#it seems to have semi good roots?

[organizechaoss]

I thought I was over my good omens phase but bro, the leaked images and videos coming out today… boy… I THOUGHT I LEFT

[sysig]

Everything day

[esote-rika]

lose some, win some | Spencer Reid Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Category: Hurt/Comfort, Smut 18+, MDNI Summary: COLLEGE AU! When your debate team loses the national championship, you and Spencer return to your shared room and find a productive way to take out your frustrations. Content: Waldorf!Reader is a sore loser, lots of dialogue in the beginning, Sassy!Spencer, some talk of misogyny, Spencer makes up for it by being a munch (so f receiving oral), virgin!Spencer but he’s also a little shit, they are both little shits but it’s cute I swear, handjob, raw p in v but reader mentions she is on the pill, creampies, multiple orgasms for both of them (they’re frustrated and horny give them a break) Word count: 4.8k (it's porn with a plot for once) A/N: Not really frenemies or rivals, they’re just really angry young adults. Idk what Spencer’s actual age was in college, but he studied several times so for this fic, he’s on his third degree and is 21. If the debate stuff is incorrect, I'm sorry. I did do some research but there's so many different rules and styles lmfao. My friend who competes says it’s fine and understandable so :) also massive thanks to @just-call-me-by-yn @mggslover and @notlongtolove for helping me brainstorm and @wheresmacoffee because she was there JK  ILY ANDY their banter during the filthy part is for you <3.

Spencer Reid doesn’t particularly care about the prestige that comes with winning. Most people crave it for the validation, or because it’s another impressive thing they can slap onto their resumes, but being a genius his entire life allows him not to worry about that. His academics speak for themselves. He doesn’t need to pad it with extracurriculars. Instead, he enjoys the skills that are honed from debate—learning to listen to arguments, finding the perfect way to rebut, memorization and reviewing with like minded individuals. The university team is a well oiled machine composed of four people— him on his third degree, two other male juniors, and you, the only woman.

Over the span of two semesters, he’s memorized the quirks of his teammates. It’s essential to building rapport, after all, and he’s eager to get something good out of this. Something less academic, and more social. Friends, perhaps. While he’s formed a bond with the other members, you have always been an enigma. Stoic and ambitious, you remind him of a statue. Cold and oh so beautiful. You’ve often kept to yourself. And after several rejected attempts at friendship, he’s learned to just observe from afar.

He knows from experience that observing allows you deep insight into people, and so he knows after two semesters that you’re perhaps the most competitive out of the entire team, the most hungry for a win. This drive, he suspects, comes from a deeply rooted desire to prove yourself, though he’s unsure why. What else do you have to prove? You have everything, as far as he’s concerned. Keenly intelligent, beautiful, with a circle of friends that adore you. You aren’t like him, who has to sink his claws deep into this debate team in order to get a dose of social interaction. No, you have a life, no matter how marblesque you may seem.

And yet, somehow it’s still not enough for you.

He thinks it’s utterly ridiculous, and absolutely fascinating.

The weekend of nationals is taxing. You’ve been fighting for the opener role since the semis, but it would require too much adjustment, which no one is willing to risk so close to nationals. Not only does he not want to give up his spot, he also knows how ruthless you can be as a rebuttal speaker. He's meek, and you have a tendency to be aggressive, it's why the original roles go so well. 

Your adviser agreed, and there’s been tension ever since. 

To make matters worse, hotel arrangements somehow have placed both of you in the same room. The force of your resentment is palpable even to a normally clueless guy like him. Distracting. Pages being turned in your exaggerated annoyance. He’d complain of dramatics, but he doesn’t want to start anything. 

The fact that you’re rooming together also doesn’t help him. Sure, there are different beds, small twin mattresses on either side of the room, but still. Proximity to a woman his age has him anxious for reasons entirely unrelated to nationals. 

So when you lose the championship, his concern for your reaction behind doors overwhelms the regret of losing. 

No one is happy with the results. It is obvious from the set of his jaw, the tenseness of your shoulders. Spencer tries to calm down, accept defeat with a modicum of grace, at least in front of other people. He can tell the rest of the team is trying too, but quite unconvincingly. Onstage, accepting the medals for second place—mockingly silver, and no trophies—the team’s smiles are forced, plastic. 

Back to the hotel rooms are a different story. When you slam the hotel door shut, it echoes down the hall and makes even your debate adviser flinch. It would have made Spencer flinch too, if he hadn't already expected it. He's grown accustomed to how bad of a loser you can be. Like a tornado, your anger spares no one from its destruction. It is in these moments that your stoic resolve crumbles, no longer unfeeling, but rather fully human. Hurtful. Ruthless Unfortunately for him, he's directly in your line of fire.

He catches bits and pieces of your muttered diatribes. He’s used to those too. Normally, he would have ignored them. Losing sucks the energy out of a person, regardless of how uncompetitive he is. Besides, your ranting is mostly harmless, until one sentence snags his attention.

“— knew I should have been the opening speaker —”

He is clawing at his tie, trying desperately to get it off, but the words make him stop immediately. He whirls around, brows furrowed, “What?”

You pause as well, “What?”

“What did you say about being the opening speaker?” He watches you roll your eyes. It does nothing to calm the bitterness in the back of his throat. The normal song and dance goes like this: he’d say a string of words in an attempt to soothe the fire burning in your nerves, and you'd say something so vitriolic he'd refuse to speak to you for the rest of your time together. 

But today, having just lost the biggest championship after working so hard, he's a short fuse and your words are incendiary.

“I said I should have done it, like I asked—”

“Ah, as usual, you're mad that you didn't get what you wanted.” 

An offended scoff. He's almost proud he managed to pull that out of you. “You take too long—”

“Nationals isn't the time to suddenly alter the roles,” he tells you, shaking his head. He manages to loosen the tie, finally, tossing it on his bed with so much aggression it misses the mattress and lands limply on the floor, “I've always been the opening speaker.”

“Yes, and one would think that after going through so many debate competitions,  you would learn to be more succinct,” you snap, shoes making harsh clacks against the tiled floor, “The goal isn't to let us know you're the smartest person in the room, Spencer, it's to set up the tone and groundwork of—”

“I don't need you to lecture me about being the opening,” he interrupts, “I know what my role requires of me.”

“Do you?” Eyes flashing, you walk to him until you're almost chest to chest, “Because we still lost.”

“And you blaming me?” he hisses, leaning down. He hates doing this, stooping to your level of pettiness. Normally, he would choose to be the bigger person, refusing your verbal sparring; he likes to focus his energy on the actual debate, the opposing team, not his own teammates. But your words cut deeper than normal; it isn't the fault the team lost, that's just a flat out lie, “We advised you multiple times to memorize the statistics—”

“Something you're better at!” You look physically pained to admit his superiority, but the words spill anyway, “You'd be so much better to do the rebuttals since you have your stupid photographic memory, and I can set the tone better, but nobody on this little boys club ever listens to me!”

He's surprised at the choked tone your voice has taken. In his mind, you're a complete equal—you made it to the team through hard work and impeccable skills, like the rest of them did, after all. It didn't matter that you are a woman to him, so of course his instinct is to deny. “That’s not true.” but even his voice sounds weak. 

How would he know if it’s not true? He’s never been in your shoes before, never had to reckon with what comes with being the only woman in a team of men.

“Isn’t it?” he flinches at the venom in your voice, “You all act like I'm an afterthought—I get the shittiest positions even when I know I can be more effective in a different one, no one ever asks me for strategy, hell, you never invite me to your stupid chess games.”

His mouth opens and closes foolishly, latching on to the one thing he has a full response to, “I thought you hate chess.”

A sharp laugh, petulant and bitter, “I do, but it would have been nice to be included.”

He doesn’t know what to say. You’ve turned around, yanking off your pristine maroon blazer so roughly he’s afraid it might rip. The silence that grows makes him itch, hands balling into fists as he tries to think of what to do. Social dynamics have always been a thing of mystery to him. 

He wonders if he is part of this problem. He’s no stranger to feeling different and on the outs, and it pains him to think that he inadvertently caused someone else to feel that same, unpleasant exclusion.

But, no. Quickly, he recalls every single time he’s tried to include you—a museum trip that you’d declined because you had a party you wanted to attend. His extra tickets to the Nutcracker.

“That’s not true,” his voice is firm now, following you until he’s standing right behind. Lavender hits his nose and his brain registers the scent of your shampoo. Definitely too close if he can smell that, but he refuses to back away, intent on getting his point across, “That’s not true, I’ve tried to— you were always too busy.”

“What, I’m a liar now?” you spin around, pretty features twisted to somehow express both anger and hurt. He almost falters. Almost. 

But he’s too worked up, even though he knows he should back off, to not trivialize your experiences in order to defend himself. He should know better than this, but the sting of your accusation spurs him on. So he pushes, eyes narrowing, “Last year, September 14, 21, and 29, I invited you to come with us for several casual chess tournaments, you declined all invitations because you claimed you hated chess. October 29th, I told you about the new exhibit they were displaying—”

“It was Halloween weekend, I already had plans—”

“December 19th, I offered you Nutcracker tickets and you said you’d already seen it—”

“I have,” your voice has grown quiet now, and if he stops speaking for a single moment to look, your features have relaxed into something gentler. But he’s on a roll, and you have always been right about things; his inability to be succinct is one of them.

“Even this year, I invited you to study multiple times, but you’ve always had prior plans,” the words are spoken with neutrality. He isn’t even angry anymore, just eager to list everything down and let you know how hard he’s tried with you. Even after the numerous rejections, he’s made an effort, but of course, you have other friends, other plans outside your nerdy debate team. He’s never held that against you, but if you wanted to point fingers, he has the means to defend himself. And sure, he wants to prove you wrong on some level too, but that’s the lesser point. “Maybe if you stopped acting like you’re better than me, and just accepted, you wouldn’t be feeling so excluded.”

“I don’t act like I’m better than you.”

“You just said you would have made a better opening speaker.”

You scoff, “Oh my god, you’re infuriating, I can’t believe I’m stuck with you!”

Spencer bristles at that, “I’m giving you the facts, it’s not my fault you can’t handle them.” he says, leaning closer, trying to make her see his point, “You’re always so closed off and the other guys have just given up trying. Maybe if you—”

“What? If I smiled more? Acted less like a bitch?” you sneer, eyes narrowed dangerously, “I thought a genius like you would know better than to use misogynistic language like that.”

“Wha— no! Don’t put words in my mouth.” Spencer replies, shaking his head. The conversation is devolving into something dangerous, the air crackling with something electric. He assumes it’s anger. They will never get anywhere, so he sighs, softening slightly, “I never said that. I’m just pointing out that you weren’t blameless in this, you know?”

You’re silent. He watches you, takes in how the resentment in your eyes have been dulled by something more contemplative.

He continues, “Listen, I’m sorry if we’ve made you feel like you were on the outs. I’m sure we have to do so much reflection as a team and as individuals about how we treat each other, but it’s unfair to say that we never include you when I have actively been making efforts to—”

Your lips are upon him. 

That’s inaccurate. 

You are upon him, arms flung around his neck, body pressed flush against his. He feels the entire world tilt, and he’s unsure if it’s because you’re pulling him down or because your lips are so pillowy he’s instantly eager for more. Wants it like a man starved. Needs it, needs more, but his body betrays him. Whether it’s his inexperience or surprise or a combination of both. He freezes, blinking rapidly at the sight of you. Eyes shut, and face so close to him; so, so close he can count each individual eyelash, see the tiny freckle on your eyelid that gets hidden if your eyes are open.

And then you're gone. The freckle disappears as you look at him with wide eyed mortification. 

“Shit, Spencer, I—”

It’s his lips that cut you off this time, seeking out the velvety warmth of your mouth. Your lips part under his, and he registers a sound, soft and whining. It takes him a moment to realize it came from him, from the back of his throat and muffled by your lips and tongue and oh you’re both falling.

Literally. He must have leaned too far into you; you’re suddenly collapsing, forcing him down because your arms have him in a vice grip and he’s too busy chasing after your lips. The next thing he knows is he’s on top of you and you’re sprawled on the bed beneath him. Time stands still; he’s painfully aware of how cliche that is, but every sense of eloquence seems to have been expelled from his brain as he takes you in; lips swollen and wet from his kisses, pupils blown wide. Every breath you take pushes your chest up against his, and he can feel your heart thrumming against his body. 

“Well, that was one way of shutting you up,” you chuckle with a cockiness that makes his heart speed up, though it isn’t borne out of embarrassment. Every single physiological effect of your body is evidence that you’re enjoying this, telling him you’re just as worked up as he is. The breathiness in your voice, the quickness of your heartbeat. 

The fact that you’re pulling him down again, legs hooking around his hips. He surrenders to it, lips meeting yours once again, deeper and more desperate this time.

He closes his eyes, relishing this, kissing you, touching you, an act he had believed is reserved for attractive jocks and charismatic art nerds. Not him, quiet and lanky, shifting to avoid his angular bones from digging into you, and to place himself more comfortably on the bed. Inexperienced, ungainly, and yet here he is, his tongue pushing into your mouth in his first forays into something that his peers have experienced years ago.

Spencer Reid isn’t used to being the one behind, doing the catching up. Child prodigy, genius, the words aren’t meaningless. He’s been ahead academically—which, up until this point, has been his whole life. But feeling warm lips beneath his own has him reconsidering some of his life choices. 

The kiss is messy. Sloppy from his clumsy attempts to keep up with your eagerness. You’re tugging at something, and he realizes it’s to untuck the rest of the crisp shirt you’ve donned for the debate tournament out from your skirt. His hands settle on your waist, finding smooth, heated skin from where your shirt has ridden up. Careful fingers help push it up, burying under the fabric until his palms are mapping out the slopes of your body. 

Soft. So damn soft. 

Not cold marble after all. He theorizes you must be soft everywhere, and he decides to test it out with his lips, laving kisses along your jaw, down the sweet, musky skin of your neck where your perfume still lingers. Instincts take over and he allows himself a taste, tongue darting out. You shudder, so he does it again, greedy for your pretty moans and gasps. 

He can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips, “Thought you were mad at me?” he mumbles, trailing his kisses down the column of your throat. 

You’re all mhms and ohhhs right now, so far from the usual image you present to the world, a preppy, manicured woman who wrestles for control over everything. You must hate this, he thinks, being beneath him physically, caged within his arms which are deceptively strong for how fragile he looks. 

“Shut up,” you grumble.

“Make me.” His grin is dopey when he lifts his head to meet her gaze.

Something brushes against his crotch, and now he’s the one gasping, jerking in surprise at the friction. You’ve slotted your thigh between his, and his traitorous body responds by grinding down on it shamelessly. The look on your face is smug, triumphant.

“Huh,” saccharine and mocking, you blink up at him innocently, “That was easier than I thought.”

His head drops to your neck again, but he isn’t kissing you anymore. Just open mouthed breathing as he rubs himself on your thigh, hands tightening on your sides, “Mhm.”

“Are you gonna come? Spencer, I haven’t even touched you yet.”

He sinks his teeth into your flesh to fight the needy whines because yes, he’s so embarrassingly close and you’re both still fully dressed. He hears a hiss, and he backs off immediately, murmuring apologies, “Didn’t mean to—”

“‘S okay,” you tilt your head back, give him more access to your neck, “Just don’t leave marks.”

Permission to bite. He gulps, heart beating wildly, before ducking back down. Chapped lips run over your neck, finding a soft spot to bite, forcing himself to soften the way his teeth sink into your skin. All the while rubbing himself on your thigh because it’s probably the closest thing to heaven a man such as him will ever experience. 

He hears your laughter, your mocking cooes of, “You’re so fucking needy” but he can’t bring himself to care.

You’re correct, he decides, as you usually are. He’s needy, desperately so, eagerly chasing the delicious pleasure of dry humping your thigh. 

“Hold on, Spencer.”

You push him back gently. A whine rips from his throat, “Mhm—why?”

He gets his answer soon enough. Your hands undo his belt and he swears this sets his whole body on fire. Nobody’s ever seen him like this. Never has another person touched him so intimately, seen him so out of control, so brainless. He’s babbling incoherently as your hand strokes up and down his length, his hips rutting into your hand. It’s out of sync. Two dancers on entirely different rhythms.

Your laughter rings in his ears, one hand tangled in his hair as the other does unspeakable, tantalizing things to his aching cock. 

“Mhm, can’t— I’m gonna—” and he’s spilling into your hand, hot, viscous liquid overflowing from your hand and staining your skirt, “Ah, shit.”

He collapses against you, head on the crook of your shoulder as he tries to catch his breath. “‘M sorry, I’ll– I’ll pay for your dry cleaning.”

Your chest shakes as you laugh, “Would you? I think you owe me more than that.” The heat in your voice makes his breath catch in his throat.

Soft kisses press upon your neck as he gathers his thoughts, willing his brain to work again. Anatomy, female anatomy. Female pleasure. What does he know about this? A lot, surprisingly, though mostly from books. Mostly in theory, but that’s a start. He can put them to practice right now. His hands drag down your sides until they catch the waistband of your skirt. “May I?”

“Okay.”

He pulls gently, exposing the rest of your thighs and legs. Honey brown eyes devour the expanse of your skin, hands clutching at the softness. He marvels at the way your flesh accepts his own, bright red splotches imprinted from his fingertips.   

He thinks of poetry, the uncountable amount of words and phrases written to immortalize women and love and sex, and he finds himself wishing he has the skill to compose something as beautiful, something worthy of you right now, radiant and half naked and somehow all his. 

But he is no poet, so he touches his lips upon your body instead. Pretty words will escape him, but his lips can speak even without them, he’ll make sure of it. He kisses down your abdomen, making sure to pay attention to every hidden freckle and birthmark he comes across. Your reactions make him feel drunk, to the point of affecting him physically. Messier kisses. Hands tugging and nearly ripping the lace of your panties because he’s unaware of his own strength. 

“So pretty,” he mumbles, “So pretty.” It’s all he can repeat, but then his tongue lands on your slick heat and suddenly words are forgotten in favor of vague groaning. Because how can he accurately describe the sensation of this? Tasting you. God how has he gone so long without this? Your nails scraping his scalp, his fingers sinking into your thighs as he keeps you still. He’s halfway off the bed, legs dangling off the edge, your thighs squeezing his face. 

There’s nowhere else he would rather be. 

He laps at your folds like a mad man, tongue pressed flat and dragging up slowly to get as much of you in his mouth as possible. His feet find the floor, allowing himself more stability to once again rub his growing erection against a solid object. The poor mattress is going to be ruined once they’re done.

“Faster,” you gasp, jerking your hips into his face, “Spencer— oh, yeah like that!”

Spencer Reid is a quick study, and when he hears the positive reactions, he doubles down until he feels you convulse against his tongue. You jerk so violently he has to hold you down. He pushes his tongue past your entrance experimentally, and feels you tug roughly on his hair in response, gasping his name and God’s name in slurred phrases as you ride out your high.

It’s the hottest damn thing he’s ever experienced.

 “Jesus Christ,” you gasp, and he has to repeat that ridiculous sentence again, because it’s true and he feels you deserve it.

“You’re so pretty.” He fears you might be some kind of magnet, because his lips keep getting drawn back to your skin. He lets his kisses travel up your hip bone, before grinning up at you, “Even when you’re being insufferable, you’re still so beautiful.”

“Gee thanks,” you huff, pulling at his arm, “How romantic, I’m swooning.”

“Might not be swooning, but you did just come on my face.” brilliant rows of teeth flash at you as he smiles smugly.

“Asshole.”

“Is that how you say thank you?” he drags his body up lazily, draping himself over you.

“I’m not— wait, are you hard again?”

“Uh…”

“Needy, needy boy.” you pull him down to you, and he almost protests, his chin and mouth still covered with your slick. But you don’t seem to care, so he follows your lead, God at this point he would follow you anywhere at all. You’re shifting beneath him, and the next thing he knows is your legs are wrapped around his waist again, your heat completely exposed and pressing against his cock.

“Mhm,” he pulls back, eyes wide, “I—”

“What?” you whisper, lifting your head to continue giving him kisses, teeth playfully nipping at his jaw, “It’s fine, I’m on birth control.”

“It’s not that,” he can’t deny you, his body relaxing back down over you. His lips catch yours for a moment, slow and achingly tender, “I’ve just never really done this before.”

He waits for the inevitable laughter. Here he is, at 21, and somehow still the same person he had been when he first entered college at 14. But you continue to look at him with heavy lids, breathless and flushed. 

“Okay,” your voice is kind, sweet, “Take it slow then.” your hand wraps around his length again, the movement slower this time, as you align him to your entrance. He hisses as the sensitive tip grazes against your folds, as he feels your entrance slowly give way to him and envelop his cock. 

“Oh,” he sighs. With your help, he sinks halfway into you, one hand gripping your hip, the other bracing himself on his elbow. Eyes squeezed shut, he stills and manages to ask, “Are you okay?”

You don’t speak, and so he forces his eyes to focus and look at you. The sight has him twitching inside you. Mouth agape and eyes hazy, you’re nodding up at him wordlessly as your hips rock up into his. “More.”

It’s exhilarating. He’s known you for the past year, worked alongside you but respected your need for distance. And now, here you are, not merely close, but one. Spencer sighs, and thrusts shallowly, eyes zeroed in on you and your reactions. He doesn’t want to hurt you, doesn’t want it to end too soon, so he moves slowly, dragging out his cock until only the tip rests inside you, then sliding into the hilt.

It elicits the most mellifluous sounds from you, making him smile in relief. He lets his forehead rest against yours, thrusts growing more confident, but still in that slow, almost dreamy pace. He memorizes every detail of this moment, from the way your eyes flutter closed, to the quiver of your legs as they wrap tighter around his thighs. 

“So good,” he hears himself say, “God, you feel so good.”

“Mhm,” you nod, nails digging into his back, even through his clothes. In the heat of the moment, you’re both still half dressed, only getting rid of your bottom clothes in order to get what you need from each other, “More, Spencer, I need more.”

He nods, letting his thrusts grow faster, rougher. It’s an awkward angle, he’s afraid his knees will start cramping, but the feeling of being surrounded by your warmth, drowning in your moans has him reckless. “There?” he grunts, angling just so, and he can’t help the smirk on his face when he feels your walls clenching around him.

“There, there, yes!”

He’s not sure how he manages to last as long as he does. Maybe it’s the sheer desire to feel you fall apart, for his cock to be drenched in your slick that keeps his release at bay. Maybe he has too much pent up sexual energy that’s just been dying to come out. Whatever it is, he’s thankful for it, because it means he’s spending more time inside you, hips moving with so much impact he’s pushing you forward with each thrust. 

“Yes, just like that.” you’re shuddering beneath him, and he moves his arm to the top of your head, creating a barrier between you and the headboard so you don’t hit it. He could stop, readjust your positions, but he doesn’t have it in him. 

No, he wants to stay inside you, forever if there’s an anatomically feasible way to do it. But unless he invents it, he’ll settle for right now, settle for the heat between your bodies, and how you’re practically melting into the mattress, arching so prettily against him.

“You close?” he murmurs, one hand finding your clit, drawing gentle circles with his fingertips.

“No fair,” you whine, bucking into him, “That’s cheat— Spencer!” 

You come undone in the most enthralling way, eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip bitten by your own lips. You squeeze and flutter around him, and he’s helpless to stop his own release, spilling deep inside you with a broken cry from his own mouth. Your name is whispered, over and over again, until he stills, his vision blurry as he collapses against you.

He curls around you, trying to get as close, “You—that was—wow.” 

You giggle, still breathless and glassy eyed, “Are you sure that was your first time?”

“Yes,” he gives you a series of kisses along your temple, “Yes, it was. You—wow.” he carefully pulls out of you, hissing quietly when the cool air conditioned air hits his sensitive flesh. “Was that enough of an apology for not including you to our chess nights?”

“You’re making jokes now?”

“No,” he smiles, leaning away to look at you, all starry eyed and boneless, “Not a joke. Because if it’s not enough, I can do it again.” a kiss to your cheek, “And again.” one on the tip of your nose, “And again.”

When you laugh in response, he cups your cheek, “I mean it.” he says with all the seriousness he can muster.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Does this mean you’ll accept my invitations now?” he lights up, a large smile splitting his face.

“Only if it’s a date.”

"Then it's a date."

[eupheme]

— you’re the one that I want

worst!wolverine/logan howlett x f!reader

tags: soulmate au, roommate!wade & neighbor!f!reader, valentine’s day fic, blind dates, use of alcohol, flirting, light misunderstanding, semi-public makeout

rated m - 2.6k

a/n: my submission for the loveuary challenge hosted by the wonderful @lubdubology and @yxtkiwiyxt! thank you so much, this was so fun 💘

“You really think there’s anyone worth my time at that shithole?”

Wade gasps in offense.

“Sister Margaret's is a New York institution. If America’s Sweetheart was a bar, she’d be it.” His eyes narrow, voice lilting as he adds, “Besides, you really want to miss out on the chance to meet your soulmate?”

“No fucking way.”

Wade’s groan stretches long, as his head lolls against the back of the sofa.

“Logan. Peanut. My sweet cheese, my good-time boyeh, please-” His voice strings out the syllables, “I need you to do this for me. I already set it all up, all you gotta to do is go.”

Logan’s scowl deepens, with a sharp jerk of his chin, “I’m not fucking going.”

A sigh then - Wade’s legs stretching wide, as he springs to his feet. Circling around to where Logan leans against the counter, looking every bit rooted to the apartment as the thing growing in the corner of their shared shower.

“I need this. I am finally back on track with Vanessa, and this is a real chance for me to knock it out of the park.” A finger raises, before poking him in the chest, “But I can’t have Mr. Grumpy Gus cramping our style. You feel me?”

An eyebrow arches up, but Wade barely pauses for a breath, “Besides, would you really stand a girl up on Valentine’s Day? Don’t you know what that could do to her psyche? What if that was her thirteenth reason? You really need that on your conscious?”

The filthy scowl Logan shoots him is like a three claw punch to the gut. Wade at least has the decency to look ashamed - fingers splaying wide in placation.

“Just give it a shot. If it all goes south you can just come right home. I won’t even be mad, even if it’s mid-coitus. Pinkie swear.”

The visual makes Logan’s lip curl. Arms crossing over his chest, as his head tilts, “You really think there’s anyone worth my time at that shithole?”

Wade gasps in offense.

“Sister Margaret's is a New York institution. If America’s Sweetheart was a bar, she’d be it.” His eyes narrow, voice lilting as he adds, “Besides, you really want to miss out on the chance to meet your soulmate?”

Wade misses the sharp look Logan shoots his way. His tone still teasing, missing just how deep his comment thrums through him.

How it meant something different in his world, rather than the shallow note of connection it seemed to mean here.

It didn’t matter, anyways. There’s only one person in the city he might not mind seeing, and surely you would have other plans.

Logan’s seen your recent date, stopping by the door down the hall in the evenings. Doesn’t much care for his goody-two-shoes vibe, the State University tone.

The memory sends his skin itching. An urge to move - and it’s enough that his arms are loosening.

Deep down, he really doesn’t want to stick around. Had been planning on hitting up a bar, anyways.

Can’t take much of this lovey-dovey shit, never been one of his favorite holidays.

And if his drinks are on Wade’s tab, then…

He’s sure he can let whoever the poor girl is down quick.

“Yes. Yes! Thank you, bestie.” The resignation must flick across his face, because Wade’s fist pumps with triumph, “This is gonna be great, I promise. Even better than the Tony Awards.”

Logan ignores another asinine reference - a final warning leveled his roommate’s way, as his hand curls around the doorframe.

“You got thirty minutes.”

“Don’t worry, buddy,” Wade grins.

“That’s twenty-nine too many.”

The heel of your boot bounces underneath the booth. Fingernails drumming on the surface of the sticky table, trying to keep your eyes from flicking to the door each and every time it opens.

This was stupid.

You don’t know how you let Wade talk you into this.

Sister Margaret’s was not your idea of a place to meet someone - romantically, at least. And therefore, the chances of this evening going well were historically low.

But it’d beat your second year of ordering in - the prices hiked up with the holiday. Of another movie marathon alone, picking apart the sordid end of your last relationship.

Anything was better than that, surely.

You’re double-checking your phone for the third time, confirming the text noting which booth to be in - the back left corner one next to the totally-not-a-bloodstain on the floor - when a shadow passes over the edge of your table.

Eyes catching on the flannel that creeps into your vision. Worn, in shades of brown and muted red - a slow drag upward across a broad chest, then higher. Your breath catching, as your mind whirrs - racing catching up.

You should tell your upstairs neighbor “hi”.

Something that resembles polite, normal conversation.

But you can’t seem to find the words.

Because as he slips into the booth, you’re quickly realizing he might just be here for you.

What you do find is -

“Is this a joke?”

Logan’s frown deepens.

A snarled out “what?” that sends a jolt though you, but you’re too confused to examine it. Left babbling, trying to make sense of this.

“Is this because I told Wade he’s a winter?” Your voice pitches higher, “Because his photo was really blurry, and I don’t even do that kind of color analysis-”

Logan scoffs, a hand braced on the table as if to push himself up. Hesitating for the briefest of moments, before he’s asking, “Why would this be a joke?”

Your lips part.

“Because-”

Because you’re here in the hopes of finding someone else. A distraction.

Unsure what to make of this magnetic feeling deep inside your chest when you see him. Having to hold yourself back from taking one step, and then another, when he lingers near the mail room.

You had hoped tonight would help you erase the man that surely does not even know you exist.

“…because I’m sure you have better things to do then uh, do this.”

“This?” He hedges, a brow arching.

“A blind date.”

Something in his eyes flicker, when you finally meet them. The little mark between his brows deepening with the rough rasp of his voice. ”You really didn’t know who you were meeting?”

“No,” Your head shakes, “No. Did you?”

His eyes drop for a beat, before they flick back up.

“No.”

Your tongue dips out to dampen your lip, and you miss the way his eyes track the movement. The question slipping from you without thought.

“Would you have come, if you did?”

The silence stretches out, tipping towards uncomfortable.

And yet, he does not leave. A leather jacket still slung across the back of the booth, as his fingers tap the table.

“I’m gonna grab a beer,” He deflects. “You want another?”

Logan’s head dips towards your drink, only the glittery dregs of red remaining, a cherry nestled against the ice.

Your shoulder lifts, about to answer that you probably shouldn’t. That you’ve already made enough of a fool of yourself.

His lips curl at the edges, before you can voice your answer. ”Wade’s buying. Thought we could make a dent in his wallet.”

“Oh.” The word draws out, as your smile stretches.

So, not a rejection.

It might just be an invitation, actually.

“Definitely.”

It’s not how he thought his night would go.

Should have peeled himself away twenty minutes ago, somewhere between your second and third drink and the wind of conversation.

Slunk back home, or to another bar.

Had thought about it, in that moment when you confessed that you hadn’t known he was meeting you.

The thought of it being a disappointment turning his stomach, until you had voiced your question. The hope that wound its way between your words.

Unable to answer, even if he knows what it would have been.

The alcohol flickers inside him, a brief respite to the burn of sore muscles and a bone-deep ache that he’s carried since his world.

Should stop drinking this shit, but he’s been taking it a day at a time. Swapping rubbing alcohol for anything with a kick. That for vodka. Vodka for beer.

It’s not progress, but it’s something.

The feeling never sticks around, but something about you almost mirrors it. A wash of calm as his chin cups in his palm. Senses narrowing down, blocking out all the noise around him.

Eyes snagged on the curl of your lips around the white straw, the pink tinge of gloss left behind.

Helpless, to the tug at his arm as you loosened. The point of your finger to the empty dart board, how he had followed two steps behind.

You’ve missed a handful of your throws. Two darts stuck between the numbers running around the rim. His lips twitching at the frown that pulls down the corner of your lips, the hand that braces at your hip.

“So, did Wade guilt you into coming?”

Your fingers brush his, as you hand over the darts.

“You could say that.” He grunts, eyes slipping towards the board. Still catching the scrunch of your nose, as he amends, “But, like I said. Didn’t know.”

It’s not an answer to your question before, but it’s something that tip-toes close to one. It’s enough that your expression softens - an excited touch against his shoulder when his throw flies true.

“Same.” Your fingers curl against his shirt, transfixed. Hazy - those walls around you from before unstacking one brick at a time, “Almost didn’t go. But you know Wade, and his puppy-dog eyes.”

Logan didn’t.

“-and I uh, thought it would be nice. To not be alone, this year.”

He missed his next throw. A side-eye shot your way.

“Alone?” The word comes out close to a scoff.

Can’t pretend it hasn’t been eating at him. Wondering what the hell Wade had been playing at, inviting you.

“Figured you’d be out with your boyfriend.”

The last dart sinks into the green rim around the red center.

“Very funny.” You hum, stepping up to take his place. A glance over your shoulder, to find him still watching you.

That frown back, as your head tilts.

“I really don’t know who you’re talking about.”

He wished he hadn’t asked. Should have just stayed silent, taken this night for what it was.

“Thought I’ve seen a guy around the last couple weeks.“ Logan hands shove into his back pockets, “Just figured…”

Your expression persists. His fingers tap his temple, “Grey streaks, suit.”

As if he doesn’t have some of his own.

“Oh!” Recognition flickers, as you spin back, “Definitely not boyfriend. He’s like, super married.”

Your shot flies wide, bouncing off the wooden walls behind the board - a little huff as you turn back, “They’re due to have their first in a couple months. Been helping them pick things out for the nursery.”

A finger pointed back towards yourself, in explanation, “Figured I could help. Interior designer, and all.”

Something like relief flickers in his chest. Another feeling - deeper, hungrier - almost drowns it out.

The words smooth, as they slip from his lips.

“No guy, then?”

The shake of your head is slow, and that sweet smell that clings to you curls around his senses. Thickens, even - betraying you.

It gives him the confidence to step into your space. Emboldened by the look you give him from beneath the thick fan of your lashes. Hope, burning once again in blown-dark pupils.

“Here.”

A hand touches at your hip, as he eases closer. Plucking the dart from limp fingers.

“You’re holding it too far back. Lemme show you.”

He never gave a damn about this game, but he’ll take any excuse to get closer. To feel the way you stiffen beneath his fingertips, the hitch of your breath.

The shot is lined up.

His wrist extends as he aims, chest brushing against your back, and suddenly - your palm curls around his forearm. Fingers splaying wide as a jolt arcs through his nervous system, shooting from his hand to his core.

Your words muted - it’s only his enhanced senses that have him catching the tail end.

“-like me.”

He makes a rough sound, and again you turn to face him. The prick of goosebumps as your finger trace the dots at his wrist.

“I said you have freckles like me.”

The knitted cuff of your sweater tugged back to show him how yours mirrors his, down to the very last mark.

Time stands still.

Logan’s dreamt about this moment for decades.

Using that little crisscross of dots like a compass.

Guiding him through life - thinking there had to be something about the mansion, its symbol, that tied it to him. Taking on the mantle that mirrored the shape, ink-like against his skin.

Thinking it would lead him somewhere.

Even if he’d been certain he had missed it, somewhere in those two-hundred years. Ships passing in the night, across a lifespan that has stretched far too long.

Always trying to push away those “what ifs”. Had stopped looking a long time ago. Never once, since he’d crossed over. Told himself he was luckier not to have a match.

Not to know love like that - because one day he’d have become acquainted with the loss of it, as well.

He’s had enough of that, in his lifetime.

And this - it’s not what he ever expected.

Finding you in a world that’s not his own. His match with a girl, living on the floor just below his.

It leaves him mute, as your eyes linger.

Not sure what to make of him, he’s certain. Of the part of his lips, his own heart hammering beneath his ribs.

Unsteady, for the first time in decades.

His name pulls him out of his thoughts. Cherry-sweet on your tongue, lilting into a question.

The dart is thrown by muscle memory.

Your fingers still pressed against his mark, as it hits dead center.

He takes his prize, back in the shadowed corner of the booth.

Your eyes already slipping shut, when his fingers tuck under your chin. Lips parting, and he finds himself grateful again for those animal-senses.

Permission in the galloping of your pulse beneath your skin. The held breath as you wait, balanced on the knife’s edge of anticipation.

The soft inhale of breath, when his mouth slants against yours. Fingers curling in his shirt once more, as you part for him.

Swallowing your moan, with the sweep of his tongue. Sweet - grenadine syrup blending with you, and it’s like he cannot get enough. The kiss drawing out, insistent and hungry - a shuddering breath when it finally breaks, as if you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

Pliable, in the way he tugs your thigh over his, seating you in his lap. How you follow, so easily.

Fitting against him as if you were meant to.

And maybe you were - the thought sending his fingers tightening, where they grip at your hips.

As if he won’t let you go, now that he’s found you.

You’re right there with him. Just as affected - your palms smoothing over his chest. Tracing the chain biting into his neck, sinking into his hair when they loop around his shoulders.

Letting your hips rock - a tentative movements, paired with the softest sighs.

Growing bolder when you feel him beneath you - how he encourages it, with the press of his palms. The tips of his fingers slipping under the hem of your sweater, a pulse of pleasure at the way you shiver with his touch.

The second gift of his name, and it’s the one he’ll remember most. Drawn-out. Needy, and it only makes him want to hear it more.

Another breath huffed out, a heady throb against the too-tight confines of his jeans.

There’s the crack of a pool cue, a cheer rising at the table across the room.

The bubble bursts.

Bringing him back - even in this dim corner, it’s still far too public for everything he needs to do to you tonight.

A shared thought, your lips kiss-swollen as they press against his neck.

“Can we go home?” You husk, into the shell of his ear.

Something deep inside him purrs at the word. Possessive, wrenching a growl from deep in his chest as he carefully eases you off him.

Pushing himself up from the booth - a hand coming to wrap around your wrist.

Thumb pressed against your pulse, feeling it thrum beneath your skin once more.

Right against your mark.

He’ll tell you tomorrow.

He’ll have time - he’s always had that.

Never been grateful for it.

Not until now.

thank you again, lub and kiwi! I am so excited to check out the fics for your event, and happy I was able to contribute one! I’ve wanted to write a soulmate fic for some time, this has me 👀💖 about writing more!

[channieskies]

L O S E R [HJS]

♫ Pairing: Han Jisung × Reader [F] ♫ Summary: His father disapproves of his life choices, and it subsequently causes a rift between the two of them. Jisung only has one person he feels he can rely on, his best friend. With hopes of becoming one of the biggest rockstars that ever lived, he embarks on a journey to fulfill his life dreams. Will he make his dreams come true with his friend by his side, or will he even sacrifice friendship to live out his fantasy's? ♪ WC: 19.7k [READING TIME: 40-60 MINS] ♪ AU: Highschool, Rockstar ♪ Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff (adjacent), Friends to (??) ♪ Nets: @neverendingdreams-net & @mirohs-aurora-society ♫ A.N: I started writing this over a year ago (Nov 2023) and I've been writing on it little by little since then. When the "Hold My Hand" mv came out, I got burst of inspiration I needed to finish this. I took a while to finish, but it's here. This has not been proofread. Please reblog and leave a comment to let me know how you feel. I'd love a little feedback. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. Special thanks to @therhythmafterthesummer thanks for rooting for me with this one. I don't think I could have finished it without your encouragement. Dividers by @saradika-graphics ♫ Disclaimer: This story does not reflect the real lives or personalities of Stray Kids. I do not know them personally. This is purely a work of fiction. ♫ Warnings: MINORS DNI! This post contains nsfw material. Please do not interact with it if you are under the age of 18. Unprotected sex (Be safe and wrap it up. This is fiction, a controlled narrative. I make the rules. Life isn't that simple, so be safe), creampie (semi), cum shot, slight degradation (male receiving), slight femdom/sub (male) dynamics, choking, cum play, cum eating, spiting, hair pulling (male receiving). Do not translate or repost here or on other sites. This chapter contains use of explicit language.

Loser, 외톨이, 센 척하는 겁쟁이 못된 양아치, 거울 속의 넌 Just a loser, 외톨이, 상처뿐인 머저리 더러운 쓰레기, 거울 속의 난, I'm a...

The words resounded in the back of Jisung's mind as he continued to feel the kicks and punches from his classmates. See, with him, you either liked him or you didn't. Sadly, there didn't seem to be an in-between. There was no indifference and there didn't seem to be many that liked him, either. He had a handful of acquaintances, but only one good, true friend. She was the light of his life, that and music. In times like this, when he was beaten and battered, cast out, and torn down by the world, he knew that if he just held on, she'd be there. 

There to comfort him, there to lift him up, there to hold his hand and tell him that it gets better. That's what he had to hold on to, “it gets better.” The promise of that alone gave him enough hope that he'd get through these tumultuous teenage years and one day look back at this and consider it a learning experience. Just something he could mark off as a growth exercise. At least that's what he hoped. He hoped to turn all the shity life struggles into art. His words, his life, his voice. He refused to be a loser.

Jisung wanted nothing more in life than to play his music for the people who appreciated it. For the most part that meant that he was playing it for a crowd of one, you. But he didn’t mind if the venue wasn’t fancy, or if it was just one person taking in the songs that he performed. Just the look of pure joy on your face from listening to his voice, gave him enough hope that one day he could do this on a larger scale. He just hoped that you would be one of the smiling faces when he looked out at the crowd.

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Prestige, influence, wealth. Was that really something worth betting your life and sanity on? According to his parents it was absolutely worth it. Those things were the reason the Han's were where they were in life and they would bite their tongues and die before ever going back to being poor and worthless. At least that's how his father saw things. “Jisung, you have to listen to your father. All he wants is for you to have a good life. Not waste it away-”

“Id waste away staying here. Mom…” He stopped throwing things in his bag to hold his mothers hands, to look her in the eyes. He wanted her, if no one else in this house, to understand why he had to leave. It wasn't about the constant fights with his father, or even the fact that he just couldn’t and probably would never live up to what his older brother had become. He wasn’t built for the life that his parents had set up for him. It physically pained him to even think of himself trapped in the box of boring, yet successful, that his parents wanted to fit him into.

No, he just felt unfulfilled, dead inside. He was slowly rotting away with every breath he took under the rule of his fathers thumb. “I can't let him dictate what should and should not make me happy. Music is everything to me, you know this. So please, just let me go. You know I can't survive here.” He dropped his head, looking at the floor, “He'll kill everything about me.. until there is no use in being alive.” He had made up his mind. Despite the comfort that being home provided him, he’d rather take his chances out on the streets than endure one more moment trapped inside of this amenity filled mansion.

His mother gasped. Just the thought of her baby not being on this earth anymore, crushed her. She pulled her son into a hug for what might be the last time. “There is money in my purse, take that with you. Okay?” She grabbed his face, taking in her son's features. She caressed his chubby cheeks and placed kisses on both. “I love you. Forever and always.” The front door slammed downstairs, alerting them to his father's arrival. The panic set in on both his and his mothers faces.

Oftentimes Mr. Han seemed like he hated Jisung, his own son, just like he hated people who weren't in the same social economic class as him. They had no drive or ambition according to him, no will to make their life better, to be better. As if people didn’t fall on hard times, or suffer from any mental illnesses, making it hard for them to keep a job. He was a hypocrite. Jisung’s grandfather didn’t keep a steady job for years, and the jobs he had were very low income. He provided for his family as best he could, but apparently people like that were scum to Jisung's father. Being poor and struggling were things that his father had long left behind. Along with things like passion, empathy, and even love.

“HAN JI SUNG! GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT.” Jisung's heart quickened with the sound of his fathers angry, booming voice. His anxiety was starting to kick in, his breathing picked up, just as his extremities started to lightly shake. He had to have heard about Jisung's outburst in school today, which resulted in the cops being called to his prestigious catholic high school. With his fathers position in the Mayors office, of course this news made it to him. The police probably went and told him the news themselves. This wasn't going to be good. 

“Go out the back, I'll distract him.” She kissed his forehead and headed down the stairs, swiftly. Jisung stuffed all the clothes he could into his duffle, and started out the door, just to stop in his tracks. Next to his bed was a picture of him and his best friend. The one person who could get him through anything. From breakups and heartbreak to bouts of depression, they had been through almost everything together. He grabbed the frame and carefully stuffed it into the bag. 

“I know he's here! Move out my way woman!” He pushed past his wife, physically moving the small woman out of his way. Jisung could hear his fathers heavy footsteps as he made his way up the grand staircase in the foyer. Panic began to flow through the young boy's body. Making sure the coast was clear, he headed out into the hall from his room. The nearest exit of sorts was way at the end of the hall, two whole bedrooms and a bathroom away from his little corner room upstairs. 

He wasn’t much of a runner, even if he was considered to be quick, but he put all of the techniques he’d learned in physical education to work, sprinting down the hall. He made it to his brother's old room and out onto the balcony. Even though he was deathly afraid of heights, this was his only option, if he wanted to escape. It was fight or flight, and he was sure if he tried to fight his dad he’d die. His dad was filled with rage at the current moment and that did not bode well for Jisung. All he could see over the edge was the garden that bordered the pool. 

His mothers pretty array of hibiscus flowers and the cherry blossom tree that sat not far from the window, well manicured and perfect, just like everything else in the Han family’s life. He could hear his father nearing closer, his booming voice filling the large halls and bouncing off the walls, even with the constant pitter patter of his fast beating heart. It was now or never. He closed his eyes, the voice of his best-friend rang through his head, “You can do anything you put your mind to, Ji.” It was like her words gave him wings. That was all the reassurance he needed. 

Just as his father burst through the door to his brother's room, Jisung took the leap. He landed on the bushes below with a loud thud. His father's head peaked over the balcony. “You better stay right where you are, young man.” There was a small tinting of something else besides anger and disdain on his fathers face. 

But Jisung didn’t have the time to try and decipher it as his father made his way back into his brother’s room. No, if he didn’t want to face whatever was coming his way via his fathers slightly justified anger, he needed to go. Jisung hurried to his feet, running out the back gate of their sprawling mansion grounds, never to look back again. 

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“Shit…” He'd been roaming for hours now. The afternoon had turned into evening. The beautiful blue tinted sky shifted into pinks and purples and now it was just pitch black. He had nowhere to go. His feet hurt, his stomach hadn’t stopped grumbling since he got a few miles away from home, and he was terribly tired. Then there also was the fact that he had stupidly left the money his mother wanted him to have, right where she told him it was. He was broke and homeless. Not the best combination at the young age of eighteen. But most had survived worse. At least that's what that weird side of youtube and tik tok said. He was sure he would make it too. At least that's what he hoped.

He walked aimlessly until the streets started to look familiar. The houses were smaller than the ones in his- well his parents neighborhood, but that didn’t make them small. The mini mansions had long curving driveways and tall fences to keep the riff raff out. Well, guess you could say he was the riff raff now. 

He was a delinquent with an extensive record. Trespassing, disorderly conduct, disturbing the peace, failure to disperse, affray, unlawful assembly, and resisting arrest, the last two were tacked on today. The other charges had been adding up since his fifteenth birthday. The only reason he was a free man was the simple fact that he was a Han. He knew that, and it ate away at his core.

Well manicured lawns with expensive cars in the park. This was your side of town. Your family was quite well off as well, just in a different way. Building on the wealth that your maternal grandfather had built for your family. Your parents weren’t as power thirsty as his father was. But that wasn’t saying that they didn’t take your future success in life very seriously. They did. Your schedule was often packed to the brim with extracurriculars and volunteering, just to make sure that your high school resume made it easier for you to get into a good university.

He recognized your street name and he took off in a sprint. Trying to hurry his way to your house. He needed to see you. He needed reassurance for you that he did the right thing by running away. Because without your words of encouragement, he doubted he’d be able to survive the night, let alone live like this. He’d just have to tuck his tail between his legs and go back home to receive whatever punishment his father deemed appropriate. He had nearly a block to go when the familiar sound of sirens and the look of security lights stopped him in his tracks. “Where are you headed to, son?” Jisung sighed. He didn’t need this right now.

“My friend lives on the next block.” 

The guard got out of his car and approached Jisung, an uncertain expression on his face. He didn’t even attempt to hide it. The round and nearly bald, older man looked Jisung up and down, eyes doubtful of his story. “Right, and what is this friend's name?” The man pulled out an iPad with a list of residents in this large subdivision. 

“Y/l/n, Y/n. She lives with her parents…” He sighed, “Dr. And Mr.'s Y/l/n.” Jisung peered over the tablet to see if he could find you, only to find the guard way too immersed in a game of candy crush. “Seriously?” 

The security guard cleared his throat and tapped out of his games screen. “What was the name again?” with an exasperated sigh, Jisung told him your information again. He quickly contacted them, stepping away from Jisung to talk. 

“Yes, good evening. This is Sheldon with Rutherglen Security. I was out on patrol this evening when I spotted a young man out on a run with a duffle bag. When I stopped him he informed me he was trying to go see the daughter of this residence..- ah, his name?” He looked back at Jisung who was impatiently tapping his fingers on his jeans as he stood in the middle of the road, bag strapped across his chest. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Jisung. Han Jisung.” The man nodded and looked away again.

“Jason? Han Jason- Oh okay. I'll make sure to drop him off expeditiously.” He hung up and turned to the boy again. “I guess your story adds up. Get in. I'll drop you off.” He said nothing more and made his way around the tiny smart car, getting in. Jisung eyed the vehicle apprehensively. The window slowly rolled down, “On with it! I don't have all night.” 

The ride was short, he was nearly a block away when he was stopped. The gates to the driveway opened, revealing the lit up rounded pathway that led to the cream colored, French style home with black accents. It was traditional enough not to stick out, but still had a bit of modern flare to it. Truthfully, Jisung always thought your parents were like their house. Vocal, but both vocal enough to rock the boat. 

Some of their opinions didn’t line up with the traditional values of the overall community of Rutherglen, and he admired that. The security guard parked right in front of the house. Jisung could see someone jogging down the staircase inside. The lights in the house lit up with motion, so it made sense to him. The wooden door swung open to reveal a very winded girl, dressed in a band tee and bicycle shorts. 

“Haven't you gotten yourself in enough trouble today?” You rushed out before he could even unbuckle his seat and open the door. “Thank you so much…” Your eyes met the security guards as you leaned into the open window.

“Sheldon.” The security guard nodded.

“Sheldon. Thank you so much.” You opened the door for your friend only for Sheldon to speak up again.

“Excuse me, but are your parents home? I need to go over this with them.” You ushered Jisung out of the car and closed the door, leaning on it as you peeked your head in once again.

“My father is away at a medical conference and my mother is in the Maldives on vacation after major surgery, neither would like to be disturbed. But if you want to hear what my dad sounds like when he's angry, you can give him a ring.” Your voice sounded so sweet, but threatening at the same time. Like honey with the sting of a ghost pepper.

“Ah- no, that's fine. I'll just send them a write up. Have a good night.” He cranked the car back up. “And son, try to stay off the streets at night. You looked like you were up to no good.” 

Before Jisung could answer you interjected, “He will, no worries. Have a beautiful night, Sheldon. Stay safe out there.” With nothing left to say, you pulled your friend into your house and up the stairs to your room. As if the two of you weren't alone, you closed the door. “What they hell, Ji? Your mom called me worried sick, saying you'd gone off and run away. What the hell?” You hissed. You paced back and forth, mind racing.

He sighed, letting the bag he had bared the weight of for just a few hours, fall from him. He was tired and it hadn't even been a day yet. “I.. I couldn't take it anymore. I just knew what he was going to say. What he was going to tell me. How he was going to lay into me for not being good enough. How disappointed he was. How much he wished I could be more like my brother. I just… I couldn't deal with it anymore. He already thinks I'm a failure for not making the grades my brother made. But now I'm even more of a failure.” He plopped onto your fluffy purple bean bag that was situated in your reading nook. 

“Music is to be listened to, not pursued, according to him. I shouldn't entertain these ludicrous fantasies. You know where he took me the other day? To the unhoused encampment near the city center. He told me I'd end up there if I didn't listen to him and do as I was told.” He looked dejected and you wanted to do nothing more than to hold him and tell him everything will be alright. “I guess I just… beat him to the punch.” You sighed, your heart broke for him. He didn't deserve to be treated like that, no one did, really. But especially not Jisung.

“You aren't unhoused, just yet. Tomorrow, I'll skip school and we can look around to find some place to rest your head. Until my parents get back, you can stay here with me. I could use the company.” You could feel a bit of the burden lift off his shoulders and for the first time in a very long time, you saw him smile. He needed this pep talk more than you knew. It made his heart feel a little bit lighter knowing he wouldn’t be navigating this big change in his life without you.

“You know, I don't know what I'd do without you.” He stood unexpectedly and crossed the room to you, pulling you into a tight hug. “You're the best.” You could feel he meant it as he melted into you. He really didn't know what he would do without you. It sounded cliche, but you were literally the wind beneath his wings, his better half. Without you there was no him. He would have come crashing down to earth long ago if it wasn't for you. Your encouraging words always kept him uplifted. Your support always made him strive to be the best at whatever it was he was trying to pursue this week. You were his everything. 

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The next morning you woke up as early as you would for school. You were the top of your class, in line to be valedictorian. They might miss you today, but that didn’t matter as long as you made sure that your best friend was taken care of. Jisung had been there through the worst years of your life. He was quite literally your only friend. The only one who cared enough to stick around when it seemed that everyone in the world turned their back on you, just because the glitter of popularity seemed too tempting to say no to. 

In your freshman year of school your long time best friend Michelle, someone you'd known since babyhood, decided that her popularity over summer break wasn't worth losing. She'd hit puberty and filled out, so that made her popular with older boys. She couldn't take being seen with a “flat chested loser,” like yourself. She acted as though you hadn’t been friends all your lives. She started ignoring you, and the kicker, started rumors that you were doing sexual favors for the grades you were receiving. She knew better, you'd tutored her the summer before, just to make sure she'd have an easy transition into high school. Maybe you should have let her flounder.

You met Jisung during your summer vacation that same year. It was fate, really. You found out he'd moved around a lot before his family decided to settle in Rutherglen. His father had political aspirations, and this would be the perfect place to put down roots and start the career he always wanted. The way he described his folks almost sounded like how yours were. Father with big aspirations to be something better than what his father was. Mother who cares, but will ultimately side with the father. Plus you both had siblings. His older brother that was amounting to big things in life and your younger brother, two years your junior, who was the love of your mothers life. 

You bonded on your love of anime and rock music. Even your views of the world seemed to align. You spent every waking hour with that boy. You exchanged numbers and the rest was history. You'd been inseparable since. So giving up a few hours or days to help your one and only best friend, no matter the circumstances, was absolutely necessary. 

The boy slept like a log. But you understood, he had a hell of a day the day before. He got arrested for staging a protest on campus grounds for LGBTIQ+ rights, which wasn’t the smartest move to make on the campus of an ultra conservative Christian school. His stances went against the school's clear directive, that gay relationships were blasphemous and against all of their beliefs. And though you agree with him, that love is love and should be accepted as such. You knew it would ruffle too many feathers, especially if he didn’t go about it the right way. 

The protest was a mess. He had only managed to get a few students on his side, and they mostly backed out right before the protest was set to begin. The signs the both of you stayed up to make were torn by the kids that liked to ridicule you and bully Jisung. Then when asked by the headmaster to disassemble, Ji stood ten toes down and even cuffed himself to the door that led from the courtyard and into the school. That's how the cops were called. Then he ran away from home. On top of all of that, he almost got detained on his way to your house. 

He deserved to sleep as hard and as long as he wanted. But time was of the essence and him finding at least a roof was imminent. Jisung sounded like a vacuum cleaner as he snored. His mouth was wide open. One leg was under your mattress, how it got there you didn't know and you certainly weren't going to ask. The blanket was wrapped around him like a cocoon and both his hands were stretched above his head like he was superman.

You'd say he looked like a boy with no problems, that was if you didn't know any better. He had plenty of problems. Ones that needed to be handled immediately, you had a “parents are coming home any day now" , type of deadline. You shook him, “Ji, wake up.” He groaned, body flailing a bit. You sighed heavily. His mother told you once that the dead would wake up before she would be able to wake up Jisung in the morning. You could see why she said that now.

“Five more minutes, please?” He pouted in his sleep. The morning sun in its dusty blue haze was starting to peek through the curtains, you needed all the daylight you could afford. 

“No. Get up!” You smacked his chest right over his nipple and he jolted up with a yelp, hitting his head on the ledge of your nightstand. He knocked your lamp over, making it fall to the ground with a hard thud.

“Ow! Why, Y/n?” His pout deepened as he rubbed his head. He looked at you like you’d told him you no longer wanted to be friends. Maybe it was part of his sadness from yesterday that was seeping into the look he was giving you. You didn’t know, but you also didn’t like it. You never wanted him to be sad. To you, he deserved nothing but unadulterated joy. You thought he looked the most handsome when he smiled and nothing else should ever be painted across his lips.

His other hand moved to the spot you smacked, rubbing it while still rubbing the spot on his head. You snorted as you took in the sight, but quickly covered it with concern, seeing that he really was in pain. “I- I'm sorry Ji, I didn't mean to startle you. I just need you up so we can get started. Let me see, yeah?” You moved his hand and inspected the area that had hit your side table. You couldn't see any significant damage past his hair. You kissed the general area. “There. All better?” 

His face heated up, immediately. His thoughts rushed to anything impure he could think of at the moment. He couldn’t help that he was touched starved. He hadn’t had any action since his ex-boyfriend, Minho, graduated over a year ago. Plus, he hadn’t quite come to terms with his new found -okay, maybe they weren’t new and he’s loved you since he first met you,- feelings. Jisung kept his head turned away from you, afraid you'd see the blush that had tinted his cheeks.

“Mhm.” He nodded. Keeping his response simple. He didn’t want you to see his face and use that big brain of yours to figure out just what thoughts plagued his mind about you.

“Well come on, let's get dressed and eat so we can find you some place to stay for a while.” 

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Your mother had been a real estate agent for the past twenty years. She was one of the highest grossing real estate agents in the state. Her vacant properties -which she had plenty of- were what you were going to start with. You'd have to pay extra careful attention to what ones hadn't been looked at in a while and make sure to keep whichever one you settled on that way. “What about that one?” Jisung pointed to a listing of a single family home that was a town over.

“Neighbors would notice. You wouldn't want to be arrested for squatting. I’m sure your dad would love that.” You kept scrolling as he looked over your shoulder, leaning on his hand that was on your arm rests. “It needs to be some place close enough to where I could get to you in case of emergencies, but far enough away from others so they won’t be suspicious.” You chewed on your lip. 

Jisung tried to keep his eyes to himself, but something about the way you looked when you were in full concentration always made his heart flutter. He sighed wistfully. Before all of this happened, he had plans to ask you to be his date to prom. He hoped that if the night turned out well, that he would ask you to be his girlfriend. But he went and fucked things up. His dad did always say he was a good for nothing fuck up. Maybe there was a bit of harsh truth in his words.

“Oh just be honest with yourself, you'd miss me too much if I went too far away.” He chuckled, clearing out his dark thoughts with a joke. Little did he know, he was right. In the four years you'd gotten to spend time with him, even vacations away from each other seemed like torture. Your mother commented once that she'd,

‘Never seen two people who weren't in love, be so attached at the hip. You can’t find one without the other.’ You supposed she was right. A bond like the one you and Jisung had was rare. You considered him your soulmate, your person. So, no, you didn't want him to be too far away. You honestly didn't think you'd be able to handle that. It’s also a part of the reason you were afraid to open any of the letters you’d received from prospective universities. You wanted to stay close to home, but your parents insisted you leave the state, to do and see more. You thought you’d seen enough through traveling and would be just fine close to home and Jisung.

“Don't flatter yourself.” You rolled your eyes to sell the act you were putting on. “Someone has to keep you out of trouble.” 

He scoffed, “Your delusions are getting worse each day. You do realize you're like zero for three at this point, right? I got arrested, expelled, and I'm homeless, and that's all from one day!” You rolled your eyes so hard it was surprising they didn't just roll out of your head.

“How is that my fault? Before the protest I told you to talk to the headmaster to get permission or at least someone on faculty to let them know, but you didn't. You could have talked to the civics teacher, I'm sure she would have happily let us protest. Then when asked to disband, you laid into things harder as if the lack of permission wasn't bad enough. It was for a good cause, yes, but you have to know your limits. You cuffed yourself to the door, Jisung. Like, Seriously?! Then you resisted arrest… I have no words to express how stupid that was. So it's no wonder you got expelled, you broke multiple school rules and managed to get arrested, again.” 

You shook your head. You weren’t disappointed in him, you’d leave that to his father. But you did feel he could have gone about things a little differently. “You didn't even bother telling me that you were running away. We could have planned for this. I could have done something to help before you packed your bags. Least you could have done is let me pick you up.” His arms moved from the arm rest to wrap around you. 

He knew he had you worried, just by the way your eyes looked when you came outside. But his mind was in disarray last night. As soon as he walked in parents house yesterday afternoon he could feel all of what was going to come down on him when his father came home. It was like his mind's eye was open and he could see the immediate future. Said future was telling him he needed to run. That he needed to get out of there before his life ended in that stupid house.

“You can be so annoyingly right sometimes. But it wouldn't be very punk of me if I took the easy way out. Plus, arrest records give me street cred.” You sighed heavily and pushed him away. You couldn’t deal with his strange ideologies right now, you were trying to prevent him from being a common, unhoused, delinquent.

“You're an Idiot.” You mumbled under your breath. You didn't really mean it though. Yes, Jisung made brash, spur of the moment decisions. Yes, they resulted in him being in trouble more often than not. But, Jisung was far from an idiot. Really, he bordered the lines of being a genius. At least to you. He was honestly one of the most sincere and compassionate people you'd ever met. Plus his talent for writing, music, drawing, hell anything he put his mind to creatively, was unmatched. Just don't ask him to play sports. Now, that's when he seemed like an idiot.

“This is it!! Ji, look!” You pointed to the screen, shaking the monitor just from the force. 

“Is that… a van?” You could hear the disgust in his voice, you didn’t even have to look at his face to know his feelings. “You want me to… live in a van?” He grabbed the mouse, scrolling down the page. “There has got to be something… better… right?” It seemed like that was the last property with an actual structure on it, everything else was just land or warehouses. 

“Would you rather a tarp and a cardboard box? Because that might be your only other option.” You quickly pointed out, taking the mouse back from him. “I’m sure one of these vacant warehouses can house you. That is, if you are willing to share your space with roaches, rats, and other creepy crawlies.” He flailed at your words, throwing a small tantrum. 

“Why~ Y/n? Can't I just… stay in your basement or attic or something?” He flopped on your mom's office sofa, still kicking around.

“Because, if my father finds you, He’ll end your life and you know it.” Jisung shuddered at the thought. Your father tolerated him, he always had. He understood that the two of you were friends, but if anything other than friendship happened to spark, he’d flip. He was the type of man that thought his daughter should “preserve her innocence until marriage.” So, that meant he was constantly breathing down your throat about promiscuity and how you should wait. 

That boys, especially ones like Jisung, were not worth your time. He had even had ideal suitors lined up for you to meet during your eighteenth birthday. Someone from a good home with a promising future. Not a homeless dreamer that got expelled from school and ran away from home. To your father, the man for you could never be Jisung, and he had made that known to the both of you in one way or another.

“And he knows exactly what to give me to kill me too. He probably would donate my body to the med school too, just for good measure.” Jisung shuddered at the thought. “Damn it, I hate when you're right.” Your father petrified him. You didn't know this, and he planned on never telling you that your father threatened him the first time they met. Not the first time you introduced them, but the first time they met at the resort. 

Your father had followed you, to make sure you weren't up to anything questionable with the boy you grew so fond of so quickly. He observed from afar, until Jisung got up to use the bathroom. The man towered over the boy, his imposing figure casting a large shadow over him.

“Listen here. That girl that you're chatting up, that's my baby. And as my baby, she gets the benefit of the doubt, you on the other hand, do not. If you're thinking about having sex with my daughter, think twice.” He leaned in, getting down to Jisung's level. 

“I have friends in high and low places. If I wanted to make you disappear, all it would take is a snap of my fingers and poof, you're gone. If you lay a hand on my baby, I'll make sure that's the last time you touch anything with it at all.” It seemed that with every word he spoke he backed him further and further towards the wall, until his back finally hit it. “Keep your hands and your dick to yourself. Understand me?” Jisung nodded slowly, afraid any other action would piss your dad off. “Good.” He patted the boy's shoulder. “Now, hurry up and get back to her. You don't want to keep her waiting for too long, now do you?” Jisung felt like he couldn’t breathe until your father disappeared from his vision. He slid to the ground once the man was gone. That was the day he was glad he had a strong bladder.

So, there was no way in hell he'd be caught here. He didn't want to end up in a ditch somewhere, rotting or worse, he had dreams to fulfill. “Let me see if the lights and water are in my mom's name for this property…” You murmured under your breath. “She doesn't check when small amounts come out of her account. So, as long as you keep your usage low, you should be fine there.” Jisung sat up to look at you, now that his little tantrum was finally over.

All of his thoughts about your father had ceased. Now all he could think about was his fear of losing you. To wake up and not be able to hear your voice, or see your face. How could he survive the wild without you? “Will you come visit me?” You stopped clicking around once you heard the sadness in his voice. You quickly turned around in the office chair to face him. 

“Why would you ask a stupid question like that? You know I will. You living in a weird van can't keep me away. Even if it looks like you’d kidnap children in it.” He laughed at that, your joke lifting his spirits a little. “Now, if you were living in a cardboard box, you might not see me as much.” He kissed his teeth this time, only for you to laugh.

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“How much further is it?” Jisung asked, trailing behind you. You had to ditch the car, the trail was too narrow and overgrown for you to drive it. He hated walking long distances almost as much as he hated running. He was one of the few people who failed physical education, much to the coach's chagrin. They had stated previously that he had the potential to be a great track star. Yeah, that wasn’t remotely the kind of star he wanted to be.

“I think it's just up ahead, there is supposed to be a clearing…” Jisung had his bag and the guitar he had at your house for safekeeping. The one he had at home had been tossed out onto the drive from a second story window. You had a boatload of cleaning supplies, including a mop, bucket, and broom. This place had been abandoned for over a year and a half now, it had to be gross on the inside. 

You could hear him sputtering behind you as he swatted away bugs. “There was no way you could have survived on the outside.” You mumbled, shaking your head. If you were honest, both of you were spoiled little rich kids. Neither of you could survive, especially not without the other. “There!” You couldn't calm the excitement you felt as you saw the silhouette of the van through the trees.

“Fina-fucking-ly.” Jisung huffed, ready to at least take a seat and rehydrate himself. But you had other plans. You opened the van door, the smell of hot air whooshed past you. The pocket door revealed the small kitchen. A sink, floor to ceiling pantry and a counter with a hotplate on top and a mini fridge underneath. You climbed in first.

“This isn't as bad as I thought it would be. At least you have the basic amenities.” You nodded, crawling around on your knees, unaware that Jisung was still standing outside. Apprehension had started creeping its way into Jisung’s subconscious. All the what if's seemingly flying at him all at once. 

“What if you fail? Do you really think she’ll remain friends with a loser that is also a failure?” “What happens when you are here in the dark by yourself?” “What if no one likes your music?” “What if she finds someone else that makes her happier than you do?” “What happens when one of those picks that her father likes sweeps her off her feet? What happens to you then?”

“I don't think I can do this.” He turned on his heels, ready to head back to the car. 

“Ji, wait!” You quickly exited the van to give chase, he had barely made it back to the tree line before you stopped him. His face was red, both from the heat of walking and also from him trying his best to hold back his tears. Maybe he jumped the gun running away from home. He only had two or three months left before graduation, he could have made it that long. But here he was, in the middle of the woods, looking at an abandoned van as prospective housing. 

“If you give up now, you might as well give up on your dreams. Going back home means all of this was for nothing. You might as well throw away all the sheet music and demos you’ve made and go ahead and pick up the law books he was forcing you to read, because you will never do music again if you go back now. Do you want to let your dad win?” He stopped dead In his tracks. Leaving now did mean he was giving up. Going back home to a father that thought of him as nothing but a useless loser was not an option. It might be hard to tough it out, but it wasn’t anything he couldn't get used to. 

He sighed heavily, shoulders drooping with the harsh exhale of breath. “God, I hate that you're always right.” You chuckled. “But, I love it at the same time.” He turned to face you, taken back by the ethereal glow the backdrop of the clearing gave you. You looked otherworldly, a type of beauty that he could never fully wrap his head around. You were the type of person people wrote songs about. He wouldn’t admit it to you, but he was one of those said people. He stood there like he wanted to say something, but he just shook his head, letting the thought go. “You have to promise to come see me often. I… I can't do this alone.” You smiled brightly and he reciprocated. How could he not? To him, you had the most radiant smile. 

“Wouldn't have it any other way.” You reached for him, pulling him into a tight hug. “I'll always have your back.”

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Loneliness. That's what he expected to feel out on his own. His first night was full of it. Every little creek and bump in the night caused him to stir. Afraid that a random serial killer would happen upon his trailer and brutally kill him. Truth was, he just watched too many horror films, October wasn’t that long ago after all. Plus, the two of you loved to break tradition and watch horror and thriller in place of cheesy Christmas love stories where there was always a small town guy and a big city girl who fight their differences to fall in love with each other, while simultaneously saving the town's failing get-together spot. It was always the same trope in a different font and you both hated it. 

When a particularly loud sound pulled him from his sleep, his immediate response was to call you. He’d had enough run-ins with the cops to know not to call them when he was squatting on some middle of nowhere abandoned property. He knew that your soothing voice would be the one thing that would calm him down. It was the only thing that made him feel safe. Just hearing your voice would save him from drowning or bring him back from the brink of death.

“Mhm.” Even with just a hum he knew you had been in a deep slumber. It hadn’t even been the blaring ringtone that woke you up, it was the bright screen of Jisung doing his happy dance after trying the cheesecake you made him for his last birthday.

“Will you stay on the phone with me? It's… Kind of scary out here by myself.” He could hear you shuffling, before settling. Jisung was used to being alone; between his parents traveling for work and his brother being away, loneliness was a constant for the boy. But he knew you were always a phone call away. You’d never failed to answer his call, even if you were asleep or busy; you always made time for him.

“Have you been to sleep, Ji? It's like after four.” Your speech was still slurred, but he found it comforting.

“Yeah. But I keep hearing things.” He played with the fringe on one of the throw pillows you'd lifted from your parents' guest house.

“Want me to sing our song?” He knew you hated to sing, you felt that you couldn't. But he liked for you to sing to him, just for him. Felt like a warm embrace. Your voice was sweet and angelic.

“Please?” You chuckled softly.

Clearing your throat, you started to sing. “Wherever you are, I'll always make you smile.

"Wherever you are, I'm always by your side. Whatever you say, you're always on my mind. I promise you "forever" right now.”

He could feel himself sinking into the mattress underneath him. The worries of the day mentally melting off of him with each word you sang. You were his comfort. He closed his eyes as you continued to sing.

“Someone I can love from my heart. Someone I love from the bottom of my heart. In the center of this love. You are my heart…” 

You paused, hearing the light snoring through the receiver. You couldn't help the sleepy smile that spread over your face. “Goodnight, Ji. Love you.” You hung the phone up quickly, missing his sleep riddled reply.

“I love you too, Y/n.”

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The weeks passed by slowly, turning into months. You meant it when you said you’d visit. You were over at Jisung’s place almost every day. Even when things got a little hectic in your schedule you still made time for him. He appreciated that, he really did. But something was off with you. He felt it deep down, every time you canceled on him, or changed the subject when all he asked was a simple question. You were keeping something from him and it wasn’t anything small either. 

Jisung was sitting on the floor of his van, feet dangling out of the open sliding door, plucking at his guitar. There wasn’t much inspiration flowing as of late. Not when his mind was occupied with you and the secret you were keeping from him. He wanted to know, just wanted to come right out and ask you what you were hiding. But he knew if he was going to ask, he needed to do it gently. You’d shut down if he forced you to tell him what was up. He was so preoccupied with his thoughts he didn’t see you come out of the clearing. Not even the dry grass crunching under your sandals could pull him from deep within his thoughts.

“Ji, I think your ears are smoking. You okay?” The sound of your voice snapped him out of it. His fingers stopped what they were doing and he sat up. 

“Huh? My what are what-ing?” He moved his hand to his ear, feeling for whatever substance you said was coming out his ear, only to realize you were joking. He chuckled. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be out celebrating?” His class graduated today. Instead of being out, celebrating with you and taking pictures of this great day, he was stuck in his van. Barred from coming within fifty feet of the school. 

“Are you dumb? What kind of celebration would it be if you weren’t with me?” You pulled your hand that he hadn’t realized you were hiding until you flashed your diploma. “I’m free… from well.. High School.” You chuckled. “Those last few months were tough without you, Ji. I had no one to talk to.” You sighed, but his only response was to hum.

The tension had built up in his head, his intrusive thoughts winning the ongoing battle in his head. “What are you hiding from me?” He spoke suddenly, not even bothering to look in your eyes as he asked. 

You shook the diploma cover you held in your hand, “My diploma. Is… is everything alright, Ji?” You looked at him confused. Chalking it up to maybe he’d been out here too long by himself. It had been two days since the last time you were by, you just couldn’t free up time.

“No, it’s not alright. You have been acting strange for the last month or so.” He sat his guitar down and jumped down out of the van, coming face to face with you. “You know you can trust me, so, why are you hiding something from me?” 

You thought you’d been acting normal. Trying to keep those feelings of betrayal from seeping out of your pores like bottom shelf liquor. “I…” He was right, you had been hiding something, from the fear of feeling like you’d lose him if you told him the truth. 

He sighed, frustration taking over his expression. Being a forced recluse had taken its toll on Jisung. Jisung might have had most of the things a person with an actual apartment had. He had a kitchen, albeit a small one. He had a place to sleep, and a makeshift living room. He had a sink and could go pee outside, plus a hose to hose down with in place of showers.. He had to walk a few miles to the local gym to handle other things like real grooming, so his hard on his face and the top of his head had grown out tremendously. Not to mention places you hadn’t seen.

Jisung had gotten a job in town, and used you as a reference. Now he worked the night shift at a gas station. It gave him something to do in the meantime, to help him save up to move somewhere other than this ultra conservative little town so he could pursue his dream. He had always hoped you’d get accepted somewhere cool so he could tag along and get some gigs. He always wanted to be wherever you were.

“Please, just tell me the truth.” His voice was soft. He just wanted to know the truth.

You sighed, eyes focused on the diploma in your hand. “I’m leaving.” You spoke, but you stayed planted in your spot. Jisung looked at you confused. 

“Now? Or…”

“Right before school starts. I… I got accepted into the university of my dreams…. Ji…” The sadness in your voice was palpable. The excitement hit him before the realization hit. You’d been talking about where you really wanted to go if you ever got the chance. It was in a different country, halfway across the globe. You were leaving. For real.

He took a moment. He didn’t want to seem bitter that you were leaving him. But, you were leaving him. His rock was leaving him to float away. You kept his mind grounded, what was he going to do with you gone?

“I.. I’ve been afraid to tell you. I wanted to tell you in my own way, whenever I was ready. But… It never seemed like a good time.” You were picking at a loose string on the hand stitched leather cover.

It felt like an eternity before Jisung spoke again. “You’re leaving… for uni?” You looked up, alarmed by his voice which was devoid of any type of feeling.

"What happened to us sticking together? Staying close to each other?" He frowned, "So.. you're leaving m-..?" He paused, but quickly corrected himself. "You are leaving Rutherglen?"

“Yes, in a few months.” You nodded, hoping that if you explained you had time before you went it would help him to process it better.

He was trying his best to keep all of his emotions from spilling out like an over boiling pot, but he couldn’t keep it in. “How long have you known?” 

Your brows creased into a frown. “How long have I known that I wanted to go there? You know the answer-”

He stopped you mid-sentence. “How long have you known that you were leaving? How long have you known that you were leaving me behind?” His voice came out calm, but it was the type of calm that led to murders.

“Ji- I- don't know. I just.. I wanted to tell you but I was afraid of how to say it-”

“How long?!” He snapped, scaring the both of you. You’d never witness this side of him. The shade of anger almost reminded you of his father. “Y/n.. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

You cut him off this time. “A month.” You spoke matter-of-factly. “I got the letter a month ago and I’ve been riddled with anxiety while trying to figure out how to tell you. You know this is all I ever wanted and I-”

You felt the wind get knocked out of you before you could finish your sentence. “Go.” You stopped speaking as the cold word left your best friend's mouth. “I don’t need you to stay here for my sake. I’ll be just fine by myself.” He didn’t believe the words coming out of his own mouth, but somehow, you did. You took a few steps back away from him.

He didn’t dare look at your face, too afraid it would break his heart and make it even harder to say goodbye.

He had to let you go. He knew that and you knew that. All he would be doing is holding you back if he tried to convince you to stay closer to him. He knew this was your dream and he needed to support that. Because all you ever did was support him. He felt it was finally his turn to do the same for you.

If he didn’t let go now, he definitely wouldn’t be able to a few months from now. If he didn’t rip the Band-Aid off now, the wound would never heal. “Just fucking go.” He wanted to congratulate you, tell you just how good you did. That despite all of the hurdles you faced you still came out on top. You deserved to be celebrated. But he couldn’t do that with you, not right now. Not when he was on the verge of ripping his own heart out. He let his long bangs cover his eyes so you wouldn’t look into them and see the immediate regret they held. “Why are you still standing here? GO!” 

You swallowed the enormous lump in your throat. He wouldn’t get your tears, he didn’t deserve them. You couldn’t wrap your head around why he was so upset. You wanted to tell him, you really did. But how do you go about telling your best friend that you won't be able to see them again until some miscellaneous holiday? If that. Your family had money, but you doubt they would even care enough to fly you back and forth, especially if it was just to see some boy.

“Ji, I’m sorry I wanted to-” He stopped you before you could finish by getting in the van and shutting the door right in your face. He could show you better than he could tell you that he wanted you gone. You sucked in a deep breath and turned your back on the van. It took everything in you not to turn around, you didn’t want to say goodbye, especially not like this. Jisung on the other hand, only pretended to let his anger get the best of him. He retreated to his bed as soon as the door closed. He watched silently as your back disappeared into the brush. The sadness took over as soon as he couldn’t see your back anymore. 

This was the end of the best thing he’d ever had. The closest thing he’d ever felt was close to true unconditional love.

The passage of time is a funny thing. One moment you are crying your eyes out because what you thought was your person turned their back on you. Then you traveled halfway across the world to get your degree and ended up spending four more years in another place to get your doctorate. Now you are sitting at your younger brother’s wedding rehearsal. Just who gets married at the ripe age of twenty-two? He just got the hang of legal drinking, for Christ's sake. When did he even get this big? 

Things were hectic, especially considering you were his “best man”, like he didn’t have a male friend to fill the role. You would have been perfectly fine just sitting out with your parents as a bystander. Thankfully you were pretty familiar with his friends and his soon to be husband. Plus you knew the ins and outs of his life, even if you didn’t want to. He said he trusted you more than anyone, that's why he picked you. You couldn’t say no to that, even if you desperately wanted to. 

The wedding was beautiful. His family also came from money, so they spared no expense to make sure that their ‘Lovely boy”, as they affectionately called him, got everything he wanted. That included a destination all the way in lovely Spain, Ibiza to be exact. Your parents paid for the reception, and of course, married or not, no one was going to outdo them when it came to their favorite child. They rented out a whole hotel with beautiful vistas of the Ibizan coastline. Your brother also wanted them to pay for Beyonce to come and perform, but they quickly shot that down, which you found funny. Instead He asked for another artist, one that his now husband seemed to love.

You had just finished taking a picture with the wedding party, successfully embarrassing your little brother with a big kiss on the cheek in the last photo. You couldn’t be happier for his happiness. He pulled you to the side, as the others gathered to make their entrance to the reception. “Sis, I couldn’t thank you enough for all you've done for me.” He put a hand on your shoulder, looking down at you with your mothers smile. Seriously, when did he get so big? “I know things haven't always been smooth sailing between us. I didn’t have nearly as many things to overcome, being that I'm the baby and mom's favorite after all.” He laughed and you playfully scowled. 

“But, I recognize, and I'm thankful for every sacrifice you've made as my older sibling. Without your encouragement I would have never gone to law school, which means I would have never met the love of my life. I'd still be miserable trying to remember all the fucking funky ass medical terms.” You laughed at that, the boy was struggling. He wanted to follow in your fathers footsteps, just to make him proud. But you’d convinced him that he could make him proud just by being himself and succeeding in something he actually loved. It turned out you were right, but when weren’t you? “I needed you to tell me to find something that made me happy. So, my question to you now is, are you happy, sis?” He slid his hand from your shoulder into yours. “I don’t mean with work, we all know you love your job. Dr. Y/L/n.” You smiled, but you didn’t answer the question immediately.

For years now, it felt as if something was missing from your life. But you couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. You’d been in a few relationships since you’d left Rutherglen, you’d even been engaged. You’d made friends along the way, some you were even still close to. But for the most part, nothing ever felt worth the effort to keep. Maybe it was the trauma you’d felt from all of your failed high school relationships that found a way to creep into the ones you’ve tried to make. Maybe it was just some weird void left there by the person you thought was your person. Who knows? But, you were alone. But you didn’t feel like you were lonely, per-se. You filled whatever deep well of emptiness with traveling and good food. 

Your brother gave you a look and it caused you to sigh. “I’m good. This is you and Liam’s day, Aaron. I know you want to save the world and all, but you can’t solve all my problems. At least, not today anyway.” You chuckled. It was sweet that he was concerned about you, it really was. But, you’d been trying to deal with whatever this hole was for over eight years now. You found that it was either something that you get used to, or you try to fill. You just decided to get used to it. There was no use in trying to fill the black hole left in your heart by-

“It’s time to head in, you two.” The wedding planner snapped you out of your thoughts. You smiled up at your younger brother before tugging him along to join the rest of the wedding party.

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“Thank you, Manchester!” The crowd roared as Jisung threw his sweaty and torn tee-shirt out into the pit of fans. He and his band Mortal Savages were promoting their latest album, Awkward Example, on tour. This was the last stop on the European leg of the junket, after they had toured the world. He rushed off stage as the throng of fans started to get rowdier than they already were. A small mosh pit was starting to form in the middle and he honestly wanted no parts of that. Last time they waited around while that happened, he lost a tooth and ended up with a concussion and a busted guitar. 

His assistant handed him a bottle of water as he exited the stage. “Your flight is in two hours, Mr. Han. I have arranged a private car to pick you up from your hotel and take you to the airport.” Jisung nodded, listening idly. He just wanted to unwind, before heading to this small gig he and the rest of his band had been booked for. If it wasn’t for this being a special request of a friend of a friend, he’d be headed right back to Seoul with his band.

See, Jisung had made quite a name for himself over the past eight years. After he pushed you out of his life, he picked up the pieces as best he could. Using your exit as motivation. He hoped that you wouldn’t hate him forever, that one day the two of you would reunite. But in case you didn’t, he wanted to use the little bit of light you’d shone in his life to really make something of himself. He started small, busking a few towns over in a big city.

That landed him a few gigs here and there like weddings and bar mitzvahs. As much fun as those were, he had bigger dreams. He started to post short covers on tik tok and things kind of picked up from there. He was recognized by an artist that wanted to start his own label and the rest was history. He’d found his people. He put together his own band from some people he’d met in circles while touring by himself. People who had small fanbases, but great potential. 

Hyunjin, his bassist, was a model. He played bass in his free time and had a few videos posted on his insta account of him playing. He was suggested to him by a secretary at the company. Okay, maybe suggested was a strong word. She had a crush on the bassist, so it was only natural that she suggested Jisung look into him. He did, and he loved his style. Hyunjin introduced him to Felix, his closest friend, a twitch gamer that just so happened to know how to play guitar, and had a pretty surprising set of vocal cords on him. It was only natural he asked him to join the group. 

He found Jeongin in a jazz bar of all places. The kid was a classically trained pianist whose one act of rebellion was to play jazz. Jazz. As surprising as it was, it is what almost got him disowned by his family. Jisung convinced him that if he really wanted to make his parents mad, he should try rock. Turns out, Jeongin’s dad really liked rock music.

Despite him trying to anger his parents, he actually made them proud. Go figure. All he needed to round out the group was a drummer. He found his drummer, an Aussie, on youtube, doing shirtless rock remixes of popular r&b and pop songs. The dude was so undeniably cool he called his manager that night to ask him to find this dude. By the time he woke up the next morning, Chris was on a plane to see him. 

They somehow all clicked, becoming a band of brothers in a matter of months. He couldn’t see his life without these guys now. Jisung was relieved when the door closed behind him in the dressing room. He needed to tune out all of the noise. He hated being alone with his thoughts, they seemed overwhelming at times, but after a set, it seemed to be the one thing that comforted him. He flopped in a chair, directly in front of a vanity, taking in his reflection. 

So many things have changed over the years. He changed his hair a few times, it went from short to long and back again. He recently grew it out, opting to keep the long hair, figuring it stopped his face from looking so youthful and chubby. He'd dyed it several times, but it was currently back to his regular dark brown. His previously unmarred skin was now littered with various tattoos with different meanings and reasons behind them.

Most of them remind him of his past, both the good and bad. Without those moments, he wouldn’t be who he was today. He ran his fingers through his damp fringe, sighing. He had no time to reminisce about ancient history, he had somewhere to be in a few hours and needed to gather his strength to get there. Jisung pushed himself up with a heave-ho and gathered up his things.

It was a quick ride back to the hotel. There were a few fans and reporters posted outside. It was just the ones who had figured out he and his band mates were staying there. His anxiety started to kick in the moment he started to see the flashes of cameras as the car came to a halt in the drop off area. He almost asked his assistant to go get his things, that he’s take care of his personal hygiene when they got to their destination.

But he group mates were already shuffling out of the SUV before he could get his bearings. Jisung felt like he was in a trance, his body moving on auto pilot. The sound had cut out, all he could hear was muffled shouting and the incessant humming noise. His face was blank, gone with any thoughts that he had in his head. There was just this tiny voice in his head telling him, “You got this, Ji.” It sounded an awful lot like his old friend. But it had been eight years and the sound of her voice was something he had long ago forgotten, no matter how hard he tried to hold on to the memory of it.

There were times when he thought he might forget her face, but social media was a constant reminder of it. It wasn’t like he was stalking her or anything . Okay, maybe he was. But it was only just a little bit. He just wanted to know if she was doing well. If she’d gotten married, or made any big life changes. She’d changed a lot too. Her style had changed, as well as her hair a few times. But the thing that stayed the same was her smile. It was the thought of her smile that kept his feet moving as he made his way into the hotel. The sound came back in as the cool air of the hotel lobby hit his face. He breathed a sigh of relief. Thankful he didn’t have another episode like he did a couple weeks ago. He fainted from anxiety and it made front page news, much to his chagrin.

“Alright, everyone go get your things. We will meet back here in forty-five.” His manager spoke after rounding up the band and their staff. It wasn’t much time, but he was glad he’d get at least a few minutes to himself before heading out again into the sea of people waiting for him. The elevator ride up to their floor was filled with eventful conversations between the members and the few staff that took the ride up with them. Jisung would throw a smile or a nod around occasionally, but was otherwise disengaged. His mind was filled with thoughts about his family. How his brother and his wife had welcomed their second child, a little boy with round chubby cheeks just like his uncle. He hoped that his brother would be a better father to the second born child than their father was to him. 

Even though they had since then made up. Jisung knew it was only due to him being a ‘success’, rather than his father truly being sorry for all of the pain he’d caused him. It took a lot of therapy and lyric writing for him to even be remotely open to talking to his father. If it wasn’t for mis mother practically begging him to forgive the man, he would have never even considered it. Turns out that the youth vote can be boosted when your son is a super popular rockstar. Just have said rockstar pose in a few pictures with the mayoral candidate with the same name, and your political career might take off.

He didn’t fault his father for it. He'd worked hard to get his career to that point. There was nothing wrong with booting your votes with a pretty well-known artist. Especially when that artist is your child. His father actually sat him down amidst their reunion and told him that the only reason he treated him like that was because he saw too much of himself in him. That he once had aspirations to be a rock star, that he almost made it. Him and his band had signed a record deal and everything. But things fell through and they ended up having to pay back the company for the debt they had incurred. He just didn’t want that life for his son. He also admitted that he may have gone about things the wrong way, not recognizing the same stubbornness in his son that he once had.

The ding of the elevator brought Jisung out of his thoughts. He separated from his members as he pushed his door open after using the keycard to get in. He was back to his thoughts, now his brain now blotted with thoughts of you. He missed you, dearly. How your lips curled when you smiled. How your hair smelled when you hugged him in the mornings before class. How your sleepy voice sounded. How out of everyone, you gave him the most strength to make it day to day. How a chance encounter was the reason you two became friends in the first place. Even down to how you were his person. 

Even years after seeing you last, you were still his person. He had a feeling you would always be. Countless hit records were written about you and he'd keep writing about you until he couldn't write anymore. His muse. His first true love. His person. The lov- “Aren’t you Han? From Mortal Savages?” His door barely clicked open when he heard the high pitched vocal fry of what he assumed was one of his fans. He sighed. If he hadn’t been caught up in his thoughts maybe he would have seen her and possibly avoided all of this. He quickly closed the door, knowing all too well how some fans could be and he didn’t want to take that chance.

He turned to her with a smile. “Yeah. What can I do for you, beautiful?” He’d learned from Chris that sometimes you had to pacify the fans with a compliment, make them feel special. It made them come back.

Her eyes lit up at the compliment. “I- I was hoping… you might invite me in.” Jisung tried his best to keep his face neutral. “I’m your biggest fan, a-and I wanted to show you just how much I love you.” Stealthily he turned on his camera to record this incident, sometimes you had to be careful with delicate situations like this. He didn’t want his career to end over a ‘he said, she said’ situation. 

He sighed again, “Look, you seem like a nice person, but I’m really tired and I don’t have much time. I have another gig to get t-”

“But your schedule says it’s clear..” She pulled out her phone to provide the evidence. 

“It’s a private event, that's why it isn’t on there.” He nodded, “I really need to get packed up so that I don’t miss my plane.” She took the opportunity to step closer to him.

“I promise I’ll make it worth your while!” She got a little louder, alarming the man even further.

“N-no thank you.” He spoke nervously. He’d had industry friends say that this happened to them all of the time, but this was a first for him. He stepped back, back hitting the door to his room. 

“I’ll be really good for you, Ji.” She pressed her body against his. Calling out the nickname that no one, but you called him. You were the only one allowed to call him that. It was either his last, first, or his full name. It didn’t have the same endearing ring when others said it. He hated how it sounded falling from other people's lips.

“Wh-what did you call me?” He stared at her blankly.

“Ji.” She smiled wide as if she had accomplished something. “I thought it was cute. Everyone else calls you Han or Jisung, so I thought it’d be nice to call you something I came up with on my own.”

The anger was rolling off Jisung in waves, like magma slowly building towards becoming erupted lava. His face stayed calm as he spoke, but every word was pointed. “Don’t ever call me that again. It’s not for you to come up with different names for me. It’s Jisung, not Ji to you. Understand?” She nodded, getting the underlined hint that he was angry. He didn’t even sound like himself.

“Now, like I said… I have somewhere to be and you are holding me up. If you want a picture or an autograph I can give that to you, but I can’t give you anything else.” She took the opportunity to get the picture, but he was sure she was going to write some whack ass caption like, “Don’t meet your idols.” Or some shit like that. He didn’t have the capacity or strength to care at the moment, he had places to be.

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Jisung was often praised for how quickly he could go to sleep. Not many people had that skill, plus the ability to sleep anywhere and not be disturbed by the loud noise surrounding him. But his alleged gift did not come in handy on the flight from Manchester to their private booking two hours and some change away. As a matter of fact, that usual gift seemed like a deterrence. He fell asleep as soon as they got on the plane, but ten minutes later he was wide awake again. He tried his best to get some rest before they touched down, but nothing helped. He counted sheep and took a swig of liquor, he even tried a sleep aid, but here he was, looking out the window as the plane touched down. It had to be his luck, right? Something was off in the universe or something. Because why was his scale tipping towards all this bad will?

Even after arriving and settling into his hotel room, sleep just would not come to him. The hours ticked by. He tried at first to see if he laid in the bed long enough if sleep would still elude him, it did. He tried to gather some inspiration, maybe pen something fantastic about not being able to sleep, the inspiration never came. So as the sun slowly started to creep over the horizon, he decided to take a walk. The beautiful vistas around this hotel were captivating, so hopefully they would provide him with both inspiration and clarity. He stood near the cliff and watched the sunrise, not noticing the woman a few yards away from him, taking in the same views. He was about to leave, hoping that seeing the sun would finally put him to sleep when he noticed something about her. The briny scent of the sea mixed with her scent and just like a care package, the breeze sent it right into his nostrils. 

Every muscle and nerve in his body froze with the familiar scent. But there was just no way. Right? His father asked him to do this favor, saying this was his wedding gift to the son of a family friend. But it never occurred to him that your family were the aforementioned family friends. His body ached to call out to you, run to you, but his mind kept him in the same position. With good reason apparently. You were joined a moment later, a man around your age coming behind you, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders before taking up the spot right next to you. Was that your boyfriend? His anxiety started to bubble in the center of his chest, his heart felt shaky. He knew a day like this would come, when he would have to face you once more. Make amends with how he broke your heart. But he never expected it to be on your family trip. He didn’t expect to meet you again in the same manner he met you the first time. Meeting somewhere tropical with your family somewhere nearby. Now he had to add in a boyfriend to the mix.

His head was starting to pound, he needed to sleep. He needed his heart to stop beating so rapidly in his chest. He needed to call this all off and head back to the comfort of his own home, to get away from the madness. “Jisung, what are you doing out here?” His eyes widened, hearing his name being called. He turned around to see his manager, dressed in his workout gear, just having come from a run. In a panic, Jisung quickly pulled the man away from the scene, hoping you hadn’t heard. Just as he ducked back into the building, you looked around in the spot he was just in, to see no one there.

It took him a while to calm down. He could still see you from his hotel room and it wasn’t helping him one bit. Internet stalking you was bad enough, now he was literally stalking you, watching you from his window like some creep. He was anxious, sleep deprived, and now he had to add scared that he’d truly lost you forever. He looked on at you and your boyfriend, talking animatedly from the window. His arm was around your shoulder, he assumed to keep you warm. Even with the blanket still around you. “What am I going to do?” He was stressed. Hair sticking up all over his head from incessantly running his fingers through it. He couldn't leave, he’d made a promise with his dad to do this in his absence. Plus his mom was somewhere around, she’d been texting him all night about how she couldn’t wait to see her precious baby. He wouldn’t be able to stomach a decision that made her sad when she was clearly so excited.

He wanted to say ‘fuck you’, to being a good son. But at the end of the day he just couldn’t. What if you didn’t recognize him? Or worse. What if you ignored his entire existence? He knew you had every right too, he did push you out of his life just because you’d hidden your acceptance to college from him. Or at least that's what he let you think. He didn’t want to be the reason you didn’t follow your biggest dreams. He flopped on his bed, tired of watching the endless flirtation and touching between you and your supposed boyfriend. He laid in the bed, draping his arm over his eyes to block out the sunlight. “Get a grip, Jisung. It’s just a performance. She’s just a girl. Just do what you came here for and peace out. It’s simple.” At least he hoped that's how things would be. He’d perform, then he and his mom would make their way to Seoul to visit some family. Simple. Easy. Right?

Yeah, things were definitely not that easy. Not for him at least. He eventually fell asleep, just to be woken up by a knock at his door. It was his mother, inviting him to be her date to the wedding. Was he a momma’s boy because he couldn’t deny her this simple task? Maybe, but how could he say no to her? That's how he ended up between his mother and your third cousin, Lilliana, both women talking his ears off as he nodded idly. Luckily the wedding was outdoors, so his sunglasses made a lot of sense. He wasn’t the only one shielding their eyes from the sun's rays. The only reprieve he felt was when the wedding march started. For the most part, the wedding party came in one person at a time. Until it came to the best men, the two of you walked in together, arm in arm. The way he looked at you sunk Jisung’s heart lower than the floor. 

You were stunning, he could understand your boyfriend’s feelings. The way the all red pants suit looked on, put everyone else to shame. Even the way your hair was pinned up, or even how simple but gorgeous your makeup looked, all of the above just complimented your beauty perfectly. He couldn’t pay attention to the actual wedding, his mind and eyes focused on you the whole time. Even if you felt his stare, you didn’t acknowledge it. He was thankful for that. He already felt like a creep from watching you this morning. Even as you walked back down the aisle, he watched you until he couldn’t see your figure anymore.

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Nerves. He stopped getting nervous before shows years ago. But here he was, pacing back and forth, chewing on his already bitten away nails. His members looked on at him, worried. It’d been a while since they’d seen him like this and even though each of them tried their best to comfort him in their own way, nothing seemed to work. The time was ticking down for them to go on stage and the dread in the pit of his stomach was growing exponentially. What if she still hates me? What if she lets everyone know how disgusting of a human being I am for treating her that way? What is this…? What if that…? He was so far into his thoughts it took an actual push from his manager to start walking.  

“Babe, I know how much you love this group and their lead singer's voice. So, using my sister's old connections, I asked his dad if he could get them to perform for our wedding reception.” Aaron spoke, holding up his champagne flute towards his husband. “So, this is Mayor Han’s gift to us for our wedding. Please give a warm round of applause to Mortal Savages!” All of the young people in the crowd went wild, most of them rushing to the dance floor right in front of the stage to get a good view. Aaron hurried to his husband's side to watch the band. But all Jisung could do was look out into the crowd, in hopes of finding you. He felt like a teenager all over again. Transported back to his audience of one. No one else mattered in this moment, not even the grooms who he was here to entertain.

He expected to see anger in your eyes, but instead was met with this inexplicable sadness. “Uh- hi.” Jisung spoke nervously. “It’s been a while since we last played a wedding, but uh- I hope..” He could see your boyfriend whispering something in your ear just for you to shake your head no. It only made him wonder what he asked. “I hope this song reaches someone out there. Because almost every song is written for or about someone. Often it's about the love that got away, other times it’s about the love you feel in the moment. So.. I hope this helps to spread the love that this lovely couple is feeling at this very moment.” He grabbed his guitar, the pick nearly slipping out of his sweaty fingers.

As the song started, he kept his eyes locked on your, not straying away from your saddened yet scrutinizing gaze. 

“지킬게 아파도 돼 네가 흘린 상처들은 감싸 안을게 이미 내게 너는 죄 너는 죄…”

You tore your eyes from him, to focus once more on your boyfriend, giving that man a soft smile. One that was once reserved strictly for Jisung. Most if not all of your smiles once upon a time were because of him, they were for him. Maybe because things were so easy back then he didn’t realize he was taking them for granted, taking you and the love you showed him for granted, platonic or not. Almost as if he couldn’t lose them. To know that the reason you were no longer a constant in his life was all his doing? Felt like a ripping stab to the heart.

“뜨거운 네가 필요해, you are my volcano…”

He was thankful that you let the song end before you excused yourself. Jisung dropped everything, practically chucking his guitar into his manager's hands before running after you. He could hear the confused claps at the reception, he knew he’d have to deal with the consequences of his actions, but those were the last thing on his mind right now. He saw the fabric of your red suit rush to the elevator, but he quickly caught it before the doors closed completely. You sighed loudly, wishing you could have vanished before he found you, but your luck was apparently shit.

“Please.. Just.. hear me out.” He huffed, arms still stretched out at his sides holding the elevator door open. You wanted to tell him no, because what was left to say? He was the one who pushed you out, not the other way around. You owed him nothing. But you gave in anyway. Truth be told, you wanted to hear what excuses he’d make for his past behavior. Because a simple apology wasn’t going to work on you, you needed to know why he pushed you away.

He silently stepped on the elevator with you. The building only had a few floors, so he needed to speak quickly. “I didn’t realize until it was too late that this was your brother's wedding. I hope you don’t think I crashed it on purpose, because that just isn’t the case. I just-”

“Get to the point, Jisung. I don’t have all night to stand in this elevator and talk with you.” You spoke coldly, eyes staring into his murky reflection on the mirrored doors. You wouldn’t even spare him an actual look. He could feel himself getting nervous all over again.

“It’s not an excuse, but in my mind, pushing you away was the best thing for you. I wanted to keep you by my side. But I knew if I selfishly asked you to stay, you would. I also knew that talking with you over the phone or facetime wouldn’t be enough. Especially not when I’d grown used to having you near. Once upon a time, one phone call was all it took and you’d be there, but how could you if you were in another country? I couldn’t deal with even the thought of it. Being able to hear your voice, but not being able to actually bask in your presence- the thought of living like that for four years killed me.” 

You crossed your arms over your chest and rolled your eyes. “But that wasn’t just your decision to make, Ji-” His nickname almost slipped off your tongue, probably a force of habit. “Jisung. We could have figured something out. But you decided our friendship wasn’t worth fighting for. You literally slammed the door in my face. It’s been eight years. Do you think I’m still hung up on how you imploded our friendship on a whim? I’ve moved on. You should too.” Your sentence ended just as the elevator dinged, the old door creaking open. “Congratulations on becoming a success, by the way. I guess me not being around paid off for you.”

Your eyes finally met his, but he didn’t like the look in them. Like you loathed the fact that he was breathing the same air as you. “I can’t.” He spoke, exiting the lift with you. “I can’t move on. I never had any intention to.” He followed after you, even after you dismissed him. You were just trying to get into your room, away from him, away from the noise. But he was persistent. He followed you in. After you didn’t push him out, he continued. 

“Almost every song I’ve written has been about you. For you. I-I hoped that one day you’d see my face on tv or hear my voice on the radio and look me up. I hoped that you’d read my lyrics or my ‘thanks to’ and realize that everything I did was so you could see me. See that I needed to push you away for both of us to grow. I needed the pain to see that my feelings for you were more than whatever platonic bullshit I had reduced them too. I needed that space to understand that what I thought was love with my exes would never compare to the love I have for you. I’ve been in and out of relationships since you walked away from my van and back into the trees and nothing, not even the biggest heartbreak has compared to the feeling of never seeing your face or hearing your voice again.”

You kept your back turned towards him as you listened. You stared out the sliding glass door and glass balcony fence that overlooked the reception area. The party was still going on, everyone was having a good time, despite the lead singer of the band being missing in action. 

“All I’ve wanted this past eight years is for you to understand that I was too dependent on you. I needed to grow up, to man up and I couldn’t do that if you were around. I had to learn to navigate life by myself without you constantly helping me out of every little fuck up. Do you even realize that that's how it was? Everytime I fucked up, you came behind me and cleaned it up to the best of your ability. I flunked a class, you spent your entire summer helping me pass it so I wouldn’t be left behind the next year. I ran away from home and you found me a place to stay so I wouldn’t be homeless. I depended on you so much that I needed to know that I could do it on my own. You needed to go to the school of your dreams so you could do the work you were clearly called to do. I know I went about it the wrong way, I realize that.” 

His voice grew closer, so you closed your eyes, hoping you wouldn’t have to face him. “You broke my heart, Ji.” It hurt him to hear you say it, it hurt even more to hear how brokenhearted you sounded. “I thought that whatever we faced in life, we’d be in it together. Until the wheels fell off. Isn't that what we used to say? Isn't that what we promised?” It was more of a rhetorical question, you were sure you both knew the answer to that question.

“Then all of a sudden I was alone. You’d iced me out. I left the country right after graduation because I couldn’t stand even the thought of running into you, seeing your fucking punchable face. I realized on the plane why it hurt so bad. Why losing you as a friend hurt me worse than losing my childhood best friend to the glimmer of popularity. It was because I loved you. I came to the fucked up realization that somewhere along the way I had fallen madly in love with my best friend. If I thought I was heartbroken before, that made it far worse.” You finally turned to face him.

“Imagine, finally being able to move on. Finally free from the burden of unrequited love, just to hear his voice on the radio.” You chuckled humorously. “To have your friends gush over how hot the lead singer of this band was. Telling you just what his voice did to them in excruciating detail.” You sighed deeply just thinking of all the things your friends said they wanted to do to him or what they wanted him to do to them. 

“To have to suffer silently while they sang his songs or shoved his content down your throat. All while you are nursing the gaping wound he left behind. To keep having to relive the moment he gutted you like a fucking fish all because he what-? Wanted to be less dependent on you?” You tilted your head back as you scoffed. “I had no one, Jisung. You were my only friend. Just like you were dependent on me, it was the same for me. I had to rebuild myself once you were gone. It took years for me to open up to people, I had closed myself off afraid I’d be abandoned by someone else I considered my friend.” He could see that you were fighting back tears. He reached for you only for you to pull back.

“That's for a friend to do. Not for some random stranger that followed me to my room.” That's when the realization hit him. This looked bad. Really bad. He'd followed a girl to her room from a party. Even if you, him, and a few party goers knew the type of relationship you used to have, that was far in the past at this point. You didn't know each other now. For all he knew, you could have had a few drinks. All it took was one out of control rumor and his career would be over. He backed up, letting his hands fall to his side.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was low, almost nonexistent. “Please, let me be that for you again. It doesn’t have to be a full blown friendship, even if I want to work my way back to that. Just- just let me be there for you, please?” Jisung cautiously stepped closer with his arms stretched. It was a slow wrap of his arms around your frame, before he pulled you in close, patting your back soothingly. You both melted into each other. He swore nothing else felt more like home than being in your arms. He hugged you tighter and you broke down, sobbing into his fuzzy cardigan.

“I fucking hate you, Ji.” You gently hit his arm as you wrapped your arms around him. He chuckled lightly, a smile spreading on his lips.

“That’s okay, I’ll take the hate. Just as long as that means one day I can get you to love me again.”

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You took a few moments to recollect yourself, deciding to return to your brother's party. You tried to convince Jisung to go ahead without you, since he was being paid to be there, but he refused. He stuck with you the whole elevator ride back down and all the way until you made it into the reception. “Where the heck have you been?” A man approached the two of you, one who you could only assume was his manager. “You just ran off stage without a word. Do you know how that makes you look?” As he laid into him, you slowly backed away, going for your escape. Only for Jisung to reach back and grab your hand.

“I- I know, Hyung. I- this is her. This is my, Y/n.” He lightly tugged you forward, showing the man you clasped hands. “This is her little brother's wedding. I’ll perform a few songs by myself to make up for my absence. You and the rest of the guys can go ahead and head out. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience.” The man looked at him skeptically before he nodded in agreement.

“Fine. I’ll see you back in Seoul in a few weeks. You have a great vacation.” His eyes traveled to you as he plastered on a warm smile. “Congratulations on getting your PHD, I know your family must be proud, Dr. Y/l/n. I know someone was.” His eyes darted to Jisung before he bowed and left to gather up the rest of the band.

“How did you even know I got my phd?” You asked, stealthily trying to pull your hand away from the death grip he had it in, but he didn’t let go. 

“I… kind of kept up with you. Mostly on my finsta account. I also might have received news from your brother. He came to confront me at one of my shows and we’ve been in contact since. Please don’t be mad at him, I asked him to keep it from you. I didn’t want you to find a way to cut off my supply. Knowing you were doing well is what kept me going.” You sent a scowl towards your brother, who must have felt a disturbance in the force. He put his hands up to say he had no choice. You’d talk to him about this later.

“I wanted to experience the milestones in your life, even if it was from secondhand stories.” He pulled out his phone, there was a photo album dedicated to you with pictures spanning from the first time you met up until your first day at your new job as a child psychologist in a nearby children's hospital. “Though I couldn’t be there, I still want to say, congratulations. I’m proud of you.” You rolled your eyes.

“So, what you are saying is… you internet stalked me for years and even pulled my younger brother into it, with a promise to sing at his wedding. Tsk tsk. Wait until the internet gets a hold of that.” You joked. The panic in his eyes before the realization was hilarious to you. “I’m joking, Jisung.” You smiled, “Thank you for being interested in my progress through life. Congratulations to you as well, Mr. Grammy nominated artist. That's amazing, Ji. It really is. I guess we really got what we wanted, huh?” You smiled wistfully. 

But the smile slid right off of Jisung's face. He got part of what he wanted. The other part was standing right in front of him, her hand in his. And as close as she was, she was still so far away. In his mind, it was all a matter of if he was going to truly confess everything in his heart, right here, right now. He was frightened that he might overwhelm you if he did.

Though he had let it slip that he loved you earlier in your hotel room, that was nowhere close to the extent of what he felt for you. He wanted to shout it from the rooftop that the woman he loved had accepted him back into her life after he’d gone and fucked everything up.

Jisung had been swept up in a whirlwind, being introduced to all of you and your brother's mutual friends. His mind being put at ease, finding out that Hangyul was in fact not your boyfriend. Even if a blind person could tell he had fallen for your charm, Jisung was glad that was just his feeling and it wasn’t mutual apparently. Not with how far you put your wedding partner in the friendzone.

Giving Jisung a kind of go ahead to wiggle his way out of the friend zone he’d finally gotten back into. He excused himself, figuring it was time to finish out this set he was kind of sort of paid for. He sat on a stool on stage, acoustic guitar in hand, mic in front of him. “Sorry for bailing out on you all earlier. I saw the love of my life running out of the wedding hall and I needed to catch her before I made the second biggest mistake of my life.” 

Your eyes widened from the crowd where you were standing next to your brother and his husband. “The first was letting her go in the first place. I was young and apparently very stupid. I pushed the best thing that had ever happened to me out of my life and I’ve regretted that decision for the last eight years, twenty-six days..” He looked at his watch, “Ten hours, seven minutes, and 13- no 15 seconds.”

The crowd looked between the two of you, fascinated by the little tale the global rockstar was telling on this modest wedding stage. “I won’t be stupid this time. I promise to cherish every second that I’m blessed to have you in my life. I love you, Y/n. I have always loved you and I always will, no matter how much time passes.” You were holding back your tears. Jisung had always had your heart and despite you trying your best to keep your walls up, afraid that he would hurt you again, they all came tumbling down with every word that he spoke. 

“So, to the grooms. I hope that the two of you continue this beautiful love affair and cherish every single second you have together. Love isn’t something we should push down and trample on, it's something that is meant to be held on to, prized, and exalted.” He cleared his voice. “So, this is for the lovers in the crowd…I hope you love last a lifetime. I hope it never fizzles or fades and burns bright for eternity.” 

He strummed the first few chords of the song, the sound immediately bringing up fond memories of you and Jisung arguing over the best version of it, The Cure, 311, or Adele’s. You were always torn between 311 and Adele’s, while he was adamant that the original was far superior. It’s as if the rest of the world faded into the distance.

Call it tunnel vision, but all you could see was him and all he could see was you. You swayed gently, the gentle sea breeze dancing across your skin just like the melody of his voice. You hummed in tune with him, heart swelling as you realized, this song was for you. He was singing it, for you and only you.

“However far away I will always love you However long I stay I will always love you Whatever words I say I will always love you I will always love you…”

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You don’t remember the exact sequence of events but something clicked after Jisung’s solo performance. Maybe it was the look he gave you that made you feel like you were the center of his universe. Maybe it was the friendly banter you shared while having a few drinks. Maybe it was the late night stroll you took down to the beach or the way he held you to keep you warm. Or maybe it was the kiss you shared under the moonlight, the first of many for the night that got you going. But whatever it was that got you here, you were thankful for whatever combination it was that had you pressed against the door of your hotel room with Jisung’s lips and body pressed against yours. The feeling of his lips on yours felt electric. 

In your youth, you often wondered how it would feel to have that plum lower lips of his between yours. What it might feel like to bite it, just wanting to see his reaction. His reaction was nothing short of mind boggling. The groan that passed his lips, caused you to groan in return. Jisung’s fingers trailed over your body, slowly exploring every inch he could. Every inch that his teenage body begged to explore even back then. Every inch that he dreamed about, steamy scenes that played behind his eyelids every night. He had to be closer to you, the absence of you in his life had left a gaping void that he needed to fill. Right here. Right now. In the very moment. His shirt was first. Tossed somewhere to the side, leaving the tattoos and muscles that he’d gained over the last eight years. Your eyes widened, distracted by the hard musculature he had developed.

Your fingers traveled from his shoulders down over his pecs, making him shiver and whimper. The sounds give you ideas that your heart didn’t want you to act on, but your mind gave you the full go ahead on. “When was the last time..” You asked, hand in the center of his chest as you guided him backwards. He looked back, afraid he would fall, but you grabbed his chin making sure he kept his eyes solely on you. You didn’t stop until the back of his legs hit the mattress, then all it took was a simple push. Jisung was at your will. His round eyes shining up at you with pure anticipation in them.

“When was the last time you had sex, Ji?” You took off your red blazer fist, tossing it on a nearby chair. Next came your vest, you slowly and methodically took your time with each button, simply because you could, but also because the only thing under it was your bra. His eyes darted around, he swallowed hard. His blood was rushing straight to bulge in his pants.

“I-I don’t know. I-it’s been a while..” He kept his statement vague, too overwhelmed by everything that was happening to pinpoint an exact date. “A year- I think. Maybe more.” You smirked, shrugging the vest off your shoulders and tossing it to be with your blazer. You reached down and grabbed his hands, placing them on the waistband of your trousers.

“Take them off.” Oh the look of panic in his eyes set your heart aflame. He was absolutely the cutest. And even though you weren’t normally one to take full control in situations like this, you were oh so looking forward to taking advantage of your dear friend's vulnerability. He was going to be your tonight. The man's trembling fingers reached for the button, almost too shaky to undo them. You were patient, running your fingers through his silky hair. It took him a few minutes, the cool cross-breeze from the open balcony window offering a little air to cool off the heat on your skin. “Panties too.” God, the way the words sounded as they entered his ears did more for him than anything ever did. He’d been waiting to hear those words forever at this point. 

His brain nearly malfunctioned when he moved a little closer to slip off your panties, your scent filling his waiting nostrils. He could explode. Would you think bad of him if he came right now? He’d promise to make it up to you. He must have been led by another power, because he would swear that he had no body autonomy at that moment. His brain wasn’t even at a functioning level that would be considered functional.

You were bare before him, lust darkening your beautiful eyes. He whimpered. “Please..” He didn’t know what he was pleading for, but that didn’t mean you didn’t enjoy hearing it any less. He was pushed back on the bed, stripped of his pants and underwear. Things were going so fast in real life, but his brain had slowed everything else down.

He barely noticed that you had straddled him and started teasing your slit with his tip. He wasn’t even aware of the noises that were loudly slipping from his lips. Jisung was in a haze, one that was carefully crafted by you, the goddess that sat above him.

The whimper that fell from his lips when you slipped him inside of you was the most orgasmic sound to have ever filled your ears. His still shaking fingers flew to your hips, needing something to ground him at this moment. His blunt nails dug into your sides as you teased his tip, letting him dip only a part of it into your entrance. “God.. please…. Please…” He begged, voice strained and whiny. 

He was definitely going to explode like this. He hadn’t even fully entered you and he was already losing his mind. He bit down on his bottom lip, eyes slipping closed as he tried to control himself. But his hips had other plans, he bucked up, pressing himself further into you and that was it, he came on the spot. The tight warmth was too much for him to handle at that moment. You pushed your hips down on him as he came, feeling the stream of cum coat your walls.

When his breathing calmed and his grip on your hips loosened, you pulled what little of him was inside of you out. Tsk’ing at the man underneath you. “Is my baby fucked out already?” You stroked his drenched cock, adding even more wetness by spitting on it. “You couldn’t even slip it in without coming, huh? What happened to that sex god of a rockstar everyone that you were?” He whimpered again, edging on overstimulation as you purposely targeted the head of his cock.

His fists were balled in the sheets, bottom lip chapped red from trying to bite into it. “S-stop, please..” You pouted at him before shaking your head. He deserved to torture just a little for all of the years the two of you missed out on doing this. You could have been his ages ago. His first girl and him as your first boy. But here you were eight years later, with a nice amount of experience under your wings. You were going to take full advantage of it. Jisung’s body convulsed as he came again. His body became rigid as he spurted his cum all over your lower stomach and hands. You jumped, surprised by the sheer amount of it.

You stuck your cum slick fingers in his open mouth, jolting his eyes open. His initial surprise melted as he enjoyed the taste of him on your skin. “Now, you are going to eat me out until I come. Got it?” You leaned down, grabbing his chin to make him look at you in the eyes. You opened his mouth and spit on his tongue, closing it back for him to accept it. You moved, lying down next to him. He wasted no time, getting between your legs expediently.

Jisung could die right now, happily. You were here with him, in the bed, his cum on your body and mingling with your own and pooling at your entrance. A feast, just for him. Everything and more than he could have ever asked for. He dove in, mind fogged with thoughts of you. Your taste. Your smell. That lustful yet dominant look in your eyes as you laced your fingers into his long, permed hair.

And the taste of you? It deserved five Michelin stars, two more than regular just because he said so. You tugged on his hair as he wrapped his plum little mouth around your clit. You used his hair as your anchor to move his head around as you saw fit. A hair pull to signal him to go faster, a pull to the left or right for him to move his tongue elsewhere. He was like your own little tongue flicking toy with a customizable setting. He lapped, sucked, and licked to both you and his content. His moans and whimpers almost outnumber yours.

He was in heaven between your legs, and would gladly mark his tombstone in this very place. His skilled tongue sent you barreling over the edge, your grip on his hair tightening to an almost painful level, but he didn’t complain. He was just happy that he was the one who was able to make you unfold like this.

Your other hand grabbed him by the neck, pulling him up to you for a passionate kiss. You could eat him alive if he let you. The hand in his hair slipped between the two of you. He had already started rutting his hips against you, desperate to feel you again. It was easy to grab him and slip him into you once again, but this time for real. 

Your breath hitched as his eyes rolled back. Your fingers still around his neck squeezed lightly as you continued to unmake and reassemble him with your kisses. He felt like he could feel every single atom that made him, him. His hips were slow to move at first, but once he built his rhythm, that was that. The sound coming from between the two of you was filthy. Spit and cum and your spent were mixing to make the glide in and out of your tight walls even easier for him.

Your toes were curled, knees digging into his sides as you squeezed your legs around him. “Fill me up, Ji. Fuck me full of your love.” Your name slipped off his lips like a prayer at your words. He’d give you the moon and the stars if you kept talking to him like that. “Isn’t that what you've always wanted? To make me yours?” He nodded frantically. You paused your words, fluttering around him at a more consistent pace. You were close, both of you knew it. Both of you could feel it.

“Yo-you are mine.” He kissed at your jaw, “Please, co-come with me. I- I need you-” He couldn’t get his words out to finish his thoughts. He had already murmured the magic phrase. “You are mine.” You came around him, pulling your lips only a breath away, taking in the air that escaped his mouth into your own lungs like it was the only oxygen you needed. His followed almost immediately, your tight cunt draining him of any energy of essence he had left. Your walls continued to flutter around him, even after every drop of him had been emptied into you.

Your hands fell to your sides, legs unlocking from around him. You had nothing left to give, but love to the man you’d loved most of your life. He rolled off of you, body slick with perspiration and the mixed essence that both of you expelled. He exhaled deeply, hand searching for yours, finding it nearby and over the covers. He kissed the back of it, eyes boring into yours. Unspoken words being said with just a look. The both of you admitting what you both knew as this escapade started. You were in love.

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“Encore! Encore! Encore!” The crowd chanted loudly. The lights in the stadium had just dimmed, signaling that the last song had been played. But they still begged for more. The band was backstage, goofy smiles on all of their faces. Adrenaline is still pulsing through their bodies.

“One more, guys?” Jisung asked and they all quickly agreed. One more song to end the night. They headed back on stage to an onslaught of rabid cheers. They had one more song up their sleeves. A song that eighteen year old Jisung had pinned himself, one that embodied the way he felt when he saw the heartbreak in your eyes when he pushed you away. He wanted to do nothing more than to wipe your tears, and hold your hand.

To tell you that everything would be okay. That he loved you, forever and always. Because to him, there was no him without you. He stood amongst his band on stage, belting the lyrics to the song. Eyes focused on the only person he wanted to see in a room full of people, the woman he loved. The person almost all of his songs were about. You, with that big proud smile plastered on your face.

“'Cause all I want is you, not your tears 눈물이 마를 때까지 I wanna make you the happiest one, no fear So baby, hold my hand now…”

FIN

© ✐Channieskies 『MINORS DNI! This post contains nsfw material. Please do not interact with it if you are under the age of 18. Do not translate or repost here or on other sites. Please leave a like , comment, and reblog if you enjoyed this story.♥』

SONG CREDITS: ✻BIG BANG - LOSER ✻ONE OK ROCK - WHEREVER YOU ARE ✻HAN - VOLCANO ✻THE CURE: LOVESONG ✻HAN - HOLD MY HAND

[yandere-wishes]

｡༺ 𝓨𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮! 𝓣𝓲𝓶 𝓓𝓻𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝔁 𝓒𝓪𝓽𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵!𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻༻｡

｡༺ 𝓑.𝓞.𝓐.𝓣 𝓫𝔂  𝓔𝓵𝓲𝔃𝓪 𝓡𝓸𝓼𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓹𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓮𝓽𝓪𝓻𝔂 𝓒𝓻𝓲𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓪𝓵 ༻｡

Okay, so we've given all the Yandere batboys a "Cat Darling" except Tim.

[And like, could someone explain to me why people seem to hate Tim Drake?? He's literally the LOVE of my life]

Thinking her burglar name could be either StarCat or Kitten, your choice.

Anyway, his darling is probably the chronically online one. Literally iPad child. Her civilian personality is that of a semi-popular internet star, mostly in smaller niche circles like cosplay/fandom spaces/a few tech DIY spaces.

Also, this is going to sound so self-serving, but like, what if the reader had a Tumblr/AO3 where she posts  Red Robin x reader content? But after meeting him, she kinda gets stuck in a love-hate relationship with the guy...but her fics get progressively more detailed and specific. Cause like she hates him but the crush is still so obviously there!!😆😆

ฅ≽(•⩊ •マ≼ฅ≽(•⩊ •マ≼ฅ≽(•⩊ •マ≼ฅ≽(•⩊ •マ≼ฅ≽(•⩊ •マ≼•ฅ≽(•⩊ •マ≼

He's never been good at managing his obsessions. They always seem to fester fiercely within him, like tree roots feeding on hollow bones, bubbling over and spilling out from every crevice. He can't keep them inside, can't tame the infatuation, sadiate the fixation. Can't ignore the siren's calls or celestial pulls. 

No...

Tim's never been good at managing his obsessions. 

Especially this new one.

The stars seem so much brighter in your eyes. You lay spiraled out on the rooftop, leg dangling off the edge with your tablet held at an odd angle overhead. You mutter into your com-link "5 more seconds before security is down". As you chew on the end of your leather tail. 

You're the ace up Catwoman's sleeve. Her new protegee. The two of you have been hitting bank after bank. Licking up the precious gems the Gotham elite keep hidden. 

Tim's been sent to deal with you, while Batman takes out Catwoman downstairs. But he can't help but be mesmerized by your playful giggles, and sparking eyes. It's all a game to you, like playing Barbie's past bedtime. He can't help but find that almost endearing. 

You turn on your stomach, half crouched, half lying down. Like a kitten about to pounce on a toy mouse. "You're Red Robin" you squeal and Tim has to do a doubletake, knees weak at the sudden burst of attention. 

You jump, he readies his staff but the blows never come. Instead, you stand before him so close he can practically feel the heat from your body. "I'm your biggest fan!", for a second Tim thinks you're going to reach for his hand, his heart reverberates in his throat. You're cute, too cute.

"Any way I could convince you to give up your crime spree? You know since you're such a big fan and all..." You laugh, a light-hearted airy sound, and give him a clumsy twirl as you return to your edge. "Not a chance, I'm finally living my dream life!" 

You jump onto the edge eyes gleaming as they stare a him. No not him, Tim notes, the moment. You're entranced by this moment. 

The moon, the dark, the city lights, the masked man standing before you. For a second he almost sees his reflection cascading across your essence. You're him, little kid with dreams so big it's started to eat you alive. 

You tilt your head and pout your lips. Tim thinks you'd make one hell of an actress or an idol. Your clawed finger clicks your com, "All set boss!" you meow. You offer Tim a final bow before throwing yourself into the dark abyss below. Tim rushes to grab you but it's too late.

You're gone. 

His obsession only grows from there, raw and primal. He can taste nostalgia in the back of his throat every time he sees your picture. Thick and sticky like molten caramel. 

You're so much like him, so precious in your own right. Little girl playing superheroes, dancing across the night's sequence, basking in the ethereal of having the world below your feet. Disappearing into the dark, merging with the stars, high off the nectar-coated ideals behind your teeth. Savoring their melt upon your tongue. 

You'd have been best friends in the sandbox. Tim thinks. 

He's scouring the Batcomputer.

Ripping apart every inkling he finds. 

Who is this new Kitten? 

He sees you again in a sugar-spun ensemble stitched from lace and longing, draped in cascading frills and ribbons. Equal parts candygram and popcorn but ever only purple in shade. He recognizes the playful tilt of your head and the way you stare to the side when you're too deep in thought. Every move is woven in porcelain elegance. Little doll playing dress up. 

His hunch is proven right when he hears your voice.

"Do you think Red Robin would like this outfit?" you ask an invisible audience who answer hours later in the comment section, dedicating little hearts and kisses in agreeance.

His name spills from between your lips and Tim swears he sees stars. Your delicate cadence flutters through his veins pricking his heart till it dedicates every pump to you. 

Tim doesn't notice how hard he's biting his thumb. 

Doesn't notice the scarlet droplets marring the keyboard below. 

He's trying to keep you out of the Gotham National Bank's system, he can recognize your pattern anywhere. The little kitty cat errors that keep popping up. The stars that litter the screen forcing it to bluescreen. He's almost there, you're almost gone. 

Bruce, hollars commands into his ears. 

But Tim is too enthralled by the screen to notice

A single message glitches and gleams.

'It Was Fun Red Robin~♡'  

He has you caged beneath him. Fingers digging into your shoulders. You look so cute struggling to break free. So adorable that he just can't help himself. 

He presses his lips to your neck, pulling down the leather with his teeth and suckling on the ripe flesh. Stardust sprinkles into his mouth as his tongue traverses the length of your neck. Before ensnaring your plump perfect lips. His hands feel down your body memorizing every curve. He can feel you struggling. Kicking trying to break free. 

But he just can't let you get away. He needs you wholly, desperately. More than he's ever needed anything.

But he can't let you go. You taste like heaven on his tongue. Your claws melt into his back, tearing fabric and flesh. But the bloodletting feels like holy bliss from your hands, he'd gladly lick the blood from your claws and call it ichor. 

Your ethos haunts him.

He writes you love letters to you penned in his blood. 

Every quaver of his bones he dedicates to you. 

He's sprawled out on his bed reading your latest story. It's about him, as they always tend to be.  You call him such mean words all laced with a saccharinee undertone of idolization. You have him call you 'darling' and 'kitten'. Have him treat so roughly yet so lovingly. Is that how you want him to act? 

Did you really mean it when you said you're his biggest fan? 

ฅ≽(•⩊ •マ≼ฅ≽(•⩊ •マ≼ฅ≽(•⩊ •マ≼ฅ≽(•⩊ •マ≼ฅ≽(•⩊ •マ≼•ฅ≽(•⩊ •マ≼

There's also another delicious little inkling I want to leave you guys with. Imagine reader starts receiving PR from Janus Cosmetics. Imagine Roman starts to take note of the cute little kitten showcasing his company's newest products. Starts to relish in your babydoll act, enjoying you twirling around in your cute skirts and curling your hair around your finger. Imagine Roman Sionis falling for catgirl! reader as well. Imagine poor little reader trapped between Yandere Tim Drake and Yandere Roman Sionis...Poor little kitty cat, whatever will you do? 

[miley1442111]

(part 1) before his choice- a.donaldson

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a/n: i imagined a fem reader but as per usual, imagine what you like :)

this is like the prelude to the other stuff but i get that it's confusing that it's coming out later- i didn't think i'd turn this into a series so i didn't exactly have a plan, sorry :)

this is 18+, mdni plssss

summary: how it was before art ruined your relationship

pairing: art donaldson x reader

warnings: smuttttt, 18+, piv using protection (don't be silly, wrap it), oral (f receiving), cute couple moments

(i think that's it but pls tell me if i forgot anything:)

Part 1 of 12

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“There goes Stanford’s favourite couple!” Megan rolled her eyes playfully. Art had his arms draped around your shoulders as you walked around campus as the sun set. Art chuckled and flipped her off, smirking as you laughed. Megan had been your roommate in your first year and you’d been best friends ever since.

You and Art were Stanford’s favourite couple. You were tennis prodigies, both extremely talented and both of you were friends with basically everyone. Everyone was always rooting for the two of you, apparently there was a fan page dedicated to your relationship. 

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“How was practice with Tash?” He asked, his arms circling your waist as you leant against the wall, waiting in line in the canteen. 

“Fine, she’s getting better,” You shrugged. Tashi had never been able to beat you, but she was getting better.

“She’s not going to beat you,” He smirked, pressing kisses against your cheeks.

“She’s really good!” You giggled, feeling his hands squeeze your waist harder. “I wouldn’t mind, maybe then she wouldn’t hate me.”

“Tashi doesn’t hate you,” he shook his head. He knew it was a semi-lie, Tashi didn't like loosing. You were the only person capable of making her loose.

“She doesn’t like me Art, it’s fine, I don’t mind,” you sighed. “Anyway, enough tennis, what are we doing tonight?”

Art smirked. “We have that party-”

You groaned. Art always wanted to go out, then leave early. In your opinion, why not just cut out the middleman and go straight to your dorm? “Art, what is the point?”

“You look hot in dresses,” He shrugged and chuckled as you playfully hit him on the arm. “Come on, it’ll be fun! We can dance and hang out with our friends.”

You rolled your eyes at the way he’s pretending it’s a choice. “It’s not like I have a choice, I picked date night last time.” 

“Exactly, so we’re going,” he grinned and you cupped his cheek, kissing him heavily. He was so beautiful, what else were you supposed to do? You pulled away quickly and moved up in the line, beginning to order both your lunches. You drove Art insane sometimes. Your pretty tennis skirts, your sweet lips on his, you. 

He did recognise that his brain was still stuck in the gutter like a teenage boy when it came to sex. He didn’t seem to mind much though. 

He placed his hand on your ass as you ordered for the both of you and he saw how you gulped.

Maybe he wasn’t the only one who’s head was in the gutter. 

You collected your food and sat at a table together, enjoying the canteen food.

“You’ll wear the red dress, right?” He asked. It was his favourite colour, and the colour of the college that the two of you would be representing. 

“No, Nike sent over something for me to wear, I think it’s purple,” you shrugged. Your partnership with Nike meant at every event you went to, you were representing them. That meant they were often sending you new things. 

“Purple?” He questioned.

“Yeah, like plum-y purple,” you shrugged. 

“Can’t wait,” he winked at you and you kicked him under the table. 

Tonight was going to be a long night. 

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You finished styling your hair as Art walked into your dorm, baby blue shirt and some black formal trousers on, his blonde curls looking particularly beautiful. The dress Nike had sent over was beautiful, Art’s jaw dropped when he saw you. 

You were gorgeous. 

“Hey baby,” You smiled at him, pressing a kiss to his stunned cheek. 

“You’re so beautiful,” He stated. You chuckled at him as his hands gripped your waist, making you look at him. “You’re so, so beautiful.”

“You look handsome,” You smiled, smoothing out his collar. “Ready to go?”

“We’re not going anywhere,” he decided, lust-filled eyes staring into yours before he pressed his lips to yours in a searing kiss. 

You kissed back immediately, your hands running through his curls. You probably had a ‘thing’ for his hair. His hands smoothed up the expanse of your back, pulling you impossibly closer. This is what he was, passionate, loving, and a little bit possessive. He radiated heat, his chest against your as he pushed you against the wall, his lips never leaving yours. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your lips as your hands dipped lower, going directly for his trousers zipper. 

“So are you,” you smiled, kissing him again. His hands found the zipper at the back of your dress, letting it fall to the floor at your feet. You unzipped him then started working on his shirt buttons, both of you forgetting about the party. 

His hands quickly pulled at your bra and underwear, leaving you bare as he stripped himself, thanking his past self for keeping a stock of condoms in your bedside table. He leaned over, quickly grabbing one and opening it with his teeth, sheathing his hard cock as you looked at him under you. He met your glazed eyes, lustfully looking at him, a soft smile on your face. 

You were so beautiful. 

You sank down on him, never quite used to the stretch he provided. “Fuck,” you moaned out. 

His eyes rolled back as you buried him inside of you. His hands gripped your waist, the faint remnants of bruises left from earlier in the week, when he was in this exact position. He pulled your face down to his as you started moving and started kissing up and down your neck between moans. He changed the position slightly, thrusting up into you to reach the gummy spot inside of you that made you scream out for him.

“God,” he groaned. “Fuck… f-fuck.”

You felt so good around him, it was one of his favourite feelings, the absolute euphoria of having your wrapped around him, using him to get yourself off.  

“You’re so good,” you whined breathlessly. “So good.”

Your voice and moans spurred him on, he loved your voice. He loved everything about you. 

“You gonna cum?” He whined, thrusting up into you. You nodded, bouncing on him harder as you began reaching your climax. He felt you tighten around him and he gasped, trying to not cum so quickly. 

“I’m c-cumming,” You groaned in his ear and he was a goner. He cupped your cheek, hap-harzardly kissing you to swallow the scream that was bound to leave his lips. You gripped his hips to still his uncoordinated and subscious thrusts as you both came down from your highs. 

Art still wasn’t done, he needed to taste you. “Let me taste it, please?” He begged, pulling himself out of you. “Please?”

“Art, we’re already late,” you reminded him through your sex-fueled haze. 

“Please, just let me kiss it,” he begged, kissing down your body, his fingers finding your sopping core. You moaned at the contact and nodded, a meek ‘please’ leaving your lips. 

That was all the confirmation Art needed. He latched his lips onto your clit, drawing out moan after moan. His fingers pumped in and out of you slowly, paying special attention to your g-spot. His tongue sucked over your over-sensitive clit and brought you to another two orgasms, not being able to stop himself from humping the bed in his enchanted state. He loved how you tasted, he couldn’t get enough of it, he never wanted to. If he could spend his days between your legs he would. 

After you came for the third time that night, he connected your lips again and smiled at you. “Thank you.”

Your fucked-out face was truly a sight to behold, and he had the pleasure of seeing it whenever he pleased. 

“Come on, we have a party to go to,” He smirked and you whined as he cleaned you up by running three fingers through your soaking core and licking them clean. 

He appreciated the new marks on your neck that he had created as you slowly got up. You dressed yourself in the beautiful dress once again, fixing your hair and makeup, then spraying yourself with some more perfume, attempting to cover the smell of sex. 

As you sat in the passenger seat of his car, he thought about how perfect you were, his hand in yours as he drove you to the party. 

Little did he know that this party would lead to the beginning of the end of your relationship.

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art donaldson masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games, challengers :)

[dr3amfyr-e]

brat. - j.v. ( w. 4.5k )

꒰ in which the boy you see every summer enrolls in the same university as you. ꒱ — modern!jacaerys velayron x reader

୨ ⎯ i cannot stress enough, football means ⚽️ not 🏈. childhood-friends-to-lovers, but you have to get through my 2000 word psychoanalysis and backstory first. light angst. mention of the death of a parent. lots and lots of talk about the velaryon-targaryen-hightower family dynamic. light make out action. reader's family is implied to be wealthy enough to have a summer home. almost everyone lives au. set in the uk, not westeros. omitted daemon rhaenyra marriage because there’s no way to to make it even semi-normal. realizing now i omitted daemon entirely erm sorry. pushing the laenor agenda bc he’s my favorite character. this is abhorently long. extreme overuse of the em-dash. uhh the perspective is wonky in a few places. part two. ⎯ ୧

i had to write this twice. i'm offering this to you with shaking hands, like a peasent child begging for coins. i may write a part two because i have more to say, but i don't want to figure it out rn.

On the cold January morning that Jacaerys Velaryon-Targaryen was born, the media went into a frenzy. 

The Targaryens were old money, their fortune rooted a century back in good investments. Historically adept at finding their way into things, the empire had a string to pull in every industry. From art and law to technology and shipping, if business prospects looked good there would be a Targaryen investment.

And then there were the dogs — regal greyhounds, with long, thin bodies and sleek coats. The Targaryens bred them as far back as bloodline records went. The pups were never for sale; sometimes they were used as show dogs, and successful show dogs they were, but more often they were pets. It was a status symbol, to nonchalantly own such a coveted creature. 

The Targaryens were idolized in the public eye. They were all stunning, with sharp features and silver hair, and each member of the family seemed to possess a Midas touch. But, where Valyrian blood ran hot, so did the press. It was no surprise when magazines started to turn a profit from silver heads plastered across their glossy covers. It was the price that came with God-like aristocracy.

From editorials to gossip columns, people devoured the insider life of the untouchables. When Aemma Targaryen died, there was a four-page spread in nearly every magazine; complete with pictures and quotes. Business papers filled with opinion pieces about Rhaenyra’s inheritance claim to her family’s empire; magazines exploded with the announcement of her engagement to Laenor Velaryon, and subsequently Viserys’ marriage to Alicent Hightower, the daughter of his lawyer. 

When Jacaerys was born, reporters lined up outside of the hospital doors. There were cameras and microphones and crew trucks, and Rhaenyra hated it. It wasn’t the way she wished to welcome her child into the world — swarmed by people who didn’t know nor care for him.

Laenor had always been good at navigating the attention, and Rhaenyra was constantly grateful. So, when he pulled his gaze from the babe and steeled himself to deal with the onslaught of reporters outside, tears pricked at her eyes. Appreciation, exhaustion, adoration? She couldn’t be sure. 

Looking down at her son, she thought, he’s perfect. He had a smattering of dark hair, and he was quiet but not concerningly so. Wispy lashes fell upon his cherub cheeks, and when he eventually blinked up at her his eyes were dark. He looked nothing like her — she didn’t care. 

She refused to talk to anyone outside of her family, and had the curtains in her private room drawn. To expose her son, her heart, to the prying eyes of the bored masses with nary a care for his well-being was a nightmare. She wouldn’t have him exploited. 

At the time of Jacaerys’ birth, she and Laenor had been married for a little over a year. Laenor’s father, Corlys, managed the bulk of the import and export for Viserys’ company. Corlys was a good man, he hadn’t dreamed of marrying his son off. But Laenor and Rhaenyra were both in the same impossible situation: the wiles of youth mixed with the ever critical public. 

They had both fallen into scandalous relationships, both preyed on by paparazzi. If they married one another, it would save face for both of their families. Plus — both being the eldest and heir, this would clear the expectation of a dignified marriage. They agreed to leave each other to whatever youthful fun they wanted to have, as long as everything was discreet. 

Both the Velaryons and the Targaryens kept a summer home in Dragonstone, a private community in coastal Wales. It was the perfect place for Rhaenyra and Laenor to begin their life — far from her father, close to his parents, and out of the line of sight for any nosy journalist. 

The public eye had looked to other things by the time Lucerys was born, two years later. Again, Laenor dealt with the small gathering of reporters with the utmost grace, and Rhaenyra submitted a written statement. 

Alicent divorced Viserys that same year. 

As she watched her boys grow up, full of energy and life, Rhaenyra thought, there was no one better to parent with than her best friend — a title Laenor had rightfully earned. They hadn’t had much choice in knowing each other, and they certainly would never have chosen to be married, but he made a bearable roommate. They had things in common; they liked the same music, and the same men. They drank the same wine and frequented the same restaurants. And, they both loved their boys. 

As Jace and Luke grew up, they found the best company in each other — the school in Dragonstone was so small, though, that there were very few other options. They both played on the school’s small football team, and Jace took piano lessons while Luke learned to fence. Where Jace was driven by emotion, Luke was level-headed; where Luke was cautiously quiet, Jace spoke his mind. It was an ideal childhood, the Welsh coast was an idyllic backdrop to grow up upon, with the sea in their backyard. 

They were ten and eight when Joffrey was born, both excited for their new brother. Their mother brought him home, bundled in a soft red blanket. The boys sat on the couch beside Rhaenys and stared at him for upwards of an hour. 

Hardly a week had passed when Harwin Strong died. He was a family friend, a frequent presence in their home and life — Jace and Luke had been upset by this, of course. 

In time they came to understand the situation fully. Jacaerys first, fitting the pieces together with the evidence he found in the mirror. Neither Rhaenyra nor Laenor had dark hair, like he and his brothers. 

His matriline was uncontestable though, as he grew into himself. He possessed the same nose, jaw, brow, and high cheekbones that Rhaenyra wore. The comparisons between the two became more frequent as he grew older, and he found himself to be quite proud to look like her. 

Her attitude lived in him as well, the temperament she had been so notorious for as a girl festered in her eldest son. She had once been christened ‘The Princess of Dragonstone’ after flipping off a reporter at their summer home. Jacearys earned it for himself when he was fifteen, after loudly berating a reporter. He had been defending Luke, but no one seemed to care when they deigned him ‘The Prince of Dragonstone’. He took it with grace, claiming that he couldn’t help but be his mother’s child.

It instilled a sense of public propriety he strove to uphold. 

Rhaenyra remarried the same year — to Alicent Hightower — and moved her children from Wales to London. It took a while to adjust to the new life — Jace liked his new school, but he detested his step-brothers. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t come around to the idea of living with Aemond and Aegon, who took so much pleasure in making he and his brothers miserable. 

After the first month, Jacaerys fell in brilliantly. He performed well in school, quickly being enrolled in the advanced literature and history courses. He got on well with his peers, and made a number of friends. He joined the football team and spent his Sunday afternoons learning piano concertos. 

Living in London made him a more publicly prominent figure in his family's legacy. He knew how to play his role as heir; he carried himself perfectly — confident and charming and elegant. He didn’t particularly like being in the public eye, but there was a certain sense of satisfaction when he did something to receive positive public attention. 

King’s Landing, much like where he had grown up, was a community reserved for the upper echelon. Situated in Northwest London, and surrounded by wrought iron gates, it was regal and dignified. The house had high, vaulted ceilings, large stained glass windows, and more than enough bedrooms. It rained more, Jacaerys noticed in the first month. When it had rained in Dragonstone he would watch the droplets bounce off the sea, where it lapped at the sandy bay. Here the rain splattered unceremoniously upon the pavement. 

For as wonderful as life in London had turned out, Jacaerys found himself longing for what was left behind in Dragonstone. Laenor lived there still, and while he called often and visited as much as he could, it wasn’t the same. Jace’s childhood bedroom remained, along with all of the memories in the house he grew up in. And his friends. There was an assortment of people he only saw between late May and early September; the children of the other seasonal residents. The number had dwindled in years past, with fewer of them returning for break — favouring more interesting places, like Ibiza or Rome, as they got older. 

Far too few of his childhood friends he kept in contact with, especially after the move to London. You were the exception. 

He was grateful, on days when it stormed in London, to receive a silly text or too-long voice note. It made things feel less dull — you had a way of doing that. 

He took to reading theory around the time he turned seventeen. It’s queer theory, at the suggestion of his cousin Baela, who lent him his first Judith Butler book. He finished it that weekend. 

His aunt Laena and her two daughters lived in London, and Jace found a close comrade in Baela. She played competitive tennis and listened to riot grrrl, she was much cooler than him and he knew it. Her bedroom held two massive bookshelves, and she let him pillage her collection for De Bouvier and Didion and Gay. Hours were spent lying across the floor in Laena’s house, studying, or reading, or talking. He enjoyed Baela’s company more than any of his school friends, favouring anything with her over anything with the boys from his football team. 

His youngest sister, Visenya, turned one around the same time. Baela, staying with Jacaerys while he babysat one night, inducted him into the eldest daughter club. 

“You’re so keen on driving your siblings around, and taking care of them. Plus, aren’t you your mother’s closest confidant?” She asked. 

True, Jace supposed. He was the oldest of Rhaenyra’s children, and the most responsible of his brothers and step-siblings. His mums both worked full time, they were busy but as involved as possible. Jace just did the menial things. He made Joffrey breakfast, picked Luke up after school, and watched Visenya when necessary. He didn’t mind.

Baela argued that he should mind. 

He had been a sensitive child, more so than his brothers, but it made him incredibly emotionally adept as he aged. So many boys his age prided themselves on stoicism, but that was never something Jace felt connected to. He always felt things too deeply to bottle them up — it accounted for the occasional temper that flared up when he was upset, but also how empathetic and kind he was. 

Jacearys was set to graduate with honours in the first week of May. It was three months before when college acceptance letters began to appear in the mail. He had applied to a number of places, and been accepted everywhere. The University of the Vale was where his hopes hinged though. 

Just after Valentine's Day, it showed up. The envelope was wide and stuffed full, and sealed with a wax stamp. His acceptance letter was on the very top of the stack of papers — the thick paper heavy in his hands, as he admired the blue printed border and silver flocking. 

Rhaenrya sorted through the informational packets while Jace reread the letter. Part of him couldn’t believe it was real.

He sends you a picture of the letter, and you respond in kind with one of an identical nature. 

You hadn’t planned to go to the same university, but it certainly was a happy coincidence. 

After graduation, he was beyond excited for the reprieve that Dragonstone granted. The promise of early morning hikes, and evenings spent on the beach — the once empty house, full of life and bustling with bodies. 

You were the first thing Jacaerys thought to look for when he set his bags down in the summer home. 

It was late May, and you were guaranteed to be out of school. I’ll text after I unpack, he thought, pulling clothes and books from his suitcase. 

His room in Dragonstone had once been his childhood bedroom. The walls were a warm tone of white, and the small bed was still covered with his blue and white checkered duvet. Piano scales and pictures of his brothers and friends adorn the walls. There was a soccer trophy on the back edge of his desk, something he had won when he was eleven. It was stuffy from nine months of stagnance, but familiar all the same. 

He pushed the curtains back from the window to let sunlight filter into the dusty room, gazing down at the beach, when he spotted your figure. He was quick to rush downstairs, out the backdoor, and across the stone path that leads from the patio to the beach. He greets you with a call of your name and a tight hug, sunglasses perched atop his head and linen shirt half buttoned. 

It had been a year since he’d last seen you. You had kept in touch during the school year; Jace favoured Snapchat and FaceTime, delighted with the pleasure of seeing the mundane things you were up to. There was a nearly constant text thread, and voice memos passed back and forth. But, it all paled in comparison to physical company. 

He abandoned his housekeeping duties, keen to sit on the beach and talk. And you did so for hours, about everything and nothing. He tells you about his last year of school and listens as you do the same. When the sun dipped past the treeline, he leaned back on his elbows, watching the water crest on the sand. He felt more at ease than he had in a while, enraptured by the ease of your presence. The conversation flowed, there were no awkward lulls and no pressure to talk about something dignified. It was comforting to be so close to someone who didn’t see much of his life in London — you knew the best version of him. 

Your friendship had always felt like that, from a young age. On days that smelled of sunscreen and sea salt in his mind, you would meet in the mornings and depart past dark and then do it again the next day, never tiring of each other. Your parents knew his, so you had always been welcome in his home — invited or not. You had shared a bed during sleepovers, drunk from the same cup, and fallen asleep on the couch during movie nights countless times. Quick glances and imperceptible expressions were a language you communicated in, reading each other without words. In your presence, Jace was the most comfortable.

The summer slipped away as it always did, taking long nights and leaving memories of sand and sunshine. The days were ambled away in the water, on rocky hiking paths, or in the meadow that sat a mile away from all of the homes. 

Jace had started The Hobbit before school ended — most days he found himself sprawled out in the park or on the beach, reading. He had also taken to running with his dog, Vermax, in the mornings. He relied on the serotonin boost to start the day, and with no football to play a jog was a decent alternative. 

When the summer drew to a close, the typical melancholy that befell the return to the real world wasn’t present in Jace’s mind. He presumed it had everything to do with the fact that he would see you every day now

You have one college class together — a nine a.m. medieval literature discussion. 

Clinging to familiarity in the new environment, he glued himself to your side for the first week of classes. He memorized the way to your dorm, meeting you outside every morning to walk together to your first lessons. The meandering conversation was a good start to the day, and he silently relished in your tired eyes and quiet voice, not yet used to the early schedule. 

On Friday he all but begged you to come back to his dorm after the discussion; it was your only class that day so you had given in. You hadn’t seen his living quarters yet, and he wanted to spend time with you, worried for when your schedules would fill up and you would lose room for each other. 

The discussion had been mind-numbing. You reviewed the same syllabus as the lecture, and went over the same rules and policies as every other class. With the thirty-five minutes remaining, the teaching assistant made everyone watch an incredibly monotone video about the history of medieval England. 

Jace linked his arm into yours in the hallway after class, pulling you to the doors. The cool morning air was refreshing, waking you up more as you walked across campus. His dorm building was new and modern, seventeen floors with grey siding and big windows. It was private housing, clearly expensive. 

He had a single room with an adjoining bathroom and a small common space. The walls were typical dorm white, with laminate wood flooring. Joffrey’s school photo is hung on one wall, the frame clearly decorated by the child with glitter and string. Scattered across the other walls were photographs in thin silver frames, a large world map, a clock, and a cross-stitch of a rainbow stag beetle.

Sitting on the couch, you observed the unframed photos that lay across the coffee table, inspecting a leggy grey dog as you plucked it from the pile, “Who is this?”

Jace leaned into your side, gazing at the photo, “My mum’s dog, Syrax,” He reached over you to tap the picture, “Syrax is my dog’s mum.” 

He slipped his hand into yours as you walked with him to his second class of the day.

In the third week of school, Jace asks you to attend a mixer for a pre-law society with him. He doesn't know anyone, and doesn't want to be alone at the party. You meet at his dorm at a quarter-to-six so you can walk to the event together. 

The dress-code is emi-formal, and when he opens the door to you his hair is slicked back with water and he smells like his cologne — musk, sandalwood, and amber. 

“Are your clothes pressed?” You ask, grinning at his freshly ironed slacks and the three buttons undone on his shirt. 

He rolls his eyes, locking the door behind him as he escorts you down the hallway. The walls of the elevator in his dorm are mirrored, and you laugh at him when you catch him taking pictures of himself. He makes you take one with him, and sets it as his lock screen. 

The mixer was in the dean of law’s massive house, buzzing with young people in smart outfits. Jace abandons you about fifteen minutes in, spotting a group of poli sci majors from his social psychology class. 

From his childhood spent between galas and his mother’s business meetings, Jace was good at navigating these situations. He was charming, leveling the professors with charismatic smiles and confident posture. He was good at holding an intelligent conversation, discussing theory and strategy. 

You were on the patio, watching the stars, when he found you an hour later.

His arms brushed yours as he leaned against the railing, “Sorry for leaving you,” His voice was quiet, and he stared at your profile, watching the way the moonlight illuminated your skin. 

You wave his apology off and make him buy you coffee in recompense on the way home. 

You’re stood talking together on the quadrangle a few weeks later, a cup of hot chocolate warming your mitten-less hands, when you realise just how cold it’s gotten. It's just too cold for the thin jacket that you try to sink further into, hiding from the wind that bites at your delicate skin.

Jace watches you shiver, observing your lack of appropriate attire. 

“Are you cold?” He asks, reaching out to run his hands up and down your arms, half to warm you, half to gauge how thick your jacket is. Not very. 

You nod, “I didn’t check the weather this morning.” 

He sighs with exaggerated exasperation and slides his arms around you, careful of the paper cup you held. Of course, he’s worn the right coat, and you feel the downy material of his hood against your cheek as he rubs your back to generate some warmth. You smell the cologne on his collar and the expensive shampoo he uses; he grumbled something about taking better care of yourself. 

Then, one particularly cold Friday morning he has forgotten his coat. Dressed in a hoodie, he mirrors your excuse from the week prior, smiling sheepishly — face flushed from the chilly air, dark curls blowing around his head like a halo. You take pity on him, slipping your scarf off. You loop it around his neck, tucking the ends down into the collar of his sweater, and leave him with a fond peck on the cheek; his skin is cold. 

He's appreciative, though the scarf does little against the cold wind cutting through his sweater. Still, he doesn't give the scarf back. 

With the cold, comes midterms. You’re the first person Jace asks to study. 

Your dorm room is closer to the central part of campus, and thus a shorter walk in the bitter cold. Jace brushes snow out of his hair as you unlock your door, ushering him inside. It's small. Two twin-sized beds, one on each wall, with nary enough room for two bodies between them; a desk is crammed into the small space between your bed and the window. You let him take the desk, spreading your books and notes out across your bed.

Your dorm is old, and the room has very little ventilation. Despite the frigidity outside, the room is stuffy and almost hot with both of your bodies inside. An hour into studying Jace shrugs off his heavy, knit sweater and pushes his glasses up into his hair. 

“What are you working on?” You ask, leaning forward. You’re bored, working on the same power point you started yesterday. You want to talk to him, though he doesn’t seem keen on the idea

He doesn’t look up from typing as he speaks, “Analysing The Art of War.” 

You shut your laptop, bent on distracting him, “The book?” 

He nods but doesn’t give a verbal response. 

“Who's that by?” You ask, fighting to suppress a grin

This time he does look up, glaring at you over his glasses, “Sun Tzu.” 

His tone is short, but it's amusing to annoy him so you grin, suppressing a giggle, “Sounds very interesting.” 

“What do you want?” He asks after a beat, still holding your gaze. 

You shrug, “Nothing. I’m bored,” 

The next time you study is even less productive, school work discarded on his floor in a matter of minutes. 

“We can’t be trusted to work together,” He tells you, watching as you calculate his astrological chart, geometry homework forgotten. 

You attend your first college party together in November. When you arrive at his dorm, he’s dressed much more casually than normal. 

You reach out to tug at the thin silver chain peeking out from his shirt collar, “This is fun,” You tease, giggling, “Aiming to impress tonight?”

He rolls his eyes in mock-offence, turning you around by the shoulders to shove you out of the doorframe. 

The lights in the house are dim, and they strobe slowly through different colours. It’s too dark and too bright all at once. The music is almost unbearably loud and people are packed in like sardines, it’s all incredibly overstimulating. 

When he senses your unease, Jace takes your hand, pulling you tight against your side to lead you through the throng of bodies. He’s looking for someone, but you’re unsure who, and he canvases the whole space before giving up on finding them.

The backyard of the house is quieter, but the ground still vibrates from the bass of the music. People are scattered about, smoking cigarettes and sipping from bottles of cheap beer. 

You both learn what Jell-O shots are, and make out in the bathroom back at his dorm. It’s not the first time you’d kissed each other, trying it a few times in your adolescence just to see what it was like. But this is different, tipsy and sloppy, as you giggle into his mouth. 

It's forgotten in the morning, when you wake up in his bed still dressed in your going-out clothes, head pounding.

But then it happens again, the week before finals.

You had stayed at the library far too late studying, leaving the pair of you to walk back to his dorm in the dark. It's positively frigid, cold December air whipping snow into your face. 

There are still snowflakes in your hair as you shed the thick coat you’re wearing, pulling off your gloves and hat. 

There's a bottle of wine in Jace’s freezer, left by Aegon the weekend before. It's expensive and rich and red, and Aegon would likely skin you if he found out you were drinking it — but, that's part of the fun. There's a baking show on the small television, and you’re curled into Jace’s side to steal some of the warmth from his body.

When the program lulls he brings his hand to your hair, combing through the tangled strands. You pay it little mind, leaning into his touch as you watch a contestant on-screen whip macaron batter. His fingers slide down to your jaw, turning your head so your eyes meet his. He’s studying your face, cheeks flushed from the wine or the cold. 

The attention is odd, and you giggle nervously under his gaze. His hands come to cradle your jaw as he leans towards you, nose brushing yours. The air is charged with an unusual tension, his mouth a breath away from yours. 

When he kisses you, he’s slow and gentle, his whole body angled into yours. Everything feels warm, a welcome contrast to the weather outside, and you chalk it up to the glasses of wine coursing through your bloodstream. 

It's pleasant, different from times past; this certainly doesn’t feel like an innocent, experimental kiss. It's heated, tinged with passion. He uses the placement of his hand to ease your jaw open, tongue sliding slowly into your mouth. 

There's a vibe, something you hadn’t felt before with him. It's communicated through the gentle touch of his hands, and how his breath hitches when you kiss him back with the same sort of force. 

The moment is broken by the announcement of a winner on the television. His hands slide down, resting on your shoulders, pulling your frame into his. 

You don’t talk about it afterwards. 

[anisangeldust]

Worship this love 𝜗𝜚⋆

Summary: Coriolanus can’t seem to stop winning, of course he has to make sure you’ll never leave..

Part: ← iv

Warnings: misogyny, cheating, death (poison), coriolanus’ fucked up mind, descriptions of a dead body, mentions of blood, smut (p in v), baby trapping, dubcon, semi forced pregnancy? Minor threats.

A/N: DDDNE, please don't read if any of the warnings make you uncomfortable. Your internet consumption is not my responsibility. happy new year!! Sorry this took me so long. This series gave me terrible writers block for some reason ENJOY!!

“I should that bitch an Avox, maybe then she’ll learn to behave” Coriolanus chuckled as you sat on his lap, one hand on your waist and the other cradling a glass of neat whisky.

That warned him a playful smack to his chest “Coryo!” You scolded. Classic. Despite how much Livia did to anger, hurt, and even injure you, you never wished ill upon her. It was one of the many reasons, Coriolanus thought, that she’d never be on your level. She would never be as genuinely pure.

“Dove, I’m going to get rid of her” one of his hands toyed with the ruffles of your uniform “you know that, and it’s not your fault.” His voice cooed sweetly.

A gentle sigh left your chest “I know.. I just” you look into his piercing gaze, the adoration bubbling in his crystalline pupils was almost tangible as he watched you speak. “I don’t know.. I just hate to waste a life like that-“

“Her existence is a waste of life.” Coriolanus cut in sharply, setting down his drink and holding your face in both hands “my sweet, baby dove. It’s my choice that Livias life is going to end. Don’t feel guilty. She’s trying to hurt you. And that’s not okay.” He murmurs and pecks your lips, a gesture you happily reciprocate.

“Okay..” you nod and smirk gently. Climbing off his lap to resume cleaning.

“Good girl” the president praises and pats your bottom. Ever since you two first started sleeping together, you’d made sure to put on a little show of wiggling your hips with every swipe of a duster, bend down unnecessarily, or accidentally forget to wear a bra so your perky nipples were visible through the uniform fabric. All of which earned you a spanking or rough fuck.

You both loved every second of both.

——

“President snow. Your berries and root.” A hired, non avox worker set them down in his office under strict orders. Coriolanus could almost smell the enticing aroma from here, yet they seemed to simultaneously irritate his nose..

The president gave a curt nod “thank you” he stated before waving his hand to order the worker away.

An avox came in a small bit later, their hands gloved with a cage gripped tight between their fingers.

The avox set the cage down and uncovered it, revealing a plump and skittering rat, the perfect test subject for the level of poison in the berries.

Coriolanus stood up and leaned against his desk, nodding to gesture for the avox to begin. Taking a single berry, the worker sets it in the cage of the rat, letting the rodent sniff around for it.

It doesn’t take long for the animal to eat the poisoned nightshade. And it took even less time for the creature to start flailing and then stop breathing, laying dead in the confines of the cage.

A smile played at the edges of Coriolanus’ mouth “good.. very good” he nods and grabs a sticky note, writing down instructions to the chefs on making the berries into a pastry, and the hemlock into tea.

“Give this to the chefs. Let it fall into the wrong hands and I’ll have your head” The young president hands the basket and the note to the avox. “And get rid of the rat” he scoffs.

——

Coriolanus observed the head chef very carefully as he reduced the berries into a jam and steeped the hemlock root and stems into Livias daily chamomile tea.

The poisonous jam was then pipped onto some pre-made croissants, so inconspicuous, ready for consumption.

Just as Coriolanus moved to leave, you come up behind him “is that what you’re doing with the nightlock?” You giggle and kiss his shoulder.

“Nightlock?” He looks down at you and takes your chin with two fingers.

You nod “yeah. Deadly nightshade? Hemlock? Nightlock. It felt appropriate” you giggle.

Coriolanus shakes his head and smiles “you’re too cute” he chuckles and pecks your lips, murmuring against the affectionate exchange— “I don’t want you to see Livia die. Stay in my office” he coos.

You nod obediently and nuzzle his cheek “m’kay”

“Good girl” he murmurs and moves his hand to playfully squeeze your rear. Your doe eyes gaze making his trousers feel a touch too tight.

——

The morning air of the Capitol felt a little too thick, whether it was the wight of his own decisions, or the constant pressure of Livias presence, something or someone was always crowding Coriolanus. Though he knew subconsciously that the minute her pulse stopped, the smoke would part.

You were his only respirator, the constant air tank in the fog. As much as he tried to convince himself that love was pointless to him, he would be reminded that he loved you. And oh he loved you. Your fluffy hair and happy attitude was the sunshine cutting through his dark days.

That’s what kept him going as he climbed into bed that night, mentally preparing to have to deal with the press, how he was broken over Livias death, and how he was trying his best to help her sudden illness, but in the end it won.

He was torn from his thoughts by the devil herself voice “Coriolanus?” Her body was next to his before he could respond.

“What?” He sighed and looked over at her, his eyes dark and cold, the opposite of his gaze when he looked at you, even she knew that.

“C’mon! Don’t be like that. Our wedding is soon—“ that almost made Coriolanus puke in his mouth “—and we are going to be expected to have an heir. So we could at least practice?” She giggles. Coriolanus had to hide his grossed out scowl “mhm. How about tomorrow night? I’ll be all yours okay?” He looked over his shoulder and Livia nods “Okay!” She giggles and turns over “oh, and once we’re married I want to discuss some staff with you”

By “some staff” he knew she meant you, but he chose not to comment on it, he knew she wouldn’t live to see their wedding. Whether it was the berries the next morning or blunt force was unknown, but she wouldn’t make it.

——

You sat in Coriolanus’ office, snug in his chair with a book and the promise that he’d be back soon. “I don’t want you to see it” he murmurs and kisses your head “it’ll be over quickly, then I’ll be all yours” he tries to soothe the guilty feeling he can tell is brewing in your gut.

“Okay.. I love you” you murmur and he chuckles “I love you too, little dove.” And with that, he leaves and locks the door.

At the dining table, Livia was sitting and waiting for tea and breakfast. Coriolanus sat down and started to sip his coffee, nothing out of the ordinary for them.

The avoxes set down breakfast, pouring Livias tea, and then yours. Making sure to switch the teapots.

“Mmm. I haven’t had pastries in a while” she giggles and takes a bite “what’s in here? Jam? It’s very good” she smiles and takes another bite.

Coriolanus lets out a genuine smile to Livia for the first time ever, though it’s for different reasons than she might think. “It’s a new berry the gardener planted. I figured you’d like it.” He smirks.

She washes the pastry down with the tea “mm, it was delicious” she coughs “the tea is quite bitter though. I guess it was a bad batch” she shrugs.

“Probably. Sometimes the leaves get weird” he nods in agreement, though his eyes were trained on her face, he almost felt disgusted for paying so much attention to her, but he couldn’t let her live.

It only took a few moments before she started having a coughing fit, pouring herself more of the bitter (hemlock) tea and drying to ease the soreness, but it only made it worse. “Coryo..?” She wheezed out and gestured to her throat “water..” her voice was scratchy, he could tell her throat was closing.

“Hmm? Oh my. Yes, I’ll be back” he feigns concern and gets up, taking his time to get her water.m he comes back to Livia wheezing and gesturing for him to come quickly. Coriolanus hands her the water, which is quickly guzzled and then spat out as she starts to convulse.

“I can’t.. —it.. Coryo?” She whines and tries to stand up, only to collapse on the floor.

Coriolanus can’t help but giggle as the staff all stand and do nothing, even though he knew they all disliked her; (also they were all threatened into silence) but the amount of apathy was almost satisfying.

He leans down as she started to grip at her neck, her lips turning blue “pity really, you had so much potential.” The president shakes his head and sits back down, continuing to eat his breakfast, showing Livia in her last moments that he never really did care about her anyway.

After a moment, her body laid still, a small pool of blood tricking down from the edge of her mouth. Another minute passed before a daring avox reached out to check her pulse, looked over at the nonchalant president and nodding.

“Dead?” Coriolanus asks a different worker, who promptly checks herself and confirms.

“Dead.”

The instant euphoria the President felt was almost orgasmic. She was dead. He never had to deal with Livia ever again.. nothing was between you two now..

Daring to look ate her corpse, Coriolanus was met with glazed over eyes and blood trailing from her mouth and nose. She was dead, and he had never been happier.

——

The doors of his office opened quickly, Coriolanus raced in and scooped you up, capturing your face in a searing kiss. “Dove..” he murmurs and starts to walk, out of the office and up stairs, kicking open their his room door.

He sets you down on his beautifully plush bed and starts to tear off your clothes. Your giggles filling the room “so I’m assuming she’s gone?” You murmur and he nods “you’re mine..”

He had crazy eyes, the kind that made you want to simultaneously run away and open your legs, of course you chose the latter. Coriolanus didn’t even bother taking off your underwear, he just ripped a hole right over the wet skin of your cunny.

“Oh fuck babygirl..” he sinks a finger in your tight pussy and growls “I’m gonna breed you..” his voice is low and dark. His hands move off you momentarily so he can undo his pants, allowing both his pants and boxers to fall so his semi-hard length can hang out.

Your eyes roll back “please do daddy” you nod and spread your legs further, allowing him better access to your slick folds.

Today wasn’t a day for foreplay, maybe another, perhaps a day when his ex fiancée wasn’t laying dead in the dining room would be better? No matter, he needed you. And Coriolanus was a taker, so took you he did.

His hard length slid into your juicy pussy, becoming enveloped in your tight heat. The feeling causing both you and the president to moan out loud. “Oh.. mmm— daddy! Yes!” You cry out as he starts to piston his cock into you, the length bullying its way into your cunt.

“Fuck— you’re— always so— tight… no matter how much I fuck you..” he growls and keeps moving, his heavy balls slapping against your ass as he holds your legs against your chest. “Gonna breed this— greedy hole..” he croaks and moves a hand to rub your swollen clit.

You let out a gasp and squeal before nodding “please—! Let me come! Breed me!” You beg breathlessly

“Yeah? You’d— fuck— you’d like that huh? Being my bitch? Having me stuff you full of my children?” He grunts before thrusting one more time and spilling his cum into your womb.

His fingers work over your nub until you cum, your pussy clenching Coriolanus’ cock, the import of his release visable in your abdomen “yesyesyesyesyes!” You scream out before gasping for breath, the force of your orgasm almost too much.

The President lays down and pulls you flush against him, breathing in your scent while his hand moves against your belly “gonna pump you full, soon this belly will be plump with my heir”. He breathes the promise,

you look at him with both want and trepidation “what about the press? What will they think?” You murmur and he lets out a hearty chuckle.

“You know what Dove? I don’t give a single fuck. I want you barefoot and fucking pregnant with my seed. You aren’t leaving me. And I’ll never let you go.” While it seemed sweet, you could taste the underlying threat in his words, you try to leave and you suffer Livias same fate.

“I won’t leave, I promise” you murmur and kiss him.

He beams. “Good girl. Now. Let’s get you into something more fitting for a future First Lady.”

Taglist!

@daenerysqueenofhearts @caramelandvenus @yoursrosie @wearemadeofstardust0 @kay-lla @mrsriddlenott @sleekervae @ianales @qoopeeya @arzua10 @matcha-muses @jitsuki12 @nojeicintjzonfhw @poppyflower-22 @lustforrush @jefferson-in-the-tardis @aurabambi @royal-sunflower @rovckwells @rubys-rere @iydImsydxoxo @nyxxoxo @lucyisdoingfine @paradisepoisons @miserableblood @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @sqct @tmblrsexyw0man

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Quid Pro Quo | Michael Gavey x fem!reader

Summary: After being ditched by her friend at the Trinity College Christmas Party, she finds herself enthralled with learning the language of Michael Gavey | Word Count: 3.8k~ | Warnings below the cut!

Part Two: Carpe Diem Part Three: Veni, Vidi, Vici

warnings: virgin michael, semi-public sexual conduct, oral sex (m receiving), heavy petting

If she has to listen to Professor Wardon swoon over Ancient Greek and how it ‘drove him to pursue his dreams in extending his passion to other students’, she thinks she might actually fall asleep.

She's in a good spot to do so, nestled between two other students, the one on her right seemingly just as bored as her, and conveniently hidden behind a tall, lanky first year, who sits straight, with his head perfectly obscuring hers as he fixes his posture regularly.

Several times throughout, she's checked her watch, and yet the second hand never seems to move an inch.

Professor Wardon is just about to go on a lovesick spiel about Homeric Greek when the lecture concludes with a heaved sigh from every student as they sling their hefty bags over their shoulders.

“Remember I want 2,500 words on Les Liaisons dangereuses in my pigeon hole by next Thursday, before your Christmas parties!” 

“Oh joy,” she sighs with a grin to the girl walking shoulder to shoulder beside her as they leave, feeling noticeably lighter knowing that that's their last lecture before Christmas break.

“Christ, you're telling me. I can't be arsed to even right my own name at the moment, nevermind read 18th century fucking French.”

She gives a snort in reply, “Merry Christmas to us, eh? Should do what the French do and have a revolution or something.”

“Yeah, eat our lecturers or something.”

“Alright, I wouldn't go that far.”

“Anyway, I'm off to T Library, see ya, have a good Christmas and don't do anything I wouldn't!”

She waves her off as her friend disappears, the cold air of the outside nipping at her skin that manages to sneak beneath her coat.

Oxford University is not what she imagined at all. She came here very much feeling like an outsider, like there'd been some sort of paperwork mistake and it was supposed to be someone else in her place. 

The imposter syndrome seemed difficult to shift, but she'd at least managed to make a couple of friends since starting in September.

Languages had always found her well, and seemingly the only thing she managed to actually understand. People were inconsistent, cruel and fickle. Languages, though they shifted and changed, were firmly rooted in reason and understanding. 

As sad as it sounded, conjugating verbs, vowel shifts and rare dialects were the one thing she found herself itching to discover more about. The idea that there was more to uncover seemed exciting and scary at the same time.

And Oxford University was the best place she could be to do that.

All that said, her eagerness to get involved with her studies had left her social life with much to be desired.

In the first two weeks of university alone, she'd gained one friend and lost a boyfriend. And while they were drifting apart anyway, it was still a relatively large blow to her self-esteem and her confidence to actually get out there, socialise and make the most of her first year of freedom.

The only friends she'd made were those on her course. Priya, who'd just abandoned her to stick her nose in books about the Great Vowel Shift, and Anya, who…to be honest, rarely left her room. Seeming more like a ghost than anything else.

It was a wonder she was still a student, with how often she missed classes.

What Anya does do best, is manage to somehow rise out of her pit to drag her to Christmas parties that aren't even run by their college.

Which is why she finds herself somehow at Trinity College campus, where she eyes several scantily clad women wearing revealing Santa costumes adorned with itchy tinsel.

Anya is the sort of girl who, well, every girl kind of wants to be. So much so she sort of wonders why she hangs around with her. She's pretty, fit and fucking clever. Her only downfall is her taste in men, so often being Oxford pretty boys.

So it is absolutely no surprise at all, when two jägerbombs in, Anya has somehow slipped into the arms of one aforementioned Oxford pretty boy, seeming in every way a clone of the previous, with the exception of the way he pairs his Ayia Nappa top with his low rise jeans and the only effort to conform to  theme, is a pair of plastic reindeer antlers on his head bobbling side to side.

She grimaces as she watches them suck each other's faces off in a dark corner of the room, ‘Stay Another Day’ by East 17 blaring with a cheap crackle through the speakers as she makes her way through the bodies to somewhere quiet.

She sighs, nursing the rum and coke Anya had sloppily poured her in one hand as she closes the door behind her, shutting out the drunken squeals and cheers for the peace of a quiet common room.

It's still decorated, she notes, but empty. Maybe she could lurk here until Anya is done, if she ever will be.

The deep clack of a pool ball being sucked into a socket makes her jump, realising perhaps that she was not actually alone, as she'd previously thought.

The cool light hung above the battered pool table illuminates his deep red jumper, and the first thing she sees is the way he leans on one leg, standing straight as if he was imitating the rigid pool cue leant before him. The yellow lined detailing around the cuffs highlights his small wrists and big hands that stretch from it as he rubs blue chalk onto the tip.

Her eyes trail up the back of his neck, past the lazy waves of dark blonde hair, clearly due a trim at some point, and to his face, even from this angle able to see how his features sit. With a sharp nose and jawline, and black skinny glasses perched above his cheekbones.

She almost laughs at the way he's almost as tall as the light that illuminates the table, half-thinking that she might never have seen such a strange and yet interesting looking guy.

“Didn't fancy the party?” she finally says, alerting him to her presence.

She doesn't quite expect the way the light bounces off his sharp features, sinking his blue eyes in shadow as his head turns to her with an expression of boredom.

“Not particularly, no.” 

His voice is lighter than she thought it would be and part of her wonders if he's putting it on. He presses his glasses further up his nose before assessing his next shot, stalking around the table.

“Why's that?”

This time, when he answers, he doesn't look at her. He simply leans down, and aims.

“Not. Fucking. Invited,” he replies bitterly, missing a yellow, “that's why.”

Her fingertips moisten against the glass as the ice begins to melt, but she pays it no mind.

“So you're lurking about in here instead.”

He plays with the cue in one hand, barely sparing a second glance, a bitter, quiet laugh escaping him.

He misses another red before he heaves a sigh, straightening to look at her again.

“You here alone as well?” he asks dispassionately.

She smiles lazily and shrugs.

“My mate is…a bit preoccupied, if you know what I mean,” she replies, taking an awkward sip of the now watered down drink, “like you, I don't really think these are my thing either.”

He seems to consider her statement for a moment.

“Why come then?”

She shrugs again, “trying to be sociable.”

“With those vapid cunts? Good luck getting any intelligent conversation out of them.”

She watches as he picks up the blue chalk again, applying more when he doesn't even need it in sort of a nervous gesture, his blue eyes averted and pretending to assess his next move.

There's something about him. How judgemental he is and how he forms his words. Perhaps she hadn't expected this sort of guy to be so outwardly honest with his opinions, and for the most part, she can't say she disagrees with the message, just the way in which he said it.

“Can I play?” She asks, leaning over to put her drink down.

“What are you reading?” He asks so suddenly, and out of context, that she does a double take.

She raises her eyebrows, smiling, “Does my answer depend on if I get to play or not?”

There's no answer from him. Shocker of the century.

“Modern Languages.”

“Fucking hell,” he groans.

She's a bit too happy and dizzy on rum to get defensive.

“Is that one of those subjects that sounds way less interesting than it actually ends up being?”

She gives a breathy laugh, “just like languages.”

He hums, as if the answer didn't impress him, “more of a science and numbers man myself, obviously.”

For a moment, it's lost on her why it's obvious.

He takes a sip of his, no doubt, stale beer, wetting his lips after, “Your name is?”

She narrows her eyes teasingly, smiling as she leans against the table, “quid pro quo.”

She enjoys the brief confusion on his face, before he realises what she's said.

“Okay, okay, Michael.”

She smiles, “See? You know what that meant. Who says you're not a languages man?”

It's the first time he seems to duck his head, hiding a blush she's barely able to see.

“I don’t think the Ancient Roman idea of fair exchange warrants the title of ‘languages man’.” 

The blue chalk comes off on his hands as he fiddles nervously with it.

“So, am I bestowed the privilege of playing?”

He raises his head, and she can tell he's trying his damndest to not let a little beer-induced smile pass his lips.

“I suppose I could allow you to embarrass yourself in front of me for a bit, if you insist. We'll have to share a cue though.”

She doesn't have the heart to tell him her uncle was a pool player, and so by extension, has played pool for most of her upbringing. Rather, he finds out himself when she pots three yellows in a row.

It's either the alcohol or pity that kicks in when she misses the fourth, holding the cue for him to take.

“You being good at pool wasn't on my bingo card,” he mutters with some nervous teasing in his voice.

They go back and forth for a bit, missing some, potting some, with interspersed conversation between. 

“Thought you might have been a Norman-no -mates, like me,” he says quietly as he watches her assess her next shot. Bending to aim.

“You're not far off,” she replies, “first fortnight I was down a boyfriend. Since then, I've only been up two friends and one of them is in the other room  having ditched me for the shag of a lifetime.”

She doesn't see it until after she takes the shot, the way his eyes flit back to hers quickly as she rights herself to stand.

Was he checking me out?

As if he was lagging, he only laughs now at what she's said.

“What about you?” She asks, “no girls, or boys, on the scene?”

He blushes a lot when she asks that. And she can't help the fluttering in her chest she feels that someone might find her attractive.

“Can’t say there is.”

She stands close, passing the cue to him, electricity warming her fingertips as she grazes his.

“And why not?”

He scoffs bitterly, “have you seen me?” he mutters, wandering around the table, suddenly unable to shake the feeling of her gaze, “Not too many girls out there looking for the stereotypical nerdy math boy, really.”

“Hm,” she hums, “how unfortunate for them.”

He sinks a red, picking at his red jumper.

“Yeah, they're clearly missing out, huh?”

The bitter and self-deprecating tone of his voice makes her heart sink a bit. He's not a bad looking guy, she thinks. His style, glasses, hair, she would almost say look actually quite cute.

Maybe that's the thing he doesn't like.

“No interest? Or is maths the only one for you?”

He misses the next shot and sighs, holding the cue for her to take, “clearly, the only one I need.”

She steps close to retrieve, taking her time, looking up at him as she does. At this proximity, Michael sucks in a breath quietly, his lips, which she can't say she'd noticed until right this moment, parting and his Adam's apple bobbing as his eyes flit rapidly down her.

A warmth swirls in her gut at that.

She circles the table, “what about in the past?” 

He leans against the other side, his hand on the cushion, long fingers splayed on the green fabric. She has to shake her head to break her own trance.

“Can’t say my love life has exactly been a roaring success, honestly.”

The way he says it.

She wouldn't be surprised if he was…

Oh.

“So what? You're focussed on your studies?”

She misses. Too set on the conversation rather than the game.

He gives a mirthless laugh, “Sure.”

She rounds the table, holding the cue for him to take, but when he reaches for it, she pulls back with a smirk.

“So we've established you're not one for languages,” she starts, and Michael furrows his brows in confusion, “have you ever really asked for what you want? Ever?”

He seems to miss what she's trying to say.

“Have you been with a girl?”

At that, his eyes widen slightly, a blush crawling up his neck to the tips of his ears, cheeks near matching his shirt.

She knows she has her answer.

“Well…I…no, I haven't…”

At chest height, she can see the way his breathing elevates.

“And, hypothetically, if a girl expressed interest. What would you say?”

His lips part for a good few seconds before he gives a reply, “I’d…I um…I guess it depends who…”

It's like he's afraid she'll make fun of him for it. 

“What about, if it was me?” She asks, her voice lowering as she reaches out to pick some lint off his jumper, like it's the most normal thing in the world. His body goes all rigid as she does.

This isn't normal in his world.

Michael swallows thickly, “you're not taking the Mick out of me, are you?”

She shakes her head, “I just want you to feel comfortable asking for what you want.”

For someone who had so often thought about it, now when faced with the situation, he feels as if he doesn't know what to do or say.

She's still stood with the cue in one hand, close enough so that when she shifts her weight from foot to foot, her knee grazes his leg. It's interesting to watch him think so deeply about it. Convinced he's probably never thought of anything so much in his life.

“What if what I want is…you?”

The tension deepens like the tone and volume of his voice. And without effort, a smile finds its way to her face when she looks at his expression. He's frozen stiff, for once, not knowing what to say.

So nothing shocks her more when he grabs the pool cue as a means of pulling her to him, and he has to duck considerably to press his lips clumsily to hers. He's eager, that much is true, but it's clear he's inexperienced. But instead of causing discomfort, she thinks it's quite endearing.

The pool cue clangs to the floor as she braces her hands on his shoulders and chest, guiding his lips with her own in a slower, more careful movement. She feels the edge of the pool table bite into her lower back when he presses her against it, clearly excited, if the hardness that's flush to her stomach is anything to go by.

The hands she had been staring at not half an hour ago are bruising as they trace her waist and hips, with a grip tight enough to tell her exactly how much he's enjoying the experience.

For a moment, they're not in a common room alone, against a pool table, with ‘Cheetah-licious Christmas’ playing in the room over, the bass of which rumbles through the floor and into their chests.

The kiss lasts a long while, and she has a feeling he wants to savour it as if it's the last time he will ever be able to do it. 

One of her hands snakes its way to the back of his head, fingers gripping at his hair to pull him closer as either of them tilt to aid more contact between them. And at the little amount of tugging, Michael whines into her mouth, prompting him to pull away.

He looks halfway between mortified and pleased, his glasses having skewed to one side with the eagerness of what they'd done. And she laughs a bit, reaching up to fix them, which seems to make the mortification fade somewhat from his face.

Michael looks down between them, where his obvious erection is pressed to her, and pulls away slightly with a scarlet blush.

“Shit - sorry-”

“It's fine,” she reassures, “no need to be embarrassed.”

The words alone would be enough, if her hand hadn't snaked between their bodies to brush her palm over him. And if it were possible, his flush spreads to his neck, words failing him once more.

Her eyes flicker up to his, their lips all kiss-bruised and swollen.

“If you don't want to-”

“No, no, I want to…” he says, immediately embarrassed about how quick it was.

She smiles, one hand palming him through his jeans and the other trailing up his chest, “Sit down.”

He backs up to sit on a nearby sofa, watching with a kind of adoration as she makes space between his legs, her eyes glimmering at him as she slowly undoes his belt.

“If at any time, you need to stop, tell me.”

He gives a nervous laugh, his stomach muscles tightening, wondering probably if this is really happening to him, “Not sure I will want to…”

She smiles reassuringly, watching as his lips part as she palms him through his boxers, trying to suppress how impressed she is with his size.

It's always the skinny white guys.

“Well, the offer's there.” She smirks, pulling him from his boxers, Michael gives a suffered breath, feeling her touch on him and also her breath so close. He almost feels dizzy. The thought of this happening in this situation, with a party going on next door, is dangerous and exciting in equal measure.

She knows he has very limited experience, so decides not to tease him too much.

Michael gasps softly as she licks at the base of him, drawing a wet line with her tongue along the vein underneath, all the way to the tip. She concentrates her efforts slightly on the sensitive spot there before closing her mouth over the head of his cock, sucking gently.

She feels the way his thighs tense, and the blue disappearing as he closes his eyes. His fists are tight beside him, knuckles white, like he doesn't know if he should touch her or not. All he knows right now is that this feeling is brand new, and the sensation is so much already.

She pulls herself from him to run her tongue over his length, one hand moving to his hand, to encourage him. His blue eyes crack open just a bit, to understand what she's trying to tell him.

And she fights the urge to smile as his longer fingers swipe across her temple into her hair, his touch tender, soft and unsure as he holds her by it. 

Her lips wrap around him once more, pushing him further into her mouth, taking him steadily and slowly at first. Michael's hips move barely, chasing the friction that he's getting on his cock when she bobs her head on him and hollows her cheeks.

He watches with parted lips and warm cheeks, moving her hair away so he can watch himself disappear into her mouth over and over. Her hand massages the rest of him, giving him two unique sensations in one, something that earns her a deep, throaty moan.

When her eyes open to look at him, he thinks his heart stops in his chest for a split second. He closes his eyes, not able to bear the way she looks with his cock in her mouth if she looks right at him, feeling that if he did any longer he wouldn't last.

The sounds he emits don't stop there as she increases her pace on him, pressing her tongue to the underside of him and taking him deeper into her throat, humming around him at the heady scent of his skin.

It's only when she takes him as far as he will go, working hard to control her gag reflex that he gives the first genuine buck of his hips, tightening in her hair and a far-too-loud moan. If anyone in the next room were quiet and paying attention, they'd likely know exactly what was going on.

“Fuck-”

It only serves to spur her on as she pulls back, moving in a more steady, quick rhythm, that she is sure Michael is loving judging by the rate of his moans and the way he chokes out his words.

His stomach clenches and unclenches, his high creeping up on him as her mouth tightens around his length. 

“Shit - you need to - I'm gonna -” he chokes, weakly tugging her hair in an effort to pull her mouth off him before he cums.

If she didn't have his cock in her mouth she'd smile.

Her hand squeezes the base of him, and Michael throws his head back slightly, a long shuddered and choked moan reverberating through his chest. She swears she feels his thighs shake as she stills, warm ropes of his cum taste musky at the back of her throat.

His loud moan is followed quickly by more softer ones as her throat contracts to swallow as much as she can, briefly increasing the tension and friction around his sensitive length.

When she pulls off him with a pleased sigh, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Michael sits up slightly, having to gather his breath.

“Fucking hell…”

She takes it as a compliment and rises to her feet, her hands smoothing her skirt back down.

And she squeaks in delight as Michael quickly tucks himself away, barely doing up his jeans buttons before backing her up to the pool table again, kissing her fervently.

“What about you…do I…” he starts when he breaks away, panting softly. She smiles at the notion but shakes her head. This experience was for him alone.

“Not right now, don't feel inclined to,” she reassured, her hands on his chest, feeling the way his heart is beating rapidly beneath it.

“Right now?” he asks with a quiet, unsure tone, “does that mean…there's gonna be a next time?”

His tone is careful, and yet, she is able to detect something like desire there. An excitement for more, without seeming too eager so that he's not let down if she says no. Something that makes it clear he is 100% on board.

She bites back a grin.

“Quid Pro Quo, Michael.”

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorsky @fan-goddess

[meowsforyujin]

tattoo artist- Leeknow

(Warnings: smut! Leeknow x reader, slight age gap, oral, unprotected sex but reader is on the pill, tattoo gun, hair pulling, mentions of pain, semi public sex, good old fashion doggy style 😛😛)

Summary: leeknow is your tattoo artist that you’ve been crushing on for a while, but he’s never made a move. So obviously, you decide to get a tattoo in a slightly scandalous spot and inevitably things get steamy

——————————————————————

You sit on the chair eagerly, holding the piece of paper in your hand. It’s been 15 minutes since you came, where is he?

“Are you nervous?” you swear you feel your whole demeanor change when you hear his voice.

You scoff, “Have I ever been nervous?”

“You were the first time.” Minho smirks playfully.

You don’t remember the first time as vividly as he does. He remembers it as if it was yesterday.

He remembers his world stopping when you walked in. You were so captivating to him. You wore a leather skirt with fishnets, and a cropped tank top that complimented your belly button piercing. Your hair was black and blonde at the time, roots grown out but still pretty. Your eyes were starry and nervous, showing the design you wanted on your left arm for the first tattoo you’d ever gotten. You were shy at first, but then opened up pretty quickly, talking his ear off. Explaining how long you had wanted a tattoo, and it was hard to narrow down the choices for your first one. He knew you’d be back after proclaiming your love and interest in tattoos, but he didn’t expect so soon. You’d come back a week later for another. It was then when you told him you were excited to start college the following week. All his possible plans on asking you out vanished with that, given that you were 18 and he was 22 at the time.

Well it’s three years later, and who knows how many times you’ve been here. Minho expected to have a fun time like usual, chatting away with you, also expecting the familiar disappointment that would follow when you left. What he DIDN’T expect was you wanting a tattoo on your chest that required your shirt to be off.

“Um, well you’d need to take your shirt off..do you want me to get a girl to do this instead?” He hoped you didn’t see how red his ears were.

“No, why would I? I trust you the most, and it’s not like I’m getting naked or anything”

Yet.

He hesitantly nods, instructing you shyly to remove your shirt. This usually wouldn’t be a problem, since Minho finds himself mature. But his attraction towards you is what stands out among the rest of the customers. And he feels guilty for it, given the age gap. You’re 21 and he’s 25, which doesn’t seem that big of a deal to most but the fact that he’s known you since you were technically a teenager amplifies his guilt.

Despite his worries, and your black lace bra, things weren’t very awkward. You both talked as usual, enjoying the time you had since it had been a while. I mean, it's been three years and they're only so many tattoos you want, so inevitably your visits have slowed down over the years. At some point in your rambling, you ask, “Have you ever had a psychotic ex girlfriend?”

He simply shakes his head. “Oh really? Not even like a jealous one?”

“I’ve never had a girlfriend.” He states as if it’s the most normal thing for a gorgeous 25 year old man to have never had a girlfriend.

“YOU WHAT?” you could not contain your shock.

He chuckles softly, “Why so surprised?” He’s still focused on his task at hand.

“Well for starters, you’re gorgeous, and also you’re kind and funny, what else would anyone want?” His laugh was breathier than he wanted it to be, and you definitely catch the pink hue dusting his cheeks.

“Maybe, but I’m also a tattoo artist who didn’t graduate college.”

“I think the tattoo artist thing is dreamy.” You pause, “And hot.”

His breath audibly hitches. “I, thank you.”

Truth is you’ve been pining after Minho for forever. You flirt with him constantly, and it obviously has an effect on him, so you assumed he had a girlfriend since he never made a move. But even so, you always secretly hoped he was single. And maybe you let your delusions get the best of you, because you scheduled the latest appointment possible, and picked your most flattering bra for him to see. Your plaid skirt was short too, knee high socks complimenting your thighs.

“Any plans or ideas for the next tattoo?” Minho asks, desperate to change the subject.

“I dunno, I’m kinda running out of ideas.”

“Damn, I’d miss my favorite customer.”

“Well, maybe we should go for coffee sometime?” He pauses his movements, obviously flustered, but also deep in thought of what his response should be.

“You know I can’t, but I’m flattered regardless.” Minho failed to hide his disappointment in his voice.

“Why, can’t date customers or what?”

He laughs a bit, “No, have you seen this place? We don’t really have rules.”

You laugh with him, “Okay so why? Am I not pretty or?”

That wasn’t very funny to him. “No, you’re breathtaking.” He knows he shouldn’t have said that, yet he doesn’t feel a single trace of regret. “It’s just, the age gap.” You furrow your brows in confusion, “Aren’t you 25?”

“Yeah.”

You couldn’t help giggling at him. “Oh please Minho, I’ve been on dates with way older than you.” His eyes dart up at you. “What? How much older?”

You shrug, “Doesn’t matter, go out with me?”

He turns off the tattoo gun and sets it next to him, deep in thought.

You suddenly wrap your legs around him to bring him closer, “Please?”, you watch his eyes flutter shut as you comb his hair with your fingers. You didn’t dare make another move. You needed him to take the next step. He caught on to this quickly, given the fact that you’ve had your fingers and legs wrapped around him for what felt like forever, and have made no further effort to act on the obvious tension between the two of you. Despite your persuasion, he still felt guilty. But his judgment was clouded by your hot breath fanning his cheeks.

You nearly zone out taking in his features, but quickly brought back by Minho closing the gap between the two of you.

His lips were so soft. He kissed just like he did his tattoos, calm and precise, concentrated on doing everything the best way possible. He bites your bottom lip softly, granting himself access to push his tongue in your mouth. He tastes so sweet it was insane.

You whine softly, tugging at his shirt. Minho pulls away from you for a second, pulling off his shirt, then quickly attaching his lips once more. His lips trail down your jaw towards your neck as you whimper. You hiss when his chest accidentally comes in contact with your new (unfinished) tattoo.

He pulls away worried, “Sorry, did I hurt you?”’

You shyly shake your head, “I liked it.” He raises his eyebrows at you, “I liked the pain, feels nice.” He stares at you, his concerned expression morphing into a devilish smirk.

“Oh really?” He touches you again, groping your breast slightly, barely pressing against the tattoo but still enough to cause a pleasurable thrill.

Minho kisses you again but with much more force this time, biting your lip rather harshly, earning a deep moan from you. His hand slowly inches up your thighs teasingly, searching for the hem of your underwear. He pulls away abruptly to look at you, and then pulls your skirt up. He scoffs when he finds that you indeed were not wearing anything under your skirt.

“You’re crazy.” He laughs, shaking his head, not really trying to hide that his face was bright ass red.

“I’m crazy for you.” you pull him closer, missing his lips on yours. He shakes his head in disapproval, “Cringe.”, you look at him in disbelief, about to protest but immediately distracted by his hand reaching down to cup your heat. You feel yourself beginning to fall apart for him right then and there.

“You're so wet.” He flashes you a toothy grin while running his fingers up and down your folds. You don’t respond, too focused on the fact that his hands were finally touching you, and this wasn’t a dream.

You’d often daydream about his hands alone. You loved staring at his hands while he held that tattoo gun, veiny and big, and precise in every movement. You’d think about all the ways his hands could move precisely, and not with the tattoo gun.

Your thoughts are cut short when Minho's head is in between your legs. “Fuck.”, you whisper, the way his dough eyes are looking up at you, half for consent and half for amusement was enough to make you finish right there. Nonetheless, you power through.

Minho licks a long, slow stripe up your folds. When he meets your clit, he circles his tongue slowly over it, before going back down to tease your entrance.

The way he eats you out is heaven. He uses a kissing motion around your clit, rather than just applying pressure or sucking on it (he does that too). You whine, pushing his face impossibly closer to you, tugging at his hair begging him to keep going. Your legs shake as you feel your high approaching, Minho gets the message and speeds up his actions. Out of nowhere he pushes in a finger, pumping it in and out of you quickly. This tips you over the edge and before you know it your thighs are shaking violently, closing around his head as you cum with a silent cry, back arched in the air.

Minho cleans you up with his tongue, ignoring your whines from overstimulation. Eventually he stops and looks up at you, and fuck if it isn’t the prettiest sight you’ve ever seen. His lips parted, pupils blown out, and you don’t miss your juices dripping down his chin. His lustful gaze is working you up all over again.

You pull him into another heating kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue. You hand trails down to his hard on, palming him softly. He groans deeply into the kiss, playing with the clasp of your bra until it falls off your shoulders. Minho pulls from this kiss to peel the rest of your bra off, letting out a shaken exhale staring at your bare chest. It’s not long before he has his lips wrapped around your nipple and his hand around your other breast. You enjoy this for a moment, before playing with his belt until you manage to get it off.

You stand up, taking Minho by surprise. He almost thought you were leaving until you get on your knees. His breath is shaky and he watches you pulling out his member. You practically drool at the sight of it. It wasn't too long, but longer than most. And what he didn’t have in length was made up for by how fucking thick it was. You wrap your hand around it, pumping steadily.

Soon enough, you take him all in your mouth, tip hitting the back of your throat. Luckily he did not notice your impatience, too immersed in the feeling of your mouth around him. You bob your head up and down on him, alternating between swirling your tongue around his tip and sucking it. He eventually begins thrusting his hips, meeting your bobbing motions until you feel him twitch in your mouth and he pulls you off him. You can’t help but pout up at him and he just chuckles, pulling you off the ground. He kisses you briefly before bending you over the tattoo chair.

You whimper as he teases your folds, dragging his cock up and down them. You feel his tip teasing your entrance, your cunt leaking in anticipation.

“Wait,” he breaths, “Do you have a condom?”

“No? Why would I have a condom? You're the guy here.”

“Yeah well you’re the one who expected this to happen!”

“I did not!”

“You literally didn’t wear any underwear.”

“I’m on the pill.”

You hear him sigh, “Are you sure?”

“Minho just fuck me already before I ride you instead.”

Despite your affirmation, he was still hesitant. Pushing in as slowly as possible, your warm cunt enveloping him earns a somewhat high pitched moan from him.

You want to tease him, you really do, but you’re already a fucking mess and he hasn’t moved. The stretch is absolutely delicious, and he’s reaching every spot perfectly.

He begins moving steady, hands gripping your hips. You’re loud and he loves it. Your moans encouraging him to move faster, he builds up his pace. “Fuck fuck fuck! Like that please!” You babble, already feeling your consciousness slip away.

“Mmm you like it rough right? You like it when I fuck you dumb?.” you can only nod, incredibly turned on by his words.

Knock knock.

You both pause, and you feel reality coming back to you when you hear a voice from the other side of the door.

“Hey Minho, sorry to interrupt.”

Fuck. It had completely slipped your mind that yeah maybe there weren't really any other customers there but there were obviously workers. And you recognized her voice, it was Yuri, the one who always answered your calls and scheduled your appointments. God this was embarrassing.

“I’m leaving for the day, so if you could lock up when you’re uh, done, that’d be great.”

You could not be more mortified in this moment.

“Okay sounds good, thanks Yuri.” Minho yells from the other side.

You both wait until you hear the bell from the front door, indicating she had left.

“Oh my god that’s so embarrassing.” You whine, burying your face further in the chair. Minho laughs in disbelief, “You wore no underwear and THAT'S embarrassing?”

all you do is whine and mumble a ‘shut up’ before he’s fucking you again without warning, this time pulling your hair. You yelp at the sting, eyes rolling back to your head.

“Thought you wanted an audience baby? Thought you wanted everyone to know I was fucking you so well?” You can’t respond, you're too close to your climax already. Minho takes note of this and picks up the pace, thrashing into you without mercy.

“Oh my god I’m so close please!” You cry, tears of pleasure spilling down your cheeks. Minho just grunts, snaking his fingers down under you to rub your clit.

You see white as you cum for the second time tonight, walls clamping down on Minho, causing him to cum shortly after you.

You both lay there for a while, catching each other's breath. You jolt up when you hear him walking away, fearing that he was going to leave, only to find him returning with a warm towel to clean you up. You’re silent as he cleans you up, just watching him with adoration.

“So,” he clears his throat, “Should we go somewhere now?”

You smile, “My place?”

He chuckles, “I was thinking dinner?”

-AHH I had sm fun writing this!! Expect a sequel bc omg I cannot stop thinking ab tattoo artist bf lee know? Like? Anywaysss pls lmk your thoughts! I’m not great at writing but I love to do it, so I’d rlly like tips on how I can improve!!

[leighsartworks216]

Scar Tissue

Sylus x gn!Reader

Eyyyyy @comatosebunny09 I finally finished it >:3

Based on this post

Title from "Scar Tissue" by Red Hot Chili Peppers

Warnings: cuddling, early relationship, intimacy, injury, guns, knives, semi-nudity

Word Count: 2,421

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

The Raven Masterlist

AO3

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“Speak.”

The generic carpet muffles his footfalls as he crosses the room to the oversized floor to ceiling windows that peer out over Chansia City. You follow behind him until you get to the dresser, lined neatly with your clothes.

The hotel is very nice, especially high up here in the presidential suite. Though, you haven’t had much time to actually enjoy it. You got here yesterday, and it feels like all you’ve had time for is sleeping and getting dressed. It’s all been meetings, deals and exchanges otherwise. The only reason you’re back here at all is to change clothes to go to dinner with another client.

Sylus sighs, irritation painting his face with a scowl. You can just barely hear Luke’s voice on the other end. They’ve been holding down the N109 Zone in Sylus’s absence. “More petty land grabs?”

“Nah, from what we’ve heard it sounds like an affair came to light and now they’re duking it out to win their love.”

You snicker as you pull out a clean shirt. You turn and drop it on the bed, back to Sylus as you take off your shirt, bloody and torn from your earlier meeting. He turns to shoot you a half-amused half-annoyed glance over his shoulder. “Have Mephisto-”

But the words get stuck in his throat. Time seems to slow down as he stares at the bare expanse of your back. Your skin looks like a well-used cutting board. Scar after scar, criss-crossing over each other, fundamentally altering the appearance of your flesh for years to come.

He can pinpoint which were from missions he’d sent you on. Jobs that put you in the line of fire, where you had to fight your way out to survive, where someone got a surprise jump on you.

Others are completely foreign. Cuts and bullet wounds and burn marks, all unfamiliar to him. What secrets from your past do you keep locked away from him? How safe are you from the ones that hurt you? Would you ever tell him if something was wrong? If something cropped up from back then, from a time he’d never know enough of? Perhaps not.

Somehow, the former was worse. Knowing he was the one that sent you into trouble. Or those damn injuries you earned from taking a hit intended for him. Being the root cause for your pain aches more than never knowing the damage you incurred before.

You slip your shirt on, hiding the marks from view, and peek over your shoulder at him, confused by his silence. Time speeds back up.

He schools his features into something neutral, hiding the regret and hurt, and burying it deep down within him. He looks out the windows once more. Luke asks if he’s alright. Sylus ignores it, speaking as if nothing ever happened.

-

Dinner was dull, for the most part. The client didn’t seem to understand that you weren’t there for conversation, repeatedly prompting you to answer questions. You’d have signaled Sylus to put the man in his place, but it was all too amusing to see him flounder.

“What kind of gun do you use?” You’d slipped it from its holder mid sip of wine and dropped it onto the table with a heavy thud. That’d taken him by surprise. He recovered quickly enough, spewing off facts about the make and model that you already knew.

“Has it been modified?” You broke it down and separated the parts that had been replaced or enhanced. He’d curiously reached out to inspect them, but you put it back together before he could touch anything. He paused, but put on a slightly strained, polite smile as he awkwardly sat back in his chair.

“How good is your aim?” You shot the end of his cigarette when he went to tap the ashes into a dish, scaring him so bad he shook the entire table and had to rapidly keep his drink from tipping into his lap.

He seemed content to leave you be after that.

You fall back into the bed, arms spread out wide and still in your dinner attire. Sylus chuckles. “Have fun?” he teases. He sits down beside you, leaning on his arm with an amused grin.

You shoot an unimpressed glare his way. Fabric rustles as you slide your hand along the bed to hold his arm, caressing the tensed muscles of his forearm. “Don’t worry, you can make it up to me.”

His grin turns into a salacious smirk. You smack his bicep. “Not like that.”

“You don’t know what I was going to suggest.” Nonetheless, he kicks off his shoes by the side of the bed and lays down beside you. With one hand acting as a pillow, the other rests comfortably on your stomach. You wrap your arm around his neck to play with his hair. Content, you close your eyes.

The last vestiges of the sun filter through the window. Combined with the few lights in the room, you look… peaceful. It’s starting to become a common sight, and he takes great pleasure in being the one allowed to witness it. These times when you trust him enough to relax. When you stop listening out for the slightest hint of danger. When your body releases the tension constantly preparing your body for an attack. It’s a privilege. He hopes never to take it for granted.

Your fingers flit lazily through his hair. His body still tenses on the onset of your touch. His natural instinct yells for him to pull away, go on the defensive, protect himself. It’s always a battle to fight against them and allow himself to completely trust someone. As this - cuddling together, the small moments of physical intimacy and skinship - become the normal, the fight gets easier and easier.

He wonders if that same defensive instinct wars on in your head when he slips his hand under the hem of your shirt. The first brush of his fingers on your flesh, the flinch of muscle away from the contact, that eases back into his touch after a pause. If it does, you say nothing of it. Rather, when your stomach flinches away, you tug on his hair. An equal exchange. And perhaps a reminder of the lengths you have both gone to expose yourselves to each other.

Calloused fingertips dance across your belly, hidden by the fabric of your shirt. Soft ridges and toughened skin of layers of damage done across the years. His mind is shot back to the thoughts he had earlier. You can feel the shift in his touch. The way his fingers lift to barely ghost over your skin, as though you’re as thin and fragile as wet tissue paper. You open your eyes to watch him.

His face is stern. Like when discussing a difficult deal, his brow is furrowed and his eyes are dark. He slowly pushes up the shirt until it rests in a rumpled heap around the bottom of your ribcage. The shift in your breathing latches on at the edge of his senses. Just as with your back, scar after scar decorates your skin. But one stands out from the rest.

Along the line of your hip is a cut. It’s shallow. The skin it tore apart is irritated from lack of care and not having a moment to rest properly.

That’s his fault, too. Dragging you out to a dinner you didn’t really want to go to instead of giving you the opportunity to sleep and heal. Technically, you’re his bodyguard - his guard dog, always by his side, defending him from anyone who you deem a threat. Yet, he’s discomfited by just how quickly you step in to protect him. That’s what this scar is the result of.

The meeting this morning. A fight broke out. He was aiming a gun at the other group leader. One of their lackeys came up from the side with a knife. And you got hit. It had bled, but you’d brushed him off so easily when he mentioned it. You weren’t doubled over, nor were you in a rush to patch it up, so he trusted your judgement. Without a second thought.

Fortunately, your judgement is dependable. All it really needs is a bandage to keep the skin together and bacteria out while it heals, and yet he doesn’t get up. He doesn’t move. All he does is trace alongside it, feeling how it becomes intertwined with the scars before it.

“You need to take better care of yourself,” he says, but the tone of his voice is odd. Teasing, edged with something raw. Something more vulnerable. Something that you two have been dancing around for weeks. “Tell me the next time you’re hurt. I’ll patch you up.”

You brush the hair from his face. His red eyes shift first to the bunched up fabric of your shirt, then to yours. His eyes are soft. The deep maroon of before has melted into a bloody crimson.

“I can patch myself up.”

He scoffs with a smirk and the slight tilt of his head. “I wasn’t asking, sweetie.”

You quirk a brow up at him. “Does it bother you?”

“Yeah,” he agrees readily.

Your fingers falter. He brushes his thumb more firmly along the edge of the cut, still light enough that it doesn’t hurt, but with enough force that it no longer feels like he’s treating you like something fragile.

You frown at him, tapping three times at the base of his skull, a silent request for more information. He pushes himself up onto his elbow. It should be salacious, even intimidating, for him to hover over you like this. But it’s not.

His eyes follow his hand as he traces other marks on your belly. A bullet entrance wound here, a Wanderer’s blade there. The ones he caresses are newer. They haven’t yet faded into your skin. Of all of them, he’d only helped treat one or two. Some, he never even knew about, but he could trace back to when, what mission, they were received from.

“How many of these are from protecting me?” he asks lowly. “You do realize I can heal from all of these much faster than you can, don’t you, sweetie?”

You tilt your head. “It bothers you… that I do my job?”

He chuckles, but the mirth doesn’t reach his eyes. “You could stand to be a little less efficient at it.”

The world falls quiet. The sun disappears, leaving darkness in her wake. The orange glow of the hotel lamps forms mountains and valleys along your skin. You study him, searching for answers.

Over your lifetime struggling to survive, you’d gotten good at reading people, Sylus included. Of course, he had broken your assumptions and expectations. If he hadn’t, you’d never have let him get so close. Never have allowed him to touch you like this, see your skin like this.

Right now, you can’t understand him.

He hired you to be his bodyguard, to protect him. To be his own personal shield when shit hits the fan. But he doesn’t want you to? A lingering fear in your mind worries for the end of your partnership. Would he really touch you like this if he wanted to fire you? Besides, when you made the damn deal, he said only you would have the power to call it off. He wasn’t someone to go against his word.

You drop your hand from his hair. His eyes snap to you, a flicker of fear that is snuffed out when you touch his chest. He’s still wearing his nice dress shirt, jacket discarded elsewhere. You play with one of the buttons. “How many times have you stepped in to protect me?” you ask.

Countless times. More and more frequently.

“Do you let any of them scar?”

He slowly shakes his head. It’s always second nature for him to use his Evol to take care of any and all injuries. Anything that could scar is gone before he has a chance to think about it, so long as he’s in the right conditions to use it.

“Then you can’t understand.”

He hums. “Enlighten me.”

You grin. Gliding your hand from his chest, down his arm, you hold the back of his where it rests on your stomach. It doesn’t take much effort to guide him. He watches, feels the scars that scrape by, as you bring it back back down to your hip, until his palm rests over the cut. It will heal within a couple of weeks, probably less. Once it’s healed, it will scar over. Once it scars over, it will be nothing more than a lasting memory embedded in your skin.

“They’re badges,” you say quietly. When he looks back up at you, you’re watching his hand, trailing your fingertips over the veins that decorate them. “I earned them from protecting you.”

So why would I not want them?

It goes unsaid, but he catches it anyway in the gentle reverence of your carress, the quirk of your brow when you look at him wordlessly asking if he can understand now. It doesn’t need to be said.

He slips his hand out from under yours. The bed shifts with his weight as he turns and gets up. You feel the loss immediately. It’s easy to hide the disappointment, but it churns over in your gut, more distinctly than you’ve ever felt it before, as he disappears around the corner of the wall. Did he really hate them so much?

He returns a minute later when you’re considering fixing your shirt with a medkit in hand. He sits on his knees, sets the kit down beside your body, and opens it up to get what he needs. The disinfectant stings as he wipes it along the cut, but you hardly feel it when he just looks so beautiful. So focused on taking care of you.

“Tell me when you're hurt,” he reminds you. He unspools a length of gauze and wraps it around your midsection securely. He glances at you with a slight grin as he grabs a roll of bandages from the kit. “They won’t scar well if they get infected first.”

A week later, you’re the one patching him up. He sits calmly on the couch as you draw a needle through the skin of his bicep. It’s just a knife wound. Earned from stepping in to protect you.

He can’t wait to see the scar.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip

[peachie-bumblebee]

FNAF SECURITY BREACH NSFW HEADCANONS

MAIN 4

MINORS DNI

getting back to my ROOTS with this one!! hope my community is still out there- the dlc has brought back my love for the game :) i haven’t posted SB content in a LONG time so a reminder- I ONLY WRITE FOR CHARACTERS WHO PASS THE JACK HARKNESS TEST. They are OF AGE OR ABOVE, have HUMAN OR ABOVE INTELLIGENCE, and can VERBALLY GIVE INFORMED CONSENT. The SB animatronics are canonically sentient. None of the past ones are. okay- back to the content :D

CW: ONE PREGNANCY MENTION, KINK RELATED T0YS, SEMI-PUBLIC MENTIONS, DACRIPHILIA

GLAMROCK FREDDY

lord have mercy…

he’s the most virgin coded out of all of them. i’m sorry.

but do I think he’s a TOTAL virgin? no.

there are FREAKS out there (me writing this and y’all reading this-) who would 1000% show up to the pizzaplex just tryna get a piece of the fazballs

SORRY

he’s the type to silently get off in his dressing room and then get all embarrassed about it like there’s someone there to judge him

he’s an actual sweetheart in the sheets. he’s so so nice about everything. as we go down the list this DECREASES.

don’t push him too fucking hard tho. if you’re one of the ones who read my old fic Competition, you remember.

his fingers vibrate.

and so does that dick.

he’d turn it on inside of you and listen to you gasp before putting a hand gently over your mouth and hushing you.

he seems a lot like a gasper. maybe the occasional curse word coming out, but mostly praises of how good it feels.

i know he is a messy cummer. i’m right and that’s final.

he’d be absolutely humiliated after the fact and go get a wet washcloth asap, but it’s a very shocking amount anyway.

pregnancy isn’t a concern, but he’s still wary about cumming inside for some reason. he’s the type to make sure it’s okay like 3 times before he does it.

okay i lowkey think he’d be into getting handcuffed. i don’t know what handcuffs could genuinely hold him, but if you brought them out he’d be (figuratively) SWEATING

i think his eyes roll back when he cums. and i’m correct. eat me.

he’s the lead member but he’s humble about it… except a few times in bed. then he lets it go to his head(s). just a bit. ;)

if he was in a relationship he’d have a thing about his partner dressed in his merch

switch! but the most vanilla out of everyone- but remember, not completely.

…he’d eat his cum out of you.

no he is NOT gonna call you superstar during sex leave me ALONEEE

GLAMROCK CHICA

my biggest hc for her will and will always be that she has a MASSIVE toy collection. she is a toy girl. do i know how she gets them? not exactly.

but I DO know that they’re all pink and white and sparkly!

that doesn’t mean it’s all vanilla toys though (respect to the vanilla community but it is not me :) )

she does own a hot pink flogger and she WILL happily use it on a groupie or her partner.

she’s such a tease. she’s such a fucking tease jsghskbnsjh

doesn’t matter if she’s domming or subbing (60/40 ratio)

she’s a TEASE

and she giggles during sex

her whole bubbly pink happy girl thing doesn’t stop

she’ll put you in a bubblegum pink sex swing and use a big ass vibrator on you while giggling and telling you how cute you look

i know she likes pulling on nipples I KNOW SHE DOES

for those who used to ask- no, she can’t give head with her beak. and she’s not taking it off. sun/moon can’t give sloppy either BUT THEY MAKE IT WORK!

AND SHE DOES TOO!

she can fuck up the guitar with her fingers, what else do you think they can do?

she’s the type to pull you into a side room, hush you, finger fuck you, then send you on your way with a hug

i know for a FACT SHE WEARS A STRAP!

yes it IS glitter. it is also 9 inches.

and if you want more, she has more ways to give you that.

she’s also the type to get you front row tickets and put a remote control vibe in you so she can watch you squirm right in front of her.

she’s also a praiser, but there’s a lot of false sympathy in there too.

food aftercare. she wants to eat 3 pizzas with you. food is her love language

ROXANNE WOLF

YOU BETTER BARK LIKE YOU WANT IT!

she’s a dom. she just is.

god I miss that fic I wrote.

she’s so fucking cocky in bed. it’d be insufferable if she wasn’t so hot and so good at sex.

if who she’s fucking is AFAB she’s EATING IT!!!! YOU CAN BET ON IT THAT SHE DOES MUNCH!

if they’re AMAB then you can expect her to lean them back on her chest and give them the most intense handjob of their life.

in general, the animatronics are stronger than people, so when they’re rough they’re still not going at their hardest. that would actually just kill you.

she’s a show-off. she’ll leave marks in very noticeable places on purpose so that everyone knows that you’re getting fucked by THE Roxanne Wolf

she’s a hair puller. I just know she likes to wrap her claws up in it and pull.

don’t fucking pull hers though, she doesn’t like that shit.

yeah her tail wags when you eat her out, what about it? don’t point that shit out, it’s embarrassing to her.

she curses so much during sex.

the strap is purple and THICK. if you want more then she’ll just hit up Chica for a new one. Chica is more than happy to help. and more than happy to watch.

she’s only the jealous type if its some rando loser. THEN she’ll fuck the living shit out of you while telling you how she’s the best and making you repeat it back to her.

if it’s Monty or Chica? If you’d be into it too, then yeah, she’ll share.

…Freddy is more of a hard sell, but it’s not a hard no.

it’s more of a “Yeah yeah yeah but why do you wanna fuck the dumbass bear? Why him? Monty’s got a bigger one, I’ll tell you that.”

yeah but roxy baby his doesn’t vibrate

she comes off a winning high after a particularly close race, she’s going to go feral on you

with those eyes of hers, she can find you wherever you go. so if she’s randomly in the mood and her partner is there, even halfway across the pizzaplex, she’s on her way to pull you into her room and take some “private time.”

MONTGOMERY GATOR

hhhhhhooOOOHHH BOY

y’all remember the start of SB where he’s fucking up his room?

prepare to be destroyed HSGDHJSGBDNH

degrades. degrades the fuck out of you. it’s a toss up between Roxy and Monty who’s the more cocky, but he’s certainly meaner.

LONG ASS DICK. IT’S HUGE WITH ALL SORTS OF BUMPS AND RIDGES AND SHIT.

head pusher IF you’re okay with it. consent is mandatory.

he’d grab all his partner’s hair if they had any to grab, even just an INCH and go ham.

his long ass dick matches his long fucking tongue.

loves giving lethal backshots LOOOOOOOORD HAAAAAAAAVVVEEEE MEEERCYYYYYY

he’s not only breaking the bed, it’s straight up sawdust. idk how his partners live but they certainly live happily after.

as cocky as he is, he’s not exactly a selfish lover by any means. yeah, he’ll edge you, but he also likes to get his partner real sloppy if you catch my drift.

he aims to make you cry from pleasure. it’s straight up his goal.

i just know he knows EXACTLY where all the right spots are. you don’t even gotta tell him, inside or outside, no matter personal preference, he can always pinpoint his partner’s sweet spots

and then he proceeds to abuse the fuck out of that knowledge

he gets so jealous over Freddy, it’s insane

he sees his partner in his merch, he’s ripping it to shreds.

Roxy is less of a threat. That can be more of a collaborative effort.

he honestly doesn’t know how much of a freak in the sheets Chica is. If he had a threesome with her and she whipped out her chest of fun he’d be like “DAMN BITCH WHERE’D YOU GET ALL THOSE” and she’d be like “^-^ wanna see my buttplug collection? :>” LMFAOOO

GROANER. he GROANS LIKE CRAZY

also a bit of a growl but NOT in the cringe tiktok way don’t worry

HOPE YALL ENJOYED!!! I really hope I can start to find my old community with this :)

[sillymommy6969]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝕰XES & Os

Lara Raj x fem!reader

summary: you’ve been seeing lara for a while and she’s finally invited you to see them perform at an award show from the vip lounge, but you didn’t expect to see the last person you’d want to run into on the way to the bathroom, and lara isn’t too happy when she spots the both of you from onstage

warnings: nsfw, suggestive/sexual themes, hickeys, biting, rough!lara, dom!lara, jealousy, possessive!lara, semi-public!sex, car!sex, teasing, dirty talk

Y/N adjusted her dress—red, lara insisted she sported her favourite colour for good luck—smoothing the fabric over her hips as the bass from the concert hall vibrated through the walls of the VIP lounge. Tonight was a special night. Lara had personally invited her as her plus one to this show—a full house for some award show.

She had the perfect view of the stage—of Katseye.

Y/N had heard Lara sing before at Katseye concerts, but seeing her command an entire stage with her group was going to be such a new experience. The anticipation of watching her girlfriend in her element sent a thrill through Y/N’s body.

The woman decided to step out for a moment before the show began. The hallways were bustling with staff and a few other VIP guests milling about. There were tables on tables of food and drinks ordered perfectly, before a fancy bar offering many tapped kinds of beer. Y/N barely had a chance to orient herself and take in the room when she collided with someone.

“Oh, sorry!” Y/N started, but her voice faltered as she looked up and locked eyes with a familiar face.

Billie Eilish O’Connell.

“Y/N?” Billie’s scoffed, her voice like a melody she hadn’t heard in years but still recognized instantly. Her ex’s trademark smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. “Wow, it’s been a while.” Her eyes raked over the red, silky dress hugging Y/N in all the right spots. “You look… good.”

Y/N’s heart sunk. Of all places, why here? Why tonight? She cleared her throat, trying to maintain composure. “Yeah, it has. What’re you doing here?”

“I’m performing tonight,” Billie said casually, brushing her red rooted hair back. “And you? Who’re you here for?”

Y/N hesitated, debating how much to share. “My girlfriend, Lara invited me.”

“Lara?” Billie’s smirk widened knowingly. “As in Lara Raj from Katseye? I always knew you liked a woman with a bold hair colour,” she joked, “Small world, hm?”

Y/N nodded, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Billie’s piercing gaze always had a way of making her feel exposed, even when there was nothing to hide. Before she could figure out how to end the conversation gracefully, a deep voice called out. It could only be whom used to be one of Y/N’s more familiar friends, Finneas. “Hey, Billie! We’re needed backstage!”

“Coming!” Billie called back before turning to Y/N. “Well, it was nice seeing you again. Maybe we’ll catch up later?”

“Sure,” Y/N lied, already dreading another conversation.

Billie leant forward for a quick hug, her hand placed securely on Y/N’s waist before pulling away with a grin.

As Billie disappeared down the hallway, Y/N exhaled shakily. The timing couldn’t have been worse. She knew Lara wouldn’t be thrilled about her talking to her ex, especially not tonight of all nights. Y/N made her way back to the VIP lounge, hoping to put the encounter out of her mind.

The concert was electric. Katseye’s energy was infectious, and Lara shone brighter than the stage lights. Her voice soared, her movements captivated, and Y/N couldn’t take her eyes off her. Every so often, Lara’s gaze seemed to flick toward the VIP lounge, and Y/N felt her cheeks flush under the weight of her attention. It was impossible for Y/N’s voice to go any louder, she practically lost her voice shrieking her girlfriend’s name as they moved around the stage for “Touch”.

Lara made sure to blow a kiss her way before they ended.

A couple more acts came on after Katseye, all delivering unique performances. When Billie sauntered onstage, the audience erupted. Y/N froze in her seat as the spotlight illuminated her ex. She watched Billie and Finneas exchange a quick nod before the music started. Their voices blended beautifully, creating a hauntingly powerful harmony. But as Y/N’s eyes darted between them, she couldn’t shake the tension knotting in her stomach.

Toward the end of the song, something caught her off guard. Billie’s eyes flicked toward the VIP lounge—toward her. It was brief, but it didn’t go unnoticed.

And backstage, watching the dozens of screens streaming different angles of the show, it was nearly impossible for Lara to miss the deliberate motions Billie seemed to throw her the VIP lounge. Initially, she thought she was crazy, there were a couple other people standing behind the glass of the lounge, it could have been to anybody. But, after a wink, a blown kiss and intense eye contact as she moaned in apart of the song “Bitches Broken Hearts”, she was almost certain her girlfriend, standing out amidst the others in that linen dress, was the target of Billie’s affection.

And the girls’ teasing just seemed to solidify the theory.

“Damn, Billie’s really coming for your girl, huh?” Manon joked, nudging a tense Lara with her elbow, “Look at her face.”

Daniela exhaled deeply, “I could feel the heats from here.”

Megan whistled, fanning herself. “Can you blame her? Y/N’s looking mighty fine in that dress.”

Sophia playfully shoved her in the shoulder as she eyed the tight clench of Lara’s jaw. “Don’t go instigating, guys. There’s like twelve other people standing in that VIP box.”

Yoonchae tilted her head, before pointing at something on one of the screens. “Is Billie… pointing?”

The six members gathered around the screens, their headsets and mic’s still clutched in their hands. It looked to be Billie standing from her seat beside Finneas. And as the man played the tune to “I Didn’t Change My Number”, Billie walked her way to the edge of the stage, gazing over thousands of fans reaching for her and letting out shrill screams. But her own gaze landed on the woman up in the VIP lounge, shimmering red beneath the showcase lights. Her hand rose to point at the woman as she belched a particular line, a line she had written for her when reminiscing on the times Billie would love waking to this woman’s bare back.

Lara knew of Y/N’s past, her friendship then turned brief but toxic relationship with Billie. Y/N had assured her many, many times there was nothing there anymore, they don’t even talk, but the way Billie seemed to be flaunting her feelings for her girlfriend was like waving red before a bull.

She was going to fucking murder Billie Eilish.

Assisted backstage by Katseye’s manager after the concert, Y/N waited anxiously, knowing she’d have to face Lara sooner or later. She was excited to jump into her girlfriend’s arms, showering her with kisses and praise for how good she did onstage. She hoped to explain everything in case she had seen the whole Billie fiasco, but fate had other plans.

“Oh, hey!” Billie called out. She was catching her breath, sweat dripping from her head with her hair clipped up lousily. She had a bottle of water in her hand, half-drunk and crushed in between her fingers. “Did you enjoy the show?”

Y/N swallowed, nodding politely. “Yeah, you were good.”

“Yeah?” Billie smirked, looking down to wet her lips as she capped the bottle. “I was hoping you’d like it.”

The woman glanced past the singer’s shoulder to scout for her girlfriend or somebody from Katseye who could get her out of this situation. “Yeah, I really enjoyed the show. Hey, maybe we should catch up some other day over drinks, yeah?”

Billie tilted her head, “Really? I’d love that.”

She pulled her phone out her pocket, “I’ll text you a time and place. You still have the same number?”

From behind Y/N, Katseye had changed into the outfits they came in. They were laughing and chatting about the success of their performance. But Lara was ahead of the group, buzzing on her feet in excitement to see her girlfriend.

“Oh my God, is Y/N… talking to Billie Eilish?” Daniel gasped, “Wait, Lara, I didn’t know your girlfriend was friends with her. Maybe she could introduce us.”

But Lara stopped in her tracks, staring at the singer inching closer to her woman with a phone in her hand. She was sporting that signature smirk, her sleepy eyes drinking in the perfect skin to dress ratio her get-up offered. Without another thought, she strode over.

Y/N felt big hands palm her waist, sliding down and around her back. Warm lips met her cheek, before a taller figure loomed over her and alluring dark eyes met her own. She was basking in that post-performance afterglow and she looked ethereal. Before Y/N could greet her girlfriend or contain the excitement she felt suddenly surge from her head to her feet. Lara was already glaring at Billie, who just looked between them with an eyebrow raised.

“Hey, baby” Y/N started, the smile on her face spreading as she grabbed Lara’s face, pressing a couple kisses against her cheek. “You were incredible tonight.”

“Thanks,” Lara said curtly, her attention still trained on Billie, who brushed her nose and looked away. Her grip on the shorter’s waist tightened, fingers making its mark on her skin beneath the dress. She nodded towards Billie, who slipped her hand in her pocket. “What’s good? I’m Lara.”

“Billie.” The latter stuck a hand out, but retreated when Lara didn’t seem to entertain the offer for a handshake. “I’m a big fan. You guys looked amazing out there.”

“Mhm. What’re you guys talking about?”

“Nothing, baby, we were just catching up.” Y/N’s hand rested on Lara’s chest, fingertips caressing the fabric of her top in attempts to soothe the seething rage from the singer. “I was just saying goodbye to Billie. I’ll, uh—see you around?”

Billie nodded, winking. “See you around then, pretty girl.”

As she turned to leave, Lara pried herself from Y/N’s grasp. Her jaw locked and her fist clenched, she would have thrown a punch if Sophia and Y/N hadn’t held her back. The girls circled around the couple, keeping the redhead from getting in any trouble cameras could potentially catch.

“Lara, baby, please!” Y/N gasped, both hands on Lara’s chest as the taller looked over her shoulder at Billie disappearing into her dressing room.

“What the fuck is her problem, doesn’t she see me here?”

“Just let it go, it’s what Billie does, she’s trying to get a rise out of you.” The younger fixed the hair that fell into Lara’s face, gently cradling her face. Sophia motioned for the other girls to leave the two of them alone, they slipped away to the Katseye lounge for the afterparty. “Breathe, baby.”

Lara huffed, her lip twitched. Her nostrils flared as her jaw remained clenched, still looking anywhere but at Y/N.

Still, she didn’t reject her girlfriend’s touch.

Y/N’s arms circled around Lara’s neck, her fingers nipping at the baby hairs under her waves. Her body leant into Lara’s, gently tugging her into an embrace.

When she pulled away, Lara’s harsh grip on her hips softened.

“What the fuck was that? ‘Pretty girl’?” She scoffed.

“This is what she does, you can’t let her get to you.” She assured, “Billie’s just being… Billie.”

“And the fucking serenading? Is there something you wanna tell me, Y/N? She was singing and pointing at you during all her fucking sex songs.” Lara grunted, crossing her arms. “What, it’s just a fucking coincidence she was looking straight at the lounge of all the places she could’ve looked at?”

“Baby, you’re being ridiculous.” Y/N sighed, “I told her I was here with you. It’s not like that.”

“Really? After that whole show she put on onstage?” Lara’s jaw tightened. “And you just happened to run into her tonight? Backstage? With her all up on you like a slobbering dog even when she knew you’re here for me?”

“I didn’t plan it,” Y/N said quickly. “I bumped into her when I was tryna look for you. We only talked for a minute, I swear.”

Lara’s eyes searched Y/N’s face, her walls firmly up. “She was staring at you the whole, fucking thing. Do you have any idea how that looked? To me? To the audience?”

“I’m sorry,” Y/N said, stepping closer. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I only have eyes for you, Lara. Billie doesn’t mean anything to me anymore.”

Lara hesitated, her tough exterior cracking just slightly. “I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

“No, you had other things to worry about,” Y/N said earnestly. “You worked so hard for this, and I didn’t want to distract you. I’m sorry for talking to her, she just wanted to catch up.”

Lara sighed, her shoulders relaxing a fraction. “It’s not just about tonight. It’s about how I feel when I see you with someone like Billie—someone who clearly still wants to fuck you. Have you seen the way she was ogling you like you were a piece of meat?” She took the brown leather jacket she had on off, draping it over Y/N’s shoulders. “This pretty little body should just be for me, you got it? Me. Not Billie.”

“Lara,” Y/N gasped, feeling the taller’s hands palm her ass.

“I wanna hear you say it, baby girl,” Lara looked down at her girlfriend’s body, her eyes darkening and her lips slightly parted. Her hand slid beneath the base of Y/N’s dress. “Who does this body belong to, hm?”

“You, baby,” Y/N moaned softly, “Only you.”

Without warning, Lara closed the distance between them, capturing Y/N’s lips in a fierce, possessive kiss. Y/N’s breath hitched, but she melted into it, letting Lara’s touch silence every worry. Lara’s hands moved to Y/N’s waist, pulling her closer as if to claim her in front of the world.

When they finally broke apart, Lara’s eyes burned with intensity. “Come on.”

Y/N doesn’t even remember how they guys got there, but they were parked in an empty lot somewhere on the way back to the dorms. She was too focused on Lara’s hand inching higher and higher each minute as she sped down the streets. Then, Lara would hop out the car, circling around to pop open the door on the passenger’s side. Y/N let out a loud squeal as the Indian leant in to pick her out, carrying her in her arms. She kicked the door closed, opening the one in the back and gently setting the younger inside.

Getting in, Lara cramped herself in between the woman’s legs, closing the car door behind her.

As she leant down to push her own jacket off her girlfriend’s shoulders, her free hand raked up the woman’s bare thigh, scrunching her red dress. The two of them were making out like two animals in heat, a complete mess. The Indian’s teeth grazed the skin of her jaw, trailing wet kissed down her neck to her collarbone. Her lips latched onto the smooth skin of her chest, sucking red, dark bruises onto her.

“Fuck, I love this colour on you.” Lara growled into their neck, her hands caressing the curve of her hips.

With her mascara running and her lipgloss smudged, Y/N looked up at Lara’s darkening eyes taking in her disheveled look. The straps of your spaghetti dress were already halfway down your arms. She smirked, “I prefer it off of me.”

Her hands had found their way under her dress, fingers lacing into the waistband of her red laced thong. She rubbed her clit through the fabric, drawing out a moan from Y/N’s lips.

Growing frustrated with the fabric, she slid them off her legs.

Automatically Y/N spread her legs, giving Lara better access to her glistening pussy.

"Aww, baby. Look how wet you are for me." She teased as she rubs her bud gently. “You this wet for Billie too?”

The car filled with the sound of their bodies shifting, fabric rustling, and harsh breaths as they both grapple for control. Lara’s fingers grabbed one of her legs, throwing it over her shoulder, her fingertips digging into her skin, while Y/N’s hands tangle in her hair, pulling roughly. The younger woman shook her head, whimpers escaping her swollen lips.

“Please, Lara, don’t tease.”

Lara pulled away quickly, hand raising to grab Y/N’s cheeks harshly. She whimpered at the loss of friction, fingers reaching down the older’s back, nails scratching lines into her skin. Y/N bucked her hips into the knee between her legs, needing more.

Y/N can't help but focus on the sensation of her leg between hers, the friction sparking a tickle within her. She ground against her harder, the heat building between your legs, and she let out a soft moan, her head falling back against the seat.

Lara’s hand trailed down her inner thigh, teasingly close to where she need her most.

"Nobody fucks you like I do." Her fingers slip further under her legs, tracing her fingernails against the skin around her core. Y/N can feel the heat of her hand, fingers inching closer, but not close enough. "Say it." she groaned, her lips brushing against her earlobe, sending a shiver down her spine.

Her hips move with the rhythm of her hand, pushing against it, seeking more. "Yes, Lara," Y/N whispered, her voice hoarse with desire, "Nobody fucks me like you do.”

“Mmh, that’s what I thought.” she smirked, her warm breath brushing her cheek as she slowly pulled her hand away, leaving you empty and aching.

She watched her girlfriend squirm under her, a leg still held over her shoulder. Her eyes flicking down to where she was still pressed against her thigh, seeking relief. She spread her legs slightly, allowing her more room to grind against her. “Such a fucking brat, flirting with your ex.”

“Stop being an asshole and fuck me already!” Y/N whined desperately, her nails digging into her shoulders.

She moved her fingers to plunge into her girlfriend. Y/N let out a loud moan.

“At least when I’m an asshole, I have enough gas in the tank to fuck you the way you deserve to be fucked.” she growled, pressing herself against her. “In the back of my car like a whore.”

Lara dove into the crook of the younger’s neck, her teeth sinking into her tender flesh to silence a groan coming from her own throat at the feeling of your cunt around her, starting a steady rhythm, she gripped your hips harder. “You gonna go talk to Billie after this? Show her the marks all over your body?”

The younger moaned loudly, the sound reverberating off the car walls. Her hand grasped at Lara’s hair.

“Shut up and keep fucking me.” she argued back, pushing back against her to meet her thrusts. the force of her movements made the car rock, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the air.

Her moans grew louder and more desperate as she continued to pound into you, one hand moving to grip your hair roughly. “Oh, fuck—God, Lara!—don't stop!'"

Lara’s other hand reached around to rub her clit, her fingers pressing hard against the sensitive nub as she fucked the younger mercilessly. Y/N’s body shook with the force of her movements, her legs trembling on the seat.

She hissed in Y/N’a ear, her breath hot and heavy, “You take me so well, baby,” she bites and sucks, quick to muffle any noises with her mouth, “just obsessed with my fingers, right?”

Y/N arched her back even more, pressing herself against Lara’s hot body as she filled her completely.

“Y-yes. Lara…” she slurred, “You feel so good!”

The windows of the car fogged up as the vehicle rocked violently with each thrust. Lara’s sweat dripped down her arm as she drove into Y/N relentlessly. By the way her legs were shaking, Lara knew she was close. “Cum for me, baby.”

Y/N’s moans grew louder, more urgent, as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. Lewd noises escaped her parted lips. She clawed at Lara’s back as a powerful orgasm ripped through her. Lara helped her ride out her high, before sliding out. She plugged her fingers straight into her mouth, moaning at the tangy taste. She leant down, ignoring the slight burn she felt along her spine, kissing a panting Y/N’s forehead.

“Next time I see you with her, I’m gonna make her watch as I fuck you silly. Got it?”

[sidsinning]

To expand on Lucifer's neglect more

Yes he loves Charlie dearly, yes he showers her with his love and affection and semi-approval ("it's uh...got a lot of character!") when he sees her after all these years for the first time, yes he is desperately trying to switch back her reliance on Alastor to reliance on him- all these feelings are real and strong when she's right in front of him

-but when she isn't he is back in his own little world and rubber ducks. When he doesn't see Charlie in person she becomes white noise to him besides fleeting moments of courage and pining he gets to try and connect with her again. These are the moments where he regains a bit of clarity on just how fucked his family situation is.

He knows he has to maintain his connection with her somehow while also battling his own depression and urge to isolate and block off the rest of the world. They're in limbo of whether or not their relationship will finally be unrepairable, also expressed in how him and Lilith are not fully divorced, but still separated, with him still clearly loving her bc he still wears his wedding ring.

I love him, I think his love for Charlie is stronger than anything in his life, and I know he'd do anything he could for her (besides the one thing she asked which is very unluckily directly connected to his trauma)

But it's true that he doesn't listen to her, doesn't keep up with how her life is going, and has remained estranged from her as a child through her adult life for years for whatever reason (smtg implied through this flashback we don't understand yet, and/or his mental health issues)

For Charlie at this point, she's not a kid anymore, so just getting a call from him once in awhile is not enough if he still isn't addressing any of the issues that have built up between them, which has made her susceptible to being tricked by Alastor's empty words of praise and bonding

During Hell's Greatest Dad he isn't trying to address anything she's told him to, just trying to fix the surface level physical issues with the hotel to satisfy her- she looks uncomfortable the whole time he's trying to give her a sales pitch while smiling at everything Alastor says bc he is getting to her emotional needs, bc the bastard sees right through the father-daughter pair's issues

"I have angel powers! I can give you mountains of expensive things!"

"I'm always here for you! I'm so proud of you and all you've accomplished! We've grown so close bc I've always been by your side (unlike a certain someone 😇🐍🍎)"

He's excited when she asks him to come over, and we're excited for him to finally see his daughter he seems to love so much who doesn't talk to him, but from their conversation it is very much shown that Charlie is the one who has been more desperate to remain connected to him. She always updates him on her life when she can and asks him if he's paying attention to her- which he doesn't. Leading to her disappointment and/or annoyance with only jobs for her or random calls where he talks about smtg irrelevant.

I am a Lucifer stan through and through, but it is undeniable that he has not been a good dad despite being a good person. Now he's stepping up and reconnecting to Charlie again as she's fully accepting of him which is sweet.

It's also nice to see that helping Charlie and reconnecting with her is what brings him true happiness in life- bc of his anxiety and trauma he avoids the thing he knows deep down is the underlying cause of his unhappiness- his distant family and confronting their fractured relationship

So now that he's addressed a major part of the root of his depression, he stopped isolating himself, is being active, and given himself smtg productive to do, so his anxiety is down :)

Helping Charlie addressed how broken hearted he was over his family splitting, and restored the faith in humanity and good he lost after he was banished from Heaven and failed to redeem sinners when he tried

Shshsjdjdkfk I just love the characterization we get in just 2 23 minute episodes, even though the pacing is undeniably insanely fast and I would have preferred more time to marinate in it- but what can you do about capitalism vs. artistic freedom

[chrollogy]

18+ MDNI; 4.2 archon quest spoilers (for those who haven’t finished it. nothing too detailed but a major spoiler, nonetheless), slightly possessive neuvi, unprotected semi-public s*x (in neuvillette’s office), handjob (brief mention), riding, neuvi has two c*cks. divider: cafekitsune

── it was scandalous, utterly improper, and impure, the list could go on and on to describe what was happening behind the unlocked doors of the iudex’s grandeur office; it held an outstanding reputation, housing the most respected man in fontaine but right this moment, it was nothing more than a mere space to fulfil both of your sordid fantasies. risqué behaviour that would absolutely tarnish neuvillette’s esteemed reputation. he could already see the front page of steambird’s papers adorned with a controversial ebony-inked title that’d make serious waves throughout the nation of hydro, flowing from conversation to conversation of each fontanian.

oh but the thing was, at this very moment, iudex neuvillette could not care less, even with his high honour on the line. to think of someone walking in on you two passionately enjoying one another was exhilarating; especially when you’re straddling him this good; one cock hugged oh-so-tightly and invitingly by your sopping cunt while the other being wickedly taken care of with your trembling hands—thumb focusing on rubbing the sensitive slit of his tip. it was ironic how the expanse of neuvillette’s office didn’t seem enough for this sinful act, it was suffocating and stuffy but maybe it was all because of the fine azure fabric he donned every day; layers and layers of fine cerulean textiles that hid the very monstrosity between his legs.

“n-neuvi—ah! this is inappropriate. . ungodly.” you panted into the crook of his neck, his intoxicating scent only driving you further down the line of insanity as it engulfed your senses. neuvillette wanted to laugh but all he could muster were heated moans and occasional grunts. “mon trésor, i’m quite taken back by your choice of words.” he let out a soft sigh, the gloved grasp on your waist mirroring the tightening grip of your walls around his cock.

ungodly? of course it was.

neuvillette was certainly no god after all, he was more than that of a lowly usurper that answered to the divinity beyond the clouds. to use such a word to describe the intimate act between the two of you as if it was sinful stirred the depths of his mind—a draconic trait he had neatly tucked away, one that was a tad too dangerous to just let loose. possessiveness. to think of mentioning the gods with his length sheathed all the way inside you flipped his switch. you shouldn’t even be thinking of the gods, especially in a godless nation like the land of justice.

offering a response would have been a sensible option if it weren’t for the sudden shift in aura inside the chief justice’s office, a ripple of unmatched power pressing on your sweat-covered skin. earlier, neuvillette gave you the liberty of riding his cock however you wanted but now the bounce of your hips were forcibly halted with a singular arm around your waist. neuvillette’s free hand dug itself amongst your hair, tugging at the roots to assert a wordless power.

with your hips stilled and body flushed against his own, you braced yourself from the merciless ramming of his hips. heated moans that once filled the office now silenced with a passionate, rough kiss—wet lips chasing one another, biting, and sucking. the change in your lover’s pace caused you to tighten your grip around his other cock, earning a fervent moan from neuvillette to slip in between the messy make out. neuvillette may solely be associated to the nation of many waters but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be as burning and fervid like the land of pyro—a blazing flame inside him that could only be fuelled by you.

the chair beneath the iudex groaned and screeched with each sinful thrust, driving his cock deeper and deeper into your slicked walls until you felt him in your stomach—unable to sufficiently pleasure the other cock in your grasp as your body bounced and jolted with his hips. neuvillette kept his lips on your own, making the room spin a little from the lack of oxygen; kissing and nipping at your swollen lips with such desire, even going as far as shoving his tongue past them.

with each passing second and his unfaltering pace, stars slowly crept into your vision, muscles tightening, and toes curling at your impending orgasm. as if on cue, neuvillette pulled his lips away, hand that was once tangled in your hair now resting on your nape, “look at me. .” he panted, his lustful lilac gaze tracing over your cock-drunk face. “look at me while you indulge yourself in immeasurable pleasure, ma belle. . s’ naughty for me, my little temptress, aren’t you?”

neuvillette loved watching the way your face contorted in pleasure while you come around his cock—eyes rolled back, and lips parted to let out such naughty noises; the way your body shivered with sensitivity as intense pleasure kissed down your spine, it was enough for him to come as well. an ardent moan of your name echoed throughout the walls of his office as neuvillette generously emptied himself into you.

scandalous and improper it may be for the iudex to fuck you in his sacred office—where all court files were stored away—he could never deny his lover.