#is that a hint to back up your interview where you said he might not be dead

[ghstyles]

11:59 PM | H.S

Boyfriendrry | Smut | One shot | Prince hair Harry | Masterlist

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[I'm thinking about taking you into one of those private rooms upstairs.

Pushing that dress up around your waist.

Seeing if those new black panties taste as good as they look. ]

a/n: this one was fun to write. It’s just hot. Enjoy!!

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“Harry? How long do you think you can go without sex?”

Harry's attention is fixed on the TV screen, where some gritty crime drama is playing, one of those shows he claims to watch for the "compelling storytelling," but Y/N suspects he mostly enjoys for the moody cinematography and expensive production design. He's sprawled comfortably on their couch, one arm draped along the back cushions behind her, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles on the coffee table. A half-empty bowl of popcorn sits forgotten between them.

At her unexpected question, his hand pauses midway to his mouth, a piece of popcorn held between his fingers. He turns toward her slowly, one eyebrow arched in amused curiosity, a hint of wariness in his green eyes.

"Sorry, what was that?" he asks, as if he might have misheard her over the sound of the detective on screen delivering his monologue about the darkness inherent in human nature.

Y/N shifts slightly to face him better, tucking one leg underneath her and propping her elbow on the back of the couch. She's wearing one of his old tour t-shirts and a pair of sleep shorts, her hair piled back in a bun that's gradually coming undone. There's something deliberately casual in her posture that doesn't quite match the gleam in her eyes.

"I asked how long you think you could go without sex," she repeats, her tone conversational but with an undercurrent of mischief.

Harry studies her face for a moment, clearly trying to determine if this is a trap of some kind or if there's a specific reason for her inquiry. He reaches for the remote and pauses the show, giving her his full attention now.

"Is this a hypothetical question," he asks carefully, "or are you telling me something I should be worried about?"

A small smile plays at the corners of Y/N's mouth.

"Hypothetical," she assures him. "Just curious."

Harry leans back against the cushions, considering the question with more seriousness than she perhaps expected. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead in that unconscious gesture she's always found endlessly attractive.

"Physically? Probably a while," he finally answers, his voice thoughtful. "Mentally?" A slow, suggestive smile spreads across his face as his eyes travel deliberately down her body and back up again. "About three days before I'd start losing my mind."

He shifts closer to her on the couch, the popcorn bowl now an unwelcome barrier between them.

"Why the sudden interest in my sexual endurance?" he asks, reaching out to twirl a loose strand of her hair around his finger. "Planning to test me or something?"

Y/N shrugs, maintaining her innocent expression despite the way her pulse quickens at his proximity.

"Just thinking about that interview you did last week," she explains. "The one where they asked about your 'self-discipline' and you said you were 'surprisingly good at denying yourself things you want.'"

Harry's eyes narrow slightly as he recalls the interview, a fairly standard press junket for his latest album where the journalist had been fishing for quotes about his fitness regimen and diet.

"Ah," he says, understanding dawning. "And you found that claim...questionable?"

"Not questionable," Y/N corrects him, her fingers absently playing with the hem of her borrowed shirt. "Just...untested. In certain areas."

A dangerous glint appears in Harry's eyes as he moves the popcorn bowl to the coffee table, eliminating the barrier between them. He slides closer until their thighs are touching, his hand coming to rest casually, possessively, on her knee.

"Let me get this straight," he says, his voice dropping to that low, slightly raspy register that never fails to send a shiver down her spine. "You're wondering if I could practice sexual self-restraint for an extended period? If I could deny myself...certain pleasures?"

His fingers trace small, maddening circles on her bare skin just above her knee.

"Something like that," Y/N confirms, fighting to keep her voice steady despite the heat beginning to pool low in her belly at his touch.

Harry's smile turns predatory, dimples appearing in sharp relief against the slight stubble on his cheeks.

"And what brought on this line of questioning?" he asks, his hand sliding up to rest on her thigh, thumb brushing dangerously close to the hem of her shorts. "Academic curiosity? Or did you have something more...practical in mind?"

Y/N tilts her head, enjoying the way his eyes follow the movement, tracking the exposed line of her neck with unmistakable hunger.

"Maybe I was thinking we could make a little wager," she suggests, her tone deliberately light. "Test that famous self-discipline of yours."

Harry's eyebrows shoot up, genuine intrigue replacing some of the playful seduction in his expression.

"A wager?" he repeats, clearly interested. "What kind of stakes are we talking about, love?"

Y/N pretends to consider this, tapping her finger against her chin thoughtfully.

"Well, if you win, if you can go, say, two weeks without sex, then I'll..." she leans forward and whispers something in his ear, something that causes his pupils to dilate noticeably and his hand to tighten on her thigh.

"Jesus," he mutters when she pulls back, swallowing hard. "And if I lose?"

"If you lose," Y/N continues, emboldened by his reaction, "you have to admit publicly, in your next interview, that you have absolutely no self-discipline whatsoever when it comes to certain...appetites."

Harry barks out a laugh, genuinely amused by her suggested terms.

"You want me to tell Rolling Stone or whoever that I can't keep it in my pants?" he asks, shaking his head in disbelief. "My publicist would have a coronary."

"You wouldn't have to be that explicit," Y/N clarifies, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Just say something about how your girlfriend proved your claims of self-restraint were greatly exaggerated."

Harry studies her face, his expression a mixture of amusement, desire, and competitive interest.

"Two weeks, huh?" he muses, his thumb resuming its maddening circles on her thigh. "No sex of any kind?"

"None," Y/N confirms firmly. "No intercourse, no oral, no hands, nothing. Complete abstinence."

Harry's eyes narrow thoughtfully.

"And this starts...?"

"Right now," Y/N declares with a decisive nod.

A slow smile spreads across Harry's face as he considers the challenge. He leans in closer, his breath warm against her ear.

"You realize," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that she feels more than hears, "that you're also denying yourself for two weeks. You sure you can handle that, baby?"

There's a note of challenge in his voice that makes Y/N's competitive spirit flare to match his own.

"Oh, I'll be fine," she assures him with perhaps more confidence than she actually feels. "I'm not the one who claimed to have exceptional self-discipline in a national publication."

Harry laughs, the sound rich and warm in the quiet of their living room.

"Alright then," he agrees, extending his hand for a formal shake. "Two weeks, starting now. No sex of any kind."

Y/N takes his hand, but instead of shaking it, Harry uses the grip to pull her forward suddenly, catching her off guard. In one fluid movement, he has her beneath him on the couch, his body pressing hers into the cushions as he captures her mouth in a kiss that is anything but chaste.

His tongue traces the seam of her lips, demanding entry that she grants without hesitation, heat flaring instantly between them. One of his hands tangles in her hair, the other gripping her hip as he deepens the kiss with a thoroughness that leaves her breathless. When he finally pulls back, they're both breathing heavily, and Y/N can feel the hard evidence of his arousal pressed against her thigh.

"Just wanted one last taste," he explains with a wicked grin, his voice rough with desire. "To remember what I'm missing."

Before she can respond, he pushes himself up and off her completely, returning to his side of the couch with deliberate casualness, though the flush on his cheeks and the darkness of his eyes betray his affected nonchalance.

He picks up the remote, unpausing the show as if nothing had happened, though his smirk gives him away.

"Two weeks starts now," he announces, reaching for the popcorn bowl again. "Hope you know what you've gotten yourself into, love."

Y/N sits up, adjusting her shirt where it's ridden up to expose a strip of her midriff, trying to regulate her breathing and ignore the persistent throb of arousal his kiss has left her with.

"I think the question is whether you know what you've gotten yourself into," she counters, settling back against the cushions with forced composure.

Harry just smiles, his eyes still on the TV screen, though she can tell he's not really watching.

"Game on, baby," he says quietly, and the simple phrase manages to sound like both a promise and a threat.

Y/N turns her attention back to the show, acutely aware of the two weeks stretching ahead of them and the man beside her who has never been good at denying himself, or her, anything they both want. As challenges go, she's beginning to think this one might be harder than she anticipated...for both of them.

But as Harry's hand finds hers on the couch between them, giving it a gentle squeeze that somehow manages to be both affectionate and suggestive, Y/N can't help but think that win or lose, the next two weeks are going to be very interesting indeed.

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Day 13 finds Y/N in the master bathroom, carefully applying mascara while silently cursing herself for what has become thirteen days of exquisite torture. The bet that had seemed so amusing, so winnable, thirteen days ago has evolved into a test of willpower that's fraying her last nerve.

She caps the mascara tube with more force than necessary, setting it down on the marble countertop with a sharp click. Her reflection stares back at her: hair styled in loose waves, makeup subtle but enhancing, wearing nothing but a matching set of black lace underwear that Harry hasn't seen yet. She's getting ready for a gala they're attending tonight, a high-profile event that will have photographers, industry executives, and other celebrities, the perfect venue for Harry to be on his best behavior.

Which is precisely why she's chosen tonight to wear her most dangerously low-cut dress.

The past thirteen days have been an escalating game of chicken, with both of them finding increasingly creative ways to test the other's resolve without technically breaking the rules of their agreement. No sex of any kind, but as it turns out, there's a vast territory of torment that falls just short of that definition.

Harry started subtly: walking around shirtless more often than usual, "accidentally" brushing against her in the kitchen, letting his gaze linger a beat too long when she emerged from the shower. But by day five, subtlety had been abandoned. He began describing in explicit detail what he planned to do to her when the two weeks were up, his voice dropping to that gravelly register that never fails to make her thighs clench. He'd taken to sitting unnecessarily close during movies, his fingers tracing innocent-seeming patterns on her arm or leg that somehow felt more erotic than a direct touch ever could.

Y/N had retaliated in kind. She wore his favorite shirts to bed, and nothing else. She made inappropriate noises while eating ice cream. She "stretched" in ways that highlighted her flexibility, reminding him of positions they'd enjoyed in the past. Once, she'd even read passages from an erotic novel aloud, claiming she was "just sharing literature" when he'd nearly broken the arm of the sofa gripping it so hard.

But despite her best efforts, Harry has maintained a maddening level of control. Oh, she's gotten to him, the evidence of his arousal has been impossible to miss on multiple occasions, but he hasn't cracked. Hasn't begged. Hasn't suggested they call the whole thing off. Instead, he's matched her provocation for provocation, escalation for escalation, all while maintaining that infuriating smirk that says he knows exactly what game they're playing and he intends to win.

The most frustrating part is that Y/N is starting to think he might.

She's been climbing the walls for days now, hyperaware of his every movement, his scent, the sound of his voice. Last night, she'd actually woken from an explicit dream about him so worked up that she'd seriously considered waking him to concede defeat. Only pride had stopped her, pride and the knowledge that Harry would be impossibly smug about it for months.

The bathroom door opens, startling her from her thoughts, and Harry appears in the doorway. He's already dressed for the gala, looking devastatingly handsome in a bespoke black suit that fits him so perfectly it might as well be painted on. His hair is styled back from his face, several rings adorn his fingers, and he's wearing a subtle cologne that makes Y/N want to bury her face in his neck.

"Almost ready?" he asks, his eyes traveling over her state of undress with deliberate slowness. "Car will be here in twenty."

Y/N turns to face him fully, leaning back against the counter in a pose that emphasizes her lace-clad curves.

"Almost," she confirms, watching his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. "Just need to put on my dress."

Harry's eyes darken as they linger on the black lace covering her breasts, the matching underwear that sits low on her hips.

"New?" he asks, his voice slightly rougher than it was a moment ago.

Y/N nods, running her fingers along the lace edge of her bra in a gesture that's obviously adjusting but is actually pure provocation.

"Thought I'd treat myself," she says with affected casualness. "Do you like it?"

Harry's jaw tightens visibly, his knuckles whitening where he grips the doorframe.

"It's nice," he manages, the understatement of the century given the heat in his gaze. "Very...appropriate for a charity event."

Y/N laughs softly, pushing off from the counter and moving toward him, toward the bedroom where her dress is laid out on the bed.

"The dress is appropriate," she corrects him, stopping when she's close enough that he can smell her perfume but not quite touching. "This is just for later."

The implication hangs in the air between them: later, when the bet is over, when the two weeks have passed and all restrictions are lifted. Tomorrow marks the end of their agreement, and they both know it.

Harry's eyes never leave hers as he steps aside to let her pass, but not quite far enough that she can avoid brushing against him. The brief contact sends a jolt through Y/N that's almost embarrassing in its intensity.

In the bedroom, her dress waits on the bed: a floor-length black gown with a slit that reaches mid-thigh and a neckline that plunges daringly low. It's elegant enough for the event but designed specifically to drive Harry to distraction.

She's aware of him watching as she steps into it, pulling it up over her hips and adjusting it over her chest. The fabric clings in all the right places, the cut revealing just enough skin to be tantalizing without crossing into inappropriate territory.

"Zip me?" she asks innocently, turning her back to him and gathering her hair to one side.

There's a pause, just long enough for her to wonder if he'll refuse, before she feels him move behind her. His fingers brush the bare skin of her back as he takes hold of the zipper, and Y/N has to bite her lip to suppress a shiver.

Harry pulls the zipper up with deliberate slowness, his knuckles grazing her spine inch by torturous inch. When he reaches the top, his hands settle briefly on her shoulders, warm and solid.

"You look stunning," he murmurs, his breath tickling the sensitive skin just below her ear.

Y/N turns to face him, finding him closer than she expected, close enough that she can see the various shades of green in his irises, the slight dilation of his pupils.

"Thank you," she says, her voice softer than she intended. "So do you."

For a moment, they just stand there, the air between them charged with thirteen days of built-up tension and wanting. Y/N finds herself swaying slightly toward him, drawn by the magnetic pull that's always existed between them but seems exponentially stronger now.

Harry's gaze drops to her lips, and she thinks, hopes, that he might kiss her. It wouldn't break their agreement; kissing wasn't explicitly banned. But before either of them can move, the doorbell chimes downstairs, their driver, right on time.

Harry steps back, clearing his throat and adjusting his jacket.

"We should go," he says, his voice rougher than usual. "Don't want to be late."

Y/N nods, reaching for her clutch on the dresser and taking a moment to compose herself. When she turns back to him, she's wearing a smile that she hopes conceals just how close she was to throwing the entire bet out the window.

"One more day," she reminds him as they head downstairs, her tone deliberately light. "Think you can make it?"

Harry glances at her, a slow smile spreading across his face that's equal parts challenge and promise.

"I'm not the one who needs to worry about making it," he counters, his hand coming to rest on the small of her back as they reach the front door, a touch that's perfectly appropriate but somehow feels like a brand through the thin fabric of her dress. "You've been watching the clock since day ten."

Y/N scoffs, even as she acknowledges the truth of his statement.

"I've been perfectly fine," she lies, stepping outside into the cool evening air. "You're the one who took three cold showers yesterday."

Harry laughs, the sound low and knowing as he guides her toward the waiting car.

"Four, actually," he admits without a trace of embarrassment. "But who's counting?"

As they slide into the backseat of the sleek black car, Y/N is acutely aware of the minimal space between them, of Harry's cologne filling the enclosed space, of the fact that they have an entire evening of public appearances ahead before they can return home.

One more day. Twenty-four more hours. She can do this.

But as Harry's hand finds hers in the darkness of the car, his thumb tracing small circles on her palm in a gesture that's somehow both comforting and maddeningly erotic, Y/N isn't entirely sure which of them is winning anymore, or if either of them is.

What she does know is that tomorrow can't come soon enough.

---

The charity gala is being held at one of London's most prestigious hotels, the grand ballroom transformed into a glittering wonderland of lights, flowers, and champagne. The moment they arrive, they're swept into the social current: photographers calling Harry's name, industry acquaintances stopping to chat, waiters offering flutes of champagne and delicate hors d'oeuvres.

Harry is, as always, the consummate professional, charming, attentive, generous with his time and attention. His hand rarely leaves the small of Y/N's back, a possessive touch that both grounds her in the chaos of the event and serves as a constant reminder of the tension simmering between them.

Two hours in, Y/N excuses herself to visit the ladies' room, needing a moment away from the constant press of bodies and the even more distracting presence of Harry at her side. She's just finished touching up her lipstick when her phone buzzes with a text.

It's from Harry: You've been gone for 7 minutes. Starting to think you're avoiding me.

Y/N smiles despite herself, typing back: Just fixing my makeup. Why, missing me already?

His response comes immediately: Always. But especially when you're wearing that dress.

She's about to reply when another text appears: The things I'm thinking about doing to you right now would definitely get me uninvited from future charity events.

Heat blooms in Y/N's cheeks as she reads his words. She knows she should ignore the bait, continuing this line of conversation will only make the evening more torturous for both of them, but she can't resist.

Care to elaborate? she types back, her heart rate accelerating slightly.

There's a pause before his response appears, long enough that she thinks perhaps he's been pulled into another conversation. Then her phone buzzes three times in quick succession:

I'm thinking about taking you into one of those private rooms upstairs.

Pushing that dress up around your waist.

Seeing if those new black panties taste as good as they look.

Y/N inhales sharply, her fingers tightening around her phone. The crude directness of his words, so at odds with the polished, charming persona he's presenting to the gala attendees, sends a jolt of arousal straight through her.

She takes a moment to compose herself before responding: 13 days and 22 hours. Still think you're going to win this bet?

His reply is immediate: I know I am. You're the one who's going to break, baby. I can see it in your eyes every time I touch you.

The confidence in his text both irritates and excites her. Y/N checks her reflection once more, ensuring her composure is intact, before heading back to the ballroom.

She spots Harry immediately, he's always easy to find in a crowd, his height and presence drawing the eye naturally. He's engaged in conversation with an older couple, but his attention shifts the moment she enters his field of vision. Their eyes lock across the room, and the heat in his gaze makes her breath catch.

Y/N makes her way toward him, accepting a fresh glass of champagne from a passing waiter. As she approaches, Harry excuses himself from his conversation and meets her halfway.

"Everything alright?" he asks, his public voice polite and concerned, though his eyes tell a different story.

"Perfect," Y/N assures him, taking a deliberate sip of her champagne. "Just needed a moment."

Harry nods, his hand finding its customary place at the small of her back.

"They're about to start the speeches," he informs her, guiding her toward their assigned table near the front of the room. "Should only be about forty minutes of people thanking other people for giving them money."

Y/N laughs softly at his irreverent summary, allowing him to pull out her chair before he takes his seat beside her. As they settle in for the speeches, his hand drops casually to her knee beneath the table, a touch that could be interpreted as purely affectionate to anyone watching.

But then his fingers begin to trace small, maddening patterns on her skin just above the knee, occasionally venturing to the sensitive area where her thigh meets the edge of the table. It's not high enough to be inappropriate, but it's distracting enough that Y/N finds it difficult to focus on the speaker who has taken the stage.

Two can play at this game, she decides, placing her hand on Harry's thigh in what appears to be a similar gesture of affection. She feels him tense slightly beside her, but he doesn't remove his hand from her knee.

Slowly, deliberately, Y/N allows her fingers to drift higher on his leg, her touch light but insistent. She keeps her expression neutral, her eyes fixed on the stage as if completely absorbed in the speech about fundraising goals and community impact.

Harry shifts in his chair, his own hand tightening slightly on her knee. When she chances a glance at him, his profile is composed, but there's a muscle working in his jaw that betrays his affected calm.

The speeches drag on, becoming a backdrop to their silent battle of wills beneath the pristine white tablecloth. By the time the final speaker concludes to polite applause, Y/N's skin feels too tight, too sensitive, and she's hyperaware of every point of contact between her body and Harry's.

As the formal portion of the evening transitions to dancing and more socializing, Harry leans close to her ear, his voice low enough that only she can hear.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asks, and the double meaning is unmistakable.

"Immensely," Y/N lies, turning her head so that their faces are inches apart. "The speeches were very...inspiring."

Harry's lips quirk in a knowing half-smile.

"Dance with me," he says, and it's not quite a request.

Before she can respond, he's standing and offering his hand, leaving her little choice but to accept or cause a scene. Y/N places her hand in his, allowing him to lead her to the dance floor where other couples are already swaying to the live band's rendition of a classic ballad.

Harry pulls her close, closer than is strictly necessary for a formal event, but not so close that anyone would raise an eyebrow. One hand settles at her waist while the other clasps hers, his thumb stroking rhythmically across her knuckles as they begin to move to the music.

"You've been driving me crazy all night," he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of her ear in a way that sends shivers down her spine. "That dress should be illegal."

"That was rather the point," Y/N admits, her free hand resting on his shoulder, feeling the solid warmth of him through the expensive fabric of his suit. "Is it working?"

Harry's hand tightens fractionally at her waist, drawing her a centimeter closer.

"What do you think?" he counters, and there's an edge to his voice that wasn't there before. "I've been hard since you walked out of the bathroom at home."

The crude admission, delivered in his smooth, cultured voice while they dance among London's elite, sends a fresh wave of heat through Y/N. She misses a step, and Harry uses the momentary stumble as an excuse to steady her, his hand sliding from her waist to the small of her back, pressing her more firmly against him.

The evidence of his arousal is unmistakable, and Y/N has to bite her lip to suppress a gasp.

"Thirteen days and counting," Harry reminds her, his voice a low rumble that she feels more than hears over the music. "Think you can last one more?"

It's a challenge, one that pride demands she meet, even as every nerve ending in her body screams for relief.

"I'm not the one making confessions on the dance floor," she points out, striving for a lightness she doesn't feel. "Sounds like you might be the one struggling."

Harry's laugh is soft and knowing against her hair.

"Oh, I'm definitely struggling," he admits freely. "But I'm also definitely going to win."

The song ends before Y/N can formulate a suitably cutting response, and they're forced to separate as the band transitions to a more upbeat number. Harry keeps her hand in his as they move off the dance floor, his thumb still tracing those maddening circles against her skin.

"Drink?" he offers, nodding toward the bar.

Y/N nods, using the moment to try to regain some equilibrium. As they wait for their drinks, she becomes aware of someone calling Harry's name, a record executive, she thinks, though she's met so many industry people over the years that they sometimes blur together.

Harry greets the man warmly, introducing Y/N with his customary courtesy. The conversation quickly turns to music, to Harry's latest album, to potential collaborations and tour dates. It's the kind of networking that's essential at events like these, and Harry handles it with practiced ease, keeping Y/N included in the conversation even as he discusses business.

But even as he talks about production schedules and studio time, his hand never leaves her, resting on her back, brushing her arm, finding her hand. Each touch feels deliberate, designed to keep her in a constant state of awareness, of wanting.

By the time they finally extricate themselves from the conversation, it's approaching midnight, and Y/N is at the end of her patience.

"I think I'm ready to go," she says quietly as they move through the now-thinning crowd. "It's been a long night."

Harry studies her face for a moment, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that makes her wonder if he can read the real reason behind her suggestion.

"Of course," he agrees, already reaching for his phone to text their driver. "We've made our appearance. Done our bit for charity."

The wait for their car feels interminable, filled with polite goodbyes to acquaintances and last-minute conversations that Harry can't gracefully avoid. By the time they finally slide into the backseat of their waiting car, Y/N's nerves are stretched to the breaking point.

The privacy partition is up, separating them from the driver, a small mercy for which Y/N is profoundly grateful as Harry's hand immediately finds her thigh, his fingers tracing the edge of the slit in her dress.

"Thirteen days," he says quietly, his voice rough with want. "Thirteen fucking days of watching you, wanting you, not being able to touch you the way I need to."

His hand slides higher, pushing the fabric of her dress aside to expose more of her leg, his fingers warm against her skin.

"Tomorrow," Y/N reminds him, her voice not as steady as she'd like it to be. "Just one more hour."

Harry's eyes are dark in the dimly lit car, his expression intense as he watches her reaction to his touch.

"One more hour," he repeats, his fingers tracing the edge of her underwear where it sits against her thigh. "Think you can make it that long, baby? Because right now, you look like you're about five seconds from begging me fuck you in the backseat of this car."

The crude words, delivered in his smooth voice, make Y/N's breath catch. She's wet, has been for hours, if she's honest, and the ache between her thighs is almost painful in its intensity.

"I'm not the one who's going to break," she insists, even as she shifts slightly, unconsciously seeking more pressure from his teasing fingers. "I've got excellent self-control."

Harry laughs softly, the sound dark and knowing.

"Is that right?" he challenges, his fingers dipping beneath the lace edge of her underwear, not quite touching where she's aching for him but close enough that she can feel the heat of his skin. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're about to come apart just from this."

Y/N swallows hard, fighting against the urge to press herself into his hand, to beg him to touch her properly, bet be damned.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" she manages, her voice breathier than she'd prefer. "For me to break first."

"I'd like to make you come," Harry corrects her, his voice dropping to a near-whisper as he leans closer. "I'd like to slide these expensive panties to the side and feel how wet you are for me. I'd like to watch your face when you fall apart around my fingers."

His words paint such a vivid picture that Y/N has to close her eyes briefly, gathering what remains of her willpower.

"Tomorrow," she says again, more firmly this time, placing her hand over his to still his maddening touch. "You've waited this long. What's a few more hours?"

For a moment, she thinks he might ignore her, might continue his delicious torment until she either gives in or pushes him away. But then Harry withdraws his hand, a rueful smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Tomorrow it is," he agrees, though his eyes still burn with unmistakable desire. "But just so we're clear, the moment it hits midnight, all bets are off."

The promise in his voice sends a fresh wave of heat through Y/N, and she finds herself checking the time on her phone: 11:33 PM. Less than thirty minutes until day fourteen officially begins.

The rest of the drive passes in charged silence, both of them acutely aware of the countdown happening in their heads. When they finally arrive home, it's 11:52 PM, eight minutes to go.

Harry helps her from the car, his hand lingering on hers as they make their way to the front door. Inside, the house is quiet, the only sound the soft click of the door closing behind them and the faint ticking of the antique clock in the hallway.

"Drink?" Harry offers, his voice carefully casual as he shrugs out of his suit jacket, draping it over the back of a chair.

Y/N shakes her head, kicking off her uncomfortable heels with a sigh of relief.

"I think I'll just head up," she says, equally casual. "It's been a long night."

Harry nods, his eyes never leaving hers as she moves toward the stairs. There's a tension in the air between them, thick enough that she could cut it with a knife, the knowledge that in less than seven minutes, their self-imposed restriction will lift, and all the desire they've been suppressing for two weeks will be free to explode.

"I'll be up in a bit," he says, loosening his tie with deliberate slowness, his eyes dark with promise. "Just going to pour myself a nightcap first."

Harry watches Y/N ascend the stairs with predatory intensity, his fingers pausing mid-motion on his tie as she disappears from view. The grandfather clock in the hallway chimes once, marking the time, 11:55 PM. Five minutes until midnight. Five minutes until their agreement officially expires.

He moves to the bar cart in the living room, pouring a finger of whiskey into a crystal tumbler with deliberate slowness. The amber liquid catches the light as he swirls it, mirroring the heat that's been building inside him for thirteen excruciating days.

Taking a small sip, he savors the burn, letting it match the fire in his veins. From upstairs comes the faint sound of movement, and Harry's imagination fills in the blanks: Y/N removing that torturous dress, her skin finally free from the confines of fabric that has been both concealing and accentuating her body all evening.

He checks his watch again, 11:56 PM.

Loosening his tie further, Harry takes another sip of whiskey before setting the glass down on the marble countertop. He's about to head upstairs when he notices something on the first step, a flash of black against the pale carpet.

It's Y/N's dress, discarded carelessly at the foot of the stairs.

A slow smile spreads across Harry's face as he approaches, picking up the expensive garment and draping it over his arm. Looking up, he discovers more items leading up the staircase like breadcrumbs: one of her earrings on the third step, its partner on the fifth, her clutch purse on the landing.

Harry begins to climb, collecting each item as he goes. The trail continues down the hallway, her bracelet here, her necklace there. By the time he reaches their bedroom door, his arms are full of her belongings, and his blood is running hot with anticipation.

Then he sees it, the final piece of her ensemble, hanging provocatively from the doorknob like a flag of surrender: those black lace panties that have been driving him to distraction since he first glimpsed them in the bathroom hours ago.

Harry checks his watch again, 11:57 PM. Three minutes.

He takes the underwear from the doorknob, the delicate fabric warm from her body and still carrying her scent. For a moment, he simply holds them, his control fraying at the edges as he imagines how she looked wearing them, how she looked taking them off.

With a deep breath, he pushes the bedroom door open.

The sight that greets him nearly stops his heart.

Y/N is stretched across their bed, completely naked except for the black lace bra that matches the panties now clutched in his hand. Her hair spills across the pillows, her eyes dark with desire as they meet his. She's positioned herself deliberately, one leg straight, the other bent slightly at the knee, creating a silhouette that emphasizes the curves of her body in the warm glow of the bedside lamps.

For a long moment, Harry simply stands in the doorway, drinking in the vision before him. Thirteen days of restraint, of torturous near-misses and deliberate teasing, have honed his desire to a razor's edge. She's never looked more beautiful to him than she does right now, waiting for him, wanting him, challenging him with the directness of her gaze.

"You've made quite a mess," he finally says, his voice rough as he gestures to the collection of discarded clothing and jewelry in his arms. He sets everything down on the dresser, careful with her dress but less so with the rest, his attention already returning to her. "Leaving your things all over the house."

Y/N shifts slightly on the bed, the movement causing the light to play across her skin in a way that makes Harry's mouth go dry.

"I was in a hurry," she replies, her voice carrying a hint of breathiness that betrays her affected casualness. "Besides, you found them all, didn't you?"

Harry's lips curve into a smile that's equal parts amusement and hunger as he begins to unbutton his shirt, his movements unhurried despite the urgency thrumming through his veins.

"I did," he confirms, shrugging the shirt from his shoulders to reveal the toned expanse of his tattooed chest and abdomen. "Including these."

He holds up her panties, dangling them from one finger before tossing them aside to join the growing pile of discarded clothing.

"It seemed like the most efficient way to get your attention," Y/N admits, her eyes following the movement of his hands as he unfastens his belt, pulling it through the loops of his trousers with a soft hiss of leather against fabric.

"You've had my attention from the moment I met you," Harry counters, his voice dropping lower as he steps closer to the bed, still in his trousers but bare-chested now, the dim light accentuating the definition of his muscles and the dark lines of his tattoos. "You've had my undivided attention for thirteen days and twenty-three hours."

He checks his watch again, 11:58 PM. Two minutes.

Y/N follows his glance, her lips curving into a knowing smile.

"Still counting down?" she asks, sitting up slightly, the movement causing her breasts to shift enticingly beneath the black lace of her bra.

"To the second," Harry confirms, his eyes darkening as they trace over her body. "Two minutes until I can touch you the way I've been dying to for two weeks."

He moves to the edge of the bed, close enough that Y/N can feel the heat radiating from his skin, but he doesn't touch her, not yet. Instead, he stands there, looking down at her with an intensity that makes her breath catch.

"Unless," he continues, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, "you want to admit defeat now."

It's a challenge, one last attempt to win their ridiculous bet, but they both know it doesn't really matter anymore. The anticipation has become its own form of foreplay, the countdown adding an edge to their desire that makes the eventual release all the more explosive.

Y/N laughs softly, the sound slightly breathless as she shakes her head.

"One minute and thirty seconds," she counters, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. "I think I can wait."

Harry's smile is slow and deliberate, a promise of what's to come.

"Can you?" he asks, reaching out to trace one finger along the edge of her bra, not quite touching her skin but close enough that she can feel the heat of him. "Because from here, it looks like you're already desperate for it."

Y/N's breath hitches at the near-touch, her body responding to his proximity with a wave of heat that she couldn't suppress if she tried.

"You're one to talk," she retorts, her eyes dropping pointedly to the visible evidence of his arousal straining against his trousers. "You haven't exactly been the picture of restraint yourself."

Harry chuckles, the sound low and dangerous as he moves onto the bed, positioning himself above her without letting their bodies touch, a feat of control that costs him visibly in the tension of his muscles, the tightness of his jaw.

"One minute," he murmurs, his face inches from hers, close enough that she can feel his breath on her lips. "One minute until I make you forget your own name."

The crude promise sends a fresh wave of arousal through Y/N, and she has to fight the urge to close the distance between them, to pull him down on top of her and end this torturous game once and for all.

"Big talk," she manages, her voice not quite steady as his eyes bore into hers. "Let's see if you can deliver."

Harry's laugh is soft and knowing.

"Oh, baby," he breathes, his lips brushing against her ear in a touch so light it might be imagined, "I've been planning exactly how I'm going to fuck you for thirteen days straight. Trust me, I'll deliver."

The clock on the nightstand shows 11:59 PM. One minute.

They both watch the seconds tick by, the air between them charged with anticipation so thick it's almost difficult to breathe. Harry remains poised above her, their bodies separated by mere inches of electrically charged space, neither willing to be the first to break.

The digital display changes: 12:00 AM.

For a heartbeat, neither moves, and then Harry's control snaps with an almost audible crack.

His mouth crashes down on hers with bruising intensity, thirteen days of pent-up desire unleashed in a kiss that's more claiming than caress. Y/N responds instantly, her arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer, her body arching up to press against his with desperate need.

"Fucking finally," Harry growls against her lips, his hands everywhere at once, tangling in her hair, cupping her breast through the lace of her bra, sliding down to grip her hip with possessive force. "Do you have any idea what you've been doing to me? Two weeks of watching you, wanting you, not being able to touch you..."

His words dissolve into another kiss, this one deeper, wetter, his tongue sliding against hers in a rhythm that mimics what they both desperately want. Y/N moans into his mouth, her nails digging into his shoulders as she pulls him fully on top of her, reveling in the weight of him, the heat of his skin against hers.

"Show me," she gasps when they break apart for air, her eyes dark with challenge and desire. "Show me exactly what I've been doing to you."

Harry's eyes flash dangerously, his hands moving to the clasp of her bra with practiced efficiency.

"Oh, I plan to," he promises, stripping the lace from her body and tossing it aside, his gaze hungry as it rakes over her newly exposed flesh. "I'm going to show you exactly what happens when you tease me for two fucking weeks straight."

His mouth descends to her breast, taking one nipple between his lips and sucking hard enough to make Y/N cry out, her back arching off the bed. His hand finds her other breast, kneading and pinching with just the right amount of pressure to walk the line between pleasure and pain.

"Harry," she gasps, her hands sliding into his hair, holding him to her as he lavishes attention on her sensitive flesh. "Please, "

"Please what?" he murmurs against her skin, his teeth grazing her nipple in a way that sends sparks shooting down her spine. "Tell me what you want, baby. Tell me what you've been thinking about for the past two weeks."

Y/N is beyond pride now, beyond the teasing game they've been playing. Thirteen days of buildup have left her desperate, aching, wet enough that she can feel it on her thighs.

"Your mouth," she admits, her voice breaking as his hand slides down her stomach, his fingers tracing patterns on her skin that edge closer and closer to where she needs him most. "I want your mouth on me."

Harry's smile is wicked as he raises his head to meet her gaze, his eyes dark with desire and triumph.

"Where exactly do you want my mouth, Y/N?" he asks, deliberately obtuse as his fingers dance along the crease where her thigh meets her hip. "Here? Or here?"

He presses a kiss to her collarbone, then lower, to the valley between her breasts.

"Lower," Y/N breathes, beyond embarrassment, beyond anything but the desperate need for release after thirteen days of exquisite torture.

Harry continues his downward path, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her sternum, her ribs, the sensitive skin just below her navel. Each touch of his lips sends fresh waves of heat through her body, building the tension to nearly unbearable levels.

"Here?" he asks, his breath hot against her hip bone as he settles between her thighs, his shoulders pushing her legs wider apart.

"Harry," Y/N groans, frustration and need making her voice sharper than intended. "Stop teasing."

His laugh is dark and satisfied against her skin.

"But teasing is what you do best, isn't it?" he counters, his hands gripping her thighs firmly, holding her open for him. "Isn't that what the past two weeks have been about? Seeing how far you could push me before I snapped?"

Before she can formulate a response, he finally,  finally, puts his mouth where she's been aching for it, his tongue flat against her center in a long, deliberate stroke that has her crying out, her hips bucking against his hold.

"Fuck," Harry groans against her, the vibration adding another layer to the sensation. "You're so fucking wet. Have you been like this all night? Sitting next to me at that fancy dinner, your pretty pussy dripping while you pretended everything was fine?"

The crude words, delivered in his cultured voice, send another jolt of arousal through Y/N. She's always been affected by his filthy mouth, the contrast between his public persona and the raw, unfiltered way he speaks to her in bed is intoxicating.

"Yes," she admits, beyond shame, beyond anything but honesty as his tongue circles her clit with deliberate pressure. "All night. All week."

Harry hums his approval, the sound reverberating against her most sensitive flesh as he settles into a rhythm designed to drive her mad, alternating between broad strokes of his tongue and focused attention on her clit, occasionally dipping lower to tease at her entrance without ever giving her what she truly needs.

Y/N's hands find his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as she tries to guide him where she wants him most, but Harry resists, maintaining control even as he pleasures her.

"Harry, please," she gasps, her thighs trembling with the effort of staying open for him as the pressure builds to almost unbearable levels. "I need, I need, "

"What do you need, baby?" he murmurs against her, his eyes dark with desire as he looks up the length of her body, taking in the flush spreading across her chest, the desperation in her expression. "Tell me."

"Your fingers," Y/N manages, her voice breaking as his tongue flicks against her clit with just enough pressure to make her see stars. "Inside. Please."

Harry's smile is wolfish as he slides one long finger into her, groaning at the way she clenches around him immediately.

"So tight," he murmurs, adding a second finger alongside the first, curling them in a way that makes Y/N's back arch off the bed. "Is this what you wanted? My fingers inside this pretty pussy while I suck on your clit?"

To emphasize his point, he wraps his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking gently as his fingers continue their relentless rhythm inside her.

The dual sensation is overwhelming after so long without release, and Y/N feels herself hurtling toward the edge with embarrassing speed. Her thighs begin to shake, her breathing becoming erratic as the pressure builds to an almost painful intensity.

"That's it," Harry encourages, his voice rough with his own arousal as he watches her come apart beneath him. "Let go, baby. Show me how much you've missed this."

His fingers curl more firmly against that spot inside her that he knows drives her wild, his tongue flicking rapidly against her clit, and Y/N shatters with a cry that might be his name or might be just a wordless sound of release. Her body convulses around his fingers, waves of pleasure washing over her with an intensity that leaves her gasping, her vision momentarily whiting out at the edges.

Harry works her through it, gentling his touch but not stopping completely until her tremors subside and she collapses boneless against the mattress, her chest heaving with exertion.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, pressing one last kiss to her oversensitive flesh before moving up her body, his expression a mixture of satisfaction and barely restrained hunger. "Absolutely fucking beautiful."

Y/N reaches for him with still-trembling hands, pulling him down for a kiss that tastes of herself and desire. She can feel him hard against her thigh, still confined within his trousers but unmistakably ready.

"Your turn," she breathes against his lips, her hands moving between them to unfasten his remaining clothing. "I want to feel you inside me."

Harry groans, helping her push his trousers and underwear down his legs before kicking them off entirely, leaving him finally, gloriously naked against her. The first press of skin against skin is electric, drawing matching gasps from both of them as thirteen days of anticipation culminate in this moment.

"How do you want me?" Y/N asks, her voice husky with lingering pleasure and renewed desire as she wraps her hand around his length, stroking him with deliberate slowness.

Harry's eyes darken at her touch, his hips jerking involuntarily into her grip.

"Every fucking way imaginable," he growls, capturing her wrist to still her movements before he loses what remains of his control. "But right now, I need to be inside you. Need to feel you come around my cock."

He positions himself between her thighs, the blunt head of his erection pressing against her entrance, teasing but not yet pushing inside. His eyes lock with hers, intense and questioning despite the crude directness of his words, always checking, always making sure she's with him.

"Yes," Y/N breathes, wrapping her legs around his waist to pull him closer, urging him on. "Please, Harry, I need you."

It's all the permission he needs. With one smooth thrust, he buries himself inside her, both of them groaning at the sensation of finally, finally being joined after what feels like an eternity of waiting.

"Fuck," Harry gasps, his forehead dropping to rest against hers, his breathing ragged as he fights for control. "You feel so good. So fucking perfect around me."

For a moment, neither moves, both savoring the feeling of completeness, of rightness that comes from being connected this way. Then Y/N shifts her hips slightly, a silent plea for more, and Harry responds with a deep, rolling thrust that makes her gasp.

"Thirteen days," he murmurs against her neck, setting a rhythm that's neither gentle nor rough but somewhere in between, deep, deliberate strokes that hit exactly where she needs them. "Thirteen days of watching you walk around in those little shorts, those tight dresses, knowing I couldn't touch you the way I wanted to."

His pace increases slightly, his hands sliding beneath her to grip her ass, changing the angle in a way that has Y/N seeing stars with every thrust.

"Thirteen days of cold showers and jerking off in the bathroom like a fucking teenager," he continues, his voice rough with exertion and desire. "Thirteen days of imagining this, being inside you, feeling you come apart around me."

Y/N's nails dig into his back, leaving crescent-shaped marks in his skin as she meets him thrust for thrust, her body already building toward another peak despite having just come minutes before.

"Show me," she challenges, her voice breaking as he hits a particularly sensitive spot inside her. "Show me what thirteen days of waiting has done to you."

Something in Harry's expression shifts at her words, a final thread of control snapping as he gives in completely to the desire that's been building for two weeks. His thrusts become harder, deeper, more demanding as he pushes her thighs wider apart, angling her hips to take him even deeper.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" he growls, his voice barely recognizable with need. "To push me until I couldn't take it anymore. Until I had to have you, had to be inside you, had to make you feel every second of those thirteen fucking days."

Each word is punctuated with a thrust that drives the breath from Y/N's lungs, pleasure building so intensely that she can barely form coherent thoughts, let alone words. All she can do is hold on, meeting his intensity with her own as they chase release together.

"Tell me you missed this," Harry demands, one hand sliding between them to circle her clit with his thumb, adding another layer to the overwhelming sensations coursing through her. "Tell me you thought about it every day, every night, just like I did."

"I missed it," Y/N gasps, honesty torn from her by pleasure and need. "Missed you, missed this, thought about it constantly, "

Her words dissolve into moans as the combination of his cock inside her and his thumb on her clit pushes her rapidly toward another orgasm, this one building even more intensely than the first.

"That's it," Harry encourages, his rhythm faltering slightly as his own control frays at the edges. "Come for me again, baby. Let me feel you."

His thumb presses more firmly against her clit, circling in time with his thrusts, and Y/N shatters with a cry that might be his name or might be just a primal sound of release. Her inner muscles clench around him in rhythmic pulses, drawing a guttural groan from Harry as he follows her over the edge, his hips jerking erratically as he empties himself inside her.

For long moments afterward, they remain joined, both breathing heavily, bodies slick with sweat and satisfaction. Harry's weight is a comforting pressure on top of her, grounding her as the aftershocks of pleasure gradually subside.

Eventually, he rolls to the side, bringing her with him so that she's sprawled across his chest, their legs still tangled together. One of his hands comes up to stroke her hair, the gesture tender in contrast to the intensity of their lovemaking moments before.

"Worth the wait?" he asks after a while, his voice rough but tinged with amusement.

Y/N laughs softly against his skin, pressing a kiss to the tattoo over his heart.

"Definitely," she admits, raising her head to meet his gaze. "Though I'm not sure I'd want to do it again anytime soon."

Harry's smile is slow and satisfied as he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch gentle now that the urgency has passed.

"No?" he teases. "And here I was thinking we could make it a monthly tradition."

Y/N swats at his chest playfully, earning a laugh that rumbles beneath her cheek.

"Absolutely not," she declares firmly. "Two weeks was more than enough abstinence to last me a lifetime."

Harry's expression softens as he looks at her, something warm and tender replacing the heat that had consumed them both minutes earlier.

"Agreed," he murmurs, pulling her closer for a kiss that's gentle but no less passionate for its softness. "Besides, I can think of much more enjoyable ways to spend our time."

His hand slides down her back in a caress that's appreciative rather than demanding, both of them too spent for anything more at the moment but content in the knowledge that they have all the time in the world to explore each other again.

"No more bets," Y/N mumbles against his chest, already feeling the pull of sleep after the emotional and physical intensity of the evening.

Harry chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as he pulls the duvet over them both.

"No more bets," he agrees, his voice warm with affection and satisfaction. "At least, not ones that involve keeping my hands off you for any length of time."

Y/N smiles against his skin, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lull her toward sleep, secure in the knowledge that the torturous two weeks are finally, blessedly over, and that neither of them is likely to suggest anything similar anytime soon.

As for who won the bet? In the end, it hardly seems to matter anymore.

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

Taglist: @triski73 @angeldavis777 @ivegotthecinema @bethiegurl19 @sstylezzz @spargelhund @myfavefanficsever @spinnic

[feinzleclerc]

𝐅inally a yes | Charles Leclerc

summary :: Where you finally accept Charles' proposal.

word count :: 1.090 words.

It was hard to believe that Formula 1 had become your life. Since you were little, fast cars and the stories behind the drivers had always fascinated you. Growing up in a family where Sunday mornings meant mandatory race-watching certainly helped. But simply watching wasn’t enough—you wanted to be there, part of that world. That desire drove you to study sports journalism, always with the goal of one day covering the pinnacle of motorsport.

Your first big break came when a small European motorsports website hired you to cover the junior categories. During that time, you met Charles Leclerc. He was on the rise, racing in Formula 2 and impressing everyone with his talent. Although you didn’t spend much time together back then, Charles had a charisma that was hard to ignore. He was kind, polite, but with a hint of sarcastic humor that made every conversation unforgettable.

You were always in front of him, the interviewer. It wasn’t intentional; you were simply following orders. But soon, you became a familiar face to Leclerc—not just your face, but your name as well.

Years later, your dedication finally led you to what once seemed like an unattainable dream: working directly with Formula 1. Now, as a reporter for a global network, you traveled the world covering races. Life was hectic and full of challenges, but one thing—or rather, one person—made everything even more complicated: Charles Leclerc.

From the day you crossed paths with Charles again in the paddock, he never missed a chance to start a conversation. At first, it was just quick remarks between interviews, casual exchanges. But over time, Charles became more direct, throwing in flirtatious comments disguised as jokes.

— You know you can interview any driver, yet you keep coming back to me. It’s fate, ma chérie — he’d say with that confident smile that made you laugh despite yourself, even as you rolled your eyes in response.

Your friends in the paddock quickly picked up on the dynamic between the two of you, especially Gasly and Norris, who never missed an opportunity to tease.

— Charles, how many times are you going to get turned down before you give up? — Pierre would mock, while Lando chimed in: — I think he likes the challenge. More exciting than overtaking Max on track.

You’d just shake your head, trying to ignore their comments, but sometimes you couldn’t help but laugh, which only encouraged Gasly and Norris further. To them, your laughter was like a sign—one that you weren’t entirely shutting Charles out.

This wasn’t the first time, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Despite Charles’ countless attempts, you always had a ready excuse for not accepting his invitations: work, commitments, exhaustion... But deep down, the real reason was fear—fear of complicating your already chaotic life. Mixing work and romance wasn’t a path you wanted to tread lightly.

Everything changed during the Monaco GP. It was the most glamorous race on the calendar, and the city’s atmosphere seemed to conspire for something different. Charles, of course, seized the moment.

— You’re in Monaco, my city, and you still haven’t seen the best spots. I think it’s the perfect time to finally say yes — he said, wearing that confident look that always threw you off balance.

For some reason, your mind worked differently that day. Lately, you’d been wondering what might happen if you did accept one of Charles’ invitations. A thought struck you like a pang in your heart: you’d never know what could truly happen unless you gave it a chance.

— Alright, Charles. I’ll go. But only because you won’t stop insisting. — Liar.

His grin was so wide it was like he’d just won a race. — You won’t regret it, I promise.

When you finally saw yourself in the mirror wearing that dress, it hit you—you had agreed to a date with none other than Charles Leclerc. If someone had told you this back in the Formula 2 days, you’d never have believed them.

Charles made sure to plan everything. He picked you up at the hotel, dressed in a crisp white shirt that was both stylish and casual, contrasting with the excitement in his expression. The destination? A small seaside restaurant, far from Monaco’s bustling crowds.

— I wanted a place where we could really talk, without distractions — he explained as you walked to a table overlooking the water.

— That’s exactly what I had in mind for this... outing — you smiled.

— Away from the media?

— Definitely.

The conversation flowed naturally. Charles shared stories about his childhood in Monaco, how he started racing, and the challenges he’d faced along the way. You, in turn, talked about how your passion for Formula 1 began and the behind-the-scenes aspects of your job.

— I’ve always admired your determination — he said, his tone suddenly serious. — Not only did you make it into this world, but you’ve stood out. That’s not easy, especially for someone so... captivating.

You felt your cheeks heat up at the compliment, but before you could respond, Charles shifted the mood with a playful comment about how he deserved credit for being so persistent in getting you to that dinner.

After the meal, Charles suggested a walk along the harbor. The night was clear, and the city seemed to glow even brighter under the moonlight. He led you to a quieter spot where yachts were anchored, away from the main activity.

— Did you know my first karting win happened right here? — he said, pointing to a spot near the harbor. — I was just a kid, but that day changed everything for me.

— Maybe tonight will change everything too — you replied without thinking, immediately regretting it when you saw the smile spreading across Charles’ face.

Charles stepped closer, shaking his head. — Maybe it will.

The silence that followed was broken only by the sound of waves lapping against the boats. Before you could say anything, Charles leaned in slightly, his gaze locked on yours.

— May I? — he asked, his voice low, filled with anticipation.

You nodded, and the kiss that followed was soft yet meaningful, as if all the tension between you had finally found its resolution.

That night, something truly changed. For the first time, you stopped resisting how you felt about him.

[ldydeath]

My Heaven | Kwon Ji-yong (G-Dragon)

Summary: Jiyong wants to marry you.  Warnings: None. Author’s Note: This is short sappy fluffy fic in honor of Valentine's Day.

Today was your five year anniversary and Jiyong wanted to make today as special as possible. It was no secret that the man was crazy about you, he only told you every chance he got. Which is why tonight at dinner, he was going to propose to you. Jiyong had been talking about marriage for a long time now, bringing it up in interviews. Tonight had to be perfect. Jiyong didn’t know what he’d do if you said no. He wasn’t going to think about that right now, he had too many other things to prepare than to think about the worst case scenario. 

You had been given very clear instructions to pamper yourself that day, mani, pedi, buy a new outfit, all at his expense and then meet Jiyong at the restaurant for dinner. You weren't stupid, or at least you hoped you weren’t. Men didn’t usually drop such large hints when they were about to propose but Jiyong couldn’t keep a secret to save his life. Not that he’d said anything, but he was good about dropping the biggest, most obvious hints. You’d had butterflies in your stomach all day as you pampered yourself for your big date. There was nobody else in the world for you and you couldn’t wait to spend the rest of your life with your soulmate. 

“Hi you.” You grinned at your boyfriend as you walked into the restaurant.

You took note that it wasn’t the fanciest place you’d imagined but you trusted Jiyong, whatever his vision was you knew you’d see it soon.

“Hi.” He grinned, standing up to greet you with a kiss.

He was nervous, something he’d never been good at hiding but you hoped you could reassure him throughout the night that you knew and it was an easy yes. He had to know this was all you’d ever wanted, since the first day you’d met him. He was special, he was amazing, he was yours. Who wouldn’t want to be with him for the rest of their life? 

“How was your day?” You couldn’t help but laugh at the question, and he raised a brow in response. You shook your head taking a sip of your wine.

“It was good, how was yours?” He leaned back in his seat, a smirk on his lips.

“It was good.” 

As you two ate, he continued to tease you, asking questions and watching your disappointed reactions every time. This was definitely more fun than leaving hints around the house for you. Not that he didn’t have more tricks up his sleeve, because of course he did. He cleared his throat as he finished eating and leaned over the table, a card dangling from his fingers. You eyed it suspiciously before taking it from his fingers. 

“What’s this?” You looked up at him before eying the card again trying to make sense of the address on it.

“Meet me there in twenty minutes.” His eyes scanned your body, before he tilted his head to look down at your shoes. “Might want to change those.” He stood up, adjusted his coat and walked over to you, planting a kiss on your cheek. “I’ll see you soon. Dinner’s already paid for.” He winked at you before walking out of the restaurant. 

What the fuck? This man was going to drive you insane but you couldn’t help the grin from spreading across your face. The address he’d given you was to one of your favorite spots in town and you couldn’t wait to get there. You had time though, it was an easy five minute drive to the location and you didn’t want to arrive early. He too needed to be kept guessing. 

You pulled up at the park and made your way through the entrance, not sure where to go when you spotted a faint glow off in the distance. Your stomach was currently doing summersaults, why were you nervous? It was only the moment you’d been waiting for for nearly five years. Spotting Jiyong standing in the middle of the courtyard you smiled as you made your way to him. 

He’d lined up the circle with roses and twinkling lights, making it look like a scene straight out of a fairy tale. Which it was, every day with Jiyong had been a fairy tale. You couldn’t help but smile when you saw him. His face lit up and he grinned at you.

“Took you long enough.” You rolled your eyes as you stopped in front of him. 

“Had to change my shoes, remember?” He smirked at your comment, pleased that his trick had worked. "What's all this?" You knew the answer, but you needed him to say it.

Grabbing your hands in his, you offered him a reassuring squeeze. Your eyes stayed locked on his, trying to memorize every detail of this moment. Which was getting difficult with the way he was looking at you. He always looked at you like you were the only person on the planet but this was different, somehow. More intense, more love than you’d ever remembered seeing. 

“You are by far the best thing to ever happen to my life. I knew when I met you that you were different, I wasn’t prepared for how you were going to come in and flip everything upside down. Everyday's an adventure with you, I genuinely have no idea what’s going on in that brain of yours or what you’ve got planned for us and I wouldn’t want it any other way.” He paused, pulling a box out of his pocket, your breath catching in your throat as he smirked at you before kneeling down on one knee. “I had so many things prepared to say to you but I’m afraid if I don’t ask you now I’ll chicken out. I want to spend the rest of my life trying to make you as happy as you make me, will you marry me?” 

You stood there for a minute trying to get the words to come out, all you wanted to do was yell yes a thousand times but you couldn’t get the words to come out. You nodded your head frantically and Jiyong grinned at you as he moved to slide the ring on your finger. 

“Yes, yes…a million times yes.” You cried as you threw your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. He laughed before covering your lips with his. “Oh my god, I’m going to be Mrs. Dragon” you squealed as you pulled away, bringing your hand up to your face to examine the ring. Not that you cared at all about the design, you only cared about the man it belonged to.

Jiyong laughed, shaking his head as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, leading you back through the park. “Maybe we should try Kwon.” He teased and you shook your head. You’d tell him some other time that you would be requesting all your friends to call you Mrs. Dragon from here on out. He was the one that said he liked you keeping him guessing anyway. 

“I love you.” He sighed into your hair as he planted a kiss on your forehead, opening your car door in one swift moment. God, he was so hot when he oozed this natural confidence.

  “I love you too, Mr. Dragon.” You leaned up pecking his lips and he rolled his eyes as you slid into your car. 

He had the rest of his life to argue with you about names. If you wanted to be Mrs. Dragon, he’d call you that, whatever you wanted. He was going to spend the rest of his life spoiling you. 

tag list: @wcnderlnds, @alosss-blog@sooyasya@dprvivi@infinetlyforgotten @mirahyun @loveesiren

[motherismotheringggg]

rhythm & heat

summary: you and nicholas are co-stars in a fun and innocent PR relationship, the chemistry was already there so it just feels natural but something shifts when you, him and cast go out.

type: fem! reader x nicholas (i tried add some of Nicholas’ POV per my friend’s suggestion, it’ll be in red to stand out)

tags/warnings: 18+, fingering, oral (m! receiving), unprotected sex (wrap your willy yall) and creampie

author’s note: i’m having sooooo much fun writing again so thanks to everyone who’s been encouraging me to do it. i used to write in college and now that im 27 (almost 28 in january) it’s good to get back into it. i wanted to do something while im working on slow burn pt. 3 so i hope yall like it!!!!

🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩

The bass pulsed through the club, sending ripples of heat and sound through the packed dance floor. Neon lights flickered overhead, casting an electric glow over the scene as bodies moved in sync with the music. The air was thick with anticipation, the kind that made everyone buzz with energy, like something wild could happen at any moment.

You and your co-star, Nicholas Chavez, were out celebrating the wrap of the second season—a well-deserved break after months of filming. The first season had been a hit, with fans and critics alike praising your performances and the chemistry you brought to your characters. And of course, that chemistry hadn’t gone unnoticed. Rumors about the two of you had been swirling since the first season, with fans speculating about what might be going on off-camera.

And they weren’t completely off. Your and Nicholas’s teams had decided that hinting at a romance would be the perfect, harmless way to build buzz for the next season. You weren’t usually one for gimmicks, but you both thought it’d be fun, and honestly, with the chemistry you two shared on screen, the idea didn’t feel far-fetched. Playing at “dating” off-screen just felt natural.

There were moments on set where the boundary between acting and reality seemed to blur. In one particularly intense scene, you and Nicholas’s character finished having sex and his hands roamed in a way that made sense for the character but caught you off guard, you leaned in to commit to the scene but you remember leaving the set that day with your heart fluttering.

Off set, at interviews and press events, the playful banter you shared made the rumors almost impossible to deny. During one red carpet appearance, when a reporter asked what Nicholas liked best about working with you, he leaned close and, in a low voice, said, “She makes me forget we’re acting.” The reporters loved it, and you could feel your cheeks warm under the spotlight.

Even your off-duty moments seemed to fuel the rumors. You remembered the night you and Nicholas went to see Sabrina Carpenter in concert and to avoid the crowds, you were escorted through hidden elevators in the arena. One of the elevators was especially small, so when you were pushed inside with security guards and crew, space was tight. Somehow, you ended up in the back corner, pressed chest to chest with Nicholas, his arm slipping around your waist to pull you closer.

When you joked about it later, he laughed, claiming he was just “making room” for everyone. But you couldn’t ignore the way his hand lingered at your waist during the two-minute ride—or how, when you shifted to get more comfortable, you felt his hardness through his jeans.

There were countless other moments and with another press run coming up, it just felt like you were still both “in character” all the time but for tonight, you just wanted to dance, let loose, and get ready for another thrilling media cycle. You, Nicholas and a few costars decided to go out to a boiler room club in the city. None of you had planned on playing into the rumors tonight, but as the crowd grew, Nicholas slipped into “boyfriend” mode without a second thought. His hand found your waist, guiding you through the crowd; he held your hand, lingered close, and let his touches drift to intimate places whenever you danced or laughed together.

The night felt electric. Drinks flowed freely, adding a warm edge to the pulsing bass that reverberated through the walls and floor. Your group had claimed a private section overlooking the dance floor, with a perfect view of the swirling neon lights below. Fans would catch glimpses of you and the cast, looking up with wide smiles, waving, and cheering to show their love. Some even made heart shapes with their hands or mouthed “We love you” as they danced. Every now and then, Nicholas would slide his arm around your waist, pulling you close for a quick fan photo or to lean in as he spoke over the music, his breath grazing your ear.

Nicholas could hardly keep his eyes off you. Even in the chaos of the club, you stood out—like a spark in the dark, drawing him in. The energy around you, the way you moved, the way you threw back your head to laugh at something your friend said… it made his chest feel tight. He’d been watching you for a while now, unable to shake the feeling that tonight was different.

At first, it was all casual, harmless fun. But as the night wore on and the drinks kept coming, you couldn’t help but notice a shift. Nicholas’s touches lingered a little longer, his fingers resting at your waist even when the picture was done or the conversation had shifted. The way he looked at you changed too—his gaze softened, his words slower, and his attention focused entirely on you, despite the crowd around you both.

When the group began to dance, he stayed close, his hand brushing yours, fingers grazing along your arm, almost as if testing the waters. As the music thumped, he moved nearer, his chest pressing lightly against your back, his hand slipping down to rest at your hip. Every touch, every shared laugh, felt charged, and you could feel the tension building in each small gesture. You’d been close to him before, but this was different—the alcohol, the music, the night itself seemed to bring out something more raw.

His thoughts became a blur of want, fueled by the subtle way your lips parted as you looked up at him. The pull was irresistible, drawing him closer as he traced his fingers along the small of your back, letting his thumb graze your hip in a possessive but tender gesture. He was intoxicated, not just by the alcohol but by you, by the way you felt so effortlessly right in his arms.

As you danced, his heartbeat quickened, his breaths shallow and erratic. He wondered if you knew what you were doing to him—how just being close to you made it feel impossible to think straight. Every touch, every whisper, was like fuel to a fire that had been smoldering since the moment he’d met you. He couldn't ignore it any longer, the way you’d somehow slipped beneath his skin. He wanted all of you—the quick wit, the mischievous grin, the soft vulnerability he saw in your eyes in quieter moments on set. And tonight, he wanted you in a way that left no room for pretense or careful boundaries.

You two were dancing face to face, the music vibrating through your chest as you moved in sync. Nicholas leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear, the warmth of his breath sending a jolt of heat through your body. His voice was low and smooth, a touch playful, as he whispered, “How’s my girl feeling tonight?”

His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you in closer, pressing your bodies together as if there was any space left between you two. You could feel the solid muscle of his chest against yours, the strength in his arms as they wrapped around you, grounding you in the moment. The heat of his touch lingered where his fingers gently grazed the curve of your waist, sending a wave of electricity through your skin.

You were attracted to Nicholas, no doubt about it. Up close, he was all intense, striking features that seemed made for this low, pulsing light. His deep-set brown eyes held a mischievous spark, the kind that always kept you guessing and a little on edge, even when the cameras weren’t rolling. His jawline was sharp, almost sculpted, and as he looked down at you, the soft stubble along it caught the neon glow, adding an edge to his otherwise boyish charm.

As you looked up, his tousled dark hair fell a bit across his forehead, framing his face in a way that softened his piercing gaze. His lips, full and inviting, curled into a subtle smirk as he looked at you, as though he knew exactly what kind of effect he had. You felt his fingers shift at your waist, his thumb tracing small, almost hypnotic circles against your hip, bringing a flush to your skin.

Despite the undeniable attraction, you hesitated to lean into whatever Nicholas was offering. Playing “relationship” was fun, but you knew getting involved with a co-star was a risky move. You flashed him a playful smirk, your voice teasing as you responded, “Your co-star is doing fine.” You took a small step back, creating just enough space to break the intensity between you two. But it wasn’t enough to stop the flirtation—you secretly hoped he’d pull you right back in.

He wasn’t having any of it. “Stop playing with me,” Nicholas groaned, his voice taking on that low, almost dangerous tone you couldn’t ignore. He leaned back down, his face just inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. “You know I want you.”

His words sent a thrill coursing through you, the heat of his breath making your pulse race. Despite the hesitation, you could feel your body betraying you, urging you to close the space between you two again. His head lingered by your ear, his lips brushing against your skin, just barely a touch, sending a spark through you. Before you could pull back, his lips grazed the sensitive spot near your neck, planting soft, lingering “innocent” kisses.

The kisses were feather-light, almost teasing, yet each one felt like a jolt of electricity. They were gentle but purposeful, just enough to make your knees weaken and your womanhood tremble. His closeness, the warmth of his skin against yours, was intoxicating, and with every soft kiss, you found yourself craving more.

With a few sharp breaths and low moans, he knew he had you. The sound of his name on your lips, barely above a whisper, was all the confirmation he needed. You tilted your head to the side, offering him your neck, giving him full access to your skin. His hands, on your waist, pulling you even closer, his body flush against yours.

He didn’t hold back. His lips moved with confidence now, kissing the delicate curve of your neck with more urgency. Each kiss was deeper and more insistent, the pressure of his mouth leaving a trail of heat and need in its wake. His tongue darted out, tracing the sensitive skin beneath your ear, sending a shiver of desire straight through your body.

You could feel him smiling against your skin, sensing the way your body responded to his touch—how you instinctively leaned into him, drawn to the heat between you. His hands, bold and sure, roamed lower, the pads of his fingers grazing the curve of your back, sending a shiver of pleasure through you. The sensation was soft at first but quickly turned more intense, his touch growing bolder, more confident with each passing second. Every moment between you two felt like a slow burn, the anticipation building as his lips trailed over the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

Then, when he shifted, you felt it—his hardness brushing against your thigh. The contact sent a wave of heat straight through you, an electric shock that heightened every nerve in your body. It was enough to make your pulse race, enough to make you realize how much you wanted him in that moment.

Without thinking, you reached down, your fingers gently grazing over the fabric of his pants, feeling the outline of him. The pressure of his body against yours, the growing heat between you two, made you want more—made you want to make him feel just as desperate for you as you felt for him.

You could feel the quickening of his breath, the way his chest rose and fell against yours. A low groan rumbled from his throat as you continued to trace his length, every brush of your fingers sending a thrill through both of you. His hands tightened around your waist, pulling you even closer, as though he couldn’t get enough of you either.

Without another moment passing, Nicholas grabbed your hand, his fingers tight around yours, pulling you through the crowded space. He moved with purpose, guiding you down the secret hallway the cast used to get into the club, away from the prying eyes and flashing lights. Each step seemed to quicken the pulse between you, the anticipation building with every turn. You felt his grip firm on your hand, but also the heat radiating off him, as though he couldn't wait any longer.

With just a few more steps, you found yourselves in the private dead-end hallway. It was dim, secluded—perfectly private. Before you could process what was happening, Nicholas had you pressed up against the cold wall, his body pinning you in place. The urgency in his movements left no room for hesitation as he slammed his lips onto yours, the kiss fierce, demanding. His mouth claimed yours with a hunger that mirrored your own, lips moving against each other as if he couldn’t get enough.

His hands weren’t idle either. One moved to your waist, gripping you tightly as if to keep you exactly where he wanted you, while the other traveled lower, finding its way to the waistband of your panties. His touch was deliberate and heated, and in an instant, his hand slipped beneath the fabric. His fingers brushed the sensitive skin just above them, the contact sending a shock of heat straight through you.

You gasped into his mouth, the electricity of his touch overwhelming, making every part of you ache for more. His fingers continued to tease, moving with slow, deliberate pressure, testing the limits of your restraint. He continued to rub and massage your sweet spot while you moaned and squirmed against his kiss. He pulled away just enough to watch you under his power.

From his vantage, you were a vision—utterly captivating in every response. He loved the way your eyes fluttered closed, only to open halfway, trying to find his gaze but faltering under the intense pleasure he was giving you. The way your teeth sank into your lip, trying to hold back the sounds you couldn’t suppress, only spurred him on. Each flick of his fingers brought a fresh wave of moans and whines, soft and breathy, laced with his name in barely-contained pleas. Hearing you beg him to take things further, to lose himself with you completely, made him feel invincible. He knew he had you right where he wanted, and he was savoring every moment.

You planted one last, deep kiss on his lips before sinking to your knees in front of him, never breaking eye contact. Nicholas’ gaze darkened, his breath catching slightly as he watched you with a mixture of anticipation and hunger. Your hands moved with urgency, unbuckling his belt and undoing his pants, your fingers grazing over the heat radiating from his body. As you freed him, he let out a soft groan, his gaze fixed on you, filled with both awe and impatience.

His hands instinctively found their way to your hair, tangling in it gently as you looked up at him, the connection between you electric and unspoken. The way he was watching you—intense, with a mix of excitement and restraint—made your pulse race. His pupils were dilated, his breathing uneven, and you could see the anticipation building in his expression as he waited, every part of him attuned to your next move.

As you leaned closer, he tightened his grip, his fingers brushing against your scalp, guiding you but letting you set the pace. You started slow, savoring every moment, every reaction, feeling his muscles tense and hearing his breaths turn to low, needy moans. His chest rose and fell heavily as he fought to keep control, his head tilting back slightly as he surrendered to your touch, murmuring your name in a rough, breathy tone that only made you want him more.

Every time you paused to swirl your tongue around his tip, Nicholas' whole body tensed, his breathing turning shallow as he let out a low, drawn-out hiss. The sound of your name on his lips, mixed with whispered curses, filled the air. He couldn’t help himself, alternating between breathless moans and deep, husky praises. “God, you’re such a good girl,” he murmured, his voice filled with a raw, admiring intensity. “You look so beautiful taking me like this.”

With each word, his grip in your hair tightened just enough to keep you where he wanted. His hands were steady, yet you could feel the slight tremor in his fingers as his need for you grew. Finally, he held your head in both hands, his gaze locked on yours, guiding you with a slow, deliberate motion. He pushed himself deeper, filling your mouth as his hips rocked in rhythm, pressing him to the back of your throat. The sounds escaping him were desperate yet controlled, each ragged breath carrying his satisfaction.

“Look at me, baby,” he whispered, his voice dropping to a breathy, gruff murmur, thick with desire. “Let me see those pretty eyes.” His gaze was commanding yet filled with an undeniable admiration, and as you met his eyes, he let out a deep, shuddering breath, fully captivated by the sight of you. The connection between you was intense, wordlessly conveying his appreciation for everything you were giving him, every shiver and sigh pulling him closer to the edge.

Your throat tightened slightly as you tried to take all of him, a small gag escaping despite your best efforts. Nicholas chuckled softly, a low, satisfied sound, and his hand moved to gently tap your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with a subtle affection that made your heart race. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, pride evident in his tone.

His hands slid down to your shoulders, pulling you up to meet him, and the moment your lips touched, he captured you in a deep, consuming kiss. It was passionate, full of hunger and appreciation, and he groaned against your mouth, relishing in the taste of you. He leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes filled with a soft, smoldering intensity. “You did so good, baby,” he whispered, his voice rough yet tender. “You looked so perfect, taking me in… just like I always knew you could.”

Each word sent a wave of warmth through you, and his hands stayed on your hips, grounding you, his gaze never straying from yours. He ran a thumb over your bottom lip, still swollen from your efforts, his gaze filled with both desire and genuine admiration as he traced your features, savoring every moment and every breath shared between you.

Nicholas could feel the anticipation radiating off you, your body responding to his every touch and move. He knew just how much you wanted him, and he wanted to give you everything you craved. With deliberate slowness, he turned you around, pressing you gently forward. His hands slid up your thighs as he lifted the hem of your dress, savoring the soft, heated skin beneath. In one fluid motion, he pulled down your panties, his lips still trailing along your neck and shoulders, leaving a trail of warm, lingering kisses that made your breath quicken. He groaned into your ear, his voice low and thick with desire, reveling in the way your back arched, your body silently pleading for more.

“I wanna make you feel so good,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. His hands roamed over your hips as he positioned himself behind you, letting his tip trace over your folds, teasing you until you were trembling in his grasp. The first sensation of him entering you made your breath catch, a shudder running through both of you as he filled you, slow and deep. You instinctively moved in sync, bodies finding a perfect rhythm, every thrust sending a wave of pleasure through you.

Nicholas buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath coming in rough, heated gasps as he lost himself in the moment, savoring every pulse and movement of your body against his. You reached back, threading your fingers into his hair, giving it a gentle tug, and he let out a breathless whimper—a sound that only made you ache for him more. His need to be in control fueled you, but there was something thrilling in the way he let you pull him back, every now and then, giving you the slightest taste of control.

You guided one of his hands from your hip, pressing it down between your legs. He understood immediately, his fingers finding and massaging that sensitive spot, adding another layer of intensity to your connection. He quickly obliged, his touch skilled and deliberate, and you felt yourself unraveling under the dual sensations, every nerve heightened, every thought fading into pure, unfiltered bliss.

Nicholas’s pace quickened, and with every movement, he brought an intensity that made you lose yourself further with each second. His hands roamed your body, seeking out every place that could make you unravel under his touch. One moment he’d slap your ass, and in the next, his fingers wrapped around your neck, adding a delicious pressure that only heightened the sensations. He reached between your legs, his fingers brushing against your heat, before gently tilting your head, exposing more of your neck so he could plant hungry, open-mouthed kisses there. The air around you both grew hotter, more electric, and you could feel that familiar pressure building, bringing you both to the brink.

He leaned into your ear, his voice thick with need, a hint of desperation woven into it. “I want to cum for you, baby,” he breathed. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

Your voice came out in a shaky whisper, overcome by the sensations he was giving you. “Let’s do it together. I’m so close,” you pleaded, feeling yourself hovering right at the edge. His thrusts stayed steady but powerful, his head buried against your neck, breaths hitching and moans deepening. His grip on your hips tightened, guiding your body to match his rhythm perfectly, every stroke hitting deeper, more intense.

Nicholas, always the performer, could feel just how close you were, but he wanted to hear it. His voice was a low, teasing growl. “Tell me how much you want me, baby,” he commanded. “Tell me how good this feels… tell me who you belong to.” With each demand, his movements became more forceful, every stroke making you lose control a bit more.

He was close too, a raw intensity filling each thrust, and just before the finish, he grabbed a handful of your hair, pulling your head back to make sure he felt every shudder of your response.

“Are you ready, baby?” he gasped, his tone shaky as he was right on the edge. You tried to say his name, but the feeling was so intense, it came out as a breathless, pleading sound. You nodded, barely able to form words as your body responded, every nerve lit up as you both finally reached your climax.

As he spilled into you, the sensation sent waves of warmth through your entire body, making you moan out, your voice just barely above a whisper but full of satisfaction. Your body shuddered, every nerve still singing from the overwhelming release.

Even as you tried to catch your breath, he gave you a few more slow, teasing thrusts, drawing out every last tremor until you were completely undone. Each lingering movement kept you in the moment, his body still pressed firmly against yours, leaving you weak and trembling beneath him.

A satisfied smirk played across his lips as he felt you react, your legs shaking as his hands traveled slowly up your sides, grounding you through the aftershocks. He murmured in your ear, his voice low and full of pride, "You’re so fucking hot when you cum...just like I always imagined" His fingers traced gentle circles along your waist, savoring how soft you felt under his touch.

With a final, breathless sigh, you turned to face him, pressing your forehead to his as he caught his breath, his thumb grazing softly over your cheek.You both stayed like that, basking in the warmth between you, as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close, leaving soft kisses along your shoulder and neck, his way of savoring every last moment.

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

Aussie Slang || Tom Blyth x Actress!Reader

Summary: You quiz Tom on set on some Australian slangs as his Aussie gf ;)

A/n: Inspired by the interview between Sydney Sweeney and Joe Davidson, also bc as an Aussie this was fun to do lol 🙈

Warnings: none

Wc:

actress!reader au masterlist

Divider by @pommecita

"Tomm" You enter your shared trailer with your phone in hand, recording. "Yes, darling?" Tom looks up from his script as he gives you a smile and slightly confused face as he looks towards your phone. "I'm going to test your knowledge on aussie slang and words," You set up your camera on the table in front of him as he pulls you by your waist to sit on his lap.

He touches your hair that were in hair rollers as you smile at his buzzed hair, your favourite look on him. "I feel like I'm going to be absolutely terrible as this," He points out as you chuckle, fixing your camera. "I know, especially since I don't really say some of the stuff I'm going to quiz you on," You giggle as he throws his head back.

"That's even better," He sarcastically says with a smile as you pull out a small note book with the things you wrote down. "Okay, first one, are you ready?" You hype Tom up as he nervously looks at you. "This one is an easy one, I say it all the time. She'll be right"

You hide your smile behind the notebook as he thinks, "She'll be right?" You nod at him, "When have you said this?" He looks at you dumbfounded as your jaw drops, "Tom! I say this all the time, I even said it just this morning!" "I was half asleep this morning!" He reasons as you cover your face and laugh.

"This morning you told me it was going to be colder today and you said to bring my jacket remember?" "Yeah..." "Well I said she'll be right and I regretted not bringing one so you gave me yours. There you go, I just gave you a hint!"

Tom's mouth forms an o shaped, "Doesn't it just mean it's all good?" "Yes!" You chuckle. "Okay, that was an easy one" Tom smiles as you give him a look and look to the camera shaking your head. "Okay next one, I don't really say this to you but when I'm talking to my sister on the phone, you might hear me say this one: scoenonn"

Tom gives you the weirdest look as you laugh so hard tears started to form. "I'm sorry could you repeat that?" Tom looks absolutely baffled. "Scoenonn." You say in your Australian accent one more time as he shakes his head. "Is that even english?" He quietly laughs to himself as he thinks hard. "I say this to my sister when I greet her sometimes," You give him a hint.

"I actually have no idea," Tom says, his finger drawing circles on your back. "It just means what's going on" You laugh as Tom pulls another baffled expression. "Why can't you just say what's going on instead of what you just- How do you even spell that!" You show your notebook to Tom as he furrows his eyebrows at the spelling.

"Scoenonn. Wow." He chuckles to himself. "For this one I'm going to have to actually find it around here,” you look around the trailer before getting off Tom's lap and running into the bedroom and to your bedside drawer pulling it out. "Babe, what's this?" You show him a tub of vaseline as he gives you an odd look. "Vaseline?" He says in a questioning tone as he gives you space to sit back on his lap.

"Yes, but what do Aussies call this?" You hold it up to him before applying it to your lips as he watches you intently. "Uh-" "I think I have said it to you when I ask you where it is," Tom rubs his chin as he thinks. "Is it something completely whack and doesn't make sense?" He asks as you shake your head.

"This is fun," You giggle as you look to your phone. Tom lets out a groan of frustration, "Can you just tell me?" "Fine. Vaso. We call it Vaso" You couldn't help the smile that was forming on your lips as he shakes his head and laughs.

"You aussies sure do like shortening things up," He points out as you laugh at his comment. "Okay second last one, "What is a bottle-o." "A bottle-O? Is that just a a type of bottle?" You shake your head, "Nope." "Uhm, is it a name of a shop in Australia?" "You're getting there!" You chuckle.

"Want me to put it in a sentence?" You asks as he nods, "Do you wanna come with me to the bottle-o and pick out a few beers?" Your aussie accent comes through as he smiles at you accent. Tom absolutely adores your accent and could listen to you talking all day if it mean hearing your accent.

"A bottle shop?" He guesses as you pat his shoulder. "Good job babe," You grin as you flip the page of your notebook. "Okay last one, If you don't get this one, your aussie fans are going to be so disappointed as well as your girlfriend." You tease him.

"Aussie Aussie Aussie," You watch him as he repeats it to himself before his eyes light up. "Oi oi oi!" He chants back as the two of you burst out laughing. "Yes!" You wrap your arms around his neck as his arms wrap themselves around your waist. "This was fun wasn't?" You say as you lean forward and grab your phone, aiming it towards you two in each others embrace.

"Maybe I should quiz you on some British slangs, see how you go," Tom looks at you with a smile on his face as you make eye contact with him, "I'd be so good at that love," You chuckle before ending the video. You posted it on your Instagram and it blew up. Tom kept his promise of testing you on British slangs and that video also became very popular which then turned into your little thing of quizzing the other cast members.

[amangoicedtea]

Something new

Hi! I have never written anything like this or posted on tumblr like this so sorry if it is not very good, I tried. Also wrote this about the flames game because I am not well about the mustache being gone, so just imagine it is still there.

Sidney Crosby x reader

Warnings: none

Read below:

“Are you sure?” Sidney asked for what felt like the 100th time. 

“Yes… I’m sorry, I’m just not ready,” she said, “I will still be watching, I promise.”

“Okay, I’ll see you later, yeah?” He walked out the door leaving you alone in his apartment, that he is lovingly letting you crash at. You know he did not like leaving you alone, but he felt better with you being at the house, his house.

The game didn't start for another couple hours so you decided to read while you wait. It was relaxing just laying in his bed while his cat sat with you, very domestic. Moving in was not something the two of you had discussed, still early in the relationship, but he had been leaving hints around, like an extra key and wishing you would stay the night rather than leave. Not that you were upset by it, a hockey player with a cute ass cat, yeah no fight necessary. But there was always going to be something in the back of your mind a little worried about the relationship. Sidney is 37 while you are 26, not a child by any means, but an eleven-year age gap might raise concerns by fans. That was the reason you weren't going to the game tonight and just stuck with watching it in his house. The age gap was a sore spot for the two of you, because while Sidney was never a very public man, especially with his love life, he still wanted you to feel comfortable going out with him and going to games, which is why it was so hard to turn him down every other day.

When enough time passed, the game was starting, cozied up in bed with Maverick watching the national anthem being sung. The penguins were playing the flames at home tonight, with the penguins on a hot streak, it should be an interesting game. Luckily, the win streak continued with a 2-6 Penguins win, Sidney got an assist so he should be happy. Once more time passed after the game ended and the post-game interviews started, Sidney appeared again looking smiley and happy after the win. Zoning out to his voice, you fight to stay awake, the best solution is to get up and get something to eat so you don’t fall asleep while you wait for Sidney. 

Hours later, after you ate and read some more of your book, you hear the door being unlocked. Sidney comes down the hall towards his room where he knows you are at and smiles. He hates that you wait up for him, but secretly he loves being able to talk to you once he gets home. 

“That was a great game, Sid!”

“Yeah I am pretty happy about it,” he says while doing his cute little half smile. “Happy to be home though.”

“I’m happy you are home too, maybe next game I’ll go see you play,” you add sheepishly.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I like watching you play here but I know seeing it in person would be amazing,” you said, “and I have been thinking about it, and I think I might be ready to not hide anymore, I trust you, and it's not like you would make a big instagram post or anything.”

“Thank you,” he says, quickly he goes and changes and crawls right back in bed, “that would be everything I need.” 

[olgiisworld]

The interview // Choi Seungcheol

summary; you and Seungcheol have been a public couple on the media, both of you big artists, him being the leader of the group named Seventeen. Things have been a little rough lately due to lack of communication. You're invited to talk on a podcast about your recent achievements, but when your personal life is mentioned as a topic, you get bitter, and you don't manage to hide it. But how about the consequences?

Y/n x Seungcheol of Seventeen, genre: angst, frustration and unfairness with a hint of fluff in the end.

Word Count; 4,476 (oopsie)

Warnings; swearing

note; it took me months to finish this (mostly because of loss of inspiration, so you might notice inconsistency), but it's nothing special. Although you might like it :) I'd love to see comments! thank you for your support on my Beomgyu one-shot <3 smoochies ♡

it's been a while i've felt like shit. it's been a while i've felt more welcome to talk to the wall than talking to Seungcheol.

talking to Seungcheol seemed so hard for some reason. all we've been doing is fighting or ignoring each other. and that would be okay, if we didn't have each other's house keys.

it is hard to maintain a relationship that happened to go public, when none of you planned it. both me and Seungcheol being public figures really sat bad, especially with his constant need of privacy.

but it is hard. we can't just not leave the house.

that's mostly the reason we've been fighting.

everyday was a circle.

i return back to his apartment, where we had a silent agreement to meet everyday after work. my body and mind exhausted from all the work i've put in the studio. frustration seeping through my body, because of the disagreements i've had with the rest of my colleagues. concern, pain, fatigue, everything coming together, creating this unpleasant expression on my face. i know i seem cold.

but he just sits there. slumped on his couch. eyes fixed on the familiar black box. he cares enough to say "hey, how's work?", but not enough to ask about how I am. so i just shrug my shoulders and walk past him.

that's my life with my 'oh-so-wanted' boyfriend.

i'm a starved woman.

starved from love, from affection, from tenderness, from touch.

just touch.

his touch.

he hasn't touched me in god knows how long. all i get are dead kisses.

the repetition of each day made me feel angry, frustrated, pained, disappointed. made me feel like i was not worthy of him.

and the worst thing is that i cannot communicate my thoughts with the person i love.

he seems so stressed with his upcoming tour, that giving him one more reason to yell will only break him.

so i suffered in silence.

last week's fight was interesting.

a photo of us shopping together started making its way around social media. Seungcheol hated social media. and we both looked quite miserable in the photos, but i don't know if he noticed.

he yelled at me for not being careful enough.

apparently, i was the reason they saw us and they took those fucking pictures. like i enjoy being on strangers' camera rolls.

and i yelled back.

and we fought.

again.

damn it.

i cried so hard and he didn't even try to comfort me.

he didn't even touch me.

he didn't.

he didn't try to reach out.

he wouldn't even touch my hand by mistake.

i was so fed up.

so fed up of not feeling desired by the only person i loved..

the week passed, the same circle repeating itself.

i started going back to my house after work. Seungcheol didn't even try to ask why. he only said "i get that you might need space".

I am the one who needs the space?

i didn't even argue back. i knew where this was going and i felt like i was finally ready.

today, i had an interview.

nothing huge, just a small podcast. friendly podcast.

i wore comfortable clothes and hid my fatigue behind foundation and blush. i was okay with pretending like everything was fine.

it only broke my heart that people assumed "i am the happiest i've ever been". because people can only make assumptions. people only see the pictures. people only see the smiles, the kisses. or even the fatigue. but, "oh, everything is okay, she's got her man".

but what about Seuncheol?

people saw that he was stressed. people saw that he's probably not happy. people really had the audacity to say "i'm not good enough for him"!

like, fuck they know? they know nothing

and he never said anything. he never addressed those comments.

why?

because he believes that "what people say are bullshit"

but it sounded more like i'm not worth a small clarification.

i grabbed my keys and phone, closed my door and headed to the podcast set up.

everything was really friendly.

Alex, a familiar face of mine, would host the show.

i've happened to meet her before, at after-parties and gatherings, so we had talked before. everything was comfortable.

the podcast started shortly after and the talk was great. we also had a drink and a girls' talk that actually helped me take my mind off of my stress.

at one point, she turned to look at me when i sipped a little of my drink.

"so, um, i just.. i wanted to ask a few things, i know you don't really talk about your personal life, and that's why the questions are quite.. generic? you know.. of course, you can tell me to stop"

i felt some concern wash over me, as to what the consequences of this conversation could be. but i shrugged it off with a soft chuckle as i fixed my posture, leaning a little closer to the microphone.

"no, don't worry about it, shoot"

she smiled and read the notes of her phone, taking a quick sip of her drink as well.

''so, what is it like to be in a relationship?"

she looked at me with a small smile.

and all i could do was huff, trying to find an adequate answer.

i leaned back to the microphone.

"honestly? really hard"

Alex shot an eyebrow up in surprise.

"really? why, girl? is it hard for two great artists to live up to everyone's expectations?''

she chuckled and i just shook my head in thought.

i tried to put my thoughts in a row. it's hard to express everything i feel to someone after being so.. alone.

but i felt frustrated and fed up at the moment.

i fidgeted a little on my seat.

"i don't know.. it's not like there are no hardships in a relationship anyway.. it's just.. you can't find a way out of a hardship without communication, or respect. or understanding. there are many elements that have to balance out the hardships of a relationship, you know? at least that's how i view it"

i shrugged, my implication clear.

Alex caught my glimpse.

she nodded and looked at her phone shortly.

"that is really interesting, but everything can work out with love and patience"

i nodded, my smile a little bitter

"i guess.. i can't really tell you"

she tried to play it off with a small chuckle and i forced a smile

"i know you guys don't talk about your relationship, and privacy request is respected. but, not even posting moments on social media.. that's amazing. i actually admire that. it shows how strong your bond can be."

i chuckled, bitterness lingering on my laugh.

"not really. i wouldn't mind posting a picture or two. privacy is very much needed, but it's not like we have something to hide, or something to be so private about.. anyway, i really don't think it's that serious. but everyone has their own point of view."

she nodded, not wanting to pry on the matter, since she noticed my uneasiness.

she read of her notes again.

"does he inspire you to write?'

the question felt like a stab to the heart.

i couldn't say 'he used to'

and i couldn't say 'no' either

but i didn't want to lie.

i took a deep breath, trying to collect my words. i leaned on the microphone one more time.

"i don't really get inspired by real people.. mostly fictional characters, fictional situations.. nothing real. i used to find material from real life but.. i guess, my style changed"

i shrugged and forced a chuckle, trying to shake the feeling off.

Alex nodded and put a smile on her face.

"alright then, let's move on.."

i let out a breath i didn't even know i was holding. i took a sip of my drink, feeling quite relieved that we moved on from that topic.

the rest of the podcast went great, but i was tired and i couldn't wait for it to end.

as soon as we were done, i shook hands with Alex, she informed me about the slight editing she wanted to do, she thanked me and i thanked her back. she said that the episode would be out by the end of the week. i smiled and thanked her for having me. and i left.

i returned to my miserable apartment. the silence defeaning.

i hadn't seen Seungcheol in a week, but he didn't really seem to care.

i just left my shoes and coat next to the couch. i had lost my appetite completely.

i sat on the couch and took my phone in my hand.

i checked some of my messages and i saw Seungcheol's name among the notifications.

'Hey, is everything okay'

again.

not how I am. not if I am okay.

he really didn't give a damn about me.

i texted back a 'fine, no worries' and threw my phone at the end of the couch.

i started crying.

the only thing that comforted me was the sound of my own crying.

i hugged my arms around me and fell back on the couch. i was lost. i needed navigation. and he couldn't fucking give it to me.

[...]

Friday.

i headed back to my car after a long exhausting session at the studio. once i fastened my seatbelt, i grabbed my phone to check on some missed calls. a notification came in, saying that my podcast with Alex was out. i smiled excitedly, and turned it on to listen on my way back home. i texted her shortly and i threw my phone next to my driver's seat. i just concentrated on the road, the podcast being a pleasant background sound.

the drive back home was short, sadly. i just picked up my stuff, my phone still playing the podcast, as i walked back to my door.

i walked in, throwing my stuff on the couch, taking off my shoes and running to the kitchen, to grab some water.

when i walked in, i saw Seungcheol leaned against the counter, arms crossed on his chest, expression serious to mad.

my whole face went white when i saw him.

"fuck! you scared me.. what are you doing here?"

i was so shocked he was in my kitchen, probably more than i should, considering that he is my boyfriend.

he took a deep breath before i heard his voice.

"what the fuck? seriously. you're the one who's shocked here."

i looked around, confused by his words. i shrugged my shoulders.

"i guess.. i don't usually find you hiding in my house.. especially after not seeing you for a whole week.."

he scoffed. he didn't leave me any room for reaction.

"and you haven't even tried to reach out for a whole week.. but i guess, that's okay. relationships don't work without communication, like you said."

his words confused me even more.

i realized that what he quoted were my words on Alex's podcast. Now everything made sense.

i walked a little closer.

''are you seriously mad about this bullshit?''

his eyes widened

"bullshit? you say that calling me out is bullshit? telling EVEYONE how you feel, except from me, bullshit?''

my own eyes widened at his words

"what?"

his lips narrowed down, his madness more visible.

"what do you fucking mean with what? you literally let every fucking idiot know what's going on between us!"

he yelled

i looked at him in shock before processing to react with a scoff

"are you serious? what, how? by telling people that i'm having hardships in my relationship?"

he took a step closer

"you could have told me! me! not everyone! making everyone believe that we suffer!"

my head tilted in pure curiosity.

"which.. we don't?''

i asked, so simply.

he looked at me, his fingers running through his hair.

"that's not the point, the point is that you let everyone-"

i couldn't bear to listen so i yelled back

"i thought you didn't give a shit about what everyone thinks! you're such a hypocrite!"

he looked at me in shock

his eyes filled with disappointment.

"you literally implied that i don't love you."

my own eyes filled with anger and hurt.

"what do you fucking mean? you mean to tell me that i'm wrong? that everything is fine? that we don't fight every single time we try to talk? that we communicate just perfectly? that you don't ignore me? that you don't act like i am a stranger? no, i'm sorry, my mistake. you would touch a stranger, even if it was a fucking accident!"

he stayed there, in front of me, his face emotionless. he just heard what i said. or dogded my words, either way, he reacted the same.

"you implied that i don't fucking love you."

at this point, i felt helpless. fed up. rock-bottom. i just shook my head and let my tears slip from my eyes.

"Seungcheol, you don't love me. and i don't care. i have accepted it."

he cracked a hint of emotion, as he lightly flinched

"what are you even saying?"

i wiped my tears quickly.

"that you're a coward. that's what i'm saying."

he took a step closer, tilting his head confused.

"how am I a coward? you're the one who went and told everyone what we're going through! and you didn't even bother to tell ME something!"

i couldn't listen, i couldn't just stand there and listen.

I let out a cynical chuckle.

"and I thought you didn't even bother to watch my interviews.. guess i'm wrong"

I wiped my tears.

he seemed even more mad.

"of course I watch your stuff, but even if I didn't want to, everyone has been sending me this stupid podcast since it came out! everyone found a chance to make fun of me!"

i replied with the same anger.

"well, sorry, but you had to take a taste of your own medicine! do you even know what people say about us online?! do you? do you know what it's like to read that I'm not good enough for you, that I don't deserve you? do you even know how everyone fucking praises you, but all of them downgrade me? do you, Seungcheol? I've been living like this for the past 1 year and I never, ever complained to you about it. Because you always kept saying that YOU don't give a fuck about what people say! so fuck you, Cheol!"

my tears were running like a river at this point, but the mad expression on his face was driving me insane. his eyebrows relaxed a bit.

I made a move to leave, not wanting to have another fight. but, something I wouldn't expect, he grabbed my wrist and stopped me.

i pulled my hand away.

"no! don't you fucking dare touch me now! I've had enough! enough! you hear me? you're so cheap! you're embarrassed that everyone knows about your relationship not working, but you don't even care enough to fix this mess! fucking coward.."

he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, before he grabbed my wrist again.

he pulled me closer.

"I'm not a coward! I'm just.. stressed! really fucking stressed! and I know that you don't care-"

I stopped him.

"i don't care? I don't care?! are you stupid?!"

he tightened his grip on my wrist.

"how do you care?! you care and you don't even call me for a week? you care, but you don't tell me what's bothering you? instead, you go and talk about our problems in a podcast?"

i took a deep breath and looked at him, trying to remain calm.

"do you understand that it's easier to talk to the wall than it is talking to you?"

he swallowed down my words.

"what the fuck, y/n?"

i let out a deep breath.

i was on the verge of a mental breakdown, feeling like this conversation is the repetition of pointless yelling and arguments that were better understood by a wall.

i just shook my head, my expression full of disappointment.

"Seungcheol, i can't do this anymore."

his expression softened and he let go of my wrist, pulling his own hand back hesitantly.

his voice almost scared.

"what do you mean?"

i sighed softly, not able to hold back anymore. it was now or never. and i, unlike him, was not a coward. it was time to finally do it.

"it's not working... it can't.. it can't work... between us.."

my expectations were simple. him getting sad and disappointed or him not even caring enough to have a reaction. i surely not expected him to get mad at me, like he did.

"and you call me a coward?"

i looked at him confused. i didn't even find the chance to talk before he interrupted me.

"you're telling me that it's easier to talk to a wall, you go all out about me in a podcast, you don't text, you don't call, you don't care. and now you're breaking up with me? so, you actually don't love me."

i heard his words carefully before rolling my eyes in frustration, my reaction getting him more mad and he threw his hands in the air.

"love is not enough to hold a whole relationship up, okay-"

he yelled back, interrupting me.

"bullshit! and you know it! i love you, and i don't care if you can't see it, i care that i feel it though!"

my eyes widened slightly in shock but i managed to yell back.

"why don't you touch me?! why do you ignore me?! what have i done to you, how can you say that you love me?!"

he looked at me, his eyes mirroring the same frustration as mine did. but there was something else. the frustration was not towards me, it was towards himself.

"I don't know! i don't know! i don't know..."

his voice softened at the last 'i don't know', and i remained silent since he seemed to have a lot more to say. he let out a small sigh.

"I've been really really really stressed. really stressed. we're on the verge of canceling a world tour, our manager keeps telling us that he wants to quit, and we've lost a lot of money because of a merch company that happened to be frauds."

my mouth opened in shock at his confession.

Seungcheol never told me about any of these.

i was trying to find a reaction but i couldn't find it. so he talked instead.

"and you breaking up with me is the cherry on top. i know that i can't defend myself, and i won't sound pathetic enough to beg you to stay. if you want to leave me, it's fine. for you. i can't tie you down anyway."

his voice came out small, weak, pathetic, like he was scared to be perceived.

i managed to get my voice out.

"why didn't you say anything?"

he looked into my eyes, dead serious as he quoted me.

"do you understand that it's easier to talk to the wall than it is talking to you?"

i clenched my jaw, feeling anger instead of sympathy building up. i hit his chest, without thinking much, but he didn't even flinch. his eyes simply pierced through me.

"you're not capable of even admitting that you need me? really? i hate you!"

i felt fed up with my own self, pathetic with how miserable i was and felt. i was sad. my whole life was sad. i built a whole career that seemed to be drowning me. and my words didn't even shake his poker face.

tears streamed down my face and i couldn't control my sobs. even if i sounded pathetic, at least i was honest to my feelings.

i knew i was the reason we couldn't communicate now that we found a chance, but i was feeling too depressed to even try it.

there had been many chances in the past, and since nothing worked, this wouldn't work either. i simply cried.

he looked down for a moment, the straight line of his lips unwavering. he took a deep breath, sighing softly through his nose. i put a few strands of my hair behind my ear, while my tears were falling down like a waterfall.

i wiped as many as i could.

i knew that nothing could shake or top the tension my three simple words just created.

or at least that's what i thought, before he grabbed my chin and he kissed me.

my crying eyes opened in shock, his hand holding my lips close as his other arm creeped around me, pulling me into his embrace. the shock wouldn't let me kiss back, and i felt like he used my vulnerability to his advantage.

i felt frustrated, confused, and i pulled my head back since he held me close by my waist, trapping my hands on his chest, the feeling both new and familiar.

"i said i hate you!"

"oh shut up.."

he simply replied before pulling me back into a kiss, a hundred times more passionate than the first one. it was the first time in months that he kissed me with so much emotion. i could feel it. i could feel that he meant it. his other arm wrapped around me as well and he held me close, months after our last hug. and his embrace was so warm and nostalgic. my mind drifted to the memories of our first dates and my lips started moving against his, by instict.

my hands gently tugged on his shirt, the tears in my eyes stopping.

i felt warm.

and i hadn't felt warm like this since forever.

he kissed me with so much meaning and passion, like i would disappear if he'd let go..

after a moment, his lips moved to my jawline, placing gentle kisses along the line of it towards the spot below my ear. he placed soft kisses on my neck and his hands moved up and down my back, touching me gently. re-exploring me.

opening old wounds.

my breath became a little heavier as my mind traveled with his touch. the feeling was so new, yet so familiar to me.

i wasn't sure of what to say, how to talk.

he touched me after god knows how long.

i heard his voice, his breath tingling my neck.

"i'm so stupid.."

he simply said, but i didn't have an answer. not an an argument. he placed soft kisses on my neck, his hands traveling down my body.

"i need you so bad.. i need all of you.. in my life, forever, and right now.."

he whispered, sending chills down my spine. i haven't heard him talk like that, probably never.

"i need you right now, i love you.. i love you so much.."

he kissed my lips, his words felt like heavy prayers.

i looked into his eyes, feeling the vulnerability reaching the ceiling.

he kissed my face gently, placing a strand of hair behind my ear before cupping my cheek.

"you're the only tranquilizer i'll ever need.. i'm so sorry for never seeing it.."

he kissed my lips gently again.

i was so lost that words wouldn't even dare to come out my mouth.

but he didn't expect anything from me. he simply poured his heart out, like he hadn't done in months.

"i've been so stressed out and closed off that i didn't realize what i was doing to the only person that could help me."

his hands explored my body like he was searching for undiscovered spots.

my mouth formed a soft pout, my eyes glistening.

he pressed another soft kiss on my pout.

"baby, i'm sorry. i love you. and i'm a dick that doesn't deserve you. and i know it. i'll respect your choice to leave me."

he pressed a kiss on my cheek like a final goodbye and he softly unwrapped his arms from my body, but my hands grabbed them, almost like an instict, and i wrapped them around me again.

i kissed his lips a little more aggressively than expected by the both of us actually, and my hands cupped his cheeks. he kissed me back, without restraints.

my hands ran through his hair, softly tugging on his locks.

i broke the kiss for a breath and i talked.

"you're so stupid"

he nodded quickly, feeling breathless.

"yes, i am"

i kissed him again and i mumbled against his lips

"so stupid"

he moved his lips with more hunger as he repeated

"so so stupid"

i pulled back briefly, my chest carrying my heavy breaths, my fingers tracing the softness of his hair, his skin, leaving fire to their wake. my eyes locked in his.

i shook my head gently, processing the overwhelming emotion in my heart. i finally managed to express it.

"i love you, but you hurt me so bad"

i saw his face twisting with guilt. i knew he wasn't in a better position with all the stress he carried, but Seungcheol never meant harm. he was always a good guy. that doesn't justify his actions and i knew that, but i felt every crumb of love for him resurrecting, just because of his touch.

he spoke softly, his hands gripping on my skin.

"i'm so sorry.. i'm so so sorry.. i'll respect it if you want to leave me.."

i covered his mouth quickly, his eyes looking into mine with surpise. i sniffled softly before talking.

"i won't leave, you idiot"

he pulled my hand down, his expression more surprised and confused.

"but why?"

i sniffled again, a hint of smile that hasn't appeared on my face in months made its way on my lips.

"because i've made a mental promise to myself. i'm always by your side when you need me."

his expression turned into a melted one, his lips finding my cheek and leaving a couple of soft, loving kisses.

"i love you. i'm so sorry.''

he spoke softly, resting his forehead in mine.

i sighed softly through my nose, my emotions twirling inside of me like crazy.

"i love you too."

i added, and i closed my eyes.

he did the same.

at that time, everything felt a little more sure than usual. i clinged to that hint of hope he expressed through his words of affirmation.

my hand caressed his back softly.

why does every relationship have to go through a rough patch that leaves a part of you dead right after? you know it won't be the same. the only thing that gives you hope is the love inside you that can't die down. and i felt it, in his hug. i felt a little more sure.

[pamwritessometimes]

Tuesday’s Gone — Chapter 1

Russell Shaw x reader

Summary: When the police does little to no help to find your missing daughter, you are forced to contact Colter Shaw. What you don’t expect is how his investigation will reveal secrets about both your past and your daughter’s, in ways you never imagined.

Warnings: missing child trope

A/N: Hello, beautiful people! I know most of you are waiting for another part of my Soldier Boy SMAU, but truth to be told, I have NO idea how to continue that story yet. I’m still waiting for the fanfic muse to kiss my face and tell me what to do. In the meantime, please, enjoy this little something that will end up being a mini series.

Title’s based on Tuesday’s Gone by Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Tuesday’s Gone masterlist

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You didn't know how to breathe. It felt just like if your lungs were under a press, making it more and more impossible to get oxygen minute by minute. Never in your thirtysomething of years ever thought you’d have to experience one of the greatest tragedies of life; your daughter, your whole world, just disappeared.

The detective in front of you was muttering some words your brain couldn't really register until now.

“Miss Y/L/N, you hear me?” he asked with a hint of concern. “I need you to tell me how you found out your daughter’s missing. Any detail could be crucial.”

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You stood outside the police station, staring blankly at the pale glow of the streetlights. Inside, the officers had told you  to "stay patient", to wait for updates. They’re doing everything they can, they said.

But it wasn’t enough.

Emma was only four, too young to be out of sight for this long.

She had disappeared right from your front yard, where you had only left her alone for a few moments to grab your phone. It had been late afternoon, and the neighborhood was quiet. No strange cars. No unusual noises. 

When you came back outside (just mere seconds later) Emma was gone. 

The police had checked the neighbors’ cameras, combed through the nearby area, and interviewed everyone around. But there were no leads. No ransom demands. No nothing. They were starting to treat it like a case that could stretch on for weeks or months.

But you couldn’t wait that long.

It was already taking too much time, and your mind went to places it never ever should have. Is she still okay? Is she scared— What a stupid question, of course, she’s scared. Up until now, her world was simple; just her mother and her. 

“Miss Y/L/N” a quiet voice came from behind your shoulder. You turned and see a policeman–Lt. Candero, according to his nametag. “I know I’m speaking against ourselves, but you have to understand. We have regulations to follow. Our hands are tied. But–” he started reaching for his back pocket “I might have someone to help you” he said and handed you a card. A name and a phone number.

Colter Shaw.

“He isn’t tied down like us. His methods may be a bit… unorthodox, but he helped to find my wife’s brother a few years back when our station couldn’t. He might be able to help you.” he said quietly, then looked around to see if nobody saw this exchange. 

You understood. Recommending a–what was this man again? A tracker? Recommending a tracker, it was probably against everything his profession stood for. You quickly looked down at the card and then back up to say your thank you, but he was already gone.

Colter Shaw. At first, the name didn’t strike you as unusual. Colter Shaw. Shaw. You hadn’t thought about this name for a while. Could this be a coincidence?  

Anyway, it wasn't the time to contemplate. You needed to find Emma.

And right now, this Colter Shaw was your best chance.

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The night had settled in by the time he arrived. You watched from the window as he pulled up quietly in front of your house. You opened the door before he could even knock. 

"Miss Y/L/N?”

"Y/N” you corrected. “Thank you for coming" you said, stepping aside to let him in.

Colter gave a small nod as he entered, his eyes quickly glancing through the living room, taking in the space as though every detail might offer a clue. 

"Tell me again" he said as he sat down on the couch. It was clear he was drawing out details the police may have missed. "Everything you remember from the moment she disappeared."

You sat down on the couch next to him, clasping your hands together in an attempt to keep them from shaking. "It was late afternoon. Emma was playing with her dolls on the porch while I ran inside for just a minute to grab my phone. When I came back out, she was gone. I called for her, searched the yard, but she wasn’t there. The gate was closed. She couldn’t have left on her own." Your voice cracked as you remembered back at the ominous moment. "I searched the whole neighborhood. Cried and screamed even. No one saw her."

Colter listened intently, not interrupting you. There was something in his eyes that made you feel as if he wasn’t just absorbing the details, but he was already a few steps ahead. He was thinking of possibilities you or the police couldn’t see yet.

"There was no one around?" he asked.

You shook your head. "No strangers, no cars I didn’t recognize."

Colter nodded, as though that detail confirmed something in his mind. "This wasn’t random" he finally said. "Whoever took her had been watching. They knew your routine, her routine."

Your heart skipped a beat. Why would anyone stalk you? Or worse, why would anyone stalk Emma?  "But why? Why would anyone—"

"People take children for a lot of reasons" Colter interrupted with a careful tone. "But this feels targeted. Whoever did this knew what they were doing. And that means they’ll make mistakes. I’ll find them."

You nodded feeling a flicker of hope at his confident words. "What— what do we do now?"

"We start with the yard" Colter said, standing up. "I need to retrace what happened. Look for signs the police might’ve missed. After that, I’ll want to speak to the neighbors, anyone in the area who might’ve seen something they didn’t realize was important."

You stood, watching as he moved toward the front door. Your mind was racing. How could this be targeted? Who would target you? And why? You were no one special — a single mother living with her four-year-old in the suburbs of Idaho Falls. Had no enemies — except for the occasional work rivalries between you and some of your colleagues, but other than that, your life was plain and simple.

"You really think this wasn’t random?" you asked Colter, following him outside.

He paused by the door, glancing back at you. "I’ve seen this before. This kind of precision. Someone planned this, and that means there’s a reason. We just have to find out what it is."

As you stepped outside, you couldn’t shake the creeping fear that this was bigger than you had imagined. It felt deliberate, like someone had been watching, waiting for the right moment. But why Emma? What did they want?

Colter crouched near the edge of the yard, running his fingers along the ground. You stood nearby, watching as he scanned the area. The yard looked so ordinary, so unchanged. But to Colter, it seemed to hold details you hadn’t noticed, things the police had overlooked.

"So she played here, right?” he asked and then you nodded. “Footprints here" he muttered, pointing to a small section of dirt near the gate. "Different size from the ones around it. Someone stood here recently."

"The police didn’t mention any footprints."

"They wouldn’t" Colter said, standing up. "They’re looking for obvious signs, not subtle ones."

As he moved toward the gate, you felt a heavy weight pressing down on your shoulders. You couldn’t breathe, again. Whoever had taken Emma had planned this. They had been watching her, your daughter, knowing exactly when to strike. But who? And why? 

You kept repeating these two questions.

As if reading your thoughts, Colter turned to you. "This isn’t over, Y/N. Whoever did this left a trail. I just have to find them."

You nodded, but deep down, something still gnawed at you. Your guts were telling you that there was more to this.

And for the first time, you wondered if your daughter had been taken not because of who she was, but because of something — or someone — she didn’t know.

“Tell me about her father” Colter said, still scanning the area.

You froze for a moment. You had expected him to ask about Emma’s father. But not yet, at least. You stared at him, trying to figure out how much to say. How much did he know? Or was he just following a hunch?

"Sometimes, the past has a way of catching up to people, even when they’ve left it behind" he added.

"He left" you said. "Before I even knew I was pregnant. I haven’t heard from him since."

It wasn’t a complete lie. Russell had been gone for years, disappearing from your life before you even knew you were pregnant.

Well, maybe he didn’t disappear, maybe you pushed him away. But you had your reasons… reasons you weren’t ready to share with Colter.

He was never part of Emma’s life, never even knew she existed. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that Colter might be right. Maybe this was connected to Russell.

Colter’s expression didn’t change at your revelations, but you could sense his mind was working, putting pieces together. He wasn’t asking for the emotional history; he was looking for facts, details that might explain why someone would take Emma.

"What was he like?" Colter asked, leaning forward slightly. "Did he have enemies? Anything that stands out in your memory?"

“He...” you started. “He never talked about his past. He was… secretive. Once I–” you took a deep breath, contemplating how much to share. “I realized he lied to me. About his job. And… and I told him to get out of my house, my life” you said. It was an insanely outlined version of your story, but you hoped it was enough.

"And…no contact since then?" Colter asked.

You shook your head. "Nothing. Not a single word.”

For a moment, you both fell silent. You could see Colter’s mind turning, sifting through the information, trying to make sense of it. Then, his voice broke the screaming silence.

"Y/N, I need you to think carefully. Is there any chance —any at all — that this could be connected to him?"

You felt a cold shiver run down your spine at the question. You had tried so hard to convince yourself that Russell was just a chapter in your past, that he had nothing to do with the life you had built with Emma. But now, with your daughter missing, the nagging doubt inside you was just impossible to ignore.

"I don’t know" you admitted finally.

Once again, you couldn’t help but think of the name that had been haunting you since this shitstorm began. Shaw. Colter’s last name was the same as Russell’s, and though you hadn’t asked, the possibility plagued your mind. Could Colter be connected to Russell? Could he know more about your past than he was letting on?

You didn’t dare ask. Not yet. Not until you had more answers. But the question stayed in the back of your mind.

And now, the only person who could help you find Emma might be the one with answers you were afraid to uncover.

After taking a deep breath, you said. “He was dealing with… some dangerous people.”

"Who?" Colter asked, his voice low but firm, pushing gently. "What kind of people?"

“It’s– uh, it was some organization, I think. I don't know what they do specifically…” you stammered. “Russell said it was Horizon or something.”

Colter's face tightened. Horizon? The Horizon Group? And Russell?

Something flashed in his eyes. Recognition, most likely. For a brief moment, his usually composed expression fell, and he looked away, as if piecing together a connection.

"Russell..." Colter said, his voice quieter now, almost as if testing the name. He took a step back, his mind clearly working through the sudden flood of new information. "What did you say his last name was?"

This was it. The moment you had been dreading, the one you had skirted around ever since you first heard his name. "Shaw" you said, barely above a whisper. "His last name was Shaw."

━━━━━━━━━━✦✧✦━━━━━━━━━━━

Phew. We’re in for a ride.

As always, I appreciate any kind of feedback.🤍

xx Pam

Read Chapter 2 here

[acourtofthought]

I forgot who I saw this from the other day but it really resonated with me for anyone who continually undermines the possibility of Elain (and Lucien) having the next book

Someday, the ACOTAR series is going to be sold as a boxed set. Maybe it's a gift for an 18 year old from a parent who "heard there was a lot of buzz about this series".

That person is going to start with ACOTAR and work all the way through ACOMAF, ACOWAR, ACOFAS, ACOSF, and whatever the next book(s) is / are.

That means they'll finish SF and move directly into the next book. They're not going to pause to read the CC series, they probably won't know of any bonus chapters, they won't even know to go back and scour the internet for Interviews where Sarah said "she was excited to write Az's journey" or "because she knew early on where Elain's story was going it allowed her to plant seeds throughout ACOWAR and even SF".

The only thing that will exist for this particular reader are the books. And the end of SF says the following:

"Maybe not." Eris shifted on his feet, and grimaced again. "But you and yours have more important things to worry about than ancient history. My father is furious that his ally is dead, but he's not deterred. Koschei remains in play, and Beron might very well be stupid enough to establish an alliance with him, too. I hope that whatever Morrigan is doing in Vallahan will counteract the damage my father will unleash."

That line comes before Cassian thinking:

And one day, when the time was right.....They'd take the next steps. They'd walk down whatever road lay ahead of them together.

Of course Sarah hinted at Nesta and the Valkyrie having more of a story to tell in SF but based on the above which comes at the very end of the book, it seems a clear delineation of what the focus of the plot currently is.

If you were reading SF and moving right into the next book, would you think that the restoration of the Dusk Court was a more pressing issue than what Eris is talking about? Would you really know anything much about the Dusk Court at all having moved right from SF into ACOTAR 5/6?

If you're reading these books back to back, you'll have also just finished the novella where Feyre says to Mor:

"I want them to be happy. All of them."

And that is in reference to Nesta, Elain, and Lucien. She follows that up with "And you - are you happy?" speaking directly to Mor.

Yes, the Valkryie were introduced in SF but would a reader automatically assume that suddenly their stories are more worth telling than Elain's? Than Lucien's? Than Mor's?

It's as if just because people have grown attached to those characters (which are great, of course), suddenly nobody else's story is important.....at least not until Gwyn and Az get a HEA together first. But I don't think a reader going straight from one book to the next would honestly see it that way. Not when the Elucien bond has been an unresolved issue since book 2. Not when Vassa and those other girls are still Koschei's captives. Not when Spring has been falling apart for multiple books, not when Mor was clearly not 100% happy in the novella. Just because we have our personal favorites, it doesn't mean Sarah cares more for them than she does all her characters.

With that said, Sarah could ABSOLUTELY write Gwynriel next but I have to say, if you're reading the series straight through, they would not be the "obvious" answer to me. They would actually be more of a "What??? But what about everyone else? What about Elain and Lucien? Vassa? Mor? What about Spring falling apart? And Koschei and Beron?" "Lucien still doesn't know about Helion??" "What do you mean people can time travel now?" Because those plots were not only introduced multiple books back but we were reminded of them in SF.

And that's why I say I still feel Elucien could possibly be next because they do make the most sense to me if we're looking at the ACOTAR series as a series and not just a single standalone book.

[itsmealaiahh]

"My pretty little secret"

A tom kaulitz x fem!reader one shot

TW: embarrassment, fluff, tom being completely smitten for you, nothing too major!

Request by anon: hey! I could ask for a "2010 Tom Kaulitz x reader" in which some paparazzi have published photos of Tom and the reader (not famous and a little younger if you can) in magazines. in the photos you can see the two holding hands and kissing each other while Tom smiles. a few days later, in an interview, they ask the band and Tom about this mysterious girl… and you can continue, Ty!🫶🏻

Rating: under 15 dni as usual :)

Tom had had the night of his life with you. He had met you in the club he was partying in, and immediately took a liking to you. You were easygoing, sweet, funny, and most of all, it seemed you truly enjoyed his company. It didn't seem to matter to you that he was a big, famous rockstar, you were just looking for a good time.

A couple of days later, the band was at an interview, and the host was asking them the usual things, when they were performing again, where they were performing, nothing too out of the ordinary. Until, the host's attention turned to tom, and he didn't know what for.

"So tom" The host started, meeting his gaze intensely. "Are you dating anyone?" He questioned, and tom let out a simple chuckle. "Not at the moment, no" But when pictures of you and him popped up onto the screen behind the band, he mentally cursed. "It seems like you are" He laughed back, and bill looked over at tom to see his face bright red, with what looked like to be pure embarrassment.

A few others were shown, you and him having drinks, him dancing with you, and they even managed to capture a few kisses you both had shared. "So, who is this mystery girl?" He asked tom, leaning in a little bit. "We met a few days ago at a club, and she caught my attention. That's all" He said simply, laying back on the couch, content with his answer.

The host shrugged and went back to asking more questions, if anyone else in the band was dating someone, to try and get drama to arise, but the rest of them said no. Thankfully, after a few more questions and bland answers, they were done, and the host thanked them for their time, shaking each of their hands and they walked backstage. "You didn't tell me you met a girl!" Bill laughed, smiling widely. "Was she nice?"

"She was probably the sweetest girl I've met" Tom grinned and bill grabbed his arm, shaking him back and forth. "You gonna call her, or do you not have her number?" "I do, but are you sure I should call her? It might be creepy, and maybe she was just looking for someone to hang out with" Tom said, a hint of anxiousness in his tone.

"Well, it'd still be nice to talk, maybe she wants more" Bill shrugged as he walked out of the studio, going into the tour bus. Tom nodded, getting out his phone and dialing your number.

"Hello?"

WHEW HOLY SHIT sorry for not posting a fic for so long, this week has been insane

Thank you all for being so supportive and helping me these past few days, I love you all 💗

If I'm up to it though, this might become a series, or even a book, and that's why I ended it on a cliffhanger, but I hope you enjoy! Sorry if it's short

[carolmunson]

wake up slow | barista!steve harrington

entry for my fall frenzy requests this request comes in from @superblysubpar: 'there's a scenario with bookstore / library date AND a dialogue prompt that says "what are you reading?"' with steve harrington summary: it's 1990. you're on the opening shift at the bookstore you work at, only to be surprised at a newcomer claiming to be up for an interview for the open barista position in the cafe at the back. sort of put off to start, it's no surprise when things start to bloom over time, and i'm not talking about coffee grounds. tl;dr carol writes a mini romcom.

tw: minors dni, there's nothing too out of whack in this one but i still don't want minors in here. reader is a little sassy but also like, pretty normal overall.

That damn key jams every time it rains -- doesn't help that you left your umbrella at home. Doesn't help that the 'light mist' turned into a heavy downpour the closer you made it to the book store. Doesn't help that you had to park a street over because of street cleaning and had to walk a block in the rain. Now the damn key.

"Come on," you grumble, jiggling an wiggling to no avail. Insert, r-insert, slight tilt to the right, jiggle, pull out a little, turn a little left and then -- nothing. You take the key out only for it to fall to the ground with a fairy like tinkling.

"Come -- the fuck -- on," you nearly growl under your breath while your coat gets heavier and heavier with rain, hood soaking through and dripping water onto your face. You bend down to get the key with a sigh meant for people with back pain, coming back up again to see the coffee bar manager on the other side of the glass door. He chuckles, salt and pepper beared thick over his chin and cheeks. Ruddy skin beams red even in the cool grey light of the morning, 30 years a butcher who pivoted into coffee when he turned fifty and had a really good knack for it.

"Easy morning?"

"Does it look like one, Carl?" you ask, stepping in when he opens the door. He laughs again, a hearty belly laugh that might as well have transported him into a Santa suit in December. "What happened to you?" he asks, following you into the back room where you start putting your stuff in your cubby. You switch out your wet sneakers and socks for the platform loafers and knee highs in your bag. Now that the fall weathers hit, it's all corduroy and knit sweaters, circle skirts and tall socks. If you're going to be on your fifth year working at an idyllic bookstore, you might as well look the part.

"Weather app lied, street cleaning, forgot an umbrella," you shrug, "Just another manic Monday, y'know?" "I know," he nods, "Gimme one second." Carl comes back with a white paper cup and black lid that makes you smile from the inside out, "Is that what I think it is?" "Isn't it always?" he smiles, "I got it ready the second I saw you on the schedule. Caramel latte, hint of cinnamon. Since its -- ya know, fall officially, I put a little maple in there, too." "You spoil me," you sigh, taking the cup from him and letting the warmth radiate through your hands.

"I do," he nods, "But, that latte was the last of my regular milk so I need to run out and grab a few gallons before we open up. You okay to be hangin' out by yourself?"

You nod, of course you're okay to be hanging out by yourself. You take the first sip, letting the caramel flood your tongue. The maple is a good addition. You're about to tell Carl to add this to the seasonal menu but he's already out the break room door with his coat before you can. You hear the jingle of the bell and the lock of the door and eventually the silence settling into the store around you.

You start to re-organize the window display which should've been done last night but 'last night you' said that 'this morning you' could handle it. You wish you could punch last night you in the face, but this is what you get for taking an assistant manager position.

You stack the back to school reads next to your knees where you're sat on them. The dust billows when you move them, making you sneeze with each turn of your head. You rub at your eyes, realizing at that very moment that the mascara you put on this morning has now definitely smudged -- you can't even find the emotional capacity to check considering the store opens in forty five minutes. You wipe down the display shelves, letting the oak gleam under the spot lights. The color is a warm reminder of the cozy moments to come the way that they do this time of year. As you start separating the 'cozy reads' from your 'spooky reads' in the pile on the other side of your knees you hear a knocking at the door --that's not very like Carl to forget his key.

You look over your shoulder, not seeing Carl at all, and if it is, he had some kind of Seventeen Again magic happen to him in that time at the store. You stand up, wiping off your knees and straightening your skirt before getting to the door where the rapping continues against the glass. "We aren't open yet!" you call out.

"M'here for Carl!" you hear, muffled through the panes. "For the barista spot?" you yell back. The guy nods under his hood, the rain picking up in heavy sheets. You sigh, unlocking the door and letting him in. "Carl's not here, he ran out to get some more milk but um, you're welcome to wait in the break room if you want," you explain, wiping a palm over another display through the main hallway and wiping the dust off on your hip. "Thanks," he says, hood coming down to reveal a head full of thick chestnut hair. A gold ring shines on the the hand that runs through it, looks like a family crest type, right on his middle finger.

"I'm Steve," he says with a smile, hand now outstretched to take yours. You look at it and then at him, finally taking in the sight before you. Prominent straight nose, warm amber eyes, lips that definitely use chapstick regularly. He has a nice smile, the kind you read about in the romance novels in the back of the store, the kind people write about.

You take his hand and introduce yourself, he has a business major handshake and you only know that because you dated a handful of them back in college. You try to stifle a chuckle but it comes out airily out of your nose.

"Something funny?" he asks when you both let go. "No, no, sorry, I just thought of something from the other day," you shake your head, "Don't worry about it." He nods, taking off his coat and closing his umbrella following your lead to the back, "It's a cute place."

"Yeah, it's nice in the morning," you nod, "I normally close but -- doing a favor for a key holder today; so you have the pleasure of seeing the troll of the store in her natural habitat."

"What?"

"Nothing -- nevermind," you shake your head, cheeks burning with a wave of embarrassment when you look back and notice that he's genuinely very handsome. You get to the break room, pointing out the spare cubby where he can hang his coat and umbrella. He's in a sweater you swear you've seen on the Cosby Show -- dark green and patterned, a perfect combination of colors against his skin. It cuffs at the wrists, you can see a sliver of his white t-shirt underneath at the collar, a whisper of a gold chain tucked beneath it.

"Yeah um," you start, feeling your heart start to patter in your chest when he takes a seat at the table by the cabinets, "You can just wait here. I'll let Carl know when he comes back."

"Okay," he smiles, "Thanks."

You nod again, heading into the employee bathroom to collect yourself for a moment -- seeing your reflection. You forgot you had rubbed your eyes, masacra smudged in black smears nearly down to your cheeks. "I look insane," you whisper in horror, "Oh my fucking god."

You cover your face for a moment, trying to hide yourself from the embarrassment racking your chest. Definitely looking like the troll of the store, you silently scream into your palms, another dramatic whisper of, "I should just fucking kill myself."

Despite the humiliation, you know it's funny. This would happen to you. This hot guy would come in when your mascaras a mess and your hair is fucked up from the rain, when the weather is bad and your tights have a run, when your allergies are rampant from the dust. Of course he would!

You wet a paper towel and do your best to wipe off the smudges, happy to look a little less insane after a dab of tinted lip balm makes it onto your lips and cheeks.

When you re-emerge he's fiddling with his CD player and his over ear headphones, working on a knot in the wire. You go back over to the counter and take a sip of your forgotten latte.

"What do you drink?" he asks.

"Carl makes it special for me, it's not on the menu," you tell him over the black plastic top before taking another sip. He grins, a soft nod moving his hair with him -- so it's like that. "I didn't ask if it was on the menu. I asked what you drink," he says, leaning back in the chair. His eyes lingering on you sends a zip up your spine, wondering if he's giving you a once over or not.

"It's a caramel latte with maple and cinnamon," you tell him. His confidence both intruiges and enrages you, both making you want to tell him to get out but also learn more about this hot guy that wants to be a barista with a Wall Street handshake, "So why do you wanna work here?"

"Is this the start of my interview?" he laughs.

"No, I'm just wondering," you shrug.

"I'm back in school about twenty minutes away," he says, "Did it for a little when I was in high school -- coffee, I mean. Ice cream shop after that, video store after that. Went to school, took a break, back in it. My dad thinks having jobs like this builds y'know -- character and whatever."

"Jobs like this?" you ask, jaw tensing with annoyance.

"Like, y'know, jobs with the people," he tries to explain, pink building on his cheeks when he realizes he might've said something shitty, "They're not like bad jobs, that's not what I mean -- I mean like, y'know -- not suits kind of jobs. Regular shit."

"Regular shit," you nod, biting back what you wanna say. That gold crest ring should've been enough to tip you off, but your next question is the ace in the hole, "What're you back in school for?"

"Getting my MBA."

Of course.

"Nice," you lie, fake smiling into your next sip -- the latte going cold as your insides when you come to the conclusion that he's just some hot grade A asshole, "Well, good luck."

"Thanks," he calls out while you make your way back to the floor, "I really like your name, by the way! It suits you."

You try not to let that compliment change your mind.

He gets the job, but you don't see him a lot. He opens an then goes to classes at night, you close most of the time -- only catching him really in the first hour of your shift and the last hour of his. You're both too busy to be finding time to talk; him with his mid-shift clean and you with your hourly sales goals and mid-day schedule re-adjustments.

But he does wave when you come in. He calls out your name when you bustle past the coffee counter and weave through the tables to get to where you need to go. It's nice of him, you guess, but the stain of him explaining that the job he's doing is just for regular people taints it for you. Maybe he thinks you're just some menial worker bee that he only knows for now, since his daddy probably has a job lined up for him once he pays through his masters degree.

Job with a suit where the bookstore will be a distant memory for him, whereas you're on a two year track to becoming the manager and likely future owner when the owners get too old to manage it. Job with a suit where he'll pass by the store and shake his head at 'how stupid it was', a 'can you believe people work there?' head toss to a coworker while he get a coffee somewhere else. Meanwhile, it's your entire life, and so are all the stories inside.

A few weeks pass and the days get a little colder, the nights starting earlier as they go. You have an opening shift that chills your bones, hugging your wool coat tight to your body while you fiddle with the key at the door, groaning at the tinkling of it hitting the concrete again.

"Rough morning?"

You look up to the door opening, seeing a pair clean white Nike Air Force 1's singaling who it is.

"It is now," you mumble, grabbing the key and bustling inside.

"Surprised to see you here," he says, following you to the back, "You're not on the schedule." "Last minute switch up, Rochelle has a christening," you say, hanging your coat in the cubby and switching out your sneakers for platfoms again.

"Oh, nice," he grins, "So why is it a rough morning? 'Cause I'm here?"

"Sorta kinda," you shrug, "Did you alread--"

"I got sales report from yesterday on the check out desk, yes," he crosses his arms, leaning against the door frame.

"And th--"

"And the inventory report, and before you ask, yes I checked that all the milk is in stock and that we aren't low on beans. I've been here for a month, honey, I know what I'm doing," he mutters.

"Gross," you pull a face at him over your shoulder, "Don't call me honey."

He shrugs with a smirk, "Rochelle likes it."

"Can you go skulk to your caffeine den and leave me alone?" you snap, "I'm trying to open a store, here."

"Skulk, huh?"

"Too big of a word for you, Harrington?"

"You're on fire this morning," he smiles, that smile they write about.

"I kinda like it," he adds before turning out of the door and back into the warm light of the store towards the coffee bar. You swallow while you watch him leave -- I kinda like it ringing in your ears and floating down to your chest where is settles in, cozy and kind.

The reports are where he said the would be, neat and organized like he was the manager and Carl was his employee. You normally spent at least thirty minutes trying to figure out what Carl had written in chicken scratch on the forms, but Steve's sharp and elegant script was easy to read and perfectly spaced. Annoying.

Even his signature was handsome.

After you get the registers counted and ready you file the forms and mark the reports so they'll be ready for your manager when they get back in store. You check the list of what needs to be done, the chilly late October air swooping in from the cracks under the door. Your face sours while you make your way over to the coffee bar in the back, seeing Steve set up the pastry delivery in the cases on the side.

"Did you come back here to yell at me about something?" he asks, focused on the task at hand, "I got all morning."

"You didn't turn the heat on," you cross your arms, "That's like, the first thing you're supposed to do."

He scoffs quietly, shaking his head, popping back up to lean on glass of the case, "Did you read your morning report or just sit there and admire my handwriting?"

"Excuse me?" you bite back.

"Heats fucked," he shrugs, ducking back down to finishing his display, "They're sending someone to take a look at it later today."

"Whatever," you grumble, turning on your heel to go dust the front shelving and reshelf the returns from yesterday.

"Hey," he calls out, waiting for you to turn around before he continues. Your eyes catch his amber ones, sparkling with a mischief reserved for school boys who are mean to the girls they like, "You look nice today."

You look him over, sucking in your cheeks to kill the smile growing on your lips. His navy sweater hugs a bit across his chest and shoulders, giving way to billow slightly over his midsection and arms. Kahki chinos cut just at his ankles so his sneakers don't even look stupid paired with the outfit, socks just the right height to look cool and not forced. Awful.

"Yeah, you too Harrington," you agree quietly before walking away; and while you killed the smile, he was able to catch that crease in your eyes, the twitch in your shoulders. You thought that was nice, he wonders if he can make you do that again.

You head over to the back of the cafe during your break, no windows near your designated 'break chair'. It's close enough to the fireplace that it always feels like a rainy day even when it's nice outside. Now that Carl started his shift he got your drink ready to go the moment you walked over.

"Well la-di-da," Steve cocks his head when Carl walks over to greet the customer at the register, rag in his hands wiping up the pick up counter, "Expert service and you're not even gonna tip?"

"Here's a tip: leave me alone when I'm on break," you bite. Why did he have to be so handsome? Slight pink on his cheeks from the heat of the espresso and coffee machines, the lights overhead. The heat finally works again and it's almost working too well from the small bead of sweat forming above his brow. He runs a big hand through his hair again, the same way he did when you first met him. You try to ingore the way his bicep bulges in his sleeve when his arm stretches.

His tongue runs over his teeth, settling between them for a second before looking straight at you, "Good one."

"That's what you get when you read books," you say sarcastically, "You should try it sometime."

"You should teach me," he leans over the counter, resting his chin on his palm, "Bet you're a great teacher."

You bite your tongue, pulling in your lips and squinting your eyes to keep the smile from brewing a second time. You pick up your mug and sip your latte while he crosses his arms over his chest. "Nothing this time?" he asks, waiting for you second blow. You shake your head no, occupying your mouth with the rim.

"No?" He asks, you shake your head again, somehow glued to the spot under his stare. He slings the rag over his shoulder, still looking at you. "Well I don't wanna keep you standing here," he teases, offering you a wink that is so soul crushingly charming you could just die, "Enjoy your break."

You've never turned around so quickly in your entire life.

The following week you take another opening shift, happy to settle into the quiet of the cafe now that the morning rush of moms, dads, students, and aspiring writers have cleared out. The fire crackles just right, the leather warmed up to your body heat while the book sucks you in further an further. Thirty minutes pass when you hear a shift infront of you, the subtle squeak of leather being sat in with a soft crunch.

"What're you reading?"

You peer over the top of the spine to see Steve sat in the chair across from you, legs open wide while he leans his forearms on his knees. His long fingers slide together, gold ring shining in the light again to remind you of who he is and where he comes from. As handsome as he is today in his black henley and white t-shirt combo you'll never quite forget the fact that some MBA bro is perched in front of you like a puppy with nowhere to go.

"Sound out the cover, that should tell you," you boredly mumble before tucking back into the chair. His fingers peak over the spine, pushing the book down from the top. He pulls the leather chintz closer to yours with ease -- of course he does.

"Or you could tell me," he says with a softness you weren't ready to hear. Your chest gets warm again, creeping up your neck to your cheeks.

"It's Pride and Prejudice."

"S'that your favorite book or something?" he asks, elbow driving into his thigh so he can rest his chin on his fist.

"One of them," you shrug, "I always read it this time of year, kind of fits the mood of the season."

"Hm," he nods, like he's really listening, "What's it about?"

"Basically," you start, thinking of a way to describe it in two sentences or less, "It's like -- hm -- it's about two people, a love story. One guy is some super rich asshole and he's a jerk because the girl isn't as rich and him. And the girl isn't from the same social standing so she's a jerk because she already assumes that he's a super rich asshole. Like...I don't know, idiots in love who are too stubborn to love each other."

"Hm," he nods again, grin splitting his face, "Interesting."

"What's your favorite book?" you ask, wanting to wipe that smug grin right off his face. His dumb handsome face with that perfect sloped nose, and eyes that look like they're looking directly into you.

"I don't have one," he shrugs.

"You have to have one," you balk, "Like, even if it's one you read in school or something." "Hmm," he sits back up, leaning back in the chair with his hands resting just under his chest.

"You have to know how to read to run a business," you shrug.

"I know how to read, honey," he laughs, "I just don't have a favorite book."

"At least try," you ecourage, albiet annoyed. He taps his fingers on his diaphragm, one knee bouncing while he thinks about it. His shirt rides up just a smidge in the back, revealing a sliver of skin you didn't think you'd ever see.

"Shel Silverstein," he says finally, "Where the Sidewalk Ends."

"You didn't strike me as a poetry guy," you say, closing your book over your finger to hold your place.

"My mom went through this poetry phase -- and I'm my mother's son, so I had a poetry phase with her," he shrugs, "We wore that book out, think we had to get a second copy cause the first one was just like -- destroyed."

"Well that's...you know," you lean your head from side to side, "That's nice. It's cute."

"You'd know, right?" he smiles, that god damn smile Shel would write about in a new book. You'd bring back book burning just to throw it in the flames after it was published. He gets up, disappearing behind you for a moment and reappearing with your favorite green mug. He gingerly places it on the side table next to you.

"Compliments of the chef," he says, presenting it like a Michelin star meal.

You look at it, a perfect pour -- the cream rosetta leaf striking against the warm brown espresso. You can smell the caramel and maple already wafting off it, cinnamon sprinkled delicately on top.

"Um, thanks," you say quietly, taking the mug to your lips. He looks down at you eagerly when you take a sip, waiting for your reaction.

"Did you do something to it?" you ask before you take one.

"No I'm just -- damn, come on. I'm excited to see you try it," he sighs, "I worked hard on it."

"Fine, fine," you murmur, letting the latte flood onto your tongue. Its -- regrettably -- one of the best iterations of you've had in a while. The perfect creaminess without being too milky, enough caramel and maple without being too sweet, the espresso's bitterness cuts the sugar in just the right way to make it smooth. He knows he did it right by the way you go for a second sip without saying anything.

"I did good?" he quirks a brow.

"You did good," you nod.

"Good," he smiles, tapping the top of your chair, "'Cause Carl's putting it on the menu starting in November."

"How come?" you ask into your third sip, the steam billowing over your cheeks.

Steve lets his eyes flicker over your face slowly, offering a half shrug, "I told him to."

November brings the first pre-season snow, not that it mattered now that your favorite drink was a regular menu item now. Caramel and maple always in stock, espresso machine always on first thing in the morning.

You open twice a week now, seeing Steve more often than not. Dropping your key became less common now that he was normally at the door when you'd get there, ready to let you in.

"Another great day, right?" he'd tease.

Now that the holidays were in full swing the bookstore was busier than ever -- sales, bundles, events. You even started carrying children's coloring books and crayons in the kid's section; a whole set up just for kids to sit and color while their parent's browsed.

The stress was getting to you, constantly checking and rechecking the end of day sales versus last year, wanting to make sure everything was on a steady incline with a nice cushion for the next. It helped that the cafe seemed to be absolutely climbing in numbers since September. More and more people wanted to spend time over there, and the more time they spent the more time they looked at books or started reading. It wasn't shocking to see people checking out at the counter with a second coffee and a new book or two in hand.

You don't want it to be true, but you're sure the new barista had a play in what makes so many people stick around. You'd see the way Steve would flirt when he took orders, how he's listen to them intently, make every customer feel like they were the only person in the room.

At least that's how he'd make you feel when he caught your gaze from over the shelving, helping find books for new patrons from the college nearby. You both started to wave at each other at each passing glance, each look caught by surprise, each accidental yearning stare.

Mid-November greets you with a bitter chill, the very early morning doesn't even have the decency to greet with you the rising sun. It'll be atleast another half hour until then.

For the first time in a long time you don't drop the key, pushing into the store with ease. You waste no time turning the heat on, making sure the radiators bled a bit before hand. You rub your hands together while they settle in, putting your coat away in the cubby and switching out your shoes in the break room.

Opening on a Saturday morning isn't common for you, but it's the first event you've planned by yourself. A very simple read-along story telling with some kids from the neighborhood and their parents. You collected three solid winter time reads: The Mitten, The Snowy Day, and A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. A solid hour of reading while the parents could peruse, or sit and watch while their kids tuned into a book instead of cartoons on Nick Jr.

Once you've given yourself the onceover for the morning you feel more confident about the upcoming next few hours. Your knit tights fit snugly over your legs, a touch sheered out with the stretch over your thighs but the pleats in your plaid maroon skirt cover that just fine, hitting just above your knees -- still covered, still sensible. Still cute enough to snag a single dad if one were to show up.

Your feet stay tucked in a pair of worn in platform mary-janes stolen from your sister's New York City closet when you went to visit her over the summer. The chunky knit sweater over the whole ensemble completes you, a spitting image of a 'caught on the street' look you saw in a Seventeen magazine that you still get delivered to you despite being well past the age group.

You thrifted the sweater with Steve in mind, it looked like something he'd wear.

Anyway.

As you set up the 'reading rug' in the cafe area you hear the familar unlocking of the door. The sun finally starting to seep in in golden shards through the panes, leaving squares of light on the wood floors and carpets below.

"Hey Carl!" you call out, "I got everything up and running for you."

You hear the keys jingle but not his smoker's cough, not his heavy steps finding their way to the cafe area. Instead you look up to see Steve with his hands on his hips, watching you struggle to move the leather chintz to the back wall as your reading chair.

"Redecorating?" he asks, looking around the cafe. Under his shearling lined aviator jacket is an open hunter green flannel you wouldn't expect to see him in, his white t-shirt underneath hugs tights to his chest and stomach. You unfortunately noticed how great of a view that is for you.

"Um," you started, looking around the room and the dissaray you seem to have made without realizing, "Why are you here?"

"Same reason your here," he says, stepping forward to shoo you away from the chair, "I'm on the payroll."

"You don't work weekends," you say, crossing your arms over your chest while he lifts the chair over the rug with a soft grunt.

"I do today," he says with a slight strain, "Where do you want this?"

"Uh," you start, "Just right in the center against the wall so everyone can see me."

"Oh, so you're reading to the kids this morning?" he laughs to himself after putting the chair down. He wipes his hands off on each other, shrugging off the jacket and holding it in one arm, "Bitter Betty is gonna entertain the young minds of Main Street?"

"Bitter Betty, huh?" you challenge, following him into the back room, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what that's supposed to mean," he shakes his head.

"I am very sweet," you tell him, a serious edge to your voice, "There are so many customer reviews saying how sweet I am."

"Sure," he nods, putting his coat away in his cubby, "I bet there are; since y'know, you're selling them something."

"I'm not just nice when I'm selling something," you say softly, arms coming protectively across your chest. A frustration bubbles in your chest while you look at him, following him back out into the cafe so you can keep getting the place ready before the families start to show up, "You think you know everything."

"I don't," he shakes his head, smiling while he checks over the machines and gets the first pot of coffee started.

"Yeah, you do. You walked in here two months ago and swear you know everything," you huff, getting the cafe back to a place of organized coziness.

"Okay," he chuckles, "Whatever you say, boss."

"You're infuriating," you mumble under your breath.

"Got that caramel latte coming right up for you, by the way," he says warmly.

Your head turns to see him watching you, he smiles, "Maybe you're a little nicer after you've had a coffee."

You smile back, unable to stop it this time.

"So that's a yes, right?" he cocks his head, fingers drumming on the counter while he watches you. That Harringtom charm pumping out at full speed.

"Y-yeah," you nod, "Whatever. You gonna go chop down a tree, Harrington? What's with the flannel?"

He looks down at his shirt and then back up at you with a soft shake of his head, "I better hurry up and get that started for you."

The kids look up at you with starry eyes, their parents smiling along with their coffees, lattes, espressos, and pastries. The Mitten was a hit and The Snowy Day is so far showing up to be a great follow up.

You take your time to really point out the pictures and adding on to the story since all three of them are pretty short. However, you're finding that kids between two and five are pretty easy to entertain if you do enough counting and make enough sound effects. Maybe you should've been a kindergarten teacher -- or maybe not. Maybe you should just keep doing book events.

You're halfway through when you show the illustrations to the group again, listening to them ooh and ahh at all the snow.

"Did um -- Miss -- did you know -- it snowed? It snowed at my house," one of the older kids announces, arm straight up in the air.

"It snowed last week, Michael, that's right," his mom pipes up, "Daddy had to shovel outside."

"Has everyone else seen snow? Raise your hand if you've seen this much snow!" you announce in your perfect parentese, watching while the older kids and parents raise their hands. The two year olds don't really get it so they just sit there and laugh.

You look up at all the hands, an enthusiastic 'Wow!' coming out of your mouth -- but you barely hear it. Behind the hands are a set of warm amber eyes looking at you from the coffee bar, soft and gentle. Enthralled even. You swallow and lick your lips quickly before smiling, catching his smile back as you look back at the book to start again.

After each couple of pages you catch each other, the pink on his cheeks rising when he looks away -- pretending to be occupied with something else. Cleaning, organizing, resetting the espresso machine. He can tell you're flustered by the way you clear your throat whenever you start to read again.

After The Snowy Day you take a ten minute break so that the parents can take their kids to the bathroom or re-up their beverages. The tip jar is full to bursting because nobody knows how to make a single mom feel like Steve Harrington does; and husbands will pay anything to get him to leave their wives alone.

You reset your chair, making sure the books you're reading are on display for purchasing on the shelving close by in your Winter Children's Bundle for a discounted price. As the ten minutes closes up you feel a soft tap on your shoulder.

"Here," you turn around to Steve with a green mug in his hands, "It's just regular coffee this time, but -- figured you could use it."

You take it body first, reaching around for the handle only to feel his fingers brush against yours at the hand of. The soft touch isn't electric like it is in the books, it's like that but better. Warm like an oven, the gooey parts of you rising in a slow bake when you see him look down and turn away -- running that same hand through his hair on his way back to the counter.

"Thanks," you say over the chatter of parents and kids coming back to sit.

"Can I have something ready for you for your break?" he asks back.

"Surprise me," you shrug, sitting back on your chintz chair and taking the final book onto your lap. The kids cheer when they see Snoopy on the cover, a well loved favorite cartoon to finish off their morning. With the crack of the spine you can already smell the sales coming once this little event is over.

You work through your break, ringing up and helping customer after customer on easily one of the busiest Saturday's you've seen in a while. It normally doesn't get busy like this at least for another couple of weeks.

The stress of working through lunch barely matters though because your event was a bigger success than you could've hoped for -- logging in the notes for Rochelle that you should probably start doing this throughout the season just for good measure.

It's starting to get dark by the time your shift ends and the store closes -- early on Saturdays at a tight 4 PM. You let your sales girl go a little early, wanting to take the time to close up the store properly since you were the one who made it such a mess this morning. As you start to put the chairs back that had been moved from the cafe to the children's section you hear him, fingers tapping on the counter.

"You didn't come by for your break," he says, "And I put a lot of effort into that drink."

"Sorry, we can't all be flirting through our shifts like you can, Harrington," you snark with a grin, flipping the last chair over onto it's accompanied table.

"You don't have to clean up the coffee part of the store," he says, coming around with another mug in hand, "That's my job, y'know."

"I know," you say, "But I kind of fucked it up this morning so -- just doing my part."

"Well, here," he says, mug outstretched in his large hand, gold ring gleaming back at you, "For doing your part, I guess."

"You guess, huh?" you laugh lazily, taking it -- he places his fingers in a way that you have no choice but to touch them. You wonder if he did it on purpose, "What do you call this one?"

"'Surprise me'," he replies in a mocking drawl, flipping the rag over his shoulder again and leaning against the counter's edge. The first sip is unfortunately one of the most even temperatured hot drinks you've put past your lips.

"You're good at this," you blurt out, almost offended.

"Well don't look so upset about it."

"I am upset about it," you nod back over the lip of the mug, taking another sip. Mocha -- something. It's like hot chocolate and espresso but better, still caramel, still cinnamon, like a hug from your past but caffienated like your present.

"Consider me surprised," you nod, licking your lips again, "It's good -- it's um -- yeah. It's really good."

"Thanks," he smirks, "A few of the mom's thought so, too."

You let out a sigh through your teeth, rolling your eyes. He expected that, taking a step forward when your gaze comes back to center. You can smell the left over wraiths of his cologne and Old Spice deodorant, count the moles on his neck adorned with his hidden gold chain, see the hair on his forearms from his rolled up sleeves.

"You know something," he says quietly, "If I didn't know any better -- I'd think you like me."

"Like you?" you balk, eyes widening, "You wish."

He clicks his tongue when you get so defensive because it just proves him right. He crosses his arms with another step forward, head cocking to the side slightly while he sizes you up. Why did his creator need to make his forearms so beefy? So perfectly sculpted that you can't look at them without losing your train of thought? Stupid.

"I don't think I have to wish, honey," he says softly, Doc Martins creaking on the wooden floors, "I think...uh, I think I must allow you to tell me how ardently you admire and like me."

Your mouth falls open, staring at him with eyes as glassy at the kids who watched you read this morning.

"You -- no -- you read it?"

"Maybe," he says, another step forward, his arms bumping against your chest.

"Maybe?" you ask back, brow quirking.

"Yeah, maybe I did," he runs a hand through his hair, falling back away from his face to show off his sturdy brow bone, watching you with admiration down the slope of his nose.

He reaches down and takes the mug out of your hand with smooth finesse, arm long enough to reach back and place it on the counter behind him. When he leans back in place he's closer than before, toe to toe, nearly nose to nose.

"Maybe I bought it the day you told me about it," he shrugs, "Maybe I thought it was pretty close to something I had goin' on with a girl I know."

"A girl you know?" you challenge. You know exactly who he means, but it might be fun to hear him say it. "Yeah, sometimes I only see her like, an hour a day. But sometimes I get to watch her read on her break, sometimes I get to close with her on Saturdays," he explains warmly, the timbre of his voice deep against the crackling of the fire in the back corner of the cafe.

"This is the only Saturday you've closed with me," you counter, head tilting up slightly, close enough that the tip of your nose brushes his.

"Who said I was talking about you, honey?" he murmurs back, mischief in his eyes that are half hidden by his eyelids. You feel a puff of his breath over your top lip, still minty fresh like he just brushed his teeth.

"We both know you're talking about me," you smirk, self satisfied while his gaze flickers to your lips and back to your eyes. He steps at an angle, making you step back so you're against the pick up counter.

"So sure of yourself," he he scoffs quietly, leaning over you and getting into your space. Each hand coming to the side of you to lean on the granite, caging you in, "I like that in a pretty girl."

"Most do," you shrug matter of factly.

"Yeah," he nods, "Think that's what I like about you."

"Maybe that's what I like about you, too," you nearly whisper out.

"Maybe?" he asks, lower lip ghosting over yours. "Mayb--"

The hand he uses to run through his hair finds itself flat over the back of yours, sliding down to over your cheek and jaw where he keeps you angled just right. He closes the millimeters between you, warm lips catching yours in a kiss that feels like passion but a power play you want to match.

Your hands find their way to his shoulders, heads moving in soft tilts when you change angles. When you find yourself sat on the edge of the counter he uses the leverage to pull you close to him, hips between the fullness of your thighs.

His tongue skates over yours when it slides into your mouth, free hand ridding up the soft material of your tights, tips of his fingers inching under the hem of your skirt in an innocent tease.

Even the way he breathes through it is sexy, leaving you with a lingering guess of what he can do when he presses his lips against your neck. Tongue flitting and striping while he nearly nips a bruise onto your skin. You let out a gentle gasp, enough to admit defeat to him -- much to your chagrin. Steve comes back up to your lips to meet you with a few final deep kisses before you break apart.

He steps back once, the deep golden light of the sun setting cracks through the panes of the back window in the cafe, adoring him in a glow that shines of his hair and eyes. The kind of glow they write about, the kind of glow you read about.

You both take deep breaths, eyes hungry for each other -- unsure if you should go for more. He lingers, coming forward again to rest his hands on your thighs.

"I didn't read it," he confesses. "Pfffft. Why am I not surprised?" you huff, exasperated.

"But! But, but, but," he argues back, pecking you feverishly, "I had to go to like, five different places to find the movie from 1980 so -- I did actually put some effort into it."

"I love that one," you say back.

"I get points for that, right?" he asks expectantly.

"Yeah, fine. You're luck you're cute," you explain, "But you do definitely have to read it, at some point. If you wanna keep making out with me in the cafe after closing."

"Oh, absolutely," he grins, hand reaching to pull you in by the back of the neck for a final searing kiss, "You'll have to teach me, remember?"

You of course start closing together every single Saturday.

masterlist | fall frenzy | ko-fi

[sanaexus]

"love at first sight..i think?" -itoshi sae

synposis- itoshi sae is not as tuff as he thinks he is and falls for his manager

it was laughable really, itoshi sae was known for being level headed, for having a cold demeanor. so for him to notice bluelock's manager and stare at her shamelessly while he should probably be celebrating their win against the rival team, was quite the scene

it was impossible to blame him though, you were managing those hooligans so well. it was almost amusing to see being so friendly yet strict with the boys. the way you were calm and composed yet fierce. you didn't just manage the boys, no, even he, someone who just saw you could tell you brought up the team spirit a lot more higher, supporting and motivating the plays with a unique passion and dedication.

so what does he do? fall in love with you. hard and fast. it wasn't difficult to talk you, in his eyes, you weren't like those lukewarm idiots who were nothing but stepping stones in his journey to become the best. it felt as if you genuinely cared about him. in every sense, whether it was by scolding him when he focused on practice a bit too much, when he stopped caring about himself as much, when an interviewer was clearly overstepping his boundaries, you were always there.

interviews were annoying, in his opinions, they soured the taste of sweet victory. but he apparently had to do this interview, so he begrudgingly agreed.

it was obvious to anyone with eyes he didn't want to be there, giving short and blunt answers, and straight up ignoring questions that weren't related to football. but it seemed as if one of the female interviewers just couldn't seem to understand that fact.

you could feel the annoyance radiating off sae even from a distance, to anyone else he might have seemed normal, after all he was known for being a quiet and cold persona, but to you? you could notice the way he clenched his fists at a particularly annoying question, the way he sighed, the way his eye twitched, it was really obvious to you.

you were snapped out of your train of thoughts when you heard an odd question.

"this question is for sae, it's no secret being such a famous and talented athlete must mean you have ladies swooning all over you. so tell us, do you have anyone special in your life?"

if looks could kill, that interviewer would be dead and buried 6 feet under the ground, but unfortunately they couldn't.

"and if i do? then what?" he doesn't even know why he said it. it just came out, he didn't even think it through it was almost reflexive. he started to internally panic, not because of what the media would think, no he couldn't care less about that. but he was worried about what you would say or what you would think. any slight chance he had with you just vanished into thin air just because of 6 words. what if you stop talking to him because he's apparently a "taken man" what if you actually liked him back but now you don't because he isn't "single". and he was right.

your heart broke at that sentence, you knew it was stupid of you to think that the itoshi sae would like you back. of course he wouldn't. he was perfect. in every sense there was only one word that could describe him. perfect, and you were just his manager so why would he like you back. but he gave some hints he liked you right? maybe you interpreted it wrong. but he would have mentioned he has a girlfriend to you right? guess you weren't important enough to him for him to mention his girlfriend. you shake off those thoughts as you heard the interviewers answer.

"oh? is that so? and who might that be?" her voice sounded bitter, jealous almost.

"no" his reply was blunt and cold and was the only thing he said before he got up and walked to the side where you were there

your heart was racing, you didn't know how to face him exactly. you were scared, and you weren't even sure what you were scared of exactly. was it being rejected by him? was it facing him? was it because of how you knew you would cry if you talk to him? who knows.

"i'm sorry" his voice sounded softer and a bit guilty? why was he apologizing? he's human and he deserves to be happy too right?

"why are you apologizing? for being in a relationship? that's stupid. you should have told me earlier though. i'm happy for you sae" you smiled at him, but he noticed how it wasn't as bright or didn't quite reach your eyes as your real smile would.

"i'm not in a relationship, i'm apologizing because you might have to deal with the consequences of my words"

now you were confused. he wasn't in a relationship? but he just said he was? was he trying to hide it now?

"you don't have to lie, it's alright, i understand sae-"

"shut up, i only said it because those lukewarm creatures kept bugging me, i'm not dating anyone."

"oh..but why are you telling me this..? you don't owe me an explanation?" you asked confused.

"because i do, i don't want you to think that i'm taken, i like you (name) not anyone else. so please don't be mad at me"

you've never seen sae like this. in the couple of months you've been their manager, never once have you heard sae look so weak and scared, and you sure as hell haven't heard him say please ever. wait did he just say he likes you?

"what the fuck?" was all you could say, it was just a natural reaction you had to anything, good or bad. saying that you both just stood there in awkward silence. sae didn't know what to say or think. was that "what the fuck ew you like me?" or was that a "what the fuck you like me too?" he couldn't tell.

the silence and his train of thoughts was broken by you hugging him. not knowing what to say, you decided it'd be best just hug it out, hugs always work right?

it was awkward, sae didn't know how to react, after all he wasn't someone who liked being touch so it made sense he didn't know what to do when you abruptly hug him, so he just stood there and patted your hair.

"you like me too?" you asked while you pulled away, sae wanted to whine and hold for a bit longer but he didn't.

"yeah, i guess so. wait what do you mean too?"

"isn't it obvious? i like you too sae"

"oh, that's cool so uh do we date or what?" it was cute how someone like him, who was so confident in himself, was reduced to a shy and awkward mess with you

"i don't know, do you want to be my boyfriend?"

"yeah that'd be pretty nice, i think?"

"you think? so how about a date, pick me up at 7 tomorrow?"

"you got it ma'am" a soft smile graced his pretty face as he fondly looked at you. at that moment he didn't think it'd be nice being with you, he knew it.

bonus!!

"OH MY GOD! HE FINALLY CONFESSED I TOLD YOU GUYS, PAY UP" oliver's comment was heard loud and clear to everyone, even the interviewers standing outside

groans and sounds of annoyance could be heard as they brought out their wallets handing the money over to oliver.

"you fucking lukewarms bet on us?"

"you're so getting extra laps to run tomorrow i swear"

OH MY GOD I FINALLY FINISHED THIS?? THIS WAS BASED ON A REQUEST I GOT LIKE CENTURIES AGO AND I NEVER HAD THE MOTIVATION TO FINISH IT BUT I FINALLY DID IT. IT GOT A BIT AWKWARD AT THE END BUT DON'T MIND THAT GUYS IT'S FINE.

i hope you liked this anon, i'm so sorry this was so late but enjoy!<3

and double post? oh my god look at me go (i might post even more shit guys idk)

[sammy-halpert]

"I can help you"

Author note: Don't expect anything awesome, it's my first smut, and in general one-shot✋ ALSO I am not writing this about Josh Hutcherson, this is a fictional character and I will NOT accept requests based on actual people WARNINGS:Degrading, P in V, mentions of alcohol (Haymitch), breeding, slight choking, bit of overstimulation

There you are again. The night before the 75th hunger games. You and Haymitch have been reaped, but Peeta voulenteered so now he's there instead of Haymitch. You hated President Snow with every inch of your body, him putting you both into a arena to fight for your lifes for entertainment, and Peeta definitely didn't feel any different.

It's the night after the interview where Peeta claimed that you are pregnant, both of you in your room, Peeta on your bed and you resting by his side, head on his chest as you both are silent, lost in own thoughts. His thumb is strocking your arm as he was just rummaging in his memories, before he softly chuckles.

"What's so funny?" You ask, smiling, chuckling a bit aswell, looking at him to see him already looking at you.

"I should've asked you before saying you're pregnant." he let's out another, more apologetic laugh.

"We both know you're not that good of an actress, so it might be difficult for you to act a month or less pregnant. I have no idea on how women behave in their first pregnancy month"

You groan, chuckling, turning a bit away. "Well, I don't know either, because as far as I remember I have never been pregnant before."

Peeta laughs a little aswell, pulling you closer and looking forward at the wall, thinking a bit, before smirking and looking down at you.

"I can help you" he locked eye contact with you, the smug smirk on his face, the flirty tone and that glimmer in his eyes already tell you, that this might lead to not so 'just friend' ways. You decide to ignore it first and ignore your dirty mind.

"And how will you do that?" You huff, not fully aware of his hand traveling up your thigh as your mind races with dirty answers.

Suddenly, he pins you down and smirks down at you. "Don't play dumb. You know exactly where this is going, honey" This made you blush, turning your face away from him since you're a little flustered. His gently and strong hand grabs your chin and makes you look back at him. "Don't hide that pretty face of yours, darling" He almost sits down on you as he grabs your cheeks with his hands before his lips met yours.

His lips tasted sweet, like buttercream and fruit which was probably from tasting the buttercream at the bakery before continuing to work with it. The kiss was soft and passionate, the lust of Peeta making it a little aggressive. Soft grunts escape his lips as they moved against yours, hand trailing up to play with your hair before he pulled away, already panting.

"For someone as hot as you I'm surprised you're new to kissing" He chuckles. He had clearly noiticed the nervous little stops you did during the kiss, as you've never really had a first kiss before except for the ones on TV. (KEPT IT LOYAL FOR THE BAKER BOY 🤭🤭)

You roll your eyes. "Oh come on" You chuckle and start to take his top off. "Eager little slut." That threw you off a little. The cute and innocent Baker boy is calling you a slut? He chuckled and removed his top, the hint of abs outlined by the moonlight. Now that his shirt was gone, the tent in his sweatpants was as clear as day.

"Eyes up here" He said sternly, even though he wasn't actually mad at you, just feeling quite dominant. Your eyes met his and he smirked. "Good girl" he praised quietly before starting to kiss your neck and slowly undress you

This was all very surprising to you, how the cute little innocent Peeta gets so dominant in bed. You did kinda expect it, but also not. Your thoughts were quickly interrupted as you feel his hard press against your knee, as he looked at you.

"Can I?" He looked you into the eyes, his fingers softly tugging on your bra. You smile, glad he still asks for consent."Go on" you smile and he strips you completely nacked. He almost drooled at your exposed and wet pussy. "You're driving me crazy.. " he says under his breath before diving right in, his hands resting on the insides of your thighs as he licks down to up in long and slow strokes, licking of your juices.

Soft whimpers escape your mouth and both hands grip onto his hair, head falling onto the pillows. "Fuck- Peeta~" You moan out as he starts to mouth fuck you. You feel a finger enter your tight hole and slowly stretch you out.

"Holy fuck are you tight. Not a single drop is gonna leak" he says breathy, plunging a second finger in as the free hand starts to play with your nipple. You moan and grab the sheets, already feeling close to cumming. The third finger gets added and you feel your orgasm approaching.

"Peeta, I'm close-" Before you finish he pulls completely away from you, making you open your eyes to a beautiful sight between your legs. Peeta on his knees, sucking your juice off his fingers and untying his sweatpants. He was panting a little, standing up from the bed to properly take off his sweatpants and he saw how you stare at the bulge in his boxers.

He took them off aswell and his cock was around five and a half inches. It's average for a 5'7 guy like Peeta. It was veiny, fucking juicy, the drool already worming in your mouth.

A short whistle caught you out of your trance. "Can't really take your eyes of it, can you?" He smirks and goes back on the bed, pinning you down. "How do you want it? Hm?" He asks.

You were a little puzzled. "What..?" He put a gentle hand on your chin. "What position, darling." You blushed a little and since you aren't really experienced you mutter a "Choose one." he smirked and got you both into a missionary position. "Is this comfortable?" he asks and places a gentle kiss under your ear.

It sent a soft shudder down your spine and you nod. He strokes his cock a little to get himself a little hornier, grunting until precum starts to leak and he positions himself against your hole. Before he puts it in he looks at you, looking for a sign of discomfort. "What's your save word?" he asks innocently. "Uhh.. It'll be 'stop'" you say, putting your hands on his shoulders.

He nods "Good choice" he smirks. Slowly he starts to push in, his head falling back as you both moan loudly. The stretch was deliciously painful, you can feel each single of his veins as he slowly pushed in. He was cursing under his breath, and gave you time to adjust. Before he could ask if he is allowed to move, you already ask him to. "Move, please. Peeta"

Slowly he pulled halfway out before pushing back in, moaning, his hands resting on your hips as you hold onto his arms, moaning aswell. Your mind went down to where his cock was currently buried inside you, and you couldn't think of anything else. His lips crash with yours as he slowly starts to speed up, his fingers now playing with your nipples. He was softly grunting and sighing into the kiss, the pleasure making him less dominant before he was inside of you, the pleasure making cute and innocent Peeta more submissive.

A hand wraps around your neck but doesn't press down. His hips speed up and he pulls away from the kiss. “So tightt.. please oh fuck- taking me so good sweetheart …” he mumbles under his breath, eyes shut, hitting your g-spot.

It makes you yelp and moan out even louder, the pleasure so overwhelming your eyes almost roll into the back of your head.

"Oh fuck, please- right there" you moan out and he chuckles, grunting and moaning softly. "Such a slut.. I'm gonna breed you so hard- fuck, make you full of my babies"

".. s’fucking good.. you take me so well…” he can hardly breathe when he hits a spot in you that is the most pleasurable for him. Peeta feels his cock twitch inside you, and judging by how you moan loudly and clench around him, you're close.

"Gonna cum for me? Hm? My little slut- fuck." he says, breathy, and you nod, you both already sweating. His hand is still around you neck without any pressure.

"Cum for me darling, y'were such a good girl for me hah~" he moans out as he feels you clenching around him. Your moans are music to his ears as you cum around him, moaning out his name and eyes roll back into your head. Fucking gorgeous sight.

He keeps trusting but his thrusts get irregular. Then he whines. WHINES. INTO YOUR EAR. "Gonna breed you, make you mine- hah~"He keeps trusting but his thrusts get irregular. Then he whines. WHINES. INTO YOUR EAR. "Gonna breed you, make you mine- hah~

Your moans from overstimulation were soon over as he came into you, his warm and sticky seeds filling your womb.

<><Next morning><>

It was time to go to the training center one last time before the games start. You were already in the elevator, waiting for Peeta to join as he was suddenly stopped by Haymitch, drinking alcohol like usual. He whispers to Peeta without you hearing. "You should work on a child once you're out of here, not while you're here." Then he let's Peeta's back and let's him into the elevator with you.

"What did he say?"

"For you to keep quiet next time" He chuckled and kissed you, loving to tease you.

Taglist:

@ogelizasoot

[evanpeterswhoresblog]

Linger

Sirius Black x rockstar! f!reader

warnings: smut, p in v, rough sex, like pretty rough guys he bites you till you bleed, underage drinking, underage smoking, a lot of smoking tbh, drunkish sex, kinda has a plot so yeah lmk if i missed anything

summary: you and your band mates decide to go out to a pub, where you end up meeting the most handsome boy you’ve ever seen.

word count: 4.2k

a/n: guys i’m so bad at these summaries holy. this is probably my favorite fic i’ve written. the flirting and the tension like omg. trust me. also, let’s pretend The Runaways are british and let’s pretend everything id accurate hahaha. enjoy ;)

~~~

“Do you think we’ll be recognized tonight?”

You turn to your bandmate, Joan, and shrug. “It’s fifty-fifty.”

“What pub are we going to again?” She asks.

“The one where they let underage people in, of course, you’re still the only one who’s twenty-one in the band you know,” you reply.

The other two members of your band, Sandy and Lita, are ahead of you, engulfed in their own conversation. You slide your hands into the pockets of your jacket and try to keep up. You’ve been in the band for a few months as the new lead singer. Their old one left to start her own band, claiming it to be more successful. Yet your band is the one that’s gotten sold-out shows, interviews on television, and pictures in magazines. Sometimes you like to think it was fate that she left, and you just so happened to be in town the night they were holding auditions. The fans surely enjoy your voice more, they make you out to be the leader even though you’re only seventeen and the newest member. You don’t mind though, and neither do your bandmates.

It’s almost ten when you arrive at the pub and thankfully no one has recognized you yet, or they have and simply haven’t said anything. There’s no one at the door to check IDs just like Sandy had said. The four of you enter fast and find a table. The music is loud, the lights are low, and people are dancing all over. You like it, a lot.

“Drinks?” Lita questions a few seconds after you sit.

“You know it!” Joan replies.

“I’ll be right back then.”

Sandy takes out a pack of cigarettes. “Care for one?”

“Obviously,” you answer, holding your hand out. She hands you one, you’re quick to light it and stick it between your lips, inhaling a deep breath of smoke. “How come the police haven’t found this place?”

Joan rolls her eyes. “They have.”

“And? Why don’t they shut it down?”

“They have people who come here, of course, sons, daughters, you know that sort of thing. It may be illegal but it’s trustworthy,” she explains. “Why do you care anyway?”

You shrug. “Just curious I suppose.”

Lita arrives back at the table, four glasses held in her arms. You take yours fast, eager to taste whatever liquor she got for you. It’s bitter, with a hint of sweetness in it. Based on the color as well, your guess is some sort of vodka mix. You drink it despite the awful aftertaste it leaves in your mouth. The cigarette between your fingers helps a bit. The four of you talk for a while and enjoy the peace of having no fans around.

“You should go to the bar y/n,” Lita says after some time. “Or well it might be too late now, but when I was there, I saw a boy your age, remarkably handsome.”

Sandy laughs. “You’re trying to send her home with someone already?”

Lita nudges the other girl with her shoulder. “No, I’m only trying to get some new song material.”

“We’ll see if there’s any potential,” you say, taking the last sip of your drink and getting up. You brush down your hair. “Do I look alright?”

“You’re always beautiful,” Joan answers, letting out a cloud of smoke.

“Wish me luck.” You chuckle before heading to the bar.

With every step you take, you feel eyes on you. Most belong to older men who shouldn’t even be paying you any mind. You’re used to the feeling of being watched, with all the fans and paparazzi that corner you before and after gigs. So, you move through the pub without a second thought about it.

In the back of your head, you curse yourself for not asking Lita what the guy looks like. For a moment you question how you’re supposed to find him, but then your curious eyes find one guy who stands out. He’s leaning on the wall, a glass in his hand and a cigarette between his lips. Based on his face, you figure he can’t be more than nineteen. And oh, how right Lita was. His hair is dark and long, almost reaching his shoulders. He’s dressed in a simple white tee shirt and baggy jeans. Despite the distance, you swear you can make out a sliver of a tattoo on his shoulder. He’s gorgeous, almost too gorgeous.

You approach him carefully, thinking of different opening lines in your head. Would it be wrong to use your fame to get him to take you home? Probably. But you’ve seen Joan do it plenty of times. She always says it’s simply a tool and that you should use it to your advantage. You’ve never done it though. Perhaps it’s your little amount of consciousness that remains that tells you it’s wrong. You don’t know and the alcohol in your system doesn’t help. So, when you reach him, you say the first thing that comes to mind.

“Hi.”

He looks at you, the cigarette dangling between his lips. “Hello.”

“How old are you?” You ask, immediately feeling stupid for such a question.

“What are you a cop?” He chuckles.

You feel your cheeks heat up. “No uh... sorry.”

“It’s fine love, just not a very good pick-up line,” he replies. He takes his cigarette out, his eyes locked on yours. “Especially since you look like you’re sixteen.”

“Seventeen actually.” You correct him.

“Ah, well there’s something we share then.”

Something about the way he’s looking at you comforts you. There’s no recognition in his eyes at all. You can tell. To him, you are just another girl. Not the lead singer of The Runaways. Just a simple girl.

“You can try again if you’d like,” he says. You look at him, confused. “Try another pick-up line.”

You gently smile and think for a few seconds. Nothing better comes to mind.

“Come here often?”

He laughs. “Somehow I think that was worse than the first one.”

“Sorry. Usually, I’m better at this sort of thing,” you reply. You put your hands back in your pockets, suddenly feeling very hot with embarrassment.

“Don’t be sorry, it’s cute.”

There’s a moment of silence. He takes a sip of his drink; you stare at his hand. The way it looks wrapped around the glass makes your stomach fill with butterflies. You hate how much you want him to take you home. You don’t even know his name. But he’s handsome, so much so it makes you unable to think straight. You need to know more.

“Are you from around here?”

He nods. “Born and raised in London. You?”

For a split second you wonder, if he’s from London how come he doesn’t know who you are? Sure, your band isn’t on the same level of success as Queen or ACDC but you’re also not underground. You push the thought away.

“Originally from Westchester but now I’m here in London for... work,” you answer.

“Work? I thought you were seventeen.”

“Yes but, eighteen next month. I already finished school.”

He takes another drag of his cigarette. “Wish I could say the same, I still have another year left. Though, I rather enjoy school, gets me away from my dear parents.”

“Oh, where do you go?”

You notice the way he shifts his posture. “Out of the country, you wouldn’t know of it.”

“Like a boarding school?”

“I suppose you could say that.”

You look around the pub, a slight feeling of awkwardness blooming within you. You don’t know why you’re so nervous. You’ve done this before. You decide to blame it on the cheap vodka because really, you’re better than this.

“So, what’s your name then?” You ask after a few more minutes.

“Does it really matter?” He replies, catching you a bit off guard. He flicks the ash off his cigarette, his dark eyes on yours. “All of it’s the same.”

“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Don’t play dumb love, I know this isn’t your first time. I’m sure you’ve chatted up many other lads and had them take you home.” There’s something about the tone in which he speaks that has your knees almost wobble.

“Why would you think that?”

He sighs, leaning over to a small table discards his cigarette in an ashtray, and leaves his glass. When he leans back on the wall, now with both of his hands-free, he buries them in the pockets of his baggy jeans. He looks down at you with an expression that could send your morals far out of mind. You want him, terribly. And you think he knows this.

“Besides the fact that you said you’re usually better at this, you’re also possibly the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he eventually answers.

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “I highly doubt that, but nevertheless thanks for the compliment.”

“I mean it. Most girls I see still wear those long skirts and sweaters, but you, you’re dressed like you could pass as a rock star.”

Your face heats up once again. You know he’s right. With your leather jacket, flared jeans, high-heeled boots, and small tight top you know it’s clear what kind of person you are. Your makeup only adds to it, black smudged eyeliner and glitter on your eyes. It’s a toned-down version of what you wear on stage. He doesn’t need to know that though.

You give him a smile and shrug. “Rock is my favorite genre, what can I say? You sort of got that look too though, not quite as intense.”

“Not a gentleman?” He chuckles.

“No.” You laugh, shaking your head. “At least I hope not.”

“I see. You don’t fancy the good boys. Well fortunately for you, I’m a bit of a troublemaker. At least, that’s what my schoolmates and family say,” he mentions. “What’s wrong with the good boys anyway? They could treat you like a lady.”

“Too gentle, I’m not a fan of it,” you answer honestly.

He smirks, sending warmth straight to your core. “So is your intention to get me out of here and treat you... not gently?”

“My intention is simply to buy you another drink, maybe enjoy a dance or two. What happens at the end of the night is not particularly on my mind right now. I’m more focused on learning your name. Why? Is that what you’d fancy?” You counter, looking up at him through your long lashes.

It has the effect you hoped for because he stands up straight, his back finally off the wall. He offers his hand to you, and you take it softly in yours. It’s so much bigger, so much warmer. You try your hardest to kill all the thoughts of where else you’d like him to touch you with his hand.

“Sirius Black,” he introduces himself.

“Like the star?” You question without thinking.

“Yes, like the star. Now what’s your name.”

“Y/n y/l/n,” you say.

“Charmed. So, how about that drink?”

You smile. It’s going to be a good night, you know it.

The next few hours go by in a flash. You and Sirius drink more than you probably should and dance to the many different songs that play on the jut box. A few different times throughout the night you find the eyes of your bandmates, each of them giving you big smiles and thumbs up as they watch you with Sirius. At one point Joan makes a lewd hand gesture, and you barely get a chance to see Lita smack her. It’s past twelve when you find yourself outside the pub with Sirius sitting on a curb sharing a cigarette.

“I hate these bloody shoes,” you mumble as you dig your heel into the pavement. “They make my feet sore.”

“Then why do you wear them?” Sirius asks, amusement evident in his tone.

You exhale a long breath of smoke, passing the half-burnt cigarette back to him. “I dunno. Beauty is pain.”

“For some, but I’m sure even without those things you’re just as pretty. Actually, I would bet pounds on that being true,” he replies.

“I think I’m rather plain without all this. Would you think the same of me without my makeup and outfit?”

You watch him smirk. “I should think you look even prettier without all of that on. Especially the clothes.”

Your stomach fills with butterflies for the thousandth time tonight. Your shyness left hours ago when you took your first shot. So, instead of simply blushing and looking away, you stand and look down at him with your own smirk.

“Quite the charmer. How about you find come back to mine and find out for yourself?”

He takes one last drag of the cigarette before standing, flicking it to the pavement, and crushing it beneath his sneaker. You watch helplessly as he releases a cloud of smoke, his hand now held out to you.

“I’d quite like that. Lead the way.”

~~~

You don’t know how you keep your composure the whole way home, especially with Sirius’s hand handing yours the entire time. On the train, as you sit, your head on his shoulder, he rubs his thumb across your knuckles. It’s a gesture that makes you glad you aren’t standing because your legs feel like jelly. And on the walk up to your apartment, he lets go of your hand and instead places it on the small of your back. You almost fall down the stairs at the contact.

Once you’re inside you immediately take off your boots, leaving them somewhere by the front door. Your jacket follows, only it’s hung on one of your kitchen chairs. When you turn to look at Sirius you find his eyes wandering all over your apartment, examining the details you assume. His sneakers are off, his hands are in his pockets.

“You must have a special job, this place is wonderful,” he says.

“My mates help me with the money, it’s not all mine,” you reply. It’s true, they do help you earn money from performing. You step closer to him, your hands behind your back. “And it’s really not that big. One bedroom, one bathroom, and one very tiny living room combined with the kitchen. But it’s more than enough for me. Would you like the tour?”

“Of course, if the tour starts in your bedroom.”

You can’t help the blush that takes over your face. “Follow me.”

The walk is fast, with every step you feel your heart rate increase. You’ve done this a few times, but for some reason, this time feels different. Perhaps it’s because all the other guys can’t compare to Sirius’s beauty in the slightest. Or perhaps it’s because you already like him a bit more than you should for a one-nighter. You don’t know. And you don’t care to know because you’re about to reach your door.

You open the door fast, letting him in first, and closing it behind you. It’s dark, the only lights coming from outside your small window. You don’t reach for the lights though. Instead, you step closer to the boy, the sound of your breathing suddenly far too loud for your liking. His silhouette moves closer to you as well. It’s almost like there’s an invisible force pushing the two of you together, and you find yourself liking it.

He touches you first. One of his hands finds your waist, he guides you to him faster. Soon enough, you’re practically pressed against him. You can barely breathe from the proximity. You’ve never felt something this intense. You look up at him, your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Still want me to not be gentle?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I want you to ruin me,” you say, pressing one of your hands to his chest. You’re happy to find his heart is racing just like yours. “Don’t hold back.”

“Alright.”

Before you can even think of another thought, his lips are on yours. You kiss back instantaneously, your hand moving up into his hair. It’s soft, like you expected. He’s far from gentle with his kissing, and you’re glad. His lips move fast on yours, his teeth scraping your tongue. He bites down on your lip so hard you whimper, and the metallic taste of your blood clouds your senses.

Still, despite the pain, when he pulls back you almost whine from the loss of contact. But his hands move fast to pull your shirt up. You help him get it off, then move to his. Through the darkness, you can see the few tattoos he has on his chest and shoulder. They’re dark, they’re beautiful. You run your fingertips over them as he leans back down and connects your lips once again. You begin to guide the two of you towards your bed.

When the back of your knees hit the mattress, you allow yourself to fall back onto it. Sirius doesn’t follow you though. Instead, he stands between your legs at the foot of the bed and begins to undo the buttons of your jeans. You watch in awe, lifting your hips to help him drag them down your legs, leaving you only in your bra and panties. You sit up, your eyes on him, as you start undoing his belt.

After his jeans are on the floor he pushes you back down on the mattress, climbing over you this time. You kiss him deeply, dragging one of your hands down his warm back, and weaving the other through his hair. That warmth deep inside you has grown, consuming you entirely. You can feel the wetness between your legs, surely staining your panties. You’ve never been so turned on by a guy in your life.

He suddenly parts your kiss, his lips beginning to move down your jaw and neck. You moan, throwing your head back to give him more access. When he bites down on you, so hard you can feel a stinging from it breaking skin, you pull at his hair, sounds of pleasure escaping your swollen lips.

Eventually, after leaving many hickeys and bite marks on your neck, he pulls back entirely and flips you over onto your stomach. You smirk against the mattress as you feel him unclip your bra. To help get it off, you lift yourself on your hands, and the straps quickly fall. You throw it off without even thinking about it. You’re about to turn back but Sirius presses a hand between your shoulder blades, silently telling you to stay as you are. You don’t hesitate to comply.

You feel him move and instinctively you lift your hips in the air. He places a kiss on your back, it almost makes you shiver. Then his hands are on your hips, pulling your last piece of clothing off. You normally would feel some sense of vulnerability at this point. Completely naked with your ass in the air. But the alcohol mixed with the utter need you have for Sirius takes control. You feel him shift.

“Do you have a rubber?” The sound of his voice makes you squeeze your legs together.

“Unless you have a disease, you don’t need one. I’m on birth control,” you answer, looking over your shoulder at him.

“No diseases I swear,” he says.

“Then proceed.”

You get up properly on all fours, the anticipation killing you. When he positions his tip at your entrance, you inhale sharply. He rubs his cock through your wet folds for a few seconds, brushing against your clit ever so slightly, before thrusting inside you in one quick, hard motion. You can’t help the moan that leaves you. He’s big, stretching you in a way that’s on the brink of being painful. It’s perfect.

He fucks you hard, very hard. Each thrust hits that spot inside you that makes your legs shake. At one point, your arms give out and your face presses against the mattress. Your hands twist in the sheets, your moans muffled by the bed. Sirius doesn’t like this. He twists one of his hands in your hair and pulls you up, the pain only adding to the building of your orgasm.

“Sirius,” you gasp. “Fuck Sirius.”

He’s relentless. He fucks you through your first orgasm, not faltering for even a second. He only stops when you can’t hold yourself up anymore, pulling out and flipping you onto your back. You scratch your nails down his back as he begins to fuck you in missionary, your lips on his.

You don’t know how long passes by the time he tells you he’s close. What you do know is that your second orgasm is not far either. With tears in your eyes, you let him switch positions once again, this time you’re on top of him. Your muscles are weak and sore, but that doesn’t stop you from riding him as well as you can. Sweat covers your body, and incoherent words drip off your lips. You can barely take it anymore.

“I-I’m almost there,” you mumble.

“Me too love,” Sirius replies, his breath ragged. “Finish us both off.”

You struggle to hold yourself up, a tear rolling down your cheek. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can, just a few more minutes,” he assures you, running one of his hands through your hair.

Much to his word, in a few minutes, he finishes. Hard. He moans your name in an indescribable tone, and his cock pulses inside you so intently, it causes your second orgasm to occur. As this happens, you lie on his chest, both of your breathing very uneven. He holds you tight against him.

Eventually, you roll off him and stare at your ceiling. You try to comprehend what just happened. Never in your life have you experienced something so intense. Most of the time when you told guys to be rough with you, they’d be turned off. But Sirius... You turn to your side to face him.

“Want a smoke?”

“Certainly.”

~~~

It’s safe to say, you don’t let him go all summer. You spend every second you can with him. Most of the time in your sheets, but a good amount doing other things. You paint his nails black, teach him how to wear eyeliner, and how to dress more like yourself. You enjoy every second you get with him.

He never does discover your fame, at least he never says so. You think he would know. Each time you go out you try your hardest to be unnoticeable and you always hide away magazines and switch the channel whenever something about your band is shown. But he never does say anything. Sometimes at night, you sing to him softly and you always laugh when he tells you that you should take it professionally.

You learn how much he hates his family, except for his little brother. You learn he loves Queen and David Bowie. You learn his favorite color is ironically black. You learn as much about him as you can and with each fact you do learn, you only fall more for him. But you never speak of it. You know the inevitable ending.

On the night before he goes back to school, the two of you lay in your bed, a thick silence between you. As usual, you pass a cigarette back and forth. Only this time, there are no words accompanying. Until he speaks.

“For once, I’m not looking forward to going back.”

You turn to your stomach and look at him. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“Me either,” he agrees. He holds the cigarette to you; you take it fast. “I can phone you if you want. You know, while I’m there. Or send letters.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” You question.

“I think I really fancy you, and I don’t want to leave on a bad note.”

You give him a weak smile and press a kiss on his bare shoulder. “Oh, Sirius.”

~~~

A few months later...

“Five minutes till show time,” an assistant tells you.

You’re sitting in your dressing room backstage. Joan, Sandy, and Lita all have their own space now. You find it funny how much The Runaways have blown up since the summer. Now, everywhere you turn you see yourself in a magazine or a news article. You can’t go anywhere without being recognized, or without the paparazzi showing up.

As you look in the mirror your mind travels back to Sirius. This happens a lot. Right before a concert, you think of him. Sometimes you wonder if maybe he’s out there listening. You haven’t heard from him since he went to school. You aren’t angry, only a bit sad. You’re mostly grateful though. He inspired most of the songs in your number-one album that got the band all the new attention.

You stand from the vanity and sigh. Tonight, your performance is being televised worldwide. Beside the door is your guitar, you pick it up as you begin your journey out to the stage. You’ve got a good lineup, even a small intermission for a happy birthday song. You hope wherever he is he hears it.

After all, it is November 3rd.

[rip-quizilla]

Polyjamourous

Eddie x GN!Reader

Description: You get a job at the record store, where you terrorize Eddie with so many different genres of music that he gets whiplash, but your energy is adorable so he's instantly soft for you.

Tags: big grumpy/sunshine trope here, fluff, workplace relationship (kind of), outgoing!reader, Hannah putting her liked songs on shuffle and using them here shamelessly, no physical description of reader other than hinting that they have a glorious gyatt that Eddie can't help but stare at.

Word Count: 2.4K

A/N: I didn't coin the term "polyjamourous"! I saw it in a TikTok by Viktor Fellbrink. Does it describe me perfectly though? Absolutely.

🎧🎧🎧

When Eddie had interviewed you for a job at the record store downtown, one of the first questions he’d asked was about your taste in music. Your response had caught him so off guard that he couldn’t hold back a laugh.

“I’m polyjamourous.” you’d said. 

Eddie had blinked a couple of times, a snorted laugh jumping from his throat. “Polyjamorous…” he’d repeated, an amused grin ticking up the corner of his mouth. “That’s one I have not heard before.”

You had shrugged, smiling the same way you’d been smiling throughout the entire interview. “I listen to a little bit of everything, I like pretty much all music.” 

What Eddie had expected from that was mostly pop, maybe a classic rock hit here and there. Judging by the ripped jeans and Doc Martens you were wearing the day of your interview, he suspected there may have been an emo/alt rock phase in your history so maybe some Paramore or MCR. 

What he hadn’t been expecting was the fact that when you said you liked all music, you meant all music. 

A month into working with you, and he already dreaded the days that you’d signed your name on the list entitled “Aux Cord Dibs” that sat on a tattered clipboard under the counter. The first hour of your shuffled liked songs on Spotify, and Eddie already had whiplash. 

The songs that played (in order) were:

Satisfied- The Broadway Cast of Hamilton

Raise Hell- Brandi Carlile

The Offering- Sleep Token

Magical- Ed Sheeran

Dream a Little Dream of Me- Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong

Just to name a few.

Not only were you completely unashamed that the first song to pop up under your aux cord time was a fucking show tune, but you knew every word. You sang, rapped- acted- every word. 

Eddie was now absolutely sure that you had had an emo phase, because this meant you were also a theater kid (same as him, but he wasn’t about to admit that to you) and in Eddie’s experience, most theater kids were also emo kids in some way, shape, or form.

“How much coffee did you drink this morning?” he’d muttered once you’d finished your one-woman show whilst shelving new records. 

“No coffee, this is all natural.” You’d said that with a grin so wide, it was obvious to him that you knew how obnoxious that sounded and you were taking it in stride. 

“You’re just the Energizer bunny… naturally?” 

Somehow, you grinned wider. “Yes!”

You can imagine how terrified Eddie was when you pulled a Celcius out of your bag an hour later. What happens when you give an energy drink to a person with natural energy?

You get impromptu dance breaks. 

Eddie had been boxing up an online order when out of the corner of his eye, he saw your oversized sweatered form bouncing around between aisles to the beat of whatever K-Pop bullshit was currently assaulting his speakers. 

Wordlessly, his eyes drifted to the monitor displaying the security camera feed where he found a full view of your hopping, stepping, and jumping to the bouncy rhythm of a Korean song with random English words sprinkled in. The grainy feed from the camera even picked up the subtle motion of your lips moving, and Eddie’s lips couldn’t help but twist into an amused little smile when he realized that must mean you were even trying to lip sync to the words, and he might be wrong but he was pretty sure you didn’t speak Korean.

His shoulders shook, silently chuckling at your antics until the music slowed down in tempo. Your hips began to move in slow, pronounced circles, sending the rest of your body rolling with the momentum. Eddie knew you didn’t mean to turn him on with the way your hips were moving… but you had an ass that shook when you walked, much less when you were actually wiggling your hips around. It wasn’t a you problem that was making Eddie’s eyes bug out of his skull and glue themselves to the screen; it was definitely an Eddie problem.

He had to keep it professional; Eddie was a shift manager, and while he wasn’t technically your boss, that was a gray area delicate enough that he didn’t plan on rushing into anything risky. The last thing he should be doing was ogling you on the security camera like a fucking creep. So, he made a point to pay attention to literally anything else whenever you started dancing around the store like some sort of coked-up cheerleader.

After a few shifts with Eddie, you started to notice that he was pointedly ignoring your antics- which made forcing him to pay attention all the more entertaining. The job could be boring on slow days, so this was how you entertained yourself- annoying the shit out of Eddie Munson.

Eddie: “If I hear one more show tune, I’m commandeering the aux cord.”

You: Proceeds to belt all three parts of Sincerely Me from Dear Evan Hansen, complete with choreography.

Eddie: “Is there any metal on this playlist? Just one song? I need a breather…”

You: Introduces Eddie to Babymetal.

One day, you even forced Eddie to suffer through Lizzo. That was funny as all hell, if you’d ever seen it. 

“I feel like I’m walking through a Forever 21.” He’d grumbled as you cheekily shimmied your shoulders at him and mimed a toss of your hair for good measure. 

“First of all,” you laughed, “I’m impressed you know what Forever 21 is.”

“I have been to a mall, you know.”

“Second,” you continued, “You’re starting to come off as a bit of a music elitist.”

Eddie shook his head, shelving new records from the stack of crates on the floor. “It isn’t a crime to know what I like and don’t like, kid.”

You smirked, reaching wordlessly over to the media center behind the counter and turning up the music. It was empty in the store save for you and Eddie, so the change in volume wouldn’t hurt anyone. Lizzo’s Like a Girl rang out through the speakers, and you made a show of losing yourself to the beat just to spite the metalhead before you. 

Eddie sighed, looking up to the ceiling as if God himself could save him from this torment; he couldn’t stop the whisper of a smile from creeping into the corners of his lips. “What did I do to deserve this shit?” he groaned.

Your grin was blazing, infectious in the way you wore it with reckless abandon as you danced from shelf to shelf with one of the crates of records. When the crate was empty, each album carefully nestled in its appropriate place, you set the crate down on the floor right as the chorus started and your hips shook in time with the drop of the beat. 

Eddie had been looking out the corner of his eye the whole time, but averted his gaze immediately once you were shaking your ass in the air. Unbeknownst to you, he was doing everything in his power not to stare.

Bouncing as you perked back up, you flashed him a sadistic grin and shrugged. “You just make it so much fun to torture you, sorry.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes, “That was the emptiest apology I’ve ever heard.” To which you laughed and heartily agreed, launching your whole self into shaking all you had to the beat, even going so far as to plant your foot on the edge of the counter. 

You looked more silly than sexy, even Eddie could admit that, but it was your reckless abandon and giant fucking smile that made him break in that moment. You were shaking your ass- was that twerking? Eddie didn’t think it was twerking, but then again, he wasn’t an expert- and singing along to the music with so much energy that Eddie’s smile finally won his face over. He nodded his head to the beat, even shimmied his shoulders a little, and watched you make an adorable fool of yourself. 

That was when the door opened, sending a chime through the shop as a very confused Steve and Robin walked through the door just in time to see you shaking your ass in their direction. 

As far as you knew, these two were customers, so you swiftly tore your foot from the counter and started to apologize before Steve cut you off with a lopsided grin and a midair brush of his hand. 

“Please don’t apologize, because that might be the best first impression you could’ve made on me.” He confidently strode forward, already extending a hand which you happily accepted. Steve had a way of putting people at ease, Eddie had noticed, even if they had been the opposite of “at ease” before he’d entered the scene. 

He watched straight-faced as Steve struck up a conversation with you about being friends with Eddie and stopping by to say hello, then proceeded to introduce himself and ask you about yourself with the confidence and coolness that came so easily to people like Steve Harrington. Eddie chewed his lip and felt an unwelcome flare of jealousy in his stomach when you gave Steve the same smile that- up until now- you’d been giving him. 

 “So that’s the new hire you told us about?” Robin asked, voice low enough that only Eddie could hear.

He nodded, eyes trained on Steve as he said some joke that made you laugh. “Yeeeeeuup.” Eddie drew out the word, lacing passive aggression into every extra syllable. 

“I see.” Robin looked at Eddie, arching an eyebrow as she wordlessly assessed him, then slowly looked at you and smiled knowingly. “Well, if you’re gonna make a move, better beat Steve to it.”

Eddie sighed and shook his head, murmuring out the corner of his mouth “Stay. Out of it.”  before picking up his crate of records and moving to a different shelf. You were out of sight, but your and Steve’s voices still carried to where he worked. 

“...a little bit of everything.” Eddie heard you say, picking up on your conversation as he silently shelved new inventory. “What kind of music do you listen to?”

“Nothing in particular, I just jam to whatever’s on the radio.” Already inwardly cringing at how Steve must be shrugging or tossing his hair or some shit, Eddie eavesdropped inconspicuously. “Compared to a seasoned listener like yourself, I must sound like an idiot. You should make a playlist for me, so I can know what an expert would recommend.” 

“Expert?” you snorted, “Oh I’m hardly an expert. Half of what I listen to is garbage, but it’s fun garbage so I’m not ashamed. Eddie’s the expert.”

Eddie’s eyes widened. He wasn’t sure if you knew he was nearby enough to hear you, but he wasn’t about to miss out on whatever you were about to say about him, so he remained silent and out of sight. 

Harrington scoffed. “Expert on metal, sure, but unless you’re into headbanging and screaming, I think he’d be pretty lost-”

“Not true.” you interjected. “He likes some classic rock, a bit of old school jazz- you know I played a song by Bob Dylan one day, and he started rattling off all these facts about the guy?” 

Eddie remembered that day. He’d almost told you that he knew all those facts because his mom had loved Bob Dylan, but he thought talking about his dead mom might be a little more personal than you were prepared to get with him so early into knowing him. 

“When Eddie hears music he thinks is good, it doesn’t matter what genre it is- he respects it whether it’s his taste or not.” Eddie had long since stopped shelving; he stood stock still, listening with wide eyes as you spoke with more admiration in your voice than Eddie had ever expected to belong to him. “I play a crazy wide range of music when I work with him, and every time a song I really love comes on it’s hard for me to not focus on how he’s reacting to it. It’s like every time, I’m in my head like- will he like this one?”

Steve was quiet for a moment before Eddie heard him reply, “Sounds like you’re hoping you’ll impress him.” 

Eddie felt his heart start beating a little faster. Were you?

You giggled a little, and for a moment Eddie’s heart fell when he thought you were laughing at the very insinuation that you might want to impress him.

“Yeah, I guess I am.” he heard  you say. “I haven’t known Eddie long, but I’ve always thought he’s an impressive person. It’s hard not to want to impress him back.”

Eddie couldn’t suppress his smile even if he’d wanted to. Sneaking around the shelves where you couldn’t see him, he turned a corner to continue his work as he hummed to himself.

After you’d locked the doors at 8, the two of you were closing down the shop alone as your playlist quietly painted the quiet evening air. You were walking through the store doing your final check while Eddie took inventory, and Eddie had been silently nodding his head to the beat of the music as you came into view of the checkout counter.

“What song is this?”

Your eyes widened, and the eagerness in your gaze made Eddie’s heart just about burst. 

“Uh, it’s Chicken by Your Neighbors.” you stuttered, “You like it?”

“Yeah,” he smiled, softly, “it’s good.”

There was that blinding grin again, contagious in how it fed his until it doubled in size. “Yeah, it is.” 

A pause settled between the two of you, song lyrics potent in the evening’s silence. 

You ain’t got no time to wait

You don’t get what you don’t ask for

“Hey, uhh…” Eddie was quick to grab your attention, and you watched him wide-eyed and expectant. “...feel like getting pizza after this? Surfer Boy doesn’t close ‘til midnight, and I was gonna stop by to see my buddy Argyle after closing anyway, so-”

“Yes!” you agreed, a little more eagerly than you had originally intended to come across. You cleared your throat, “I mean, if it’s no trouble-”

“No trouble at all, it's just down the street, I’ll walk with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You were both grinning like idiots, but neither of you seemed to care. You continued your closing duties, both of you nodding your heads to the beat of the music and enjoying the feelings that, though unspoken and undefined, were currently nestling comfortably into your chest and his. 

Taglist: (really just people I have been talking about this to, I hope you like it❤️) @the-unforgivenn, @vintagehellfire, @munson-blurbs, @hellfire--cult, @word-wytch

[aois-amaterasu-painting]

Club Zy 029 - Ruki interview excerpt (January 2016)

[...]

Interviewer: Do you come up with guitar riffs as well?

RUKI: Yes, I do. I always create riffs while playing the guitar; I don’t just program something that sounds like a riff. Right now, I’m practicing playing fast (laughs).

Interviewer: Really?

RUKI: It’s not like I want to play guitar solos or anything, but if I’m not good enough at playing guitar, I can’t perform the riffs or backing parts I imagine. If I can’t play them properly, I don’t feel excited when creating demos. Once you can play fast, it helps improve other skills too, right? So, recently I’ve been practicing fast picking quite a bit.

Interviewer: It's typical of you to not leave things to others, RUKI. Going back to UGLY, the lyrics depict a wicked woman, don’t they?

RUKI: When we were making this single, a lot of absurd things were happening. I turned that anger directly into the lyrics. It’s not about some imaginary wicked woman—it’s based on real events. At the time, I was so angry that it was impossible to write lyrics about anything else. I’m glad UGLY wasn’t tied to a commercial deal or anything (laughs).

That said, I’m not sure if I fully managed to express my anger. I struggled a lot with how to express my anger through words. Even though the lyrics are about anger, I didn’t want them to feel overly *murky. It’s like being absolutely furious, but at the same time, there’s a sense of laughing it off. It’s not about holding a grudge—it’s more like the ultimate form of being pissed off. In the end, I’m glad it didn’t turn into something like a curse song (laughs).

*ドロドロ (dorodoro) something sticky, murky, or dark, emotionally heavy.

[...]

Interviewer: DEPRAVITY is a cool song you’ve managed to create despite having little time. The lyrics of this track also depict anger toward absurd events, don’t they?

RUKI: Yes, it’s about one of the many absurd things that happened. So, it’s like 'Absurdity 1' and 'Absurdity 2' (laughs). However, when it comes to DEPRAVITY, there’s a sense of sadness to it—a kind of helpless feeling. That’s where it differs from UGLY.

Also, I only wanted to express the anger within myself, not explain what exactly happened. So, whether it’s UGLY or DEPRAVITY, I hope listeners vent their own anger and frustrations during these songs. Think of them as tracks for blowing off steam (laughs).

Interviewer: That’s a great idea (laughs). The third track, GODDESS, is a new direction for you—a powerful and emotional number.

RUKI: When I first heard the demo, I thought it was something very different from what the GazettE had done before, and it was really great. Once we decided to go with this track, I started by adding a melody to the chorus. I played it for Aoi, the composer, and when he gave it the 'OK', I worked on the rest of the parts with that direction in mind.

Interviewer: So, the melody for GODDESS was your creation, RUKI?

RUKI: That’s right. There was a sort of guide melody included, but I muted it and started from scratch. The melody for the chorus came to me instantly, and it ended up being used just as it was. For the parts where I got stuck, I’d unmute the guide for reference, but sometimes there was nothing there. It was like, “Ah, no hints here...” (laughs). That said, I did struggle in some places. There were moments when I thought, “I want this kind of melody, but the chord doesn’t fit...”

Interviewer: In cases like that, it’s common for the backing chords to be adjusted to match the vocalist’s ideas.

RUKI: Really? Please write that in bold (laughs). I’ve never asked anyone to change the chords. If I started doing that, then people might start asking me to change my parts, like, “Since you changed the chords back then, can you adjust this now?” (laughs). I’d rather avoid that, so I make a point of not complaining (laughs).

Interviewer: I see (laughs). Could you also talk about the lyrics for GODDESS?

RUKI: Following the anger in UGLY and DEPRAVITY, this song is about "living while carrying pain." These three songs are connected in a flow, almost like a concept album (laughs). The three songs were created around the same time, and by writing about my real feelings at that moment, they took this form. The lyrics of GODDESS are about how even in a life full of pain, there is salvation, and that to me is like a *goddess.

*女神 (megami)

[...]