on him.

“wan’ you to make me a mommy…” you mewl softly, and that’s all it takes for the other to start moving again because if it’s anything he loves more than seeing you crumble at his words, it’s how you tell him what you want.

you can feel toji twitch in you at that, but you have close to no strength, letting him thrust into you with vigour that’s running out too — he’s too besotted with your moans and face that’s morphed into pleasure, along with your whiny pleas.

“c’mon, open your mouth, mama,” toji pulls on your bottom lip with his thumb, “stick out ya tongue.”

you obey, hand squeezing his bicep as he gathers saliva in his mouth again, thrusts stopping briefly. he can feel your hips move, but you’re still focused on how toji purses his lips and how the spit leaves his lips — the long line of spit that descends slowly onto your tongue and the tension that surrounds it tells him you love it.

“attagirl,” he grins, wiping the corners of your cavern as the pace starts up again, and it’s so sudden you already feel like cumming.

“g’nna cum, daddy,” you mutter out, legs closing around him when you feel the familiar coil of your abdomen and toji just holds you closer, intoxicated with the moment that he wants it to last. “gonna—”

your eyes are blown wide when toji secretly reaches down to press a thumb into your clit, drawing lazy circles. that’s enough for your orgasm to come crashing down on you, pussy clenching hard on the other.

“daddy— oh my god!” toji still continues to rail into you, whimpers of his name spurring him on until you’re moaning out again as his cock spurts his cum deep in your cunt, filling you with his load until it spills out.

toji immediately drops down and starts to lap at your clit, a first class seat to his cum leaking from your pussy, laughing when you hardly care about it staining the sofa, too cockdrunk to care about reprimanding him.

“so pliant,” toji uses a finger to push his cum into you, “maybe i should get you like this more often, heh.”

[nialls-golf-putt]

Lights in the Floors, and Sweat on the Walls

(4.5k) You see a mystery brunette at a work party nursing a whiskey, one drink turns to another, and nothing could've prepared you for the night. tw: mild dom/sub dynamics a/n: this is honestly concerningly vanilla to me but i really liked the idea of a kinda workplace romance (mighttttt be a series) so here y'all go

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The music was thumping loud enough to aggravate you further. You couldn't help but think that just because someone was signed to the label, didn’t mean they had to play their music at parties.

You felt your phone buzz and reached into your purse when a woman walked towards you, dressed completely inappropriately for a work party.

You sighed inwardly and plastered on a fake smile. It was probably the wife of one of yet another operations executive who thought schmoozing up to anyone who worked in management would get their husbands a promotion.

If that’s how people got higher up in this industry, wouldn’t everyone do it? Her nasal voice broke your train of thought.

“Hello, you must be Mrs. (Y/L/N). I’m Jan Harmon, you must know my husband, Gavin. He works in Budgeting. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Gavin has nothing but praise for you.” She spoke with the ease of someone who had practised this in her bedroom mirror a lot of times.

“It’s Ms. (Y/L/N),” You corrected coolly, “And no, I’m sorry, I don’t think I know him. I don’t work directly with a lot of people.” You smiled, faking regret, as she went away, simpering. You were thinking about just how Gavin Harmon could get that raise he was pandering for when your gaze caught on a man in a russet suit.

He was nursing a glass of what looked like whiskey in his hands as he stared around the room. You couldn't help but think that was weird. Sure, it was a casual event for everyone working for the label, and their plus-ones, but it wasn’t casual enough to be a whiskey kind of event.

What was even more weird to you, though, was the fact that he was standing alone at a party like this. You worked with people for a living, and the way he held himself made it clear that something was off.

You watched as he looked down, noticed his glass was empty, and went back to looking around the room. He was so intriguing.

You made your way to the bar and ordered two whiskeys, waiting on them when you noticed the man walking towards the bar. Just then, the barman slid the two tumblers towards you. The man had taken a stool just off to your right, and you slid the glass across the wooden countertop, praying it didn’t bump and splatter all over him

It didn’t. It stopped against his forearm, sloshing inside the glass a little but thankfully none came out. He had his head in his hands, thumbs massaging his temples. At the sudden touch, he looked up, confused. His eyes were a startlingly clear blue, you noticed vaguely. You nodded at him with a small smirk. He blinked a few times, clearly dazed, before giving you a weak smile as he took the glass into his hands.

You got up, your glass clutched in your hand as you quickly walked over to your assistant, Blakely, nodding, as you stood in front of her.

“What have you been up to?” She whispered to you, her eyes focused somewhere behind over your shoulder.

“Nothing, I’ve been dealing with people begging me for promotions all night.” You looked at her from the corner of your eye. “Why, Blake? Something wrong?” She narrowed her eyes at you. “You’re telling me you haven’t noticed that guy ogling you?” She whispered disbelievingly. 

“Huh? Who?” You asked, feigning confusion. She held you by your shoulders, pulling you so that you were standing beside her. “Him!” She whispered, tilting her chin slightly to the man from before. 

You watched wordlessly as he brought the glass to his lips and threw his head back, downing all of the liquor in one go. That must’ve burnt, you found yourself thinking. There was an air of melancholy that hung about him and you couldn't help but want to know more. Know what must’ve happened that had him drinking whiskey at a work party. Know him.

Blakely elbowed you, “Hello? Earth calling?” You pulled my eyes away from him, turning to face her. “What? Who is he?” You whispered back sharply, to which she raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know who one of the biggest popstars right now is?” she asked.

“I don’t have time to keep up with them, I couldn’t care less!” You burst out. “Jesus, woman!” She gasped exasperatedly, shaking her head.

You were about to reply to her when you saw another woman in a slinky dress coming your way and quickly threw back the whiskey. You were gonna need it, by the look of her.

“Ugh, another one. Gotta go, Blake. Talk soon.” You whispered to her as you plastered on a smile. 

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You were right about the whiskey. The rest of the night passed by in a daze, people coming randomly, wanting to chat. You kept catching sight of the man from before, here and there; sometimes absorbed in a conversation, mostly just nursing a glass by himself.

The party was coming to an end and you thought it would be appropriate to get drunk now, all the polished teeth and botoxed cheeks had made your head throb.

You had just sat down on the stool, looking to check if Blakely was around, when a glass slid across the countertop and bumped into my forearm. You looked up, surprised, and saw the man from before looking at you intently.

You raised an eyebrow questioningly at him, lips quirking up slightly and he stood up and walked over, taking the stool beside yours. His fingers were still wrapped around a crystal glass.

He cleared his throat before looking at you. “Thanks for the drink earlier, it hasn’t been the best day, if you were wonderin’. Let me return the favour. Pay you back, if you will.”

He slurred his s’ ever so slightly as he spoke, and you couldn’t quite place his accent. His voice sounded smooth despite the drinks, so you figured he wasn’t an executive; he must be an artist signed to the label.

“It’s a party, hon?” You replied sarcastically. This was all a bit ridiculous.

He shot you a dazzling smile, “Not the way I intended to return the favour, darlin’” he said suggestively with a small wink.

His accent made everything that came out of his mouth salacious, you thought in a fugue. You would be lying if you said the way he spoke didn’t make you clench your thighs together, his tone making obvious what words didn't.

Your eyebrows went up in surprise as you considered his offer. You didn’t have much to do tomorrow, just one meeting, and it was quite late. And he looked like he would be a good time.

You shifted on your stool, turning towards him slightly so that your knee brushed his thigh. He inhaled sharply, his teeth sinking into his lower lip for a split second. His fingers tightened around the glass. They were long, the pads looked rough, you noticed, your mind jumping to scenarios that were definitely not appropriate for a work party either. He caught your eye, staring intensely and you gave him a small smirk, dropping your eyes to his lips. 

He pushed his glass away as he stood up, eyes still fixed on you.

You took a few seconds to throw back the whiskey he’d gotten. Wouldn’t wanna let it go to waste, you thought. And as you stood up, you saw a look of worry fleet over his face.

You realised he must’ve thought you were going to reject his offer for a split second and had to suppress a laugh at that.

He waited until you were a step ahead of him and put his hand on the small of you back. “This okay?” he whispered, hot breath fanning across the back of your neck. You nodded, “Better than okay,”

He smirked slightly, and a small dimple popped out on his left cheek

“You’re too forward for someone whose name I don’t even know,” You said, as the two of you headed toward the door.

“You don’t know who I am, darlin'?” he asked, disbelief apparent in his voice.

“Nope,” You shrugged with a little laugh, popping the p. “But I want to,” You said as you turned a little to catch his eyes. You put your palm on his chest to motion for him to stop, and he obliged, a slight frown of confusion creasing his brow.

You leaned in on my tiptoes; he had a few inches on you despite your heels. “I want to know what I’ll be screaming tonight,” You said with a smirk, noticing his eyes darken, the clear blue turning stormy.

“ ‘M Name’s Niall, princess.” he murmured

You turned as you took his hand, placing it on your waist, and resumed walking. “Well, Niall - My hotel or yours?” You whispered, turning to him slightly.

“Mine,” He replied, a small rasp in his voice already at your forwardness. “It’s just two blocks down. I messaged my driver, he’ll be here soon.”

You nodded at him, not trusting yourself to say anything. There was something about his voice that made you doubt my ability to think straight.

We stepped out, crisp autumn air feeling cool against your skin.

You hadn't even realised how your skin had been prickling until now.

You watched Niall out of the corner of your eye, as you stood there silently, air thick with tension. “I never caught your name,” he asked shortly.

“(Y/N),” You replied with a small smile. He shot me a quick smile back, but his was loaded with all his intentions for the night. He repeated your name slowly, syllables rolling off his tongue, slightly broadened by his accent. "It's pretty. But I think I like 'princess' better" He smirked and I felt like my collar was suddenly too tight.

His eyes weren’t on you anymore, as he pointedly looked around for his car. It was almost like he didn’t trust himself to look at you and not do anything he’d regret later. You couldn’t help but smirk at the thought.

He suddenly said, “He’s here,” before taking your waist again to lead your to his car. You reached out to open the door, but he stopped you, reaching out himself “Least I can do, and I don’t mean it chauvinistically.” He said with a small smile.

You couldn’t help but smile back as you slid in, waiting as Niall followed suit. He nodded to the driver and the screen came up, separating him from us, granting us some privacy.

He sat close, his thigh not quite touching mine, but close enough so that you could feel the warmth radiating off him. He smelt like spices and sandalwood, you noticed, taking a deep breath before shifting slightly to the left, so that your thigh was flush against his.

Niall turned to look at you, “Too bad you’re wearin’ pants,” he whispered mischievously “Or I could’ve had you screamin’ my name right here.”

“Someone’s cocky,” You smirked at him, trying to ignore how you felt a rush of warmth between your thighs.

“Oh, I have plenty of reasons to be, love,” he said, even cockier this time.

It would’ve gotten on your nerves had his hand not suddenly landed on your thigh. His thumb traced patterns mindlessly over the fabric, going slightly higher each time, eyes watching your face for your reaction.

You didn’t want to give in too easily but you couldn’t help but squirm a little, trying to get him where you’d rather have him. He tutted lightly, “That won’t do, pet. Patience.” He smugly drew his hand away, smirking.

It was just two blocks, why was it taking so much time? The lights were dimmed through the tinted windows, but we were stuck in a spot of traffic.

You decided not to worry about it, hand reaching out to the now-obvious bulge in his pants. You laid my palm over it, one finger tracing the outline of the head of his cock.

Niall mumbled a little, “Feisty, aren’t ya?” from between his teeth. You chuckled, squeezed lightly, watching his breathing speed up. The way he threw his head back and closed his eyes made your breath hitch in your throat.

He bucked up into your hand a little, craving more friction, letting out some of the most delicious sounds you'd ever heard. You quickly drew your hand back, tutting, “That won’t do, pet. Patience.” You smirked at him.

“God,” he moaned, teeth gritted together. “The things I’m gonna do to you,”

You felt blood rush down my body, wetness pooling between your legs. You flushed as he caught your eye, the blue now almost completely black.

You bit my lip and his eyes flicked down and back up again. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, voice rough.

Without even having to think, you turned to him, thankful you weren’t wearing a dress. You hooked your right leg over his thigh, climbing onto him until you was fully straddling him. He whispered a sharp “Fuck,” as you pressed down into him. He was fully hard under you and you didn’t even realize how badly you had been craving the friction until you felt him. 

You leaned in slowly, enjoying how he seemed entranced under you. You pressed my lips to Niall’s, gently at first. But he wasn’t having any of that. His stubble felt rough against your face as he put his hands on your hips, fingers digging in as he increased the pace of the kiss. He ran his hands up and down your sides, then one of his hands slid backward to grasp at your ass. Niall squeezed tightly, blunt fingernails pressing in.

You moaned into the kiss and he took the opportunity to deepen it. He tasted like the whisky he’d been having and something sweeter you couldn’t put my finger on. You pressed down harder, clit throbbing for some friction.

You threaded your fingers into his hair and tugged, grinding harder, fully clothed. Niall moaned, louder this time, pulling away from the kiss. You were both panting and hadn’t even noticed that the car had stopped. You licked your lips, eyes still on his face.

“Room. Now.” He said shortly.

You clambered off him as he opened the door and stepped outside. He quickly reached down to rearrange himself and your eyes followed the action. His pants which seemed tailored and well-fit earlier looked uncomfortably tight now.

You blushed, running my fingers through my hair to try and get it to look like you hadn’t been making out in the back of his car. Your legs felt a bit shaky and you gave Niall a small smile as his hand retook its position on your back.

He gently guided you up the stairs, nodding at the man sitting behind the reception desk. The elevator was on the ground floor and he ushered you in hurriedly, but a middle-aged man with a briefcase followed you in.

Niall reached out to press the button for his floor and you found yourself staring at his fingers again. This time he noticed and smirked at you, his dimple popping out again. You flushed but didn’t look away. He raised an eyebrow, smirk widening and you squirmed a little under his gaze, but still didn’t look away.

The lift stopped and Niall nodded towards the door. You quickly walked out, feeling a little light-headed. The hallway was empty and Niall stopped a few doors down from the lift, hand inside his suit jacket.

You waited, biting your lip as you watched on, feeling a bit impatient. His fingers dipping in and out of his pockets had no right looking that sinuous and you blushed again, deeper this time. He finally found the card and quickly tapped it against the door. He took a step in and held the door open.

The second you stepped inside, Niall took you by the waist and pushed you up against the wall, pinning you with his knee between your thighs. A small moan escaped your lips and he smirked as he pushed the door close.

You linked your hands behind his neck, pulling him closer as you kissed him, sloppier this time. You could feel his erection against your hip and you moved around a little, both looking for some friction against his knee and to tease him. He gasped into the kiss, one hand reaching down to rest on your ass. 

His other hand took up position beside the first and he gave your ass a firm squeeze as he pulled away from the kiss. “Jump, baby.” He murmured against my neck as he lifted me, pinning me against the wall.

The new position made sure your core was pressed against his cock and you took the opportunity to grind into him. Niall began kissing sloppily down your jawline, sucking at intervals, teeth scraping the sensitive skin.

You dug my nails into his jacket-clad back, your head thrown back against the wall. He kept kissing you, messier each time. He pressed his tongue against the column of your throat and licked a broad stripe, relishing the feeling of you shivering against him.

“Niall,” You moaned out, clawing at his clothes. “Off.”

He pulled back and let you down, smiling. “I give the instructions around here, babe.”

Nonetheless, he pulled off the russet jacket, discarding it to the floor. “Strip for me, darlin’” he instructed with a nod as he unbuttoned his shirt.

“Are you sure you’re not too drunk to do this?” You asked hesitantly, he’d had a few throughout the night.

“Not too drunk to want you,” he said smoothly, eyes roaming hungrily over your body.

You felt yourself clench around nothing as you pulled off your jacket and threw it to the floor. Your fingers were just reaching for the buttons on your shirt as he stepped closer, shirtless now, and put his hands over yours, hungrily opening all the buttons, dropping them on the floor in a smooth motion. 

Niall closed the distance, hands reaching behind your back as his lips hungrily lapped at your collarbones. He unhooked your bra and threw it down with a practised ease.

He walked backwards, hands running over your back, brushing over the hem of your pants. He gave them an impatient tug. “Off,” he murmured against your skin, then sat back on the bed, watching you.

You pulled back and unbuttoned them hurriedly, flushing at the undisguised lust in his eyes.

As you made to pull down your underwear, he put his hand over yours and shook his head slightly. He motioned towards the bed. “All the way up, back against the headboard, princess.”

You climbed up, not sure why you were obeying his every command but forgot all about that when he came closer, sitting in front of you. He tapped your knee lightly and you opened your thighs wide instinctively.

He smirked at the spot on your panties. “Mm, knew you were a good girl,” he said, before quickly closing the distance and attaching his lips to yours, one hand working on one of your breasts.

Niall worked his way down again, licking and sucking marks against your chest, flattening his tongue against one nipple, swirling around it as he squeezed the other. He bit down gently and you tangled my fingers in his hair, head thrown back against the cushioned headboard.

“Niall, please… more,” You panted out.

“Patience, darlin’,” he said, lifting his head to meet your eyes. 

He began kissing down, past your stomach as one hand continued to palm your breast, twisting your nipple until it pebbled under his touch.

His other hand gripped your hip, nails digging crescents into your skin. “Help me out, princess,” He murmured against your skin before drawing back as he pulled off your underwear. You flinched a little at the sensation of the cold air against your skin.

He was still wearing his pants and you were naked in front of him. Not fair, you thought. “Niall… off, please…” You almost begged.

Niall smirked, “You just had to ask, babe.”

He climbed down and pulled his pants off. His cock was tenting his boxers so much, to the point it looked uncomfortable. He pulled them off in one motion, length springing up to hit his stomach. He was thick and slightly curved and you bit your lip, staring intently at him, imagining how he would feel… taste…

“Bit rude to stare, love,” Niall said cockily, but being naked and spread open for him, you couldn’t even be mad at him. All you needed was him, on you, touching you, right now.

You had no time to say anything before his mouth was hovering over your core, not quite touching me yet, but I could feel his hot breath on me.

"You've got such a pretty cunt, princess. " He murmured roughly looking up at you, making eye contact before he stuck out his tongue and licked a broad stripe upwards.

You shuddered at the sudden contact, sensitive after all the teasing. He hummed against you, vibrations feeling blissful as he latched on to your clit, sucking hard, alternating with light nibbles. "Taste just as pretty as you look" He mumbled, lips brushing against your skin, stubble rubbing against your thighs deliciously.

You tugged at his hair, pushing his head down, barely aware of what you were doing. His eyes were still on yours as he continued eating you out with fervour, making sure to pointedly miss your entrance with each stroke and you felt like you could combust from all the attention as you whined.

"Such an impatient little princess" He tutted as he let go and started circling his tongue around your entrance. Niall’s nose was pressed against you as he stuck his tongue in, lapping at your inner walls like a parched man. You arched your back, a groan pouring out of you.

"You're so responsive for me, pet. Such a good girl." He murmured as he pulled away, before using a finger to collect your juices. Eyes still riveted on your face, he slowly pushed a finger in, up to his knuckle.

“Niall, more…” You whimpered. He bit his lip before smiling at you deviously. "Such a greedy little cunt." He murmured as he pushed in another finger, pumping slowly. He curled his fingers, reaching for the perfect spot, eyes searching your face for a reaction. "So fuckin' tight, aren't ya, princess?"

You screamed his name when he found it, toes tingling, eyes rolling back and he quickly latched onto your clit, continuing to pump his fingers and curling them expertly.

“I’m- Fuck- I’m close,” You panted out. Niall hummed against you as he pushed in a third finger. He curled them, pressing hard as he sucked at your clit.

“I’m- Niall I’m gonna-” You barely got the words out before cumming against his mouth, shivers running from your toes to your fingers, head lax against the headboard. You felt light-headed as he slowly pumped his fingers, drawing out your orgasm. watching your face with an easy, satisfied smile. 

Niall climbed up beside you, pressing his lips to yours. You could taste the familiar tang of your arousal on him and you moaned into the kiss. Still a little light-headed, you reached out, grasping the base of his cock.

He gasped and pulled away from the kiss, his head falling back onto his shoulders as you squeezed lightly. You let go to gather the precum gathered around his slit and spread it over the swollen head. You were about to lean forward as you drew my fist down, but he stopped you.

“Princess,” Niall panted out, “I won't last, some other time-” He broke off, inhaling sharply as you let go.

Cocky of him to assume that there would be another time, you couldn't help but think, but he gave a look that made your knees weak and you were grateful you weren’t standing. He leaned forward, lips pressed to the base of your neck, sucking a mark there.

“Down, pet.” he hummed against your skin. You laid back down as you watched him, teeth pressing into your lower lip. He rustled around in his bedside table, pulling out a foil package.

Niall ripped the package open with his teeth, rolling it on with his eyes still fixed on you. He gave himself a few quick pumps as he climbed onto the bed. “Spread for me, princess,” he said as he positioned himself over you.

You obeyed, whimpering a little as you felt his blunt head at your entrance. “Oh fuck, Niall- “ You moaned out as he pushed in, inch by delicious inch. 

He stretched you out deliciously, pressing chaste kisses to your jawline until he bottomed out completely. “So fucking tight,” he grunted, catching his breath, before crashing his mouth into yours hungrily as he started thrusting, slow and deep.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, arching your back so that he could hit the perfect spot, feeling yourself clasp harder around him already. 

Niall angled up, thrusting sharply and you couldn’t help but dig your nails into his back, hoping you didn’t break skin. He pulled away from the kiss with a gasp, filthy sounds escaping him. You felt the knot in your belly tighten just looking at the expression of bliss on his face in the dim lights. “Niall,” You breathed out, “I’m- fuck- close,”

His lips formed a cocky smirk, before leaning down to press his lips to your throat. “Won’t last, either,” he mumbled against your skin, “Come for me, princess,”

The rumble of his voice sent you over the edge, moaning incoherently as you came undone, nails scratching down his back, him shouting out a second later, teeth sinking into your skin as you felt him pulse inside of you.

Niall leaned onto his elbows, catching his breath, locking you in under him with his hands on either side of your chest. A few moments later he rolled off, pulling out with a hiss as he quickly tied up the condom and threw it into the bin beside the bed.

He turned back towards you, pulling the blankets up, throwing his arm over your waist and while you hadn't been planning on affection the feeling of him nuzzling into your hair, whispering a silent goodnight was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

You were too tired to protest, and it wasn’t exactly a bad feeling. All your thoughts of leaving went out the window as you mumbled back a muffled reply, drowsily nestling back into him, his warmth lulling you to sleep.

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A/n: Send an ask if you wanna be on my taglist <3 reblogs and comments hugely loveddd and here's my masterlist!

[pinkiemachine]

Kon x M'gann HC's Part 2 Pretty Please with All the Fixings?

Loving the story.

Alrighty! Part 2!

So, to start off, I’ll just ramble a bit more about M’gann and Kon’s dynamic, then finish up the story :) Also posting this again because I think it turned out SO GOSH DARN CUTE! X3 (P.S. listen to “Bewitched” or “Serendipity” by Laufy. I feel like it captures the ✨ vibes ✨)

So it’s no surprise, after reading part 1, that Kon’s biggest flaw is that he’s very immature. He can get pouty and possessive when M’gann is paying attention to someone else, or when she’s gone for a while. He’s also a bit of an attention seeker, and he loves compliments and positive reinforcement of any kind. The first time M’gann gave him a kiss on the cheek, his world changed forever. Pretty sure it took the other guys about five minutes to snap him out of it. But, thankfully, as the story goes on, Kon gets a crash-course in a lot of things, including curbing his immaturity. He learns that you’re not supposed to roughhouse with girls (unless they’re comfortable with that sort of thing, and even then, don’t hurt them—super-strength and all), and he learns that sometimes M’gann is gonna pay attention to other people or go away for a little while and that’s normal and he doesn’t need to be overly upset about it. (He still pouts and misses her, though. It can’t be helped.) But the thing that he still has a problem with, to this day, is being a bit too aggressive when it comes to defending M’gann. The first time they met another Martian who was horribly rude to her, Kon almost brought out the laser eyes! Like, that dude would have been dust in the wind if the other TT hadn’t stepped in. Kon just can’t stand the idea of anyone hating M’gann, and for such a superficial reason no less! She’s beautiful and should be treated like she’s beautiful! (His words, not mine :) Ultimately, Kon HAS to keep himself in check on that account or else he risks starting an interplanetary war, but boy it’s hard.

M’gann sometimes falls back on her old habits and becomes a “yes woman,” agreeing to everything Kon wants to do even if she secretly wants to do something else. Cassie and Steph are the first to take notice of this behaviour, and help teach her to say “no.” If she’s uncomfortable, Kon isn’t gonna realise it on his own unless she tells him. She’s got to learn to put her foot down on things or she’s gonna be miserable. So M’gann practises this and other types of conversation in front of her mirror at night, and the first time she ever said no to one of Kon’s ideas, she felt so proud of herself! She wouldn’t stop smiling for the whole day! Kon had no idea why she was so happy, but when she was happy, he was happy, so it was a good day all the way around.

The dates they like to go on involve taking long walks around Earth. Neither of them had ever seen an ocean before, so they went to go see the ocean. Neither of them had ever been to a cheese factory before, so they went to go see a cheese factory and got free cheese curds on the way out. Then they went to a real baseball game and ate real hotdogs—they went to a museum (which M’gann liked more than Kon did, but they made it fun in the end)—they went on hikes, marvelling at all the different types of trees and bushes and butterflies and spiders and ants and birds and they even spotted a deer in the distance—and all the while, they would take pictures. So. Many. Pictures. M’gann has this old-school Martian camera and puts photo albums together of all the stuff she and Conner do together, like they’re already an old married couple. lol. Then, of course, when both of them are too tired to go out anywhere, they curl up on the couch and watch some of those old sitcoms M’gann grew up on. M’gann’s favourite is “That Girl” and Kon’s is “Hogan’s Heroes.”

Okay, now I’ve thoroughly set up how much fun they had together, time to make it all come crumbling down.

In the last post I said that Kon kept M’gann’s secret about being a white Martian and her past from the NTT and the JLA, but there was one person he was obligated to tell: Lex Luthor. Being that he was secretly working for the bald maniac, and it was his job to report in with any new information he’d learned, he had no choice. Even when he tried to lie or exclude details, Luthor grew suspicious of him and forced the info out of him. So when the reveal of his betrayal happened, it was so much worse for M’gann. Lex used what he had learned to help take her down, and also create a rift between her and Kon, because he wasn’t supposed to be getting attached to M’gann anyway. Kon was ordered to forget about her because he was never going to see her ever again, and M’gann wanted to forget Kon for sharing her most sacred secret. Not to mention, he had been lying to her from the start about his past, about his intentions, and who knows what else. Had he been using her to get information about the Justice League? About her uncle? Yes, he had, and he wanted to tell M’gann that he was ashamed of what he had done, but Lex wouldn’t let them be in the same room, so M’gann was left to think all sorts of awful things about him. It was a dismal day. This event is covered in full in another post which I will link below.

Now, of course, this story has a happy ending (because happy endings are the best kind of endings). Lex is eventually defeated, Kon is freed from him and LexCorp, and for once he gets to call the shots in his life. The first is going to M’gann and trying to make things up to her in any way he can. Now, at this point, M’gann knows that Lex was twisting Kon’s arm to a certain extent, so her anger is a little softened, but she still feels like an idiot for trusting him so easily, and she’s nervous about trusting him again. He’s still such an immature person—who knows what kind of big mistake he’ll make next?

Kon plucks up his courage and makes a traditional Martian apology to her—the big ceremonial kind meant for state officials and royalty when they’ve severely messed up something BIG—and begs her to give him one more chance. He knows full well that he’s a bit of a dunce when it comes to girls and Earth culture and even being a good person (again, his words) but he wants to be a better friend, he wants to be a good hero, and more than anything else he wants to be the best boyfriend he could possibly be for her. When he was making his decision to finally stand up against Lex, he was afraid of what Lex would do to him… but then he thought of M’gann. He remembered how much she meant to him, and that Lex was planning on hurting her as a part of his evil scheme, and even if it meant Lex would go ahead and terminate him and make another clone, he didn’t care. M’gann mattered more. And she always would. So, with all of this before her, M’gann was quite stunned, to say the least. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. Given the fact that Kon had partaken in much of Lex’s plan willingly, the JLA agreed that some form of punishment was only fair, so it had been decided that Kon would spend a year on the Kent farm, essentially doing community service by helping them with all the chores. He would be confined to the property during all of that time, too, so the two of them were going to spend the next year in different places. M’gann hesitantly answered Kon’s apology with a “Maybe… I could write to you… and we’ll see where it goes from there.”

Kon was so happy. He plowed through all his chores on the Kent farm each and every day—Ma and Pa, and sometimes Clark when he had the time—would teach him things and show him to do stuff, like carpentry. And then, every day he’d go and check the mailbox, waiting for a letter from M’gann, and when he’d get one, he’d race up to his room (Clark’s old room) and read it ten times over. Then he’d grab a paper and pen and write his response, filling her in on all the things that had happened on the farm the last week or so. They wrote to each other non-stop that year, eagerly, patiently waiting for Kon’s sentence to be up. And when it had been a full year, and Kon came back to the city and the NTT, he and M’gann went for a walk in the park, and without saying a word, they both knew… there was no one else they’d rather spend the rest of their life with.

(Then the picture is from a little party the gang threw in celebration of their victories over all their villains, including Lex, and everyone was encouraged to wear their home country’s traditional garb, and maybe even bring some traditional food or a traditional party game. It was a fun night, and M’gann and Conner got to see each other dressed up for the first time (probably. I haven’t written out each individual episode for the NTT yet, but I like to imagine this is the first time ☺️))

Part 1 👇

Kon’s backstory is included in this post… 👇

[4ranghaes]

lee riwoo x reader [smut, gender neutral!reader, reader is a dancer/can dance]

a/n - IM A FUCKING IDIOT AND POSTED THIS INSTEAD OF SAVING AS DRAFT SO I HAD TO DELETE😭😭😭 anyway i think this inbox was just a hard thought but i took it and ran

warnings - mentions of breeding kink, blowjob, loose dom/sub dynamics overall, reader is described as having long hair, slight cum play

15:13 - “i was thinking of new songs to make choreo to by the way,” you said, as your practise of sticky by tyler the creator came to an end.

your boyfriend was sat on the bench around the edge of the practise room, taking a swig from his water bottle. he hummed in response.

“what do you think about juno?” you asked, scrolling through your phone to find the song, “by sabrina carpenter.”

riwoo started choking on his water, making you look up as you laughed, “is that a yes?”

he nodded, laughing slightly. “no, yeah, yeah, that sounds like a good idea. there’s a lot of... good stuff in that song.”

you nodded, eager to show him what you'd already thought of. riwoo stood up, coming back over to the middle of the room. he was wearing simple sweatpants and a hoodie, but he had his signature gold and silver rings on his long fingers and his hair was covered by a bandana and a hat.

as the song started playing, you showed him the moves you'd already thought of, and some improvisation in places where you hadn't. he watched intently through the mirror, monitoring your actions closely.

“and then of course,” you spoke, as the lyrics ‘have you ever tried this one?’ rang out through the practise room.

“wh-what ‘of course’?” he asked with a chuckle, the rest of the dance forgotten even as the song continued playing.

“you know!” you laughed, “juno positions. like sabrina does.”

he shrugged, shaking his head. he came over to your side as you started searching on your phone, pulling up a compilation of juno positions. riwoo’s jaw opened slightly as he watched, swallowing nervously the more he watched.

“oh.”

you laughed, “i can't believe you haven't seen this!” you scrolled onto the next video; sabrina on her back with her arms and legs wrapped round the air, the comments filled with sentiments of how dangerous the position was.

“what does that mean?” he laughed, looking at you slightly nervously.

“leaves you pregnant, i think,” you whispered teasingly, smiling at your boyfriend's shyness. he bit his lip, adjusting his sweatpants.

“so which one are you gonna do?” he asked, continuing to look at you through the mirror instead.

you smiled, shrugging as you walked up to riwoo, wrapping your arms around his waist, “i have quite a few options, hmm?”

he smiled, trailing a finger up your arm lightly as he repeated your sentiment, “hmm?”

you put your phone in your pocket, thinking for a second before playing the song again. you went through the moves that you’d agreed on previously, riwoo nodding along, monitoring through the mirror as always.

have you ever tried this one?

you got on your knees in front of riwoo, pulling your hair into a ponytail with one hand as he looked down at you, eyebrows raised and an amused smile on his face. he used two fingers to lift your jaw so you were looking up at him.

his jaw was slack as he looked down at you, using the hand not on your face to pull his sweatpants down haphazardly, neither of you breaking eye contact. you used your free hand to trail up his thigh, helping him pull down his sweatpants before rubbing up and down his clothed bulge lightly.

riwoo’s eyes rolled back, his head dropping backwards at the feeling. he used his hands to take your hair from you, both your hands now pulling down his boxers to join his sweatpants round his ankles. your mouth dropped open, using your tongue to gently lick a stripe up his hard cock.

riwoo hissed, tugging on your hair as his head fell back, “please, sweet.”

you smiled up at him through your lashes before taking the tip in your mouth, moving further down and taking as much as you could, running your tongue over the skin as you went. your hands flew to the base, touching what you couldn’t reach with your mouth as riwoo’s eyes fluttered between watching you take him so beautiful and succumbing to pleasure.

he was straining, trying not to buck his hips in your mouth as he moaned, the lewd slurping sounds of your mouth filling the room as the song ended.

“s-so good for me,” he muttered, the ponytail forgotten as he just tugged on your locks, “so good for me. j-just like that– fuck!”

you smirked, moaning against his cock as his head fell back, staying there as he moaned out. his moans were low and constant, making you smile at the sound.

“gon– gonna cum, sweet,” he muttered, looking down at you again, hands gathering up your hair from the base, “whe–”

you cut off his question as you placed your hands on his ass, pulling him closer and keeping him firmly in your mouth. he moaned, the sound becoming a high-pitched whimper as he came spurts into your mouth, hitting your throat.

riwoo’s legs trembled as his orgasm subsided. you pulled his soft dick out your mouth, as he sorted himself out. you stood up, smiling at his slightly fucked out expression.

you opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out to show him the cum coating your mouth. his face crumpled, moaning at the view before you swallowed, smiling again and placing your hand on the back of his head, pulling him in for a kiss. he started grabbing at your waist desperately.

“fuck,” he murmured into your mouth, “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

[reiden]

i wanna hold the hand inside you | r.itoshi

You think of Itoshi Rin, your first love, often; the one who never was and the one who got away. Unexpectedly, you find yourself reuniting with the boy you once knew right in front of your apartment.

cw: f!reader, reader has a habit of skin-picking, soft angst w/ happy ending, suggestive, slight hand obsession?

— ✦

You always feel uglier after you pick at your skin. Which defeats the purpose because you do it to rid yourself of an imperfection you've stumbled upon. And yet, after all is said and done and the skin has grown irritated, all you can think about is how you've only gotten uglier.

You used to pick at your face, scratching at any bumps or texture you spot in the mirror, but you've gotten better about it now. You've stopped doing it on your face altogether. It was one too many people who thought they were close enough with you to inadvertently call you ugly. You're pretty sure the first to do it had been Itoshi Sae, your neighbour two houses down. Back then, when you were only eight, you hadn't cared that he thought your habit was unbecoming. It didn't matter what Sae thought — you had Rin.

One day, you realised you didn't really have Rin either.

Since then, you've moved onto your hands.

Your face is the important part, no one ever really looks at hands. You might think about it if you were to give a handshake, but when you think of that person from memory later that day, you'll think of their face. As long as your face is left alone, it doesn't matter what happens to the skin around your nails.

But you like looking at hands. They reveal so much about someone. Whether or not they clean their nails, if they paint them, if their hands are soft or calloused — all of these things are like clues that fit together to form the bigger picture of their life. Your own hands must give away the parts of you that you would prefer to stay hidden — like the fact that you pick at your skin. Itoshi Rin has beautiful hands. His hands were pretty enough that you were glad he played a sport that relied on his legs and feet instead. You never told him that you thought so; he probably would have called you strange should he have found out.

He never seemed to value you in the same way you valued him.

You pull at your skin again, pushing it down with the edge of your nail just until you feel the sharp sting of it having gone too far. It's boring at your job, nothing much to do or see. You sit on an ergonomic moving chair behind a large wooden desk, adjusting calendars and making appointments. There isn't much mystique to your job, nothing to write home about, but it gets you through life just fine. Glancing over at the time, you decide to click through and answer a few more emails in time for lunch to roll around.

In junior high, you had wanted to be an artist. You joined the art club and begged your family to let you participate in painting and sketching classes. You kept sketchbook after sketchbook filled with doodles and things — mostly of hands. It's been a long running obsession of yours. You used to draw faces but ever since you stopped messing with your face, your drawings of them phased out too.

In senior high, a teacher told you that artists don't make money from drawing hands all day. It irked you enough that you let go of that dream. You wanted to become a nail technician, you decided. The day you changed your dream, you went to tell the only person you considered close enough to tell; you went to tell Rin. It was that day that you had to come to the startling realisation that your best friend didn't seem to consider you much of a friend anymore. You spent all of your lunch break looking for him, only to find him practising at the field behind your school. When you called out to him, he ignored you. He stopped answering your texts too. You discarded the sliver of hope you had kept safe within your chest — the very thing that made you believe you would get Rin back soon. Something had changed in him and you didn't know what because he never told you.

(Because he never seemed to value you in the same way you valued him.)

You found other friends. Rin always seemed to be alone. He pulled out of school for a football program a week later, and you decided to give up on becoming a nail technician.

There's a soft beep that rings out from your phone — just one singular chime at the lowest volume you set on your first day on the job — when it's time for your lunch break. You always take it at the same tonkatsu shop seven minutes away from your place of work.

Today, it takes you ten minutes to get there because the heels you've chosen to wear are new ones; you haven't broken them in yet. You bought them for a date that you never ended up going to. Guilt over standing them up had consumed you but you just couldn't muster up the courage to go. You were all too aware of the fact that some pathetic part of you was still clinging onto a boy you haven't seen for a long time.

You remember the brush of the wind through his fringe, the sharp determined glint in his emerald eyes. You still hold onto the way his name once had a home at the tip of your tongue. Even as the years pass, Itoshi Rin digs his teeth into your skin and remains with you; parasitic and tormenting.

You ease yourself into the table in the corner and make your order, scrolling through your phone while you wait. Your feed is full of recent news, some things you understand and others you're not quite sure you get. Rin is there too, mixed in between all the posts about celebrities and new dramas. You were always bad at watching football. You were bad with most sports, they could never keep your interest for long, but you tried for Rin's sake. When the both of you were younger, you'd sit on the grass at the park and watch Rin run through the drills he'd seen his brother do earlier.

As you stare at the pictures of him standing on the pitch, stadium lights spilling down on him, you can't help but feel proud. Sweat glistens along his hairline, his hair still cut in the same way he used to have it when you knew him. The captain's armband is stretched tight around his bicep as his arm curls to hold up a trophy.

The swell in your chest comes with an ache you've never learned to get rid of. This ache that's ever-present, always there like a guest you can't seem to send home. It had only been a small sting when your friendship with Rin fully fell apart, but it grew tenfold when you realised you were in love with him. You pick at your skin again, the same place from earlier. Pain blooms at your fingertip but you choose to ignore it as you scroll past the pictures; your heart squeezes and shudders against your will, even after all these years.

The day inches past, sweat gathers along the nape of your neck. You leave the building at five precisely, stagger into the subway station at half past five, and sink into a navy blue seat at a quarter to six. The backs of your brand new heels dig into your ankles and you're certain there will be blisters when you yank them off at home.

Even still, your day has been a good one. Despite the fact that your mother had called and urged you to visit home; despite today marking the anniversary you first met Itoshi Rin; despite the way your heart always sinks at the realisation that you still remember the significance of what should be another meaningless day. Despite it all, it had been good and you stare at the passerby walking along the platform, head pressed against the cool window.

(You wonder about Rin once more, like you always do. You wonder if he's walking amongst a crowd this evening, perhaps something fried in his hand, keeping his palm warm. Maybe he's holding a drink instead — lukewarm green tea. In another world, it might have been your hand.)

The train shakes to a start, rocking you from side to side and it becomes impossible to keep yourself awake. You drift off to the memory of a boy you once knew.

-

You're sure you're bleeding. The skin around your index nail is irritated, throbbing with a dull pain. Similarly, there's a sting — a quick flash of something white hot up your left calf — whenever you take a step. Your blister must have turned into a cut.

Your soles scrape against the road, shoulders loose and hunched forward as you meander your way home. The sun has set, disappearing into the skyline in the distance as the sky grows darker and the wind picks up. Streetlights have flickered to life and you pass by a salon still packed with customers, women resting against soft cushions as they converse. You roll your neck from side to side, attempting to release some of the tension that has gathered along your muscles from staying seated almost all day, fingers loosely wrapped around the straps of your bag.

Eyes trained on the fading white marks beneath your feet, you turn the corner into the alleyway you apartment building sits in. There's a crunch of someone taking a step towards you, and then — the call of your name, familiar, wrapped up in the gravelly tone of a voice too rough to belong to the boy you once knew. But you know it's him, anyway.

"Rin?" you tilt your head to the side, scanning over his features as he stands against the sunlight, soft shadows marking his pale skin. He remains silent, almost stunned as he stands across from you, so you speak again, "It's been a while." 

He doesn’t smile, but the corners of his mouth twitch in a way that suggests one. Rin is wearing a dark windbreaker, hands stuffed into its pockets. There's a loose thread hanging off the cuff around his wrist, a tiny rip of the outer fabric revealing the slight grey beneath. He clears his throat, "Yes, it has been." There's a pause then, neither of you willing to bridge the gap in conversation as the exhaust fans whir quietly. 

"How have you been?" Rin asks, taking a step towards you. You can smell him now, flowery and sweet; its lavender, which is what you had remembered him as. In a way, it comforts you — some things will stay the same and stand the test of time, no matter how many years have inched by.

“I’ve been good,” you hum. Truthfully, you haven’t quite been good in a long time. You’ve been alright, you’ve made it from day to day, you pay your bills on time and you see your friends every other weekend; but it’s not good — it's just alright. You don’t think Rin needs to hear that, not after how long it has been since you last heard his voice following after your own. 

It's strange to think about how his mother knows your name and your face, knows that you like lemonade with some raspberry in it; how Rin was there to witness the way you got every fading scar on your arms and legs. Standing before him now, you don't even know what his apartment might look like. Your lives, which were once so intricately intertwined, have unravelled and diverged to the point of obscurity.  

You've given him the room to say something, continue the conversation or choose to end it, but Rin is quiet as he takes you in. His brows are furrowed, just a shaky line above his dark eyes as watches you fidget and begin to grow uncomfortable under the weight of stare. 

This silence is far too heavy of a burden for you to shoulder, so you cut through with a question that seems a bit out of place now. "What are you doing here?" 

Your voice seems to snap him out of whatever trance he was previously in, "I was out on a walk — wandering around, I guess." Rin shuffles even closer and the wind billows, rustling the fabric of his windbreaker. You watch his hair flutter and fall against his forehead.

"I would have thought that you'd be busy all the time, seeing as you're a celebrity now," you say with a soft laugh, twisting the ends of your coat between your fingers while your bag swings gently from side to side in your other hand. 

He doesn't seem to like that, gaze sharpening just a bit as his mouth curves into a frown. You chew on your bottom lip, feeling a bottomless pit open up inside of your stomach at the realisation that it's become so much harder to talk to the boy who used to be your best friend. (To talk to the boy who you used to love — who you are willing to love once again.) 

It's getting colder as the remaining tendrils of sun slowly disappear, hiding away to make room for the moon to shine. You nod at your apartment, "Would you...like to come inside?" You expect him to say no, after all, the two of you are no longer the people you remember each other to be. 

Surprisingly, Rin perks up at your question, firmly nodding once. He follows after you as you walk over to your front door, fishing around the front pocket of your bag for your keys. Rin stands a hair's width away from you, his warm breath fanning over the back of your neck and goosebumps ripple down your arms. 

You watch him study your home, scrutinising your choice of decor — the small pictures framed on the walls, magazines and books strewn about — as he takes off his shoes. He seems to be drawn to the picture resting on one of your shelves: it's of you and him, years ago, standing next to each other with smiles full of missing teeth that look more like grimaces. You were hoping he wouldn't notice that one, one of the only pictures you've kept of and from your childhood, but you can't blame him for it either. Had it been you, that picture would have been the first one you noticed too.

"You kept this?" he's nearly whispering as he gently takes the ageing framed photo in his hands. 

You rest your bag on the floor, "Yeah. Mom gave it to me right before I moved out." He turns back to look at you and his next words are unspoken, but still so loud. 

You hadn't just kept it — you framed it, placed it in your living room for everyone to see. His expression crumbles momentarily, a quiet admission of guilt that settles in the short distance between you. Rin must not have kept much of you with him. He never says it outright, but you know better. Maybe that should leave you feeling bitter but it's somehow exactly what you expected of him. 

Has Itoshi Rin changed at all from the last time you saw him? Do you just know him too well? 

Dusting off your clothes, you take a deep breath, "It's getting late. Want dinner?"

Rin agrees. Like you were expecting him to.

-

You've never liked beer.

But you find yourself peering into a glass full of it as Rin settles in across from you. You're still in your work attire, the waistband of your skirt digging into your stomach after your full meal. Rin's left his windbreaker in a crumpled heap of fabric beside his chair, the tip of his finger drawing lines in the condensation forming on his glass. His nails are well-groomed, cut short and clean. They might be better than yours, but that’s because Rin doesn’t pick at his skin like you do. You stare until you think you shouldn’t anymore. 

He hasn't gotten up to leave. You haven't kicked him out. 

Resting your cheek against your fist, you push yourself forward, closer to him. Your slight movement draws his attention away from the glass, Rin looks up at you as his frown eases up. 

"It's strange seeing you," you admit, more open to honesty thanks to your slight state of inebriation. "Strange seeing you after so many years." 

"You have that picture," he scoffs, jerking his head in the vague direction of the picture of the two of you as kids. 

Scrunching up your nose, you lean back against the chair, "Yeah, but you don't look like that anymore. You're taller and you have too many teeth." You take a sip of your beer, feeling it fizz against your top lip, "And you're probably meaner now." 

He startles, looks offended when he throws back whatever's left in his glass. "I'm not mean." 

You raise a brow, "You were already pretty mean when you left me." You shock yourself at how easily the words slipped past your lips, how little hesitation there was. How you still sounded so hurt over it all despite having spent years convincing yourself that you didn't miss him. The treacherous muscle beating within your ribcage twists and shakes. It only takes a moment for understanding to soften the glare Rin is giving you. Reaching over, you grab the can of beer to refill his glass, cursing under your breath when you realise it's empty. "I'll get some more — just wait."

You dig around in your refrigerator and you can feel Rin watching. "You're bleeding," he says. 

"It's nothing," you wave him off, returning with another cold can. 

He shakes his head, "Do you have bandages?"

And so you find yourself with your chest pressed against the cushions of your couch, ankles hanging off the edge. You spare Rin a glance over your shoulder, awkwardness leaving you silent and rigid. He's kneeling beside you, holding two bandages he insisted he get for you from the years old first aid kit stashed away in your medicine cabinet. 

"You don't have to do this you know," you mumble, pinching at the inside of your cheek with your teeth. "I could have done it myself." 

Rin gently grabs your ankle, his fingers are cold enough to make you jolt. "It's fine," he brushes off your words with nothing more than a grumble. "This could get infected," he adds on as he places the band-aid over the cut. 

His hands are on you, fingers wrapped around your ankle almost completely. He skims them over your skin and you suppress a shiver. You think you should tell him that his hands are pretty — that they have always been pretty — but you bite your tongue. 

Your cuts don't hurt as much as they had earlier, and the blood surrounding them has dried down. You're sure nothing would have come of it being left uncovered, but Rin seems adamant on doing this simple task for you. You wonder if part of it has anything to do with being labelled as "mean." 

He shuffles over to your other ankle, jeans brushing against your rug, as does the same thing. It's been too long since you've been taken care of like this — the feeling has become wholly foreign and you struggle to sit still while Rin smooths out the band-aid over your skin. When he stands up, you twist around and slouch your back against the couch, facing him. 

Rin looms over you. He brushes some hair out of his eyes and sits down next to you. "I'm on a break — I'll be around a lot more."

You glance at him from the corner of your eye, "Around to see me?" 

And perhaps, you're imagining it, the way he moves closer so that his thigh is pushed up against it. Perhaps, you're imagining how he's leaned into you. Rin's temple makes contact with your shoulder and you exhale. 

"Yes," he whispers, looking up at you through his lashes." To see you." You can recognise the guilt swimming in his gaze, leftover from earlier in the evening.

You wish he would just say it — say sorry — but your heart yearns for him regardless of what he's said and what he should have said. It's ridiculous; it was years ago and you should have moved on. (And you know that the only reason it hurt as badly as it did was the fact that you had loved him twice as much when things soured.) You're motivated by the ache you've grown accustomed to when you bring your hand to his hair, digging your fingers in, scratching at his scalp. Much like a cat, Rin goes limp against you and you trace the side of his face with the pad of your thumb. 

You try to hide your other hand, feeling somewhat self-conscious about the way you’ve torn it up. Rin reaches for it without a second thought, lacing his fingers together with your own, oblivious to all the rough parts you’ve left behind with your habit. 

"What if I don't want to see you?" you question. You don't really mean it — you hope he knows. 

You can feel his breath, feel the rise and fall of his chest as he speaks, "I would wait until you said you wanted to." 

"Even if that took years?" You pause your movements, hand still in his hair. Rin draws a gasp out from you when he presses a fluttering kiss against your wrist — a nervous kiss, one that tests the waters. 

"Even then," he says. 

You don't know who leans in first, you want to say it's Rin but you, with your years of yearning, are not to be trusted either. His cold palms cup your face, lips parting against your own, his tongue meeting yours. He kisses you hungrily, eagerly, desperate to make up for years of lost time and memories that were meant to be shared by two but left to be held by just one instead. It almost hurts — when his teeth sink into your lip and you whimper, Rin snaps his eyes open. He licks over where he bit, fingers digging into your cheeks. 

You like the feeling of his hands on you. You want them everywhere, you decide. Rin tugs at your collar, unbuttons your shirt quickly, his hands splayed out over your sides and just grazing your bra. It's only then that you pull away, chest heaving as you stare up at him.

"Will you discard me again?" Your voice sounds almost meek in a way; you're afraid of what he might say and of what you might see. Too scared to see him hesitate, too scared to meet his eyes and not see yourself reflected in them.

But Rin's answer is instantaneous. His gaze has darkened some, lust-blown and riddled with the yearning that's been growing in your chest for years. His palm encircles your wrist, the other wraps around your waist chasing purchase. "Never," he says with a kind of conviction that leaves butterflies erupting at your fingertips. 

While his hand travels up your back, he kisses you again and this time it feels different. He moves up your wrist, intertwining your fingers once more. You know you have him in all the ways that he has you.