#it’s not mentioned in this particular part but it’s a piece of this AU

[versupital]

PONYTAIL.

JJK HALLOWEEN! gojoxreader

SUMMARY ❥ you have a huge, embarrassing crush on the star of the jockey team on campus. you thought you’d kept it low key, ‘till he approaches you at a halloween party, and shows you that the mechanical bull isn’t the only thing you can ride.

CONTENT ❥ collegestudent!gojo, smut, unprotected, slight breeding kink mention, college!au, athlete!reader, afab!reader, athlete!gojo, drug/alcohol use, spit kink, switch!gojo, switch!reader, masochism, sadism, aftercare, car sex.

song inspo: can’t get enough - j. cole

WC: [8.1K] MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Crisp fall air brings out the gooseflesh among your skin; hair that's not there trying to rise at the thrill of tonight's festivities. The sidewalks are packed to the brim of frat boys, sorority sisters, general slackers and... even an alumni or two. So many people to choose from, you think.

Everyone’s in costume; faces concealed by masks, clouds of smoke mixing with the breeze, and overstimulating noises from animatronics. The holidays were here. You should be trying to find a relationship, to cuddle you through the cold, but right now you just want to bone.

"Where do we even start?" you hear your friend ask from behind you, as your whole group walks - stumbles, more like - down the middle of a road that has been closed to through traffic.

"Whatever house has the most fine men standing outside," your other friend answers with a grin.

You agree, because you had already shot down a fair amount of Don Julio - and the heat of the drink had travelled straight to your core, a small throb arising in your cunt the more you glance around and see the variations of muscles poking out from underneath masked strangers’ costumes. You’d easily find the satisfaction to your hunger, but you’re impatient.

You hum longingly as your eyes fixate on a crowd outside of a large house, painted black. There’s fog rolling over the lawn, but that’s not what draws you in; it’s the group of men deep into a drinking game out front.

Without warning your friends, you beeline over. You wonder if any of them are as needy as you feel right now. The liquor alone could not justify the painful feeling of heat all throughout your nerves; it was mostly your hormones. Pathetic, you tell yourself, so incredibly ready to sit down on someone’s cock.

As your friends follow you down the pathway to the large house, you feel several pairs of eyes stick to you like bologna on hot asphalt. That's right; you and your girls are just pieces of meat dangling in front of a den of lions.

You're not surprised, though, because you’re in a brown leather brazier, accentuated by puffy white sleeves that hang off your shoulders, tucked into a skirt. You have a whip on your hip, and your boots are up to your fishnet-covered knees - one of which leads to the garter holding a toy gun against your thick thigh; to add, it shoots out a little pow flag when you pull the trigger.

And it's clearly mesmerizing in the way that you wear it well, walking right into the party with your liquid confidence through the roof, aware of one of your friends falling behind to entertain someone who had called out to her.

Once inside the belly of the beast, you're farther away from the center of attention; it seems that everyone on campus had read your mind about picking this particular house to step into. It made sense; the house was huge outside, but even bigger within.

The room is littered with men and women alike; most sloppily grinding on one another on the edges of the room, others filling their noses with bad things, but above all: you notice there are cheers coming from somewhere in the center.

You realize why as you part through the crowd, dusting your friends to see what the excitement is. And when you see it, you feel yourself grow both confused and aroused.

There, under a bright red spotlight, is an entire brown and white mechanical bull. Somehow, it had fit into this massive room, and there’s still plenty of room leftover for the influx of students. You're as impressed as the rest of the group, who watch as an ebony-haired man lacking a costume walks around to check the plugs on the bull, and bleakly instructs everyone to take several steps back.

Bass had been booming under your feet, competing with the sound of blood rushing through your ears, but it’s slowly fading away now; a voice travels over the remaining bustling.

Everyone seems to freeze as out from the crowd walks a tall, lean individual with powdery skin. He's wearing something similar to you: a black button-down shirt, leather pants, and brown boots, but most importantly - you feel your breath hitch when your eyes land on the delicious black Stetson that rests atop his contrasted snowy locks.

You feel mixed things blossoming in your chest: unease, desire, and… embarrassment.

You’ve been completely obsessed with the boy in the Stetson for months. Satoru, ‘Toru, and Gojo all being the names he answered to. You’d hopelessly pined over this Satoru, each time noting in your mind just how attractive you find him. He’s on the jockey team; you always see him in a tight, white riding suit with his helmet perched against his hip. You’re the soccer team captain, so you share a field for practice, and, well… Satoru doesn’t make it any easier for you to lock in while you train.

Your friends had noticed your infatuation and would giggle about him to you, saying how you looked like a cockdrunk puppy when he would kick himself on top of the horses - all of the muscles in his legs and arms moving underneath the skin you desperately wanted to crawl into.

He managed to pour gasoline directly onto your fire the first time he’d bumped into you on your way to the locker rooms.

“Careful, ponytail,” he’d said, a smug wink fluttering from his eye.

Then it happened again. And again. Each time you bumped into one another, he barely said two words to you, never seeming to truly notice you or take you in. This didn’t stop you from wearing your hair in a ponytail every single time, though.

He would likely not even recognize you now, given your costume and heavy finesse of makeup, a striking contrast to the sweat sticking your hair to your forehead and your muddy soccer jersey every time he’d seen you in the past. But you knew you recognized him, given the way your body was already responding to his presence.

"Alright now, y’all can't all be this shy," Satoru’s horrible attempt at a country accent booms into the crowd, gesturing wildly to the mechanical animal. "Anyone wanna be the guinea pig? Someone's gotta. I'm definitely not doing it."

A bit of laughter erupts but yet, the crowd remains still. You notice people trying to egg their friends on to test it out, but no one is either drunk or brave enough yet. Satoru continues to glare around the room, walking slowly as the spurs on his boots clack against the hardwood floor, as if he is genuinely a westerner interrogating everyone.

You suddenly feel a gush of pressure hit your back, and four hands send you lurching forward, causing you to accidentally step out beyond the crowd and into the center of the room with the snow-haired man. You exclaim loudly and your friends cheer, which prompts him to turn and look at the commotion.

"Well," Satoru’s velvety voice says, lowering his eyelids into a heated squint. "Seems we have a winner."

His lips disappear as they tuck in to wet themselves, and when they pop back out they are glistening under the red light. Though you cannot see his eyes under the harsh lighting, you can feel them, as well as the heat traveling up through your belly. You wonder then if he might possibly be remembering you.

No way, you tell yourself.

You attempt to turn and look at your friends, who are no doubt giggling endlessly at their little prank, but your head hardly cocks to the side when your hand is being grabbed by a larger, warm one.

You instantly look in the direction of it, your eyes traveling up your arm in disbelief, only to find Satoru is smirking at you.

"N-No, this was a mistake," you try to argue, but he is already gently coursing you towards his body, and your legs feel like jelly as you mindlessly obey like a little doll.

"Don't be afraid," he murmurs to you, hypnotizing you with his voice as he walks backwards, guiding you right to the steps that will allow you to get onto the bull. "You look like..." he pauses, cocking his head to the side and your heart drops, "you'd know how to hang on, no? You've got those strong legs."

You let out a breath. He still doesn’t recognize you. But you know he is referring to your thighs, which are on the larger side from all of the exercise you do for soccer. He's right, you do have the strength to keep yourself on the bull, but whether you want to do it in front of everyone remains to be seen.

"My friends pushed me forward," you blurt out, "I-I really… don't think I can do this."

His voice has lowered by now. It seems like he wants only you to hear him. Not that it mattered, as the crowd is still quite loud and so is the music thumping from another area of the house.

"I think you can," he responds, dipping his head forward like a proper cowboy, feeding into the twisted little costume he’s in. "My name is Satoru, but you can call me ‘Toru. What's yours, madam?"

You almost blurt that you already knew his name, but catch yourself.

"It's Y/N," you say bleakly, knowing he’s only asking to tell the crowd, not because he is interested in knowing who “ponytail” really is.

Not that he has indicated at all that he remembers you, which makes a little twinge of jealousy poke you in the heart because of the way he was looking at you. He must look at every woman like this.

"Y/N," he repeats slowly, as if memorizing the name, simultaneously gliding his piercing eyes down your body again and stopping briefly on your leg — the one with the gun strapped to it. "Give us a show, pretty girl. I think everyone is looking forward to this."

You'd reached the steps to the bull. You begin to suspect that Satoru is the “everyone” in question. You want to try and fight him more, but something about his voice, his unhindered belief in you despite being a total stranger caused you to want to prove him right.

You can do it, you can ride it and not fall off, no matter how intense the settings.

One final look at him, and you release your hand from his, realizing the two of you had been standing there holding hands this entire time. He broke away, but not before giving you another look that might as well have had fire attached to it in the way it sent searing erotica up your body. You’re disgusted at just how awfully, hopelessly, desperately in love with him you are.

The crowd had been falling more quiet as you approached the chopping block, it felt like. But now, it's returned to cheers and whooping as you get on your tip-toes and sling one leg over the side of the bull, your skirt bunching up around your hips.

You spot your friends, who have acquired more drinks; colorful green and purple ones. They lift their cups when they notice your eye contact, and make kissy-faces as encouragement. Or perhaps they’re making fun of your obvious puppy-like expression every time you so much as look at Satoru.

"Alright everyone," he announces suddenly, clapping his hands before walking around to the front of the bull and patting its headless neck. "Y/N has bravely stepped up to the plate tonight. Since you’re all too pussy.” Laughter from the crowd. “Let's see how long she can last."

He turns and looks up at you, dropping an eyelid down into a familiar wink and clicking his tongue.

An irritating piece of man, he is. He doesn’t have to be so damn gorgeous, easily distracting you as you grip onto the reigns around the bull's nonexistent neck, all the confidence draining smooth out of your mind.

You don't have time to think about it much more because of the sheer level of noise that erupts from the room; the crowd has erupted into whoops and whistles, music’s blasting around you. A good old fashioned hype party song, that has prompted the crowd to lose their mind.

The red light makes it hard to see much of anything beyond the first row of people, which is helpful for your nerves, but it also means that since Satoru is standing the closest to you and the bull, he is the only thing you can clearly see, as he presses the button to trigger the ride.

You gasp as it begins vibrating, something you had not expected to happen. The bull jerks to the side, before the rear end perks up, knocking you plain forward and winding you. Your breasts bounce upward and the crowd oo’s.

Satoru smugly continues to operate the bull, keeping it slow as he courses it to knock forward and back, forward and back. You sit back up, trying to defeat gravity, your grip still strong on the reigns. But little do you know that you’ve been out of control since you stepped on the floor. Satoru’s taking his precious time sinking his claws into you.

Your thighs dig into the side of the bull and Satoru spins you, jerking up the rear again; the force knocks your skirt up.

You gasp, wanting to let go of the rope to adjust it, but you know you’re going to fall off if you do. You've made a vow that you cannot fall in front of Satoru, no matter how far he pushes you to your limit. Besides, you figure, having your ass our in front of him wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

The crowd cheers, realizing Satoru is operating the machine solely for their gaze, and not necessarily to challenge you.

But you have yet to put that puzzle piece together.

You continue innocently focusing on staying up, but make the mistake of looking at Satoru again. He's looking up at you from beneath his eyelashes, his top teeth poking out as he tugs on his bottom lip with them.

"Doin' so good," he mouths, pushing at the the controls again.

You groan a bit, the vibration of the bull suddenly feeling even more intense, though it's likely just a combination of your imagination and the tequila.

Your head falls back as the bull begins to move in a galloping motion. More cheers erupt, and a darkening gaze is shot from Satoru that you can't see with your head tilted.

The vibrations shouldn't feel this good, you think. You start to feel embarrassed at the thought of getting wetter on top of this bull, in front of all these people, but you can't help it; your eyes flutter closed as you try to focus beyond the pleasure.

Satoru is drinking up the sight like a glass of water in the middle of the night. He can see his effect working more and more on you, your thigh muscles flexing harder as you dig them deeper into the side of the bull. You must not think anyone notices, but he can. A sick fuck he was to currently be jealous of a literal robot.

You suddenly spring your eyelids apart and cry to Satoru that you have to stop. You can't handle the ecstasy creeping up on you, your embarrassment outweighing your desire to prove yourself a strong bullrider. If he keeps operating like this, you’ll cum all over the back of the bull.

Satoru looks hesitant but he ultimately stops the ride, and you take a deep breath when the vibrations come to a halt. The bull steadies and you loosen your thigh muscles.

Despite feeling like a failure, the crowd cheers anyway; you were up there for what felt like a lifetime, but realistically it hadn't been long, and you were expecting people to clown on you for not lasting. It's not like you couldn't stay up; it was more like you couldn't hold your pathetic desire to bone the cowboy at bay.

Satoru comes around and helps you down, the same routine as before with his hand in yours, only this time you're putting some weight on him as you feel yourself struggling to stand with your legs apart.

"You did so good, pretty girl," he coos, not even phased by your body weight. "Rode so well. Thighs a bit sore now I bet, hm?"

You feel your stomach knotting up at his word choice. "A bit," you answer grimly. "The vibrating didn't help."

"Really," he drawls, not even attempting to make it sound like a question. "How so?"

You begin to suspect he knows exactly how. His hands have found your elbows, his arms wrapped around you to keep you steady, and you find yourselves in a darker corner of the room with a convenient lack of a crowd. You blink and the bull seems a great distance away. No one is looking for you, either.

"Doesn't matter," you huff, looking at the floor. "It's embarrassing to say."

"Say it," Satoru purrs, taking your hands in his before placing them both right over his chest pecs. "Tell me what it did to you, hm? Maybe I can help, ponytail.”

You gasp then, your eyes immediately shooting up to meet his face. You almost fall over at the idea that he knows who you are, that he’s recognized you. This means that now he absolutely cannot fix what the bull had done to your poor cunt, although... with the way he's eating you alive with his pupils alone, your morality wants to fly right out of the window and beg him to fix it.

"Made me so horny," you breathe, immediately smacking yourself in the mouth at the coercion of your confession. “Th-That is not what I meant to say.”

Satoru's chest shakes against your palms as he laughs, "Adorable. Got all hot and bothered from a bull ride? Should’ve known that’s all it would take.”

Your face heats immediately. "I've been drinking," you admit with a slur, sinking farther away from sobriety. "Normally it-it’s not that easy.”

You laugh, trying to mask it as a joke, but Satoru's face is dangerously still.

“It is,” he murmured, “you always have the same little expression on your face at practice, just from seeing me.”

You want to be embarrassed that he’d caught you. But right now, your darkest, perverted fantasies are coming alive right before you; and you’d be a fool not to feed into them.

"Because..." you breathe out, feeling your back hit a wall, unsure how you ended up here. "Why do you always look so good?"

"Been thinking the same thing," he mewls, leaning over you with his hands still holding yours to his body. He lets them go then, and puts his own flat against the wall on either side of you. "Got up there and rode the bull like a champ - you can imagine what it did to me."

"What could a perfect stranger have done?” you whisper, knowing, begging, wanting the answer to be something raunchy and wet in your ear.

Instead, in a flash, his rock-solid pelvis is digging into your stomach, and he twists his hips to allow you to feel the even more solid length under his leather pants.

"We’re not strangers, ponytail," Satoru hums in your ear, just like you’d wanted; warm breath traveling through your hair and down your neck. “Always see you eyein’ me on the field. Goin’ outta ya way to knock into me afterwards. Been at this for months.”

You can't help the little whine that escapes your mouth. Your cunt had been pulsing all night, but now you can almost hear it. It's screaming at you to slide your hands down his body, to reach the waist band of the leather on his pants and then dare to explore further—

His gasp takes you out of your clouded fantasy, as you realize it's not a fantasy at all. Your hand is resting cutely over his bulge. You had been acting on your twisted, unwarranted desires from weeks ago all along.

"Ngh, knew I chose the right costume," he murmurs in your ear. "Knew it’d finally get your attention, get you to wanna ride me.”

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip. You’d been caught, being so obviously needy. You wish you can say you’re embarrassed, but when your hand doesn’t immediately move away from his dick, you know you’re fucked.

You feel yourself shuddering, your hands moving from his waist, over his ribs, passing to his shoulders; your palms sliding over thick, unidentified shapes and running down the curves in his arms. You couldn’t stop, you needed to know what all of him felt like.

“You didn’t have to be a cowboy to get me to ride you,” you whisper, “but if you care about saving horses that much-“

"Hah- shut up," he grunts. "'Fore I take you against this wall. Shouldn’t - hngh - be doing this here.”

“Isn’t this your frat house?” you question. “Take me,” you pause when his gaze darkens, “take me to your r-room.”

He groans, a velvety sound that raises the imaginary hair back up on your neck.

“Not mine, but I’ve got an idea.” He backs away from you, and the cold sensation of his body heat leaving yours makes your heart thump in pain. “C’mon, pretty.”

So he takes your hand again, and again you let him lead you around like a little pony. You don’t see your friends anymore, but you imagine the groupchat is blowing up. They no doubt saw you disappear into the shadows with Satoru.

You manage to escape to the outside without so much as a second glance from anyone, as you’ve started a riot for a turn on the mechanical bull. The memory of riding it seems so distant now.

“So tell me,” Satoru begins suddenly, pulling you hard against him, and you stumble before he puts a hand on your waist to steady you. “Just how long did you intend to keep watching me? Makin’ me all nervous before you made your move?”

You are stunned by his bold line of questioning, but he knows full well how tipsy you are, and that you’re going to answer as honestly as you can.

“I made a move the first time I ran into you,” you squeaked. “Thought you’d take it from there, but guess your balls aren’t big enough.”

This makes him grunt a bit. “If I would have made the first move, you’d still be limping. I don’t like all the small talk.”

“I see,” you purr, “otherwise you wouldn’t be leading me to this field, would ya, ‘Toru?”

“Not a field,” he corrects. “I’m parked back here. What do y’think I am, a serial killer? Wouldn’t just fuck you in the wilderness. ‘Less you asked.”

It had a nice ring to it, but you aren’t quite wasted enough to not care about being seen out in the open like that.

You reach his car and, pretending to be a gentleman, he opens the door for you, and while you sink in, he goes to the trunk. You begin to feel your heart race; you hardly know this man, actually, and maybe you’re stupid for thinking with your cunt instead of your head. Letting him lead you out back, all alone to his car.

Your nerves ease when he joins you in the back seat, nothing more than a bottle of liquor in his hand.

“Think we need to loosen up some more,” he says sternly, unscrewing the cap. “Not that I need alcohol to take care of you, ponytail, but it’ll definitely make things interesting.”

You nod in agreement, knowing you can certainly use more liquid courage. You wait for him to pass you the bottle, but instead you feel chilly fingers connect to your chin, and his thumb courses your face towards his.

“Open those lips f’me,” he murmurs lowly, tilting your chin up towards his face and bringing the liquor bottle closer to yours.

Your eyes widen in realization of what he’s about to do, but the throb between your legs has resurfaced full force at the ghost of a grip he has on your chin.

Hot liquor is sliding down your throat before you even register that you’ve parted your lips. You gasp and close your mouth into a bubble, trying to breathe through your nose as the liquor starts to go down harshly.

Satoru’s watching you intensely, “Don’t swallow it all,” he instructs quickly, to which you find yourself glaring at him.

The interior of your cheeks is going numb, and he’s telling you not to swallow.

What he does next, though, makes your skeleton jump out of your skin and back in again.

He opens his mouth; his long, fat tongue sticking out as far as it will go with a delicate curve in it. He points to his open mouth, while looking at you through his eyelashes.

You feel your face go numb. Your cunt was pounding now, secretion wetting your inner thighs and covering your pussy. You spread your legs a bit, trying to use Satoru’s backseat as something to grind down onto.

You begin doing so as you sit up straight a bit and lean forward, before pushing your cheeks out to spit a steady mix of liquor and your saliva right onto Satoru’s glistening tongue. He hisses immediately, before gripping you by the neck; taking you by surprise when your air flow becomes restricted. Your face is jerked to his as he swallows the liquor you just spit into his mouth, nipping your bottom lip.

“Tastes s’good,” he rasps, “Know you’ll taste even better.”

“But—“ you want to ride him already.

Wanna get him deep in your belly, use your hips to wring more of those deep moans from the depths of his throat. You don’t know if you can wait for that.

“But what?” Satoru challenges, applying pressure to your massive thighs with his palms. “Y’should know by now you can trust me. Didn’t I take care of you on the bull?”

He slides his finger up your stomach and to the cups of your brazier, tucking the tip of the digit inside and tugging the material down, a nipple begging to be exposed.

“Had it vibrating as hard as it could,” he continues, cocking his head to the side, careful not to let his Stetson slide off. “Still can’t get you riding it like that outta my head. Fuck.” He hisses again and—

Crack!

His hand comes down hard on your thigh, pulling a pathetic cry out of you. You look up at him through your lashes; he’s so beautiful with the way the moonlight casts a glow along his jaw, his wet lips, and the brim of his Stetson.

“Quit looking at me like that,” he says, creeping closer to you.

“Make me,” you mouth brattily, and so he does.

Keeping his hands both occupied on your thigh and your throat, he finally crashes his desperate lips against yours, creating harsh reverberations through your teeth. He starts the kiss off hard and unsure, but once you’re kissing him back, the kisses get sloppy, ferocious, desperate.

You let out a whimper against his lips, and in the split second your mouth is open his tongue has made its way inside. The muscle clashes with yours, drenching your mouth in his saliva as he takes your tongue for his own.

Meanwhile, his hand has left your throat. It’s back on the trim of your brazier, and without warning, his fingers gives it a harsh tug and your breasts are out.

He doesn’t break away from the kiss but he does glance down and start palming the meat of your chest, pinching one nipple between his index and thumb.

Not much noise is made besides your shared frustrated grunts as he breaks away from your sloppy kiss, leaving his drool all over your mouth and chin as he dips his charming head down to latch onto your nipple.

He pulls one of your legs up onto his lap, as he nestles himself next to the other one, now between your legs, and you’re forced to lean back against the window and press your hand against the back of the passenger seat for balance.

Satoru is not showing your breasts any mercy. His hand glides across the skin on your leg, before he takes his fingers in a walking motion up your thigh and then quickly grabs your tits into each hand, gathering large loads of spit and hacking them onto your chest, the glorious sound of the fluid hitting your skin making you wetter and wetter and—

He takes a big hand and pop! smacks your achingly solid nipple, dragging a loud, embarrassing cry from you.

“S-Satoru—“ you moan, undecided if you want to tell him that it’s too much.

“Hmm?” he questions, the word coming out muffled as he now has a mouth full of breast again, his tongue swirling greedily over your areolas and sending signals to your tingling nerves.

“S’alot,” you stutter, “feels t-too good.”

“Don’t care,” he shrugs, pulling away from your chest and bringing his face back up to yours, “not finished with you. Not even close.”

You whine as he cracks a smack on your tit one more time for good measure. Now he’s pulling your legs, causing you to lose balance and fall onto your back.

The back seat is spacious, but you think there’s no way he’s going to be able to bend his body to do whatever he thinks he’s about to do.

He doesn’t seem to be thinking like you, though, because his hands hike up your skirt and he hisses at the sight of your panties, not even hesitating.

“S’cute, look at the little cherry,” he grins seductively, poking the fat of your pussy with a sharp finger.

He’s referring to the pattern on the front of your tiny white thong, but you’re hardly paying attention because your mind is still ringing at his sudden contact with your cunt.

Rip!

His hands are tearing apart your poor little fishnets, paving a way for him to get your panties off. He succeeds, struggling a bit to get them past your boots; folding your knees up to your face as he does so, commenting on your flexibility.

“Hah- I love athletic girls,” he says aloud. “So flexible. Gonna have your ankles by your ears, ponytail.”

You squirm underneath him at his threat, but he’s already pinning your legs up, your boots grazing across the ceiling of his car as he stares down at your glinting pussy - dripping all over his expensive white leather.

If the alcohol wasn’t currently hitting you like a train - your brain mushing and swirling from being slapped and pushed around - you’d be trying to force your legs closed to hide from him.

“Such a fucking pretty pussy,” he grits out, leaning forward and shooting a collection of spit out of his mouth right onto it. Your eyes roll, the warmth of his body fluid landing right over your clit, making the bottom half of your body twitch. Satoru grins.

“Don’t even need my spit, y’so wet; I just love the way it looks on you,” he murmurs, keeping his hands firm on the underside of your thighs, “‘M gonna mark you with all my fluids, pretty.”

“Shut up,” you cry out, “if you’re still talkin’ it means your face isn’t stuffed with pussy.”

“Mm, ponytail gets fiesty,” Satoru looks at you from between your thighs and bites his lip, “there’s no fun in rushing right into these things, you know.”

He turns his head to the side, still wearing his Stetson - it’s somehow managing to hang on through all of the filth - and he plants a soft little kiss to your inner knee. Then another to the other leg. He rinses and repeats this process until he’s far up your thighs, and you can feel his breath dancing over your dripping hole.

“F-fuck,” you scream out, getting more frustrated, “‘m gonna shove your face if you don’t stop.”

“Try,” he challenges, but his eyes say that if you do, you’ll be teased for even longer.

"Wh-Why are you doing this to me?" you pant, ramming your knee into his rib playfully.

"Cause truthfully," he says lowly, "I liked the little game we had going. Building up the tension. Hate to see it end..." he drags his finger down the side of your thigh, making you shiver. "And hmm, you are such a pretty girl, begging like this. Imagine if your teammates knew that their beast of a captain was in the backseat of a car, begging to have her pussy eaten? Imagine!”

His breath tickles your cunt as he cracks a mean laugh, his head tilted down so that you can’t see his expression under his hat.

You swallow in embarrassment. You always go for a little teasing, but this is extreme. Before you know it, your hand has popped out before you, and your fingers splay out over the cowhide of his Stetson as you push - hard - and push until his arrogant little mouth is against your pussy.

He’s shut up instantly, groaning softly against your skin as his tongue darts out on instinct, lapping up your juices.

“That’s right,” you whisper with ache in your voice, “shut up and eat that shit.”

Your head lolls back against the window panel in Satoru’s car. He’s not even bothering to argue with you now, lost in his own heaven of your delicious nectar. If you could see past his hat you’d be able to watch as his face becomes wet and shiny, as your secretion dribbles down his chin in a heavenly mix of saliva. His tongue drags down between your folds, making you squirm, but it’s nothing compared to when he shoves his tongue right into your wanton hole.

The cry you let out vibrates against the interior of the car. Satoru’s hand has come up underneath your thigh, pulling your leg to rest across his back as he’s slid down into a crouch on the floor. His hand cracks down on your leg in the same spot as before, this time digging his fingernails down into the flesh after the slap.

You hiss, but ultimately feel even more turned on as he drags his tongue back through your juices, finding your clit, narrowing it out as he flicks it back and forth, back and forth, the same way he had been rocking you on that damned bull.

“S-Such a fucking mess,” he moans against your skin, trying to catch all of your secretion but it’s impossible with the way he keeps eating you - you’re flooding the seat, your inner thighs, and his smug little pale face. “Tastes so good. Can’t imagine how good you taste after a long game, fuck.”

You furrow your eyebrows embarrassingly at the the thought of what he was implying - your cunt all sweaty after soccer and he’d prefer that over this? You want to shudder in disgust but, picturing yourself hiked up on the wall with your soccer shorts discarded, a leg over his shoulder as Satoru ate you alive like this - works you up more than you figure you can even get at this point.

“S-Satoru,” you whimper, feeling the pool of heat twist up your insides as the familiar feeling of ejaculation creeps up on you.

You reach and grab his hat, digging your fingers into the leather, your legs clenching against his cheeks as you try to control the shaking that you know is to overcome you the second you orgasm.

“I know that sound,” Satoru purrs against your clit, “cum for me baby. Cum all over my tongue, like y’been wanting to for months.”

That’s all it takes. And god, Satoru does not show mercy as the wave starts at your clit and pushes all the way through your body, down to your curling toes in your boots and up to your nipples, which are still dancing free over the rim of your brazier.

The shakes come quickly, intensely, harsher than you’ve ever felt them before, as Satoru’s tongue rides out your high for you, not stopping until you’re just slightly twitching.

“Beautiful,” he hums, parting his mouth from you and sitting up in the backseat. “Satoru one, Y/N zero.”

You frown at his use of scoring, knowing it’s just to get under your skin.

“I’ll even out the score, fuck you,” you hiss.

“Please do, ponytail,” Satoru grins.

You find yourself pulling your legs back quickly, your thighs still a little weak and shaky as you sit up on your knees. You quickly unzip your boots and toss them somewhere in the front. Then, you grab Satoru by his ungodly black button-down and drag him to the middle of the seat.

He’s looking up at you in a mix of awe and smug, but you’re trying to pretend you don’t feel his eyes on you so that you may maintain your confidence.

You throw your right leg over his waist. Now, you’re straddling him, bare cunt over warm leather, dragging all of your juice and cream over his lap. He doesn’t seem to mind.

You fumble between your legs to unbutton his pants and then unzip them. He assists you when he raises his hips for a second, allowing you to get his pants down just enough that his bulge is pressing against you through his boxers.

He’s looking up at you with slanted eyelids, his pupils blown to black with the rim of ice-blue hardly visible. He’s clearly so tipsy, just off of the little bit you’d spit into his mouth, meanwhile your body is hot and your vision is getting blurry, nothing on your mind except getting his cock inside of you.

But oh, he deserves the teasing he’d given you. You use your hand to palm him, but simultaneously drag your hips over his lap, your sensitive cunt twitching as you do so.

His head falls back, his Adam’s apple thumping gloriously in his throat. His eyes flutter closed but only briefly.

“Fuck- shit,” he groans. “‘M sorry ‘bout the teasing, ‘kay? Want you to take advantage of me already. F-fuck, please-“

His begging is so delicious. If he thinks this is going to decrease the teasing you’re bestowing upon him, he has another thing coming.

Probably you.

“Oh?” you hum, giggling. “What’s that? Satoru begging now? How the tables have turned…”

He groans again, “S-Sick, innit? The way I want to be balls deep in that wet ass cunt. Don’t wanna wait anymore. You’ve kept me dangling for so long. Please-“

He whines. He actually whines, followed by a low whimper as he pokes out his bottom lip and lifts his head to look at you again.

A smart move on his part because you are absolutely hypnotized by his eyes, and before you know it, your hand is passing the elastic band on his black boxers. You find your hand running over bare skin - what a slut, he’d shaved. You gasp as you continue to slide your hand down to try and grab his tip - but it’s not there. It’s so far deep into his pants because he’s simply that large.

You scoot back on his lap a bit and finally whip his cock out, and it bounces a bit at its own sheer heft. There’s a pretty curve in it and thick veins swirling the sides, leading to a fat pink tip.

You realize you’ve been staring, but also slowly stroking it, admiring the fuck out of this perfect cock that you knew you would be thinking about for weeks.

“Like what you - hah - s-see?” he coos, closing one eye and glancing down at your hand sliding delicately over his length with his other.

“Mhmm,” you reply, “just imagining how good it’s gonna hurt. Your cock gonna make me cry, ‘Toru?”

“F-Fuck yeah,” he shudders, “gonna have you screaming, pretty. Loud as you want - no one can hear. Need you to milk this cock.”

“S-Shut up,” you groan, only because his words were driving you mad - and you would not last even another sixty seconds without his length penetrating your poor insides.

But, you suddenly remember the whip on your waist. Albeit made out of a cheap, rope-like material, the gears in your head start twisting like the delinquent that you are.

You catch Satoru’s wondering eye as he silently asks you why you aren’t bouncing on his cock yet - but you manage to ignore the expression as you thwip out the long black prop and quickly get it around Satoru’s neck before he can so much as gasp in surprise.

His eyes widen when he realizes you’ve made a leash out of your whip, tightening it at the base of his throat and coiling it around your wrist, bringing his face closer to you.

He’s so stunned that he remains silent, but his plump lips are parted in surprise, which you take as an opportunity to bite into the bottom one - harshly.

You suck on it as you lift your hips and your free hand finds the base of his cock - then you slide it between your folds very purposefully and agonizingly slow.

“Holy fuck,” Satoru whimpers against your mouth. “Y’doing me so dirty, Y/N, fucking ruining me. God…” he adds, “I’m so fucking obsessed with you.”

You gasp at the confession, and then at the feeling of his tip pushing into your dripping hole, as you drag your hips down to sink yourself onto him.

His eyes immediately roll back, and you let go of his lip, keeping your grip on the whip as your pussy adjusts to his size - feeling the drumming pulse coming from his veins tap your walls erotically.

You try not to clench, but as you suspected, it hurts so good - you’re trying not to focus on the pain. But he’s just so thick, so filling.

You whimper and in the same moment, feel a coil of fingers wrapping into your hair, curling it around his knuckles to keep you from moving your head.

“Ride this shit,” he growls, his eyes suddenly back open and completely aware. “Put those sexy ass hips to use.”

He grips one with his free hand for emphasis, tightening his grip on your hair, suddenly making you wish you’d opted for the ponytail tonight. You cry out at the mixes of searing pain and pleasure, as you’ve managed to take all of his cock inside of you - his tip kissing your cervix painfully. You decide now you can try to move, so you use your toes to push yourself back up, finding your pace.

“It’s too big,” you complain, albeit very fakely; your grip on the whip turning your knuckles white as it’s the only thing you can do to distract yourself.

Your other hand digs into his shoulder, and he hisses.

“Nuh-uh,” he coos, “you can take it, pretty. Deep breaths, know you can be a good cockwarmer f’me.”

Your breaths are coming out in short little pants. Slowly you’re adjusting to his size, and with you slicking up his cock it’s easy to start gliding sinfully up and down, up and down-

Satoru leans forward against your restraint and greedily takes your mouth onto his. He squeezes your hip harshly to get you to moan, then shoves his tongue hungrily inside your mouth. While his tongue works on harassing yours, his cock works on bruising your uterus. You’re bouncing quicker now, but he’s meeting you halfway with animalistic thrusts of his own.

Aside from heavy breathing, the squelching sound of your wet walls against his dick accompany the clapping of your ass against his groin. You start rotating your hips, bringing one forward before the other, creating a wave-like motion as you ride your slutty little half-horse into oblivion.

His eyebrows are furrowed, his eyes shut tight, his mouth only hanging onto yours by his teeth as he continues to whine into the air. You yourself have gone up a few octaves, your moans competing with his, making the atmosphere even more erotic.

“Oh, fuck,” Satoru moans, “s’tight. S’good. Such a perfect fucking pussy, fits right over me. This shit was designed just f’me. Fuck, wh-why you fuckin’ me like this?” He shudders under you, releasing your lip from his teeth and opening his eyes. “Y’must want my fuckin’ babies, all in your stomach.”

Your eyes roll back as you repeat a very sultry, “All in my stomach.”

So cockdrunk off him, if he wants to fill you to the brim you’ll let him. You’ll let him have his way with you however he wants, at this moment, if it meant he’d keep fucking up into you this good - if it meant you could have his cock more than just tonight. You’d never wanted to obey and be so good for someone before now.

“You are being so good,” Satoru purrs, which makes you realize you said the last sentence aloud. “My pretty ponytail. Taking me so well. I know it hurts, baby, but you got it. You can have all of my cock - anytime you want. I-I’m…” he had been speaking clearly, but a particular thrust had made him lose his footing, bringing back his tipsy voice, “I-I’m yours to use. To ruin.”

Your eyebrows furrow, you gasp at the velvety statement. You know he’s just drunk, you are too, but you’re so incredibly fucked. Despite his words, he’ll probably never even look at you again after this, and it pains you deeply. You can’t think about that now though, because heat is rising in your stomach.

“God, Satoru,” you mumble, “keep fucking talking. Keep talking so I can cum all over you. Please, please, f-fuck.”

“Ngh, need you to cum,” Satoru says. “Wanna feel the way you pulse when you cum. Bet you can squirt f’me too, huh? Know you’ve got it, so wet like that.”

You shake your head, your hand loosening the grip on the whip; you just don’t have the strength anymore.

You lean back, arching against him, and he takes the opportunity to pop your breast right into his mouth, gripping onto your nipple with his teeth before he sucks like a starving man.

“P-Please, God… mmph,” you drag out, eyes rolling as you can barely bring yourself to make noise with the overwhelming amount of pleasure you’re experiencing.

But you’re taken by surprise when his hand is suddenly coming away from your hair, and his arms wrap around you in a tight bear hug. Your hand has no choice but to fall from the whip as your own arms wrap behind his neck to steady yourself - and just as you think you’re about to regain balance, Satoru starts mercilessly slamming his hips up into your ass.

“SHIT!” you scream out, the loudest you have since being in the car.

Flap, flap, flap - as he absolutely destroys the inner workings of your slick pussy - determined to bruise your cervix and leave it swollen and aching for him.

“You. Are. Gonna. Cum. For. Me,” he grits, punctuating each word with a hard thrust.

You feel tears brimming your eyes; it’s just so good, hurts so bad, you can’t get enough.

You find yourself seeing and saying nothing but his name over and over for the few seconds right before your orgasm, and then your poor body is spasming on top of Satoru’s as he fucks you through your high - your insides clenching and twitching, and then a gush! as your body has decided that an inner orgasm isn’t enough. Satoru was right - you’re squirting all over him, his pants, and the backseat.

His eyes bug out as his eyebrows furrow, taking in the sight of the magnificent pool you’ve left on him.

“So fucking hot,” he moans, “can feel that shit pulsing on me. F-Fuck. My turn—“

This brings him over the edge right along with you. You’ve gone limp against him, leaning your entire torso on his as he maintains his hug on you and squirts his thick ropes of hot cum all into your uterus.

You cannot see anything except white stars in your vision as you’ve lost yourself in recovering from your orgasms, and he’s not bothering to slide himself out of you just yet.

“S-So addicting,” he sighs, leaning his head against your shoulder, his hat finally falling off behind him, revealing the fact that his hair is stuck to his sweat-covered forehead.

His cock is twitching inside of you, but you can’t think about that now. You’re trying to regain your sight as well as the ability to breathe.

You lay there against each other, still filled up. His grip has loosened on you, but his hands are delicately petting the skin between your shoulder blades, his arms not letting you go.

You’re now just trying to catch your breaths, bodies pressed together in a lustful bliss as you come down off of your highs, soberness creeping up on you.

“Was better than my fantasies,” Satoru says softly, his hands still gently roaming the skin on your back.

“Mine too,” you giggle in response, the pants slowly becoming normal breaths again.

Satoru gently tugs on your hair to bring your face back level with his, and looks up at you, as innocent as can be.

“Y’know what this means, right?” he questions, squirming a bit underneath you just to remind you that his cock remains inside of you. “You’re never gonna be able to get rid of me. M’gonna need access to this pussy, at least once a week. If not more…” he tapers off before adding, “Only, of course, if you’re up for it.”

“Absolutely!” you squeak out a little too fast, to which Satoru gives you a charming crooked smile and leans forward to peck you on the lips.

��Well then,” he hums, “don’t think we can go back in the party with our cum all over us. Can I offer you a ride home, ponytail?”

You blink down at him. His gentlemanly nature from the party has returned, truly taking you aback, because of the way he was just muttering filth a moment ago.

You took him up on his offer though, legs shaking as you crawled to the front and got your skirt and boots back on. He’d had to exit the car and get back in, his long legs prohibiting him from just crawling to the front.

You can tell he’s sober now, he better have been, otherwise he wasn’t driving you anywhere. But you knew he was when his hand gently rested on the thigh he had abused the entire time, rubbing soft circles to soothe the red handprints he’d left.

You sigh, knowing you’re completely fucked. Hooking up with him was a step in the right direction, but who was to say he’d ever want to be anything more than this? Lots of things to think about, but right now, you just relaxed under his touch as he drove you back to your dorm.

And when you saw him again, it would be at your scrimmage a week later. You’d already filled your girls in on everything, down to the nasty details they’d begged to hear. That’s why they shoved you off the bleachers the minute it appeared that Satoru’s team was done practicing.

Satoru arrived in the hallway right on cue, and you hit him with your customary bump of the shoulder.

“There you are, ponytail,” he mutters, glancing around before gently pulling you into a maintenance closet. “Thought you’d bailed on me.” He presses a fat kiss to your forehead, making your heart flutter. “Been thinking about you all week, need to take some stress out on that pretty pussy.”

You squeak quietly, running your fingers through his hair, missing the way he looked in his Stetson but being able to appreciate his practice attire just the same. His hands find the band of your jersey shorts and begin tugging them down.

“Wouldn’t have missed this for the world,” you coo quietly, your back hitting the wall. “How d’you wanna do this?”

“Well, I certainly enjoyed you on top last time,” he purrs, “but - hah - sometimes, even the cowboys need a break from riding.”

I. AM. SO. FERAL FOR JOCKEY/COWBOY GOJO WTFFF

And he’s such a gentleman STOPP <33

ok this was the most fun thing ive ever written. that’s all bye.

~ pennjammin

[buckymorelikefuckme]

what a wicked thing to do

vampire wanda maximoff x fem reader

words: 4.2k

warnings & tags: **18+ ONLY** lesbian vampires yes GAWD, fantasy au, inaccurate historical au, smut, fingering, implied soulmates (?? kinda i guess), biting 👀, mention of blood, does this count as hurt/comfort? we shall see!! and uhhh it's kinda spooky ooky vibes but it's not really dark? i think. pls let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: listen..... i've already got spooky season in the brain and i really wanted to reshare this fic. i've edited it a little but i've also left the link to where i orphaned it on ao3 in the title if you prefer reading there~ any and all mistakes are my own! feedback is greatly appreciated and heavily encouraged pls and thank ♡ xoxo

wanda maximoff masterlist || main masterlist

It’s that time of year in between autumn and winter where it’s only getting colder and colder, no reprieve even during the sun’s highest point of the day. Part of you worries it’s a mistake to wander through the woods like this, especially so close to sunset.

But then you remember the briefest moment when you saw her, when your eyes met hers; it happened so quickly, but also felt as if time stopped. Something flashed in her gaze before she looked away and disappeared in the busy crowds of the village.

That moment, as brief as it was, leads you here. You hug your arms tighter to your torso, cursing the bitter wind whipping around you. Your dress had been a bright idea when you’d first thought of it. Now, you’re wondering why you thought such a plunging neckline would be smart, considering the seasonable chill in the air.

Although, you think with a flutter in your stomach, that’s not exactly true. You know exactly why you chose this dress.

There’s hardly any light left in the sky by now. You’re kicking yourself for getting lost in the woods, wondering if anyone would notice, or care, whether or not you return to the village. You have no family, no money, nothing tying you to anyone or anything. You work odd jobs to be able to make ends meet. The people knew of you, but you are sure they hardly concerned themselves with your well-being.

But then, when your gaze had met her own, you’d felt seen for the first time in ages. It was like she could see everything inside your mind, every ounce of longing and every bit of loneliness, even in the split second she held your stare. You haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since then. Nearly two weeks have passed, and you’d finally decided to find out if the stories that follow her hold any truth. They are quite colorful, full of fantasy and myth, surely decorated to sound more elaborate as the years go on. Fantasy and myth, perhaps, but one particular piece of information continues to remain the same.

She hasn’t seemed to age in the fifteen years she’s spent living near your village. Not one line or wrinkle to be seen on her pale skin. Not one gray hair on her head. Some of the elders even swear they'd seen her when they were children.

Her home is a mystery, one that stays that way out of fear. There is something about her eyes, some say, something off, not quite right. Because of this, no one has felt compelled enough to try finding her home.

At least, not until you.

You’re beginning to think you are truly lost, feeling hopeless, when you finally spot something in the distance. But just as relief washes through you, the rain starts. Each drop feels like sharp, stabbing pieces of ice landing on your exposed flesh, soaking into the thin fabric of your dress. It takes mere minutes for you to become drenched. Your dress is now clinging to your body uncomfortably, the cold even more biting than it already had been.

It comes into view, what you’d spotted several meters back, easier to make out. A looming castle breaks through the trees, windows lit with candles.

Your arms and feet are going numb, but you push through, stumbling your way to a cobblestone path that leads to tall, wooden doors. With a trembling hand, you raise the door knocker and bang it against the door as loud as you can manage, praying whoever is inside will hear.

Your wait is short lived, thankfully. The door creaks open loudly to reveal the very woman you’d been searching for. If she’s shocked to see you, she hides it well. She looks as regal as ever. A black dress hugs her lithe body, her hair perfectly brushed and styled. This close to her, you can see what the people mean. She looks ageless.

“E-excuse me, madam,” you begin, trying your best to keep your teeth from chattering. “I-I’m terribly lost and I d-don’t think I can find my w-way back to the village.”

The woman lets her eyes roam your shivering frame, lingering on your glistening chest for a second, then meets your pleading gaze.

“Of course. Please, do come in. I’m sure you’re cold.”

“Th-thank you,” you reply earnestly.

She steps aside, leaving just enough space for you to squeeze by.

“Think nothing of it,” she assures you. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need, at least until the storm passes.”

As the door closes behind her, you take in as much of the space as possible. With it being nighttime, the candles can only do so much. For a castle, it is rather large, but it’s not quite as foreboding as you would have imagined. Though, you surmise, you hadn’t really known what to expect at all.

“Would you like something dry to change into?”

You whirl around, almost tripping over your feet as her voice registers, so close to your ear.

She smiles, amusement tickling the corners of her mouth. “Perhaps a cup of tea?”

Swallowing roughly, you nod, offering a smile of thanks in return.

“Very good. You should go sit by the fire to warm up while I get everything sorted.”

She points toward a room where you can see flickering light dancing off the walls. You nod again, letting your tired feet follow the promise of warmth. The closer you get to the large fireplace, the harder you shiver, goosebumps rising along your skin. You stand as close as you deem safe, hands held out to thaw them. For the second time, she sneaks up behind you.

“This is all I could manage to find.”

You gasp as you turn to face her. She’s still smiling as she holds up the proffered item of dry clothing.

“You frightened me,” you state dumbly, huffing a quiet laugh.

“I did not mean to,” she replies.

“It’s okay.” You glance at the clothes in her hand, a frown forming on your face. “A… dressing gown?”

She makes a sympathetic face. “It was all I could find,” she repeats.

Her eyes dip down to your chest again. They flash, just like in the village, but you’re sure it could have just been the fire reflecting in them. You look down to see what she’s staring at and heat rushes up your neck. Your nipples are clearly outlined against the wet fabric of your dress.

“Oh,” you murmur as you lift your arms to cover yourself.

She clears her throat delicately. “Take this. You’ll get sick if you keep your wet clothes on.” She pointedly holds the dressing gown out to you again until you gingerly take it. “I’ll go get the kettle started while you change.”

“Thank you,” you return quietly.

When you’re sure she’s gone, you undress as quickly as you can, more shivers wracking your frame as you stand naked in her drawing room for a few seconds before pulling on the silk dressing gown, tying it securely around your waist.

While you wait you decide to get a better look of the room. A few paintings hang on the dark walls, but mostly they’re covered with floor to ceiling shelves and stuffed to the brim with books. You take notice of a few spots where the dust hasn’t seemed to settle in front of them, figuring those must be her favorites. A plush chaise sits in the center of the room with two chairs on either side, atop an ornate rug that rests on most of the floor. There are a couple small tables between the chaise and chairs with candelabras on them, and a wide, lower table in front of them. You spot a desk by the only window in the room.

There’s nothing particularly personal about the space. It almost feels as if she’s newly moved in. But you know that can’t be true, especially since so many people in the village have seen her visit town for years now.

A piece of parchment on the desk catches your eye. You debate over whether or not you should let your curiosity get the better of you, your feet slowly carrying you over to where the paper lay. There’s writing on the top piece, and you get as far as the addressed “Brother,” but then hear her round the corner and quickly back away.

“I wasn’t sure if you took cream and sugar, so I brought them just in case,” she tells you, setting a silver tray on the low-lying table that held the teapot and teacups.

You walk over as she pours the tea into both cups. You pick one up and carefully drop two lumps of sugar into yours, stirring it with your teaspoon until you’re satisfied it’s melted. A careful sip as you sit down and you hum happily.

“Better?” she asks, smiling and taking a sip of her own tea, sitting beside you.

It occurs to you suddenly that you hadn’t asked for introductions. You scold yourself internally, knowing you had better etiquette than that.

“I must apologize, I seem to have forgotten my manners. I never introduced myself,” you say, then offer your name. “And what is yours, madam?”

“You may call me Wanda,” she replies.

“Well, I owe you a great deal for helping me, Wanda. I cannot thank you enough.”

She waves a dismissive hand. “Please, there is no need. I’m glad I was here and that you aren’t in danger of freezing to death.”

“As am I,” you respond, laughing lightly.

Silence settles between you. Your mind whirls with hundreds of questions, but you don’t know where to begin. Your plan to find her only consisted of just that— finding her. Now that you’re here, you aren’t quite sure what to do. Or say, for that matter.

You can feel her eyes observing you like a caress. You struggle not to squirm or shiver, though you are no longer cold. No, there is no chill clinging to your bones anymore. Her stare alone provides enough heat. You chance a glimpse of her from the corner of your eye, but she catches it. She purses her lips to keep from smiling in amusement.

“So,” you blurt, cheeks pinking, “have you lived here long?”

You bite the inside of your cheek as soon as the words leave your mouth. Stupid, stupid girl.

Thankfully, Wanda laughs.

“Quite,” she says teasingly, like she’s letting you in on a joke.

You nod. “I see. Is it a family home?”

She tilts her head consideringly. “Of a sort.”

What is that supposed to mean? Miraculously, you don’t ask that question aloud.

“Do you… Do you live alone?”

You’re not sure why you ask. Perhaps it’s that you haven’t heard any other movement throughout the castle that indicated a waiting staff of some sort. Afterall, she was the one to fetch the tea.

“I do,” she says.

You don’t want to examine it too closely, but you’re positive you note a hint of longing in her tone.

“S’a lot of space for one person,” you muse in acknowledgment.

She nods. “Indeed. However, I’m sure I’ll find the right companion soon.”

You take another sip of your tea to avoid replying, but are not able to avoid meeting her gaze. The look in her eyes is something you’ve never seen directed at you. You’re hesitant to think it could be want, open desire. Not from a woman like her.

—

Wanda still cannot believe that you’d shown up at her door.

She’s spent months watching you from a distance, never allowing herself to be seen by you—not until she felt it was time. From the very first moment she caught sight of you, she knew. You are hers. Her mouth watered when the wind brought your scent to her. There was not a doubt in her mind about whether she would have you; she simply would.

She had waited, ever so patiently, watching you as you roamed the streets of the village. You didn’t seem to have very many acquaintances, if any at all, and you were always alone. Wanda quickly figured out that you were without a family as well.

Selfishly, she’d been happy about these facts.

Finally, Wanda allowed herself to meet your gaze. It was quick, but she knew her eyes flashed, knew that she piqued your curiosity. It would only be a matter of time.

After nearly two weeks had gone by, however, she had started to think it hadn’t worked. She’d planned on returning to town to purposefully cross your path again, but as luck would have it, you came to her. As soon as she heard the knock on her door, she smiled.

Now, as she sits next to you on the chaise, your skin glowing in the firelight, she finds it harder to maintain her control. This close, your scent is even more intoxicating. Wanda can tell that you’re curious about her. The questions you want to ask are swirling behind your eyes. And now that you’re here, she decides she’ll answer whatever you ask, give you anything you want.

You’ve gone quiet, though, so she does some prodding of her own.

“What were you doing out in the woods?” Dressed like that, blessedly, goes unsaid.

You shyly glance down at your lap. “I, uh, I like to take walks,” you mutter into your teacup as you go to take another sip.

Wanda hums. A plausible excuse, indeed. You carefully lean forward to set your cup and saucer on the table and when you sit back you move your hair over to one shoulder. Wanda’s eyes zero in on the pulsepoint of your neck. If she focuses hard enough, she can see your heartbeat throbbing beneath your skin. It makes her teeth itch, makes her control waver even more.

When she drags her gaze away from your neck, she finds you already observing her. Her desire is clearly reflected in your eyes and the feeling is heady.

—

“Are you warm now?” she wonders.

“Yes,” you whisper, your breathing picking up, making your breasts heave alluringly.

You’d go as far as saying you are overheating. The dressing gown, where you’d been unsure and embarrassed of being nude underneath it before, is now a blessing. Your body feels alight with an unseen, growing fire. Shifting on the chaise, you don’t notice the sleeve slip down your shoulder, only registering the air skimming across your collarbones. You let out a surprised gasp when you feel something cold on your bare arm.

Peering down reveals it to be Wanda’s hand carefully sliding the sleeve back up into place. Your brows pull together in a frown.

“Your hand…” you mumble, trailing off.

She lets it linger on your shoulder for a moment, then slowly traces down your arm, her thumb grazing the side of your breast. Your nipples tighten, thighs clenching together as you watch her fingers stop at your wrist. Though her touch is cold, it feels like a relief against the searing heat of your flesh. You peek at her through your lashes and find her expression to be one of complete hunger.

Feeling emboldened, you hold her stare as you shift to pull the sleeve down again.

Her lips lift on one side, her teeth glinting dangerously. “Are you sure of what you’re doing?” she asks.

You blink, faux innocence shifting behind your eyes. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

Wanda takes a deep, steadying breath, though it only helps in inhaling your scent more. She says your name. “Why do you think you are here?” The question catches you off guard. Wanda shifts even closer to you, watching your throat bob as you swallow. “We both know it isn’t because you accidentally got lost in the woods. You were out there with a purpose. What was it?”

You lick your lips, noticing her gaze immediately drop to them. It makes your heart pound in your chest.

“I don’t know,” you reply, unsure.

She leans in, her nose nearly touching yours. “You do,��� she whispers, without doubt. “Why are you here?”

Your eyes flutter closed, head tilting back without you being aware of it, exposing your neck. You feel her presence mere centimeters away from you, her breath puffing out along the column of your throat.

“I… I felt drawn here. It feels like I was meant to be here,” you say, quiet, almost hoping she doesn’t hear you.

It feels ridiculous to say it out loud. It’s one thing to have that thought sit in the back of your mind where you could pretend it didn’t exist, but to admit it aloud is entirely different.

“With me?”

You shiver at her words, her lips having softly dragged across your skin. Helplessly, you nod.

“Are you afraid?”

That makes you frown, but you adamantly reply, “No.”

“Open your eyes,” she pleads.

You follow her instruction, wary, but gasp at what you see. Sharp fangs peek out from Wanda’s lips, her eyes so pale they’re almost white now. Though your heart continues to race, it’s not out of fear. It should scare you, it should send you running, but you find your hand slowly rising to carefully trace a finger down one of her fangs, amazed that she even lets you.

“You’re…” You start, meeting her patient gaze once more. “Beautiful,” you finish in a whisper, because she is. You go to reach for her face to stroke her cheek, but she lurches backward. In a blink, Wanda’s on the other side of the chaise. Disbelief paints her features.

“You think I’m… beautiful?”

“Of course,” you state plainly, brows furrowing. Wanda continues staring at you in wonder. “You said I was here for a reason.” Ironically, she’s now wary of you as you shuffle closer to her. “I know what that reason is now.”

“Which is?” she asks apprehensively.

“You,” you murmur, cupping her cheek. “I’m here for you.”

Wanda looks as if she’s scared to accept this, to hope for it to be real. You steal away those worries by leaning in to place a soft kiss to her lips. She inhales sharply, eyes squeezing shut, her cold hands gripping your wrist almost painfully. You give her a moment, kissing her forehead as she gathers her emotions, keeping her gaze down.

“Are you sure?”

Her voice cracks softly, but her grip on your wrist loosens as you move it. You lift her chin so she’s looking at you.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

She stares at your lips for a few seconds, and then, as your words sink in, they seem to send her into action. She surges forward and captures your lips, more sure, more eager than before. You respond in kind, pulling her as close as possible, sighing into her mouth.

You quickly find yourself on your back on the chaise, Wanda above you, bodies slotting perfectly into each other like lost puzzle pieces. You feel her hand slide down from where it was in your hair to graze along your sternum. Then her hand cups your breast, thumb swiping across your nipple, and you gasp. It’s the perfect opportunity to deepen the kiss and Wanda takes it.

Her tongue slides against yours and you whine, clutching at her like she’s the only thing tethering you to this earth. It becomes so easy to let her settle between your thighs, to arch into her touch and slide your tongue in her mouth, delicately tracing over her fangs. Wanda shudders, grunting inelegantly before wrenching herself away, panting heavily into the space between you. You blindly chase after her, opening your eyes in confusion.

Wanda’s gaze is intent on your neck, full of desire. The weight of the moment hits you, then. What exactly it would mean if you give in to her. So, with full faith in your decision, you tilt your head ever so slightly and she goes perfectly still.

“Go ahead,” you encourage.

She shakes her head. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

You huff. “I do. I want you to do this.” You know she won’t look at you just yet, so you lace both your and her fingers together and squeeze hers as you continue. “I need you to do this.”

“If I do,” she starts, swallowing thickly, “I won’t be able to stop. You’ll end up like me.”

You duck your head to catch her stare. “And what’s wrong with that?”

She closes her eyes and falls silent for a moment. The weight of your words fall over the two of you like a winter blanket.

“I’ve waited so long,” she confesses, voice quiet, shaking and timid.

“For me?” you ask. She nods. “I’ve been looking for something, or someone, to make me feel whole all my life.” You use your free hand to stroke her cheek. Even with her eyes closed, she leans into you. “I’ve waited for you, too.”

When she finally looks at you, you know there’s no going back for either of you.

“It’s going to hurt,” she warns.

“That’s okay. It will only be temporary.”

She smiles then, slow and teasing. “I can ease the pain, you know.”

Her free hand tugs lightly on the ties holding your dressing gown closed, raising her eyebrows in silent question. You bite your lip and nod, shivering in anticipation. She undoes the careful bow you’d tied, easing it open and exposing your body to her hungry gaze.

If you felt heated before, you’re an inferno now. Her hands reverently map out every curve of your body. She leans down and plants a kiss above your belly button. It makes your stomach clench in want, but you make yourself lie there and take whatever she plans on giving you. Her kisses lead up your torso, until she’s eye level with your breasts, and before you can comprehend her movement, she’s taking one of your nipples into her mouth.

“God,” you whimper, head thrown back as you push your chest into her face.

“No,” Wanda giggles, “just me.”

You try to laugh, but it turns into a gasping moan when she pinches your other nipple between cold fingers. Your thighs attempt to close around her, yet it’s futile. Her free hand begins its descent down to the warm heat between your legs. Your hips buck into her touch, crying out when her fingers make contact with your clit.

“I’m going to do everything I can to make this feel good, okay? Let me take care of you.”

You nod quickly, your mouth going dry. When a single finger enters you, you forget how to breathe for a second, but then she’s sliding it out and back in, setting a steady rhythm, and you’re back to panting and whining. Only a few minutes later, though, you’re wriggling around, begging for more. She adds another finger and picks up the pace.

“Oh,” you gasp, your legs falling open wider.

Wanda buries her face in your neck, inhaling loudly, groaning. She licks across the skin there, nipping at you.

“Wanda,” you whimper.

“I know, my love,” she rasps. “You’re so close.”

Your hands have drifted above you, clutching at the pillows on the chaise, your hips moving in tandem with her fingers. Her thumb meets your clit, adding to the building warmth in your belly. It swells and swells, until finally, it has nowhere else to go and explodes within you.

You feel her teeth sink into your neck at the very same moment, and you can only yell brokenly into the air. Pain and pleasure war inside you, both white hot and searing, marrying themselves into a delicious and lethal combination. You can feel blood trickle down your throat, the same way you can still feel her fingers thrusting into you. It seems to never end and you grow limp beneath her, unable to handle the sensations flowing through you.

She finally slows, removing her teeth and licking over the wound. As her fingers slide free, she brushes your sweaty hair off your forehead with her clean hand.

“Sleep now,” she instructs, kissing you softly.

You can’t even attempt to argue, your body listening to her and promptly sending you into a deep slumber.

—

When you wake, before you even open your eyes, you’re aware of a few things.

To start, you’re no longer on the chaise. You’re on a luxurious bed, which is presumably Wanda’s. Your hearing is significantly better, as is your sense of smell. There’s a low thrum of energy coursing through your veins, like you’re on edge but don’t know why. But the more important thing you’re aware of is the feeling of eyes on you.

“I know you’re awake now.”

You crack open one eye and see Wanda smirking at you from the other end of the bed. You smile and sigh happily.

“How do you feel?” she asks.

You carefully sit up and stretch. You notice her ogling your still naked body and give her a smirk of your own. Shifting onto your knees, you crawl over the bed until you reach her and straddle her lap.

“Hungry,” you answer before grasping her face in your hands and attaching your mouth to hers.

With a force she hadn’t used before, she tosses you backward and is on top of you in a flash, a devilish smile on her tragically beautiful face.

“Good.”

[okiedokrie]

Meet Me In Amsterdam

Summary: "Minghao finds himself under a mentorship program from one of the most brilliant artist in the contemporary circle, where he meets Y/N and bond with their journey through art, overcoming traumas, and hopeless romanticism of the life and love around them. But all things come to an end at some point, the mentorship program ends, and they both go back to their lives. But they do meet again to finish what they started; 'if there is a next time, meet me in Amsterdam.'"

Characters/Pairing: Artist!Minghao x Artist!Fem!Reader

Genre: smut, some angst, fluff

AU/Trope Info: Non-idol AU!, idiots to lovers

Word Count: 10.8k

Warnings: Religious themes, implication of past sexual assault, homophobia mention, some cursing, food mentions, smut warnings under the cut

Rating: 18+

A/N: this is for the @svthub 2024 world tour collab! Thanks to @whipped-for-kpop-fics and @hobeemin for beta-reading!

Smut Warnings: oral (f receiving), sex in a church, unprotected sex, implied creampie

The air in Minghao's studio is dizzying. A broken exhaust and paint fumes don't really mix, and his open windows could only do so much. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. Touching grass may solve his problem, but he doesn't feel like dealing with the morning dew on the grass.

He quickly closed his windows before packing all his belongings in his commuting bag, opting to rush to a recent exhibit that opened. Minghao knew very little about the artist, but a change of scenery might help quell his throbbing headache. 

Minghao took this opportunity to space out during the commute to the gallery, popping on his headphones and trying to ignore the touchy couples in the train car with him. He wonders what it'll feel like to find his person like them; Minghao only craves the warmth of another's arms.

He wonders what it'll feel like to fall for someone, to be comfortable with vulnerability and the trusting bond between two lovers. Ever the hopeless romantic, he'd love to love and be loved.

He snapped out of his thoughts when the intercom buzzed to life, announcing the arrival at Minghao’s stop. Adjusting the strap of his messenger bag, he pushed his way through the busy crowd to head out of the station. The walk to the gallery was calm and relatively quiet. This part of the city mostly had walking paths rather than roads, so it was really only bustling with people and the occasional bicycle. 

Arriving at the gallery, the pieces were gorgeous, as expected. This artist was well known in the contemporary circle, so it's no surprise that the gallery is almost busier than the outside. Minghao felt drawn to one piece in particular, the warm tones, swirling and melting into one another, blending into a flame-like flow; it was stationary yet moving.

He hears a chuckle behind him, only to see an older man, about mid-forties, smiling at him. “I see you enjoy this piece; you have great taste. What's your name, boy?” 

Minghao is a little flustered, but he introduces himself nonetheless. The man before him introduced himself as the artist and noticed Minghao's paint-stained hands before asking if he was an artist himself. Minghao confirmed the older man’s speculations, offering to show some of his work as photos on his phone. The older man was impressed by Minghao’s talent and potential, and he then mentioned that he had an apprenticeship program open, but it was in Amsterdam. 

Minghao agreed a little too enthusiastically, seeing as this man quite literally defined an era of art in a way nobody else has.

It was only a few weeks after that interaction, but Minghao found himself on a flight to Amsterdam.

Taking in the city's air, Minghao feels a sense of dread washing over him, and the hustle and bustle of a new city scares him a bit. Being alone in a foreign land wasn't why his nerves were all over the place; no, it was the fact that he felt this opportunity wasn't meant to be his.

Sure, his mentor got the opportunity to see his work before he accepted the offer, but still, he feels this mentorship program would've been more suited to someone more fitting.

Nonetheless, Minghao is here now. And he swears he'll make the most of the time he spends here.

Taking one of the many old trains out of the airport, the rumbling train rails helped ground him a little; the sound was new and familiar at the same time. He thought back to his small studio back home, wondering how well it'd hold up in the year he'd be gone.

Minghao is snapped out of his daydreams when the train arrives at his station. He lugs his luggage to what will be his living quarters for the rest of his time here. Wiping his palms over his sweats, he finally takes the time to haul his bags over the stairs to the small apartment that was provided to him. His mentor mentioned that he has a roommate, another artist in the program, so he doesn't let his stuff get too comfortable in the main room.

Instead, he randomly picks one of the rooms, hoping his roommate doesn't mind. If they did, it's not as if he's opposed to switching. 

He hums a simple melody while setting his bags to the side, still catching up to the jetlag and too tired to put anything away. He inspects the room, noting that it is a little dusty. He has to settle his sheets and wipe everything down before he can get too comfortable.

He thinks that heading out for brunch is a good idea, guessing that his roommate would most likely want to get situated in peace. He gets his wallet and phone and heads out to find somewhere to eat.

The streets weren't too busy. It was midday and the middle of the week, and most likely, people were still at their jobs. Still, they were full of people to the point that Minghao felt the pressure of needing to always be on the move. He constantly tried to go with the flow of the crowds while trying to find an establishment he could eat at, preferably something to quell his growing homesickness.

He stumbles across what seems to be a small business with very familiar-looking signs. Bingo! It's a Chinese restaurant! He thanks whatever force managed to lead him here before he enters the restaurant. The distinct smell of the classic spice mix calms his nerves, and his posture relaxes significantly. 

The man at the counter doesn't look up from his paper, pointing at a booth near the back where Minghao could set his stuff before ordering. The curt behavior of the man doesn't phase him; in fact, it comforts him. He sets his bag down before standing at the counter, reading over the signs that were both in Mandarin and English. He starts ordering his food in Mandarin, finally getting the man at the counter to notice him. He nods in understanding, taking his order diligently before yelling his order at the cook at the back.

He pays, nods at the man again, and gets situated at his table. Getting comfortable with the smell of the food cooking and the chatter of the people around him. He fiddles with his phone a little, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram to see what his friends are up to. Mingyu got another modeling gig, Jungkook with his new single, and Dokyeom got to play Orpheus in Hadestown. 

Soon enough, he doesn't realize how much time has passed, only noticing that his food was ready when the waitress hurriedly slides his food onto the table and takes his table number. Mumbling thanks, which he believes she ignores, Minghao starts to eat his food.

This is so good, actually; I need to post this to my story.

Minghao took a picture of his food. The digital camera shutter almost distracted him from the sound of someone bumping into the table next to him. 

“Oh! Sorry, sorry!” A feminine voice said, frantically apologizing to the patron at said table, holding her hip. She desperately tried to wipe up anything that was spilled, apologizing profusely. Minghao got up from his table and offered to help her, wiping up the mess with her like the gentleman he was. Once the table was free from any spills, she apologized again to the person at the table and Minghao for troubling him.

“It’s fine; accidents happen all the time. Just be more mindful next time.” He says calmly, returning to his booth before a smaller hand grabs his arm. 

“Uh, I can't find a place to sit. Would you mind sharing a table with me?” she asked shyly but politely. Minghao shakes his head no. Offering her a polite smile as they walk back to their now shared table, she leaves her items in his care before going to order her food.

Minghao finally gets to enjoy the food he ordered. The decadent aroma was mouth-watering, and most importantly, it reminded him of home. It helps warm him up, literally and figuratively. He chews slowly, savoring the flavors of his food as usual. He'd always been a slow eater, slow enough for the lady he shares a table with to get her food and finish eating with him.

They both get up from their table with a curt nod of acknowledgment. Thinking this would be the last time they'd ever interact, Minghao didn't bother introducing himself. And neither does she. 

Yet, Minghao can't seem to shake the feeling of disappointment once he leaves her.

Minghao finally arrives at his apartment, ready to settle down after a long day of exploring the city and taking photos of places that inspire him. He closes the door, running a hand through his hair to look around the living room. 

He nearly dropped his camera when he saw the girl from the restaurant staring back at him, and he almost dropped the tray of paints from the shock.

“What are you doing here?!” She asked, surprised and on alert. Minghao could only guess what emotions she was going through at that moment. A random man she met once is suddenly in her apartment. Oh dear.

Minghao starts to feel panic settle into him, too. Both of them look like deer in headlights, trying to make sense of the situation. 

“Oh- uh- fuck, I live here!” Minghao says frantically, holding both his hands up in a show of innocence, showing his copy of the keys to their apartment.

Her posture immediately relaxed a little, “Oh uh, so, you're my roommate? I'm Y/n, by the way.” She says, still a little weary of him. He doesn't blame her; he did come in unannounced.

“It's nice to meet you again, I mean. I'm Minghao. Let's try to get along for this mentorship program, yeah?” He says, scratching the back of his head. “I'm gonna go head to bed; I'm exhausted from all the traveling, so uh, yeah.”

Minghao hoped his exit wasn't too awkward. Maybe it was, but he was too tired to deal with the intricacies of small talk. He changed his sheets quickly, throwing the old sheets into the wash before doing his nightly routine. He crashed into his new, cool sheets and drifted off into dreamland. 

It was the next morning, and the warmth of the sunlight was seeping in through the cracks between the curtains. He blinks away the sleep from his eyes, rubbing his face into his palms. He sits up and shakes his head to fight off the rest of his fatigue. He was always a morning person, but the jetlag is making it a bit too difficult for him to uphold that. 

His morning routine was simple: shower, get dressed, make-up and hair, breakfast, and out. He rarely breaks from this simple pattern, which consistently makes life easier for him. So it came as a surprise to him that he didn't have to make breakfast this time since his roommate kindly left a portion for him. 

He thinks this is such a nice gesture to leave for the guy who scared her half to death yesterday. Maybe this was a sort of peace offering to make getting along easier? Either way, he won't complain—it's just another thing to make his life a little easier.

His roommate is nowhere to be seen, most likely already on his way to the studio to meet their mentor. So Minghao also leaves the apartment, making sure to lock the door on his way out. He pops his headphones on, listening to his favorite commute playlist with a lightness in his step, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder.

The train ride to the studio was calm; the morning train was much less busy than the afternoon one he took when he arrived, so he got the opportunity to sit down and enjoy the book he recently got. It was a story about two soulmates finding each other in the middle of a city that was new to both of them; he thinks that maybe he's starting to lean into the hopeless romantic stereotype that his friends would always compare him to, which, he could never beat the allegations. 

His mind drifts to his art, and he describes how the romanticization of life became a heavy inspiration for his work. Minghao loves the strokes of color on the canvas as much as he loves life, and his passion for existence weaves itself between the fibers of his canvas.

After being snapped out of his daydreams by the conductor, he feels a sense of deja vu; he finds himself in his head constantly these days. He is always such a dreamer.

The doors of the train open with a mechanical hiss, old rails squeaking under the friction. He thinks the train still needs to go through the desperately needed maintenance. Same train, same. He thought to himself, stuffing his book back into his back with a huff.

Minghao takes in the scenery around him; this part of the city is much less busy than where his apartment was, so he could finally appreciate the city's beauty without the pressure of constantly having to be on the move.

His mentor's building comes into view. It is an older building; the exterior has long since been weathered, but history still makes it gorgeous. He noticed that buildings, most of them having yet to be touched since they were first built, added a charm to an otherwise monotonous city.

He pushes in the door, noting that his only option for getting to the studio is a set of ancient, creaky wooden steps. Minghao is lightheaded from looking at the flight of stairs, so he doesn't bother counting how many floors he has to climb just to get to his mentor. 

I have to climb this every day. I don't need to bother with leg day here. He thought to himself, already making the long trek up the stairs. 

It wasn’t that long—about 5 minutes of walking time—but it felt like an eternity to him. Walking was no issue; walking upstairs? Torture. The first treadmill was a step design, so it may not be an exaggeration. 

Minghao finally reaches the top of the stairwell, pausing to catch his breath in an attempt to look presentable to his mentor and possibly his roommate. He stands by the door for a while, mentally preparing himself for the first day of the program. He arrives earlier than the agreed-upon time, so he's not in a rush to make his presence known.

He takes his water bottle out of his bag, puts cool water in it, and helps his poor self finally calm down from his mini workout. He curses whoever designed this stairwell. A five-story building should have an elevator, and arguing that it doesn't need one feels like a hate crime.

He stops himself before arguing with fictitious architects, who are probably long gone, about how old the building looks. Anyway, he finally has a hand on the doorknob to the studio; taking a deep breath one last time, he twists the knob and pushes the door open, the old wood creaking in protest from the force of him opening it. He cringes internally, the squeak passing straight through his skull, making him want to grind his teeth in annoyance.

Still, he doesn’t show his disdain for this geriatric building on his face since his mentor and roommate both whip their heads around to see him at the doorway. Suddenly, having two sets of eyes on you doesn't help the nerves. 

He offers a polite smile, successfully fighting his grimace with a more pleasant expression. Both his mentor and roommate smile back. He noticed his mentor was a lot more relaxed than when he first met him, which makes sense. He is where he's most comfortable—in his very own studio.

Minghao feels the same about his tiny studio back home. He steps further into the bright studio, closing the door behind him. The studio's top floor and many large windows bring loads of natural light, making it feel more comfortable and inviting. Couple that with the fact that it's in a relatively quiet part of the city, and he feels as if his mentor really put thought into every detail of his permanent studio.

Minghao wonders when he will be able to get the studio of his dreams in his art career, but for now, he admires the studio. His mentor greets him and urges him to explore and get acquainted with the space. Since he'll be spending most of his time here in Amsterdam. Minghao nods, dropping his bag on the cubbies near the door and carefully walking around the studio, avoiding the items and canvases scattered around the floor. His mentor seemed to have an organized chaos mindset, seemingly not bothered by the mess or the health hazard tripping on any of these might cause.

He finds it amusing how much of his mentor he finds out about just from looking around his workspace. He has a husband, married young, it seems. He has twin girls, who he can only assume are grown now. He used to have a dog, a poodle named ‘Cloud’ despite being a black poodle. He made prints of older paintings before sending them off to an auction for fundraisers. He remembers those fundraisers very fondly, it seems. 

Minghao also finds the bathroom and takes note of its location for future use; he’s definitely going to use that. He joins his mentor and roommate by the window, then takes the time to drink their morning coffee and watch the birds. His mentor offers him coffee, but Minghao asks if he has tea. His mentor confirms that he does and points toward his pantry, which is just a wooden cubby that he appropriated to be a pantry after he got tired of getting his snacks off the floor, sighting back pains.

Minghao calmly prepares his tea, passively listening to the conversation between his mentor and roommate. They seem to get along well. Maybe his mentor has some fondness for her because she reminds him of his daughters. He could only guess, though.

Minghao finishes making his tea and finally joins them by the window. “Are you guys birdwatching?” he asks, joining in the conversation. 

“Yes! Mr. Jones was talking about how his youngest loved visiting his studio just to view the birds.” His roommate answers, his mentor confirming it. Though he does mention that she doesn’t visit as often—after all, she has a family of her own now—when she visits, she brings his grandchildren with her, which makes the old man happy. 

He adopted his twin girls pretty early in life, seeing them as inspiration for most of his work. The way his mentor talks about his family and life with so much pride makes Minghao think about his future. He wonders if he’ll ever be as proud of his life as his mentor is, but considering he’ll be learning everything this man can offer, he’s pretty confident about that, at least.

After finishing their morning drinks, his mentor started his first assignment for them, one of many he’d assign throughout the program. His mentor was a patient and calm man. His instruction and tips for injecting emotion into your piece were very cohesive; it was almost like he got it down to a science. His enthusiasm and passion for his work were truly remarkable, and getting to witness it and learn from him felt surreal. 

Minghao feels proud of having the opportunity to have him as a mentor. At the end of the day, instead of feeling exhausted, he's excited to learn more from him tomorrow. 

You and Minghao are heading home together after a long day with your mentor, walking silently through the streets; you think that maybe he just doesn't like you, seeing how he practically jumps at every accidental graze of your hands with each other.

You don't really blame him either; your first impression wasn't exactly the greatest, seeing as someone cussed you out in the middle of a Chinese restaurant. That impression was a strong one, but unfortunately, not a good one.

Minghao and you shuffle into the same train car, getting pressed together as a consequence of rush hour. You try not to think about what your roommate, who is basically still a stranger to you, feels like. He's warm, and you can definitely feel that he is in shape. You definitely try not to think about how tall he is or how handsome he is.

He's so polite, too, and very gentlemanly. He's always conscious of his movement and language around you, protecting you from being squeezed in this tiny train car without him even noticing. It was basically second nature to him.

Oh, you're never going to survive with this man for a year; you're definitely not going to stay sane with him living with you. Your mind starts reeling, cursing whatever deity thought it was funny to send over a walking wet dream of a roommate to your sex-deprived self. 

You'd hope Minghao doesn't notice how you fought for your life, trying to have decent thoughts. You felt extremely guilty for thinking of him as such, he's just minding his business, and you're acting like some horny teenager. You hope you don't offend him with how much you flinch in every interaction with him. 

The last thing you'd want is for him to think he was the problem.

Luckily for you, Minghao always seemed to be in his head most of the time, mindlessly picking at the stitching of his shirt and spacing out, it seems. At least you don't have to worry about him secretly being a mind-reader. The chances are low, but they're never zero. 

You also take this as an opportunity to start spacing out, looking out the window to watch the buildings and trees pass by quickly, enjoying the golden glow of the setting sun over the city. This scene makes you feel bittersweet, as if another day has passed. 

You wanted nothing more than to crash in your bed and sleep until the next morning, but for now, in the middle of this train car, you had to be vigilant of your surroundings. Not just because you're a newbie to this place but because you absolutely cannot get so distracted that you start to lean into your roommate like some deranged weirdo subconsciously. 

The train conductor announcing your stop seemed to snap both you and Minghao out of your daydreams. “Could I hold onto you? I don't wanna get swept up in this crowd,” you asked politely, unable to meet his eyes.

“Uh, sure, hold on.” He said, adjusting his messenger bag so it doesn't block your reach of his arm.

Minghao navigates the flowing crowd with a form of familiarity. It surprised you how well he managed to adjust to the movement of such a busy city. Then again, he could have already come from a much busier city than Amsterdam. Still, you need to learn more about him to make assumptions.

Minghao weaves the two of you through the crowds and out of the station, successfully reaching fresh air once you make it to a calmer sidewalk that was already near your apartment. You wanted to ask him so many questions. You realistically had a little over a year to do so, yet you know how quickly a year actually goes by, so you wanted to work quickly, but not too quickly, that you scare the poor man away.

Arriving at your apartment, Minghao fishes his keys out of his pocket to unlock the door, opens it, and gestures for you to enter first. You say a small ‘thank you’ before entering, taking your shoes off at the entrance and hanging up your coat.

Minghao follows you after you hear the door click behind you. The shuffling of his items as they are hung indicates that he is settling down for the day.

“Hey, Minghao?” You start, wanting to lead a conversation to eliminate the awkwardness between you and your roommate; he hums, fully turning his body to you as if to signal that he is listening. “I just wanted to know what you thought of Mr. Jones. You know, not as a mentor, but as a person.” You asked, thinking it was a safe place to start getting to know him.

He thinks about it momentarily, “I can't say right now; I've only ever known him as a leading force in the contemporary circle, but other than that? Not much. Judging from his relationship with his daughters, he seems like a good father and good husband, as he still spoke about his husband fondly and was pleasant to be around. But other than that, I don't know.” He shrugged, “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I don't know,” You answer truthfully, “I like him a lot; he reminds me of my dad somewhat, you know, except maybe less of a religious nut.” You joke, gauging to see Minghao's reaction to it; luckily for you, Minghao finds it funny. Offering a restrained pfft- at your quip.

“Yeah, I get that; my dad was the same too. But I like him a lot less than Mr. Jones.” He said through laughter, running his hands through his hair. “I'll go take a shower; see you around, Y/n.” 

And with that, he disappears into his en-suite. 

You celebrate the tiny progress you made with your roommate, and you get to exchange words with him that aren't just common pleasantries. This motivates you to fan the spark of this new friendship, and maybe more, if you play your cards right.

It's too early to say you liked him, but he is objectively very attractive. So you can't really blame yourself for ogling at him. Respectfully, of course.

You also prepare for your night routine, opting to go through your entire skincare routine for the first time in forever after showering. You put on your best pajamas and tuck yourself into bed, dreaming of the day your hot roommate sees you how you want him to.

Kidding, not really.

Minghao has yet to learn what he's doing.

He'd been staring blankly at his canvas for what seemed like a solid 20 minutes, these inner thoughts fighting for dominance and splattering their metaphorical blood all over the pristine canvas.

He wanted to paint something so badly, but alas, getting struck with a severe art block on the second day of his mentorship felt like a sick joke from fate. His mentor watches over their shoulders, monitoring their progress. He seemed to notice Minghao's growing frustration from being stuck, “I think you should take a break, son. You should enjoy some tea by the window and clear your mind to make room for new ideas.” he said gently with a hand on Minghao’s shoulder.

Minghao agrees with him, finally setting his brush down to make his tea as usual before getting comfortable on one of the chairs by the window. He watches the trees sway in the wind, the birds playing on a random rooftop, and the clouds drifting slowly. All of these help calm his racing mind, which is preoccupied with so many things to think about that he doesn't have room to think about new ideas.

Minghao has a nasty habit of overthinking and holding onto ideas that no longer serve him a purpose. He thinks back to the first time he did this, the day he decided to become an artist. He's always known that he wanted to be an artist. He was eight at the time, telling his parents about his dreams for the future. 

Unfortunately, they disapproved of such plans. The first thought Minghao ever held onto was, “You need to aspire to get a real job, not just some useless skill that will leave you with no money.”

The second thought Minghao held onto happened at around the age of 17, just before graduating high school. He decided not to go to college, seeing that he still held out hope that he could become a great artist one day. He wanted to prioritize honing his skills, and his parents, once again, didn't approve of that.

That was the first time he ever felt fear from his parents. Before, he was only met with stern lecturing and maybe being grounded, but he never saw his dad that angry before or ever since. Since that day, Minghao has held onto the following: “If you're going to choose to throw your life away, then so be it. Just don't come crawling back here when you end up on the streets!”

Minghao doesn't want to recall the last thought he held onto; the memory is still fresh and feels like a weapon being used against him. He wished it didn't turn out that way, but it did. And there's nothing he could do to change the facts.

Minghao savors the flavors of his tea before finally trying his best to get rid of all those thoughts he holds onto. He's far away from his parents, far away from the people who could hurt him, and far away from the past.

He finally stops overthinking as soon as he sets his cup down, wiping off his palms on his pants before joining his roommate and mentor again. His head was finally free of any troubles he might've had. But he knows he's never truly free, only temporarily setting it aside to focus on his current goals.

He feels a sense of pride while he is painting this time. Strokes of vibrant color dance across the weaving of the canvas, and his brush glides smoothly and freely across it, finding a path of its own, making its mark like it was always meant to do.

In a way, it was freeing to paint without the pressure of making it look ‘good’, Minghao only had to focus on laying a color down the way it wanted to lay, and this show of emotion sparked a flame of determination in Minghao that he thought he lost so long ago.

Minghao finally sees the colors for what they are again, and in a way, he starts falling in love with creating again. His joy is evident on his face, and the controlled strokes slowly turn into free ones with every passing moment. 

He looks away from his canvas once to look at you, and he smiles the biggest smile you've ever seen on him. And you realize his smile is contagious, absolutely stunning in a way you've never felt before.

That smile was detrimental to your poor little heart, your small crush on him only worsening. You think it's a bit unfair that the universe had to dangle such a gorgeous specimen in front of you. You didn't even have an idea if he was single or not. He could have a wife and kids back home and you'd be none the wiser.

Still, you enjoy his company while you can. After all, it's not like you applied for this mentorship just to mingle. You were here to learn under a great artist, and to gain the experiences necessary to advance your career and skill.

Having a hot roommate is a nice touch, though.

“Hey Minghao?” You ask from the living room, looking up from your book to look at him in your tiny kitchen. 

“Yeah?” He replied, not looking up from the stove. It was the weekend, and Minghao offered to make dinner as you’ve been making breakfast for the past few days.

“Are you in a relationship? If you don’t mind me asking.” You asked, the question has been bugging you for a while now, ever since you realized your tiny crush. You’d feel incredibly guilty if he was in a relationship and you tried shooting your shot with him.

“No. But why do you ask?” He said simply, focusing more of his attention to not burning the food. Stir-frying the noodles with familiarity.

“Nothing, I just thought about it.” You paused, “We’re friends, right?” You finished with a question, thinking that maybe your line of questioning might be too much for someone who doesn’t even consider you more than a roommate.

“Of course. I like your company, I don’t have a reason to try and alienate you.” He said, now with more focus on you as he turned the fire of the stove down. Plating your food in one of the plates your apartment came with.

“Cool. We’re cool.” You said a little awkwardly, thinking that maybe your questioning was a bit too on the nose. Even if he wasn’t a mind-reader, he’ll surely be able to tell that you’re interested in him just from your weird line of questioning in recent days. Surely Minghao isn’t dense.

Minghao called you over to your dining room table, saying that dinner was already served. You rise from your comfortable position on the couch, making your way over to the tiny table in the space between the living room and kitchen.

“I hope you like the food, it's something I always used to make in college. It was one of the few luxuries I could afford, but it’s still very delicious,” he said, serving you a portion before taking some for himself.

“Thank you for making dinner. This looks amazing, I’m honored to try it.” You said, taking in the sight of the food that Minghao made with care. Minghao feels a sense of pride from your praise, sure, he’s not the best cook, but he’s definitely proud of the progress he made in recent years. 

Cooking was one of the first skills Minghao had to learn when he got kicked out of his parents’ place. Having focused all his energy on studying before, he only really had the time to learn how to take care of himself once he was on his own.

Watching you eat his food enthusiastically made Minghao unexpectedly happy. Sharing something he was proud of is often how he tries to get close to people, the little piece of vulnerability made him feel closer to them, like offering a piece of himself to them.

To you, this may have felt like a simple dinner, a meal between two friends in the comfort of their own home. But to Minghao, this was him accepting you into his space. Finally being comfortable enough to associate you to a dish he holds almost sacred.

The days easily turned into weeks, weeks into months, and before you knew it, it's already six months into your mentorship program. The days began to blur into each other, the most interesting thing that happened in the six months was your budding relationship with your roommate, whom you found out to be as much of a hopeless romantic as you are.

Your weekdays were spent at the studio, diligently working under your mentor and improving your art. While your weekdays were spent unwinding and spending time with your new friend. Minghao's taste in movies doesn't differ much from yours, opting to watch romantic movies with happy endings. 

It was during one of these movie nights that Minghao asked you a question, “Do you believe in true love? ‘The one’, so to speak. Someone that is a perfect fit for you as you are to them.”

You think about this question for a bit, “Yeah, I do. It's a little silly to ask for perfection, but if someone is perfect to you, I think that's pretty plausible. Though, I do think true love is more of a choice than just aimlessly searching for them, you know?” You answered carefully, eyes still glued to the tv screen.

“I see,” Minghao started, “do you have an idea what your ‘one’ might be like?” He asked, this time a little more determined to get a more pointed answer from you.

“Not necessarily, but I already have a feeling that I know them already.” You said, relaxing and leaning back onto the couch, “Or, at least I hope I do. And I hope they see me like that too.” You sighed, wishful thinking taking over you again.

Over time, your little crush on Minghao had grown into a genuine romantic interest, especially since learning that he was single a few weeks ago, you started to see him in a different light. Almost as if the confirmation of his availability gave your subconscious the green light to start thirsting over him like a horny teenager.

It also didn’t help that he got comfortable enough to walk around the house shirtless, or worse, with just a towel loosely around his hips, sitting low as he’s fresh out of the shower. This put you in a loop, almost all thoughts being occupied by him in a sick and twisted way.

Some days, you convince yourself that Minghao does this on purpose, trying to kill you in the reflection of the light from his sweet, wet abs.

“Y/n?” He said, breathless. With a whiny tone in his naturally airy voice. 

“Hao? You’re back from your run?” You ask from the kitchen. Trying not to think about how delicious his voice sounded.

“Yeah, I picked up some bread on the way back. Thought it’s go well with the soup you’re making.” He replied as he placed a paper bag of fresh bread on the counter. You turn away from the stove to check out the selection he brought back.

“Hm, you got good taste. I didn’t expect any less.” You say with a proud smile, Minghao’s chest fills with a sense of pride as well. It was always validating to hear from someone else that they trusted your judgment.

The two of you had the day off today, your mentor visiting his daughters somewhere on the other side of the country. Giving the two of you free reign to settle chores that you haven’t been keeping up with.

Minghao offers to help you set the table, but you tell him to take a shower first. Letting that sweat dry on him might make him sick. Or worse, sticky.

He laughs that off, “Oh please, I think you’d want that.” He said suggestively. 

That was a new development too. Minghao is getting bolder with his jokes. His jokes were always tasteful, never trying to push your boundaries. But sometimes you wish he did, just so you’d have the excuse to tell him how much you wanted him.

But for now, with Minghao not showing any interest in acting upon his suggestive jokes, you swallow down the urge to jump his bones. For now, at least.

Your mentor returned from his family visit the next day, with an assignment for both of you. 

Sitting in the studio as usual, your mentor explains what your assignment entails, and how it’ll most likely span the rest of your time here in Amsterdam. He took it upon himself to assign it as a final project for the two of you, finishing this would finish their apprenticeship.

“A local cathedral reached out to me looking for my services. They wanted a mural painted for the interior because it started to look a little too clean after renovations. I think this would be a good opportunity for the two of you to show me what you’ve learned. I give you half a year to finish it, and then, you’ll be done with your mentorship.” He said, voice wispy like a proud father recalling the time when his children were just small, not looking at them, all grown up, he can’t help but tear up.

You and Minghao look at each other, unable to fathom this amazing opportunity that has presented itself to you. You and Minghao eagerly accept the offer, excitedly heading out to check out the said church so you two can plan out what to do for the mural.

The people attending the church are already briefed on the situation, happily showing you around their shiny new church, happy to find new artists to commission for this project. You and Minghao take photos of the interior, wanting to plan around the implements and fixtures, to give everything a cohesive look.

You and Minghao do this for hours walking around the city to look for inspiration along the way, taking in all the sights you didn’t have the chance to take in before. The city was filled with inspiration, ideas flowed out the both of you like a river, and it was so easy to find passion for this project. With a giant canvas and free reign to paint whatever, you and Minghao felt like kids at a candy store.

But suddenly, the sky started to grumble, clouds darkening in a tell-tale way. You hadn’t anticipated the rain, so you both scramble to find shelter as the rain starts to pour. Taking shelter under the awning of an abandoned shop, you both watch as the rain pools and puddles around you. You turn to Minghao, he was a little damp but relatively dry, water dripping from his hair, soaking into his clothes. His mouth was slightly parted from panting, the unexpected run knocked the wind out of both of you.

 At that moment, Minghao looked delectable.

“Hao?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?”

He only smiles at your question, leaning down to softly press his lips to yours. He had an arm around your waist to pull you closer to him, pressing his body to yours. You can feel the warmth of his skin radiating under his clothes, warming you up from the chill of the rain. 

You felt a little light-headed, not just from the lack of air, but because you didn’t expect a random blurt of your desire would lead to Minghao kissing you breathlessly. Not that you’re complaining, not at all, in fact, this made you want him more, softly moaning against his lips before pulling away, remembering that you’re in public. 

“Oh, wow, um.” You start, heads still spinning from the dizzying kiss Minghao had pulled you into. 

He just laughed his signature laugh, joy coursing through his veins. How could he not be happy? An amazing opportunity to advance his career, getting to spend the day in the city with someone he cares deeply for, and getting to kiss her in the rain? Oh, he’s weak in the knees.

This day was perfect, you were perfect. Minghao couldn’t ask for anything more.

You and Minghao started the mural for the cathedral, buzzing with excitement for your first big project, as well as your budding romantic relationship with him. The two of you work on opposite ends of the mural, working to meet each other halfway, and taking the time to get the details down before moving on to the next section. 

In a way, this was reminiscent of how you and Minghao are taking the steps to make this relationship work. Though unlikely that you’d meet like this, you still did, and you’d like to believe it was fate. Both of you agreed not to put a label on it just yet, just enjoying each other's company, and exploring the possibilities of this new romance.

You sneak glances at him every so often, his face scrunched in concentration, focusing on perfecting the sections of the mural he assigned himself to. And sometimes, when he looks back at you, his face instantly relaxes and glows. You love how expressive his face is, almost as if you could tell what he was thinking about at any point. It comforts you how open he is, knowing that he looks at you with genuine affection and adoration. It's fun, it's freeing to feel this way about someone who feels just as strongly.

The two of you worked on the mural until lunch when the two of you decided to take a short break, “Maybe I’ll take this opportunity to take you out on a proper date.” He said cheekily, offering his arm for you to hold.

“Oh, that’d be great. We keep passing by this one restaurant that I’ve been dying to try.” It was an open-concept place, clean and modern but it didn't give off “steak dinner” vibes, it just seemed like a nice sit-down place to have lunch or brunch, if you’re of the local housewife type.

Asking the waitress at the front for a table for two, the two of you were promptly seated at a table facing the street, offering the both of you the menu. Apparently, the menu changes seasonally, this time they offered a variety of vegan dishes, which intrigued you. You never realized vegetables could be cooked in so many different ways.

Your food was served, and the conversation between you and Minghao flowed like free orange juice refills. You both enjoy your lunch, more than you usually do, you don’t know if the food was actually good, or if the company just made it better, but either way, you don’t think you could enjoy a meal without Minghao anymore.

He’s just so charming, kind, and funny. So, so funny. The tables around you started to look at you two funny for all the giggles coming from your table specifically. The restaurant being open-air doesn’t even help to dampen the sounds of your joy, even the hustle and bustle of the street fade to the background with him. It’s just you, and Minghao, and the delicious veggies the two of you decided to have for lunch.

Lunch was over before you realized it. Minghao flags down the waitress, asking for the bill and paying for it himself, much to your protests. Yet, those fall on deaf ears as he winks at you. Offering his arm for you to take again before walking back to the cathedral to continue working on your mural.

The two of you continue to act like love-struck fools, much to the church staff’s chagrin, but it's not like either of you cared, you enjoy his company, and you, his. You haven’t brought up the kiss from before, but you wanted to, mainly to ask him for another one. 

Minghao really wasn’t the type for much skinship, but it’s not as if he’s opposed to it. If you asked, he’d comply. He’s willing to do many things for you, or with you. Minghao thinks it’s too early to call it love, definitely, but it’s really really close to it.

He adores you to no end, no words could describe how much you became an important part of his life in just a few short months. And getting to work with you on this? He almost couldn’t believe it.

Growing up, he always thought love like this only happened in movies or books. But he’s living it right now. He’s living in Europe, doing what he loves the most, and finding an unexpected light in his life. Maybe life does have things worth worrying about. 

Still, ever present in Minghao’s thoughts, is the sinking feeling of anxiety. It’s ugly, rearing its head whenever it can. The last time he felt this strongly about something, it nearly broke him. Minghap always felt too hard, nothing is ever ‘just’ happy or ‘just’ sad for him. His loyalty and devotion is both a blessing and a curse. 

And yet, he still believes in love.

He’s a hopeless romantic, even if it’s scary, even if it’ll hurt, he still holds onto hope that he could get away with it. Making a religion of your lips, worshiping the false god that is your adoration for each other.

It’s ironic to think like that in the middle of a cathedral he thinks, yet, he’s not guilty, not after what the church has done to him, to his once level-headed father.

It was another day of working on the mural, this time, you and Minghao worked until the late hours of the night, until all the church staff bid both of you goodnight, leaving you two to work in the dim light of the chandelier.

“Hey, have I ever told you that this is the first time I went inside a church since I was seventeen?” Minghao started, concentrating on his section of the mural, painting the rosy cheeks of a cherub.

“Huh? No, you haven’t. Why did you stop going to church? If you don’t mind me asking.” You said, a little startled from being broken out of your concentration.

“It’s simple really, my values didn’t align with the church anymore. And, I may have been  in love with a man at the time.” He joked, chuckling at the end of his sentence as if he was reminiscing about something humorous. 

You nod, “You know, I haven’t been in a church for about as long.” you say, setting your brush down to continue speaking, taking a short break to avoid cramping your hand. “I didn’t like how I was basically brainwashed all my life to devote my time and soul to the church, I didn’t feel a connection to religion anymore, not after what my group told me after what that priest did to me.”

Minghao’s expression softened, shoulders dropping with his grip on the brush relaxing. “That’s terrible, I’m sorry that happened to you.” He said, also resting his brush. He walked towards you, offering a hand to help you get off the floor. You take his hand, muttering thanks, and you follow him to the back of the church, in the pews nearest to the altar.

“You know, sometimes I feel as if some unknown force led us to meet each other.” Minghao started, “Think about it, how is it that we’re the only two people in the mentorship program, and how have we managed to fit together so perfectly? I think,” Minghao pauses to lick his lips, “if it were anyone else, I wouldn’t have felt this way about them.” 

“I know that confession was a little misplaced, especially after what you just told me. But I just wanted to give you context for my offer,” He said, taking your hand, the warmth of his palm radiating to yours, warming it up, “I want to give your power back to you, I like you a lot, too much really. Ever since that first day, you made me breakfast. And I’d do anything to take that pain away from you.”

“Minghao…” You said, “I like you a lot too. I’m flattered by your confession, and so moved by your offer. But I can’t seem to figure out what your offer is supposed to mean.” 

“You were attacked at a church, violently, as if your body wasn’t yours for a time. I want to override those memories with ours, make it your choice. To have an outlet for your anger.”

You openly gape at him, not believing his offer. He wanted to…?

“Minghao, I want you.” 

It felt cathartic to say that, especially in a place you’d never think to say that. It was satisfying as if a weight had been lifted from you, the burden of memory weighing on your chest being removed, like the first time you could breathe freely again.

Mingahao gently cups your cheek, stroking the flushed skin with the pad of his thumb, slowly turning your head to face him, his lips hovering over yours, “I want you too.” He said before locking lips with you. 

Your hands immediately find their place at the back of his neck, fingers threading to the soft ends of his hair, pressing him closer to you, the warmth of his body radiating through his clothes. Your skin felt hot, like desire was just boiling under your skin, blooming on the surface as a flush of red. Minghao crowds you, kissing you with want, with need. He kissed you, letting his hands do what his lips wanted to, his faith turning into despair. The tragedy of not having a taste of your skin yet, swirls in his gut, manifesting in desperation. He kissed you with urgency, as if this was the only chance to have you like this, his greed taking over his thoughts as it filled his mind with images of you in the most depraved positions, your usually clean image tainted with evidence of his lust.

After all, Minghao is just a man, a man who now finds religion in your lips.

He reluctantly parts from you, surprising you with his strength but lifting you suddenly, walking the short way to the altar. His plans dawn on you as soon as you feel the cool marble under you, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you lock your lips with his again, moaning pathetically and the feeling of his palms snaking their way under your shirt, squeezing and kneading the flesh, taking handfuls of it as he needed it.

He parts from your lips with a whine, panting for air like just running a marathon. He only parts from you for a second, only for his mouth to connect with your jaw, placing open-mouthed kisses on it. Goosebumps litter your skin, his simple touch leaves you shivering in a way you didn’t think was possible. Your legs part and Minghao takes his place between them, now sucking and biting marks into your skin, maroon blooms all over your collarbones, as you pull him impossibly close, bodies flush together perfectly as if it was always meant to be.

You paw at his jacket, wanting to feel him without the barriers of fabric between the two of you. He frantically shrugged his jacket off, and pulled his shirt over his head without being prompted, using his weight to press you down into the marble altar. Takes his time to unbutton your shirt, kissing the skin with every button he undoes.

Warmth ripples under your skin like drops hitting the surface of a still body, each kiss sending a spark of heat directly to your core. Simple, but powerful. The way Minghao delicately worships your skin made a sense of serenity wash over you like a wave, crashing over your restless state.

Minghao rises to meet your lips, again, swallowing the sound of your moans, nipping at your lips. His hard cock presses into your core through his pants, layers of fabric between the places where you needed each other the most. Desperation turns into slight relief from the pressure of your bodies pressing together. 

He takes his time to strip you of your effects, taking time to peel it off of you with care. This is the first time he's seen you in such a compromising position, yet you don't feel pressured or nervous at all. The way he looks at you, it's as if you hung the stars in the sky one by one, just for you to take them in your eyes, a galaxy of secrets waiting to be uncovered; and you're willing to let him explore.

Minghao falls to his knees, fingers pressing into the flesh of your thighs. He presses kisses on your kneecap, slowly inching his way to your core, lips brushing against your skin, making you shiver. You watch as his head of hair reaches the apex of your thighs, placing a kiss on your pelvis, right above where you need him.

He looks up at you briefly, eyes locking with yours as if asking for permission to just dive right in. You nod, giving him the silent permission to do so. He smiles, his eyes fluttering shut as his mouth connects with your core, lips wrapping around your throbbing clit.

Your back arches from the marble, hands frantically searching for his head, threading your fingers through his hair to get a grip on anything. The way the wet muscle that was his tongue guided the swirl of hot desire in your stomach made you dizzy, his eyes shut tightly, and small whimpers left his lips, making you feel the vibrations.

He ate you like a starved man, “Oh, fuck, please-! Keep going!” The frantic pace of his mouth and tongue got more desperate with your praise, your encouragement made him press his face closer to your core, his jose bumping your clit, making him breathe in deep, taking in your scent.

His eyes flutter open at the smell, eyes rolling to the back of his head, and a pathetic, high-pitched whine leaves his lips. His tongue pressed against the spongey spot in your walls, immediately this sends a shiver down your spine, your moans turning into desperate whines, grinding on his mouth.

And Minghao just stops to take it, exaggerating his moans to help you over the edge.

A knot starts to form in your core, only a mixture of pleas of his name leaves your lips as you topple over the edge, reaching your high. Your orgasm was blinding, a hot, white pleasure ripped through you, your body shaking from the impact of such a powerful climax.

Minghao groans as he savors the flavor of your release, drinking it like a sacred Ambrosia. He delicately licks at your folds, careful not to bump into your sensitive clit.

After being satisfied with cleaning you up, Minghao starts to unbuckle his belt, his pants hanging low on his hips. He finally takes his cock out of his boxer briefs, the tip is red and bulbous, angry and leaking. His mouth parts with a moan, licking his plump lips, finally getting the friction he so desperately wanted.

He gets on top of you, his warmth radiating off of him in waves. He brings a hand up to brush your hair away from your face, soaking up every detail, committing the look in your eyes to memory. He looks at you with adoration, eyes clouded with lust yet still shines with the respect he has for you as a person.

In his eyes you were perfect, especially with that fucked-out look on your face, panting and shaking under him.

He kisses you again, this time with less desperation. You could taste yourself on his lips, highlighting your desire for more. He finally guides his cock to your entrance, the tip of it bumping into your clit, a gasp falling from your lips.

You look up at Minghao, a halo of many colors forming around his head, the cross-shaped stained glass behind him glowing brightly in the full moonlight. If it wasn't for the depraved things he's done to you, you'd think that he looked angelic.

Finally, he slowly pushed his cock into you, a shaky breath leaving his lips, taking every ounce of self-control to not start frantically thrusting into you, letting you take the time to adjust to his size. Minghao was bigger than you thought he'd be, the sheer size of his cock stretching you deliciously. 

He pressed your foreheads together, your breathing synchronized. You open your hand on his chest, pressing your palm over his heart, you can feel the steady beating of it, and you can feel him breathe with you. The silence only amplified the feeling of being connected, a kind of vulnerability that you’ve never felt with anyone else before.

You savor his warmth, his closeness to you, before asking him to move. He nods wordlessly, not trusting his voice at the moment. He was buried to the hilt, but he slowly started to pull back until only his head stayed inside you, only to push back in, a wet, lewd squelch of your juices mixing with his echo and rung in your ears.

He started to pick up his pace, intertwining your hands together to gain leverage. “Fuck, you feel so good babe, so warm. So perfect for me.” He said lowly, mind emptying all thoughts except for the feeling of you around him. He can't get enough of you, your image infecting his mind, making a home in every crevice. 

Both of you were very vocal about how good it felt, pleasure rising to a pressure that made both of you light-headed, your grip on his hand tightening with every pointed thrust to the spot where you needed him the most.

His lips meet your neck again, more maroon marks blooming over your skin, marking you with evidence of him. He separated from the skin with a wet pop, his nose brushing against your cheek, his hair tickling the skin, “Please, I need you to cum around my cock. Don't make me beg for it, please, oh- please-” he whimpered in your ear, breathless from the force he was using. 

He turns to kiss you again, both of you swallowing each other's whines and moans as your desperation grows stronger. 

Soon, the coil in your stomach starts to tighten again, you can't hear much over the ringing in your ears, but you do hear the wet slapping of skin together, and the ragged breathing coming from the man above you. You barely registered your own orgasm, you felt like you weren't in your body, like your soul was floating in the space where you felt neither pain nor pleasure. 

Tears ran down your face, your body shaking like a leaf. Minghao watched as your juices squirted out of you, coating his cock and legs with your release. This violently sends him into his own orgasm, barely catching himself with the altar as the force of it knocks the wind out of him, his knees shaking, barely able to hold his weight up.

He almost collapsed into you with how much his body couldn't handle the sensations, his hips never ceasing even with both of your oversensitivity.

He finally stops, both of you winded from the intensity of your sex. He kisses you with finality that night, right at the altar with the light of the cross over you.

It's been months since you and Minghao started the mural, and also started hooking up. The first time you slept with him was certainly not the last. You were sure you desecrated every inch of this sacred space, as well as every corner of your shared apartment. 

But, all good things come to an end. 

Today was the day you finally added the finishing touches to the mural, marking the end of your program, and the end of your time in Amsterdam. 

Your mentor was pleased with how it turned out, he was proud of how far the both of you have gotten in your skills. And decided to throw a party in his studio to celebrate the completion of your final project. 

You and Minghao skirt around the idea of what will happen next after the program ends, enjoying the company of your mentor and the few friends you've made in Amsterdam. 

It was after the party that things finally started to feel grim, each item you packed into your suitcase felt like heavy weights or a nail in the coffin of your relationship with Minghao.

You couldn't fathom going back to reality, back to your lonely apartment without the anticipation of waking up and making breakfast for him. 

You realized too late that you loved him.

“What happens to us now?” His question surprised you, you didn't think he was thinking about this as hard as you were. 

“Well, we go back to where we came from. Go on with our lives, I guess.” You reply, too cowardly to admit what you truly felt, as it'll only hurt more.

“That's it?” He asked incredulously, “You don't want to even try to make this work?” His tone wasn't one of anger or disappointment, Minghao had always been an expressive person, but this was something worse. Hurt.

“Minghao I-” You start, but he cuts you off,

“Well, you know what? Okay. It's okay- just… if there's ever a next time. Meet me in Amsterdam. Please, at least, try for me?”

You nod, your breathing becoming shaky as tears begin to well in your eyes. You hug him tightly, almost as if it'll be the last time you ever see him.

But no, there will be a next time. No matter how long it'll take.

You let the tears fall when the plane finally took off. 

It's been several years since your time in Amsterdam, your experience there marked you in more ways than one. 

Your art career found success after the mural you worked on with him received critical acclaim. Opening galleries and exhibits all around the world, people enjoy the art you made greatly. 

You find yourself in the place where it all started, Amsterdam. 

“So, there really is a next time, huh?” You said, your voice was calmer than you expected it to be, especially with being overcome with such intense emotions.

Minghao smiles at you, wordlessly coming in to hug you.

“I'm not letting you go, not this time.”

[jaggedamethyst]

circuit breaker 🔬🌌 (part two)

tutor!jayce talis x reader college au

content: reader recently decided to get a physics tutor...it's time for the first session with jayce talis

notes: walk with me and suspend ur disbelief in the actual physics talk...i have to make it somewhat believable that they're actually having tutoring sessions so i dug into the crevices of my brain for old physics topics that aren't too hard if you know them...if you don't..hopefully jayce makes sense LMAOOOO. but i will try not to do too much physics that it takes you out of it, i just want to build the tension and relationship. just trust me.

again mentions of neurodivergence/adhd references but that’s it really

word count: 1.9k

series masterlist

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

Ekko was your longest friend—the closest one you had. He understood your brain even more than Viktor did, which was saying something. Since the day the two of you met in middle school, you became accustomed to one another. You knew each other like the back of your hands—which is why you knew he’d be so upset right now.

Immediately after leaving the student center, you scrambled to the dining hall. You and Ekko had a standing lunch date every day unless one of you said otherwise. There wasn’t always anything to say, but the idea of each other’s company comforted you—comforted him. He had been adamant that even if you two sat in silence, worked on classwork, or simply watched something on your phones, that the time was well spent.

Ekko valued these meetings in particular after his last girlfriend. You didn’t talk about Powder much…but he was devastated when she left town. The three of you had been friends for a long time…she’d abandoned you too. Acknowledging how much harder it may have been for Ekko was hard. You were forced to pick up the pieces and it started with daily check-ins over lunch. They stuck. 

You spotted him sitting alone, sipping on his drink through the glass. You tapped on it softly, getting his attention, waving.

He lit up when you approached the table, “Funny seeing you here.” Ekko looked at his watch dramatically, “Almost thought you couldn’t tell time for a second there.” 

“I am so sorry.” You moved to sit, pulling out the chair across from him. “I got caught up at the student center, needed a tutor for physics.” 

Ekko watched you reach and grab his bag on the table. He rolled his eyes knowingly—you were going for the fries of course. 

You continued, “Viktor recommended this guy, his lab partner.” 

Ekko nodded, “Thats great…but I’m also good at physics ya know?” 

“Oh yes, I totally forgot to ask my best friend to be my tutor. My best friend who knows I cannot stay on topic to save my life…wants me to ask him to be my tutor…so we can definitely not work on physics for the entire session.” You paused, a fry just on your lip, “Besides, I didn’t really have a choice.” 

“Okay first, I would be a great tutor! And second, what do you mean, didn’t have a choice?” 

“Viktor kinda just…led me there?” 

“So you didn’t have a chance to get yourself worked up and find a way to not go…great tactic on Viktor’s part.” 

There was a silence, but never uncomfortable when you were with Ekko. You smiled to yourself at that, and then about how surprisingly well the first meeting went. 

“He seemed nice…Jayce…my tutor.” 

Ekko reached into his bag, grabbing his sandwich. “Am I sensing a but?” 

“No, actually. He just seemed genuinely invested in me not feeling bad when it comes to sucking at school.” You paused, rubbing your hands in a napkin. “He said we could work on making it all seem more interesting…which I liked.” Ekko still hadn’t unraveled his sandwich, listening intently. You watched him observe you, but not speak up. “What?” 

He shook his head, “Nothing…that’s great.” 

The rest of your lunch was spent quietly recounting your days, not much of note happening otherwise. Eventually, you parted ways with an unspoken yet understood promise that you would see each other tomorrow. 

Your first session with Jayce was also tomorrow. That was on top of everything else you had to do. So much to be done…such little time, you thought. 

The following day came just as quickly as the previous had ended. You woke in a frenzy, almost always rushing to and from one class and toward the next. Then, to tutoring. 

You stumbled in, looking for any familiar face. You were met with only one, Jayce’s. He stood quickly, grabbing a folder and his bag before approaching you. 

“Right on time.” He turned, walking you toward a room off to the side. “This will be the office we use, I requested one with a white board.” He glanced back at you for affirmation before speaking again. “If you ever come for our meetings and don’t see me in the lobby, you can just come in here.” 

“Sounds good.” Your lip curled at your voice coming out more weak than you expected. You had to admire your own consistent ability to embarrass yourself, truly. 

He stepped back, allowing you to walk in first, again. “So…I printed these forms out for you.” He opened the folder, taking out some of the pages and spreading them on the table. “This is the basis for everything you’ll need to know about physics. There’s legends here, conversion charts, some of the greek symbols you’ll need to know, circuit diagrams, acronyms…everything.” You slowly sat in your chair, observing the filled pages. Jayce noticed you looking between the table and him with wide eyes. 

“This is a lot of information…” 

He finally sat down. “It is…but we have time to get you up to speed.” 

“But there’s these quizzes.” You looked down at the table, tapping a finger lightly against the wood. “Every week we have to prove we understood the concept and I am already weeks behind so it just keeps building on things I didn’t even understand to begin with. I don’t have time, I have to pass the quizzes so I can pass the class and keep my scholarship. If I lose my scholarship, I can’t pay for school and I’ll have to drop out. And all of this over stupid fucking physics and a professor who seems to want to ruin my life specifically.” You finally took a breath, “I can’t do this.” 

“I think you can.” 

Your eyes snapped up, meeting his. The look on his face seemed sincere—as if he truly believed in the statement. Hardly knowing you at all, he had enough faith that you could, in fact, do this.

“So,” he clasped his hands together. “What’s this next quiz on? What’s the topic for the week?” He got up, grabbing a marker from the white board’s small shelf. He looked at you expectantly, a brow arching as if to ask you again. 

“Vectors.” 

He nodded, “Okay, and what confuses you about vectors?” 

“Well, I feel like I’m pretty good at understanding angles. But as soon as we add in speed or velocity I am just…confused.” 

“Let’s start there.” He wrote the words speed and velocity on the white board in broad strokes, leaving space beneath each. “What is speed? Don’t think about it too hard.” 

“How fast something is going?” 

“Exactly, like a car.” He drew a makeshift car, and an indicator of both miles and kilometers. “Velocity is different.” He sketched a quick graph, a simple y and x axis and an arrow. “Velocity indicates the direction of an object.” His hand followed the trail of the arrow he drew, emphasizing that it was in motion. “So, velocity is the only one that actually would be considered when you look at vectors. Speed is just a number…velocity represents a change in position…which is what vectors do.” 

You grimaced at his attempt to make it make sense for you. The effort was appreciated, truly, but it didn’t stick. You feigned understanding, nodding your head in an attempt to get him to move on and explain more. This was common for you. Something wouldn’t make sense, but you wouldn’t want to hold everyone up, to be a burden. So you would sit in class, half listening, half in another world. After class, you’d be forced to scour videos about the very subject the teacher had spent class time explaining. Unfortunately that was a rabbit hole, too, as you would always end up on videos that had nothing to do with school. 

His eyes narrowed, not believing that your nod was enough of an indicator that you understood. “Come with me.” He moved to grab the papers for you, stuffing them in the folder and sliding them to you. You followed without a thought, trying to match his steady pace. He lead you to a nearby park down the street and sat his bag underneath a tree. You copied, placing your bag down beside his. It was impossible to not feel awkward, and yet, he persisted. 

“Okay stand here,” he pointed a finger to a random spot on the ground. Your feet stood perfect on the space where the asphalt and grass met, one foot on each side. “So just imagine that standing here, you are the bottom of a line graph along the x-axis. He moved his hand side-to-side, palm down, reminding you that this would be the horizontal line. Hotdogs and hamburgers. You remembered the silly phrase from elementary school. 

“Okay, standing here…x-axis.” 

He walked over to the grass side, “Okay, over here…in the nice green grass…this is positive.” He walked over to the asphalt, “I’m on your left now, on the asphalt…this is negative.” 

“…Okay.” 

He walked to mirror your position, one foot on each terrain. Then, he slowly stepped on the grass. “Without thinking about numbers, how would you describe what I just did.” 

“You…” Your brows furrowed, “You walked to the grass?” 

“Right, and that is-“ 

“Positive?” 

“Exactly.” 

In a split second, he darted over to the asphalt. “How bout now?” 

“You ran to the…to the negative?” 

He nodded, meeting you back at center again. He smirked at how quickly he’d even come up with this demonstration. “This is an example of how vectors work. When you think of me running somewhere, picking up my speed, but moving to the quote unquote ‘negative,’ this could also mean that from my original position-“ 

Your eyes lit up, “You moved backwards?” 

“Yup, or even down. On a graph, I mean.” He smiled with each word, amused by how you caught on to his unorthodox teachings. “But if I move slowly and to the ‘positive’ side?” He waited for you to answer.

“You…moved up or to the right.” 

“Just like a point on a graph.” He stood, hands on his hips. 

You were on the edge of every word he spoke, analyzing his every movement. You knew it was inopportune, but it was rather characteristic for you to lose focus right then. Jayce’s eyes were…interesting. Your first instinct was to say that they were yellow. When you looked closer you noticed the border of dark brown, the flecks of hazel and copper. It was unlike anything you’d ever seen. You got so caught up, you missed his hand coming up—leaving it lingering in the air. 

“What,” he questioned, “Do you not like high-fives as encouragement?” 

You chuckled, finally meeting his hand with yours. “I actually prefer snacks as encouragement, but this works.” 

It was his turn to laugh, then. It was short-lived. You followed his line of sight to see the same woman from the resource center, the one he’d been so enraptured by. Rightfully so; she was even more beautiful than you thought. The sunlight hit her skin just right, almost glistening. You gulped, somewhat intimidated by her presence alone. 

She reached you both, immediately giving Jayce a hug before turning to greet you. 

“Hey, how’s the tutoring going?” She nudged the man beside her, looking to you for an answer. 

“It’s going well,” you glanced at your phone screen, shit. “I actually should get going, but today was really helpful, thank you Jayce, bye.” 

You shuffled to grab your things as quickly as possible, avoiding the look of surprise on Jayce’s face. It didn’t really matter, though. 

Ekko was going to be pissed, again. 

part three

[hyunbelievable]

Painted in Sin

Part Two.

Summary: a heated one night stand in your new city leads to a world of hurt.

This is PART TWO of an ongoing series! The series as a whole is NSFW, though some chapters may not have explicit content. MDNI. Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked.

Genre: College AU, Non-Idol AU.

WARNINGS: alcohol consumption, mentions of student/teacher affair, swearing, student/teacher relationship (college level 18+), angst.

WC: 2.8k

Note: Honestly, this chapter went a whole different way than originally planned. There are no sexually explicit scenes in this chapter (but don’t fret — I’m cooking chapter three and it’ll be good hehe).

Chapter Two

—

Having drunk yourself into a stupor after classes let out the day before, you barely hear the rhythmic chiming of your alarm urging you awake. With a long-suffering groan, you lift your head from the pillow, pry your heavy eyes open, and fumble for your phone to silence the offending noise.

A notification on the screen catches your attention. An email notice from the Dean of the college. Your stomach churns violently as you swipe the screen and skim the contents.

‘Newly Enrolled Students and Transfer Students,

Please allow me to be the first to welcome you to our illustrious school. The faculty, staff, and administration are all pleased to receive the newest members of our talented university.

Due to the recent influx of new students, there will be a New Student Orientation tonight at 7:00pm. Attendance is mandatory. The event will be held in the Main Hall’s Amphitheatre.

During Orientation, we aim to ensure all students are properly acclimated to their new environment. We will discuss the campus layout, review our policies and rules, introduce campus resources, and more.

New student IDs and school photos will be taken at Orientation, so we urge you to come prepared.

Regards,

Dean of Students’

Great.

What better way to meet the Dean than hungover and carrying the memory of having been involved with a professor?

Sighing deeply, you go through the motions of getting ready. The moment you step outside, only one thought dominates your mind. Caffeine.

Despite your inebriated state the night before, you’d managed to wake up early enough to drive to the cute little cafe you’d spotted while moving into your new apartment. It’s tucked between a secondhand bookstore and a small restaurant, its exterior painted a rich, fern-green. A mustard-yellow door stands in stark contrast, surrounded by artfully hung flowers that spill out over the veranda.

Inside, the air is thick with the scent of roasting coffee and freshly baked bread. The exposed brick walls are covered with paintings in mismatched frames, each piece created by local artists. Your gaze lingers on one in particular — chaotic strokes of muted blue-grey swirling together, interlocking and merging at the top of the canvas. It’s different from the others. Mesmerizing.

A voice pulls you from your thoughts.

“Next in line!”

You turn to the barista and offer a polite smile, ordering the drink with the highest caffeine content and adding an extra shot of espresso for good measure. As you reach for your wallet, a man’s arm stretches past you, a few folded bills held between two fingers as he passes them to the barista.

A familiar chill skitters down your spine.

You look up into a pair of dark eyes.

His other hand grazes across your lower back as he leans in, and you instinctively step away, out of his near-embrace. The barista, fully aware of the awkward exchange, hands you your coffee with amusement shining in her eyes. Irritation mingles with your shock.

A familiar laugh brushes against your ear.

“Trouble sleeping?”

Your professor’s gaze flicks down to your drink before settling just under your eyes, where the evidence of your late night is surely on display.

You don’t dignify the comment with a response. Instead, you drop some cash into the tip jar and turn to leave, face burning.

Footsteps follow you.

A firm but careful grip closes around your upper arm, halting you mid-step. Inhaling deeply, you turn to face him.

“I’m starting to think you enjoy running off on me,” he says, that damnable spark of amusement lighting his eyes.

You gesture vaguely toward the cafe. “What was that?”

His brows furrow. “What was what?”

And there it is. The cocky tilt of his lips. The knowing glint in his gaze.

You exhale sharply. “I’m late,”

This time, when you step around him, he lets you go. But you can feel it. His eyes lingering on you, tracking your movements all the way to your car.

You slide behind the wheel, sinking back against the seat.

Doesn’t he care that he could lose his job over this?

Doesn’t he care that you could lose the scholarship you’d worked so hard to achieve?

It was just a one-time thing.

So why does it feel like it’s only the beginning?

—

The rest of the day passes quicker than expected, but dread blooms in your stomach as your final class looms closer.

And after that, the student orientation tonight…

You take your usual seat beside the girl with the pixie cut, offering her a small smile. She returns it before glancing around the room, and, noticing that Professor Hwang has yet to arrive, leans in.

“I’m Olivia, but you can call me Liv.”

You introduce yourself, and the two of you talk for a few minutes. She’s friendly, and very talented. That much becomes clear when she shows you her “introductory project.” Your breath catches at the beautiful brush strokes adorning her canvas. She’s chosen bold colors that should clash, but made them blend well as if she’d bent the very paint to her will.

“It’s still a work in progress, but I’m happy with it so far.” Her gaze slides pointedly to the still-blank canvas on your desk. “How’s yours coming?”

You glance at your untouched canvas and smirk. “I call it ‘I have no personality and my head is a mess. Nice to meet you.’”

“Catchy.” She laughs, her head tipping back. She quickly schools her features as the door opens. Professor Hwang strides in, hands tucked casually into his pockets as he rounds his desk and sits.

A moment later, Liv slides a folded piece of paper across your worktop. You unfold it to find a phone number. When your eyes meet hers, she flashes a friendly smile before returning her gaze to the front as the professor begins speaking.

He talks animatedly about upcoming topics, his passion for art evident in every word. It’s infectious. As he paces before his desk, his gaze lands on each student, holding their attention with ease.

The class passes without incident, surprisingly. No lingering glances. No secretive smiles.

Disappointment swirls in your stomach, but you shove the feeling away.

Why would he single you out? You’d made yourself clear this morning at the coffee shop. It’s best to pretend that night never happened.

By the end of the lesson, your mind buzzes with ideas. Your long lost creativity seems to have bloomed anew. As much as you loathe to admit it, Professor Hwang’s passion has ignited something within you. You’re eager to get home and bleed these pent-up emotions onto your canvas.

You stand as the professor dismisses the class, walking alongside Liv to the exit. Before you can leave, he calls out to you. You hesitate, then gesture for Liv to go ahead, turning back toward his desk. Your fingers fidget with the strap of your bag.

“I noticed your canvas is still blank,” his tone is professional, almost bored as he relaxes in his seat, eyes locked on yours.

You don’t let your gaze waver. “I’ve been a bit…distracted.”

“I see.” He stands, resting his hands on the desk as he leans slightly toward you. “Care to elaborate?”

A dry laugh escapes you. “You know damn well why,” you hiss, keeping your voice low. “Had I known—”

He cuts you off.

“Had you known,” he cocks his head, “that I was your professor, you wouldn’t have gone home with me that night?” A slow smile spreads across his lips. “In case you haven’t realized, I didn’t know either.”

His expression is unreadable, but something flickers in his eyes, too brief to decipher.

He continues before you can speak. “I might have told you what I do for a living if you hadn’t run out like my apartment was on fire.”

There it is again, the flash of something in his eyes. A pang of guilt twists in your stomach, but you brush past it.

“And now, I have that orientation with the Dean tonight.” You pause, exhaling sharply. “I could lose everything for what we did.”

He pushes off his desk, rounding it and coming to a stop before you. His gaze darts to the cracked classroom door before returning to yours.

“So could I.”

You nod. “Then we agree. We pretend it never happened. For both our sakes.”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, his eyes roam over your face, lingering on your mouth before meeting your gaze again. Slowly, he leans in, his breath ghosting over your cheek. His fingers skim over the foundation-covered bruise he’d left on your neck.

“You covered it up,” his voice is barely above a whisper.

Your pulse quickens at his proximity, at the light touch of his fingers.

You swallow hard, stepping back. The second his skin is no longer touching yours, you take a deep breath. “Yes, I covered it up.”

He doesn’t let the distance deter him. He steps forward, and instinctively, you retreat — until the backs of your thighs press against his desk. His hands land on either side of you, caging you in. His nose brushes the side of your neck, and your hands flatten against his chest.

You should push him away. You go to do just that, but your traitorous fingers curl into the material of his shirt instead.

“If you can’t find your inspiration,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to the empty canvas tucked into your bag, “you know where I live. You can use my body as your canvas and your lips as the medium.”

Your breath catches. Heat curls low in your stomach.

Then your phone chimes, and reality creeps back in.

You push against his chest, stepping out from his embrace. Without another word, you turn and walk out of the room, your heart hammering against your ribs.

As the evening wears on, his words plague your mind. It’s as if he’d painted the image of those words directly on your mind. An almost uncomfortable thrum settles between your thighs at the thought of giving in. Of throwing caution to the wind, damning the consequences, and engaging in an affair with your professor.

By the time you arrive at orientation, you’ve cooled down. Somewhat.

You spot Liv waiting outside the amphitheater and rush toward her.

“Hey! I waited for you.” she says, linking her arm through yours as the crowd begins to shuffle inside.

A man in his late forties ushers students in. He’s balding, his stomach straining against the confines of his suit. Beady eyes scan the crowd as he produces a tissue to dab the sweat from his forehead.

The sight of him douses the fire in your stomach, more efficiently than if a bucket of ice were dumped over your head.

Once everyone is seated, the man makes his way to the stage. He comes to a stop behind the podium, fiddling with the neck of his shirt before adjusting his tie. He introduces himself as Dean Bouchier.

Over the next two hours, he drones on about campus resources, student clubs and activities, and the impressively long list of rules each student must abide by.

Then, his tone shifts.

Dean Bouchier clears his throat, and an almost ominous silence settles over the restless students.

“Now, we come to the most important topic of our meeting.” His voice is severe, gaze sweeping the room.

You sit up a little straighter.

“As you all know, creating art, performing a scene, and learning a new dance routine can be very emotional. It’s normal for you to lean on your instructors, and we encourage professional relationships with them.”

He pauses, hand straying to adjust his tie for what seems like the thousandth time.

“We are committed to fostering a creative, inspiring, and professional learning environment where all students can thrive. As I mentioned, collaboration between students and professors is essential to your growth, but it is equally important to be mindful of ethical boundaries. To protect the integrity of our community, we have a strict zero-tolerance policy prohibiting romantic or sexual relationships between students and faculty.”

A chill runs down your spine.

“Such relationships can create power imbalances that can compromise artistic freedom, academic fairness, and individual development. Any violation of this policy will result in serious consequences, including faculty termination or student expulsion.”

He takes a deep breath, then smiles at the crowd. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

After a few closing remarks he dismisses the students to line up for their ID photos.

Liv leans in. “They emphasize that last bit more now. My sister went here a few years ago. Apparently, there was a huge scandal involving a relationship between a student and a professor. The student was expelled, but my sister said the professor still works here.” She shakes her head. “So unfair. But… I do wonder which professor it was.”

She pauses, eyes suddenly sparking in amusement.

“I bet it was Professor Hot as Fuck Hwang. Who wouldn’t take a chance at that?”

She giggles as the two of you approach the photographer. You force a laugh, but your mind is spinning.

Your body moves on autopilot as you sit for your ID photo and make your way to the parking lot. Liv walks beside you, filling the silence with happy chatter.

When you reach your car, she grabs your arm.

“There’s a frat party next week. Apparently, it’s a big thing every year. Want to go with me?”

Her eyes shine with excitement. You hesitate, then nod.

Maybe you’ll find someone to rid your mind of Professor Hwang.

If only it were that simple.

—

TAGS: @jeonginsleftcheek @iknow-uknow-leeknow @laylasbunbunny @scarlet789 @stayjinnie @alix-nai @chartrucewhore @skzaddictsincedebut @xcmvc @hoeracha @potentialgay @thedelulugirlie @ipistachio

(For some reason I couldn’t tag everyone — some of you didn’t come up when I tried 🥲🥲)

To be added or removed from taglist, please comment or DM me! 💓💓

[7squidgy7]

✧.*100 follower celebration type thing*.✧

So, to celebrate 100 followers on tumblr, I decided to draw some fanart for people. This community is so sweet. Every one of these artists has inspired me in some way.

I'm really sorry for those I haven't made art for. I may make a part 2 one day for those I missed. Who knows.

This was a really nice way to try out different art styles while mixing them with my own.

Apologies for all the link later on. Want to explain the creative process a bit for those interested cause I put way too much effort into it to not mention.

Close ups below cut:

@donutfloats

Your arts so cute and soft, I love it. You have a great way of just expressing love through your art.

I was inspired by 2 of your pieces for this, the main one being the 3rd image for this post. The lambs dress is so pretty, I just knew I wanted to draw it flowy and dancing, and the second image I used is this post for the rendering style.

✧.*-----------------------------------------------------------------------*.✧

@aniimoni

I really like your artstyle. The monochrome colours are delightful, as with the way you do lineart. while making this, I was thinking this is the perfect style to meld with mine.

I was inspired a lot by the axe and hammer drawings in this post. As a hammer lover, I decided to combine the 2 together.

✧.*-----------------------------------------------------------------------*.✧

@teruuu

Something about your style is mischevios. Your rendering and lineart are just wonderful as well. You have a very distinctive style that matches mine quite well, i think.

I feel compulsion of the flesh Lamb and Narinder would give each other kisses on the hand but take a bite at the same time. They freaky like that. Based my rendering around this post and the previous draw you character here, I did. These are fun designs to draw.

✧.*-----------------------------------------------------------------------*.✧

@poopylumpkins

I really like your vampire au something about it really spoke to me as a afab non-binary.

Lamb deserves to wear their own clothes and something about narinder helping with their makeup convinces me he'll help out.

if you're curious, i colour picked the background and shading from this post

✧.*-----------------------------------------------------------------------*.✧

@olrinarts

This was a really fun style to draw. Something about how you draw these 2 is delightful. Love yuri narinder's eyes in particular.

Rock god yuri. What more can I say these are really good designs. Showed them to my friend, and they loved them.

Decided to have them dueting, while Narinder can't sing lamb can always pick up that role.

Used this post for the background and shading colours, and this is a kinda basis for the pose.

✧.*-----------------------------------------------------------------------*.✧

@redcrowncafe

Really love you fic and art. I like to see the fic brought to reality through all the comics and art, which has a very pleasing look to the eye.

I have never struggled so much with an art style, fun challenge, but very different to my own.

Wanted to draw their Halloween costumes from this post. Lambert would definitely get too into the vampire costume and bite Nari at some point probably.

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@joffyworld

Just wanna say thank you so much for the reblogs and kind words. It gives me a lot of confidence in my work and is a genuine brightness in my day.

I wasn't sure what to draw you, so I thought I'd just show you a pic of my new one who waits figurine, that arrived recently. Its a little weird, I think an earlier design but cool none the less.

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[cheralith]

vogue (chapter two) — boss/fashion designer!geto suguru x reader ; REASONS

series synopsis ; even without much knowledge in the world of fashion, you decide that it's in your best interest to work for the country's fashion magazine powerhouse to propel your career as a journalist. however, you begin to second-guess your decision when you're faced with the grueling labor of its one and only editor-in-chief who expects nothing less of perfection. can your efficiency meet his standards or will you be out the door before you can even blink? masterlist

contains ; editor-in-chief!geto, fashion designer!geto, assistant!reader, assistant turned muse!reader, platonic roommate!ino, modern au, angst, slowburn, co-workers-to-lovers, some crack if you squint

chapter synopsis ; it's chaos at kaizen magazine and the entirety of its staff, including its editor-in-chief is stressed. you meet a particular individual at the coffeehouse who seems all too the familiar for some reason whose strange words encourage you to dabble in the world of modelling in a desperate moment.

chapter tags/warnings; she/her pronouns, afab!reader, blood mention (reader gets mild cut on finger), reader models but no mention of body descriptions, some parts not edited

chapter word count: 8.9k

now playing ; reasons - minnie riperton

↩ previous chapter next chapter ↪

Somehow, you think that your boss has it out for you more than usual this week. Granted, he’s been giving you a stink eye at all times since you first started, but you’re getting the gut feeling it’s more prominent this time around. Be it the upcoming charity gala tomorrow or the stress of pushing out this month’s issue due to some last minute… adjustments—you wouldn’t be surprised if Geto is using you as his punching bag for his own relief. 

He has never yelled at you, per se, but his soft-spoken insults and scoldings hurt you far more than anything. Whether it be you stumbling ever so slightly over your own two feet in front of him or something as miniscule as simply accidentally taking out a pen that’s lacking ink when jotting notes, Geto always seems to have some sort of reprimand at the ready. 

“Why is this packet stapled so awkwardly? You could be covering vital information.”

“Coffee spoons exist for a reason. There’s no reason why I should be using a dessert spoon for my latte.”

“I do wish you spoke with less ‘um’s and ‘uh’s every now and then. It’s quite bothersome.”

You just wish that the job application had listed “Must take on editor-in-chief’s emotional baggage 24/7.” if you knew that this job would just be mentally draining as it is physically. And to think it’s only been only around four and a half months since you’ve started! Obviously, being editor-in-chief of one of the largest and powerful magazines in the nation is going to be mentally depleting, but is there such a need to take it out on the poor associates? 

Your mind reflects back to witnessing an intern accidentally running into Geto amidst last night’s crisis when the office was busy about attempting to piece together the issue into one piece before the publisher’s deadline today, the intern’s impact causing a confetti of cut-out paper to fly about everywhere and making Geto’s afternoon matcha pick-me-up splatter green all over his cream white top. He had gently told the shaking intern, amidst his many apologies, that it was no worries before quietly telling you to head down to HR to terminate him by the end of this week. 

Chills run down your spine when you remember how quickly Geto’s smile faded and gentle eyes disappeared as they morphed into amethyst daggers the moment his back was turned to the intern. Though… you do give credit to the intern for making his shirt still somehow look fabulous with the earthy green splatter—a feat only a former fashion model was able to do. 

You don’t remember when the last time you came home before 11:00pm was or when was the last time you ate three complete meals in a day and not just crumbs of convenience store snacks. It’s been such a hectic week wrapping up the month’s issue that you’re suddenly back to your college days slurping ramen and drinking any drink that contains any amount of caffeine to give back your energy. 

You hear the beep of the microwave sing through the kitchen right next to yours and Manami’s desks, signaling your instant ramen was done, but before you can even get up, you hear the muffled sound of a something being broken inside Geto’s office, causing you and Manami to jump. Gazes suddenly flicking toward each other, with neither of you daring to make another move, a moment of complete silence drifts by before you dare to breathe out ever so quietly and almost instantaneously, Manami shouts, “Not it!” 

“Not—oh, fine…” A groan drags out of you and your eyes roll as you brush off the prideful look Manami has on her face. 

With great hesitation, you avert your direction to the frosted glass window of Geto’s office that sits a little too politely between you and Manami’s desks. Somehow, with each step you take, the impending doom that sits at the bottom of your churning stomach grows bigger and bigger and you can just barely brace yourself for the scolding that you’re about to receive—even if the cause of Geto’s frustration may have not even been at your own fault.

Your shaking knuckles go to rap at his door. A grumbled “come in” barely seeps its way through the door. You allow yourself with great reluctance to open the door to reveal a heavily breathing Geto Suguru, veins visible on his neck and forehead from the pent-up irritation that has been boiling for the past few days with the double whammy of the charity gala and the month’s issue attempting to be push out on time, which may not even be the case given that many columns had to be changed due to a specific supermodel’s recent scandal.

Upon entering your boss’s office, it was near impossible to miss the shattered glass of cucumber water that was clearly thrown at the wall behind himself, a splotch of the carpet now darkened slightly from the original color. Geto caved inwards towards his desk, his blazer from his three-piece set now draped messily over his chair and his usually neatly-made hair a little more frazzled out of its hair band than usual. On his desk were an array of magazine splits with a pile of cut-outs dedicated to said model. It startles you how many pages she had appeared in given how hefty the pile was.

“Why couldn’t she behave after the issue was printed…” Geto seethes under his breath as a poor page of the magazine draft crumples under his grip. 

You can see in his trash can the tabloid that featured the supermodel, who allegedly slandered her fellow upcoming star of a colleague backstage of a recent fashion show with the cameras still rolling in order to document the behind the scenes of all the glitz and glamour. While it was normal for models to shade one another to fight for the spotlight, her remarks in particular were rather nasty and brutish, so much so that it caused outrage amongst the public and with the latter supermodel’s fans who ended up revealing her rather… dishonorable social media presence. 

Needless to say, having her as the starlight of this month’s issue before it entered the public eye would prove disastrous for Kaizen. She decorated a large portion of the magazine from front cover to back, but the magazine couldn’t afford to have such a trashy person as their graphic ambassador—especially since there has been little to no dirt on the magazine up until now. Geto works hard to make sure any possible slander against the magazine was dealt with as soon as possible before the public could hear about it. You didn’t know how—preferably, you don’t want to know—but he does it somehow.

But the news and the outrage regarding the supermodel had been leaked only a mere eight days before the issue was to be printed, giving the entire department only eight days to fix up the issue before the deadline. To make matters worse—the issue had to be sent to the publisher before the charity gala, which were both on the same day, Friday, meaning that everything had to be finalized before 3pm that day to give ample time for the start of the gala’s last-minute organization at 5:00pm before it started at 7:30pm and for the publishing company to print the thousands of copies to be released to the city come Saturday morning.

It’s Thursday, the day before D-Day, and the office just reached noon. You have yet to eat properly, given that all you ate this morning amidst the morning rush (Geto demanded asked you to arrive at the office an hour earlier to compose the most time to work on the issue) were two pieces of toasted bread and a badly-made cup of instant coffee. 

You stare at the broken crystal on the dampened floor before going back to get the dustpan from the kitchen. Without a word, you clean up the remnants of Geto’s frustration quietly so as to not poke the beast even further with one wrong move, but of course, you somehow end up slicing your finger on a stray piece of glass. 

A loud yelp from your lips slips through the tight atmosphere of Geto’s office and blood draws fast, so fast that a few drops of crimson fall and miserably stain the pristine white carpet.

You swiftly poke your finger in your mouth and suck on it before more can ooze out, but unfortunately, your little titter was enough to break Geto out of his trance and snap his head back towards you. He spots the splotches of red on his carpet first, but then averts his gaze to you with your fingertip between your lips.

“What happened?” he urges as he approaches you. “Did you cut yourself?” 

You nod shyly, a little startled at how quickly his concern for you came to him given that your presence usually arises some sort of mild vex from him. “I apologize for staining the carpet. I’ll get a cleaner right away for it.”

“No need,” Geto mutters before beginning the dust the glass remnants himself. “I’ll call them myself. Just fix yourself up. First-aid kit is in the kitchen. Go get a bandaid—quickly.” 

For a split second, you swear you could’ve seen a grain of sympathy in his normally-cold gaze, but the illusion quickly dissipates the moment you see his eyes harden again before he snaps at you for staring. 

“Go now. Before your finger gets infected. You can’t use your hand properly with an infected finger.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you nod lightly and dash out of his office, fighting horribly the urge to mutter curses at him under your breath. 

The cut proves rather long and deep, you notice, as Manami gently rolls a strip of tape down a page of gauze on it as she chides you akin to a mother to take care of yourself properly and that this isn’t the week to be injuring yourself like a child. It takes up at least two-thirds of your right index finger and you’re just hoping you’ll be able to use your right hand as efficiently as possible given you still have an extensive list of emails to still send out. 

Two hours somehow pass by quicker than expected but you know that your actual day isn’t even halfway done, knowing well that you won’t be clocking out until later in the evening after everyone is gone from the office. For the most part, it looks as though some spare stock images of well-known models were able to suffice the pieces that the scandalous one left them in the columns, but there was one that needed a more specific set of poses given that it was a perfume ad and unlike the other columns, the bottle had to be held in a certain manner that would prove hard for the photo editors to attempt.

Given that the work day was ending, there weren’t many models on-call that could do a last-minute shoot on time and the magazine was running out of time. Geto… was running out of time. 

And if Geto, who was known for being rather cool-headed and rational most days, was stressed, that only meant the rest of the office had to follow—whether they liked it or not. Ultimately, his stress became infectious and it was hard to keep a mellow mind in the days filled with chaos. You were already stressed on a day-to-day basis being his junior assistant, but you were basically required to amp it up to the max with the last-minute editing of the magazine and the charity gala.

You’re in line to get Geto’s afternoon pick-me-up, with the minor adjustment of two extra espresso shots for the kick of caffeine to get him through the rest of the working hours. You can hear your name being called up, but with how drained you’ve been from the past few days, the granola bar and Redbull you had for lunch today proves not to be the most efficient source of energy and you end up tumbling over your own two wobbling legs when you rise from the waiting bench.

You crash into the chest of someone taller than you who was passing by and just barely manage to avoid the escaping coffee from the cup of the person you bumped into. Unfortunately, it doesn’t prove well for the latter, as the remainder of the coffee settles itself on the front of their shirt Panic sets in swiftly and you start bumbling apologies left and right before you can even look up to see who exactly you’re apologizing to.

When you do, you’re met with a pair of eyes hidden behind darkened sunglasses ogling at you. It struck you as rather odd—considering it was the middle of winter and that the sun was hiding behind the grayed clouds today. Maybe it was just some sort of fashion statement? 

But it’s not the glasses that captivate you. It’s the snowy locks of white hair that belong to a rather tall and leggy figure that belong to it. And despite the pure ivory, he still looks incredibly young. A man of at least six feet and three inches stands before you—a height that easily can rival your boss’s. He’s adorned in a simplistic outfit; black dress shoes with matching slacks held by a glimmering silver buckle, topped with a cool white collared shirt that’s now evidently ruined by the horribly large light brown stain you caused from his coffee.

And judging by the stitching and material of the shirt, you know damn well that the shirt isn’t cheap.

“I-I-I…” you blubber out, teary eyes widened in horror at how fast the stain spreads and how much attention you’re getting from the cafe’s customers. “I’m so sorry…”

The silence that penetrates through from onlookers is terrible and you think you’re getting a fever from how hot your face is burning up. 

Thankfully, the man breaks through it with a soft, (dare you say—handsome?) laugh. “I was looking for an excuse to get rid of this shirt anyways,” he says. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

What he says baffles you and your apologies suddenly transform into sounds of confusion to his amusement. “Huh?”

“It’s been two years since it was in season, it’s finally time to throw the old girl out,” the man shrugs nonchalantly.

Suddenly, in front of all the leering eyes of the customers in the coffeehouse, he begins to unbutton his stained shirt and you can only watch in horror with the rest of everyone else. While he still did have one last modest garment beneath the shirt, it was still a sleeveless white undershirt that showed off his visibly sculpted and lean biceps that made a couple of the women in the coffeeshop form heart eyes and bite their lips.

The man flickered his eyes, now shown to be a brilliant shade of crystal blue, to you from atop his glasses and a glint of playfulness shone through, along with a whimsical grin. “Maybe I should’ve been a little more decent. Hope you don’t mind.”

You think that the heat that flushes your cheeks is no longer from embarrassment but… bashfulness?

You attempt to gather what to say in this rather awkward moment, but the bell of the entrance door rings and in comes a young man with spiked noir locks adorned in a midnight blue suit with a visible frown on his face. His eyes skitter through the coffeehouse before landing on not exactly you… but the man before you.

“What the hell Gojo?” the young man scolds as he stomps his way over. “You said you weren’t gonna take long, so why are you stripping in a cafe?”

Gojo… why does that name sound so familiar for some reason? Now that you think about it, the entirety of the man himself seems so vaguely familiar, but you swore you’ve never seen such a unique human being before in real life.

The man turns his head over as he crumples the stain garment in his hands. He perks up in delight at the sight of him, contrary to his furrowed-brow companion. “Megumi! Sorry bud, got wrapped up in a little accident here. Take this and chuck it in the trash, will ya?”

Before “Megumi” can protest, “Gojo” tosses the shirt to him and exclaims for the onlooking baristas to make him another drink if they can. A teenage girl nods excitedly and dashes back to gather the order for the handsome, sleeveless stranger. 

Megumi hisses an annoyed insult under his breath before glaring one last time at the taller man and searching for a nearby trash can. The man turns to you again with the same smile that has a lick of mischief to it. “Sorry ‘bout my intern. He’s usually a little sour, so don’t mind him. You okay though?” 

“Uh…” your eyes glance around and notice that the commotion in the coffeehouse has started up again. “Yes, thank you. I apologize again for not watching my step.”

He chuckles. “I think you’ve apologized enough. Again, don’t worry about it—it was an old shirt anyways. Has anyone told you you’re quite cute?” 

You choke on your saliva. What an odd thing to say in such a moment.

“Wh-what?” you stifle out.

“You’re rather pretty,” the man continues, the same grin still plastered on his face; as if he means every word he says. “Have you modelled before?” 

Your jaw is somehow melded into an image that replicates a gaping fish. Somehow, you can’t find the correct words to say at this moment. And it’s not quite like you’ve never been flirted with before, but for some reason, the way that this “Gojo” says it, it doesn’t quite have that tone of flattery, but more like… offering something?

“Thank you?” you say with half-confidence. “And no… sorry.” 

“Ah, what a shame,” he sighs wholeheartedly. “Have you considered it though?”

You shake your head, and you’re appalled that the gesture only makes his eyes light up again and his smile grow wider. 

“You should try it someday! You know what—hold on. Where’s my wallet?”

The man shoves his hands in his pants pockets to attempt to look for it, but the intern from earlier suddenly appears and shows off his phone to his senior. It visibly reads 2:34 pm.

“The meeting started,” the intern seethes. “We’re late… again.”

“Oh shoot,” the tall man snaps his fingers with pursed lips. “Alright, we can get going soon. But can you do me a favor and get my wal—”

The intern glowers at him. “No. Let’s go.”

You’re surprised at how much guts the intern has, who seems to be rather younger than you by a few years and certainly significantly younger than the man before you, considering he’s the one to command his superior so strictly. Usually, it’s the other way around, is it not? Unless you’re doing something wrong?

“Aw, but—”

“Gojo. If we’re late again, the board of trustees might kick you off, remember?” Megumi says as he pinches the back of his superior’s undershirt and begins to drag him away from you. 

The mysterious man pouts childishly and whines. “Ohhh c’mon! They’re not serious! You know those old geezers are practically terrified of me!” 

You’ve never seen such a grown man act rather foolishly before, but you suppose there’s a first time for everything. As you watch him be dragged away by the intern, he salutes a goodbye to you with an all-knowing wink to finish things off before he’s shoved into a black Cadillac in nothing but his undershirt for a top amidst the chilly winter air. 

As you attempt to process what on earth just happened, the young teenage barista calls at you suddenly. 

“Hey! Did that Michizane Sugawara guy leave? The one with the white hair?” she asks you, pointing to her own brown hair. She holds what looks to be milk with a hint of coffee in it, judging by how there’s just barely a tint of brown in the plastic cup.

“Oh… him.” 

Wasn’t his name Gojo? There’s no way you could’ve misheard “Michizane Sugawara” as “Gojo” you think, with the six other syllables just simply flying in from the window out of nowhere. Unless the fatigue has finally caught up to you and you’re hearing things wonky. 

“Yeah. It seemed like he was in a rush of sorts.” 

The barista leans over the counter to see and eventually shrugs. She pushes two cups towards you—your original coffee for Geto you nearly forgot about and the newly-made coffee for the mystery man. “You can just have it then. Not too sure you’ll like it though, it’s pretty sugary, but I don’t want it to go to waste.”

Your eyebrows perk up. With how much suffering you’ve been enduring lately from your work, you might as well indulge yourself in a sweet treat as you think you’ve earned it. Plus, with how much there is more to complete for today, you’re most definitely going to need the caffeine and the communal coffee pot isn’t exactly acquired for your tastebuds. 

When you finally settle yourself down back in the comfort of your desk after the coffeehouse fiasco, you take a soft sip of the free coffee…

… only to pull a face at how ridiculously sweet it is. The barista was right. You think that there’s probably only a drop of coffee in the entire cup melded with milk and a variety of syrups and sugar. And to think this was for a grown man? 

Sighing miserably, you pour the free drink down the kitchen drain, ignoring the glob of sugar that slugs out of it before you return back to misery.

“And there’s absolutely no models left that are in proximity to us? In any of our partnering agencies?” Geto asks as he rubs his temple.

The head of the PR team shakes his head, ashamed. “All of our current models are either abroad or they’re simply unavailable as of this moment.”

He mutters to himself before gritting his teeth. “And did you try bribing them with additional pay?” 

“We tried, sir,” the head says. “And with other compensation like a guaranteed column for next month’s column or brand partnerships, but they wouldn’t budge.”

Geto sighs loudly and slides a hand down his face in exasperation, fatigue visible. It’s currently 5:51pm and the magazine has yet to find a model to try and replace the perfume advertisement. The partnering modelling firms had absolutely no models to offer at the last minute and it was too late to try and get in contact with freelance models considering communication with them proved much more difficult than those in agencies. 

“What about recycling an older ad with a similar posed model and just photoshopping the fragrances out?” Geto suggests. 

It gets shot down immediately to his dismay. “Unfortunately, that’d be violating some copyright issues.”

You watch with fidgety hands as you stand next to Manami as your boss and the PR team examines the idea board carefully, trying ways to fill in the missing column. Of course, you could chime in with your own ideas, but with how stressed Geto is currently, you didn’t want to risk adding fuel to an already violent fire. 

Geto’s eyes scan the board left to right, taking in every single piece pinned onto it for some sort of genius idea, but nothing comes to him on the third try. A rigid silence fills the meeting room that keeps everyone on edge, anticipating his next move. When Geto finishes his fourth scan, in comes another blank page, until the corner of his eye catches you standing idly in the corner. 

His gaze moves to fixate on your squirming self as you attempt to look anywhere but his stare. It proves unsuccessful, however, considering that Geto calls your name and motions you to come forward.

Geto presents you like a doll of sorts to the PR team. “(Y/N) here seems to have similar proportions to her,” Geto says, keeping two firm, large hands on your shoulders. You shiver at the strange contact “What if we…?” 

One of the team members catches his drift uneasily.

“I don’t know Geto,” he starts as he stares at you incredulously, as if you’ve grown three heads all of a sudden. “Does your junior assistant even have any modelling experience?”

“Well no,” Geto confirms. “However, we’ve attempted to use all that we have available. I think this is our last resort.”

Somehow, you’re a little offended that your being is just simply a “last resort” to him, even if it is true. 

The PR team’s director's shifty eyes land on each of his team members with visible hesitation. With a cracked voice, he softly announces, “Well, technically speaking, there is… one more option.” 

Geto cocks his brow, his hands still firmly locked onto your shoulders with a whisper of a tighter grasp, as if you’re some sort of scurrying mouse ready to escape his hold at any given moment. “Well?”

The director’s mouth opens and closes for a given moment, attempting to choose the right words to say.

“Technically, we don’t have to use just our partnering agencies,” he begins quietly. There’s now a visible sweat misted on his receding hairline. 

The way Geto’s eyes narrow so suddenly makes everyone hold their breath for what comes next. Because, from the looks of it, everyone seems to know what the director is going to suggest and Geto’s reaction.

 “We’ve got contracts with every single management in the city. What? Are you saying we reach out to other cities’ talent managements? That’s rather tedious.”

“No, sir, that’s… not what I meant,” the director swallows thickly. “There’s technically one agency that we don’t have a con—”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

Geto’s stern words ring loud and clear. While his voice volume is still the same as always—soft with an obvious austere to it—his words are tight and evident. The emphasis of the curse word gives more than just a sharp edge to it, leaving no room for negotiation. 

Yet, one of the female team members pries anyway. She was hired around the same time you were, but because she didn’t interact with Geto as much as you did, so she didn’t know about how no meant an absolute no when it came from Geto Suguru just yet. Poor thing.

“But this agency has an abundance of models to choose from at their hand!” she exclaims with wide, desperate eyes. “I do think it’s a better decision to contact Infi—”

“I said no.” Geto turns to her and gives her a hard scowl before she can even finish her words. “Do not even say the name around my presence. I have forbidden any contact with that agency for a good reason. They only bring trouble and mayhem and disorder. Remember the Mei Mei scandal? The Kinji Hakari incident?” 

Everyone except for you tightens their shoulders and lips at the mention of the particular models. This isn’t the first time you’ve been kept in the dark, since you’re still just as a new hire as the female team member, but something is telling you that this news is much more hush-hush than the other gossip you’ve heard. Geto sighs again, their tensing bodies giving him a clear answer.

“We have done well without them for how long this magazine has existed for the past few years under my leadership,” Geto says. “I see no need to get in contact with them when we have a perfectly good substitute right here.”

His hands pat your shoulders again to properly show you off once more. The PR team goes to scan you up and down with their beady eyes, mutters of half-confident approvals and some other comments that you’re a little offset by rumouring around the meeting room. 

The director eventually sighs and gives in, considering that there weren’t many hours left in the day and that he and his team just wanted to go home. “Okay, we’ll use your junior assistant for the replacement shoot. We’ll tell Miguel, the photographer, and the fashion stylists to get ready for her.” 

Geto turns to Manami. “Go with them. Just ensure that the creative team will not cause a fuss with the choosing of the model. We don’t have time to dabble in feuds now.”

Manami nods and begins to lead the PR team to the studio, leaving you and Geto in the awkward quietness of the meeting room. Eventually, he releases you from his grasp and lets you breathe normally once they all leave. 

Geto leans on the table and returns to rubbing his forehead, muttering to himself at what he just did. You plant your stiff self back to your original position firmly.

“Sir,” you cough out with a voice crack with the lack of use from your voice. A heat rushes to your face and you clear your throat to properly speak. “Sir… I… don’t think I’m the right choice for this job.”

Geto lifts his head up from his hand and stares at you dully. “Excuse me?”

A shiver goes down your spine. Of course you forgot your consciousness and dared to question the Geto Suguru, editor-in-chief of the powerhouse fashion magazine in the country. But… even so. There were some limitations that you dared to even ponder about and though you were a lowly assistant, you still deserved to try and voice your own opinion on this matter. 

Especially since you’re going to be affected in more ways than one.

“I…” you start slowly. Your gaze meets the carpet of the room to try and ease yourself out of the intimidating stare of your boss. “I truly don’t think I’m the right fit for this particular feat. Like what they mentioned, I don’t have any modelling experience and I’m sure it’d cause the shoot to be more prolonged than it should be.”

“You don’t need modelling experience for this,” Geto begins. “I’m not asking you to be a model. I’m asking you to be a replacement.”

The familiar odd hurt singes at you again when Geto labels you as nothing more than a prop. Something about him shoving you in a magazine filled with well-experienced and trained models feels like cramming a piece of plain cardboard in a nearly-done puzzle, its individual pieces adorned carefully with each other to create something beautiful and ornate, only to be interrupted by a spare piece of something that just barely imitates it. You may have all the right curves and edges crafted by Geto’s hands, but you know that you don’t belong properly amidst the magazine at the end of the day.

The perfume ad takes up three pages of the entire magazine—two pages for the actual photoshoot and one for the description of it along with its reviews—not much in comparison to the articles written in it. But it’s still enough to composite a significant chunk for the magazine. And enough to make you feel overexposed to a public that in your rational mind, is not going to give you a second glance much more so than the actual product when reading the magazine. 

But right now, that unwanted attention is all you can think about. 

“But still—” you start with a tight throat. “Manami might be a better suit than I am. Or quite literally anyone in the office.” 

“Manami has been feeling under the weather as of recently,” Geto interrupts and shakes his head. “If we had more time, believe me, I’d be searching for a better fit for the ad as well, but right now, given the current predicament and since most of the employees have gone home, we don’t have many options left.”

Geto turns to you and though his face remains stony, his iris eyes gleam with a hint of desperation. 

“You’re my best choice right now, (Y/N).”

Time goes still for a moment and you can hear a voice echo in the back of your mind as Geto gazes at you. 

“Have you modelled before?” 

When you blink, a crystalline blue pair of eyes flashes through your vision all of a sudden. You step back a little, slightly startled at the hazy vision you have of the “Gojo” man from earlier and his proclamation to you.

The tone of the man’s voice echoes through your mind. In a typical male fashion, that sort of sentence would most likely be played off as a flirtatious intent. But the way that he said it made it seem like some sort of actual encouragement, like an urge of sorts for you. It felt genuine. Sincere, even, as if he wanted you to do it for no one but yourself. 

And though as of now, you’d technically be doing it for Geto… you can’t help but feel an urge just to try it to see how you yourself would like it. To see whether or not you’d actually fit into the mold of a “model”—even an amateur one. 

You suppose… that there’s a first time for everything.

Shuffling your feet, you swallow the last bit of qualms down and let most of your nerves go, choosing to settle in what could be as of this moment. Even if you’re not ready for it, you think you should at least try. 

And in the end, if not for Geto, perhaps for yourself.

You lift your head up and lock eyes with Geto’s with a more determined look on your face. The hesitation is still faintly there, but the ghost of it is overpowered by your resolve.

“Okay.”

“Alright, now peek your eyes over the newspaper a little bit, sweetheart! Make it playful!” the photographer chimes as he readjusts his position with his camera. 

The photoshoot set is a makeshift cafe, to properly highlight the coffee and sugar notes of the new fragrance you hold in your hand. The backdrop is a fake interior window of the cafe looking out into a winter wonderland. Makeup and clothing took awhile to prosper considering you had to take off your previous makeup and let the MUAs do their magic on you and that you had to test multiple layered clothing sets before the photographer approved of the final one appropriate for the shoot. It didn’t help that you put up a fight to keep your glasses on and that the MUAs had to attempt a look that would highlight your features with your glasses.

You can’t tell whether it’s the nerves of you modelling for the first time or the heat of the lights that’s making you flushed. Something about the flashes of lights felt almost exhilarating to you. It’s foreign, but somehow, they embrace your being like a long lost friend of sorts. You have yet to get used to the blinding white lights from the flashes, but you only have to endure it for a good hour or so. The repetitive mantra of “You’re just trying this out.” echoes in your mind over and over again, even though you already know you seem to not be cut out for this sort of position.

It’s much too hot in the studio, you feel your body being rather awkward, and you don’t appreciate the onlookers that watch your every move as you reposition yourself to the photographer’s demands. You’ve already knocked over a couple of fake cappuccino mugs since your limbs still aren’t working correctly and you can’t seem to make the right facial expression to your degree.

It’s clear your nervousness is evident, considering you can see Geto discussing quietly with the creative director as they examine you closely from the corners of your eyes. 

“She’s rather… stiff,” the creative director mutters. “You sure there wasn’t anyone on call?”

Geto hums monotonously as he watches as you attempt to find the right position to try and capture your side profile while showing off the perfume itself. “If there were, they would’ve been here by now.”

“Yes I understand, but,” the director fights the urge to wince as your bracelet gets caught in the chair handle. “I don’t know if this shoot will be proper enough to display in the zine this issue. Can’t we just talk with them and discuss moving the ad to next month’s?”

“No, they’re releasing it the same day the issue comes out. They want people to know about it as soon as possible,” Geto murmurs. “To ask that from us is to ask them to push back their release date.  We don’t have that sort of power.”

The creative director sighs and silences himself, wallowing himself in a state of doubt as he and Geto continue to watch the scene before them. Perhaps it’s the state of weariness that Geto has accumulated from the past few days, but he genuinely doesn’t think you’re doing too bad of a job for your first (and probably last time, given the anxiety still within you) time modelling. He thinks the angles of your face hit the light just right when it counts properly, and that the clothes that drape you fit you more than accordingly; it’s surprising given that there was no time to tailor them to properly suit you but somehow, you made it work.

There are certain moments that your nerves fade from view when the director asks you to make a certain facial expression. The little surprised face you make when you hold the perfume up to your face was most likely the money shot, but there were much more shots that could be used for the ad that he didn’t anticipate. 

There was one where your eyes stared directly into the camera from a three-fourths angle, a certain warmth to them compelling him to look further into you. Another one was a mild bokeh effect of you sipping coffee from a mug from a lower point of view, where the perfume was fully into view. But Geto was still somehow locked onto your figure from the background despite how crystal clear the bottle was. Either way, there was still a plethora of good shots to use despite you not being a professional model.

“But I do have to admit,” the creative director starts slowly, capturing Geto’s attention and breaking him from his gaze as he fixates on you repositioning yourself on the cafe bench, legs crossed to show off the mocha boots that adorned your calves. “She’s not really all that bad. I can see some potential in her.”

Geto’s body remains still, but his eyes shift to stare at the director from the corner of his eye, watching carefully as he examines you from the set. He narrows his purple eyes as he picks up on a mild lip bite from the creative director as you shed the trenchcoat to reveal a black fitted mini dress with a turtleneck, a vintage cowboy belt cinching your waist. While you’re still modestly covered, it’s the way you show off your long legs emphasized by the short skirt of the dress and the fitted heeled boots.

“I wonder if she’s single…” the director murmurs so softly that Geto just barely picks up on it.

“I completely forgot,” Geto interrupts rather loudly, making the director’s fixed stare falter as the shoot continues. “I believe I left a file in regards to the perfume’s licensing in the meeting room. Would you mind getting it for me? I’ll keep an eye on the shoot.”

The creative director’s brows raise. “O-oh! Yes, of course. I’ll be right back then.”

Geto watches as the director shuffles out of the room and out of view from you. Truth be told, the file was finalized a while ago. But something about how the director was looking at you made Geto wary of his intentions with you, if he had any at all.

Something about it made him a little aware that your temporary spotlight shone a bit brighter than he originally thought it’d be.

The shoot finishes up within the next hour, giving the team a good handful of images to choose from for the column before the issue is printed. Manami is with you in the dressing room as the MUAs carefully take off your makeup and reveal your raw face to everyone, peeling away the heavy amounts of concealer that hide the darkness embedding the rim of your undereyes.

“Christ, how many hours did you sleep last night?” she questions when you give a large yawn.

“I should be asking you that question,” you quietly remark back, studying her equally tired features. “If anything, you need the rest more than I do.”

Manami had been feeling quite ill as of recently, possibly due to the colder weather. She claimed that it was just the new diet she had been trying out to properly fit into the dress that she was planning to wear for the charity gala, but it was clear that no diet was capable of causing stuffy noses, consistent sneezing, and a mild fever. You had encouraged her to try and take some medicine and go home yesterday, but she specifically said that, “Geto will have a guillotine ready come tomorrow morning if I dare to even think about taking a day off right now.”

“I’m fine,” she sniffs with half-assurance as she snatches a tissue from nearby. “Besides, people say you burn more calories when you’re sick so hopefully I can lose another half inch off my waist by tomorrow.”

“Oh, so you admit you’re sick,” you point out with a mild smirk.

 “I-I’m not sick—!” she falters before her nose begins to twitch. “Ahchoo!”

You hum, ignoring her protests. It’s currently nearing seven in the evening, and you’re sure that work is just beginning to wrap up as of this moment. Thankfully, everyone agreed to do the work for the perfume ad tomorrow before the finalized issue is shipped to print, but you still had to edit some articles, as well as help Geto still gather materials for his newest fashion line that he only tended to work on in the evenings of the weekdays.

He leaves earlier than you and Manami do, since he often piles the nonsensical work to you and her. You wouldn’t be surprised if he left the office without another word considering he was attempting to push out his new line by the end of next month.

In the past few months, you can’t say your work as a journalist has improved since your time at Kaizen, but you can at least say that your friendship with Manami has blossomed and sailed a little more smoothly than your first few weeks of working with each other. She was still a little snippy towards those below her like the college interns and the other entry-level employees, but you were specifically her junior, so you suppose it gave you special access to a much more kind, yet still sassy, side of her.

You spot the paleness of Manami’s usually glossed lips and how fatigued she looked. It didn’t help that the dressing room was quite warm so she looked rather blushed in the face. She leans back on the couch and puts a hand over her eyes to block out the glaring white light of the vanity.

“God, shut that thing off,” she quips as she lazily wags a finger to the vanity lights. “Feels like I’m staring right into the Sun itself.”

The lights are turned off and the room dims. You chew on your lip before deciding to sacrifice your time a little longer in order to help her out since you knew how badly she wanted to attend tomorrow’s charity gala and show off her new Emilio Pucci dress.

“You should go home,” you say quietly. “Get some rest before tomorrow. I can take care of the Book and the rest of his bullshit.”

She chuckles at your mild cursing regarding you-know-who. “Yes, because that went great last time…”

“I swear I won’t mess up again! That day was just out for me, I swear,” you pout, “But really, you should go home and get some sleep. I know you’re gonna come in tomorrow regardless of what I say, so at the very least take some medicine and sleep.” 

Manami pokes an eye out of her hand to study your pleading ones. She gives in rather easily, sighing heavily. “Fine. But if you mess up anything, it’s all on you,” she states pointedly and unlocking her phone to notify Geto you’ll be taking care of her duties tonight. 

She shortly leaves the office when you clean yourself back up to your day’s attire. The company car comes promptly on time and you begin to wave goodbye to her, but she opens the window halfway and motions you with a shaky finger to come forward.

“No funny business,” she mutters sternly through her mask. “I mean it. He’ll have your head first, then mine if you pull anything.”

“I swear, nothing will happen,” you promise to her. “Now go home. Or else that that cold will be taking more than just a half inch off your waist.” 

She rolls her eyes but you can see the faintest grateful grin from the inside of her mask as she rolls the window back up. You watch until the black car disappears from view and into the city traffic before you go back into the office to wait for the Book to be finalized with its editors.

It reaches your hands eventually just a quarter to 10:00pm, a little earlier than expected. Another company car comes by and picks you up to get his dry-cleaning as well, and you arrive at Geto’s apartment just shy of 10:30pm. 

The heavy doors seem much more intimidating the second time around. Perhaps it’s because they knew what happened last time and are just waiting to see what incident occurs today this time around. But you shake your head out of your apprehensiveness and decide the only thing that will be happening behind those doors is just you placing the Book down on his coffee table and leaving to go home and sleep before D-Day.

The entrance was the same as always—decorated with a great assortment of artistry of different mediums. In the corner was the marble dragon and beside it was the archived Basquiat piece that must’ve cost an arm and leg to purchase for the typical person. Up ahead was the entrance to the living room and in the center of it stood the coffee table. 

The coffee table. 

All you have to do is just simply put the Book on the coffee table.

Then leave.

Then just leave. Do not do anything more than that. 

“No funny business.” Manami’s warning chimes in your mind again with each step you take to the living room. 

“No funny business,” you repeat to yourself under your breath, clutching the Book tightly to your chest as if it was the most fragile thing on earth.

You eventually reach the beginning of the living room and spot the very ottoman that had caused you to have a much more humiliating night than anticipated during that one day you were given the simple task of dropping off the Book from Geto himself. You hadn’t been asked to do so since then, shamefully. It’s tucked away safely on the side of the sofa, meaning you had to intentionally yourself into it to try and re-enact your foolishness again. 

The coffee table stands before your knees and you stare at yourself in the reflection of its glass.

“No funny business.”

You gingerly put the Book down on the center of the coffee table, your fingertips brushing against the many pages of its draft and a relief begins to fill your nerves the moment you’re about to break contact with it…

… until a familiar voice calls to you just as your fingers let go.

“(Y/N)?” Geto calls from above. “Is that you?”

You freeze on the spot. You swore to yourself and Manami that there would be no funny business today, and you were doing such a good job! Did you accidentally leave mud tracks behind? There wasn’t any rain today. Did you leave something else at the office that you needed to bring? No, Manami said he only needed the book… so did you do anything at all that would cause your boss to randomly call out to you during such a menial task?

With a rigid neck, you turn to him slowly with a pained smile and the Book officially set on the coffee table. “Yes, hello. Sorry to interrupt… I was just dropping off the Book.”

Geto peers down at you from the second floor’s staircase. He’s shed his waist coat and has left himself in his grey button up that’s relieved of three buttons at the top, just shyly showing the beginning of his chest and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A rare sight—considering that Geto was often covered from head to toe in fabrics then even seeing him in a short sleeved shirt was a rarity.

“I see,” he says, scanning you from above with his cat-like eyes. 

You don’t know what to do. You just needed to drop the Book off and you were so unbelievably close to completing it without trouble. “Did you… did you happen to need something else by any chance?” you ask nervously.

“Ah, well,” Geto starts to your dismay. He pauses palpably before motioning you to come up. “I actually may need your aid on a piece I’m working on. Come upstairs.”

And miraculously, your throat closes up as you struggle not to burst into tears.

All you wanted to do is just drop the Book off! 

Despite all the curses that marathon through your head that you aim at your boss, you gather up the courage to shove down any questions of doubt and take your tired legs up the winding staircase. Something is telling you that this is a trick—that when you reach the top, Geto is actually just standing there with your termination letter, telling you that you forgot a vital rule to never go anywhere more than the living room in his house. But because you can rarely ever refute your boss in an effort to spare your sanity, you do as he says willingly like an obedient dog.

By the time you reach the top, there is no pink slip for him to display to you, but instead is an open door that faces the staircase directly. Inside, Geto stands in front of something, and you can see a tape measure around his neck more clearly, as well as a pin cushion on his wrist that usually holds an expensive watch. The room itself is rather large, with a variety of supplies garnered across a pegged wall with rolls of fabric decorating two of the walls. It’s Geto’s atelier room for his fashion line, you detail, the one that he stormed out of with Shigemo that time you had to drop off the Book. 

Without turning around, Geto calls to you, “Well don’t just stand there.”

Another thick swallow just barely passes through your dry throat. You prompt out an apology and slowly shuffle into his studio, where you see where the magic happens much more clearly and what exactly he was crafting on so late at night.

Geto moves aside for you to take a proper look at the mannequin adorned in a beautiful A-line black dress with a square neckline and ghostly, sheer sleeves. Around the waist was a loose string of pearls with a matching pearl necklace. It was a simple-looking dress from afar, but up close, you can tell that only a creative genius like Geto himself was capable of making something so minimalistic look so regal.

“Oh my…” you murmur softly as Geto pins a piece into place in its sleeve. “It’s beautiful.”

Geto hums flatly.

“I’m glad you like it,” he begins as he lifts his head to properly face you. One of his arms goes to lean against it (are those tattoos?) and you can feel his eyes scan you up and down like what he usually does in the morning as he examines your outfit. But something about this particular feat feels a little more intimate than usual, and you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. “You don’t happen to have an outfit for tomorrow’s gala, do you?”

“Well, um,” you mumble, fidgeting with your fingers. Initially, you were just going to use a plain white, sleeveless dress you had used for a work party you spoiled yourself with before you left your former workplace since it was a rather expensive and nice dress, but as you second-guess, you’re sure Geto wouldn’t approve of a dress that you had bought on clearance at the nearby outlet mall. So you meekly reply with, “... no, not really.”

You’re expecting some sort of scolding from him, possible Geto telling you that you need to be more prepared for such an event and that the last few days’ events were no excuse for sloppy planning, but instead, you’re even more startled when he says something completely unexpected that makes your eyes widen beyond your glasses’s frames.

“Good,” he says and gestures to his creation. “Because I want you to wear this for tomorrow night.”

↩ previous chapter next chapter ↪

a/n ; i have rewatched the devil wears prada for the 123894th time before the year ends and have decided to bring this series back to life because i think it's much to good to give up on 🙂↕️ i don't know if i'll start a taglist just yet, but maybe, we shall see.

i'll also will be using she/her pronouns with an afab-hinted!body from this point on. i'm also still in debate of writing smut since 1) i'm not very good at writing it, 2) i don't usually like to write it lol, and 3) but i still do consider it as some sort of breaking point eventually between geto and reader. so if there will be in the future, it will be tagged and most likely will be extremely mild.

thank you for reading as always! i hope you enjoyed this chapter and this series so far. likes, comments, and reblogs are always noticed and heavily appreciated! (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ !!! until next time!

[skzstannie]

"My Soulmate"

SKZ -> Hyunjin x fem!reader

genre: slight angst, crack, vampire/soulmate AU wc: ~2,200 cw: none

summary: being kidnapped and brought to your vampire soulmate is something you never knew you needed... until now.

A/N: Hello again! Life's been crazy, and I've actually had this written since forever ago, so I decided to go ahead and edit and post it! Hope you enjoy :)

Alsoooo, I survived the Ticketmaster war and was able to snag some SKZ tickets to the Chicago show!!!

Happy Scrolling! | Masterlist

"Please be careful. That area is so sketchy, especially at night. Infested with those dastardly vampires, I'll tell ya."

"Mom, I'm fine. The bus station is only a mile down the road, and I'm almost there," you speak into the phone.

Your mom gives a disappointed sigh from the other end. "Sweetie, I've heard so many stories of girls going missing on that street. I really wish you would've listened to me and taken a different way home."

"I've always taken this way home from work; why are you so worried about it now?" The more you speak with your mom, the more paranoid you become. All the shadows out of the corner of your eye appear as humans, lurking behind buildings and in alleyways.

"Because a girl was killed just last week walking around down there, not to mention she was by herself. Just like you!" she screeches over the line. You have to pull the phone away from your head to protect your poor eardrums. "It was a gang that took them! What was their name again? Stray dogs? Stray... Stay? I can't remember."

"It's Stray Kids, mom. I'm sure they're not even around these parts anymore now that the cops are looking for them."

Too focused on your surroundings rather than the ground beneath you, you trip and fall over a large lip in the sidewalk. Your body hits the ground, and you immediately clutch your knee. Your legs are littered with scrapes and scratches, but your knee in particular has blood dripping down it. Pieces of dirt cover your skin, unpleasantly sticking to your wound and the oozing blood.

You startle from the sudden cold breeze you feel over your shoulder. You turn abruptly, hissing when your leg rubs against the ground. Another gust of wind brushes past your front, and you're quick to twist around again. Your heartrate picks up at the eeriness of the situation, your hands turning clammy.

Suddenly, a being materializes in front of you. A scream catches in your throat when another appears next to him. Both are dressed in normal clothing, albeit entirely black in appearance, the only color emitting from the two beings in front of you coming from their pale skin. It's almost sparkling under the glow from the streetlights.

They stand and stare for a moment, and the silence is palpable. As you make eye contact with them, you take notice of their eye color- a deep, fiery red. You feel as though you’re in a hypnotic state as you continue to stare into their eyes. Your surroundings become blurred the longer you look, and you begin to feel dizzy as the world around you begins to spin.

You can faintly hear your mom screaming at you through your phone, calling out for you with panic in her voice, but you can't seem to look away from the boys in front of you.

The dizzier you feel, the calmer you become. It's a weird sensation, feeling all your anxiety and fear just slipping from you. The last thing you see is the muscular man in front of you approaching before you close your eyes from the exhaustion. It came out of nowhere, but it's all-consuming as all thoughts leave your head, and you're left their laying limp and vulnerable.

~ ~ ~

Your eyes feel heavy as you open them, and the bright lights are blinding as they invade your vision. Reaching up to rub your eyes, you quickly realize that your arms are tied behind your back. Becoming aware of your surroundings, you feel the cool plastic chair beneath you. Looking down, you see the zip ties around each of your ankles, anchoring you to the chair.

You appear to be tied up in a cell of some sort. Black, solid bars seal you off from the outside of the room. The cell is small, only about 8 ft by 8 ft if you had to guess. The floor is nothing special, just some concrete. While you can't see much from where your seated in the corner, the room around you seems empty and cold. A desk sits in the middle with a few stacks of paper on top.

Your eyes tear up at your predicament as the memories of the men dressed in all black come back to you. Question upon question spring into your head; where'd they come from? Where'd they bring you? What do they want from you?

Your worries seem to multiply by the second, and you are filled with dread as you consider the possibilities.

You know you must look amess as sweat starts to pool on your forehead, not only from the temperature of the room but also the imminent danger present upon you. Tears stream freely down your cheeks as you desperately pull at the zip ties holding you hostage.

A door creaks open while in the middle of your struggle, and you freeze. Voices fill the open space, and your mouth runs dry at the thought of meeting your captor.

"I told you, we won't be getting our next shipment of blood for another couple weeks. You're just gonna have to hold off-" the voice cuts off as the man walks around the corner. He makes eye contact with you. He shares the same eye color as the men that took you, but you know from the facial features that this isn't the same one.

The man heaves a sigh, his eyes never leaving yours. "I've gotta call you back," he says before hanging up the phone. Without uttering another word, the man walks back out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts once again.

It feels as if hours have gone by the next time you hear the door open. This time, cries of pain fill the silent void. You become alert at that, straightening up in your seat. Curiosity fills your gaze as you’re welcomed with the man from earlier, this time accompanied by two more.

The two men are being dragged by their ears, which appears uncomfortable if the sounds of pain are anything to go by.

The man from earlier releases them once they are standing right outside your cell.

"Explain yourselves," he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Both men start talking over each other immediately, making it impossible to understand either one. "One at a time you pabos!" he interrupts them, creating an uncomfortable silence.

The buff one, which you now recall as one of the accomplices to your kidnapping, gestures roughly to the other man. Taking this as his cue to explain, he begins, "We swear she's the right one this time!" His words are rushed as he gestures towards you.

"You're kidding," the man in charge says, bringing his fingers to grasp at the bridge of his nose. "We've already been over this. You two can't keep kidnapping women from off the streets just because you believe them to be Hyunjin's soulmate."

Your heart races as your brought into the discussion. Soulmate?

You've heard of soulmates, but only ever in fiction, like books and movies. From what you've read, vampires are the only beings who can initiate the soulmate bond. Thereafter, the human can feel the bond, as well.

Suddenly, the pieces fall perfectly into place as you consider all the factors. Materializing out of nowhere, the red eyes, the hypnosis. These guys are vampires. How you didn't put it together sooner, you're not sure.

The bravery you're hit with is astounding, and you can't hold yourself back from interrupting the conversation. "Who are you guys and what do you want from me?" The man's rambling stops as all three look to you.

"Hi..." the man rambling starts, "I'm Jisung, and this is Lee Know and Changbin. We've brought you here because we believe you're our friend's soulmate."

"Please just let me go. I promise not to tell anyone about this!" you plead. You don't know what being the soulmate of a vampire entails, but you surely don't want to find out.

"Oh, we can never let you go," the man in charge, Lee Know, answers. "You've seen us, experienced our presence. You either have to stay with us, or... well, we kill you. You can thank these idiots for that," he gestures to Jisung and Changbin. Jisung brings his hand up to the back of his neck, rubbing it awkwardly.

You let out a sob at the ultimatum. You don't want to stay here forever. You want to go home, shower, and complain to your mom about work. You want to call your best friend and talk to her about the cute guy that you saw. The thought of never being able to do those things again envelopes you with sorrow, and more prominently, fear.

"Please don't cry," Jisung says, his hands coming up around the bars of the cell. "We would never want Hyunjin's soulmate to be sad."

"Jisung, we don't even know if this is his soulmate," Changbin says, his gaze piercing the side of your face.

"I'll prove it to you," he says before running out of the room, the door slamming behind him.

"I swear, I will kill both of you if this isn't the right girl. You said that the time before this was the last, and I'm getting tired of hiding dead bodies," Lee Know tells Changbin.

The hair on the back of your neck stands up, and you suddenly really hope you are this guy's soulmate. While this doesn't sound like the greatest of situations, at least if you live you'll get a chance to escape.

Changbin and Lee Know talk amongst themselves, and your anxiety starts to build once more.

~ ~ ~

It feels as if hours have gone by the time there's movement outside your cell again. Changbin and Lee Know, having gotten tired of standing, had taken a seat on the couch towards the back of the room, busying themselves on their phones.

You're still stuck in the same position. You've been wriggling your hands around, but you've realized there's no use in trying to escape. The two men would surely notice if the zip ties came undone, and even if they didn't, you're still stuck in this cell. You don't know what lies outside this room, but you're scared to find out.

You finally hear the door swing open, and you recognize Jisung's voice, this time accompanied by another stranger. The two come into view, and your breath hitches in your throat when your eyes meet the man Jisung brought with him.

He is easily the most beautiful man you've ever seen. His eyes meet yours, and you're immediately captivated, unable to look away. It's a strange feeling, but you suddenly feel all the worry and fear being washed from you, leaving you with a feeling of peace and serenity. It's almost like you've known this man for years, the way he brought you immediate comfort in this unfamiliar place.

"My soulmate," he whispers, and at this point you can only assume this is the 'Hyunjin' they were talking about.

In the blink of an eye, he materializes in front of you, now inside the cell. He quickly brings his hands towards you, and you feel no fear. The dread that once filled your body is no more as you allow him to carefully undo the zip ties from around your wrists and ankles.

Tears still slip down your cheeks, but the emotional pain you once felt is no more. You're overcome with unfamiliar emotions, and the tears don't stop.

You feel as if you recognize Hyunjin from your dreams. Always the hero, saving you from whatever dangers are out there for waiting for you.

Once the zip ties are off, you immediately rise to your feet and reach out to hold him. He embraces you even tighter, his arms wrapping firmly around your exhausted figure.

"This is such a strange feeling, but I feel at peace now," you whisper to him, your head resting on his shoulder.

"It's because we're together. The soulmate bond, I initiated it, and you've accepted it," he whispers back. "We can be together now."

"Have I seen you before?" you ask, taking a step back to admire his beautiful features.

"Maybe in your dreams. I've visited you there before. I've known what you looked like for a long time. That's how these guys found you," he says, gesturing behind him to Jisung and Changbin.

"Yea, and it only took us two tries! Do you know how vague of a description I had to go off of?" Jisung complains.

"Because I didn't expect you to go out and try to find her!" Hyunjin exclaims, exasperated.

"Well, I figured since your birthday was coming up, I could do something nice for you. And it only costed us one casualty!"

"Which I'm still dealing with, by the way," Lee Know says.

"Yea, yea. I just had a gut feeling about it this time."

[kiame-sama]

You discussed humanfuckers in the monster au recently and listed several characters who would be among the humanfucker ranks but I was surprised not to see Rook and Rollo on that list. I would have thought they'd be on that list as I can totally see them reading human erotica and 'appreciating' pornographic art of humans , maybe not on Trottr but perhaps published romance/erotica novels and classical style art pieces, perhaps even antique ones from when humans were still around. Also if Malleus is an honorary humanfucker for his interest in THE (his) human rather than just humans overall, wouldn't that mean most of the cast could be considered honorary humanfuckers too, if not right now then soon?

First part here:

Warnings; yandere, yandere behavior, mention of adult content, by selecting 'view more' you consent to view content and are of age to view content.

~~~~~~~~

Because Rollo and Rook are on their way into it quickly due to sparked interest, but they weren't obsessed over Humans before meeting The Human. Those listed prior were obsessed long before meeting a Human in the flesh.

Rollo, up until he actually meets The Last Human, sees it as demeaning the species as a whole to write such hedonistic trash. He wishes to emulate the Righteous Judge in any way he can and the Judge cherished Humans above everything, even his own life. Rollo sees it like someone is depicting his deities- who he devotes his life to work in the name of- as common whores. He could tell you everything on the written history of Humans and the Humans of Fleur City because he has devoted his own time to learning about Humans. He respects and honors the legacy of Humans in Twisted Wonderland.

His attitude switch towards suggestice works involving Humans is as abrupt and jarring as a flash of lightning when he finally meets the Human of Night Raven and suddenly he sees the appeal. He thought the depictions of Humans were beautiful whenever he saw them, but his more carnal interests only really hit him when he met one. Now he gets it. He will never admit to such vile thoughts, but he has far more than he would like.

Rollo is going to be in future chapters, don't worry.

~•§•~

Rook is awakening into that role and idea. He really only saw Humans from a history standpoint, an end note to file away under mythical tales and long gone creatures. Sure, Human things exist all around him, but he likes to observe beauty in the moment. Why weep over what is long lost when there are beauties to observe here and now?

The Human of Night Raven is certainly now a beauty he can behold and marvel at. He is understanding the appeal and he is becoming more interested in learning all he can about these Humans. He is frustrated there is so little agreed upon when it comes to Humans. Human remains are so contested they can't even classify Humans in any official species. The popular theory is they are closest to pigs, hence the belief Humans shouldn't eat pork often. He thinks that's stupid, where are the pig ears and tails? The Boar variants of Minotaurs were very well known.

He is just falling down the rabbit hole, don't you worry. We will get to Rook's interest soon enough.

~•§•~

Malleus is honorary compared to the others for a few reasons, first; he won't turn up his nose to such works- published works, he still is not fond of technology- but when he reads them, it is his Human he thinks of. Not all Humans or the idea of Humans. That one Human in particular that is part of his Hoard and belongs to him, that one right there. He mentally overwrites all details of the Human love interest in the piece with the details of his Human and replaces himself as the monster suitor. He often imagines his Human as a Dragon as well and the romance the two of you could share as Dragons.

Second; Humans and the truth of them are still as illusory to Malleus as the surface of the moon would be to a cow. According to Lilia, they all looked different and had varying skin tones and hair styles, even eye colors, some even had completely different instincts from others. His entire view of Humans as a whole is based on the idea that no Human is the same or even comparable.

[candycandy00]

Once Upon a Time - A Higuruma x Reader Fanfic Part 2

Retold fairytales featuring the JJK men! This is The Little Mermaid featuring Higuruma! You’re a mermaid obsessed with the human world, and in love with one particular human: the lawyer named Higuruma. You make a deal with the sea witch to become human, but you only have three days to win his love!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Read Gojo x Cinderella Here!

Read Sukuna x Sleeping Beauty here!

Read Choso x Rapunzel Here!

Read Toji x Snow White Here!

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. AU. Reader is a mermaid. Reader becomes mute. First time sex. Brief mention of domestic violence involving a side character. 

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more and @drizztdohurtin!

The next morning, you wake up on Higuruma’s couch. He’s standing over you, looking a little concerned. 

“Are you alright? It took a while to wake you.”

You sit up and nod. You’ve only ever slept under water, so this was a new experience for you. 

Higuruma is holding a cup and he reaches it to you. “I don’t know how you like your coffee, but I have cream and sugar if you want it.”

You take the cup with a smile. You’ve heard humans mention coffee! You’ve always wanted to try it. You excitedly take a drink, realizing too late that the liquid is very hot. You gasp as you sit the cup down on a small nearby table, fanning your mouth with your hand. 

Higuruma sits down beside you. “Was it too hot? I’m sorry. You didn’t burn your tongue, did you?”

Turning sideways to face him, you extend your tongue to show him. 

“I don’t think it’s burned,” he says, looking closely at it. Then all of a sudden he looks away awkwardly. Is he thinking about last night?

He stands up and walks toward another room. “I don’t usually eat much for breakfast. Is fruit okay with you?”

You nod, eager to try any human food. You’ve heard most of these terms before, so you know what fruit is. You’ve just never tasted it. Once you grabbed something humans call a coconut, but you couldn’t figure out how to eat it. 

Higuruma steps out, so you use this opportunity to check the pendant. The small red spot has grown a little, but not nearly as much as you’d hoped after what happened last night. Did you not please him? Or do humans require more than physical affection to fall in love? 

You’re still pondering this when Higuruma walks back into the room. He’s carrying a plate with lots of colorful fruits on it. He sits it on the low table in front of you, and you quickly reach out to take a piece, excited to taste it. 

The piece you chose was orange in color, in a small wedge shape. Thin white strings line the flesh. You put the whole piece in your mouth and an explosion of flavor hits you. If you had your voice, you’d be squealing in delight! The more you chew, the more delicious juice fills your mouth. 

Your eyes light up as you try a small red fruit that’s almost heart shaped, with tiny seeds covering it. You remember this one! Humans call this a strawberry. It’s a little sweeter than the first one, but it’s absolutely delicious! 

Higuruma watches you try the various fruits, a hint of a smile on his face. “I take it they don’t have a lot of fruit where you come from.”

You nod as you try yet another one. 

“Eat all you want. There’s a lot of fruit native to this island, so there’s plenty.”

After you completely clean the plate of food, Higuruma takes it away and then returns, sitting down in a chair close to the couch. “I’d like to take you to the police today so we can report what happened. Someone is probably worried about you.”

You shake your head and reach for the paper and pen on the table. “No one is worried,” you write. “I’m alone.”

He looks troubled by that reply. Is it really so strange for humans to have no family and no people worried about them? 

“Where were you going when you fell off your boat?” he asks. 

You know he’s trying to help you, but you hate these questions. You don’t know how to answer them without seeming suspicious. If you say you were going to another island, he’ll ask which one. You don’t know the names of any other islands. 

After some hesitation, you write, “Here.” It’s the truth anyway. 

He seems surprised by that. “I guess you’re very lucky then. What were you coming here for?”

You hesitate again, and he quickly speaks up. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ask a personal question like that.”

You smile and nod again. 

“To be honest, I’m not sure what to do with you,” he says. “You don’t want to see a doctor and there’s no one I can call for you.”

You grab the pen and write, “Can I stay with you a little longer?”

He reads the note then looks at you again. “I guess so. I have to go out every day for work, so you might get bored here by yourself.”

“Can I go with you?” you write. 

“You’ll have to step away when I talk to my clients, but if you don’t mind that, sure.”

With a huge grin you stand up and nod vigorously. Higuruma stands up too, and his eyes slide down your body. “We have to get you some clothes. You can’t just walk around town in my underwear.”

You nod again, smiling at him.  

“I guess you want me to help you find something,” he says. “Let’s go then. There’s a few shops in town. I’m not sure what kind of clothes you prefer, but they’ll probably have something you like.”

He’s going to help you pick out human clothes! You can’t wait to try pants! And those long flowy things called dresses! With building excitement, you follow Higuruma out of his house. He pauses and looks at your feet, then shrugs. “A lot of people go barefoot on the island. I don’t think you’ll stand out too much before we get you some shoes.”

Shoes! You’ve always wanted to wear them! 

You walk along behind him, happy that the pain has lessened to a dull ache rather than the sharp, stabbing pain of yesterday. You’ve gotten so much better at walking that you think you’d like to try running today. Or, even better, dancing! 

As the two of you walk into town, your eyes glow with astonishment. So many small, cute buildings! Their tops have a wide array of colors, their fronts have wide clear sections so you can see what’s in them, and there are so many humans walking around! 

Many of them stop and wave at Higuruma or give him human greetings you’ve heard before. He responds in a friendly manner, but you can’t help thinking he’s not entirely warm or open with them. 

He opens the door to one of the shops and gestures for you to go in. When you walk inside, you find more human clothes than you thought existed, all hanging from metal bars. In fact there’s so much variety that you have no idea what to choose. You look back at Higuruma with a pleading expression. 

Higuruma isn’t sure what to make of his new acquaintance. She’s acting like she’s never been in a clothing shop before. Maybe she comes from an extremely rural place, or was raised in such a pampered way that her clothes were selected and purchased without her involvement. Either way, she seems totally lost as she looks around at all the clothes. 

Finally she turns to him, looking as if she’s begging for help, then begins writing on the notepad he gave her. 

“Can you help me choose something?”

He scratches the back of his head. He’s never picked out women’s clothes before. “I can try. What do you prefer? Any colors you like?”

She appears to think for a moment, then writes, “I would like a dress. I like all colors.”

Well, that doesn’t narrow down the options much. He walks over to a rack of dresses and looks through them, trying to imagine her wearing each one. He stares at her for a moment to guess her size, thinking she looks really cute in his clothes. But she wants a dress, so that’s what she’ll get. 

After looking through three different racks, Higuruma has five sundresses draped over his arm. Most of them are blue. He’s not sure why, but the color blue seems to suit her. 

“Here’s a few you can try on,” he says, then realizes she might not be familiar with dressing rooms. He calls the shop owner, a young woman, over and asks her to help. Like a true professional, she snaps into action, taking his new friend by the hand and leading her into a room behind a white wooden door. 

A little while later, they emerge. She’s wearing an ocean blue sundress that falls to just below her knees, with thin straps at the top and a lower neckline than he anticipated when he chose it. There dress has a floral print, and looks lovely on her. 

“This one is her favorite,” the shop owner says, “but the others looked good too.”

Higuruma nods absently, watching her twirl around and smile as the dress flows around her. 

The shop owner lowers her voice and says, “I couldn’t help noticing she has no underwear or shoes. Would you like me to help her with that?”

“Yes, thank you,” he replies. “And help her pick a couple of casual outfits as well. All the dresses she liked too.”

“Of course, sir!” The shop owner says, happy to take his money. 

When they leave the store, Higuruma is carrying bags and has a much lighter wallet, but his beaming companion makes it all worth it. 

She writes on the notepad again and holds it up while wearing the brightest smile. “Thank you!”

He returns the smile. “You’re welcome. Let’s take these bags back to my place before I start visiting clients.”

She nods and falls in beside him as he walks back to his house. Even after he drops off her new clothes and they head back into town, she still walks right next to him. To a stranger, they probably look like a couple going on a stroll. 

The thought makes him feel a little warm around his collar. He’s not sure what the deal was last night. Did she feel like she had to show her gratitude for his help? If so, there were simpler ways than blowing him at his desk. Not that he didn’t enjoy it, but he doesn’t want her to feel obligated to do something like that. She seemed awfully eager though. Maybe oral sex just isn’t a big deal where she comes from. 

They spend the morning and early afternoon going to see various clients. Many of them ask if the lovely lady beside him is his girlfriend. He quickly rejects the idea, not wanting to embarrass her, but she doesn’t seem to mind. 

At times it feels like she doesn’t speak the same language he does, but her writing suggests otherwise. Maybe this is her second language? Regardless, she still steps some distance away when he’s speaking about his cases. 

Late in the afternoon, they go to the docks, where two of his clients work. It’s also where he tends to find new clients. While he talks to them, she walks along the water’s edge, staring out at the horizon on the sea. He thought she might be hesitant to be near the sea after her experience, but she seems very comfortable letting the waves rush in around her ankles, covering the sandals he bought for her. 

When he’s finished, he motions her over and they walk back toward town. As they get close to the town square, he begins to hear music. On some balmy evenings, a few locals gather and play their string instruments while singing. People in the square dance and laugh. Higuruma himself has only briefly stopped to listen a couple of times. 

But she is different. She rushes over excitedly, her head turning in different directions as she watches the people dancing. Then, she begins to mimic their movements, dancing along with them. It’s a little awkward at first, but she quickly falls into a rhythm. She makes no sound when she laughs, but it’s all there on her face as she moves, her pretty dress swaying with the music. 

Higuruma sees the joy on her face, the zest for life, and it makes him realize he’s been lacking exactly that for years now. He was a prominent defense attorney on the mainland, but after several cases went bad, he found himself burnt out in the worst way. 

The breaking point came when he defended a young woman who killed her abusive husband. To Higuruma, it was a clear case of self defense. There was a mountain of evidence in her favor, but none of that could stand up to the ties her husband’s family had to the judge. 

So he had to watch a terrified, innocent woman be led away in chains. The look of horror on her face when she realized Higuruma was unable to save her will haunt him for the rest of his life. 

He stopped taking cases after that, and when his former law school professor called and asked him to come work on the island doing simple contract cases, he was happy to take the opportunity. Island life sounded relaxed, and contract cases in such a small community would probably be low stakes. 

At first, this drastic change of pace and scenery was just what Higuruma needed. The locals were friendly, the cases were indeed simple, and the island was beautiful. But as more and more cases involved the Russo family, they became more involved. Once again Higuruma found himself getting emotionally invested in his clients’ wellbeing, and now it seems one of the main judges on the island has been compromised. 

But even when he first came to this tropical paradise, he didn’t feel the sort of joy and wonder that’s on his new friend’s face right now. That exuberance, that elation… where does it come from? Why does everything seem to amaze her? Where did she come from?

He’s lost in these thoughts when she runs over to him and takes his hand, pulling him toward the square where people are dancing. He pulls back. “Sorry, I’m no good at dancing,” he says. It might be true. He doesn’t even remember the last time he danced. 

She pulls more insistently, looking up with her big glassy eyes as if to say, “Please?”

He sighs. “Alright. One song.”

She leads him into the midst of the dancers and looks around at the couples. She places one of his hands on her waist and holds the other in hers, copying what the others are doing. As if by reflex, he pulls her closer to him, her body brushing against his. She smiles up at him as the song starts, and they begin their dance. 

The sun is beginning to set, various sizes of lit torches lining the square to illuminate the area. The air is warm and slightly breezy, a little humid, and the music is upbeat, energetic. Higuruma feels a little silly dancing like this, but she seems to be having a wonderful time. Eventually, he relaxes and begins to enjoy it himself. 

Suddenly she collapses against him, her face looking pained. He holds her up, saying, “Hey! What happened? Are you alright?”

She pulls back and looks up at him, wearing an obviously forced smile. She’s definitely not alright! There’s something wrong with her legs, and he’s no doctor, but it doesn’t seem like she’s just tired or having muscle cramps. 

When she tries to start dancing again, he stops her. “You’re in pain, aren’t you? Let’s go to a doctor. I’ll stay with you if you’re scared, but you need to get checked out.”

She shakes her head quickly and starts to pull away, as if she’s going to flee. At the same moment, a couple dancing behind Higuruma bumps into him, making him lose his balance. He falls backwards right in the middle of the square. The couple apologize and start to help him up, but she rushes to his side and kneels down, looking worried. 

Ah, he’s seen this before. Her worried face leaning over him, the darkening sky behind her. He’s certain now. She is the one who saved him! And she’s also the woman who’s been watching him from the sea. 

Things begin to snap together in Higuruma’s mind. Things he always thought existed only in the realm of fantasy. Her always being waist deep in the sea, always farther out than anyone swimming alone should be, her difficulty walking, her amazement at everything she sees, her not being shy about being naked, her seemingly not understanding clothes and shoes, her acting like she’s never had coffee or fruit before… 

Her not having a voice. 

That silly contract she was clutching when he found her… it wasn’t make believe. It was real. 

But if she traded her voice for legs, what did she have below the waist before? The answer is already in his brain, the image of it burned into his mind, but it still takes a few moments for him to accept it. 

She had a tail with fins before. Because she’s a mermaid. 

Higuruma has always been able to adapt quickly to strange situations. Even if the world turned to chaos, he thinks he would be able to find a way to survive. 

He gets to his feet and dusts himself off, giving her a smile to let her know he’s okay. She looks relieved as he takes her hand and leads her back to his house. He needs answers, now. 

When you get back to Higuruma’s home, he closes the door and sits down on the couch, then motions for you to sit next to him. As you take a seat, you glance down at the heart shaped pendant. It’s almost half red now! His affection for you has grown so much today! 

You’re smiling happily when he reaches you the paper and pen. You look at him curiously and he says, “I need to ask you some questions. Please tell me the truth.”

His serious expression makes you a little nervous, but you nod. 

“Have we met before?”

You feel your face freeze. Did he actually recognize you?! No, no, it’s not possible. He was barely conscious! But somehow, the thought that you left such an impression makes you happy. 

Slowly, you nod again. 

His eyes widen slightly. “You’re the one who pulled me out of the water two days ago, aren’t you?”

You look away, not sure how you should answer that. 

“Please tell me,” he says. 

Finally, you give a tiny nod.  

“And you’ve been watching me from the water for a long time now.”

Another nod. 

“I knew it,” he says, almost in a whisper. “Are you… human?”

You write on the notepad, “I am now.”

He reads it and asks, “Now? Then what were you before?”

You hesitate, the pen trembling in your hand. Then you write, “Merfolk.”

“So that contract you had when I found you,” he says, his voice surprisingly calm, “was real?”

You write the word “yes”. 

He leans back on the couch and looks up at the ceiling for a moment, as if lost in thought. “You traded your voice for legs,” he says, “all because you want to win a human man’s love? He must be special. I’m a little jealous.”

You stare at him, your face growing more heated. 

He seems to notice your reaction, his own face becoming slightly red. “Wait… is it me?”

You avert your eyes, but nod. 

Silence. Then you look up to find him gazing intently at you. “Why me?”

You pick up the pen again. 

“You always help people,” you write. “You’re very kind. You work hard for others. You look tired but you keep going.” You pause for a moment, unsure if you should write the next part. You glance up at him, then go ahead and write, “And you’re very handsome.”

He reads it, then looks away, seeming a little embarrassed. “Not sure I agree with your assessment. You’d probably think differently if you’d met me on the mainland.”

You blink up at him. The mainland? Isn’t that what humans call the gigantic island to the north? Most merfolk have never even seen it, but a few have ventured that far and told stories about it. Supposedly, they couldn’t even swim all the way around it! So that’s where Higuruma comes from. 

You write out, “Why?”

He lowers his eyes. “I tried to help people there too, but it didn’t work out. After a while, I just gave up and came here. Maybe I should have kept trying, kept fighting, but I didn’t. I’m not as great as you think I am.”

You quickly begin writing again. 

“You are great! Even after things didn’t work out on the mainland, you’re still helping people here! You didn’t give up or stop! You just came to a different place to do it!”

He looks back at you with a warm smile. “Thanks. I think I needed to hear that. Uh, I mean read that, I guess.”

You smile back, then flip the paper over to write something else: “Will you do me a favor?”

“I can certainly try,” he says, his mood seeming lighter. 

Nervously, in somewhat shaky handwriting, you ask, “Will you make love to me as a human?”

His gaze lingers on the words, then slowly shifts to your face. “I’m not sure about my feelings for you,” he says, “but if you understand that and still want to…”

His voice trails off as he looks at you, no doubt recognizing the lust in your eyes. You’ve wanted this for so long, you’d regret it forever if you didn’t do it, whether or not you win his heart. 

You lean forward and kiss him, an act of affection even merfolk partake in. One of his hands moves to your face, the other on your shoulder as he leans into the kiss. 

He eases you onto your back on the couch, him on top of you. His hand slides down to your thigh and pulls it up, then he’s dragging your dress up, both his hands slipping beneath the fabric. 

His touch is gentle and warm, making you sigh as he pulls the dress up and over your head. You’re left in only the clothing called “panties”, something you never knew about before today. They look like the things human women wear to swim in. Higuruma peels them off you, and you remember that humans only show themselves naked to their lovers. 

He unbuttons his shirt and pulls it off, giving you your first glimpse of his body. You’ve seen many human men mostly naked and even fully naked before, but there’s something different about seeing the man you love undressing for the first time. 

Beneath his clothes, his skin is a bit paler, untouched by the sun. But it’s firm, with little trails of dark hair here and there. Under his pants, there are more of those colorful shorts, making you grin. And under those “boxers” as he called them, is the mating organ you saw in the dimly lit room last night. 

Once both of you are fully stripped, he climbs onto the couch again, straddling you, kissing down your neck and collar bone. When his mouth reaches your chest, his tongue slides over one hardened nipple before his lips softly wrap around it. Your breaths come fast as your body arches against him, your legs parting. 

Your fingers are raking through his hair, his hand is snaking down between your bodies to nestle between your thighs, touching the spot that’s very new to you, and very sensitive. You feel him open the folds of slippery flesh with his fingers, and then he rubs a tiny little nub that sends shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your body. 

If you had your voice, you’d be moaning. Instead you can only gasp at the strange sensation, bucking your hips up, wanting to feel it more. 

“Did you have one of these before?” he asks, his voice a bit husky as he keeps kissing your skin. 

You shake your head. 

“Does it feel good when I touch it?”

You nod fervently, and he rubs the nub again, this time in small circles, making you quiver as you wrap your arms around his neck. It feels so good you can barely stand it! Is this why humans mate so much? 

Something is building inside you, like water pressure rising in the deep sea. You clutch him in your arms as his fingers keep moving, keep searing the unimaginable pleasure into your very being. And then something snaps, breaks loose, and your body spasms before going limp beneath him. You open your mouth to cry out, but have no voice to give it sound. He seems to understand, kissing your lips to drink in the silent cry. 

You look up at him, breathing hard, waiting for the next part. You know there’s more, you’ve seen it on the beach under the moonlight. Now you want to experience it for yourself. 

“Are you ready?” he asks.

You can feel his hard length pressing against your inner thigh as he settles into position. You look him in the eyes and mouth the word “yes”, wishing you could say it out loud. 

With that confirmation, Higuruma pushes your legs further apart and you feel his hot, throbbing rod enter your body. He goes slowly, probably afraid to hurt you, but you only want all of him inside you. 

It feels strange, new, but you like it. You like the fullness, the slight stretch, the knowledge that you and the man you’re in love with are connected in such an intimate way. 

After a few moments, he begins to move, lightly thrusting into you, going deeper. Your body automatically arches again, wanting to meld into him. The friction of his heated skin against yours feels so amazing, you can’t help being jealous of humans who have been doing this for as long as humanity has existed. 

This body of yours was created by magic. Now a totally different kind of magic is making it sing. You find yourself clenching around him, your lips silently mouthing his name, your hands gripping his shoulders. 

It doesn’t take long for that familiar pressure to build up again, driving you mad. You can feel that incredible sensation again? Can you feel it over and over if you’re with Higuruma? The very thought has you panting, your breaths shuddering as that white hot pleasure bursts inside of you again. 

Tears fill your eyes. You’ve never been so happy, so fulfilled. You glance up to see Higuruma looking down at you, watching the emotions rush across your face. He kisses you again, this time deeply, his tongue slipping into your mouth as his pace quickens. He goes a bit harder, a bit deeper, until suddenly you feel him go rigid on top of you. Then, the lovely proof of his pleasure that shot out of him last night, that you so lovingly swallowed, shoots out inside you. You can feel it covering your insides, oozing into your depths. 

You’ve never been more ecstatic. 

Afterwards, you fall asleep in his arms, both of you crammed onto the couch, you lying on top of him. 

The next morning, you wake up before he does, getting up and walking over to your discarded dress. You’d dropped the pendant on it in the heat of the moment, and now you want to check your progress. 

Over half full! 

You press the pendant to your lips to kiss it, then pull the chain over your head before dressing. You’ve come a long way, but you only have a day and a half left! You have to win Higuruma’s heart, or all of this will be for nothing. 

[in1-nutshell]

And oh god the reveal.  Maybe Magneto finally got his dates and order and realized “oh shit, that's my kid”.  Maybe Ultra magnus sent a email which sent the entire us government into a panic because how the fuck did this escape notice.  What if when Magneto figured it out he tried to talk to them.  He calls them by their birth name, not the name the government gave them to protect them, or the name their robot family gave them, the name he gave them.  “I go by Fearless now, Eric” (man imagine getting disowned by your own kid).  As far as the X-men are concerned, their favorite telenovela just got better.  As for the lost light, oh boy get ready for headcanons.  Running on the idea that Cybertronians are an asexual species, their whole family units are created through adoption.  To create that bond with someone is a very important and almost sacred choice.  To abandon a child you chose to take in for a selfish reason is borderline unheard of.  Even with IDW Ophelia, Megs left her behind originally to protect her, shitty yes, but still an action born out of the desire to keep her safe, still lining up with the importance of these bonds to cybertronians.  Needless to say, the general opinion of magento went from “eh, whatever, we have megatron on board.” to “fuck this one guy in particular”

Once I get enough energy and patience, I will write a longer piece on this AU.

Hope you enjoy!

AU: Magneto is Fearless's Dad (part 2)

SFW, Angst, Familial, Platonic, Mention of X Men 97, Human reader

MTMTE/ XMEN 97

It had been a couple of days since Fearless’s failed assassination attempt and there were still no leads.

A couple of villains were called into question, even some government officials, but nothing solid.

But that wasn’t the most important thing.

The Fearless and Magneto beef was still raging on strong.

Finally at 1 in the morning, Magneto realizes why Fearless looked so familiar.

He had known their mother… they looked like…

…

Like the child he left behind all those years ago...

…

…

…Oh, this made too much sense it hurt.

The Brick of Parenthood had finally found its target.

He always thought that they would have led a normal life on Earth, not galivanting through space with giant alien robots, one which was a genocidal ex warlord.

Take it for his kid to do something strange and reckless.

Seeing the little kid he knew now all grown up sent a pang of guilt through his chest.

Then came a thought... arguably a terrible idea.

Talking to them.

There was without a doubt in Magneto’s mind that they knew who he was, it explained in the pained look they gave him at times.

He needed to talk to them, now.

Fearless was happily talking with Morph when he came, asking to talk to them in private.

They don’t like the look the older man is giving them.

It looked like pity and… pain?

They warily agree.

The pair makes their way into a room in the mansion. Fearless crosses their arms. Fearless: “So, what did you want to talk about?” Magneto: “… It has been a long time since we last saw each other, hasn’t it?” Fearless stiffened. Fearless: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Magento: “I did not raise a liar.” Fearless’s eyes widened and unconsciously takes a step back. Magneto: “My little Lionheart… it has been a long time.” The name brought flashbacks of a little kid reaching out for a hug to their tall father. They shake their head. Fearless: “I go by Fearless, Eric. That is the name I go by now, the one MY Family gave me. I expect you to at least have the decency to respect that.” Magneto: “… Fine then… Fearless.” Fearless huffs as they tighten their arms around themselves. Fearless: “Was this what you wanted to talk about? Because if it is your wasting your time and mine.” They turn to open the door behind them, but the metal locks lock themselves. Fearless: “…Unlock the doors Magneto.” Magneto: “Not until we talk.” Fearless: “What is there to talk about?” Fearless tries opening the door with no luck. Magneto: “It has been years since I’ve last seen you child.” Fearless: “And who’s fault was that, Eric. Now if you can be so kind as to open the door—” Magneto: “You didn’t have the X gene Fearless. Your birth stood against so many things I stood against at the time. I had to leave you. You must understand that.” Fearless: “I don’t have to understand Jack Magneto! Now let me out!” Fearless tries furiously to open the doors now, only for some metal sheets to block the door. Fearless: “Eric! Open the doors now!” Magneto steps forward as Fearless tries prying the metal themselves. Magneto: “You are going to hurt yourself like that.” Fearless continues to trying to pry the metal with their bare hands. Magneto: “You have to understand that when I left you—” Fearless: “UNDERSTAND WHAT!? That I wasn’t the perfect baby you wanted! That I didn’t fit in your ideal world?! Save me the speech Eric I know! I’VE KNOWN THAT SINCE THE DAY I FOUND OUT WHO EXACTLY MY FATHER WAS!” Tears were streaming down their face, but they stood tall with their fist clenched. A heavy silence filled the room. Fearless: “If you have any ounce of any respect or basic decency… let me go.” Magneto wordlessly let the metal sheets fall to the ground. Fearless wastes no time in bursting out of the room. Magneto sighs sadly from inside the room. Meanwhile in the room next door. Logan and Morph were trying to watch a movie when they overheard the conversation through the wall. Logan and Morph: “…” Morph: “…That was unexpected.” Logan: “…You owe me a 12 pack and 20 buck’s bub.” Morph: “Oh C’mon!”

And apparently those two weren’t the only ones who overheard.

Jean had seen a distraught Fearless running outside and decided to gently look inside their mind to see what could have possibly upset them.

…

It did not take long there after for the rest of the X men to find out about the new family drama.

There was a lot of talk between the team about Fearless and Magneto, but they never guessed something like this.

So many questions yet to be answered!

The drama!

The Angst!

Some members are kind of glad a plot twist happened in their new telenovela, but at the same time are sympathetic to the whole ‘messed up family bloodlines thing’.

Fearless was walking around having calmed down. They spot Magneto exiting the room and walking to their direction. This was at the same time Kurt and Rouge just so happen to be walking by. The pair walked a bit faster to get to Fearless’s side. Kurt: “Fearlezz!” Fearless jumped at the sudden noise but calmed down seeing the blue mutant. Fearless: “Primus Kurt, don’t scare me like that.” Kurt: “Zorry!” Rouge gently placed a hand on their back, guiding them to another direction. Rouge: “There’s a cool thing the boys wanted ta show ya.” Fearless: “Now? I mean sure! Cool, cool, cool.”

The real question now about the bots.

Did THEY know about this?

Only one way to find out!

Morph is sitting by Whirl in his holoform. Morph: “Has Fearless every talked about their family, like before going to space?” Whirl: “Not really. They don’t talk too much on all the Earthy stuff.” He raises an eyebrow. Whirl: “Why you want some information on them?” Morph: “Well, its more like we’ve just gotten some new information on them.” Whirl: “Like what?” Morph: “… Logan won the bet.” Whirl: “Which ones Logan again? Wait is he the gruffy one with the claws that thinks I know some guy name Deadpool?” Morph: “That’s him.” Whirl: “Oh okay then. Wait what did he bet on again? Hang on a second.” Whirl pulls out a list of the bets and goes down before stopping at Logan’s bet. Whirl slowly looks at Morph. Morph: “Turns out Fearless’s dad is Magento.” Whirl: “… Excuse me but WHAT THE—” Magnus, in his holoform, comes in. Magnus: “Whirl! What have we talked about that language!” Whirl: “MAGNETO IS FEARLESS’S EARTH DAD!” Magnus: “WHAT!?” Morph: “I feel like I made a mistake…”

News about Magento being Fearless’s biological father spreads amongst the bots like wildfire.

They go to the X men about more details about this.

They would have asked Fearless… but these past few days the resident human looked ready to drop dead and sob on the spot.

The Lost Light crew is absolutely furious hearing the implication of Magneto Abandoning Fearless at a young age.

It is explained to the mutants about the significant values chosen family had amongst Cybertronian’s.

To abandon one’s sparkling/ youngling/ or mentee at such a tender age was simply unheard of.

The bots and X men hear some yelling from a far. It was Fearless yelling at Magneto to leave them alone. Megatron is the first to move. The Earth shakes as the Ex Warlord now looms over Fearless, casting a long shadow over Magneto. Fearless looks surprised to see the mech. Fearless: “Megatron? What are you doing here in bot mode? Did something happen with your holoform—EEP!” Megatron scoops Fearless up with one servo and holds them firmly to his chassis. He sported a harsh glare at the man on the ground. Megatron: “When my child says to leave them alone. You. Leave. Them. Alone.” Cue gasps from X men in the background. The twists keep getting better and better. Fearless is still very confused. Magneto: “Your child?” Rodimus: “That’s right! His kid. A member of our crew and family.” The other bots soon start lining behind or beside Megatron. Megatron: “Do not let me catch you disrespecting their space again.” With that the bots turn to go to their ship. Megatron looks down to see Fearless trying to stifle a sob. He gently rubs a digit up and down their back. They began to shake like a leaf and curled even smaller against his servo. Megatron: “There, there… I’ve got you… I’ve got you… Your safe now Fearless… Your safe…”

The bots and Fearless were going to need a day to process this before returning back to the big problems at hand.

Especially Fearless…

[mullermilkshake]

Where are you?

Kento is plagued with dreams of you.

Kento Nanami x Fem!reader Soulmate AU,Kidnapping,Obsession,Dreams and unhealthy sleeping habits,Mentions of violence

<<< For more Nanami content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

Kento never took himself for an artist. Until he had drawn your face for the thousandth time.

He was always told at a young age that when the time came, his soul mate would reveal their face in his dreams and they would become more vivid the closer they were.

When he dreamt for the first time, you appeared. Again and again, and again. Each night you would visit him and each night he’d learn to take a little piece of you in.

Then he started to draw you which was the closest way to a photograph he could get to see you while he was awake. After just one year, Kento had gone through three sketchbooks that he kept locked up in his room.

And by the time he reached his early twenties his thirty one sketch books had been transferred to his own apartment inside his own office.

Each book was more detailed than the last, his talents forcibly manifesting themselves as though they were abused by pure survival. Distinct in its own way that, had Kento not learnt it, he would have surely withered away.

Each year, his pencil strokes grew more aggressive, purposeful. The subtle curve of your nose became more sharp and accentuated right down to the cupids bow and full lips. Soon enough he could draw you by memory, with his eyes closed.

If he became blind or lost his vision for even a moment, he sat comfortably knowing he could still draw your face and hold your features close to him.

Each year Kento saw more people that he knew, that he went to school with, find their soulmates.

It was a fairytale that he was no part of, more like the villain of every story that spoke of a happy ending. And once he’d entered into his thirties, he began to question whether or not you were even real anymore.

‘She’ll turn up sooner or later, it just takes time sometimes.’ He’d be told by a total stranger that had found their soulmate.

The black bags under his eyes was a distinct symptom of his dreams and how restless they made him. Anyone with two brain cells could see that he wasn’t fulfilled.

And then he began to tell himself that he would die alone, or never find happiness until he found you. It was a mantra he was starting to believe himself, spoken over and over and over until it was drummed inside his head.

He’d die of natural causes much faster without you.

Though what if he found that you were dead already, or that you had dreams about a different man and didn’t know that Kento even existed?

A thought in itself that kept him on the edge of his seat, tippling between purgatory of an empty touch and unseen face.

He was dying to understand how you were reacting to your own dreams. How you perceived him and if you were as anxiously looking for him as he was with you.

What dreams were you having exactly? Perhaps inappropriate ones like Kento had been able to manifest.

If you had those particular dreams, maybe at some point they’d be linked like an online chat room where he could actually interface with you, speak with you and find out where you really were.

By the time Kento had turned twenty three, he learned that he was able to manipulate his dreams, talk to you, touch you like you were actually there. That’s how his terrible sleep schedule came about as soon as he found himself in his own apartment.

He slept far too much yet never got enough sleep because he spent all his time with you. It was bordering on an obsession he never gave the time of day to acknowledge or admit to. He was alive and nourished so there was no risk to his health.

At least that’s what he told himself. 

Kento took sleep whenever he could and often leant of self help and sleep apps or sounds to drift him off to sleep. He wanted to learn what you liked and didn’t like, so that when he found you whenever that time came he could please you and make up for the time you lost with him.

At this point, Kento agonised over whether you would feel the way he did about you. What if you hated him, or disliked him to the point he repulsed you? These were all distinct possibilities and it riddled him with anxiety every moment he thought about it.

The level at which his dreams were driving their way into his head never ceased from when he was younger until now, they never eased and Kento could never find you close by. That must have meant that your connection with him was that much stronger than other people who had already met their soulmates, right?

The whole thing grew to an unhealthy lump in his throat. Most people could see it when they looked into his eyes, but he didn’t care. His art grew in size and quality and he just kept drawing and it developed into water colour and low level art galleries.

What if Kento could get his art out there as well as online and wait to see if you took the bait he was leaving you, little breadcrumbs to find your way into his arms once and for all so that he could prove to everyone that he was in fact, not going crazy?

So that’s what he did.

“This piece is superbly coloured, the way the light dusts over her cheek. It’s so soft and forgiving and it really brings her to life.” The director had toured round the six pieces that Kento had chosen.

He purposely left his favourite pieces at home, framed in his office forever immortalised. While it was true that this particular piece enveloped you the way he had seen in a dream once, Kento actually preferred the last piece in the set. It was darker and more raw, rough around the edges like the way he saw you in his dreams most nights.

“Thank you.” He said, adjusting his glasses to hide the darkeness under his eyes. “She’s certainly evolved from some of my earlier work.”

His early portraits were atrocious. The director didn’t seem to care though. “I’d love to see them at some point, I really feel that the buyers would love to see a journey instead of just an end result, you know?”

His early pieces were for his eyes only. No exceptions. “Maybe another time. I’d like to see how many people attend this online auction. I’m curious about it.”

Online art work, digital prints. Anything to get your face out there.

The director grinned and studied your portrait again. “Of course! I heard that the turn out will be great and this is a fantastic way to get your foot in the door.”

Kento had no interest making a statement or a steady job prospect out of it. He just wanted to get closer to finding you.

Though in later nights it was as though you were getting further away, harder to reach and Kento had no idea on how to rectify it. He contemplated the reasons you would be doing so in a logical order.

One, you had found someone else and your image was tapering off inside his brain, or two, you had sustained some sort of injury and was currently in a hospital bed somewhere. Either way, it was bad news which led him to allow the art director to place his portraits on the online market too.

And that was when he received an email later that night when he’d arrived at his apartment. His arms were empty having sold the portraits which was enough to pay this month's rent. He never intended to take interest, but with the vast amount of offers your portraits received Kento considered quitting and painting you full time. 

This email naturally coerced him into that choice.

Unknown: Sent at 22:08

Hello,

You don’t know me, but I’ve seen the portraits you painted. I’m pretty sure they’re of me.

Kento let out the long awaited breath he hadn’t realised he was holding onto like it would vanish along with this email. His hands began to shake and his beating heart pained his chest to the point he could see it thumping.

A potential meeting with his soulmate for the first time. What could he say? This entire time he had formulated responses to get his point across in the right way and it all flew out of his head like a stiff breeze.

There was no way he could miss this rare opportunity that presented itself, though he couldn’t let it slip from his fingertips after he met with the anonymous sender. If it really was you, then he had to do things right.

So Kento replied.

Kento: Let’s talk.

You agreed, almost instantly. Though you were naturally wary. Kento wanted to meet with you immediately, preparing to leave at a moment's notice just to see a glimpse of you.

It took three weeks of instant messaging between the two of you before you suggested to meet up. Kento was chomping at the bit yet controlled his urges to make the suggestion himself.

He had found and memorised every inch of your social media and learnt how to use it all in depth just to get closer to you. After the first click onto your profile, his heart leapt when he confirmed for the time being that you were in fact the person in his dreams.

The obsession had taken full effect now and Kento saw straight through it. He was so close to his goal, his dream that had taken a hold of his life seemingly with no end in sight.

But there was an end. You were that end, right on the other side of email correspondence.

The days leading up to meeting you, Kento discovered a hidden brightness in his step. All he ever thought about was you right up until the moment he saw you, wandering into the little coffee shop you agreed to meet in halfway.

When you made eye contact with him it was as though the earth stopped turning, the air had left the room right out from his lungs to the point it burned. It was most definitely you, the beautiful face in his dreams.

Maybe now he could finally sleep.

Kento cleared his throat and stood up when you approached, straightening his smart jacket and clearing his throat to greet you. Taking his hand, your velvet soft skin warmed him instantly.

“Hi,” Your smile was so innocently kind. “You look so different from my dreams, but… I sense that connection already.”

You looked exactly as he thought you would. So uncanny that he mistook your entrance as part of his dreams for just a moment. Why had all the air flown out of the room? Gone completely so that his next breath was audible as he’d forgotten to move biologically.

Each line of introduction, or topic in mind had just blown away while you watched him entranced by your beauty he once thought he’d never see in person.

“You’re beautiful.”

It was not the most ideal first sentence to which he regretted immensely whilst he watched your eyes widen and freeze.

Then you smiled so sweetly and studied his features. “Thank you, no one’s ever told me that before.”

How could no one have said it? It was cruel for anyone on this planet not to say it. Yet when you said those words, Kento sensed a pull in his chest, as though he’d grow jealous if anyone else had said it before him.

No one had. He was your first.

“Please,” he offered up the seat next to him. “Sit. I’ll get us some coffee.”

You nodded and began to reel off your order, leaving a tingle of familiarity for Kento to finish it. “With two pumps of vanilla and chocolate powder on top, right?”

“Yeah… how did you- oh right.” The realisation pushed a stunningly delicate laugh from your lips.

You were his soul mate. How could he not know your coffee order? There had been far too many dreams to count where he’d gotten you coffee or made it himself after you stayed the night, only to vanish when he woke up for real.

But you were here. Right now. And you were not figurative or imaginary. You were real. You existed not only in Kento’s dreams but real in the flesh that had taken notice of his artwork.

At first he assumed he’d be embarrassed that you had actually seen all his backbreaking work, or that you’d find it displeasing. You did not judge however. It was something you took as appealing and in your eyes, a romantic gesture.

It was at that moment that Kento did not see it as romantic. For a microsecond that allowed the bridges to gap themselves inside his brain, showed that his obsession had overtaken his life until it halted in real-time.

He could finally rest now that you had wandered into his life after tirelessly hoping he’d find you.

You saved him from a lifetime of misery and since you were here now, it killed him after you announced your departure.

Had it been over two hours already? Kento wasn’t aware how fast time had flown and the bodies filling the cafe had simmered down and grown almost barren.

Just you and him in the little corner, fairy lights posted over the mahogany booth to add a touch of romantic ambience. Finger tips grazing past the others in hopes they’d nervously catch or stay put and linger.

“Here’s my number.” A little sheet of paper scribbled on with a little lopsided heart. “I want to do this again, now that we’ve met. I was so nervous to meet you, but now it feels like we’ve always known each other.”

“I feel the same way.” Kento did, very much so.

Yet he could not ignore the pulsating in his chest, watching you collect your things and drift away from him.

Just like his dreams.

You were disappearing on him again. “I’ll call you tomorrow? I’ll let you know when I’m home too, the trains are usually on time this time of night.” 

Don’t leave me. 

“Well, I’ll see you later.” You tiptoed to even peck your lips at his cheek.

He remained where he was. That kiss was a farewell type, short and sweet to leave him wanting while you disappeared forever out of that doorway.

You were leaving out of that doorway. And you were leaving him.

“Wait… don’t-“ The door shut and jingled the little bell as you turned left and wandered past the large window with a content expression.

“Wait.” 

Something inside Kento switched, or snapped like a rubber band. You had left him with far more than just wanting under his belt. It was more like a sickly putrid empty void in his chest and if he didn’t go to you now, he’d never find you again.

His true soulmate and you were leaving him.

After he stepped foot outside onto the street, he never meant to have it all end the way that it did. He was aware that he used a little too much force on you, though if you hadn’t struggled so much, then you would not have collected the bruises you did several days later.

You caused one hell of a scene and Kento saw only one way to keep you quiet. He intended on letting you go when you calmed down, but you still hadn’t after a week.

He never wanted to hurt you, but you made it so difficult.

Kento had caught up to you once he left the warm confines of the building and proposed you stay with him now that you came forward and made that connection as soul mates did. It was practically customary that once that bond was formulated, the soulmates would move on to marriage and settle themselves down in a new house or apartment within the month. 

However, you wanted to take it slow, and Kento was certain he could not wait any longer.

His brain had become dull and numb to everything else but you. It killed him to watch you in such a panic, to hear such vile words spitting from your lips at him like he’d done something wrong.

Kento was only doing what he could to keep you close to him, to make up for the lost time you had been away from him.

There was no way he could ever let you walk out of his life again. 

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[marvelmusing]

Personal Shopper

from The Darkling Wears Prada AU

Pairing: Aleksander Morozov x Fem!Reader

Summary: In preparation for your honeymoon, you and Aleksander go shopping. Per usual, he has high standards.

Warnings: brief mentions of sex and nudity

My Masterlist

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Disgust curls at the corner of Aleksander’s lips, his nostrils flaring as he surveys the luminous rainbow of swim shorts hanging in front of you. For someone whose wardrobe consists of black and white, the options on display feel like an insulting form of colour exposure therapy.

“You could have told me there were no viable options for me here,” he says.

“If you just ignore the brightly coloured ones-”

“A blind person would struggle to ignore those.”

“There’s a navy blue?”

“When have you ever seen me wear navy blue?”

“Almost every man likes navy blue.”

“No, almost every man wears navy blue because he doesn’t understand the concept of dressing himself and thinks he can’t go wrong with blue.”

The manager of the store hovers at a respectable distance - ready to assist but not too overbearing. A group of younger employees have gathered discretely in a corner, talking quietly amongst themselves while shooting furtive glances in your direction.

“What about dark grey?” you suggest, selecting a pair from the rack and offering them for him to examine.

Aleksander takes a long look at them, and sighs.

“Go on,” you say expectantly.

He raises a brow at you, his expression innocent.

“What?”

“From the look on your face, there’s clearly something wrong with them.”

He pauses, regarding you somewhat sheepishly. Glancing down, he looks at his shoes, then back up at the shorts.

“The drawstrings are white.”

“Aleksander-”

“It looks inexpensive!” he defends. You laugh, shaking your head at him.

He watches you glance down at the shorts, eyes fixating on the drawstrings before you sigh and discard them back on the rack.

“Now you’ve said that, I won’t be able to unsee it.”

Aleksander breathes out a soft laugh, curling his arms around your waist to pull you back against his chest as you browse the other items of clothing nearby. He lowers his head down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he murmurs,

“I’m sorry for being so particular.”

A smile spreads over your lips, as you place your hands on his forearms, keeping him close while you lean back into his body.

“No, you’re not.”

He smiles.

“No, I’m not.”

“The worst part is, you always look good, meaning your fussiness is well-founded.”

He tilts his head at you, lips parted in faux shock.

“Fussiness?”

“Don’t sound so astounded. If I tried to tell anyone at work that you aren’t fussy, I’d be laughed out of the building.”

His eyes wander over the items of clothing in the store, a certain area in particular catching his attention.

“I can think of one instance where I’m not fussy,” he remarks. He feels your head turn, looking in the direction of his gaze.

“If you’re talking about my lingerie, I’d have to disagree.”

He stills, looking down at you in concern.

“Have I ever made you feel uncomf-”

“No, Sasha. Never. It’s just that I can usually tell from your reaction what pieces you like more than others. I could probably guess what your favourite set of mine is.” He nods slightly, encouraging you to state your guess. “The black silk set - the one lined with white lace.”

He tilts his head, humming quietly in contemplation.

“I would consider that one of my favourites. But it isn’t my favourite.”

“What is your favourite then?”

His cheeks flush.

“It isn’t even a matching set,” he admits. “The cream cotton bra, with little purple and blue flowers. And the blue cotton panties with white polka dots.”

A small sound of surprise catches in the back of your throat.

At the beginning of your relationship, you had been shy about showing him the less than perfect parts of you. When you’re at work, everything is perfect - just how Aleksander likes it.

He had caught you by surprise, the first time he saw his favourite ensemble, kissing you in the makeshift office created for him during a photoshoot. As always, you had melted in his arms, kissing him back eagerly. Until he reached for the button at the waistband of your trousers. He stopped the moment he felt you stiffen.

“What’s wrong? Do you want to stop?”

He sees the hesitation on your face and removes his hands from you.

“I didn’t think you’d want this today,” you admit, fidgeting nervously with your hands. “I thought you’d be too busy with the shoot.”

His expression softens, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your cheek. He lets his knuckles linger there.

“What do you mean?”

He feels your cheeks heat beneath his hand, then you say in a near whisper,

“I’m not wearing my nice underwear. They’re just plain cotton, nothing special.”

To this day, Aleksander disagrees wholeheartedly.

“Really?” you state, turning your head to look at him. “That’s your favourite?”

He nods, shrugging slightly.

“I don’t know what it is, it just feels so domestic, seeing you in them.”

He feels your body grow warm in his arms.

After years of seeing you with only perfect makeup and meticulously picked outfits, the sight of you barefaced, wearing one of his old t-shirts and a zip hoodie is one of his favourite daydreams.

Aleksander kisses your cheek.

“You look beautiful in anything - and nothing.”

“Sasha!” you scold him quietly, glancing around to check that no one is close enough to hear him.

He presses his face into the side of yours, lips brushing delicately against your cheekbone as his nose digs into your temple.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

He can feel the blood rushing to your face as you smile.

“I love you too.”

Aleksander smiles softly.

“Which ones do you like best?”

“You want me to pick?”

He breathes out a soft laugh at your widened eyes.

“Marriage is about compromise. They are for our honeymoon after all.”

With mischief curling at your lips, your fingers dance over the bright yellow swim shorts.

“Milaya,” he says warningly. “Don’t be cruel.”

You laugh quietly.

“What about these?”

A subtle summery shade of sky blue, embossed with a small grey logo near the hem of the right leg. Aleksander will admit, they are a nice colour, despite being different from his preferred palette. Not to mention that they will pair well with a few of the shirts already in his wardrobe - though he doubts he will be wearing a shirt at all given the expected heat.

Nevertheless, he feigns a sigh as he takes the swim shorts from you.

“Anything for you, milaya.”

He can’t help but smile when he sees you roll your eyes.

When the two of you finally climb into the back of Aleksander’s car, you’re kissing him senseless. From the moment he mentioned your underwear, you’ve been flustered, taking every opportunity to have your hands on him. Now that you’re alone, you cannot suppress your need.

He can feel your lip gloss smearing over his mouth, sticky and sweet. Aleksander cups your jaw, holding you in place as he works on devouring you.

He feels you frown when your phone buzzes, interrupting your moment. When you make no movement to reach for the device, Aleksander tears his lips from yours momentarily as he peers at the screen.

“What is it?” you ask breathlessly.

Being Aleksander’s assistant means you like to stay well informed on what the press is saying about him. The notification is from your news app.

News Alert: Aleksander Morozov sighted with fiancée.

He smiles.

“Nothing.”

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu @watersquirtpewpewboomm @mysweetlittledesire

S&B Tag List: @motheroffae @daddymaster21

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211 @wooya1224 @seronsalk @acehyacinth

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[ayyy-imma-ninja]

Hello! :D

I just caught up with your SK au fic and wanted to come say how much I’m enjoying it! Especially the way that you are building up the story and how hints and details are sprinkled around like seeds that are slowly growing as more info is revealed! 

Like first chapter we have some details about the detective that caught my eye and then keep having brief but noteworthy appearances. It is mentioned they have a bad reaction to the smell of tobacco and their discomfort about crowded spaces seems clear from the start, but the way it’s worded does give space to wonder if it’s just general annoyance at it or something more. The small intro of the town I think is pretty effective as well, as I noticed on a reread how it mentions several of the spaces that will become more prominent in the story (obviously the library and amusement park, but also others like the docks, which are linked to the first victim the detective learns of)

Also the introduction of the boys is pretty fun, given that readers preemptively know that they are the killers themselves. Sun in particular pretending he can’t bear the mention of the murders is very funny XD Oh! and I like the detail of his considerable strength being casually mentioned, only for us to later learn through the photos how much force was used to kill Grisham.

(sidenote: absolutely loving the art! the last one in the first chapter where Sun and Moon meet outside the park really establishes an ominous aura about them, and the fact that they share that same-colored blue eye hints towards that unique connection and knowledge about the events they share. Like they are synchronized!)

Then on chapter 2 a small bit that caught my attention was during Moon’s questioning. I also noticed how his answers were pretty much instantaneous, which the detective reasons is because Sun gave him a heads up. But I like how when he was asked when the last time he saw Grisham was, he needs that brief pause to think, because he knows the actual answer, but that’s the one he can’t be truthful about, so he has to review his memory of when he would have seen him before that.

Oh and another detail in this chapter is that the “stern” father like look makes the detective’s stomach churn until they notice the good intent in Powell’s worry. One could chalk it up to just anxiety under the orders of a boss, but the fact that it’s specifically compared to a parental attitude seems significant.

And oof, that torture scene! Pretty brutal despite the fact that most of it seems to have happened offscreen already haha It shows pretty well the absolute hatred the boys hold for rulebreakers and how ready they are to show it. It’s pretty neat how you keep their personalities consistent even during these scenes! They are completely different in a sense, but also exactly the same two brothers as they are in their daily lives.

And aaah chapter 3 was pretty intense! That interview with Mrs. Grisham is so interesting, because just as the detective is capable of piecing together what is left unsaid, the text also allows the reader to start piecing the detective’s possible past as well. Like, there’s all those hints at the alcoholism of Grisham. The twitches in the cheek with the scar are a great pointer at both the detective’s thought process and their likely first hand experience with something like this, and also quite the thing for Mrs. Grisham and the detective to understand one another on some level.

Oh also! I have been following the blog for a while, so I know there have been some hints here about the boys possibly having known the detective before this haha, but I think the text also does a good job of making readers speculate about it, with how Sun and Moon seem instantly attached. And speaking about the boys, my god they like their antics XD They are very theatrical and expressive! I can believe it’s part of how they enjoy expressing themselves, but I definitely wonder if part of it is that making it seem like they are super easy to read and like they wear their hearts on their sleeves is also a good way to divert suspicion from them. Can’t be them if no one believes they could hide a secret like that right?

(other sidenote: The contrast between the detective’s and the brothers’ perspectives is hilarious to me XD The detective: dread, horror, reliving their mysterious trauma at some points. Meanwhile the boys are like: So excited! It’s a bit of a game for them! New player on the board! They look at the detective and it’s like the Smash bros new challenger presentation music accompanies their entrance fkjdhfkj)

Oh and the end of the chapter! Really seeing the kind of personalized punishments they like to dole out. Pretty obvious with Clyde, though I do wonder a bit more what they did specifically for Grisham. Was it using all that force because of how violent he was? The damage to his limbs because of how he used them to hurt his family? hmmmmm

Ooo, and then in chapter 4 we see even more of the detective’s intuition and how sharp it is! They seem very analytical, and are showing their true skills to their coworkers by having the right hunches about the killers’ victims.

Ah, one thing that made me think in this chapter is about the interactions with the boys that the detective has had so far and their reactions to it. They seem to not mind their fussing, because they can see it’s genuine. Though we do see they go back and forth on how they feel about it. There’s a tiny conflict in this chapter regarding that and it does get solved pretty quickly, but I wonder if it’s something that will be a bigger point of conflict down the line, because they might feel they are not being respected as a capable adult. The detective seems like the type of person that finds it difficult to let others take care of them as they are very self-reliant and might even have a negative association to that show of care. On one hand they do seem like they want to allow it to some extent, but on the other they seem to hate it when others underestimate their capabilities, both personal and professional.

And oooh we see a bit more of the boys own struggles! Sun being affected by the topic of vitals makes me wonder if there was one time he was desperately checking for someone’s vitals but found none that time, perhaps. hmmmmm

Then chapter 5 I feel is really where those scattered details are starting to take a more solid shape! We see more signs of the detective’s past’s effect on them. Last chapter we saw them having flashbacks when looking at their reflection and this one we see them avoiding it completely. It seems to be increasingly affecting them, and I can’t help but think that it’s part of that self-inflicting of guilt they keep doing (no doubt acquired from someone in their past).

Ah, the talk with Sun gives a little more insight about some of Moon’s own issues. Him keeping his sense of smell off makes me think it’s likely to avoid nasty surprises from the smell of any kind of smoke (that would make him think of fire) around. Poor detective likely wishes they could do that too oof. Especially because apparently the station constantly smells like it. (By this point, I’m pretty convinced that with their negative instinctual reactions to the smell, their dad was a smoker, and with the other hints about their past we’ve had,  that he was quite a nasty guy. And I already have my prediction of how he died given the timeline of events XD)

But speaking of the detective, we can really see how the more they stay in the town the more frequent these panic episodes are starting to get. That mural and alley seem pretty important, hmmmm. And yikes, poor kid. The detective was having the worst time and he accidentally bumped them at precisely the worst moment. I have a feeling that will come up again, since he’s a kid that goes to Sun’s reading circle, and there’s no way the detective isn’t going back to the library at some point. Hopefully the detective gets to say that apology they wanted but couldn’t get out.

Ahhh I’ve rambled a lot already, but just wanted to mention a couple more things! 

Chief Powell seems to also treat the detective a bit carefully. I remember he read their file, so I gotta wonder how much he knows. The fact that he’s not handing them all the files does seem to come from a well meaning place, but it likely makes the detective feel babied and they do not appreciate it. Like they are not being taken seriously or are being treated like they’re made of crystal. (Which I can see as a contrast from the way they accept care from a human to how they do with the boys, but also both instances mixing in a bad way that might make them snap.)

And the last bit about the boys! Haha, poor Moon really does not get an advantage in where he is stationed regarding opportunities to interact with y/n hfdkljhf I’m guessing the little game they were referring to is sending the detective to one another, but y/n does seem to be a bit done with that XD It’s also interesting (and definitely points to the possibility that the brothers know them from before) that Moon reflects how they both know very well how much the detective hates crowd spaces, confirming what the beginning of the first chapter implied. It could seem like observation, but they seem way too familiar with that fact for it to be just that. Hmmmmmm!

But aaaa that’s all I got! Fantastic fic (and art! ) so far! It’s noticeable how much research and effort has been put in this story! Very excited to see what comes next and how the tension will rise! I offer more kudos here since AO3 won’t allow it!

Friend when I say that while reading this analysis I was grinning like an absolute idiot- /vpos

THANK YOOOOOOU!!!!

You've picked up on so many subtle details and that has me feeling really excited and a little proud!! This was a really accurate dissection of the story and its characters!!

AAAAAAAA thank u again for this!!!

[collapsedglasshouses]

TANGLED THREADS [Noah Sebastian x fem!reader, Nick Ruffilo x fem!reader]

COLLEGE!AU

CHAPTER ONE: STRIKING A CHORD SUMMARY: There is something about you, Noah can't really bring himself to process. No matter what he does, everything comes back to you. Unfortunately, he knows that Nick feels the exact same way. PAIRING: Noah Sebastian x fem!Reader; mentions of Nick Ruffilo x fem!Reader WARNINGS: SMUT, MDNI, 18+ [unprotected p in v, degradation, rough sex ig, …], no mentions of reader’s name, angst, noah is toxic and delusional and also a utterly big simp, reader is toxic, toxic dynamics, mentions of noah thinking about nick during intercourse kind of?, swearing, its not completely proofread … WORD COUNT: 3.8K A/N: Hello, hello! A little note at the beginning. I got inspired while watching Challengers for the hundredth time in like… four weeks. This is inspired by a scene in the movie. Other than that, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I’m planning on writing two more parts. For those, who miss Nicky in this one, chapter 2 will be for you!

Noah Sebastian liked to think of himself as a patient guy. He was nice. People said he was understanding and empathetic. It was something he was known for on campus. It was no secret that a lot of people on campus, especially some guys he had encountered, were total douchebags. But he was not one of them. He was known as “the sweet guy that likes to sing and play the guitar”. At least, according to most people who he had met.

That being said, he really couldn’t wrap his mind around why you were frustrating him so deeply he wanted to collapse to the ground and seize to exist.

It’s been a while since he and his best friend, Nick, had met you for the very first time at this talent show at the bar down the street. The two boys weren’t new to these shows. They were frequent contestants and had already won a fair share of these events. Noah wasn’t in college to seek a particular profession; he was there because his family wanted him to. Meanwhile Nick just enjoyed living in the moment. He didn’t really have a plan for the future, so when his best friend proposed his idea of becoming musicians, he simply agreed. Since then, nothing was more important to the two boys then their music project, with which they desperately wanted to break through.

At least it was until they met you. To say Noah had been through hell and back since the moment you stepped on that stage at that particular night, was a drastic understatement.

He still vividly remembered watching you as you smiled shyly, your guitar hanging from your neck like it was a statement piece. He remembered the almost physical reaction he had to you. The crowd was cheering nearly as loud as they did for him and Nick when they had stepped on stage just an hour prior. There even were people that made signs for you in support.

It was so obvious you were a favourite and when you started your performance, Noah felt like he was going into cardiac arrest. Your voice was angelic and the way your fingers glided over the strings of your guitar made his knees weak. He could tell that Nick was thinking the exact same thing. If the way he swallowed so hard wasn’t hint enough, it definitely was how his breath slightly caught in his throat when you started to engage with the crowd just a little more.

"Goddamn..." Nick had muttered under his breath. Noah could distantly see Nick’s hand clench on top of his thigh when you smiled into the crowd.

Nick and Noah didn’t even realize they were openly gawking at you and if they had noticed they probably would have been embarrassed. Still, it felt like everything they did was justified. You were creating magic on that stage and everyone in that room knew it.

Normally, Noah would have been disappointed over losing a contest, considering him and Nick where trying to get more people into their music they were slowly developing, but when it was announced that you had gotten the award, it felt like all his sorrows simply vanished.

“You know… If you get her on our project… I’ll gladly play the bass.” Nick let out in an almost stuttering breath as both of them stared at the stage where you were thanking everyone.

A couple of weeks, more like months, had past since that night. What Noah really didn’t expect was the fact that he was currently sitting with you at a lunch table, while you were complaining about a literature assignment you still had to finish. In all honesty, Noah wasn’t really listening to you, too busy trying his best not to glare too obviously at the Limp Bizkit hoodie you were wearing. It was extremely obvious who this piece of clothing belonged to, and Noah was internally fuming because of it. It was Nick’s. The hoodie string had a slightly different color than the rest of it. Noah remembered when Nick had changed the string after losing the original one.

You must have kept it the last time you saw Nick. The bold letters on the front seemed to almost mock Noah. He was biting the inside of his cheek while you rambled on and slammed his can of coke down on the table with a little more force than he intended. You hadn’t noticed. Or at least, you ignored it.

Noah didn’t really know what exactly was going on between Nick and you, but he tried his utter best to be okay with it. At least he did in the beginning. After all, Nick had been his best friend since Noah was twelve. Noah should have been stoked about the fact that you were into Nick just as much as he was into you. It was so clearly obvious it was the case when the two of them had walked up to you to congratulate you on winning at that talent show weeks ago.

It wasn’t like Nick was a player or something, but Noah almost crumbled into a million pieces when he realized you were playing into Nick’s desperate attempts to get into your pants. You weren’t averting your eyes shyly or blushing when he blatantly checked you out, you were throwing back smart comebacks to his lines. You were looking up at him through your lashes, blinking at Nick as if you were innocence itself and Noah felt like something inside him had died on the spot.

It would have been absolutely shattering and soul-crushing for Noah if he wasn’t such a good friend. He simply stifled this feeling that could have only been described as jealousy and plastered the best smile on his face as he watched Nick and you shamelessly flirt with each other.

It wasn’t like it was anyone’s fault. Nick and he really hadn’t had the chance to talk about who could try and score with you prior to that evening. If anything, it was fair game, and Noah simply didn’t take the chance out of kindness and loyalty to his best friend.

The night had lasted long enough for you and Noah to connect as well, but differently. You were chatting about college and what courses you were going to attend after the break, realizing you had a lot of things together. You were smiling so sweetly at him over your glass. Still, it had stung seeing you laugh at Nick’s joke with slightly too much enthusiasm while sharing a cigarette with Noah, but there was absolutely nothing he would or could do about it.

You had chosen Nick, and it had nothing to do with Noah. At least, that was what he was trying to convince himself of.

But the longer he spent time with you while Nick wasn’t around, the angrier he got every time Nick would tag along and steal away all your attention. First, he thought it was absolutely stupid and childish of him to feel that way but as time passed, it became this gnawing, not ignorable, almost consuming rage that twisted his guts every single time he saw you with Nick.

“You know, Nick invited me to the movies this weekend. He asked if you and Chrissy would like to join.” You mumbled as you took another bite from your lunch.

Chrissy, right. She was a girl he had met in that particular literature class you were just complaining about. They had hooked up a couple of times, but Noah just couldn’t focus on her. They had decided to be friends, but honestly it was just awkward for Noah to hang out with her now.

Noah involuntarily huffed at your statement as he took a bite as well. “Yeah. Sounds fun.”

That was when you caught onto him.

When he looked at you under his lashes, you were already looking at him. “You know… you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

Noah’s eyebrows flinched upwards, like he was caught. “No… No, no. It’s fine… Really. I’ll be there.”

You slowly nodded, still watching him with a hint of skepticism. “Are you sure, you’re alright? You’ve been acting strange.”

“Yeah.” He blurted out too quickly, but you seemed like you didn’t want to push it.

Nothing felt right, and Noah knew it would have been a way smarter decision to just keep his mouth shut, but his words had outrun his thoughts. “I just-…”

You were watching him again, encouraging him to continue with a slight nod. Noah fiddled with his food, searching for the right words.

“I’m just surprised you two are still… you know… together, I guess.” He muttered under his breath. His more rational self would’ve punched him for that, but the anger simmering inside of him took the wheel.

“Excuse me?” You exclaimed, caught completely off guard, your tone sharp with disbelief.

Noah just sighed and set down his fork. “Nick… He’s always had a hard time… committing.”

One of your eyebrows shot up as you studied him. His tone was calm, even sweet, but the accusation behind his words hit like slap. Guilt twisted in Noah’s stomach almost immediately after the words left his mouth, but this time he swore to himself he wouldn’t retreat. He held your gaze. He wasn’t lying - Nick really did have a track record of avoiding any kind of commitment. Yet deep down, Noah knew the truth. He and Nick weren’t close enough at the moment for him to know if Nick was even seeing anyone else.

You didn’t respond right away, your eyes scanning his face like you were trying to decode him. Noah forced himself to maintain eye contact.

“Are you really shit talking your best friend right now?” You said at last, leaning back in your chair. The casualness in your tone unsettled Noah, and it showed in the subtle clench of his jaw.

“I am not.” He insisted, his voice tingled with frustration. “I just know him a lot better than you do and I am trying to spare you the heartache.”

“Sounds a lot like you are shit talking to me.” Your tone hardened, disbelief mingling with irritation. “And who even says you know what the hell is best for me?”

“You know I didn’t mean it that way.” Noah answered you, his tone matching yours. “He just doesn’t have feelings for you!”

You scoffed, your face twisting in anger. “Why the fuck do you even care?”

“I am just saying.” Noah exclaimed, crossing his arms in front of his chest defensively. “He hinted at it.”

That was a lie. A blatant, baseless lie. Nick hadn’t said anything of the sort. In fact, Nick hardly ever talked about you unless you were present. And when Noah thought about it, he wasn’t sure why he’d even lie. Maybe it was the anger clouding his judgement, or maybe it was something he wasn’t quite ready to admit to himself.

“Did it ever occur to you that I do not care?” You snarled at him, leaning forward now, voice rising.

At this point, a few people at nearby tables began to quiet down, their curiosity getting the better of them as they tried to eavesdrop. Noah stayed silent, the weight of your words sinking in—but not quite hitting home.

“I just wanted to tell you that.” He said weakly, fumbling to defend himself. God, you were infuriating. Of course, you would defend Nick.

“Yeah, but I wanna know why you care?” You asked again, your jaw tightened. You already knew why he cared but you wanted him to say it. You leaned closer to him over the table and spoke quietly. “Does it bug you so much that I fuck your best friend?”

Noah clenched his fists, jaw flexing in anger. He’s never seen you this mad before and he especially never expected to be the cause of it.

His eyes narrowed as he held your gaze, leaning closer to you. “You don’t get it, do you?” He muttered through his teeth.

“I think you don’t get it, Noah.” You bite out as Noah was starting to smell the familiar scent of your perfume. In other cases, it would have consumed him, but right now he couldn’t back down. “Who said I want Nick to be in love with me? Who the fuck said I give even the slightest fuck about any of that shit?”

Noah scoffed at your desperate attempt to come off as nonchalant. He stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “Oh, please, sweetheart.” He shifted even closer to you. You could feel his breath on your face. “The way you act like a lost puppy around him tells me you care deeply about that.”

You blinked at him for a second, taken aback by his rude tone. You knew in some way he was right, but the fact that he called you out so blatantly made your blood boil.

Noah on the other hand thrived. The look of rage and intensity in your eyes was what Noah searched for, for months at this point.

“You know what.” You muttered, Noah didn’t miss how your eyes travelled to his lips for a second. “Fuck you. You are literally the worst fucking friend in the world.”

With that you stood up from your chair, gathering your stuff and leaving the cafeteria, leaving Noah with nothing but his thoughts.

Maybe he was a bad friend. Noah could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. A weird mix of emotions running through his veins. There was embarrassment, jealousy, anger, hatred and lust. The way you were looking at him, anger burning in your eyes, shot straight to part of his body he didn’t want to admit it did. His heartbeat echoed in his ears.

Noah was in misery for the rest of the day. He had decided to skip his classes after lunch, simply hiding inside his dorm. He stared at the ceiling as your fight replayed in his head. In some way he felt good about finally letting out his thoughts. But with that came the resentment. He couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he had lied. He had lied about his best friend, just because he was so desperate to get close to you.

He thought about texting Nick, but eventually gave up after numerous attempts to find the right words about what had happened without telling him he was a fucking liar.

The sun had already set when he made the decision that he had to forget you. He needed to focus on his dream of becoming a serious musician. He couldn’t waste his time on something so simple than this feeling he had about you. It didn’t matter how pretty you were. It didn’t matter how he felt a particular part of his body move when you simply leaned over the table to look at him through your gorgeous lashes. He needed to forget you.

That was what he had decided before his phone reminded him of reality.

Come over.

Noah had never moved that fast in his entire life, rushing out of his room, with only his phone and the keys. He made it to your dorm in such a short time that he nearly sprinted over campus. He needed to catch his breath when he reached the corridor where your room was at. All his resolutions had vanished into thin air when he came to a hold in front of your door.

He hesitated for a second, staring at the door, his mind racing. Should he apologize? What would you want to say? Were you still mad at him? God, he hoped you weren’t mad anymore.

He bit down on his lip as he quietly knocked on your door. Barely a second passed before it opened.

He didn’t have the time to process what was happening, as you gripped the front of his shirt and dragged him inside. Noah’s back hit the now closed door with a thud, his breath caught in his throat in surprise. He tried to save the jacket that hung on the door from falling to the ground, but your grip on his shoulders, didn’t make it possible for him to do so.

When he allowed himself to look at you, he noticed you looked different. Your eyes were puffy and red. Your breath came out in short burst as you stared him down. All the emotions he had just sworn to bury rushed back at him when he stared into your soul.

“What’s going on?” He asked, his voice a mix of confusion and worry. His hands came to a rest on your hips, hesitatingly, not sure if he should touch you.

He noticed you were still wearing Nick’s hoodie.

Noah was close to opening his mouth again, when you suddenly yanked him forward, closing the distance between the two of you as your lips crashed against Noah’s. It was so sudden, Noah stumbled a couple of steps towards you, almost causing you to lose balance.

He felt pathetic for how easily he kissed you back, not even giving a single thought of hesitation to it. His mind shot to Nick, only causing him to draw you closer to him. He surely owned himself the award for being the worst friend in the world, but all his common sense left his mind, when you pushed your tongue into his mouth.

It was rough how your lips clashed together. It almost felt violent. All the aggression and frustration from earlier filling the room between you two. It was not how he had imagined your first kiss to go, but he wouldn’t do shit to end whatever was going on.

He almost whined when your hands slipped under his shirt, your cool fingertips spreading goose bumps all over his body.

“It’s over with Nick.” You breathe hotly, before roughly kissing down his jaw. Noah was in such a haze that he almost didn’t get your words. “You need to fuck me, Noah.”

Holy fucking shit.

Noah felt like he had never been this hard in his entire life. But still, his common sense came back to him in the worst fucking moment.

He softly pushed you away to get a couple of inches between the two of you. His mouth opened, but no words came out, his mind still processing what was happening.

“What?” You harshly barked at him, running a hand through your messy hair.

“I-…” Noah began. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea to-…”

“Oh, suddenly you wanna act like you weren’t trying to get in my pants for the last couple of weeks?” You mocked him, your voice riddled with a mix of hurt, frustration and lust.

Something snapped in Noah. It felt like you had slapped him across the face with your words. For a second, he freezed in disbelief, before you were suddenly pushed against the door.

“Are you serious right now?” He spit in your face. “You mock me. Insult me. Tease me endlessly and then proceed to tell me how you fuck my best friend, and you are trying to tell me that I’m the one who wants to be fucked. Are you out of your goddamn pathetic mind?”

“What’s stopping you, Noah?” You snarled at him, but when his eyes darkened, you knew you made a mistake.

The next thing you knew was how your face pressed into your mattress, while Noah grabbed your waist harshly. He leaned over you, his hard member pressing onto your ass. “I’ll make you regret choosing him over me.”

Noah didn’t miss the red mark on your neck. He knew exactly who had left it there, but the thought about Nick just made his dick twitch once more. He quickly leaned down and sucked at the sensitive skin of your neck right next to where Nick had left his mark. After that, he stripped you out of your jeans with a swift motion, before getting rid of his shirt.

You flinched when he touched your clothed pussy, trying to contain yourself. “So… are you all talk or are you gonna fuck me?”

Noah grabbed your hips roughly. “You can bitch like you want. I haven’t even touched you and you’re already so fucking wet for me.”

Still leaned over you, he dragged his tongue along the shell of your ear. You let out a moan, pressing your ass against him. Careful but firm, he stopped your movement before shifting his weight on his knees again. “You’re so pretty.” He whispered so quietly; he wasn’t sure if you caught on to his words.

While keeping one hand on you, the other one fumbled with the waistband of his pants. It took him less than a second until his dick sprung free. You squirmed impatiently, when you felt his precum leak onto your ass.

“You’re one to talk about being needy-…” You wanted to mock him, but he interrupted you within a heartbeat. “Shut up.”

Noah involuntarily groaned loudly, when his hips jerked against your ass. A shiver went through his body, eyes screwing shut as he tried not to cum all over your ass. “Shit, shit, shit…” He breathed out sharply. You simply giggled.

His fingers hooked under the waistband of your panties and forcefully, he yanked them down to your mid-thigh. You breathed hotly in surprise, hands gripping the sheets of your bed tighter.

With a swift motion, he flipped you in your back, before leaning close to your face. He needed to see you.

“Please.” You whined, your hands gripping his tattooed arms desperately, while his gaze ran over Nick's hoodie that you were still wearing.

Noah took his dick into his hand and dragged it through the silky skin of your folds. When he rubbed over your clit, your hips jerked upwards involuntarily. You whined, slightly shaking at the sensation as he dragged his dick to your hole, lining up and slowly sinking inside with a heated groan.

“Shit.” You cried out, immediately wrapping your legs around his hips.

As he bottomed out, he grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him. “I’ve fucking had it with you. Look at you. Pathetically craving for my dick. You fucking slut.” He snarled at you with a thrust of his hips. “The least you can do is take it like a good girl.”

“Fuck you, Noah.” You cursed him out, your voice not more than a breath. You saw how Noah smiled at you, feeling how you clenched around him at his words, before leaning down, pressing his lips to yours as he slowly began to move.

His lips drowned out your sweet noises and he couldn’t help but feel like he belonged right where he was. He sped up, desperately trying to stay quiet. But god, you felt so good.

“Noah.” You moaned, scratching your nails down his back. “Don’t stop… fuck… Please, I-…”

He cut you off with another kiss, whining at the way his name sounded out of your mouth.

“God, I’m gonna cum.” He whined as his hips smashed into you. “I need to feel you cum around me.”

He felt how your legs tightened around him as a small pain shot through your core from the roughness of your actions.

“I’m-…” You stuttered out. “I’m on the pill. Cum inside me.” You pushed your ankles into him, not even giving him the chance to pull out. Not like he wanted to.

“Fuck!” Noah shouted out, his hips starting to stutter as he slowly started to spill inside of you. You felt his hot cum on the walls of your pussy as you breathed out his name. He didn’t stop, fucking you through your orgasm, until he collapsed on top of you, not being able to continue.

It was quiet after that. A silent agreement that he would stay the night, as he slowly pulled out of you, rolling on his back next to you.

As you curled up in his arms, he couldn’t help but feel the pride in his chest. It was everything he ever wanted. You were in his arms, with his cum inside of you, for once not talking about his best friend. While you fell asleep almost immediately, his mind was still racing. He was disturbed in his thought process when he saw his phone lighting up. When he looked at it after some time, he saw messages. Several messages. All from Nick.

He decided to ignore them...

dividers by @saradika-graphics

TAGLIST: @measuredingold @cncohshit @circle-with-me @jilliemiw86 @justeli6 @sitkowski @exitwoundsx

[benewitch]

Okay guys, I woke up this morning and the Silco brainrot is in full-force (yeah, I am yearning for him again). And there it is. The reason why I think Silco’s Act 1 outfit is his best one (considering both seasons). It’s gonna be a lengthy one.

From our take of his introduction Silco is a character built upon striking contrasts, stuck between the two worlds of Piltover and Zaun. A handsome man with horrifically scared face. A crimelord with a silver tongue. A loving father and a master manipulator. His type of intelligence isn’t associated with science but with the human nature- he reads people like an open book, always one step ahead. And he isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty- either by wielding a knife or a gun (even brute force).

THAT'S THE SAME MAN, RIGHT???

Someone mentioned before how strange it was for Silco to exchange his old clothes for that expensive tree piece suit, that has more value in gold than the yearly salary of someone from the Undercity (he HATES pilties, right???). Even in the AU (where he was indeed a councilor), his choice of clothing is still elegant and speaks of his status, but is not nearly as posh. And I think it served his character in a very particular way- “…we need to scare them…”. It was more of a façade, a power and control situation. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was an answer to his slipping control (with Marcus, with the Chem-Barons, with Jinx, with the Firelights), a desperate need to remind of his status when other measures failed to do so. And especially his coat. He always wears it when he wants to intimidate. Just like some species of animals trying to scare off predators (imagine a porcupine spreading its quills or a horned owl). I am also thinking of this outfit as more of mimicry- imitating the predator(pilties) in hopes to trick it (okay, okay, that's enough biology stuff).

That’s what made me consider the Act 1 outfit as the “true” Silco outfit that falls perfectly in line with the narrative that he will never be a piltie, but he is neither a “true zauinite” as we might expect. The outfit itself is a perfect blend of contradictions. An expensive looking vest worn over a simple cotton, red striped shirt. Trousers tailored in the way Piltover men wear them, falling at the seams and held together at multiple places (belt, bandages?). Perfectly clean and pressed clothes (the strking white of his tie) paired with mismatched boots. And the cunty wristband?

Something more I want you to take into consideration is the LANGUAGE Silco uses. I went through the transcripts of the first few episodes. Every single zaunite character that you encounter (even children) don’t seem bothered to slip out curses or profanities (shit, fuck-up, son of a bitch, trencher trash, piss off, STUFF THEM IN THE OLD BABY MAKER). And guess who is the only one that breaks this rule? Silco has a very rich and distinctive vocabulary; his lines seem perfectly arranged (imagine a debate between him and Mel or Cassandra).

If you read this far, thank you! I had a lot of fun writing this (especially the animal part 😂🤦🏻‍♀️), and I hope you enjoyed it as well! 🫶🏻