#i've been looking out for him THIS WHOLE TIME

[rawme-price]

JEALOUS!WOLF READER PART 3 ... AND MY LIFE WILL BE YOURS!!!!

(Previous part here, part one here)

"...what."

Its the only thing you can think to say, mind stuttering at the completely wild accusation soap just threw at you.

"What, shocked someone finally called you on it?" Gaz cuts in, stepping slightly in front of soap. You just stare at him, confused. One second youre getting kicked out and the next youre being confronted about something you aren't even aware of.

"Called me on what? What have I done? I genuinely dont know!" You, ironically, feel a bit like ur being cornered by a pack of wolves. Gaz just raises a brow, arms folding over his chest.

"Called on the fact that you hate hybrids."

What?

"What the actual fuck?" You cant even focus on the anxiety at the back of ur mind. Fucking appalled at gazs statement. You look desperately at ghost and price, but they hold no sympathy. "Hate hybrids? What the fuck would make you think that?"

"Dont play dumb. On the heli ride back from those traffickers. Soap was just getting some head pats, as he should, and you were glaring at him the whole time. Then you looked at me as if expecting me to share your disgust."

"...no way." Your voice is quiet, replaying all these days of suffering you've been through. "I wasnt fucking glaring at soap! I was jealous because he was getting head pats and I wasnt! Yknow, because im a wolf hybrid!"

Your little outburst shocks gaz. His eyes are wide, and you can see in real time as realization then regret dawns on him. "...wait. so- so all these times you've been staring at soap since then? Or shoulder checking him in the halls?"

"I was just a bit jealous and trying to playfight. You guys are always indulging his instincts, and I thought itd be a good way to get rid of whatever was making him avoid me." Now its you who crosses your arms.

"You seriously thought I was what- some kind of bigot? Because you assumed i had a problem with soap?" Gaz has the decency to look sheepish, and as u turn ur glare to ghost and price they glance away nervously. "You couldn't even fucking ask me if that was true?"

"I've been suffering for weeks! I thought my fucking pack was rejecting me! Do you know how horrible ive felt? Because of a misunderstanding that you couldn't be bothered to sort out even when I asked?!"

A growl, unbidden, crawls up your throat. You feel elated that this was all a misunderstanding, and at the same time furious. You cant decide whether to stew in ur anger to to be happy ur pack still wants you.

In the end anger wins, and u storm off back to ur room, ignoring when soap calls your name.

It doesnt help. Ur room is just as depressing as its been since the incident. Den torn up and circle paced onto the floor. You ignore it, crawl into the tatters of your bed and lay there. No desire to leave, no desire to sleep.

(Part four here)

[mooningningg]

Extra Credit - Megumi F. (4)

about. you're flunking all your subjects. He’s a virgin. So you strike a deal—he tutors you academically to win a girl he has a crush on, and you tutor him in sex, simple.

parts. chapter 03, chapter 05

pairings. nerd!megumi x popular girl!reader

words. 17.38k

content. virgin!megumi + experienced!reader, Explicit sexual content – blow job, making out, handjob, unprotectd sex, creampie, semi-public tension, teasing, dirty talk, reader guiding Megumi through his first sexual experience. Power dynamics. Smug, experienced reader. Slight humiliation kink if you squint. Megumi is flushed and wrecked and learning. This is a part of an ongoing tutoring-for-sexual-experience fic. Reader is not kind. She is hot and she knows it. ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP I DON'T WANT NO SMOKE OR SOMEONE BEING A HATER IN MY COMMENTS.

notes. I've been soooooo excited to post this, and before anyone asks questions I spent the whole night writing this, I just got so carried away... I hope ya'll enjoy it!

Megumi didn’t know how liking something was supposed to feel, not really.

He knew how to tolerate. How to endure. He’d been taught early that silence was safer than feeling, and that logic—clean, rational, detached—was the only way to survive in a world that wanted too much.

But you— you were anything but rational. He wasn’t unfamiliar with the word—people threw it around all the time. Liking a person. Liking a subject. Liking a song, a movie, a pair of shoes.

But liking you? It didn’t feel simple. Or light. It felt… tense. Electric. Like holding a live wire between his teeth and pretending he wasn’t getting burned.

You were sitting across from him again, legs curled up on the chair like you owned every inch of this space. Like his house was just another set piece in the drama that was your life.

And yeah—you were trying now. Actually reading the material, taking notes with your pen twirling dramatically between your fingers, reciting things back with that same smug bite in your voice. But it wasn’t fake this time. You were showing up. You were trying.

Still, you couldn’t get through a paragraph without insulting someone. Or him.

“Okay, but who names their kid ‘Tokugawa’? It sounds like a bad cough drop.”

Megumi didn’t look up from his textbook. “It’s a family name.”

“Well, their whole family needs lozenges.”

He sighed. “You’re lucky I’m being paid in patience.”

You rolled your eyes. “No one’s paying you, loser.”

He muttered, “Exactly.” But he didn’t snap at you the way he used to. Not anymore.

Because somewhere between the failed midterm and your unexpected essay redemption, something shifted. You started turning pages with less sighing. Started showing up with scribbled notes and highlighted sentences. Still late. Still dramatic. Still wearing lip gloss like it was armor. But different.

You were still a brat. Still loud. Still mean, sometimes.

But you were honest. Everything that came out of your mouth, whether it was dumb, crass, or painfully sharp—it was real.

And he found himself wanting to hear more of it. All of it.

You were so fucking pretty it made his head hurt. But it wasn’t the kind of pretty people wrote poems about. It was the kind that interrupted his thoughts mid-sentence. That dragged his eyes across the curve of your smile or the annoyed flick of your wrist. That made him forget what year the Meiji Restoration happened. (1868. He remembered, eventually.)

It wasn't just the gloss on your lips or the ridiculous skirts you wore to tutoring like this was some social call. It was the way your voice pitched higher when you were actually confused, when you really wanted to understand something and didn’t know how to ask without sounding vulnerable.

Like now.

You squinted at the textbook. “Okay, this is phrased so dumb. What does ‘centralization of feudal power’ even mean? Why not just say ‘a bunch of dudes fighting to be king’? They’re so obsessed with sounding smart.”

Megumi rested his chin in his hand, watching you frown at the page like it personally offended you.

“It means uniting all the regional lords under a single authority,” he explained, calm. “It was a turning point. Less infighting, more nation-building.”

You blinked. “Could’ve just said that.”

He shrugged. “Some people enjoy full sentences.”

You stuck your tongue out, then scribbled something into your notes. “You’re lucky I’m actually writing this down.”

He didn’t respond. Just watched you.

Watched the furrow between your brows when you were focused. The gloss smudged slightly on your bottom lip. The faint ink stains on your fingers from dragging your hand over your writing. You weren’t trying to impress anyone here. Not anymore.

You weren’t posturing. You weren’t performing.

You were just… you.

And Megumi— Megumi was starting to realize he wanted to see more of that version. The one you didn’t show anyone else.

Even if you called him names. Even if you rolled your eyes every time he corrected you. Even if you would never admit how hard you were trying now. He reached for his water bottle, trying to cool the heat in his chest.

You glanced up at him suddenly. “What?”

He blinked. “What?”

“You’re staring.”

He looked away. “You’re imagining things.”

You snorted. “Ugh. You’re so annoying when you lie.”

“And you’re unbearable when you’re right.” You grinned at what he said. He didn’t.

But he did allow himself to look at you one more time—quietly, briefly—before flipping the page in the book and beginning the next topic. If this was what liking someone felt like—this quiet ache, this constant hum of attention, this need to understand every version of you—then maybe he could live with it. Even if he never said it out loud.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Megumi kept telling himself that—again and again like some mantra meant to ground him. Like it would rewind time, make things easier. Simpler.

You weren’t supposed to matter this much.

You were chaos. Noise. All sharp edges and unapologetic confidence, pulling attention like gravity. You cursed too much, you interrupted his explanations just to roll your eyes, and you refused—refused—to let anyone think you cared.

But you did.

He could see it now, sitting across from you as you hunched over a half-written sentence, mumbling to yourself about power structures like it wasn’t already a miracle you’d even remembered the term.

You cared so fucking much you didn’t know what to do with it.

And Megumi… didn’t either.

Because for the longest time, he thought someone like Miwa was what he wanted. She was kind. Polite. Smart. She smiled without hiding anything behind it. She was gentle in all the ways life never let him be. And she didn’t make him feel like he was unraveling every time she laughed.

Miwa was soft. Safe.

Everything that should’ve been good for him.

But she never looked at him like you did. Never challenged him. Never cut him open with a single glance and then left him there bleeding, only to stitch him up again with some bratty little smirk and a flick of your hair. You were a storm. And for some reason, his whole body leaned toward it. He glanced up again, stealing a look at you without meaning to.

You were chewing your pen now, eyes narrowed at your notes, one leg bouncing restlessly. You looked frustrated and stubborn and real. Your nails were painted, your lashes curled, and yet there was ink smeared on the edge of your palm from where you’d been writing too fast.

You weren’t perfect, but fuck, you were trying. And somehow that made you more dangerous than Miwa ever could’ve been. Because this version of you—this girl scribbling down answers like she had something to prove—this was the version that had cracked something in him open. This was the version he wanted to see again. And again. And again. He didn’t know what to do with that.

He’d spent so long keeping people at arm’s length, never letting anyone get close enough to see more than the surface. But you… you bulldozed past all of it without asking. You made him feel seen, even when he didn’t want to be. Even when it scared the hell out of him. You weren’t good for him, but somehow, you felt right. His chest tightened.

He didn’t know how to let someone in. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do with this version of you—the one who was trying, who looked up at him after answering a question like she needed him to say she’d done okay. Who still called him names but now lingered a little longer after sessions ended. He didn’t want to be this close to someone, but he already was.

And when you glanced up at him again, cocking your head and muttering, “Okay, don’t give me that face, Fushiguro. I’m not dumb, I’m just tired,”—he didn’t even bother pretending not to stare.

Because you were right. You weren’t dumb. You were just tired. Tired of being underestimated. Tired of pretending you didn’t care. Tired of being afraid of how real this could get.

And maybe… he was tired too, tired of lying to himself, because whatever this was—whatever you two were becoming—it wasn’t supposed to happen. But it did, and now Megumi didn’t know how to go back.

The halls were quieter than usual—just the low echo of shoes scuffing tile, the faint buzz of fluorescent lights, and Nobara’s voice weaving effortlessly through the silence.

“Okay, but I swear to god, if they put streamers on the ceiling again, I’m not going,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she leaned casually against the lockers beside you. “Like, we’re not in middle school. What is this, Pinterest-core depression?”

You snorted—barely. A weak smile flickered across your face, just for a second. “You’re still going?”

“Hell yeah, I am,” she grinned. “If I’m gonna suffer through a school dance, I’m at least gonna do it in heels and with free punch. And I heard they booked that DJ—the hot one.”

You blinked, distracted. “There’s a hot DJ?”

Nobara rolled her eyes. “You are so out of it.”

You shrugged. Adjusted your bracelet. Looked down the hall even though you knew who wasn’t there. “I’m not planning on going.”

She paused. “Why not?”

“I just…” You trailed off. “Doesn’t feel like my thing.”

Nobara looked at you for a second. You didn’t meet her eyes.

There was a stretch of silence, the kind only a close friend knows how to sit through without forcing you to fill. You kicked lightly at the base of your locker.

“I used to love that shit, didn’t I?” you said suddenly, voice dry. “Dances. Crowds. People staring. Picking the best dress just to make some insecure girl cry.”

“You did,” Nobara agreed with a small smile. “You were terrifying.”

You smirked, then it faded. “It doesn’t feel the same anymore.”

And she didn’t have to ask why.

Because Megumi was in your head again.

No, he was under it—rooted deep in the places you didn’t want anyone to touch. The places you’d spent years fortifying with fake smiles and sharp words and a reputation built so high no one dared climb it.

And he was climbing it anyway.

You could feel it—the weight of it all. The way he looked at you now, like he saw every version of you and didn’t flinch. The way you remembered his voice when he explained concepts to you like you were worth explaining things to. The way his hand felt when it grazed your back. The way he kissed you like he needed to remember it later.

God, you were falling. Fast. Hard. But was that good for him?

Megumi was steady. Quiet. Good in the kind of way that didn’t need to be loud to matter. He gave a shit. He noticed things. He didn’t just listen—he understood.

And you? You were sharp and petty and glittering at the edges. Built on lies and control and showstopping exits. Your whole world was curated to be untouchable, and still you let him close. Still, he got in. And now you didn’t know how to protect him from it.

From you.

You leaned back against the lockers, head tilting until it thudded against the metal.

“I don’t like Megumi,” you said suddenly.

Nobara didn’t reply. Not immediately. She just raised an eyebrow.

You added, louder, sharper, “I will never like Megumi.”

The silence afterward burned. And she didn’t argue. Didn’t call you out. Didn’t throw your words back in your face. She just tilted her head and stared at you for a long second, then said, soft and slow:

“You’re self-destructing again.”

You didn’t answer. Because what could you say? She was right. You crossed your arms tighter, like you could fold yourself in enough to stop the ache. Because you weren’t supposed to like someone like him. You weren’t supposed to want good things. You deserved Noritoshi. Men who used pretty girls as arm candy and talked circles around your feelings until you thought you were the problem. Men who didn’t care too much.

Because caring too much meant someone could leave. And Megumi? He’d never leave in pieces. He’d just leave quiet. Fully. For good. So you lied, and Nobara saw right through it, but she didn’t say a word. She just slid down to sit beside you on the floor, shoulder brushing yours, and let the silence speak for both of you.

The silence stretched for a moment longer. You stayed slumped beside Nobara against the lockers, feeling your ribcage squeeze with every inhale like your body was rejecting the truth you just spewed. But your eyes were dry now. Done sulking. Done wallowing in the hollow space between denial and regret.

You shifted, exhaled, then suddenly slapped your palm against her thigh.

“I need your help, bitch.”

Nobara blinked. “The fuck?”

You turned to her with that too-sweet, too-fake smile—the one that meant trouble. “No, I’m serious. I need your help. I’m on a mission.”

“Okay?” she said slowly, suspicious. “What mission? Did you finally realize you’re in love with Megumi and you wanna go confess on the school roof?”

You rolled your eyes so hard it nearly gave you a headache. “Ew, no. Gross. Barf. Never.”

“Uh-huh.”

You ignored her smug little grin and sat up straighter, crossing your legs like you were about to give a fucking TED Talk.

“I want to help him.”

Nobara stared. “…Help who?”

“Megumi, dumbass.”

She blinked. “Didn’t you already help him? You know, with the whole unvirginizing him thing?”

You snorted. “Oh my god, shut up. That wasn’t—I mean, okay, yes, I helped him with the sex thing. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I didn’t say thank you.”

“Whatever, you should. I performed a civic duty.”

Nobara was biting her knuckle to hold back a laugh. “So what now? You’re launching a full-blown Megumi makeover arc?”

You clapped your hands once, sharp. “Exactly.”

“You’re serious.”

You grabbed her arm. “Look at me. Dead serious. We—I—need to fix the situation.”

“And what exactly is the situation, princess?”

You stood, pacing a little now like this was a war room briefing. “Megumi dresses like a damn divorced math professor who lost custody of his kids. I’m talking black-on-black, sad hoodie, never met a comb, wouldn’t know swagger if it slapped him.”

“He’s always been like that.”

“Exactly. And it’s criminal. Have you seen that body?!” you shouted, arms flailing. “Like, holy fuck, he’s hiding all of that under a zip-up and shame.”

Nobara wheezed.

“I’m telling you,” you said, pointing at her. “We need to fix his wardrobe. Change his hair. Show him what looking good actually feels like. Because Megumi Fushiguro being that hot in secret? That’s a sin.”

“Maybe he doesn’t care about that stuff,” Nobara offered, still smiling. “Not everyone wants to be a runway reject.”

“Well, he should,” you snapped. “Because people don’t see him right now. They don’t get it. He blends in like he wants to disappear.”

Nobara raised an eyebrow. “And you want him to stand out.”

You paused. Then slowly shrugged, crossing your arms again, eyes a little softer.

“…Yeah. I do.” Because people should look at him the way you did now. Like he mattered. Like he was there. Like he wasn’t just some sad genius background character who kept his head down until graduation. He deserved better than that.

And if he didn’t know how to show it, you’d do it for him. You grinned again. Bright. Dangerous. “So are you in or what, bitch?”

Nobara gave a mock sigh and stood up next to you, brushing dust off her skirt. “God, this is gonna be chaotic.”

You linked your arm through hers. “That’s the goal.”

And in the back of your mind, you weren’t just thinking about new jackets or hair wax. You were thinking about him, and this time, you were going to do it right.

“No.” Megumi said it flatly. Instantly. Without even turning his head.

He stood stiffly in the middle of the men’s section at a massive, modern shopping mall, surrounded by racks of jackets and hangers with carefully folded shirts. A goddamn fluorescent spotlight beamed down on his disheveled black hoodie like it was about to be burned in some sacrificial ceremony.

“No,” he said again, like it was final. You grinned like it wasn’t.

“Oh, come on, Fushiguro,” you groaned, dramatically flopping a blazer over your arm like it was a dying animal. “Live a little. It’s not like I dragged you here under false pretenses.”

“You said it was an emergency,” he said without blinking, staring dead ahead at a mannequin in cargo pants.

You beamed. “It was. Your wardrobe.” Beside you, Nobara cackled, holding up a dark olive button-down like she was choosing weapons in an armory. “Honestly, she’s right. You dress like an apocalypse survivor. And not in a hot, Mad Max way—just... sad.”

“I didn’t ask,” Megumi muttered, adjusting the strap of the messenger bag slung across his chest like it was his only armor left in this cursed environment.

“You never ask for anything,” you snapped, shoving a rack aside to step closer. “That’s the whole problem. You’re allergic to being perceived.”

“I don’t care what people think.”

“Yeah, we know,” Nobara muttered. “The problem is we do.”

You jabbed a finger at him. “You’d rather walk around looking like a tax fraud suspect than admit you’re hot. It’s actually insane.”

“I’m not—” He cut himself off and glared. “This is pointless.”

“Oh my god. Fushiguro. You literally do martial arts. You could break someone’s jaw with your pinkie and yet you’re scared of trying on a fuckin’ jacket?”

Megumi turned toward you now, his brows furrowed, that signature exasperated glare leveled straight at your face. “I’m not scared. I just don’t care about stupid shit like this.”

“Well maybe you should!” you snapped, stepping closer. “Maybe people would take you seriously for once if you looked like you had your life together instead of like you live in a supply closet!”

“I don’t care what people think,” he growled, arms crossing.

“Not even Miwa?” you said, biting your lip with a smug grin.

That made him pause. Even Nobara blinked. “Wait what the fuck—”

“Oops,” you said sweetly, tilting your head. “Was that too honest?”

Megumi’s jaw tensed, and for a second he looked like he wanted to walk directly into oncoming traffic.

“She doesn’t—” he started, then stopped himself. “That has nothing to do with this.”

“You like her,” you sing-songed. “And she’s all proper and polite and whatever. You really think she’s gonna look twice at you when you show up to events looking like a prison escapee?”

“That’s low,” he muttered.

“You know what else is low? Your pants. You don’t even wear a belt, it’s a miracle they’re not around your ankles right now.”

Nobara wheezed.

“You’re both insane,” Megumi muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

“No, we’re fashion-forward,” you corrected, shoving a clean white T-shirt into his hands. “And this is an intervention.”

“I’m not putting this on.”

“Why?” you narrowed your eyes. “Scared I’ll see your abs again and have a full mental breakdown in the dressing room?”

Nobara choked. “Not again?!”

“You’re not helping,” Megumi growled, shooting her a glare.

“I am helping,” she chirped, tossing him a tan jacket. “Helping your hopeless ass look fuckable.”

“Please die,” Megumi said under his breath.

You shoved the clothes into his arms. “Three outfits. Try on three. Then you can go back to your corner of despair.”

He looked at you. Really looked at you. And for a second, it was like he saw something soft behind the snark.

You rolled your eyes before he could say anything. “Don’t get sentimental, bitch. Try on the fuckin’ shirt.”

And Megumi—muttering obscenities under his breath—finally walked toward the fitting rooms.

You high-fived Nobara like you’d just summoned a demon.

It wasn’t just about clothes. Not really. It was about showing him the version of himself the world deserved to see. And goddamn, he was going to shine. Even if it killed you.

He stepped out of the fitting room with the same flat expression he always wore when he was forced into anything mildly humiliating—shoulders stiff, jaw clenched, hair slightly more disheveled than usual like he’d run his hands through it five too many times in frustration.

But none of that registered. Because the second Megumi walked out, wearing a black shirt that hugged his torso like a second skin and dark jeans that��oh fuck—sat criminally well on his hips, every cell in your body short-circuited.

Your mouth opened. Nothing came out. Your brain? Vacant. Your heart? Punching itself in the face.

He looked… hot. Not “cute” hot. Not the quiet-guy-who-reads-in-corners hot. No. He looked like someone who should be banned from public spaces. Like someone who��d lean against a bar with his hands in his pockets and get phone numbers without speaking.

And he had the audacity to look annoyed about it. He stood in front of you, arms stiff at his sides, clearly uncomfortable but trying not to show it. “Well?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You were still staring. His biceps shifted beneath the sleeves—those same arms that used to cross in irritation when you were being a brat during tutoring. Now they just looked… solid. Defined. Powerful. The shirt clung to the dip of his waist, the muscle of his chest, and you were going feral.

“Earth to bitch,” Nobara said, elbowing you sharply. “You’re drooling.”

You blinked. “Am not.”

Megumi raised an eyebrow. “You’re quiet.”

You swallowed. Hard.

“Yeah, so?” you snapped. But it came out breathier than you wanted. You turned away like it might give your sanity a fighting chance. “Shirt’s tight. You look like a douchebag.”

Nobara snorted. Megumi crossed his arms. “Is that supposed to be bad?”

Your eyes flicked back to him without meaning to. “No. I mean. Yes. I mean—shut the fuck up.”

His lips twitched. Just a little. Barely there. You were going to combust.

You forced a scoff, grabbing the next outfit from the chair. “This isn’t even the best one. Get back in there, Fushiguro.”

But even as he rolled his eyes and turned away, the image burned into your skull. You hadn’t seen this version of him before. You didn’t know what to do with this version of him.

And the worst part? He didn’t even know what he was doing to you.

He didn’t know he’d just shifted something in you—something real, something terrifying. Because for the first time in a long time… you were speechless.

Megumi stepped out again.

Different outfit, same unbothered expression—except this time, it was worse.

This time, he was wearing a fitted white button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, top two buttons undone, hanging slightly open like he gave zero fucks about propriety. Paired with a pair of dark, loose slacks that cinched perfectly at his waist, he looked like he belonged on the cover of some Calvin Klein campaign where the tagline was “Silence is seductive.”

And maybe that was what made it worse.

Because this wasn’t your Megumi.

Not the one who clicked his tongue at your mistakes. Not the one who made you repeat Civics dates until you cried out of rage and not frustration. Not the one who looked soft in the corners of his eyes when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

No—this Megumi was different.

Sharp. Composed. Dangerous.

He didn’t even glance at you at first. Just adjusted his sleeves slowly, hands veined and calm, like he had no idea he was doing things to your soul. But maybe he did. Because when his eyes finally flicked up, they went straight to yours. Quiet. Direct. Unrelenting.

And you forgot how to breathe. Nobara beat you to it.

“Holy fuck,” she breathed, literally grabbing the rack next to her for support. “You’re lying to me. You’re not real.”

Megumi frowned. “It’s just a shirt.”

“It’s the shirt of Gods,” she corrected. “You look like you kill people with a fountain pen and then drink black coffee over their grave.”

He raised a brow. “That’s specific.”

“I have taste.”

You didn’t say anything. Because what could you say?

You were the one who dragged him here. The one who started this whole thing. The one who picked out that shirt because it might look good and—

Now you couldn’t even speak.

It looked too good.

Your heart was racing like a traitor. Your fingers itched to fidget with something—your bag strap, your hair, his fucking shirt, maybe.

“Looks fine,” you muttered, arms crossed tight, refusing to meet his eyes again.

“Fine?” Megumi echoed, voice laced with just enough sarcasm to light your entire body on fire.

“Yeah, fine. Don’t get cocky.”

Nobara gave you a look.

“Is that why you’ve been standing there in complete silence for a full thirty seconds? Because it’s fine?”

“I was just thinking,” you snapped.

“Thinking about how hard you’d let him rail you on a school desk—?”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP,” you and Megumi yelled at the same time, both whirling on her.

Nobara just raised her brows and held her hands up. “Okay, okay. Lovers’ quarrel. Got it.”

You turned away, ears burning. “We’re not—”

“Don’t even start,” Megumi muttered under his breath, clearly flustered too, tugging at the sleeves of his shirt like they were suffocating him now.

But you both went silent again.

Your pulse wouldn’t slow. You watched him out of the corner of your eye. The way the collar of that shirt dipped into the line of his collarbone. The way his jaw tensed like he was holding something in.

And all you could think was: You did this. You made him look like this. And now? You didn’t know how to handle it.

Megumi looked like he was about to say something—anything to break the electric tension crawling between you. His hand lifted slightly, hovering awkwardly at his side as if caught between reaching for a hanger or snapping it in half.

Then he sighed. “Can someone help me with this—?”

Nobara perked up from the bench. “Well, I’ll go find something else. You two—” she wiggled her fingers, “figure that out.”

Before you could even open your mouth to tell her not to leave you alone with him—again—she was gone.

And then it was just the two of you.

Megumi still standing in front of the changing room door, looking disarmingly good in that white button-up and slacks, hair slightly damp from sweat, the scent of soap and something distinctly him still clinging to his skin.

Your heartbeat spiked.

“I can help,” you muttered, stepping forward before your brain could catch up with your mouth.

He didn’t say anything—just looked at you.

And that was all it took.

Because the moment you reached for the edge of the changing room curtain, Megumi grabbed your wrist, pulled—and you stumbled right into him.

The door clicked shut behind you.

And then he kissed you.

Hard.

His mouth was on yours before you could even breathe. No warning, no question, just heat—his hands gripping your waist like he couldn’t stand the space between your bodies a second longer.

Your gasp broke the kiss, but he chased it, tongue sweeping against yours, messy and desperate, like he’d been waiting to do this since the second you walked into the store.

“Megumi—” you mumbled against his mouth, but it came out half-strangled because he was already backing you against the mirror, crowding your body, and hitching one of your thighs up around his waist.

His grip was rough. Possessive. Your skirt bunched around your hips as he lifted you with ease, hands firm beneath your thighs, grinding against your clothed core like he didn’t give a shit who might be outside that curtain.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your throat, kissing the skin there like he was punishing it. “You drive me insane.”

Your head thudded against the mirror, fingers threading into his hair, yanking hard enough to make him groan against your neck. “You’re one to talk.”

But he didn’t answer—not with words.

He rolled his hips again, and the pressure made you arch into him, your breath hitching. Everything was so close—the heat of him, the taste of him, the sheer pressure of his body against yours. You felt like you were going to combust.

Clothes still on. Dignity long gone.

And he was still kissing you like he needed it to breathe.

Your hands fumbled with the collar of his shirt, dragging him closer—tighter—as your lips crashed together again. There was nothing soft about this. No hesitation. Just heat, and sweat, and the dizzying, aching need you both pretended didn’t exist for weeks.

And now it was here. Now he was here. And you didn’t want it to stop.

Not when his hands were sliding under your top. Not when your legs were trembling around his waist. Not when his tongue was in your mouth like he wanted to swallow every bratty word you ever spat at him.

But then— Voices outside. Faint. Distant. Still enough to pull you back.

You both froze. Megumi didn’t let you go.

But his breathing was uneven now, lips brushing yours in a breathless drag, like he didn’t want to stop—like he didn’t know how.

Your voice was barely a whisper. “Gumi…”

He stared at you.

And you stared back. Chest heaving. Skirt still hitched. Mouth swollen. Something unspoken burning between you. And that’s where you stayed—hovering between whatever this was… and whatever came next.

His breath hit your lips, warm and ragged. His forehead rested against yours for a moment—then pulled back just far enough to see your face.

You were quiet.

Too quiet.

And Megumi noticed.

His brows furrowed. His eyes narrowed—not in anger, but in concern. His hand, still hot from where it had been gripping your thigh, slid up slowly, brushing over your waist until it curled gently under your jaw.

“I don’t like it when you’re quiet,” he muttered, voice low and hoarse, like it scraped the edges of something unspoken.

You blinked up at him, stunned silent by the sudden shift in him—the switch from that sharp, cold, untouchable Megumi to this. This boy whose hand now held your chin with careful fingers. Whose voice trembled with the weight of something softer.

“I’m fine,” you said, trying to muster up the usual bitchy confidence, the bratty armor you always wore like second skin.

But it cracked.

Just a little.

Megumi didn’t let it slide. He tilted your chin up gently, enough to make your gaze meet his again.

“Don’t do that,” he said quietly. “Don’t lie to me.”

His thumb brushed along your cheekbone, his stare unwavering. Still cold. Still composed. But that softness was there now—simmering beneath it all like a secret only you got to see.

“Tell me what’s wrong, pretty.”

Your lips parted, but the words caught. You swallowed thickly, breath catching at the name. The way he said it—pretty—wasn’t sarcastic or mocking. It wasn’t a jab or a joke or some arrogant dig.

It was… warm, and that scared you more than anything.

“It’s nothing,” you whispered, voice thinner than you wanted it to be. “It’s not a big deal.”

Megumi didn’t move. He didn’t push or pressure or pull away. He just kept his hand where it was, thumb dragging over your jaw as his eyes searched your face for the truth.

“Then why won’t you look at me the same?” he asked, quieter now. “You’ve been avoiding it. You’ve been avoiding me.”

You breathed in sharply, back pressing against the mirror again, like it might absorb you whole. You hated this. Hated how naked it made you feel.

He was supposed to be the awkward one.

You were supposed to be untouchable.

So why the fuck did it feel like he was the only one who ever looked at you like he saw you?

“I’m not avoiding you,” you muttered, half-hearted.

You said nothing.

Not right away. Not when he was still holding you like that, arms strong and steady beneath your thighs, chest pressed to yours like he hadn’t just kissed the air out of your lungs.

So he dropped you.

Not harshly—but suddenly. Like he was testing you.

Your back hit the changing room wall with a gentle thud, your heels barely catching the floor before your knees almost buckled. You looked up at him, breathless, heart a mess, mascara smudged just enough to betray what had just happened.

And still—you smiled.

Smug. Crooked. Unbothered.

The kind of smile that always got you out of trouble. The kind of smile that meant game on.

“Don’t worry,” you said, smoothing your hair with both hands, the lace of your skirt riding scandalously high on your thighs. “I’m good.”

Megumi didn’t respond right away. He just stood there, bare chest rising and falling, hair damp, lips still slightly parted.

“You sure?” he asked, voice lower now. Quieter. A little cautious.

You nodded. “A hundred percent.”

And before he could say anything else—before you had the chance to crack even further—you turned around and opened the changing room door.

Nobara was standing right outside, arms crossed, one brow arched like she’d been waiting hours instead of minutes.

She gave you one long, slow look from head to toe.

Your skirt was wrinkled. Your lipstick was smudged. Your hair was a war crime.

“Well damn,” she said, deadpan. “Did he fuck the physics into you or what?”

You rolled your eyes and shoved past her with a scoff. “Shut up.”

“I’m just saying,” Nobara chirped, following you down the hall. “Your hair looks like it got into a fight with gravity. And lost.”

You reached up instinctively to fix it, still feeling Megumi’s hands on your waist, his mouth on your neck.

You didn’t say anything. But the smile on your face didn’t fade. Not even a little.

“Okay, seriously,” you said, deadpan, staring at Megumi like he just kicked a puppy. “What the fuck is on your head.”

Megumi blinked, genuinely confused. “My hair?”

“No, your tragic decision-making, obviously it’s your hair,” you snapped, arms crossed. “Why does it look like a hedgehog lost a fight with a blender?”

Nobara burst out laughing behind you, flopping onto your bed with a snort. “Oh my god—thank you. I didn’t wanna say anything at the mall, but it’s atrocious. He looks like he cut it himself during an earthquake.”

Megumi frowned, defensive now, dragging a hand through the spiky mess. “It’s just… messy.”

“Messy?” you echoed. “No. Messy is a tousled ‘I-just-got-fucked-against-a-wall’ kind of hot. This?” You circled him like a shark, squinting at the disaster on his scalp. “This is ‘I got electrocuted in the shower and didn’t notice.’”

He turned slightly to Nobara, as if for help. She just smirked and held her hands up. “Don’t look at me, Fushiguro. I’ve been trying to say this since the first day we met. You’ve got good bone structure and awful hair.”

Megumi muttered something that sounded dangerously close to “I hate both of you.”

But you weren’t having it.

“Oh no, you’re not getting out of this now,” you said, grabbing his sleeve and dragging him toward your vanity like a man being marched to execution. “You let me bring you to the mall, you let me pick your clothes, and now? You’re letting me fix the national tragedy that is your hairstyle.”

“I never agreed to this,” he said, digging in his heels halfway across your carpet. “This wasn’t part of the deal.”

You whipped around, inches from his face. “You’re hot now, Fushiguro. It’s your moral responsibility to have a hairdo that doesn’t look like it was styled by a weed whacker.”

“I liked it,” he muttered under his breath.

“I liked it,” you mocked in a high-pitched voice. “Oh my god, he’s got feelings. Someone call the news.”

Nobara snorted. “Y/N, be nice.”

You rolled your eyes and shoved him into the chair in front of your vanity. “No. He deserves violence. Emotional or physical, I haven’t decided yet.”

Megumi looked at himself in the mirror, then back at you, clearly regretting every life choice that led him to this point. “If you burn my scalp—”

“I will set you on fire on purpose if you keep complaining.”

“You’re terrifying,” he muttered, glaring as you sprayed water on his head.

You grinned. “I know.”

Nobara watched from your bed, sipping a boba drink she clearly found from your mini-fridge. “So what’s the plan, boss? We chopping it? Styling it? Shaving it off so he can start over?”

“Not shaving,” you said immediately, combing through his damp hair with a level of focus that would’ve shocked your teachers. “This bitch has potential. It just needs to be tamed.”

Megumi scoffed. “You make it sound like a wild animal.”

“That’s because it is, babe,” Nobara said helpfully.

You held up a strand and narrowed your eyes. “It’s giving ‘slept with my head in a microwave.’ Like, what is the texture? What is the shape? Where is the respect?”

Megumi rolled his eyes. “It’s not that bad.”

You and Nobara turned to him in unison.

“Yes,” Nobara said solemnly. “It is.”

“It’s a violation of basic human decency,” you added.

Megumi leaned back in the chair like a condemned man. “Do whatever you want. I’m already dead inside.”

You grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

You and Nobara circled Megumi like vultures, armed with a spray bottle, two combs, a round brush, and enough styling product to open a pop-up salon. He sat rigidly in your vanity chair like he was preparing for surgery, eyes narrowed at his reflection as you pulled his hair back and forth with clinical precision.

“I swear to god, if this makes it worse—”

“Shut up,” you snapped, misting his head aggressively. “You gave up the right to complain the second you walked in here with this disaster on your scalp.”

“It’s not a disaster,” he muttered, grimacing as Nobara tugged a chunk of hair upright with a teasing comb.

“You’re right,” Nobara chimed in sweetly. “It’s a catastrophe.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out. “It looks like it’s been styled with a spoon and a prayer.”

Megumi groaned audibly. “Why are you both so dramatic?”

“Because we have eyes,” Nobara said.

“And standards,” you added.

It took longer than it should have—spraying, combing, trimming flyaways, arguing over center part versus side part, threatening to shave it all off entirely—but eventually, after a blur of movement and bickering and way too many close calls with Nobara’s flat iron, you took a step back.

You stared at him. Silently.

The spikes were still there—sharp, unruly, unapologetically him—but now they were tamed, softened in shape, styled with a cleaner edge that actually made sense with his face. Not too polished, not too wild. Balanced.

Dangerously so.

Because it brought out everything.

His cheekbones. The cut of his jaw. The deep-set steel blue of his eyes. It was like finally seeing a painting under the right lighting.

And you hated how hard your chest clenched.

“Oh,” Nobara said, her voice soft with shock. “Oh, you’re handsome-handsome.”

You flinched out of your trance. “Calm your fucking tits.”

Nobara ignored you, walking around to get a better view. “Y/N, we really did that. We should be charging for this.”

Megumi, still blinking at his reflection like he wasn’t sure what universe he was in, murmured, “It’s... better?”

“You look hot,” Nobara said bluntly.

“I said calm—”

“No, I’m serious. I didn’t know your face looked like that under all the porcupine static.” She turned to you. “Now—glasses.”

“Wait, what’s wrong with his glasses?” you and Megumi said at the same time, both frowning.

Nobara rolled her eyes. “Nothing’s wrong with them. But let’s just see. For science.”

“I need them to see,” Megumi deadpanned.

“Then close your eyes for two seconds and survive.”

Before either of you could protest again, she plucked the frames off his face.

Megumi blinked, disoriented. “I can’t see shit.”

And you— you couldn’t breathe.

Your fingers froze mid-adjustment. Something twisted low in your stomach.

Because this wasn’t your Megumi anymore.

This wasn’t the boy who wore soft, wrinkled hoodies and slouched with a pen in his mouth while mumbling about feudal Japan. This wasn’t the slightly awkward, perpetually annoyed tutor who scolded you for confusing Confucius with Confetti or whatever the hell his name was.

This was— Sharp. Composed. Disarmingly beautiful. And still undeniably him. But somehow… less yours. You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t.

You swallowed around the dryness in your throat and reached over gently to slide his glasses back on.

“Okay,” you said, voice carefully neutral. “You look fine.”

Nobara arched a brow. “Fine? That’s all you’re giving him?”

“Jesus, calm down,” you muttered, waving her off. “You sound like you’re about to mount him.”

Megumi snorted softly, but he was looking at you now. Really looking. And you didn’t know what you looked like back.

Just that something inside you was shifting, and no matter how hard you tried to bury it beneath your snark and sarcasm—

You couldn’t help but think: He doesn’t look like my Megumi anymore, and that scared you more than anything. Because you weren’t ready to admit what you already knew: You didn’t want to lose the version of him that only you ever got to see.

The buzz started before first period even began.

It was in the halls, in the cafeteria, in the fucking girl’s bathroom stalls. You could hear it behind closed lockers, whispered in corners, shouted between friend groups.

"Did you see Fushiguro?" "Is that really him?" "Who knew he had a jawline like that?"

You slammed your locker shut hard enough to rattle the one next to it.

Nobara, walking beside you and munching on pocky like she owned the damn world, raised a brow. “You okay?”

“No,” you hissed, adjusting the strap of your bag sharply. “I’m not fucking okay. These bitches are acting like he hatched from an egg this morning.”

Nobara snorted. “Well, to be fair, he was looking like a soggy anime protagonist before we fixed his hair.”

You shot her a look.

She shrugged. “Hey, we did this. You should be proud. Your man’s finally getting the recognition.”

You turned to her, voice low and vicious. “That’s not my fucking man.”

She smirked. “Sure.”

And still, as you walked into the main hallway, the whispers amplified like a hive of flies. You could hear a group of girls ahead giggling too loudly, standing near the bulletin board where someone had literally taped a blurry candid of Megumi — from that morning — shirt tucked in, hair clean, glasses no where to be seen.

You stared. Blinked. And felt your blood boil.

You did this. You fixed that hair. You picked those fucking jeans.

And now they were all foaming at the mouth over it.

Not because they noticed him in math class, or watched him quietly help the juniors when no one else did, or saw the way his knuckles were always bruised because he boxed like he had something to prove.

No. They noticed because you made him hot. You did that.

And they were two seconds from sexualizing him like a piece of meat in your lunch tray.

“He could get it now,” one girl said, fanning herself with a worksheet.

“I’d climb him like a tree,” another giggled. “Those arms? He could ruin my GPA, and I’d thank him.”

You clenched your jaw.

“Oh my god,” a third voice added — Aiko, of all fucking people, her tone dripping with fake wonder. “Who knew Fushiguro had potential? He used to be such a loser, and now I’m like… kind of obsessed. He just needed a little help, right?”

You stopped walking. Nobara sensed it before you spoke. “Oh no.”

Your heels clicked against the tile like a warning shot. You stepped forward, stopping right in front of their little group like a queen entering the battlefield.

Aiko turned, already smiling, like she wanted you to join in on the joke.

You didn’t smile back.

“You wanna say that again?” you asked, voice deceptively sweet.

Aiko blinked. “What?”

“The part where you called him a loser,” you said, tilting your head. “Go on. I’m sure he’d love to hear that from someone who couldn’t spell ‘potential’ if her life depended on it.”

The girls went quiet.

You took another step closer, smiling now—but it was venomous. “See, you bitches love to pop your pussy for something shiny and new. But where were you when he sat alone every fucking lunch? Or when you called him creepy for knowing the answers before the teacher asked?”

Aiko’s face started to pale.

“That boy has more class in his knuckles than you have in your whole bloodline,” you sneered. “So maybe think twice before you talk about him like he’s your little glow-up project. You wouldn’t know what to do with him even if he let you try.”

Nobara let out a low whistle behind you. “Jesus.”

You didn’t care. Your heart was thudding in your chest, rage coiling behind your ribs. Because he deserved better than that. Better than them. Better than you, too, maybe—but they sure as fuck weren’t allowed to talk about him like that.

Not when they didn’t know a thing about him.

Not like you did.

The girls scattered like flies after that, mumbling apologies or pretending not to care.

You stood tall, smoothed your skirt, and turned on your heel.

“Feel better?” Nobara asked, falling into step beside you, eyebrow raised.

You huffed. “No. But I fucking meant every word.”

She bumped your shoulder. “Damn right you did.”

But the truth burned in your throat even as you walked away from the mess. Because the one person you weren’t brave enough to say that to… was the one person you’d started to care about way too much.

It was raining by the time you got there. Not heavy yet, but the clouds overhead promised hell was coming.

You barely knocked.

The door opened after one knock, and there he was—Megumi. Barefoot, in sweatpants and a black t-shirt that clung to his chest. His hair was a little damp, curling at the ends from either a shower or the humidity outside. The soft flicker of the TV behind him lit his silhouette.

His eyes skimmed over you. “You’re late.”

“I was being dramatic,” you said with a sniff, stepping inside like you owned the place.

You didn’t. And you felt it, too.

The quiet of the house pressed in on you. The only sound was the low murmur of the television—“storm warning issued for Tokyo Metro Area…”

Your shoes left faint water prints on the hardwood. You toed them off and dropped your bag beside the couch, pretending the silence wasn’t suffocating.

“So…” you said, voice softer now, almost teasing. “You’re a big shot now, huh?”

Megumi frowned. “What?”

You gestured vaguely toward him. “The school. People are practically frothing at the mouth over you. I think I overheard someone say you could step on them and they’d say thank you.”

He blinked. “That’s… disturbing.”

You dropped onto the couch. “That’s teenage girls. Get used to it.”

He didn’t sit. Just stood there for a second, like he didn’t know what to do with you. Like he couldn’t decide whether he should start quizzing you on politics or kick you out.

You stared at him. “You really didn’t notice?”

“No,” he muttered. “I don’t care.”

There was a pause. A little too long.

Then—

“…Do you?” he asked, quieter now.

You tilted your head. “Do I what?”

He was still standing there, arms crossed, jaw tight. But something about the way he said it—

“Do you like it?” he asked. “The way I look now.”

It wasn’t cocky. It wasn’t a trap. It sounded like an honest fucking question.

You felt something pinch in your chest.

You wanted to laugh. Or roll your eyes. Or tell him he looked fine and move on with your night. But you couldn’t. Because the way he was looking at you—calm, quiet, guarded—was killing you.

“Do you want me to like it?” you asked back.

He didn’t blink. “I asked first.”

You stared at him. Tried to read his expression. But he was unreadable, as always—except his shoulders were a little tense, and his eyes kept flicking between you and the storm outside the window. So you told the truth.

“I liked how you looked before,” you said, crossing your arms again. “I like how you look now. You’re hot. Congrats.”

That made him frown, just a little.

You rolled your eyes. “Is that not what you wanted to hear?”

“No,” he said. “I just… didn’t think you noticed me.”

The words were soft. Like they cost something.

You blinked. “What?”

He finally sat down beside you, slow and heavy, elbows on his knees. “You were with guys like Kamo. Loud, rich. The whole school knew when you were dating someone.”

“So?”

“So I thought you just… tolerated me,” he said.

You stared at him. “I showed up to your house in the rain. For tutoring. I literally begged you to tutor me again.”

His eyes flicked toward yours. “That’s not the same.”

Silence again. You bit your lip, then sighed. “I just didn’t want to be the only one who saw you.”

Megumi’s brows pulled slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—” You swallowed, folding your arms tighter. “People didn’t really look at you. Not really. They saw the grades, the silence, the hair. But they didn’t look. I did.”

You paused.

“And I didn’t want to keep it to myself.”

Megumi was quiet for a while. The kind of quiet that made your skin prickle. You looked down at your nails, chewing your lip. “That’s all. I just thought… people should know.”

“Why?”

You blinked again. “Why what?”

“Why did it matter that people saw me?”

The question was too honest. It made your stomach twist.

“I don’t know,” you said finally. “Because maybe if they did… I wouldn’t feel so fucking insane for noticing you in the first place.”

Megumi’s throat bobbed. The rain outside was louder now. You could hear the drops hitting the glass like static. You were sitting so close on the couch now, knees almost brushing. He didn’t reach for you. Didn’t touch you.

But his voice dropped a little. “I noticed you first.”

You turned your head.

Megumi wasn’t looking at you. But you could see the pink climbing up his neck.

“I didn’t say anything because I thought you’d destroy me,” he muttered, almost like he was annoyed with himself. “You still might.”

You smirked, but it was softer than usual. “You’re not so easy to destroy, Fushiguro.”

He finally turned toward you again. And for a second—just a second—you weren’t the girl who wrecked reputations for fun. You weren’t the mean girl, the manipulator, the bitch with a crown on her head. You were just a girl. Wanting a boy who never thought someone like you would.

“…We’re here to study,” you said quickly, breaking the eye contact and grabbing your bag. “Don’t get weird about it.”

But your hands were trembling just a little when you opened your notebook. And neither of you pointed it out. Megumi didn’t move. You felt it before you saw it—that shift in the air. His gaze heavy on you, weighing every breath you tried to take like it meant something.

And maybe it did. Because then came the first real blow. “You’re quiet.”

Your pen stilled. “I’m literally speaking right now,” you muttered, not looking up.

“That’s not what I mean.”

You clenched your jaw, flipping open your notes like they weren’t trembling in your hand. “Well, maybe I just didn’t feel like biting your head off today. Shouldn’t that be a win for you?”

He ignored the sarcasm. “You’ve been off ever since the mall.”

“And you’ve been dressing like you’re starring in a Calvin Klein ad,” you shot back. “Maybe I’m just adjusting.”

His brow twitched. “So you are upset.”

“No.” You looked up at him, heat crawling up your neck. “I just think it’s funny.”

Megumi’s stare didn’t budge. “What’s funny?”

“That now everyone sees you,” you said, biting the words out, “suddenly you’re worth talking to. And I have to watch girls lose their shit over a guy I—”

You caught yourself. Hard. Megumi stepped forward. Slowly. Deliberately.

“And what?” he said, voice low.

Your throat was dry. “And nothing.”

He tilted his head, sea-glass eyes narrowing. “That’s not nothing.”

You shot to your feet. “Can you not? Can you just, for once, not try to read my mind like I’m some fucking essay prompt?”

“I wouldn’t have to guess,” he said, voice tighter now, “if you’d just tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m fine, Megumi,” you snapped.

“No, you’re not.”

“Oh my god, shut up—why do you even care?”

That stopped him. Just a second. But you saw the way it landed. Saw the shift in his shoulders, the pinch in his brows—like you’d yanked a thread that unraveled something you weren’t supposed to touch. You hated how your chest twisted.

“I didn’t mean that,” you said quickly, voice smaller. “I just—this was easier when you were just…”

“What?” Megumi asked quietly.

Just Megumi. Your Megumi. But you didn’t say it. You didn’t get the chance.

Because the thunder cracked so violently it made the windows rattle—followed by a sudden, sharp click as the power cut out completely. Lights. TV. Everything.

Gone. Darkness swallowed the room, save for the occasional flash of lightning. You could barely see him. But you felt him. Both of you stood there in the thick silence, the storm pressing against the glass like a weight.

And then— “I’m still me,” Megumi said quietly. “Even if I look different.” You exhaled. Slow. Unsteady.

“I know.”

“Then why are you acting like I’m not?”

You hesitated. Then, barely above a whisper— “Because you look less like someone I can keep.”

The words hung there between you. Electric. Unforgivable. You weren’t even sure he heard them—until he stepped closer. Close enough that the scent of him, the heat of his skin, wrapped around you like gravity.

“You think I’m going somewhere?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Everyone else wants you now.”

“I don’t care about everyone else.”

The silence between you was louder than the storm now. You opened your mouth—then shut it again. Because you could still taste the fear in your throat. Not of losing him. But of how much you already had. You swallowed around the ache in your throat, trying not to blink too hard. The silence stretched. Too raw. Too exposed. So, like always, you threw up a wall.

“Well,” you said, stepping back and folding your arms, “isn’t this romantic. Power’s out, storm’s raging, and I’m stuck with Tokyo’s favorite new thirst trap.”

Megumi blinked, the sharpness in his expression dimming just enough to look mildly offended. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re sweaty and shirtless and we’re in the dark.” You gestured around. “I’m just saying, if this was a movie, I’d already be dead or pregnant.”

That earned a very faint snort, like he didn’t want to laugh but couldn’t help it. He exhaled, raking a hand through his damp hair. “My dad keeps candles somewhere.”

“Wow. Sexy and prepared,” you muttered, watching him disappear into the hallway. “No wonder the girls are eating it up.”

“Shut up,” he called back. A cabinet door creaked open, followed by the sound of matches scraping. “If you’re cold, there’s a blanket on the couch.”

You ignored that. Pulled out your phone instead—only to see one bar and a signal so weak it might as well be decorative. You sighed and dialed anyway. It rang once, twice. Then a familiar voice crackled through the speaker. “Sweetheart?”

“Daddy,” you breathed, the relief hitting hard. “The power’s out. It’s storming like crazy. Are you home?”

“I’m out of town, baby. Business trip. Flight got delayed.” His voice softened. “Where are you?”

You glanced at the flickering light starting to glow down the hall. “Megumi’s.”

A pause. “You safe?”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Just… stuck.”

“Alright. Call me if anything changes. I’ll check the weather. Love you.”

“Love you more,” you said softly and hung up.

Megumi returned, two candles flickering in hand. One for the living room, one for the table. He lit them both in quick, practiced motions. He didn’t look at you.

“I’ll walk you home when the wind dies down,” he said, flatly.

You narrowed your eyes. “I didn’t say I was leaving.”

“You were about to,” he muttered. “You always are.”

The jab caught you off guard.

“…Jesus, dramatic much?” you mumbled, shifting on the couch as the room glowed orange and gold. “You act like I’m trying to abandon you.”

He gave you a look. “You were literally about to walk out during a thunderstorm.”

“Yeah, well, I like living on the edge.”

“I swear to god, you’re going to get electrocuted one day and somehow blame me for it.”

“Obviously.” His lips twitched. Almost a smile.

The tension was still there—but softened now, under the candlelight. Like it had been dulled by the rain and everything neither of you could say outright. You pulled your knees up to your chest, watching the lightning flash against the windows.

“…You didn’t have to light all those, you know,” you said quietly, eyes flicking toward the candles.

“I know.”

You hesitated. “…But thank you.” Another small silence.

Then he sat down next to you again. A little closer this time. The storm howled outside, but in here—there was only the flicker of light between you and the quiet push-and-pull that had always felt like home.

“You really think I’m Tokyo’s favorite thirst trap?” he said suddenly, deadpan.

You groaned. “You remembered that?”

“You literally just said it.”

“Well, I’m not wrong.”

“Whatever.” You glanced at him.

His arms were folded again. His face still unreadable. But something in his expression had eased. Not softer, necessarily—but less guarded. And you… you could breathe again.

You didn’t mean to say it.

It just slipped out.

“Miwa’s taking an interest in you.”

Megumi glanced up from where he was lighting a candle on the table, his face cast in flickering shadows. “What?”

You picked at the frayed hem of your skirt like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. “Nobara heard her talking in the bathroom. She was saying you’re different now. That you look… good.”

A beat of silence.

Then, like an idiot, he asked, “She is?”

You wanted to throw the fucking candle at his head.

Instead, you smiled. That sweet, mean smile you wore like armor. “What, hoping she asks you out? You want someone to touch your freshly styled hair and whisper about your jawline now?”

He didn’t bite. Just walked to the kitchen with that maddening calm of his. Megumi’s phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. He picked it up, barely glancing at the screen before answering.

“Yeah?”

You didn’t look at him. You were too busy pretending to scroll through your phone, too busy ignoring the sting from earlier—She is?—like it hadn’t lodged itself right in your chest. But then his tone changed.

“…You’re stuck?” You peeked up, subtly.

Megumi’s voice dropped, quiet and curt. “Flooding?”

Pause. A sigh. “No, it’s fine. Yeah—I’m not alone.”

Another pause. “Yeah, it’s her.” You tensed, grip tightening around your phone.

“Don’t worry,” he muttered. “I’ll take care of it. Just… stay safe.”

He hung up. Silence. You didn’t say anything, waiting.

He turned around, arms folded, voice neutral. “That was my dad.”

“Obviously.”

“There’s flooding near the station. He’s stuck for the night.”

You raised a brow. “And?”

“And you can’t leave.”

You stared at him. “What do you mean I can’t?”

“There’s a blackout. The storm’s not letting up. Roads are a mess.” He gestured to the window where the rain slapped against the glass in heavy sheets. “Power lines are down. Toji said even the convenience store by the corner shut down. He’s not coming home.”

You blinked. “And what, you’re just holding me hostage now?”

Megumi’s expression didn’t change. “You came here.”

“I didn’t come here to spend the night!”

He crossed his arms tighter. “Well, congratulations. Looks like you’re going to.”

You huffed. Loudly. Dramatically. “You’re impossible.”

“I know.” And then he moved past you, candle in hand, heading toward the hallway like this was all perfectly reasonable. You glared at the flame, at the storm, at your phone with zero service, and then finally threw yourself back against the couch with a groan.

“…Fine,” you muttered under your breath. “But I’m not taking the fucking bed.”

From down the hall, Megumi’s voice drifted back—completely unbothered.

“You’re not.”

It was quiet for a while. Too quiet. The storm outside had dulled into a low, steady rhythm—rain kissing the windows in soft percussion, wind rattling somewhere beyond the walls like a ghost trying to get in. The power was still out, the flicker of candlelight the only thing cutting through the shadows curling around the room.

You sat curled on the couch, arms wrapped around your knees, pretending your phone wasn't dead and you weren’t mildly terrified of the dark. Then you heard footsteps. Not heavy. Not rushed. Just Megumi. He emerged from the hallway carrying a stack of pillows and a neatly folded blanket. He didn’t say anything as he knelt beside the couch, laying everything out with a quiet focus you refused to react to. But your throat tightened anyway. Because it was too much.

He’d brought the softest blanket. The only one that didn’t smell like detergent. He even slid a second pillow behind your back, like you couldn’t possibly sleep without it.

You didn’t comment. Just watched with a neutral expression, biting your cheek to stop from saying something snarky. You could've made a joke. Could’ve called him a housewife. Could’ve pushed, flirted, snapped.

But you didn’t. Because even you couldn’t deny what this was. He cared. And that scared the shit out of you.

When he finally sat down beside you—on the floor, back resting against the couch—you raised a brow.

“What, not going to bed?” you said, voice low.

He shrugged, eyes on the candlelight. “Didn’t feel like it.”

You blinked, letting your head rest against the cushion. “What are you, my emotional support boxer?”

That made him huff—barely a laugh, but still something. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

You smirked. “Please. You’re the one bringing luxury sleepware like I’m a fucking princess.”

“No,” he deadpanned. “You’re a brat. Princesses don’t throw paper at their tutors.”

You rolled your eyes. “That was one time.”

“It was two.”

You both went quiet after that, but it wasn’t awkward. Just… still. You watched the flicker of flames bounce shadows off the ceiling, your heart slower now, your body less tense.

“…So why boxing?” you asked, surprising even yourself.

He looked over his shoulder. “What?”

You tilted your head. “You don’t really seem like the type. You hate attention. And yet here you are, shirtless and sweaty, punching people in a ring.”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then, after a beat— “It helps,” he said quietly. “Gets the noise out of my head.”

You frowned. “You get noise?”

He didn’t look at you. “Everyone does.”

The answer made your chest ache a little.

You didn’t press. Just let the silence fill in the blanks. Then— “...You’re good at it,” you said.

His brow ticked. “You saw five minutes.”

“Still.” Another beat.

“You looked hot,” you added, nonchalant, watching the side of his face carefully.

This time, he did look at you. “You’re deflecting.”

“Maybe.”

“You don’t have to.”

You blinked. He didn’t elaborate. Just turned back to the candlelight, fingers fidgeting slightly against his knee.

The kind of fidgeting you did when you wanted to say something but didn’t know how. You swallowed.

“I never had something like that,” you said, quieter now. “Something that made the noise go away.”

Megumi didn’t speak, but you could feel him listening.

Really listening.

You rested your chin on your knees. “I tried to find it in people. Parties. Power. All that shit. But it never works.”

A pause.

Then Megumi asked, “And now?”

You looked at him. At the boy who used to flinch when you walked by. At the boy who looked at you like you were everything and nothing at the same time.

“…Now?” you repeated. He met your eyes. And for once—you didn’t look away.

“I don’t know yet,” you said. “But I think I’m closer than I used to be.”

You didn’t say it. But you were pretty sure he knew.

The silence had stretched into something calmer now—less tense, less biting. You were both still on the couch, the storm a dull whisper outside, the candlelight making the room feel smaller, warmer, like some strange little world that didn’t exist anywhere but here.

You shifted a little, resting your chin on your arms, curled up in the blanket he brought you like a sullen cat. Megumi sat beside you, back against the couch again, his legs stretched out, elbows on his knees.

Neither of you had spoken in a while.

You didn’t know why the words came out.

Maybe it was the dark.

Or the quiet.

Or the way Megumi was just... there. Not asking for anything. Not prying. Just existing beside you with that stillness that made people underestimate him.

“My dad’s out of town,” you murmured.

Megumi didn’t look at you, but his head tilted slightly—listening.

“Business trip,” you added, trying not to sound defensive. “He does that a lot. I used to hate it when I was younger.”

A pause.

Then: “But you’re close.”

You gave a small smile. “Yeah. I’m a daddy’s girl. You can’t tell?”

Megumi snorted softly. “Oh, I can tell.”

You chuckled under your breath, but the laughter faded quickly, something deeper tugging at your chest.

“I don’t talk about him much at school,” you said. “People already have their little opinions about me, I didn’t want to... whatever. Make it worse.”

Megumi stayed quiet.

You pulled the blanket tighter around your legs.

“When I was eight, my mom and dad split,” you said suddenly. “It got messy. She didn’t want custody. Not really. But her new husband did. I think he just wanted to win something.”

Megumi turned his head a little, watching you now.

You stared ahead at the dim outline of his coffee table, your voice soft. “But my dad fought for me. Hard. Like—like it was war. Lawyers, courts, all that shit. I remember him carrying me out of the hearing room when the judge gave him custody. I was crying. He didn’t. Not once.”

Megumi didn’t interrupt.

“I used to think he was made of steel or something,” you whispered. “Like, nothing could break him. And he never—he never made me feel like I wasn’t enough. Not even once.”

You blinked. Fast.

“He worked so hard. All those long hours. Just to give me this life. The clothes. The car. The schools. People see me and think I’m just spoiled. Rich bitch. But they don’t know how hard he worked for all of it. How hard he worked for me.”

Megumi’s voice was low when he finally spoke. “Sounds like he really loves you.”

You nodded slowly. “He does. And I love him, too. More than anyone.”

There was a pause. The quiet kind that settled in your bones.

You bit your lip. “My mom—she lives in Fukuoka now. Married to that same guy. I see her sometimes. She’s always smiling in her new house, with her new kids, like she didn’t leave me behind. But he never did.”

Megumi shifted then, just slightly.

You felt it before you saw it—the way his hand brushed gently against your ankle under the blanket, not a grab, not a hold, just... there.

Steady. Present.

“I’m glad you have him,” Megumi said. And he meant it. You could hear it.

You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. Me too.”

And for a while, that was all. No teasing. No bickering. Just a storm outside, and a boy beside you, and the quiet reminder that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as alone as you thought.

The silence wrapped around the both of you again, more comfortable now. The storm outside had settled into a steady rhythm, wind pressing against the windows like a tired breath. The candle on the coffee table flickered lazily, casting long shadows up the wall.

You’d fallen quiet again, the weight of your last words still hanging in the air.

Megumi hadn’t said anything in a while. You glanced at him from under your lashes. His brows were drawn, expression unreadable—but his hands were tense in his lap, fingers rubbing at his knuckles absently. Like he was thinking too hard about something.

You nudged him gently with your knee under the blanket.

His eyes flicked to yours. “What?”

“You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing.”

You raised an eyebrow. “The broody, ‘I’m-staring-into-the-void-like-a-tragic-protagonist’ thing.”

A breath of a laugh escaped him. Barely.

Then his gaze dropped, his voice quieter. “I’ve been thinking about Tsumiki.”

Your teasing died instantly.

“Oh.”

He nodded slowly. “She’s… not doing great.”

The weight of those four words hit you like a punch to the chest. You sat up a little straighter, eyes scanning his face. There was something different in it now—tired, but deeper than that. Like something he’d been holding for too long.

He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to find the words. “Her condition’s… it’s getting worse. The doctors said there’s not much more they can do here.”

You stayed quiet, letting him speak.

“I might have to fly out next week. Fukuoka or even Sapporo—depends where they transfer her. She’s not waking up. And if something—if anything happens and I’m not there, I’ll never—” He cut himself off, jaw locking.

You didn’t say anything. You just reached out, resting your hand over his knuckles.

He didn’t pull away.

“She raised me more than anyone,” he said, voice gravelly. “After everything with my mom and dad… she was the one who kept me steady. Who made me believe I could be anything other than angry.”

You swallowed.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Megumi looked at you then. And for once, his eyes weren’t guarded. They were raw. Open. So full of guilt and helplessness that it made your chest ache.

“She’s so kind,” he murmured. “Always has been. She never hurt anybody. I don’t know why people like her—why she ends up paying for things.”

You squeezed his hand.

“I don’t want to lose her.”

His voice cracked at the end. Just slightly. Enough to make you want to pull him close and never let go.

You didn’t say you understood. Because you didn’t. Not really.

But you let your hand stay in his. And when his thumb brushed over your knuckles, soft and trembling, you didn’t call him out for it.

You just sat there.

Two kids. Bruised hearts. A flickering candle. And the quiet grief that filled the room like smoke.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, barely touching.

“I’ll be here,” you said softly.

He didn’t answer. But he didn’t move away either. And maybe, for now, that was enough.

The thunder had quieted into a low grumble, distant now, like the sky was done screaming and only murmured in exhaustion.

You weren’t sure when the silence shifted—when the conversation turned from real, heavy things to just… breath. Just the warmth of being there beside him. You had your knees pulled up, a blanket across your lap, your arm pressed against his on the couch. The faint scent of citrusy soap clung to his skin. The candlelight flickered over his profile.

And when he looked at you… really looked at you—

Everything else faded.

No more school. No more rumors. No more fights, or essays, or storms. Just the steady sound of his breath, and the way he was staring like you were a question he never thought he’d get to ask, let alone answer.

“…What?” you whispered, pulse skipping.

Megumi just shook his head a little. “Nothing.”

But his eyes didn’t leave you. Didn’t drop, didn’t flinch. They were so blue in the dark, like sea glass catching fire.

You blinked, suddenly shy. “Why are you—”

He leaned in.

You felt it before you saw it—his hand ghosting over your cheek, gentle, almost hesitant. Like he was giving you one last chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

When his mouth met yours, it was soft. Barely there. A breath shared between two people who’d never thought this would happen. His lips moved over yours like he was learning how—like he’d only ever imagined it before, and now, he was finding out what it meant to want, really want, and be allowed to.

You tilted your face up, deepened it slowly.

He followed you, a little clumsy, a little shy—but eager. Your fingers slipped into his hair, still tousled from the storm, from your work earlier, and a quiet groan hummed in his throat.

When he pulled back, his breath was shaky.

“Are you…” you whispered, forehead pressed to his. “Are you sure?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then his hand touched your jaw again, thumb dragging over your cheek like he was memorizing the shape of you.

“I want to,” he said. His voice was steady, but his pulse was racing—you could feel it where your hand had pressed against his chest. “I’ve never wanted anything like this before.”

You swallowed, heart in your throat. “You’ve never…?”

He shook his head once.

Oh. You were quiet. “We don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he said again. And then softer, with something almost aching: “You’re the only one I’d ever want it with.”

Your chest ached.

And for once, you didn’t tease him. Didn’t put up your usual wall.Instead, you kissed him again.

You ended up in his lap before you even realized it.

One second you were kissing him—soft, slow, like the world might shatter if you rushed it—and the next, your knees were straddling his thighs, blanket slipping off your lap, hands curled in the collar of his shirt as you breathed into each other.

The living room was drenched in warm shadows, candlelight flickering golden over the curve of his jaw, the sharp edge of his cheekbone. You could still hear the rain faintly outside, a low murmur against the windows—but in here, everything was still. Sacred.

Megumi’s hands rested uncertainly on your hips, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch you. Like he didn’t trust himself.

“You can touch me,” you murmured, lips brushing against his. “You’re allowed.”

His fingers tightened slightly, eyes darting up to yours. That bashful, quiet intensity—it made your chest ache.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he whispered. “I don’t… I’ve never…”

“I know,” you said gently, and leaned in again, pressing your mouth to the corner of his. “That’s why I’m here.”

You kissed him deeper that time. Tongue teasing his lower lip, your body pressing closer. His hands slid up your sides hesitantly, under your shirt, skin to skin—and you felt the exact moment his breath hitched.

“You’re shaking,” you whispered.

“I know.” His voice was rougher now, quiet. “I just… I can’t believe this is real.”

You smiled against his lips. “It’s real.”

You tugged your shirt over your head, slow and deliberate, letting the fabric fall to the floor behind you. His gaze followed every movement, and when your chest was bare in front of him, he froze.

Not out of fear. Not discomfort. Just awe.

“…Fuck,” he breathed, eyes wide, voice barely audible. “You’re—”

“Don’t say perfect,” you said quickly, your voice light, teasing, trying to play it off. But your heart was fluttering in your chest like it was trying to fly away. “That’s such a cop-out.”

Megumi blinked like he hadn’t even thought of that word. “I wasn’t going to.”

You arched a brow. “No?”

He shook his head slowly, eyes still glued to your bare chest, your soft skin, the curve of you in his lap. Like he couldn’t believe this was real. Like you were something out of a dream.

“I was gonna say… unfair,” he said, swallowing hard. “Because I don’t know how I’m supposed to survive this. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You froze.

Not hot. Not sexy. Not fuckable, or a ten, or any of the things guys had always tossed at you like they meant something.

Beautiful.

It hit different. Like a bruise blooming in your chest—but soft. Warm. Gentle. You didn’t even realize you’d gone quiet until his hand came up, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek.

“Hey,” Megumi murmured. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you whispered, blinking quickly.

But the words were still echoing in your mind, messing with something deep inside you. Beautiful. Like art. Like something fragile and worth holding carefully.

No one had ever said that to you before. Not like this. Not with their hands trembling just from touching you. Not with eyes that looked like they were seeing straight through the act, the image, the attitude.

You looked down at him again—messy hair, bitten lip, flushed skin—and swallowed thickly.

“You mean that?” you asked, voice smaller than you wanted it to be. “That I’m… beautiful?”

His brows furrowed, confused by the question, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course I do. How could I not?”

And just like that, the ache in your chest cracked open into something warm, something terrifyingly tender.

So you kissed him—slowly, deeply, like it was the only way to say thank you without falling apart.

He kissed you lower, lips skimming the slope of your breast, and when you arched gently into him, he let out a quiet groan.

“Can I…?” he whispered.

You took his hand and guided it up, letting him cup you fully. His fingers twitched at first, then softened, kneading tenderly as his thumb brushed over your nipple. You exhaled, body melting into his, your hands cradling his jaw as you kissed him again—deeper now. Lazier. The kind of kiss that made time dissolve.

You tugged his shirt off next, fingers brushing over the hard lines of his chest and the pale bandages still wrapped around his knuckles. He tried to hide the way his breath hitched, but you felt it—felt all of him.

His chest was rising fast. He was hard beneath you already, straining against his sweats, and your hips shifted instinctively.

“Shit,” he whispered, fingers digging into your thighs as you rocked against him. “You feel…”

“I know, baby,” you breathed into his neck. “You feel good too.”

You rolled your hips again, slower this time, and his head tipped back against the couch. He looked wrecked already—eyes blown wide, lips parted, jaw slack.

“Can I…?” you asked quietly, your hand drifting down between your bodies. “Can I see you?”

He nodded, a little frantic.

You slid his sweats down carefully, watched as his cock sprang free—long, thick, flushed a dark pink at the tip, resting heavy against his stomach.

You paused. Blinked.

“…You’ve been hiding this?” you said, scandalized.

His cheeks flushed red, eyes darting away. “I didn’t think it’d—look good. Or be… enough.”

Your mouth fell open. “Enough? Baby, it’s a fucking blessing.”

He let out a broken laugh, but it turned into a groan when your fingers wrapped around him, stroking slowly. He was already leaking, the head glistening, and when you kissed his jaw again, his hips bucked helplessly under you.

You guided him to your entrance, your body already aching for him, but still—still—you paused.

“Are you sure?” you asked, voice steady. “This matters, Gumi."

His hands came up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

You sank down on him slowly.

The stretch burned a little, but he was so careful—hands trembling, voice breaking every time he whispered, “Wait, let me—are you okay? Is this too much?” And you kept kissing him through it, calming him, guiding him, grounding him.

When he was fully inside you, you paused, gasping against his mouth. He filled you so deep it was dizzying. You could feel every pulse, every twitch of his cock inside you, and he just stared—completely overwhelmed.

You rocked your hips steadily at first, letting him adjust, letting you adjust—but God, the way he filled you. Thick and hot and deep, every inch stretching you open, your breath hitching every time your hips met his. His hands had gone from trembling to clinging, fingers digging into your waist like he didn’t trust his own self-control.

“Fuck,” he whispered again, breath ragged against your collarbone. “You’re so warm. So tight. I can’t—”

“Don’t stop,” you breathed, grinding your hips down into him. “You feel so fucking good, Gumi.”

The nickname made his hips jerk up. Hard.

Your moan cracked in your throat.

He groaned—deep, guttural, wrecked—and buried his face in your chest. “Say it again.”

“Gumi,” you whispered, rolling your hips slow, teasing. “My Gumi.”

Something snapped.

Suddenly, his hands slid up your back, grabbing fistfuls of your hair as he sat up straighter beneath you. His mouth captured yours in a messier, wetter kiss—more tongue than technique—and the next thrust he gave you was sharper. Rougher. Deep enough to make your thighs tremble where they straddled him.

You gasped into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders. “F-fuck—what happened to being gentle?”

“I’m trying,” he growled, thrusting up again. “But you’re—shit—you’re making it hard.”

You felt his cock twitch inside you. You clenched around him just to hear the sound he made—half groan, half curse.

“Pretty girl,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. His eyes were glassy. Unfocused. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty—”

Your whole body shivered at the name.

“Say it again,” you whispered, breathless.

He kissed you. Nipped at your bottom lip. Then, rougher: “You’re so fucking pretty, baby. You’re unreal.”

That did it—you pushed at his chest, forcing him back into the couch cushions, and began to ride him again. Faster. Deeper. His hands gripped your ass, your thighs, your waist—wherever he could hold you steady—and he let you take control for a moment, let you ruin him.

“Gumi,” you moaned, voice pitchy now. “You’re so deep—I can feel you everywhere—”

He couldn’t take it anymore.

He grabbed your hips and flipped you before you could blink, laying you out flat across the couch cushions. Your legs parted instinctively and he slid back in with a broken groan, arms caging you in, head bowed over your shoulder as he thrust deep—really thrust now. Controlled at first, but strong. Heavy. The slap of skin meeting skin filling the dark room as you took all of him, over and over again.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, head tilting back, body arching. “Gumi—fuck—you’re—”

“I know,” he panted, sweat dripping down his temple as he buried himself to the hilt. “I know, baby.”

His mouth trailed across your jaw, your neck, sucking marks into the skin before pulling back to look down at you—your makeup a little smudged, lips parted, chest heaving.

“You’re unreal,” he said again, voice deeper now, like gravel laced with awe. “My pretty fucking girl.”

His thrusts picked up again—harder, faster, the kind of rhythm that had your legs shaking and your back arching into him. Your moans grew louder, ragged, and when his fingers dropped down between your legs again, circling your clit with messy, desperate pressure, you gasped so loud it echoed off the walls.

“F-fuck, Gumi—don’t stop—”

“I want you to cum first,” he murmured, his voice tight, almost pained. “Please. I need to feel you cum.”

“I’m—fuck—I’m close—”

“You can do it,” he said, his hand never slowing. “Come on, pretty girl. Cum for me.”

You clenched around him, legs locking around his waist as the pleasure crested—hot and deep and overwhelming. You came with a sharp cry, shaking beneath him, your nails dragging down his back as your orgasm shattered through you like a wave.

“Megumi—!”

He followed right after, gasping as he slammed into you one final time, burying himself to the base. You could feel him pulsing inside you, warmth spreading deep as his whole body tensed, then collapsed over yours in a breathless heap.

“Fuck…” he groaned, pressing his forehead to yours. “Fuck.”

You wrapped your arms around his back, still trembling, your body soaked with sweat, your pulse a wild thrum in your chest.

For a long, long moment, you just lay there, tangled in each other, still connected, still catching your breath.

Eventually, he kissed your temple.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded slowly. “Better than okay.”

You turned your head and looked up at him, all flushed and wrecked, his lips pink, eyes heavy-lidded and soft.

“…You know you’re stuck with me now, right?” you said, voice low, a little smug.

He blinked down at you, dazed and smiling. “Good,” he murmured, brushing your hair back from your face. “Because I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

You smirked up at him, eyes gleaming. “Guess what, Gumi?”

He raised a brow, still breathless. “What?”

You grinned. “You’re not a virgin anymore.”

He blinked. Then rolled his eyes with the most offended expression. “Wow. So romantic.”

You laughed, nudging his chest. “I’m just saying—it’s official now.”

“Yeah, and you’re insufferable.”

“And you love it.”

He tried to scowl, but the soft curve tugging at his lips betrayed him. “…Shut up.”

You leaned up, kissed the corner of his mouth. “Never.”

He groaned dramatically, burying his face in your neck. “God help me.”

But he was smiling. So were you. Megumi walked slow, hoodie unzipped, the morning breeze cutting through the damp weight of his thoughts. He hadn’t slept much.

Not because you kept him up—though, god, the memory of your body under his hands, the way you said his name, how your lips had tasted like fire and sugar and something he knew would ruin him forever—that didn’t exactly help.

No. It was more than that. It was you. It was the softness.

The way you looked at him when you thought he didn’t notice. The way your voice lost its bite when you touched his face. The way you called him baby, like he meant something.

Like he was yours. He’d never had something like that before. Not with Miwa. Not with anyone. So now, walking across campus with the sky still gray from last night’s storm, he was thinking. Planning. Something stupid. Something soft.

A picnic. Flowers. Maybe a question about the dance—nothing cheesy, just… something real. Honest. You deserved honesty. And maybe, maybe you’d say yes.

He spotted Nobara by the vending machine, squatting like she was about to fight it.

“Yo,” he called, hands in his hoodie pocket.

She turned, eyes narrowing. “Why do you look like that?”

“Like what.”

“Like you just got laid and then went to therapy.”

Megumi coughed, looking away. “Shut up.”

“Oh my god.” Nobara straightened, grinning. “You did.”

He didn’t answer.

She laughed. “Finally. Thought I was gonna have to break the tension with a crowbar.”

He ignored her, kicking at a stone. “Hey.”

“What.”

“…Do you know if she’s going to the dance?”

Nobara blinked. “Who?”

He gave her a look. She raised a brow. “Oh. Right. Her.”

Megumi waited. Quiet. Hope tucked under his sleeve like a heartbeat.

Nobara sighed. Looked away. “She’s not planning on it.”

His chest sank. “Oh.”

Silence. Then her voice came, a little softer. “You like her?”

He nodded once. Didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.

Nobara saw it—how he looked like someone waiting for a building to fall. How he was still standing there, trying to hold up hope with both hands even though it was slipping.

“She told me she didn’t like you like that,” she said, careful. Not cruel. Not cutting.

Just honest.

Megumi blinked. “…When?”

“A while ago.” Nobara’s voice was low. “Before you started tutoring her again. Before all of this.”

He looked at the ground. His hands tightened into fists inside his pockets.

You said that. You said you didn’t like him. And now?

Now he was standing here, remembering the way you kissed him, the way you called him beautiful, the way you came around him like you wanted no one else—and it all started to feel like a dream.

Like he’d misread everything. Like he’d built something out of nothing.

“Maybe she changed her mind,” Nobara offered, but her voice wasn’t convincing. “You know how she is.”

Yeah. He did.

You were a hurricane. Reckless. Sharp. Terrified of feeling too much, and even more terrified of being seen.

And maybe… maybe he let himself believe you saw him too.

But maybe that was the problem. Maybe you didn’t want to. Megumi exhaled, his chest tight.

“Thanks,” he said, voice flat.

Nobara opened her mouth, but he was already walking away. And the wind picked up again—colder this time. Like the storm wasn’t really over.

"Going to see my sister. Things got worse. I’ll be gone for a while."

Three days.

That’s how long it had been since you’d seen Megumi.

Not that you were counting. Obviously.

It’s not like you checked your phone like an insane person the second you woke up. Or reread his last text five times before class started.

It had landed like a rock in your chest. Not the message itself—just the simple way he said it. Like it didn’t kill him to write it. Like it wasn’t tearing him apart.

And he didn’t even say when he’d be back.

So you’d done what you were best at: pretending none of it mattered.

You went to school. You wore the shortest skirt in your closet. You handed in a pop quiz without crying over it. You even laughed at something Nobara said in chemistry without faking it.

Maybe that was the worst part. You were doing fine. Too fine.

You were perched on one of the picnic tables outside the school building, your platform heels kicked up on the bench, iced coffee in hand. The sun was warm, the sky blue, and your hair was freshly styled in waves that would make a shampoo ad weep.

You looked every inch the untouchable bitch.

But your chest ached in that quiet, hollow way.

“I swear to god,” Nobara groaned beside you, flopping down on the table with a dramatic sigh. “If one more boy breathes near me with Axe body spray on, I’m pressing charges.”

You snorted, sipping your drink. “Just bring a lighter. One flick and the entire boy's hallway will go up like a Christmas tree.”

Nobara pointed at you. “That’s why I love you.”

You smirked, then turned your head slightly, scanning the crowd near the school entrance. Your heart did that dumb thing again. Hopeful. Stupid.

But he wasn’t there. Of course he wasn’t.

Still. You asked, too casual. “Did you hear anything about Megumi?”

Nobara glanced at you, eyes narrowing just a little. “Nope. He texted Gojo, said he’s still out of town. Visiting his sister.”

“Oh.” You blinked down at your cup. “Right.”

Nobara let the silence hang for a beat, then elbowed you. “Anyway. Who cares about that—guess who I saw making out behind the gym?”

You leaned in, grateful for the distraction. “Tell me it was that weird art kid with the septum ring.”

“Worse. Fucking Haruna and that guy from the volleyball team.”

Your jaw dropped. “The one who eats chalk?”

“Yes, bitch!”

“Ew—what in the powder kinks is going on?!”

You both burst into laughter, the kind that made you feel weightless, for a second. The kind that made you forget there was an empty desk in third period with Megumi’s name on it.

And then Nobara leaned back on her palms, hair shining under the sun. “Are you okay, though? Like, actually?”

You raised a brow, defensive. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

She gave you a look. “Because your little emo virgin isn’t here, and you’ve been acting like that’s normal.”

You scoffed. “He’s not mine, Nobara.”

“Yeah,” she said, too quickly. “Tell your heart that.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. “You’re annoying.”

She smiled. “You’re lonely.”

You hated how that landed.

You hated how the air felt heavier again. Like the second you stopped pretending, the silence filled back in.

Because the truth was—yes, you’d been doing fine. You’d been acing quizzes. You hadn’t picked a fight with anyone all week. You hadn’t cried, or screamed, or done something unhinged to distract yourself.

But you missed him.

The silence wasn’t the same without his sarcasm. The walks through campus felt longer without him beside you. You’d even caught yourself reaching for your phone during study hall, ready to text something snarky before remembering—

He wasn’t here.

And you didn’t know when he’d be back.

You sighed, collapsing back on the table beside Nobara and covering your face with your hands.

“I hate this.”

“What, feelings?”

“Yes. Emotions. Vulnerability. All of it.”

She cackled. “You’re such a brat.”

You peeked between your fingers. “Do you think he’s okay?”

Nobara grew quiet, more serious this time. “I think he’s strong. And I think he’ll come back.”

You nodded.

“I just…” you trailed off. “I hope he doesn’t come back different.”

Nobara tilted her head. “You mean like you did?” You didn’t answer. Because she was right. You had changed. And the worst part? It was because of him. And he wasn’t even here to see it.

You were walking down the hall like you owned it. Because you did. Your skirt was short, your blouse perfectly pressed, and your gloss was fresh—mirror-checked and lethal. The heels clacked with just enough bite to announce your presence before anyone had the nerve to look up. Students scattered instinctively as you passed, like you were the final boss of the east wing. You liked it that way. But your phone had no new texts. No new messages. Still no him.

You’d waited all morning. Pretended not to glance at the school gates. Pretended you didn’t notice the empty space where he usually stood during break. Pretended you didn’t hesitate outside the chem lab he always passed on his way to third period.

You hated that he wasn’t there. You hated that you cared. But today, at least, you looked perfect while doing it.

You smirked to yourself as you walked, swaying your hips on purpose. If he was back and trying to avoid you, fine. Let him suffer. Let him see what he’s missing.

Your locker door slammed shut behind you with a sharp clack, and you turned down the hall like nothing was wrong, like you weren’t still aching a little behind the eyes.

You were halfway to class, halfway through adjusting your sleeve— And then it happened.

You didn’t scream when the hand grabbed your wrist and yanked you inside.

You didn’t need to.

You knew it was him.

The closet door slammed shut behind you, a jolt of darkness swallowing the soft light from the hallway. You barely had time to gasp before your back hit the wall, and then—

“Megumi—?” He didn’t answer.

His mouth was already on your neck, warm and hungry, breath rough as he kissed down the side of your throat like he couldn’t get enough. Like he’d been starved.

Your bag slipped from your shoulder and hit the ground. Your hand flew up to clutch at his shirt. “You’re—fuck—”

He pressed into you harder, body flush with yours, teeth scraping gently at your pulse point. His hands gripped your hips, fingers tight, dragging you forward like he wanted to crawl inside your skin.

You gasped as his thigh slotted between yours.

“You’re back,” you whispered, breath hitching. “You didn’t even say—”

“I know.” His voice was low, hoarse. “Didn’t want to talk.”

You opened your mouth, but then he kissed you—kissed you—like he couldn’t breathe unless your lips were on his. Tongue sliding hot and deep into your mouth, lips messy, desperate. Your knees went weak.

You’d missed him.

More than you realized.

You grabbed the collar of his uniform and yanked him closer, kissing him back with just as much fire. You could feel it in his body—the way he trembled against you, how hard he already was beneath his pants. You ground into him shamelessly.

“I missed you,” you said between kisses, your voice breathless. “Fuck—I was so mad—where were you—?”

“Thinking about you,” he muttered, dragging your shirt up, his mouth trailing lower again. “Every fucking day.”

You gasped as his hand slid down the front of your skirt, fingers quick and practiced despite the trembling. You grabbed at his hair, fisting it hard enough to make him groan.

“You couldn’t text?” you snapped, even as your legs parted for him. “You just show up and pull me into a closet like—”

“I’ve been losing my mind,” he growled, dragging your panties to the side. “You have no idea what it did to me—leaving you.”

Your head hit the wall. His fingers slipped between your folds, slow and teasing, and your breath left you in a moan.

“Gumi—”

“I kept thinking about you,” he muttered against your collarbone. “That mouth. That attitude. That fucking pussy.”

“Shut up,” you gasped, bucking into his hand.

“You want me to?” He curled two fingers inside you. “Or do you want me to bend you over right here and fuck you until you forget how to speak?”

You let out a broken whimper, hips rocking against him. “You can’t say that—”

“I will say that,” he said, voice sharp now, cocky in a way that made your stomach drop. “You think I haven’t been thinking about bending you over every surface in this school since the last time?” You moaned as his thumb rubbed circles against your clit. Your hands clawed at his back. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Yeah?” he grinned, finally tugging your panties down your thighs. “Still soaked for me.” Your skirt was bunched around your waist. He turned you before you could blink, one hand pressing hard between your shoulder blades to bend you over the low shelving behind you.

“Gumi—wait—” you started, but your voice broke as you felt his cock slide along your slit, thick and hot and already slick from your arousal.

“I’ve wanted this,” he said, grinding against you, not pushing in yet. “Wanted to take you from behind like this—just rip your attitude out of your throat. Hear what you sound like when you’re begging.”

“God, you’re such a little shit when you’re horny,” you gasped.

“And you love it,” he bit back. “Don’t lie.”

Then he pushed in—slow at first, then hard enough to knock the air from your lungs. You choked out a cry, gripping the shelf so hard your knuckles went white.

“Fuck—Megumi—”

He groaned low in his throat. “This pussy,” he hissed. “God, I missed this.”

He didn’t give you time to adjust. His thrusts started fast, deliberate—hips snapping against yours as the slap of skin echoed in the tiny closet. His hand gripped your waist, the other in your hair, pulling your head back so he could whisper filth into your ear.

“You feel even better than I remembered,” he growled. “So wet for me. So fucking tight. You let anyone else fuck you while I was gone?”

Your brain short-circuited. “What?”

“Answer me,” he said, thrusting harder. “Anyone else touch you?”

“No,” you gasped. “Of course not.”

“Good,” he grunted. “Because this pussy’s mine.”

You whimpered. “Say it again.”

He slammed into you deeper, and you could feel him hit that perfect spot—over and over. “You’re mine,” he said, panting. “My girl. My pretty little brat. Say it.” You were already falling apart.

“Yours,” you moaned. “Fuck—Gumi—I’m yours—”

“Louder.”

“I’m yours,” you cried, voice shaking. “All fucking yours—!”

His hand slid down, rubbing your clit again with messy, brutal circles, and you were already so close—hips stuttering, moans turning into high, broken whines. “I want you to cum for me,” he said through gritted teeth. “Make a mess all over my cock. I’ve been dreaming about this—about fucking you stupid.”

You nodded frantically, your whole body twitching as you chased it, falling over the edge like it had been waiting for you all week. You came hard, clenching around him, crying out his name as your knees gave out. He caught you with one arm and kept fucking you through it, chasing his own release.

“Fuck—you’re so perfect—so mine—”

You felt his cock twitch, and then he buried himself deep, groaning loud as he spilled inside you, his whole body shaking behind you, his breath hot on your neck. For a few long moments, the only sound was your panting, the heavy beat of your hearts in sync. He didn’t pull out right away. Just stayed there, hands on your hips, forehead pressed to your shoulder, his chest rising against your back.

Finally, you muttered, voice still wrecked: “You’re the worst welcome committee ever.”

Megumi laughed—soft, breathless, a little smug. “You missed me.”

You rolled your eyes, still panting. “Shut up.”

But your smile said otherwise. And his hand didn’t stop holding you. Not even when you turned around, leaned into him, and kissed him slow, like nothing else mattered. Because for once—it didn’t. The world had gone still.

You leaned weakly against the shelf, your skirt wrinkled, your knees barely steady, your heart still thudding somewhere near your throat. The air in the storage closet was thick with heat and the fading scent of sex.

And Megumi… Megumi was kneeling in front of you. Quiet. Focused.

His fingers were careful as he smoothed your underwear back into place, tugging the fabric up your thighs without meeting your eyes at first. You flinched instinctively—out of habit more than discomfort—but he didn’t stop. He didn’t tease. He just… looked up and adjusted the hem of your skirt with both hands, like it was normal. Like you were delicate.

You didn’t know what to do with that.

“Are you always like this after?” you asked, trying to sound smug but your voice cracked a little—too soft, too curious.

He stood, brushing hair from your face. “Like what?”

“Nice.”

He blinked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You shrugged. “Just… not used to it.”

Megumi looked at you for a second, eyes calm, unreadable. Then he reached up again, fingers ghosting through your hair, gently combing it back into place. You stared at him, thrown off by how domestic it felt. How natural.

“I missed a strand,” he muttered absently, flicking a tangle aside.

“You’re such a dork,” you whispered, but your voice was soft. Like you didn’t want him to stop. He finally stepped back, hands falling to his sides, and for a moment the silence stretched between you—thick with something unsaid.

“When did you get back?” you asked, quieter now. Like if you spoke too loud, the moment might break.

“This morning,” he said simply. “Didn’t want to go home. So I came to school.”

You nodded. Tried to think of something clever, something flippant, but nothing came. Instead, you just leaned back against the wall again and exhaled.

And then, after a long, aching beat— “…I missed you.”

His gaze softened instantly. “I missed you too.”

You looked at each other, not smiling, not joking. Just seeing one another. But then—

“I asked Miwa to the dance.”

parts, chapter 05

notes, I need to know what ya'll think so make sure to comment, ik i don't reply but i am reading ALL of them and im filled with love for each and one of you.

taglist, @crispycatt @littlevoidfairy @bookfreakk @1-rxse-1 @starzfaerie @zephyairies @moonmaiden1996 @simonexxx1 @pinkmeatball218 @evii1e @xavisbabie @maeviees @justanotherasiangirl @tiasd1ary @shioribuns @allysainz @mwrgwt @cookies-assemble @tiasd1ary @blu3-l0v3r @camy-yh @pinkmeatball218 @chokismom @01elle-sherlock @oidloid @holymolyyikes @haithamsbb @mysteriaqueen @fxngsfxgxrty @meiyinnaise @gojoswaterbottle @hadesorion @ashhlsstuff @chocalycake @planetzetra @kenmacantakemeaway @urmotherswhor3 @kelppp @suki91 @secretlyapartofthisfandom @bleedingwhiteroses222 @luvvmae

[finelinevogue]

i had a thought for a part 2 for the 'ridiculous' lando fic (obvs don't have to do it if it's crap) but maybe you could write about them being together like a year later at the next monaco gp and her friends who were being horrible to her like trying to get back in touch with y/n so they could get gp tickets because shes going out with lando

i genuinely love all your fics though, i've been here for timeeee ahhaha

makes sense to be with you

yesss let’s do it my love!! and don’t you worry, i know you’ve been here with me since the beginning <33 i never forget a name!

pairing - lando norris x girlfriend!reader

word count - ~2k

It’s race day.

The nerves were high for everyone. Sometimes you felt like your nerves were even higher than Lando’s - which was a silly thing to think.

Lando had driven you to the Monaco Grand Prix this morning, spare hand on your thigh the entire journey. You had gotten ready together this morning and Lando had calmed your nerves with a few soft morning kisses in between stolen moments.

Pulling up outside the venue though, the tension felt high.

Lando stopped the car and sat with you for a moment.

“You good?” He asked, not letting your hand go.

“Yeah. Just thinking about this time last year.” You rested your head on the back of the headrest and turned to face your boyfriend.

He watched you with a handsome smile.

“A lot’s changed since then.”

“I know.”

He chuckled which caused you to laugh back.

“I’m nervous but I’m excited for this weekend.” He told you honestly.

“You’re going to be amazing.”

He looked from you to the crowds outside the car, snapping photos and recording videos of the two of you. It was busy out there, but nothing that the two of you couldn’t handle.

It had been difficult the past year trying to fit in beside Lando and keep up with his pace of life, but he had been so patient and caring with you. Because of him the last year had been easier than it could’ve been.

Your phone beeped.

You chuckled to yourself as you opened the WhatsApp notifications.

“Who is it?” Lando asked, peering over your shoulder because he knew you’d have nothing to hide. “Oh they can fuck right off.”

“Lando!” You laughed.

It was from your ex friends and their whole group. They had added you to their group chat last minute, knowing they needed you for what they wanted.

Rochelle : How are we supposed to get tickets for the Monaco GP?

Eva : Let’s ask Y/N now she’s with Lando

Jemima : so true

Rochelle : OMG yes!!!!

[ Y/N has been added to the chat ]

Eva : Hey Y/N! Long time no speak!

“Do they realise that you can see all the conversations above?” Lando scoffed beside you.

“Probably not.”

“Bunch of….” Lando started to mutter.

“Hey, don’t,” You stopped him before he could say something he would later regret, “I’m okay.”

You deleted the group chat from your phone and left it alone, placing your phone in your lap as you squeezed Lando’s hand tightly. You used your other hand to guide his face to yours.

“I’m okay.” You promised him.

He nodded.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t like them though.”

“Enough now. Don’t let them ruin your day.” You softly brushed your thumb over his cheek and he leant into it a little more.

“Don’t want them to ruin yours either.”

“They can’t.” You shook your head.

Lando was confident with your answer and leaned in to give you a soft kiss. Neither of you noticed the influx of camera flashes as you kissed because both of you were too into each other.

He had this very special, unique, talent of making you feel like the only girl in the world.

“I love you.” He whispered close to you.

You kissed him again quickly this time, “I love you too. Now go win.”

“Don’t give me too much to do.” He joked, pulling away from you to continue the day and win this damn race for you.

• 🏎️💨 •

He fucking won.

He actually did it.

You had a pair of headphones wrapped around your neck as you cupped your hands over your mouth. You were in a state of shock and wonder.

Your Lando had done it. He had won Monaco and part of you liked to believe he had done it for you.

Engineers and teammates alike were all cheering in the garage. This was a huge win for them too.

Everyone swarmed outside to go and meet Lando and congratulate him. You weren’t sure whether to follow or to meet him later.

Your phone beeped in your pocket.

[ Y/N has been added to the chat ]

Rochelle : Congrats on Lando’s win Y/N 🍾

Eva : Yeah totally! Any big plans for tonight?

Jemima : OMG yesss we should all totally meet tonight & celebrate!

Rochelle : YEASSSS

You sighed, biting your lip as you questioned how to respond.

They had really texted at the wrong moment because this was supposed to be your time celebrating with Lando, not feeling bad for people who used to be horrid to you that you still sort of felt bad for.

You texted back, wanting this to be done.

You: hi :) thank you for congratulating lando! still not ready to be friends with you guys yet, but thanks for thinking of me.

A minute later you had been removed from the group chat.

You shook your head in disappointment.

Yes, they had been the ones to get you an invite onto a Monaco yacht party where you had first met Lando but that’s all they had ever done for you. The rest of the time they had been the type of friends to bring you down. You had often been the ‘one of these friends is not like the others’ friend.

Lando had helped you realise that you didn’t need them in your life and had supported you when you’d cut them out of your life.

It stung that now all they wanted you for was your connection to Lando and his fame.

It made you feel used.

No doubt Lando often felt the same. Hopefully never from you.

You pocketed your phone, remembering you were missing all the celebrations outside.

Before you could leave the garage to walk around to the podium, you heard Lando call your name.

He was jogging down the road and dodging people who were trying to give him a hug or a congratulatory handshake. His eyes were dead-set on you.

His hair was sweaty and his face was beet-red.

He looked so good though, with his jumpsuit folded over at his waist and his black fireproofs on underneath. He ran a hand through his messy hair as he approached you.

You took off the headphones around your neck, dropping them onto the table.

Lando reached you first, picking you up around your waist and spinning you around excitedly. Your arms held tightly around his neck with your face smushed into his head. He smelt of sweat and hair products.

You could feel him laugh into your chest and you couldn’t help but let the few tears that wanted to fall soak into his hair.

“I’m so proud of you.”

He squeezed you tighter, slowly stopping the spinning to put you safely back on the floor.

“You did it. You fucking did it.”

“I did it.” He smiled so big.

You untucked your head from where it had been hiding, but keeping your arms securely around his neck for closeness. His stayed around your waist.

You used one hand to brush some loose curls back into formation.

“Knew you could do it.”

“It’s ‘cause my lucky charm was watching on.” He nodded his head to you.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“The Monaco Grand Prix, honey.” You whispered excitedly like you couldn’t quite believe it. “What more could you want?”

He raised his eyebrows at you like that was a stupid question. You rolled your eyes before he could say something ridiculously lovely.

You tucked your head under his chin and moved your arms down so you could hug him around his waist. He hugged you closer, kissing the top of your head a few times before letting the moment sink in with his favourite person stood beside him.

“Lando! We need you for the podium!”

“Two minutes!”He shouted back, not giving you up.

“No… Now!”

Lando sighed loudly. You untucked yourself.

“Go. I’ll be right there. Enjoy this moment, okay?” You cupped both of his cheeks and brought his face down to kiss him softly. He deserved it.

liked by charlesleclerc, lewishamilton and 294,937 others

yourinstagram enjoy this moment 🍯🧡

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fan1 INSANE!!!!!

fan2 we 🧡 you y/n

oscarpiastri Well done mate!

fan3 🍯 because y/n calls lando honey?!!?????

♥️ by the author

fan4 LANDO FOR THE WIN

fan5 i love them ur honour

rochelle0110 Congrats 🥂 Let’s celebrate?

fan6 I WANT TO CELEBRATE WITH THEM

yourinstagram @/fan6 ur very welcome to xo

lando Going to enjoy this one for a long time to come (especially with you) 🧡

♥️ by the author

• 🏎️💨 •

Lando opened the door for you and held a hand out to help you leave his car.

He passed the car keys off to a valet and then returned his attention to you. He had already watched you get ready and had litterally sat next to you in the car on the way here, but seeing you step out of his car in that black dress made him want to drop to the floor and pray.

The paparazzi went crazy for you both, begging for a photo.

Unfortunately Lando wasn’t interested in giving them the time of day as he was still angry about previous things the tabloids had said about you and him.

He held onto you hand as you walked past everyone and into the club venue.

It was celebration night, post-race, and it was going to be a big one.

You didn’t need to show ID upon entry because everyone, especially bouncers, knew who the F1 people were in Monaco.

Lando gave the bouncers a handshake and wished them a goodnight whilst still holding on to you. He also slipped them a piece of paper and asked them to read it carefully.

“What was that?” You asked as you followed behind him.

“My ‘no entry’ list.”

“What?” You stopped short, your high heels digging into the floor as you did so. Lando bounced back towards you.

“I’ve asked that certain people are denied entry.” He shrugged.

“Like who?”

“Does it matter?” He asked.

“Yes. I don’t want to start some sort of feud.”

“Well, they started it when they decided to sell a story to the tabloids last year which made our relationship difficult for a while.” He was growing frustrated you could tell.

“Oh my God, will you let it go?” You stressed, dropping his hand to which he looked visibly offended by.

“No, Y/N, I won’t. They’re a bunch of arseholes and what? You want them to be a part of my celebration? I don’t think so.” He scoffed.

“I just don’t want this to be a big thing for us forever. Just let it go.”

He shook his head again before heading into the club. Without you.

Fuck.

You didn’t mean to get into an argument about it, but ever since your ex friends sold a story about Lando being a misogynist prick to the tabloids there had been a rift between everyone.

You had immediately dropped your friends and Lando had done damage control for weeks after.

You’d never believed the tabloids, but it was Lando that felt like he had to prove that he was nothing like what they were saying he was. Lando thought he had to make it up to you, as if he’d done something wrong. So it was easy to understand why they still got under his nerves.

You just wished they didn’t still taunt him.

You wanted him you find peace from all of this now like you had.

You followed him into the club a few minutes later, trying to calm your nerves after your stupid argument.

The club had cheered and roared when Lando had stepped into the main room, leaving you to slip in from the side unnoticed.

The room was dimly lit with orange strobe lights dancing around. A layer of smoke filtered through the air, along with the smell of vapes and sticky alcohol on the floor.

The music was all for Lando. The playlist included all his favourite songs.

You walked around the edge so you could go and grab a quick drink from the bar.

“Limoncello spritz please.” You asked the bartender.

A couple minutes later you had your drink in hand and slipped back into the corner of the room, a standing table available for you to rest your drink on.

All of Lando’s friends, family and fellow F1 mates were here celebrating. Lando was so loved and it was amazing to see.

He was currently stood on a raised platform with Oscar by his side. They were both bopping and singing out of tune to one of his favourite songs. You smiled as you watched on.

Then Lando caught your eyes.

He made his way off the platform and walked over to you. The crowd easily parted for him.

He didn’t stop until he was right in front of you.

“I’m sorry.” He said.

You nodded.

“I’m a dickhead sometimes.”

You pursed your lips to stop from smiling.

“But I love you too much to fight over something so boring.”

You nodded in agreement.

“So will you accept my apology and come dance with me? I did win the Monaco Grand Prix for you after all.”

You held out your hand like it was a white flag.

He took it was a grin, only to be shocked by the force of you pulling him closer so you could give him a proper kiss.

Your arms snaked around his neck and his felt their way across your waist, both of you sinking into each other and letting the rest of the room drift away.

You tilted your head to let him have a little extra room to kiss you and he followed. You could feel him smirking into the kiss, but he didn’t pull away. Not when he had you like this.

You tugged on his curls a little and his mouth opened with a gasp, allowing you to kiss him deeper. He tasted like some sort of berry flavoured alcohol, because it was known he was still a kid at heart. It made the kiss all the more delectable.

He pulled away breathlessly.

You tried to go in for another, still in a love haze.

“Later.” He whispered against your lips, but giving you another kiss all the same.

“Now.” You argued.

“Dance with me first.”

“Okay.” You tucked your face into his neck and gave him a kiss. He felt like home when you held him like this. Safe and comforting, even though you were in the middle of a club.

“Love you.” He spoke softly but loud enough for you to hear.

“Love you right back.”

“We okay?” He double checked.

“We’re okay.” You nodded. “Now let’s celebrate!”

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lando We won 🏆

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fan1 no lando, y/n won fr

fan2 THAT SHOULD BE ME

fan3 the hand placements… oh i’m dead

yourinstagram go go lando!!! so proud 🍯

♥️ by the author

lando @/yourinstagram My no 1 fan 🧡

lewishamilton 🧡

oscarpiastri Where did you & Y/N go….??

lando @/oscarpiastri 👀

fan4 deserved 👏

fan5 not y/n and lando flirting in the commentd

fan6 those are literally my parents wdym

[nighttidee]

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐄

Lad's men asking you out on a date (part one here and series masterlist here)

ft Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb

wc: 3181 (approx 700 for each)

warnings: allusions to Mthys (nothing specific), inaccurate depiction of jobs, Caleb's one is a bit obsessive, but that is his whole character lmao

notes: Part two! Im already invisioning part three so let me know if that's wanted, even though I'll probs do it anyway lmao.

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

Xavier was one to watch, to wait until he was certain of his choice. He was good at that, knowing when to act and when to stay, and yet now he couldn't decide what to do. You were plaguing him, you and your smile tormented his mind, invaded his sleep, and yet he couldn't bring himself to do anything about it.

He felt like he was standing on a ledge, a ledge that Jeremiah was laughing at. Xaier shot a glare at his friend as he was pushed further and further into the shop, where he knew you were; he could hear you humming again.

"My favourite assistant!" Jeremiah called out.

"I'm your only assistant!" You laughed as you rounded the corner, flashing a grin that made Xavier's heart stutter in its rhythm.

"Tomato, tomatoe," The brunette man laughed, "My friend needs help picking out some flowers, but I've got a client to call, so could you help him?"

It took everything in Xavier's willpower not to summon his Lightblade and run his friend through. Picking out some flowers?! What was the idiot thinking? He didn't know the first thing about them!

"Sure," You chirped, you turned to Xavier, those stunning eyes of yours glittering, "You're in safe hands, mister..."

"Xavier," He murmured, subtly pulling the strands of silver hair from his eyes.

You nodded and told him your name in return, and he memorised it. He'd spent many sleepless nights trying to figure it out. Jeremiah had only snickered when he'd asked, so he'd been left to his imagination. Now, all of his ideas seemed foolish compared to your answer.

"So..." You spoke softly, "What's the occasion? Celebration? Birthday? Romance? Friendship?"

Xavier opened his mouth, shut it again and considered. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jeremiah with a phone in his hand, grinning at him as he winked encouragingly.

Xavier swallowed, "The third..."

You nodded, "Got it! For an anniversary, I would recommend Red Tulips because they signify true and long-lasting love. Sunflowers are good for portraying the joy they bring you, though!"

"What about for dates?" Xavier inquired softly, "As in, asking someone out on one."

He didn't know why he was saying, well, he did, he just didn't know why he was saying it now. This was only his second time meeting you. He'd only just learned your name. Why was his control over his tongue suddenly slipping?

You hummed thoughtfully, "There isn't a specific flower for asking someone out, but if you know their favourite flower, that would be the best course of action. If not, you can never go wrong with a rose bouquet; they're the flower of love for a reason! Though, personally I'm partial to just one."

He watched as your fingers glided over a rose, its petals unfurling softly.

"Just one?" Breathed Xavier, he had to decide now. Back away from the ledge and into security, or jump off it and see what comes next?

"Yeah. I just find it more intimate, if that makes sense." You laughed gently, "There's something special about knowing someone looked through loads of flowers to find the perfect one just for you."

Xavier swallowed again. He'd spent so long waiting for nothing to ever happen. Why couldn't he be impatient now? Why couldn't he let himself go and pursue something new, something that he wanted?

If he didn't act now, he never would.

"Then," He murmured, reaching for the single rose you'd touched earlier, "I'd like this."

You blinked, brows furrowing as he pressed it towards you, "Um, you're meant to keep the rose until you give it to the person you're trying to ask out."

Xavier felt his lips twitch upwards, "I know."

"Then..." You began.

He leaned forward, ignoring the pulse in his heart, and tucked a few stray strands behind your ear, "A flower for a flower."

Your cheeks flushed with warmth, he could help on his knuckles as he slowly pulled away, waiting for your reaction. He was trying to memorise your features in case this was the last time he saw you.

You smiled, "Where are you going to take me, sunshine?"

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

Sylus had a mission tonight, one he would do anything to complete. Mephisto cawed overhead, guiding him forward to the desire that haunted him. He could hear Luke and Kerian even now, their confused voices as they inquired about his distracted state of mind. He'd been thinking of you ever since you drove away from him, one of the few brave enough to turn their back on him.

He wanted to know you, to caress the cracks in your coyness and find what lurked beneath that chaotic gleam in your eyes. He wanted to peel the layers of your existence off one by one until he found the core of who you were.

And to do that, he needed to find you again. It'd been weeks, but now, with Mephisto's view, he'd finally found you. This wasn't an opportunity he was going to let pass him by. No, he wanted what he wanted, and he wanted it now - you.

His motorbike came to a rumbling halt before another bike, settled against the road, a familiar cat-eared helmet sat snugly on its rider, you. You turned your head and pulled off said helmet, a playful, unreadable expression on your face, "Long time no see."

Sylus leaned forward, flipping his visor up, "To Elysium."

"Trying to buy my information?" You laughed, "I'm scandalised, Sylus."

He blinked. You already knew his name. Something in his stomach twisted, only it wasn't a feeling of fear, but one of fire. It coursed through his body as he hummed, "I don't need to buy your information, sweetie. I'll find that all out soon enough, and don't worry, your name is at the top of my list."

Your eyes narrowed slightly as you studied him, "Then why 'to Elysium'?"

"The winner gets to make one request of the loser." Sylus answered.

Something in your expression shifted, a slyness taking over your features, "A request?"

"Within reason, of course," Sylus chuckled, leaning close, voice dropping to a whisper, "Scared?"

You clicked your tongue and lifted your helmet, "To Elysium."

And you were gone. Both of you bolting through the streets under the eternal night of the N109 Zone, eagerly racing one another for a price Sylus was determined to win. Slyus had a mission tonight, and this was it: he would win, no matter what. It wasn't in his nature to lose.

He could barely see you, the two of you jerking wildly through cars, losing sight of each other as you raced through the roads. The wind burst against Sylus' chest as he pressed down on the accelerator. He saw the blurry form of Mephstio dart into an alley and smirked, cheating was perfectly fine in his books.

He followed his faithful companion and, within minutes, found himself in front of Elysium with a smug grin on his face. When you finally arrived, you took off your helmet, gaze flickering to the mechanical bird that cawed loudly and laughed, "Sneaky."

"I prefer resourceful," Sylus shrugged.

You hummed, tilting your head curiously, "So, what is that you want?"

"Dinner," He grinned.

"Dinner." You said flatly.

"You, me. Dinner," Slyus explained, studying you with great curiosity, wondering what you looked like beneath your biker jacket, "What do you say?"

You pulled out your phone, "I say, add your number. We've got a dinner date to plan."

Slyus' fingers brushed against yours as he grasped your device. He couldn't wait to learn everything he could about you.

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

Rafayel's new art collection had taken the world by storm. Thomas had told him that again and again and again. Auction after auction, commission attempt after commission attempt, invitation after invitation. He was being driven to the brink of madness by the humans around him, who grasped and groped for the opportunity to see inside his mind and find out just what made him the best.

He wouldn't tell them. He never would. And it was easy not to; they believed every little lie and fell for every tiny trick. They weren't interesting at all. Not like you. He'd gone back to the same spot on the beach, hoping to catch a glimpse of you, only to find a ghost of you instead.

You haunted him so viciously that every single painting in his new collection was inspired by you. The paintings of stormy seas, of sweet seas, of seductary seas, were all made in honour of you. And yet they weren't enough, the hints of you in each of them, the shading of the colour of your hair, the highlights, the colour of your eyes, the underpainting the colour of your skin, none of them were enough.

He thought you'd haunt him forever.

And yet, there you stood, staring at one of the paintings still up for auction. The one centred around the seagull reaching for the ocean like his hand wanted to reach for yours.

He left the conversation he was in without a word.

"Miss Marine Biologist," He spoke in greeting. He wondered if he could get your name today. He wanted it.

"Mr Painter," You smiled in surprise, "Or should I say super famous painter Rafayel?"

"Now that's hardly fair!" Rafayel hummed, leaning down slightly, "You know my name, but I don't have a clue about yours, beautiful."

To everyone else, it would've looked like he was leaning down to hear you better, but he wasn't. Lemurian hearing was far superior to humans'; he just liked seeing you flush from his proximity. The hue on your cheeks was the perfect shade, and he itched to match his paints to it, and if he couldn't, he'd make new ones.

You laughed softly, avoiding his eyes as you murmured your name to him. He was already to find ways to encode it into his artwork, maybe he'd use an anagram of your name to title his pieces, maybe he'd match each letter of your name to one of his paints and use that as his palette, maybe he'd secretly spell your name on his painting.

"What do you think?" He asked, slyly sneaking a hand on your back as he guided you closer to his paintings. He delighted in the warmth that bled into his fingertips and palm.

"I think they're...Beyond words," You murmured, eyes dancing across the artistry before your eyes. Rafayel's burning heart flushed, softening with the gentle wave of your earnest response.

"And here I was trying to flatter you, precious," Rafayel chuckled, "You're secretly a charmer, huh."

"No..." You shook your head, trying to turn away, only to find Rafayel's head close to yours, caging you, refusing to let you refusing to meet his gaze. Every inch of him seared with an intensity that demanded your attention.

"No...?" He tilted his head, slipping his tongue over his lower lip briefly.

"No..." Your eyes flickered to the side. "People are looking."

"Then let's leave," Rafayel responded.

You blinked in bewilderment, "What?"

"Let me show you my studio," Rafayel breathed, pulling you closer when he saw you hesitate, "Come on, precious. Don't you want to see how similar my work is to the sea?"

You considered it, "I think your work is as complex as the sea. Just like its maker."

A grin split over Rafayel's lips, "You think I'm as...what was it you said....beautiful and brutal as the sea?"

"Yes," You answered firmly.

He smirked and slipped his hand to your wrist, thumb caressing the pulse point that lay there, "Only one way to find out."

And then, the two of you escaped, ignoring the calls of Thomas the whole way.

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

"This Colonel Xia, status report," Caleb hummed in his private office on his ship. He'd spent the last hour doing checks with all the ships in his fleet to ensure everything was in order - they were only a few hours away from returning to Skyhaven, after all.

He was dudicious, concise and ruthless, that's what made him the best colonel in the entire Farspace Fleet. He would not have his crew doubt him now, no matter how tiresome it was to check on all of his pilots. He leaned backwards in his chair and waited patiently for his crews response.

"All systems are fine, Colonel, we're ready to go," A familiar voice called over comms.

Something in Caleb sparked to life at the words. He knew that voice, it replayed over and over again in his head since he'd heard it. He clutched the armrests on his chair tightly. Just how many times had he passed you in HQ's halls, managing only a few words here and there? He'd tried every method to form some relationship with you that went beyond Colonel and Crew Member.

And now, away from prying eyes, he finally had the chance.

"How are you doing, rookie?" He hummed, readjusting his cuff links.

"Great," Came your soft response, "I never thought Deepspace could be more beautiful."

Caleb blinked, "You think it's beautiful?"

"Don't you?" You inquired over the comms, and he wondered what you looked like. Were you fiddling with your uniform like him? Did you have your hat off? Were you completely relaxed?

Caleb considered his answer before landing on, "It's dangerous."

"All beautiful things are," You rebutted, and he heard your gentle laugh, "Poisonous flowers, the sea, the snow, the sun, they're all beautiful and all of them could kill you. The Deepspace Tunnel is no different, Colonel."

"Caleb."

"...Huh?"

"If we're going to have a deep discussion I feel like we should leave titles behind," Caleb answered, loosing his tie to escape the heat creeping up his neck. Wasn't space meant to be cold?

"Alright, Caleb. You've already got my name," You responded slowly, as if savouring the taste of his name on your tongue. Caleb shivered.

"Indeed I do," He'd obsessed over your name, it became his favourite alcohol to get drunk off, "What is it that you find so beautiful about Deepspace?"

You hummed, considering, "It's new. I don't want to spend the rest of my life comforted by the known, I want confront the unknown and space is just that. Stars millions of light years away, planets hidden by shadows, the secret of the Deepspace Tunnel, I want to see them all. I'm happy to spend my life trying to."

Something in your words hit Caleb harder than it meant to. He was a a boy again, holding his plane toy as he stared up at the glow-in-the-dark stars Josephine had stuck to his ceiling. Maybe he could look at Deepspace like that again. Maybe he could ignore all the problems waiting for him at Skyhaven just a little longer. Maybe he could indulge in your presence more.

"I understand that," Caleb murmured, barely  above a whisper, "More than you know."

There was a moment of silence, weighted with confession.

He could almost see you smile, "Being out here for so long makes me hungry for actual food, though."

Caleb almost laughed, "I understand that, too."

"I don't know what I'm craving, though. In the academy, my diet consisted of cup noodles and whatever sweets I could find!" You giggled and it echoed in his mind.

"I could take you to some of my favourite spots?" Caleb inquired carefully. Cautious. He wasn't about to cross a line you didn't want him to. He could stop himself from becoming to wrapped up in you, or so he hoped.

"It's a date!" You beamed.

And maybe you simply said it because it was an expression, but that didn't matter, not to Caleb. Because he was going to use every possible advantage he had to make sure he was the only one your were going on dates with.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

He was on a bench again. It was the one he always went to at Asko, it was as famialr to him as his home was. He leaned back against the cold wood, staring out into the night. He was done for the day and yet he couldn't not find it in himself to move. The thought of driving only made the ahce in his body worse. Every inch of him begged for sleep and yet his mind marched on, restless.

Twenty hours.

That's how long he had until his next shift. Twenty hours to get home, shower, eat, sleep, wake up, eat, shower, dress, clean and get to work. His mind went rampant, trying to figure out how quickly to do things, and he knew sitting on the bench wouldn't help him, yet he could not move.

He felt like ripping his hair out. Ice crawled up his neck, and he was thankful for his scarf.

"Zayne..." That voice. How many times had he heard it over the phone over the last couple of weeks? 

He looked to the side and found you standing there, only a few short feet from him, a soft, concerned look on your face. He hadn't seen you since he'd left your hospital after the boy he'd done the heart surgery on was discharged. But he'd spoken to you, for professional reasons, he told himself again and again every time his thumb hovered over your contact.

He sucked in a harsh breath and steadied himself, "...What are you doing here?"

You toyed with your lip between your teeth, "Remember that job opportunity I told you about?"

Realisation coursed through Zayne as he sat straighter, "It's at Asko."

"Mhm," You smiled, "They just told me I got it, so you'll be seeing a lot more of me!"

The ice on Zayne's neck thawed slightly, the thorns of frost receding as he stared at you. Seeing you more often, he found he didn't recoil at the thought as he so often did when it came to the closeness of others.

He swallowed, speaking softly, "Congratulations. We've gained a wonderful Doctor."

He watched as you flushed like a flower blooming and sighed deeply. You furrowed your brows, and as you leaned close, he could smell your perfume. "Are you okay?"

Zayne looked at you and found himself softening, his words spilling from his tongue before he could free them, "I'm trying to feel real again."

You nodded, deep understanding stretched across your face, "Do you need anything?"

He hummed thoughtfully, "D...Do you have any...sweets?"

Your face crumpled, "No. I ran out earlier, and I don't know where the good ones are in Linkon. I don't know where the best dessert places are either! It's the worst part of moving to a new place."

A dry chuckle left Zayne's lips before he could stop it. "Not knowing where you can sate your sweet tooth is worse than knowing nothing and no one in Linkon?"

"Yes, it is!" You huffed, puffing out your cheeks, and Zayne found he wanted to squish them. "Besides, I know you!"

A feeling crawled up Zayne's neck again, but instead of frost, it was flush. He resisted the urge to loosen his tie and run his hand through his hair; he couldn't remove his professional facade just yet. He didn't know you well enough, he didn't understand you fully, he couldn't feel your intentions in their entirety.

But how would he ever know those things if he never took a step towards the sun?

"You do know me," Zayne hesitated, licking his lips absent-mindedly, "And I could show you where I know the best desserts are?"

You grinned widely, and grasped his hand, pulling him upwards, "Well, come on, then!"

Why had he spent all that time trying to make a plan so he could have as much time as possible, again? He certainly wasn't going to use it.

[innorality]

riding clarks absss ( @slvthrs did this before me :p)

"clark, c'mon, stop smiling like that!" you softly slapped his chest as his whole body jerked with the way he was containing his laughter. "s-sorry it's just... I've never been asked this before!" his hand flew to his mouth to conceal his, thick eyebrows bending in amusement.

moments prior, you had asked him if you could ride his abs, considering they were abnormally prominent and that, when flexed, his muscles were just about hard enough to grind efficiently against your clit.

you've been insatiable the past week—asking to ride his thigh, his fingers, his nose... and he always happily obliged, because watching you use him in such ways was the best thing he could ever experience in his kryptonian life, but this time, it took him by surprise.

"is it so weird to ask your lover if you can ride his abs..." you crossed your arms over your chest, plopping down against his lap. you were sitting on top of him as he lied down with his back hitting the mattress, looking up at your faux-pouty face with genuine heart eyes.

"no, baby, it isn't. y'know what? c'mon, ride 'em. ride my abs, go on." his sudden change in tone has your core heating up in interest, your arms falling limply from your chest. his hands migrated from his mouth to the back of his head, a silent promise to let you do as you please.

and so you do—swiftly, you unbuttoned his shirt, revealing bit by bit his chiseled chest and washboard abs. you almost drooled but sucked the saliva back into your mouth, before propping yourself up.

"you're not taking these off?" he questioned, referring to the panties you were wearing. you shook your head softly without looking up at him, focusing on his chest. "feels weird without 'em." you simply replied while chewing slightly on your bottom lip. he hummed, and you began to move.

you started off slow, trying to find the right movement. it took a few minutes of small gasps and soft grinding before you finally found one and sped up a bit. it was still relatively slow, but fast enough to make your noises a bit louder.

"just like that, sweetie, you're perfect... feels good?" and you nodded, squeezing your eyes shut at the unusual pleasure. "y-yeah it feels... really nice."

eventually, you ended up grabbing his shoulders for leverage, speeding up more. clark could feel your panties getting wetter and wetter against him, the fabric sticking to his skin slightly. "fuck..." he whisper-sighed, noticing the way his dick had started to twitch back to life. he felt his pants tightening, but did not say a word about it.

instead, he talked you through it.

"that's it, baby... nice and steady f'me, yeah?" his now sultry voice had you moaning, walls clenching around nothing as if your body had recognized his voice as a stimuli. your clit bumped against the ridges of his abs through your panties, making you twitch ever so slightly.

"s-shit clark... feels so much better than i– than I expected..." your words were slipping past you, mind too cloudy to come up with anything else. the rest of your speech beyond this point was mainly composed of calls of his names and a few profanities.

you threw yourself back, one of your hand following and accidentally landing right on top of clark's erection. your eyes shot open and your head whirled back, your gaze boring onto the large bulge.

you looked back at him when you felt his hands landing on your hips, following your movement and rhythm. "help?" you breathed out and he nodded, mouthing a silent please before a moan slipped past his lips as soon as you squeezed his dick.

you started rubbing it through his pants quickly, not giving him anytime to adjust to the sensation but he bit back (in his own way), tightening his grip around your hips and immensely speeding up your pace, controlling your movement and velocity.

"shit, keep going like that– please- fuck, clark!" you didn't even know what you were saying at that point—all you knew is that you were to cumming and you did not want this to stop.

clark, too, was high off the pleasure—the feeling of your soft hand rubbing his cock through his briefs, the vision and sensation of you grinding against his abs, the warmth of your cunt, the sound of you moans-

and fuck, he's already cumming.

his cock twitched when hot roped of cum coated the inside of his pants, back arching and grip impossibly tight around you. he's moaning out your name, begging for who knows what, sweating like never before.

subconsciously, he's been rubbing you harder against him and the feeling of his abs against your clit along with the vision of him orgasming like that sent you over the edge aswell. you came inside your panties—as they were already wetter than they have ever been—while chanting "oh–clark, clark, clark!" like a mantra, your cunt pulsing and tightening on itself.

your muscles locked for an instant before relaxing as you sighed, one last moan slipping past your lips before you plopped down on top of him. you were both sticky, woozy, and undeniably satisfied with how this little experiment went.

the both of you stayed quiet for a moment before you opened your mouth.

"didn't know you could whimper like that, kent." and he chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest. "with how good you feel, you better get used to it, gorgeous."

[slightly-knot-insane]

Can we get someeeee... Shy Chubby reader with a suave playboy knight? Perhaps she's brushed off all his advances, not thinking he was serious about it. Maybe that just spurred him on to become even more serious about it, getting him stuck thinking about her more and more!

Forge Through

[ m!gargoyle x fem!reader ]

a/n: feel free to always imagine my readers as chubby. i've been chubby my whole life and curvy or chubby are my standard body types i just don't emphasize that lol. reader isn't as shy as you expected, but she is an introvert content: nsfw, mild angst, body worship, mild praise kink, p in v, creampie, oral (female receiving)

You've been friends for quite some time. And flirting has always been part of your playful chats. Any kind of conversation would easily slip into sexy banter. How wouldn't it? You were the blacksmith's young assistant, and he was a recently knighted gargoyle. Metal and stone were in both of your blood, and you hit it off right away. Which was rather strange for you since you've always been painfully shy. But he somehow managed to loosen you up with his quirky jokes and euphemisms. Your cheeks would hurt from smiling, but luckily, the blush was basically invisible because of the constant heat inside your mentor's smithy.

"Here's my favourite blacksmith!" As soon as he enters, ostentatious as always, he removes his helmet and gauntlets and kisses you on the cheek. Ever since he was knighted, he has worn his full armour almost everywhere, even though he didn't actually need it, being made of stone and all. "Always working so hard, beautiful."

"Of course," you reply. "Someone needs to fix all the dents you get from scorned exes after you steal their girls."

"Oh, you wound me!" He slams his stone fist against his metal plate. "Those dents are from our country's enemies. I serve my lord with my whole heart... just as I would love to serve you."

You chuckle, wiping your sweaty forehead. "Serve me? Serve me what - a beer? That would be nice, actually."

Your gargoyle friend stays quiet for a minute or two, as you work. He turns away from you and removes his breastplate. His undershirt is sweaty and sticking to his muscular body. You bite your lip.

"I would, you know?" His voice resembles a wave softly crashing against pebbles. "I would serve you. If you asked me to."

You stop your hammer from hitting the anvil. Utterly confused, you look at him, expecting his broad shoulders to shake from laughter. But they are not. "What do you mean by serve?"

"Oh, you know..." He starts pacing up and down the workshop, avoiding looking at you. "To please you... take you out somewhere... woo you... make love to you..."

You're not sure you heard him correctly. It can't be. He's a notorious flirt and has been fooling around with more people than you know. He always brags about his adventures and lovers, and how 'his heart still yearns to be forged by a different kind of flame'. Whatever that means. And it hurts. It hurts to hear him boast about his trysts, all while you only get titillated. "Please stop with your teasing, I'm too busy for that right now."

You are upset. Why are you upset? It's stupid, and you're not stupid. He is just playing with you, as always. And yet, with a hiss of steam, heavy tears hit the hot metal still standing on the anvil.

"Are you crying?" Your gargoyle friend is next to you, pulling you into a hug. Your face is squished against his hard chest. "No, no, no, what did I say? What did I say?"

You push yourself away, trying to stop angry tears. "That's the problem! You say too much! And don't mean it! You want to serve me? Ha, what a joke! That's what I am - a joke to you."

"What?" He runs his fingers through his long hair. "No, never. You were never a joke to me. I've always... liked you. And more than that."

"But..." You shake your head. "But weren't we just... joking around?"

He slowly cups your cheek. "I wasn't."

You recall all the times when he showed genuine affection: his little gifts, his thoughtfulness, his acts of service. Not even for a second did you think they were romantic. How can someone as handsome and popular as he is like someone as painfully antisocial as you?

"Let me show you. Let me show you how serious I am about you." He pulls you closer to him as he leans down to kiss you. And you let him. Not only that, you let him in.

You allow his mouth to cover yours, you let his arms roam around your body, undress you, caress you. His hungry mouth licks your lips and leaves bite marks all over your voluptuous body. He worships your wide hips and soft tummy, kissing them with fervour as strong as your forge. In one quick sweep of his strong arm, he clears one of your mentor's workbenches, lifts you up on it, and eats you out until you're a quivering mess, ready to fall apart in front of him.

"The only one I truly want to serve," he says from between your warm and plush thighs. "Moan for me more. I want to know what you like. Exactly what you like."

And you do. You don't stop even after you cum the first time, because he immediately flips you over and enters you from behind. He plays with your nipples as he bites your neck, and his massive cock lights up your insides.

Your strong arms barely withstand his weight as he pushes his body onto yours, rutting against your ass until he hears you climax one more time. Then he follows, releasing his load into your sore pussy.

"Do you believe me now?" he asks as he kisses your shoulder. "Do you believe I want to be your knight and servant?

You can barely talk from underneath him. "Is that... ahh... is that what you meant by 'my heart yearns to be forged by a different kind of flame'?"

His cock twitches inside you. "Exactly. Took you long enough to decipher that, beautiful. The only heat, the only flame I need is yours."

[jarofstyles]

Picture blurb! Just a little thing, I'm a sucker for western plots lately

Check out our Patreon for 300+ Exclusive writings and series, 3 uploads a week!

Warnings- cute banter, you may want a cowboy 🤷‍♀️

"You, my Darlin', are trouble." Paused behind her in all his grass stained denim, Stetson wearing, snakeskin boot and pearl snapped button up that let her see a little of his chested glory- was her boyfriend who had come back momentarily to grab something from the barn. Y/N had heard it over the walkie and made sure to meet him there- and walk a little ahead of him so he could see.

Her smug grin was large, perhaps too large considering her cheeks hurt.

"Who, me?" The fluttering of lashes, albeit to be a bit of a shit had Harry's fond smile growing. "Well I’d never... I think m'about as much of an angel as you could find.”

"Mhm. Lies you tell, baby. What's all this then, hm?" Fingers held her pockets as he pulled her into him, a hand flattening over the raised words embroidered on her right ass cheek. "S’that an invitation? Because I'll say fuck it to the fence repair if it is. Let the other guys take over- or the cattle out. Either one works." His hat shaded her face as she looked up at him with a pleased glint in her eye.

Harry rarely let them finish a big job without him, but Y/N knew he would never turn down a chance to be alone with her for a little while. Especially when there was a 'Kiss My Ass, Cowboy' stitched in the same jeans he'd torn off of her last week.

That exact thing had been the inspiration for the crafting. And maybe a little bit of Pinterest.

"It's whatever you want it to be." She hummed, giving him a coy look as she snatched the brown, wide brimmed Stetson from his head and onto hers. It was immediately apparent that it was too big, but she knew it would be. She'd been with him when he got it made. There was a whole process when you got a custom hat, the steaming, measuring for your head- it's why it cost as much as it did.

Cowboys and their toys.

"Naughty." He clicked his tongue, giving her ass a little swat on the words she'd been embroidering for a few days in her craft room. "Your first attempt at embroidery n'this is what y'do with it? Give me a constant reminder that your favorite ride out here is my face?" Shaking his head, he ran his other hand through his messy, slightly sweaty hair. "Your poor horse. Thank God y'saved her by riding me instead."

Y/N let out a pleased giggle, leaning into him as her hand grabbed his belt buckle. It was a little obnoxious, sure, but a constant reminder that what was underneath matched the oversized accessory. "That's exactly what I want it to do. Want you to remember what you've got to hurry home for."

"Trust and believe me, Darlin' girl, that there is no part of me that ever forgets what I've got at home. Especially when y'give such... encouraging send offs." He was purring, almost, giving her ass a squeeze. "But m'not opposed to a reminder. However, think I've got t'keep my hand in that damn pocket any time y'leave home with them on. Don't want any other cowboys t'get any ideas."

[izadi234]

Shooting Star

A/N: Hello! How's everyone been? Well, I'm just leaving over here the story of the promt I uploaded the other day! This is the idea of this post: Post

So I hope you like it and would love to hear your opinion!

Warnings: None, just that the author's first languaje isn't English.

Bodyguard! Father! Reader (Platonic) & Fem! Famous Producer! Reader (Romantic) x Kpop Demon Hunters

Reader's Pov

My father always told me I had a special gift. I said it was nothing, but he knew it was so much more.

The melodies, lyrics, and tempos always came to me as easy as breathing. It was something natural, and I think that's why I could never stay still for more than two minutes.

I always cretided Dad for my musical tastes, and he made me from a very young age a fan of the well-known group named 'Sunlight Sisters'. I guess that by being their bodyguard, some of their songs must have sticked on him.

And life was good... until my parents divorced. To be honest, I don't know how they even got married. They were so different! While dad was warm and playful, my mom was... cold. I guess the only thing they had in common was that they took their jobs seriously. While Dad was a bodyguard, Mom was a renowned lawyer in Japan. Unfortunately for me, Mom won my custody as Dad used to go around Korea and the world a little too often, so I moved to Japan with Mom. Despite that, I still called him and always answered and visited him in Korea during vacations.

And don't get me wrong, Japan was great! But I had always felt a closer connection to my father, so when I turned 18, I decided to study in South Korea, much to my mother and her family's chagrin.

I decided to study music, and my father always supported me with my decision, saying he was proud that I was following my heart.

Before I finished studying, I was already little by little, I rose through the ranks in the music world until I became one of the youngest music producers in the world. But despite having worked with famous idols, my favorite idols and proud to call friends were Huntr/x.

My dad was the one who put them in contact with me. At that time, they were starting their career, but despite that, they were under the eyes of the whole media thanks to their connection to the 'Sunlight Sisters'. They wanted something new, something fresh that most didn't understand according to them so I listened.

I listened to their ideas and their songs and had them back some of my own ideas of how to make true their visions, how to make their melodies and lyrics a bit better. And they liked them.

Ever since we've been working together.

The forming of our friendship was something natural, awkward at first but natural nonetheless. Rumi was the most tense, always wanting everything to be perfect, wanting to be perfect, Zoey was pretty chill but still a nervous wreck, and Mira... she was serious most of the time, and to be honest, she was like a hawk.

But with time, the four of us relaxed considerably thanks to Dad and Bobby. It felt as if we were in play dates instead of music sessions, but I wouldn't have it any other way. As we *worked* (in reality, we just slacked in our job and pretended to work), we laughed, chatted, and ate, and oh boy, those girls really had a big appetite so I placed in my office and living room a mini fridge and a basket with some drinks and food for them.

I will be forever thankful for my Dad introducing them into my life as they were the most authentic group of idols and people I've ever met.

Huntr/x's pov

"Happy fans! Happy Honmoon!" The girls said as they toasted with their raymeons

"Wait! There's no water in these" Zoey pointed out as she looked down at their dry ramens

"Um... Excuse me, miss?" Rumi called for the flight attendant who was weirdly watering a flower with coffee

"Yes, Miss Hunter... xi...?" She turned to look at her with a nervous smile

"We asked for hot water-" she was interrupted

"Right away!" She turned to look at them and bowed

"You're welcome. Arrideverci. Goodbye" she turned away and left

"Uh okay...?" Rumi said a bit weirded out

Before they could question the lady further, Rumi received a call from Bobby.

"Hi Bobby!" The three girls greeted their manager

"Yeah, hi! Um... what are you doing?" He greeted him, his voice betraying the nervous he was feeling. Behind him, there it was, F/N, their bodyguard who was trying to calm down the fans

"About to eat our pre-show ramyeon" she showed him their ramen

"Pre-show? What about the show-show?" He showed them the fans and how F/N was struggling to keep them calm

"Hi F/N!" The girls greeted when they saw him

"Girls-" F/N was interrupted when someone took Bobby's phone from him

"Hey, that's my phone!" He exclaimed, and they could hear F/N's chuckle

"We love you!!" The three girls that took the phone said excited to see their idols

"Oh, we love you too!" The three girls said at the same time

Then the phone was robbed again and passed to some crying dudes.

"You're so sweet!"

"Yo! I just go this!" Another fan took the phone and showed them a tattoo with a heart and Huntr/x written in it

"Uh..." Rumi and Zoey said a bit weirded out

"Sick" Mira smirked when she saw the tattoo

"Hey! No. Gimme that" F/N took the phone before giving it back Bobby

"Thanks F/N" he smiled quickly at F/N before looking back at his phone

"Why are you so late?!"

"Late?" Rumi asked and looked confused at Mira and Zoey

"Fifty thousand fans are waiting for you! They even made sings and everything!" The girls looked out the window and noticed how their plane was flying away from the stadium in which they were supposed to perform that night

They sat back down again and glared at the plane tribulation, now fulling knowing that those weren't humans.

"How can you be late? I wish you were here!" Bobby cried

"Keep your shirt on, Bobby. We'll be there in three" Rumi said as she kept glaring at the demons

"Wait! Is (Name) there?" Zoey asked with her mouth full

"(Name)? Oh yeah, she's backstage"

"She's been asking about you, girls" F/N said from the back

"Really? Tell her we'll be there shortly, Bobby." Then Rumi hung up the call

"UGHHH!" Both Mira and Rumi groaned while Zoey ate angrily

"I didn't even get to finish my ramyeon!" Mira exclaimed

"Why do they always interrupt our snacking?!" Now Rumi exclaimed

"They will face my wrath!" Zoey crushed some of her chips in her hand

Rumi stood up and walked towards the tripulation.

"Um, excuse me"

"Please take your seat" said the weird woman

"Yeah, we don't have time. You're a demon, right?" Rumi said tiredly

"What do you mean?" it was obvious the nervousness in her face and voice

"You're smiling all weird, watering plants with coffee, and those guys? Come on" she pointed out every single weird thing those demons were doing

"Oh! We were just-" Rumi took her wrist to reveal some patterns

"Oh look! Patterns."

"Oh these? These are just..." Rumi stepped on her foot and fully transformed in a demon, the rest also transforming back into their real form

"The rest of you can come out. We're in a hurry" Mira and Zoey stood up next to Rumi

Then the biggest of the demons of that small group walked out of the cabin to fight the hunters.

"Oh, you got the patterns. Now you gotta die" Mira said

"The only ones dying tonight are your--" the demon was interrupted by an erupt that came from Mira

"Uh.." the demons looked weirdly at the hunter

"I said the only ones dying tonight are your--" he was interrupted once again but now by Rumi

"I'm sorry what?" she asked

"Your fans" We're gonna eat your fans! And while we are at it we'll eat your little shooting star as well!" he exclaimed, loosing his patience

"WHOA!" The three girls exclaimed

"No"

"No, thank you"

"No no no"

"Not our fans" Rumi sad with a smile "Nor our sweet productor"

"When you mess with our fans and friend..." Zoey said

"We need to make it hurt" Mira smirked

Then their fight began.

--

Third-person POV:

Bellow the Honmoon, where the light and darkness meet, there it lied hundred of demons who where waiting along side their king for the demons that had their butts kicked by the hunters some minutes ago.

In the middle, there it was the same demon flight attendant, she was walking slowly and afraid towards Gwi-Ma, their king, as she knew she had failed with her duty of killing those hunters and their lovely shooting star.

When she was about to go up the stairs, Gwi-Ma used his power and brought her towards him by using the patterns on her skin.

"Let me guess. They got away again?" Gwi-Ma's voice resonated throughout his domain

"T-the hunters... T-T-They're too strong!" she said, obviously afraid of the king

"I understand"

"You... You do?" she looked at him hopeful

"I understand you are weak!" he roared before envolving the demon in pink flames

"Pathetic! Useless! All of you!"

All the demons looked ashamed at their own mediocrity and failure ever since those hunters appeared so long ago.

"Don't you idiot know once the hunters turn the Honmoon gold, its over for us!"

They all looked mortified, even some of them started crying. But before anyone could speak a voice and bipa were heard.

"There once was a mighty demon king. Stop me, if you heard this one before" the man began to recite

"He was in total control. He feasted on souls. The world trembled when he roared. But.... Then some hunters sang some songs. Now all he does is starve" He flew down from his high position on the arch of the realm.

"Can't get at the souls, and his flame grows cold. Just a whisper in the dark..."

And will he let the fire go out? Is this the end of him now? Dying king with a crumbling crown? Will he let the fire go out?

"I let you keep that voice, Jinu and you dare to mock me with it?" the fire asked

"I'm no here to mock you" Jinu answered

"I'm here to help you" some guys stood behind Jinu

"It's time for a new strategy" Jinu and the rest of the boys flew towards where Gwi-Ma was

"We fight the hunters where they least expect it. Go after the very thing that powers the Honmoon. The fans... And their shooting star" he looked up at his king

Then they proceed to stand in some funny stances that according to them were for kpop idols.

"A demon boy band?" then Gwi-Ma laughed, his subjects laughing in the same way

"What makes you think that could work?"

Jinu snapped his fingers and made the demon features of his demon friends more human and attractive.

"Oh yeah. Totally gonna work"

"Yeah. A hundred 100%"

"Okay. I know you, Jinu. In 400 years you've never done a single thing that didn't serve yourself. What do you want?"

"The memories. I want them erased"

"Alright" Gwi-Ma agreeded "But listen closely all of you"

That picked the interest of the soon-to-be boy band.

"Before you take the Shooting Star's soul, use her for your advantage"

That made all the demons gasp.

"B-but the leyends... They never mention that a shooting star can write for demons because of their lack for a soul" Jinu pointed out

"A shooting star is supposed to be able to write to someone with a pure heart... It doesn't specify that it has to be a pure good heart... It can be a pure evil heart as well..." the demon king explained which made the rest of the demons finally understand his point.

"And as far as we are all concern, she doesn't know that she's a shooting star. Don't tell her or she may get scared and won't help you. understand?"

"Yes, Gwi-Ma" they all said in unison.

Reader's Pov

Normally, producers don't do any of this stuff but here I am in the backstage of my idols friends as I talk to my father who happens to be their bodyguard.

"You should've gone out" he told me "It was wild and that entrance they did was pretty cool"

Alongside Bobby and the rest of the staff we were waiting for our girls.

"Well I was okay backstage. I didn´t need more attention, it's enough that the fans ship me with the girs" I chuckled

"Still" he gave me a side hug and walked towards the elevator when we heard the elevator coming down

"Yeah. Just need a little water" Rumi's voice could be heard from the inside.

Before the doors were opened, the staff ran towards it, leaving me and my father behind.

"Did someone say water?" Bobby asked when the doors opened

"Hi Booby!" the girls greeted him

"Water! Now!" he ordered the staff

We could both here the rambling of both Bobby and the staff about their show.

"He never stops, does he?" I laughed at Bobby's ramble

"If he did, he wouldn't be Bobby" my father smiled as he looked at the manager being robed

I rolled my eyes but smiled.

"And... when are you asking him out?" I asked and he tensed

"What?" he turned to look at me

"What?"

Before he could say anything else someone shouted my name.

"(NAMEEEEEEE)!" The next I knew I felt Zoey's arms around me

"Woah! Hey girls!" I hugged Zoey back and gereeted them

"Hey (Name)!" Rumi greeted

"(Name)" Mira said in a chill - cool way

"So did you like the show?" Zoey stopped hugging me to look at me

"Of course!" I nodded "The fans were going crazy with this last concert"

"You say that to me" Dad groaned

"By the way, hello girls to you too" she said to the idols

"Ooops, hi (F/N)!" they greeted him

"So (Name)... are you up to come with us to our couch and do nothing?" Mira asked as she placed an arm around my shoulders

"Yeah! You also worked very hard" Zoey chimed in

"Sorry girls, but I was going to have dinner with Dad" I apologized as I looked at him

"Oh... it's okay" Mira said "After all, we have two weeks of vacation"

"Once again girls, congratulations" I hugged the three of them

"You did amazing as always" from my back I took out three flowers that were made from silky cloth but looked real

I gave a pink one to mira, a green - blue one for Zoey and a purple one for Rumi.

They all blushed when I handed them the flowers but accepted them. It didn't matter how many flowers I gave them, they still blush at them.

"T- Thank you, (Name)!"

"T- Thanks, (Name).."

"Thanks...."

We said our last goodbyes before my father and I took our stuff and left the stadium.

"Sooo..." my father said as we walked in the empty streets

"So?" I asked

"When are you going to accept their advances?"

"Advances?"

"Yeah! Everyone can tell those girls have something for you"

"They are just being nice, Dad!" I blushed

"I'm their producer after all.."

"Right..." he said in a teasing way

"You're the worst!" I pushed him with my shoulder and he just laughed before hugging me on the shoulders.

F/N's Pov

Before having (Name), I was terrible at cooking, but I learned because she had always has good teeth to eat, so that's why I suggested to go and by some stuff to cook because I knew that if I treat her to some restaurant she would've drained my wallet.

"Thanks Dad for cooking" she thanked me as I prepared some rice while she "helped" by making small talk as she sat down on the kitchen counter

"You don't have to thank me, dear" I told him "Ever since the tour started, we haven't had time to be together. Either you were helping with the whole planning or I was taking care of the girls"

"I know" she chuckled "It's just like old times"

"Yeah..." I smiled with melancholy

Before my divorce with (Name)'s mother, we used to be together all the time, we used to cook together, watch movies, play... But that came into an end when I started spending less time with them.

"Is it ready?" she asked, interrupting my thoughts

"It's almost-" the phone ringing interrupted me

"What? No... They said they were going to wait for two weeks.." I turned around to face my daughter

"What's wrong?" I asked

"The girls published their new single"

We stayed quiet for a couple of seconds and looked at each other.

"That means..."

"No more relaxing time!" we both whined

Then my phone started ringing. It was Bobby.

"You should put a heart next to his name" my daughter teased me as she handed my my phone

"Stop it, brat" I said in mock offense as I answered the call

"Hello?"

"Is that how you greet your love?" (Name) whispered me and I just pushed her softly making her laugh

"(F/N)! You won't believe this!" Bobby said excited

"The girls launched their new single, didn't they?"

"Yes! Wait, how did you know?" he asked

"I'm with (Name). She got the notification" I explained

"Hi Bobby!" (Name) shouted

"Hi (Name)!"

I chuckled at this interaction.

"You know what this mean right?"

I sighed and groaned.

"Yes..."

"LET'S GO PROMO!"

A/N: Hello! Well, this is the begining of a new story! I hope you liked it and I invite you to interact in any way you want.

I send you all a hug!

-Izadi

[goobstars]

Pulling Jax to readers height to give him a smooch and walks away 👀?

𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

summary : since you and jax had been dating for quite a while, you decided that you were ready to kiss him. the only thing preventing you from doing so? his height.

tags : romance, jax & reader are in a relationship, and you all stay your height if you're taller than jax just make him taller than you brochacho so this makes sense

note : i had no clue what i was doing with this, but i hope you enjoy because i truly did try to make it okay-reading. I'VE BEEN A TEENY ITTY BITTY BIT TIRED, BUT WE GOTTA STAY ON THAT GRIND !! ENJOY !!

why did he have to be so tall?

the question was one that flickered in your mind every time you glanced at jax, and the curiosity only grew stronger when you had to look up at him just to meet his gaze.

though, it was quite difficult to tell if the question was one of irritation or genuine curiosity. you felt annoyance at his height because he was heavily aware of it, and he knew you were, too.

so, like every tall person does, he constantly teased you.

he'd place an arm on your head so he could lean on you, and he would put his hand up to his forehead before moving it forward just so you could see how much taller he was than you.

did that bother you? yes, but that wasn't the main reason as to why his height bothered you so much. you both had been dating for quite a bit, so you were used to his taunts, but you weren't used to the fact that doing a single act would be insanely difficult given his height.

and that single act was kissing him.

you had pondered doing it many times, but you had also questioned if you could do it as well. even if you got up on the tips of your toes, you still wouldn't be able to reach him, and given how dense he is sometimes, you didn't expect him to make the first move.

so, you had to take matters into your own hands.

you had studied the perfect opportunities and ways you could kiss him, and there were a couple of things that you noted that could work. you could wait until he was sitting down to kiss him, or you could wait until he was by a chair or a table so you could get on it to do so.

or you could simply grab him by his overalls and give him a kiss.

you liked that idea a lot more than the other ones.

the plan was simple in your mind: walk up to jax, grab him, kiss him, and walk away. at first, you thought that the plan would go haywire somehow, but that idea vanished from your mind as soon as you noted him alone one day.

he was walking around the tent alone for some reason, and you knew that it was the perfect time to initiate your plan. nobody appeared to be around but him, and that meant there would be no witnesses to your little shenanigan.

you slowly walked out from your hiding spot behind a block, and you made sure to keep your pace steady in hopes that jax wouldn't hear you. there was no room for small talk in your plan, and that's what would occur if he caught you.

with each step you took, your heart started to beat faster in realization as to what was about to happen. you were about to kiss jax, but what if that wasn't the case? what if he pulled back before you could successfully do it? what if he wasn't ready?

it was a little too late to be contemplating all of that as you reached out a finger to tap on his arm, and he paused before peering over his shoulder.

a smirk crossed his face while you froze, and you stared up at him with wide eyes as you felt your face heat up once he turned on his heels to face you. his hands were in his pockets as he tilted his head, "hey, dollface..."

abort plan.

abort mission.

forget about the whole thing and go hide in your room.

your mind was practically spiraling with red, flickering lights while you just peered up at jax. why was his tone so low? why did he always have to smirk?

and why was he staring at you like he knew what you were plotting?

his grin slightly faltered while his eyebrows furrowed, and he had appeared to note your silence as his eyes moved up and down your form. "did you get my attention to show your impression of a deer in headlights, or did you need something—"

his words were silenced once you grabbed his overalls, and you yanked him down before your lips pressed against his.

your hands dug into the fabric of his straps as you refused to move, but after a second, you hastily pulled away before letting him go. you didn't even mumble a word to him as you turned around, and you started to walk off before you felt a hand grasp yours.

you were yanked back over to jax as he took a step forward, and your chin rested against his chest while he held your arm in the air. he stared down at you with an even wider smirk, yet his eyes appeared a bit dazed while he let out a chuckle. "and where do you think you're going? you really just expect me to let you leave after that?"

you haven't said a word throughout this whole encounter, but apparently, you didn't need to. jax seemed to note every reaction you gifted him, and once you didn't reply yet again, he slowly moved your arm to where it wrapped around his neck.

his hands moved down to the back of your thighs before lifting you up, and you scrambled to wrap your legs around his waist while jax kept his hands in place.

now, you were face-to-face with him.

"don't start something you can't finish, dollface..." his mumble only made your head feel slightly dizzy as he rested his forehead against yours. his eyes flickered down to your lips before he looked back up at you, and he let out a quiet hum.

"how about we try that again—what do you say?"

[pineconepie]

CHARACTERS: Vincent, gender neutral reader/you, minor characters

WARNINGS/TAGS: Parental yandere, mentions of murder, light infantilization, bratty+shy reader

WORD COUNT: 1.4k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Commission! <3 I had fun writing this!!

Vincent adjusts his cufflinks, then tugs at his collar absent-mindedly, smoothing out the wrinkles and creases in his shirt and pants. He stands alone in front of a large mirror hanging on the wall opposite of him.

"Why do I have to come, too?" you grumble behind him.

"Because," Vincent explains simply without turning back towards you. He continues fixing his appearance for several moments longer before finally facing you. "I don't want to leave you by yourself here. That's the whole point of why I'll be interviewing nannies today, baby. I also want to see if you like them when I make a decision."

You hesitate. "Why can't Quinn or one of the others watch me?"

He snorts. "I think I'd only trust one of them in a life or death situation. Except Trent, but he's out of the country right now for business." Vincent shrugs nonchalantly, pulling on a coat. "Now come along, kiddo. You don't even have to talk to any of them until I pick the top ones I like. You can just draw in my office and let me do all the talking."

"This'll take forever..."

"Oh, please. Why would you say that?" He ruffles your hair.

"Because you love talking," you explain. "Its literally what you're best known for. Besides killing people."

"Excuse you, I am also known for my stunning good looks and impeccable fashion sense," he teases.

"Thank you for reminding me that you're also known for your huge ego, can't believe I almost forgot that one," you tease back.

He pretends to be wounded, putting a dramatic hand to his heart. "Ow, ow. My fragile feelings! I've been mortally injured!" He laughs when you roll your eyes at him. "Alright, alright. Let's head down now, okay? Make sure you got everything, we're gonna be there for at least two hours."

You know when he says that, that usually means a whole day.

In the limousine, you play a game on Vincent's phone, head on his shoulder. As soon as you get to Cryo, you immediately go to his office and put on headphones, sitting on the floor near his desk, scribbling down doodles with markers he bought you, half listening to what's going on.

"Hello, Mr. Brewer," the first applicant says politely. He sets down a folder with his information inside. He's dressed almost as richly as Vincent is.

Vincent glances it over briefly before asking some questions about qualifications and past employment.

You're hardly paying attention, but you can read Vincent's facial expressions well enough.

Everyone in the past has said Vincent has a wonderful poker face, and granted, he does; but those who know him well can see through him. He does microexpressions that most people miss, and he'll often subconsciously fiddle with his watch as a habit whenever he's uninterested.

Not only that, but his forced smile looks much different from his genuine one. Then again, you doubt no one could tell, because he only genuinely smiles around you.

When the man is dismissed, you look at him. "Why didn't you like him?"

Vincent chuckles. "I hope it wasn't obvious. He just seemed a bit too uptight. Also, no experience in combat, so I wouldn't consider him anyway."

"What does combat training have to do with babysitting me?"

"You never know," he replies simply. "Its a safety precaution."

"I can defend myself..."

"Mhm." Vincent doesn't respond more than that, but you can tell he very clearly doesn't believe you, calling in the next person.

The next person is much less uptight than the other guy, but to the opposite degree.

"Hey, Boss," they say, smirking lazily. They show their resume, tossing it carelessly onto his desk. "Pretty cool office."

"Yes, it is," Vincent agrees, sounding amused. He doesn't say much for a moment, taking time to skim through the rest. Even though you can tell he's impressed, he doesn't really like them for their personality. "Quite experienced in combat, I see. Hired gun, mercenary work... sounds like it suits you. I'll call you back."

They seem confident with this, taking their resume without even asking any more questions.

"You won't call them back," you state as soon as they leave.

"Nope," Vincent says cheerfully.

"You didn't like the other guy because he was too uptight."

"And the second was too laid-back. Doesn't know when to be serious and when not to. I want some professionalism, but still openly kind and caring, you know what I mean?"

"So like, the opposite of you?"

Vincent throws a crumpled up paper at you. "I'll have you know, I am the kindest and most caring person on the planet, even when my beloved baby is being a brat."

"You literally murder people every other week." You throw the paper ball back at him, which he catches smoothly.

"Only for business, so therefore I think it's at least fifty percent ethical." He drops the balled up paper into his recycling bin and calls the third person in.

For the rest of it, you manage to focus on your coloring page and music rather than whatever is happening. Its pretty boring watching the same old process over and over again.

He has unrealistically high standards, so you're wondering if he'll even find one person.

Luckily, by the end of it, he gets your attention.

"Out of the forty-three candidates, one of them seem to match my standards," Vincent announces to you once the room is emptied out, save for the two of you. He hands you a picture and the information, though it doesn't really matter, because he takes it from you to read it. "Elise Guzman, thirty-nine years old, ex-spy who used to work for Cryo but retired because she wanted a change of pace."

You hum in thought. "So you know her?"

He nods. "She's a good friend of mine. One of the few people I'd trust to watch over you."

It makes you feel a little better knowing its someone Vincent actually know. "Can I meet her before you make a decision?"

"Oh, absolutely," he assures. "She was in here just a sec ago, but you were busy with your drawing, so I'll call her back now."

And true to his word, after he sends a text on his phone, there's a knock on the door.

"Come in," Vincent calls.

The door opens to reveal a woman who fits the description. She comes over and kneels in front of you. Her hair is black and curly, worn in a messy ponytail. She's fairly short, but you can see she has quite a bit of muscle. She's dressed similarly to Vincent's style, but more relaxed.

Her smile seems genuine.

You glance up at Vincent nervously, clinging to his sleeve.

"Hello, baby, I'm Elise," she says softly, her voice gentle.

"I'm (Y/n)," you reply.

"Awww, it's so nice to meet you!" She tilts her head slightly. "Your dad told me all about you earlier." Elise sticks out a hand to offer you a handshake. When you shake her hand, her grip is firm but friendly. Her nails are a pretty purple. She smells like lavender. "Are you shy?"

Vincent nods for you. "When you get to know them, though, they open right up." He kisses your forehead.

She introduces herself further, and you listen politely. You learn she likes dancing, arts and crafts, and is almost just as extroverted as Vincent. She enjoys hiking and outdoorsy activities, as well.

Most importantly, though, she has plenty of experience in combat, as a spy, she is trained to use various weapons such as swords and knives as well as firearms, as well as unarmed combat like martial arts and boxing.

Once she leaves, Vincent looks at you, waiting for your input.

"I liked her a lot," you admit quietly. "If we can meet more often and get to know each other..."

"Yeah?" he asks, eager. "And you aren't just saying that to make me happy?" You nod. "Okay, okay. We'll definitely do that." He glances at his watch. "Well, it's well past dinner now. Let's go eat out somewhere, Dad's too tired to cook tonight." He helps put away all your drawing supplies, stopping when he sees a certain one. "Aww, honey, is this me?" he croons.

You snatch the drawing of you and him away. "No!" you lie, embarrassed.

He ignores that, snatching it back from you. "Look at us holding hands together, ohh, that's so adorable, I love it!" he coos. "You drew us! Can I keep it?"

"Fiiiine," you grumble. "But it's not good..."

"How dare you? It's perfect!" Vincent folds it neatly and puts it in his pocket. "I'll put it on the fridge when we get home."

You grumble when he extends his hand for you, but take it nonetheless.

[sadmusicprincess]

Haii may I request something for jay....him for Ralph Lauren has been doing numbers on me.

Maybe something like him in the suit and doing the shoot and he spoils you with stuff from Ralph Lauren and maybe some backroom rendezvous?

photoshoot - park jongseong ────୨ৎ────

┃it's tough to get a hold of yourself while watching your boyfriend do a photoshoot behind the scenes.

꒰ tw ꒱ : p in v (unprotected, its basically every fic atp), kinda public ??, quickie, jay finishes inside so breeding ig

enjoy !! wc : 2,628

a/n : i've been waiting for someone to request jay, i have such good ideas for him😛 he looked so good in this photoshoot

watching your boyfriend pose in these fancy outfits, did something to you. you stayed for a little until jay advised you to go out and get yourself something to drink or eat.

you walked back into the place where the shoot was taken, jay quickly approached you kissing you on your cheek. "i got you a little something" he said holding up a bag to you. "jay, I've told you that you don't have to get me something from every collab you do" you say sighing. "stop that, i'd be a terrible boyfriend if i didn't, now open it." he said sitting down on the couch in his dressing room.

you sat down next to him, opening the bag to see a short blue and white dress. the dress was too cute to be mad at him so you quickly jumped in his lap hugging him tightly. "thank you so much jay" you said as you kissed all over his face. "of course baby" jay said as he rubbed your back.

he stopped at the clasp of your bra, slowly guiding his hand up your shirt. "jay, someone could walk in" you say as he slowly start to lift up, "they won't miss me that much, was watching you behind the camera the whole time" jay said as he kissed up your neck.

"just be quick" you muttered as you let jay pull your top over your head and your skirt down. jay quickly picked you up and laid you down on the couch, immediately climbing between your legs. you leaned up to unbuckle his belt as he threw his shirt off somewhere onto the floor.

as soon as jay thrusted, he reached to cover your mouth. you moaned loudly into his hand as your bark arched off the couch. jay was going at a relentless pace, you grabbed for his biceps, slightly squeezing. "you okay?" jay asked slowing his pace down so you could answer him properly. you nod your head quickly, trying to push your hips back up to his.

jay laughed before resuming at the pace he was originally at, he could tell by your high pitched moans that you were close. to muffle your last loud moan, he kissed you, gripping onto your hips as he finished inside.

jay got up off of you, catching his breath before pulling you up into his arms "put the dress on, wanna see you in it before i go back out" jay said. you leaned down grabbing the dress as jay helped you slip it on. "fuck, you make me wanna take you back down on this couch." he said as he let his hands rub up and down your sides.

you smiled at him and fixed up his hair, "you're gonna get in trouble if you don't go" you say smiling at him. you pull him up by his arm and he embraces you in a tight hug. "we can finish this later." jay says before kissing your forehead and walking out. you fix your lipgloss before quickly following him out the door.

[forbiddenforestofdesire]

tw: stancest

Stan sipped the last few dregs of his coffee as his eyes glazed over the Gravity Falls Gossiper. Toby was still running stories on “the mysterious floating incident,” but from what he’d heard, the townsfolk were chalking it up as a hurricane to get their insurance payouts. Guess that was more believable than the woodpecker. He gnawed at his last soggy strip of bacon and his toaster waffle. The gas line was cut from the whole…Portal thing yesterday, it was a miracle he could still use the microwave.

Stan heard a thump as he almost jumped out of his skin, and the sounds of the kids running down the stairs. Dipper was running headfirst with a butterfly net, while Mabel followed after him. She briefly stopped, skidding on the back of her shoes to a halt. Mabel grabbed the waffle off his plate and shoved it in her mouth, chewing as she talked. 

“Hi Grunkle Stan, we gotta go! I'd bother trying to come up with an excuse but the thing that ate all our Summerween candy stole Dipper’s Wendy stuff. We’re taking Soos’s truck to chase him down. Ok, love you! Bye!” 

She waved and ran off, while Soos sheepishly popped his head into the kitchen.

“So, Mr. Pines. Uh…”

“You can go, Soos.” Stan grumbled. “Not sure why I pay you if you're gonna go look for Spookums with the kids. Take the day off.”

Soos smiled. “Thanks, Mr. Pines! Hey, Dipper, wait up dude!” 

Stan sighed. There was going to be a lot of work to do before the Shack was ready to open again. He wondered if he should start looking through the classifieds, but didn't want to think about what would happen after the Summer.

“Good morning, Stanley.” 

Stan looked up to see Ford carrying a giant rolled up tube. It looked familiar, but it was covered in dust.

“Whatcha got there, Sixer?” 

“Oh, I was merely trying to retrieve any of my past experiments you carelessly threw out. After asking Dipper what happened to Experiment 78, I made my way to the dump. I still have a few trials for this project.”

“Huh. That looks like that hideous carpet in your room.” Stan noted. “I was doing you a favor, that thing’s an eyesore.”

“The design was optimized to provide a consistent electrical current for an even transfer. And at the time, it was very chic.” Ford huffed.

“I can assure you, Sixer,” Stan replied mockingly, “That turquoise and mustard monstrosity was never chic.”

Ford threw the carpet on the floor and unrolled it. “Maybe I will do a little redecorating, how about that? It's my house after all.” 

He looked at Stan, as their eyes met, Stan could see that smug look on Ford’s face. Stan furrowed his brows and scowled. 

“You better move it.” Stan ordered. 

“We’ll see.” Ford said. He squinted. “Has that light been flickering this whole time?” He pulled up the other chair and placed it on the carpet. 

“Take those boots off, you're not getting mud in my house.” Stan snapped. 

Ford frowned. “You mean my house. Very well, mother. I’ll humor you.” 

He undid his muddy boots, placing them on the plastic table, next to Stan's breakfast. Stan growled. 

Ford stepped onto the chair. He balanced himself, towering over Stan as he reached for the bulb, unscrewing it.

“I'll get some bulbs from the store later.” Stan declared,  flipping his paper disinterestedly. 

“No need, I have a prototype I've been meaning to try out that I invented in the Sconce Dimension.” Ford said, his chair wobbling back and forth.

“Will it make the room look any uglier?” Stan asked. He furtively looked back at Ford, who was sticking out his tongue in concentration. He stopped, pulling out a screwdriver.

“Hmm, this screw looks loose.” Ford said, adjusting the fixture. “At any rate, I doubt I'll make my house any worse than how you redecorated, Stanley. Even without my input, it looks like…what did you say? An eyesore?”

“Hey!” Stan shouted. “It's got character.”

Ford gave a hmph. He winced as he felt a spark run up his fingertip and snapped his hand back. He placed index finger in his mouth to reduce the pain, only to see Stan staring at him. He put it back down in the pocket of his jacket. “It's no matter, I'll fix this after you leave.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Yeah? You can keep your cruddy lights. And the house. I put in the work to keep this place afloat after you defaulted on the mortgage. I can take Mr. Mystery on the road. Been meaning to start over anyway.”

“Oh? Care to enlighten me, Stanley. What's so special about Mr. Mystery?” Ford asked. “He's a charlatan and a joke.”

Stan rolled up the newspaper, lifting it above his head. “Do you want a piece of me?”

Ford jumped down from the chair, striking a fighting pose.

“Oh, d’you know Kung Fu now too, Sixer?” Stan scoffed. 

“No, I learned the art of defensive fighting from the Dalbraxian system that incorporates strength, mental discipline and…”

“Got it.” Stan charged at Ford, tackling him to the ground. Ford struggled as Stan climbed on top of him, hitting him with the rolled up newspaper. 

Ford shoved him, taking the paper out of his hand and throwing it to the side. He pushed Stan to the ground as they rolled on the shag carpet. Ford kneed Stan in the stomach as Stan snarled, pulling Ford’s hair. Stan felt Ford grab his hands, trying to restrain him as they kicked each other, Ford swinging his left leg to one side, his right across the other, straddling over Stan as he pushed Stan onto his stomach, his hand pressing Stan’s face into the carpet. Stan writhed underneath him, the heat of their movement warming the fibers as sparks started to zap through the thread. Ford clamped his thighs tighter against Stan’s body, trying to maintain his grip as Stan squirmed ferociously. 

“You got something to say, Stanley?” Ford asked through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, bite me!”

Stan wriggled out of Ford’s grasp, his wrists free as he rolled back onto his stomach, grabbing Ford into a headlock. Ford pushed against him, both of their legs kicking the air as they rubbed against the carpet, shouting like they were kids. Ford reached out his free arm, trying to slap Stan and toppling over his fez. Stan noticed, reaching for it with his own free hand, but it was out of reach, brushing against the carpet. Ford made one last push, freeing himself from the headlock, making one last move to pin Stan’s wrists again. He reached forward for Stan’s wrist, but missed. He felt his fingertip brush against Stan’s and felt a brief, painful surge of static shock. 

Ford blinked. Stan blinked. Stan was surprised to see him back on top again, and looking back down at…Stan?

 Stan screamed, as his own face looked back at him in annoyance. He took off his glasses (his glasses) and pinched his nose. 

“I should have expected this might happen. Please stop screaming, Stanley. It seems we’ve created a temporary electron transfer.”

Ugh, it was his voice, but it had Sixer’s intonation. 

“You mean you knew this freaky friday shi…shenanigans could happen and you didn't warn me?” Stan shouted. He moved away from himself and grabbed the table for support, standing up. It was like Wax Stan all over again. His center of gravity was off. It seems Ford had a hard time standing up from the added bulk and the back pain. Stan could hear him groan and knew what that was. 

“It's only a temporary problem. We just need to touch each other once more, and we will switch back.” 

“You mean I'm currently Stanford Pines. For real this time.” Stan noted.

“No, you're still Stanley, but in my body.” Ford replied in irritation, holding his hands behind his back and staring him down.

“I doubt body switching holds up in court if you're trying to throw me out. You're not taking me alive!” Stan shouted, his voice cracking through Ford’s deep timbre.

Stan ran towards the door, grabbing his car keys. He was surprised how fast he could run in Ford’s body. He almost made it, until he was tackled back onto the floor. The weight of Stan's body hitting him like a boulder. 

Stan pushed Ford, only for Ford climb on top of him and restrain him. Ford pinched him on his abdomen, as Stan doubled over in pain.

“Ah!” Stan yelped. “What was that?”

“Got trapped in an organ harvesting farm during my travels. They regrew, but the incision mark never healed properly.” Ford replied neutrally.

Stan gave a low whistle. “Been there.”

Ford looked at him curiously, then shook his head. “Why did you try to hijack my body, Stanley?”

“What can I say? I'm not good with confrontation.”

“That's putting it mildly.” Ford muttered. 

Stan paused. He felt suffocated underneath all the layers of clothing Ford wore. “Why didn't you thank me?” 

Ford rolled his eyes. “Not this again. Why should I thank you, Stanley? Why should I be beholden to something I didn't ask for?”

“You did though!” Stan retorted. “You asked me to do something, remember? When you got sucked in that…thing!”

“Honestly, Stan, it was such a blur I don't remember anything of what I said.”

“Well, I do.” Stan declared. “It's all I could think of, all these years. You, telling me to do something. So I did. I thought about it every day for thirty years.”

“You didn't do it for me, you did it for your guilt.” Ford replied. 

“It's one and the same.” Stan said bitterly. “You know, I imagined these past few days going differently. I thought maybe we could patch things up, put it behind us. That's what's kept me going, you know? Not the money, or fame. All this time, I was doing this for you.”

Ford softened. It was bizarre seeing his own face contort in that way Sixer’s did when he was embarrased. 

“Stanley…” Ford said. He paused, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. “I never stopped thinking of you. I can't expect you to understand me, I know I certainly don't understand you. But, I guess I can see where you're coming from.”

“Yeah, right.”

“No, I…Stan, even in my darkest moments. No matter how much I wanted to push you away, I couldn't. I wanted to hate you for what you did, but I never could. I…oh, I don't know!” Ford cried out in frustration. “I just don't know what I feel anymore.”

Stan looked at his brother, then examined his six fingers, wiggling them. 

“You know, I always used to wonder what it’d feel like, having six fingers like you. If it felt any different being special.”

“And?” Ford asked.

“It feels no different than my own.” Stan replied, giving him a smile. “High Six?” 

Ford smiled back. “High Six.” 

Their hands clapped together, and nothing happened. Ford laced his fingers through Stan’s hand, as they held on.

“Hmm. the static should have sent us back into our own bodies by now, but it didn't.” Ford noted, rubbing his free hand on his chin.

“So what do we do now?” Stan asked. He enjoyed the feeling of closeness as he gripped Ford’s hand against his.

“We will need to go back to the carpet. If we try creating more friction by moving our bodies against each other, we’ll be able to create more static.” Ford suggested, pointing his finger in the air for emphasis. 

Stan chuckled. “Buy a guy dinner first, will ya?”

Ford looked at him in amusement. “We both know you're too cheap a date for that.”

Stan rubbed his thumb across Ford’s. He could see his brother shiver. “You know, if you wanted to fool around, you could've just asked.”

Ford leaned over. He rested his forehead against Stan’s, then went in for a kiss. They winced as they felt a spark shoot through them. When they opened their eyes, Stan could see he was back in his body, holding Ford’s hand. Ford noticed, hastily letting go. He coughed, looking away. 

“Well, it looks like that is resolved. Good work, Stanley.”

Stan bent down, and picked up his fez, putting it back on his head. “The kids won't be back for a few hours. Do you still want to uh, experiment some more?”

Ford looked at him curiously, then gave him a grin as he pulled out his journal from his coat. 

“I don't see why not, for science, of course.”

Day 163

What if Ford’s and Stan’s fight happened in Ford’s bedroom and they switched bodies?

Submitted by @fefe-the-cat

[her0ine1983]

Lost in your touch

explicit rpf below, please don't interact if you are not comfortable with this MDNI!!!

description: After Joost's show in Berlin, you meet him by chance at a club there. It doesn't take much for you two to end up at your place, but the rest of the night goes a little differently than you expected. cw: alcohol, fingering, handjob, oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv (pill mentioned), creampie, premature ejaculation word count: 5556

a/n: It wasn't supposed to take that long. I already had part of it written, so I figured finishing the whole thing would take me like two days, but nope... I got so into the story, I actually started feeling the characters' emotions for real and instead of just the pure porn I planned at the beginning, it turned into a mix of smut, angst and fluff all in one. There's no specific time setting, just imagine one of his shows taking place in Berlin. It doesn't have to be this one from the tour, no need to rush off to another city. This story touches on something that might be a pretty sensitive topic, but I've wanted to write about it for a while. We're all human, not robots, things like that can happen to any man, and nobody should be made fun of for it, please keep that in mind. Love <3

You can't believe this.

You can't believe this is actually happening.

It's the middle of the night, but you're buzzing with more energy than you've felt in ages. You still want to dance, to sing, to scream. You'd been counting down to his show ever since you and your friends decided to buy tickets months ago. But nothing, absolutely nothing, could've prepared you for this moment. Not even in your wildest dreams did you think you'd see him afterwards. Not in some random club in Berlin, of all places.

And there he is.

Joost. Standing alone on the other side of the bar, phone in one hand, drink in the other.

You try so hard to look away, you really do, but then he suddenly looks up, his face turning directly toward you. His eyes meet yours and he gives you a small, sincere smile that curls at his plump lips.

Fuck, there's no going back now. It's now or never. Heart pounding. Legs shaky. Mouth dry. You walk up to him slowly, trying to look cool and not like you're about to pass out.

"Your show tonight… was totally insane", you say, somehow managing not to stutter, trying not to blurt out something stupid and unnecessary.

Joost lets out a soft giggle, tilting his head like he's shy, like he's not used to compliments, even though you know girls throw themselves at him daily, constantly thirsting over him.

"Dankjewel. Thank you, I really appreciate that, thank you", he keeps repeating in the sweetest way possible, folding in half and patting his chest.

One thing leads to another, and before you even realize it, you're sitting on his lap, sipping some fancy, overpriced cocktail he ordered for you, nestled into the corner of the VIP booth he's sharing with his crew. And even though neither of you is drunk, you're both just tipsy enough to let yourselves blur the lines. Bold enough to go for more...

The dim, red lights paint his face in soft shadows as your fingers trail along the edge of his jaw, your other hand tangled in the messy, bleached strands at the back of his head. He's watching you now with his blue eyes, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, like he's waiting for your next move.

"What do you think about… us getting out of here? I mean… just you and me", you ask, out of nowhere, so eager to kiss him now, but not wanting to push your luck. Not here. Not so soon.

"You're so cute, it'd be a crime to say no", Joost murmurs in low, teasing voice, leaning in a little closer, trying to speak over a pounding music, "But we'd have to go to your place. I didn't bother with hotels this time, I'm crashing at Tantu's and... I don't think he'd appreciate walking in on us", he gives you a crooked smirk, eyes sparkling with mischief, like he's already picturing what's to come.

"Fine by me", you reply smoothly, feeling a subtle twitch in his pants, a silent confirmation that he wants this just as badly as you do.

You tip your glass back and down the rest of your cocktail while Joost throws one last glance toward his crew, raising his hand in a casual goodbye. You rush over to your friends, who are definitely going to ask questions later, and blurt out a quick apology, something vague about getting tired and heading home. Meanwhile, Joost is already on the phone, calling his driver.

"So... let's go, baby", he says just as a black car with tinted windows slows to a stop at the curb by the club's entrance. Joost steps forward and pulls the door open for you, flashing you that crooked little grin that makes your knees weak.

You slide onto the leather backseat as he settles in next to you, slamming the door shut behind him. He asks the driver to turn the music up a bit and angles his body toward you, placing his big, warm hand on your knee for a moment before deliberately sliding it up your bare thigh. His fingertips trace along your inner skin, moving gently, up and down, just barely brushing the seams of your shorts, making you let out a muffled gasp. Joost leans in close to your ear, whispering how beautiful you are, how badly he needs you, how you'll be screaming his name tonight. His words send a bolt of heat straight to your core and your thighs shake in response. You can already feel how wet you are and you're sure he does too.

You're seconds from throwing your leg over his and giving him a full access right here, right now, when the car suddenly shifts. With a slow turn, you finally reach your place.

As you step onto your floor, you're struggling to open your purse and get your damn keys out. The zipper's stuck and your trembling fingers aren't helping at all, especially with him standing behind you, his hands on your hips, kissing the side of your neck, pressing the rough fabric of his jeans right against your ass.

"Need some help, sweetheart?", he whispers into your skin, but before you can even answer, the zipper finally gives in.

You're both too desperate to waste even a second, so the moment you manage to unlock the door, you grab his wrist and pull him inside, leading him straight to your bedroom.

You kick off your boots, then pull off your top and bra in one swift motion, tossing them to the floor. Joost does the same with his Osiris shoes and white football tee. You fall back onto the bed as he leans over you, hovering with his tattooed arms on either side of your body, your bare chests barely touching, his silver necklace with a pearl pendant dangling above you. Your eyes land on the side of his neck, right where his Lola Bunny tattoo sits. The sight alone makes your mouth water. Without hesitation, you start leaving love bites on that sensitive spot, a little reminder of you and the night you're spending together, pressing your lips to his skin and sucking at the pulsing, visible veins. He hisses through his teeth from the sensation, but he doesn't stop you – he tilts his head just a bit more, giving you space, letting you mark his skin with your little work of art.

Soon after, his lips find yours in a kiss and you open your mouth in anticipation, thrilled to have him here, fucking Joost Klein, in your bedroom, leaving the scent of his body between your sheets. He's kissing you like he means it, deep and sloppy, sucking on your tongue, his wet muscle teasing your teeth while your fingertips drift lazily through the soft, light hair on his chest.

You know he's the freaky one, so there's no doubt he's going to do everything he promised you back in the leather backseat. This thought hits you just as you break the kiss to catch your breath. You glance up at his face, blue eyes now dark with lust, pouty lips swollen and stained with your pink lipstick, crooked glasses that you finally decide to take off and place on your nightstand. Still holding your gaze, he slides one hand along your side, slowly tracing every curve until he reaches your boobs, cupping them softly, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive, perked nipples.

"Godverdomme... je bent de mooiste, schatje", Joost groans against your collarbone, placing warm, open-mouthed kisses all over your chest, lingering on your nipples. You don't care if he says those same Dutch phrases to every girl he hooks up with – it doesn't really matter right now. The sound of sweet praises mixed with his eager touch makes your back arch as you pull him closer, fingers tangling in his curls, tugging gently, encouraging him to keep going. He's so impatient, so needy, his free hand already slipping lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts, craving more of you.

"Can I take it off now? I mean... this one too?", he asks, pointing at your panties peeking out from under your shorts.

"Yes, please", you smile, the words barely out before you're lifting your hips, giving him the green light.

Joost shifts up, dragging his hands down to your waist, warm and firm, before peeling both your shorts and panties down in one deliberate move, revealing your bare pussy. He stays there for a second, cheeks flushed, just staring like he's about to lose his mind. One of his hands comes to rest on your calf, nudging it gently to part your legs a little wider, just enough for him to fully take in the view. His fingers trail down to your folds and the moment he touches your sensitive bundle of nerves, you let out a quiet moan, then quickly bite it back, embarrassed.

"Hey, don't be shy, princess...", Joost chuckles, eyes locked on yours as his fingers move again, "I wanna hear all the sounds coming from that pretty mouth of yours...", you feel his digits, slow and messy, gliding through your already dripping heat.

He slides effortlessly over your clit, spreading the wetness in slick, sinful circles. It's obscene how easily his thick fingers disappear inside you – the middle one dips in first, shallow and teasing, just enough to make your back arch again. Then a second one follows and that's already too much – you gasp at the sudden stretch, your hips jerking forward, your whole body pulsing with pure eagerness. You lift yourself up slightly as you reach for him, hands wrapping around the back of his neck as you pull him closer, completely undone.

"Joost... fuck, can't wait anymore", you plead, voice cracking, "I wanna... I wanna feel you. I need you inside me... I need your cock. Now. Please…"

"Anything you want, liefje", he breaths, placing a kiss at the corner of your mouth in response, "You have any condoms?"

"No. But I'm clean. And on the pill. Please, Joost, trust me... I wanna feel you... feel you raw, please...", you whisper, watching his face closely to see if he really hears you, if he knows how badly you mean it.

You see the effect your words have on him instantly. He is already worked up, not just the flush on his cheeks, but the light sheen of sweat clinging to his skin, his damp bangs sticking to his forehead. And now? Hearing that from you? He looks like he might lose it completely. His eyes darken, jaw clenches and he swallows hard, visibly turned on even more. You feel the tension ripple through him, like he's trying not to come from just the idea of being inside you bare.

Joost gets out of your bed and you notice the way his hands move to his jeans – fingers trembling just slightly, fumbling at the button like he's both in a hurry and nervous all at once. And when he pushes his pants down, your breath stills.

His boxers cling to him, a wet stain darkening the front, and through the thin, black fabric you can see the full outline of his hard dick, begging to be touched. The moment he tugs them off too and lets them drop to the floor, your eyes drink in the sight.

Because his cock is beautiful – thick, veiny and big enough to make you scream. The tip, a soft shade of pink, glistens with a glossy bead of precum, catching the low light like something out of a dream.

As he stands in front of you, completely naked now, one of his hands moves instinctively to cover himself. There's a flicker of something vulnerable and awakward in his posture, like he's suddenly unsure of himself, like he doesn't quite know what to do with all that want burning through his body.

"Who's shy now?", you giggle, biting your lip, wondering what happened to that bold guy who had you melting in the backseat not even an hour ago. The one who said he was gonna fuck the shit out of you.

Joost crawls back into bed, and the second your fingers wrap around him, his cock jerks hard in your palm. You barely even touch him and he's already leaking, wet enough that your hand glides effortlessly along his full length. You stroke him slow, teasing, spreading his arousal up and down his shaft. The sounds your hand makes moving over him are downright filthy, filling the room with pornographic, sticky slaps. You don't need lube, you don't need anything, he's just this ready for you.

You give him a few more deliberate pumps and lean down, lips parting, ready to taste him, to have him sink into the warmth of your mouth... But his voice cuts through the tension.

"Don't– I mean…", he stutters, clearly struggling with himself, "Don't waste time... turn around. Get on your hands and knees for me..."

The command shoots straight through you. You love being taken like that – the angle, the way it makes your body feel owned, the way it lets him take everything single inch of you. So you oblige, thinking maybe he's not ready to look you in the eyes while he fucks you. Maybe he can't. But at least this way, he'll be able to reach you so deep.

You arch your back, putting yourself fully on display for him, and Joost lets out something between a groan and a curse. You hear the rustle of movement behind you, his breathing ragged as he grabs his cock, gives it a few slow strokes and lines himself up with your entrance. He's right there, thick and glistening, and when he presses just the tip inside, stretching you with a deliberate push, you gasp, aching for more. The way your body takes him makes him curse again under his breath. His fingers dig into your hips as he thrusts forward just a little, trying to ease in deeper, to bury himself all the way inside you, but then he suddenly stops with a loud moan falling from his mouth.

"Shit... oh, shit! Fuck... shit, no, no.... no", he cries, voice shaking almost in panic. Like his body is betraying him. Like something's not going to plan.

You turn your head toward him, still hazy, not quite sure what just happened, but then you feel it... That thick, warm stickiness between your thighs, dripping onto the sheets beneath you and suddenly everything makes sense.

He came.

You shift your whole body to face him and the sight is more than enough to confirm it. His dick is still in his hand, slowly softening, slick and covered in white release, just like your pussy.

"Sorry, schat. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry... it wasn't supposed to be like this. Fuck– I'm sorry...", he's stammering now, avoiding your gaze, his voice barely holding itself together.

Joost looks like a kicked dog – wide eyes, full of guilt, a flush of embarrassment creeping up his face like he's searching for somewhere to hide, one breath away from falling apart.

Like he braces for you to lash out.

Like he thinks you're about to mock him.

Tell him to get the fuck out.

And he wouldn't blame you for it.

The only person he could ever blame is himself.

"Don't worry, baby, don't worry... I'm here for you", your voice is soft as you reach out and caress his hand, thumb brushing along his knuckles like you're trying to calm him with nothing but your touch.

You open your arms and he slips into them instantly. Joost folds into you, pressing his body against yours with quiet desperation, like he needs to disappear inside your warmth just to feel okay again.

"I'm so sorry...", he chokes out, breath ragged against your skin, "I didn't wanna let you down. I swear, I just wanted to make you feel good. That's all I wanted, oh god–", his voice breaks, "–but fuck, what kind of man does that? What kind of man am I?"

Joost buries his face in the crook of your neck, his hands clutching at your sides, not rough, not steady, just trembling.

"I'd understand", he whispers, barely audible, "If you told me to get dressed and leave right now... I'd just… go and leave you alone..."

He hates himself for being like this.

For getting excited so easily.

For the way his body betrays him before his mind can even up.

The last time he gathered enough courage to talk to a beautiful woman, someone who seemed kind and sweet, it ended the same way...

They flirted a little, laughed too much and he felt that buzz of hope inside him, the kind that doesn't come around often. She ended up in his bed that night and during a heated makeout session, while she was trying to stroke him through his boxers, he came inside them. Just like that. No warning. No control. His face burned and he tried to stammer out an apology, completely mortified, but she didn't even want to listen. Just pulled her shirt back on, called him a "schoolboy", told him to "grow the fuck up" and walked out. No goodbye. No second chance. Only humilation.

He spent the entire night curled up in bed, shame digging into his chest like a dull knife. Didn't leave his apartment the whole next day. Didn't respond to anyone's texts. After that, he stopped trying. And whenever some girl looked at him with interest, he flinched and got shy.

Until now.

Until you.

And the worst part is he was scared this might end the same way. That he'd fuck it up and never see you again. But despite everything, he let himself trust you.

What scares him even more now… is how much he already cares.

This wasn't supposed to be anything serious.

Just a night. A moment. A nice memory. Nothing more than a hook up.

But somewhere between the way you said his name and smiled at him... something changed.

And now... it doesn't feel like a one-night stand anymore.

"I'm not kicking you out, you silly... don't even think like that", you say gently, your voice steady as you smile and caress his bare back.

"I'm gonna make it up to you... sooner or later", he whispers, barely louder than a breath, "I promise..."

"Shhh, that's okay, baby", you soothe, pressing your lips to his temple, your palm spreading over the warmth of his skin.

"Maybe I work too much, maybe… I don't– I really don't know what's wrong with me", his voice cracks and then a soft, helpless sob escapes him. A single tear rolls down his cheek as you catch it with your thumb, brushing it gently away as you cradle his face in your hand.

"Joost...", you murmur, "Joost, look at me", he hesitates for a moment, but finally, his eyes lift to meet yours – red-rimmed and full of shame.

"Listen…", your voice is firm, but full of kindness, "I'm not mad at you. Not even a little. Please stop blaming yourself. Sometimes these things just… happen. It doesn't make you broken. It doesn't make you less of a man. It makes you a human..."

He nods, small, uncertain, and gives you the faintest smile. You can't quite wrap your head around the fact that this night ended like this. Not breathless from sex. But holding him. Listening to his apologies.

You glance down at him, this tall, tattooed mess of a man curled into you like a boy, and realize you don't mind staying like this. All night. All morning. As long as he needs. Running your fingers through his hair, humming soft reassurances into his ear, letting him fall asleep with your heartbeat as a lullaby.

Because there's something about having a big boy melt in your embrace.

Something about being the one he needs when everything else falls apart.

Something that makes you want to protect him and kiss away all the shame from his face.

Something devastatingly sweet about the weight of his body pressed against yours, his heart somehow lighter just because you didn't push him away.

But Joost seems to have other plans for the rest of the night.

Just when you think he's about to fall asleep in your arms, his head lifts slightly. And before you can ask what he's doing, he's already shifting, crawling lower, pressing kisses down your stomach like a quiet apology.

"Joost...?", you whisper, confused, breath catching in your throat. But instead of giving you an answer, he just slips between your thighs like he belongs there. And then you feel it – his tongue, warm and unhurried, diving into your folds. He starts to clean you up with his mouth, slow and deliberate, licking up every last drop of his release from your pussy.

"Joost...", this time you wince, your voice cracking from the intensity, but he only looks up at you with a smug little smirk on his face.

His lips and mustache are a mess, glistening with his own cum and your slick, a filthy mix of juices shining on his chin. He sticks out his coated tongue, showing it to you like a trophy, then closes his mouth and swallows. When he opens it again, his tongue is clean... and his eyes are locked on yours, searching for your reaction.

"Joost…", you gasp, stunned, your whole body pulsing, "You're really a fucking freak..."

That sight alone nearly sends you over the edge. The way he looks, the way he savors both of you like it's the most delicious thing he's ever tasted. It turns you on so badly, you could cum just from that.

Your hand flies to his hair, fingers tangling deep, grabbing a fistful at the back of his head. You pull him in with a desperation, your hips rising to meet his mouth. His grip tighten around your thighs, anchoring you to the bed like he needs you to stay here for him forever.

"Don't stop", you growl, low and needy, "Fuck, Joost... don't you dare stop", and the way he groans at your words, feral and pleased, you know he won't. Not until he's got you falling apart all over his tongue.

He grinds his hips against the mattress, his leaking cock searching for any kind of friction as he devours you like a man starved, eating you like his last meal. His tongue moves frantically yet skillfully, slick as it laps at your folds, his whole mouth working you over like he's worshipping every inch of your swollen, sensitive cunt.

You've never felt anything like this before. Moans start slipping out of you, louder and louder, as Joost goes even deeper, more deliberate. Then, without warning, he adds a finger, curling it inside you just right. His lips leave you only for a second as he gasps for air, and the moment it does, his hot exhale hits your soaked pussy, making your body jolt. But he doesn't give you second to breathe. He's back on you, tongue flicking, finger thrusting, and suddenly that familiar heat begins blooming low in your belly. This tight, pulsing pressure that makes your thighs squeeze. It's coming fast, faster than you can handle, and still he keeps going, like he wants to ruin you with his mouth.

No one's ever taken care of you like this.

No one's ever made your pleasure feel like their mission.

You manage to rise your head just enough to look at him between your thighs. His face is wrecked, hair plastered to his forehead, lips swollen, mustache glistening with your wetness and faint traces of his own cum still clinging to his chin. But it's his eyes that make you whimper, heavy with lust, completely lost in the taste of you.

And in that one moment, that single glance, you know, he's enjoying this just as much as you are. Maybe even more. You drop your head back on a pillow, crying out his name and all you can think is: he loves this, he fucking lives for this.

"Oh, Joost... just like that… I'm close, so close...", you moan over and over, your fingers tightening in his damp, blond strands. Your other hand clutches at the sheets like it's the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

His tongue moves faster, more precise, and you can feel him rutting harder against the bed, desperate and panting, squelching sounds of his mouth between your thighs echoing inside your brain like a dirty song.

Your orgasm hits you like a storm.

You let out a loud, unrestrained whimper, legs clenching instinctively around his head. Your hand slips from his hair, but Joost doesn't pull away. His palms stay on you, relaxed now, thumbs stroking soothing lines along your thighs, grounding you through the aftershocks – until he places one last tender kiss on your overstimulated pussy and rises to his knees on the mattress, lips glossy, eyes dark and blown-out.

"Schatje–", he breathes, barely louder than the quiet hum of your heartbeat still echoing in your ears, "If you still want this… I think... I think I'm ready again. Can… can we try?"

Almost hesitantly, Joost shows you his cock, hard and throbbing in his hand. There's a flicker of vulnerability on his face as he glances down.

"Could you give me just one more chance to feel you… to feel you inside?", he asks, eyes searching yours, pleading for your consent, for the last chance.

"Yes, please... now", you nod, more certain than ever.

He climbs over you slowly, carefully settling between your thighs, hovering like he's afraid to press too much weight on you. You part your legs wider for him and he lines himself up with an unsteady hand. The flushed tip of his cock nudges at your entrance and then he starts to push in, painfully slow and cautious. He slides into you so easily, your core still slick from your last orgasm and the lingering heat of his mouth. That first stretch makes you gasp, your walls fluttering as you begin to feel every thick inch of him filling you.

He watches himself disappear into you, a little more with each deliberate thrust, until he bottoms out. But he doesn't look at your face. Not yet. His gaze fixed between your connected bodies, like he can't quite believe he's really inside you. His brows furrow as he focuses all his energy just to stay in control, terrified of letting go too soon again. He starts to move with more confidence now, his hips rolling into you deeper with each stroke, though every thrust is still carefully restrained. His muscles are drawn taut like a bowstring – tension coiling in his arms, his back, his thighs – all of him flexing with the effort of holding back.

"Joost...", you whisper between moans, your voice trembling with pleasure as your thumb brushes across his lower lip, trying to pull him back from wherever his mind is spiraling, "Joost, are you with me?"

"Yeah... you feel so good, oh god, so fucking good", he nods shakily, eyes dazed and half-lidded.

"Look at me, please", he does as you ask him, his shy, beautiful gaze locking with yours now.

"Come closer", you say, arms reaching out with invitation, "Come on… just relax, baby..."

Your hands stroke softly over his back as he leans down, the silver chain around his neck swinging above your face, catching the low light before his full weight finally sinks into you. You wrap your arms and legs around him, feeling him press even deeper. The way your bodies fit together like this, skin to skin, heart to heart, makes you melt beneath him.

"You still with me, Joost?", you murmur, lips brushing his ear, "You're doing so well. So fucking well...", you feel him shudder, like your words are the only thing holding him together.

"Yes, Joost, yes... you're amazing. Please... harder, deeper... I want all of you", you keep moaning against his bare, pale skin, words tumbling out between gasps, not just because you're close again, but because you mean them.

And it feels like fucking heaven.

The way Joost moves inside you, purposeful, like he's finally let go of the fear and let himself feel everything you're giving him. With every delightful grind of his hips, you know you're not going to last much longer. The pressure in your core tightens again, sharp and overwhelming. His cock hits that perfect spot, over and over, and you're clawing at his back, breath ragged, vision blurring with tears of building pleasure.

"Joost, oh my god...", your pussy clenches around him, squeezing tight and he groans from deep in his chest, barely holding it together.

"I've got you", he pants, his voice thick and breathless, "Come for me again, schatje, please…"

It crashes over you like a wave, stealing the air from your lungs. You cry out, hips jerking beneath him as he kisses you, his moans half-muffled against your lips, swallowing every sound you make like he wants to keep them inside him forever. Your body still pulses around his length and you can feel he's right there too, teetering on the edge.

"Fuck–", he gasps, pulling out with one final thrust.

Joost throws his head back and then spills all over you, hot ropes of his load painting your belly, some of it splattering higher, leaving sticky droplets on your breasts. His voice breaks with a mix of Dutch curses and ragged breath.

Without thinking twice, he collapses on top of you, chest pressed against your cum-slicked body, his cheek settling over your heartbeat like it's the only steady thing in the world. He doesn't care that everything is sticky now, that you're both covered in sweat and the mess of each other. He just wraps his arms around you and in that moment – bodies tangled, breath shared, hearts racing in sync – you know neither of you will ever forget this night.

You're utterly spent, too weak to move an inch, your body heavy and limp against the mattress. But Joost rises smoothly and scoops you up in his strong arms, holding you close as if you weigh nothing.

"Tell me where your bathroom is", he mutters, his moustache tickling the crook of your neck.

"To the right...", you manage to whisper, eyes heavy, your cheek resting on his chest.

Joost carries you carefully through the quiet apartment, the heat of his body grounding you, until he gently sets you down beneath the shower.

"I'm gonna help you clean up", he says softly, brushing a strand of damp hair from your face, "Mind if I join you? I'm just as sticky as you are…", he gives you a shy smile that makes your heart twist – so polite, like he didn't fuck you a few minutes ago.

You nod, too tired to speak, and he steps in beside you, closing the glass door behind him. The water streams down, warm and soothing, washing away the sweat clinging to your skin. You melt into the sensation of his hands, massaging your sore muscles, fingers gentle as they trace your curves. He holds you steady at the waist, making sure you don't slip from exhaustion, his touch tender and careful as he cleans between your thighs, trying not to overstimulate you. It's a real moment of sacred intimacy, more meaningful than anything you've done together.

Once he finishes washing you, Joost quickly cleans himself, then helps you step out of the shower. You don't argue when he sits you on the closed toilet lid, drying you off and wrapping you in a fluffy towel.

"You don't have to, Joost. I do these things by myself all the time", you murmur with a soft smile, but the tiredness in your eyes gives you away.

"I don't doubt that, liefde", he replies gently, returning your smile, "But I want to..."

And before you can say more, he's already scooping you up again, cradling you against his chest like you're something fragile. He carries you back to bed and lowers you onto the mattress, tucking the comforter around your tired body, his hands lingering a little longer as if making sure you're safe.

"Joost… come here", you whisper, patting the space beside you.

He moves silently, sliding in next to you, his body molding perfectly to yours as his arm snakes around your waist, pulling your back closer to his chest.

"I'm still sorry for earlier", he murmurs into your hair, his voice rough with sleep, "I hope I made it up to you. Even just a little. Slaap lekker, mijn schat...", he presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

You don't get the chance to reply. Sleep pulls you under before the words can form, your body giving in to his embrace. You drift off with a smile on your lips, dreaming that maybe you won't have to convince him to stay in Berlin more often.

Because maybe, just maybe… he's already found a home.

[chexxycheol]

Confessed Feelings

☁ Ateez x Reader

title Confessed Feelings

synopsis deciding to let your two friends tongue fuck you, led to a long awaited talk of everyone's feelings. "If you'd let us?"

genre Angst, Fluff

tags Non-Idol! Ateez x Fem! Reader

warnings cursing, confessed feelings, feeling unworthy, unnecessary flashback.

nicknames used baby, pretty, doll.

⚘ hello! another part for the ateez mini story i was encouraged to continue, i have some ideas for it all and i'm slowly writing it out amidst my busy schedule. i also hate the way this came out, definitely not my best work but i've been writing this any chance i get.

this is def not proofread or edited.

this is a work of fiction and should be separated from reality. thank you and enjoy!

—chery

wc 2.6k

masterlist

“Well I know now, let’s talk” You tried to make your voice as steady as possible, wanting to keep a strong front for this talk but your fidgeting went unnoticed by the others. The others looked at each other then to Hongjoong to begin. This was going to be an emotionally taxing talk but one that was needed at this moment.

Hongjoong sighs noticing everyone's eyes on him before beginning “We had originally planned to have this talk on the anniversary of our friendship, but since Seonghwa and Mingi want to jump the gun, we’re having this talk now” 

Your friendship anniversary was something all nine of you took seriously, the anniversary of when you met them when you unknowingly used their study room. Almost 4 years ago.

Your shoulders were screaming at you to put down your stupid heavy backpack, you came across the only open study room in the huge library. The first 2 months have been rough, and now it was time to really lock in with 4 assignments and revise your presentation that was due in a week.

Entering the room you threw your backpack on an open chair and pulled out everything to begin working. You set up the room, all your papers laid around the table in a messy but organized way and the whiteboard in the room was set up for your math homework. Putting on your headphones, turning up the music, and turning on the noise cancelling which was probably overkill for working in a quiet room in a library but deciding it was best to not get distracted by any noise outside the room.

Hours later and the whiteboard in the room was now covered with neat handwriting and fast scribbles, once organized papers were now all over the table and the trash bin was halfway full with notes. You sat at the chair closest to the whiteboard facing it with your back towards the door staring at your notes, trying to make sense of the scribbles. You were so focused that you didn’t hear the door open and a group of men now stood in the room with you watching you.

One of them came around the table and you caught him out of the corner of your eye making you jump and rip your headphones off.

“Holy fucking shit! Don’t sneak up on a girl like that!” You laughed awkwardly trying to subdue your embarrassment before looking at the men standing before you. You looked at the man who snuck up on you and noticed it was the TA for your calculus class, Seonghwa.

You turned and really got a good look at everyone in the room and only recognized 3 people. Seonghwa the TA for professor Yu, Wooyoung the chatty and bubbly guy from cultural studies who sat behind you, and Jongho who all the girls swooned over due to his high status as the starting forward for your school's soccer team. 

“I can help you with this if you’d like?” Seonghwa offered. They all usually came into this study room like clockwork during the week and mostly the whole school knew to not use it, but you were new and didn’t know. All you heard about was a group of eight guys who everyone swooned over, but they were a tight knit group and only would hangout with each other and one other group of eight that floated around campus.

You shook your head to reject the offer “No, it’s okay. Plus I don't have the money to pay you if you help me. Thank you though” You said a bit dejected, college was gruesome on your wallet even with a scholarship.

“No I insist, don’t worry about paying me” Seonghwa shook his head and smiled before grabbing the marker near you and quickly reworking the problem on the board for you.

The others didn’t know what to think, Seonghwa the eldest and most cautious amongst them and the fact that he’s smiling at you and offering to help you shocked them a bit. 

Wooyoung of course broke the silence between everyone “You’re the pretty girl who sits in front of me in cultural studies!” He quickly got nudged in the ribs by a guy with a prominent birth mark near his eye “Hi Wooyoung” You giggled at the shameless flirt.

“Well I guess you’re stuck here with us now, I’m Hongjoong” The shortest man amongst them all said before throwing his bag on the chair in front of him and left to go grab snacks like usual, well, more than usual now.

“I’m Yunho and this is Mingi” The tallest pointed to the second tallest next to him, the taller had a comforting smile and presence while the other had a more cautious and reserved aura to him. Mingi nodded at you before sitting in the chair furthest and throwing his feet on the table, making sure to not touch any of your papers before pulling out his phone and putting his headphones in. Yunho sat next to him and pulled out one of his headphones and put it in his ear to listen to what he was listening to.

“I’m San” He smiled and sat in a chair near Seonghwa, and his smile was definitely contagious cause you couldn’t stop a smile from appearing on your face. 

“I’m Wooyoung! But you already knew that, and this” He threw an arm around the two who stood besides him “Is Jongho our star soccer baby, and Yeosang our English genius!” The two beside him gave him a side eye before waving at you. They removed themselves from Wooyoung and sat at different ends of the table and grabbed their own work out to do.

You turned back to Seonghwa as he explained what you did wrong with the problem and showed you the correct way, he even helped you revise your homework. Everyone in the room kept to themselves while you and Seonghwa worked.

Hongjoong came back into the room with arms full of snacks for everyone and suddenly the room wasn’t as quiet anymore, everyone became more lively and huddled around Hongjoong to help and grab snacks from his arms.

You took this as a sign to start packing your stuff to leave suddenly feeling out of place, placing your headphones back on and working around the table collecting papers and packing it all away. As you closed your laptop someone tapped on your shoulder causing you to look up and notice it was Hongjoong who was offering chips to you.

You took your headphones off and pushed his hand away “No thank you, I’m sorry for intruding in your guys space. Thank you once again Seonghwa, I'll repay you for helping me” You put your laptop in your bag, closing it and slinging it over your shoulder getting ready to walk out.

“You’re not intruding, if you were we would’ve kicked you out long ago and I wouldn’t have offered to help” Seonghwa pointed out and the others nodded looking at you. “You can repay me by taking these chips and staying” Seonghwa took the chips from Hongjoong’s hand and put it in front of you.

You had made it a point to yourself to keep to yourself, get your degree, and go straight into the workforce to help your family financially. It’s not that you didn’t want to make friends, you just wanted to graduate early to get a head start in life. Attending KQ University was already a handful in itself but in school you excelled to be able to attend a top school outside of your home country.

“Come on Y/N!” Wooyoung called from behind Seonghwa, with Hongjoong now sitting beside him with his feet kicked up similarly to Mingi but he had a warm smile on his face.

You hesitantly grabbed the bag of chips and sat down next to Yeosang who was reading. He smiled at you and offered some of his snacks to you which you accepted.

Since that day they all grew on you, Wooyoung started sitting next to you during class and kept asking you to join them in the study room again. You were hesitant at first but reluctantly gave in one day when San and Yeosang overheard him begging you, the rejection was about to come out before you heard San speak up “You should! You’re fun to talk to” San jumped around now begging with Wooyoung while Yeosang rubbed his temple while trying to gather his two friends who were being loud. You gave in and joined them.

You got to know everyone and their personalities. Mingi took the longest to come around and it was because he was extremely cautious since other girls tried to insert themselves into their friend group to fuck all of them or fuck one of them.

But deciding to go into that study room was a choice that you would now never regret. 

You snapped out of your daze when Seonghwa laid his head on your thigh, he’d always been the second most affectionate of the group next to Wooyoung and Mingi who always wanted some type of physical contact with you or one of the others.

“Y/N, we all have feelings towards you-” San cut right to the chase before pausing, he didn’t want to say the wrong thing to ruin this for everyone. He watched your dazed look to see if he saw any discomfort or sign that you didn’t want to continue this conversation. You didn’t and he continued, not before counting his blessings. One of them being you.

“But we didn’t want to make this difficult for you and everyone else because it sounds ridiculous that you would want to be in a relationship with all of us” San finished before Yeosang continued for him.

“We wanted to tell you and give you the options of being with all of us, being with only one of us, not feeling the same and just wanting to stay friends, or you wanting nothing to do with us after” The last part came out in a whisper because it was their worst fear. You brought happiness, peace, and the right amount of chaos to their group. You were the piece they didn’t know they were missing.

Your eyes widened at all the possibilities presented in front of you, Seonghwa stiffened at the last part. They all watched you with bated breaths as you looked down at your lap processing the outcome of this talk.

“I want all of you, I didn’t think it was possible for me to have all of you. It’s selfish of me to want all of you to myself but it’s what I wanted for the last two years” You ran your hand through Seonghwa’s hair to somewhat ground yourself, you looked up at the ceiling to stop the tears well up in your eyes from falling at yours and their confession.

You developed feelings for them two years ago, and it was the last thing you wanted. You didn’t want to scare them off, you didn’t want to face that rejection or losing them as well.

“Pretty” Jongho’s voice made you look towards him “We all have deep feelings for you, fucking hell we’re all in love with you. We’ve had many late night talks about the ‘what ifs’ and this wasn’t an ideal way for this conversation to happen but we’re all in love with you. We want you all to ourselves if you’d let us?” His voice was shaky and though Jongho wasn’t a man who wore his heart on his sleeves like some of the others, you knew when he spoke his mind and feelings he truly meant it.

“What will all of our families say? What if someone else comes along like Nara and tries to break us up? What if I'm not worthy of all of you?” You got out with tears now running down your face at the memories of Nara and the feelings of unworthiness. Seonghwa’s head perked up and he turned to face you now.

Mingi got up and sat next to you, pulling you onto his lap. Nara was a sore subject for the group, she tried to make them all hate you, she did the most to push you out and insert herself in.

She almost won everyone over playing it off as you were the mean girl and she was someone defenseless who you chose to attack. Boy did she play the defenseless role fucking good, she won almost everyone but Yeosang and Hongjoong. They had a bad gut feeling about her so they did the most to always keep you included and mostly hung around you while the others were with Nara. 

Until Hongjoong caught her berating you outside of the restaurant all of you had planned on meeting everyone at. He recorded it and sent it to their group chat. Safe to say Nara wasn’t a problem to you and the boys after the confrontation that took place when everyone else arrived. Plus the months of making up the others did to repay you was entertaining.

“Look at me doll” Mingi gently grabbed your chin and turned you to face him. “Our families are supportive, we even talked to your family and they just want you to be happy. They were a bit skeptical when all eight of us showed up at their front door but they want happiness for you” Mingi looked into your eyes, something that made you know he was serious.

‘Eyes are a way to the soul’ ringed in your head while taking in Mingi’s words.

“Someone like Nara will never break us up, if you choose to be ours we will believe you before anyone else, we should’ve done that from the start but we vowed from then on to always believe you and put you first. Finally, you will always be worthy to us. If anything us idiots aren’t worthy of you” Mingi chuckled at the last part wanting to see you at least crack a smile, which you let a small smile slip before hitting him softly on his arm.

“Don’t say that you big doof” The tension in the room lifted a little bit at your words, everyone now smiled looking at you. You looked at Wooyoung, your usually loud friend was now the quiettest among them all. Wooyoung was the most nervous about this conversation, Mingi was a close second but Wooyoung didn’t want this to break everyone up. He didn’t want to lose you.

“Come here baby” Wooyoung motioned you to come sit with him and Yunho. You got up from Mingi even though he had a pout now on his face. You moved towards Wooyoung, not before Yunho pulled you onto his lap and secured a hand around your waist to ensure you wouldn’t move.

“Please stay” Yunho looked at you with the big puppy eyes he didn’t know he possessed and ones he didn’t know were your weakness “We want you to be selfish with us, we’ve been selfish with you. We will cherish you baby, we will love you till our final breaths and spoil the living hell out of you. If you’d let us?” His confession made your face heat up a bit with his straightforward words. All of their bold words were definitely doing a number on you.

“I love all of you and I want to be with all of you” Your confession lifted a weight off everyone's shoulders, big smiles now plastered on their faces and they all jumped to hug you even if you were on Yunho’s lap

Maybe everything will be alright with your boys by your side.

divider @saradika-graphics

pictures pinterest

[manichalseys]

May I please request the hashira reacting to their S/O being a caretaker/trainer for the Kasugai crows and Tengen's muscle mice corps? Hope you take care!

tysm for the submission <3

Hashira + Animal Caretaker S/O

characters; kyojuro rengoku, gyomei himejima, giyuu tomioka, sanemi shinazugawa, tengen uzui, obanai iguro

Kyojuro Rengoku

Rengoku noticed your affinity for animals early on, and it was part of the reason he had fallen so in love with you. Anyone who could show such tenderness and care for the helpless creatures of this world had a shining soul. That was you; his beautiful shining fire.

Despite that, you had never really touched base on it. He didn't think to ask about the finer details, and you never offered any up. So finding you at the small hut dedicated to the care of the Slayers' various animals was a bit of a surprise, but there was no doubt that the laugh coming from inside was yours.

The fire Hashira had just returned from a mission and was concerned after Kanames health. His crow had been lethargic for the better part of the message, unable to fly very far to relay messages - and had to sit on his shoulder for most of the journey back to the compound.

"Y/N?" He questions, stepping into the hut, his head tilted to the side. "Are you playing with mice? How fun!"

Your head snaps up, eyes meeting his. Tengen's muscle mice in a large, open cage on the table. You had been amused at their antics, the posing definitely a bit much but also indicative of their owner - when your fiancee walked in.

"Kyo! Is Kaname okay?" You ask, eyes finding the crow perched on his shoulder. You walk over to the two and reach out to cup the exhausted bird. Rengoku's eyes watch you the whole time, a curious glint in the glow of them.

"He's been a bit under the weather, I think. We should confer with the one who runs this place." He responds, looking around the room for another person but coming up short. That's when he notices your small smile.

"That would be me." You tell him as you walk over to the examination table, laughing lightly at his furrowed brow. "You've never asked what I do for work."

He blinks, head tilted just the slightest. "I haven't, have I? How horrible." A switch flips and he shakes his head, a large smile replacing the confusion. "At any rate, how amazing! I'm sure that you're the best person for the job! How amazing of you to do this work."

Leave it to him to always find a way to praise your abilities. Not that you minded.

You give the crow a look over, your fiancee standing attentively at your side, and find nothing of consequence.

"I think he's just tired, Kyo. You've only spent one day at home in the last month and all of your missions have required a back and forth with at least one other Hashira. He needs rest. You both do." You say, giving Kaname's head a light stroke with your hand.

Rengoku nods seriously. "Of course, my heart, you're so right. I've been pushing him too hard. He shall rest. You'll be fine my friend!" He says the last part directed at Kaname and the bird crows at him, flying leisurely out the front door to find a nice tree to nap in.

"So, the mice?" He asks curiously.

You shake your head, wrapping your arms around his neck. "They're certainly interesting."

"I think that something may be wrong with Tengen."

Gyomei Himejima

"Hey, Gyo!"

He heard you call his name from across the field, the training exercise that he had been working on a forgotten memory the moment he hears your voice. What were you doing here? You had no reason to accompany him up the mountain for his morning workout, a habit Gyomei had gotten into on the days he spent at home. Was everything alright?

"Yes, my love, what is wrong?" He met you halfway across the clearing, large hands encasing your own.

You smile largely at him, and he can practically feel the contentment radiating from you- any worry he may have had evaporating.

"I was just here to fetch Zekka. He always follows you when you come up here, and I need him for a bit."

Gyomei furrows his brow in confusion. "Why would you need him?"

Your laugh warms him from the hands he holds to his feet, always appreciative of you when he's in your presence.

"I'm the new trainer! The old one wants to retire, and I've always been good with animals. Plus I'm already familiar with all of the other Hashira's crows." You were actually pretty excited at the job offer. Being able to help the corp in whatever way you could was enough, and you were more than happy to contribute.

"How wonderful!" His arms snake around your waist, lifting you into the air for a tight hug. "You are going to be the best trainer that we've ever seen. I'm certain."

Your arms join around his neck, happy to melt into his embrace. "Thank you! I'm so excited!"

CAW! The call came from the ground next to you, Zekka's intelligent eyes watching the exchange.

"Well, seems as if he's ready." You say, extracting yourself from Gyomei's hold. "I'll send him back up as soon as he's done."

"Have fun, you two! Take good care of each other."

Giyuu Tomioka

The water Hashira was more than excited to finally be home at the same time as you. For the past month he had been sent out on mission after mission- all lower level, but so frequent. The few days that he was home, you were out on a wildlife rescue. One of the only people in the region who do it, you were well sought after to help free a trapped deer or diagnose a sick wolf pack.

He had voiced his upset the last time you had managed to have a few minutes together, ships passing in the night these days.

"I miss you so much. I wish that we weren't so busy. That I could just retire."

You wouldn't say anything, but it made you feel terrible. While both of your work was important, how could you allow him to feel like saving all of these innocent people wasn't worth the handful of lonely nights that you had to endure?

"I'm sorry, but your work is so important. I'll try and schedule my own ventures a bit more spread apart. It's just bad timing right now."

He pulled you to his chest, head resting on top of your own. "Your work is important too, Y/N. We'll figure it out."

Little did he know, that's when you started planning. You wanted to continue helping animals in whatever ways you could but you did need a bit more stability. It was Shinobu that helped you come up the solution. Finally passing most of the emergency calls to the few people that had trained under you, and offering to take over the care of the Corps' animals. It had been awhile since their had been a caretaker for the crows, Tengen's mice, and other various animals they had in their employee. The Master was more than happy to accept, and thus you started your new job just after your husband left on his most recent mission.

Unfortunately, he was about to walk in the door any minute and you were still staring down Tengen's muscle mice on your coffee table.

"Tengen said he just wanted you guys to have a physical but you have to stop flexing so that I can do a proper exam!-"

"I'm home!' Giyuu's voice echoes against yours from the front door and your eyes widen. This was not the way that he was supposed to find out about your new job. You were sure that he wouldn't appreciate any of the animals in your home, but the veterinary facilities were being worked on and the sound Hashira had insisted that the loud noises would give his precious mice anxiety.

"Okay, you guys are going to need to scurry back to the main building."

"What the hell are those?" Giyuu is standing rigid in front of you, that concerned pinch at his brow while he surveys the odd creatures who have still refused to move from the tabletop.

"Uhm... Tengen's mice?"

"I know that. Why are they sitting on our coasters?" His eyes go from the mice to your own.

You can feel the blush creeping up your cheeks. "I got a new job! I'm the official caretaker for the Corps' animals - and Tengen really needed his mice to have a check up but I couldn't use the main building so I figured I would just get it done here because he said it was so important but they really just refuse to listen to me..." You suck in a breath at the end of your rant, nervous smile slated into place.

Giyuu's smile is instant, and for a moment your struck with the memory of a time that it would've been so difficult for him to smile so fully.

"Does that you're going to be home more?" His brow raises.

You nod, standing to face him. "That was the plan. This way I can help you guys, and still do what I love. All while working from close to home."

Giyuu nods, a hand coming up to give your cheek a light caress. "That's amazing, Y/N. You're prefect for the job."

Your smile is blinding.

Sanemi Shinazugawa

"What the hell are you doing, babe?" The wind Hashira demanded, his eyes trailing you while you jump around the inner courtyard, Tokito's crow dipping in and out of your reach.

"Can you just give me a break?! I need to make sure your foot is okay."

"you think i'm going to let you touch me? in your dreams." Ginko responds in a squawk, diving out of your reach.

"Why are you so stubborn!?" You demand, throwing your arms up in annoyance. "This is for your own good. Muichiro asked me to look after you."

"a misguided decision."

"Are you at the mercy of a crow right now?" Sanemi asked, his arms crossed at his spot on the sidelines. "What is going on here?"

You stop your efforts and huff, turning to your slightly amused fiancee, that little smirk on his face annoying you all the more. "Tokito requested that I check on an injury she got but she is such a diva."

Ginko squawks from overhead and you cast a glare upward.

"Why did he ask you?" Your husband questions, and you can almost taste the jealousy on his tongue. Doesn't matter if it's misguided; he doesn't like anyone requiring your time other than him.

Your cheeks flush. "It's my new job. The master asked if I could help the current crow carer, so I'm taking on some of the cases."

He steps forward and pulls you to his chest, eyes trailing that still looping bird. "You got a job?"

Your arms close around him. "I didn't go searching for it, but I did accept it."

"Alright. Looks like we have to catch the crow."

"We?"

"Obviously. I'm the Wind Hashira, babe. Literally as fast as the wind."

Your eyes roll. "Yeah, yeah. Get her for me and we'll see about that."

"Oh, a challenge? You know better than that."

Tengen Uzui

Tengen was duly worried. Typically, it was a very boring and dull feeling - he hated to worry over much. Actions did much more for him than wallowing in anything ever did. How unflashy, to be frozen in fear.

But he was now, searching frantically for the mice that he was absolutely sure were just in front of him. They had been doing simple trick training, refreshing on some things that the trainer he had sent them to when he first got them had taught. He wasn't sure who it was, someone contracted through the corps, but they'd done a phenomenal job.

Tengen, it seemed, was doing quite the opposite.

"Mice! Muscle Mice! Squeak if you're in trouble!" The sound Hashira calls, bounding through his backyard, looking behind every small thing to see if they had hid from a random noise in the environment.

"Very good, you two. You've only improved!" Your voice sounded from the front of the mansion and Tengen stopped in his efforts, focusing in on your voice.

"Y/N?" He said to himself, rushing in your direction. You had only agreed to start dating a few months ago, after a lot of wooing from the Hashira, and the excitement he felt every time he saw you still hadn't abated. He didn't think it ever would. Maybe the mice had sensed you before him and wanted to greet you. That would make sense.

That's when he came upon you, bent over double and praising the posing mice at your feet. Tengen's brows furrowed at their showing off, wondering where this flash had been ten minutes ago when they were training.

"Y/N! I see you've met my mice!"

You stand up fully when he approaches and cock your head to the side. "Tengen, you know that I trained them, right?"

Uzui blinks, confusion filling his face. "What are you talking about? Not that I don't think you're capable of such a thing, but it was a trainer contracted through the corp. You don't do that sort of thing."

You fold your arms over your chest, a brow raising. "I did two years ago. These were one of my last assignments."

Tengen throws his head back and laughs, a boisterous noise. "OF COURSE! I should've known. Only someone as amazing as you could train such flashy animals! You did such a good job!"

"Is that why you're trying to retrain them?"

The man stutters. "N-not retrain! Just freshen up, I swear-!"

Obanai Iguro

In all of the time that Obanai had Kaburamaru, he had shed countless times. It was a process that the Hashira was more than familiar with, and it had always gone off without a hitch.

But this time felt different. He felt that it was taking too long. Why was his friend not shedding as quickly as he had before? Was it a product of aging, or was he sick? Should he bring him to the animal doctor? He usually avoids it, if he can, more than capable of caring for his friend himself - but he wouldn't want Kabu to suffer just because Obanai didn't want to take him to the vet.

That was how you found your fiancee, cross legged on the ground of your kitchen, eyeing the spot that Kabu had decided to rest for now wearily. Obanai wasn't much of an open book, keeping his emotions close to the chest generally - even with you - so the stark worry on his face has you approaching him quickly.

"Is something wrong?" You ask, kneeling down beside him and eyeing the shedding snake. "Is he okay?"

Obanai shrugs, refusing to meet your eye. "I'm not sure. This process is taking longer than usual..."

You look back and forth between the two. "May I?" You ask, gesturing to the snake.

His multi-colored eyes meet yours for the hold of a breath before he nods. "If you think you can help."

You nod at his assent and scoot closer to Kabu, giving him a quick assessment. Relief, instantly. He was just fine. Taking a bit longer, yes, but that wasn't necessarily odd. The process was going as it should, as far as you could tell.

"He's okay." You say after a minute, wanting to be sure before giving confirmation. "Taking a bit longer isn't indicative of something bad, necessarily. He could just be tuckered out. But I don't see anything wrong."

Obanai's eyes snap to yours and his brows furrow. "No offense, darling.. but how can you be sure?" He asks, hoping he doesn't offend you but having no idea how you could possibly know if something was wrong with his friend.

Your smile is warm when you sit cross legged at his side. "I'm certified, Obanai. I had a job before we met, you know. Caring for the animals in the area."

His brows shoot up. "Really?"

Your smile drops. "That hard to believe?"

He backtracks instantly. "No, of course not. You're amazing at everything you do and I'm sure that you were the best possible candidate."

A light slap on his arm stops his rant and you give him a wide smile. "It's okay, Ob, I understand. But Kabu is going to be just fine."

You can see the tension melt from him. "Thank you."

"Of course."

"I love you."

"I know."

~ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅★⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ~~ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅★⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ~~

submissions are open <3

[evansbuckle]

tattoo!artist!reader X Bucky Barnes

I've been thinking about this trope for a hot minute, and part of me wants to write more specific drabbles for these two, but we'll see. Hope you enjoy! Likes & reblogs always appreciated <3

word count: 1k

Warnings: little to no proofreading, maybe swearing? Reader uses she/her pronouns, and is referred to as 'the girl'. Mentions of Bucky mentalling struggling (very vague allusions to self-harm desire) Some mentions of body parts, but no specific body descriptions.

Bucky struggles and his brain is constantly crying out for distractions. He tried the journaling, and the knitting, and the rubber bands on the wrist but nothing quiets his mind. Until he stumbles upon a reddit post of some user sharing that body modifications (tats, piercings,) help still things, even for a brief moment.

So he walks into the first tattoo parlour he finds; it’s small, filled with sketches and people covered in borderline scary ink head to toe. He sticks out, badly. He doesn’t know what he wants or what he's doing there, but quickly figures his dead best friends birthday is a good place to start, so he makes an appointment and comes back.

He sits on the chair, and watches a girl prepare a fresh needle and ink with quiet grace. He appreciates that she doesn’t push him to talk, only asking if he’s ready, and telling him when she’s going to start. He barely registers the needle touching the skin on his flesh bicep, too entranced by the way her gloved hands control the vibrating thing. He takes his time looking over her tattoos, the black lines on her fingers visible through the blue gloves. He barely registers her question.

“Sorry, repeat that?”

A quiet chuckle, then “is this your first one?”

“Yeah.”

A brief nod, the hair in her ponytail moving slightly, “any special meaning?”

He’s quiet for a moment. “friends birthday.”

She briefly glances up at him, but doesn’t push the topic, putting the tattoo gun down. Cleans it efficiently, wraps it in second skin, and walks Bucky over to the counter. He pays, tipping generously because he doesn’t know how to tip tattoo artists, and silently decides he’s coming back soon.

Two months pass before he walks back into the same shop, and is met with the same buzzing sound that seems to cover up the soft rock in the background. Half hour later he’s laying down on the same chair, the same girl working on the same arm. It’s a phoenix, rising from the ashes. Symbolic for sure, but Bucky mainly just really likes the birds. 

The girl hums as she tattoos, pink gloves instead of blue this time. 

“New gloves?”

“What?”

“I-just- the last time I was here you had blue gloves.”

A soft chuckle, kind eyes meeting his nervous ones, then “yeah, i fancied a switch up. feeling pink, i guess.”

Three hours go by, and it’s only half done. Bucky’s sent home and told to come back in two weeks. 

So he does. 

He walks back into the same shop, same buzz, same soft rock, same sweet girl. 

He decides to talk this time. He tells her his name, about his recent inclination for body art, his backstory (or at least a modified version). He even asks her out for a coffee. She’s a bit resigned, but his traumatised-yet-still-beautiful eyes end up convincing her. He doesn't stop smiling the whole walk home.

Three days later, Bucky walks into a cute little coffee place downtown, his gaze immediately landing on the girl focused on her sketchbook, decorated hands moving with skill. He spots two coffee cups in front of her, walks over, and sits down. 

It’s awkward at first, small silent gaps, and Bucky stumbles over his words a fair few times, yet each time he’s met with the amused glances of the girl in front of him. When she starts talking, his heart stills. Her stories put a smile on his face, and the rest is soon forgotten. 

A week later, he starts bringing her flowers at work, always paired with “they were pretty, reminded me of you.” Persian lilies, carnations, daises even, whatever first catches his eye when he walks into his local florists. Her co-workers start teasing about the man who’s sweet on her, but glimpses of the flowers never fail to make her smile through long days. 

Weeks after that, Bucky sits in her apartment while she finishes cleaning, or laundry, or whatever housework she needed to do. The girl walks over to sit next to him when she’s finished, artwork covering her arms, hands, parts of her legs and feet. Bucky rarely takes his eyes off the ink, downright enamoured at the way they accentuate her soul, each little drawing showing the world a glimpse of her personality.

“Do you want to try?” Her voice cuts through the silence.

“What?” His gaze snaps up to her. She smiles, grabs his arm, leading him to her spare room. He looks around as he walks in, not having been in there before; it’s fairly empty, mostly a storage room he notes, save for a desk with something that looks like squares of flesh, and ink bottles. She sits him down, quickly gathering everything needed. Tattoo gun plugged in, fake skin in front of him, a small ink cap next to that.

She perches on his lap, showing him how to hold the gun. He listens, obviously, but every fibre of his body is hyper aware of just how quiet this moment feels - someone he cares for, is growing to love, living life with him, willingly. He smiles to himself, wondering how the hell he got to this place when everything was dark two months ago. 

The gun buzzes to life in his hands, and her smaller ones hold him tighter as she guides his movements over the silicone skin. They laugh, and after a while she lets go, letting Bucky freehand it. He tries to focus on the task at hand, he really does, but the warmth of the body on top of his engulfs him, wrapping around his heart like a safety net.

He quickly decides life isn’t quite so bad when there's someone to share the stillness with.