#it was wonderful seeing him be focused on

[cream1111]

🍎 phone call. . .ᐟᅟ

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

ring ring . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

is that all?

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

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

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

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

. . .

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

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

"h-hah..."

no way. there's no way, is he⎯

"ah⎯ fuck"

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

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

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

but maybe it's a lot simpler than that.

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

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

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

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

when did you become so dirty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

what are you going to do in the morning?

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

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

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

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

[jaybarou]

Hi, femme-enby!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🌜

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

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

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

“Twuuuut”

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

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

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

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

You exhaled.

“Twuuuut”

You couldn’t help yourself and cackled.

“It’s your speakers!”

“Twut Twut twt twuut twuut!”

“That’s cheating!”

“Twut Twut twut!”

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

“Twuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut- Tw tw tw tw.”

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

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

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

You didn’t expect any less of him.

“You are Twidiculous!”

“Twut Twut twuuuut!”

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

🌜

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

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

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

“No,” Moon chided you immediately.

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

“The last one was the last one.”

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

“No!”

“Yes!”

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

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

Moon didn’t move. He said nothing.

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

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

“Twuuuut!”

You knew that noise clip!

“Tweeee!”

“Twuuuut!”

“Tweeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

“Twuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut!”

“Twee!”

“Twut!”

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

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

“Twee!”

“Twut!”

On AO3

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

[starry-bi-sky]

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

-

Danny's grip on his cane tightens.

"What—"

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

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

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

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

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

So it's just nerves. Perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looks terribly distressed.

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

"B—" hhhhhh, "Buzz."

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

He looks quite like he's grieving something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[lqfiles]

PAY THE PRICE — 58. a second try

previous — master list — next

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[berfgrimm]

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

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

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

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

———————

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘We’?” the man asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is he?” the man pushes.

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

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

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

Fuck, you think. This is Myung-gi.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not ones I hate.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mmhm,” you hum.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe you both have some things to unpack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you, too.”

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

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

“Maybe for your birthday,” you quip.

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

[kiwriteswords]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They felt like they were sixteen all over again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[mulloey]

hundred bands

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

part of my february festival

join my taglist

words: 8.4k

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

—

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

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

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

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

PLEASE SELECT ONE:

Sugar daddy/sugar baby

Straight/gay/bisexual

Top/bottom/vers

Dominant/submissive/switch/vanilla

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You clicked like without a much more consideration.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect.

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

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

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

Yeah, of course. What are you thinking?

Can I call you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Good,” you breathe. “Really good.”

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

“I think… yeah.”

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

“Hopefully,” you mumble.

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

This man is gorgeous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Food good?” He asks with a smile.

“Yeah,” you say. “Is yours?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. I am, I think.”

“Great. May I ask you something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m glad to hear that.”

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh. So you don’t… um.”

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

“Why?”

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

You flush. “Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah. Apparently you are.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pause. “Type, sir?”

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

“What are they?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do it,” you breathe. “Please, sir.”

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

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

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

“You,” you say. “You, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good.”

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

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

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

“Is it special to you at all?”

“Not really.”

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Give me your hands.”

—

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did it hurt?”

“Kind of.”

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

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

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

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

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

So do you.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good. Pull it out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But those words. That tone.

You in heat?

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

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

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

“Yes sir.”

“What was it?”

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

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

“Yes sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The money’s not bad either.

—

nct taglist: @bbdeongi @yabbadabbatuh @fancypeacepersona

requests open.

[ryansemporium]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The internet was a lot better, though.

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

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

the internet was a lot better though.

[blue-jisungs]

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

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

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

@kstrucknet ♡

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but you’re home alone…? 

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

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

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

“no, something is definitely not right” 

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

“i added more milk!” 

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

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

doyoung whipped his head around, gaze softening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“mom!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i won’t!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

masterlist <3

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

@eternalgyu ,, @haecien ,, @slytherinshua

[babybearnation]

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

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

gn!reader (soulmate aus)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© all rights to babybearnation 2025.

[rebelliousstories]

Card

ValenFics

Relationship: Eddie Munson x Reader

Fandom: Stranger Things

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Brief Strong Language, References to Drugs

Word Count: 1,322

Main Masterlist: Here

Summary: Why must candy-grams be a thing? What purpose do they serve? Why do people think it’s okay to deal them out to students who use them to rub it in each other’s faces?

Consider Donating: Here

How in the ever loving hell did Eddie get into this point of his life? Struggling to finish his senior year in the wonderful year of 1984. And now, specifically at this point in time, he was racking his brain as he tried to think of just who was turning his life upside down. It started off the previous Monday on the 6th.

With Valentine’s Day next Tuesday, the school was in full swing. There were decorations strung about, and every student was being sickeningly sweet. It was genuinely starting to piss him off the more he was in this god forsaken school. And, of course, with Valentine’s Day so close, such began the annual, cruel and unusual punishment known as candy- grams.

Eddie put no faith into getting one of these things. For three years he has witnessed everyone around him getting one, but not the freak. It seemed he was the only person that was not worth the effort. But it did not bother him all that much. Valentine’s Day meant that his side- hustle would be doing well in the coming week as those who ridiculed and bullied him during the school day, suddenly needed something from him after hours.

Which is why on Monday, the day before Valentine’s Day, he was utterly baffled by the scenario that had unfolded. Just before the first period bell, Eddie was at his locker to grab his text book for American history with Mr. Doyle, when someone tapped him on the shoulder. Turning, he was face to face with Jake Bellman, another senior and one of those preps that made sure Eddie knew his place whenever he got the chance.

“Yo, Munson. Got something for you.” Jake stated, with a certain attitude that conveyed the silent message that he would rather be anywhere other than here. Reaching into the box that he held in his hands, Bellman grabbed a box of candy hearts with his name on them, and passed the sweets to the freak. Without a word, Jake walked off, greeting others with their candy-grams with much more enthusiasm.

Shifting his focus to his hands, Eddie, in bewilderment, observed the box closely. His name was written on it in a differing handwriting than the note on the back. Wait, there was a note on the back. Anxiety creeped in as he hoped that this was not some stupid senior prank. In delicate, cursive handwriting, he read, “Roses are red, Elves are cute too, I’d like to have a DnD date with you. Happy Valentine’s Day, Eddie.”

There was no signature. Nothing that would indicate who had written and paid for the candy- gram. So, he spent the rest of the day keeping his eyes out. Eddie’s head was on a swivel as he tried to see if someone was staring at him longer than usual. Or with a different look than he was used to. But no luck in his first three classes. Leaving third period English, he went to go put his books away when he saw something sticking out of his locker.

A single rose. Whoever was playing the joke was doing a damn good job of convincing him that they were serious. Pulling the flower carefully from the grates, the boy mindlessly shoved his books away and grabbed his lunch box. The entire walk to the cafeteria was split between looking at his new ice of flora, and again, searching for whoever was the one that had been giving him all the attention today. Sure, it was a welcomed change from his usual schedule of torment and ridicule, but an odd one.

In the lunchroom, Eddie did not even bother trying to follow the conversation at the table. He was too focused on trying to find his secret admirer to pay attention to the other boys. Half the day, he had been tormented by the question for knowledge. But how was he supposed to narrow this down when everyone just wanted to buy drugs off of him off school property, and hate him on it for the status quo?

This was going to be near impossible and- hey wait a second. Eddie caught distant eyes across the lunchroom before they ducked back down to stare at her lunch in front of her. A pretty girl that he had unfortunately never learned the name of, but definitely had a little crush on, was staring at him. But before he could do anything, she was finishing up with her lunch and leaving the room. It was now or never. She had always been nice to him, but they truly had never spoken longer than saying hello, or excuse me.

Leaving behind his measly few snacks, and friends, Eddie rushed after her towards the hallways outside the cafeteria. Skidding his high tops to a halt, he tried to think of something, anything, to grab her attention.

“Hey, elfie!” As soon as he said it, Eddie cringed. Hey, elfie? That was the best his brain could come up with.

Surprisingly, it worked, because she did stop. And she did turn around. Taking a couple steps towards the now stunned boy, her lips trailed up in a smirk. “Elfie?”

“I…uh, well-” Eddie stammered, “I didn’t know you’re name, and uh-”

“It’s fine. I’ve been called worse.” She finally put him out of his misery and offered her name up to him. Eddie could not help but let the name wash over his tongue a time or two before responding.

“Um… you are the one who did the candy- gram for me though, right? And, and the rose?” He asked hesitantly, holding out the flower as if to prove that he had received it.

Looking away, a fierce took over her cheeks. “Well, I just… I thought I would do something nice for you.” It was now her time to stammer.

“Uh, gesture received.” Eddie could not think of anything else to say without risking sounding stupid in front of this girl. And yet, he somehow mustered the courage. “Did you mean what you said? On the candy- gram, that is. About a Dungeons and Dragons date? With me?”

“If that’s alright with you. We can make characters and backstories. Or just geek out over lore. Most people won’t let me play because I’m a girl but I still love the world building aspect.” Her rambles were cut off when she suddenly could smell his cologne closer. It was not a bad smell either; rather one that she could enjoy a lot.

Surging together his last bit of courage before it left his body, Eddie blurted out, “are you free tomorrow night?”

“Yeah,” she chuckled, “Just gotta knock out some homework but yeah.”

“Could I take you out on a date? The diner on the outskirts is where I usually go since they let me stay so long as I’m nursing a milkshake. We could compare DnD books, if you’d like.” Eddie continued, felling the back of his neck get hot.

“I’d like that.” She replied. “Here. Do you have something I can write on?”

Without thinking, he offered her his bare left arm. Another giggle left her as she broke out a pen to write down a string of numbers. “That’s my house phone. Call me tonight and we can go over details, okay Eddie?”

“Yeah.” He said, sounding breathless.

“Okay. Well, bye.” Smiling at him once more, and in a bold move of confidence, she pressed a kiss to his cheek before turning, and leaving deeper into the school.

“Hey,” Munson called once more, causing her to turn. “Where you going?”

“The drama class. I paint backgrounds.”

“Give me three seconds, and I’ll walk you. Hopefully?” He inquired.

“Don’t keep me waiting long.” She confirmed, watching as he rushed into the cafeteria.

This was going to go well. She just had a feeling that this would be her year. Maybe Eddie’s too.

[slapthosewilliessilly]

The shit these drugs will do to you

Josh Washington x AFAB Reader

Warnings; MDNI 18+, smut, AFAB reader, Asthmatic Reader, Stoner Josh, Weed smoker Josh, Josh is a fucking muncher, begging, oral receiving (fem), drug use, body worship if you squint, semi established relationship, partying, awkward situation

I wrote this while I was insanely stoned and sipping chocolate milk hope y’all enjoy! Requests are still up just send a message whenever!

Photo credit to anti.huntress on instagram!

🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷

“You uh- you ever smoke before?” Josh asked, his back turned towards you as he seemed to dig around in his drawer for something.

Your eyebrow arched as you watched him, sat criss crossed on Josh’s bed. Swirling whatever bright blue concoction Jess poured for you in the cup in your hand. God that was forever ago- hard to forget it’s 3AM and all the others were passed out for the night. “I mean I’ve taken a hit off of Jess’ geek bar before. Almost died.” That made Josh chuckle.

“No I’m not talking about a geek bar.” Josh said before turning around, showing a small baggie with some joints inside making your eyes widen slightly. You never knew he smoked pot. “Can’t say that I have.” You answered.

“Do you…” Josh started before taking a seat on the bed. “Want to have some? With me?” First time you’ve seen Josh almost nervous.

“I mean sure but-“ you hesitated. “I have asthma Josh I don’t know if it’s the smartest idea for me.” You felt almost disappointed by your own answer, it was embarrassing sometimes.

“We can shot gun it.” Josh suggested almost too quickly, the faintest blush on his face. You chuckled, unfamiliar with the term. “Shot gun a joint? Dude what does that even mean?”

Josh grinned slightly again as he opened the small baggie and pulled out one of his joints. “Well would you rather me tell you about it,” Josh spoke before setting the baggie to the floor and holding the joint between his thumb and index finger, looking at you with an expression similar to one of endearment. “or do you want me to show you?”

That made your cheeks flush slightly, his usual cool and collected tone seemed sweeter- excited almost. You felt your thighs twitch absentmindedly, you could always blame it on the alcohol.

“Show me.”

You spoke with a breathless whisper, surprised that Josh could even hear you. But he did. He grinned before scooting closer to you, “Just relax, I’m taking care of you- just follow my lead.” He reassured you, once you nodded he brought his joint to his lips and dug in his back pocket for his little flip lighter.

Watching Josh smoke was definitely doing something to you, you weren’t sure exactly why but seeing how his lips were wrapped around it and inhaling was sending heat straight to your core. You wondered how good he’d look with his lips wrapped around something else.

God you sounded like Mike.

Josh gave you a sideways glance as he exhaled through his nostrils, a small smirk tugging on the corners of his lips. He brought the joint to his lips once more, inhaling deeply before turning to face you. The joint in one hand, his other hand gently caressing the side of your face. A look on his face seemingly asking ‘you ready?’

You nodded, suddenly your mouth felt dry. Josh leaned forward- his thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he gently began to blow the smoke into your mouth, lips just an inch away as your eyes fluttered shut and you inhaled what Josh was so generously giving you.

Your skin felt hot from the proximity alone, tingles and electricity covering your body. God your core is damn near pulsing on his bed with the thought of how easy this would be to take it to the next level.

When the heat of Josh’s presence faded and your eyes fluttered open, face feeling hot paired with an indescribable need for Josh Washington to be inside you right now. When your eyesight focused you were met with Josh’s red tinted eyes all but gleaming at you with a smug grin on his face. It makes you cough in a brief awkward manner at the realization of how you were looking at him like you wanted to jump his fucking bones.

“Woah hey girl easy-“ Josh comforted as he placed a hand on your back, rubbing circles onto your now sensitive skin. “Take a breath, we’re cool. You actually did really well.” He soothed in a soft and subtle tone.

Oh god the praise.

You were already half soaked you didn’t need him to add more fuel to the fire. You recovered from your coughing only a moment or two later, sometimes once it started it was hard to stop. Josh only continued his sweet slow circles on your back, carefully watching you to see if he needed to grab your inhaler for you.

“Sorry.” You blurted, eyes on your lap in embarrassment.

“Dude for what?” Josh asked quietly, his hand feeling lower on your back than what it did when he first touched you. Maybe you were imagining things.

“I just- I feel like a weirdo for looking at you like that. I’m sorry.” Jesus this was humiliating. “Hey-“ Josh’s hand moved to your knee, making your skin jerk slightly in surprise.

“We’re cool, you’re totally fine. Promise.” Josh soothed. How could he not feel how hot your skin was? “In fact…” Josh whispered, his eyes focused where your plush thighs were clenched. A faint smirk on his face before his eyes moved up to catch yours.

“You want some help there?” He asked, referring down to your slightly grinding thighs. You were going to cry if you couldn’t get more friction.

You felt caught red handed. You felt lightheaded, giddy, nervous, and soaked- you bet your face was hot red. “Please Josh?”

Josh’s eyes widened slightly, jaw slacked as he studied your expression carefully in case you weren’t being serious. He didn’t actually think you’d entertain what he said, but neither did you.

You didn’t know what josh did faster- shove his lips on yours or put out the joint in his ashtray of the bedside table. His hands felt like they were everywhere, trying to devour you by touch. Your thighs, your hips, the side of your neck, your breast- leaning you back further onto his bed and climbing over top of you.

His lips felt everywhere too. Your lips, your cheeks, your jaw, up and down your neck. His lips meeting with your own once more after you whined when he kissed your breasts through your shirt. God he was making you feel dizzy but you never wanted it to stop.

“Can I taste you?” Josh whispered his question, his fingers almost pawing at the waist band of your shorts. His breathing heavy and almost ragged, you shivered at the idea of him holding back.

“Yes-“ that was the only thing Josh needed to hear before kissing you passionately once more as his fingers hurriedly began to slide your shorts off. After your shorts then it was your shirt, nipples being met with his soft kisses as well before adjusting you both.

Your legs dangling off the edge of his bed as Josh moved you carefully with a strong touch, moving your knees to rest on top of his shoulders as he got on his knees.

Josh took his time, wanting to make you squirm and beg for him to fuck you with his tongue. He left soft kisses all over the inside of your thighs, his hot breath fanning against your clit making you shiver in anticipation.

“Please-“

“Please what baby?” Josh’s eyes interrupted your weak plead with a question. Blue eyes glinting something smug from their place between your thighs. “Tell me pretty girl.” He purred before lowering his head and blowing soft cool air against your heated entrance.

“Fucking-“ you whined. Tears building in the corner of your eyes. You didn’t know what to say- you forgot how to beg. Laying there soaked waiting for Josh to just devour you was just torture. “Don’t tease me anymore please I need it so bad.” Your voice shook slightly as you pleaded for the wait to be over- you wanted to cum on his face and you wanted to do it now.

“I’m so sorry baby.” Josh cooed- you could feel that smirk of his radiating off of him. “Let me take care of you pretty girl.”

You nearly squealed when you felt his lips wrap around your clit and began to suck and lick you apart. Thighs squeezing Josh’s head closer as he devoured you entirely. The sounds of wet slurping and his panting combined with your moans and mewls of pleasure echoed through the room.

“Holy fuck! Oh shit baby-“ you moaned, “so fucking good Josh holy shit-!” Your squeals only seemed to make Josh more determined in his mission of having you cum all over his face.

You felt so close to the edge already and he barely started. Josh’s hands roughly gripped onto your thighs, not minding at all how you were squeezing his head so tightly. Lightheaded and eyes rolling to the back of your head as Josh pushed you closer and closer to the edge- eating you out like a man fucking starved. Did having sex stoned always feel this good?

Your hips grinded absentmindedly against Josh’s face, seeking just the slightest bit more friction to cum. Your words slurring as you moved your hips against his face faster, Josh’s hands holding your pussy tight against his face before he sucked on your clit again.

You squealed one more time as you felt yourself soak Josh’s face in your fluids, looking down at him between your thighs already looking up at you with half lidded eyes. Your breathing hitched slightly at the sight. Josh waited until you were shivering and body twitching for him to pull away. Josh made his way up to your lips once more, you could taste yourself on his tongue and it was almost addictive.

When Josh pulled away he rested his forehead in the crook of your neck, breathing heavily, seemingly trying to steady himself. Glancing down you see a wet mark on his jeans from your current position. “Josh did you- did you cum in your pants from that?”

Josh could only answer with a slight scoff. “Shut up.”

[megapteraurelia]

hiii just saw your post about needing distraction and if i can help you even a little bit then i’d be happy to!! so id like a drabble with akaashi, f!reader or gn!reader, fluff, at uni?? if that’s fine?? have a lovely day <33

zeugmas and feelings.

summary | akaashi keiji and you found each other while trying to survive deadlines. or: how to not get anything done because akaashi keiji is just so damn pretty. warnings | none! it's meet-cute and fluff :3; fem!reader word count | 4449. a/n | elie, i love you, you precious!!! thank you for this and i'm sorry that i didn't keep to the idea of a drabble. for the life of me, i could NOT pass up writing several moments of akaashi so there's 4.5k words full of them instead T_T i hope i made it justice, though :3 please let me know what you think! -` ♡ ´-

the library was silent on sunday; eerie yet comforting in a way. 

the sun had long since set, the last of the rays that came through the windows bathing everything in a light that felt more nostalgic than it actually was before it dipped everything outside in a dark cloak. among the typing sounds on different kinds of laptops, their engines more than ready to take off after being used for so long, there was only the ticking of the clock, sometimes a soft clearing of throats or the gentle clink of a thermo cup being set down.

looking up from the mock exam you were taking for your cultural studies class, flexing your cramped fingers and rolling your shoulders, your eyes found the only other person sharing your space that late. you didn’t mean to look over at him lest you made anybody feel awkward, but in an entire picture of stillness before you, the movement drew your eyes naturally.

his fingers were swift, flying over the keyboard, gaze trained at his screen, trusting his hands to instinctively and automatically follow the letters. you couldn’t see his eyes properly, though, the glare of the laptop reflecting off his glasses. though you could see the little furrow of concentration in his brows, his teeth worrying his lower lip as he halted for a second, thinking. then nodding to himself, they resumed their display of a gear having turned in his brain. 

your eyes wandered away from him to your own screen, the words staring at you, and you wondered once again whether you should have chosen a different topic to cover in this assignment. would american history work better? did you have enough characteristics to explain the relevance in the corresponding text? or did you perhaps want to stay focusing on orientalism? 

after all, american history was your current topic discussed in class, its myths and ideologies, transformation of gender roles, the age of realism and science. it would be easier to just focus on any of those: the harlem renaissance, counterculture and postmodernism, the gilded age— 

you rubbed your eyes, and a sigh escaped your mouth, strong and carrying a lot of exhaustion; your lungs pushed the air out forcefully. you were too far in to scrap everything and start anew with a whole nother topic, so there was only one plausible and logical conclusion to draw:

get more coffee and force your brain cells to work.

standing up from your spot, senses tuned into the stillness of the library, you noticed something. or lack thereof. no typing noise anymore that had accompanied you for hours on end; the seat in front of the man’s laptop empty, his notebooks still open on the table, though no cup on the empty coaster. 

as you walked by with your empty mug and passed the little area that his pens and his dispersed papers claimed as his for the time being, you let your eyes flit over his screen. walls of paragraphs comparing two different works of literature on one half of his desktop, another document open with several similarities and differences listed on the other half. 

“japanese lit, huh?” you mumbled to yourself, tired eyes straying away from his possessions and your feet automatically carried you to the coffee machine at the entrance of the library that the students of various classes had invested in to aid them during their emotional breakdowns…uh, quest to finish their essays and assignments in time. 

zoning out, gripping your mug in one hand, you barely recognised the familiar movement of a person occupying the space in front of you out of the periphery of your eyes as you neared the coffee machine, so you only came back to reality when your nose was suddenly squished against a warm barrier that smelled like cappuccino and old books. 

“easy,” a deeper voice than yours called out close to your head, one hand having already come up to steady you when you lost your balance. his hand was warm against your back, the heat seeping through the layers of your woolen turtleneck, and for a second you both occupied the same space, the only sound the ticking of the clock.

“oh, sorry,” your response was automatic, sheepish and you stepped back, “i probably saw you but my brain didn’t work quick enough to actually see you.”

your gaze found the missing person whose laptop you snooped through (did it count as snooping if you only quickly looked at the screen enough to see what he was working on? you didn’t even touch anything, promise), and this time you could see his eyes, unhindered by any light reflection. 

pretty, you thought off-handedly, really pretty eyes.

“no stress,” one shoulder heaved up, and when his fingers stopped supporting you once he saw you didn’t need his help anymore, your back felt weirdly cool. it was nice having felt the heat of his arm around your body in the absence of any human contact in the face of studying. 

he filled water into the reservoir of the coffee machine, a cup of beans already measured from before you walked into him. you cleared your throat and nodded in thanks; he bowed his head quickly, waving off your thank you, his hand nudging up his glasses perched on his nose when they threatened to slide down. 

they were a bit big, but the earnest look of the dark blue eyes accompanying them made them all the more alluring; like they caged a ton of unsaid thoughts behind them, like there was so much those eyes wanted to tell but they had to get through the barrier of the glasses first. 

a transparent mask to hide behind.

“sooo, how’s the coffee?” you asked to fill the silence when your eyes met again, looking away just as quickly, because you hadn’t expected that his sharp pupils found you the same way your eyes found his. stupid question, to be honest, when the coffee machine whirred in answer, and there was a slight smile playing on his lips.

“i don’t know yet,” he held up his opened thermos cup to show you the lack of liquid that he could not judge on yet, and your cheeks flared up at the obvious demonstration, mumbling quietly to yourself, thinking that the coffee machine was too loud for him to understand: “sorry, that was…an incredibly stupid question.”

“you’re okay,” his quiet and steady voice came back to meet your ears, held back amusement lingering in the folds of his tenor. he heard you just fine, “though probably just like bitter water.”

leaning back against the wall, he joined you in waiting, and then there was comfortable silence between you both. he was close enough to feel the air warm up, close that if you glanced up again, you could see his lashes brush his cheek as he closed his eyes for a quick reprieve, the curls of his hair, messy and falling over his ears, his lips sitting together calmly, sometimes twisting when he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

you looked away again, to the coffee machine that went from grinding the coffee beans to finally pouring the hot water through it and dripping into the pot. you thought you recognised him from somewhere, this boy with the gentle, kind eyes and the charming glasses. you couldn’t help but steal another glance at him, trying to gauge where from, whether you had met him on campus before.

“i can feel you staring.”

whirling your head away from his still closed eyes and the fingers messing with his hair, you felt embarrassment brewing within your chest alongside the coffee in front of you. stupid, stupid.

“sorry.”

“don’t be. i don’t mind,” he said, still the same reserved amusement hiding behind his words, and then he did open his eyes to turn to you, and you returned the favour of looking over him again. your gazes met for a split second, dead-on, before they parted again to look at other features, “you’re in professor yoshida’s class, right?”

“right! that’s where  i know you from,” recognition finally bloomed, and you tested out the name that was continuously popping up in your mind during the short wait, wondering whether it was him, “akaashi keiji, right? you looked familiar.”

akaashi opened his mouth to respond, but halted for a split second; his cheeks and ears using this one moment to turn into a soft pink. when he caught himself and talked, you had an inkling that he meant to say something completely different: “yeah, exactly. what are you working on?”

“cultural studies. incredibly boring.”

“japanese lit,” he nodded in sympathy, then moved to pour coffee into both of your cups. you wanted to thank him, take the cup yourself and move, but he beat you to it. reflexes sharp and swift movement, he maneuvered around you easily to carry both of your coffee mugs back to the table you both shared. 

“thank you,” you said at last, seated away from him at your own laptop with the steaming cup warming your hands, the same old words on the screen staring back at you, and he responded in likes; his voice comfortable and easy, deep and as warm as the drink in your hand, “of course.”

both of you continued working, though amongst the clicking of keyboard keys and the silent breathing were the little glances both of you threw at the other now that there was some common ground found. when you got stuck with how to phrase a certain sentence, chin supported on your hand, your eyes wandered to him out of their own volition and instinctually, and you watched him focus on his work. 

the way his teeth would not stay still, constantly picking on his lips, his fingers rubbing his chin when he thought; the light warming up his face and making it seem like his hair was draped over him like a dark curtain. 

then you’d attend to your work again, and it was akaashi’s turn to let his eyes and mind wander over to you to watch you get stuck with another paragraph, biting your nail while the other hand was tapping on the keys lightly without pressing too hard, eyes intently focused on the words. 

you had an intense look in your eyes, and everytime, there were little butterflies erupting behind his ribcage when he felt you dedicate it to him.

those moments in between, when both of your eyes passed the others, belonged to nobody but the empty library. moments, in which you allowed yourselves to bask in the heat of fading instances, of arcane glances, interrupted by little sighs here and there or random occurrences, in which you both just couldn’t help but talk to each other:

“i’m jealous of your concentration,” you groaned at some point, allowing your forehead to thump onto your arm to bury your face away from the screen and its cruel, glaring light, “you look like you’re about to solve all the problems in this world.”

akaashi had stilled in his work, startled, eyes glancing up over the rim of his glasses up to you, and his teeth finally let go of his poor, swollen lower lip; mouth curling into a small embarrassed smile, “not quite. but i may be able to help you with yours, if that’s a start.”

you laughed at yourself for the strange thump your heart produced, hand waving him off, “sweet of you, but i just need some of that laser focus you’ve got.”

“sending you some.”

pretending to catch the energy he threw your way, you perked up in your seat and flashed him a grin, “you’re a lifesaver.”

“oh fu— shit.”

he was already beside you with napkins, big hands dabbing up the spilled lukewarm coffee as you worked to put away your electronics and books lest they’d get ruined by the deep brown liquid. he was close, leaning over you, hands working fast and precise, feeling his chest bump against your shoulders ever so slightly. your body warmed up at the contact, and you had to try not to lose your mind over that.

“ugh, i swear this is not my usual.”

“i’ll believe you when i see you prove the opposite to me,” he said quietly, a certain openness in his voice, a silent offer to spend many more moments together like this. 

you looked up at him, a smile stealing itself on your lips, “i suppose if you’re asking to be humiliated and be proven wrong, then i won’t say no.”

the skin underneath akaashi’s glasses had warmed up, and as he went back to his seat, he had stuttered back, “that’s— i didn’t— nobody said anything about humiliation! also, you’re the one who barely escaped electronic and academic death. gotta tone down the murderous intent a little.”

“never. every essay is my arch-nemesis, so they got what was coming for them.”

akaashi had shook his head, and laughed quietly to himself; the sound as honeyed as your favourite dessert. 

when he returned from his bathroom break later on, he brought you back a new cup of coffee, anyway, despite his fear of you murdering your hard effort of having added only three extra paragraphs to your text in all the time (you were a little busy staring at akaashi keiji’s pretty eyes; nobody was allowed to judge your slow pace).

you fell back with a big oohmpf and a yelp. 

dazed, you looked up at the ceiling, the low warm light of the library in the midst of the dark outside looking enticing enough to fall asleep right there. you stayed on the ground for a second, most of your fall cushioned by the chair, though your butt still throbbed with the impact. 

“hey,” a couple steps resonated before a messy head of curls peeked over you, one hand holding the glasses in place, while the other was reaching towards you to help you up, “you alright?”

“y-yeah,” you sat up, shaking your head a bit to clear it from the zoning out you were doing before gravity decided to take you down, “i suppose that’s why teachers always say not to rock your chair back and forth.”

suppressed laughter, mild concern, and a warm hand engulfing you, “what a delinquent. i bet the teachers loved you.”

“hey! what’s that supposed to mean? they loved me! incredibly so!”

“okay. i think i need help.”

“of course, what do you need?”

“do you understand what i’m trying to convey when i phrase it like that? ugh, i’m scared it’s too convoluted.”

“give me a second,” he finished up his sentence, then came over, “let me see.”

his chest pressed against the back of your (now upright) chair as he leaned over you to read your run-on sentence was distracting you. he wasn’t touching you per se, but the placement of his hands on the arms of the chair could cage you in, make you feel like he was embracing you from behind, so much taller than you. the warmth emitting from behind you made you want to fall asleep and let your head land in the crook of his neck.

he was breathing softly, the air caressing your hair, and when he reached out to point at your words, your eyes followed the red knuckles, his clean nails and the size of his hands. 

“you mean that the west created orientalism as a cultural and intellectual framework, right?” — a quick nod of yours — “alright, then i think if you cut this in two sentences, for one to showcase the interpretation of the east and then dive deeper into the colonisation in the next sentence — that would make it more understandable. say, am i making you nervous?”

blinking, “w—what? where did that come from?”

he leaned down slightly, face hovering next to yours, his voice slightly raw and close to your earshell, “don’t forget to breathe. also, you have a typo — row three, the fourteenth word.”

“evil,” your breathing was clipped from the insinuation that he may have had an effect on you, heart pumping blood through your body like crazy as if it was held at gunpoint, “i bet the teachers really disliked you.”

despite that, you brought him a cup of coffee when you returned from your bathroom break, too.

“you alright, akaashi?” you asked.

akaashi keiji looked up, his hand rubbing his neck, kneading the knots out of his tense shoulders. his eyes, until just short of when you called him, had been glazing over, a little bit of a vacant look entering the blue of his eyes, but when you called his name, he had snapped out of it, and his features relaxed slightly, away from his troublesome thoughts. his dark brows furrowed deeply above his eyes.

“yeah, just thinking about all the deadlines coming up. it’s…” he sighed, allowing his shoulders to sink, and he leaned back in the uncomfortable library chairs; another big sigh escaping him, “...a lot.”

“yeah,” you agreed and stood up, walking over to him. his surprised gaze followed you, and when you stood right next to him with his head tilted back, the wavy strands of hair following gravity, looking up at you with those eyes, you felt a tug in your chest that told you to kiss him. you didn’t. 

instead, you nodded to the window, “let’s take a walk and a breather,” and then, because you couldn’t help yourself, “a zeugma. get it, mr. japanese literature?”

his shoulders stayed relaxed, and he laughed again; a brilliant smile on his lips and you thought of how you wanted to kiss him even more. his eyes felt lighter, too, when he pushed back his chair and stood up, body entirely too close for what probably should have been appropriate for two students who had only properly met today for the first time. or was it already the next day?

but neither of you moved for a second, drinking in the presence of each other, before he grabbed his jacket off his backrest, “i think you can do better.”

“well, i think it was pretty good.”

akaashi shrugged, a teasing glint in his eyes, competing with the sparkle of the glasses when he turned and the light hit him just right, “and i think i have you beat there.”

you grumbled but caught up to him nonetheless.

it was cold outside. 

the kind that slithered through between the folds of your clothing to nestle deep in the crevices of your soul. the kind that had you shuddering and sending remnants of cannons into the air with every breath, the moisture immediately misting up. 

akaashi keiji was walking next to you, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets, though his exhales were shaky too, chest trembling with compressed and suppressed shivers. you were already as close to him for warmth as possible without being weird or too straight-forward, though you wish you could just cling to his arm — it was that icy.

“i feel like i can’t even think,” you mumbled, already feeling your lips starting to numb, the tip of your nose burning. 

“me neither, but maybe that’s a good thing,” he breathed out, the warm air blowing past your temple, and his cheeks were so pink, it was cute, “sometimes it’s all too stressful, and i wish i could turn off my brain.”

“does that happen a lot?” 

you referred to the way his face looked like there was a headache incoming, how his fingers froze and his shoulders locked in; the way he seemed to absolutely crumble under the prospect of the things he needed to do and that awaited him. 

akaashi had an embarrassed smile on his face, shoulders drawn up for some warmth, the fuzziness of his jacket’s hood surrounding his reddening cheeks, “sometimes. there’s a lot of expectations riding on passing my classes. not just passing them, but passing them well.”

“by whom?” you leaned forward; curious eyes trying to catch his, “expectations set by the profs or by yourself?”

he stared at you, and his lips were slightly open; with every exhale, condensation snaked up the air like smoke, dissolving in the cold atmosphere all around you, though the air between you was slightly warm. his eyes looked kind and vulnerable for a second, “what a callout. guess i can’t even pretend that it’s not me, huh? you caught me.”

“not yet, i didn’t,” you dared say, and he stopped walking, even though it was colder to stay still than to move. you stopped, too. a snowflake floated between you, landing on his pink nose, melting at the warmth. 

the entire evening long — ever since you had bumped into him making coffee and you both went from studying alone to studying together, little jokes and jibes passing between you, curiosity and interest swapping between you with every glance, solitary and shared, you felt there was maybe a chance for something more. not necessarily all the way if it didn’t work out, but more to explore, more of him and you to meet.

“what does that mean, miss cultural studies?”

you blinked up at him, “i don’t know, mr. japanese literature. you’re the one who reads between the lines of books and analyses everything.”

“i’m not that far into my course,” he told you, seriously, and for a second you almost believed him, but then his eyes crinkled as he hid his smile behind the fluff of his jacket, and you pulled out one of your hands from the pockets of your coat to lightly pull his ear, not enough to cause pain but enough to chide him.

“you liar,” you said with no malice, voice soft and as your hand trailed down to hide your fingers in warmth again, his hand, fast as ever, pulled out of his own jacket, grabbed yours and stuffed both your hands in his pocket instead. 

incredibly warm, fingers locked between each other, soft skin kissing yours, “let’s go, it’s too cold.”

sometime around 2 am in the morning, you decided that you were going to fall asleep right then and there. sadly, coffee barely had an effect on your body anymore after having put your body through caffeine abuse for so long. 

during the hours of studying together, one of you moved closer to the other, so both of your books and notes were strewn together, sharing a space. his thermos cup stood next to a bunch of other cups both of you had drunk out of, because you kept forgetting to take the mug you were using with you and were forced to bring new ones. 

scrutinising a well-read book in the dim light, you ask, “is this mine?”

“unless you want to take home a copy of the setting sun with you and dissect the theme of youth in crisis, then i’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“ugh, i can’t even read anything anymore,” a beat of sly silence, “or you know, maybe i do want to. then i’ll have an excuse to see you again.”

“or,” akaashi butted in and gently offered you his phone, his smile straightforward yet a shy edge sweetening it up, “you can give me your number and we’ll meet up for another study session when you’re available. how’s that sound?”

in lieu of an answer, you saved your contact in his phone; your fingers caressing his under pretense of giving it back to him, and his movement was delayed, allowing the contact between you two to linger for a moment more.

“i’ll walk you back.”

“it’s not that far, so you don’t have to. it’s cold, too.”

akaashi sent you a look that very much told you he did not care how cold it was, there was no way he would let you walk alone at night. and when he did, your hands were buried in his pocket again. 

the world was quiet and still, as if you were caught up in another plane of existence for the past hours. a limbo of sleepy nature, perpetually falling snowflakes, the constant of the warmth akaashi offered, the bumping of arms as you walked in silence, subtly pulling him either to the left or the right when you needed to change the path.

“when is your assignment due?” you asked, lips barely moving from the cold, so you had to hiss out the words, barely understandable.

“four days ‘til friday. yours?”

“monday.”

another shaky exhale, the tremble evident in your shoulders, and you opted to walk a bit faster, even though you didn’t want to part with him yet. but cold was cold, and you would like to keep your toes still alive and kicking. so, it was no wonder that you arrived at your dormitory relatively fast, though even then, both of you stood in front of the entrance, not ready to say goodbye yet, not ready to leave the world of the dead and wake up the next day to greet the same usual bullshit. 

“meet me tomorrow,” he said with blue lips and red cheeks.

“okay,” you responded, heart fluttering when he didn’t let go of your hand. instead he took a step back and you were forced to follow, because you didn’t let go of his hand, either.

one step, another, a third one, then the tentative meeting of cold mouths. his breath was warm, his tongue warmer, and gradually your lips returned to their soft, mellow state. kissing him felt gentle, it felt safe and it felt like you could sink into him, like awaiting and catching you was a giant cloud that kept you floating up.

he kissed like he was a romantic. like he lived and breathed words meant for you, with the dedication and attention to detail only a writer or an artist could have, every stroke, every painted image on paper. he kissed like he had known you for a long time and intended to know you for even longer.

when you both parted, your lashes were brushing the rim of his glasses and your nose caressing his cheek, lips only inches away so it was only natural to kiss him again. 

“see you,” he let go of your hand at last.

later, an unknown number texted you, and you thought yourself corny, but you couldn’t help the smile that overtook your features at the cheesy line akaashi keiji thought he had you beat with:

from: +81 3 1762-3468 i left my other book and also my heart with you

and then:

from: +81 3 1762-3468 i really do need the book though, bring it tomorrow please :( goodnight x

[jsmelodies]

I fell in love with the fire long ago

I'm back for day 5 of @sjmromanceweek! This is another nessian princess x knight AU, and I'm also adding some forbidden love in there!

Summary: Cassian has loved the princess, Nesta Archeron, for as long as he can remember. So when he's tasked with delivering her to her wedding, he's prepared to suffer through it until Nesta is out of his reach once and for all.

All he knows is that it would only take one word from her to throw his loyalties into a raging fire.

Read on ao3

Chapter 1

Two Months Ago

“Will you dance with me?”

Nesta’s eyes flicked to his, intense silver fire focusing in on him like a predator lazily watching its prey.

“I didn’t think you knew how to do such a thing.”

“I’m not that much of an animal, princess.”

Her eyebrow lifted, an indication that he recognized as her being playful. “Really? It’s rumored that you sleep out with the dogs.”

Cassian couldn’t help his snort of laughter, and he extended his hand out to her, a silent question in his eyes.

And, to his surprise, Nesta took it. For perhaps a second longer than they should have, they stood there. Watching each other, like this moment was inevitable.

Their hands touching, at long last.

He closed his around hers, leading her to the dance floor right as the music started.

Never in a million years would he be able to keep up with her on the dance floor. He could only hold on, as Nesta became a spectacle that the crowd gathered to watch. He spun her around, and around, and around, until she almost laughed across from him. Her face had turned a pretty flushed pink, and not for the first time, Cassian found himself wondering if that pink extended down into her dress to the rest of her body.

Her purple dress floated as she turned, making her truly look like a goddess reborn. And here, for a single dance, she was all his.

It ended. All too soon, the dance was over, the final cadence concluding the song in a blissful harmony. 

She was breathing hard, and smiling at him. He’d been the one to bring joy to her face, and his heart involuntarily clenched at it.

“It’s hot in here,” she said, and he knew that she couldn’t fan at herself with her hands at risk of looking improper.

He had to restrain himself from looking at her chest as she breathed heavily, her front surely pressing against her bodice with every inhale. Instead, he extended an arm to her, his elbow bent for her to rest her hand inside.

“Come with me. I know somewhere you can cool off.”

It was years of trust that had her hooking her hand into his elbow, following where he led. He pulled her through the party, releasing her when they reached their destination: a private balcony overlooking the city beyond, the cooling air providing a respite from the crowded ballroom.

Nesta placed her hands on the railing of the balcony, leaning against the stone as she fell into a concerning quiet, that happiness gone almost as soon as it had appeared.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

Her hands tightened around the railing. “It’s nothing important.”

Everything about her was important.

He nudged her body with his own. “Tell me.”

She took another breath, then a second. “It’s hard to watch sometimes. This,” she said, gesturing outwards. “Knowing I will never get to see any of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, that my father is the king of an entire territory, and I have only ever seen a fraction of it. This place is just a drop in a bucket of the world, and even still, I haven’t seen it properly.”

The rules were different for her, he knew. While he could roam as he liked, going deep into the taverns and shops the city had to offer, it was a whole affair for Nesta just to walk down a single block.

“I’ve never even left the city gates,” she said, overlooking the sprawling streets below. Twinkling lights reflected back up at them, lamps and lanterns alike, all for the celebration happening inside. “My father promised me I could once, when I was younger. I think he figured I’d forget about it. But now, I doubt it will ever happen before I’m married. And after that…”

She didn’t need to say. Cassian was familiar. Maybe after she delivered a few heirs, whoever had been granted the luxury of calling her his wife would allow her the freedom to explore.

But it wasn’t guaranteed.

“I would take you,” he offered. In another world, in another life, he would take her anywhere she wished. He’d revel in her squeals as droplets of the ocean hit her face from the bow of a ship, ribbons fluttering behind her.

He looked over just in time to see the sad smile that spread across her lips. “I know you would.”

It happened again. Nesta touched him again, shifting her hand so it connected with his on the railing of the balcony. She didn’t stop him from interlacing their fingers, though her breath hitched from beside him as he did so.

He turned to her fully, and as if noticing his attention on her, Nesta did the same.

A stray hair had escaped from her pinned coronet, laying across her face. It had to give her a headache, he could only imagine, and he was tempted to just take those pins out one by one until she could sigh in relief.

She watched him, eyes wide as he brushed it off of her face and hooked it behind her ear. 

“I would do anything you asked of me,” he said.

He should have pulled his hand back. But he didn’t, instead moving his thumb over her cheek in a slow motion.

Her eyes fluttered shut, and he stroked the underside of her jaw before lifting her chin up further.

She started shaking, trembling before he could lean in any closer. Then her hand was on his, and perhaps rather foolishly he assumed it was in an embrace.

“We can’t,” she gasped, ripping his hand away. “You can’t touch me like that.”

Then the air was cool against his palm, removed from the gentle heat of her face.

“I–” The look Nesta gave him fractured into his very being. “I’m sorry.”

She fled from his side, pulling her arm away when he tried to reach for it.

“Nes–”

“You can’t,” she said again, firmly, leaving him on that balcony with only the barest trace of her perfume lingering in the air.

Deep in his gut, Cassian knew. He’d always known.

***

Present Day

The news caused a week-long celebration in the streets. Barrels of wine flowed into goblets, and Cassian was no exception—drinking more than he had in years, though he did it in the privacy of his own quarters.

Because he wasn’t celebrating. He hoped that the red liquid would numb his mind, until he could forget the joyous cause for the festivities.

A peace treaty, between the Archeron monarchs and the Vanserras in the Autumn lands. One that resulted in a betrothal between their eldests.

Nesta and Eris.

Cassian told himself that he didn’t care, that he knew this day was coming eventually. That the golden hair that streamed down her back like a spraying waterfall would never be his to touch. 

He knew. He’d known for years, if only in the back of his mind.

The summons came well past dawn, though Cassian’s headache was still splitting his head in two. Still, though, he dressed in his court finery and made himself look presentable, for he was to appear before the king himself.

He was likely being called to slay some monster terrorizing a border town, as he always was. He’d proven himself dependable, accepting mission after mission from the king until he’d earned the man’s undeniable trust.

Unbeknownst to him, however, the king had other plans. It was no beast that he was being summoned for.

When he entered the large throne room, meant for receiving guests, he kissed the ring on the king’s finger before falling to one knee on the marble floor.

“Your majesty,” he said, bowing his head in deference.

The man hummed, and Cassian could only assume he was appraising him from his throne. “Sir Cassian,” he said, shifting in his seat. “I’ve heard that you have not been seen for some time.”

Because he was getting wasted in his quarters. Because he wouldn’t let anyone see how much of a wreck he really was.

“My apologies. I am, of course, available for anything you require,” Cassian said, keeping his head lowered.

The king didn’t hesitate for a second. “My daughter is to be married. If I recall correctly, the two of you are acquainted.”

Every ounce of willpower went into preventing himself from breathing in sharply, or revealing any of his inner turmoil to the man who commanded him.

Acquainted. What a mockery.

Nesta Archeron was his princess. He’d sworn his fealty to her father, promising to protect the realm. Promising to serve him, and his family, until his dying breath.

And they were well more than fucking acquainted.

“I have heard,” Cassian forced himself to say. “My sincerest congratulations on the good news.”

“It is a cause for celebration, isn’t it?” the king chuckled, luckily not picking up on Cassian’s discomfort. “That’s why I called you here.”

Cassian shifted uncomfortably, unsure about where this conversation was going.

“I require my most loyal knight to lead the escort into Autumn territory.”

Dread filled his stomach, like a lead brick being dropped into the middle of the ocean. Escort Nesta. To her wedding.

Would he be forced to watch her walk down that aisle, too? Would he be forced to keep guard over her until she was tied to someone else?

He opened his mouth to refuse. But he couldn’t get the words out of his mouth; he couldn’t deny this even if it destroyed him not to. 

There was only one singular truth in his mind. One singular truth that was clear above the rest of it. Even if every part of his soul despised this, there was no one else Cassian trusted to watch over her. Deep down, he knew he wouldn’t settle until he knew she was protected somewhere.

So he would do it, at the expense of anything and everything. There was no other feasible option. 

He answered, trying his best not to sound resigned, “As you command.”

“I trust you will make my daughter’s safety your utmost priority,” the king said, not unkindly, but with a firm voice that left no room for negotiation. 

As if he would allow for anything else. “Of course, your majesty,” Cassian said, nodding his head once. “It is an honor.”

Well. It was supposed to be.

Cassian could remember the days when he was just a kid pulling on Nesta’s braids as he chased her around the castle. Her mother didn’t care for the display, and thus didn’t care for him, but at that age he didn’t care. He would’ve done anything to see that scowl gracing her features, and still would, if he was being honest.

But they’d grown up. Now, Cassian would trade ten of her scowls for one of her smiles. At some point, his loyalty had transformed into something deeper, something more dangerous.

He couldn’t put a word to it, lest his heart might get torn out of his chest more than it already was.

Nesta was always destined for great things—more than he could have ever provided. She was a princess, and her future would alter the course of nations. 

Two months ago, he thought that might not have mattered. It was before all of this, when a boyish part of him still thought he stood a chance—a common knight that was the lord of nowhere, only granted a relationship with her by pure luck. 

Two months ago, he thought there was a chance she might have felt the same. But he’d been rendered a complete fool. Ever since that day, they’d been cordial, and nothing more. Brief looks across the passageways, and even shorter words of acknowledgement when they crossed paths. The princess seemed content to keep her distance from him, forcing him to watch from afar.

It was her choice. He had to respect it, even if every bone in his body demanded otherwise.

It was easier if he reminded himself that Nesta Archeron felt nothing for him; that she’d taken one actual look at him and deemed him unworthy of her.

The king indicated for him to rise, and it didn’t take long after that to go over the specifications of the party. It was barely half an hour before they were finished.

“If that is all,” Cassian said, “I will start putting together the preparations.”

He barely registered the king’s words of dismissal, striding to the large, double doors at the end of the room and pushing them open.

Cassian spent the rest of the morning meticulously selecting the party of men that would travel with them. He picked men that he trusted—knights that he knew were loyal and would follow his command. Azriel and Rhys were among them, even though he knew Rhys would be nothing less than pissed at having to leave his flirtation with the youngest princess behind for a few weeks.

He could deal with it. Some things were more important, something that Rhys was well aware of, even if he and Nesta were often at odds with each other. 

Azriel and Rhys were part of the twenty armed guards he accounted for, which were enough to cover Nesta’s ladies and the servants that would attend to them. And with that, he took the plans he’d put together and made his way to the grand hallway, to speak with her at last.

***

Nesta always knew that she would be a bargaining chip in whatever grand plans her parents came up with. Growing up, she’d always assumed it would be her mother pulling the strings. That was until the bitter woman died in her sleep. Her father allowed her her freedom afterwards, for a time. 

But Nesta knew it would not last.

Her betrothal to Prince Eris did not come as a surprise. If her mother was still alive, this might be the moment she finally took Nesta’s face in her hands to tell her she was proud of her. Alas, she was dead in her grave, the words never uttered from her lips.

In just three days, she would leave this place behind to spend the rest of her days in a foreign land that she had never even visited. In just a month, she would be a stranger’s wife. His future queen. The mother of his heirs.

For her kingdom, she would do it. For the promise of peace.

Gwyn and Emerie flanked her on either side, speaking quietly amongst themselves about court gossip that they’d picked up that morning. Nesta listened in occasionally, but couldn’t find it in herself to chime in. She appreciated the upkeep in routine, though. Sure, her life was about to change in countless ways, but hearing her friends gossip behind her grounded her through it all.

Selfishly, she was glad they were coming with her. Even if it meant uprooting their lives to go to a foreign court, they’d agreed without question—the three of them having formed a bond that was deeper than blood.

They were returning from a stroll deep in the labyrinth of the gardens. Today was one of the last times she would see them, the sprawling lands partially the product of Elain’s handiwork over the years. The late summer sun had been warm, causing a slight layer of sweat to form beneath their day gowns. When that softer morning warmth shifted into an afternoon blaze of heat, they eventually ventured back inside to rest.

Up, up, up they went, around the spiral staircase that led to the tower of their quarters. It was something her father hadn’t denied her when she pushed and pushed him after her mother’s death. In fact, he’d hardly refused her anything, conceding to almost every one of her requests.

On this, though, she knew he would not budge. On this, she knew not to ask.

They reached the oak doors that distinguished her rooms in the hallway. Gwyn and Emerie’s were just down the corridor, on the other side of the tower such that they were close if she required anything.

“I would like an hour to myself,” she said softly to them, not yet reaching for the handle of the door.

A hand fell onto her shoulder. Emerie’s. “We’ll be in our rooms, if you need us,” she said, before the sound of footsteps behind her indicated that she had been left alone.

Nesta pushed open the doors, striding into her room with the intent of reading at the windowsill while she still could. 

And stopped short, at the sight that was waiting for her.

Sir Cassian’s eyes lifted to meet hers, his body in a relaxed posture where he drew all the attention in the room towards himself, like the large spheres of mass she’d read about in her science books. She wasn’t supposed to have them. It was blasphemy, as her mother would say. A lady, a princess, didn’t need to learn about such things.

She’d never cared, sneaking them in like contraband.

He sat on the long couch in the center of the room, his feet slung up on the table before it as he took a slow bite of the apple in his hand. “Afternoon, sweetheart.”

She wasn’t going to fall into his orbit.

She turned, shutting the door, before taking only a few steps closer. “Need I remind you how you’re to address me?”

It had been an oversight, letting the formalities drop as she had. He’d gotten too comfortable, had gotten too close, and now they were both paying for it.

She remembered that summer solstice night as well as he did. He wanted to kiss her, that much was clear, and she’d had one too many glasses of wine. She’d become used to letting her guard down around him. If she’d had just another drop, she might have let him close that distance.

You can’t touch me like that.

If her heart was her own to give, it might have been different. She prayed that he understood that when she broke away, but the hurt expression that haunted her mind for days afterwards told another story.

Years of trust, fractured in an instant. A guardedness had risen in him, a look that she hadn’t ever seen directed at her.

She had to do it. It was better for them both if she shot…anything down before he got in trouble for it. Secrets, especially amongst royals, could ruin lives. 

“Princess,” he said, his voice in a low drawl. He took another bite of his apple. His throat bobbed with his swallow, and Nesta forced her eyes to remain up on his face, not letting them lower. “I trust you had a spectacular morning.”

“What are you doing in my rooms?”

He motioned to the sprawling papers on the table in front of him, noticeably not in the same general vicinity of his feet. “I figured we should go over the details for our little trip.”

She stared at him blankly. “I don’t know what you mean, Sir Cassian.”

He paused mid-bite, lowering the apple from his mouth. “I assumed your father told you.”

“Then you wildly overestimate how much I speak with my father.”

They hadn’t spoken beyond that meeting over a week ago, when she’d taken his direction with her head held high. 

Eris Vanserra. She could live with Eris Vanserra. They’d met at a ball once, when the prince and his family were visiting. He wasn’t kind, but he hadn’t seemed cruel, either.

She could live with that.

“I’m to lead the escort to the prince’s lands.” He picked up one of the folders. “Hence, this.”

“You?” she blurted out.

He looked up, taking a brief pause before he said, “Yes, me.”

“No,” she said, quickly. Too quickly. Cassian’s slow blink was his only indication that he heard her. “Find someone else.”

Pain flashed across his face, just for a second before a quiet rage overtook it. “I am more than qualified. And if I recall correctly, I am quite skilled at keeping you out of trouble.”

It was true, but she wouldn’t admit it.

“I don’t care. Tell my father that I won’t have it.” 

Even still, Cassian remained firm in his resolve. “I have a direct order from your father. I have been told to keep you safe, and so that’s what I’ll do.”

“I don’t want you there.” 

She didn’t want him delivering her into the hands of another man. She didn’t want him there as she said her vows, she didn’t want him within a mile of it.

She didn’t want anyone finding out how weak she really was, how close she’d almost been to giving in. Cassian’s touch had been warm that night

“If anyone finds out–” she started, but she was cut off by Cassian’s scoff.

“You really think I would do that to you?” he asked, incredulously. “Don’t worry, Nes. I won’t tell anyone what happened that night. I know you wouldn’t stoop for a common knight like me.” 

She flinched at the tone in his voice, the self deprecation. 

He wasn’t done. “I’ll make sure you get to your prince safe and sound, then you never have to see me again.”

He…was angry. And she couldn’t blame him, not after she’d thoroughly avoided him for months.

But still, the words struck deep in her chest, past all the shields and defenses she’d put up around it. 

She parted her mouth to speak, but no words came out, leaving the room in a heavy silence. He just shook his head, letting out a long breath before rising to his feet.

“You can read through those. You know where to find me if you have questions about it.”

Cassian walked past her, taking care to ensure he was nowhere within her reach. He was gone in a blink, his footsteps receding down the long hallway, leaving Nesta alone.

The silence was made worse by the fact that if she called, she knew he would be back in an instant.

***

It shocked Nesta how quickly her life could be packed away into trunks. Over the coming days, servants bustled up and down the steps with them, until her quarters were nearly sparse and empty.

She spent her time with Gwyn and Emerie, hoping that her time reading and talking with them might take her mind off of what was to come. The long journey, which would take nearly two weeks, and the wedding afterwards.

All the while, she tried to maintain normalcy. She tried to do more than merely pick at her food, but it didn’t entirely work, and it caused Gwyn and Emerie to look over her with worry. Every day she grew quieter, retreating into herself as she anticipated her departure.

Only three days later, it was time to leave. Her face was white as a sheet the final time she looked in the mirror before making her way downstairs, meeting her sisters at the bottom of the palace steps.

She didn’t look back towards it. She couldn’t.

“You don’t have to do this,” Feyre said, wrapping her in a tight hug. “Say the word, and I’ll…”

Feyre stopped, drawing a complete blank. It was fine. There was nothing to be done, anyways.

She couldn’t remember the last time they embraced like this. The two of them were so often at each other’s throats that she genuinely couldn’t remember the last time they’d done something as simple as hugging each other. The feeling was foreign, but the familial affection was there all the same. Nesta hugged her back, savoring possibly the last time she would see her sisters in a long while.

“It’s what I was raised for,” Nesta whispered. “You know that.”

“That doesn’t mean I like it.”

Feyre had always been idealistic, abandoning all acts of practicality for blind heroism. When they weren’t fighting, it was perhaps one of the things she loved most about her. She only hoped the world wouldn’t beat it out of her over time.

Maybe, if her sisters were lucky, they would get to marry who they loved. Nesta prayed for it.

As much as she clashed with the man, she hoped that Rhys would return and get on his knees before her sister, and that Elain would find someone who truly made her happy. And she hoped her father would allow it.

“I’ll be alright. You know I’ll give him hell if he turns out to be a prick,” Nesta said.

Feyre hummed, the words seeming to placate her, for now. She broke away, giving Nesta’s hand a final squeeze before dropping it.

“We’ll write, then,” Elain promised, when it was her turn to hug her. 

“We’ll write,” Nesta agreed, before looking at her sisters for the last time. A moment was all she allowed herself, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to convince herself to turn around if she looked at them for too much longer.

“I love you both,” she said in parting, before turning to the gilded carriage that would be her near-constant companion for the coming weeks.

All she could think about was that she should have said it more, those three words that she could only manage to say when there was no more time to say it. Suddenly she regretted every fight, every petty squabble that meant nothing over the years.

She wondered if they felt the same.

He was standing by the door to the carriage. Ever the knight in shining armor, he was there waiting for her with her ladies, who had given her the privacy to say goodbye to her sisters.

He watched as she approached, a playful smile resting on his lips until she got closer. Until he saw the tears she was trying to stop from swimming in her eyes.

He helped Gwyn and Emerie into the carriage first, only offering polite touches to ensure that they wouldn’t fall on the steps. Then it was just him and her, and he missed absolutely nothing as he evaluated her closer, any semblance of his earlier mask dissipating with the shifting breeze.

He’d always been able to read through every emotion she tried to hide, even when they were children and his favorite hobby was tormenting her every chance he got. His smile softened, concern entering his brow as he noted her paleness and the thin line of her mouth.

“Alright, princess?” he asked, offering his arm to help her into the carriage.

Her hand brushed against his forearm, unable to feel the muscle beneath the armor he wore as she accepted his offer. “I will be,” she forced herself to say.

She pretended that she didn’t feel him stiffening underneath of her, that her words had no effect on him at all.

Nesta only dared to look again when she’d made her way into her seat, across from Emerie and Gwyn. His hazel eyes scorched through her, not-so-subtly assessing every single one of her movements until he was seemingly satisfied. 

He held that stare for seconds longer than he should have.

“I’ll be riding in the front, if the three of you require anything,” he said at long last. “Simply say the word.”

He closed the door with a quiet click. Emerie fixed her with a questioning look when Nesta turned her head in their direction, which she dutifully ignored.

Only minutes later, the carriage jolted as the horses pulled it forward, driving them out of the castle gates and into the city, away from the only home Nesta had ever known.

Tag list:

@unlikelypersonalknight1 @c-e-d-dreamer @kale-theteaqueen @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @xxvalkyriesxx @wishcamper @podemechamardek @moodymelanist @burningsnowleopard @scarlettrose80 @underneath-the-sidras @allchaosallthetime @jmoonjones @bobanna81 @shortandcrass @presskmewleroux @theemfingbleachgotmic @misswonderflower @pham-tastical

[luzyuvu]

Thinking about Anaxa.

First time writing in a long time! Also I did this because I couldn't sleep, tell me if is trash, thank you and maybe should I do a part 2?

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

Everyone knows how Anaxa is. Logical, calculative, rational.

Just even thinking about it is redundant. Extremely. Maybe to an offensive extent. And you know it, he knows you do, and even if you didn't he would still treat you like anybody else. Because you are. A random girl that somehow and some way got involved with the Chrysos heirs, by mere chance, luck, or like you like to call it, destiny.

One thing let to another and you two regularly talk, mostly because of how people use you as a messenger when it comes to tell things to Anaxa. You are easy going, quiet, and don't get offended easily. Or at least, you don't seem to show it when it comes to him. Silently dealing with his judging gazes and all the list of reasons why people don't like him in the first place.

You don't mind. Well, maybe you do. It's not like you liked having to deal with someone like him, but you felt bad for the people who asked you to talk with him for them, so you would do them the favor.

After so many times and talks, you tried to get closer. Key word, tried, but it always ends with uncomfortable silences, cold words, emotionless or in best case, judgmental gazes... It's not like you didn't try, you did. Kind words, patience, even trying to crack a joke, but after you tried the latter a few times, only to receive the most awkward silence you ever had, you gave up. It's not like you wanted to, but you weren't dumb. You can't beg someone to befriend you, you just can't. That's why, if Anaxa doesn't like you, you won't push it any further. There's more people in the world, after all.

Anaxa didn't think much about, too focused on his own research and problems. Something someone like you couldn't understand, so he thought.

You don't know how much you treasure something until you lose it, typical, so typical he wants to puke.

He doesn't mind when you start to slowly make more distance, somehow even more than there already was, he tells himself. He curses the humanity on his heart, and he also curses the destiny for making him feel this way.

It's so cliche, so, so cliche it feels disgusting. Is this the karma for all the times he dissmised this kind of behavior? For how brutally he rejected this part of himself and everybody else? He doesn't believe in karma, but this is what comes to his mind right now.

He doesn't understand why he feels this way, and the more he thinks about it, the more reasons pop up of why he does feel this way. Much to his disgust.

Was the way you looked at him? With so much patience and kindness even with his sharp tone and glares?

Maybe how much he got used to you after seeing you over and over for such a long time? The possibilities are endless, and the more he finds, the more he gets angry at himself.

Soon enough, his mind start to wonder, and he thinks of the endless ways he could lose you.

You are a hopeless romantic, he knows it, it's probably one if the first things he noticed. How you daydream about finding the perfect husband, about a romance out of the most cheesiest fairytales that could ever be made, how you fell in love with this fictional characters, dreaming about how happy would you be with them, about finding your knight in shining armor, how you seem to have a new crush every now and then...

It makes him feel sick. Because as soon as he thinks about it, his mind starts to wander.

Aglaea is out of the list of people you would date. She is your idol, your goddess. The way you look at her reminds him of a young child looking at their hero, their patents. With so much admiration and care, as if they were the most perfect and incredible person in the world.

You had looked at him with admiration in your eyes, but it never matched the way you did when it came to her. And it makes his fists clench.

Castorice is out too, she is your best friend, your sworn sister. So much, people often find themselves mistaking you for real sisters. Even when you don't share blood or the same physical features like biological ones do, the bond you have and the way you know each other is undeniable. You even sew, with Aglaea's help, clothes and another accessories to match her in special occasions, or maybe when you feel like. You even have a matching bracelet that you never take off. The only day you lost it, he never saw you sadder, and when you found it, he never saw you happier.

He is not as special as Castorice is to you, not even remotely, will he ever be?

Phainon... He is a particular case. He is kind and the perfect man, in the eyes of the people. The man of your dreams. Only thinking it makes him sick. But he has a lot secrets behind his kind and charming smile. Things no one knows, hiding his own loneliness and revenge. He doesn't think Phainon has in mind love and relationships right now, or if he is willing to expose the secrets he so much dearly keeps to himself.

Anaxa feels relief.

But then... Mydei. He is probably the one you'd least be into a relationship... at first glance. He doesn't have the most approachable personality, and is in general more grumpy and angry than Anaxa. But, he has something Anaxa doesn't, a softer side that can be seen if you reed between the lines and pay enough attention. Something Anaxagoras never showed you, something your sharp eye could notice, and you definitely did.

That's why you were closer to Mydei than you were with him. You are not best friends like you are with Castorice, don't see him as a god like you did with Aglaea, nor appreciate him the way you do with Phainon, but you are in good terms. Anaxa also knows that his softer side defenetly gained a special spot in your heart.

He also noticed the sneaky glances, according to you, that you couldn't help but give Mydei. Sometimes to his chest, others to his arms and others to his back. You were at least a little attracted to him, it was obvious. But now is when Anaxa cares.

You were also aware that he trained kids, and that he had a sweet tooth, it makes you more drawn to him that you ever were to Anaxa, and now, he never felt more jealous.

As he thought about it, his mind started to think more and more about you and Mydei.

It would certainly be difficult and a slow burn but, what if Mydei developed feelings for you? What if you also had a crush on him? The scenario starts to develop.

Out of the two of you, Mydei would h ave to do the first move, you are shy, and probably wouldn't notice Mydei's affection. In this hypothetical case, unless Mydei properly decided to court you. Then, it would be over.

He can see it so clearly, the two of you, slowly getting closer and closer. How even with Mydei's straightforward nature, he would definitely conquer your heart, like he did many battles. How he could hold your smaller frame so easily, how you would burry your face in the chest you already like so much, hearing his heartbeat, looking for comfort in his warmth. How even if he is a warrior, he would hold you with such tenderness, look at you with so much passion. His love would definitely out burn the sun, and consume you until yours burn as bright as his.

You would be his queen, and him, your king and world.

He doesn't know what love is, but he knows what it's heartbreak.

He thinks of another possibility, and then, his thoughts go back to Phainon.

If you somehow got Phainon to open up, and he decided to be genuine with you... As he thinks about it, Anaxa notices, if thinking about you and Mydei was a slow torture, like a knife in his stomach, slowly sinking in and twisting as he gets more and more immersed, then, thinking about you and Phainon it's like and entire mountain fell over him.

The thought disgusts him.

At least, Mydei is kind of like him, and the possibilities of him falling in love with you and actually doing something are low, so low it makes Anaxa feel better, but if Phainon were to do so... By the time Anaxa tried to reach you, you'd already be in Phainon's arms, whispering sweet nothings into each other's ears and kissing in a way only in dreams could ever happen.

He is helpless.

Phainon is perfect, so perfect it's insulting. He got everything, the appearance, the personality... All Anaxa doesn't have, all that you love and ever could dream of. He is a knight in shining armor, a prince, a golden retriever kind of guy, he can't compare.

You'd be so perfect for each other, like a match made in heaven. You are so sweet, so caring, yet with a little twist of sassynes and dark humor. If you ended together, he knows people would think how lucky you would be for being with Phainon, Okhema's hero. But all Anaxa can think is how lucky Phainon would be for being the one who has you, and it offends him how people wouldn't see it, even if it's in front of their faces.

He can even picture a wedding, how beautiful you'd be, in a dress made by Aglaea herself, with Castorice as your maid of honor and Tribios giving you your rings.

He wouldn't even bother to attend it, as much as he doesn't even bother to imagine how Phainon would propose you, it would be as disgustingly sweet as this what if wedding he is imaging right now. And if somehow someone, Aglaea, got him to go to the wedding, he would be sitting in the very end, watching with a gaze that could kill, never leaving Phainon's frame.

He wishes his mind stopped there, but he imagined how he could lose you to every one else and every single person in Okhema, because love is a war where everyone is your enemy.

-------

Phainon noticed how someone was watching him, it was not like the usual gazes he receives when he is walking around or saving someone. No. This one is deadly, and sinister in a way that makes his whole body shiver. He wonders if he did anything to get Anaxa so angry, he never saw him this way, not even with the people he despises. But he chooses to ignore it, even when your happy face can't eliminate completely the hole that Anaxa's eye is leaving on the back of his head.

-------

Mydei has to resist the urge to comfort Anaxa right there and then. It's getting annoying, but he knows you don't like fights and that you'd rather not have to interact with Anaxa if not needed, at least recently. He respects your decision, not asking why or if anything happened between you two. Instead, he just rolls his eyes and enjoys the sweets you baked. It was a new recipe you were trying and you thought he was a good test subject, it's not like he was going to die or get sick if it was bad anyway.

--------

Aglaea is aware of the way Anaxa is behaving, it's painfully obvious, at least for someone with the Titan of romance's coreflame. Besides, the others already told her that Anaxa was acting weird and his sharp gazes were more deadly than usual, specially since you started recently to avoid favors to talk to him in behalf of other people.

Maybe he could use a little of help to conquer his beloved, even if he wouldn't admit it.

-------

Anaxa is not having it.

It's not like he is surprised that Aglaea herself noticed, he would actually be surprised if she didn't. But at the same time, he doesn't like when people get into his business, especially as personal as... Whatever is this.

He reluctantly listens to her, he still hates the idea of help or even recognize his problem, even in his mind, but he can't help to be slightly curious. He curses his curiosity.

Aglaea really cares about you, more than he thought. It kind of annoys him. She cares so much, that knowing your dream is to get married and have a family, besides your own carrier, of course, she personally would help out into getting the relationship you so much desire.

You are so shy and coward, and also, so oblivious, most people would give up trying to court you. And that gives him relief. A part of himself wants you to stay single for him. And realizing this makes him want to shoot himself with his gun. If he doesn't have you, it's fine, as long as no one else does.

He is possessive, he is jealous and selfish. You don't want a lover to own you, you want one to take care of you and cherish you. It makes him feel guilty of his own feelings, he notices. He feels stupid, he doesn't know if it's because of having the feeling in the first place, or because how much he cares about you in this moment.

Love is stupid.

He just admitted he loves you for the first time.

He never felt dummer.

At half of Aglaea's speech his mind starts to wander again.

In the hypothetical case you could fall in love with Aglaea and she was also in love with you, he doesn't know if it would be worse than trying to fight with Phainon for your affection.

She is mature, elegant and romantic, she has the coreflame of romance for a reason. He imagines, she would make you fell in love with her in such a perfect way, it would be slow, caring and breathtaking, such as herself. He stops himself halfway through, thinking of how superior she would be compared to him in terms of courting you it's humiliating and it feels pathetic.

And she notices his jealousy and tries to talk about it.

Even Castorice crosses his mind as they speak, and thinking of how pure your love for each other already is without being it romantic makes it even worse thinking how much you'd love each other if you were lovers.

So, he decides to indulge Aglaea. Because he wants to love you, and make you love him. And if for that he has to change and follow Aglaea's guidance to gain your heart so it be.

Even though he cringes a little of how cheesy it sounded on his head.

[siggiedraws]

I'd love to hear more about your view on Sonic too! What do you like (and dislike, if you want) most about him?🍀

There are so many things I love about him it's hard to choose! But a few things do come to mind:

1) Sonic's willingness to help others no matter what, like when Sonic decides to help rescue a girl's village from a dragon in Black Knight despite the fact that this would cause him to run out of time to do Nimue's tasks (luckily, that was actually a test that Sonic passed!) The fact that Sonic just wants to save people who need saving, no matter if that's an inconvenience to him, shows how compassionate and selfless he is. Not to mention his line to Chip where he says "Do I need a reason to want to help out a friend?" makes me emotional every time. He helps people simply because he wants to!

2) Sonic's thrill-seeking nature. He'll do crazy shit just because it's fun and dangerous and you can tell he just lives for it. He sounds so happy and excited whenever it happens that it's really cute. This is very much highlighted in the Storybook games, where Sonic's companion characters often express their chagrin at how reckless Sonic is. This moment in Pirate Storm and this moment in Molten Mine are my favourite examples.

I would say Sonic's thrill-seeking is emboldened by the fact that he faces death head-on and isn't afraid. When he's about to die in Sonic Adventure 2, he keeps his cool and he calmly holds the fake Chaos Emerald, wondering if he can make it through. In Secret Rings, at the realization that the Flame of Judgment's time limit is almost up, he chuckles to himself and apologizes to Shahra for worrying her. This is extremely telling of his selfless character and his lack of self-preservation. Even in death he's not thinking about himself. He's focused on cheering up his friend.

It's something I find very fascinating, for someone who enjoys living so much to lack a fear of death. Though, I would argue that it does bother him on the inside, if even a little bit, going by the lyrics of Unawakening Float: Must I float away? / Will I ever wake?

3) Sonic's love for life and the world around him. Sonic's always fighting to preserve and protect nature from Dr. Eggman's industrialization, and environmental awareness is a prominent theme in the Sonic franchise, so it makes sense that's what Sonic's all about! He remarks in Heroes that he loves Grand Metropolis, for instance, which is a huge eco-friendly city with no pollution. Also, in a 2022 Q&A, Sonic says that restoring all the levels in Generations reminded him of how great the world is, which is genuinely so sweet! 💙

As for Sonic's love for life, the thing with Sonic is that he doesn't have any ultimate goals in life or any dream to achieve. When it comes to living life to the fullest, he exists in the moment and enjoys the present day. He does what makes him happy right here and right now. In other words, he's content without a destination, and he enjoys the never-ending journey. There is a lot I can learn from him!

4) His mystery! What is Christmas Island like? How did he and Eggman first meet? Just who the hell is this guy? No one knows, but Sonic will tell you he's just a normal hedgehog, which may very well be true. There are little hints here and there that point towards the symbolism of his origins, like his folded boots being inspired by Santa Claus, which is why they're red and white with a buckle! I find that such a cool detail. I love the vagueness of his past and I hope it stays that way.

Speaking of Sonic and mystery, did you know that there's a character called Uhu the Wind Genie in Sonic and the Secret Rings, who is known for his speed, and we never see his true form? I wonder who that could be an analogue to...

As for what I dislike about Sonic, that's much harder to answer because I love him so much. Every aspect about him is perfect to me! I suppose if I had to choose one thing… he can just leave without notice for an extended period of time, as seen in the end of Sonic Advance, and that can be very worrying. He's an independent guy and he likes alone time, but I can imagine how his behaviour could frustrate the people around him. Tails flying in the Tornado trying to look for him in the sky breaks my heart.

anyways... I love Sonic so much as you could tell. Thanks so much for your ask! 💙