#it was wonderful seeing him be focused on

[cream1111]

🍎 phone call. . .ᐟᅟ

⠀⎯⎯⠀⠀caleb/mc!reader, 1.6k, incest, somno, dubcon, mutual masturbation, phone sex, pillow humping. @rukii-afterdark , order up! ! part 1

ring ring . . .

you jolt up, eyes popping open before they settle onto your phone, with a groan you pull it closer. squinting�� your  sleepy  eyes  at  the  bright  screen, you see the caller's name. caleb. you sigh, it's  1am,  much  later  than  he  usually  calls. you answer and let the phone fall next to your head.

“gege,  why  are  you  calling  so  late?”  you  whine, fighting back a yawn.

“aw,  did  i  wake  you? you sound like you're half asleep”  caleb  sounds teasing but sympathetic, and  slightly  out  of  breath...  maybe  he's  settling  into  bed  himself.

“yeah  a  bit,"  you groan a bit, your annoyed tone remaining playful "but  it's  ok…  what's  up?”  you  ask,  closing  your  eyes,  and  snuggling  back  into  your  bed.  letting  your  phone  rest  on  the  pillow  next  to  your head. 

“it's nothing serious,  i just missed  you,  l⎯”  his  breath  hitches. you  peek  your  eyes  open and  glance  at  your  phone, wondering if the call dropped. you don't have the volume very high, so you're not sure. you  pull  it  closer,  it looks like the call is still going. you press it against your ear.  it's not entirely silent, there's  a  shuffling  sound,  but it's  faint.

“are  you  ok?”  you  murmur,  confused. the shuffling seems to stop, but it's hard to tell under the barely audible droning static his mic is picking up. you let your eyes drift shut again.

“sorry,  yeah,  just,  long  day.”  he  replies  quickly,  his  voice  sounding  more  strained.  “what  about  you?  miss  me?” 

“of  course,  everyday,  you  know  that.” you'd roll your eyes if they weren't already closed. as much as you love talking to caleb, you really are tired. "listen, it's late⎯"

"i know, pipsqueak. i'm sorry for waking you. i just wanted to hear your voice." there's a tinge of urgency to his voice. you would've hurried to hang up if you didn't notice it. it makes you feel a bit guilty. he pauses, you wait to see if he'll say more. "how about this, how about you just go back to sleep but keep me on call. hearing your sleepy breathing always puts me at ease"

is that all?

"you're so cheesy," you tease. then you hum, pretending to think about it. but you're just as bad as he is, you can't ever say no to him. "yeah, fine, but i'm really going to bed, you better not keep talking to me. i won't even answer, i'll just snore"

he let's out a soft chuckle. "that's fine, snore all you like" he replies. "sleep well" he whispers, honey sweet. he's always been so sweet with you.

"goodnight" you mumble, already feeling the drowsiness washing over you. you try to quell the small excitement that caleb even wants to do something so lovey dovey with you. it warms your heart a bit, not that you'd admit it out loud. even though it's not that much of a leap, you've fallen asleep together so many times, something about it feels a little more intimate. that he misses you enough to try and pretend you're both sharing a bed. it makes it easier to pretend he is here, he's home and he's with you, keeping you warm.

your breathing evens out, you almost forget you're on the phone.

. . .

through your sleep you hear something, softly, distant. you focus, waking just a bit. you're alone. but you remember you fell asleep on the phone with caleb. is he talking? something woke you, you're pretty sure. you rouse yourself, focusing, listening.

nothing. it might've been in your dream. though you figure you'll scold him anyways, tell him to keep quiet or you'll mute him. but then you hear it again, clearer now.

"h-hah..."

no way. there's no way, is he⎯

"ah⎯ fuck"

you freeze. a blush heating up your face. you shift closer, turning up the volume as quietly as you can. just to be sure. you hear the sound of something moving, fast, wet. he's...

he's jacking off. it sounds so obvious now. the soft panting, the rhythmic sound of his hand on his well lubricated cock. a heat surrounds you, you feel like you're suffocating at the implication. there's also a gnawing unease, that you're misinterpreting this and there's some reasonable explanation that you are blind to. maybe you're just hearing what you want to hear.

you've always wanted him, more than a sister should. you rationalize it sometimes, you're not siblings, not really. it's not hard to want him, it seems just about every girl at his school would agree with you. but the shame helps you weigh those thoughts down, tuck them away in a deep corner of your mind. your relationship is unconventional, but you're just close, you just love each other, would do anything for each other, there's nothing wrong with it. you've held onto this justification for a long time.

but maybe it's a lot simpler than that.

you're not entirely sure about what's happening, if he's doing what you think he's doing. but… it couldn't hurt to pretend.

your rationalizations fade, you push the shame to the side, and you dip your fingers, along your chest, slowly, savoring the feeling. focusing on the panting, the faint sound of his hand.

your fingers dance along your skin, you're teasing yourself, until you slip them past your pajamas, over your panties. you palm yourself, rubbing, imagining the sweet friction was against him, anywhere — his hand, his thigh, his face. you realize, rather quickly, a wet spot has already formed, and you flush, feeling embarrassed with yourself.

did just the thought of him, the sound of him, do this to you?

when did you become so dirty.

you can't help the soft noise that leaves your lips at your discovery, and you realize suddenly that caleb quiets on the other the line.

you pause as well. holding your breath. for a second you can't hear anything. does he think you're awake? does he think you're doing the same thing? does he want to end the call?

"f-fuck..." he moans out, the sounds from before continue, faster, more enthusiastic. you're not sure what he thinks, but whatever it is, he's keeping it to himself.

the idea of him getting more excited, it lights a fire in you. you rub yourself faster. you try to be quiet, you really do, but you can't help the huffs and sighs that leave your lips. it's not that obvious, you think. but caleb seems to get more eager with every tiny sound you make. it's good incentive.

you can't help but think about the situation, both of you touching yourselves while on the phone, not acknowledging it, leaving room for plausible deniability. the idea that you're reading this wrong sends a shiver down your spine.

“ngh.. please” he whispers, barely there. and you don’t know what he’s begging for but you want to give it to him. you rub harder, then sigh in frustration. it's not enough. you flip, shifting onto your stomach, trying your hardest to stay quiet. you place a pillow between your legs, and waste no time before grinding against it.

you huff, loving the feeling. even if you're misunderstanding this, you like pretending. that it was his warm body heating you up, making you feel good. with your phone placed next to your ear, you imagine he was there, groaning behind you, just out of sight, touching himself for you.

you let out a whimper at the thought, a little louder. his response is immediate, a low groan. to your surprise, he speaks.

"you⎯ mm... you must be having a nice dream, pipsqueak."

you bite your lip and keep still at his words. does he want you to respond? does he really think you're still sleeping? you don't want to acknowledge it. you continue, quieter, a little shy. you don't want the illusion shattered. grinding your hips into the mattress, desperate.

you imagine his body, and it's not hard. you've memorized the feeling of his frame against yours. he's pressing into you, in time with his groans, you move at the same pace, whimpering when you buck back against the empty air. but you pull yourself back into your fantasy, he's there, his soft sounds are for you, only you.

"fuck," he hisses out, seeming to bite back the sound.

it's becoming too much, your mind is getting so cloudy, reason and shame seem like distant concepts. in this moment, it’s just the pleasure between you two, his touch, his kiss, his body, him.

"i'm— i'm gonna-" his whispers spur you over the edge.

you can barely hear his grunts as he releases with you. your mind goes blank. you don't bother with being quiet, couldn't if you wanted to. you rut helplessly, greedily, panting and whimpering all the while. as satisfaction washing over you. he hums, before letting out a satisfied sigh himself, and you smile sleepily into your pillow.

but as your heartbeat slows into a regular rhythm, and your face cools down, you're left with a pit in your stomach. the room feels colder, the call is quiet, the guilt comes rushing back all at once with nothing to keep it at bay. did you two really just do that? were you really that reckless?

what are you going to do in the morning?

"shit, i made a mess." he mumbles, but he doesn't sound too upset about it. in fact he sounds a little smug. you don't reply, but it calms you a bit, brings you comfort. a vague acknowledgement at this new game you two are playing. with all it's plausible deniability. you decide you'll follow his lead.

so when he yawns, you let the sound soothe you, you let sleep surround you. you leave your shame to him. he's always been the source, he can shoulder it for you.

it's only fair anyways, you were just sleeping, and he's the one who called you.

he made the mess, he can decide if he wants to clean it up.

[jaybarou]

Hi, femme-enby!

(and I apologize to OP for highjacking your post a little)

You were checking your insurance policies on your phone, completely engrossed in the minutiae that could leave your mother uninsured if any step was done wrong. You were so deep as to ignore the half-smoked cigarette, its ashes approaching slowly to your fingers, and the rest of your surrounding area. You were ignoring the whole huge Pizzaplex at your back.

You took a drag of your cigarette and held it while you skimmed over the terms of a long-term stay in the hospital, then went to blow the smoke to the other side with a big sigh.

And you found yourself staring at a collection of turbid bubbles... And at a plastic bubble maker right between your eyes, attached to a blue hand. You cranked your neck up.

“Moon!” You frowned a little. “Where did you get that?”

“Confiscated!” He dipped the plastic stick in the soap and offered you the renewed delicate tensed surface. “Again!”

Your smile twitched to life and you indulged him, because how could you not? He sat by your side and you let yourself be used as a human bellows for your and his amusement.

The insurance policies were put on hold for the rest of your break.

🌜

The next night you tried to read the exact same paragraph again. Yet another cigarette in your hand. Focused again on what dire consequences may come from the hospital stay. Economical at least because the health ones you had no way of predicting.

You should have seen it coming. This time you should have seen it coming.

You took a drag of your cigarette and held it while you read, then went to blow the smoke with a sigh.

“Twuuuut”

You shook, startled out of your musings by the noise. You turned looking for the culprit and of course Moon was there, so close that you almost startled again, holding a kazoo between his fingers in the exact same position as your cigarette.

“Wa- How did you…?” If yesterday had taught you something, it was that he didn’t have lungs, so…

He made a gesture with his unoccupied hand to yours. You moved your arm and he moved his so you played along. You took another drag and he mimicked you, down to how his chest piece seemed to fill and expand with air with just a change of posture.

You held your breath for a moment wondering what was going to happen now. Then you let your arm with the cigarette hang and he did the same.

You exhaled.

“Twuuuut”

You couldn’t help yourself and cackled.

“It’s your speakers!”

“Twut Twut twt twuut twuut!”

“That’s cheating!”

“Twut Twut twut!”

Well, you were not getting any conversation out of him today, so you took another drag and expelled long and continuously.

“Twuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut- Tw tw tw tw.”

The last of your smoke and his twuuting stuttered because you couldn’t help but laugh.

“You didn’t need to bring the kazoo if you are going to make the noises with your ‘mouth’.”

“Twut twutn’t twut tw twuut thw twtoo tw tw tw twing tw twk tw twuut twt twt twuut.”

You didn’t expect any less of him.

“You are Twidiculous!”

“Twut Twut twuuuut!”

Yet another break where you didn’t manage to read a single line.

🌜

So much time had passed, you no longer cared for that particular insurance policy. Instead, now you cared about what half-destroyed bots would be sent to your workshop, what Sun would think if you bought him a Rubik cube, what Moon would think of getting new clothes, what your friends at The Rooms would be plotting this time… But today had been a long day and you had had to put on a front for people who would rather see Sun and Moon back under the orders of FazCo. It had been rough.

You patted your jacket and felt the box. Just what you needed after such an ordeal.

You leaned against the wall of the hotel, well outside the streetlamp area, and Moon followed. Then you got out of an inner pocket a cigarette box. Something still rattled inside.

“No,” Moon chided you immediately.

“It has been a long night,” you complained.

“The last one was the last one.”

“Just one,” you even put one finger up in front of him.

“No!”

“Yes!”

You didn’t give him any more time to complain. You opened the box, whipped out the content, held it between your fingers and…

“Tweeee!” ...blew the party horn right to his face.

Moon didn’t move. He said nothing.

“Tweeee!” you repeated, making sure the end of it tapped his faceplate.

Said faceplate twitched to the left. And just when you were about to ask him what was-

“Twuuuut!”

You knew that noise clip!

“Tweeee!”

“Twuuuut!”

“Tweeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

“Twuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut!”

“Twee!”

“Twut!”

“It’s two am, I’m going to call the Police!”

You looked up. From the window of the hotel you saw a spiked silhouette leaning, his face on his hand and watching you.

“Twee!”

“Twut!”

On AO3

My friend sent me this post and said it was Sun core so y'all know what I had to do.... 🤭😭✍️

[starry-bi-sky]

im dedicating this to @detectivedarling. i felt inspired after seeing their little ficlet yesterday sadhjfl 🫶

-

Danny's grip on his cane tightens.

"What—"

His voice cracks. He stops, clears it, then tries again in spite of the nausea twisting in his gut. "What are — you, uh, watching, Bruce?" He sounds horribly far away.

Bruce doesn't look at him, his attention laser-focused on the screen. Which is— fine. It's usually not a problem, Bruce gets like that when he hyper-focuses on a case, and unless it's urgent — or he's been at it for hours — Danny sees no need to pull him away from it. He likes the quiet camaraderie they have, it's companionable and unique to the two of them.

He wishes he was right now though. Looking at him, that is.

That way he wasn't watching what was clearly one of Danny's ghost fights. One of the nastier ones, if the collateral damage and rubble on the street is of any indication.

Danny tries to remember which one that is. He shuffles a little closer to the desk, ignoring the rock in his stomach or the ugly weightlessness in his arms. It's not the blood blossoms, that much he knows. He just recently had an injection so it shouldn't be bothering him this soon—

So it's just nerves. Perfect.

Most footage of his fights are— messy, at best. Unusable at worst. Amity Park was obsessed with appearing 'normal' when they first started happening, and typical news stations censor the worst of the fights anyways for publishing, since they can get pretty gory at times. And ghosts move too fast to be caught on regular standard cameras, not including distance and light and—

That is to say— finding usable ghost fight videos is hard.

Danny wonders how Bruce got his hands on this one, and then stops wondering.

The audio is muted, which is - good. Good, because the fight is ugly and chaotic and clearly this was taken on someone's phone. Fuck, he can't remember if he ever saw that before — clearly not. They're hiding behind an overturned car, and Danny grits his teeth so he doesn't tell that idiot to run.

The camera turns up, and focuses on two figures in the air. It takes a few seconds, but when it does, Danny gets hit with a wave of vertigo. His grip tightens and he leans heavily on his cane, he waits for the black dots to disappear.

He- uh, he remembers this fight now. Uh, sort of.

He remembers being twelve at the time, and he remembers some of the injuries he got out of it. His eyelid spasms abruptly. This ghost wasn't one of his regulars, so he doesn't remember whatever name they had, barely remembered what they looked like up until- uh. Now.

Was he always that small? Well— Phantom's never been particularly big, perks of being a dead kid, but— it's - different. Seeing it from an outsider perspective. Was he that small? Or is it just because he's wearing a jumpsuit clearly too big for him that casts the illusion of being small?

Doesn't really - matter. Now. He can't access his ghost form, and he already knows the answers to his appearance.

Phantom is clearly bleeding, viscous and violently green like the bubbles of a lava lamp, clutching onto a limp shoulder that's missing an arm from the elbow down. Half his face is drenched in similar blood, the eye on the drenched side is closed — not because he can't see through the ectoplasm.

Danny's memories of that fight slowly come in a bit clearer. Right. He took a pole to the eye in that one. That had - hurt. A lot. Getting an eye gouged out usually does. It and the missing arm took hours to grow back.

He rubs his eye with his palm for no other reason than it itches.

The other ghost isn't untouched of any injury either, but he's not in a state of dismemberment like Phantom is.

Danny drops his gaze down at Bruce, whose sitting in his chair with his hands threaded together, looking so tense that Danny half expects to meet solid steel if he were to touch his back. His face is - blank. Terribly blank, with an intensity in his eyes that Danny doesn't see often.

He looks terribly distressed.

He opens his mouth, and finds that nothing comes out. His throat is thick with an ugly, tar-like feeling that makes his eyes sting. Kinda reminds him of when someone wraps their hands around your throat and presses. He closes his mouth, then tries again.

"B—" hhhhhh, "Buzz."

Finally Bruce looks at him, one hand slaps the space button on the keyboard, and the video pauses. His expression doesn't shift, but there's a weight in the lines of his face that reminds Danny of a set of weights sagging.

He looks quite like he's grieving something.

Bruce opens his mouth, his voice comes out terribly soft and heartbroken: "He looks like you."

Which is— a terrifying sentence in and of itself. One that makes Danny's legs shake and ignite his ragged, poison-chewed nerves alight with the need to run. An instinctive urge to deny, deny, deny.

How could he? He could say, that's a ghost, Bruce. I'm not a ghost. He could crack a joke, and ask, 'do I look dead to you?' or say something about how he knows that his parents studied ghosts, but that didn't make him one.

He could say that, and he could say it knowing full well that Bruce would see right through it. He'd probably let Danny too.

Danny closes his eyes. They sting, you see? So does his nose, right in the back like someone popped him in the face. And his throat is thick and gross and like someone stuck a spider, the big fat tarantula kind, right down into his esophagus.

He breathes in — through his mouth, because his nose stings and so it'd be best not to irritate it further with air — and it's terribly shaky and uneven. But it clears a pathway to his lungs big enough for him to say — whisper, really:

"You know, I think you're the first person to notice that."

[lqfiles]

PAY THE PRICE — 58. a second try

previous — master list — next

notes ; WE ARE FINALLY HERE. i can’t tell if it feels rushed but atp idec i’m just trying to get this out 😭✌🏽 POP DA MF APPLE JUICE GET THE FRICKING FIRE WORKS WE ARE GETTING LIT.

BONUS — 570 wc, just a little fun extra that i felt like writing 🫰🏽

you could feel the beating of your heart all the way in the back of you ear, it’s rhythmic patter at an abnormally fast rate as you nervously stood in front of donghyuck’s apartment door. a place that was very familiar to you once, but felt totally foreign now.

you wondered how it would all unfold, what the first few seconds of your interaction would go like. would he have a moment of realisation that maybe you weren’t worth his time? would you two even talk much? would everything just go back to normal after a month of not seeing each other? you were tempted to back out for a split second, rethinking this moment and reschedule your ‘date’ so you could mentally prepare yourself, even if you were the one who proposed it.

but the door opened, almost as if donghyuck knew you were there this whole time. with a slow pull, you were met with him, and the emotions washed over you like a wave. you could never forget what donghyuck looked like, you’re sure that an image of his face has been permanently scarred in your mind, serving as both a fond or traumatic reminder. the only change was the new jet black hair he wore, its length having grown by a little bit.

“i missed you.” were his first words, a bashful smile already stuck on his face that he couldn’t fight off. it was contagious, as soon enough you smiled back at him, unable to hide your joy. you missed him too, and you told him exactly that. “can i hug you?” donghyuck followed up, this time avoiding any eye contact.

the cuteness aggression you felt for him were put aside for a moment as you leaned forward and embraced the boy next door in a soft embrace, one which tightened as he pulled you closer. you got a whiff of his signature vanilla scent, one you wished to drown in by never letting go off him. but donghyuck already pulled away, retracting his arms back to his side.

“do you like the hair?” he asked with a shy smile sporting his face. you smiled again, nodding your head. you loved it. you loved everything about his look. and after seeing him again, you came to the conclusion that you just loved seeing donghyuck. “it’s a nice look.” you decided on keeping your answer simple, though your answer was enough for donghyuck to beam.

“thank you, it’s a new me. i got the website ready so let’s hurry up.” donghyuck motioned for you to follow him into his apartment. you followed the boy into his place and as you did, donghyuck’s words fully sunk in your head. they lingered as you watched the episodes, and they lingered even after you finished watching them all. looking to your side, you were met with donghyuck who’s head was slumped, having dozed off some time ago.

focusing on the newly dyed black hair, his words came back to mind. a new me. you couldn’t agree more with his simple statement as the hair brought a new identity to the boy you knew. it signified the start of something new, and new him, a new era, a new chance.

staring at his softened features that were in deep rest, you came to the conclusion that you truly were willing to take this new chance, and new him into your life.

TAGLIST ; @90s-belladonna @pnkified @2jisungs @swee7dream @sinisxtea @en-dream @h-aecat @lostinneocity @sunflowerbebe07 @pookime @aerivrs @alethea-moon @hcvenue @prettyrenjunn @manooffline @bath1lda @hyejooistic @emvrd @dojaejunging @odxrilove @hyuckluvr-com @jaeims @ihyucksol @tddyhyck @dalsosapple @https-yeonjun @luvlyrenwoo @yoursyuno @lilacsxjoon @heymsperfectlyfine @mystverse @ne0c0r3 @casperbutnot-theghost @hyuckies18 @w3bqrl @ckline35 @nosungluv @luvvsnae @chcnlcs @cryingforgyu @thatgirlkay @222brainrot @junviadinho @n0hyuck @sinsgaybutthatsokay @choerubies @goldustupmysea @cyber-innie @hyunjungjae @blamemef0rit @lowkeychenle @lecheugo

[berfgrimm]

no hands | choi su-bong (thanos) x reader

pairing: choi su-bong (thanos) x f!reader

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, praise kink, sextape (kinda? whoops), mentions of violence, very brief allusion to suicide, vaping, semi-public, fluff.

note: surprise for all of us, because i was worried I wouldn’t be able to post again so quickly lol. this was technically a request that i think i tweaked a little after someone sent that one tiktok a few days ago.

———————

You can already feel his eyes on you from across the club, burning into the back of your head. You spare a casual glance over your shoulder to see if your senses were correct and, yeah, he’s staring. His jaw is set firmly in place, scowling at you, his vape clutched in his hand so hard that you feel it could break. He’s definitely pissed off.

Initially, you aren’t sure what exactly it is that you’ve done to set him off like this. All you’re doing is ordering another drink at the bar, and talking idly to another patron. Maybe that’s what it is? Is he jealous?

This guy who stands next to you, talking about how he loves coming to this club, is just that: a guy. He’s not your type, by any means. He seems annoying and frankly boring, but you are nothing if not polite, so you humor his conversation.

“I love it here, too,” you smile, focusing on the man in front of you again.

“You come here a lot,” he says, resting his arm on the bar to lean a little closer towards you. “I’ve seen you here before.”

“I feel like we should buy stock in the place, we’re here so often,” you laugh.

“‘We’?” the man asks.

“Me and my boyfriend,” you say, weakly gesturing behind you. “And his friends, usually.”

“Ah, boyfriend,” he nods, a look of disappointment on his face. “I should have come over to speak with you the first night I saw you. Maybe we could have changed that.”

“Oh,” you say, simply. You’re thankful for the dim lighting in the club because you’re sure that you blush when it hits you that he’s flirting with you, and you’ve been foolishly welcoming it.

“You know, we still could change it,” the man continues. “Which one is your boyfriend? I can win in a fight, I’m sure.” You scoff at his claim, because there’s no way this guy could take your boyfriend on and win without any extenuating circumstances in play.

“Sorry,” you say, still finding yourself trapped by your instinct to be polite. “I doubt that you could. He likes to fight.”

It’s not untrue; Su-bong has gotten into several physical altercations since you’ve been with him, but it wasn’t as though he sought them out. It sounds silly when you say it out loud, so you break eye contact with him and look at the bartender, checking on your drink.

“I should get back soon…” you say. “I’m sure they’re wondering where I am.”

“Am I making you nervous?” the man asks, taking a small step closer to you. “Or is your boyfriend one of those guys who needs to know where you are at all times?” You laugh, as the bartender sets your drink on the bar in front of you.

Su-bong does not control you like this stranger implies. He has a healthy amount of jealousy within him, but he doesn’t often let it out. Generally, if he catches another guy so much as looking in your direction, he will pull you closer or hold you tighter as a reminder. But men have never flirted openly with you in front of him.

“Is he?” the man pushes.

He’s not aggressive, thankfully, but more persistent in his advances. Foolishly, you haven’t given him any obvious signs of disinterest, though you thought that mentioning your boyfriend would have been indication enough. Even if you weren’t with Su-bong, you would not be interested in pursuing anything with this man — now if you could only make that clear to him.

“No, I guess not,” you say, with a laugh, unsure of how to react beyond maintaining your politeness.

“MG Coin.” Your boyfriend’s voice comes from behind you, and immediately he slips past you, placing himself in the space between yourself and the stranger. “You must not be thinking straight,” Su-bong says. “Do you need me to knock some sense into you again? We know how that went the last time you thought you could take something from me.”

Fuck, you think. This is Myung-gi.

You’d never seen him before, but you should have recognized his voice from how often you’d overhear Su-bong watching one of his videos. There was a time where you thought that you were going to lose your boyfriend to this guy, because he spent more time watching MG Coin videos than he did with you. Unfortunately, it took a significant financial loss for Su-bong to realize that it was a waste, but you were both past that, and moving to a happier life.

“I didn’t take anything from you before,” Myung-gi says. “You held out for more money.” You can notice from your position behind Su-bong that he immediately tenses up, so you place your hand on his back to try to calm him. “I never thought you’d have anything that I’d want,” Myung-gi continues, a small smirk on his lips. “But I have to say…I’m tempted.”

Su-bong straightens his back, trying to make himself look taller, but you grab a handful of his shirt to keep him from making a decision he’ll regret. He takes a hit of his vape, locked in a stare with Myung-gi, who shows no signs of backing down.

“What do you think?” Myung-gi asks, looking past Su-bong and locking his gaze onto you.

“Don’t look at her, look at me,” Su-bong says, firmly, catching the other man’s attention again. “You don’t get to look at her.” The tone of Su-bong’s voice is different. You know he’s a little jealous, but this is beyond him being territorial — he’s furious. “You should consider yourself lucky that she’s here,” Su-bong continues. “Right now, her hand on my back is the only thing keeping me from bouncing your head off of the floor.”

“Your attitude hasn’t changed since the last time I saw you,” Myung-gi laughs. “I almost missed this, Thanos.”

“Since you’re so busy pushing up on my girl, that must mean your little pregnant sweetheart must have finally ditched you.”

“I’m glad we’re able to have this chat, though,” Myung-gi says, with a smirk, not appearing to be affected by Su-bong’s jab. “After the games, I would have expected you to end up on that bridge again.”

“Hey!” you snap, reaching past Su-bong and shoving Myung-gi by his chest. He takes a few stumbled steps backwards, and you move past your boyfriend to place yourself between him and his enemy. “Do not talk to him like that,” you say. “You wanted to cause some problems tonight, well, now you get to experience my attitude.” Myung-gi appears a little stunned by the way you speak to him, but you continue. “I had zero interest in you from the start, so let’s clear that up first,” you say. “He already told you that I’m the only reason he hasn’t put his hands on you yet, and now I’m more inclined to let him do what he wants.”

“Hmm, well, aren’t you two perfect for each other,” Myung-gi laughs, shaking his head.

“That’s right!” Su-bong says, proudly, slinging his arm over you from behind and leaning forward to point at Myung-gi. “So, run along, MG Coin. Find someone else to scam.”

Su-bong waves his hand dismissively in Myung-gi’s face, and the other man rolls his eyes as he takes his leave. Su-bong leans harder against you, pulling you closer to him as you hear the crackling of him hitting his vape. You grab your drink from the bar, keeping your body relatively stiff to hold the extra weight your boyfriend has put on your shoulders. You take a sip of your drink, and set the glass down again just as Su-bong’s arm that is draped over you lifts so he can grasp your chin. You feel him stand upright again, and he tilts your head to the side so he can look into your eyes.

“That was sexy,” Su-bong mutters, pressing a kiss to your lips. “But you shouldn’t have been talking to him to begin with.”

“Oh, I’m not allowed to talk to other men?” you scoff, shoving his hand away from your face.

“Not ones I hate.”

“Well, make me a list of their names so I’ll know in the future,” you joke, trying to pull away, but Su-bong wraps his other arm around you now, trapping you against his body.

“Where you going, huh?” he mumbles, with his mouth against your ear. “Running after your new boyfriend or something?”

“Ya’know, maybe I should,” you reply, pushing his face away from you. “I bet he’ll dance with me, since you never want to.” Su-bong unwraps his arms from you, and grabs your drink from the bar, quickly drinking the rest and setting the glass back down.

“After you, my feisty girl.” you can hear Su-bong smirking as he speaks, standing behind you.

You make your way to the dance floor with your boyfriend hot on your trail. You settle on a spot near the edge of the crowd and Su-bong slides into place in front of you, his hands grabbing your hips to pull you against him immediately.

Su-bong likes showing up at this club when a specific DJ is there because he knows that he would play what he deemed ‘good music’. Tonight is one of those nights and you slowly begin to grind against your boyfriend to a song that hasn't been popular in at least ten years. Su-bong’s hands stay on your hips, but you know that won’t last long; he usually won’t dance with you at the club because he can’t contain himself when he feels you grinding on him. Judging from the look on his face, tonight is no different.

One of his hands presses to the small of your back, getting you even closer to him, and you can feel that he’s already starting to get hard. You press your hands against his chest and lick your lips, peering into his eyes with the most innocent look you can muster.

Su-bong smirks, leaning in towards you as if he’s going to kiss you, but you slip your tongue from your mouth and flick the tip over his lips to tease him. He bites his lip, but you can still see how wide he smirks, his eyes now dropping between your bodies to watch your hips sway.

One of Su-bong’s hands grasps your thigh, pulling your leg to pinning it against his hip so you can feel him getting harder. Your arms wrap around his midsection now, holding yourself closer to him so you can press yourself against his bulge.

“You’re hard already?” you ask, noticing Su-bong’s is fixated on your lips.

He doesn’t answer you, but instead pulls his cell phone from his pocket. He holds it above your heads at an angle so he can snap a picture of you both. Quickly, he releases your leg as the song overhead begins to transition into another one of his favorites. Su-bong spins you around and yanks your body against his again, pressing himself against your ass as he takes hold of your hips again.

You feel that he still has his phone in his hand, as it’s pressed to your hip, so you slip it from his grasp and start to record a video. You grind yourself against him harder now, putting on a show for the camera as you flutter your eyelashes. You can see in the phone screen that Su-bong watches between you bodies for a moment, his lips moving to the lyrics of the song. When he looks up at the camera, he flashes his middle finger, playing at being tough like he loves.

Su-bong’s arms wrap around your body, and he leans against your back, pressing his head against yours. You both continue to play it up for his camera: he sticks his tongue out and uses one hand to cup your breast over your shirt, while you reach behind you to grab his shirt to keep him snug against you.

You hand his phone to him and focus on your dancing. You get lost in the song, grinding and swaying, and when you don’t feel Su-bong’s hands on your hips you throw a glance over your shoulder to see him vaping while aiming the camera of the phone between your bodies.

“My girl’s nasty,” Su-bong says to the camera while laughing. He points the camera towards you and you place your hands on your knees, bumping and grinding harder against him. “Fuck, that’s good!”

When the song begins to transition again, you feel his hands snaking around your waist, pulling your back flush against him. One of his hands begins to work up the front of your skirt, and for a moment you allow him to think he’s being sneaky. When his fingers make contact with your panties, you grab both of his hands and lace your fingers together.

“C’mon, baby,” Su-bong laments. “I know you can feel how hard you’ve got me. No one’s looking, so we can just—”

“I’m not letting you finger me in public,” you say, reaching over your shoulder to place your hand on the back of his head, fingers threading through his short hair. He nudges your head so you angle to meet him for a kiss; Su-bong thinks that he’s sneaky, because you can feel his hand making another attempt to reach under your skirt. “If you keep trying,” you mutter against his lips. “I won’t let you touch me for a week.”

“You wouldn’t be able to make it even two days without begging me to touch you,” Su-bong laughs, and you can’t help but join him because he’s right. “You don’t want me to touch you right now because you got wet thinking about me stomping MG Coin’s head in,” he teases. “You liked watching me get jealous over you.”

“Your voice gets deeper when you’re jealous,” you whisper, nuzzling your head against his, still grinding against him, although not as voraciously.

One of Su-bong’s hands makes its way up your body, cradling your chin so he can hold you in place to kiss you again. When he breaks the kiss, he traces his fingers over your lips, and you can’t help yourself: you part your lips, hoping he takes the hint. With a smirk, he slips his index and middle fingers into your mouth, shallow, not even to his first knuckles. You keep your mouth open so he can watch you twirl your tongue around his digits; he can’t look away.

“Didn’t you drive us here tonight?” Su-bong asks, his voice deep and thick as your mouth now closes around his fingers, sucking softly.

“Mmhm,” you hum.

“I don’t think anybody will miss us…” he trails off, letting you come to your own conclusion as to what he’s implying. You smile around his fingers, slowly pulling them from your mouth. “Twenty minutes,” he adds, grinning.

You take hold of his hand, dragging him behind you through the club towards the exit. When you step outside, you become aware of how hot you are when the cold night air hits your skin; it makes you realize just how bad you want Su-bong. You both hurry across the street towards the parking structure, taking the stairs to the second floor where you parked, the whole time slapping Su-bong’s hands away from your thighs.

When you reach the car, Su-bong hurries into the backseat first, scooting over and motioning for you to follow. You immediately straddle him, grinding your now soaked panties against him, grabbing his face to pull him in for a kiss. You’re very aware of how hard you’re breathing against him, overwhelmed with desire for him. One of Su-bong’s hands rests on your hip, while the other slips between your thighs, pushing your panties to the side so he can touch your clit.

“Mmm,” you hum, breaking the kiss to look down at him. “I didn’t come out here for you to tease me.”

“I just wanted to make sure you’re ready for me, baby,” he chuckles, his other hand moving to free himself from his pants. “Shit, I don’t have a condom,” Su-bong says, the realization suddenly hitting him.

“I don’t care,” you say, reaching between your bodies and pulling your panties to the side to give him the access he needs. “Fuck me anyway.”

“I love you,” he laughs, guiding his cock inside of you. “Jesus, you always feel so good.”

“So do you,” you reply, placing your hands on his shoulders so you can settle down to bury him all the way inside of you. You stay still, feeling him throbbing inside of you, thick, causing you to ache; you sigh weakly because you could stay just like this for the rest of your life.

“Now who’s teasing?” Su-bong asks, slipping his hands up your shirt, pushing it above your breasts. “The way you’re clenching around me…”

“Can’t take it?” you tease, closing your eyes and licking your lips.

“You won’t be able to take what I’ll do to you if you keep this up,” Su-bong returns, and you both chuckle softly. You start to circle your hips in his lap, wide slow circles to get some friction to your clit. “Come here,” he whispered, pressing his hand to your back to force you to lean towards him. He holds you there, and uses his free hand to tug the cup of your bra away from your breast so he can take your nipple into his mouth.

“Mmm, we can’t help but tease, can we?” you giggle. Su-bong hums in response, quickly switching to play with your other nipple now. You shift your hips forward now, then rock them back, wanting to feel him all over; the movement makes him pull back and settle against the seat again.

Su-bong, likely tired of the teasing, sets his hands onto your hips, urging you to lift off of him. You raise up until only his tip is left inside of you, and you give another circle of your hips, for one last tease. Su-bong laughs breathlessly, but yanks you down again, burying inside of you to the hilt. You moan, gripping his shoulders more firmly as he lifts you again only to bring you down harder.

“Let me do it, baby,” you whisper. “Let me take care of my man for coming to my rescue.” Su-bong gives a smug smirk, loosening his grip on your hips to allow you to take the lead.

You love this version of Su-bong. He gives you a taste of Thanos, smug and overconfident, and you give him what he wants: a girlfriend who is obsessed with him. It turns you on because it’s almost like a roleplay; sure, you love Su-bong, and you express your admiration for him often, but when you fawn over him, it’s different.

“Thank you for letting me ride you,” you whisper, very slowly starting to rock yourself back and forth in his lap. “I’m so lucky that I get to feel this big cock stretching me out.” The smirk on his face grows, his eyes trained in your lips while you speak. “Fuck, it feels so good,” you whine, making your voice sound needier.

“Yeah, I bet it does,” Su-bong mutters, yanking your hips faster so you can take the hint and start properly fucking him. “You love the way it makes you feel?”

“Mhm,” you hum, taking his hands and lacing your fingers together so you can use his hands for leverage to start moving faster. “No one makes me feel like this. No one can get me off like you do.” Su-bong pulls in a sharp breath, yanking you towards him and wrapping his arms around you so that he holds your arms behind your back with your bodies pressed together.

“I’d better be the only one getting you off,” he whispers, leaving a few soft bites on your jaw. “No one else is even allowed to look at you.” He speaks through his teeth and it makes your stomach flip.

“Are you gonna kick their ass if they do?” You rock your hips faster, shifting to put some weight onto Su-bong's thighs so you can get him deeper as you move.

“I’ll destroy them,” he breathes. “You’re all mine.”

You moan, because you picture it. Some scumbag laying on the ground beat to hell, with Su-bong standing over them, knuckles bloody and a split lip. It makes you giddy, almost feral thinking about him being so desperate to keep you to himself that he would fight someone. You’re sure that’s something to unpack later, but you have to stay in the moment where Su-bong pulls you forward to lean your torso against him.

“I felt you just now,” he breathes in your ear, letting go of your hands so you can brace yourself on the seat behind him. “Clenching because you were thinking about me fighting for you, weren’t you?” You whimper, nodding your head as you keep rocking your hips forward as best as you can at this new position.

Su-bong grabs the back of your thighs firmly, holding you still as he starts to thrust into you. All you can do is moan, dropping your head against his shoulder because he fucks you so deep like this. You breathe hard against him, moaning from deep inside of you.

“No one has ever fucked me like you can,” you mutter against his shirt, and he moves faster in response. You cup his cheek with one hand turning his head towards you so you can kiss him, feeling his moan rattle in your mouth.

Su-bong’s thrusts get sloppy, losing momentum. You break your kiss and sit up in his lap again so you can take over again. His hands rest on top of your thighs now, allowing you to control the pace at which you start to bounce in his lap.

“You’re so tight,” Su-bong groans. “You feel good like this. I don’t think I’m going to use a condom ever again.”

“The only way you can do that,” you begin, breathless as you still bounce on him. “Is if you’re not fucking anyone else.”

To be fair, you know he’s not sleeping with anyone else, and you have no issue with him not using a condom. But you want to keep playing, teasing. From the look on Su-bong’s face, a smug smirk and a quirked eyebrow, he feels the same.

“Hmm, I don’t know,” he says, as though he’s actually thinking about what you said. “I may not be able to make that promise. The ladies love to throw themselves at me, and I’m a gentleman.” You slow your movements until you stop, Su-bong halfway inside of you and a look of confusion.

“Maybe you’d rather have one of them finish you off then, ladies man.”

Su-bong grins now, realizing what you’re doing. When you begin to climb off of him, he grabs your thighs with both hands, flipping you over so you’re laying on your back, flat on the seat. He settles on his knees between your legs, supporting his weight on the back of the seat with one hand and the door of the car with the other.

“You called my bluff,” he laughs, thrusting deep into you, and you have to press your hand to the door to stop your head from bumping against it. “With pussy this good, I don’t need to go anywhere else.”

“If anyone even tried with you, I’d fucking kill them,” you reply and Su-bong’s smirk spreads when he lets out a growl in response to you.

Maybe you both have some things to unpack.

Su-bong fucks you hard and deep, his hips moving faster with each thrust. The car shakes and creaks with his movements and you’re sure that anyone outside would surely know what’s happening if they walk by, but you don't care. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in as he moves.

With your legs now around him, you feel his phone in his pocket and get an idea. You slip your hand into his pocket and remove the phone, giving him a quick look to ask for approval, which he gives you with a smirk and a nod. You start recording, aiming the camera between your bodies first to focus on the way he fucks you.

“You’re so big, baby,” you whine. “I love how you stretch me out.” Su-bong moans, plowing harder into you.

“This pussy is so fucking tight,” Su-bong grinds out, and you aim the camera at his face to record the way he bites his lip, and furrows his brow in concentration. “Who knows how to make you come?”

You know what he’s asking. You told him a long time ago that before him, the only person to make you come was yourself. He was the first one to take enough care to actually get you off, and it felt better than you ever made yourself feel. And now he wants you to tell him again.

“You do, baby,” you moan. “You’re the only one who knows how to make me come. You’re the best I ever fucking had.”

Su-bong goes harder and harder, rolling his hip and angling into you so he can push you closer to your climax. You hold the phone up above you to be able to record both of you as best as you can. He lets go of the door and slips his hand under your skirt to rub your clit. You use your legs that are still wrapped around his waist to roll your hips to meet his thrusts, feeling your orgasm approaching.

Your panting and moaning echoes through the car as you reach your climax. Su-bong fucks you through it, finding his own orgasm from how firmly you clench around him. Your body starts trembling and you lose your grip on the phone so it clatters to the floor, your hands wrapping around his torso to pull him against you.

“Fuck, baby, I love you so much,” Su-bong pants in your ear, still rocking his hips against you as he fills you up.

“I love you, I love you,” you repeat it because fuck you’re so caught up in how good you feel, you can’t ground yourself. He kisses you, sloppy and passionate, his hips slowing to a stop. “Fuck,” you whisper, as his weight drops onto you and you thread your fingers through his sweaty hair. “That was hot.”

“Mhm,” Su-bong hums, kissing along your jaw. “The windows are fogged up.” You angle your head to look at the foggy glass, and you laugh at how silly it seems. When he leans back, peering down at your face, he smiles, his hand blindly feeling around on the floorboard for the phone. “You look gorgeous,” he whispers, pointing the camera at your face. “I’ll make this my lock screen.”

“You’re a freak,” you laugh, embarrassed by the way he looks at you, so you shove the phone away from your face. You grab him by his shirt, pulling him in for another kiss, and you know he angles the phone to film it. “I love you,” you mutter against his lips.

“I love you, too.”

Su-bong finally stops filming and slowly climbs off of you, tucking himself back into his pants. He rubs his hand soothingly over your thigh as he takes another hit from his vape.

“One day, I’ll convince you to let me fuck you in the club,” he grins, his hand gently fixing your panties and smoothing out your skirt. You laugh, sitting up beside him and adjusting your shirt now.

“Maybe for your birthday,” you quip.

“You always say that,” Su-bong replies, with a small scoff. “The list of birthday sex promises is growing, babe. I hope you can make good on them because I'm ready to wear you out.”

[kiwriteswords]

For the trope day could we please see maybe celebrity reader and hotch? congrats btw!

Walked in and dream-came-trued it for ya [Aaron Hotchner x Popstar!Reader]

Ki2k Masterlist||MainMasterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 2k|| AN: I keep seeing so much queen Sabrina Carpenter stuff around the Hotch fandom these days; she's who I envisioned reader to be like here--but obviously open to interpretation of whatever popstar you would want to be! I lowkey could never picture this happening, but it was fun, nonetheless. This is also likely my last story I'll do for trope tuesday because they take a lot of time, haha. Unless I do a short drabble!

Tags/Warnings: female reader, speculating bau team!, gossip!!, Penelope Garcia is your biggest fan!!!, you're a superstar who sells out stadiums, even rossi knows this!, mysterious!hotch, more of a fun one-shot than anything too fluffy, very team-focused, non-bau!reader

Summary: Hotch has been in a great mood, oddly enough, and when one day, he hands over tickets to Penelope for her favorite singer of all time--you--the team really begins to wonder where Hotch is spending his free time.

The bullpen of the BAU was unusually animated for a Monday morning. Derek leaned back against his desk, arms crossed, watching Reid flip through files at an astonishing rate while Penelope hovered over both their shoulders, her curiosity practically buzzing.

“Seriously, Spence, you didn’t notice anything different about Hotch last week?” Derek asked, his tone teasing but genuinely curious.

Reid, without looking up from his reading, adjusted his glasses. “Well, he did leave on time every day, which is statistically significant for him.”

“Leaving on time? That’s an understatement. The man was practically sprinting out the door at five o’clock. And he smiled--actually smiled--at me yesterday,” Penelope chimed in, her eyes wide with the thrill of the gossip.

Emily, walking in with a cup of coffee in hand, joined the group. “Don’t forget, he also took a personal day last Friday. When’s the last time Hotch took a day off that wasn’t for something work-related?”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “Exactly! Something’s up. Hotch is seeing someone; it’s got to be.”

Reid finally looked up, curiosity overcoming him. “But who would it be? I mean, we practically live at work. When would he even have the time to meet someone?”

Penelope twirled a strand of her brightly colored hair, thinking. “Oh, my sweet geniuses, that’s the million-dollar question! I could do a little cyber snooping--”

“Penelope, no hacking into Hotch’s personal life,” Emily cut off, her tone half-serious. “But I agree, it’s odd. He’s even been more... what’s the word?”

“Chill?” Derek suggested with a chuckle. “For Hotch standards, anyway.”

The group’s laughter was a mixture of disbelief and genuine amusement, just as Rossi walked up, a knowing smile playing onhis lips. “Talking about our fearless leader’s mysterious new habits?”

Derek nodded, welcoming Rossi into the conversation. “Rossi, you’re the profiler extraordinaire with all the life experience. What’s your read on this?”

Rossi stroked his chin, pretending to ponder deeply. “Well, if I were a betting man--and I occasionally am--I’d say our boy Hotch might just be reminding himself there’s more to life than case files and jet fuel.”

Reid’s brow furrowed in thought. “It’s statistically rare for individuals in high-stress jobs to make sudden changes to their behavioral patterns without a significant emotional or personal catalyst.”

“Exactly,” Penelope squealed, delighted by the support for their theories. “He’s got to be dating someone. This is just like those romance novels where the broody, mysterious man finds love and starts changing his ways.”

JJ laughed, sipping her coffee. “Let’s not get carried away. It could be anything--maybe he’s just taking up a new hobby…or maybe it’s Jack.”

“But a hobby that makes him leave work on time and take days off? That’s not just any hobby; that’s a passion,” Derek countered, his smile suggesting he was thoroughly enjoying the speculation.

The group quieted as Hotch suddenly appeared, his pace steady and his expression unreadable as always. He paused by their cluster, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Morning,” he greeted, a small, almost imperceptible smile on his lips. “I trust we’re all ready to focus on the real mysteries at hand today?”

Caught in their own theories, the team straightened up, mumbling their morning greetings. Hotch’s gaze lingered for a moment longer than usual, giving nothing away.

As he walked off towards his office, Emily whispered to the group, “See? Happier. I’m telling you, there’s definitely something--or someone--new in his life.”

Rossi chuckled, watching Hotch disappear into his office. “Or maybe our esteemed unit chief just decided it’s time to start living a little. Either way, it’s good to see.”

The team nodded in agreement, the mystery of Hotch’s unusual behavior lingering in the air, adding a layer of intrigue to their day. Derek grinned, clapping his hands together.

“Alright, let’s get to work. And maybe, just maybe, we’ll crack the case of the Happy Hotch.”

Laughter echoed softly among them as they dispersed to their desks, the day’s work ahead, but their minds still occasionally drifted to the enigma of Aaron Hotchner’s uncharacteristic lightness.

Days after the team's animated discussion about Hotch's peculiarly cheerful demeanor, Penelope Garcia was in her vibrant lair, surrounded by her kaleidoscope of tech and trinkets.

The sound of a catchy pop song filled the air, and Penelope couldn't help but dance and sing along to the tune, her voice echoing slightly off the walls lined with monitors.

She was in the middle of a particularly enthusiastic chorus when a knock at the door made her jump. Swiveling around in her chair, she saw Hotch standing at the entrance, an amused smile barely touching his lips.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," Hotch said, his eyes twinkling with a hint of humor.

Penelope chuckled, brushing off her surprise with a flamboyant wave of her hand. "Oh, it's nothing, Sir. Just enjoying some tunes while I work. You know, fuel for the brain!"

Hotch nodded, his gaze drifting momentarily to the colorful post-it notes of affirmations on her screen. "I couldn’t help but overhear. Do you like this artist?" he asked, nodding toward the speaker from where the music still played, though now at a lower volume.

Penelope’s eyes lit up, eager to share her enthusiasm. "Like her? I adore her! She’s all about empowerment and fun, and her beats are just infectious. Plus, her lyrics are, like, super relatable. She's a total queen!" Penelope exclaimed, not missing the opportunity to promote her musical taste.

Hotch's smile grew a bit as he listened to Penelope’s gushing review. "I see," he said, his voice filled with a warm, curious tone that Penelope rarely heard from him. "Thanks, Garcia."

With a final nod and a mysterious smile, he turned and left as quietly as he had arrived, leaving Penelope staring after him, slightly confused but smiling nonetheless.

She shrugged to herself and turned the volume back up, diving back into her work with the music as her soundtrack, her mind briefly wandering to wonder about Hotch’s sudden interest in pop culture.

"Maybe he’s getting a life outside those case files after all--and a decent taste in music..." she murmured to herself, her head bobbing to the beat as she focused back on her screens, the mystery of Aaron Hotchner adding yet another curious, albeit lighter, layer to her day.

The following week brought an air of excitement that seemed to linger around the BAU, particularly around Penelope Garcia's tech-filled lair. The atmosphere was thick with disbelief and joy as Penelope, unable to contain her excitement, recounted a recent encounter with Hotch to JJ and Emily.

"You guys will not believe this!" Penelope beamed, her hands animatedly waving the prized items in the air. "Hotch--our Hotch--just handed me these!" She fluttered a pair of tickets like they were sacred texts.

JJ and Emily leaned in, eyes widening as they caught sight of the tickets. "No way! How did he even get those?" Emily exclaimed, her skepticism matched by her amusement.

Rossi, overhearing the commotion as he walked in, joined the group, a curious smile playing on his lips. "What's all this about?" he inquired, peering over to see what had stirred up such excitement.

Penelope held up the tickets with a theatrical flair. "These, my dear Rossi, are tickets to see none other than--" she paused for dramatic effect, "--the popstar we were just talking about last week! And not just any tickets--Hotch got them for me!"

Rossi's eyebrows shot up, a clear sign of his surprise. "Those tickets? I heard on the news this morning that they were impossible to get. The show sold out in minutes," he commented, adding to the bewildering nature of Hotch’s gift.

Before Penelope could respond, Derek Morgan swooped in, his hand snatching the tickets from her grip to inspect them himself. "Let me see these," he said, his voice a mix of suspicion and awe. Flipping them over, his eyes scanned the details, and a slow whistle escaped him. "Ladies, these aren’t just any tickets. These are front row. Front. Row. Do you realize how good these seats are?"

JJ laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. "This is insane. Hotch pulled some serious strings. Front row to see a popstar like her? That's not just pulling strings; that's a whole concert orchestra at work!"

Penelope snatched the tickets back from Derek, clutching them close to her chest. "I knew Hotch had a secret side to him!" she exclaimed, her previous theories about his recent behavior seeming to find validation. "This is like, the best thing ever. I can't even--"

Emily leaned in, her voice low and playful. "You know what this means, right? You're going to have to get all dolled up, Penelope. Front row means you’ll probably be on camera!"

Penelope’s grin widened at the thought, already planning her outfit in her mind. "Oh, trust me, I will be camera-ready. Our stoic unit chief might just make a fangirl out of me yet!"

Rossi chuckled, shaking his head as he watched the excitement bubble over. "Well, I'll say this," he mused, "it's nice to see Hotch letting his hair down a bit, even if it’s in his own unique way."

“Whoever he’s seeing’s got some serious connections,” Derek shared. 

The group nodded in agreement, the mystery of Hotch's recent behavior adding an unexpected but welcome layer of camaraderie and speculation among the team. As they dispersed back to their tasks, the buzz of excitement remained, the BAU team finding a rare moment of lightness amidst their usual, graver responsibilities.

At the concert, JJ and Penelope stood in the front row, the pulsing lights and thumping beats of the music wrapping around them like a vibrant cloak. You were the popstar that Penelope (and the rest of society) could not get enough of.

Your performance had a cascade of dazzling visuals and soul-stirring vocals that had the crowd roaring with excitement. Each song seemed to resonate perfectly with the audience, a mix of chart-topping hits and beloved classics that had JJ and Penelope singing along, lost in the nostalgia and the thrill of the night.

They felt like they were sixteen all over again.

As the concert progressed, the atmosphere turned electric, each track bringing a new wave of cheers from the audience. You moved with a grace and confidence that commanded attention, your presence on stage both mesmerizing and awe-inspiring. The night was already unforgettable, but it was about to become even more so.

Before launching into the next song, you paused, your gaze sweeping over the crowd with a playful yet intense look.

"This next song," you began, your voice ringing clear over the din, "is a very special one. It’s for the grumpy man who changed my life. He's from here, and guess what? He's here tonight. Supporting me, despite having the most important job out there."

The crowd erupted in cheers, curiosity piqued by your heartfelt introduction. You continued, your eyes twinkling with emotion and mischief, "And because he’s here, supporting me, I want to give a shout-out to someone very special in the audience tonight--Penelope!"

Penelope’s jaw dropped, her eyes wide with shock, and JJ turned to her with an expression that mirrored her disbelief. "How does she know your name?" JJ whispered her voice a mix of excitement and confusion.

Before Penelope could formulate a response, you launched into a flirty, romantic ballad, your voice soaring as beautifully as the lyrics. As yo sang, you glanced toward the VIP section, and with a sly wink and a blown kiss, you acknowledged someone standing there..

Driven by curiosity and an overwhelming sense of wonder, JJ and Penelope followed your gaze. There, among a few shadowed figures in the VIP section, stood none other than Aaron Hotchner. His usually impassive face wore a soft, almost shy smile as he acknowledged the kiss with a slight nod, his eyes locked on the stage.

He was dressed in a black button-up and jeans--a far contrast to his usual attire. He looked relaxed…happy. Maybe not singing along to the words, but he sure knew them. He inspired them. 

The realization hit Penelope like a wave. "Oh my god, JJ, Hotch is her boyfriend? Hotch is the grumpy man who changed her life?" she gasped, her voice a mix of shock and delight.

JJ laughed, shaking her head in amazement. "Looks like we've been underestimating our boss's ability to keep secrets," she said, her eyes twinkling with humor and newfound respect for their unit chief.

As the song ended and you took a graceful bow, the crowd’s applause was deafening. JJ and Penelope clapped and cheered along, their hearts full of joy and their minds buzzing with the night’s revelations.

The concert continued, but for JJ and Penelope, the evening had transformed into something even more magical--a story they would share and reminisce about for years to come, the night their grumpy boss was revealedto be the secret boyfriend of a popstar, right before their very eyes.

[babybearnation]

Kimi Oscar and Lando (separately) with soulmate!reader?

i picked different soulmate AUs for each driver since you didn't pick a specific trope - i hope thats okay! also you didn't specify which kimi so i'm doing both :D

gn!reader (soulmate aus)

kimi antonelli - your soulmate can't hear your voice:

ollie had been hyping you up to kimi for months, showing him pictures of you and telling him about all your wonderful traits and habits

its safe to say, kimi was in love with you and he was totally ready to meet you - and soon enough, he would! ollie was bringing you to the first grand prix of the 2025 formula 1 season!

you two meet up via ollie and kimi opens his mouth and greets you and... your eyebrows furrow. you can't hear him and when you talk to ollie, he realises he can't hear you

ollie soon realises what is going on and he laughs, before jokingly offering himself as messenger for you two - you and kimi agree but both of you are eagerly awaiting the time when you can finally hear each other

it takes a couple of weeks of back and forth texting & calling, and many plane journeys, for you both but eventually kimi works up the courage to ask ollie to ask you if kimi can kiss you

you say yes, he kisses you really sweetly on the plane to japan, and finally, finally, he can hear your sweet, sweet voice that he has oft dreamed about

kimi raikkonen - time freezes when you're in the same place as your soulmate and resumes when you make eye contact:

kimi was too focused on his racing to particularly care all too much about his soulmate - he'd meet em when he meets them

you're a relatively new formula 1 fan and you'd been given not just race tickets but also a paddock pass, allowing you to get up close and personal with the cars

you excitedly enter the paddock, ready to have your fun... and every single thing freezes around you - you panic and start running through the paddock, yelling the word help over and over, trying to find someone who wasn't frozen

kimi, on the other hand, was chilling in his garage when everything went still and he wasn't sure what to do until he heard your yelling and realised someone else was unfrozen

he rushes out to meet you and the second you make eye contact, everything unfreezes and the two of you quickly connect the dots - you're soulmates

kimi crosses over and smiles shyly at you, and the pair of you introduce yourselves to each other, setting up the beginning of a beautiful relationship

oscar piastri - you have a watch with your soulmate's time on it that beeps when you meet them:

oscar couldn't help but feel bad every time he looked down at his soulmate watch and saw that your timezone never changed - after all, his changed all the time and surely that must've been annoying

seeing your soulmate's timezone change all the time left you quite confused but you figured he was either very wealthy, travelled for his job, or both - plus you loved to figure out where he was each time it changed

its when you both notice that you're in the same timezone for the first time that you feel excited but you're not sure what to do now that you've noticed this - you have no other clues

you both decide to go out one night for a walk, not even thinking you'd meet the other but knowing that if you did, the watches would beep

so when you bump into someone and turn to apologise, the rapid and loud beeping that comes from both of your watches startle you until you, in sync, click the buttons to silence them

you look up and meet his warm brown eyes and smile, sticking your hand out to shake his, promptly making both of you the happiest you've ever been

lando norris - you have your soulmate's name on your wrist:

lando wasn't ashamed of his soulmate mark, not at all, but he did keep it covered up during the f1 season to avoid any potential weird fans using it against him

you, however, were perpetually shocked and awed by the name on your arm turning out to be your favourite formula 1 driver but you were also afraid because... how would you ever tell him that in a way that wouldn't paint you as an obsessive, stalkerish fan?

and then you get a paddock pass and are free to roam about wherever you please - you don't even think about covering your arm until a member of mclaren staff asks to see your id because he saw the name on your wrist

you show him it and, before long, you are being taken by the staff member to go and meet lando, your favourite formula 1 driver, your soulmate

lando wasn't sure what to do when a member of mclaren staff told him that his soulmate had been found, innocently wandering in the paddock with his name on their arm, completely uncovered

but when the two of you meet, lando can tell it's serious - the damn near instant connection to and draw towards each other tells you as much

© all rights to babybearnation 2025.

[blue-jisungs]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ BLUEY & BREAKFAST 🧸ྀི — husband girl dad doyo:( soft morning:( ( wc 1455 )

[ extras ] reader is breastfeeding but nothing crazy (although doyo has a ‘a man is a man’ moment IJBOL)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ note ! i had to take a small break from my event and write this bc girl dad doyo wouldn’t leave my mind and yall need to know it too! besides posting this for @yudaies !!! hopefully it’ll cheer you up babes <3

@kstrucknet ♡

you gradually grew awake, remains of sleep fading away. not brave enough to open your eyes yet, you reach out to grab doyoung’s hand in the seek of more warmth. 

but you don’t meet his hand nor… him. your hand stumbled upon something soft, tender; a peach fuzz alike feeling underneath your fingertips. you frowned and traced the texture, smooth and soft. 

you opened your eyes and lying next to you, on doyoung’s spot, was your daughter. 

you grinned sleepily. she was six months old so your husband probably carried her here. it warmed your heart to see that he also put a blanket over her (and you). probably on his way out to work, too.

she recently started teething so last night was full of crying, from both sides. doyoung was asleep since he had to leave early. 

you traced miyoung’s rosy cheek and then rubbed your eye. you would love to get more sleep. actually, maybe you could… 

a soft babble cut in just in time. miyoung’s big brown eyes opened slowly and started making small sounds. 

“matching our sleep schedules now, are we?” you whispered amused. your daughter stared at you, waving her hands “let’s get up, hm?” 

you stretched, allowing the duvet to fall from your body. then, you grabbed miyoung in your arms and while rocking her gently, you went to wash your teeth first and then to the kitchen. 

just when you were about to come out of the corridor to enter the room, you heard a noise. 

your heart skipped a beat in your chest, halting your movements and listening in. there were faint clanking noises coming from the kitchen. 

but you’re home alone…? 

you leaned out of the wall to peek and let out a sigh upon noticing a similar silhouette. not to say that you weren’t surprised, though. 

“am i doing it wrong? why isn’t it… growing…” 

you smiled and walked in, quietly observing the situation unfolding in front of you. miyoung was toying with the material of your shirt quietly. 

“no, something is definitely not right” 

he was watching something on the pan, leaning on his left hand and tapping the counter in deep thought. 

“i added more milk!” 

doyoung slightly turned yet didn’t see you. he was focused on kyungmi who was sitting on the counter and toying with the milk bottle. you saw him break into a huge smile, hands going to caress your older daughter’s cheeks.

“i like milk” she hummed and looked up at him with a grin. her eyes shifted away and widened upon seeing you “yikes, mommy’s up!” 

doyoung whipped his head around, gaze softening.

“yikes…?” you repeated amused, finally coming to approach them. 

“i think having sakuya and ryo over the other day was a bad idea” doyoung admitted and giggled. you noticed that he’s still in his pyjamas with hair disheveled. it was 10am, he should be at work… “morning, baby” doyoung whispered and shortly after you felt his soft lips brush against yours. the taste of coffee lingered on them and you sighed dreamily. 

miyoung babbled and yanked the hem of doyoung’s shirt, making his nose bump into yours. you giggled into the kiss, and so did he. 

“we are making breakfast!” kyungmi, your lovely 5 year old, cheered. doyoung gasped and turned around, suddenly remembering about the pancakes on the pan. 

“big mi decided to add extra milk though so…” he chuckled and flipped them “no wonder they were so runny and took so long”

“run?” she asked, chuckling. you leaned and pressed a kiss onto her forehead “pancakes run?” 

you just smiled and sat down, caressing miyoung’s dark hair. she’ll probably be hungry soon too, especially after a whole night of crying. 

“how come you’re not at work?” you asked, staring at your husband’s back. a sight so simple, yet heartwarming. 

“i felt bad whenever you kept waking up to get little mi. so just when i was about to leave and this rascal started crying again, i just… i knew you’d be tired. didn’t want to dump it all on you” doyoung said softly. you caught kyungmi chuckling at the word ‘dump’ and you just scoffed. “i called in and said my girls are sick. also, like, come on. i’m thirty, been in the company longer than some of the youngsters have been alive. they get it” 

“thank you” you hummed, a warm feeling spilling all over your heart. whether it was gratitude or simple love, you weren’t sure. 

you chatted while doyoung finished making the rest of the pancakes. with the help of kyungmi  served beautifully decorated breakfast. strawberries and other fruits, whipped cream, even some nutella to pick from. the steaming food made you salivate, not to mention the luring smell of coffee. your stomach growled suddenly, kyungmi laughing. 

“mom!” 

you just shook your head and heard a small whine from your youngest. 

“you’re hungry too, huh?” you asked softly and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. doyoung sent you a worried look. you shook your head and shot him a reassuring smile “don’t worry. eat. you worked hard” 

“mom, can i put some strawberries for you?” big mi asked with sparkles of joy in her brown, doe eyes. 

“of course, sweetheart” you grinned and adjusted your position so you could breastfeed miyoung. 

“dad, can you help me with this?” she asked and tugged doyoung’s sleeve. he shuffled her hair and grabbed whipped cream. 

he gently followed kyungmi’s instructions and drew something. when he was done, she mumbled a focused ‘thank you’ and started putting some strawberries on your pancake. 

you decided to snack on one, stealing it from doyoung’s plate. he just rolled his eyes dramatically, diving back into his food. 

“ta-da!” she hummed and turned the plate to you. it was, you assumed, a smiley face. proud kyungmi puffed her chest out and expectedly mirrored your reaction. 

“it’s so cute! thank you, baby” you blew her a kiss “i’ll eat it in a second” 

“mkay. can i go watch bluey?” she asked, a small pout on her lips. you were rather hesitant to start her day with screen time but… 

“go. we’ll join you in a moment, once little mi’s tummy is full too” doyoung smiled and booped kyungmi’s nose. she ran off with her plate, chuckling “don’t make a mess!”

“i won’t!” 

soon enough the sound of the cartoon sounded from the living room. you just send doyoung a confused look. 

he changed his seats to sit next to you, grabbing your plate. your husband took a picture of it and then started to chop off a small bite for you. 

“here comes airplane” doyoung teased and made a swirling motion with the fork. you laughed, the motion drawing a displeased groan from miyoung.

“you’re unbelievable” was all you could murmur before opening your mouth. doyoung put a hand under the fork, in case something would fall.

(not like it happened before, surely. once during dinner an olive fell on miyoung’s head. she was as confused as you, with doyoung and kyungmi almost falling out of their chairs from laughter). 

you hummed happily, the taste delicious on your tongue. doyoung continued to feed you, taking a bite once or twice as well. 

miyoung was satisfied and leaned away, babbling. you caught your husband’s eyes trailing off and you just covered yourself, smacking his arm. 

“sorry. can’t help it when every part of my wife’s body is beautiful” he grinned sheepishly and leaned in to seal his words with a passionate kiss. 

of course you had your doubts after birth. both with kyungmi and miyoung. but your husband was more supportive than ever, reassuring you at any given chance. it got to a point where you just started laughing at his dramatic praise but he literally had a serious look in his eye each time. 

his knee pressing slightly against you, his lips on yours and tongues dancing together… for a moment you let yourself get lost in the moment. 

dizzying pleasure made you sigh softly, tilting your head a bit. that’s when doyoung suddenly stood up, scooping miyoung out of your arms. 

you looked at him, flabbergasted (and a little bit disappointed). 

“i know i’m charming but let me take care of her. do you want to nap?” he asked. 

“doyo” you sighed, serious. he frowned, rocking his daughter gently “be for real right now”

“what? aren’t you sleepy after a sleepless night?” he asked, genuinely surprised. you stood up, flicking his forehead. 

“you kiss me like that and expect me to get sleepy? you’re lucky i love you” you giggled and he just sent you a boyish smile. “i’m fine. let’s go watch bluey”

masterlist <3

taglist. @l3visbby ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @planetkiimchi ,, @mon2sunjinsuver ,, @w3bqrl ,,

@eternalgyu ,, @haecien ,, @slytherinshua

[mulloey]

hundred bands

student loans, a sugar daddy website, and johnny suh. three things you never thought would find you in quite this way.

part of my february festival

join my taglist

words: 8.4k

warnings: bdsm dynamics - dom!johnny x sub!reader, degradation, slight humiliation, discussion of pet play & master/slave play, slight corruption, titles (daddy/sir), paddling, face slapping, subspace, brief moment of insecurity, face fucking etc

—

You wonder if this is how it usually starts; a broke college student, an overeager friend and a last resort.

It’s not like you wanted or planned this; your final year of university and your tuition fees were piling up by the hour; your loan had already run out and all your applications for more money had been shot down about as delicately as a war plane. You’re pretty certain you’re on the loan office’s blocked callers list now.

It was your friend’s suggestion. You already knew she had a sugar daddy—a man named Mark who she never let you meet and seemed way too young to be doing this but, based on the flashy clothes she’d started wearing recently, clearly had enough money for it. And contrary to your expectations of sugaring as she called it, he actually seemed very nice; she was constantly gushing about how well he treated her and he appeared extremely respectful and affectionate towards her on the phone calls you’d been privy to. So fuck it, you thought, and you signed up for the website she’d given you as soon as you were drunk enough to bring yourself to do it.

While this was undoubtedly a sex-focused service, she’d emphasised to you the classy nature of the site; no lewd usernames, no nude pictures of any kind; just a clothed photo that showed your figure, basic information about you, and the type of arrangement you were looking for.

PLEASE SELECT ONE:

Sugar daddy/sugar baby

Straight/gay/bisexual

Top/bottom/vers

Dominant/submissive/switch/vanilla

Your blush ran deeper as you made your way down the list, arranging yourself into categories that felt a little like being sold at auction. Sugar baby. Straight. Bottom.

At the final question, you hesitated—you thought about putting ‘vanilla’, a little afraid of what these rich, anonymous men might expect to be able to pay for, but the words of your best friend rang out in your head. “Be honest with what you want,” she’d told you. “Just because you’re doing this for money doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get any fun from it.”

She was right, as usual. If you were going to get fucked for money, then you at least deserved to fucked well; even so, you had to close your eyes in shame as you clicked the little box titled ‘submissive’. That was a side of you that had only ever existed in your fantasies.

The rest of your profile was simple; you almost backed out when they asked for your ID, not wanting to give yourself away, but visions of loan sharks and withheld diplomas squashed those doubts pretty quickly—you were going to do this. You were going to get some rich man to pay your tuition, and that was the end of it. You had no other choice.

To be fair to the site, it was pretty well and, considering what it was for, non-pervertedly designed. You were matched with partners based on your preferences, but no one could message you until you’d liked their profile. You spent a few minutes clicking through the profiles, haphazardly liking or disliking as you felt like it, until one made you pause.

The picture was of a man in a suit, cropped at the neck to conceal his identity; but you didn’t really need to see his face to know that this man… well. He was certainly an option. Just from that one picture, taken from below, sleeves rolled up and linen straining against his chest, you felt authority emanating through the screen. Yeah, this could work very well.

You clicked nervously on his profile, hoping not to find anything crazy or gross in his bio to turn you off of him, but it was, well. Normal. For this place at least.

Sugar daddy. Straight. Top. Dominant. A good start—perfectly aligned with you.

From his bio you found out he was almost 30–a decent bit older than you but not over the line; he worked in the entertainment industry, and he valued discretion. Likewise, you thought.

You clicked like without a much more consideration.

The message came through an hour later, just as you were sitting down for dinner; you couldn’t help but grin when you got the notification, opening it nervously.

Hey. Hope you don’t mind the intrusion, but you’re nearby and I’d be interested in getting to know you. Would that be ok?

At first you were a little taken aback by how… polite the message was. How normal. Given the nature of the site you were half-expecting something perverted and disturbing, but this man was taking you by surprise already.

You typed your reply with your bottom lip held painfully between your teeth.

Hi :) that sounds great! I’m free next weekend if you are?

Great. Saturday evening? I’ll take you for dinner, if you like?

Perfect.

The nine days between then and your first meeting pass surprisingly quickly; you keep in regular contact with your faceless friend, you both having agreed to keep things anonymous for now, and though neither of you dance around the reason you’re both here, you find it easy to have normal, friendly conversations with him too. You tell him about your degree, and he gives you small details about his life and work—a singer, he says. He offers nothing more and you don’t press; from the way he talks about it you get the sense he may be some level of well-known, and you don’t want to make him uncomfortable. You’ll find out who he is on Saturday anyway.

On Monday night, just as you’re finishing up an assignment, your phone lights up with a new notification. You have his KakaoTalk now; it’s easier and more inconspicuous than the site and feels a lot less intimidating. The cartoon kitten on his profile picture makes you giggle as you open the message.

Now that we know each other a little better, would you be down to talk more about what our arrangement would look like, if it went ahead?

Yeah, of course. What are you thinking?

Can I call you?

Your stomach tightens and your palms tense nervously; you’ve called him before, but as you quickly found out, his voice makes it very difficult to concentrate on what he’s actually saying. You’re not exactly sure why; maybe it’s the deep, masculine lilt to it, but it sets your nerves on edge—still, you imagine this would be a better conversation to have on the phone, so you type your agreement with shaking hands.

Almost instantly the call comes through; “Hello?” You say softly.

“Hey, honey.” His voice is warm and familiar but still intimidating and the pet name he’s been using the past few days doesn’t make it any easier to keep a clear head. “How you feeling?”

“M’ good,” you mumble and he chuckles softly.

”Great. Well, I suppose we’ll just jump into it, yeah?” You make a noise of agreement and he continues. “Your profile said you’re a submissive. Can you tell me a little about that?”

You blank a little, already feeling out of your depth. You never thought this was a conversation you’d be having with someone, let alone a near stranger. “About that?” you echo. “Like, in what regard?”

“Well, do you have experience in that area?” His voice has a slightly deeper edge now; it’s focused and a little stern—clearly this is something he takes extremely seriously. “Have you submitted to someone before?”

“Um.” Your mind flashes with images of your previous partners; the varying experiences you’d had them but none of it seems to fit what you feel like he’s asking. “Not really.”

He hums. “So, if I had to guess,” he says, “you’ve been choked a few times, maybe spanked a little bit, and I’m assuming at least one of your partners wanted you to call him daddy?”

You can’t help but flush; that’s… exactly accurate. “Yeah,” you mumble. “How’d you know?”

“When people say ‘not really’, that’s usually what they mean.” You hear the smile in his voice and you wonder how many people he’s had this conversation with. You also wonder why the thought makes you a little bit jealous.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I assume you’ve gathered by now that I’m looking for more than that?”

Your stomach turns and you nod; it’s silent for a moment until you realise he can’t actually see you and you mumble a reply, embarrassed.

He laughs a little, seeming to realise what you’ve done before continuing. “There’s a lot I want to do with you, but I’m not going to dump it on you all at once, so we’ll start with what you’ve done already, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You said you’ve been choked,” he said. “So you’re comfortable having things on your neck.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’d certainly choke you during sex, if you’re comfortable. But I might use my arms rather than my hands. And at some point, I’d like to put a collar on you. How does that sound?”

“Um.” Fucking fantastic, you want to say, but you’re too embarrassed and still determined to play it at least a little bit cool. “It sounds nice.”

“Good. The next thing we mentioned is spanking, correct?”

You know you’re blushing now, shifting uncomfortably in your seat and trying to relieve some of the pressure between your legs. Something about the way he speaks so calmly and professionally about these things is really doing it for you, apparently. “Yeah,” you breathe.

“If I had to make a guess on that, I’d say they slapped your ass a few times during sex. Maybe a little foreplay, too. Am I right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, again, I’d do that too, but it’d be more than that. If you become my sugar baby, you become my submissive as well, which means you’d submit to my rules and discipline. Ya follow?”

It’s not a massive shock; he’d mentioned BDSM before, and you weren’t surprised given his profile—but hearing it out loud, in that voice, is a different feeling. “Yeah, I follow,” you say. “So you’d punish me? How?”

“Well if we’re talking about spanking…” He pauses for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “I’ll give you an example. Say you broke a rule, like if you talked back to me or I caught you touching yourself when I’d told you not to, then I’d put you over my knee, pull your panties down and spank you til I feel like you’re sorry. How does that sound?”

“Oh.” There’s an undeniable pressure in your stomach and you try not to let the arousal seep into your voice. “That’s… wow.”

“Is that good or bad?” He asks. He’s laughing, but he sounds cautious too. It makes you feel safe, the way he’s genuinely concerned about your feelings on this; it’s the bare minimum, sure, but you expected worse from that website.

“Good,” you breathe. “Really good.”

“Oh?” He’s teasing now; you practically see the grin on his face despite the fact you don’t actually know what that face looks like. “Does someone want to be spanked?”

“I think… yeah.”

“That’s good,” he laughs. “I bet you’ll look really cute kicking and squirming over my lap. Don’t you think?”

“Hopefully,” you mumble.

“I’m sure. And the last thing we mentioned. You’ve called someone daddy before, you said. Did you like it?”

“Yeah.” You answer quickly; you figure there’s no point in shame now.

“I see.” He pauses again. “I usually prefer sir, but I’m not opposed to daddy, either.”

“Oh.”

“Speaking of.” There’s a playfulness to his voice now; a teasing lilt that makes you bite back a laugh. “You should get to bed, young lady. Why are you even up?”

“Assignments,” you say. “And what’s your excuse, sir?”

You hear the sharp intake of breath through the phone; the soft, strangled sound that dies in his throat and you feel a twinge of satisfaction. Yeah. I can play this game too.

He clears his throat, releasing an exasperated sigh and there’s a rustling sound before he speaks, voice dipping slightly. “My excuse,” he says, “is that I’ve nowhere to be tomorrow. Unlike a certain little brat.”

The final word is drawn out, teasing and warning at the same time and your chest tightens in excitement and a million other things. You don’t even know what this guy looks like, but fuck, he’s so good. You want to push his buttons and obey his every word simultaneously.

“True,” you mumble. “Okay, I’ll sleep.”

“Good girl.” The satisfied smile is audible in his voice. “See you Saturday, pretty.”

—

This man is gorgeous.

That’s your first thought when you see him Saturday evening; he’s waiting for you when your car pulls up, calling your name with a smile and wrapping an arm around your waist as he helps you out. He introduces himself as Johnny, and his voice sounds even better in person.

Your second thought follows not long after; you recognise him. You’d figured by now that he was probably some level of famous, but you weren’t interested enough in the whole idol culture to have recognised him from his voice alone; in fact it’s only when he tells you his name that you finally place him. You wait until you’re seated, in a private room you’d rather not know the cost of, before asking.

“I don’t wanna be too weird,” you say, “but you’re an idol, right?”

He laughs, nodding with a soft smile. “I am. Do you know me?”

“I’ve heard of you,” you mumble; you’re not sure why you’re so embarrassed to know who he is—that’s the whole point of celebrities, after all. You chuckle dryly, trying to ease the weight of the awkwardness you feel in your chest. “I recognised your face but I couldn’t figure out where I knew you from til you told me your name.”

“Ah.” His posture is relaxed, tone jovial but you see a surety and intensity in his eyes that makes you cower instinctively. “Heard any of my music?” He asks, and you can tell from his voice that he’s teasing you again.

“Maybe. I wouldn’t know.” You shrug. “I mean, I’m not really into that stuff but like, I’m obviously gonna look you up when I’m home now.”

“I figured,” he laughs. “Shoot me a text once you’ve decided I’m your favourite.”

“If I decide that,” you say, and he laughs louder. You feel yourself relaxing a little; his open, friendly demeanour could make anyone ease up and you can’t help but feel comfortable in his presence. Only his dark eyes, which scarcely leave you but to call over the waiter and order, keep you on edge.

You don’t know what any of the words on the menu mean, so you let him order for you—he seems to like that; choosing for you, making small, simple decisions on your behalf. You see it on his face.

As it turns out he’s very good at choosing, too; the beef dish they bring out is something your friend had told you about, when you’d mentioned coming to this restaurant and she realised she’d been there with her own sugar daddy. It tastes amazing and the champagne that flows with it is even better.

“Food good?” He asks with a smile.

“Yeah,” you say. “Is yours?”

“Perfect,” he says. The weight of his gaze on you is unavoidable and you twirl the spaghetti around your fork nervously, just wanting something to do to avoid his eyes.

“So, um.” You clear your throat, trying to think of something to fill the silence but nothing comes. Johnny watches you with a small smirk; all-knowing.

“Don’t be nervous,” he says finally. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

You hold back a laugh, biting your lip and he notices. “Well, I mean…”

“Yeah, okay, I am going to hurt you a bit.” He’s grinning, and you realise he chose his words intentionally; though whether to ease the tension or tighten it further you don’t know. “But I do want you to be comfortable with me.”

“Yeah. I am, I think.”

“Great. May I ask you something?”

You motion for him to speak and he smiles; you think you see the first hint of trepidation in his eyes before it quickly dims into the usual cool intensity.

“Obviously it hasn’t been long enough to make a firm decision,” he says, “but just so I have an idea, are you open to the idea of coming home with me tonight?”

You swallow; your stomach tightens at the proposition and the visions it provokes and your response is whispered like a scandalous secret. “Like… to play with you?”

“Yes,” he says. “It doesn’t have to mean the start of a dynamic, and we won’t have sex; just think of it as a taster session.”

That doesn’t seem so bad, you think. And he’s careful, not rushing you into a dynamic or even pressuring you at all; that’s a good sign, right? “So what— um. What would we do?”

“Depends on your behaviour.” He winks teasingly at you from behind the glass in his hand and your head is in overdrive with the images he’d given you on the phone a few days ago; of being choked and collared and spanked by those impossibly large hands resting so tantalisingly close to yours.

You clench your thighs, swallowing dryly. “Yeah. I’m… open to the idea.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

The evening passes surprisingly quickly; the tension in the air has all but dissipated, but for the subtle movements he makes every now and then just to see your reaction; a quirk of an eyebrow, a knowing smile, a perfectly timed touch that sends electricity rushing through your veins.

You know he’s toying with you, studying your natural responses to small hints of dominance so you react with similarly small, playful acts of submission in return; cowering under his gaze, bowing your head—allowing him the first taste of the control you may soon surrender completely to him.

“So,” he says, once the waiters have removed the last of your dessert plates. “Would you like to come home with me?”

—

Five million won lands in your bank account as you’re taking the elevator up to his apartment. You make a noise of shock, staring dumbfoundedly between him and the notification, but he says nothing; just smirks ever so slightly as he guides you out of the elevator with a hand on your lower back.

Johnny’s apartment is pretty much as you pictured it; everything a successful man on the cusp of his thirties would go for—black, white and grey themes, a large TV, low, atmospheric lighting and a stunning view of the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows that loom over you when you step inside. He removes your jacket for you, pausing to take in the outfit you’ve chosen once again before helping you remove your heels. He’s careful and gentlemanly, touches feather-light on your legs as he slides your shoes off. You’re not sure if the image of him on his knees in front of you like this contrasts or enhances the feeling of his dominance over you. You think it’s the latter, somehow.

When he stands up you see that without the few inches your heels provided you, he’s even more imposing—and in his own house, on his territory, you feel smaller than you ever have before.

“Come,” he smiles. He’s removed his suit jacket now, but the dress shirt, slacks and shoes are still on; the soles click against the floor as he guides you down the hallway by the hand.

You stop at the end of the hall, hovering outside a varnished wooden door. For a moment you stand there silently and his demeanour seems to shift a little; he stands a little taller and his face takes on a new solemnity as he looks you up and down. You feel like you’re being inspected, scrutinised; studied.

Your gaze flickers towards the door—is this where he does it? Where he… dominates people? Dominates you? Are you about to walk into a room full of whips and gags and contraptions you’ve never heard of?

“Hey.” Johnny’s voice is calm and soft and stops your spiraling in its tracks. His lips quirk in an amused smile. “I know what you’re thinking. It’s not a red room.”

“Oh.” You don’t know why you’re so embarrassed—anyone would have assumed that, given the circumstances; still, you avert your eyes awkwardly, face heating up. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says. “I’m not offended. It's reasonable to assume I’d have one. But it’s just my bedroom, nothing too scary.”

“Oh. So you don’t… um.”

“I don’t have a red room?” You nod a little ashamedly and he chuckles. “No. I don’t need one. D’you know why?”

“Why?”

A large hand clasps around your wrist, making you shiver. “Because if we do this, you don’t submit to a room. You submit to me. Wherever we are, whenever I tell you to.”

You flush. “Oh.”

“Mhm.” His voice drops, veins bulging against his neck and he cuts a more and more intimidating figure by the second. You’re so ready.

”Do you remember the conversation we had about safewords?”

Of course you do; it was the first one you had once the pleasantries were over. “Red for stop, yellow for slow, green for go.”

He makes a noise of satisfaction and there’s a ghost of a proud smile on his lips. “Excellent.”

You watch as his hand grasps the door handle, pushing it down but not opening it. He pauses for a moment, gaze flickering back to you and you tense, nerves multiplying by the minute.

“Couple things you should know,” he says. His voice is calm and collected and it makes your head rush. “First thing. When you play with me, you’re on your knees, on the floor. You don’t stand or walk or do anything I do because we’re not on the same level here. Understand?”

Your stomach flips, arousal gathering in your chest and your voice is strained when you squeak out a pathetic “Yes.”

“Good,” he says. He’s smiling knowingly, all too aware of the effect he’s having on you. “Second thing. It’s ‘yes, Sir.’”

Then the door is pushed open, and within a few seconds two things become abundantly clear; first, Johnny is true to his words—you don’t manage a single step inside his bedroom before you find yourself forced to your knees, kneeling with your head bowed beneath the pressure of his hand on the back of your neck. He holds you firmly in position but there’s little force behind his grip; there doesn’t need to be. He told you early on that he has no interest in subduing you or compelling you to submit—you’ll submit to him because you want to, and he’ll give you everything you need in return.

The second thing that becomes clear is that when Johnny said he didn’t have a red room, that was only technically the truth—because sure, it’s not a strictly-sex-only room, and it’s not red, but there’s absolutely no mistaking what happens here.

A glass cabinet displays an intimidating selection of toys; whips and paddles and dildos and things you couldn’t even begin to guess the use for; a bar is fixed to a lower portion of the ceiling, and the ropes hanging from it tell you he doesn’t use it for pull-ups; but most noticeably and unavoidably, there’s a large dog’s cage filled with blankets and soft pillows sitting directly at the end of his bed.

He catches your gaze lingering on the cage and laughs softly; the hand on your neck travels up to rest in your hair, caressing you gently and you hold your head exactly where he left it despite your desire to nuzzle into his touch. You have something to prove today, after all.

“You like my cage?” You hear the grin in his voice, feather-light touches tickling against your skin.

“Is it… for humans, sir?” The size of it makes the answer obvious but you need to hear it from him; the confirmation that this is really as batshit and delightfully insane as it seems.

He hums, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger. You feel his presence above you as he crouches down a little, voice dropping to just above a whisper. “It’s for very, very bad girls indeed,” he says. “But you’re not bad, are you, precious?”

“No, sir,” you mumble. “I’ll be good.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He stands back up, towering above you again before walking over to the bed. He takes a seat, staring at you for a moment before his he lifts his hand and beckons you towards him. “Come.”

You hesitate for a moment—are you really about to do this? Are you really going to crawl on your hands and knees towards this man whose face you’d never even seen before today?

Yeah. Apparently you are.

Your breathing stutters as you make the first movements; one hand in front of the other, then your leg, over and over until you’ve somehow made it, you’ve crawled across the room and settled on your knees at his feet. He looks elated.

For a moment, he says nothing; he stares you down with a calm, collected expression that screams control and you try desperately not to shrink under it. The first touch of his hand on your face is electric when he gently grips your jaw, stroking your skin with soft fingers. You feel—and are, to him at least—tiny.

“Sweet thing,” he mumbles. “I’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

You can’t help but mewl in response, every cell of your body reacting to him, nerves standing on their ends. It’s a completely new feeling and utterly overwhelming. You want it to last forever.

“Can I hit you, angel?” His voice is low, gentle, the opposite of the way his grip on you tightens with want.

You feel yourself throb, nodding dumbly. “Yes sir.”

He smiles for a moment before his face darkens; the impact of his palm against your cheek would be enough to knock you down were it not for his still firm grip on your jaw. You cry out at the sting, unable to stop yourself and he can’t help but smile. “So responsive,” he tuts. “I’m gonna love training you up.”

You bite your lip, holding back a grin. “I hope so, sir.”

“You know,” he says. “This is my favourite part of having a new sub. Figuring out what type they are.”

You pause. “Type, sir?”

He hums; a low, pleasing sound. “No two submissives are the same, but there are general categories you could fit most of them into. Some fit in all of them, in fact.”

“What are they?”

He tilts his head, eyes glinting and you see the way he settles further into his headspace, back straightening as he stares you down. Your lack of experience seems to do something to him—and that definitely does something to you.

“Well,” he says. He speaks slowly and carefully, every word chosen with thought. “You have your puppies. They like to be on their knees. They like to whine and bark. They like to hump.” His grip tightens on your chin, tilting your head upwards. His thumb pushes past your lips and into your mouth and you accept it greedily. “And if I told them to open their mouth for their master’s spit…” He parts your lips, pushing your mouth open; he hesitates for a moment, as though he’s waiting for you to object but you don’t; you just open wider. His lips twist into a smirk before you feel a wad of saliva land on your tongue. “They’d slack their jaw and swallow it like a good dog.”

He watches with a smile as you obey, letting the spit slide down your throat. Your head feels fuzzy and floaty and all the sensations in your body, from the feeling of the carpet against your shins to the arousal that twists painfully in your gut, feel distant and separate. The only thing that feels real and complete right now is Johnny.

“Seems you like pet play,” he chuckles. “I’ll have to get you some ears. A tail, too.” He strokes your cheek and you keen into his touch unconsciously. “Would you let me plug your ass with a little puppy tail, baby?”

“Yes sir.” The words are coming out on their own now, your body responding for you before your conscious can catch up. He smiles.

“You’d be a lovely kitten, too,” he says. “They’re not as much fun to play with as puppies, but they look oh so pretty in your lap. And sometimes it’s nice to have a pliant little thing that will let you use their holes without complaining.”

Oh, that does sound nice. You think you’d enjoy that sometimes, when you’re feeling softer and more fragile and just want to be cared for. And he’s so large and broad and warm that he’s practically custom made to have you in his lap. You’d fit perfectly and prettily and you sigh dreamily without realising. He laughs and you quickly regain yourself, blushing deeply.

“Sorry, sir,” you mumble. “Um. Were all your subs, like, pets?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve had a few slaves before as well,” he says. “They were lovely; obeyed me like it was second nature. Took all the pain and humiliation I inflicted on them and still wanted more. Almost made me rethink my policy on not drawing blood, but that’s not my sort of thing really; they took a whipping like nobody’s business though.”

You cower a little, gaze dropping downwards; this doesn’t seem like you. You’re more than happy to be hurt and humiliated by Johnny, but this just seems… too much. You’re not ready for that level of submission and you’re not even sure you want to be. You feel a faint pressure on your chest, a familiar feeling of having fallen short but you’re not sure why; you’re allowed to say no—when you signed up for the website you signed a contract which stated it explicitly, and Johnny himself has reiterated it to you multiple times. You don’t have to take everything he offers you and you don’t have to do or be or enjoy anything simply because he does.

So why does it feel like a shortcoming; like you’ve foundered and failed before you’ve ever started?

You’ve zoned out without realising, deep in thought; Johnny sees the gears turning in your head and clicks his tongue, nudging your jaw upwards again. His smile is warm and gentle when you finally meet his gaze and though his voice is still soft and patient, there’s a finality to it that wasn’t there before; a seriousness. “You don’t like the sound of that, that’s okay,” he assures you. “You should never, ever force yourself to do something just to please me, or to please anyone. Understand?”

“I understand, sir,” you whisper. The sternness in his voice tells you he’s not playing now; he needs you to know this and keep it with you.

“Good girl,” he praises. His voice lifts a little and you see the moment he changes tack, back to toying with you like he was before. “God, you’re pretty. I don’t think I could hurt a little thing like you that way even if you did want it.”

You whine without realising it; your mind is a complete fog now, control and awareness slipping away by the second but you manage to string the few words that come to you into a slow, stuttered sentence. “Are those, um… that’s all of it, sir?”

His laugh is fond and a little condescending, like you’ve said something adorably stupid. You feel warm. “Those are just some typical ones,” he says. “Ones I’ve played with before. You don’t have to assign yourself to any of them, it just helps me to see what you do and don’t like the sound of.“

“Right.”

“You seem to like being a puppy,” he continues. There’s a teasing edge to his voice and you hold back another whine. “I think you’d like being a kitten sometimes, too. Turning your brain off and just letting daddy use you, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

Your body reacts of its own accord to the title; you shudder in his hold, slumping slightly as a soft moan escapes your lips and it makes him laugh softly, fondly. “You really like the whole daddy thing, huh?”

You nod, a little embarrassed—it’s not even that you’re particularly into it on your own, in fact you only called your ex that because he wanted you to. Sure, you enjoyed it and it certainly made him fuck you harder and deeper and better, but you’ve never explored it of your own volition. You’ve never felt the need to.

But something about the way it sounds so sweet and natural on Johnny’s lips, like he’s acknowledging a reality rather than acting out a fantasy, makes it all seem so right—and so exciting. He certainly suits the name; so big and so strong and in complete control of you. Yeah, you’re definitely going to need to try this out.

You see in his face that his own thoughts are similar; his eyes are fogged with arousal and there’s a thick tension in his neck as he swallows. “You definitely make it work.” His hand moves from your jaw to cup your cheek and he lets you nuzzle against it greedily, a smile twitching on his lips. “Cute. God, there’s so much I could do to you.”

“Do it,” you breathe. “Please, sir.”

“Such good manners,” he croons. “You need it so bad, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you whine. You don’t even know what ‘it’ is, but you know he’s right; you’re desperate, feverish for it. For anything, as long as it comes from him.

“Ask me nicely,” he whispers. “Ask me for what you want, baby, and I’ll give it to you.”

“You,” you say. “You, sir.”

In a moment of desperation—or stupidity, perhaps—you reach for him, hands curling into the material of his shirt and grazing against what feels like a full set of abs beneath it. Wrong move.

He lifts you by the hair, dragging you to your feet and throwing you over his knee. Your heart pounds with expectation but he doesn’t hit you as you expect him to; instead he flips you over so you’re lying on your back, head resting on the sheets; your hair falls prettily around your face and you make the perfect picture of innocence. You want him to ruin it.

The feeling of his hand on your throat is electric; the other roams across your torso, groping your tits with a detached interest. He’s in no hurry, after all.

“Who told you to touch me, huh?” His words are growled, arousal filled as he grabs one of your tits and squeezes hard enough to make you whimper. “Here I thought you were gonna be good for me.”

“I am,” you whine. “Sir, I’m sorry. I’ll be good, I will.”

He’s silent for a moment, staring you down like he’s figuring out whether he believes you before sitting you up so you’re perched on his knee. He grabs your wrists and moves them behind you, folded over each other and resting against your lower back. “Keep those there,” he says. “This is your first lesson. You don’t touch what’s not yours and you don’t move a muscle without my permission. Understand?”

You nod dumbly and he slaps your face just this side of painfully. “Words, my girl.”

My girl. Why does that feel so delicious and warm in your chest? “Yes, sir,” you mewl. “I understand.”

“Good.”

And then his lips are on yours, colliding desperately and almost painfully as if he’s been waiting for this his entire life. His hands are in your hair, tugging your head backwards to allow him to place a trail of wet kisses down your face and neck. His mouth latches onto your collarbone, sucking harshly at the skin and you know it’ll be purple when he pulls away. It stings in the best way and a string of curses tumble out in a rush as you ride the high of pleasure. He bites down a little, making you yelp. “Manners,” he grumbles against your skin but he doesn’t let go, so you figure he’s letting you off with that one.

When he finally pulls away his eyes are dark and feral; all pupil and all control. His hands roam up and down the sides of your torso and he looks ready to tear you apart. “Where’d you get this dress, pretty girl?”

You pause, caught off guard. He was sucking a bruise into your skin a moment ago and now he wants fashion tips? “Um… a mall, I think.”

“Is it special to you at all?”

“Not really.”

“Good.”

With both hands he grabs at the fabric on your chest and yanks it apart; the material rips easily, crumbling in his hands and there’s a million sensations in your body as he yanks the remaining fabric off of you. The sight of your lacy black lingerie makes him smile and he fingers gently at the soft fabric of your bra. “How about these?” He asks.

“They’re not special,” you mumble. “But it’s my nicest set.”

“I’ll get you nicer.” The bra and panties put up little fight against him, and soon you’re completely naked and dripping on his lap. He pinches your stomach, just above your pussy and you whine. “Don’t ever wanna see you in cheap shit like that,” he mutters. “My girl wears the best, you understand me?”

“Yes sir,” you whisper. “Wanna be pretty for you.”

“Always are,” he grunts. He stills for a moment, stroking your thigh before he clicks his fingers, pointing at the floor in front of him. “Down.”

You obey wordlessly; you’ve adjusted surprisingly quickly to the automatic obedience he seems to expect—your body is already following his orders of its own accord even while your mind fades away into subspace and he seems profoundly pleased by it. You settle on your knees, staring up at him with wide eyes.

His lips quirk. Seconds feel like minutes until he finally speaks.

“Give me your hands.”

—

Your friend has been silent for two entire minutes. That’s how long it’s been since you finished recounting the events of the night before and looked up to see her staring at you with an open mouth. She looks… well, you don’t know exactly, but she definitely wasn’t expecting this. That much is very clear.

“Dude.” You force an awkward laugh, trying to break the silence that seems to judge you as much as you fear she is too. “You good?”

Finally she recovers herself and nods, raising the coffee mug to her lips and taking a long sip. She puts it down and you see a small smile pulling at her lips. “Yeah,” she says. “I just. Wow, girl.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t expect… that from you. I thought you were vanilla?”

You frown; you’re not sure you’d categorise your exploits with your exes as strictly vanilla, but to someone like her, who’s more than versed in the world of dominance and submission and had only ended up as a sugar baby later on, you suppose it would be. “I thought so too. Mostly.” You shrug. “But he’s really good.”

“You don’t say,” she snorts. Her eyes are wide and you recognise the faintest hint of arousal in her expression—recognize it at as the same one you’d worn last night when Johnny tied you to a chair in front of his floor length mirror and forced you to watch as he fucked you with a vibrator until you came all over his hands.

You can’t help but rub your thighs together slightly at the memory. You clear your throat. “Yeah.”

“Fuck, I can’t believe he paddled you, girl.” She sounds impressed. “I still can’t convince mine to do that.”

You definitely didn’t have to convince Johnny; when he bent you over the bed and ran the black leather paddle across your ass, all he needed was the word ‘green’ tumbling from your lips and he was convinced and ready to go. You bite back a laugh at the thought. “Yeah,” you say.

“Did it hurt?”

“Kind of.”

You’d expected it to be worse, honestly; the paddle was fairly large and he wielded it in his hands like an executioner’s sword but as he explained to you, pain wasn’t the point of this one. It hurt, sure, but it was a slight sting and then a dull ache that was pretty bearable once the first rush subsided. But that was exactly what he wanted; the leather paddle was for play, designed for sensation rather than punishment—punishment, he told you, would come in the form of a larger wooden paddle you hope never to meet.

“Jealous,” she huffs. “And he sent you even more after?”

You nod. The transfer of ten million won as you stepped out of the taxi nearly made you collapse.

Good girl, the note said. You could almost see the smug smile as he typed it out.

“You got a good one, babe,” your friend says. “Hope he keeps it up.”

So do you.

—

The position you’re in is becoming familiar now; on your knees in front of him, naked and bound by ropes that snake down your back and loop under your thighs. What’s not familiar is the silicone plug sitting snugly in your ass and vibrating on a low, constant frequency; not enough to stimulate or satisfy you in any way, but enough to keep you needy and on edge.

Johnny is slouched slightly, lounging in his large, leather armchair and tapping his foot against the floor. His gaze is firm and authoritative but there’s a hint of a smile on his lips. He taps your cheek with his finger.

“What to do with you?” It comes out as a purr and you see his bulge beginning to strain against his slacks. Your breath hitches slightly, lips pursing and he notices, because of course he does; the grin that stretches over his lips is sly and scheming.

“You like my cock, huh?” He asks. “Haven’t even seen it yet, desperate girl.”

Your eyes flicker between his crotch and those dark, piercing eyes, unsure which is affecting you more. “Sir…”

“I’m right here,” he says. “You want it?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Please, sir. Want it.”

He leans back, adjusting himself slightly. “Take it out, then. Do your job.”

You nod; you can do that. You really fucking want to do that, actually. It’s been over a week of this and you still haven’t seen his cock—he, meanwhile, has seen and touched and marked every naked inch of you.

“Yes sir.” Your hands are shaking when you undo his slacks; you falter slightly when the zip comes down and you realise he’s not wearing underwear and he cocks a questioning eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”

You shake your head, blushing slightly. “No sir.”

“Good. Pull it out.”

His cock springs up when you release it from the slacks and it’s just as big as you expected-slash-feared-slash-hoped it would be. It’s thick and veiny too, already leaking from the tip and you know your eyes are wide and desperate but you don’t care. You’ve never seen something more appetising.

“You like it, huh?” There’s amusement in his voice, layered beneath the husk of arousal. “Good. I’m gonna train you to take it every day, make you a total cockwhore for me. Hold still now.”

He pulls you towards him, holding your head steady as he pushes into your mouth. He’s not exactly rough with it, but he’s clearly not too concerned with your comfort right now; any attempt to stop you from gagging or coughing up on it is for his own sake, not yours. He guides it down into your throat and you feel yourself tearing up at the intrusion. You splutter slightly, unable to avoid choking and he tuts, yanking you back by the hair to give you a moment to breathe before pushing you back down.

“Have to train that out of you,” he mutters. “Gonna teach you to keep your throat open for me.”

He holds you still, cock resting in your throat until you settle around it, adjusting to the stretch and the feeling. “Good girl,” he grunts. “Take it like that, all the way.”

He pulls you back again and you gasp for breath, spluttering slightly but even as you regain your composure you’re still suckling eagerly at his tip like it’s the only thing you know how to do. You feel the shudder that runs through him as it reaches his cock, throbbing on your tongue. “You’re too good at this,” he mutters. “Learning so quickly. Who taught you to take a cock like that?”

“No one, sir.” Your voice is muffled around his cock, drool dripping down onto your lap.

“Shit, baby, you were really made for this. You need a reward.”

The feeling of his shoe nudging against your knees makes you jolt. “Open,” he says.

When you spread your legs you feel the stickiness of your thighs as they separate and your face burns—you’re leaking like a fucking bitch. Johnny’s smile is the widest you’ve ever seen it. “Oh, baby,” he tuts. “Dripping all over my floor like that. You in heat, honey?” His voice is teasing, gaze sharp and he doesn’t miss the shudder that rushes through you.

Still being in the early stages of your arrangement, you haven’t yet had a chance to explore the different dynamics Johnny had explained to you the first time you kneeled for him; to feel what it’s like to be his puppy or kitten whatever he wants you to be that day. For now, you’re his straightforward submissive and though you’ve certainly fucked yourself a few times to the thought of him pulling you around on a leash, you haven’t felt in a particular rush to pursue it just yet.

But those words. That tone.

You in heat?

You remember your neighbour in high school who bred dogs; how she’d sit at the table with your mother discussing puppies and litters and heats. It’s a distinctively… canine word to you; to hear yourself, your behaviour described in that way is thrilling. He knows it.

His foot moves forwards until it’s in front of your pussy and you don’t even hesitate for a second when he tells you to mount it. He watches you with a calm, pleased expression. “Look at me.”

He’s biting his lip when you meet his eyes, clearly as afflicted as you. “You remember your first lesson?”

“Yes sir.”

“What was it?”

“Don’t touch, sir,” you whisper. “Don’t touch, or— or move without permission.”

“Good,” he nods. “Remember that. You don’t move unless I tell you to. And you certainly don’t hump. Yeah?”

“Yes sir.”

He curls a stray hair behind your ear and a smile flickers over his lips. “You’re gonna tie that up next time,” he says. He tugs lightly at your hair to illustrate his point and you moan softly. “I don’t want you looking like a stray in here. I keep my toys clean.”

Fuck, you love the way he talks to you; insulting and demeaning yet tickling all the right parts of your brain to make you melt even deeper into submission.

He pulls you towards him. “Keep that mouth open.”

That’s the only thing you get that even resembles a warning before he’s shoving himself into you again and there’s no pretence of gentleness or caution this time as he forces his way into your throat. He holds your head down on it and pushes two thumbs into the top of your jaw so you can’t close your mouth even if you want to—all you can do is gag and choke and take it until he’s finished with you.

You’re faintly aware of tears streaming down your face, but by the time they land on your chest they’re mixed with the door that pours from your mouth as he fucks in and out. You’re so overwhelmed that you scarcely notice the feeling of your dripping pussy rubbing agonisingly against his shoe and trying desperately not to move; all the sensations have blurred into one now and everything is the same, everything is too much. You want more.

When he pulls out you can’t help but whine, feeling the loss and he chuckles. “Never met someone so desperate for cock,” he says. “Born for it, weren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Your gaze shifts to the cock in his hands, still hard and leaking and your tongue swipes over your bottom lip, practically salivating. You shoot him a pleading look and he clicks his tongue. “No, sweet thing. You’ve had enough of that. Besides, I don’t think you’ve earned my cum in your throat yet. Push your tits out for me.”

You obey begrudgingly, disappointed at the denial but still eager to please; he rewards you with a slight nudge of his foot against your pussy and you buck against it, falling against his shin and he laughs and pulls you back by the hair so he can see you properly.

“So easy,” he groans. His hand slides up and down his dick with increasing vigour and he throws his head back in pleasure. “Fuck.”

The tightening of his grip in your hair tells you when he’s about to cum and you push your tits out further to catch it. He grunts and moans through his orgasm and your chest and thighs are a mess of drool and spit and cum by the time he picks you up and takes you into his lap.

His rough hands are tender and careful now as he runs a warm wet cloth across your skin, gathering the mess you made together. His fingers are rubbing soothing patterns on your neck as he‘a mumbling something you can’t quite make out. Doesn’t really matter, though; his hold is warm and familiar and the low vibrations in his chest as he speaks are strangely comforting against the flushed skin of your face.

Maybe it’s the endorphins or the headrush that always follows your scenes with him, but you swear you’ve never felt safer.

The money’s not bad either.

—

nct taglist: @bbdeongi @yabbadabbatuh @fancypeacepersona

requests open.

[ryansemporium]

Hey I'd like to add my perspective growing up queer (cis, gay male) during the 2000s in Western Europe.

There was a lot of shame. Especially as a small town boy, there was the very real feeling my family would never accept me. I went through an entire "I'm bi I'm bi I'm bi I can't be gay that would be the worst thing ever, I'm bi" phase.

My country had legal gay marriage (not even just 'civil partnership', actual marriage) by the 2000s. Despite that, mainstream opinion was still that we were a bunch of freaks and fruits. The big tv channels had "lifestyle" segments on gay people that were exoticising, demeaning, and very much "look at how these freaks live".

In true European fashion, anyone who complained was told "well AT LEAST you don't have it as bad as AMERICANS" (see also: racism)

'Don't ask, don't tell' was a thing not just in the US military but in high school as well. Palpable sense of "don't tell me you're gay so I can continue to be civil to you"

When I was out during the last year of high school, a gym teacher asked me "Hm, shouldn't you get changed in the girls' locker room instead?" (On a positive note, several of my straight male classmates immediately shut him down by calmly going "Excuse me? What? What did you say? You can't say that.")

Parties were pretty great. This might be nostalgia talking. There was (is) a semi-government-funded organisation focused on helping queer youth, and they threw parties about once a month. They had an online forum (discontinued only a couple of years ago! I hate the current internet and the Discordification of social online spaces) where I made a lot of friends, some of whom I'm still friends with to this day. Anyway, the parties were fun. I'd take the bus there and dance through the night and make out with people, thinking "are you a boy or a girl? does it matter?"

The internet was WILD. Only freaks were on there. 'Groups' and chatrooms were a big thing. I was in an MSN or Yahoo! group for Final Fantasy VIII yaoi. I made friends there too. We used ICQ messenger and Yahoo! messenger, before MSN messenger was even a thing. I sent and received nudes. Much later I wondered about some of the people I sent nudes too, and how maybe they were not 16 like me but a whole lot older. (And also: I lived. It barely affected me.)

I realised I was gay when I was in some sort of summer camp. Another kid was panicking because he thought he might be gay (he was, and in retrospect it was very obvious.) He'd got the idea from a GOVERNMENT FLYER on "you may be gay (and it's okay)", containing a bulleted list on "Things that indicate you might be gay." ("Masturbating while mainly thinking about people of the same gender as you" was the big one for me)

There were government posters up in libraries about "1 in 10 people are gay, it might be you, and that's okay!" It was... weird but well-meaning, I guess?

9/11 and the Bush Administration and the Afghanistan and Iraq war were... something. Yeah. I think a lot of us forgot that the War on Terror was a semi-religious war against islam. I know I forgot how big a role Bush's born-again christian thing played in it all until I saw some clips of his "God bless America" and "If you aren't with us you're against us" and it all came rushing back.

Chick-Fil-A being homophobic was a thing back then too. Back then straight people didn't care either. It's kinda funny how that came back up again recently.

Cultural imperialism is a thing. As a kid in Europe you get inundated in American tv shows and movies, whether you want to or not, and there's no telling what will stick. My mom and sister were really into Seventh Heaven, a shitty religious / evangelical Aaron Spelling show. I was really into South Park. I feel this has only gotten worse now that the entire Internet has narrowed down to five American-owned mega-sites.

At the same time, there was a sense of pride that most European countries didn't blindly go along with what Bush and Cheney and Powell were trying to sell about "Saddam's weapons of mass destruction". The whole "freedom fries" debacle was the first time me and many of my peers realised America is a deeply unserious nation.

The internet was a lot better, though.

…I’m asking this as a younger queer person who was busy with other things during the 2000s (namely being a toddler/very young child)…what was being queer teen in the early 2000s like? Also, before I go interrogate the first willing 40 year old I find at the LGBT Center…do you know of any books or articles about this time period?

it was a lot of being forced through abstinence only sex education, getting hate crimed, being super eating disordered and that being completely normalized and even considered healthy, having classmates die of a mix of eating disorders & drug use, rampant teen pregnancy, both teachers and students getting into fistfights, being sexually harassed literally all the time, the one trans kid having to take school online so he wouldnt kill himself, 25 year olds hanging out around the school giving girls cigarettes and sexually assaulting them, working a part time job at the mall for 5.50 an hour then driving home to find your mom watching bill oreilly ranting about how people like you are evil and disgusting and next thing jeff dunhams on the tv doing jokes about dead muslims. cant tell you just how ambient and everywhere both violent homophobia and rape culture were like it was omnipresent. lotta slurs too. lots of teens getting black out drunk all the time and puking and getting into situations. what resistance to the wars i got to see in my small ish city was a few rallies of a few dozen people and some protest signs tied to highway overpasses, but otherwise american flags and jingoistic propaganda were everywhereeeee, on every minivan window and classroom etc. nobody spoke up for gay people that wasnt gay and everybody hated women and were so so anti black

the internet was a lot better though.

[cutiecusp]

Galentines, a 141 drabble.

Just a little fluff for us girlies, happy Galentines!

.........................

"What's all this for?" John asks, as you put another handful of pink and red in the trolley, smile beaming as you deposit chocolates, decorations, and snacks.

"Its Galentines!" You smile, eyes shining.

"The girls and i get together, bring a dish, and watch rom coms or something together, with a few games and snacks. It's my chance to show the love for my girlfriends this year."

John smiled, seeing his birdie radiating happiness always put him in a good mood.

"So what do you need?" He asks, his Captain brain mentally checking off things on a list.

"I have decorations, and sweets, i just need something for the girls to drink, and then i can go home and set up."

Nodding, John turns the trolley to the drinks aisle.

"Want those fancy straws and cups we had for your birthday?" He asks over his shoulder, smirking at the heart eyes you give him.

"Perfect." You reply, throwing your arms around his middle.

./././././././././././././././

"Babe, the girls are over later, can you pass me the baking tray?" You ask Johnny, who was wolfing down his cereal, staring at his phone.

"Johnny!" You say a little louder, startling him.

"What do you need, hen?" He replies, putting his phone down.

"The baking tray, im making those heart pastries for the girls tonight."

He hands you the tray, a furrow in his brow.

"Have i forgotten something?"

You roll your eyes, lately Johnny had been glued to his phone, so probably didn't even hear you talk about your plans.

"Galentines, the party?" You remind him gently.

A look of recognition passes over him, getting out of the chair, he wraps his arms around you, burying his face into your neck.

"M'sorry lovie. Just had a lot on my mind." He apologises, pressing a kiss to your neck.

"Gotta head out early today, need anything for your party?" He asks. You reply with a shake of your head.

With a quick kiss on your cheek, he heads out the door, waving to you from the car.

"Wonder what has him up so early?" You muse.

Little did you know, he's been planning a valentines surprise, and was waiting on the notification on his phone to say it was ready.

./././././././././././././././././././

"The red ones or the pink ones?" Kyle asks, holding out both pairs of shoes from your closet, trying not to stare at you in your pretty outfit.

"I think the red?" You mull over, taking them both and trying them on, walking around your flat.

You and Kyle had been friends for a really long time, so when the opportunity arose that you needed a flatmate, he was the perfect person to ask. Little did you know, he had feelings for you that you matched with your own.

"R-red's good babe." he admits, watching the way the heels made your legs look longer, he wonders what they would look like wrapped around his hips.

You smile, fiddling with the buckles on the ankles before standing up to your full height, even in heels you came up to Kyles chin.

"You look pretty, where are you and the girls headed tonight?" He asks, focusing his gaze on yours.

"The cocktail bar in town, then i think Harriet wants to go to the strip club, they have a male show on tonight." you reply, a little blush fluttered over your cheeks. You wonder what it would be like to have Kyle dance for you.

"Ah, strippers, cocktails, heels.. bad combo, will you need picking up?" Kyle smiles, a dimple flashing in his cheek.

"You read my mind, if you don't mind waiting up?" You laugh, your eyes shining with mirth.

"Let me know when you need me, and i'll be there." With a deep look, you realise Kyle meant so much more than just tonight.

You lean in, the night now charged with a thick tension.

"Promise?" you murmur, eyes not leaving his.

"Promise." He answers easily, before taking you into his arms, pressing a soft kiss on your lips.

./././././././././././././././

"I miss you." You say into the phone, Your face appearing on Ghost's screen.

"I know, love. But I'm home soon." A gruff voice answers.

"Did you get my flowers?"

You smile, panning the phone back to show him the vase and the matching flowers, a mixture of the darkest tulips and lilies he could find.

"I did, and i love them. Thank you." You beam.

"And you are all ready for the girls thing tonight?" He asks, his voice softening as he relaxes in his chair.

"I am, nice to have the girls over, but-" You pause, not wanting to add the the guilt you knew he was feeling already.

"I know, soon." He finishes your sentence for you.

You hear a commotion on his end, and the call drops suddenly, you send him a text to say you will ring him after the girls leave.

You spend the day prepping food, and making sure the house is clean, along to a playlist of all your favourite alternative love songs.

The party is a success, the girls took your mind off Simon for the night, facemasks, a movie marathon and enough snacks to shake a stick at made you appreciate your girlfriends more.

Shortly after midnight, and the last girl had gone, you heard a key in the door, and there he was.. With a massive smile on his face.

"Told ya it would be soon, love." he mumbles into your hair as you pounce on him, pressing kisses all over his face.

"Happy Valentines."

././././././././././././././.

@kaeyasfuturewife @xoxunhinged @muneca-lemon-steppa @gardenof-venus @misshugs @soraya-daydreams @frudoo @renpodz @yesornowaitidontknow @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @rynbeerose @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations @oniraki @evie-119 @havoc973 @kylies-lover-blog @ishipdabands @cmbghost @heckinspooks @midwesternwitchery @eggy-yoke @redzluvvesage @masterclassofescapism @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @skeletonsucker

[uhdrienne]

the embodiment of grace and deviousness

⛓️ pairing: seungcheol x f!reader ⛓️ genre: sfw, fluff, angst, mafia au, soulmate au ⛓️ word count: ~8k ⛓️ warnings: mentions of violence, weapons, open wounds. do not interact if it can be triggering! there's going to be cursing too because seungcheol is a grumpy one :") ⛓️ summary: as an author, it's almost poetic that your soulmate tattoo would be a flower. actually... half a flower. a snapdragon, to be exact. the petals on your arm, the vines on seungcheol's. it's even more cliche when you meet him on valentine's day. to you it means grace, but for seungcheol, he still has zero idea on what flower his tattoo is. he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious at all, but during this season of love, you're about to figure out exactly what this all means for you and him, the leader of the city's most dangerous mafia.

author's note: suuurprise! to commemorate my first valentines' on this platform, here is a fic, part of @ddeonghwa-s Secret Cupid Event 💌 thank you so much to @ddeonghwa-s for putting this event together, and of course to the wonderful @kpopflowerfield for giving me this opportunity to write for you, i hope you like this as much as i did💘

here is the event masterlist! do support the works of all other authors too, all of them are so so amazing <3 happy valentines' day!!

depending on the POV, italics signify either the author's writing or Seungcheol's thoughts <3

"Territory 13 is acting up again, sir."

"Are they?"

"They're giving trouble. Threatening to cut off our chain supply in the north."

“Hm.”

“We’ve lost a few men fighting them for the past few days. The situation doesn’t seem to be de-escalating, so we reported to you.”

“Nowhere else we can push to weaken them?”

“They seem to have it figured out, sir. They outnumber us at every turn.”

"Well, we can't have that, can we?"

"No, sir."

"You have three hours till dawn. Take the men you need and get it settled. It won't be pretty if I don't get better news by then."

"Yes, sir."

"Go."

He swings his chair around to the fading sky of the night, nursing his glass of amber. He looks down to his full sleeve of black, red, and blue ink. Zinnias, dahlias, rhododendrons, and in the centre, like the highlight of a Naturalism painting, a whorl of vines and small, green leaves, linked to the vines of other flowers. He has no idea what it means, has had no idea since the day he got it. Ever since, all he's focused on is getting it covered, blended in with other flowers on his skin.

What is the point of such a mark on his skin, he wonders for the umpteenth time as he runs his hands over the permanent imprint, if the universe won't show me what it means?

He glances at the corner of his screen. 1:30am. 14 February. Hm.

He looks away.

"I'm sorry, I don't think we can proceed with cover design and vetting for you, ma'am."

"Oh... Not possible? At all?"

"I'm afraid not, ma'am. Your drafts weren’t given the green light from our Head of Publishing, and our team can't exactly spare the manpower to help you right now."

"...I see. And there’s no one else I can look for? Or….. any contacts you may have?”

“We can try, ma’am, but we can’t promise anything. It’s busy period for us publishers at the moment.”

“Ah. Well, thank you anyway. I hope we can work together in the future."

You put your phone down and sink back into your chair, covering your face with your hands. Your most recent creative co-director pulled out two days ago, another graphic design deal fell through, and now this publishing company. At this rate, you don't know if your book will even ever reach the local bookstore across the street.

You blow out a breath, look down at the only black ink on unblemished skin, the one that's been there since the day you turned 20 years old.... the petals of a snapdragon.

Your phone lights up with a text from a friend, and as you unlock it, the date catches your attention.

14 February. Happy Valentines' Day to you.

Your final straw comes when you're walking home from your office the next night. You rub your tattoo, which has been irritated the whole of today. You have no idea what it means, just that it can't be good for your soulmate bond. But you've never been concerned for him, not the slightest bit, since the day you got the tattoo. Because he's not something you're looking for right now.

Then you hear scuffling, a familiar thing here in the rougher area of town where you live. Your only intention is to walk past and ignore everything. From prior experience, that's the best survival tactic you have: Don't go looking for trouble, and it won't find you.

A man appears on the sidewalk and walks towards you. You walk faster, calculating the distance it takes. Two hundred metres and you'll be under the safety of the street lights. One hundred and fifty. One hundred. The man seems to be getting closer.

You hear a thud. Fuck. What was that?

You squeeze your eyes together and turn around. It sounds stupid, but you'd like to at least see the face of your captor before you see darkness. You read novels about this. When a character gets out of a captor's grasp, they can never tell the police what the kidnappers look like. If now is your time, you won't go down making the same mistake.

Except there isn't a captor nor a body bag. It's just another man, hands in pockets, bending down to survey the unconscious lump on the concrete ground just behind you. He looks at you, the exact moment that you too meet his eyes. And you feel it. At the worst possible time in your life, ever, for crying out loud.

Hundreds, maybe thousands of volts of electricity. A rising and a pop in your head, a sizzling burn on your forearm. Who knew a soulmate bond snapping into place could be this painful? You choke out a gasp as the pain sears, brands itself into your arm. The outline of the flower appears in full glory, the vines entwining itself around your arm as it links with the petals. It's beautiful and horrifying, and you watch as the flower you've been waiting for finally, finally blooms.

Before long, the bloom appears on your forearm. A snapdragon.

The man seems to feel the same thing, as he doubles over in pain, pupils dilated in shock and clutching his arm. His face is covered by his hood so you can't see what he looks like, but he turns and runs, and before long he's disappeared into the darkness.

A few minutes pass before the pain finally subsides, and in its place comes a wave of exhaustion. You sink on the concrete, careful not to stir your unconscious stalker, who's still lying on the ground motionless.

You've found your soulmate. On the day of love.

You touch your mouth when you feel a smile creeping up your face.

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

Seungcheol opens his door, barks an order to his guard outside not to disturb him unless "someone is bloody dead", sinks down on a couch and grabs a whisky. He downs it, the burn of the alcohol close to nothing as compared to that of the flower sitting oh-so-innocently on his forearm. He'll never forget the way the snapdragon petals appeared, as if they were burnt into his skin.

He stares at it, remembers the girl who gasped in pain just as he did. He never meant for this to happen. He was only passing by and saw a man from one of the local, problematic gangs sneaking up on you. He only meant to get the man away as he usually would for anyone else, because his principles, despite his rough line of work, never permitted him to disrespect women. He only meant to do one thing and go on his way. He only felt his arm burning right before he turned onto that damn street.

He glares at his arm, like the ordeal is its fault. His hand is shaking. It never shakes.

He didn't mean to feel his bond snap into place, never meant to meet you. He takes another long swig. This is the worst timing ever, he thinks darkly.

Meeting your soulmate on Valentines' Day can't be pure coincidence. If there wasn't a sign before that this was your chance, there very well was now. The next day you come up with a mission plan.

Find the man who is apparently my soulmate

...........

And that's when you sit down and have a good think. What are you even going to do when you do find him, anyway? Get together with him purely because he's meant for you, as the universe dictated? What if he's a rude jerk? What if he's ugly? What if... oh god, what if his breath stinks?

What if... he doesn't like you?

You continue writing on your notepad, absently, mindlessly writing sentences and paragraphs like word-vomit. Before long, you look down on the page to see almost a full journal entry, like you always do when you're anxious or stressed.

"Great," You mutter. "May as well write a book about this."

You enter the bookstore, waving at the little old lady who runs it.

"Good morning," She hums. "What are you looking for?"

You smile, thumbing through the different books on the shelf. "Morning. Something about flowers, maybe? I'm doing research... for a book I'm writing."

She nods. "Perhaps a book that explains the flower on your arm?"

You chuckle. Nothing could ever get past her eyes. "You caught me."

The lady laughs in return. "That," she says, hobbling out from the counter to rummage her inventory, "is a snapdragon. Yours is lovely -- a nice shade of red."

You smile. "Does its colour represent something, too?"

The old lady pulls down a thick book, flips through it and sweeps off the dust on the cover. "Every colour has its representation, but it's also your choice to decide what it means to you." She passes you the book. "In Chinese culture, it means prosperity. It's a lucky colour. For others, it could mean passion and love. It could also mean danger, perhaps courage..."

"Wow," You mumble, flipping through the book. "One colour and thousands of meanings?"

The old lady shrugs. "Colours and nature existed way before we did," She takes the book from you and goes to wrap it up in construction paper. "Is that the tattoo that brings you to your other half?"

"So the world says," You shrug, as you pay for the book. "I had the petals first, so the stem and leaves appeared when I met him, but I don't know where he is... or even what he looks like."

The lady nods in understanding. "I wouldn't worry. You'll find your way back to each other. I'd think that's what the tattoo's for."

"Do you know about them? What do they do?"

"Some stories say they help soulmates detect when one is in danger. Other stories say the closer you are, the warmer it feels... I've never tried."

Huh. You nod. "Thank you. So very much."

There is a soft shimmer of fascination in the old lady's eyes as she waves you goodbye. "I have faith that what's meant for you will come to you in due course, dear. Have a good day now."

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

Seungcheol hasn't stopped glowering at his tattoo all day. It looks... out of place. The petals aren't supposed to be there. It looks like an outsider, a strange feeling he can't place. If this is the bond acting up, he surmises, it fucking sucks.

He needs coffee to cure the pounding headache building up.

He orders someone to get his coffee, and as he sits to wait, he taps at his keyboard impatiently, trying to figure out how the tattoo had built up.

The petals came later, he thinks. Is that supposed to mean something?

When his right-hand man, a freckled, tan man comes in with the coffee, Seungcheol is still none the wiser on the phenomenon. So he lowers his guard (for once, he thinks bitterly, for a soulmate bond of all things), and asks the man who's currently laying his coffee cup down. "Lee."

Lee looks up. "Yes, sir?"

"What do you know about soulmate bond tattoos?"

Lee looks visibly excited. "Did you get yours, sir?"

"Asking for a friend," Seungcheol deflects immediately. "So, what do you know about it?"

"I have one, sir," Lee says, and rolls up his sleeve to reveal a... half-faded anchor tattoo. "I was so.... it felt so strange to meet my other half."

"Strange. What was it like?"

Lee shrugs as he sets down a serviette. "Can I speak freely?"

Seungcheol waves at him to go ahead. He's usually the man who acts like he has a stick up his ass, but this time, he wants to find out everything he can about having a soulmate. Just so I don't drag the poor girl down with me for no good reason, he reasons to himself.

"It wasn't all good feelings," Lee explains thoughtfully, hands pausing mid-air. "My soulmate... he was an underground weapons dealer. And you know people in our circle, we don't do feelings. They're liabilities, it's another thing enemies can use against us." He chuckles bitterly. "That was one of the only things we had in common."

Seungcheol doesn't miss the way he's speaking in past tense. "You don't have to explain yourself," He says cautiously.

"No, that's okay," Lee says. "It was a while back. See, I have fading scars to prove that."

"What did it... feel like?"

"It started fading and it hurt so much, I knew something was wrong." Lee shows his arm again.

"What happened?"

Lee shrugs. "He died in an underground turf war. One of those."

Seungcheol makes eye contact. "Did you at least have good days with him?"

Lee looks at him, then looks away. "We did. Almost left the circle for each other, but..." He shrugs again. "Time just wasn't on our side."

"No," Seungcheol agrees. "It wasn't."

His fists clench. So this is what could happen to both parties who were in the circle, nevermind a civilian. He nods. "Thank you for telling me."

Lee gives him a half-smile. "So is this about your tattoo?"

"Y- No, for my friend," Seungcheol replies, cursing himself at the slip-up.

"I see," Lee says, the mischievous glint in his eyes returning. Seungcheol knows Lee doesn't believe him. As his right-hand man for years, how could he not see through Seungcheol? He starts walking towards the door. "Well, tell your friend that if there's anything I learnt, it's that time is a bitch. There's going to be a lot of fear, and it won't be pretty. But... take it from me," He smiles sadly. "It's going to feel worse when you don't treasure time and lose them. After all...." He opens the door. "I lived to tell the tale."

When the door closes behind him, Seungcheol leans back into his chair and rubs his temples.

"Some soulmates you find in the lecture hall of your school. Some you find along the way of life. Some... are pre-ordained by the universe, in the form of a snapdragon tattoo.

But are these... pre-meditated, pre-planned people meant to stay?"

You put down your pen.

You're curious. At the world, for giving you a person. How that system came about. About your soulmate. What he's like, what he looks like.

But there's no straightforward way to find him. No instruction manual that tells you where to go and what to do.

You decide to take a walk that evening. No distance limit. Just wherever your feet takes you.

And it brings you to this cafe on a street you've never been, with soft music and oak furniture, and a smiley, freckled and tan man behind the counter grins at you. "Welcome to Choi's."

"Hello," You say, smiling a bit. "Could I get a latte, and... that croissant? It looks amazing."

"Of course," He says, before turning to another burly staff that just appeared. "Get her a latte, will you?"

The staff nods, and disappears behind the coffee machine.

You take a seat, and hum as you wait. When the pastry and drink appear on your table, you thank the staff and look down to see the milk foam in the shape of a heart. Mmm. You take a sip, already feeling a lot better.

The bell jingles, and a man steps in, hands in his pockets. and heads for the counter. By force of habit, you look up and send him a cursory glance. And then you freeze. The man has rolled up his sleeves as he speaks to the staff, as if they already know each other, and on his arms....

A full tattoo sleeve of flowers. Zinnias, dahlias, rhododendrons, and in the centre, a whorl of vines leading to the most prominent flower. It looks fresh, like it was inked in a mere five minutes earlier.... in a shade of brilliant red... a snapdragon.

It's him.

The man must have excellent situational awareness because he acutely notices someone staring at him and he turns to you. Your shell-shocked face, your trembling hands... and his eyes fall on your forearm.

Choi Seungcheol had never felt this thunderstruck, not even when he found out half his men had been bought over by rivals years ago. He knows he'll never forget this feeling.

So he does the next best thing. He excuses himself from his staff and leaves.

So you get up and run after him.

Seungcheol's in the middle of cursing himself and the world out when he hears your voice calling for him.

"Sir...?"

He can pretend he doesn't know you're calling him. Sure. He can do that. Keep on walking, Seungcheol.

Until he hears running, and a tap on his shoulder. Ah.

He swallows, closes his eyes, and turns around. "Yes?" He asks coldly.

Ah. So he's not in the habit of making conversation, you think. "I'm really sorry about this, but can I...."

"Can you what?" Seungcheol replies, even though he already knows what you're going to say.

"Can I see your arm? For a second? I just wanted to make sure I wasn't seeing wrongly."

"No, you may not."

You cringe. Silence dwindles between both of you. "Uh... right."

Seungcheol reaches for his car key. "Why do you want to see my arm, love?" He casts a cursory glance at your arm. "To see if I'm your soulmate?"

You look down, then at him. "...Yeah. I got this tattoo, and I don't know what my soulmate looks like, so..."

"So you're trying to find him in me, huh?" Seungcheol doesn't mean to be rude, but this is the only way to get you off his back, at least until he knows how to move forward. The least he can do is to warn you. "News flash, love. I'm just a man who enjoys flowers. But me as your soulmate?" He chuckles and presses a button. From a distance, his car makes a beeping sound and unlocks. "I highly doubt it. You'll need to know who we are before you enter our world."

"And who are you?" The words come out before you can stop them.

Seungcheol supposes it doesn't hurt to establish who he is, just so you'll have enough sense to stay away.

"The mafia, love," He says softly, as he walks towards his car. "I'm the leader, here. I'd advise you to stay away from me, soulmate or otherwise."

When his car pulls away, you sigh and look at your tattoo.

The biggest joke the universe could have pulled on you. Making a mafia leader, out of 8 billion other people, your soulmate.

When he reaches home, Seungcheol reaches for his phone. When Lee answers, Seungcheol gives him a long list of things to do, for the cafe and for the mafia.

"Has anyone caught on the cafe yet?" He asks.

"Nope," Lee answers. "It was a good front to keep track of the public, but it seems like a normal cafe to them. So I'd say everything's fine, boss."

"Good."

"Anything else?" Lee says.

"....One more thing." Seungcheol says, sighing through his nose. "A girl came to the cafe tonight."

"...Uh-huh."

"The girl in the white cardigan and jeans."

"Right."

"Warn her not to divulge who we are and what the cafe really is. With any luck, she'll figure out that the cafe is protecting us."

"Protecting us..." Lee gasps. "Sir, you told her who you are? Why?"

"To get her to leave me alone," Seungcheol mutters. "Anyway, just tell her to zip her mouth. I don't care how you do it."

He regrets the words once they exit his mouth. "Just don't hit her or anything. We're not in that business."

A soft laugh comes over the phone. "She your soulmate or something, boss?"

Seungcheol pinches his nose. "So she thinks. Just because we have a matching..."

An idea hits him. "Do me another favour."

"Name it, boss."

"Find out where she was last night. Just to make clear something for me."

"You got it."

A knock on your door sounds in the middle of the night. When you open the door, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you flinch when two burly guys flanking the same freckled, tan man from the cafe last night step in your doorway.

"Uh...you're from the cafe, aren't you?"

"I thought a familiar face might help matters," The freckled man says. "My name's Lee. And you?"

You introduce yourself cautiously, but you look at the two men. "So... what the man said yesterday was true? You're not really a cafe, are you?"

Lee shrugs. "Nothing you need to concern yourself with, anyway." He nods to the men. "We just came here to give a little warning."

You have a feeling you already know. "What warning?"

"Don't pry, and don't tell," Lee says, still smiling, but you sense the underlying threat within. "I don't know what business you have with us, but it should end now." He nods at you. "For both yours and our good."

The burly man on the left makes a point of nodding towards your home. "We know where you live, and we can find you no matter where you go. Don't complicate things for yourself. You won't like what comes next."

And they leave, leaving you shaking in the doorway. Anger courses through you. Your soulmate sent people after you to push you away.

You don't know everything about soulmate bonds, but what you do know is that soulmates are drawn to each other: to protect, and to take care of. Either your soulmate is very, very clueless; or he just doesn't want anything to do with you. You have to find out which answer it is before you decide whether to let go of him or not.

Alright, Mr. Mafia Boss, you clench your teeth. I don't have to deal with your mafia directly to get an audience with you. Let's see how far this game can go.

Moonlight slants through his ceiling-to-floor windows. Seungcheol grits his teeth as he watches the surveillance that Lee found for him. You, walking home the night of 14 February, around 10pm, going faster and faster as that son-of-a-bitch followed you. His arms rest on his chair as he sees himself appear and knock the guy out cold.

He sighs. So it really was you. He'd recognise that face anywhere.

He looks at his tattoo once more, hating how perfectly it entwines with the rest of his tattoos. So much for covering it up. He turns his arm around again and again. It's exquisite, but it lies there like a burden.

And it picks the perfect timing to start burning. Seungcheol grunts in pain, clutching his arm as it burns, sears with the same pain it did that night. He doesn't know how the system came about, but what he knows is this: You're in danger. And as annoyed as he is about this whole situation, he has to find you. If only to make the pain stop.

He reaches for his telephone, and when the other line picks up he hisses: "Find her. Now. Scour all the surveillance in the city. I don't care what you have to do, but find her."

He can hear his man barking out orders in the background, and he shakily puts the phone down. Lee comes bursting into the room, grabs Seungcheol's arm to check on him. Normally, Seungcheol would have the head of anyone who dared to touch him without permission, but given Lee's position in this predicament, he allows him to.

"Is it supposed to be like this?" Seungcheol groans out. "It hurts like hell."

"Yup," Lee mutters. "It is. Looks and seems exactly like mine whenever Bri got into danger."

"Danger--" Seungcheol scowls and tries getting up. "You mean she's injured?"

Lee shrugs. "I don't know if it extends to normal minor situations, but whenever Bri got into a fight, I'd feel my arm burning."

"Her, fight. Don't make me laugh," Seungcheol scoffs, then grunts again as another wave of pain hits him. "She looks like she couldn't hurt a fly."

"We've located her, boss," Another man comes into the room, holding a laptop towards him.

"Where?"

When silence answers him, he hisses. "I didn't ask you this question for you to not fucking reply. I asked where?"

"The border of Territory 7, sir."

"What the hell is she doing there? Is she an underworld member, too?" Lee wonders out loud.

Seungcheol pushes himself up off his seat, wincing as his arm throbs slightly. "Fuck if I know. But I guess I have to find her if I want this pain to stop."

"I'll get men and go with you," Lee starts, but Seungcheol waves him off. "No need. We don't need to stir up a fuss, not when the territories are already misbehaving these few weeks. I'll get her, and... figure it out later."

You're tapping your foot as you wander the edges of the city's largest turf. It's well-known that civilians shouldn't pass by here if they want to get home alive and well, but with the recent news of unrest stirring in such turfs, you figure that it's the best way to seek Seungcheol out. It's stupid, but it's your best bet. Plus, you figure that the nearer you are to

You must be near a group of militants on patrol duty, because you can hear hushed orders and boots crunching. You sigh and look at your watch.

"Are you actually stupid?"

You raise your head. "So it worked. So nice of you to join me this evening."

Seungcheol storms towards you. "So you tricked me?"

"Wasn't a trick." You mutter. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"You are a nutcase," He seethes, as he grabs your arm and starts dragging you away. "Do you have any idea what would happen if anyone caught you? These few places are red-light districts now. You're not supposed to be here."

"I wouldn't know. You came anyway."

Seungcheol lets you go and huffs at you. "Go home, and don't get any more stupid ideas. Yes, I'm your soulmate. Yes, my tattoo is also a snapdragon, and I guess I can sense when you're in places you shouldn't be because my arm fucking burns, okay? Got your answer?"

"No," You say defiantly. "I haven't found out one thing. Why were you so desperate to deny that you weren't my soulmate? But you still came running anyway."

"This," He hisses, stepping closer to you, "is a pain in my ass. I can't work if my tattoo's going to start hurting every half hour. So for god's sake, please stay out of anything that doesn't concern you. Do not run into a lion's den to get an audience with me."

"So you're going to give me a way to contact you?" You shrug. "Sure, if that will keep me from making rash decisions."

Seungcheol furrows his brows. "What gave you that idea?"

"Well, you can't think I'm going to let you go after all of this, do you?"

What??

"Did I not make myself clear en-"

"Oh, you did," You say. "Like you said, you came running because you could sense I was somewhere I shouldn't be. So you can't stay away no matter how much I piss you off, can you?"

"I nev-"

"That's how soulmates work, Mr. Mafia Boss." You say smugly. "We can't stay away from each other, like a moth can't stray from the light."

Seungcheol scowls at you and then proceeds to maintain a ten-second glaring competition until he blows out a breath.

"Ten more reasons why I hate this bond so much," He mutters, before pulling out a business card and shoving it into your hands. "I've got ground rules. Don't call me for stupid reasons. Do not call to ask me out privately. Do not give my number to anyone for any reason. No exceptions, unless you want a bullet through your brain."

"Did you just threaten to shoot me...." You peruse the business card. "Choi Seungcheol?"

"Yes, and what about it?"

"You know nothing about being a gentleman."

"Never said I was one. Get in the car."

"You''re going to shoot me in there? With the expensive leather?"

"I will if you don't keep your mouth shut and start moving."

You zip it and follow him.

Success. You've met your soulmate. (You're sitting in his car, too.)

He said you couldn't call. But texting exists, so.... You're determined to bug him until he takes notice.

"It's me."

He leaves you on read.

The next day you add another message. "I guess I'll write to an empty chatroom. I'm doing good, I just had a sandwich for breakfast and I'm going to continue writing now."

5pm: "I'm done with my next chapter. Trying to find an illustrator for the cover. I'm craving soup."

11pm: "goodnight! hope your work or whatever's going well. You can't tell me anything about what you're doing?"

And so it continues, for a full three days, with silly texts about a sentence error you wrote, or a funny thing you ate, or asking him what he's doing at work, until you get a single response from him that has you rolling your eyes: "Be quiet."

You do not, to Seungcheol's chagrin, keep quiet.

He didn't think you could talk so much to someone who never replied. In a week he'd all but figured out your life pattern: wake up, eat, write (he had no idea what you were writing), find publishers and illustrators, take a walk maybe in the late afternoon, eat again, and write until it was time to sleep. You lead an awfully idyllic life compared to him, he thinks as he closes your text.

You also seem to have a love for soup, he realises. The weirdest fucking craving.

And croissants from his fake cafe. You sent him photos of it across the week, and he wonders how you never get tired of the damn thing. Your food cravings change from soup to something else every now and then, getting more bizarre with each one. (Pasta with pickles? Really?)

It was cute. (He cursed himself out after thinking about it.)

And so it goes for two more weeks until Seungcheol decides this has to stop. He texts you back for once, and you're elated as you read his text.

"Be ready Saturday night. Zip it for now, will you? I'm trying to work."

You're waiting outside your house when he pulls up. You already know that he knows exactly where you live, so you never bothered texting him your address. You get in once he stops the car, his grumpy face still on full display.

"Thanks for taking me out," You say, smiling at him, and he grunts as he pulls out and steps on the accelerator. "Isn't that exactly what you wanted?"

You shrug. "And you gave in. Is that a soulmate thing?"

"I will drop you off right this second if you say 'soulmate' one more time." He threatens.

He rubs the sleeve covering the skin on which his tattoo lies, and you frown. "Is it causing you trouble? I haven't gone anywhere weird recently, though."

"No. And you better not have."

He doesn't say much after that, simply drives about twenty minutes to a sleek, al fresco restaurant. The neon lights, warm-looking space draws you in, and when you read the menu outside while waiting for him to park...

"Soup? So you did read my texts!"

"You won't shut up about it. A little hard to miss it even if I wanted to."

You chuckle and flip through the menu. "So what're you getting?"

"You pick, you're the one craving soup of all things," He mutters absently. "Don't really care. Just came to get a message across."

"What is it?"

"Sit first before I tell you."

And so you do. He lets you get tomato soup and grilled cheese, pasta and a soda, and says absolutely nothing. He eats a little, rolling his eyes at the amount you inhale. Finally, you put down your fork. "So what did you want to tell me?"

He swallows his water before putting the glass down. "Just one thing."

You cock your head. "I'm listening."

"Why are you contacting me personally, so often? I'm sure I said not to do that."

"You said not to call," You reply, smiling. When he looks like he's about to protest, you smile again. "So I texted."

"You're fucking impossible," He mutters.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"Nothing. Anyway, stop that. I'm a busy man."

"I know. That's why I text, like, three times in a day. It's not a lot, is it?"

His hand comes down on the table, not loud enough to cause a scene but firm enough to catch your attention. "I don't have the time to entertain you, Miss Y/N. You know who I am, and that was my fault, and I think it would do you good to remember that."

"Pulling the mafia leader card on me, again?" You sigh and shake your head. "I don't know what you do, and you won't tell me. I write about people like you and mobsters. You're exactly what I write in my books."

"I am not one of your little book characters," Seungcheol hisses back. "I am not a work of fiction or something you pull out of your imagination and twist about like your plaything. I am real, and I am someone who can hurt you if I want to. And I don't owe you any information. Stop bothering me, got it?"

"Is that why you brought me here?" A surge of confidence and defiance grips you. He couldn't have taken you out to somewhere he knew you'd enjoy for no reason.

He scowls. “I can go wherever I want. Don’t read too much into it.”

You grin. “Sure.”

He nods.

“So can I continue messaging you?”

He groans. “Did you not get any of what I just said?”

You shrug. "Guess you’ll have to tell me a few more times.”

He sighs loudly, and his fingers drum the table as he seemingly goes deep into thought. The scowl is almost becoming a permanent fixture on his face, you think.

After a long moment, he groans and utters: “Next Sunday. 6pm.”

He takes you out two more times. The next Sunday, to a small restaurant you chose. This time he ate better, the consistent strain in his forehead almost easing as he bit into the lasagna.

He answered your questions, albeit grumpily, and when you got off his car that night, you thought, as you opened your journal up again, that he was finally, finally warming up to you.

But the next time he brings you out, he is visibly in a stormy mood, barely making conversation and stabbing his meat with his fork.

“Is there something wrong?” You ask.

“No.”

And there the conversation ends.

As dessert rolls in, you try one more time.

“So… how’s work lately?”

“Fine.”

“Ah.”

Please talk. Please.

“You know, I always wonder what a mafia boss does,” You pick up your spoon. “Like, order kills or something?”

Seungcheol picks up his glass. “I remember telling you not to ask about what I do.”

“And you don’t have to give me a full answer,” You shrug. “I’m just asking for a general idea. I thought it’d be nice if I got to know what you do.”

Seungcheol sits back in his seat. "Don't read too much into what I do, love." He takes another sip of water. "You can't honestly think I'm interested in you enough to reveal myself after a few meals. You said you're a writer. You shouldn't be this easy to lie to, you know that?"

Yeah, screw this.

Any confidence you had sizzles out. Easy to lie to. He thinks you're a gullible, small girl eating up every morsel of attention he deigns to give you when he feels like it. Red-hot, burning humiliation and shame rise in you.

After a long pause, you nod. "Alright. Fine. I get it. I apologise for occupying your time."

He surveys you for a second, then nods, like he just made a good business deal. "Just so we make things clear with each other."

"Crystal," You reply, no warmth in your words. "I think I finally got what you wanted to say. I thought you just weren't used to this... idea of having a soulmate, so I wanted to warm you up to it. But now I see you never wanted one in the first place."

Seungcheol furrows his brows just a fraction.

You push your chair back. You're careful not to look or seem angry, in part not to show him you're affected, and also to just... save face. He already embarrassed you. No need to do it again in public. "Take care, Mr. Choi. Thanks for putting up with me, anyway. It won't happen again. I’ll get the bill."

Soulmate, my ass.

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

It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

It wasn't supposed to turn out this way.

Glass meets the plaster of the wall. His tattoo lies there, barren, lacking its usual warmth even though nothing was taken away.

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

Ladies and gentlemen, this is perhaps how the story goes. He pushed her away, and she realised how the universe’s plan, this whole concept, had utterly failed. There were never meant to be pre-ordained people. People change, and oftentimes they disappoint…

The journal remains open, the last sentence discontinued.

T w o M o n t h s L a t e r

Soft, oozing vocals of Clara Bow fill your apartment as you pack your writing materials. You're done writing for the day.

You glance at the clock. Nine p.m. In time for a snack and TV before you head to bed.

When you turn on the TV, the news catches your attention. Another territory struggle, another turf battle for control. You shake your head and switch the channel. Typical.

As you settle down into the cushions with chips and a glass of white wine, sudden searing pain, hot and white and agonising, shoots down your arm. You gasp and grasp it in your other hand, almost keeling over at how painful it is.

Something is wrong. Very, very, wrong.

You sink to the floor, clutching your arm and sweat starting to bead your forehead. It hurts, your arm hurts, everything hurts.

Is Seungcheol in trouble?

His name card. Right. You can just find out for yourself, and if he asks, you could just say the tattoo's causing you a lot of pain. Yes. That's it.

You stagger to your drawers to find his card, messing everything up in the process. You fumble for your phone and dial his number, again and again and again, but all you’re greeted with is a beep and an automated voice instructing you to leave a message.

You don’t know what to do. No emergency contact, no one you can find… hell, you don’t even know where he is. As you’re standing, getting ready to run out and search, there's a pounding on your door.

You barely make it to the door and open it, and there stands the freckled, tan man whose name you never got. He looks awkward, eyes racing to your tattoo. "I'm sure you must be in a lot of pain," He says. "Mr. Choi ordered me to check on you."

"Check on me?" You almost wheeze. "What's going on that my arm hurts this badly?"

Lee shakes his head. "Not right now. We will talk in the van."

"Of course you can't say." You snap, patience wearing thin, temper as riled up as the pain in your arm. You're done with his secrets. "I can't know what he's doing, I can't know where he is, or if he's alive or dead, even if the pain he's causing may very well kill me too."

"You won't die," Lee says, a little more kindly. "If this comforts you, my soulmate's gone, and I'm still here."

Your anger evaporates a fraction. "I'm sorry about that."

"No need to be." Lee sighs, then reaches his own arm out. "Hold on to me, I won’t do anything weird. I'll take you to him. He's going to be a bitch when he sees you, but... I think it would be good for both of you. More often than not, distance breaks things apart."

"He's enough of a bitch even when I'm around," You mumble, but you take his arm anyway as he helps you out.

Without much effort, he gets you into the van he came in, and barks out an order to the curious men inside to drive into what he calls "The Heart".

"What's the Heart?" You ask, as he passes you a canteen of water to drink from.

"It's what it sounds like. The heart of our territory." Lee explains, eyes trained in front. "Mr. Choi's there when we... have scuffles, and that's usually the place where security is tightest, so he can be near to us to get updates and give orders, and still not get into danger."

"So he is a leader."

"He is, and one of those you wouldn't want to cross. He's quick with his work, and he can resort to getting his hands dirty if he has to. His network and connections are... frighteningly impressive, to say the least."

"Funny how I'm hearing it from you and not him," You huff as you lay your head back, trying not to think about the pain.

"He hasn't had the experience of telling people about his life, Miss," Lee chuckles. "But I figured you'll know eventually, so better sooner than later, right?"

"Sooner than later?"

"You're meant to stick around him, Miss. For the good and bad. You're his soulmate, after all."

"I don't know if we'll get there." You sigh, and close your eyes. "Is he badly hurt? Will me being there even help matters?"

Lee shrugs. "We'll find out."

Lee gets six men to flank you both as he walks you in. Up ahead, there's a building seemingly made of unforgiving steel, it's blank canvas looming in the dark red, streaked sky.

"That's the Heart?"

"That’s the one. Unpenetrable, Miss. Let's go in."

You pray for all your sakes it really is as Lee takes you up into the elevator. When he opens one of the (almost) hundreds of similar doors to lead to an empty, cell-like room, and inside sits Seungcheol, with a red fabric pressed---

"You're bleeding," You blurt. The pain in your arm subsides just a fraction, perhaps jarred by the sensation of finally, finally, meeting him.

He looks up, eyes twisting in furious shock as he glares at Lee, and then you (you don’t know why). "Exactly which part of my order did you not understand, Lee?"

Lee bows his head in apology. "I'll never take away a chance to meet your soulmate away, you know that, sir."

Seungcheol scowls hard, and you're almost afraid he's going to shoot Lee there and then.

"Get out."

Lee smiles, ushers you in and walks out. "I'll be back in half an hour to report. I'll call for the doctor again."

You bend and peel aside the fabric. Once white, it's now soaked red, it's warmth unsettling. There's blood, so much of it, and on his once unblemished skin now contains a mess of open flesh, blood, and a...

A bullet.

"A gun." You mumble.

"Try not to throw up." He replies, ever-so-gently nudging you away. "This is Armani."

"You jerk."

His face twists in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." The anger is returning. "You say all sorts of fucking nonsense to keep me away, and we meet again months later because you're shot. And that may be a normal day for you, Mr. Choi, but us civilians don't go about our day-to-day expecting a bullet hole to appear in our skin."

His hand clenches up.

"This is why I said everything I did," He snarls in return, putting more pressure on his wound. "I knew I would never want you to try to handle what I am!"

"You never let me try," You hiss. "You refused to tell me anything, to let me see what your life was like. No, you chose to shut me out! And don't you dare tell me what I can or can't handle."

He huffs. "I see no reason in dragging you, or anyone else, in when it isn't needed."

"Yet Lee brought me here tonight." You point out. "He knows something you clearly don't."

"Lee is a nosy fucker." He snaps.

"He's someone who's experienced it all. His soulmate is gone, Seungcheol."

"And look at the pain it caused him. At least if anything happens to me, it's no love lost for you."

"Shut up."

"What?"

"I said shut up. Sometimes people want to help you. Sometimes people wouldn't actually mind, I don't know, going into this Heart place to check on you. Sometimes, you need to get it into your thick skull that I actually want to be here, to make sure you don't die while this stupid snapdragon is burned into me!"

His eyes meet yours.

"But you won't get it!" You chuckle. "You send men to check on me when I’m in pain, but I doubt you have any intention of finding me after all this gets better."

"You think I wanted to?" He shoots back.

"And you think I had it all settled for me? That I was better off not knowing the person that was meant for me, this whole time?"

"I never wanted that." Seungcheol insists hotly. "Look at my world, it's a mess, a violent place, a--"

"And there has to be a reason I'm the one picked out!" You defend. "Do you have any idea what snapdragons stand for?"

When he doesn't reply, you continue. "It stands for grace and strength. I can handle all of this. I'm not meant to measure up with your headstrong personality anyway."

"Then what are you meant for?" He asks, tone now soft, dejected.

"To complement you," You reply. You've never been this sure in your life. "To make up for the traits you lack. I'm not supposed to be as strong, or as fierce as you are. I'm meant to... ground you. That's what soulmates are. To... allow each other's strengths to shine and make up for what they don't have yet."

Seungcheol goes quiet.

"And you?" He asks, after a long pause. "What do I complement you in?"

You survey him again. "That's something I can't discover yet, because you won't let me."

“So what do you suggest?” He continues.

“No more hiding. Show me who you are. No restraint, I don’t need you to keep anything secret.”

“What if you end up like Lee?”

“Then it would have been a life well spent, at least.”

Seungcheol grunts with effort as he leaves his seat and stumbles to you. "And if I obeyed, and let you in?"

You look at him square in the eye. "Then it would be my honour to stand with you... or in the shadows, or wherever you make me stand."

"This sounds a lot like an induction of one of my men," Seungcheol murmurs. "I don't want that."

"Then what do you want?" You ask softly.

Seungcheol looks down at you, emotions warring in his eyes. After a while, he slumps and turns away. “Fuck. I can’t do this to you.”

“Tell me what you want, Seungcheol,” You say quietly. “You order people around for a living. I’m telling you to be honest with me, too.”

"…You. With me. Wherever you, or I, want to be."

You shrug a little as he cups your face. "I can live with that."

"You better," Seungcheol mumbles, as his mouth finds yours at last, burning more than any wretched tattoo, warmth spreading to your fingertips. "After everything you just said... I don't imagine you're going anywhere for a while."

February 14, 2026

The doctor came to patch him up. His hand squeezed yours hard as the bullet was finally pried out of him.

It's honestly a blur to you now when you think about it, but all you remember is his eyes boring into yours, his unwavering, callused grip on your hand.

"The snapdragon symbolises strength and grace reflected in their tall, strong stems, blooms and resistance to colder temperatures. Others believe they also represent deception and deviousness.

She embodied grace. She was his missing piece, the trait he needed to complement his headstrong nature. But he also needed someone strong enough to stand with him, through every obstacle his work throws him in. And she... she needed his courage and unwavering will to stand with her through it all."

You put the pen down. Mmm. Not too bad for a closing chapter. You send a text to the new publishing house that you contacted two weeks ago. They had seen your draft, and they loved it. Two weeks from now, when everything is settled, you promise yourself, you will show Seungcheol. He'd been curious for a while now about what holed you up in your writing room.

"Love?"

You look up from biting into your croissant. "Well, look who's back from Sicily. How did the meetings go?"

Seungcheol smiles and opens his arms. "Not too bad. I suppose the love you share for novels, along with the Don's* wife, was a selling point. She was most keen on sending you," He cocks his head to the pile of books at his feet, "this. She said it'd make a good Valentines' gift, since I've been poor at accompanying you these few months."

"That sounds perfect. We're both suckers for romances."

As you sink into his embrace, the tattoo once again burns, but it's not the passionate, red-hot zealous heat. It's warm, comforting, like a hot chocolate in winter.

He sighs. "Happy Valentines', love. I'm going to lose my girl to a bunch of fictional mafia men again?"

"You know it."

"I still don't understand why. You have one right here, next to y-"

"Softer! Do you want the whole town to hear you?"

fin.

*Don = the highest role in an organised crime family

thank you for reading 💟

[booksooks]

𝕭𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖐 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖕𝖊𝖑𝖑

Author's Note: I've been writing this since 2022... and it's finally here. I hope y'all enjoy, I tried. I know there's not a TONNn of urgency in this fic but oh well.

Contents: Aphrodisiac spell, giving Alucard that gawkgawk slonky tonky 3000, public oral sex, a little bit of blood,

Word Count: 3390

Summary: When Alucard mistakenly reads an aphrodisiac spell and you stumble across him in need, who are you to deny him?

Although the Belmont estate had been destroyed, its hold was still intact and something to be marveled at. Sypha had opened the door using Enochian magic, and your merry band traipsed down the long staircase, poking fun at each other and only half-joking the entire way. 

“All the dark things moved into the east,” Trevor was explaining, leading the way. “I think it was a… Leon Belmont who entered the region first.”

You weren’t paying much attention, too focused on the basement’s awe-inspiring design and structure to really take in what he was saying about his family’s past. Sypha used her magic to send fire to all the torches in the library, lighting every corridor and hallway. When everyone reached the bottom of the stairs, you all split up to see what you could find in the library to help defeat Dracula. Trevor had wandered off to find some relics, and Sypha followed, teasing the brooding man relentlessly. Alucard had gone in the other direction by himself, leaving you standing in the middle of the underground library wondering what to do. Where to go.

You weren’t entirely sure of your place in the group. Everyone seemed to have at least one redeeming quality that proved useful in battle, aside from you. Trevor had learned his fighting skills from his family, Sypha was a Speaker magician, and of course there was Alucard, who was the son of Dracula. Then came you. You had an incredible touch for healing, and you were decent at protection spells and ways to ward off evil, but there wasn’t much else you could do. You weren’t good for really anything involving combat, only for the aftermath. So you did your best to stay out of the way and make yourself the least of anyone’s worries. 

Right now, you needed to make headway in finding out how to defeat Dracula. The vampire’s attempts at taking over all of Wallachia were growing ever more successful, and the monsters that came at night were becoming more vicious. You shuddered at the memory of the carnage that was your old hometown and decided to follow Alucard’s path, but more slowly and thoroughly than he did. Your old home was destroyed shortly before you met up with Sypha’s group of Speakers who offered to take you in as the remaining survivor of the entire town when they passed through. They were incredibly kind to you, despite your original hostility towards them. They were strangers after all. But Arn and Sypha were persistently kind in the way that only grumpy cats could be, and soon you warmed up to them. Trevor and Alucard you were still mildly wary of, but Sypha seemed to trust them and you trusted Sypha. So you kept yourself quiet, out of the way, alive, and did the best you could to clean up everyone else’s mess after every fight, which you didn’t mind. You’d rather be healing and protecting than on your own in these times. 

You turned your attention back to the rows and rows of books and odd keepsakes on every shelf in sight, running your fingers over the dusty tops of volumes and immediately regretting that decision. A thick layer of dirt and fuzz sat on the top of each page, and you shook your hand to get it off. Then you leaned in closer to inspect them, you were here to look for vampire related defense after all. The Proper Way To Restrain, Exorcize, And Kill (If Needed) Witches by Tiphaeus E. Hildebrand stared up at you from the bookshelf, and you backed away from it. You considered yourself somewhat of a baby witch, a witchling even, and you had no desire to be exorcized. This clearly wasn’t the right section, and Alucard had clearly come to the same conclusion because he was nowhere you could see. The shelves in the row you were in all seemed to carry the same theme of exterminating witches and the like. There were a few bones and relics on a ledge further down, all carved with runes and pentagrams. You checked to make sure no one was around before shoving a few small finger bones in your pockets, knowing they could come in handy (ha) as amplifiers of your power or just as keepsakes. You’d study the runes later, when you weren’t on a bit of a time crunch. 

Sighing, you decided to leave that aisle and move on to another section of the hold, seeing as the one you were in wouldn’t be helpful. You turned left, into another, secluded hallway of the library, hoping to find something more useful than how to get rid of witches. The ceiling was taller here, and the bookshelves extended even further too. Rolling ladders were attached to every shelf, for the convenience of any eager reader, though you suspected the wood had rotted away after all these years. You tested your weight against one curiously, and it surprisingly held your weight. Perhaps the wood was in better condition than you thought. 

A noise came from your right. You froze and glanced towards the shelf where the noise came from. It was faint, a sort of whining, anguished groan, every few seconds. You drew the short knife that you kept in your belt for gathering herbs, holding it close to your face. It had been decades since the hold had been opened, you didn’t know what sort of creatures lurked down here. Coming around the corner of the bookcase slowly, you expected to see some sort of creature scrabbling around in the tomes. Instead, you saw Alucard, in the most vulnerable state you had seen him - or anyone else for that matter - in. 

His golden hair curled over his shoulders, which were hunched and shaking. His legs were spread out in front of him and were also twitching, and one of his hands was down his pants… oh- Oh.

Oh!  

Alucard was vigorously stroking his cock, one hand covering his mouth to try and stifle the noises that were trying to claw out of his throat. When he tilted his head back, you could see his face and neck were flushed, and his chest was heaving. A large book laid open next to him, flipped to a page covered in curled lines and large, pretty runes. The very words seductive, trying to lure you in to read the spell to its completion. Bad choice of words!

Alucard’s movements drew you back to him, and you saw his hips jerking into his palms as he spilled ropes of come into his hand. The hand over his mouth did nothing to muffle the groans of pleasure that he made, and as he finished he finally made eye contact with you. His eyes widened in surprise and humiliation, and he turned away quickly in pleasured agony. As he tried to shove his (surprisingly still hard) cock back into his pants. 

“Sh-shit,” he muttered, his blush almost worse than before. You fumbled to put your knife away and turned around, trying to pretend you hadn’t seen Alucard desperately jerking off. “Did-did you find anything? Where are the others?” Alucard’s voice sounded strained, as if he was still… afflicted. 

You huffed out a breath, trying to calm the heat sparking in your lower belly before answering shakily. “N-no, nothing’s been found. The others are still looking but I came looking for you. Or-or to see if you found anything. Or-” You cut yourself off, recognizing your rambling. “What happened?”

Alucard made several noises of either protest or pleasure, and then it sounded like he shifted positions. “I.. I accidentally picked up a book and read a spell without,” he paused to moan again, “without reading the description.” 

Nodding, you turned back around to face him, keeping your eyes on the book. “And it made you… like this?” 

Alucard whimpered, and then cut himself off midway. You focused on the volume once more. The spells’ curling script and fancy wording practically begged you to read more, to drink in every letter and let the magic flow through your veins, settling into your bones with an essence in the way that only magic could. You shook your head and rubbed your eyes to try and stop the spell from taking ahold of you. Covering the spell, you grabbed the book by its thick, heavy pages and dragged it towards you. Your eyes flickered over the description, quickly realizing what had happened. 

“Well, you read,” you paused and sighed. Of course something like this would happen when you were looking for something to save the world. “You read an aphrodisiac spell. And it says here the spell won’t be broken unless you- finish. By someone else’s hand.” 

You looked up at Alucard for the first time since you had walked in on him, and tried to will away the strong arousal building within you. His eyes were semi-glazed over, and now that you were focused on his face, his lower lip was bleeding, one of his fangs stuck into the plush skin. He moaned and squirmed, shuddering as he fought to not put his hand down his pants again. 

“That would explain why this feeling hasn’t gone away,” Alucard muttered, giving in to the desire flowing through his veins. It was an itchy, uncomfortably warm feeling that lessened with each time he came, but not by much. As soon as his digits made contact with his overly-sensitive cock, he moaned again, then he remembered you were staring at him still and stopped himself, barely. “I need your help.”

You coughed, startled by the request. You knew what Alucard meant by “help” but your mind refused to believe he actually wanted your help getting off. It was certainly just because you were the only one available at the moment, and you had already seen him in this vulnerable state. Definitely not because he thought you were attractive, or because he wanted you. Definitely not. But you could hope. 

You took a reinforcing breath, and moved yourself so that you were sitting between Alucard’s legs, his back pressed against the spines of countless books and his hair curling around his shoulders. You had always loved his hair, but now wasn’t the time to admire it. 

With more reverence than you would like to admit, you ever-so-slowly leaned in, and- 

You hesitated, lips right above Alucard’s. You could feel his breath, surprisingly cold, puffing out intermittently against your mouth, and he actually whined in frustration the longer you hesitated. You flicked your gaze up from his lips to his golden eyes, and you saw the frustration flashing within their depths. 

“Now is not the time for teasing,” he growled. His shaky hands moved from gripping his pants to your shoulders, still deathly tight. 

You sighed, apprehensive, and drew back. “I-I’m not trying to tease you, just… are you sure you want me to do this? I can go get Trevor or Sypha-”

“I don’t want Trevor or Sypha,” he growled again, giving your shoulders a firm jostle. “Just… Please, help me.” 

You had never heard Alucard beg before. Then again, you hadn’t known him for very long but he didn’t seem like the begging type. Hold on, what were you thinking ? Here was someone, very clearly in need of your help, and all you could think about was how you had never heard him beg before? You needed to work on your priorities, that was for sure. “Right, of course.” 

With those final words, you steeled yourself and closed the distance between the two of you, finally quelling some of the rising heat in Alucard. 

The kiss started off chaste, sweet and innocent despite the Dhampir’s obvious arousal. But the bolt of electricity that ran through you at the contact was anything but innocent, and, coupled with a low groan rumbling from deep within Alucard’s chest, made you want more. You drew back for a quick breath of air, the taste of his blood lingering on your lips. Alucard, now that he had gotten a taste of you, immediately disliked the space you had created between you two, and dug his nails into the soft flesh of your shoulders to pull you back in. 

This time, the kiss was hungrier, teeth clacking as you tilted your head and ran your tongue across the seam of his lips. The taste of blood was stronger now, and Alucard let out the most delicious moan when your tongue tentatively licked inside his mouth. In fact, the noises the both of you made were lewd and downright sinful , heavy breathing and the slick, clicking of spit being exchanged. 

It took everything in Alucard to not push you down and take you right then and there, with no preparation or any communication whatsoever. But he didn’t. Instead, Alucard dragged his hands down your torso, squeezing and eager to feel you against him as he tugged you to sit closer to him, almost directly in his lap. 

“ F-fuck… ” he gasped against your mouth, the sound muffled by the hungry clash of lips. His hands tightened their grip on your body, nails digging in just enough to make you wince. It wasn’t painful, exactly, but rather a reminder of his strength, of how badly he wanted this - wanted you.

He seemed to revel in the friction of your bodies pressed together. The feeling of your chest against his, legs spread over his and wrapped around his waist, warm tongue and teeth clashing with his… It was euphoric. You could tell with the way Alucard moaned and whined into your mouth that he was enjoying himself, and he positively squirmed beneath you, hips rocking up for any sort of pleasure. 

Your body seemed to have a mind of its own, grinding and writhing in kind and settling into a slow, easy rhythm. The sensation of his hard cock, already hot and heavy, pressing against your core sent shivers down your spine, making you ache for more. When you broke the kiss again, a long string of spit connected your mouths, and Alucard’s lips followed you briefly before he remembered himself. 

“I’m not going to last much longer if we keep,” Alucard started, and then trailed off at the sound of his own wrecked voice, “If we keep going.” 

You nodded, and reluctantly slid off of his lap to crouch in front of him. You pawed at the lacings of his trousers, still undone from his earlier attempts at relief. Alucard watched, transfixed, as your fingers worked at the lacing, the anticipation building to an unbearable level. When you finally managed to free his straining erection, it sprang up, thick and throbbing, the entire length slick with his previous orgasm. The tip was flushed an angry red, and when you tentatively wrapped a hand around the base, you felt him throb harder in your grasp as precome flowed freely from the slit. 

You felt drool gathering in your jaw, something primal inside you crying out to lick away all signs of life from him. To suck him silly, in other words. 

Alucard, to his credit, looked absolutely lost in pleasure, His head had dropped back onto the bookshelf behind him, and with every twitch of your hand or shaky exhale that brushed against his shaft, he whimpered. His hips jerked involuntarily, seeking more contact. A choked moan escaped his lips as your fingers wrapped more securely around the base, stroking lightly. The sensation of your warm skin against his sensitive flesh was exquisite, sending jolts of pleasure straight to his aching balls. 

You were content to just keep doing that, admiring his member kick and twitch in your hand as you slowly jerked him off. He was doing a surprisingly good job of restraining himself, you thought, right as one of his hands clamped down on the back of your neck and guided your head towards him. “Make me come,” he demanded, although it sounded more like a prayer than anything else, “please.” 

As your lips neared his throbbing erection, Alucard’s breath hitched, his chest heaving with anticipation. When your mouth finally enveloped the head of his cock, he let out a ragged groan, the sound echoing through the room. You shot a glare at him, still vaguely aware that Sypha and Trevor were somewhere in the library with you. 

As soon as your lips enveloped the head of his cock, Alucard's grip on the back of your neck tightened, holding you in place. He rocked his hips slightly, thrusting shallowly into the warm cavern of your mouth, and the sensation of your tongue swirling around the sensitive underside of his cockhead made him shudder. 

Each second with his dick in your mouth was another second in heaven for Alucard, while the taste of him, salty and musky, filled your senses. You couldn't help but let out a soft hum of approval around his length. Creating a suction with hollowed cheeks, you began to bob your head, taking him deeper with each pass until your nose pressed against the wiry blond hairs at his pelvis, suppressing the need to gag around him with deep breaths through your nose. Alucard’s reaction was immediate – a sharp intake of breath, his hips jerking forward, and a loud, guttural moan that vibrated through you. 

You pulled back slightly, letting his cock slip from your lips with a wet pop. Your throat ached at the sight of his prick, still shiny and wet with your spit. Wincing when you swallowed, you changed tactics and started paying heavy attention to his tip, lapping at his slit with soft, almost loving kitten licks and kisses while your hand continued to stroke him off. Alucard’s noises were quieter now, heavy panting and the occasional strangled whine that slipped past his lips as he throbbed in your hand. You swore you could even feel the veins pulsating in your grip. 

Alucard nearly sobbed above you, hips still thrusting as he chased his orgasm. Your mouth just felt so good, each suckle and swirl of your talented tongue driving him closer to the edge. He was not above begging, as you had experienced by now, and while you didn’t want to be mean, the desire to simply pull your mouth away from him entirely and make him beg to come was enticing. Enticing, but not necessary, at least not in the moment. 

It didn’t take much longer for Alucard to finish, jerking his cockhead almost violently into the back of your throat and making you choke as he let out a sharp cry as his orgasm crashed down over him. You continued to swallow around him, even as the urge to spit up everything overwhelmed you. Alucard’s reaction was immediate and severe, a sharp inhale and the stuttering of hips as bliss quickly turned to overstimulation. The hand on the back of your neck moved to push gently at your head. You pulled back obediently, giving his softening cock one last, gentle lick before releasing it altogether. A string of saliva and cum connected your lips to the tip for a moment before breaking. 

You swallowed down the remnants of Alucard’s come, pulling a face at the tangy taste that lingered on your tongue. “All done?” you asked, figuring it was better to be safe than sorry. 

Alucard's chest heaved with ragged breaths as he gazed down at you, his golden eyes glazed with post-orgasmic bliss. A slow, satisfied smile spread across his lips, revealing a hint of fang. “Yes, thank you. I-” 

Whatever he was about to say was cut off by the sound of heavy footsteps rapidly approaching the pair of you, the voices of Sypha and Trevor calling out your names. You shot a panicked look towards Alucard, who suddenly looked a lot less blissed-out, with his pants still undone and dick still out. 

“Are you guys alright?” Came Sypha's voice, much clearer and much closer than the footsteps had indicated. “We heard noises and- Ohh. Trevor, don’t-” 

“Too late,” Trevor groaned, one hand over his eyes. “Why my childhood basement, you guys?” 

You sat back on your heels, face smoking hot, and prayed to whatever god was out there that the ground would swallow you up right then and there. Like you had with Alucard’s-

18+ Divider by: @cafekitsune

Golden Rose Divider by: @sweetmelodygraphics

AO3 || Masterlist

End Notes: thank u for reading! i hope you enjoyed, and if theres enough demand i might write a part 2 but who knows :p requests are OPEN!

ABSOLUTELY NO ONE HAS MY PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WORK TO ANY SITE.

[slapthosewilliessilly]

The shit these drugs will do to you

Josh Washington x AFAB Reader

Warnings; MDNI 18+, smut, AFAB reader, Asthmatic Reader, Stoner Josh, Weed smoker Josh, Josh is a fucking muncher, begging, oral receiving (fem), drug use, body worship if you squint, semi established relationship, partying, awkward situation

I wrote this while I was insanely stoned and sipping chocolate milk hope y’all enjoy! Requests are still up just send a message whenever!

Photo credit to anti.huntress on instagram!

🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷

“You uh- you ever smoke before?” Josh asked, his back turned towards you as he seemed to dig around in his drawer for something.

Your eyebrow arched as you watched him, sat criss crossed on Josh’s bed. Swirling whatever bright blue concoction Jess poured for you in the cup in your hand. God that was forever ago- hard to forget it’s 3AM and all the others were passed out for the night. “I mean I’ve taken a hit off of Jess’ geek bar before. Almost died.” That made Josh chuckle.

“No I’m not talking about a geek bar.” Josh said before turning around, showing a small baggie with some joints inside making your eyes widen slightly. You never knew he smoked pot. “Can’t say that I have.” You answered.

“Do you…” Josh started before taking a seat on the bed. “Want to have some? With me?” First time you’ve seen Josh almost nervous.

“I mean sure but-“ you hesitated. “I have asthma Josh I don’t know if it’s the smartest idea for me.” You felt almost disappointed by your own answer, it was embarrassing sometimes.

“We can shot gun it.” Josh suggested almost too quickly, the faintest blush on his face. You chuckled, unfamiliar with the term. “Shot gun a joint? Dude what does that even mean?”

Josh grinned slightly again as he opened the small baggie and pulled out one of his joints. “Well would you rather me tell you about it,” Josh spoke before setting the baggie to the floor and holding the joint between his thumb and index finger, looking at you with an expression similar to one of endearment. “or do you want me to show you?”

That made your cheeks flush slightly, his usual cool and collected tone seemed sweeter- excited almost. You felt your thighs twitch absentmindedly, you could always blame it on the alcohol.

“Show me.”

You spoke with a breathless whisper, surprised that Josh could even hear you. But he did. He grinned before scooting closer to you, “Just relax, I’m taking care of you- just follow my lead.” He reassured you, once you nodded he brought his joint to his lips and dug in his back pocket for his little flip lighter.

Watching Josh smoke was definitely doing something to you, you weren’t sure exactly why but seeing how his lips were wrapped around it and inhaling was sending heat straight to your core. You wondered how good he’d look with his lips wrapped around something else.

God you sounded like Mike.

Josh gave you a sideways glance as he exhaled through his nostrils, a small smirk tugging on the corners of his lips. He brought the joint to his lips once more, inhaling deeply before turning to face you. The joint in one hand, his other hand gently caressing the side of your face. A look on his face seemingly asking ‘you ready?’

You nodded, suddenly your mouth felt dry. Josh leaned forward- his thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he gently began to blow the smoke into your mouth, lips just an inch away as your eyes fluttered shut and you inhaled what Josh was so generously giving you.

Your skin felt hot from the proximity alone, tingles and electricity covering your body. God your core is damn near pulsing on his bed with the thought of how easy this would be to take it to the next level.

When the heat of Josh’s presence faded and your eyes fluttered open, face feeling hot paired with an indescribable need for Josh Washington to be inside you right now. When your eyesight focused you were met with Josh’s red tinted eyes all but gleaming at you with a smug grin on his face. It makes you cough in a brief awkward manner at the realization of how you were looking at him like you wanted to jump his fucking bones.

“Woah hey girl easy-“ Josh comforted as he placed a hand on your back, rubbing circles onto your now sensitive skin. “Take a breath, we’re cool. You actually did really well.” He soothed in a soft and subtle tone.

Oh god the praise.

You were already half soaked you didn’t need him to add more fuel to the fire. You recovered from your coughing only a moment or two later, sometimes once it started it was hard to stop. Josh only continued his sweet slow circles on your back, carefully watching you to see if he needed to grab your inhaler for you.

“Sorry.” You blurted, eyes on your lap in embarrassment.

“Dude for what?” Josh asked quietly, his hand feeling lower on your back than what it did when he first touched you. Maybe you were imagining things.

“I just- I feel like a weirdo for looking at you like that. I’m sorry.” Jesus this was humiliating. “Hey-“ Josh’s hand moved to your knee, making your skin jerk slightly in surprise.

“We’re cool, you’re totally fine. Promise.” Josh soothed. How could he not feel how hot your skin was? “In fact…” Josh whispered, his eyes focused where your plush thighs were clenched. A faint smirk on his face before his eyes moved up to catch yours.

“You want some help there?” He asked, referring down to your slightly grinding thighs. You were going to cry if you couldn’t get more friction.

You felt caught red handed. You felt lightheaded, giddy, nervous, and soaked- you bet your face was hot red. “Please Josh?”

Josh’s eyes widened slightly, jaw slacked as he studied your expression carefully in case you weren’t being serious. He didn’t actually think you’d entertain what he said, but neither did you.

You didn’t know what josh did faster- shove his lips on yours or put out the joint in his ashtray of the bedside table. His hands felt like they were everywhere, trying to devour you by touch. Your thighs, your hips, the side of your neck, your breast- leaning you back further onto his bed and climbing over top of you.

His lips felt everywhere too. Your lips, your cheeks, your jaw, up and down your neck. His lips meeting with your own once more after you whined when he kissed your breasts through your shirt. God he was making you feel dizzy but you never wanted it to stop.

“Can I taste you?” Josh whispered his question, his fingers almost pawing at the waist band of your shorts. His breathing heavy and almost ragged, you shivered at the idea of him holding back.

“Yes-“ that was the only thing Josh needed to hear before kissing you passionately once more as his fingers hurriedly began to slide your shorts off. After your shorts then it was your shirt, nipples being met with his soft kisses as well before adjusting you both.

Your legs dangling off the edge of his bed as Josh moved you carefully with a strong touch, moving your knees to rest on top of his shoulders as he got on his knees.

Josh took his time, wanting to make you squirm and beg for him to fuck you with his tongue. He left soft kisses all over the inside of your thighs, his hot breath fanning against your clit making you shiver in anticipation.

“Please-“

“Please what baby?” Josh’s eyes interrupted your weak plead with a question. Blue eyes glinting something smug from their place between your thighs. “Tell me pretty girl.” He purred before lowering his head and blowing soft cool air against your heated entrance.

“Fucking-“ you whined. Tears building in the corner of your eyes. You didn’t know what to say- you forgot how to beg. Laying there soaked waiting for Josh to just devour you was just torture. “Don’t tease me anymore please I need it so bad.” Your voice shook slightly as you pleaded for the wait to be over- you wanted to cum on his face and you wanted to do it now.

“I’m so sorry baby.” Josh cooed- you could feel that smirk of his radiating off of him. “Let me take care of you pretty girl.”

You nearly squealed when you felt his lips wrap around your clit and began to suck and lick you apart. Thighs squeezing Josh’s head closer as he devoured you entirely. The sounds of wet slurping and his panting combined with your moans and mewls of pleasure echoed through the room.

“Holy fuck! Oh shit baby-“ you moaned, “so fucking good Josh holy shit-!” Your squeals only seemed to make Josh more determined in his mission of having you cum all over his face.

You felt so close to the edge already and he barely started. Josh’s hands roughly gripped onto your thighs, not minding at all how you were squeezing his head so tightly. Lightheaded and eyes rolling to the back of your head as Josh pushed you closer and closer to the edge- eating you out like a man fucking starved. Did having sex stoned always feel this good?

Your hips grinded absentmindedly against Josh’s face, seeking just the slightest bit more friction to cum. Your words slurring as you moved your hips against his face faster, Josh’s hands holding your pussy tight against his face before he sucked on your clit again.

You squealed one more time as you felt yourself soak Josh’s face in your fluids, looking down at him between your thighs already looking up at you with half lidded eyes. Your breathing hitched slightly at the sight. Josh waited until you were shivering and body twitching for him to pull away. Josh made his way up to your lips once more, you could taste yourself on his tongue and it was almost addictive.

When Josh pulled away he rested his forehead in the crook of your neck, breathing heavily, seemingly trying to steady himself. Glancing down you see a wet mark on his jeans from your current position. “Josh did you- did you cum in your pants from that?”

Josh could only answer with a slight scoff. “Shut up.”

[ohgodthevoices]

i will literally cry if you do more ushijima fluff ☺️ literally anything would suffice i just need a big ol’ man

I FUCKIN LOVE USHIJIMA YES THANK YOU FOR THIS OPPORTUNITY

tags : flufff, high school + time skip ushijima x reader, intellectually challenged ushijima, not proof-read

wordcount : 1.4k

ushijima was popular in high school sure , but he didn’t have many friends (the lil friends he had are basically just his teammates) so when ushijima was in your class during your last year, you were a bit surprised he sat all alone and spoke to no one unless it’s necessary. he always looked so focused in class , not a single moment of distraction, it was honestly impressive to you how a human was capable of such concentration. you always had a small teeny tiny crush on him, but you thought you were no different from the other girls, after all he was handsome, tall, athletic, respectful and smart (or so you thought)

you looked at him expressionless ,probably because of the shock, when he stood tall and proud infront on your desk showing you his failing grade on his english exam, and asked you to tutor him, you blink staring at the bold red mark 12/100. how does one even get such a bad grade…

“i guess i could do that…when do you want to start ?” you sighed closing your notebook “now.” of course.

ushijima was now forever grateful to you and your late night study sessions at the library, you refused any kind of payment from him, so instead of paying you directly , he would buy snack for your sessions slowly takings notes of your taste and preferences.

the day of the final exams ushijima was more than ready , but before that, he made it his mission to find and give you a sandwich he carefully crafted himself. “you’ll concentrate better if you eat.” his red headed friend behind him was kind of creeping you out , he was watching with barely contained amusement, his red eyes practically staring at your soul “look at him, so domestic now,” he teased, nudging ushijima’s shoulder. “our dear wakatoshi woke up early just to make that for you, y’know. poured his heart and soul into it~”

ushijima seemed unfazed by his friend’s teasing he kept staring at you with the same piercing look he always had, you took the neatly wrapped sandwich with a smile, almost running away after thanking him and wishing him good luck , having one tall guy staring down at you was already intimidating but you couldn’t handle a second…

ushijima had moved on after graduation, focusing on his career as a pro volleyball player, but part of him always wondered what might have happened if he’d said more back then. one rainy evening, he walked into a convenience store after practice, grabbing something to eat, when he saw you—standing in front of the shelves, just like in the old days.

you didn’t notice him at first, but when you turned around, your eyes met. “Y/N…” he hesitated, surprised to see you again. “It’s been a while.” you blinked, taking it all in , seeing a grown man now infront of you, he was somehow ever bigger now, his jersey tight in the right places was highlighting his impressive physique. you quickly look back up at his eyes hoping he didn’t think you were checking him out, not that you weren’t.

a silence fell between you, and then, before he knew it, ushijima blurted out, “I didn’t think I’d see you again. after graduation, i thought i missed my chance. i should’ve said something… I liked having you around.” ushijima felt his heart race, his stomach doing flips, he felt like a high school boy again, the familiar feeling that he was too stupid, too stubborn and scared to identify and admit coming back to him so easily.

ushijima was very logical and simple minded, if his mind told him something he would do it without thinking, so when he asked you to his match tomorrow even he was surprised by his own request

but of course you agreed and you went to watch him, although you arrived a bit late you still had a nice spot he himself reversed for you so you could watch him play. when it was his turn to serve he scanned the crowd for the third time in the first set, he thought you wouldn’t come that he was too forward, too fast again that maybe he said too much by admit the interest he had in you— but your eyes met and you waved at him , since it’s ushijima he wouldn’t dare to show an inch of emotion so he simply nodded at you, but ushijima was fired up, he was determined , if he won this match he’d ask you out

so he ran to find you, escaping any kind of interview or a fan stopping from talking to you while he still had the courage. ushijima was now infront of you catching his breath, his nose red from the cold and his hair still messy and slightly wet from the sweat. he stood there for a moment, eyes locked on yours, the words hanging between you two. “would you… go out with me?” It was simple. It was straightforward. but there was something about the way he said it, the weight of his words, that made your heart flutter. you had never seen ushijima like this before—he was so controlled in every aspect of his life, but this… this was different. he was letting himself be vulnerable.

you agreed to go out with him and both of you tried to make small talk ,both in the cold of the night slightly blushing avoiding the others eyes before you mention the cold and ushijima perked up taking off his adlers jacket giving it to you, ushijima cleared his throat not sure what to do next, but his coach called out to him and he said his goodbyes to you not sure if his coach saved him from more awkwardness or if he deprived him from spending time with you

when you went out with him , you knew he had a goal with this , he was only taking you out before asking you to be his to simply follow the “rules”, you knew him a lil too well to think he’d take you out just for the sake of taking you out. ushijima was taking you out so you could feel more comfortable with him.

and after the third date he asked you , he felt it was safe enough then that he wouldn’t really risk rejection. so you started dating and you finally found yourself holding your high school crush’s hand.

ushijima wasn’t one for expressing himself verbally or physically really, he may not be a man of many words, but when you speak, he listens. bot just nodding along—he remembers everything and that’s why he’s such a good boyfriend , ushijima doesn’t really use social media either, he has a professional account that he doesn’t really manage but that’s about it. however he downloaded tiktok so that he could understand what’s a dyson and why do you want it so badly

he is so protective of you, if you’re walking together, he always positions himself on the side closer to the road. if someone bumps into you too hard, he tenses slightly and subtly shifts closer. if you seem uncomfortable, his presence alone is enough to ward off anyone bothering you.

one of ushijima’s love languages is act of service, so he doesn’t understand when you don’t want him to hold your bag for you , it being “part of the outfit” was just out of his level of understanding.

he naturally walks fast, but if he notices you falling behind, he slows down—without even realizing he’s doing it. if you’re struggling with anything, his first instinct is to help. he just cares so much that if you so much as sniffle, he tells you to wear warmer clothes. If you mention skipping a meal, he looks at you like you just committed a crime and makes sure you eat. It’s not nagging—it’s just ushijima logic: you are important to him → you should take care of yourself → if you don’t, I will

he doesn’t open up easily, but with you, he slowly starts letting his guard down. maybe he shares small pieces of his childhood, or you catch him genuinely smiling—not the usual composed expression, but something real and unguarded. your friends usually question how you could date someone so stoic and “empty” but you couldn’t get mad at them of course they haven’t seen him smile at ai cat singing videos.

ushijima is someone who values his space and time alone, but when it comes to you, he willingly shares that space. sometimes, you’ll find yourself next to him after a stressful day, and he doesn’t say anything—he just sits there. his presence is calming, a silent reassurance that you don’t have to talk, but you’re not alone. he doesn’t realize how much that silence actually means to you.

a/n : i know this is long but istg i can yap forever about him T•T i had to actually stop myself or i would’ve gone forever

[megapteraurelia]

hiii just saw your post about needing distraction and if i can help you even a little bit then i’d be happy to!! so id like a drabble with akaashi, f!reader or gn!reader, fluff, at uni?? if that’s fine?? have a lovely day <33

zeugmas and feelings.

summary | akaashi keiji and you found each other while trying to survive deadlines. or: how to not get anything done because akaashi keiji is just so damn pretty. warnings | none! it's meet-cute and fluff :3; fem!reader word count | 4449. a/n | elie, i love you, you precious!!! thank you for this and i'm sorry that i didn't keep to the idea of a drabble. for the life of me, i could NOT pass up writing several moments of akaashi so there's 4.5k words full of them instead T_T i hope i made it justice, though :3 please let me know what you think! -` ♡ ´-

the library was silent on sunday; eerie yet comforting in a way. 

the sun had long since set, the last of the rays that came through the windows bathing everything in a light that felt more nostalgic than it actually was before it dipped everything outside in a dark cloak. among the typing sounds on different kinds of laptops, their engines more than ready to take off after being used for so long, there was only the ticking of the clock, sometimes a soft clearing of throats or the gentle clink of a thermo cup being set down.

looking up from the mock exam you were taking for your cultural studies class, flexing your cramped fingers and rolling your shoulders, your eyes found the only other person sharing your space that late. you didn’t mean to look over at him lest you made anybody feel awkward, but in an entire picture of stillness before you, the movement drew your eyes naturally.

his fingers were swift, flying over the keyboard, gaze trained at his screen, trusting his hands to instinctively and automatically follow the letters. you couldn’t see his eyes properly, though, the glare of the laptop reflecting off his glasses. though you could see the little furrow of concentration in his brows, his teeth worrying his lower lip as he halted for a second, thinking. then nodding to himself, they resumed their display of a gear having turned in his brain. 

your eyes wandered away from him to your own screen, the words staring at you, and you wondered once again whether you should have chosen a different topic to cover in this assignment. would american history work better? did you have enough characteristics to explain the relevance in the corresponding text? or did you perhaps want to stay focusing on orientalism? 

after all, american history was your current topic discussed in class, its myths and ideologies, transformation of gender roles, the age of realism and science. it would be easier to just focus on any of those: the harlem renaissance, counterculture and postmodernism, the gilded age— 

you rubbed your eyes, and a sigh escaped your mouth, strong and carrying a lot of exhaustion; your lungs pushed the air out forcefully. you were too far in to scrap everything and start anew with a whole nother topic, so there was only one plausible and logical conclusion to draw:

get more coffee and force your brain cells to work.

standing up from your spot, senses tuned into the stillness of the library, you noticed something. or lack thereof. no typing noise anymore that had accompanied you for hours on end; the seat in front of the man’s laptop empty, his notebooks still open on the table, though no cup on the empty coaster. 

as you walked by with your empty mug and passed the little area that his pens and his dispersed papers claimed as his for the time being, you let your eyes flit over his screen. walls of paragraphs comparing two different works of literature on one half of his desktop, another document open with several similarities and differences listed on the other half. 

“japanese lit, huh?” you mumbled to yourself, tired eyes straying away from his possessions and your feet automatically carried you to the coffee machine at the entrance of the library that the students of various classes had invested in to aid them during their emotional breakdowns…uh, quest to finish their essays and assignments in time. 

zoning out, gripping your mug in one hand, you barely recognised the familiar movement of a person occupying the space in front of you out of the periphery of your eyes as you neared the coffee machine, so you only came back to reality when your nose was suddenly squished against a warm barrier that smelled like cappuccino and old books. 

“easy,” a deeper voice than yours called out close to your head, one hand having already come up to steady you when you lost your balance. his hand was warm against your back, the heat seeping through the layers of your woolen turtleneck, and for a second you both occupied the same space, the only sound the ticking of the clock.

“oh, sorry,” your response was automatic, sheepish and you stepped back, “i probably saw you but my brain didn’t work quick enough to actually see you.”

your gaze found the missing person whose laptop you snooped through (did it count as snooping if you only quickly looked at the screen enough to see what he was working on? you didn’t even touch anything, promise), and this time you could see his eyes, unhindered by any light reflection. 

pretty, you thought off-handedly, really pretty eyes.

“no stress,” one shoulder heaved up, and when his fingers stopped supporting you once he saw you didn’t need his help anymore, your back felt weirdly cool. it was nice having felt the heat of his arm around your body in the absence of any human contact in the face of studying. 

he filled water into the reservoir of the coffee machine, a cup of beans already measured from before you walked into him. you cleared your throat and nodded in thanks; he bowed his head quickly, waving off your thank you, his hand nudging up his glasses perched on his nose when they threatened to slide down. 

they were a bit big, but the earnest look of the dark blue eyes accompanying them made them all the more alluring; like they caged a ton of unsaid thoughts behind them, like there was so much those eyes wanted to tell but they had to get through the barrier of the glasses first. 

a transparent mask to hide behind.

“sooo, how’s the coffee?” you asked to fill the silence when your eyes met again, looking away just as quickly, because you hadn’t expected that his sharp pupils found you the same way your eyes found his. stupid question, to be honest, when the coffee machine whirred in answer, and there was a slight smile playing on his lips.

“i don’t know yet,” he held up his opened thermos cup to show you the lack of liquid that he could not judge on yet, and your cheeks flared up at the obvious demonstration, mumbling quietly to yourself, thinking that the coffee machine was too loud for him to understand: “sorry, that was…an incredibly stupid question.”

“you’re okay,” his quiet and steady voice came back to meet your ears, held back amusement lingering in the folds of his tenor. he heard you just fine, “though probably just like bitter water.”

leaning back against the wall, he joined you in waiting, and then there was comfortable silence between you both. he was close enough to feel the air warm up, close that if you glanced up again, you could see his lashes brush his cheek as he closed his eyes for a quick reprieve, the curls of his hair, messy and falling over his ears, his lips sitting together calmly, sometimes twisting when he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

you looked away again, to the coffee machine that went from grinding the coffee beans to finally pouring the hot water through it and dripping into the pot. you thought you recognised him from somewhere, this boy with the gentle, kind eyes and the charming glasses. you couldn’t help but steal another glance at him, trying to gauge where from, whether you had met him on campus before.

“i can feel you staring.”

whirling your head away from his still closed eyes and the fingers messing with his hair, you felt embarrassment brewing within your chest alongside the coffee in front of you. stupid, stupid.

“sorry.”

“don’t be. i don’t mind,” he said, still the same reserved amusement hiding behind his words, and then he did open his eyes to turn to you, and you returned the favour of looking over him again. your gazes met for a split second, dead-on, before they parted again to look at other features, “you’re in professor yoshida’s class, right?”

“right! that’s where  i know you from,” recognition finally bloomed, and you tested out the name that was continuously popping up in your mind during the short wait, wondering whether it was him, “akaashi keiji, right? you looked familiar.”

akaashi opened his mouth to respond, but halted for a split second; his cheeks and ears using this one moment to turn into a soft pink. when he caught himself and talked, you had an inkling that he meant to say something completely different: “yeah, exactly. what are you working on?”

“cultural studies. incredibly boring.”

“japanese lit,” he nodded in sympathy, then moved to pour coffee into both of your cups. you wanted to thank him, take the cup yourself and move, but he beat you to it. reflexes sharp and swift movement, he maneuvered around you easily to carry both of your coffee mugs back to the table you both shared. 

“thank you,” you said at last, seated away from him at your own laptop with the steaming cup warming your hands, the same old words on the screen staring back at you, and he responded in likes; his voice comfortable and easy, deep and as warm as the drink in your hand, “of course.”

both of you continued working, though amongst the clicking of keyboard keys and the silent breathing were the little glances both of you threw at the other now that there was some common ground found. when you got stuck with how to phrase a certain sentence, chin supported on your hand, your eyes wandered to him out of their own volition and instinctually, and you watched him focus on his work. 

the way his teeth would not stay still, constantly picking on his lips, his fingers rubbing his chin when he thought; the light warming up his face and making it seem like his hair was draped over him like a dark curtain. 

then you’d attend to your work again, and it was akaashi’s turn to let his eyes and mind wander over to you to watch you get stuck with another paragraph, biting your nail while the other hand was tapping on the keys lightly without pressing too hard, eyes intently focused on the words. 

you had an intense look in your eyes, and everytime, there were little butterflies erupting behind his ribcage when he felt you dedicate it to him.

those moments in between, when both of your eyes passed the others, belonged to nobody but the empty library. moments, in which you allowed yourselves to bask in the heat of fading instances, of arcane glances, interrupted by little sighs here and there or random occurrences, in which you both just couldn’t help but talk to each other:

“i’m jealous of your concentration,” you groaned at some point, allowing your forehead to thump onto your arm to bury your face away from the screen and its cruel, glaring light, “you look like you’re about to solve all the problems in this world.”

akaashi had stilled in his work, startled, eyes glancing up over the rim of his glasses up to you, and his teeth finally let go of his poor, swollen lower lip; mouth curling into a small embarrassed smile, “not quite. but i may be able to help you with yours, if that’s a start.”

you laughed at yourself for the strange thump your heart produced, hand waving him off, “sweet of you, but i just need some of that laser focus you’ve got.”

“sending you some.”

pretending to catch the energy he threw your way, you perked up in your seat and flashed him a grin, “you’re a lifesaver.”

“oh fu— shit.”

he was already beside you with napkins, big hands dabbing up the spilled lukewarm coffee as you worked to put away your electronics and books lest they’d get ruined by the deep brown liquid. he was close, leaning over you, hands working fast and precise, feeling his chest bump against your shoulders ever so slightly. your body warmed up at the contact, and you had to try not to lose your mind over that.

“ugh, i swear this is not my usual.”

“i’ll believe you when i see you prove the opposite to me,” he said quietly, a certain openness in his voice, a silent offer to spend many more moments together like this. 

you looked up at him, a smile stealing itself on your lips, “i suppose if you’re asking to be humiliated and be proven wrong, then i won’t say no.”

the skin underneath akaashi’s glasses had warmed up, and as he went back to his seat, he had stuttered back, “that’s— i didn’t— nobody said anything about humiliation! also, you’re the one who barely escaped electronic and academic death. gotta tone down the murderous intent a little.”

“never. every essay is my arch-nemesis, so they got what was coming for them.”

akaashi had shook his head, and laughed quietly to himself; the sound as honeyed as your favourite dessert. 

when he returned from his bathroom break later on, he brought you back a new cup of coffee, anyway, despite his fear of you murdering your hard effort of having added only three extra paragraphs to your text in all the time (you were a little busy staring at akaashi keiji’s pretty eyes; nobody was allowed to judge your slow pace).

you fell back with a big oohmpf and a yelp. 

dazed, you looked up at the ceiling, the low warm light of the library in the midst of the dark outside looking enticing enough to fall asleep right there. you stayed on the ground for a second, most of your fall cushioned by the chair, though your butt still throbbed with the impact. 

“hey,” a couple steps resonated before a messy head of curls peeked over you, one hand holding the glasses in place, while the other was reaching towards you to help you up, “you alright?”

“y-yeah,” you sat up, shaking your head a bit to clear it from the zoning out you were doing before gravity decided to take you down, “i suppose that’s why teachers always say not to rock your chair back and forth.”

suppressed laughter, mild concern, and a warm hand engulfing you, “what a delinquent. i bet the teachers loved you.”

“hey! what’s that supposed to mean? they loved me! incredibly so!”

“okay. i think i need help.”

“of course, what do you need?”

“do you understand what i’m trying to convey when i phrase it like that? ugh, i’m scared it’s too convoluted.”

“give me a second,” he finished up his sentence, then came over, “let me see.”

his chest pressed against the back of your (now upright) chair as he leaned over you to read your run-on sentence was distracting you. he wasn’t touching you per se, but the placement of his hands on the arms of the chair could cage you in, make you feel like he was embracing you from behind, so much taller than you. the warmth emitting from behind you made you want to fall asleep and let your head land in the crook of his neck.

he was breathing softly, the air caressing your hair, and when he reached out to point at your words, your eyes followed the red knuckles, his clean nails and the size of his hands. 

“you mean that the west created orientalism as a cultural and intellectual framework, right?” — a quick nod of yours — “alright, then i think if you cut this in two sentences, for one to showcase the interpretation of the east and then dive deeper into the colonisation in the next sentence — that would make it more understandable. say, am i making you nervous?”

blinking, “w—what? where did that come from?”

he leaned down slightly, face hovering next to yours, his voice slightly raw and close to your earshell, “don’t forget to breathe. also, you have a typo — row three, the fourteenth word.”

“evil,” your breathing was clipped from the insinuation that he may have had an effect on you, heart pumping blood through your body like crazy as if it was held at gunpoint, “i bet the teachers really disliked you.”

despite that, you brought him a cup of coffee when you returned from your bathroom break, too.

“you alright, akaashi?” you asked.

akaashi keiji looked up, his hand rubbing his neck, kneading the knots out of his tense shoulders. his eyes, until just short of when you called him, had been glazing over, a little bit of a vacant look entering the blue of his eyes, but when you called his name, he had snapped out of it, and his features relaxed slightly, away from his troublesome thoughts. his dark brows furrowed deeply above his eyes.

“yeah, just thinking about all the deadlines coming up. it’s…” he sighed, allowing his shoulders to sink, and he leaned back in the uncomfortable library chairs; another big sigh escaping him, “...a lot.”

“yeah,” you agreed and stood up, walking over to him. his surprised gaze followed you, and when you stood right next to him with his head tilted back, the wavy strands of hair following gravity, looking up at you with those eyes, you felt a tug in your chest that told you to kiss him. you didn’t. 

instead, you nodded to the window, “let’s take a walk and a breather,” and then, because you couldn’t help yourself, “a zeugma. get it, mr. japanese literature?”

his shoulders stayed relaxed, and he laughed again; a brilliant smile on his lips and you thought of how you wanted to kiss him even more. his eyes felt lighter, too, when he pushed back his chair and stood up, body entirely too close for what probably should have been appropriate for two students who had only properly met today for the first time. or was it already the next day?

but neither of you moved for a second, drinking in the presence of each other, before he grabbed his jacket off his backrest, “i think you can do better.”

“well, i think it was pretty good.”

akaashi shrugged, a teasing glint in his eyes, competing with the sparkle of the glasses when he turned and the light hit him just right, “and i think i have you beat there.”

you grumbled but caught up to him nonetheless.

it was cold outside. 

the kind that slithered through between the folds of your clothing to nestle deep in the crevices of your soul. the kind that had you shuddering and sending remnants of cannons into the air with every breath, the moisture immediately misting up. 

akaashi keiji was walking next to you, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets, though his exhales were shaky too, chest trembling with compressed and suppressed shivers. you were already as close to him for warmth as possible without being weird or too straight-forward, though you wish you could just cling to his arm — it was that icy.

“i feel like i can’t even think,” you mumbled, already feeling your lips starting to numb, the tip of your nose burning. 

“me neither, but maybe that’s a good thing,” he breathed out, the warm air blowing past your temple, and his cheeks were so pink, it was cute, “sometimes it’s all too stressful, and i wish i could turn off my brain.”

“does that happen a lot?” 

you referred to the way his face looked like there was a headache incoming, how his fingers froze and his shoulders locked in; the way he seemed to absolutely crumble under the prospect of the things he needed to do and that awaited him. 

akaashi had an embarrassed smile on his face, shoulders drawn up for some warmth, the fuzziness of his jacket’s hood surrounding his reddening cheeks, “sometimes. there’s a lot of expectations riding on passing my classes. not just passing them, but passing them well.”

“by whom?” you leaned forward; curious eyes trying to catch his, “expectations set by the profs or by yourself?”

he stared at you, and his lips were slightly open; with every exhale, condensation snaked up the air like smoke, dissolving in the cold atmosphere all around you, though the air between you was slightly warm. his eyes looked kind and vulnerable for a second, “what a callout. guess i can’t even pretend that it’s not me, huh? you caught me.”

“not yet, i didn’t,” you dared say, and he stopped walking, even though it was colder to stay still than to move. you stopped, too. a snowflake floated between you, landing on his pink nose, melting at the warmth. 

the entire evening long — ever since you had bumped into him making coffee and you both went from studying alone to studying together, little jokes and jibes passing between you, curiosity and interest swapping between you with every glance, solitary and shared, you felt there was maybe a chance for something more. not necessarily all the way if it didn’t work out, but more to explore, more of him and you to meet.

“what does that mean, miss cultural studies?”

you blinked up at him, “i don’t know, mr. japanese literature. you’re the one who reads between the lines of books and analyses everything.”

“i’m not that far into my course,” he told you, seriously, and for a second you almost believed him, but then his eyes crinkled as he hid his smile behind the fluff of his jacket, and you pulled out one of your hands from the pockets of your coat to lightly pull his ear, not enough to cause pain but enough to chide him.

“you liar,” you said with no malice, voice soft and as your hand trailed down to hide your fingers in warmth again, his hand, fast as ever, pulled out of his own jacket, grabbed yours and stuffed both your hands in his pocket instead. 

incredibly warm, fingers locked between each other, soft skin kissing yours, “let’s go, it’s too cold.”

sometime around 2 am in the morning, you decided that you were going to fall asleep right then and there. sadly, coffee barely had an effect on your body anymore after having put your body through caffeine abuse for so long. 

during the hours of studying together, one of you moved closer to the other, so both of your books and notes were strewn together, sharing a space. his thermos cup stood next to a bunch of other cups both of you had drunk out of, because you kept forgetting to take the mug you were using with you and were forced to bring new ones. 

scrutinising a well-read book in the dim light, you ask, “is this mine?”

“unless you want to take home a copy of the setting sun with you and dissect the theme of youth in crisis, then i’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“ugh, i can’t even read anything anymore,” a beat of sly silence, “or you know, maybe i do want to. then i’ll have an excuse to see you again.”

“or,” akaashi butted in and gently offered you his phone, his smile straightforward yet a shy edge sweetening it up, “you can give me your number and we’ll meet up for another study session when you’re available. how’s that sound?”

in lieu of an answer, you saved your contact in his phone; your fingers caressing his under pretense of giving it back to him, and his movement was delayed, allowing the contact between you two to linger for a moment more.

“i’ll walk you back.”

“it’s not that far, so you don’t have to. it’s cold, too.”

akaashi sent you a look that very much told you he did not care how cold it was, there was no way he would let you walk alone at night. and when he did, your hands were buried in his pocket again. 

the world was quiet and still, as if you were caught up in another plane of existence for the past hours. a limbo of sleepy nature, perpetually falling snowflakes, the constant of the warmth akaashi offered, the bumping of arms as you walked in silence, subtly pulling him either to the left or the right when you needed to change the path.

“when is your assignment due?” you asked, lips barely moving from the cold, so you had to hiss out the words, barely understandable.

“four days ‘til friday. yours?”

“monday.”

another shaky exhale, the tremble evident in your shoulders, and you opted to walk a bit faster, even though you didn’t want to part with him yet. but cold was cold, and you would like to keep your toes still alive and kicking. so, it was no wonder that you arrived at your dormitory relatively fast, though even then, both of you stood in front of the entrance, not ready to say goodbye yet, not ready to leave the world of the dead and wake up the next day to greet the same usual bullshit. 

“meet me tomorrow,” he said with blue lips and red cheeks.

“okay,” you responded, heart fluttering when he didn’t let go of your hand. instead he took a step back and you were forced to follow, because you didn’t let go of his hand, either.

one step, another, a third one, then the tentative meeting of cold mouths. his breath was warm, his tongue warmer, and gradually your lips returned to their soft, mellow state. kissing him felt gentle, it felt safe and it felt like you could sink into him, like awaiting and catching you was a giant cloud that kept you floating up.

he kissed like he was a romantic. like he lived and breathed words meant for you, with the dedication and attention to detail only a writer or an artist could have, every stroke, every painted image on paper. he kissed like he had known you for a long time and intended to know you for even longer.

when you both parted, your lashes were brushing the rim of his glasses and your nose caressing his cheek, lips only inches away so it was only natural to kiss him again. 

“see you,” he let go of your hand at last.

later, an unknown number texted you, and you thought yourself corny, but you couldn’t help the smile that overtook your features at the cheesy line akaashi keiji thought he had you beat with:

from: +81 3 1762-3468 i left my other book and also my heart with you

and then:

from: +81 3 1762-3468 i really do need the book though, bring it tomorrow please :( goodnight x