#like. again. I do have very charming ears. that’s a fact.

[alex-thegiraffeboyy]

Chapter 6: Serendipidy

Bewitched Masterlist

Summary: They meet after 7 years. But they swear that everything is Serendipidy

Words: 2.1k

Warning: Constantly changes of POV's

N/A: I'm trying to find ways to get through the end of Arcane. Expect continuous updates.💕

Serendipidy: the faculty or phenomenon of finding valuable or agreeable things not sought for.

Since Violet left Stillwater there has been a strange feeling in her chest. A feeling she can't put a name to.

She walks beside the enforcer, Caitlyn, for a while before she starts running and jumping across the rooftops of the place where she grew up. It's at that moment that she feels that tug in her chest again, and that's when it hits her. She's excited, but at the same time she feels terribly desolate and anxious. She feels sad and melancholy.

She passes by streets she used to frequent and realizes how much things have changed. Stalls that used to be there in her childhood are now closed or new stores take their place. She feels like she doesn't recognize anything even though she knows where she is.

She feels like a stranger in her own home.

🦋

The day Vi returned to the Lanes you can sense that something is going on. But you don't know what.

It's like a tingling in the back of your neck, a dull sound throbbing in your ears. But you don't think much of it, you have better things to worry about than this.

So you keep busy, as usual. You stop by the kitchen as you do every morning to help make breakfast for everyone, you stand there for a while and chat with people as they arrive, and when you see Ekko arrive with Scar you join them to sit down for breakfast at one of the tables while they coordinate for the day's activities.

"I'm going to make rounds today to oversee how everything is going after the raid on the ship last week" Ekko commented as he ate, looking at the two of you one at a time. He paused for a moment at you, noticing that you seemed distracted, you hadn't touched your food much, that tingle still nagging at the back of your neck, making your stomach churn "You come with me?"

You shake your head sideways, not turning to look at him, you didn't dare "Nope, I have things to check and reorganize in the warehouse. My next monitoring season out of the tree is coming up, so I have to know how much I have to earn and bring when I get back" you decide to take a bite of your food after a moment, you're not very hungry, but you won't waste that food "Besides, I promised Elma I'd help her with the new portraits on the mural".

After a while the three of you say goodbye and part ways, each going to their respective places.

But as you make your way to the mural you realize something. You almost didn't see it, almost stepped on it, in fact. But that tingle made you look at just the right moment. A four-leaf clover.

You stared at it for a few seconds, remembering when you used to look for them with Powder, a healthy competition between sisters. You almost always found them, but you always gave them to Powder "So Mylo can't tell you that you're unlucky" you used to tell her. That's why Vi sometimes teased you by call you that you were her good luck charm. But you didn't get too carried away with that memory, so you shook your head and kept walking.

🦋

After a few laps around undercity and stopping to eat and get information at Jericho's she headed with the grumpy enforcer to the brothel. There Babette filled her in on the current situation on the Lanes and offered her information on where she could find Sevika.

Vi thanked and hesitated for a moment, wrung her hands against each other nervously. She didn't need to ask, Babette was going to tell her anyway.

"She's fine," Babette tells her in a soft tone, fearing that if she spoke too loudly it might make Vi snap.

"What?" Babette responded with your name softly, watching as the girl in front of her took a shaky breath before daring to ask more. "Do you know anything about her, do you know where I can find her?" The woman could only shake her head.

"She stops here from time to time to drop off some things for me to defend the girls and the business. She told me she's coming next week. I don't know where she lives, but I know you're not going to find her on the streets of Zaun" And though Babette was tempted to tell her that there were a few years you worked for her, she knew that was not for her to tell her. That was your decision.

Violet, now more hopeful than before, thanks Babette and gets up from the couch to walk to the person who will lead her to the person who should provide her with the information she needs.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees some lucky dimes. And only then she decide to believe that it will bring her luck. Because remember that for you this kind of thing has always been important.

Maybe it will help her get to you.

🦋

That tingling keeps going throughout the morning and early afternoon. You scratch a couple of times and start to think you might get sick.

You hope you're wrong.

Although you have to admit that painting helps. It makes your head go quiet for a while. It also helps with that incessant tingling and anxious feeling.

Ekko stops by to say goodbye before leaving the lair. You wish him luck and give him a hug, and before he can take two steps towards the exit you stop him, remembering the clover you saw that morning. You run over to the spot and grab it from the floor before returning to your brother, tucking it into his jacket pocket.

"I know you don't need it, but it never hurts" Ekko shakes his head, a smile on his lips as he says goodbye to you again, this time for real.

Something tells you it's going to be an interesting afternoon.

🦋

At that moment, as she bleeds out, Violet sees you again in her hallucinations. She sees you playing with her sister and wandering around what was once her home.

She still remembers the time she brought you here. She remembers telling you about what her life was like then as she held your hand tightly, keeping from crying and how you held her and hugged her when she eventually broke down. She remembers your warmth and the gentleness and softness with which you held her.

God, she wishes you were there to hold her hand at that moment. She misses you so much

🦋

Ekko expected almost anything after spending 7 years on this.

Nothing could have prepared him for meeting a friend he thought was dead. The same one who found herself with an executioner and Jinx.

Nothing good could be happening, but he decided to give her a chance. He owed it to her and to himself.

But most of all to his sister.

So he puts bags over Vi and the enforcer's heads and leads them to the firelights' lair. He is grateful that you are not in sight, imagine you're still checking things out in the hold.

His companions take them to a secluded room while he takes a moment to breathe. He wants to tell you so badly... But he doesn't want to get your hopes up if Vi has decided on a different side. So he keeps silent. Soon one of his companions lets him know that they've both woken up, so he gives the go-ahead. He takes a big breath of air and lets it out slowly, just as you have taught him since he was a child. He puts his mask back on as he hears footsteps approaching.

On your side things weren't much better. Since a few minutes ago that tingling had become more intense, it had been there for so long that it was almost starting to overstimulate you.

You tried to breathe as you normally did, but nothing seemed to want to calm that sensation. Something was happening, or so your body wanted you to believe. You hate anxiety with all your heart.

So you resort to what has served you best all these years. Busyness. You go through and count supply by supply, item by item and put them on lists. You give instructions and ask question after question. You rearrange and rearrange, you do everything you can so that eventually your anxiety will subside and leave you alone. But your frustration only gets bigger and bigger when you realize it's still there, haunting you.

Meanwhile Ekko was talking to Vi, who after having ironed out the kinks and doled out some affection had worked up enough courage to ask about you.

"I knew you'd ask that" he replies looking at her with a smirk. So he opens the door and waits for her to adjust to the light. He tells her a bit about how you both found this place. Though of course he leaves out a few things (only because he knows it's up to you whether you want her to know or not). He shows her a few things as they walk, keeping up a light conversation as they go along.

And Violet can't pretend she's not anxious. Her hands clasp against each other every so often. Her smile trembles a little and her eyes move to everything and nothing. A warm feeling stirring in her chest.

And the butterflies. The ones she thought were already dead because they hadn't fluttered for so long, start fluttering all over her system, making her feel like she's 15 again. Reminding her of all the times she went looking for you at Benzo's to confess how she's loved you from the start, only to take a step back. Every time.

But not this time.

Finally Ekko stops in front of a thick metal door. He lets out a sigh before looking at it. "It may be a bit difficult. I ask you to be patient."

Vi nods slowly, feeling even more nervous. Ekko reaches into his pocket and pulls out the clover you gave him that morning, handing it to Vi. "A little luck never hurts, don't you think?"

Vi doesn't need to ask. She knows you found it, you've always had a knack for that. Then, slowly but surely, Ekko opens the metal door, lets the girl in, then goes in himself and closes it.

He greets a couple of people and gestures for them to come out. Violet's eyes move from side to side, looking for you.

You, on the other hand, don't hear the door open, too busy organizing. You move from side to side, unable to stand still. What you do feel is that the tingling suddenly runs through your whole body before it stops. You crouch for a moment between the boxes, feeling relief for the first time that day.

Ekko pulls out a last couple of people while Vi stands paralyzed, only one person is left at the end of the room, among some boxes and stacked objects. She almost doesn't notice you there, crouching down, massaging your neck. She only catches a glimpse of your hair, as messy as she remembers it. But maybe a little longer.

"Everything okay over there Sunny?" Vi can feel the air attacking in her throat as she hears the sound of your tired laughter.

"Kinda tired, but I'm better" you reply in a tired voice as you stand up and stretch your body. Vi can feel her heart racing as her eyes begin to sting.

A sob threatens to come from her throat, but Violet forces herself to keep her mouth shut. Her hands clench into fists as she watches you turn toward them.

"Remember that discomfort I told you I had in the morning? A while ago it stopped and-" you quickly shut your mouth when you see a pink-haired girl crying in front of you. Your heart races as you see the strong resemblance, but you don't allow yourself to hope. "Ekko... What's-?"

Vi makes a crooked smile "Hey Sunshine" she manages to whisper with a broken voice.

Your eyes start to sting. No one here calls you like that. Everyone knows you by your first name or as Sunny (this last one is only with Ekko and some friends). You never let anyone else call you Sunshine. You couldn't stand it. So when you heard it...

"Violet?"

Your suspicions come true.

Vi lets out a small laugh combined with a sob, nodding as she walks towards you.

You bring your hands to your mouth as a loud sob escapes your lips, shaking your head. "No... You're not... You can't..."

Vi quickly finishes reaching up to you and holds you against her. A firm but delicate grip. You too wrap your arms around her clinging to her jacket. The crying from both of you getting louder.

"I missed you so much" Vi manages to utter between sobs. You, on the other hand, feel unable to speak, so you just nod into the hollow of her neck.

Time seems to stand still when you both finally hold each other in your arms.

Four-leaf clovers, lucky dimes and cosmic coincidences.

But they swear it's a coincidence.

The best coincidence of their lives. Finding each other again.

[stylishanachronism]

WHAT IS IT WITH PEOPLE AND MY EARS???????

[lovemomhatepolice]

what brought back that smile? - lando norris

navigation taglist requests

pairing: lando norris x fem! reader

warnings: kinda established relationship, fresh relationship, curious muppets!, English is my second language!

type: fluff, pure fluff

word count: 3,5k

summary: 5 times when someone asked the reason for Lando's sudden surge of happiness, but he preferred to keep his sweet secrets to himself

more content: f1 masterlist, lando norris masterlist, birthday one-shot

Since Lando Norris broke up with his then-girlfriend Luishina in 2022, no one has seen him this happy since. Of course, there have been moments where Lando walked around smiling - for example, when he won his first race in Miami or partying with friends in Ibiza. On more than one occasion, fans saw him joking and laughing until his stomach hurt with other drivers, but further down the line, everyone knew that the old Lando was gone. The one who laughed through love. The one foolishly in love, who proved it at every turn. Since his former relationship, Lando hasn't bonded with anyone - there were only rumors of fleeting romances or PR relationships. Until recently. In fact, no one knows when it took place. And since when Lando felt like a foolishly infatuated boy again.

THE FIRST TIME: Oscar Piastri When Oscar noticed changes in Lando's behavior, it was not much before the Japanese race. Or at least it wasn't so visible before. Norris was walking around smiling from ear to ear, constantly forgetting what he should do or who he should talk to about the changes in the car. No one paid much attention to it, and Oscar initially tried to ignore it as well, and winning in Miami a month later further eclipsed the spy's thoughts. After all, Lando had won his first race after so long in Formula One and so many times standing on the podium. The Mclaren drivers weren't the best of friends on the grid, but Oscar knew it wasn't because of winning the race. Or at least not just because of that.

Oscar was curious, even if he said very little about his life, the Lando case drilled him from the bottom up. And it started off small.

One morning 2 weeks after the Miami race, Lando showed up for a meeting with a goofy smile on his face. His attention was focused on everything during the strategy discussion, his mind was clearly elsewhere.

“Are you okay?” asked Oscar, poking his teammate under the table. As if awakened from his trance, Lando stopped tapping his fingers against his thigh and turned his head toward the Australian, smiling that silly grin again. “Yeah, all good, mate. “ he asked, tilting his head to the side. Oh, how foolishly charmed he was. “Why do you ask?”

Oscar shrugged. “I dunno. You just seem... happier these days. What brought back that smile?”

The question hung in the air for a long moment. Lando hung his head and laughed quietly under his breath, as if he was thinking whether he wanted to say it or rather not. And that was the option he chose, keeping his new infatuation to himself.

“Well, you know, buddy, I won a race recently. A chance to celebrate, huh?”

Oscar laughed, but couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else behind that smile, and that Lando was lying right in his eyes. Something - or someone - had brought back that trademark Lando smile. But Oscar decided to let it go for now.

Meanwhile, Lando was smiling to himself. Was it really that noticeable? Could everyone now know his sweet secret?

Such questions were cluttering his mind, but he tried not to worry about them. They were quickly superseded by thoughts of [Y.N]. It was wild how fast she had slipped into his life. What had started as a chance meeting turned into hours of effortless conversation, late-night phone calls, and a connection that had somehow brought him back to life. He hadn't felt this way since…. well, he couldn't remember the last time. And that was the point of it all.

MUPPETS: Carlos Sainz Jr Carlos had known Lando since 2019, so this year was their 5th anniversary of knowing each other. From the very beginning, the men, despite the age difference, got along great. And they soon became friends, too, supporting each other in worse and better moments. You could say they knew each other like the back of their hand, so while Lando was drifting away more and more each possible time during their conversations, the Spaniard had no more questions or thoughts. He was well aware that his younger friend's head was occupied by not something, but someone.

The sun beat down on the lush green of the golf course, the Spanish heat was unrelenting even in the early hours of the day. Carlos set up for his shot, squinting against the blinding glare, while Lando stood to the side, waiting his turn. It was a rare moment of calm before the chaos of the Spanish Grand Prix weekend, and Carlos was glad to be spending it with his best friend.

Until he saw Lando miss every time, which hadn't happened all that often before. Well, okay, Lando was worse than Carlos at golf, but to that extent?

And those constant glances at the phone, which he was so reluctant to leave in the golf cart.

“Ay, muppet. What the hell is wrong with you?” rang out Carlos' voice as he hit the ball.

Of course it flew cleanly where it was supposed to fly. But what's the pleasure of playing as your friend drills a hole in the grass with his club, his other hand constantly checking his phone screen?

"Huh?" Lando snapped out of his trance. This had been happening to him more and more often lately, nay, it had been happening to him for more than three months now.

“You’ve been smiling like an idiot all day,” Carlos teased, though his tone was softer, more curious than mocking. “Actually, you’ve been like this for weeks like not months now. So, tell me—who is she?”

Lando’s cheeks flushed pink, and he quickly turned his attention to the golf ball at his feet, fiddling with his club. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, but there was a grin he couldn’t quite suppress. And in fact, I don't think he wanted to get rid of it.

Carlos laughed, poking Lando playfully on the shoulder. “Come on, cabrón. I know you too well and it's been a long time since you've been this happy. So who's the lucky girl? Who brought back that smile?”

Lando sighed under his breath - he knew he could trust Carlos, he was his best friend. He just liked the fact that he and [Y.N] were in a closed bubble of happiness that they had made for themselves in three months. Of course it was still fresh and nothing was certain yet, but Lando gave in. To whom as to whom, but to Carlos he already had to tell. It was drilling him from the inside.

“It's … nothing serious,” Lando finally said, shrugging his shoulders as if it was no big deal. “It's just… I'm meeting someone. I'm trying to keep it discreet.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Dude, I've known you long enough to know when you're serious about someone,” he said, and his voice became softer. “And if she makes you smile like that, I'd say it's more than a casual.”

Lando bit his lip, trying to hide the smile that threatened to break through. The truth was that [Y.N] had quickly become the best part of his days.

“Maybe,” he admitted, finally meeting Carlos' gaze. “But for now it's just … between us, sure?

Carlos clapped Lando on the back, a broad grin on his face. “I’m happy for you, hermano. And don’t worry—I won’t tell anyone. But I have to say, it’s good to see you like this again.”

They both laughed and Lando already knew he was lost. Together, with Carlos, were like the biggest gossips, so he quickly unlocked his phone, even jumping up and down with happiness, wanting to show Carlos some pictures of them together. What luck befell him when he found out that [Y.N] also loves to take pictures.

Carlos leaned closer, curious. Lando pulled out a photo from a few weeks ago - from his once-in-a-lifetime date with [Y.N]. They were sitting on a blanket in a meadow somewhere by the water, the golden sunset casting a warm glow over them. The girl's head was tilted toward him and resting on his shoulder, her eyes were crinkling with laughter, and Lando looked happier than Carlos had seen him in a long time. His hand was on the girl's shoulders, visibly embracing her closer to him.

“I want her to be the one, you know?” muttered Lando, smiling even wider when he saw the notification from her.

LUCKY CHARM: Lando's parents Lando was able to hide his fresh relationship from his friends, from his fans and from the rest of the world. But he definitely couldn't hide it from his parents and siblings. Not even a month of knowing [Y.N] had passed when he vividly talked about how much he had fallen in love and how he hoped she was the one and last woman in his life. His loved ones were damn happy to finally see the most sincere smile of his entire life on the face of this little Lando Norris.

The air around Silverstone was charged with electricity, and the energy of the home crowd gave Lando joy like no other race on the calendar. Walking through the bustling paddock, he felt lighter than he had in years. It wasn't just the thrill of racing on his own track - it was the realization that somewhere among the sea of faces there was [Y.N], watching him.

Fortunately, he managed to smuggle her into a private hospitality suite, away from prying cameras, journalists and fans. They had been seeing each other for almost four months, in truth they were not a couple, but everything was going for it. Lando wasn't the only one who was foolishly infatuated with the relationship; the girl, like him, walked around with her head in the clouds, as her university colleagues or friends seemed to notice more than once. But in her case it was easier to hide, after all, she didn't have a million eyes on her like Lando did.

When Lando entered his private area in the Mclaren garage, he immediately noticed his parents, sisters and brother, who were smiling at him from ear to ear. The entire Norris family had a close relationship with each other, so of course everyone knew about Lando's new sweetheart, whom he had been dating with for four months.

“And there's our smiling boy!” laughed Lando's mother, hugging her son tightly. The driver laughed under his breath, hugging his family one by one, fortunately in a place where the eyes of others did not reach and they could have a moment of peace. “I'm glad you're all here,” Lando said, stroking his younger sister Flo's hair.

“How could we not be here?” asked Oliver, Lando's brother, laughing under his breath.

The atmosphere was great, however, everyone knew this question would come sooner than perhaps it should?

“Well, you know what, tell us where she is,” said Lando's dad, poking him lightly on the shoulder. “You're laughing so hard, I won't believe she's not here.”

“Yes! Show us finally what brought back that smile,” said his mom, echoing her husband.

Lando felt his face heat up, but he couldn’t keep the grin from spreading. “You two don’t miss a thing, do you?” he said, shaking his head.

“We just want to meet her,” his mum said softly, eyes twinkling with warmth. “We’ve heard so much about her, and if she’s the reason our son’s been so happy lately, we’d love to say hello.”

After a moment's thought, Lando nodded. “All right. I'll bring her - but behave,” he said with nervous but excited energy.

Lando slipped stealthily out of the garage and headed for his room, which only he and a few Mclaren people had access to. Although it was a rather hidden place, [Y.N] did not complain. She could wait out the time until the race in peace, just as she could go out to Mclaren's garage and watch it there. Lando made her as comfortable as possible.

When the girl saw him, she raised her eyes and smiled warmly in his direction. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yes, everything is fine,” he assured her, taking her hand in his. At the same time, he forced her to get up from the soft couch. “But… there is someone who wants to meet you. My family is even dying to meet the woman of my heart.”

The girl took a deep breath and smiled. “I'd love to meet them.”

Holding hands, they returned to the hospitality. When they went inside, Lando's mother sighed quietly and immediately crossed the room to hug [Y.N]. “Oh, how nice to finally meet you,” she said, and her voice was filled with sincere warmth.

“She's beautiful,” Cisca whispered, looking at Lando. The boy only whispered a quiet “I know” and laughed under his breath.

Immediately the whole family greeted the girl, hugging her tightly and bestowing kind words on her, including telling her how happy they were that she was making Lando so happy again. And everything was somehow better. His parents and siblings were talking to the girl he'd had in his heart for several months, and everything was going smoothly. Lando was just standing off to the side, keeping his hand on her back and giving her a little kiss to make her feel better. But he was probably the most stressed one there.

Lando checked his watch, feeling the familiar pre-start jitters begin to overwhelm him. But today he felt a little better than usual.

“I have to go now,” he said reluctantly, turning to face the girl. His parents moved away to give them a moment of privacy.

“You can do it, you're amazing on the track,” she purred, placing her hands on his shoulders and gently correcting his suit.

Lando merely smiled in her direction and without hesitation placed his hand on her cheek and leaned in, pressing their lips together in a quick but tender kiss. This was not how they had imagined their first kiss, but in that moment it was their best memory and the time this kiss could have happened. Lando pulled away from [Y.N], their eyes met and they both smiled at each other, giggling under their breath.

Lando checked his watch, feeling the familiar pre-race jitters starting to creep in.

“I’ve got to go,” he said reluctantly, turning to her. His parents stepped back to give them a moment of privacy.

“Good luck out there,” she whispered, her eyes shining with pride. “You’re going to do amazing.”

Lando smiled, but there was a flicker of nerves in his eyes. “I hope so. This one’s important,” he said softly.

[Y.N] reached up, cupping his cheek with her hand. “You’ve got this, Lando. I believe in you.”

Without thinking, Lando leaned in, pressing his lips to hers in a swift, impulsive kiss. It wasn’t planned, but in that moment, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. He pulled back, their eyes locking, and they both smiled.

“For good luck,” he whispered, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

And even if he came in third place after the race, it didn't bother him much. He won something better and it was an amazing woman.

HI IBIZA: Max Fewtrell stream Max knew Lando since they were kids. Both could not imagine life without the other person, they were inseparable. Even if it didn't work out for them to be Formula One drivers by their side, it didn't change anything. They were always side by side, and as soon as Max heard about Lando's new crush, he knew this was the one. Norris had never talked so seriously and eagerly about any girl before. And Max liked to tease him about it. But at the same time, he was damn happy.

The warm glow of sunset in Ibiza paints everything with a golden sheen. Lando Norris, Max Fewtrell and their group of friends held a casual live stream at their bungalow, which they rented for the whole group of friends. This stream was definitely different from their typical ones, where they played games on two different sides of the screen, but that was good too.

Everyone was more muted than at times when they were playing and shouting at each other. However, the biggest difference could be felt in Lando. He was more subdued, gently but sincerely smiling, and his eyes shone with such happiness that you could envy him.

The stream had been going on for about an hour, and the fans didn't run out of questions. They were inundated with the same questions as always, but today they had more opportunity to answer them because they weren't stressed by the background game. Lando kept getting questions about the Championship, the races, the competition and some side silliness. Until Max caught one significant comment among thousands of others. And of course he had to ask them.

Fan comment: "Lando, what brought back that smile? It's been a long time since we've seen you so happy, and of course that's great, but what's your secret?"

Max looks at Lando with a smile and winks. "Good question," he says, leaning back in his chair. "So, man, what's been making you so happy lately?"

"Oh, you know. Life has been better lately. Beautiful weather, sunshine, we have a beach house. The break from racing is good for me too, my head isn't as busy," Lando replied, playing with his hair and smiling under his breath.

Oh how he lied, how he lied to keep his bubble of happiness calm even longer.

"Really? Gee, I guess I agree with that comment, you're somehow happier lately," said Max, glancing at Lando with a teasing look. He remembered well how Lando had talked down his relationship on the stream, but he wasn't going to do the same to him. "Or maybe you've found a hobby other than Formula One?"

"Maybe," he laughed lightly under his breath, feeling the warmth inside his body. "I guess I just got old and I'm not that rebellious 20-year-old anymore "

"Oh, it's definitely old age, you name it" Max laughed and went back to looking for interesting comments, leaving the matter of Lando's happiness. He wanted his friend to still have peace from prying eyes.

After the stream was over, everyone went their separate ways. Some decided to have a bonfire, but Lando felt he needed the solitude. He walked out to the beach, which they had right outside the gate of their cottage, and felt the cooler evening wind brush his face. He smiled under his breath when he saw [Y.N] by the shore. It wasn't a smile that the cameras could see; he reserved this one for her alone.

The girl was wearing a white loose dress that swayed gently in the wind, and her hair was tousled by the wind. It wasn't a moment before she heard him and gently turned toward him, giving him a beautiful smile. "Have you finished the stream yet?"

"It's been a while now," Lando stepped closer, feeling the sand under his feet surround him pleasantly. "I had to get away from the chaos. And the fans are getting curious, they asked what secret I have"

Girl raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Secret? What secret?"

Lando smiles mischievously and walks closer. "That I'm the happiest I've been in years." - he says in a quiet but sincere voice.

[Y.N] smiles, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight. Without another word, she steps into his arms, and Lando doesn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her, pulling her close. They stand there for a moment, just the two of them, the sound of the waves crashing in the background. Lando takes a deep breath and places a kiss on her hair, pulling her even closer to him. It was the peace he had needed for a long time

FIRST CHRISMTAS: [Y.N] Lando and [Y.N] had been together for almost half a year. Their lives were filled with happiness that neither of them had ever experienced before. From the first day, they understood each other like two peas in a pod, and that's how it stayed. That's why she was surprised by how happy Lando was.

The couple in love are together in the kitchen, with the countertop in front of them strewn with flour and other ingredients for making gingerbread cookies. [Y.N] is wearing one of Lando's voluminous sweaters and humming a Christmas carol, pacing next to the countertop. Lando, on the other hand, dressed in his loose Mclaren T-shirt and Christmas pajama pants, is trying to roll out the dough, but it's not going well. His hands are covered in flour and the dough keeps sticking to the rolling pin. Well, it's easier to say that his whole body is covered in flour.

"Do you need help, chef?" - asks [Y.N], leaning against the countertop and looking at him with an amused smile.

Lando raises his gaze, feigning impatience. "It's harder than it looks, sure?" - He laughs, combing his flour-dusted hair with his hand. "I thought baking was supposed to be easy."

"It's easy, you just have some manual problems," the girl laughs and moves to his side, gently taking the rolling pin from his hands. "Here, let me," she says, guiding him to the side. Their fingers brush as she takes over, a soft, tender moment.

"Sure, my baking queen," the boy laughs, looking at her with adoration.

"You could do the icing." the girl says, pointing to the already made gingerbread cookies.

Lando's eyes brighten, his smile widening. "Icing, huh? That's sounds better." He grabs a piping bag and starts filling it, but as he attempts to pipe a simple design, it all goes horribly wrong.

“Lando!” she laughs, her eyes crinkling with amusement. The icing has spilled everywhere.

He looks down at his hands, dripping with icing. “Well, that’s not what I had in mind…” He shrugs sheepishly.

“You’re adorable when you try, you know that?” She leans in and wipes a bit of icing from his cheek, her thumb brushing against his skin.

“And you’re just adorable,” he says, moving closer to her.

Lando’s hands quickly find their place on her waist, and his face is twisted into a genuine big smile. They both giggle, putting the matter of the cookies aside.

“What brought that smile again, huh?” the girl asks, touching his lips, which is also dirty with icing.

“You,” he says simply, and his voice carries a quiet sincerity that makes her heart skip a beat. "It was always you"

For a moment, they both stand in silence, the hum of the Christmas music in the background, the quiet crackling of the small fire in the corner of the livingroom adding to the coziness of the apartment. It’s a peaceful stillness, the kind that only exists between two people who’ve found something real.

A/N: i know it's no nut november and this should be smut but i swear when i had a vision i had to write this. i hope you like it because i won't lie, i fucking love it!

please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

[alice-everafter]

"Were you aware that you talk in your sleep?"

Through the haze of tiredness, Vil's voice rings clear, as it so often does. It takes a few too many blinks to will the grogginess away. But when it does, you turn on your side towards him. He's in a position mirroring your own, his form highlighted by the early morning rays of sunlight leaking in through the window behind him. Swathed in blankets that have clearly seen better days, as was typical of Ramshackle grade furnishing.

"...Good morning to you too, Vil."

He doesn't reply with any words, merely a hum of acknowledgement.

It's unfair how perfect he can look so soon after waking. Cause you know for a fact your hair is in tangles under your head. Makes you feel like a true potato, as he so calls you.

You're reminded of the circumstances behind this current arrangement as he eyes your drowsy self calmly. Turns out, even after renovations, Ramshackle is still ramshackle. It only took one flop onto your bed for the legs holding up the bedframe to give out entirely. The sound had attracted the whole VDC squad, so they got to bare witness to probably one of the most embarrassing moments of your life. Well, Ace made certain that it was, at least.

Originally content to sleep on a slightly shorter than usual bed, Vil had been quite adamant on not letting you. Something about bugs and possibilities of them infesting the mattress. It didn't really matter to you, but somehow you found yourself in his room. Rather, one of your guest rooms. And that was where you still were, letting him eye you down like a product on display.

"...Something on my face?"

"Yes, drool."

Nice to know that Vil's charm was present every hour of the day.

"...What was this about me talking in my sleep?" You try to nonchalantly swipe a hand over your mouth, but it fails spectacularly. Nothing gets past this man.

"You mumble all sorts of nonsense." He looks like a Renaissance painting as he brushes a stray lock from his eyes, tucking it elegantly behind his ear. "I nearly thought you were awake at first, talking to yourself."

"Yes, cause that's totally what one does first thing in the morning. Talk to themself."

The sleepiness has clearly made you overly confident. If the glare he levels you is anything to go by.

"Notice how I said 'nearly.' Meaning I didn't actually think you were. Does the morning dim your wit more than normal?"

"...For someone so insistent on getting me in their bed, you're rather snappy."

"Why I never." That comment gets him riled enough to sit up. You feel tiny as he stares daggers down at you where you continue to lie. In your puddle of disarray, while he's somehow runway ready at the ass crack of dawn.

"How can you look like a Greek god first thing in the morning?" Oh, so you've decided to voice your thoughts out loud. Ok, cool, that's totally what you wanted to do. Totally.

You watch as his anger morphs into confusion. "Greek god?"

"Oh," that's right. That's a 'your world' thing, isn't it. "A reference from back home, don't worry about it."

"Hmph," he grunts. Well, you'd hardly call it a grunt. Vil wouldn't do something as barbaric as grunt. It was more like a delicate, posh scoff. But, he no longer looks as mad as he did before, so you guess it was a good thing you decided to voice your inner musings aloud. "Does this 'Greek god' happen to have flawless skin, gorgeous hair, and impeccable taste?"

You don't want to answer him, cause you know where this is going. But, again, nothing escapes the notice of this man. You're forced to watch his lips curl up into an infuriatingly hot smug grin.

"From your face, I assume so. It's kind of you to notice the obvious."

You're very well awake by now, but you still roll your eyes. You may lowkey highkey fear this man, but nothing could've held that reaction back.

"Yeah, well, they're also incredibly abnormal. Cause the rest of the population doesn't typically wake up looking like a supermodel."

"If you think I'm a supermodel now, then you must think I'm ethereal on a day to day."

You do nothing but grumble as you shuffle to sit up, rubbing leftover sleep from your eyes while pointedly ignoring how he practically preens next to you. When you instinctually card a hand through your hair, instead of it catching on knots like you expect, it goes right through.

"It's the pillow case."

Again, the bastard reads your expression like a book and promptly comments on it.

"Satin is good for both the skin and the hair."

You're tempted to call him extra, cause who brings their own pillow case to someone else's house? But the way your hair feels, how it's free from a majority of its typical morning tangles, shuts you up.

You chance a glance up at him. Head turned towards you, knees bent below the covers, an elbow rested over top, chin held primly in the palm of his hand, still haloed by the rising sun like it’s a paid actor. With an elegant quirk to his brow and an expression equal parts amused and sickly fond.

There is... something running laps in your chest. Begging to be acknowledged. To be known.

"...If you're fishing for another compliment, you'll find that I've reached my daily quota."

You swing your legs over the side of the bed as you hear him click his tongue. And no, it's not running away, but it sort of feels like it is.

"I'll go and make myself presentable before starting on breakfast. You said we needed more protein, right? I was thinking I could make omelets━"

"A shame, really."

You have no clue how he moved so silently, but he was suddenly next to you and unapologetically in your space. Brushing hair behind your ear like he was born to do it. Walking the small distance around to your front so you could see the pleased smile upon his lips and knowing twinkle in his eyes.

Damn him, you can't help but internally curse as goosebumps form where his fingers had barely even grazed. Nothing gets past him, and especially not you.

"I was so hoping for a few more compliments, because I certainly haven't reached my needed quota."

[davdcorenswet]

🌲 road trip.

scott miller x reader Synopsis: when your camping trip with scott gets cut short because of a work emergency, you nearly kill him and every member of storm par, intent on making your ire well known on the drive home. but when you push scott too far, his impatience has other plans. or “If I have to pull over, you won’t be able to walk for a week.” Word Count: 13.3k Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!!, no use of y/n, bdsm, established dom/sub dynamic, pet names (honey, sweetheart, baby), brief mentions of serial killerisms (teasingly… maybe), semi-priv public sex (in a truck), scott has a whore mouth (again), groping, belting (f! receiving), spanking/slapping (f! receiving, breasts & v), oral (m+f), nippleplay (f! receiving), unprotected pinv, orgasm denial, fingering (f), cumplay, breeding A/N: when the "just a quick one shot" turns into a beast... oops? 😬 thank you to my proud sponsor aka the scott rot™️! if you enjoyed, pls feel free to reblog or give it a like and as always, my inbox is open if you want to chat!!! 🤍

On hour two of the drive back to OKC, you think you’ve lost your mind.

What had begun as a much-anticipated weekend road trip with Scott — an incredibly overdue escape, though you weren’t exactly keeping track — had swiftly turned from enjoying the fresh, open air and the promise of an entire weekend distraction-free, to a mountain of frustration that battled the ones in the distance. All because your charming, secretly sentimental boyfriend had wanted a picture of you and the sunset for his lock screen.

If you weren’t so upset about it, you probably would’ve laughed.

But this was the fourth (fourth!) time that something had gotten in the way of your Scott Time, and, look — you needed it. So. Fucking. Badly.

Which was why when his phone had gone off again, after Scott had ignored the voicemails Javi left him, you were so, so very tempted to hurl the fucking thing into the pond. Instead, you sat there, already trying to think of a way to get your lick back with the fact that he was the one who’d insisted that going off the grid meant going off the grid and electronics simply took away from the nature of it all, the hypocritical ass. And you’d watched, with dawning realization and equal devastation, as Scott’s entire demeanor had shifted from peeved that Javi even had the audacity, to shutting his mouth and speaking in yes, sir’s and I understand, sir’s.

Oh, Marshall Riggs was going to get an absolute earful the next time y’all sat down for Sunday dinner.

But first, you had your sights set on Scott. And, quite frankly, he deserved every second of petulant that you were giving him.

When he adjusted the air conditioning, you dropped the temp lower. When he found a good station on the radio, you changed it. When he asked for one of the snacks by your seat, you munched on it first, mumbling a fake apology when you passed him a small piece. And when you finally started talking, it was one word answers: yes, no, dunno, sure, fine, whatever.

And every time he gripped the steering wheel just a little tighter, you felt vindicated by the fact that it was ticking him off.

Good. You were ticked off. And unbelievably, atrociously bored. There were only so many things you could do in his truck while you were half giving him a cold shoulder. And, well, after the last time you’d reached for the volume and he’d caught your wrist with a stern ‘knock it off’, like you were a child, you’d resorted to pouting out the window, then sifting through his middle storage, and then snooping through his glove box.

All of which were boring, in the exact way that only a man’s truck could be boring. Who didn’t have a car Chapstick, but could have packs of gum hidden everywhere? And where were the just-in-case napkins? And what did he even use pliers for?

Your brattiness — no, curiosity ��� wins over the agitation that still simmers just under the surface. You turn to Scott with a mischievous grin as you hold up the pliers. “Be honest. Are you secretly a serial killer?”

Scott glances at you, then at the pliers, before rolling his eyes with a faint smirk. “Caught me,” he deadpans, his voice carrying just enough sarcasm to draw out your giggle.

“I knew it.” You dig further into his glove box like you expect to find a pair of gloves, which stupidly has you giggling because you’d lost your mind, see, and there was no way there’d actually— Oh. Shit. He really did have gloves. “You’re the worst serial killer I’ve met. Your whole murder kit is in here and you haven’t even tried to kill me yet?”

“Getting close to it, honey,” Scott quips, a teasing edge to his voice that makes your heart flutter. His eyes stay fixed on the road, but you catch the slight twitch of his lips, betraying his amusement.

Until you keep it up, making an exaggerated show of pulling out every item you find, each discovery more dramatic than the last. The subtle tightening of his jaw tells you that rummaging through his stuff is getting more of a rise from him than your earlier silence had. His grip on the steering wheel tightens, the whites of his knuckles glowing under the moonlight, and you can’t help but feel a thrill of satisfaction at the sight.

Curling your knees to your chest with his newest item in your lap (a bundle of zip ties), you bat your lashes up at him with feigned innocence. “Am I bothering you, baby?”

“Nope.” Scott, to his credit (you pretend it’s not because you’re his girlfriend but because he just chooses to be kind), swallows down whatever shitty retort is on the tip of his tongue as he shakes his head. “Not at all.”

His eyes flick briefly to you, then back to the road, as if anchoring himself, before he plasters one of his obnoxiously fake smiles on that doesn’t reach his eyes. Your own smile slips at the blatant irritation bubbling just beneath the surface, hating that look, knowing he knew you hated when he was fake with you. He reaches over, his hand finding your knee — not in the usual affectionate squeeze, but more as a grounding gesture, a silent plea for you to stop before you push him too far.

“You might want to close that now,” he adds, his voice soft but laced with an unmistakable edge as he jerks his chin toward his still-open glove box. “Before I really lose my patience.”

“But...” you start, pouting a little, your fingers lingering on the edge of the glove box. “I was just having fun. I mean, what else could be in here? Secret spy gadgets? Hidden treasures?”

Scott’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. His patience is fraying, each word clipped and precise as he says, “Close. It. Now.”

You relent, closing it with a dramatic flourish and an equally exaggerated sigh. “Okay, okay. Glove box exploration time is over.”

Scott exhales, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “Thank you,” he mutters, though his eyes still carry a hint of irritation as he changes the radio station a couple of times, scowling at the country crooning through his speakers, before just shutting it off.

“You sure you’re okay?” You test, still pushing his limits. You figured that Scott knew you better than that. That you knew him better than that. Nearly seven months together — again, not that you were counting — and he really thought you couldn’t tell when something was off?

You continue, “Just because… Well, you seem a little stressed. Is it because you didn’t get to tie me up and torture me back there by the pond? I mean, I’m sure you’ll get another chance someday, like when cows fly, but—”

“Are you done?” Scott huffs, shooting you a look.

You don’t back down from it, leveling him with your own hard expression. When he’s forced to return to the road, breaking eye contact first, that prideful part of you purrs. He sighs. “I don’t like this any more than you do, but I don’t have any other choice. So sit down, shut up, and stop fucking with my system, please.”

He says the last through gritted teeth, and as much as you loved to antagonize him, you knew when to push and when to not. Putting the last of the stuff back where you’d found it exactly how you’d found it, you stuff your hands under your thighs and pout quietly until he visibly relaxes again.

“You’re not being very nice,” you mumble, the silence that encases you both too much to bear.

Scott runs his tongue over his teeth, then looks over at you, his expression hard. “And you’re lucky I haven’t spanked your ass raw for that attitude yet.” Surprise must flash across your face, because a smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth that he quickly masks. “What? Did you think I would just let all that slide?”

“No.”

Maybe.

“Liar.”

Damn it.

Before you can say anything else, Scott reaches over, gently but firmly tilting your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze as his eyes leave the road for a second. “Do I need to remind you of the rules?” he asks, his tone shifting from frustrated to something far more controlled and deliberate — each word laced with a quiet authority that sends a shiver down your spine and makes your blood run hot.

It’s a tone you’ve come to know all too well, one that signals a subtle shift in the dynamic between you, a reminder of exactly who’s in charge.

To anyone else, it might have sounded like another classic Scott lecture — a stern word from someone who was used to being in control. But you knew this side of him intimately well, understood the depths of what he was really asking. This wasn’t just about a conversation or setting you straight; it was a command, a subtle but potent assertion of the power he held over you.

“Answer me,” he prompts, his voice dropping to a low, steady hum that makes your pulse race. “Yes or no, honey.”

“No,” you breathe, testing the waters of defiance.

“Let’s try that again.” Scott’s grip remains steady on the wheel, but the weight of his gaze feels like a tightening hold around you. “No, what?” he asks, his voice low and demanding, leaving no room for anything but the correct response.

You swallow. The tension between you is thick and electric. “No, sir.”

He holds your gaze for a moment that feels like an eternity, long enough for you to actually worry about him being behind the wheel. But a quick glance at the road reassures you — he’s in complete control, staying perfectly between the lines, maintaining a comfortable distance from the cars ahead and behind.

His eyes flicker to your mouth, lingering there with a deliberate intensity. “We’ll see.”

A noise of discontent escapes you immediately when he returns to his side of the truck as if nothing happened, all the air leaving your lungs. We’ll see. That was it? No good girl? It’s a reprimand all on its own, defiance filling you quickly.

What was the point of his rules if he wasn’t going to listen to them?

First with his phone, which had gotten you here in the first place, and now this. You pout, crossing your arms as you glare at the car in front of you, hating everything about this weekend. God, you’d both been so exhausted from the drive to the campsite that you hadn’t even touched him like he’d promised you could **— **on top of the week he’d already instructed you not to touch yourself.

And now Scott was going to be buried in work again. He’d drop you off at home just to drive another hour or two to who the hell knew where, and from there it was back to the office to get the paperwork rolling, call the banks, pouring hour after hour into making sure this deal went through. All because Riggs had decided his time off was more important than yours.

But it wasn’t. You’d waited eons for this. And you were damned if you were going to let both him and Scott stop you.

Slowly, so slowly, you angle yourself toward your boyfriend, his eyes distant as he readjusts in his seat and fishes absentmindedly for a piece of gum to smack on. For a moment you can’t help but admire him, appreciating the way he filled out the seat, the way his jaw worked with the gum, how when he got lost in his thoughts and had a particularly interesting idea he swiped his fingers along his perfect, full mouth.

He was masculine without any effort, intelligent and calculating, and, despite this weekend, was the most attentive boyfriend you’d ever had.

And you ached for him.

Just that tone shift alone — from Scott to sir — had spiked your temperature, leaving you warm with the lack of air conditioning. You knew better than to reach for the knobs, even if the thought of him pinning your wrist down had your thighs pressing together. So you shift forward to unzip his jacket you’d stolen, meaning to shimmy it off, when you catch his eyes on you.

Instead of taking it off completely, you let the gray fabric bunch to your elbows. His eyes slide from the way it now sits on you to your white tank top before focusing back on the road, his gum making that unmistakable snap! he always did. “What’re you doing?” He asks, stealing another glance as you wriggle in the seat.

“Just hot, baby,” you hum, which wasn’t a lie.

But there’s no way to be subtle as you collect your hair into a ponytail and tie it with your scrunchie, just like there’s no way Scott can be subtle as he zeroes in on your hair being up or the fact that your tits jiggle with every bump or dip in the road. His hand flexes on the wheel, quick to snap his attention to the mirrors, as if he’d been checking them in the first place.

You bite back a smile.

By the time Scott is pressing on the brakes, an accident brings the two-lane down to one, one foot is propped up on his dashboard, your head turned to face him with every sigh that leaves your lips. With nothing to pull his attention now other than the slow crawl, his eyes catch yours again, his guard dropping as he falsely believes you’ve listened.

And that’s when you make your move.

“Baby,” you groan, wetting your lips as your fingers brush across his sleeve. Your other hand rests against your knee, slipping down along your thigh while you bat thick lashes up at him. “Can you turn the air on, please? I’m dying.”

“Mhm.” Scott does, following the invisible line your fingers paint across your skin as the air kicks on. The cool air is welcomed and the content noise that leaves you isn’t entirely fabricated. When his hand drops to rest on your thigh, you know he feels how flushed you are under his cold touch. And you know he feels you arch into it. “How’s that? Better?”

“’ Little.” Not even close, but you play it up now that you’ve got him. “Still too hot.”

“Sorry, honey,” Scott’s deep voice is genuine, frowning a bit as he squeezes your thigh. “Got it the lowest it can go. Need me to roll a window down?”

You shake your head. “It’d just bring all the hot air in.” Something he should’ve known, but you couldn’t blame him for being a little distracted. You press on, confident, still inflecting that whine in your voice. “Your hand feels good, though.”

His touch inches up your thigh in response, sure that he’s not even aware he’s doing it. As your touch moves in time with his, you drag your free hand across your chest, pressing against the leather of his seats and pushing a strap off your shoulder. The cool air directly hitting you causes a flurry of goosebumps to rise and your nipples to poke through the fabric, chest rising and falling as you make a show of overheating.

Scott snaps his gum again, removing his hand to tug gently on his jacket. “What did I say about going through my stuff?”

“Oh, you left it at my place. I didn’t think it’d be a big deal.” You try to play innocent, but the smile you give him is nothing short of mischievous as you intentionally arch up into his touch. “Do you want it back, sir?”

He’s quiet for so long that you think he’s returned to the road. Instead, his eyes are locked on the thin tank top that clings tight around you. A quiet hum echoes in the back of his throat as he runs his knuckles over the swell of your breast, dragging slowly across your nipple, before he seems to think better of himself and places both hands back on the wheel.

“Keep it.” He grunts, “It looks better on you, anyway.”

“Really?” Despite how you try to hide the happiness from your voice, you fail miserably. Scott didn’t offer many liberties, especially not with his personal belongings. You don’t let the distance keep you far, unhooking your seatbelt and leaning over the center divider to beam up at him.

“Really.” Your heart pitter-patters in your chest when he hums again, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. His eyes slide back to the road, still at a slow crawl. “Don’t get any ideas, honey.”

Oh, you had about fifty different ones, most of which included seeing how far you could go down this new avenue. You drop a kiss to his shoulder, nuzzling against his cold skin, slipping your arm through his and guiding his hand back to your thigh. Scott squeezes again, a small warning to behave. But since when did you do that?

“Come on,” he taps an index against you after a few minutes, “Buckle up. Safety first.”

“But—” You pout, wrapping your arm around him tighter. He could drive with one hand, and besides, you were barely moving enough for a seatbelt to matter. “You feel so nice. And you’re always away for sooo long, baby. And now you’re gonna be gone again?” Brushing your nose along his jaw, you let your hand drop casually to his thigh. “I just miss you.”

“It’ll only be for a few days.” He shifts under you, chewing his gum slower. No doubt weighing whether he should let this continue or end it early.

“A few days too many.” You feel him inhale as your touch roams, sliding over his muscled thigh and across the zipper of his jeans. He’s already half-hard, the outline of him growing more apparent as you continue, “Do you know how lonely it gets without you? Knowing I can’t cuddle you… Kiss you… Touch you?”

You grope him where you know his weak point is while leaning up to scrape your teeth against his earlobe. His hips lift of their own accord as he instinctively searches for more, his grip on the wheel tightening as he squeezes your thigh in his big hands.

You hide your smile as he thickens under your palm. And smile wider at the growl in his voice as he orders, “Behave.”

“Am I breaking any rules, sir?” With your lips at his ear, every needy breath against him has Scott tensing in response.

Your shorts ride up — and so does his hand, until he’s close enough that you can grind your clothed heat into him. It’s just a single roll of your hips, keeping pressure where you crave him, but it has you whining all the same.

“Please, I missed you so much… I miss touching you, feeling how big you are in my hands…” You drag your palm against his thick length, fully straining against his zipper now, his breath coming out heavy as you grip him. “Please, please, just let me taste you. I’ll be such a good girl, I promise. Wouldn’t I look so pretty with your cock stuffed down my throat? Sounding so pretty as I choke on you?” You whimper against him, the sound small and needy. “Please, sir?”

The combination of your fingers wrapped around him and the feel of your tongue lapping at that sweet spot on his neck has Scott groaning, the noise coming from deep in his throat. Before you can react, he presses you firmly back into your seat, keeping you pinned with his hand across your sternum while you try to fight against the distance he forces between you two.

“Behave.” His gaze meets yours, dark and heavy and no-nonsense.

Your cunt clenches at the authority in his tone, nipples peaking in response. Scott slips his palm under the fabric of your shirt, kneading your heaving chest and rolling the hardened nub between his index and thumb. You writhe at the sensation, a moan spilling out of you, until he pinches you hard enough that you gasp. Just as quick as it happens, he pulls out just enough to bring his palm down roughly against your tit.

The sting of the impact has you arching off the seat as your cry pierces the silence.

Scott presses his index to your mouth in warning as the police lights finally illuminate his truck, the accident off to the side. You’re breathing too heavy to pay attention to it beyond that, not caring about anything happening outside of this truck, and you pass by quickly without any incident.

The air is still heavy as you meet his gaze. And you can’t help when your fingers grip the sides of your shorts to bunch the material in your hands, greedily grinding into the taut seam aligned perfectly with your center.

Scott watches it all silently. “You want to be my good girl?” His fingers draw invisible lines down your thigh, spreading your legs apart with just a touch. You comply easily, nodding as he smooths his hand along your skin and ignites a fire inside you. “Then fucking act like one.”

There’s no warning when he slaps your pussy hard, the denim digging painfully into you. Your hands fly out to grip whatever you can as your hips stir against the pain, crying out as another smack sounds, punishing your disobedience.

And still, you can’t help but whine out for him. “But I need you! I’ve been so, so good this whole time, I swear. Even when you told me not to touch, even when I wanted to so badly— I listened, I swear I did.” Pouting over at Scott, you whimper. “Please, I promise.”

“Go on. Keep it up. Do you think you’re listening now?” His hand tightens to a fist as he rests it hard against the center divider. His gaze pings to the time display on the dashboard, then to you. “The more you misbehave, the longer you wait. Was a week too short, honey? Do we need to extend it to two? Three? Can you even wait that long without disobeying me again?”

You can barely answer, only whimpering out as you press yourself into his arm, careening out of the seat. His hand clasps hard around your wrist when you reach for his zipper again, cutting off whatever noise is in your throat with a low growl.

“If I have to pull over,” he grits out, looking you dead in the eyes, “You won’t be able to walk for a week.”

You level his hard gaze with your own even as your heart pounds heavy, his threat thinly veiled as his grip tightens around your wrist.

And you swear you don’t mean to, but the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. “Can you go that long without fucking me? If I can’t touch, neither can you. Not a kiss, not a hug, I won’t even let you fuck my mouth!”

As your frustration boils over, you breathe raggedly against yourself, fighting to rip your hand out of his strong grasp. He’s quiet as he watches you, the look in his eyes betraying nothing that simmers underneath the surface.

Calmly, too calmly, he continues driving, following the road as the dark trees pass you by. When he moves off the pavement to turn down a dirt road, your heart flies to your throat.

“What are you doing?” You squeak, looking behind you as if expecting anyone else to follow, but it’s just you on the solitary single lane, his tires crunching on the dirt road. “Scott?”

His mouth stays shut, turning into a clearing of trees. You usually love the outdoors, but the forest around you looks foreboding and eerie, the trees looming large overhead. You glance out the window to the night sky, but there’s not even a twinkle of starlight here. Just inky black nothingness.

He shuts the engine off, taking the headlights with it.

You think you stop breathing.

“Get in the back.” His order is quiet against the silence but travels along your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Now.”

As much as you want to protest, the words catch in your throat, refusing to form. Instead, you wordlessly climb over the center divider, dropping his zip ties into the cupholder with a deliberate clink. Your bags, shoved angrily into the back when he’d asked you to pack up, tumble to the floor, landing in a haphazard pile as you settle into the backseat.

The sudden darkness engulfs you, your eyes straining to adjust to the dim light. You can barely make out Scott’s silhouette, his intense gaze fixed on you before he opens his door with a determined click.

Silently, Scott slips out of the driver’s seat, the slam of each door echoing through the night like a final verdict. You hold your breath as he rounds the truck, each crunch of his boots against the twigs and leaves sounding louder than meant to be. The backseat door opens, and he slides in beside you, the leather creaking softly under his weight.

You find your breath again when his hand, warm and steady, smooths around your ankle, his touch both grounding and possessive. He makes room for himself, his presence filling the confined space with an electric charge. The air grows thick with anticipation as you sit there, the darkness around you deepening, your heart pounding in your chest.

Scott’s fingers trail up your leg with deliberate slowness, each movement precise and controlled. His eyes never leave yours, the intensity of his gaze holding you hostage. “You didn’t think I’d let you off that easily, did you?” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your eyes dart to either side of you, searching for some sort of escape. But it was too dark outside to see, the woods maybe terrified you a little bit without Scott by your side, and even if he chased after you — and you weren’t bratty enough to do that — you had absolutely no idea how to get back to a road, let alone the road.

And, well, you didn’t really want to get away from him. Just the punishment you knew he would dole out for your disobedience.

Still—

“I thought we had to get back to the city,” you squeak out, voice trembling against your better efforts as you try to plead your case to deaf ears, “Riggs– Riggs said you needed to be back, right? And you know how far my place is from your office, and—”

“We have time for this,” Scott interrupts, his voice firm, a low rumble that leaves no room for argument. He presses his index to the pout of your mouth, silencing you. It sends a jolt of electricity through you, your breath hitching as you squirm under his grip, eyes wide and pleading.

If you were a deer in headlights, Scott was a hunter. And he was a damn good hunter.

Scott’s beautiful mouth curves into a grin, his eyes darkening with a hint of amusement. He leans in closer, his presence overwhelming, the scent of leather and the outdoors mingling with his intoxicating scent. The tension in the air thickens, every sound amplified by the stillness of the night. The rustling leaves outside, the distant hoot of an owl, even the faint hum of the truck’s cooling engine — all seem to echo the pulsing beat of your heart.

You can feel the rough texture of his jeans against your skin as he shifts, making himself comfortable, his body pressing against yours in the confined space. His hand, warm and commanding, moves from your mouth to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your lips.

“You’re not going anywhere until I say so,” he states, his eyes gleaming, all possession and affection. His words wrap around you like a promise, binding you to this moment, to him.

You swallow hard, your throat dry, the gravity of everything sinking in. Scott’s eyes lock onto yours, a silent command for your complete attention. His other hand slides down your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, before settling on your waist, pulling you even closer.

“Relax,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. “You’re safe with me.”

Your lashes flutter as a noise sounds in the back of your throat, caught between a plea and a whimper. You trusted Scott more than anything, and knew, without question, without fear, that he would never do anything you didn’t want.

And god, you wanted him bad enough that it ached.

“I need you to understand a few things, honey,” Scott continues, his voice still that deadly calm, his finger dragging slowly down your chin, tracing a deliberate path down the column of your throat. “I can tolerate you being upset. I’m not happy about it, either, despite what you might think.”

He pauses for a moment, letting his gaze lock onto yours, his eyes dark and unwavering. “But what I won’t tolerate,” he says, his tone sharpening as he closes his hand around your throat with a possessive grip, “is your disrespect.”

“But—”

“Shut up.” Scott’s voice is a low, dangerous growl as he tightens his hold on you, his thumb pressing firmly into your pulse. The pressure is confident and calculated — the kind of control that comes from having done this countless times before. “I’m not done.”

Defiance bubbles up and fights Scott at every turn, and despite the way you wriggle under him, your eyes grow hazy with need at the feel of his hand around your throat. God, you knew exactly what those hands were capable of; sweet, delicious torture, doling punishment and reward with equal passion. “But—”

“Why can you never fucking listen?” His voice drops to a growl that vibrates against your ear, his body shifting so that his weight presses down on you. You whimper at the added pressure, your fingers instinctively fisting the fabric of his shirt, trying to hold onto something solid.

Scott notices. With a swift motion, he knocks your wrists away, gripping both of them together with a firm, unyielding hold. When he pins them above your head, possessive and commanding, you can’t help but moan, growing pliant under his weight.

“Maybe I do need to remind you of my rules,” he says, his voice a dangerous purr, “since you seem to like breaking them.”

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your cheek. Every word is low and steady, completely in control. “You’re going to pay attention now, aren’t you? You’re going to listen to every word I say.”

Your pulse races under his thumb, the pressure making it difficult to focus on anything other than the commanding presence of his body pressed against yours. The conflicting emotions — fear, need, frustration — swirl together, drawing the breath from your lungs.

Scott’s eyes meet yours again, the dark intensity he’d first set on you softening slightly. “Do you trust me?” He asks, his voice barely more than a whisper, carrying with it both a challenge and an invitation.

“Yes, sir,” you breathe. Always.

“Good.” He presses a tender kiss to your temple and cheek, nudging his nose into the curve of your shoulder and kissing the column of your throat. Your body responds in kind, arching up into his generosity, the calm before the storm, as he slowly releases his hold on you. One tap against your wrist is a silent order to keep them there, and you thread your fingers together, looping them into the door grip as he kisses his way back up to your mouth. “Because you’re going to hate me tonight.”

You want to tell him that such a thing is impossible — there was nothing Scott could do that would make you hate him, no matter how much of a pain in the ass he was sometimes — but he doesn’t give you a chance to speak. Lifting you up, or at least as much as he can in the truck with his hulking size, Scott draws a hand around the curve of your waist, pushing his jacket aside to expose more of you.

“Take this off.” He orders. His expression melts back into one of superiority, one you’re all too familiar with, and you try not to pout when he continues with, “I changed my mind. I want it back.”

“Want what back?” You hum, fingers twitching. You debate the pros and cons of pointing out that you can’t take off his jacket with your hands still pinned in place, but bite your lip instead. You were already pushing the envelope — a lot — by feigning innocence.

“You know what.” Sensing that you’re still… sort of… listening, Scott, taps your wrist twice, freeing you of your position. Under his tone, your fingers close around the material of his comfortable clothing, lifting to slip it fully off your frame. You drop it next to your stuff with your eyes trained on his. “When I’m convinced you can behave, I’ll consider giving it back.”

That snaps your mouth shut. Pressing your lips together, you nod as you place your hands back in their previous position, the only tell that he’s satisfied by your change of heart being a slight twitch of a smile.

“I didn’t say you were done,” he drags his gaze along the length of you, his touch following where his eyes roam until he hooks a finger around the belt loop of your shorts. “Take these off, too, and turn around.”

Electricity charges through you at the command in his voice. Your movements are slow, careful, as you try not to bump into anything as you slide out from under him and remove your shirt. Your shorts follow, but he stops you as you hook your thumbs under the waist of your panties, both of his large hands sliding on your hips to face you opposite him.

He’s massive against you, your back pressing against his chest as his hands roam freely, trailing up the length of you and then down your arms to place your hands back in their previous position, fingers curling around yours in a silent gesture. And then his touch returns, calloused fingertips dragging over every spot of your soft skin, cupping your breast in his hand as he sighs against your neck.

You feel the hard length of him straining against his jeans as he pulls you to him, every caress coaxing a fire in you. Even though you want nothing more than to touch him, to take him into your hands, he has you caught. You really wanted that jacket.

And you hated disappointing him.

His touch wanders to your ass, squeezing the flesh in his hand before he smooths a hand up your spine, signaling for you to bend over. You comply with shallow breaths, the warmth of him missing when he puts even more space between you.

“How many times do you think you disobeyed me tonight, honey?” He asks, the question making your heart stutter. He continues to knead your skin, but with your angle, you can’t see anything happening behind you. “I’ll let you guess.”

You try to think back, but everything is hazy now. When you got in these moods — which was more often than not — you had a hard time telling which rules were broken and which weren’t, because, well, you tended to do it a lot. And you knew Scott well enough by now that even if you guessed any number, it wouldn’t be specific. It wouldn’t be right. Guess lower, and he’d add more. Guess higher, and he’d use your number, then remind you of the true one after it was all said and done.

A gasp escapes from you as your eyes flutter shut. Fuck. “I– I don’t know, sir.”

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he just hums, adjusting the twisted straps of your underwear higher up on your hips. “Thirty-two times.” He lets that sit heavy in the air for a moment, your breath stalling in your throat. “You know what happens when it gets that high, honey.”

“You use the belt,” you whisper, the words barely audible.

Scott nods. “Mhm. I use the belt.” The soft, metallic clink of his buckle coming undone is followed by a steady hand against your hip, smoothing circles along your skin as you begin to tremble in anticipation. “Shhh. You know the rules. Count.”

The first point of contact is always the worst. He lets the moment play out, your body tensing and easing as you wait for any sign that it’s coming, but he gives no indication when he stops touching you. And then the sharp sting as leather meets your rear, the folded-over halves biting into you with practiced efficiency.

Your eyes squeeze shut, fingers tightening around the handle as you gasp out, “One.”

By the end, your muscles are taut and your backside is red and flaming, your whimpers spilling freely from your mouth. It takes more effort than you’d like to admit to hold yourself up, trembling with exertion. Scott rubs his hand along your curves, having given equal attention to both cheeks, a content noise sounding in the back of his throat as you still careen toward him.

“Last one, honey. You’re doing so good.” He praises quietly, the only encouragement you need as his belt goes sailing toward you again, leaving another welt in its wake.

“Thirty-two!” Escaping through gritted teeth, you jerk forward with the impact, breathing hard and heavy when you hear the clink of his belt falling to the floor.

Scott taps twice along your stomach as he brings you up to his chest, careful to leave space between you as he smooths over your sore muscles, easing the pain. He presses kisses along your throat, your shoulder, letting you shake against him as you lulls you down from the high, every touch soft and affectionate. “That’s it, I know… Shhh… Did so good for me, honey…”

Each sweet nothing brings you down, continuing to press kisses against your skin until your breathing evens out. Scott sets his hands to your hips, holding you firmly, nudging the space just behind your ear.

“If you just listened, I wouldn’t have to punish you.” He reminds, letting your hands drift over his. Despite the softness of his tone, you still catch the authority seeping through every word, and you know it’s far from over. “I don’t like how you spoke to me today, honey.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” you breathe, meaning them truthfully. Scott presses another kiss to your skin in acknowledgment. “I was just upset. I wanted to spend this weekend with you, and—”

“Am I not making this time now?” He questions, cutting you off. When his touch wanders between your thighs, fingers circling your clothed clit, soaked despite his brutal treatment, he groans against you. “What was it you said earlier… That I couldn’t touch you? That you wouldn’t let me?”

Vaguely, through your hazy mind, you remember saying that. But you keep your mouth shut, quiet little noises escaping as he continues to please you, easing away the pain he’d caused. Your desire for him, so neglected because of his orders, coils deep inside you as he recites your perfect tempo — having spent hours exploring, learning, and committing what you enjoyed to memory.

“Let’s make one thing abundantly clear,” he continues. “Every part of you is mine to touch, spank, suck, lick, and fuck as I please. Any time. Any day. Any place. Those are the rules you agreed to. If I want you just like this…” Adding pressure, he holds you up as your knees buckle against him, “I will, for as long as I want. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Your words come out shaky, breath hitching with every skilled circle of his fingers. “I understand, sir.”

“Then show me you understand.” Within a second his touch is gone, leaving you delirious as you search for him. You hear the rustle of fabric behind you, twisting to watch him slip off his shirt, then ease himself down on the backseat with a foot firmly planted on the floor. His fingers hover over the button on his jeans, flipping it open as his dark gaze trains on you. “Come here.”

You comply immediately, drawing forward as his hand slips in your hair. Scott pushes down the restricting fabric, slipping his hand into his black briefs, freeing himself from his jeans. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, thick and veiny and dripping with precum, his fist stroking himself as he holds you there, coating his length with his desire.

“Look what you do to me,” he whispers, drinking in every shallow breath, the way your eyes remain fixed on his hand, how your hips stir with every twist like you imagining yourself riding him. “Even when you’re a fucking brat, I can’t get enough of you, honey. Always so fucking hard for you. You have no idea…” He releases himself to cup your chin, spreading himself over the swell of your mouth. You greedily taste what he offers, tongue lapping at him before sucking on the tip of his thumb. “I’d spend an eternity inside you if I could.”

Those words — the claim, the rare admission — makes your heart somersault in your chest.

Without waiting for his command, you crawl between his legs and sink to draw your hand along his jean-clad thigh, a silent plea echoing in your eyes. As he wets his lips, you grip his length in your hand, his girth barely allowing you to wrap fully around him. Scott’s breath hitches as you stroke him exactly how he prefers, your hand sinking lower with each slow, deliberate movement.

He’s hot and heavy in your hand, the tip of his cock as pink as his lips, and you pay special attention to it, thumb smoothing along the sensitive underside of him. The soft action has his hips bucking up into your touch, breath hissing between his teeth as he wraps your hair around his fist.

No matter how many times you were in this position, nothing changed how exhilarating it was to have brief a moment of power over him.

When you move to take him into your mouth, your tongue flat and eager, Scott wraps his fingers around your throat, that playful glint in his eyes replacing quickly with hellish intent.

“Did I tell you that you could touch?” He murmurs, releasing his grip on your hair to pluck your hand off him.

You want to point out that he didn’t seem to have a problem with that when he’d been half-thrusting into your hand, but the look in his eyes silences the retort on your lips. So you let him grip your wrist, and your throat, sure he can feel the heavy pound of your pulse as you whimper at the interruption.

“I just want a little taste,” you plead, jutting your bottom lip out and batting your thick lashes up at him through a heavy-lidded gaze.

Scott just shakes his head. And you feel the coil of defiance begin again.

“Don’t you want my tongue on you, sir? Licking up every thick inch of you? Seeing how much I can take in my hot little mouth?” You know you’re pushing it with how his grip on your wrist tightens, but fuck, you needed to feel him, to touch him, especially after he’d denied you the pleasure of it for so long.

You shift so your free hand wraps around his shaft again. Scott grunts as he watches you play with him, your small hand moving effortlessly along his girth. With both his hands occupied, he has nothing to stop you from doing what you want, what you need, as your gaze flickers down to openly admire his masculinity. “Don’t I look so pretty when I choke on you, baby?”

Despite how his gaze darkens and he twitches in your hand, Scott releases your wrist enough to rest his hand on the edge of the backseat, his brow raising. “You’d look prettier if you listened, sweetheart.”

The condescending nickname rolls through you, your face twisting in disgust at it — he knew you hated it, knew it reminded you of the old men who often tried to make passes at you. It disgusts you enough that you release him from your grip, watching a smile slowly spread on his face.

“I thought I told you not to call me that,” you whisper, not trusting your voice to sound weak with his fist still around you.

“And I thought I told you to listen, but you don’t seem to be doing a good job of that even after the belt.” He shifts his grip from the front of your neck to the back of it, pulling you closer. “What’s my name?”

You hesitate at how hard his gaze is trained on you. “Sir.”

He nods. “And what did you call me earlier?”

Oh. As the dots connect, realization flickering across your features, Scott’s eyes mirror your understanding. He doesn’t give you a chance to say it, continuing, “Until you can learn to listen, you don’t get to cum until I say so.”

You wait for a day, an end time, something that’ll make counting the days at least a little worthwhile — but it never comes. Instead, he just stares at you, waiting for you to defy him again, waiting for you to open your mouth, to push back. But his fingers twitch like he’s going to reach for his belt again, and the thought of that on your already raw backside makes a whimper escape.

“I understand, sir.”

His gaze softens for a moment — and a small part of you hopes that he changes his mind, that he’ll take it back… But Scott was never that type of man. Once something was final, it was final. No amount of begging or pleading could win your case.

He cups your face in his hands like he knows what he’s asking may push you past your breaking point. Never in the months you’ve been together has he implemented something indefinitely, but you’ve never pushed back this much. When his mouth roams over yours, gentle given the circumstances, you taste the sharp spearmint of his gum as his tongue explores you, soothing your whimpers and whines until you’re somewhat relaxed under his touch.

“Are you going to be a good girl if I let you blow me, honey?” He asks, lips ghosting over your mouth, your jaw, pressing a kiss against the column of your throat. You nod, not trusting your voice. “I mean it. No whining. No pleading. No biting.” His gaze flickers up to yours as a memory passes through both of you, your cheeks heating up, caught. He knew you too fucking well. “If I want you to choke on me, you’re going to choke. If I want you to wrap those pretty lips around my head, you will. And if I want your mouth not on me at all…”

“I’ll listen, sir,” you promise, breathless, squirming with need.

Scott’s eyes flash with approval, pressing one more kiss to your mouth before he settles back down against the leather. You follow, slow, cautious, your hands pressing into his thighs as he grips himself.

And when you wrap your lips around him, everything else fades away. You take him at his pace, slower than you would prefer but dutifully obeying his silent instructions, your hair coiled around his fist. The taste of him on your tongue has your eyes glazing over with desire, flickering up to watch him watch you, your head bobbing around his length, spit sliding down his shaft as he makes you take him deeper, deeper, until he’s hitting the back of your throat and there’s still inches between you.

Scott groans as he pushes you further, trained on how your body instinctively fights him, taking his cock entirely in your mouth when your nose brushes the soft skin of his abdomen. Your core drips with need, soaking your panties, at the guttural sound that escapes him: all masculine and intoxicating. You crave more of it, more of his approval, more of him — but he pulls you off with a pop, a trail of saliva traveling from his swollen head to your mouth, before doing it again and again, each time longer than the last.

“So fucking good,” he pants, pulling you off him again, his eyes blown as you suck on his tip like a lollipop.

Your tongue swirls around his head, wrapping your hands around the rest of him that you don’t swallow, little moans escaping.

And then he’s pressing you back down again, his grip holding you stationary as he thrusts into you like he can’t help himself, every action powerful and erotic as the sound of your throat taking his vigorous pace fills the truck. As he fucks your mouth, you knead your breast in your hand, pinching hard at your nipple when the desire to slip your hand between your thighs nearly overcomes you.

Scott watches it all with a growing arousal, his voice deep as he groans. “Fuck, honey, just like that. Want you to remember this next time you think of talking back,” he says, eyes closing briefly at how good you feel. “So fucking perfect with my cock down your throat. Does that make you hot, honey? Wanna rub that fucking clit while I fuck your face?”

You moan around him in response, something between a yes and a please that sounds more muffled than an actual word. Every time you take him deeper you feel that hot flash of aching desire pulse through you, your blood hot, sure that even through your panties you were dripping all over his leather seats.

The thought has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Scott’s growls turn positively primal as he pulls you off. “Keep making that face and I’m gonna cum right down that pretty throat.” He lifts enough to bring you to your knees, wrapping an arm around you to pull you flush against him as he drags his heavy touch along your naked frame. “You don’t want that, do you, honey? Fuck, I can smell how soaked you are for me.”

He wastes no time as he slips his hand beneath your panties, fingers sliding easily between your slicked folds as he groans. “My dirty girl. You like my filthy fucking mouth, honey, is that it?” Scott pushes a finger inside you, your body arching up into his as you nod, a breathy noise escaping. “Like when I tell you how good you feel? How fucking hard it gets me? How I dream about fucking you every single night when I’m away?”

God, yes. You assumed — but never asked — about what he thought when he couldn’t be near you, but the confirmation that you were on his mind just as much as he was on yours makes you clench around his finger.

“I’m gonna taste you,” Scott promises, his voice ragged. “And then I’m gonna fuck you so hard they’ll hear you in the city.”

It’s all the warning you get before he presses you down onto the seat, his mouth capturing yours as he settles atop you. Your body is pliant underneath his, gripping every inch of him, while he trails his mouth along your soft skin. Fuck, you felt like heaven to him — so smooth to his calloused hands.

And you made the prettiest noises when his mouth descended on your nipple, sucking and flicking at the hardened nub before giving equal attention to the other, all too aware of how your hips roll helplessly as he kisses his way down your tummy.

“I love how desperate you get,” he groans, hooking his fingers under the waistband of your panties, drawing them down your legs. He nudges your legs apart with his nose, dragging his teeth along the sensitive skin of your thigh. Thick fingers spread your folds apart as he takes you in, the touch making you reach for something to hold onto.

“Please,” you whine, running your fingertips along his shoulder, propping yourself up as he sucked a possessive mark into your thigh. Scott just hums, moving to the other, relishing in the sharp intake of breath as he nips at you. “Please make me feel good, sir?”

“You gonna be good for me?” He asks again, blue eyes flicking up to meet yours, his question serious as he nears the apex of your thighs.

You nod, tongue darting out between your lips as his focus momentarily breaks, darting down to watch how his fingers slide effortlessly over you, teasing your clit. “I’ll be good, sir, I swear.” Just as long as he keeps touching you like that, you’ll agree to anything.

Scott hums, playing with you for long enough that you think he’ll tease you into oblivion. But then his tongue darts out. licking a hot stripe up your center, and he groans, and you… You have just enough time to fall back to seat before his mouth is upon you.

The way he claims you with his tongue makes the wait worth it. Scott isn’t shy about feasting on you, his wet fingers slipping to spread your thighs further apart for him, lapping at you like your pussy is a melting ice cream cone on a hot summer day. Every swirl of his tongue, every flick against your clit, every long drag that has you gasping for breath, your mouth falling open while he readjusts his grip to keep you steady.

Scott groans as he collects your desire on his tongue, pulling back enough to revel at how spread open you are for him. He spits, the lewd action making your head spin, before his fingers rub it through your folds, circling your entrance while his other reaches up to knead your breast.

“I wish we had hours for this.” The admission is low in his voice, ragged from claiming you, pressing a kiss to your thigh as you try to still your hips against his torturous fingers. “Just as sweet as I remember, honey. Better. Fuck, you taste so…”

He doesn’t finish his thought, descending upon you again as his mouth attaches to your clit. You cry out at the special attention he gives it, teasing you just right, his tongue swirling and flicking and lips closing around the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your hips move on their own accord, fingers digging into his brown curls as you grind in time with his tongue. Scott gasps as his touch abandons you to stroke himself, the angle uncomfortable in the cramped space of his backseat.

You clamp down on your bottom lip when your orgasm builds faster than you expect it to, hoping to stifle the increase of noise as he brings you closer and closer. Scott just keeps his brutal pace, those dark blue eyes drinking in the sight of you.

“Sir—” Your breath comes out hot when he groans, the vibrations of it nearly toppling you over the edge. You want so desperately to listen, fighting the way he coaxes it quicker, something heady and mischievous sparkling in those eyes, but it’s too much, he’s too much, that invisible rubber band pulling tighter and tighter, your control slipping, the wet sounds of his tongue dragging over your heat too much to bear—

You scream out as Scott pulls away entirely from you, all that tension coiling tight with nowhere to release, and watch helplessly as his expression flickers somewhere between smug and disappointed. You tremble against the loss, little twitches that give away how close you were from disobedience, your whine high and keening.

“Oh, honey, were you close?” Scott coos, his tone full of condescension as he rests his cheek on your thigh, an evil, wicked, vile grin teasing the corners of his mouth. You glare at the dimple in his cheek. “You think I’m dumb enough to not know when you are? That your pussy doesn’t tell me when you’re trying to be quiet? I know all your tells, honey. Every. Single. One.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to reply, his palm coming down hard against your open heat. The slap has you spiraling, a cry escaping you as your back arches up off the leather, the pain lingering uncomfortably as your ass grinds against the seat. Scott wastes no time crawling up your body, swallowing all your pitiful noises as you taste yourself on his tongue.

His teeth sink into your bottom lip as he pulls away. “Not tonight, honey.”

Your heart seizes in your chest at the confirmation — having suspected it, but half-hoping that he’d forgive your past sins if you were good enough. Scott just grins, lifting so all his weight isn’t settled atop you, running his hands down the still-twitching frame of your body, pushing his jeans down further as one hand drags along your hip.

“Please?” You beg, taking his face in your hands, blinking big doe eyes up at him. “I can’t—”

“You can.” His confidence in you is unwavering, pausing his movements to give you his undivided attention. One kiss, two, three, to the corner of your mouth, each softer than the last, bringing you down from a high he stole away. “We’ll test those limits properly another time. I have so many ideas…” He trails off with a groan, seeming to think better of listing all the ways he could make you bend to his will. “But you can. And you will.”

A whimper escapes at the finality, but you manage a weak nod. It’s all the encouragement Scott needs to draw your leg around his hip, slotting himself between your parted legs. The weight of him dragging through your slicked folds presses a gasp into his shoulder, your arms sliding around his broad frame.

And then he’s sinking into you, stealing the breath from your lungs as your taut body stretches to accommodate his size.

He’s massive — and delicious and throbbing and every other perfect word in the dictionary as you forget how to breathe, how to think, the more he buries himself inside you. You hear his strangled moan against your neck as your head tosses back, pulling him closer, hissing as he draws back just to press right back into you.

He works you just like that for what feels like hours, pushing and pulling, slow as he presses kisses to your skin, holding your hips steady. You know he’s holding himself back, that he’s letting your body get used to him after so long apart, after little more than a press of his fingers and tongue at your entrance. It makes your heart flutter in your chest — he could have fucked his way ruthlessly through you and you would’ve taken every second of it just the same, but the fact that he pauses to take his time now, to lengthen a moment that he shouldn’t be having in the first place…

God. You loved him.

You both moan as he bottoms out inside you, his hips driving forward just a little further on instinct. “Fucking missed this,” Scott pants, careful as he slides a palm under you, lifting your ass off the seat to thrust inside you again. Your gentle touch trails across his broad shoulders and down his arms, a silent message for him to keep going.

And then he fucks you like he promised.

It’s a combination of everything: the time apart, the time you had left, how neither of you could seem to get close enough to each other. He splits you apart and brings you back together with every snap of his hips, filling you exactly how you need, gasping against each other as you angle up to meet him halfway.

Your mouth presses feverishly to his, the sound of your desperate moans filling the small space against the way your body greedily accepts his. Scott stalls his tempo just enough to pull away, sliding his hands back to your hips to lift you onto him before returning to his brutal pace, the new angle giving you a perfect view of his cock stretching you out.

“Being so good for me,” Scott hums, pleased, his fingers splaying over your belly as he ruts deeper into you. The intensity of it, of him, makes you blink back stars as his heady gaze is trained on yours, grabbing onto him as he continues, “Feels so fucking good, honey, fuck.“

Your eyes slip down to watch as he slides in you, the sight of him hard and coated with your arousal making you moan. Scott grips the back of your neck to keep you there, your body curled up into whatever mold he desires, pressing your knee back to the cushion as he shifts himself closer.

“Dirty fucking girl, you like that?” Scott’s voice turns guttural with how you tighten around him, your pretty moans like music to his ears, “Like watching your little pussy take my cock? Seeing how fucking good I stretch you out?”

You nod, another moan spilling from your mouth, only to whimper when he slides fully out of you. The crude smack of his cock against your clit only makes you hotter, your skin on fire as he plays with you, always in control. “Tell me,” he groans, teasing as he grinds himself against you. “Let me hear you, honey.”

“I love it,” you pant, unable to tear your gaze away from his thick length. You want desperately to reach down and press him where you crave him most, but you resist, fingers curling into fists at his sides as you plead, “Please fill me up, sir, I need it. Need you to fuck me, need you to claim me, need you to make this little pussy all fucking yours, please.”

It’s all Scott needs to press into you again, his pace hard and demanding with your wishes. He slides an arm underneath you to hold you steady, his teeth leaving marks on your neck, your shoulder, your collar, pressing moans into your skin with every rough piston of his hips, the sound of skin on skin, and your hard, labored breathing filling the space. And then he’s flipping you over, your hands and knees pressing into the leather as you push back against him, delirious with the new angle as he tugs you up, your back to his chest.

The possessive, strong grip on your waist slides up to knead your breast while he thrusts into you from behind, his lips at your ear, growling every profanity under the sun.

“This what you want, honey?” His hips snap hard into you, the contact against your sensitive ass making your eyes roll back into your head. The mix of the pleasure and the pain he gives you is unlike anything else you’ve ever felt. Scott always finds the perfect balance, his hand sliding between your thighs to tease your clit, your body wanton against him. “Being claimed? Owning you completely?” At your answering moan, he grins. “Could you handle it? Being mine in every way?”

“Yes,” you moan, trying in vain not to swirl your hips and failing, searching for more while he rolls your nipple between his fingers. “I’m already yours, sir.”

“Yeah, honey, I feel it.” They come out strangled as you clench around him, your body responding eagerly to every touch. “So sweet right now, aren’t you? Wanna cum so badly, don’t you?” You whimper out as he angles himself deeper inside you, hitting that spongey spot in time with his ministrations. It’s hard to breathe, hard to think, as he finds the perfect pace to drive you closer to the edge, dangling just on the precipice of release. “Bet you’d agree to anything right now just to cum, wouldn’t you, honey?”

Head tossing back against his shoulder, you dig your nails into his jeans where you hold him to you, looking at but not seeing the reflection of how he commands you, his mouth drawing along your neck. “Please,” you beg, trembling with the exertion of holding yourself together. “Scott— Sir, please, I’m so close—”

“I know.” Cooed, mockingly, along the column of your throat, he ceases every torturous move as he stills inside of you, his hands quick to press your hips down against his. The sudden lack of attention makes you cry out, chest heaving, as he steals your orgasm away again, the frustration and desire mixing until you’re growling through clenched teeth.

Scott just grins, watching it all with a gleeful expression, that dark look swirling in his eyes as he doesn’t dare move an inch. “You can be as nice as you want, honey,” He presses a patronizing kiss to your shoulder, that alone having you twitching against him, small little sounds that you can’t control escaping as he toys with your fraying edges. “I’m still not letting you cum tonight.”

“But—” You think better against talking back, clamping your mouth shut as you whimper again. “When?”

“When you’ve earned it.” Scott slides his hands over your body, dragging along your peaked nipples, taking both breasts in his large hands and groaning as he touches you. “You want to earn it, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasp automatically, your hands fisting handfuls of his brown locks as he sucks another possessive mark on you. “Please, sir.”

“How far would you go?” His voice carries that inquisitive tone that speaks of danger, the kind that has your cunt fluttering around him in response. He grunts against you at the sensation, still unmoving, just thick and hard and throbbing in you enough to leave your mind reeling. Your breath stalls when his touch wanders down to press at your belly. “Would you let me cum inside you?”

Every thought in your brain scatters at those words, wanting and needing before you can even voice it. He’s never asked; always pulling out to paint your chest, your back, your face. But the way he asks, his voice quiet yet desperate, the unmistakable edge to it that tells you he’s been thinking about it for a while, waiting for the right time, the right moment — suddenly his insistence on if you’d brought your birth control comes to the front of your mind, and you know. Know he’s been planning this. That if it weren’t here, it would’ve been sometime this weekend.

Scott is patient as he lets it all sink in, studying you, waiting for a shift of an expression, or your body responding against his desires. Something dark awakens in him at your whimper of approval.

“You’d look so fucking pretty like that,” he continues, slowly resuming his pace, much slower now than it was before, as he groans every fantasy he’s dreamt of for the past week into you. “So full of my cum… It wouldn’t all fit, would it, honey? But you’d beg me, wouldn’t you? Beg me to fuck it deeper in your sweet cunt?” Your breath labors as he grunts out, teeth sinking into your skin. “Beg me to put a baby in you?”

Fuck, yes.

You writhe against him with every word out of his mouth, your moans spilling freely as you nod, desperate, agreeable, unaware of how much he wanted it, obsessed about it. How the sight of you in his clothes made him want to put a ring on your finger, how every time you came over to his place he had to fight to ask you to move in, how the idea of your belly swollen with his child made him so horny he couldn’t think about anything else some days, how the thought of you and forever were so intertwined to him now that he couldn’t imagine anyone else to spend the rest of his life with.

All sappy, sentimental things that he didn’t dare voice, locked tight between his teeth, letting only a little spill out.

The need to own you, to claim you, was overwhelming. Scott wanted nothing more than to fuck you hard enough to make your brain flicker off until you couldn’t even speak, until you were completely at his mercy, until every drop of him was spent inside you. Possession and desire bleed into one — just waiting, aching, throbbing, bruisingly so, for your voiced consent.

“I need it,” you finally choke out, trembling, your voice utterly broken. “Please give it to me, sir? Please, please, pretty please?”

Scott moans, long and deep and loud, as he buries his face in the curve of your neck. And then he’s pounding into you, every muscle of his body pulled tight as you wrap around him like velvet perfection, his grip hard and unyielding against your hips as every rough slam of his hips into yours sends your body jolting forward. Your hand slaps to the window in front of you, leaving prints against the foggy glass, and he follows greedily, pressing his weight into you as he spreads your thighs further apart with a growl, fucking you into the seats.

Your orgasm painfully lingers, every needy moan spilling from your mouth only driving him further into you, wild with need, no longer the controlled man you knew but something more animalistic, primal.

“Fucking take it just like that,” he growls, not even sounding human, every word gritted through his teeth as you feel every thick inch of him around your slick walls, his hand slotted between your thighs to part your folds, sinking deeper until there’s no space left. “F-fuck, that’s so fucking— Perfect, honey, fuck— Pussy’s fucking made for me—”

He’s close — you can feel it in the way his thrusts grow uneven as he chases his release, the way he roughly grasps your chin to kiss you, sloppy and more tongue than lips, how his fingers leave Scott-shaped bruises wherever he grips you, his blunt nails biting into your hip, your sides, your breasts as he struggles for purchase. You don’t realize you’re sobbing in pleasure until he wipes your tears away, until he praises how good you’re being taking him like this, groaning when your body responds eagerly to his positivity.

You dance in time with him, meeting him halfway, angling your hips up just right. And you feel, rather than hear, the way Scott moans in ecstasy as he finds that perfect spot in your heat, numb to anything and everything that isn’t his thick cock pounding your weeping, used hole.

You think you cum — or maybe it’s just the last shreds of sanity leaving as Scott reaches his peak, nothing but your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he fills you with his seed, rutting up against you until it’s painful, the warmth of him spreading into you. His heart pounds against you as he slips his hand to your belly, pressing you closer, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as his hips twitch until he’s emptied out, fucking the last drops of his cum into you exactly like he’s dreamt.

And when you come down your orgasm sits uncomfortably high and untouched, a broken sob escaping you as he pulls out with a wet pop.

You feel his cum slide down your swollen cunt and flinch with sensitivity as he’s quick to collect himself on his fingers, fucking it back into you. The tension coils tightly inside of you until you’re sure you’re begging him to stop, the pleasure and pain completely overwhelming, exhausted with the effort of obeying his orders as he presses his digits into your used hole.

When you think just about to break, he stops.

And you know you’re going to kill him as he steals your release for a third time.

“Good girl,” Scott whispers, pressing kisses along your soft skin, his hands soothing every part of your twitching frame. You don’t have the strength to ask for more as he pulls you into his arms after sliding your panties back into place, letting you come down as he finds his peace in caring for you, murmuring sweet nothings while your body is pliant against him.

You nuzzle into him when you feel more in control of yourself, your heart slowing to a more steady pace. His name falls softly from your lips, your arms snaking around him to hold him close, his fingertips soft along the small of your back.

When he presses his mouth to yours, you melt into his embrace, exploring him lazily until he’s pulling away, brushing your unruly hair out of your face. “Mine.” He praises with a smile, that dark expression gone, leaving nothing but bright, shining blues you could drown in for hours. “All fucking mine. I own you.”

“Mmm,” Despite the weary in your bones, you can’t help but smile back, a giggle escaping, “Do you?”

Scott doesn’t need to slip his hand between your legs for you to get the picture, just hooks a finger along the waistband of your ruined panties. “You just let me prove it, honey.” He leans forward to kiss you again, slower this time, before pulling away with a regretful sigh when the distinctive chime of his phone goes off. “Need help getting back in your seat?”

“Already?” You whine.

“Gotta go, honey.” He taps your hip, twice. Non-negotiable. “Come on, before the bears smell you and want you for themselves.”

That has you cracking a grin. “You wouldn’t fight a bear for me?”

“What do you think the murder kit is for?” One last kiss to your mouth. “’Course I would. Just not tonight.”

You pout further, but let him grab your long-forgotten clothes off the floor, making yourself presentable again before he does the same. And when you settle back into the passenger seat as he starts the engine, you let your head rest against the window, bubbly and content and happy. Even if you know it won’t last when he has to leave.

As Scott drives through the familiar city streets, you hate the knot of apprehension that clogs your throat when your mind wanders too far about him being gone. Out on the field, anything could happen, even if it was just one of his routine visits. The people he spoke with — if he approached the wrong one, it would be so easy for them to lash out. Scott was a big man, he could take care of himself, but that didn’t stop your fears from pressing down against you.

His hand is firm on your thigh, thumb stroking soft lines in your skin as he catches your expression. And then his truck takes a turn in the opposite direction of your apartment, heading toward his house.

“Where are we going?” you ask, your voice tinged with confusion as you try to shake off your emotions.

Scott’s grip on the steering wheel tightens just a fraction, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “My place,” he answers simply. “You’ve been up all night, and I’m not about to drop you off and leave you alone like that.”

You frown, the earlier emotions fighting to come back; you glance quickly out the window, cheeks flaming as you’re caught, hating that he’d noticed your weakness. “I’m fine, Scott. I can—”

“No,” he cuts in gently, but firmly. “You need rest. And I’ll rest better knowing you’re somewhere comfortable.” His eyes flick toward you, catching your reflection in the dim light of the street lamps. “Besides,” he adds, his voice lowering to something more intimate, “I’ve got a bed that’s been missing you.”

It’s not a request, and the way he says it makes your heart skip. You know he’s right. As much as you’d wanted to protest, the thought of sleeping alone in your own bed feels wrong, especially with the lingering warmth of his touch still buzzing under your skin.

By the time you pull into his driveway, the familiar sight of his place is almost a comfort in itself. Scott’s fingers brush over your thigh before he parks the truck, a silent reassurance. “I’ll be gone for a few days,” he murmurs, shutting off the engine, “but I want you here. I want you safe.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with a meaning he’s too stubborn to say out loud, but you feel it all the same. He reaches over to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering on your cheek. “Let me make sure you’re okay.”

You nod, unable to find the words, so you just lean into his touch. Scott doesn’t need more than that. He’s out of the truck and rounding it to your side before you can even blink, opening your door and offering his hand.

“Come on, let’s get you inside,” he says softly, tugging you out and pulling you close against him. His arm slips around your waist as he guides you to the front door, his hold steady and reassuring.

Once inside, the warmth of his home envelops you both, and you feel the tension in your shoulders start to melt away. He’s quick to guide you to his bedroom, knowing the layout of his place better than anyone, but still taking the time to make sure you’re comfortable, handing you one of his shirts to sleep in.

As you slip under the covers, Scott pauses at the edge of the bed, eyes lingering on you. “Get some sleep,” he tells you, his voice gruff but tinged with affection. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You reach for him, and he doesn’t hesitate to slide in beside you, pulling you against his chest. For a moment, you both just lie there, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear soothing you into a drowsy haze. Scott presses a kiss to the top of your head, his hand resting protectively over your hip.

“Sleep, honey,” he murmurs, his voice the last thing you hear before sleep claims you.

In the morning, you wake to the sound of his alarm, the room still dark. Scott’s already dressed, but he hasn’t left yet. He sits on the edge of the bed, watching you with a softness in his eyes that he rarely lets show. He reaches out, brushing his fingers through your hair as you try to rustle yourself awake.

“Go back to sleep,” he says quietly, his thumb grazing your cheek. “I’ll be back in a few days. Promise.”

Before you can respond, he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering just long enough for you to feel the warmth of his lips. You smile, eyes fluttering shut as you drift back into a peaceful slumber, the last thing you feel is the comforting weight of his hand slipping from yours.

When you finally rise, well rested but achey from the night’s exertions, the sun is high in the afternoon sky and his house is empty, his truck missing from the garage. You wander into the kitchen in search of a cup of tea, pulling the kettle out from underneath his cabinet. And when the steaming mug is in your hands, settling into the breakfast nook that overlooks his backyard, your eyes fall upon his jacket, folded neatly atop all the stuff he’d unpacked while you were sleeping.

And you know he loves you as much as you love him.

[ddejavvu]

can I request one with Spencer Reid based on the season 4 club scene??? He's there with Morgan and stares at the reader and Morgan shows him how to approach her but the reader doesn't fall for Morgan's approach, then Reid gives it a try and she turns into a giggly blushing mess at how cute he is and his weird facts!! Idk something fluffy??

reader is slightly mean to morgan in this one and i'm so sorry to have dissed the love of my life </333

--

"Don't bother," Morgan catches Spencer's shoulder when the man looks like he's about to give you their 'have you seen this man?' spiel. "I tried to tell her about the unsub, but she's not very impressed by men cornering her in the club. We don't have to worry about her, she won't fall for his bullshit."

"She should know, though." Spencer frowns, watching as you stare lazily at your drink, watching condensation drip down the glass, "I'll tell her."

"Reid, I'm telling you, she's not a potential victim," Morgan squeezes his shoulder, "Listen, if I couldn't get her to talk to me, there's no way the creep we're looking for could win her over. And he's not gonna waste his time on someone who says no to him."

The expression on your face changes from a dark scowl when a man stands a few inches too close to you while ordering a drink, to a soft, disinterested pout when he leaves again and you're able to relax. You don't look resistant, you look hesitant. You don't look like you're refusing to talk to anyone, you look like you're waiting for the right person to talk to you, and Derek Morgan was wrong.

"I'll just be a minute," Spencer slips out from beneath Derek's heavy hand and ignores the agent's groan as he approaches you. He knows Morgan's eyes are heavy on his back while he steps up to your barstool, but he pushes away the pressure of an audience to smile kindly at you.

"Hello," He offers, his voice barely audible over the music. His fingers latch tight around the strap of his messenger bag and the flyer he's holding wrinkles in his firm grip, "I'm Doctor Spencer Reid, with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit, I'm here to warn you about a potential threat."

Maybe it's not the strongest way to start off a conversation with a pretty girl at a bar, but it's the information you need to know. Stuttered flirting and watered-down drinks can come later, if they happen at all; Spencer's priority is your safety.

Your brows raise and you look past Spencer's shoulder hesitantly, "Is it him? He tried trapping me earlier."

Spencer's chest relaxes slightly where it had been tensed, and he lets out a mild laugh, "Well, he's not the main threat I'm worried about. Did he- did he do the thing where he called you sugar?"

"Mm-mm," You shake your head, taking a sip of the sad remains of your drink and speaking after you swallow, "Sweet cheeks."

Even Spencer winces. Where Morgan's strategy is charm first, then the ugly stuff, Spencer thinks it's only fair to let you know why he's there before letting himself get distracted.

"He thinks that's some sort of magic spell," He laments, "Uh- I'm sorry if he made you uncomfortable. Technically, he was just trying to warn you about the same guy I'm warning you about, but we have a very different way of going about business."

"I can tell," You nod, eyes widening slightly for emphasis. Then you glance at the stool beside your own, "Sit down, Doctor. Tell me about this creep. Well- the one on the flyer."

Morgan watches with something ugly rearing in his chest as Spencer takes the seat you've offered him, but he wrestles it down to replace it with pride. Perhaps he'll have to reevaluate his strategy when it comes to disinterested patrons, but as he watches Spencer magically find his business card behind your ear, he's not sure he'll ever have what the young doctor does.

[kooyabooya]

GAMBIT

m reader x tzuyu // 9k words

The thing about risk takers, you see, is the fact that you tell them to stop multiple times - and they never do. 

At every turn of the hands on the clock, here lies Chou Tzuyu, in her most casual form imaginable. One leg on the other with an arm outward to the head of the couch cushions. She’s got her face at this inquisitive angle; pure innocence, slant lips nearing a sly grin while she’s put through an earful from her manager: 

“You’re on your last set of legs, and I hope to god that this story doesn’t break out in the ringers of the press come tomorrow morning.” 

Nothing could scrounge up the loss of professionalism, draining away from the slips in the shut door frame. Because the challenges become more complicated than the other, and this one might just be the tip of the iceberg. 

“Well then,” Tzuyu starts, and in typical Tzuyu fashion: sweetly and unbothered. “Let’s just have our fingers crossed that no one around here is willing to leak that out to the public.” 

Tzuyu’s manager glances towards your direction, matching the same eyebrow with theirs in pure confusion as to what this conversation was boiling down to. You almost feel bad, but fortunate enough to not be stuck in their position. Dealing with Tzuyu’s bullshit on a day to day basis, growing a gloomy shade in their hair that shouldn’t be there for another twenty to thirty years; luckily, that hasn’t happened to you, at least not yet. 

In the years of service that you’ve had with the agency, you’ve had the fair pleasure in confiding with different individuals amongst the growing industry, to different waves of success. Sana? A world beater that has cameras flashing everywhere she goes. Mina? An absolute angel sent from heaven, well fit into the standards of fame. Those two amongst your clients might as well be considered your favorites - and the list that follows after is a very reputable asset to have. 

But Tzuyu? That is a blank area that has still yet to be defined. 

Something about Chou Tzuyu around these doors and offices has everyone turning their heads in the other direction - because you know from experience in this industry - for someone like her that’s bound for stardom with that one of one face and the age that she’s at will be the kind of story that’s not following the script. She’s one of the most genuine, kind-hearted, and beautiful souls that everyone envies to an extent; moreso jumping over cars and off of cliffs to have a mere inkling of notice from her, a scale tipped in the balance to love or hate her persona at the same time. Every now and then she sweeps you up in that whirlwind too, but who can blame you for getting lost in her charming features?

And you find it to be amazing at how she remains so stoic. Color yourself impressed, or bewitched even, you’re also reminded why this little project of hers hasn’t been brought out to the world. 

“So remind me again,” you’re saying, settling yourself around the office, scooching your way past Tzuyu to take the open spot left vacant on the couch, “Tzu over here was caught with what?” 

The observing of Tzuyu doesn’t stop there, unfortunately, limit testing on how dire this present situation actually is - with those long, glossy locks that rest right past her shoulders and in front of her chest, beautifully so like a sculpture bust; the threaded eyebrows, and those long eyelashes. Then, there’s the dimple - and her baby blue outfit, the heels, the jewelry, snug with the curves of her body, she’s meant to be the main event, the sole person who can shift the atmosphere in just a few steps-

Tzuyu’s manager, sadly, isn’t one to play games however. 

Another quirk of the brow gets thrown, and they hit you with a crinkle from the bridge of their eyebrows, inward lips as if anything said from this point on would be held against themselves. 

So you smile, and play the cool guy vibe, mirroring Tzuyu’s seating position in the exact same way down to the wiggling foot. “Well?” 

A file gets thrown to the coffee table in the middle of you three, and a phone is up in the air - unlocked and everything when it lands in between your hands. It’s already on the photos app, and when you’re zooming in to get a closer look at all of the pictures from what you can see from the date in the top portion of the screen - from last weekend, and you’re doing the exact same expression as her manager. 

“It was supposed to be a breaker event for little ‘miss perfect’ over here,” Tzuyu’s manager starts, laser focused like he thinks you’re going to ask her yourself if the contents in the phone were actually hers - which might not make the situation better. Look, you’ve got to keep it cool and stay professional, since that’s your job - especially since Tzuyu’s also young, not by much, but it still feels all the same. Sure, you could challenge that, but why would you? Every time you look at Tzuyu, she can see that there’s not a single thought past your eyes. “I leave her with Sullyoon for thirty minutes at this event and I-” 

You turn your head towards Tzuyu again to which she gives you the side eye after looking at the phone in your hand, and somehow you just know. 

Tzuyu’s manager flips open the file, filled with a good stack of pictures. He spreads them out all over the table, much like finding a specific still from this gallery that stands out. You’re staring, closer, the photos match up in the phone too and- 

Shit. 

That’s the only word that you can think of, but the meaning and intent could be taken in either one of two ways. As for the thoughts circling around your head?

There’s hardly any. Almost nothing. 

“Okay,” you say, face still unfazed; a skill in itself that took a god awful amount of time to get down perfectly, but still, holy shit. Now you’re seeing why the agency is doing everything in their power to keep this under wraps. You can’t even believe the pictures that show Tzuyu exposed with no clothes at all, clearly tattered up in marks and scratches and ran through from whoever was the person that took the pictures in the first place. There’s her thighs stacked on top of each other with pointe feet, her abs are soaked in fresh spurts of cum, the way that her head is crestfallen to the right side as she tries to cover her face, how she smiles at the corner of her mouth; she’s made for the cameras - and you could see the literal sex that she emits from the stills, every profane term in the book or in your vocabulary culminated into one person - but this is the line of work you’ve put yourself in, as you can feel the two pairs of eyes staring at you from the both of them, waiting for an answer. 

You toss the phone off to the side, and get your fingertips on the pictures, examining them with wandering eyes. And with the calm and composed demeanor you could craft within seconds, you say: “I don’t see what’s the problem here.” 

Nothing flies with Tzuyu’s manager at this point when it comes to you. “Watch the attitude now,” he leads, overbearing. 

“What he said,” Tzuyu doubles one second after, a wisp of hair falling to the front of her face, grinning behind the thin curtain of her strands, “Watch the attitude.” 

You exchange glances between Tzuyu and her manager, clearly in shock at how they’re figuratively double-teaming against you. Tzuyu’s always had a knack for being upbeat and funny, flirty would also be a way to put it, but she’s made that her own thing, her label - the press wasn’t kidding when they said in between the lines that this woman here was going to turn the world on its head, to make anyone from anywhere fall to the ground just to have them acknowledged in her good graces - many will die when granted the opportunity - but it's one of those days that has you wondering why she’s more forward, and obvious, that equation is still getting solved by the second. 

“Done,” you say after, giving in to their demands; it’s still difficult to learn and determine what kind of tale she’s willing to write today and you’re still seeing whether it's a good idea to play along to what’s forming. “What else do we know about her and-”

“Sullyoon’s already had her discussion earlier,” Tzuyu answers right away, combing her hand through her hair, watching her fingers disappear within those coffee bean locks that’s effortlessly charming. “As for me, that’s still yet to be determined. Which also got me thinking: it can’t be that bad as it sounds the way that you’re suggesting it.”

You’re also seeing the attitude that Tzuyu’s showing through her words and how she feels about the entire situation as a whole before you and her manager could even dive into the more complicated bits within the first five minutes of walking into the room. It’s like in her case file written in parentheses: ‘known to be a hot head, and a bit self-obsessed’ - considering her arrogance at times, but her charms make up for it. She can be one or the other, or even both. It’s how she grins: simply desirable. Once she’s put her name out there for the rest of the world, and not even for the industry, the scandals won’t even touch her going forward. She’ll be untouched while you are at the bottom picking up the scraps and taking the damage. 

“The punishment for Sullyoon is a lot more lenient because of me,” says Tzuyu’s manager, but his gaze gets back on her, hand on hip in clear and utter disappointment with the shake of his head. “And Haewon’s already not having it with the incident with Bae. Now with this, it’s a complete clusterfuck of events, so I just-  ugh, it’s a lot.” 

“Sorry to hear that,” you apologize, a hand up but the look on your face shares little to no care about the manager’s pain as of this moment. “And for the record, I feel like we had this conversation before, no?” 

“You’re her advisor, dipshit.” Tzuyu’s manager grits, ball forming at the fist, “That’s the reason why I brought you on board with her in the first place. Isn’t that supposed to be your job to, y’know, advise?” 

“You’re the manager, and might I add the correction: her manager,” you shoot back retortfully, “Maybe you should keep a close monitor on our lovely, budding starlet here from the get-go?” 

Tzuyu stifles a laugh, causing both your eyes and her manager’s to do this form of joint attention on her, and hiding away in the plane of her medium-sized hand, “What?” you both say to her, and it comes off as comical. 

“Nothing,” she muses, lifting a leg up over her opposite one this time, leaning deeper into the cushions of the couch, eyebrows up in the horizon of her forehead, beaming. “I just thrive amongst the bickering you two are having over my career.” 

“See?” And Tzuyu looks away from your rolling eyes, “I put it in the file in bullet points. She’s not ready for this kind of pressure and lifestyle, and do you really want me to go through the list of the incidents she’s already put herself through to serve your memory?” 

“I would find it best for you not to remind me of everything up until now.” Tzuyu’s manager shuts down the question, spinning his phone in hand between the fingers, “Please don’t-” 

“DUI charges, social media backlash because of a vape laying in her lap in one of the pictures, smoking out late at night with Ryujin and Yuna,” You’re listing out the events anyway, because Tzuyu’s manager can easily tell that you’re the kind of person to not really give a shit about these kinds of things. It’s not you being put under the spotlight - this microscope that’s always being picked off with a pair of tweezers - how one influencer’s words could brainwash the general public into rubbing their palms with a pair of tangerines. They’ll always follow, to some extent; and for Tzuyu, that’s the kind of power she wants to have - to get people talking about her and not stop there. 

“So do you want me to keep going?” You ask again, clearly caring little to none as Tzuyu examines her personal stills, head tilted when she picks up one of the photos. “And may I remind you that she’s got a gala event to attend to in the midst of all this, so let me ask you this boss,” you say, and you can see the flared nostrils coming from Tzuyu’s manager, “How do you want to go about this?” 

Tzuyu’s manager freezes, phone vibrating in record time like crazy. He’s taking a few seconds to strategize the next move, what’s the next course of necessary action. Keeping Tzuyu here is the worst idea, because that breeds into speculation. Compounding that, there’s also the monumental effort of keeping these pictures on the table in her phone on the down low, which may be impossible at this point, given with the insiders circling around like moles in the organization. 

“The event isn’t for another hour and a half or so,” Tzuyu’s manager announces, eyes darting back and forth from the phone to you two sitting on the couch, pulling his lips upward at the exchange of messages. “Fuck this industry sometimes,” he groans, “You do things here and there and don’t expect the treatment to be - goddamit, Haewon’s calling me again about Sullyoon,” he says, phone to the side of his head when he answers. “Hey, Haewon. No, I uh- I’m here with Tzu and- yeah, I’ll come over right now to see the situation.” He pulls his phone away from his ear, button pressed on mute, “Sorry, but you know where I’m going with this here.” 

“Don’t be,” says Tzuyu. There’s some tension in the air, like a flare set off in the dead of the night - how her head turns slightly towards your direction, smile laced with a purpose - and she cocks her head off to the side as her manager starts to make his way out the room. “We’re not leaving yet as it is.” 

Her manager pauses, in between the open doorway. His phone is right back into his ear, nodding along to Haewon on the other end of the line, eyes lapping side to side and back between the two of you - because it’s his job, and he can’t get away from that fact regardless. 

“That’s still up in the air, you know,” he says towards you, clearly hurt by the tone you gave earlier; insulted might be one better word to put it, but he knows that you know better and you’re just acting like this out of spite. “Don’t know how long this will take, but pray that I’ll be back before we have to go.” 

Once the door closes - much like a kingdom raising up their drawbridge, a safe with all the locks in the world clicking into place - holding you and Tzuyu prisoner in this vacuum of space, this could be hell, or it might be heaven. Tzuyu clicks her tongue, gets it under the front portion of her bottom teeth, at a molar, studying you as if you’re a centerpiece or painting hung up on the room; this girl is clearly unreadable. 

“Tzu,” you call out to her, keeping the ambiance chill - whilst maintaining some form of lead in this hurricane of tension. It doesn’t also help that the sun is right at the ocean, kissing along the horizon towards the beach, a wonderful mixture of hues between orange and dark blue and purple clashing in the sky, the lights are on in the neighboring skyscrapers - a view that can serve as the last sight for someone before falling off fifty plus stories - and in the midst of all that calming pictures, she’s still looking at you. 

She leans over, dress wrinkling in all the right creases. Don’t look now, or else that’ll be the end of you, as she blinks dotingly, lashes fluttering and with that sugary tone of hers, she just says: “Yes?” 

“What gave you the compelling idea to have an entire album of a cock in your mouth. Not only that, but the fact that Sullyoon was also in on this too? Especially when she’s three years younger than you, her senior? Like what-” 

“You’re making it sound like I fucked up?” Tzuyu says, an eyebrow raised in curiosity, the innocence isn’t doing her any justice compared to the hard evidence found in her phone. “Of course I know what I was doing, and believe me, this would only speed up the process a little more.” 

“What process?” 

“To get me out there into the real world.” 

She giggles when the crease of your eyebrows knitting together comes back into the frame of your face, leaning over while she sinks back into the couch, hands fiddling with the red ribbon that was attached to her dress. The eerie sound of your name being recited from the proper pronunciation meshing into hums. She’s observing your posture, much like her normal act persists - staying quiet but acknowledging others when needed. You hate how much of a sweetheart she is at times, because it’s all a setup for a bleeding edge that eventually comes to life sooner or later. 

“I’ll keep it real,” you’re starting again, “You did fuck up. And you fucked up bad. It’ll be a miracle if this doesn’t get out, but I’m not holding my breath for you, and-” 

Tzuyu just keeps staring. With that gaze of hers, she’s still trying to get a read - from the hem of your jacket or at the peak of your ruffled hair, it might be easy to tell that in some way: she’s into you.

“Okay, in simple terms, you’ll live.” With that said, you shouldn’t be silently suffering with a potential breakout star of an actress, so you’ll hang strong against her glance. This was something that you enjoyed doing from the multiple meetings and screenings. “We could honestly set this up to be a hush money agreement with whoever managed to get these pictures in the first place -  your fault, might I add - but anyways, all of this should go away, if we play our cards right. No need for you to come forward to address the rumors, that’s why you have people like us to deal the damage. All you have to do here is just - uhm - well, be Tzuyu.” 

Tzuyu appears intrigued, finding a small crack in your impenetrable armor, a rarity at times but also is aware that it might be a minor slip-up. “Be Tzuyu? What do you mean by that?” 

You flash a look at her, but she’s one to double down, eyes squinting - she’s capitalizing on your mistake. “There’s a proper term for this,” she says, “and maybe um, pretty would be one to suffice?” 

“I’m not trying to sound afraid,” you say, calmly. “There’s two choices between right and wrong. Then there’s the respect, and also being sensible. You have to treat this career like it’s your life.” And you didn’t say professional, because that word is the last resort; a rescue rope only to be used in the most dire situations. 

“I want this life.” The admission, something nestling underneath the parts of her sentence, a slow-burning being soaking behind those soiled eyes. Tzuyu then scoots over, gets closer to you, tips her chin to further the examination. “I have what it takes to be professional. You’re just afraid to say it to my face.” 

“Welp, you caught me,” you say, knotting your fingers in between themselves just to keep yourself from doing anything rash, maybe walking out of the room to leave her alone would be the best move, instead of letting your thoughts get the best of you and pinning her body flat on the couch. “Seriously, doing things like this will only kill your chances of making it big even before you start.” 

Common sense appears to be dissipating out the clear windows. And now Tzuyu is the one who’s taking full advantage, bursting your personal bubble - the way that she shimmies her way across the cushions, so mindful of how she moves her body at every curve and nick in her limbs; you can hear your own heartbeat quickening, like you’re hiding in a locker and she’s about to tamper with the dial to get the door open - and she’s about face to you, hand ghosting the upper profiles of your chest where your shoulders are at. She’s not that tall from a height standpoint, but sitting down, she’s matching your build bit by bit. 

“It’ll happen, regardless,” says Tzuyu, face with a wide grin. “That’s why people like you are working hard to make sure that things like these don’t happen again. Especially in the long run.” 

“You’re really going all out today, are you?” You exclaim after closely assessing, holding our ground against her. “Might I add that you might also ruin Sullyoon’s career after yours is out of our hands?” 

“She’s a tough girl,” says Tzuyu, flatly, as if the prospect itself is something to laugh about. Tzuyu is a silent killer, shown in her signs of arrogance which shouldn’t be enticing to you, but they are, and in every way possible. “And like I told you, I’ll keep doing shit like this because I want to. You can hide away all you want, when it’s clear in your eyes that you want me just as bad as I want you.” 

“And what do you propose here?” 

“I’m telling you that the way you sound right now turns me on, genius.” 

It comes in a black flash, much like you staring down the hole of a double-barreled shotgun; or your head getting pushed into a tub of ice cold water. You can see the stars in her eyes, each and every one of them an alternate reality of their own between you and Tzuyu, sparkling with so much light. “Who’s saying that fucking a client was on the cards?” 

And Tzuyu chuckles at that, on cue like it's some cheeky sitcom. “Don’t get stupid with me,” she says, and she’s raining fire down from above. “Everyone already has said the same thing at least once or more.” 

Your eyes land on the clock hanging above the room, then they dart to the closed door. “He’s not gonna be back anytime soon, is he?” 

“Haewon’s office is at least five floors down, and the elevator apparently hasn’t been working all day..” 

“Some luck.” 

“I can make my own.” 

“I hope you know that this is a really bad path you’re going down to.” You’re deterring, but it's a lazy attempt at best, no point in shying away - because you’re not scared of Tzuyu, and you never were, mentioning the fact that she’s radioactive in her own rights. She’s equipped with an arsenal of tricks and quirks, but you’ve got your own brandished within that noggin of yours. A hand is on her thigh, trailing up to the hip, and she looks down to take the hint, scooting closer. “You’ve got some nerve, testing me like this, and you have no idea what you just signed up for.” 

“Do you have to be this serious?” Tzuyu’s hand finds yours, slipping up against the fine silk across the palm of your hand. “I’m one for keeping things simple here,” she’s telling you, watching your eyes as your fingers get rumpled over the fabric, venom lacing your nerves before you even realize it. It’ll get reactive really quick, but you stand your ground. “About the sex, don’t overcomplicate-” 

“Why would I overcomplicate something with the likes of you?” you’re asking her, and you watch as her hand finds the knot tied at the nape of her neck, unraveling it, where you see her bra. It’s no help that she’s sliding her dress down to her panties and thighs, the covers being unleashed with every inch opening up to the air. “We’re on track here, and I think I’m getting warmer here.” 

This is something serious, much like a public execution at the hands of her just strolling on by - people stopping in their tracks just to get a good look of that face, that body, so this might be some form of armageddon - but Tzuyu’s dress gets discarded somewhere in the office, to a corner where it won’t be seen on her until you’re fully done with her. Everything in your head is flowing like a whitewater river, a burning urge that gets beyond just the sexual aspect of it. So you’ll get your knees deep: 

“You know how long I’ve been waiting for this?” you ask, and examine. The sense of being normal and professional has long gone out the way. But oh. Oh, she knows what she wants, and you’ll have the fine luxury to give that to her, because it’s what you signed up for: twist the words and her body in every way that you see fit, to fill people in on what their crown jewel of a woman is up to. “Dreaming of that one day where someone will just tell you straight: I want to fuck you. Well Tzu, today’s your lucky day.” 

Tzuyu tenses, eyes appearing like glitter, holding your hand where it stays on the rise of her hip. “I’ve never seen you this talkative outside office hours.” 

“I converse like this on the regular.” You’ve got the experience, and the hours under your belt, you’re holding the other end of the rope in her burgeoning career - if she fucks up the next time, you’re also gone along with her, too. “Now, are you gonna keep talking, or are we going to talk business?” 

Tzuyu is so good for you, in more ways than one. It’s in her eyes, the way that she tilts her head off to the side, when you’ve pushed her up against the cushions as far as you could take her, hair spilling over to her covered breasts, keeping her gaze locked with yours when you’ve sunk to the bottom of the couch - the low light of the sunset makes way for the night sky, moonlight breaking through that captures her face, illuminating the fine mold of her cheekbones, her teeth break past her lips, and she smiles a bit like practice for the waves of flashes out on the red carpet - she relaxes, feels the lace of her panties slide off her thighs like nothing. Undeniably gorgeous, is one way to put it, she’s dirty, she’s every single thing; oh god, the staring, when you look up between her legs, mouth hanging low, chest puffed up in anticipation of the relieving pressure. 

“Many people have tried to test me, get rid of the fun in what I do with my manager and such,” Tzuyu says. “But I knew-” Her hands find yours, sliding up the sides of her outer thighs, holding them in place when you start to lean in. “You didn’t do anything about it, and I liked how you were with me, to set me right, without the changes of rules.” 

“Had it been anyone else,” you acclaim, mouth leaving hot and wet kisses across the inner portion of her thigh; she’s got a hand in your hair with no intention of letting you go. 

“You,” Tzuyu says the singular syllable, reduced to just very minimal words, much like she’s being scolded. But the confession let out is like a padlock finally breaking under the pressures of the wrench: “I’ve always wanted you. I promise and fuck- I’ll be good.” 

There’s actually no way she said- 

The words that spilled out her mouth flew over your head for a short second, a minor blowback in the swing of things - but then again, why are you playing it safe with Tzuyu in the first place? There’s no need, and you’ve got to make that apparent to her; you’ve got your hands on her long legs, spreading your hand out on the skin, she’s got a hand sliding down to her glistening pussy, but she reels back when you’ve beat her to it, and Tzuyu hisses, hiding a whine, “Baby…” 

You pause, hike her up on the couch higher, focus slinging to her face, and her dead-eyed stare slams right alongside yours. 

“Tzuyu,” you’re saying, when you’ve managed to say her name that’s caught in between your vocal folds - it’s a little rushed, no exhale behind it, and a bit tattered - but there’s her demeanor, the tightness swirling in the air between you two. She’s only a few years younger - and that alone could be worse - you’ve got the better position, the better wits of how things work, the implications - and maybe you were a pawn in her game all along, there’s really no telling. 

“Love it,” she exhales, voice tripping when you dip your mouth down to her other pair of lips, “when you say my name,” she’s needy, fingers curling to your head to satiate the sensation a bit longer. Legitimately, fuck, she might end your career, make you a martyr for the whole office to witness, and she could be the one to do all that. “Baby, your fucking mouth.” 

The gaze never wavers on her, hunting - her dainty fingers are gripping the cushions, fibers of muscle moving in ways much so she would be defending herself; she’s used to giving orders and due compliance, but knows where she stands in certain situations. She could be the primary catalyst of what’s happening right now, but you’ve got full control: a green light going off in the back of your mind. There’s no turning back now, foot to the floor, bases fully loaded. She won’t- She won’t last a week in this life by playing it by the rules. 

“Need me that bad?” You ask, face twisting devilishly. Some things in this line of work have taught you that people have to be selfish at times, and you’ll fall face-first into that. “Watch and learn, sweetheart. Don’t even think about getting your hands on me.” 

Tzuyu’s lip is caught between her upper teeth, rolls her eyes, nodding profusely - it’s gonna take more than that. You see her lidded eyes, spread her apart further, “We listening?” 

��No- touching,” she sighs. This girl is soaked - the refreshing taste of her cunt on the pad of your tongue, and you’ll keep indulging. You’ve got yourself in that open space between her legs, she’s sputtering out nonsense, pulling her thighs in to combat against your hands - “Please, just- please, do this one thing for me, I swear-” 

She’s waving the flag up high in the air, and of course you’re going to take this into account. This is someone who is going to make headlines wherever she goes, has people do things that would lead into major or second-hand embarrassment, so you lean down to her aching pussy - across the folds, and her clit, so slick for you, she’s sighing a lot more louder this time - and she’ll let you mold her into any shape you want her to be, let your tongue do the talking: “Right there, yes-” she’s relaxing into your hands and face, giving you the praise she’d never thought she’d say to you ever, like some act of contrition that will absolve her actions - wow, and you’re wondering of the lucky fucker who took the pictures of her and Sullyoon got the same luxury as you’re getting right now. “Fuck, oh honey-” 

You’re paying no mind to how her hips are wiggling across your face, desperate for a sense of friction, fighting every urge to not dig her nails into your hair and get your tongue even deeper where you can send it - but you keep her legs spread, and she could almost rip into the cushions on the couch, grip tight enough to choke- 

“Taste so good,” you mutter, off to the side of her leaking slit, listening as the chorus of Tzuyu’s moans crescendo a bit before dropping in silence. “Look at you, being so good for me.” 

“Shit, you’re gonna- you’re gonna make me-” 

Whether she’s able to tell you or not, you know it all the same. Her flawless face is so torn to the fine points - faltering in every aspect of perfection, that apex, you’re working her there, warmer, and warmer-

But you pull from the tops of her thighs, shove your nose right down to her clit. Stay right fucking here, and don’t even think about moving a muscle; sometimes there’s no need to say things verbally - but the implication stands - when Tzuyu finally lets go into the heat of your mouth. 

You can be lenient, maybe have her rest in the grace period, but there’s a schedule still drawn up on the board, and the sand in the hourglass is still seeping through the middle. “I’d like to keep this up,” you tell her, cleaning up the slick spread across your lips - that fine nectar, easy to say that you’re addicted, but that’s old news. “But must I remind you that you’ve got an image to protect at this gala you’ve got in an hour?” 

“Can- Can I have my turn now?” Tzuyu asks, sitting up on the couch now, hands fast to her backside, unlatching the clips of her bra, slides out of it like it’s nothing. You’ve got your jacket discarded on her manager’s desk, hands to the buckle. Tools are being laid out here amongst you two, and Tzuyu keeps her eyes trained on you, chest rising and falling - watching the noticeable bulge appearing in your boxers. “Please, I can help - just need your cock-” 

“Do you always like to rush these things?” You ask her - pushing her back as her arms just float in the air - she’s beautiful, gorgeous, and wanting; the notion alone would already be disregarded if it wasn’t for the sensible form of structure in your head. It’s in that dimple of hers, that sly grin, those eyes, she’s a personification of eye candy: you’ll keep staring for as long as she’d like you to. “No need to answer that, but,” and you laugh in between for a slight second, “You’re really pushy today.” 

“Please, baby.” That gaze, eyes trained up with her bit lip, she’s dangerous. “For me.” 

You don’t say anything, but with a simple nod, and her fingers are fast to the elastic. 

You also like how she’s willing to follow, to listen. She’s good with her hands, she’s been trained to handle PR questions with the flick of her wrist, programmed to take information and internalize it - she’s flawless enough to stand with the other clients, even when you’re the first to make the move in kissing her, capture her mouth with yours. It’s a bit cute when she’s caught off guard, sucking the air out of her, yielding to your touch.  She’s smiling against your lips, and that’s the laced venom you’ve been cautious of. 

The grip gets let go from the back of her head, retreating, panting, the taste of her lips mixed with yours. She helped clean off the remnants of her pussy on your tongue and she’s licking her lips again wanting more. “Give me some kind of feedback. A demand. Anything,” you command, fingers dancing along her chin when she looks up so innocently. “I think you’ll ask nicely, so prove it.” 

She doesn’t even think twice about it. “I want you,” she’s coming in and out of focus in her eyes, way past the point of no return, staring at you while she’s keeping you magnetized to her hands, slowly dragging along the skin of your cock, “to fuck me, put this cock inside my pretty little pussy, and use me to cum all over-” 

Her face does it for you, shattering right in front of your eyes, wanting smile, pupils blown - you snake your arms around her back, press her down to the couch - there’s a beauty behind the sneakiness of this, the thrill of being found out, the risks taken to take advantage of someone to your own liking, let the thrums of your heartbeat be the only thing to hear within yourself - but Tzuyu goes quiet, she’s so pliant and wet that doesn’t really need any words to come out of her, just the noises when- 

“Fuck.” 

When you slide your aching cock into her cunt, slowly, painstakingly strategic, and the feeling was too much to bear for her. 

“God-” 

You draw back and snap your hips into her - a statement made, an opening in the woven threads to rip a hole in -  you’ve got a hand quick to her parting mouth, hushing her, pinning her. “Go any louder,” you’re hissing, lowly, trying to not think about the fucking clench her cunt makes around you, “Go any louder, and you’re just asking to get caught. We can’t have that, can we?” This is something new, something absolutely obscene, hiding away in the office of her manager’s - keeping a secret that nobody should be able to tell, besides you two. “Did you realize how much of a slut you are when I saw those pictures?” 

Tzuyu’s breasts wobble on the upstrokes, bouncing along while leaking all over your length. The thought of damage control is still in play, to not have her completely ruined for the red carpet in the next hour or so - but you’ll take the secrecy, construct a fake picture to ensure that will not have anyone look a second time. Nobody will know how good Tzuyu’s wrapped around you, that hot and tight cunt, a hand now wrapped around her neck, pressing down but not too much- 

A thumb is in between her lips. “Speak up.” 

“Yes- I know, fuck, it was- a mistake.” She’s choking up the words from the hand on her throat, barely enough to produce the sounds through her vocal folds, chasing for that relief that she desperately needs - “It was stupid, but,” she’s unmoving with her reasons, fervor standing strong, it’s irking - you’ve got to fuck this attitude out of her - “That doesn’t matter, please, your cock, keep fucking, right there, that’s the spot, I’ll be good, I’ll cum for you, make you not worry about-” 

“You keep talking like this and I’ll make you shut up myself.” 

She spills a line of expletives that get mixed up with the slaps of her hips with yours, but there’s one outlier - maybe two - that captures your ears. 

“I didn’t make him cum inside me, but I’ll let you do it if you want.” 

“Yeah, not happening, babe. Not like this.”

Tzuyu mewls and whimpers when you give her one good, impaling hit inside her cunt, let your cockhead rest right beneath the womb where it aches. It doesn’t help her case when she’s shaking her head in refusal, denying. You’re chuckling as she tries to shimmy out of your grasp, the sound reverberating around the room, in relief, or awe would be a way to put it. Stepping into this office was a little bit out of your way, just popping your head in to get a quick word before going on with whatever was on the agenda - until this whirlwind of events coming from her changed all that. “Please. Can you do that? I want it, I want you, so bad. I swear, nothing bad will ever happen from me again - please, if you just-” 

Luckily, everyone’s gone from the office for today - because she’s way louder than you would’ve expected - you ram your cock inside her pussy, without any care for her begging and pleading - there’s also not ruining her appearance, but you’ll pull something out of your ass or she will to cover it up. You’ve made your mark in twisting people’s words around, shifting the angles that way you’re not the one taking up the heat. Conjuring up whatever you could that might rival a con artist’s whole life. But this is also another thing: if Tzuyu’s manager walks in right now, you could prime the whole act onto her and she’ll be gone. 

“You can keep asking, begging, offering, whatever it is that you want.” It’s hard to forget that you’re on the clock, the provisos informed, lines that were drawn up from the start; you could cut it some slack, maybe for someone like her, who really knows. “I’ll keep fucking you up as long as I like, but you’re not getting me to cum up all inside you.” She tilts her head back, and you sweep down to the column of her neck, get a mark on it, not too hard. “Want it to be easy? Just keep screaming, nobody will hear you.” 

Wishing that this moment here in the room to last forever might be a tall ask. From the exchange of hitched breaths coming out of your lips and hers, to the slaps still stable in pace, bottoming her out as her ankles finally latch onto the small of your back, holding you in place - someone could walk in the room now and know without question as to what you’re doing to her - maybe with the sea of cameras at this event later will take notice as to the damage you’ve done to- 

“Inside. Please, nobody has to know. Just us.” Fuck, this girl is testing your mental tenacity, exersizing every impluse that you’ve unleashed of every dirty thought you’ve had since working with her. She could convince you with words, the magma emitting from her voice, sounding low, goes so well in tandem with her moans. “Maybe if you keep this up, I’ll let you knock me up whenever you want, wherever you want, however you want.” 

“You- Tzuyu, you- fuck-” 

“That would be so hot, you know? To use my tight pussy as your personal cumdump - shit - even the manager won’t take up on the offer, so you’re the next one in line.” 

The defiling theory alone is very, very tempting. She’s not like this when there’s a camera or journalist waiting for a slip up to pen the story - you’re still in the driver's seat, keeping it level, thinking of some substance for guidance. You’ve been in this position before, and you’ve learned. 

So: 

“I’d be honored,” you say to her, pressing a hand down her breast, grasping, pulling your cock out to do a few measly slaps along her sensitive clit to show her you’re not playing around, “So far you’ve been convincing, but you’re still new to this. A few stupid acts early on will ruin you down the line, so watch yourself.” 

In the meetings, you remember the firm tone when asked for your personal take towards a proposed plan - coming off as abrasive because that’s how gritty this industry really is without showing it - Tzuyu’s incidents have been nothing short of interesting, talking down on her for acting like a complete dumbass - but she loves the degrading, the harsh compliments. This is something that she wants, and you’d be happy to let the media eat her up alive for it. 

“It’s gonna take a lot more than that just to sway me,” you keep going, twist the knife to where it hurts: “You’re not the first one, let me tell you that, Tzuyu. And I can assure you: you certainly won’t be the last.” Hands on her hips, and you fuck in - it doesn’t get any simpler than that. “Don’t test me with that attitude, because I’ll make you change it in an instant.” 

Her entire body is like a noose, a live wire on a bomb that’s about to reach zero - she’s gripping and convulsing around your cock, you’ve got her to be this way, “Please,” pleads Tzuyu, the utterances and vowels and consonants all collapsing like some domino effect, eyes flapping shut, and the sounds of obscenity seem to get better every passing second, “You’re gonna make me- make me fucking cum, oh god-” 

She’s got so much potential to shake the industry up, not since Sana first came around and did some damage to you. Mina was also the same, and could match up with Sana if the universe allowed it. No one is ready for what Tzuyu has to offer, no fan could scream and break down crying let alone a photoshoot capture the beauty she carries with that face of hers, and that body, every part is sculpted to immaculate perfection, the flex in her abs when you thrust down, catch the arch in her back with an arm, get your forehead with hers, the scaffolding finally losing it’s last limbs of support at the ground level, hand quick to the hard bud of her nipple-

“Cum all over this cock, Tzu,” you’re sighing, leaning down to coax her with a kiss, and she’s got a hand raked through your hair again. “Cum for me. Do it. No shying away from me this time.” 

And like you’ve observed before, the mental note much like a callback, she’s so easy to comply; it's in how your mouth works over her, cunt so slippery hot in friction with your cock sliding in with no problem whatsoever, this is everything to you - and Tzuyu’s body goes limp, holding in a noise in her lungs. It’s a high-pitched ‘fuck’ followed with a murmur of your name, muddled with ‘baby, oh my god, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-’ 

You’ll leave a mark for someone else to notice, the shade with enough bite that could be covered up with a little foundation, let her ride out the peak of her high. “Breathe, Tzuyu. There we go, nice and easy, soak up my cock with that pussy of yours. Jesus.” 

Tzuyu picks up on things fast, and she’s reduced to a various spill of words. She’s a shuddering mess, sinking her hips down to get a lasting feeling of your cock when you pull out - but she’s quick to get up, hands fast to your thighs; leaning down, a swift lick up on the underside. Her makeup is a bit battered, chest slick and light pink from all the marks you put; she hollows her cheeks, has a little bit of fun, and you start to sink. 

“Tzu.” 

She gives no response, lowering her mouth past the halfway point, eyes lidded, but weighted with intent, appalled; her cheek blows up unintentionally, lathering up your cock in her spit, and your head falls back to the crown of the seat. She’s unsure with what she’s doing, you’re tensing and untensing in the lower half, but complaining is the last thing you’ll do. 

“I’ll make it up to you,” you say, gritting your teeth when Tzuyu reaches down a spot near the base, tongue grazing at a vein, where the head of your cock is staring down the hollow of her throat, a slight clench. She could care less with the curses leaving your mouth, it just tells her she’s doing something right. “Do whatever you want, and I’ll owe you next time. Fuck-” 

It does some form of numbers in your head when her eyes lock onto yours, smiling with half a cock in her mouth, quick to shut you up. 

Her mouth is amazing - and that could be an understatement. She’s holding you at the base, where the angle of your cock is tied down between her fingers. You let her take control for a bit, try to see if she can do it herself - but you’ll play the role of guidance again, because that’s what you do, help out in ways that make her have the moment - so you lean forward, hand fast to the back of her head, and you feel her jaw go slack, muffle the choking sound coming out of her open mouth- 

“Fuck, Tzuyu,” you grit, the name alone of hers is an easy impulse to keep doing; you’ve got her hair in this makeshift ponytail, out of the way when she continues to bob her head up and down the length. It was a boring day for you anyway, but at least you’ve made it up to have the prospecting breakout actress strip her clothes down and get on her knees in her manager’s office. “Just keep- yeah, okay, there we- ugh, shit-” 

She mumbles a brief phrase of a ‘mhm’, mouth wide open, salivating, nudging your cockhead down into her throat before pulling back up for another wisp of air - her index and thumb are wrapped around the bottom of your shaft, closing her eyes as the contraction literally leaves you breathless - all the way down into her throat, holding her up with her hair as much as you can- 

Yet the sound that rips from the cavity in your chest, it’s loud enough for someone to hear down the hallway, probably someone from the floor below to pick up on the commotion too. 

Tzuyu’s mouth lets out this sobbed out sound, coughing and inhaling your cock when you cum down her throat - she can’t swallow it all, you think, but you forget her ambition at times when she holds herself, eventually pulling back - eyes glossy and full of impurity, burning irises that mimic Sana’s when she also- 

“God-” you manage to choke out, fixated on the image of Tzuyu cleaning her face up with a small stream of your cum leaking out the corner of her lip. But, you’re satisfied. You’ll let her take the credit for now.

It also doesn’t help when she’s got a finger circling her slicked lips, tilting her head when she hollows her cheeks again around her fingertip. She knows she’s hot, how dirty she can get - and she’d let you do anything and everything from the fucking on the floor to railing her on the walls, because she’s got her own center of gravity with her being, that’s just how it is. 

You can’t help when you’ve pulled her back to your space, catching her lips, since that’s the only logical thing to do with her, and she’ll accept it. “Mmph. I just- you, you-”

“Yeah?” You’re saying, face in your hands when you keep kissing her. “Something to say?” 

“My mouth- you?” 

“And what about it?” 

“Your cum. You just-” 

“I overheard Sana talk to you about her story with me the other day, figured I’d just do it anyway.” 

The tone in your voice is a clear contrast to all the filthy stuff you were telling just a few minutes ago, it’s still crotchety, but a little more lighter than usual - like everything that was a worry suddenly just washed away, and all of a sudden Tzuyu’s quick to get your neck corralled with her arms, leaning for another kiss, the hums alone are delightful, pushing hysterical a bit. 

“I hate you,” she says, a chaste peck to your cheek when you’ve got her ass on top of your forearms, carrying her. She’s laying out a few suggestions, but you’re telling her that the gala could wait, to waste more time to explore her body, more and more. ‘That’s a lie, by the way, but I’m sure you knew that.” 

Shutting her up is a viable option, but she’s right on the jump with that one ahead of you - so she kisses you, why bother putting up a fight against that?

-

The car ride on the way to the gala premiere is nothing short in terms of quiet. Some chatter is being thrown around with you and the driver, since Tzuyu’s manager also had the unfortunate task of bringing some swinger that’s already made a name for herself with the company, per instructions given by Jihyo; you remember hearing it past the open door to your office, named Kim so-and-so on the files. Maybe it was Jennie or Jiwon, or was the name beginning with a letter D? 

“I think the boss man is convinced with your lobbying,” Tzuyu says under her breath. Like you, she’s managed to clean up her appearance - scent still fresh of sex, her hair still a bit rattled, but is trying to repair as much as she can. You can’t keep your gaze off of her; how the headlights from the oncoming cars illuminate through her eyes, handing you her hair band because it doesn’t match up with the look. 

“I mean, if you already asked him what you asked me, and he still refused,” chuckling when you’re looking out the window towards the sidewalk, trailing the crowd of people lining up around the venue, “That should give you enough prose to ask me, since I was next in line.” 

Tzuyu just laughs, dipping her head down - she’s infectious, without even putting effort into trying. You’re seeing why she’s bound to be a topic once she’s put herself out there, and - sure, you could draft up a file with all of that content in a heartbeat. Needless to say, you’ll be one of the many fans. 

“It was supposed to be sarcastic commentary,” Tzuyu tuts, combing her hair over to one side - at the left shoulder, turning her back towards you with the red strands of her dress untied. She peeks over before looking away, fingers fast to knot the ends for a snug fit, pat her collarbones down before tilting down to place a small kiss on her nape. “But on a serious note: do you really think you can handle my little fiasco?” 

You notice that the cars ahead start to slow down, file in line with security personnel stationed along the street, managing traffic. A whole lot of commotion going outside with the photo area, photographers getting ready with their cameras and flashes angled toward the cars, and thank God that the windows are tinted for good reason, brows furrowing in assessing the sea of different media outlets in attendance. 

Tzuyu flows her hair forward, a last minute touch up as she takes a deep breath to calm her mind. You’re playing the stand-in role of bodyguard, checking every side of the car to make sure that things are right in place, avoiding any form of fuck up that might pop up in the next few minutes or so. 

Just when a worker from the red carpet event approaches the door, a buzz vibrates on your thigh. One check later and it’s Tzuyu’s manager. With no hesitation, you answer: 

“Yeah. Oh, okay. Okay. Right, you got it.” 

“I’m trusting you with her. Please don’t fuck this up.” 

“I won’t,” you say, in a melancholic tone to which Tzuyu smirks at. “Good luck with Dahyun? I forgot her name, but it is Dahyun, is it?” 

“Don’t push your luck here, bye.” 

Once that’s gone out of the way, you move over to wave a hand to the worker, signaling a two in your hand to let them know of the delay. After touching bases. You settle back into the backseat, watch as Tzuyu observes from the window, taking in the sight of what she’s dedicated a good portion of her life towards - to thrive in the glares of publicity, get engulfed in the growing flames of fame. She can do a whole lot more than just stand still and look pretty, and you’ll help her there along the way. 

“Still think this is a lot to handle?” You ask, peering over her shoulder, causing her to twist back around to face you. “To be fair, you were pretty nervous when we brought up the incident earlier, so I’m just checking up on you.” 

Tzuyu simply stares, again. Her face may appear blank, but her eyes and the subtle quirk at the corner of her lips tell a different tale entirely. There’s also that sly dimple too, man, she’s too good for you to the point where it’s bad. So what if people already caught wind of her story, you’ve got the contingencies, the fallback if things go south; she got herself into this mess, and you know what you signed up for. 

“They all can go to hell if it comes my way,” says Tzuyu, face falling forward, leaning for a kiss. “Where’s the risk if you don’t run into a cyclone head on?” 

When she gets forward with a hand on the door handle, opening up to reveal herself to the world, you shake your head at her, because that’s another point of discovery to add to her growing list of character: she’ll be the face of this company in record time as long as she keeps acting this way, and you wouldn’t mind staying by her side for whatever is in store. 

Right before she goes any further down the capet, she twirls around on that singular heel on the sidewalk, facing you when you scan the screaming audience, landing your eyes on Tzuyu again - in all of her beauty and elegance, you’ll keep admiring no matter how far or close you are to her. 

An outreaching hand, the simplest gesture, and she asks: “So, are you ready tonight?” 

-

a/n: @co-reborn surprise! not really lol, but this fic is slightly dedicated to them. thank you taking time to read as always <3

[gay-dorito-dust]

Either college or old man Ford being with someone who, even after all the years theyve spent together, still looks at them like a lovesick puppy

like theyre blushing and getting flustered when he rests his hands on their waist or doing normal couple stuff, etc.

it's like their mind still doesn't register that they're together and instead, to cope, just proceeded to have the most down bad crush on their HUSBAND

(like that one reddit post LMAOO)

You knew that you were staring but you didn’t care, and you knew that Ford knew that you were staring and yet you didn’t care when the finest man in existence was before you and was also your husband?!

You still found it impossible to come to terms that this silver fox was yours forever and always, you still get flustered when he compliments you and your bed head, even more so when he cups your cheeks in his hands and kisses your forehead.

You really shouldn’t be this badly affected after being with Ford for so long, but you couldn’t help it! Your husband was hot and you’d be blind to not take time out of your day to stare at him, shamelessly admiring his aging face and silver fluffy hair that looked like storm clouds! It was unfair that Ford looked so effortlessly beautiful no matter what he did that it left you swooning and pining after him like a lovesick fool, you’d find yourself asking if he was single…

Only to remember that you were married to him and got to see him be so effortlessly handsome every damn day of your life and you end up smiling stupidly.

‘You alright my love?’ Ford asked and you internally squealed like a little girl.

‘I am just perfectly fine my dear, just admiring my beautiful and talented and smart husband is all.’ You admitted also sheepishly as though you were confessing to him all over again as you felt the best rush to your cheeks and tips of your ears.

Ford smiled softly as he walked over to you and held your face in his hands, feeling the warmth radiation off of your cheeks as he caressed them; After all this time together Ford was aware of the fact he still held some power over you and he couldn’t help but feel flattered at how little had changed from then to now.

It was charming and sweet and kind of you to still look at him through the lens you did since your time at college together, he didn’t feel like he deserved it, but he knew that feeling would fade the moment he looked into your eyes and saw the abundance of love you held for him was still thriving and very much alive.

‘That is very sweet of you my dear,’ Ford said softly as he kissed your forehead, ‘you truly enlighten me with your love and affection that I can not thank you enough for marrying this old fool.’ He chuckled as he saw your eyes widened as though you still weren’t accustomed to the reality that you two were indeed married and have been for the past two months. Ford often wondered what what off in that head of yours but from the look within your eyes, he already knew his answer and couldn’t help but find it endearing.

‘I’d be the fool if I didn’t marry you Ford, even a bigger fool if I didn’t say anything back in college. I think I’d fight myself if i didn’t.’ You admitted as you thought of an alternate universe where you didn’t spill your guts to Ford back in college, you honestly didn’t want to think of where your life would’ve been like had you not married Ford as you were certain it was one full of regret and longing for what could’ve been. So you thanked god every night as you cuddled up to him in your shared bed that you got to live in a reality where you got Ford to be yous in every aspect possible.

Ford chuckled. ‘I highly doubt there is one where we don’t end up together my darling, and trust me I’ve been through the entire multiverse for the past thirty years.’ His eyes then soften as he rests his forehead against yours, causing your whole body to heat up at the action as you found yourself melting into him and his warmth. ‘I’m just happy that you were willing to wait so long for me. So, so happy.’ He adds in a whisper.

You nudged his noses with yours, flighting off the butterflies that were now within your stomach and running rampant at his words alone. ‘I would’ve waited far longer if needed just to see you home safe and sound.’ You told him as you kissed his nose and cheeks softly, happy to be in his arms and breath him in, content in knowing that he was here and that he was real unlike the dreams you had in the past. ‘So don’t thank me for doing something I would’ve done ten times over. You deserve as such Ford.’ You add as you pecked him lightly on the lips reassuringly.

‘Still I must thank my adorning wife/husband/spouse for being by my side when they had every right to walk away.’ Ford said as he tugged you closer to his chest, just innocently holding you in his arms lovingly but yet you couldn’t help but feel your heart hammer in your chest at being so close with him as you burrowed your face into his heck.

‘Your wife/husband/spouse is just happy to see you home where you’d belong with your family.’ You murmured again his red turtleneck, holding his waist tightly as you indulged in his comforting scent, something you loved about him that rivalled your love for his six fingers.

‘And I’m happy that I get the opportunity to call you my wife/husband/spouse.’ Ford admits as he kisses the top of your head before nuzzling his face into your neck, pressing a tender kiss there which made your breath hitch in your throat. ‘I love you my darling, so, so much.’ He whispers as though it was something that would only be shared between the two of you, like no one else is allowed to hear such talk between lovers and soulmates.

Your love for Ford was insurmountable, no words could properly describe just how much you love this man that you were more then willing to rip heaven and hell for, to rip through time and space just to see him home safe, anything if it meant seeing a man as sweet and loving as him smile that adorable smile of his in your direction.

You needed Ford like you needed air to breathe, water to drink and food to eat. Ford was a necessity for your survival and you weren’t going to let him go ever again, for you didn’t know how you’d be able to cope without him again.

Sure you might still have an embarrassingly massive crush on your husband, and become flustered every time he held your hand, kissed your forehead or even looked at you lovingly but you weren’t ashamed of it as it just meant that you were that your love rang true even after so long. If anything it meant that your love was stronger then most that fizzle out after a certain period of time, and yet you couldn’t help but smile stupidly and look away whether Ford complimented you or engulfed your hand with his own.

Ford was your best friend, husband and your crush all at the same time and you were more then happy to have finally gotten your happy ending with him, all the while staying perpetually in love with him regardless of the passage of time because Ford was so much more then your husband but he was massive part of yourself that you couldn’t live without nor intend to.

‘I love you so much my beloved Ford.’ You said as you rested your eyes and listened in on his strong heartbeat that told you he was alive as he held you tighter. ‘So very, very much.’

‘Then I hope you keep loving me for a long time.’ Ford confessed as he kissed your neck some more.

‘And I’ll promise to love you for an even longer amount of time after that.’ You admit as you moved your neck so that he’d have more access as you clutched onto him, smiling dopey as you felt as though you were on cloud nine within your husbands arms, blissed out of your mind as it ran rampant with ideas for the rest of your shared lives together.

[anantaru]

— how to make them blush

including dan heng, sampo, jing yuan, blade, gepard, welt, luocha x gn! reader

꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff, blushy boys, very cute

contrary to popular belief, it doesn't require a lot of effort to make your boyfriend dan heng blush radiantly because of something you'd do— for instance, delicately ruffle his soft hair, or easily grabbing his hand while you‘re going on a leisure walk or placing a precious and thoughtful compliment on him so he doesn‘t forget how much you love him. it begins slowly, and dan heng doesn‘t take his eyes from you, yet the very reason you can see it focused, more unimpeded. the casting of soothing red evincing on his person, gently cascading over the outlines of his sharp features like rural waves and there he was, you smile triumphantly at him when you catch it— expressing and doughy, the luminous scarlet color.

in the early stages of your relationship, you never thought that the usual confident and self assured sampo actually had a pretty deep soft spot of being praised and complimented by you. he likes, no, adores, when you compliment the most arbitrary things he'd carry out— whether it was easily cooking you dinner, situating a pure smile on your lips or planning ahead an upcoming date for the both of you. by the stowing means of this, you decide to do it again and tell him how impossible cute he was and how much you valued all the effort he put forth, especially how so very special and ambrosial while your boyfriend will quickly stave his head away from you before you can see it, an exultant blush flickering a powerfully charming redness on his entire face.

a man, specifically a well renowned general, such as jing yuan himself was quite difficult to fluster in a way where he‘d end up blushing and reddening honest warmth. but, evidently, you weren‘t one to give up on such a big challenge, the thought of having the man blushing in front of you was far too delicious to refuse on. so, you massage his scalp, kiss him and show him your brightest smile, yet nothing seem to work for some reason. but then, it‘s different, out of the natural sphere, when after an entire day of trying your hardest to make him show any early signs of redness, you show gradual defeat, eyes heavy and low lidded, drenched in tiredness— to add onto that, jing yuan‘s chest was far too comfortable to get up from. well, little do you realize after a couple of minutes pass, you find yourself deeply slumbering on top of him, and the thought that you feel so safe and shielded by his side, made the sleepy general blush at last.

prior to you, your charming boyfriend blade wasn‘t used to being loved or cared for in his life by anyone at all. to say that this heart warming relationship with you now was a new one, was a clear understatement. be that as it may, you can catch him hide a blush from you quite frequently, especially in the early stages of your togetherness, he for no other reason cannot help himself and get easily emotional at the thought that he has you, you're his, greater reason that you love him just the way he was and accepted each flaw, each scar, without a single care throughout the entire universe. but, one particular motion that will make the man blush instantly, faster and the most distinguished— in its highest duration, was when you cuddled him in midst the night, without saying a word, both quietly tangled under the soft sheets, and you whisper a little "i love you" right against his ear shell.

gepard finds it immensely captivating when you listen to the little, fun stories he tends to tell you all after coming home from his hard work. suddenly, he becomes shy when he notices that he talked far too much and wordlessly fears that he might‘ve bored you to death by some of his seemingly uninteresting stories, or that's how he referred to them. at the same time, when he looks at you up closer and realizes that you were in fact, eagerly listening to each of the words he expelled from his lips, gepard can‘t help himself but shine a glittering red towards your direction— cheeks puckered and flustered scarlet and spreading onto his entire face. "so?" you say, effortlessly snapping him back to the present, "how does the story end?" and your boyfriend suddenly leans into you without warning, to place a subtle peck on your lips, words couldn't possibly describe that feeling.

welt doesn't blush, nope, that's the end, he unelaborately doesn't. the man keeps himself in tact pretty forthcoming and without an issue— besides, he doesn't think it's possible for him to blush in the first place. then there's you, moving your lips slightly to indicate a smile as you slant forward, "your hair." you point out, "let me fix it." and progress your hand into his strands to couple the lousy hair hanging carelessly on his forehead. it's a mess, both the bloody situation and welt who, for some unclear reason, couldn't stomach what just had happened and he quickly pulls his head away— taking off his glasses and act as if he had to clean them, even though he just did that five minutes ago. a keen smirk plays around the edges of your mouth when you realize what was going on, yet you do not speak, don't say anything, but make a mental note to never forget on how to make your usually sophisticated boyfriend the exact opposite.

luocha knows whenever you try to fluster him, beyond everything, he has observant eyes and effortlessly sees through all the teeny tiny schemes you tend to carry out with him. when you become more clingy and coo sweet nothings towards his direction, or when you decide that your boyfriend deserves a couple more kisses than the day before, he can see that you were attempting to play tricks on him and coax out the desired reaction. but what luocha did not see coming was that, as a matter of fact, it was beginning to work, quite powerful as well. conveniently there he was, having you wrapped around his strong arms as you do it again, sneakily kissing from his collarbones to the outline of his sharp jaw, until placing your lips on him at all. he instantly blushes, pulling his hand to the back of your head to keep you into the kiss, so you wouldn't catch him, wouldn't flash him a cheeky smile afterwards too when you'd realize that you managed to make him flustered at the very end.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[lostfracturess]

bad ideas and other drinks — satoru gojo

satoru gojo's reputation precedes him, so like any girl with half a brain, you steer clear. but what if he has other plans?

Satoru Gojo's fuckboy reputation precedes him, a fact that's impossible to ignore with the way gossip spreads like wildfire around campus. Every other week, it seems there's a new story circulating about his latest hookup or the girl he's charmed into his bed.

So, like any girl with half a brain, you steer clear of him.

It doesn't matter that he's ridiculously hot with his cocky grin, stupidly blue eyes, and those silvery-white locks that look so soft to the touch. The point is, you're not about to become another notch on his bedpost.

Too bad Satoru doesn't seem to get the memo.

It all goes down at some campus party. The music is loud, the drinks are flowing, and you're finally starting to let loose and have a good time after a stressful week of exams.

That is, until some drunken idiot bumps into you from behind, making you crash right into none other than the campus fuckboy himself, spilling your drink all over both his shirt and yours.

"Whoa there." Satoru blinks, then has the nerve to smirk, his eyes glinting with mischief. "If you wanted to get close, all you had to do was ask."

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the way his damp shirt clings to his toned chest. "Don't flatter yourself, Gojo. This was an accident."

His smirk only widens, sending a flutter through your stomach. "My bad then. But let me make it up to you, how about I get you a new drink? On me, of course."

"I can get my own drink, thanks," you say flatly, trying to wring out your drenched top. "I don't need anything from you."

"Damn, you sure know how to wound a guy." He places a hand over his hear. "And here I thought we were having a moment."

Ugh, the way he's looking at you makes your stomach flutter. No, churn. Definitely churn, probably just from how hard you're cringing. Definitely not because Satoru's even hotter up close.

Nope. No way. You're not going there.

You scoff, crossing your arms. "In your dreams, maybe."

"Oh sweetheart, you have no idea."

"Ugh, spare me the fuckboy routine." You take a step back, trying to put some distance between you. "I'm not interested in your games."

He steps closer, closing the gap you just created. "Who said anything about games?"

Suddenly his hands are on your hips, pulling you flush against him. You gasp at the contact, at the feel of his lean, hard body pressed to yours.

Satoru dips his head, his lips brushing your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "I'm just trying to apologize properly. My room's not far... I'm sure I could find you something to change into." His voice drops even lower, sending a shiver down your spine. "Or out of, if you prefer."

You arch a brow, trying to ignore the heat pooling in your belly. "Wow, does that line actually work?"

"You tell me." His lips skim along your jaw as he pulls back just far enough to meet your gaze, his blue eyes smoldering. "Is it working on you?"

Before you can formulate a response, Satoru leans in again, his lips grazing your ear once more. "I'll even be a gentleman and let you stay for breakfast."

Damn, he's good.

You swallow hard, your resolve crumbling. The feel of his hands on your hips, the heat of his breath on your skin, the cocky audacity in his words — it's all making it very difficult to remember why hooking up with him is a terrible idea.

But you'd be damned if you let him know that.

"Wow, how generous," you deadpan, mustering up every ounce of sarcasm you possess. "I think I'll pass. Have fun with your right hand tonight."

As you turn to storm off, he calls after you, "Offer's always open if you change your mind."

You roll your eyes so hard it hurts. "Not gonna happen. Bye, Gojo."

God, he's insufferable. It doesn't matter how hot he is, or how his flirting makes your pulse race.

You're not about to fall for Satoru Gojo's crap.

…Right?

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or modify my work.

[osamucide]

gladly

gladly i’ll burn up for you if you burn up for me

NSFW—MINORS DNI

wc: 1.2k

cw: dazai x gn!reader, explicit sexual content, no plot just horny and fluffy, established relationship, somno(?)(sleepy, anyway), handjob, grinding, nipple play, use of “baby,” “darling,” pillow princess dazai my most beloved

reid: this position bruh i’m going to go so feral that i eat my own hand. not the smut i intended to publish next but apparently the smut i needed to publish next. a little something short while i put off a longer dazai smut. i <3 soft lazy dazai enjoy

. . . .ᐟ

You know mornings like this should be rarer than they are.

His charming insistence, however muted by his sleep-addled laziness, hardly ever fails on you. In fact, it all might make him more tempting—that, the warmth of newly recharged bodies, the honey behind his drooping eyelids, the wandering of his hands and rolling of his hips against yours that feels so sweetly and foreignly unmapped and confused, yes, it’s equal parts all those things and you’re sure some others that you can’t conjure up into words through your early-hour fog. Yes, very few things Osamu ever does without meticulous planning, but he does let a certain vulnerability crack through on mornings like this, a vulnerability that’s evident in between his parting lips and the soft, unpracticed whines that live and die there. And yes, you’re one of the primary reasons—if not the primary reason—Osamu’s so often late to show up to work, but it’s difficult for you to feel guilty when your senses find their way back to the waking realm amongst his pretty sounds rumbling from his chest into your ear, his back arching back against your touch, and his soft brown hair splayed around his head like a halo.

The rational side of you should be dragging your dear boyfriend up and out of bed but it appears to still be asleep as you let your fingertips creep beneath his waistband. You shut the morning light out in favor of pressing your eyes beneath his collarbone; your thumb finds his tip, and if you weren't on the threshold of consciousness you would let out a giggle at the way his breath catches. You can feel Osamu's fingers curling tenderly around your wrist—a silent plea for you to keep going, touch him more, and you'll oblige, but you have to kiss the triangle of his shoulder first, so you do; your tongue deftly finds his nipple, and he's so pliant half-beneath you that you can slot his thigh between both of your own—it’s all you'll need, you can tell, as his head dips to the side on the pillow to catch a half-lidded glimpse of you working him into a mess so early and so easily. He'll return the favor without even trying, just by laying there and letting you move the way you do; he's so gorgeous all bleary from slumber, palming your lower back to guide you against him. You move. You move, looking up at him like he’s an angel, and his vision melts to warm darkness again. It's all he'll need, too.

You’d think he was falling back asleep if it wasn’t for the slow and steady bucking of his hips up into your hand. Winding your fingers around his base elicits a whine from his diaphragm—one you can hear against him as your own eyes roll shut and your tongue continues to idle. It’s all so natural, the way you stroke him, lick him, grind on him, that you feel yourself slipping back into unconsciousness. It’s his noises that you hang on for.

He’s far from alert, but words tumble out in whispers.

“Baby, it feels so good, don’t stop…”

You hum, more in response to his mumblings and less from the friction you create against his thigh; nonetheless, you’re sensitive, and as you keep rhythm along his cock he flexes against you and the way that you feel, splitting the line of slumber and wakefulness and writhing hotly against your lover, is divine.

You wish you could live in this kind of moment for the rest of your life. Too often you find yourself overwhelmed; regrettably and even more often you find Osamu overwhelmed. It’s never so obvious to anyone as it is to you, so he doesn’t tend to let on to anyone but you, and maybe that’s why you keep things like this sacred, because for once he doesn’t seem to be thinking, analyzing, inquiring, even how he does when you regularly have sex—forever the pleaser, he’s always looking to you with eyes asking questions like is it enough? Even outside of sex, god, in every aspect—you know he never stops wondering the same thing about himself: is it enough? Does it feel good? Am I enough? And the answer you give him is always a resounding yes, and you want so badly for him to believe you because he’s just as much your angel as you are his. You hope that mornings like this communicate it louder than your reassurances can. Your pleasure—in everything, in life—is so vividly amplified by his wellness, his peace, his own pleasure. You love him so deeply. He loves you like a stray cat finally living in comfort. You’ll never let a morning like this slip.

“Right there, right there,” he encourages as you squeeze just below his tip; his head lolls from side to side almost as if he’s dreaming (sometimes he thinks he is with you) and you track his movements through your own bliss, dragging your hips back and forth desperately as you double down on the spot that forces full-bodied moans from his pretty mouth. He’s close, he begs you; you’re frantic on his thigh, feeling yourself cum in a haze that has him tensing—you grind harder, harder, harder, sighing out his name until you’re spent so you can prop yourself up on your elbow to watch his face in the thickly-curtained sunlight.

“Oh, fuck, fuck— fuhhh— ah, uh-huh, ah—”

His eyes flicker open to catch your tired smile and he’s cumming—his grip on your ass is the only thing grounding him as his jaw falls slack, your lashes flutter in pure satisfaction, and he twitches, sent to the clouds by his beloved who looks at him with such adoration that he catches himself believing for a second that he must be beautiful; you work incredible magic on him. His brain and his body, both so used to neglect and abuse, finally feel like fruitful grounds for love. He finally feels whole as his cum drips down your fingers.

It is then that you do giggle and lean down to place a quick kiss to his nipple; he’s breathless, pink in the face, and you know you couldn’t love him more, and yet you will as each second passes.

Osamu brings his hand up to your hair, and your next kiss lands on his lips as he wills you down. It’s tender and lasts much longer than expected—you almost start your hips against him again, but the snoozed alarm at your bedside rings for the fourth time. You glance over. He was supposed to be out the door five minutes ago.

“Oh, shut it off,” he groans resentfully.

“As if.” You press one more kiss to his cheek before you unpeel yourself from him and punch the ringer into silence. “I’ll put coffee on.”

“Shower with me before I go, please.” He rubs his eyes and sits up. You strip out of your sticky shorts.

“Of course, darling.”

You pad to the kitchen. He watches you go with a warmth he didn’t know himself to be capable of.

And a smirk.

Maybe he can talk you into one more round in the bathroom.

[bluebeary-jay]

That funny feeling

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: pet names are something that's equally very easy and very hard for Joel (based on this request!)

Tags: established relationship, F-L-U-F-F, a grain of angst, idiots in love, a lot of overthinking uGH, mutual dumbassery, love deprived (& soft) Joel, i'm playing with the timeline here a bit, alsoo suggestive undertones hehe

Warnings: swearing and miscommunication, and nothing more ig

Word count: 3.6K

A/N: i'm finally feeling okay!! it took a while and i'm sorry for the wait. as always i hope you all will like what i came up with, and thank you again dear for requesting 💕

One of the things you noticed during those first few months of being in a relationship with Joel – and one which probably surprised you the most – was his fondness for using endearments when he was addressing you.

He called you by many names – darlin’, sweetheart and baby were just a tip of the iceberg.

And you adored it. Every single one of them.

How could you not when those pet names sounded so precious in that low and gruff voice of his? When the fact that he chose to let you get a glimpse at his softer side made you feel so special? 

He clearly liked doing this, too – and, as you suspected, watching your reaction when you received them. The tug of his lips and that dimple you so loved were an indicator enough that he wasn’t doing it out of obligation or because it was somehow expected of him.

Another thing that surprised you was how casual he was about it. Having not been in a proper relationship before made you feel out of your depth here, but from what you gathered, neither was he. At least for some time.

And yet, he seemed to have no problem or reservations about addressing you this way. He started even before he kissed you for the first time. You suspected that back then it was his strategy to show you – without voicing his intentions out loud – how he felt about you. It worked, somehow (because how were you supposed to resist that southern charm of his?), and once you both settled who you want to be for one another, it was like a switch flipped inside him.

But instead of turning it off, it only amplified his new habit and added more love and tenderness to the tone of his voice when he was calling you pet names.

You certainly were not complaining – especially when Joel was muttering those sweet words in a raspy voice into your skin when you were just waking up, or whispering them in your ear when you were passing each other during the day, brushing his hand against your waist.

So it was probably no surprise that you wanted to return the favor. The longer you were with each other, the more you wondered about what it would be like to call Joel by one of those endearments he used for you. If he would smile, if his eyes would crinkle in that adorable way…

Something was stopping you, though. Every time you were in public and Joel wasn’t currently looking at you, you were reminded of what kind of man you thought he was before you actually got to know him. His expression, the look in his eyes and his very presence were so intimidating that it gave you a pause each time. You knew he was a sweet, loving soul inside and it wasn’t like he’d be offended by being called by an affectionate nickname, or like your relationship would spiral down because of that.

…right?

What you did know, however, was that Joel Miller was a caretaker. A giver. And you wanted to take care of him, too, to make him feel as loved and cherished as he was making you feel – something you hadn’t a clue if you were doing right due to your own inexperience.

So one day, while you were tending to horses in the stables – one of your responsibilities in Jackson – you finally decided to stop overthinking and just… do what feels right to you. You were two grown-ass people. If anything happens – but probably nothing will – you’ll talk it out like adults.

You got lost in your own thoughts as you absent-mindedly brushed the coat of one of the horses. Suddenly, your attention was drawn by the animal neighing loudly but before you could look up, two strong arms embraced you from behind and a pair of lips pressed themselves to your neck.

You squealed in surprise, and then burst into giggles, when you felt Joel’s beard tickling your skin as he planted tender kisses on your neck, going down to your shoulder.

“Mornin’, sweetheart.”

It was not morning, but you haven’t seen him at all today since he left very early to help Tommy and some other men build a new storage house near the main street. As usual, you planned on meeting him when you’re done in the stables, but you were more than happy that he chose to surprise you.

“Hi,” you giggled. You tried to turn around to face him, but Joel grumbled and held you tighter to his chest, so you settled for putting your hand on the back of his head in an awkward half-hug. “You have some nerve coming here after you left me so rudely in the morning.”

He let out a sound between a groan and a chuckle.

“I tried to say goodbye, but you were out cold.”

“You didn’t try hard enough, then.”

“Fine. Next time I’ll shake you awake.” He pressed his lips to your pulse, planting a soft kiss there, and then another one a little bit lower, murmuring into your skin. “But you wouldn’t do that either if you were me and had an angel in your bed.”

You blew a raspberry and shook your head, making him hum against your neck with a smile. “Too much?”

“Just a little.” You turned around in his arms, and he dropped his head on your shoulder. “How’s work going?”

The man sighed heavily.

“It’s goin’. But I swear to God, Tommy gets more insufferable the sooner due date is. He almost lost it when some of the materials went missin’.”

“Well, it’s understandable with a little Miller on the way,” you replied, ruffling the hair on the back of his head and making Joel give you the stink eye. You scrunched your nose at him teasingly. “Get that pout off your face, mister, and better start thinking about what we’re watching tonight. My place, right?”

“Mhm.” He opened his mouth to say something else, but then angled his head to the side. There was a distant shouting from the direction of the road and you could faintly hear Tommy’s voice among the noise. Joel took a deep breath and his warm eyes met yours. “Alright, I better go before he does somethin’ stupid again. I’ll meet you tonight after guitar practice with Ellie.”

“Don’t be late again or I won’t let you in this time,” you said sweetly and a smirk danced on his lips.

“You’re annoyin’, you know that?” Joel leaned in and gave you a quick kiss on the lips, and then a lingering one on your forehead. “I’ll be on time, promise.”

You smiled and pushed his chest gently, letting him know that he should get back to his brother. He laughed – this actual rare and heartfelt laugh of his, which reminded you yet again how much you loved him – and took a couple of steps back.

“I’m holding you to it, handsome. Now go.”

Joel started to turn around, but then came to a sudden stop as soon as he heard you. It came out a bit awkward because he was mid-step and his feet kind of tangled up together, making him stumble before he managed to catch his balance.

You snorted and tilted your head to the side to peer at him, but his face was unreadable, almost blank. Like that rare and genuine laugh from earlier wiped all the emotions out of him.

“Hey. You okay?” you asked with a playful smile, taking in his expression. Joel looked over at you but didn’t answer, and you raised your eyebrows. “Joel?”

He parted his lips, like he wanted to say something, but no sound came out.

Something wasn’t right. His sudden silence wasn’t anything new – one of Joel’s main traits was being untalkative, though it got better since you two started dating, so you were used to it. But this was different. In his eyes there was a look of… you honestly couldn’t tell if it was awe or hurt. But you’ve never seen an expression like this on his face before.

He still didn’t say anything. You started feeling uneasy, but tried to play it off.

“Or… I could swing by Ellie’s before you two finish and–”

“I gotta go,” Joel muttered suddenly. “I’ll… see you later.”

He turned to the exit, but you quickly went around him and blocked his way with a frown. “Hey, hey, hey, wait. I’m serious now, are you okay?”

Joel glanced at you again, but then averted his eyes almost immediately. You gave him a weird look when he turned his head, as if looking for someone to get him out of here, but then a grin spread across your face when you noticed…

“Is this… Are you blushing?” you asked quietly. Joel winced and your smile got even wider. “You are! Does that–”

“I really gotta go, dar–” he stopped himself and patted your arm in a slapdash manner, not meeting your eyes. “I’ll see you later, alrigh’?”

Before you had a chance to ask or stop him, he walked away quickly, leaving you behind.

Your shoulders slumped and the smile disappeared from your face.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

*****

He did not see you later.

In fact, you didn’t have a chance to talk to him at all that day.

Once you finished your shift, you went looking for him but Joel wasn’t at the construction site, nor could you find him anywhere in town. You tried asking Tommy and Ellie about his whereabouts, but while his brother was as clueless as you, the teen seemed suspiciously quiet, and the second you took your eyes off her, she disappeared as well.

He didn’t come to your house that evening, and as it turned out, didn’t have guitar practice with Ellie, either. You felt a little hurt by the sudden disappearance, but ultimately decided against going to his house and invading his space when he clearly needed it.

It wasn’t until the next day that you saw the man again, but you never got a chance to ask him about what happened.

Joel came unannounced to your house and – literally and figuratively – swept you off your feet, acting a little softer and more… well, handsy than usual, but still in his normal Joel-like fashion, as if nothing ever happened. He did apologize for disappearing but it also seemed like he was trying really hard to avoid talking about yesterday altogether. So eventually you let it go.

The only explanation you could come up with was that you scared him off. Maybe it was too soon, maybe he just wasn’t okay with it – whatever the reason, it was evident he didn’t want you to bring it up.

So you decided to respect his boundaries and let the topic go. At least for now.

*****

Almost a week has passed, and you didn’t call him that again.

And fuck, if Joel wasn’t dying to hear that word from you just once more.

What he felt in that millisecond in the stables was so sudden and new – this weird, fluttery feeling in his stomach when you called him ‘handsome’ – that he honestly was at a loss how to react. Yes, he panicked (he wasn’t proud of that) and then when you pointed out the traitorous blush on his cheeks… it overwhelmed him.

Avoiding you for the rest of the day was a cowardly thing to do, but he needed some time to think about his next move before he could face you again.

He screwed up, that much was obvious. Joel didn’t know how to fix it, but he did have an idea how to make you feel comfortable enough to maybe do it again. A chance for him to react accordingly this time.

So since then, he made sure to show and tell you more often how important you were to him and how much he loved you, even though he was dying of cringe at times. His efforts were rewarding, of course – your every smile, every look in his direction was considered a win and a blessing in itself – and it seemed you forgot about his freak-out from the other day.

But you didn’t try it again.

And Joel didn’t know what to do. He’d never ask anyone for advice (God forbid Tommy ever finds out how big of a deal it was to his brother), and talking it out with you seemed like the most unattainable and impossible idea in the world.

You continued calling him by his name – and he couldn’t exactly complain when his name sounded so fucking perfect in your voice – but hell if Joel didn’t wish you try something else.

It didn’t even need to be this ‘handsome’ one you used. Any stupid nickname you come up with, he’d revel in it and this time wouldn’t chicken out.

Jesus, he had it bad. It was almost pathetic.

It wasn’t a life-changing, world-moving issue, though, and Joel wasn’t spending every waking moment thinking about shit like that. There was still work needed to be done in Jackson, he and you still had your own lifes, and… days passed.

It was just over a week later, when Joel came back home from a late-night job to find you asleep in his living room, that he thought about it again.

His heart swelled with adoration when he saw your form curled up on the couch. You must’ve been waiting for his return, but neither of you expected his work to take this long.

Joel bent over and put one arm under your knees and the other wrapped around your body, grunting at the pain in his back. You inhaled sharply when he picked you up, grumbling something incoherent.

“Shh, babygirl, it’s me,” he whispered soothingly, cradling you against his chest. “I’ll put you in bed. Or do you want to go back home?”

You made a noise of disagreement and breathed him in deeply, not opening your eyes.

“You’re late,” you slurred instead of answering him, nuzzling into his chest. Joel sighed tiredly.

“I know, baby, I’m sorry,” he whispered back. “The guys needed more help at the construction site.”

“Alright,” you mumbled again. “M’just glad you’re home now, honey.”

Joel’s feet stopped moving – gradually this time, not putting you at risk of being dropped – and he took a deep breath to tether himself before continuing his way to the bedroom.

You were asleep, he told himself while he was laying you down. It would be wrong to wake you and talk about it now. It could wait. He could wait.

Joel paused, then crouched at the head of the bed where he put you down, and delicately brushed some hair out of your forehead. His face was stoic, though those thoughts raged on like a hurricane inside his mind.

He had no idea how to do this. How to talk about this.

But he knew two things – he knew that his heart belonged to you, and that he didn’t want to settle for those pet names you accidentally muttered when half-awake, all because he was too much of a coward to admit what he wanted.

“Darlin’?”

“Hm?” you hummed, snuggling into his pillow.

Joel’s heart was beating so damn loud, he thought it was about to jump out of his chest. He took a grounding breath, brushing his knuckles against your cheek softly.

“Say that again,” he asked quietly in a raspy voice.

You made a face, keeping your eyes closed.

“I didn’t say anything.”

Joel swallowed hard and he was so nervous, he had to remind himself to unclench his jaw not to break all of his teeth.

Fucking Christ, he could take on the swarm of infected any day without losing his cool, so why was admitting stuff like this so damn difficult?

“Not now. Before. The…” he cleared his throat with embarrassment. His tongue felt like it was made of lead, and his face like it was shoved into a campfire, “pet name.”

That word finally got your attention. In a blink of an eye you were wide awake and lifted yourself on your elbows, rubbing your eyes. Joel almost regretted having said anything.

“Pet name?” you repeated, and then a shy, uncertain smile crept over your face. “Oh… I thought you said you didn’t like it.”

Don’t run, don’t you dare run now…

“I never said that,” he grumbled and furrowed his eyebrows, angry at himself that he made such a big deal out of it, that he had to talk about it now, a whole week later. You winced sheepishly.

“Well… Yeah, you didn’t, but the last time…” You sat up straight on the bed, rubbing your eyes again like you wanted to make sure you were entirely awake and focused for this conversation – which made Joel wishing even more that he had kept his mouth shut. “You ran off and I thought… I dunno, that…”

You shrugged, but you didn’t need to finish, for he understood how it must’ve looked.

Joel sighed heavily and put his forehead on your knee with fatigue. He felt your hands smoothing the shirt on his shoulders and back, and once again wondered what he did to ever deserve you.

“What do you say we don’t talk ‘bout this?” he proposed softly, feeling like a goddamn fool now. “Just… It felt nice. Good. And I want you to do it again… sometimes.”

“I want to talk about it, though.” You cupped his cheeks and lifted his head to look him in the eyes. A thought ran briefly through Joel’s mind about how fitting it was – he on his knees, looking up at you like the miracle you were. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Joel. I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell me.”

“What do you think?” he whispered, looking away, though your hands kept his head in place. He raised one of his own to cover your fingers with his, keeping it there. “It’s… goddammit,” he swore and closed his eyes, squeezing your hand faintly. “It’s all just kinda new for me, too,” he said at last. “As dumb as it sounds.”

You swiped your thumbs over his cheekbones. “It’s not dumb.” He didn’t say anything, and after a couple of seconds you sighed. “Okay, we don’t have to discuss it if you don’t want to. Just… maybe try to give me a sign next time,” you offered gently. “I don’t always know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

You were trying to lighten the atmosphere, bless your kind heart, and the corner of his lips tugged upwards despite the turmoil in his heart.

“Darlin’, that’s what I’ve been tryin’ to do for the past week. I’m not good at talkin’ but I… shit, I don’t know, I thought that if I start callin’ you like that more, it’ll… prompt you to do the same, I guess.”

At that, your hands slid off his cheeks and your face turned blank.

“Oh,” you breathed. Joel lifted his eyebrows in question and you added hurriedly: “I thought you were doing this to… I don’t know, let me know that you feel more comfortable calling me that than getting called…”

It was Joel’s turn to look at you blankly.

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” he whispered with disbelief clear in his voice. “I tried to somehow show you that it’s fine. Do you…” he paused when you slowly started to giggle, which soon turned into a fit of laughter at the tone of his voice. “Do you have any idea how embarrassin’ it was for me at times? And not once–”

He tried to sound accusatory, but your bright smile was too contagious and soon Joel was grinning, too. He covered the bottom part of his face with his hand, trying to regain his composure, and shook his head while muttering under his breath.

Then he felt your hands on both sides of his head again when you leaned forward and, still with that big, gorgeous smile of yours, started peppering his face in kisses. He tried to swat you away but it didn’t take long before he gave in to his fate.

After a couple of seconds of this sweet torture, you pulled back a little, leaving the tingly feeling of your lips all over his face.

“So, just to make sure. I can call you that?” you asked semi-shyly, though there was a mischievous glimmer in your eye, which made Joel smirk lopsidedly.

“Already told you, beautiful,” he murmured in a low voice, swiping his thumb across your cheekbone lovingly. “But nothin’ over-the-top, alright?”

“Alright,” you agreed, just as quietly, and then leaned in to kiss him lightly.

The suffocating coils of embarrassment in his stomach disappeared the moment you touched him. Joel decided that if suffering through those moments of vulnerability would end up with you in his arms and his lips on yours, he was able to survive them.

“Now come to bed, handsome,” you whispered against his mouth with a smile. Your voice had that downright sinful tone to it, which you knew was driving him insane. “I got cold waiting for you all alone.”

Little minx.

He gave you a smirk before crawling on top of you and scooping you in his arms. The sound of your laugh filled the room as he rolled both of you over, pulling you closer and onto his chest.

“Whatever you wish, sweetheart.”

[storiumemporium]

Astarion As a Father

Fem!Tav/Reader

I FINALLY GOT A NEW KEYBOARD WITH FULLY FUNCTIONING KEYS LETS GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I elected to write about something that's been giving me brainworms for ages, because I'd been talking about it with someone on here awhile ago and it just infested me. Astarion finding out you're pregnant and how he handles fatherhood. (Or, in this case, doesn't at first.) This isn't my best work but I blame it on the fact that I didn't intend for it to be THIS FUCKING LONG okay 😭

But without further ado, daddy Astarion:

Finding out:

When it comes to children, I think Astarion hasn't put much thought into it beyond 'me!? ABSOLUTELY NOT—'

He has no illusions about his state of mind and his faculties, you see. Astarion knows that he's fucked up, he knows that he's a problem, and he's only entirely too confident that any child unfortunately put under his care would likely end up just as damaged as he is, were they to miraculously make it to adulthood. He's just not equipped for it.

And, frankly, Astarion isn't even aware he can have children... That's just, not something he ever thought to question. He's undead, is he not? That should take care of the...fertility question.

Shouldn't it?

Truth be told, Cazador never told him of the possibilities because it was never meant to be a possibility. Astarion was too malnourished, his victims too short lived for anything to ever have come of it. He was supposed to die a sacrifice, not live to carry his own bloodline (hah) onward.

Were you to ever ask him about it, even jokingly over dinner one eve, he'd be very firm in the fact that it's a terrible idea and he'd be entirely unequipped. He would even go so far as to say he's the worst choice out of all of your past companions.

"Me? No. Absolutely not. I'm sure whatever little devil you managed to cook up would be the most charming child Baldur's Gate has ever seen... But even that magical explosive that fancied himself a God would be better suited to fatherhood, darling. I am built for luxury and adventure, nothing else." All bookended by typical Astarion preening.

So when the day comes and you inform him of the little life growing in your womb?

Nope. Not happening, not even a chance of happening.

The denial is strong with this one.

And when I say denial, I mean that Astarion well and truly blots out what you've said from his mind, as if it simply didn't happen at all. You never had the conversation, you never dropped the revelation, there is no child, he is not becoming a father.

It's not a lack of want— though he doesn't realize that yet— it's true, blinding terror. Before it was just a joke, just something for him to brush off with commentary about how terribly he'd do as a parent, better the uncle than anything else. But now it's a reality and to accept what you've said is to accept that he might well and truly destroy a child. But not just any, yours.

The traumas Astarion possesses heap onto his shoulders and slough off plentiful enough to make new oceans of it. Now, not only is he just beginning to regain his own autonomy, he's supposedly being given responsibility over a brand new life?

(It would only make sense for Astarion in retrospect, that the life you willingly sacrificed to nourish and nurture him would in turn allow him to grow a new life within you. The fool had just been too blind to consider it: The way, fresh off your blood, he could pull back from the delicate column of your throat and you would find his cheeks and ears and chest flushed with the loveliest shade of pink, eyes wide and soft and alive. The way his entire body would warm, going from corpse frigid to something just beneath normal. The way his once-still heart would slowly beat again.

He'd even asked you once- curled together on a familiar silken bed, foreheads touching and your hands clasped together between your chests- if you knew what it felt like to be so, so hungry that all you could even think about was about badly you wanted to eat? How food sounded so good that the desire became crossed and instead felt even more painful and nauseating? How it consumed your ability to make rational decisions, denied you the capacity to control your emotions?

He'd told you then, voice tender and timid and weak, that he'd felt like that every single day for two whole centuries, until the night you'd willingly laid down on that cot and put your life in his hands.

It was so simple really, of course you granted him the strength to create life. It was you.)

And of course it comes to a head before there is any chance at recovery. Your body begins to show the changes, you begin to swell, and Astarion only grows more avoidant and flighty. Because now he can't simply wipe the idea from his mind and continue on as if the child doesn't exist, the proof is there every single time he looks at you. He makes it very clear to you that he will not be returning to your side without a confrontation, a very potentially ugly one at that.

And ugly it is, explosive. Astarion hasn't truly had the time to recover from his life under Cazador, and all of those protective traits he grew remain sharp as ever, returning to the surface as if they'd never truly gone away to begin with. He sneers and hisses, tries his best to dig in and hurt you enough to stop poking his tender wounds. Enough to push you away so he can lick his wounds back open. He'll go so far as to accuse you of infidelity, though he regrets the words the moment they leave his lips, it's easier for him to imagine that you simply grew tired of him, that you were weary and longed for the daylight. That you wanted someone who could hold you beneath the sun, unlike him.

How you respond to this is entirely up to you, but just shy of throwing something truly despicable back into his face, such as Cazador, Astarion will apologize... eventually. If you remain stalwart and patient, if you have it in you to recognize that he doesn't mean his words, that he's barbing you with intent, Astarion will break down in that very same argument, his angry and accusatory rant will dissolve into an admission of deep insecurity and deeper terror.

But if you respond with anger? Justifiable, and Astarion knows that even in the moment as it's happening, but emotions rule him far more than he'd ever care to admit, and he will dig in and relish the reaction he's managed to draw from you. He will bristle and bite back until suspicion and bitterness fully claims his heart, and he aborts the conversation to hide in the shadows.

Astarion will wait until nightfall, until his freedom calls for him. The one thing that always manages to clear his head, even when you prove to be the cause of his muddying. It's a reminder, every time he steps into the cool and dark of Baldur's Gate, that Cazador is dead and he is a free man. That he can go where he chooses and when he chooses to, and not only that no one can stop him, but that you wouldn't even want to stop him.

And that truth is always what brings Astarion home.

Under the distant lonely stars and that cold moon, he has to remember that time and again you have let him. You have accepted him, you have not fought him on anything shy of a horrible mistake he wanted to make in a moment of weakness and hysteria. You have accepted all his deepest and ugliest wounds and kissed them like they were freckles to pour affection on. You fought Cazador for him, you defended him from your own friends. You even- at times- tested your own morals for him.

You wouldn't betray him, and Astarion knows he can't betray you.

Astarion would return to you late, curling into bed at your side, his eyes would not meet you, and his apology would come in the form of a simple confession. "I am... afraid. I am afraid."

Astarion wouldn't blame you if you don't forgive him immediately for his transgressions, he was cruel and you were vulnerable. But even then you'll find that your love doesn't abandon you again. He accepts- however frightened- that what you've said is true and is coming, and he must accept it. Mind you, it won't be perfect and it won't be romantic. Astarion doesn't know the intricacies of handling a pregnant woman, he's hardly tactful beyond his well honed and flirtatious lines. He genuinely loves you, but he's going to come pre-equipped as father material.

You need something? He'll get it with minimal complaint (but never none, you'd sooner get him to dye his hair black than cease complaining for the sake of it), he won't begrudge you your mood swings though he might be inclined to poke fun at you ever so often. And he will panic when you burst into tears for seemingly no reason, and no- time doesn't make him adjust, he will panic just as much the thousandth time as the first.

However, if it's any consolation. The moment your child enters the world, Astarion is a changed man.

When You Go Into Labor:

Astarion did the honors of informing all of your friends about your pregnancy, once he came to terms with it. And believe me when I say it is extravagant. The stationery and grandiose script that Astarion wields when informing everyone that you were expecting better fits a wedding invitation than it does... well. Very elegantly explaining that Astarion had accidentally knocked you up.

You can tell from the splotchy stains addressed to you from Wyll and Karlach that one of them had been crying when penning the message, Astarion has coin on Wyll, and you on Karlach. Lae'zel never responds to begin with and you know for a fact the Githyanki's response will likely come in the form of her simply showing up one of these days, unprompted. Jaheira personally and rather frequently visits as well, she becomes a sort of bastion as nerves take you over, confident and calm as she is. Halsin's "letter" arrives late, rather because alongside his letter is several little carved animals for the child's room, and mentions of a quilt he intends to bring along when next he visits. Shadowheart's letter, while congratulatory, contains an air of interrogation strung all about it, all aimed with pinpoint precision at the man responsible for your pregnancy and dripping with sarcasm.

Gale's letter is seven pages long, comes with a violet hued wax stamp, and multiple different inks in the most lavish hand he can manage. You daresay he's competing with Astarion. However, surprisingly, Gale's seems to be the most... helpful of them all? It wasn't your intent, you simply wanted your dear friend to join you in celebration, and yet Gale goes on to inform you that upon reading the letter he'd become a madman in pursuit of knowledge on pregnancy and giving birth. He admits that this wasn't a particularly fruitful endeavor, as he's rather confident that you're not a gnoll, troll, cambion, succubus, or any other variety of strange creature with strange metrics of procreation. Still, Gale directs the latter portion of his letter to Astarion quite pointedly, informing him of bookshops around Baldur's Gate where he might have more success.

Astarion scoffs, but you don't miss the way his fingers twitch and flex.

After the hilarity of this is resolved and you just begin to believe that peace might return to your soft little home in the city, the first of your companions begin to arrive.

This continues on for the next week or so, without you ever knowing that this had been planned- and without knowing that Astarion had been the one to plan it. It's a furthering of his apology, of his guilt over the way he'd treated you. Again, Astarion has no illusions of the kind of man he is, and the fact he's not nurturing in the sort of ways that you need- but he's not completely stupid and he knows you're scared. So... bring the cavalry, darling.

Eventually your entire home has become a crash pad for all of your dearest friends, your family, and you only grow suspicious of Astarion's hand in this chaos because he's surprisingly amicable to having his peace so thoroughly disturbed by 'everyone and their mother'. Truly, he manages to bite his tongue some of the time about them trampling his fine rugs and scratching the plates. He even seems... wistful about it. As nostalgic as you openly are at seeing all of these beloved people under one roof again.

Nights are filled with raucous laughter, clattering utensils, a table so thoroughly overcrowded that people are playfully shouldering each other out of the way for a chance to get at their own food. And Astarion stays faithful at your side, his hand perpetually clasped gently around yours, thumb rubbing over your knuckles. Days are never spent alone, no matter what it is you need to do, someone (if not everyone) is following you along. And though Astarion feels his heart ache that he can't join you, he'll be glad to know you're safe.

Besides, your companions are likely all taking turns tormenting, testing, and relentlessly teasing him about what is to come. He has his own hands full. He's starting to regret being such a generous lover.

And then your water breaks in the dead of night.

Remember how I said Astarion was far from perfect? This would be one of those moments that it really shines.

Not that he's particularly terrible, no. He's not actively cruel toward you, and certainly not dismissive, it's somewhat the opposite. Halsin and Jaheira end up the ones helping you, the only two with some iota of understanding on what was happening and what to do with and for you. The others, less experienced in "mundane" medical situations will take up the second most important role.

Prevent Astarion from catastrophizing any more than he already has been.

Karlach has been the sole force capable of keeping Astarion away from the wine, typically bear hugging him away from your cellar while Wyll tries his best to talk your lover down from a total nervous breakdown. Of which he nearly has, several times. It's not even the sight of you, specifically. He's okay with being at your side and holding your hand, in trying his best to provide comforting words that aren't laced with sarcasm for once. But the sounds you make, that's what breaks him. Astarion isn't good at hearing you scream from the pain, he isn't good at the choked sobs or your heavy breaths. The way you sound like you're struggling against death. It makes him want to crawl out of his own skin, fight assailants that aren't there.

And for a few hours there, in the midst of your labors and your exhausted, pained little cries, Astarion isn't sure how he can love the child causing you this much suffering. It's not as if Astarion was an altruistic man on his best days, as if he were particularly reasonable when it came to you. You've both come to a mutual understanding that were something to happen to you, no morals would be involved in the things Astarion would do to rectify it.

And now, here you are, suffering. Astarion isn't supposed to do a thing about it? He's supposed to be- what, overjoyed by it? It infuriates him, he's truly prepared to have a grudge match with an infant.

Until, as the sun is starting to creep up on a brand new day, it's no longer your screams that meet the air, but another's entirely. Tiny but powerful, high pitched little squeals of fury and distress. And your laughter, disbelieving, soft, adoring already.

Astarion has a daughter.

I go with the HC that Astarion had eyes like honey once, and that his daughter takes after that, along with the delicate points of his ears mirrored in her own. She's small, so small, but healthy and already feisty, wiggling as best as her tiny body can whilst still too heavy for her to lift and move.

You're the first to hold her of course, and Astarion will be at his knees beside the two of you. The expression he wears is something you've seen maybe two or three other times in the entire time you've known him- moments when you know he expected everything to fall apart, moments where he couldn't believe that the world was so good.

It's then that you can breathe for the first time, and know that both of your darlings will be just fine.

Once he does hold her, he's not inclined to let her go. Even once you ask to have her back, he'll simply move you into his lap, so that he can hold you both. It's better that way anyhow, having both of his girls in his arms. And Astarion will repeat again and again how stunned he is, he just can't believe it. Cannot fathom any of it. I think he's the type to say that he's speechless and then spend the next five minutes doing nothing but talking. It's nervous rambling, but still, speechless is not the term I would use to describe him here.

Astarion With Your Baby:

Once your little darling is actually in your lives, you get to see how hilariously unorthodox Astarion is with children. Especially his own. Astarion doesn't baby-talk like you or the rest of your companions, he speaks in the same exact tones as he would a grown woman. In fact, for the first few days you're adjusting to a child in your life, you sometimes mistake Astarion as speaking with an unexpected guest, only to round the corner and find him lightheartedly chastising his own daughter for her poor nappy conduct as he wrinkles his nose and changes her diaper.

He's disgusted by that, by the way. Absolutely hates it, complains loudly about having to do it. But if you so much as try to stand to help he'll force you back down onto your chair or the couch, something something not useless something something already up, darling. It's as if Astarion is simply allergic to admitting that while it makes him nauseous, he wants to care for his daughter. He wants you to rest.

And yes, Astarion is the type of father that thinks all other children are hideous little fecal beasts and his daughter is the only gorgeous little angel in the entire world. Perfect, can do no wrong. He tells her as such too, in the same deadpan voice he always uses, wiggling and stretching her legs.

"You know, darling. You should count your blessings, you're the only child I've ever seen that doesn't look like some sort of hideous, deformed bean. I can't be surprised though, with as gorgeous as your parents are." And though he rolls his eyes, he's unable to contain the grin that shows his teeth when she coos and squeaks at the sound of his voice.

And yes. Astarion dresses up with his child.

The older she gets the more he does it, little matching outfits and ribbons. Nothing that she would choke on, were she to get her mitts on it. (You had to be the one to tell him no, at first. He did throw a little fit about it, just a small one).

But it's not all lighthearted, good or bad.

There are times where Astarion won't touch your daughter, won't be alone with her in the same room. He fears it, he'll eventually tell you. His... affliction came with it's dangers, always. But he's always trusted that you could defend yourself, and you're big enough that he can't just kill you between one blink and the next. The same can't be said of your darling girl. She's so small and so fragile that, were he to lose even the slightest grip of himself around her, it could cost her her life. No doubt it would traumatize her for life, regardless.

You watch it, too. The way it pinches his brows and makes him wipe his palms against his pants as if he were sweating. Nervous habits creeping up his throat and causing him to pace about like a caged animal. It's during these times that you have to bring your daughter to him. Gently place her in his arms and remind him that he's loved her from the moment he saw her. And where once he held trepidation and queasiness at the prospect of fatherhood, you can see him care so much about this little bundle that he looks sick from it. A vulnerability he can't mask.

And of course, there are times he nearly weeps for other reasons.

Like when she takes her first steps, and immediately tries to run for him.

And Astarion knows he should let her tumble, that it's good to let her fall and get back up again, but the moment her unsteady feet cause her to careen she's safe in his arms. Little kisses peppered against her giggly face. And he'll tuck away against her to try and get his bearings back, but she'll pat his cheeks and tug his ears- and you'll have to distract her with a toy while he hiccups and sniffles down his need to cry. He wasn't ready for her to grow so fast, gone is the tiny bundle that could fit perfectly in one arm, now she's walking. How long before she's dating? Gods, should he be preparing for betrothal requests!?

"I want to be mortal." He whispers to you, one night. She's tucked between your bodies, sound asleep and wiggling from time to time. This is one of the rare moments you and your love can speak to each other uninterrupted, in the tranquility of the dark hugging around you.

It's strange that he brings this up now, you'd spoken about it several times since the Elder Brain had been taken down... But in the past few years since your daughter had been born, all of that had fallen to the wayside. "What brings this to mind, Starling?"

Your hand comes to cup his throat, as you watch and feel him work as if he were swallowing a stone. "I don't want to outlive this."

It's hard to blink the tears from your eyes, understanding the implications.

Were he actually two hundred years old, Astarion wouldn't survive well past the existence of his sweet little family.

He'd been more melancholy the past few weeks, after realizing that your daughter was beginning to function on her own. She was walking, grabbing things, talking in rudimentary sentences. She was even beginning to call him pa.

He'd cried, at that.

"I'll forget," his voice draws you out from that brief reverie. The distress is palpable, but runs low like the tide before a storm. "I'll forget all of this. I don't want to know what I'll become, then."

And when you run your hands up into his hair, to scratch lovingly along his scalp, he doesn't hide the shiver or the way his face presses against your palm, cold and smooth on your skin.

"We'll find a way, Astarion. I haven't given up yet... We just- she's too young."

It's both a strain and a relief, to know that. To be reminded that your daughter is still so small, that he won't be losing her- or you- any time soon. There's still time.

Astarion With Your Teen:

Arguably this is the best time between your daughter and him. It's simultaneously a surprise and yet- not at all? He's more like her confidante and best friend than strictly a father. He isn't one for harsh curfews and strict ways of dress- rather, he's the one she comes to when she's made some sort of mistake. Or when she's angry about something.

In general, Astarion withholds judgement of her, for better or worse. The unintended consequence is that you might become more of her enemy than Astarion, because he's less inclined to punish for questionable behaviors.

It's not that he's afraid of angering her or dealing with push back- rather that Astarion's frame of reference for what constitutes a mistake is ah... rather broken. Even in the beginnings of your relationship with Astarion, the mistakes that would anger him constituted dropping an entire building on his head or... risking being turned into a Mindflayer to help some old lady find her cat.

Not feeling up cute boys in alleyways.

As a result you'll likely need to have a few conversations with him about not being so lenient on her, because she needs to have structure in how to behave. Stealing things is in fact, not okay! And Astarion will listen, but he's always going to be a bit more of a friend than anything else.

A total gossip with her, too. You'll catch them huddled around the dinner table at night, both with a glass of wine (this was an argument that Astarion ended up winning, she's allowed one glass a week, but that's all!) in hand shittalking a storm together. Astarion has become the Baldur's Gate equivalent of a PTA mom, he shows up as stylishly as he can and beefs with the parents of whichever children have upset his daughter the most. And then when they get home they just toss it back and forth together.

But I want to stress, just because he doesn't punish her doesn't mean he isn't protective of her. Astarion is more protective than you are.

Once she begins dating you'll find yourself home alone semi-frequently, because Astarion will play the supportive, loving father part when she leaves- and immediately follow her out into the dark. He's had centuries to know what dangers lurk around every corner, and foggy memories of simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time before his nightmare began. He won't allow that to happen with his girl.

And it's funny, because Astarion will talk mad shit to himself while he does it. Logically he knows that she's with some teenage boy or girl, but it doesn't stop the petty, emotional side of him from rolling his eyes and sneering at the cheap one-liners and the dumb tactics that this would-be charmer utilizes. Really, taking her into dark alleys to get her to tuck into you? Going to a totally secret spot that Astarion has known about for at least a hundred and sixty years? Get real, kid.

And you have to try valiantly not to laugh when he comes home, huffing and puffing about it. Because you will hear every single petty thought he had the entire time, and you will know that he looks like a petulant child. It's very cute.

All in all, I think Astarion is a reckless, chaotic, petty father. And one that loves his child so, so much. To the point of ruin, to the point where suddenly staying in one place doesn't seem so bad, just so she can have friends. Helping people isn't the worst, just so she can know there are heroes in the world. Suddenly he's learning to bandage scrapes and kiss bruises, and having tears and snot on his clothes mean nothing compared to the grief of the one shedding them. He loves her in ways he didn't anticipate he ever could. Enough to know all of her ticks and secrets, to know when she's lying through her teeth and when she's being devastatingly obvious.

Learning to cook even when he can't eat, listening to her spin a story with a straight face and then- as she's stepping out the door- telling her to be careful with that boy and listening to her groan loudly as the door slams shut, a mischievous smile on his face.

Holding you and dancing you around, cradling you close with all the tenderness he has in the whole of his body and soul. Kissing you, calling you the mother of his child, thanking you for giving him something he didn't even know he'd wanted. A family.

Small and odd, but his.

[moonstruckme]

Omg holiday fics… I need a Steve and reader under the mistletoe fic (bonus points if like enemies/rivals/frenemies to lovers vibe??) like I need air to breathe

Ahh I missed him! Thanks for requesting <3

cw: alcohol

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 1.7k words

It’s virtually the same as every party you went to in high school, save for the Christmas tree in the corner of the living room. Try as Scott’s girlfriend might, she cannot, in your opinion, successfully call this a Christmas party. 

She has made a valiant effort, though. There’s an option of spiked eggnog sitting on the counter beside the cooler of beers, tinsel glitters around the railing of the stairway, and a grocery store cheese plate really adds a bit of class to the center of the coffee table. Unfortunately, the class is sort of nullified by all the bro-ey yelling coming from the beer pong tournament Scott’s holding in the basement. 

“That’s McCreedy,” Steve tells you as a particularly loud whoop comes from downstairs. 

You reach for a piece of swiss, suppressing your smile. “You sound confident.” 

“It’s him. Wait a sec, he’s gonna do his signature yell.” He holds up a hand, ear cocked in anticipation. 

A moment later, a testosterone-fuelled, “Whoo! That’s what I’m talking about,” sounds from the basement. 

You hastily swallow your cheese, covering your mouth to hide your laugh. Steve looks very pleased with himself. 

“Every time he scored a basket for four years,” he explains. 

“Oh my god.” Your laughter is difficult to quell when Steve looks so delighted to have brought it about. You think, not for the first time tonight, that you never expected to be having this good a time with Steve Harrington. “Are we going to be subjected to that all night?” 

Steve grimaces. “Depends. He’s not very good, but if he’s playing someone who also sucks…” 

“Is this the part where you tell me that if you were in there he’d be losing?” You’re a bit surprised at the flirtation in your own tone, but you don’t backtrack. 

“No.” He smiles. “That would be arrogant and braggy.” 

“Not to mention predictable,” you tack on. 

“Right. I’ve been told, uh, that’s not really the best way to get nice girls to like me.” 

You pick up your cup, hiding a smile behind the rim as you take a sip. You’ll have to send a fruit basket to whoever taught him that lesson. The Steve Harrington you knew in high school was absolutely that conceited. He knew he was handsome and charming, and the fact that he knew was enough for you to stay away. He never fell short on girls who wanted him for those things anyway. You didn’t think of Steve much then, only with vague annoyance when he wrapped your teachers around his finger or made your friends ditch you on a Friday night so they could go to one of his basketball games, and then you’d graduated and happily never thought of him again. Until tonight, when you’d shown up for a friend-of-a-friend’s so-called Christmas party and here he was. 

This Steve Harrington seems different from the one you knew. His signature hairstyle has changed, for one thing. It’s grown out a bit, less coiffed, more fluffy. A couple of strands fall into his eyes which he keeps combing back in a way that you hate to find endearing but unfortunately do. He seems to walk more than he saunters, now, too. His mouth doesn’t hold so much smugness in its tilt. This Steve is (seemingly) more interested in talking to you than trying to get you to play seven minutes in heaven or recounting his basketball stats or going to play beer pong with his friends who he claims aren’t his friends anymore. He looks you in the eyes like he’s interested in what you have to say and smiles when you smile.

“I’m going to go get a refill.” You stand with your cup. “Want anything?” 

“Oh, yeah.” Steve picks up his beer, long since empty. “I’ll come with you.” 

For all the self-respect that had kept you immune to him throughout high school, it’s hard not to feel flattered by Steve’s attention tonight. Your face heats as he trails you into the kitchen, not even a full step behind as you go inside. 

“Ooooh!” 

You stop. It’s Sasha, Scott’s girlfriend and the party’s true host, who’s oohed at you, but everyone in the kitchen has turned to look. 

“What?” you ask. 

Nancy Wheeler is refilling the punch bowl of eggnog with another girl you almost recognize. She gives you a look that borders on sympathetic. “You’re standing under the mistletoe,” she tells you. 

You and Steve look up at the same time. Taped to the ceiling above the entryway, like a trap hunters lay in the woods, is a small sprig of green tied with red ribbon. 

You look at Steve. He’s already looking at you. 

“I…”

“No.” Steve’s tone could nearly be called scoffing. “No way. That’s stupid, anyone who walks in is gonna be under it.” 

“Only people who walk in together,” corrects Sasha. It’s clear she’s been waiting for her trap to spring all night. 

Steve shakes his head. “It’s stupid,” he says again. “Right, Robs?” 

He looks to the girl sitting on the counter by Nancy—Robin, you remember her now, she was a couple years below you in school—seemingly for support. 

“Uhh, right,” Robin fumbles. Nancy gives her an amused look. “It’s a stupid tradition, which, by the way, we only do because some old Greek guys thought it would promote fertility, so. It’s sexist, or something.”

Steve nods, satisfied. 

“Still,” says Nancy, a smile playing on the ends of her lips, “it is a tradition.” 

With Nancy’s hand gracing hers, Robin seems to have no rebuttal for that. 

“It’s a bullshit tradition.” Steve reaches into the cooler, not looking at what drinks he grabs before ushering you back out of the kitchen. “Come on.” 

You feel like you have whiplash going back to the couch. Steve’s gotten you both sodas, condensation still dripping off the one he presses into your hand. The tab cracks and hisses as he pops his open. 

“Sorry about that.” He still seems piqued. “I didn’t know we were gonna get ambushed like that.” 

“It’s okay. How could you know?” you reply airily. You crack open your own can, not thinking to check what it is until it hits your tongue. Ginger ale, fizzy and light. “I didn’t know that about the origin of mistletoe.” 

“Yeah.” Steve chuckles drily. “Me neither.” 

“Robin seems really smart.” 

“I’m, like, eighty percent sure she made that up on the spot. But yeah, she’s smart.” 

“Well, I’m just glad we didn’t perpetuate a sexist tradition.” 

You say it lightly, but there’s an odd weight in your chest. You are glad that you didn’t kiss in the kitchen in front of everyone, that Steve hadn’t pressured you like everyone else, but part of you wishes he’d been a little less adamant in his refusal. It’s silly, you know. You don’t think you’d actually want to kiss anyone under those circumstances, so public and contrived, but still. It stings just a little. 

“Do you and Robin hang out a lot?” you ask, trying perhaps a bit too hard to sound casual and disinterested. 

“Yeah.” Steve nods, those couple of strands falling out of line again and into his eyes. “But, you know, we’re just friends. We work together.” 

You raise your eyebrows, disbelieving. 

“Really,” he laughs. “She’s—it’s not like that. Super not like that.” 

“Okay,” you say, believing him. But you’re not done teasing him yet, you decide. “You hang out with a lot of high schoolers, Harrington?” 

Steve guffaws. “Hey, we’re just friends! And Robin’s only a couple of years behind us.” 

You pause, sensing there’s more. “But…” you prompt. 

Steve huffs a laugh, pushing his hair out of his face. “It’s not weird, okay?” 

“Okay.” You settle in. “Tell me.” 

He interrupts himself repeatedly to insist again that it’s not weird, and you don’t doubt him, the look that comes over his face when he talks about the kids fond and brotherly. He gives them free rentals from the video store he works at with Robin, helps them navigate high school drama and crushes, and drives them places when their parents won’t. When you call him a pro bono babysitter, Steve laughs and says, That’s exactly what it is. 

It’s sweet to see how much he cares about these kids, to hear him talk about them like they’re pests he has to wrangle and put up with while smiling like he wouldn’t have it any other way. The Steve you knew in high school didn’t seem to care about much of anyone apart from himself. This Steve is overflowing with sincerity, kinder and braver and more genuinely funny than you remember him. When he offers you a ride home, you accept. 

You don’t bother zipping your coat for the walk to the car. There’s salt on the porch, but still you walk carefully, wary of ice. 

“Hey,” Steve says before you can go down the steps. 

You glance back at him, and he’s looking up. 

“Look.” 

You tilt your head back too. Hung on a string above the entrance to the porch, tied in a red ribbon just like the one in the kitchen, is a sprig of mistletoe. 

“Two?” You laugh, turning towards Steve. “Doesn’t that seem like—” 

His lips capture yours. 

The first press is greedy, overeager, but after a second of you standing still in surprise he starts to back away. His lips leave an impression of warmth on yours. They part on an apology. 

You shake your head, reaching for him. “Wait.” 

The material of his jacket is slippery underneath your fingers, and his lips find yours with the same warmth they left with. Steve kisses confidently, like you knew he would, but also with a curiosity you didn’t expect. His lips close and part over yours like he’s asking, entreating, trying to draw something out. You don’t know that you have the answer, but you kiss his cupid’s bow in consolation. He brings his hands to the curve of your back, squeezing before letting go. 

Your breath puffs in the cold air. “I thought…I thought it was a bullshit tradition.” 

“It’s only bullshit when it’s in a room full of people,” he says. 

You laugh, again surprised at how easily he coaxes it out of you but not as much as you’d been at the beginning of the night. You think Steve’s going to be making you laugh a lot now.

[kingofbodyrolls]

7 Summers at the Sea | bts | series masterlist

Spending the summer by the sea might bring with it more than just the sweet summer breeze of the salty ocean.

→ AUs: mermaid!au (they are mermen!), fantasy, magical → Genres: slice of life, humor/crack, drama, smut and fluff → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Taglist: do you want to be added to the taglist? Just drop a comment or send an ask (remember to tell me if you want to be tagged in all, one or more members). → Read on AO3? [link] → Author’s note: hi!!!! I love mermaid stories, and I don’t think there’s enough out there, so here’s me creating my own 🧜 This is a collection of mermaid stories for each member of bangtan! They are one-shots and stand-alone, but operate in the same universe ✨

🌊Namjoon You’ve been searching for gemstones deep on the seabed— having found a broken piece of blue aquamarine. Searching for the missing piece and your new rival, you find it and much more with the blue tailed merman Namjoon while on a quest for crystals. → Deep Dive [19.8k]

🌊Seokjin Life as a mermaid is wonderful, especially when your merman boyfriend, Seokjin, treats you just right. But you’re beginning to recall memories that you don’t think are yours from life on land— from a past life maybe? When you do realize that the memories are in fact your own, the world comes tumbling down around you, questioning your very existence. Are you even a real mermaid? → When it Sinks In [13.1k]

🌊Yoongi You know how the story goes; girl meets charming man, only to find out that he’s a merman and the more you get to know him you realize how cold and unforgiving he is. Thinking you can bring the sun to calm his storm you fall deep for him— only problem? He doesn’t love you back. → Of Salt and Shadow [TBA]

🌊Hoseok Hoseok is royalty in the underwater city of Naraeum, and he’s bored. Bored of duties and responsibility, he recklessly searches for fun on land, testing love potions he stole from the Sea Witch. None of them have worked so far, until one day; there’s you, a human he doesn’t know claiming to be in love with him. It might be fun, he thinks, a way for him to rebel against his family because they would never allow him to mate with a human. → Forelsket [TBA]

🌊Jimin You don’t really enjoy your work on a trawler, but it pays the rent. When you hear some ruckus out of the deck, you go out to investigate, only to be met by an unreal sight: a blonde merman with a sparkly golden tail caught in the net, struggling to get free. → To Catch a Merman [17.8k]

🌊Taehyung You’ve always been captivated by the sea—a love as deep and endless as the tides. But when tragedy strikes, that love turns bittersweet, and you find yourself drawn to the very thing that stole a part of your soul. Night after night, you pour your sorrows into the embrace of moonlight and whisper your pain to the stars. Then, one fateful evening, a merman surfaces from the depths—a being of myth and wonder. Will you dare to believe in fairytales and the magic of second chances? In hope, love, and the possibility of forever? Perhaps, he’s here to show you that even in the darkest corners, beauty and light can still thrive. → Moonglade [15.4k]

🌊Jungkook When your childhood friend that you had a crush on, moved away out of the blue— you never thought you’d see him again. A night swim in the ocean will have you feeling delusional, but the voice that fills your ears— sweet like cotton candy, you’d recognize that voice anywhere, it’s Jungkook. → Till We Meet Again [11.4k]

I don’t plan to have them all ready this summer, lol 😂 But they are all in the works, with my other 100+ wips (I really don’t have that many, I’m just exaggerating).

The list will be updated as I post them ✨ 

Also, please, do let me know if you’re excited— I’m struggling with posting and sometimes I feel like there’s no point in posting, because people don’t engage (= I’m losing motivation is what I’m saying).

Are you ready to take a swim? 🌊🧜

[sjyuns]

🗒️ 、KISS IT BETTER BABY

playboy! jake x fem reader 762 words warning kissing genre fluff mikaela’s note this and intentions are literally the same because i love playboys

“You act as if you’re obsessed with me, Jake,” you point out, eyes playfully rolling back at him, the absolute bane of your parent’s existence, your boyfriend.

The dim lighting of the empty corridor only does justice to Jake Sim as he glows, hair slicked back in his all black suit that made him look like Lucifer himself. And it’s utterly ironic, how he tempts you like a sinner then treats you like an angel.

“I am though,” he grins, not a single hint of embarrassment evident in his voice, “sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night screaming your name.” It’s a whisper, yet it’s loud as his words resonate in your chest, sending chills down your spine.

He bends down, your back plastered against the cool marble wall of the fancy hotel that you should know the name of, yet everything is fuzzy as you come face to face with Jake. His effect on you is everlasting, just like it was when you first met him.

Out of the many rules imposed on you, one was written in bold, highlighted in fluorescent, and drilled into your mind — never ever befriend or even talk to a Sim. They’re rude and manipulative, taking every single opportunity to drain you dry for their own gains.

But you couldn’t help your weak heart, especially not when a boy like Jake Sim stood in front of you, face sculpted like a Greek god as he adored you as if you were the one that was otherworldly.

And so it started — climbing through windows unethically when the sky was a stroke of midnight blue, lies and lies that you were feeling unwell just to get pulled into an empty room to meet Jake. It was bad, very wrong, yet not a single tinge of guilt could be found in you.

“Not here,” you mutter, palms placed flat against his muscular chest. “Someone might be watching.”

He groans, “whatever, baby, let them watch.” His eyes are etched on your lips, tongue darting out swiftly before he bends down once again, “wanna show you off for once.”

Your lips are smooth, falling open at the brush of his tongue, welcoming him as his ring clad fingers grasp your hips. It’s heaven on earth, and Jake wishes that he could have you by his side every second of the day, that he could have the only privilege he had ever wanted amidst all in his life — to kiss you whenever he wanted to.

Jake doesn’t know how it happened, maybe it was curiosity or just the pure fact that you were labelled as forbidden that made the thought of you more appealing, more intoxicating, more fun. And he never expected it to be anything more than a game, but here he was, confessing that you were all he could ever think about, dream about.

“Jake,” you whine, pushing him away with great effort before glancing around to see if anyone was watching. Jake thinks he might go insane just looking at you, swollen lips and pretty face as you stare at him in slight disappointment — but how could he ever control the urge to kiss his pretty girl.

“Jake?” He cocks his head to the side, lips slightly downturned as he laments, “we’re alone right now and you’re calling me Jake? You wound me.” He holds back a cocky smirk at the way your eyes dim at the sight of his facade.

“You can always kiss it better, baby.” The playful smirk that he’s unable to hold back now showcased on his face, and it’s times like this that you find yourself cursing Jake Sim and his godly charm. He’s playing with you, and it’s painfully obvious, and you can’t seem to do anything but stare with burning red ears and cheeks.

“C’mon baby, don’t be shy, I’m all yours.” You can feel his hot breath hitting your lips, fingers caressing your waist as he pulls you closer and gives you nothing but teasing glances as he waits for you to initiate the kiss.

“We’re not supposed to do this,” you murmur, yet your actions oppose your words as you close the gap between his lips and yours, pure ecstasy as he smiles into the kiss.

Again and again, as Jake Sim pressed soft kisses on your lips, under the dim lighting of the hallway, just a few metres away from your parents. But he thinks it doesn’t matter what the consequences might be, he’d be fine as long as you were there to kiss it better.

© SJYUNS