#maybe make her reds more pastel

[volatile-shorty]

you are profoundly precious/a rare gem invaluable

fraggle petrigrofs. betty is a regular tunnel fraggle and simon is a cave fraggle. they nest together and do a lot of projects together. yeah thats pretty much all i got

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Ghost Eater

Summary: You don't like exorcists. They don't much like you either.

-----

You’d always thought big restaurants like the Brownie Industry only did well in small, midwestern towns like the one you came from. A year working in LA has taught you that, no matter where you go, people will always love garlic bread and sugar.

It’s your day off which means you’re pulling a double shift. You haven’t had time to wash your hair for the past two weeks so it’s frizzing out of your claw clip and flying wild around your face. The lighting is so dim that you’ve tripped over two black purses already, luckily not while you’re running food. The big dining room sounds like an apiary with the tittering laughter of the later adult crowd that’s filtered in from the theater across the four lane road. The main difference between the Brownie Industry here and the one back home is size. The ceiling soars overhead, supported by a series of concrete pillars separating the dining area into three sections.

Normally it would be three servers per section. Today, it’s just you in yours.

One more hour. That’s what the manager promised you. It might even be true if the host stand quits seating you after the table you’re approaching.

There are three people at the table. A woman whose hair might be light blonde or gray in the light of day, her eyes light and piercing. Her face is soft from age, emphasized by the tight, lace collar of her off-season sweater. She reminds you strongly of your mom’s nemesis on the HOA board. The man couldn’t be more out of place next to her despite their equivalent age. He’s wearing a leather jacket – again, it’s not cold here – and a Norwegian metal shirt underneath. His hair is definitely white, so white it almost glows. He’s frowning at the teenager across the table as if she’s touched his motorcycle without permission.

The teenager might be the first you’ve seen all night who doesn’t have their phone out. She’s decked out in what you consider grandma florals – a t-shirt scattered with daisy chains, a bucket hat made out of nana’s carpet bag, and a hand-crocheted scarf in pastel.  You can’t really see her face under the shadow of her hat and there’s an odd, blurred quality to the way she fiddles with her napkin. You let your eyes skip past her and back to the two adults. Teenagers don’t pay the bill.

“Welcome to Brownie Industry!” you chirp. You’re sweaty and red but the faded yellow light hides that. You’re a service industry pro so none of your exhaustion shows on your face when you ask, “Is this your first-time dining with us?”

If you weren’t so burned out, you’d have noticed before you introduced yourself.

“Are you Grady?” the woman asks. Her voice is more posh than you expected even with her lace collar. “Grady Pace?”

Fuck. There’s a noticeable temperature differential now that you’re close to them. The restaurant is warm from the number of bodies, maybe even warmer than the summer air outside, but stepping up next to their table feels like walking into an ice rink.

“I’m your waitress,” you say. You don’t have time for this conversation. You’ve got five minutes in your cycle to take their order and then you’ve got food to run. “If you need any other services from me, I have a website.”

“We messaged you,” the man says. His lips thin to the point his thick mustache covers them entirely. “You never responded.”

Because you’ve been making more money at the Brownie Industry than your other job. “I’ll take a look at it tonight.”

“Wait,” the teenager says, sitting upright. She looks from you to the adults and back again. When she smiles, there’s no humor in it. “This is why we drove eight hours to have dinner at the Brownie Industry? For her?”

“Katie, be polite—”

“I’m sorry,” Katie says, “It’s just—I found a priest, you know? An actual exorcist priest and you guys want to trust a waitress over him?”

“Ugh exorcists,” you say. The memory of sour cabbage is so heavy on your tongue that you stick your tongue out in disgust. When you see Katie’s look, you backtrack. “Effective! Definitely effective.”

“Your mistakes have cost us too much already,” the man says, shaking a finger at her. “We are not converting just for an exorcism.”

“I normally don’t agree with your father,” the woman tells Katie, “but in this case I would like to leave conversion as a last resort.”

“We wouldn’t actually convert,” Katie says, rolling her eyes.

“Pretty sure exorcists can tell when you lie,” you tell Katie. When her scowl deepens, you clear your throat. “Did you all need another minute to think about the menu?”

“We need you to help us,” the dad says. He scrubs a hand over his face. “Look, I know you’re at work and I’m sorry we’re bothering you.”

“We’re desperate,” the mom says. She reaches for her purse. “We’ll pay you. Triple the rate on your website or even quadruple. We need that thing gone by tonight.”

Katie covers her face. “Mom. You’re embarrassing me. Terry isn’t that bad.”

“Oh, he’s bad, young lady,” the dad says sternly. “A bad influence.”

“We caught her trying to perform another séance yesterday,” the mom confesses to you. She leans forward with a pinched expression. “So Terry’s friend Larry could visit too.”

“Interesting,” you say. The food bell rings, but you think you can ignore it for another minute. You study Katie’s blush. “Why did you do that?”

If she was being compelled, she won’t have an answer to your question. You’ve dealt with a lot of ghosts in your time, but so few are sentient enough – or powerful enough – for compulsion.

“Go on,” the dad says, gesturing at you. “Tell her.”

“Leroy, she’s embarrassed enough,” the mom says.

“No, she’s not, Sarah.” The dad – Leroy – gestures to you again. “Tell her.”

Katie huffs, clearly resistant. But when her dad huffs back, she caves. “So,” she says, “I have this YouTube channel—”

“I’m off in an hour,” you interrupt. You don’t care that you’re being rude. Your patience ran out as soon as she said YouTube. “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.” You turn to go.

“A moment!” Sarah shakes out her menu. “How’s the nicoise salad?”

Of course they’re going to order. They’d better tip too if they want you to help them with their ghost problem.

----.

“You said an hour,” mom Sarah says when you leave out the employee entrance. She’s shivering next to her daughter. Leroy is off smoking behind his motorcycle, parked next to the Tesla Katie is leaning on, but he stubs out his cigarette on the asphalt when you walk up. “It’s been two.”

“I had side work,” you say instead of it would have been one if not for you. You rub your bare arms when the familiar ghost chill washes over you. You want nothing more than to go home and wash the scent of garlic and brownie batter out of your hair. “Was there something wrong with my service?”

“No?”

You try to make your voice light. “I see.”

Sarah frowns at your tone anyway. “Why?”

“You tipped five dollars.”

Katie jolts like a scalded cat. “Mom!”

Leroy scrubs a hand over his face. “Sarah…”

“What?” Sarah throws up her hands. The parking lot lights catch on her Swarovski charm bracelet. “I tipped!”

“Like ten percent,” Katie says. She pulls her bucket hat over her eyes for a beat and then peeks at you from under it. “I’m so sorry. It’s not you, she’s always like this.”

“It was actually a six percent tip,” you say. You’re getting a clearer picture of this little family now. It’s becoming more and more understandable why Katie might have started summoning ghosts. “If you want to be precise.”

Leroy reaches for his back pocket. “Let me.”

Sarah swats at his hand. “We’re about to pay her a lot more than that!”

“For a completely separate job,” Leroy says. He pulls a twenty from his wallet and hands it to you with a grimace. “Sorry, Grady, I should’ve checked.”

“You should’ve paid if you cared so much,” Sarah retorts. She folds her arms over her chest. She taps her cheek and widens her eyes. “Oh wait… you never pay.”

“Sure,” Leroy says. This time it’s his turn to throw his hands in the air. “Sure, Sarah. I don’t pay for anything to do with our daughter’s private school or her dance classes or her health insurance—”

“If the court hadn’t mandated—”

“You make twice as much as me—"

“Guys!” Katie says loudly. Her mouth is a thin line of upset when she says, “Argue about what an expensive burden I am later when we don’t have an audience, okay?”

Her parents speak at the same time.

“You’re twisting my words,” Sarah says. “I never said—"

“Sweetie, you’re not a burden—”

“Can you just get this ghost out of me?” Katie asks you. She goes for nonchalance and falls short. “My parents haven’t been in the same room for the last five years for a reason.” She fakes whispering. “They don’t play nicely with others.”

Sarah bristles. “Katie.”

“God, I know how that is,” you say. The whole interaction is giving you the worst case of sympathy for Katie. Before her parents can say anything else, you change the subject. “How long have you been haunted?”

“Six months,” Katie says. She fiddles with her bucket hat so that you can see her eyes for the first time. They’re brown, like her dad’s, and have heavy bruises underneath. She shrugs. “They only noticed a month ago though.”

“I noticed your behavior had changed,” Sarah defends. Like her daughter, she fidgets. She plays with her bracelet and clears her throat. “I thought it was a teenage thing.”

“What signs did you notice first?” you ask the parents. They glance at each other and then away.

“Let’s just say we noticed different things,” Leroy says dryly. He pulls out his phone.

“Moodiness,” Sarah says. She ticks them off on her fingers. “Laziness. Disrespect. Over-sleeping.”

“Those are just teenager things,” Katie says with an astounding level of self awareness. She shrugs. “I’m a senior now. They’re lucky it didn’t start sooner.”

“I,” Leroy says, “noticed this.” He turns his phone towards you.

“Ah,” Sarah says, “Yes. That.”

You examine the picture. It’s of Katie on a small dirt bike. She’s wearing a helmet in the picture, but you recognize the fashion sense in the floral boots she’s wearing. The scene behind her is of the hills, low scrub brush recognizable to someone who’s lived in LA for the past five years. On the bike behind her is a smudge. It could be a cloud of dirt blown into frame or maybe a camera glitch. It could be if it weren’t for the leering face emerging from the cloud right behind her head.

“I just want to say I did not agree to getting her a motorcycle,” Sarah says.

“Mom, not the point,” Katie says.

“Look how close that creep is to my daughter,” Leroy says. He jabs a finger at Katie’s waist in the photo where you can see a ghostly hand. “I want him gone.”

“Dad, he didn’t mean anything by it!” Katie turns to you earnestly. “Terry never rode a bike before and I thought, like, what if he moved on after he got a chance to? It was a philanthropic effort!”

“Plant a tree if you want to be a philanthropist,” Leroy growls. “I want this guy away from my daughter.”

“He doesn’t mean any harm really,” Katie says. “He would move on if he could! He says he’s stuck to me because of how I summoned him. He’s like, really sorry. He even spelled out Sorry in the bathroom mirror once.”

“What,” Sarah says in a dangerous voice, “was Terry doing in the bathroom with you, Katie?”

Katie splutters. “Mom, don’t be gross!”

The family descends into bickering. You have heard about ghosts being stuck to a person before, but usually that’s when the person has some sort of psychic powers. Katie’s wearing crystal in her ears, but they aren’t charged. She might develop some talent later in life, but right now she’s a normal girl.

The parking lost is nearly empty now. You recognize a few employee cars, but very few customers. The kitchen will be cleaning for another half hour before they’re ready to go home.  The reality is that, if Terry is stuck, you might not be the best way to handle the situation. If he’s not…

Well.

It’s time to talk to Terry.

Opening your ghost sense is hard to describe. Some psychics liken it to a third eye, right in the middle of their forehead. You’ve always thought that sounded really cool like maybe the world gets cast in a blue hue when they do it and the dead appear like they do in movies. You’ve met other psychics who say it’s like a sixth sense. They know where the ghost is and it’s like they download all that information until their minds can just sort of conjure their image.

For you, it’s like letting your body remember it has a second mouth. Cats have an extra sensory organ on the roof of their mouth that lets them detect scents better. Your second mouth is a bit like that. You can still smell brownies and garlic and the city air of LA, but you can also smell/taste something else.

Something like…pepper?

Your eyes water and you sneeze so viciously that your eyes close. When you open them again, four people are staring at you in surprise.

“Gesundheit,” Leroy says.

“You sneeze like Dad does,” Katie says.

“Did no one ever teach you to cover your mouth?” Sarah asks in disgust.

“I wish you would’ve sneezed on her,” Terry says, nodding to Sarah. “She’s such a bitch.”

“Thank you for the commentary, everyone,” you say. You wipe your nose with the collar of your shirt as you consider Terry. It’s dirty anyway. “Terry. Interesting name for a ghost.”

Terry hasn’t noticed that you can see him yet. He’s floating behind Katie, one arm casually flung over her shoulder. It’s hard to place when he died based on his appearance alone. His hair is chin length, emphasizing the width of his jaw. Squire cuts have been popular for several decades and the bowling shirt he’s wearing could either be a modern fashion statement or a dated uniform. He looks to be in his mid-twenties, sun-kissed and with the air of someone who tells a lot of jokes at the expense of others. His arm around Katie strikes you as possessive, the glare he gives her parents venomous.

“I didn’t name him,” Katie says. “He said it’s short of Torrance.”

You blink. “Wouldn’t he be Torri then?”

“That’s a girl’s name,” Katie and Terry say at the same time. Their cadence is so close that it actually sounds like Terry’s baritone comes out of Katie’s mouth. For a moment, his arm flickers, clipping into her shoulder like a bad animation. When it does, Terry’s form grows brighter, more solid. Then Katie shivers and he’s forced out of her.

You and Terry click your tongues at the same time.

You remember how Katie’s hands seemed to blur at the dinner table. Terry’s not just haunting Katie. He’s trying to possess her. You wonder if that’s why Katie looked up an exorcist rather than a simple spiritual cleansing. Did she know how much danger she was in?

“Okay,” you say. You tear your attention away from Katie and Terry for a moment. Business first. “Sarah. Leroy. Who was it that found my site?”

“I did,” Sarah says. She raises her chin when you can’t hide your surprise. “When Katie was looking up exorcists—”

“She didn’t mean it,” Terry says. He pats Katie’s hat. “Right?”

“—I looked up alternative solutions,” Sarah says, not having heard Terry. Her confidence falters for a moment and she rubs her arm. “I have had some… negative experiences with exorcisms. I don’t want my daughter to go through that.”

Katie’s head whips towards her mother. “What? I didn’t know that.”

“It was a long time ago,” Leroy says. For the first time, he reaches out and hugs Sarah with one arm. You don’t know what surprises you more; Leroy hugging Sarah or Sarah leaning into his side. “When Sarah told me, we decided to put our differences aside. I vetted you through some of my contacts and they all agreed you’d be a safe bet.”

“I am,” you say. You’re not bragging either. You’re probably the safest bet in half the western states besides your older sister. “There are some…peculiarities in my method.”

“Charlatan,” Terry whispers in Katie’s ear. He’s grinning now. “Only charlatans are that confident. Look! She can’t even see me!”

Katie looks doubtful.

Usually, you’d try to talk to Terry at this point. Sometimes spirits can be negotiated with. They can be encouraged to move on or to take on a less aggressive form of haunting. Those that are truly stuck can be helped with the right sort of ritual work. But the way Terry’s affecting Katie’s mood and that fucking arm around her shoulders…

You don’t really want to talk to Terry.

“We can ask Terry to move on,” you tell the family.

“Nooooooo,” Terry says and flips you off. “Pass!”

“Sometimes spirits don’t realize how deeply they’re affecting their hosts,” you say.

“You don’t even know how deep I’m about to be,” Terry jeers at you.

“Many ghosts are confused when they’re called to interact with the living,” you say. “It can blur their understanding of death and, as a result, they cling to life. If they stick around long enough, their presence will affect the living like what’s happening to Katie. It’s not always malicious. It can be a symptom of that confusion.”

“Katie, tell her to piss off,” Terry hisses in the teen’s ear. “I’m not confused, I’m bored.” His voice deepens. “Tell her we don’t need her help. Tell her we’re going home.”

Katie opens her mouth robotically. “That’s…” Her brow creases as she tries to figure out what she was going to say. “It seems like we don’t need help then. Terry will move on when he’s ready, like I thought.”

“We aren’t paying you for a ghost therapy session,” Sarah snaps. It’s only because you’re really focusing that you can see the unease under her anger. She’s noticed something wrong with Katie. “Katie, Terry is going away today.”

“Fuck you,” Terry says.

“Fuck you,” Katie says.

Leroy’s head rears back. “Katie, you don’t use that language with your mother!”

“Fuck you too,” Katie and Terry say. The parking lot lights flicker.

“No, fuck you, Terry,” you say, stepping between Katie and her parents. Leroy starts like he’s going to pull you out of the way, but he doesn’t.

“Terry?” Leroy asks. He looks scared. “Terry said that? Is Terry possessing my daughter?”

“Not yet.” You eye Terry’s arm and the way his fingers are sinking into Katie’s arm.

“Oh fuck,” Terry says. He doesn’t look scared. Not yet. Instead, he grins. “You can see me.”

“Not every ghost is malicious,” you tell the parents without taking your eyes off Terry. “But some are.”

“I’m not malicious.” Terry runs a hand through his hair, still grinning. The parking lot lights flicker overhead again. “I care about Katie a lot.”

“Terry’s never hurt me,” Katie says.

You ignore her. She’s not even shaking Terry off now. Her gaze is dull on your face when you say, “I don’t mean to sound like I’m some sort of ghost therapist. However, it’s important to differentiate between malicious and non-malicious hauntings in my practice. My methods are unconventional and, if used indiscriminately, I can get in a lot of trouble.”

“We won’t tell anyone,” Leroy says. He steps into your periphery. His gaze flicks from you to the spot you’re staring at over Katie’s shoulder. “We want Terry gone.”

“Not a soul,” Sarah promises. She comes up on your other side. “Please help our daughter.”

“Terry,” you say. Your second mouth is yawning wide somewhere in the back of your brain. The taste of pepper isn’t as overwhelming now. “Last chance. Renounce your claim on Katie’s soul and slither back into whatever hole you came out of.”

“We’re soulmates,” Terry says. He bares his teeth at you. “Go on, Charlatan. Call on your God to banish me. I’ve been around for decades and no exorcist has ever been able to put a scratch on me. And when they manage to push me out?” He laughs and the temperature drops another ten degrees. An unholy light flickers in his eyes. “I just come right back.”

“Then I guess I won’t feel guilty,” you say.

“Guilty?” Katie asks.

You walk forward two steps and grab Terry’s face. Terry’s skin is soft and jelly-like. His facial bones undulate like rubber under your grip. “Hi, Terry.”

Now Terry’s afraid. “What the fuck, you can touch—?”

“Bye, Terry.” You drag him towards you. His fingers pop out of Katie’s arm with a wet sucking sound, and he claws at your wrist.

“Wait! Waitwaitwaitwait--”

You eat Terry.

People come from all around to eat at the Brownie Industry. They love the density of the desserts and the heaps of garlic spread over home-baked (shipped frozen) rolls. It’s a treat to know you’re always going to enjoy the meal even if you’re far from home or eating at the same location a hundred times. It’s consistency, sugar and butter. An easy addiction to have.

Eating ghosts is like that for you. They fizz in your second mouth like champagne and melt like fudge. It’s hard to describe and the ephemeral quality of it sends shivers down your spine. Somewhere Terry is screaming in anguish, maybe crying. You think that the family you’re helping is screaming something too, but the sensation of eating is so consuming you can’t hear the words.

Terry is younger than other ghosts you’ve eaten. He doesn’t have the depth of flavor you’d once been addicted to back in Illinois. The best ghost you’ve ever eaten had been like a six-course meal with all the centuries she’d been carrying. In comparison, Terry is like a bag of pepper chips. Interesting, but gone in a moment. Still, he hits the spot.

When you’re done, you burp a purple cloud of ectoplasm into the still night air.

Leroy is the first to speak. His eyes are so wide you can see the whites all around them. “Pay her, Sarah,” he says breathlessly. His hands shake as he reaches for Katie, steadying her on her feet. “Now.”

You smack your lips and graciously accept the wad of cash Sarah hands you. You raise your eyebrows. “This is more than three times my rate.”

“Consider it a tip,” Sarah says. She’s more composed than Leroy, but still pale. She studies you. “That was…revolting.”

“You didn’t have to watch,” you say. You put your money away and then perk up at a sudden thought. “Hey, if you can, can you leave me a review on my site?”

“I thought you didn’t want us to tell anyone?”

You wave your hand. “Secrets are bad for business. Besides, Terry deserved it. I’m sure they’ll understand if you write that in your review.”

“They…?”

You smile and don’t answer.

The family don’t ask many more questions after that. The parents promise to leave a review and Katie just stares at you as if concussed. You assure the parents that she’ll be back to normal as soon as the soul-shock wears off. 

“And if it doesn’t?” Sarah asks.

“Message me,” you say.

“You don’t check your messages,” Leroy says.

“Oh,” you say, patting your stomach, “I’ll be checking them a lot more often now.”

You’re hungry again.

---

(Patreon)

[svnriseblvdd]

neighbour! clark kent x new girl! reader

SYNOPSIS: with your friend iris in town, the two of you head to a house party, where your short dress and a game of pool send clark's thoughts running wild again.

WARNINGS: reference to perv!clark/reference to general perversion, clark thinks extensively about reader's panties, most of it's innuendo and allusions i won't lie, chloe makes a slight reference to sex on/over a table, random football player starts leering and staring at reader's ass, indirect description of a boner, clark gets a peek of reader's panties, doggy but no sex? (you'll see - they're in the position, but clothes and underwear are still on), clark is still dying for some action.

i might come back and rewrite this part at some point in the future, because i had a couple more ideas i wanted to put in but couldn't figure out at the time, and the ending falls a little flat - i knew i wanted something extra, but i think it just lacks what i wanted.

part one! part two! part three! part four!

Your friend Iris is across the room while music flows through the space, loud and deep, settling into your bones. She’s flirting with a guy from the football team. You’ve already assured her she will not be borrowing your bedroom if she decides to hook up with the guy, so she might as well go home with him or just find a room upstairs to use. This house belongs to one of the football players, they’re always throwing big parties. 

Since Iris headed off ten minutes ago, you’ve been hovering a little awkwardly near the couches, except now there’s two couples making out on one of them, and then the other is filled with a group of friends you’re pretty sure are stoned out of their minds. 

So now you’re just looking for anyone to talk to or at least linger by without looking weird and lonely. Someone you know. 

Your face lights up in a smile when you notice exactly the people you need. Chloe and Lana are across the room, Chloe clearly judging people and Lana nodding her head either to the music or to Chloe’s comments. Lana smiles when she sees you, waving you over to them. 

You cross the room, greeting them both with a grin and an excited, “Hi!” 

“Hey, you look amazing!” Lana compliments. 

“Thank you! You’re so gorgeous!” 

“Is your friend having a good time?” 

“I’d say so,” Chloe says, looking toward Iris, who’s mid-makeout with the aforementioned football player. Good for her. 

Speaking of makeouts with football players, you need to find Clark. 

Clark spies you from across the room on his way back to Chloe and Lana, drink in hand. As always, he thinks he might combust. Your dress hugs your figure, clinging like a second skin, and it’s so short that if he follows the lines of your legs from your feet up, it feels like they might never end. 

And as always, his mind wanders. He thinks about how easy it would be to pick you up, wrap your legs around his waist. How your dress is short enough that it would hike up all by itself, bunching around your hips and showing off your panties. His x-ray vision means that he could just take a peek, but he refuses. It’s bad enough that he thinks about it, but to actually invade your privacy, to perv on you like that? He couldn’t. Surely not. He’ll let himself resort to his fantasies. His fantasies picture all manner of things. 

Black, like the dress - lacy, very simple and nothing out of the ordinary really, but entirely sexy. A bold red, maybe - it leaves little to the imagination, it only really covers the bare minimum and leaves the rest so plain to see. But then he pictures something lighter, a pastel pink or blue perhaps. And that’s what sends his mind into a frenzy. Delicate, soft in its colour, cotton and lace, the prettiest he’d imagined yet. Just like one he’d seen on your bed that time he came over to help put your furniture together. 

He approaches the three of you nevertheless, pushing his thoughts into the back of his mind. 

“Clark!” You greet him with your bright smile. 

“Hey!” 

“I want to play pool, do you want to join?” 

“Uh, sure?” 

“Great! I’ll get it set up, you come over when you’re ready.” 

He watches you walk away, hips swaying gently as you approach the pool table. “She’s so into you,” Chloe mutters, laughing. 

“What?” He asks, eyebrows quirked. “No, she’s not.” 

“Clark, she’s just invited you to go watch her bend over a table. Trust me, she’s into you.” 

His cheeks flush red as he shakes his head. “No. No, she’s just- she says and does things without realising.” 

“Oh, she realises,” Lana says, laughing a little. “She wants you to notice her.” 

“I do notice her!” 

“Not in the way that she wants. Not that she can see, anyway. To everyone else, it’s plainly obvious that you’re head-over-heels for the girl,” Chloe says. “Now go. She’s waiting for you.” 

He joins you over at the pool table, where you’ve set it up. It’s only now that it’s just you and him that he realises you’re tipsy. He can see it in your eyes and the lazy smile on your face, and the way you stumble just a little into him, holding his biceps for support. 

“Ladies first,” he says, watching you smile wider and turn to the table. 

You walk to the other end as Clark lifts the triangle, and you bend at the waist, lining up your shot. You split the balls, and the game begins. 

Halfway through, on your turn again, you bend at the waist once again, this time a little closer to Clark. And this time, one of the football players, Nathan, stares at your ass as you begin to bend over. Before he can see any more, Clark steps in the way, blocking Nathan’s view and shooting him a glare. 

Nathan raises his hands in surrender. “Sorry, Kent. I didn’t know y’all were like that.” And he moves on. 

Clark rolls his eyes a little. 

Right towards the end, with you surprisingly in the lead - although Clark’s willing to bet that he’s at a disadvantage, given that most of his blood is travelling in the opposite direction away from his brain and somewhere it is not currently needed - you go to take another shot. You evaluate a few angles, then decide on one. Clark is leaning against a wall, watching you move around the table with careful thought. And then you find your ideal angle. 

The best place you can take this shot from and still have a chance at potting it is by standing right in front of Clark. 

So you stand there, and bend over again. Clark hadn’t seen it before, careful to move with you so that he never had to be standing at an angle where he’d see much, if anything, when you bent over. But this shot was far too difficult to predict where you’d go, nowhere was ideal. So he’d stuck where he was and begged whatever power there was that you didn’t need to stand in front of him. But the powers are betting against him. 

You bend over, so your torso is at a parallel angle to the table, and line up your shot. And Clark doesn’t mean to look, really. But just like in the car the other day when he’d glanced at your tits, your ass is right there. How was he supposed to know that your dress was so short he’d be able to see your panties? 

The best of his fantasies are fulfilled when he glimpses your baby blue underwear, just like he imagined it. Cotton, but he can see the beginnings of lace detail. It covers you well, until it reaches your ass, where the material begins to thin, and it becomes just a flimsy thing that rests between your ass cheeks. He’d imagined the thong before, not half an hour ago. But now he was seeing it. 

You stumble a little, out of nowhere seemingly, and he’s quick to grip your hips to stabilise you. And now his crotch is pretty much against your ass. Now it just looks like he’s about to take you from behind. 

“Uh-” He lets you go. “You okay?” 

“Mm-hm. I’m about to win. I couldn’t be better.” 

“Yeah, well, there’s still time, don’t get your hopes too high.” 

Except Clark knows it would take a miracle for him to win now. His head’s too clouded with lust, his brain is so deprived of blood it should be concerning, and he’s so hard it’s painful. He thinks he might just finish in his pants any minute. And if he didn’t know better, he’d think that you’re doing this to him intentionally. But you’re too tipsy and he’s seen the way you are normally, always saying and doing things by accident or without realising the double entendre. 

Or so he thinks. 

Thing is, you didn’t really come here with a plan to try to rile him up. You know it never usually seems to work - Clark’s awkward, and far too respectful to objectify you, even if you’re practically begging him to (or so you think). You love how respectful Clark is, really, and you’re glad he was raised right, but just once you want him to throw that out the window, be as depraved as he can be, lustful and carnal. He’s so easily-flustered and touch-starved, you know that he has to have locked up all those urges and desires somewhere. You really didn’t plan anything tonight, the tipsiness seems to have done some of it for you. 

When you win the match a little later, you cheer and jump in celebration, Clark smiling at you and keeping his eyes very much on yours. You hug him joyfully, and he wraps his strong arms around you. 

It was strange how a man so physically imposing could hold so much comfort. 

~~~ 

“So, how was your night?” Iris asks over a cup of coffee as the two of you sit in the Talon. 

You smile. “Pretty good. You?” 

“Very good.” 

Later on, when Clark arrives with Chloe, Pete, and Lana, Iris wiggles her eyebrows at you, and you roll your eyes before inviting them to join you. 

The others all take their seats, leaving Clark to sit next to you. 

He looks flushed, but you choose not to comment. 

taglist;

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[bunny-jpeg]

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ leave my brother alone, mister wolff - toto. w ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

maybe you were a saint in disguise. if toto wolff wanted a piece of a verstappen, then you'd happily give yourself over. seduce the older man into not pestering your brother anymore. the age gap would be an jaw drop, but you hoped that mister wolff liked the taste of such sweet flesh. give up your virginity as a form of currency. and while you thought that the task would be hard. toto wolff was more than happy to sink his cock into your pretty folds. your pussy took him so well, and what started as an agreement soon became a frequent affair.

toto liked when you dressed more innocent, soft pastels looked nice against your skin tone. softer shades of make up made you look almost doe-like. he liked when you struggled to take him both in your pussy and your throat, made him get an ego boost when something so small and fragile tried to take him to the root. he had watched your sputter and cough when trying to deep throat him, your pussy grow tender for days after he laid waste to your cunt. letting his pearly cum ooze out of you as a reminder that you were verstappen in last name, but you had enough of wolff dna in you as well. toto liked you in delicate things, to rely on him. maybe it was the possessive old man in him talking, but he liked when you needed help. those large hands on your thighs as he rolled up your stockings, knowing full well that he'd be ripping them off at the end of the day. he liked how you fit in his arms, his words hung in your mind like stars. he liked that he kept you dumb at times, fucking you to the point where words meant nothing and all hat mattered was the wash of pleasure. he knew what he was doing, fucking you next to unconsciousness. hard for verstappen's little sister to get out from under his thumb if she couldn't stand on her own two legs. but this was all in the name of diverting toto's attention, you didn't realize that being the focus of a man like him could be almost terrifying.

it didn't help that you were drawn to him like a moth to a flame. the flickering heat and the danger of being ensnared by him left a throb between your legs. by the time monaco came around, you couldn't even get yourself off anymore. you were left overstimulated but with no relief. no toy was like toto, and you sulked all the way to the monaco grand prix to let toto fuck you after hours in red bull's garage. letting him claim you over top of your brother's car. his dirty words in your ear, how dare you let yourself get into this situation. what would you family think? you were supposed to be a proper woman, not a dirty slut. and you could only respond with pathetic little moans. even if it was true, you were at least toto's slut. his big hands on your back as you knee facing the wall, you should've known better then to get too friendly. you wouldn't want your dear max to find out what you've been up to. toto told you that your brother spoke highly of you, little did he know. little did he know that the expensive things you now owned were paid for by a much older man.

he promised you everything. he'd leave your brother alone, let the driver make his own decisions. toto groped at your breasts, bruising the tender skin. his promises got more depraved as your time together grew, he was gonna fill that sweet belly of yours. telling you that he's getting older and it was high time the head principal of mercedes had a few kids. and you'd take such good care of them, right? those promises made you a little afraid, you hadn't finished your program in school. but there was little to be done when you were pressed under his large frame. your hands held behind your back while his bare cock got very familiar with your cunt. you kept meaning to go to the nearest store to get emergency contraception, but before you could sneak out of his bedroom, you were often greeted with another round which shoved all the cum into the farthest part of your pussy. it was a worrying anxiety you tried to ignore, but it would catch up eventually.

it took an entire season but toto wolff was sated, the beast in him could rest. while it wasn't a contract with the three time world champion, he had something a little better. winning was great, but having something sweet to indulge in after every race was something different. while in recent months you hadn't bee accompanying him, he had many photos and videos to keep himself busy in the days apart. because in his home in monaco, there was a cute little verstappen with a slight roundness to her middle. he knew you'd be rubbing your back in irritation over how your son thought it was okay to kick at your ribs. he couldn't tell you the exact date that he got you pregnant, but he had an idea. regardless he was proud of how you carried his child. toto once loudly made a joke within ear shot of max that you were most likely more austrian than dutch by that point, which made the driver's ears burn. he didn't need to hear about his sister like that. but if toto had his way, your brother would be well aware about how the older man takes care of you.

while your little seduction trick failed as toto was coming up with a new contract to propose to max. you found comfort in being toto's sweet little wife now that you were going to have a son over the off-season. <3

a/n: *looks with disrespect*

[jarofstyles]

Y/N goes over to her friends house to sleepover but then her friend somehow makes plans like while Y/N is still there but she can’t leave cause her friend was her ride. what she doesn’t know is her best friends brother (harry) is home and sees this all happening and is angry because his sister always doing this to Y/N so he spends the night with her

I am a complete sucker for best friend’s brother H… completely down bad so yes !! I got carried away so maybe I’ll continue this as a one shot, I don’t know.

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——

“What are you still doin’ here?” Harry stopped short as he passed the den, seeing Y/N sitting stiffly with her phone in hand. It wasn’t unlike her to be at their place, but he had heard his sister’s car leave 30 minutes prior. He knew they’d had plans, as they usually did during the weekend, so it had caught him off guard.

That, and the fact that he’d have put a shirt on if he knew she was around.

Y/N startled slightly as she looked up at him wide eyed. She didn’t have time to hide her bloodshot eyes or the fact her makeup was messed up, making his confusion grow.

The fuck had happened?

“Hey… hey, what happened? Thought you both were goin’ out to that new place for your birthday weekend.” He walked towards the couch to see that she was indeed dressed up. A cute little black dress and her hair straightened, glitter on her eyelids. Heels were kicked off to the side and she had her nails done in a deep red, something very unlike her. Harry paid a little too much attention to her, it seemed, and it wasn’t her normal soft pastel colored nails with a pretty design. She looked different.

Like she was trying to be the stereotypical version of sexy or something. He couldn’t exactly tell her that her normal looks were sexy in the cute, girl next door way, but this was more vixen, tear your heart out sort of thing. With a lot of shame, he momentarily wished the smeared makeup and tear tracks had been caused by choking on his cock rather than something birthing her heart- but that wasn’t something he should be thinking about right now.

“Um…” her noise was slightly nasally from the crying, eyes avoiding his gaze as he tenderly sat himself on the coffee table in front of her. “We were supposed to. But she… that guy she was seeing asked her to come to a quick trip.” Picking at her nails, she took a shuddery breath. “So she asked if we could do stuff next weekend.”

Harry’s brows furrowed at the situation. It didn’t make much sense, but neither did his sister. Unfortunately, he had seen that Livvy was one of those people who dropped everything for a man. She could have friends or a boyfriend. Both were a struggle for her.

Honestly, he’d been shocked that Y/N stuck around long as she had. He loved his sister to bits, but he wasn’t oblivious to her faults. Being boy crazy had never faired well for her friendships. Sometimes he had seen how she swooped in and took attention away from Y/N. He knew she loved her and cared about her, but his sister had some serious issues when it came to jealousy.

Y/N was ridiculously pretty. He’d been warned away from her, sure, but he had eyes. And a weird little distant crush he’d felt for her the last few years she’d come around. They had a polite friendship, but Livvy had been irritated about it and told him to keep a distance. Still, he knew she had to be jealous. They were both different types of pretty. He didn’t think much of his sister all things considered, but he thought a lot about the type of pretty Y/N was. It sort of thumped you in the chest and grew the longer you looked at her. And when you talked to her? Forget it. She was so fucking kind and attentive, one of those people you never doubted were listening to you. She was a little quiet at first but came out of her shell the longer he was around, and he’d liked everything he’d seen from her.

“That’s shit.” He whispered. “It’s your birthday weekend. It won’t be the same next weekend.” However that was the wrong thing to say, considering her eyes filled back with tears and he felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.” Reaching out for her hand, he squeezed lightly as he tried to make it better.

Maybe Livvy would be pissed about it later but she’d have no room to complain when it was her doing. When she got back he was going to chew her out, tell her how good of a friend Y/N was and how lucky she was to have her- but for now? It was his mission to make her happy.

Y/N was going to have a good birthday weekend. He’d be sure of it.

“Listen. Let me go get dressed and we’ll go out t’eat. Okay?” Maybe he was a little presumptuous by thinking she’d want to spend time with him, but he had to imagine she was upset because she didn’t have other plans. “We’ll go out to eat and then go to the store t’get your favorite snacks and stuff. Can even bake a cake if you want. We’ll come back n’eat and watch whatever trash reality show or cheesy movie you want. You can sleep in the guest room and I’ll make you breakfast tomorrow or I’ll pick you up… I’ve got the weekend off.”

Harry was getting ahead of himself by assuming she’d want to spend the weekend together but he really fucking wanted to. He never got to spend alone time with her. How could he possibly complain about spending his weekend with a pretty girl?

“You’d… you’d really want to do that?” Her eyes met his in disbelief. “Don’t you have other plans or something? I don’t want to bother you. I swear I didn’t sit here to get pity, I just need to call an Uber or something and I can leave-“

“I don’t have any other plans. I really don’t mind. It would be fun to get out and do something. We don’t have to.” He reassured, reaching out to fix her hair. It has stuck to her damp face and he knew it had to be uncomfortable. “I know we don’t hang out a lot or anything but I consider us friends. My sister is extremely shitty for doing this but I really would like to make sure you have a good birthday. If you’re uncomfortable-“

“I’m not!” She peeped, grabbing his arm. “Not at all. I just don’t want to ruin your plans.”

“Well, my plans are now yours. Let’s get dressed and go out for our own celebration, shall we?”

[miguelhugger2099]

Hello sweetie, hoping you're doing well! What about bully punk Miguel and nerd pastel girl reader at college? (Miguel with 23 and reader with 21) Like reader was ugly and will have a glow up thanks to MJ and now Miguel tries to have her attention, they have a date and sweet and fluff smut!! (reader is virgin uwu) I'll let to you the creativity

Impurities

hello sweetheart you absolute DARLING i genuinely could be better but i hope ur doing great. i want to apologize for taking so long but i want u to know when i saw this i just about melted bc punk miguel is one of my guilty pleasures i adore him so much. this ask made me want to evolve it into a series i had like several different ways to make this but ahhhh i hope it's alright

Punk!Miguel x Pastel!Reader, Fluff and Smut, Word Count: 8,875 Art by: beawoodward on artstation !

You knew you weren’t the most appealing girl out there. You weren’t about to delude yourself otherwise. You knew what people said about you, how they looked at you. Your face could’ve been worse. Maybe some bushy eyebrows? You dressed…maybe a little different than most people. While the world was covered in grays and black, you opted out by showering yourself in the cutest pastel colors. You didn’t keep up with the trends and instead followed whatever you thought looked alright. It often led to some mismatching and awkward outfits but you didn’t think so! You entered campus with a light blue and pink striped pants with a pink belt and a baby blue sweater. Two low braids tied with white ribbons at the end and your white framed glasses on the bridge of your nose. Skincare was confusing to you so all you really did was wash your face with a harsh cleanser and hoped for the best which gave you some acne instead–making you pop them and leave some scars. You tried makeup but it just looked cakey so you settled with a messy and often uneven eyeliner. Regardless of your outfit, whether in a skirt or in pants, you were always decked out in some bright pastel colors and hair done in the same two braids. You held yourself close while walking around the halls, already used to people staring and calling you names from high school. College was a little more merciful, the whispers being just as loud but at least they’d never bully you to your face. You win some, you lose some. Your self-esteem had been damaged to the point of no return anyway, so any attempts of trying to prove you’re worth something would just be a pipe dream in your eyes. That’s why you push your glasses up and cling to your shoulder bag tightly in your fist as you pass by the usual group of boys to get to the front seat of your class. Your human biology class door was opened at the back so you’d have to pass the back seats to sit at the front. As usual, the group of boys were basically monochrome except for the little specks of red or blue if they ever decided to add color. But what was most noticeable about them was the so-called leader of said group. Unofficial–official– leader Miguel O’Hara, the senior who decided to take general education classes in his last year before graduating. His usual confident and toothy grin was on display, silver spider bites that his, also pierced, tongue would often play with. His big and heavy platform boots would rest on the chair beside him while his left elbow rested on the table, his hand combing through his long brown hair–shaved at the sides, mind you. He made sure to push his fringe back so everyone could see his double eyebrow and nostril piercing. Miguel’s hands were decorated with rings, big and small and his nails were short and painted black with some of it chipping off. His usual leather jacket with pins and patches, stretched and tight from his muscular build, was accompanied by a low red tank top with a spider symbol on the front. Black skinny jeans and a spiked belt that did little to actually keep his pants in place since the black and red band of his boxers were showing.

He listened mindlessly to his group of friends as they talked with each other, his fingers switching between playing with the dangling earring on his earlobe to his industrial bar. His crimson eyes glanced up when he saw you in your uncomfortably bright and awkward fashion sense. His friend tapped his shoulder and jutted his chin out to you before whispering something in Miguel’s ear that made him shove him away with a smile. Then they both laughed as quietly as possible, chuckling at what you decided to wear today: light blue overall shorts and a pastel yellow undershirt with white knee high stockings and white sneakers, your usual white ribbons at the end of your braids.

You usually sat alone at the front, placing your earbuds in to listen to music while you waited for the professor. Despite being at the front, you could still hear some faint chuckling and words being whispered from Miguel's group.

Still, you held your head up, taking out your notebook and expensive textbook. Clicking your pen, you began some light note taking before class started.

You sighed as you entered back in your dorm, dumping your bag at the door and kicking off your shoes. You faceplated down onto your bed while your roommate MJ looked over at you sympathetically.

You turn your head, cheek squished against the mattress. “I know that beauty is subjective and I'm not supposed to earn validation from anybody else but…” You sit up and rest on your legs, hands wringing in your hands with furrowed eyebrows.

“But…I want to feel pretty.” You admit softly, ashamed since you felt like you were betraying yourself.

MJ's smile grows and she eagerly jumps from her bed to kneel at your bedside. She takes your hands in hers and squeezes them reassuringly.

“You are pretty,” She insists. “But if you really want help, I can.” MJ tilts your head to look at her, a soft smile on her face.

You nod. “I do. I just want to know how to look like you.”

MJ shakes her head. “No. No, you already have your own beauty.” She places a hand on her chest. “I meant that I can help enhance it. No change to your core is necessary.” She pokes at your chest playfully and you both giggle together.

“You sure?”

“Positive.” 

You take a moment to look at her. MJ really was perfect–shiny straight red hair, clear skin that was painted with freckles and a winning white smile. You hoped she could work some magic on you.

“Okay.”

Your transformation didn't happen overnight. It took at least a few weeks for it all to come together.

MJ had dragged you to salons to get your hair properly taken care of. Gotten your eyebrows plucked, eyelashes lifted, an effective skincare routine–that you struggled to drill into your regular schedule–and a new wardrobe that still held your pastel look, just a little more flattering. She even helped you get some contact lenses so you wouldn’t need your glasses all the time! To tie it all together, you two spent nights practicing how to do your makeup that wouldn't look so wobbly and uneven. Each day, you improved yourself. Your tacky overalls changed into fitted jeans or flowy skirts. Your baggy shirts were now cute tops that hugged each curve. Tennis shoes into heels or cute sneakers and your hair came to life with a beautiful shine; your white ribbon still in your hair.

One day, you entered class like normal. Except there were very few whispers this time, almost nonexistent. Still, you don’t let it get to you and continue like normal–walking to the front of the class and sitting in your usual spot. What wasn’t normal was a figure coming up beside you and pulling out the chair next to you. Miguel slipped beside you in front of the class, tilting his head as he stared at your side profile. You tried not to react but you subconsciously glanced at him from the corner of your eye.

“Hey.” He smirked, his eyebrow raising and his lips curling.

“Hello.” You murmured back, opening your notebook to the next blank page.

“New look?” He asked, using his hand to brush your hair back off your shoulder and you stiffened. He noticed you still had the white ribbon at the back of your head. Miguel’s eyes glanced back down at your body. Nicely fitted flare baby blue jeans, a cute pastel green heart belt with a crop top white sweater.

“Looks good.” He purred. You held your blue bunny pen in your hand tightly, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You didn’t understand why he was speaking to you. He hadn’t before–other than laugh at you–so what gives?

“Thanks.” You say curtly. Miguel places a hand over her heart in feign hurt.

“Don’t be like that, nena. You look so cute, I didn’t expect you to be so cold.” He teased. He crossed his arms and rested his head on them to look up at you while you wrote the rest of your notes down before class started. Miguel watched as your false eyelashes fluttered, making your eyes look bigger. The subtle blush on your cheeks and the concealer that hid most of your past acne. He could still see some of the scars which makes him huff a small laugh at how cute it kinda looks. Your lips were more plump than he remembered–a soft pink to them. He lifts his arm up to rest his cheek on his fist, his eyes still on you. “How about I take you out?” Your pen slips and leaves a slash right down your notes. “What?” “A date. Does that sound good?” You don’t look up, instead focusing on your task at hand. “No. Can you please just leave me alone?” Miguel doesn’t say anything else but you hear the chair he sat on scrape across the floor as he gets up abruptly. You hear the laughter of his friends behind you and Miguel snapping at them. Your shoulders hunch over–the natural instinct to hide from embarrassment overcoming you again.

Every week, in the same class, Miguel would try again and again and again to ask you out. Each time, you would decline. It had gotten bad enough where he changed his seat to move beside you, offering his help when he saw you were confused and overall just trying to get on your good side. You wanted to be strong, truly you did, but it was becoming too much. When Miguel had asked again, you sighed loudly and faced him. “If I say yes will you leave me alone?” Miguel broke into a wide smile. Once you finally agreed to a date with him, you truly weren’t expecting anything good. So you stood by the place Miguel wanted you to meet him at: a local diner that was pleasantly pretty looking from the outside. Still, due to your past experiences of being ghosted and stood up, you watched the time on your phone. You decided that you wouldn’t wait more than fifteen minutes max.

To your surprise, you didn’t have to wait at all. You heard Miguel call your name from your left, his lips curled into a confident smile. Subconsciously, you eyed him up and down. He had baggy black cargo pants, accompanied with chains on his right side. A DIY-ed t-shirt that was sprayed painted over many many times. Of course, his iconic leather jacket was littered with various pins and patches. When he was close enough, you saw just a bit of eyeliner surrounding his eyes; and a new septum piercing. For the people passing by, it was quite a sight to see. Compared to Miguel’s dark but proud aura, you emanated a more sweet and bright vibe. MJ had helped you pick out an outfit, excited that you approached her with the dilemma of going on a date. You wore a sheer baby blue crop top cardigan with a simple white tank top underneath. A slightly darker blue pleated skirt with white thigh high stockings and ankle strap baby blue platform pumps. You held a small purse in your hands and looked up at him through your  lashes. Your hair was pinned in a half up and half down hairstyle; your white ribbon at the back of your head. You thought it was a bit much, but MJ assured you that it was just enough. “Te ves muy hermosa.” Miguel speaks up, a grin on his lips. “All for me?” He teases with a tilt of his head. A piece of his fringe falling over his forehead. “Oh, please.” You look off to the side, ignoring the flutter in your chest when called beautiful. Miguel doesn’t take it to heart, instead going past you to open the door of the diner. He dramatically takes a bow, his arm ushering you inside. The theatrics make the corner of your lips quirk up and you enter inside, nodding to Miguel. You turn your head around to see the inside, wooden chairs and tables, a jukebox at the back with a shiny bar. “This way.” You stiffen when you feel Miguel’s breath by your ear. Before you could turn, he places his hand on your lower back and leads you to a booth by the window. He sits across from you, menus at the ready on the table. “You know, I used to come to this place all the time.” Miguel says, his eyes scanning the different options. “Used to be a hangout spot for me and the others in high school. College took up my time so it’s a pain in the ass not being able to visit more.” You glance up at him, shuffling in your seat. It felt a little weird to have him speak to you like this, as if he wasn’t teasing you a few months ago.

Luckily, a waitress comes up before you two with a notepad in hand. “Oh! A pretty girl! Didn’t know you were back in the dating scene.” She cackles to herself and pushes her glasses up. Miguel groans and rolls his eyes. “I thought you didn’t work Fridays, Lyla.” “Margo couldn’t make it, I needed extra hours–and now a bonus– I get to embarrass you. Everybody wins! Except you maybe. Waddaya want?” Lyla rests on one foot, her grin plastered on her face. Miguel’s smile was long gone, now snapping his order at his friend. You watched with an amused smile. They bantered like siblings. But what she said piqued your interest. He hadn’t gone around dating? You were snapped out of your thoughts when you heard Miguel call your name. His eyes were uncharacteristically soft. “Do you need another minute?” He asks. You stumble over your words and feel your cheeks burn. “No-no, uhm…” You look down at your menu and pick the first thing you see. “The, uh, chicken fajitas, please?” Lyla meets you with a smile and collects your menu. “Of course, darling.” She turns to take Miguel’s menu. “Couldn’t you have taken her to a nicer place? She’s all dolled up.” Lyla sticks her tongue out at him and walks away while Miguel’s cheeks burn red. Instead of facing you, he looks down at his hands and he picks at his black nail polish.

For once, Miguel had stayed silent. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he looked a little ashamed? Embarrassed? You could see him moving his spider bites nervously as he stares at anything besides you, his cheeks still tinged red. You pat your skirt awkwardly and clear your throat. “The…I like the diner. It’s got one of those retro vibes to it. It’s cool.” You give a small encouraging smile. For some strange reason, you thought his quietness didn’t suit him. Miguel’s eyes dart to yours and then at the window. “You think?” His hand reaches up to play with his dangling earring. It was almost cute. Just a bit. You chuckle softly. “Yeah, I mean. It’s like being in one of those time machines.” Miguel smiles. “Time machines? I think a time machine would look cooler than this dump.” You playfully smack his hand across the table. “Didn’t you say you used to come here years ago? Don’t call it a dump.” You fold your arms on your chest. You didn’t know this, but Miguel in that moment felt the tension he didn’t realize he had fell off his shoulders. “Eh, it’s a little bit of a dump.” He leans back and stretches his arm on the backseat. “But it’s like you said: a little retro.” Lyla returns with two glasses of water. “One for the cutie,” she places one on your side, giving you a wink. “And then Miguel.” She unenthusiastically hands Miguel the cup.

Miguel frowns at Lyla, a familiar bubble of jealousy brewing in his chest. “Lyla.” He warns. “What?” She stretches out the word. “Just being a good hostess.” She huffs with a pout and walks away. You giggle to yourself and Miguel notices. He’s quick to speak. “Ignore her. She’s always trying to be annoying.” He didn’t like the way Lyla was buttering you up, even if it was just a joke. He wanted you to smile at him like that. “It’s funny. I never thought I’d see you looking so bothered. How do you know her?” You smile and take a sip from your water. Miguel scratches the back of his head. “Middle school. We were in the robotics club.” You blink. “Robotics club? Really?” “Why’re you so surprised? What? A guy like me can’t be into things like that?” He smirks, placing his arms on the table and his pins rattle as he moves. “Well…kind of?” You smile weakly and laugh when Miguel pretends to be hit. “No, but seriously, robotics isn’t what I expected from you.” “Well, it was middle school. I’ve grown up into a man. This time I’ve taken an interest in being a geneticist.” He rests his head on his hand. “Don’t judge a book by its cover, nena.” He teases but you pause. That phrase is a little ironic for him to say, you thought to yourself. Shaking off that feeling, you continued to chat with Miguel. Talking about your interests, past, future and current studies. All while Miguel would try to sneak little touches, whether it be his boot tapping your heel or his hand brushing against yours when handing you a bottle of ketchup. After spending enough time at the diner, the sun was beginning to set. Before you left, Lyla convinced you to convince Miguel to give her a big tip and told you she hopes to see you again in different circumstances. Miguel holds the door open for you again and the bell dings your departure from the diner. His fingertips gently brush against yours, catching your attention.

“There’s…there’s this other place I wanna show you.” He bites his lip, peeling off the skin. His index finger loosely wraps around your pinky. “Sure…” You say hesitantly. He notices your hesitance. “It’s nearby. Just for a little bit and I’ll take you home.” The wind breezes through, giving you a glimpse of the cool air that will befall once nighttime arrives. You shiver and tuck into yourself to hide from the wind. Miguel takes off his jacket and slips it around you. Feeling the heavy material on your shoulders, you look up at him and feel the warmth go around your torso. Miguel’s eyes are focused on making sure it’s snug as it can be. It’s so large that it ends around your midthigh. He takes your little purse and pops the collar of his jacket up. “Put your arms through the sleeves so it doesn’t fall.” You blink and do as he says with a flustered expression. While shuffling your arms through the holes, you try not to glance over at him. His t-shirt was cut at the sleeves that showed off his toned arms. Despite the cold approaching, he seemed to be relaxed as he watched you, making sure you stayed warm. “Good?” He asked. Your fingers barely poked out, his jacket covering most of your outfit. And it was warm. It smelled like him.

With a satisfied smile, he slyly takes your hand in his and leads you away. You try not to focus too hard on the way his hand engulfs yours. After following Miguel in twists and turns, you eventually walk up a hill and at the very top stood a single bench with a view of the entirety of Nueva York. Your eyes widened and you let go of his hand to approach near the ledge, placing your hands on the railing. The lights of the city illuminated the night sky and acted as stars. You saw them twinkle along with hover cars that zoomed past you. “This is…” “Where I planned to take you another day. But Lyla pissed me off and I wanted to prove that I could take you somewhere nice.” He comes behind you and slings an arm around your waist. You look up at him with an amused smile. “Did you really take that to heart?” Miguel pouts his lips, his eyes looking off to the side. “I couldn’t let her make me look stupid in front of you.” You laugh, using the sleeves of his jacket to cover your smile. Miguel sees and he has a faint smile of his own on his face. He leads you back to the bench where you two sit in quiet comfortable silence after an afternoon of learning about one another. As you look over at the city with him, you couldn’t help but notice the nagging feeling in your chest. This was a date. A date that only happened because you changed yourself. A date with the person who laughed at you.

“Hey, Miguel?” You speak up quietly. He hums and looks over at you. “I…I don’t want you to be nice to me just because I got a little…prettier.” Miguel looks down at you with a frown. He stuffs his hands in his pockets while he looks back at the skyline. He says your name softly to grab your attention. “I’m not being nice just because you’re pretty.” You scrunch your eyebrows and scoff. “Yeah, I’m sure all those times you laughed at me was just you being a charmer.” “Laugh at you?” He raises his eyebrows and you look away. “Nena, I wasn’t laughing at you.” “Don’t lie to me, Miguel. I’m used to it. No use in sparing my feelings.” You sigh. “But I wasn’t,” He insists. He wants to reach for your hand, to touch you but he stops himself. “Really, I was…admiring you.” You roll your eyes. “Now you’re really being a jerk. There was nothing to admire when I looked…stupid and ugly.” “You did not.” He turned you to face him by turning your chin softly. “So you’re saying the way I looked before wasn’t stupid?” You glare at him but Miguel can’t find it in him to take it badly. “You were cute. The way you dressed and looked, it was awkward–sure–but it was adorable.” He chuckles but your frown deepens, feeling the tears bubble up in your eyes as you turn away from him. Miguel calls your name again. “I’m the last person to judge anyone for how they dress. Look at me.” Miguel flicks his multiple ear piercings, pulls on his snake bites, stretches his tattered and ruined t-shirt and slams his dirty platform boots to the ground. “A freak. You were just a cuter version.” “Then why did you talk to me now?” You murmur.

“Because you suddenly changed. I wanted to know what was up.” “And…the sudden date?” “Your transformation gave me the courage to speak to you. It was my chance–an excuse to talk to you.” Miguel says softly. “Though you did reject me twelve times. I was starting to lose hope.” “It was not twelve times.” “It felt like twelve times.” “...You have to admit that I’m…much more appealing now than I was before.” Miguel sighs. “Nena, the only thing different about you is clear skin and some clothes. Everything else is still you. You were pretty underneath, you just enhanced it. At your core, you’re still you. Bright and colorful.” He bumps your shoulder. You smile shyly and look in your lap. “MJ said something similar.” “MJ?” “My roommate. She helped me with, y’know, everything.” It was still hard to believe. Over two decades of being told otherwise was not going to go away by a single conversation but it still warmed your heart to hear something positive about you for once. You don’t say anything else and Miguel takes his chance to wrap his arm around you, bringing you to his chest. With flushed cheeks, you look out into the open where the skyline is feeling at peace and just a little pretty.

You two had arrived at your dorm and you faced Miguel shyly. Your eyes looked at the ground as you felt your cheeks heat up. “This is my place.” You state and Miguel chuckles, the sound of it sending your heart pumping. “I see that.” He says, taking a step toward you which makes you take a step back. “I had fun.” You whisper softly, your eyes landing on his chest. You see Miguel’s hand lift up to your chin and make you look into his eyes. Your cheeks burn since he keeps his hand on your chin to make sure you wouldn’t look away. “Me too.” He murmured, his red eyes looking like they turned a darker shade when he glanced at your lips. He takes another step towards you and you take another step back. You feel your head hit the door and realize you’re now trapped between it and him.

You hold your breath and can only feel the pounding of your heart in your chest and Miguel’s calloused fingers holding you still. Miguel then uses his other hand to hold your hip, his thumb trying to slide under your tank top. Your hands raise up to hold onto his biceps, shivering when your skin meets his. He was warm. “I…kind of don’t want this to end.” You admit softly. Miguel’s grin grows wider, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek which makes you weak in the knees. “Then it doesn’t have to, muñequita.” His hand leaves your chin to cup your cheek. He glances up above your head. “Your roommate home?” He asks. Your eyes never leave his face, your pupils dilating and a weird feeling starting to brew in your stomach. “No,” You squeak out and he looks back down at you. “She’s–She’s, um, out with her boyfriend.” Miguel hums, another glance to your lips. “Then…will you invite me inside?” He asks, leaning down so his lips just barely graze yours. Not quite a kiss yet. Your breath hitches and you nod a few times before speaking. “Mhm, okay.” You reach your hand behind you to grab the doorknob and twist it open. You stumble backwards but Miguel quickly wraps his arm that was on your hip around your waist. He then makes you walk backwards while he could shut the door behind him. You had your arms around his neck and looked up with wide eyes and a fast paced heartbeat. Miguel huffs out a chuckle. “You okay?” “Mhm!” You squeak. He squints down at you in playful suspicion but brushes it off. He bends down to where his lips brush yours again and finally dips low enough to kiss you. Your first shared kiss. You stumble with how to kiss, especially when the other person has piercings, but with someone like Miguel, you quickly learn and get the hang of it. Soft kissing noises sound between the small space of you two and he gradually moves from your lips to your cheek and down your neck. His arms around your waist tug you closer, bending you back and he moves you further back to where your calves hit the mattress of your bed. One hand rises up to pull his leather jacket off your shoulder, gently nibbling across your skin before reverting back to your throat. With his lips on your neck, Miguel could feel your pulse going wild, heartbeat going crazy each second. He decides to check in. “You okay?” he murmurs with a smile, his lips finding yours again for quick kisses. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve just–” kiss “Just–” kiss “Y’know, never–” kiss, kiss “Done this before.” He pauses, stiffening before he pulls back. “Wait. Are you saying this would be your first time…having sex?” Your heart sinks. That was bad wasn’t it? “No, it’s not bad.” Miguel shakes his head. You didn’t realize you voiced your concerns. “I’m just surprised, is all. Usually people have done it already.” You look away from him, visibly uncomfortable that he’s lowkey making fun of you. Miguel realizes the damage and quickly tries to fix it. “But there’s nothing wrong with it, nena! I didn’t mean–” He sighs, scratching the back of his neck. He looks around your dorm room. Your side is filled with cute things like plushies and fluffy blankets–a strawberry duvet all in the same hue of pastels.

“Look. We don’t have to do anything. I don’t…want to make it seem like I’m only here for that.” He shrugs his leather jacket back on your shoulder. “Because I do like you, nena. I’m willing to wait or if you never want it then it’s whatever. I just would really like a second date at least. Maybe at a nicer place like what Lyla said. Maybe I could clean myself up.” He gives you a weary smile. You stare at his hands that hold onto the zipper part of his leather jacket. For a while, you don’t say anything. “What if I don’t want to wait.” You mumble. You look up with some determination on your face. “I…I want to. With you.” Miguel takes his hands off you. “Wh–Are…are you sure?” You slip his jacket off you and let it fall to the side, stripping off the first piece of clothing from yourself. Your mouth is tight, heart hammering in your chest and cheeks feeling that familiar prick of heat up your neck but you’re sure of yourself. You want this. Miguel rakes his eyes up and down your body as you stand before him. “Alright.” He breathes out, undeniably attracted to you at this moment. “But this will all be at your pace, okay? I’ll make you feel good.” He purrs resting his hands at your hips and your facade crumbles slowly and you get shy again. He sits you down on your bed and he kneels before you, his hands on your thighs. He takes your right foot in his hands and carefully unbuckles the ankle strap of your pumps and slides it off. You cover your mouth, heart pounding at the intimate yet innocent act of him taking off your heels. He does the same with your other heel and sets it to the side.

Miguel then looks up at you from his lashes, his confident ones meeting your bashful ones. Taking your right leg again, he slips your thigh high stocking off you and does the same for your other leg. He places his hands on your knees and slowly spreads your legs apart to give you time to stop him. You don’t. “Come closer, mami.” He murmurs, sliding his hands up to grip the flesh of your thighs. You let out a weak mewl and scoot closer to the edge of your bed. Miguel bunches your skirt up, groaning and feeling his cock twitch in his pants when his eyes land on your pastel pink panties, a sweet little bow in the middle like you were a present for him. “Tan bella,” He murmurs, unable to hide the utter desire he has for you. You cover your face in embarrassment as he spreads your legs wider. His lips graze over your thighs, pressing kisses as he makes his way up. You feel your heart skip a beat everytime you feel his warm breath. Your hands clutch your strawberry sheets and he notices.

“You can hold onto me, mami.” He purrs and you swallow the lump in your throat.

“Wha…how do I..?” You feel stupid, your hands raising up and unsure of where exactly to put them. Miguel takes your hands and places him in his hair. His fingers curl around yours so you could grip onto his strands.

Feeling your face burn, the sight of you holding onto him while his eyes bore into yours. You instinctively clench your fists, his hair being tugged on in the process which makes him groan and close in his eyes. He likes a bit of pain, it seems

Miguel's hands return to your thighs, wrapping his arms underneath to tug you closer to his awaiting mouth and to keep your legs apart. “Hips up, mama.” He purrs and you do as he says, making him slip your panties off.

He discards them off to the side and delves between your thighs. His nose nudges your nub and you gasp, pursing your lips and gripping tighter on his hair.

“Miguel!” You whimper and he hums in response. You feel the metal ball of his tongue piercing curl inside you–it was strangely pleasurable. You didn’t expect it to feel so good. You rest on one hand behind you, the other still planted in his hair as you bucked forward on his tongue. Miguel the munch that he is, grins against your folds and licks a long stripe up before spitting and devouring your sweet nectar again. You felt the sudden slimy wetness hit your nerves and you yelped in surprise. Just as quick, you fall into submission when his skilled tongue swirled in little number eights. Your eyes were closed shut, your hand pulling Miguel closer to which he obliged. He then surprises you by sticking one of his thick fingers inside you. “Oh my…god.” You moan, your body growing hot and sweaty underneath all your clothing. “Miguel…” Miguel’s mouth moves in rhythm, his lips kissing your pussy as he drinks whatever your sweet cunt offers him. He could stay like this forever, cleaning your mess up and licking you for all eternity. His rings nudge your folds, the metal a stark contrast from his rough fingers. He pumps a second finger inside and it’s a bit of a stretch that feels good enough for you to thrust harder. “Mmm, yes…oh, I’m so close…” You mumble to yourself, chest heaving as you come closer and closer to climax. Unexpectedly, Miguel pulls away from between your legs. The pleasure being ripped from you and you struggle to lift your head as he pulls off you. The look in his eyes is different. More lustful, more hungry.

“If you’re gonna cum, I want you cumming around my cock.” He groans and wipes his lips with the back of his hand. Miguel stands up and gets into bed with you, shoving his platform shoes and pants off. While he gets on top, you rest back into your bed and your eyes become big and wide–darting between his face and between his legs. “Is it–will it hurt?” You bring your hands to your chest, clutching the fabric of your tank top. Miguel lifts your chin up to him. His eyes are kind and soft. “It’s not supposed to. I’ll make sure it won’t.” He grabs the waistband of your skirt and tugs it off your legs, throwing it with the other forgotten clothes. His hands make his way up your body, helping you remove the sheer cardigan and sliding your tank top up and over your head. Miguel chuckles at the heart patterned bra you wore. He leans over to kiss your neck and you sigh. The feeling of his lips sucking and tongue licking you was surprisingly pleasurable. Instinctively, your reach around his shoulders to hold onto him, your back arching to be chest to chest with him. Miguel’s hands go under your back, holding you up while he quickly unclasps the bra. Feeling the loss of your support, you whine but Miguel kisses you before you become louder. He places you back down on your back and finally removes the last piece of clothing. Miguel admires you from above, his hands at your waist, rubbing up and down your sides as he feels your curves. “Perfecta. Eres mucha mujer.” He whispers while trailing his lips along your collarbone. You whimper, feeling your cheeks burn and grow hot to the touch. His breath ghosts over your breasts and he stares up at you maintaining eye contact. Miguel notices something in your hair; your white ribbon, still tied in your messy hair. His heart swells and smiles, reaching up to brush your hair away.

He kisses down the valley of your breasts and around your nipple. He glances up at you every so often to make sure you’re not feeling any sort of discomfort. He can feel your heart pounding underneath his palm. Miguel wraps his lips around your nipple and sucks softly. You gasp and hold your breath for a moment while his cold tongue piercing swirled around your nipple, his spider bites and nose piercing pressed against the softness of your tits. You stare up at the ceiling as the warmth in your body flooded down to your core. “Oh! M..Miguel…” You whined, your hands curling in his hair where you felt most comfortable. Miguel flicks his finger around your other nipple, pulling and bullying it until it becomes erect and perky. Even then, he twists it and gropes your tit in time with his sucking and biting. Your hips buck up, feeling your pussy throbbing uncomfortably. When you hit his bulge, Miguel moaned and grinded himself to your soaked pussy in soft circles. Your juices left a stain on his boxers in your desperate attempts at relief. He lets go of your tits–leaving a small bite mark– and continues to kiss down your body. “Gracias a Dios por mandarme esta belleza.” He murmurs, digging his hands into the plush of your hips when he raises your thighs up. Suddenly, he stops and lets go of you. “Shit, shit, fuck–hold on.” He mumbles and gets off you. You feel cold and watch as he gets off the bed and picks up his pants from the floor and searches through his pockets. “Did I…do something?” You ask, worried you might’ve done something that made Miguel regret touching you. He shakes his head. “No, no–just–ah, there it is…” He chuckles to himself after finding his wallet and pulling out a small square packet. He pushes his fringe back with one hand as he gets back into bed. Miguel shuffles down his boxers after putting the packet between his teeth. “I’ll get you pregnant some other time.” “What?” “What?” You close your mouth and hear ringing in your ears. You were sure that steam would be coming out of your head at this point–your mind felt like mush with how easily flustered he made you. Miguel looks down at you and huffs a small laugh, letting you know he was joking. Maybe. Hopefully.

His cock springs free once his boxers are off and he groans when it slaps his stomach, leaving a bead of his precum on his tip. Your eyes shamelessly stare at him. You were by no means an expert when it came to sex but you grew both worried and aroused at how massive he was. “There is…no way it’s gonna fit.” Miguel rips the plastic with his teeth and rolls the condom on his dick to the base. For a moment, you’re disappointed that he added protection. Just for a moment, though. He breathes out and gives soft strokes to his shaft while looking at you from beneath him. He feels his cock pulse and throb, growing harder by the second just by the sight of your perfectly sculpted naked body. He thought you were divine. Placing his hands on either side of your head, he leans down to kiss you as if trying to ease your worries. “It’ll fit, I promise. It’ll feel so good, too.” He whispers, his lips brushing against yours. “I’ll go slow.” He takes one hand to lift your thigh up just enough to give him space to rub his cock between your wet folds. “Miguel…!” You gasp while you feel just how hard he was. He shushes you. “I know, nena. Look what you do to me. Feel what you did to me.” He buries himself in your neck, nipping at your skin and you tilt your head back. More of your arousal soaks his cock, creating wet sounds while you grind on each other and Miguel shudders. He bites into your shoulder and fights against his instinct to shove his cock inside and fuck you into your own mattress. Miguel kisses the spot he bit, his breathing labored and heavy. “Tell me if it hurts, mama, okay?” You nod, your eyes screwed shut. “Uh-huh…” Slowly, Miguel looks down and makes sure his tip splits your folds apart as he enters inside you. Your breath hitches and you tighten your arms around his neck. “Miguel!” You whine while he penetrates you. He kisses your temple and stops when only his tip is inside you.

“You’re doing great, nena. No te preocupes, lo estás haciendo bien.” He reassures you with a shaky voice. It’s clear he’s holding back. You whimper apologies and Miguel kisses across your cheeks to try and return your focus on him instead of the new stretch you’re feeling. He praises you in a mix of Spanish and English–ones you can barely hear. He moves his hand down between your legs and gently rubs your clit with your thumb in hopes of loosening you up. With the added stimulation, you moan and hide in his neck with your eyes shut. You weakly thrust up, feeling a bit of relief and allowing Miguel to push further in. “Good, good,” He purrs. “Just like that, mama. Just let me in.” He groans and hisses when you clench around him. Miguel’s thumb switches between a fast and slow pace, sliding in his cock easily until you cry out and dig your nails into his skin, leaving small crescent shapes. “Stop, stop–” You whimper. “I’ll pull out–It’s okay–” “No!” You keep him close to you. “No, I just–I need a minute.” You sniffle, your body slowly adjusting around his girth. Miguel nods and pulls back enough to meet your eyes. “Okay. Okay, whatever you need. At your pace, remember?” He rests his forehead against yours. You open your eyes to see his cheeks flushed, a bit of sweat running down his temple and he shakes with every breath. Despite his current state of desire, he’s putting you first–he’s putting your comfort first. “Thank you.” You whine softly. Miguel huffs, leaning down to kiss the corner of your eyes. “Don’t thank me for that, nena. Never.” Miguel continues to pamper you with kisses, murmuring about how beautiful you are, how well you’re taking him, how he can’t get enough of you. He nuzzles into your neck, rolling lazily over your clit and does gentle thrusts of whatever you were able to handle. After a few moments, you grab his attention by running your hands through his hair, fingernails scratching over his shaved parts. “Okay…more, please.” He lifts himself up and holds your hips with both his hands. His thumbs caress your hip bones as he pushes himself deeper. You moan and tilt your head back, biting your lip as the combination of pain and pleasure hits your stomach and through every nerve in your body. It felt like forever until he reached the hilt, the light smack of his balls hitting your pussy. Miguel smiles. “Good girl,” he licks his lips. “Mirame.” Your head tilts back down to see both of you finally connected. “Holy shit…” You whisper, the sight making you clench. Miguel moans and grips your hips tighter, his head falling forward as he takes a deep breath. “Fuck, don’t tighten around me like that.” “Sorry!” You squeak and he chuckles. He raises his head back up, hair falling in front of his face and a lazy smile on his face that shows his fangs–his piercings glinting in the dim moonlight. “Don’t be. It’s just, you feel so fucking good–you’ll make me cum.”

You cover your face and resist the urge to scream. The heat emanating from your face made you sweaty. Miguel takes your wrists and pins them to the side of your head. He cocks a pierced eyebrow up with a smirk. It softens when he sees just how flushed your expression is. “‘m gonna move, okay?” You gulp and give him the green light. Miguel looks down and slowly pulls out, watching your slick drench his condom covered cock. “Jesus…” He groans under his breath. He looks back up to see if there’s any sign of discomfort on your end but he’s met with your eyes glued between your legs as well. Your eyebrows are scrunched up in pleasure, mouth agape with shallow breaths while you watch him slowly ease out of you. Miguel’s eyes darken with lust and he pushes back in once his tip was kissing your heat. He watches as you roll your head back, your eyes rolling behind your skull when you felt his cock filling you up again. “Oh my God…” You moan. “Miguel…” Miguel’s heart jumps and his hands tighten around your wrists. Still, he’s careful. For a few minutes, Miguel continues his slow thrusting. He pulls out sweet moans and whimpers from you, getting you used to his massive size and stretching your cunt out to the shape of him. His tip nudges against your cervix and you jump which makes him grin. After those few minutes, you began writhing underneath him. The pain had subsided and now this soft stroking was sweet but it wasn’t doing anything for you anymore. Your hands clenched and unclenched into fists.

“Miguel, Mig–more,” You begged. “Faster.” “You sure?” He slows to a stop and you furrow your eyebrows in annoyance which he doesn’t notice. He’s about to ask again after your lack of response when you lock your ankles around his waist, shoving him back inside you. You and Miguel moan in unison, Miguel nearly falling on top of you if he didn’t catch himself by resting on his elbows by your head. His breath fanned your face and he looked down into your eyes with a heavy blush. “More.” You moan and Miguel quickly goes to work. He leans on one elbow and places his other hand down to your hip to start picking up his pace. Miguel attaches his lips to your chest, biting the plump flesh of your tits before taking your nipple in his mouth once again. Your hands go around his back, your nails raking down his spine that leave red streaks. He pushes himself further against you, folding you in half while he increases his speed, abusing your pussy by slamming his cock in and out of you. Your squealing and moaning becomes music to Miguel’s ears. He groans and licks his tongue around your nipple, lapping it back in his mouth to suck on it. His nails dig into your waist while the sound of skin slapping signaling just how desperate he is to fill you with his cock. “Atta girl,” He moans after moving up to your neck with wet open mouthed kisses. “Knew you could take all of me. Knew you would sound so pretty crying all over my cock.” He smirks, looking up to see your eyes rolled back, tears brimming your eyes in ecstasy instead of pain this time. Your pussy spasms around him as you whimper. 

“Mig–Mig–” You babble mindlessly. The only thing on your mind is Miguel, Miguel and Miguel. “So–so good…” You slur, vision going hazy while the lust clouded your mind. Miguel’s ego inflates, his dick twitching inside you. Even with a condom he could still feel your pussy contract around him, your warm walls sucking him in deeper. Your hips wiggle and buck weakly to match his thrusts but ultimately Miguel does all the work, sending your mind spinning while he practically fucks all your thoughts, fears, and insecurities from your brain—turning you into a dumb cock-drunk mess. Through the haze, you can hear your juices sloppily smacking between you and Miguel–an erotic sound of wet plaps, his balls becoming slick and sticky with your arousal. “God, you feel so good,” He moans, hips stuttering. “It’s like your cunt is just begging for my cum. You want it? Huh? This tight little pussy gonna milk me dry?” He quickened his pace, humping against you in fast short thrusts. You scratch his back, multiple lines of red marking his skin while your toes curl. “Yes, please, please, please–I wanna,” You babble through gasps. “It’s so good–I wanna cum–Don’t stop…!” Your voice becomes high pitched, your hips lifting to grind yourself on him. The both of you fucking one another exactly like horny college kids. Miguel growls, nipping at your neck to add more hickeys to your body. “Never. Holy shit–you’re so fucking sexy,” He cuts himself off with a groan, his sweaty forehead falling to your shoulder while he humps you. “Never letting you go. This pussy is mine.” His thumb finds your clit again, his fingers slowly being drenched with your messy juices that had spread all around your labia, smearing around your pussy with the help of Miguel’s unstable thrusting. His cold rings bumped against your hot skin, the difference in temperature becoming another factor in your raw lust.  Your screams of pleasure bounced off the walls. “C’mon pretty girl. Cum for me. I know you’re close.” He pants in your ear.

“Mig–gy!” You choke out, eyes squinted in ecstasy as Miguel helps you reach your climax. It wasn’t anything you’ve experienced before. White hot numbing pleasure waving through your body as you spasmed. Your orgasm shook your entire body and you clutched onto him tightly, your legs keeping him near, nails finding purchase in his back and arching your breasts up to his chest, nipples sensitive to the touch. Miguel followed right after: rubbing your clit faster and his balls ached with a tightness before releasing his seed into the condom, his cock twitching as it spurts out his cum. He moans loudly, his body shivering and shaking along with you but he still helps you come down from the high, pumping weakly as he empties himself. Your body falls limp, head lolled back while Miguel breaths heavily. He pulls out as gently as you can but your virgin cunt wasn’t used to such stimulation, each inch back caressed your sensitive nerves up until he finally left with a pop. Miguel’s hands shook as he took off the condom, body now covered in cold sweat now that the heat of the momentum was gone. He stumbled off your bed and tied the condom shut then dumped it in the small bin in your dorm room. He slipped back in your bed beside you, smiling to himself when you took deep breaths with your eyes closed. “Hey, you alright?” He asks with a soft wheeze. “Huh?” You barely heard him over the heartbeat pounding in your head. The blood flow goes through your body normally once again. “Hm? Oh. Mhm. Yeah.” Miguel chuckles, resting on one elbow with his cheek in his palm and brushes your sweaty hair back from your face. “Yeah? You were amazing.”

“Really?” You try to look up at him through the exhaustion in your eyes. Who knew sex could take all your energy? Miguel grabs your folded fuzzy blanket and unravels it to drape it on top of you two. “Really. I’m honored to be your first.” You blush at the reminder that you hadn’t had sex before and the reminder that you were no longer a virgin. You stare at his face while his hands caress your cheeks, his thumb rubbing the side of your neck right under your jawline. “Do you really like me?” You find yourself asking him. Miguel’s hand stops moving and he looks surprised. “Yeah,” He confirms gently. “I wouldn’t fuck you if I didn’t. I don’t have sex with just anyone.” He pulls your cheek. You frown and pout at him. “I'm serious!” Miguel chuckles. “I know, I know.” He tilts your chin up with his index finger and leans down to kiss you sweetly for a quick peck. He knows what’s really on your mind. “My pretty girl.” He hums as he stares down at you to admire the afterglow of your orgasm. “All mine. My pretty girl.” He dunks his head down to your chest, wrapping his arms around you to pull you in his embrace and snuggles you.

Your heart flutters. Pretty. It hits you then that Miguel really does think you’re pretty. You feel his ear piercings against your chest and the rings on his fingers running up and down the curve of your spine. His fingers find your white ribbon, crumpled under you and he twirls it around his ring finger. You struggle to hold back your smile as you hug him back, nuzzling your nose in his hair and falling asleep with the comfort of knowing someone genuinely finds you beautiful, inside and out.

a/n: im sorry i wasnt normal i just love a good trope and punk miguel i cant help but make him cute

[tiamathh]

Walk Walk Fashion Baby

Hi girlies new year new style ykwim anyway this is a pac that i have been wanting to make for a long time but i was like idk how many ppl will like it etc but now idc about all that i want to have fun so here it is!! Have fun and stay hydrated. muah <33 also my paid readings are open there are a few slots (15) if anyone's interested xx ciao <3 like and rb if you like xx

Masterlist / Paid Readings + FB / Tip jar

Pile 1

Hi pile 1! You need to try that classical, timeless, style, i know it can be annoying to look at all the beige and muted tones but its so much more than that like, picture this, a tailored blazer or high-waisted trousers that fit like a dream. tbh I am also getting pearls for some reason so maybe adding neckklaces as accessories can be something you are interested in to incorporate in your style next year. Start with a simple white shirt, a fitted black dress, or a pair of cut jeans. Then you can accesorise with delicate gold bracelet, a black bag, or a string of pearls again with the pearls they are calling for you right nowww.

Moreover, another style you can incorporate is just as sharp, and elegant so like the whole academia aesthetic, regardless of light or dark that doesn’t matter but what I am trying to say is, clothes with shape. Like cinched wastes and just clothes that create shape for you are like something you really should give thought to. It’s about being comfortable but also looking effortlesss while doing it all, I think basics like camis, just plain shirts/tshirts are something you need more of in your closet because theres so many ways to style them other than just for formal wear. Like one style inspo is literally Proncess Diana cannot get more elgant than her istg, enjoy muah <33

Pile 2

Y’all this is my pile you guys are my PEOPLE ok to begin with you need to stop being afraid of colour and looseness like not everything has to be tight and fitted especially just because the microtrend world says so. Experiment with “loud” colours and different textures, things you may have thought are “odd” and don’t look good, because trust me the way it can all be pulled together is crazy and so much fun!! Layer, the most important part, stack rings and bracelets and go for those colours that lowkey hurt your eyes because fashion is about colour and pattern and texture and taking all of it out of fashion just makes it dull imo.

Start with a bright coloured tshirt, maybe something like yellow, then layer on, very “indie kid” aesthetic like the high saturation stuff. Mixed with that I am also getting maximalism to the MAX layer layer layer, stack stack stack you should look like a walking apparell store (kidding) seriously though if you have been feeling like you want to experiment with something like this and oxidised jewellery and mixing different styles mainly because all of your wardrobe is mismatched (me) then go for it because I promise it will come out looking way better than you may have imagined. 

Pile 3: 

Ooo I love this, okay so very romanticised, very coquette but not really, this is also the pile which will look so good in pastels in lighter colours. All I am getting in my head are those pictures of people on picnics in their flowy outfits and dresses looking so pretty and at peace, bows and dellicate bangles, just a very dainty aesthetic im thinking light fabrics and romantic fashion like lace-trimmed dresses, pastel skirts and floral prints, very fairytaile-ish. Ruffles or embroidery too and just magical overall. Also the complete opposite of pile 2 here, minimalist aesthetic may suit you a lot so try it out next year!

I am talking about keeping it simple, not too much with the accessorising and maybe a staple or statement accessory piece that goes with everything and anything you wear. Also for some of you with this simplistic style, you may have to be pushed to try on something more glam too like a bold red lip when it comes to makeup, like be bolder with your makeup experiment with more purples, pinks and reds while keeping the outfits simpler. 

All Rights Reserved tiamathh©® DO NOT PLAGIARISE, REWORD, STEAL!

[winwintea]

wicked love

PAIRING ↬ non-idol!na jaemin x fem!reader

TAGS ↬ short lived-fluff, romance, TOXICITY, horror, thriller, supernatural, kinda unsettling, SOOO CREEPY, if bad why hot? au, oomfs pointed out this is kinda like wandavision and now i'm realizing it does so maybe wandavision au

WARNINGS ↬ horror, yandere!!! (read at your own risk!)

SUMMARY ↬ his love is perfect. but perfection comes with a price.

WORD COUNT ↬ 5.4k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ guys i think the voices are getting louder (ty to queens @yizhrt @peterm4rker @viasdreams and @polarisjisung for beta reading 🙏)

PLAYLIST ↬ rhinestone eyes - gorillaz; nightmares - the boyz; wicked love - yena; doll - gidle; the perfect girl - mareux

YOU NEEDED A FRESH START.

The train slows to a halt, the perfect little town laid out in front of your eyes. You step onto the platform, the scent of flowers filling the air. 

The town looks like a postcard-perfect town, almost like you’re staring at a travel brochure rather than the real thing. The cobblestone streets appear to be smoothed down over time. A few locals pass by, nodding at you with warm smiles. 

There’s something about this place. It feels timeless, almost, like it came straight out of your dreams. Maybe this will be home. Maybe it’s exactly the fresh start you need from your damaging past.

Your new apartment, right next to the main square, is perfect. Lace curtains sway gently in the breeze, creating a comfy atmosphere. You unpack your bags, starting to convince yourself this was the right move. A quieter life, far from the chaos you left behind.

The next morning, you walk into your new job at the café, a cute little shop with pastel walls and pastries that look too good to eat. Mrs. Kim, the owner, greets you with a smile that feels practiced but kind.

“Welcome, dear,” she says, her tone both warm and firm. “I can tell you’re nervous, but I have confidence you’ll fit in just fine. Everyone does.”

Encouraged by her kind words, you dive into the work, immersing yourself in the comforting rhythm of brewing coffee and arranging pastries. Simplicity is desperately needed.

Then the bell over the door chimes, and you glance up ready to greet your next customer. But what you see makes you freeze in place.

A man walks in with confidence, his dark eyes surveying the room before landing on you. His presence is drawing, his sharp cheekbones and warm smile seem to stand out in this quiet little town. For a moment, it feels like the entire café is holding its breath, waiting for him to order.

“Americano, please,” he says, his voice smooth but casual. His gaze doesn’t cease, even as you fumble slightly while writing his name on his drink. ‘Jaemin’. When you hand it to him, his fingers brush yours, sending an unexpected jolt through you.

“You’re new,” he states, not a question but an observation, his head tilted slightly as if he’s trying to read you.

You nod, flustered. “Just moved in yesterday.”

He continues to smile. “I’m happy to run into you then. Welcome.”

Instead of leaving, Jaemin takes a seat by the window, sipping his coffee while his attention drifts back and forth between you and the window. His gaze lingers just long enough to make your cheeks turn red. 

When your shift ends, you’re surprised to see him outside, leaning casually against the lamppost. The setting sun just adds to the beautiful sight right in front of you.

“I thought I’d walk you home,” his eyes steady, with some concern. “It’s getting late.”

The streets are quiet, and there doesn’t seem to be much danger present. Yet, you can’t bring yourself to decline. You nod, and he falls into step beside you.

As the two of you start to walk, he asks questions about you. How was your move, your life before this, what made you pick this town? He listens intently, hanging on to every word as though you’re the most fascinating person in the world. You tell him more than you planned to, and it isn’t until you see the intrigued look on his face that you realize how much you shared.

“What about you?” you ask, shifting the focus on him instead. “Have you been here long?”

“Long enough to know I was waiting for you.”

The line is so smooth it catches you off guard, and your face flushes as he laughs. His laugh is soft and such a pleasing sound that you realize you want to hear it again and again.

The next few weeks with Jaemin feel even more like a fairytale. He seems to appear everywhere. Waiting for you outside the café after your shifts, showing up with your favorite snacks and drinks, surprising you with gifts he claims “just made me think of you.”

One evening, he shows up at your door holding a bouquet of wildflowers. “I couldn’t wait until tomorrow to see you,” he says, handing them to you with a grin. “Thought you might need these.”

The flowers seem flawless and smell wonderful. You let him in your apartment, your heart fluttering at his thoughtfulness.

Over time, you notice how precise his attention is. He seems to know exactly what you need. When you mention being cold, he drapes his jacket over your shoulders without a word. When you casually mention a book you’ve been wanting to read ever since you saw it in the library, it shows up on your doorstep the next day with a small note attached to it.

One evening, he takes you to a small park outside of town. A picnic is already waiting. Jaemin is sitting there on a blanket waiting for you to arrive.

“How did you pull this off?” you ask, laughing as you sit down. “It’s like you read my mind.” Just a few days ago, you read a chapter in your book in which the two main characters had also gone on a similar date.

Jaemin grins as he pours you a glass of sparkling cider. “I just know you. That’s what love is, isn’t it? Knowing someone better than they know themselves.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, though you force a smile. You’re not sure why they unsettle you. It’s sweet, isn’t it? That he knows you so well?

As you sit together, Jaemin leans back on his elbows, watching you. “You’re perfect,” he says quietly. “I’ve never met anyone like you. It’s like... you’re exactly what I’ve been waiting for.”

The intensity of his gaze makes you look away, your cheeks heating. But something in his tone feels too polished, almost like he’s practiced it. You brush it off, telling yourself you’re overthinking.

It’s when you go out in town together that you start to notice how people act around him.

At the bakery, Mrs. Kim’s hands tremble as she rings up his order. Her smile is forced, and she avoids looking him in the eye.

After you leave, you curiously ask Jaemin about that interaction, “Was that... normal? She seemed kind of scared of you.”

Jaemin shrugs, brushing it off. “She’s just shy. Some people are like that.”

You’re not convinced, Mrs. Kim never seemed shy when the two of you worked together. But his casual tone makes it hard to push, so you let it slide for now.

—

Later, at the market, a man accidentally bumps into Jaemin, knocking over a fruit display. The man’s face seems to pale as he stammers out apologies, frantically trying to fix the mess. Jaemin couldn’t control the scowl that emerged on his face, as the man scurried away.

You lean toward Jaemin, whispering, “It was just an accident. You don’t need to glare at him like that.”

Jaemin turns to you, smiling again. “I wasn’t glaring,” he says calmly. “People here are just... respectful. They know better than to be careless.”

The edge in his voice makes your stomach twist, but you’re unsure how to respond.

—

That evening, when he takes you back to your apartment, you decide to bring it up again. “Jaemin, do you notice how nervous people are around you? It’s like they’re scared of you or something.” 

Jaemin pauses, and for a split second, you swear that his image cracked before snapping back into place. “It’s not fear,” he says, his tone even. “It’s respect. People here understand boundaries. They treat each other the right way. Don’t you feel it? Safer, calmer, happier?”

His eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, you feel like he’s waiting for you to agree. You nod slowly, though a part of you doesn’t want to. “Yeah, I guess. It’s just... different from what I’m used to.”

Jaemin steps closer, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “That’s why you belong here,” he says, his voice low and soothing. “Somewhere where no one will ever hurt you again.”

The way he says it makes your breath hitch. They’re comforting, but there’s a weight to his words that leaves you uneasy.

—

Later that night, lying in bed, you replay the day’s events in your head—Mrs. Kim’s trembling hands, the man at the market, and the way Jaemin’s smiles sometimes feel too sharp, too practiced, too unsettling. You try to tell yourself it’s nothing, that you’re just adjusting to this new place, this new life, and a new relationship. But deep down, you can’t shake the uneasy feeling you have. Something about Jaemin and this town feels off. The cracks are starting to form.

It’s the little things at first.

The mirror above your dresser shatters without warning while you’re brushing your hair, splintering your reflection. You freeze, staring at your fragmented reflection. It almost looks like your face is splintering apart. You reach out, your hand hovering just inches from the broken surface. 

The door suddenly swings open, and Jaemin who was staying the night appears, his expression calm. “What happened?” He reaches out to stop your fingers from touching the broken glass.

“I don’t know.” you stammer. “It just… cracked. I didn’t even touch it” You shook your head, trying to process what you just saw. 

He steps forward, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder as he examines the mirror. “It’s probably old. I’ll get you a new one. Don’t worry about it.” But something about his tone that makes you feel like he’s brushing it off on purpose. 

Later, you catch him staring at the shattered mirror, his reflection fragmented into dozens of pieces.

—

The next time you’re at Jaemin’s house while walking through the hallway, you notice the wallpaper seemingly peeling at the edges. Stepping closer seems to reveal a dark surface beneath. Your fingers trace along the seam absentmindedly, curiosity getting the best of you. When you gently tug the loose edge, a chunk tears free, exposing the wood underneath. It was blackened and warped, as though it’s been rotting for years.

You stare at it, suddenly feeling sick to your stomach. How could a house so immaculate have something like this hidden beneath its surface?

“What are you doing?”

You whirl around, the scrap of wallpaper still in your hand as you turn to face Jaemin in the hallway. He’s standing behind you, quiet and still. “It was already peeling,” you say quickly. “I just wanted to see what was underneath.”

His eyes flicker to the exposed wood, then back to you. For a split second, his face seems to literally crack almost like his face was supposedly ceramic, before mending itself together. “I’ll fix it. You don’t need to worry about things like this.”

He steps closer, gently taking the torn wallpaper from your hands. His touch is light and tender, but the air feels different now.

“You shouldn’t bother with things that aren’t important,” Jaemin says softly, his tone almost pleading. “Just focus on us. That’s what matters, isn’t it?”

You nod, but as he turns away, you notice his grip on the torn wallpaper tighten, his knuckles whitening as he walks down the hall.

—

The cracks aren’t just in the walls or the mirrors. They’re in him, too, and maybe you weren’t hallucinating when you saw his skin actually crack.

One night, you’re sitting together in his living room, the fireplace filling the room with warmth. Jaemin’s hand is wrapped around yours, his thumb tracing slow, steady circles against your skin.

“Sometimes I think I don’t deserve this. You. You’re too perfect for someone like me.”

You laugh softly, brushing off his words. “You’re being dramatic again.”

He looks at you then, his gaze locking onto yours, and for a moment, it feels like the world spins. His eyes are dark, almost bottomless, and there’s something lurking there—something raw and desperate, as though he’s holding on to you with every ounce of his being. Jaemin’s voice trembles slightly. “I mean it. You don’t understand how much you matter to me. I can’t lose you.”

There’s an intensity in his words that makes your heart race, but not in the way it usually does. You try to look away, but his grip on your hand tightens, not painfully, but enough to make you pause.

Then his expression changes. His smile fades, and his face hardens. The cracks start to appear again, this time more obvious than before.

You pull your hand away slightly. “I’m not going anywhere, Jaemin. You don’t have to worry about that.”

His smile returns instantly, the cracks once again vanishing as though they had never been there. “I know. I just get... carried away sometimes.”

He leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, but even as his lips brush your skin, the unease still lingers.

—

It gets worse after that. The cracks spread everywhere. Not just to the mirrors and walls, but to everything in the town. One night, the streetlight outside your building starts flickering which casts shadows across the pavement. The ground seems to ripple as if the cobblestones were water rather than stone. 

When you tell Jaemin about it, he dismisses it with that too-smooth tone you’ve come to dread.

“You’ve been working too much. You need to rest. You’re probably just really tired.”

But you know what you saw.

—

The tipping point comes when you’re alone at his house again. You’re standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom, the edges of the glass framed by intricate gold. As you stare at your reflection, the surface begins to distort. Slowly, your features start stretching unnaturally, twisting your perception. You blink, and the image snaps back to normal.

But when you look closer, you realize your reflection isn’t blinking anymore. It’s staring at you, unblinking and unmoving, a faint smile curling at the corners of its lips.

“Stop looking so hard.”

You spin around to find Jaemin standing in the doorway, his eyes darker than usual.

He smiles at you faintly, “Some things aren’t meant to be questioned.”

His words echo in your mind long after he leaves the room. You stare at the mirror again, but this time, you don’t dare move closer.

The first argument starts late at night, the room dimly lit, with untouched plates of food between the two of you. Your frustration finally boils over after weeks of feeling watched, cornered, and controlled.

You stand up suddenly. “I need space, Jaemin. I can’t keep doing this.”

His smile vanishes, replaced by something unreadable. He leans back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest, his gaze pierces through you. “Space? From me?”

You nod, your voice shaking. “Yes. From you, from... this. I feel like I can’t breathe anymore. Everything’s too... perfect. It doesn’t feel real.”

For a moment, Jaemin says nothing. His jaw tightens, and his fingers drum against the table. When he finally speaks, his tone is calm, but there’s an edge to it that sends a chill through you. “After everything I’ve done for you, you want to leave?”

“I’m not saying I’m leaving,” you start, trying to explain, “I’m just saying I need–”

He stands abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. His voice rises, cutting you off. “You don’t need anything! I’ve given you everything! This town, this life, me... Isn’t that enough for you?”

You take a step back, started by his outburst. You can literally hear your heart pounding now. His sudden anger feels like a slap in the face, shattering the careful illusion of calm he’s always maintained. “You’re not listening to me, Jaemin. I never asked for this perfect little world you’ve created. I just wanted you.”

That seems to break something in him. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You need this. You need me. Without me, you’d be miserable. Lost.” He moves closer, his face contorting with a mixture of frustration and desperation.

You shake your head, tears blurring your vision. “No, Jaemin. That’s what you want me to believe.”

His expression darkens further, and for the first time, you see the cracks in his carefully constructed mask—the raw emotion, the fury barely contained beneath his flawless exterior. “Don’t do this. Don’t ruin everything. This is our paradise. Our dream.” His words come out frantic as if he’s trying to convince both you and himself.

“Paradise?” You step further back, your voice still firm. “This isn’t paradise, Jaemin. This is a prison.”

And that’s when Jaemin snaps.

“You don’t get it!” His voice is sharp as it rings through the house. “Paradise is only perfect if you don’t leave!”

The words crash over you, the weight of their meaning sinking into your chest. His voice echoes in your mind, melodic and haunting, like a line from a song you can’t escape.

“I am your paradise. Your dream. Everything you’ve ever wanted. Why can’t you just see that? Why can’t you just stay?” His voice breaks on the last word, and for a moment, you see something raw and vulnerable in his eyes. 

But then his expression hardens again, the desperation twisting into something darker and terrifying.

“I won’t let you ruin this,” he growls, his fists clenched at his sides. “If you won’t stay willingly, I’ll make sure you don’t leave. You’re mine, and nothing will ever change that.”

Your breath catches in your throat. The room feels smaller, the walls closing in. “Jaemin... this isn’t love.”

The words seem to shatter him. His face contorts with rage, his hands slowly balling into fists at his sides. “Don’t you dare say that. Don’t you dare.”

You take another step back, your eyes darting toward the door, your instincts screaming at you to run. You’ve never felt this kind of fear before.

“You don’t understand. I am love. Everything else is broken, but I’m perfect. For you. For us.” The air between you is heavy, suffocating. Jaemin’s breathing is ragged, his eyes wild.

The words hang in the air, a chilling reminder that the man you thought you knew isn’t the man standing in front of you anymore. 

—

The morning after your argument, you decide to leave. You don’t even know where you’ll go—just that you need to get out of this suffocating place, away from Jaemin and his unnerving obsession.

You pack a small bag with trembling hands, glancing nervously out the window. The streets outside are eerily quiet, the friendliness of the town somehow feels more oppressive than ever.

As you step out of your apartment, your heart sinks. Jaemin is leaning casually against the streetlamp in front of your building, his hands in his pockets and his ever-perfect smile in place.

“Going somewhere, love?”

Your heart pounds in your chest. You force yourself to stay calm, clutching the strap of your bag tighter. “I need some time to myself.”

He tilts his head, studying you intently. “Time to yourself? That doesn’t sound like you. Where would you even go?”

The question catches you off guard. He’s right… you’ve never seen anything beyond this town. …Have you? You don’t even know if there is anything beyond this town. You’ve never ventured out of this town. You’ve lived here all your life. With Jaemin. Just Jaemin.

The thought sends a jolt through you. What is happening?

You shake it off, your voice firmer now. “Anywhere but here, Jaemin. I need to think.”

For a moment, his smile falters. But then it’s back, brighter than ever and more unsettling. “You don’t need to leave to think. Stay here. Let me help you.”

You shake your head, stepping past him, but his hand shoots out, gently grabbing your wrist–not harshly, but enough to stop you in place.

“Don’t do this, Y/N. You’ll regret it.”

You wrench your arm free and start walking, as your heart continues to pound in your chest. His voice follows you, soft and calm yet terrifyingly firm.

“You’ll be back. You always come back. You can never escape.”

—

The next few days are a nightmare. No matter where you go, Jaemin is there. You spot him in the café, sitting in the same seat he first approached you in, watching you with that same perfect smile. He’s waiting outside your apartment when you get home from work, leaning against the doorframe like he belongs there.

You even see him in places he shouldn’t be—on the other side of the street when you’re at the grocery store, standing in the shadows of an alley when you’re walking to clear your mind.

You confront him once, your patience snaps. “Are you following me? What the hell, Jaemin?”

He just smiles, tilting his head like you’ve said something funny. “I’m just making sure you’re safe. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, you know. To keep you safe.”

It’s infuriating, how calm he is, how he manages to twist every accusation into a declaration of his “love.”

It’s not just Jaemin. The entire town seems to conspire against you. The people smile too widely, their eyes never quite meeting yours. Conversations feel hollow like they’re reciting lines from a script rather than speaking from the heart.

At the market, the woman at the counter refuses to sell you a bus ticket.

“What do you mean, there’s no way out?”

“There’s nowhere to go, sweetheart,” she says, her tone unnervingly kind. “Everything you need is here.”

Her words echo Jaemin’s, and a sickening realization begins to settle in. You leave the market, your chest tight with frustration and fear.

Even your apartment feels wrong. The walls seem to close in on you, the air growing heavier. You swear you hear whispers late at night, but when you check, no one is there.

—

The final straw comes one night when you confront Jaemin in his house. You storm into his pristine living room, the air thick with tension.

“What is going on, Jaemin? Why is everyone acting like this? Why can’t I leave this town?”

He’s seated calmly on the couch, his hands resting on his knees. When he looks up, his perfect smile is in place, but this time, it carries an edge of something darker. “Why would you want to leave? Everything here is perfect. You’re perfect. We’re perfect.”

“Stop saying that!” you shout, your voice trembling. “Nothing about this is perfect. It’s all fake!”

His expression hardens slightly, though the smile remains. “Fake? Is that what you think? You think the life I built for us is fake?”

You freeze, the weight of his words sinking in. “What do you mean... ‘built’?”

He stands slowly, his movements deliberate, as if he’s giving you time to process. “This town, the people, everything you see—it’s all for you. For us. I created it because I knew you needed something better. Something perfect.”

Your stomach drops, your legs threatening to give out beneath you. “No,” you whisper, shaking your head. “That’s... that’s not possible.” 

He steps closer, his gaze locking onto yours. “I’ve given you everything, Y/N. A world where you don’t have to worry, where nothing can hurt you. I’ve even given you pieces of myself—my love, my time, my devotion. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy.”

Your voice shakes as you respond. “This isn’t happiness, Jaemin. This is control.”

His jaw tightens, the cracks in his composure finally showing. “No. No, you’re wrong. This is love. I’ve made it perfect for you. Don’t you see? You don’t have to fight anymore. Just... let go.”

You back away, your mind racing. Everything starts to make sense now—the way people seem hollow, the strange cracks in the world, the way Jaemin always seems to know your every thought.

The truth suddenly dawns on you. “Even me... You’ve been controlling me, haven’t you?”

He hesitates. The silence stretches for a moment too long before he replies, his voice softer, almost pleading. “I didn’t want to control you. I just wanted to protect you. To keep you here, where it’s safe. You’re... you’re slipping away from me, Y/N. And if you go, this world will crumble. I can’t let that happen.”

His words are a plea and a threat all at once, and for the first time, you see him for what he truly is: not just a possessive lover, but the creator of this fragile, crumbling reality.

You spend the next few days searching for an escape, though you’re not entirely sure what “escape” even means in this twisted, fabricated reality. The cracks in the world are growing more pronounced—literal fissures splitting the pavement, flickers of darkness creeping at the edges of your vision, and moments where the townspeople freeze mid-motion, like broken puppets.

And Jaemin? He’s watching you closer than ever, though he never confronts you outright. You can feel his eyes on you wherever you go, a shadow that clings to your every step.

One night, while Jaemin is out, you find it—a journal hidden beneath a loose floorboard in your apartment. The pages are filled with strange symbols, diagrams, and what looks like fragmented memories of Jaemin’s thoughts.

One entry catches your eye:

"The anchor must never break. She is the key to keeping the world whole. Without her, there’s nothing."

Your heart races as you piece it together. You’re not just a prisoner in Jaemin’s world—you’re the foundation of it. If you can sever your connection to this place, the entire illusion might collapse. But how?

—

You decide you have to confront him. But not to beg or plead for your freedom—that won’t work. Jaemin is too possessive, too desperate to let you go willingly. No, you’ll have to trick him into believing that you’ve finally given in.

The next evening, you find him at his house. He’s in the living room, staring into the flickering flames of the fireplace. His expression is distant, almost melancholic.

“Jaemin?”

He turns, and his face lights up when he sees you, the sadness replaced by his usual serene smile. “Y/N. I was wondering when you’d come back to me.”

You force yourself to smile, stepping closer. “You were right. About everything. I’ve been fighting against you, against this... and I don’t know why. It’s perfect here. You’re perfect.”

His eyes widen slightly, a flicker of hope sparking in them. “You mean that?”

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. “I’ve been scared. But I see it now—you love me more than anyone ever could. You’ve built this world for me, and I want to stay.” You reach out to his hand.

His grip tightens on your hand, his smile growing as he pulls you into his arms. “I knew you’d understand. I knew you’d see how much I love you.”

You let him hold you, burying your face against his chest to hide the fear and repulsion you know must be showing on your face.

—

Over the next few days, you pretend to settle into the life Jaemin has crafted for you. You let him dote on you, let the townspeople’s eerie smiles wash over you without flinching. All the while, you gather the pieces you need.

You find an old map in the library, one that shows a strange, unfinished road on the outskirts of town. You overhear snippets of conversation from the townspeople—hushed whispers about “the edge” and “the boundary.”

And then, one night, you’re ready.

You and Jaemin are sitting together in his living room, the fire casting warm light across the walls. You rest your head on his shoulder, your voice is soft and trembling. “There’s just one thing I need to feel... whole.”

“Anything, my love. Just tell me.” He looks down at you, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“Take me to the edge of the town. I want to see where it all ends. I want to understand this world you’ve made for me.”

His expression falters. “The edge isn’t important. Everything you need is right here.”

You sit up, cupping his face in your hands, your eyes pleading. “Please, Jaemin. I want to see it with you. I want to understand your love fully. Don’t you want me to?”

He hesitates, his gaze searching yours. Finally, he nods reluctantly. “If that’s what you want.”

—

He drives you to the edge of town in silence, his grip on the steering wheel tight. The road grows darker the further you go, the world outside the car fading into an inky void.

When he stops, the road ahead simply... ends. Beyond it is nothingness, a swirling expanse of black that seems to pulse and writhe.

“This is as far as it goes. There’s nothing out there. Nothing but chaos.”

You step out of the car, your heart racing. “It’s beautiful.”

Jaemin watches you carefully as you approach the edge.

You turn back to him. “Thank you for showing me this. I... I trust you.”

For a moment, his face softens, and you see his vulnerability once again beneath the perfection. “You mean everything to me. You always have.”

As his attention wavers, you make your move. You sprint toward the edge, your bag clutched tightly in your hands.

Jaemin notices and panics. “Y/N! Stop!”

He now stands in front of you, his usually perfect expression unhinged, desperation seeping through every word. “You can’t leave. You don’t understand what’s out there. It’s chaos. Pain. No one will love you like I do. No one will protect you like I have.”

“This isn’t love, Jaemin. This is a prison. You don’t love me—you love the idea of me, the version you can control. But I’m not yours to keep.”

He steps closer, his once-gentle eyes are now sharp, glinting with anger and fear. “If you leave, you’ll regret it. Out there, you’ll be nothing. A speck. Here, you’re everything. My everything.”

You swallow hard, your chest tightening as the house begins to shudder. The cracks spread faster now, the walls peeling to reveal nothingness beyond. This world is breaking apart, and so is he. “I’d rather be nothing than lose myself to you.”

Jaemin’s expression softens for a brief moment—hurt flashing across his face. He reaches for you, his hand trembling as if he’s trying to hold on to what’s slipping away.

“Please… don’t go. You’ll die out there. This place… it’s all I have.”

But you’ve already made your choice. You step back, closer to the edge of the crumbling reality. The air feels thin, the edges of the world curling in on themselves like burning paper. Behind Jaemin, you see the town collapsing—the people disintegrating into ash, their empty smiles vanishing with them.

With one last look at him, you whisper, “Goodbye, Jaemin.”

And then you leap into the void.

Life had been okay after you escaped. Moving again would’ve been the best option in this case. 

The train slows to a halt, the perfect little town laid out in front of your eyes.

You step onto the platform, the scent of flowers filling the air. The town looks clean, almost like it was plucked straight from a storybook or a carefully curated dream. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, reassuring yourself that this was exactly what you wanted. A fresh start. A clean break from everything you left behind.

You set your bag down and begin unpacking, each item you pull out grounding you a little more in this place. A simpler life. A quieter life. That’s what you need, far from the chaos of before.

The next morning, you step into your new job at the café. It’s a quaint little shop with pastel walls and rows of pastries so perfect they could be in a magazine. The scent of coffee and freshly baked bread wraps around you like a warm hug.

The owner greets you with a wide smile. Her eyes crinkle at the corners, and her voice is both kind and commanding. “Welcome, dear,” she says. “I can tell you’re nervous, but you’ll fit in just fine. Everyone does.”

As you settle into the rhythm of the café, you notice how everything is perfectly simple. You glance out the window, and for a split second, you think you see a figure standing at the edge of the square.

Your breath catches, but when you blink, the figure is gone. You shake your head and return to wiping down the counter.

It’s nothing, you tell yourself. Just nerves. After all, this is the fresh start you wanted.

TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @yizhrt @polarisjisung @multifandomania @spacejip

apologies for the trauma. you are all entitled to no financial compensation. hope you enjoyed your stay!

[astronomoney]

Waitress

Pairing + WC: Jason Grace x mortal!reader, 2.1k Warnings: NOT canon compliant, this takes place in my world where Piper and Jason realized they were best as friends right after lost hero and Leo never got with Caylpso. also TOA never happened because it makes me sad. Also somewhat not proof read Summary: Jason has been sneaking off for weeks and Leo is detirmened to find out why. Or alternativly: Leo, Piper, Annabeth, and Percy go snooping in Jasons buisness Authers note: Hey hey! first fic in what feels like a million years! I definitely have to shake the rust off a bit but this was a fun one to get back into it! I was listening to Waitress at work and got this idea so i ran with it. Honestly not much of the actual relationship, theres a lot of set up and other characters but I think I may do a part two if this does well :)

Jason Grace was a busy man. Going between camps, building shrines to all the minor gods, serving as Pontifex Maximus, taking trips to Olympus to meet deities, and head counselor duties. Everyone knew he had no time on his schedule. His friends were lucky if they could get him to spare an hour to catch up, much less get him to a bonfire. So why on earth is it that Jason Grace would take upwards of two hours out of his day, three days a week, to walk out of camp and go to who knows where?

Leo was determined to find out. He’d watched Jason sneak off for the past month, and he was sick of wondering. He tried to bring it up but just got a red-faced muttered excuse about it’s just a walk in the woods and I have to finish my work before he'd disappeared into his cabin.

“I think we’re lost,” Percy said, stopping suddenly and causing Piper to almost slam into his back.

“We are not lost!” Leo exclaimed, “I swear he went this way,” 

“We’re miles from camp,” Piper butt in, “he could be anywhere,” she crossed her arms and glared at Leo. 

“We should turn back before someone notices we’re gone,” Annabeth added, looking up and down the road they were on. Leo had seen Jason sneaking off just before lunch and had convinced his friends to follow him. Now, here they were, on some back road heading through the woods surrounding the camp a mile and a half away from the border.

“Guys, c'mon! Don’t you want to know where he’s been going!” Leo turned back to the group. “He can’t have gotten far.” He kept walking backward in the same direction they’d been heading for the past 10 minutes. For a little while, they could see Jason walking along the side of the road, far ahead, but they’d kept their distance so he wouldn’t notice them. Then he made a turn at an intersection, and they’d lost sight of him. 

“Maybe he really is just out for a walk?” Piper offered.

Leo hualted now, “For two hours? No way, he’s definitely up to something out here.” He stared at the group, waiting for someone to disagree. No one did. It was definitely unusual behavior from the son of Jupiter to take so much time away from his work.

“We’ve been walking for 25 minutes. I say we go 5 more and then head back,” Annabeth spoke up, sending Leo a you owe me glance. 

“Perfect, 5 minutes!” Leo returned an appreciative smile before turning on his heel and continuing down the road with his friends in tow.

They rounded a corner a minute later, and Leo couldn’t help the I told you so grin that came across his face. In front of them, just a few more meters down the road was a genuine 1950s-style roadside diner with the name The Doo-Wop Diner plastered over the door. “See!” Leo pointed triumphantly, “Now imagine if we had turned back when you quitters had wanted to,” 

The group walked up to the diner, rolling their eyes at Leo’s antics. They peered in through the windows that lined the front. It was cute, with pastel blue on the walls, 50s-style booths, a jukebox in the corner, and a countertop bar.

“Is he even in there?” Percy asked, huddled next to Annabeth and scanning the restaurant.

“He’s got to be,” Leo squinted from Annabeth's other side.

“There he is!” Annabeth pointed to the far end of the bar where Jason was sitting. He had a cup of coffee and an open book in front of him.

“What’s he doing in there?” Leo asked as if any of them knew. “He walks all the way out here for ‘New York's best black coffee’?” He read off the sign in the window. 

The group looked at him for another minute in deliberation before Piper let out a quiet gasp. “It’s not the coffee he’s here for,” she was staring at something on the other end of the restaurant with wide, knowing eyes. “Look,”

When the three others looked back at Jason, they saw a soft, almost nervous smile on his face while he gave a slight wave. When they followed his gazeto the other side of the resturant, they all came to the same conclusion that Piper had. Jason Grace had walked nearly thirty minutes away from camp to a rinky-dink old diner on the side of the road to see you.

You were dressed in a 1950s waitress uniform and serving some of that aforementioned black coffee to an old couple. When you caught sight of Jason, your face lit up, and you waved back. As soon as you finished pouring the coffee, you brought the pot over to where Jason was sitting, even though he still had a full cup in front of him. The four standing outside were frozen in place as they watched the two inside interact. 

“Hey!” You said as you approached. The smile you had on now was so much more genuine than your usual customer service smile. “I missed you last week,”

Jason’s smile mirrored your own as he put a napkin between the pages of his book to mark his place. “Hey. Yeah, sorry, I had a last minute thing, uh, out of town, I had to do,” he had been called back to Camp Jupiter to resolve a minor god conflict and hadn’t been able to come in at his usual time. 

“Ooo, more of your mystery out-of-town work?” He’d mentioned it several times but, for obvious reasons, couldn’t tell you the whole story, and being the golden boy he was, he couldn’t bring himself to flat-out lie. “Is it something illegal?” You asked.

Jason let out a laugh at that. “It’s definitely not illegal.” He pushed his glasses back into place. 

“Are you sure? Because based on what you’ve told me, it’s out of town, it’s odd hours, it’s highly secretive, and it’s hard work.” You listed things out, counting them on your fingers. “You’re either selling drugs or possibly a secret agent.” You finished with wide, questioning eyes.

He laughed again at your list. You always had a way of putting his mind at ease. When it was swimming in work, and he couldn’t think straight, you always managed to bring him back to sanity. “It’s all boring, I promise. I’d much rather be here.” 

Your grin returned. “Oh really? I didn’t know you held our fine establishment in such high regard.” While you spoke, the cook rang a harsh bell and shouted, "Order up!”

“Thanks, Cal,” You called while you grabbed the two burger plates from the kitchen and walked them around the counter to deposit them at a table nearby. Jason watched you while you worked, the soft smile never once leaving his face as you handed out napkins and refilled some water. 

Once you were back, the conversation picked up exactly where it had left off. “It has its selling points,” he mused. The other half of that sentence, mostly about cute waitresses with the brightest smiles and the prettiest eyes, stayed caught in his throat. The pair slipped into an easy routine they’d established long ago. Jason would sit and drink his coffee while you bustled around, taking orders, running food, cleaning the occasional spill, all the while keeping up a steady stream of small talk. 

It was a mutually beneficial relationship. You got a bit of conversation to distract from the monotony of your work, and his blue eyes always seemed to make your day go smoother. Jason got a much-needed break from everything Greco-Roman. At camp, he always had so much responsibility, and so many expectations were weighing him down. Here, he didn’t have to worry about all that. You didn’t know who his dad was or what quests he’d been on, and you didn’t care. You liked him for him and not for the hero he was supposed to be. 

You returned to your spot across from him and picked up a rag to look like you were still doing something. “Have you told anyone at that camp of yours about this place?” You knew Camp Half-Blood existed. You also knew it wasn't anywhere close to normal based on the folks that came through, but they had the best strawberries even in the off-season, so you didn’t ask many questions.

“No way. Trust me, you do not want them coming here,” Jason had told you about his friends, minus a few details, but he had always emphasized that they were trouble.

“Uh huh, so then, who's staring at us from the window?” You asked with a sideways grin on your face.

“What?” Jason wiped his head around in time to see four panicked faces duck below the window sill outside. “Oh, by all the gods!” He muttered angrily under his breath and made a beeline for the door. “I’ll be right back,” he called to you, knowing you’d watch his book and half cup of coffee.

“Take your time,” you called back as he pushed open the door and stepped outside. 

For a second, all the demigods stared at each other without moving. Four crouched on the ground, wishing he hadn’t seen them, and one glaring at the group from above. Jason grabbed the front of Leo’s shirt and hoisted him up so he stood with his hands raised in surrender. “What are you doing here,” he hissed.

“Hey! Calm down, calm down,” Leo tried a friendly smile but was met with a glare. “We just, uh went for a walk?” He offered an explanation that sounded more like a question

“Wrong answer,” Jason sent his glare at the other three. “Did you all follow me?” He let Leo go and took a step back so he could glare at everyone all at once instead of having to shift his gaze.

“Leo made us come,” Piper threw him under the bus.

“Oh gee, thanks, beauty queen. It's nice to know where your loyalties lie.” Leo shot back, adjusting his shirt front.

Percy gave Jason a sly grin. “We were curious, but we never would have come if we knew you had a secret girlfriend out here,”

“She is not my girlfriend!” Jason cut him off. 

Percy put up his own hands, “Sorry, secret crush,” he corrected.

“She isn't! I don't-” Jason was full-on flustered now.

“Does that mean she’s up for grabs?” Leo asked. He looked back inside before getting smacked upside the back of the head by Annabeth. “What? She cute!”

When Jason looked back through the window he caught your eye and you sent him a questioning, yet very amused, glace. Jason had a bit of panic at that and quickly moved to usher the four away from the window and back towards the road. “Absolutely not! First of all, she’s a person; she can’t be up for grabs, and secondly, you can’t meet her!”

“What? Why not, she seems nice,” Annabeth asked.

“She is nice! And she's normal, and she doesn’t need to know any of you,” Jason managed to get them all about 10 feet from the front door. “Go back to camp. Just follow this road east for a mile, turn right at the second intersection, go straight for another half-mile, and you’ll see the border.” Jason gave the hurried directions and prayed to whichever god would listen that they’d all just leave.

“Whoa, man, we walked all the way out here, and now you're just gonna send us away?” Leo asked, putting a hand over his chest in fake offense.

“Yes,” Jason shot back flatly.

Piper spoke up next, “Wait, what’s her name? How long have you been coming here? How’d you even find this place? Does she like you back? It looked like she did.”

“Really?” Jason asked before shaking his head and focusing again. “I mean, I am not answering that,” he was still trying to shew the group away, but clearly, it wasn’t working. 

“Well, do they have good food here?” Percy added

“I saw ‘Breakfast all day’ on one of the signs,” Annabeth walked around Jason and back towards the door.

“And that burger meal she brought out looked really good,” Leo added. The four demigods went right past Jason and headed for the front door. 

“No, no, no, no, no,” Jason muttered as his friends ignored him and went in. “This is not good,” he said to himself, following the group back inside. They obviously had no intention of leaving, and he figured the next best course of action would be to simply die of shame. He knew this day would come; someone would catch him sneaking off, and his best-kept secret would become his worst nightmare. He just didn’t think it’d be so soon.

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

Ahhhh first fic in a long ass time, its not my best work but personally I liked the plot so I got a little carried away and might have to make a part 2

[kings-highway]

hi i don’t know if you’ve seen this already but i saw it and immediately needed to show it to someone who would understand.

lowkey could possibly be warped into a soulmates tattoo au

look it too me a while to decide how to respond to this because I couldn't decide what joke I wanted to make but I eventually settled on making no jokes and writing this instead. and rest assured there were many jokes I wanted to make

---

The joke, Ushijima had come to learn, was relatively misogynistic. He had not been aware, when people had first laughed when they saw the messy, scribbling Miss Kitty faces over his wrists, that it was at the subject matter rather than the circumstances. He had apologized for the lack of professionalism, but in a world with shared skin, everyone was pretty forgiving of what someone might have drawn on. Especially someone who hadn't met his soulmate.

The rest of the team doesn't really try and explain it to him. Semi halfheartedly explains that seeing such a big guy covered in what is effectively a little girl's obsession is generally amusing to people - they're laughing at him for having to interact with the media at all. He, after all, is a big, strong man, and should not be around the cute little cartoon.

They make judgements on his soulmate. They call her Miss Kitty and make jabs about what kind of girl she is - she probably wears a lot of fluffy skirts, and cat-ear headbands, and pink and bows. He nods along with this, until he realizes that they are making fun of him - and his soulmate - again.

"Because it would be funny for someone like me to be with someone like that?" Ushijima tries, and Semi has to think about it for a moment before saying: "No, more like... it's cliche. A big, strong guy like you, volleyball superstar, falling for a cute little pastel chick in a short skirt? Well, it's just a little... you know."

Ushijima does not know.

The Miss Kitty obsession is weird, though. He tries to hide it not from shame or guilty - he can barely comprehend why it's funny in the first place - but because he wants to protect her. He thinks, maybe, if she is trying to connect with him over something that she likes, he does not want anyone mocking her for it. So he covers it up, as much as he can, when everyone else is around, just to be safe.

In the evenings, though, late at night, if he stays up that long, he can see it get rubbed off. It works quickly, the way they fade, so he can imagine the girl scrubbing at her arms until they're red, as if she's angry at them. He feels bad.

Maybe she is being made fun of. Maybe she is ashamed of her own interests - maybe she feels bad for him. He tries to make her feel better, by using a pen to carefully draw the cat's face on the inside of his wrist. What he gets back is a garbled, messy set of disconnected lines, and a question mark. That's what happens when someone tries to write words. Like a bad connection. But he knows what the poor girl is asking.

Where are you?

His care in disguising the marks are not infallible, however, and eventually they have to play on a live stage, he has to put on his volleyball uniform. He had tried to tell her - he'd drawn the little volleyball over and over on his wrist, drawing a little camera, trying to tell her that he would be visible to the whole world. He doesn't know how to tell her that they laugh at her, that they think she's stupid and immature and too feminine. That those are, apparently, bad qualities. It doesn't work, though. If anything, actually, they get even worse, almost as if she's daring the world to judge her.

He smiles at that - he cannot help it.

And he tries not to hear the whispers of his team. It's not so bad, actually - there are a handful of guys who haven't met their soulmates that have designs drawn up their arm, mostly hearts and other things - the four-leafed clover, a popular pictogram way of saying 'good luck' where words weren't allowed.

He knows the camera can pick up the weird little marks on his arm, he knows the announcers will be curious, and he knows, for sure, that there will be some kind of news article circulating in volleyball circuits about his cute little soulmate and her childish obsession. He hopes they are kind to her.

But staring or no, it doesn't affect his game. They manage to pull through with the win, and retreat to the locker room to cheer and celebrate and talk about going out for drinks. Ushijima agrees to go along, pulling on his street clothes and jacket and tucking the Miss Kitty marks safely away, but - there's a new one. He must not have noticed, in the heat of the game, that his soulmate had scrubbed clean a patch on her their skin, and replaced the Miss Kitty designs with a winking smiley face. That was new.

He hides it anyway, not wanting to deal with the gossip of his teammates, and hurries to follow them outside and take the short walk over to the bar that they liked.

"Ushijima Wakatoshi."

It's a voice he's never heard before. He turns, frowning, as he lets his eyes take in the tall, lanky, rather odd looking young man, lips curled in a self satisfied sneer, eyes heavy. He is... weird, Ushijima decides. He does not hold himself like most people do.

"Can I help you?"

"You are not an easy man to track down," he adds, before tugging up the sleeve of his own jacket, holding out his arm so that Ushijima could see the winking face on the inside of his wrist, the surrounding skin littered with fading Miss Kitty designs.

Oh.

Wait-

"You are not what people said you would be," Ushijima says, quickly, trying to reconcile the expectation that an obsession with Miss Kitty must surely equal a young, cute woman with a penchant for childish toys. This man was as tall as he was, and dressed down, rather lazily. Ushijima would not have guessed him to be his soulmate, based on that. "You're... you're the person who's obsessed with Miss Kitty? I assumed you'd be a woman."

"Ah," the man says, clicking his tongue. "Sorry about that one, yeah... How else was I supposed to find you? Everyone in the world is wandering around with hearts and clovers and pretty designs on their arms. I needed to make sure I could identify you, even from afar. And I like the stupid cat, sue me."

"I would not sue you over this," Ushijima replies, alarmed immediately.

"Wh-what? No! I just meant-" and his soulmate breaks into a cackling sort of laugh that Ushijima quite likes the sound of. He seems thoroughly caught off guard by his sincerity in the matter. He wanders closer still, and holds out his hand. "Tendou Satori," he says. "Thanks for giving me a warning about the volleyball game, wouldn't have thought to check sports coverage otherwise."

Ushijima reaches to take his hand. "Thank you for trying so hard to find me."

"Eh. Selfish reasons for doing that."

"I'm still grateful for it. I'm... on my way to meet up with my team, celebrate the victory... would you like to come? I have a feeling that they are all going to be very... very interested in meeting you."

"Oh? Well who am I to deny. Lead the way."

[outerbankies]

the pool scene was SOOOO new light summer coded like right at the start ☀️ he comes to bring her her morning coffee and she’s like hmmmm can’t you just stay here and quit ur job pls!!!! and you know for a split second he’s considering it

OOPS!

new light: summer love

new light masterlist

a/n: also takes care of (caressing inner thigh then slowly leaning in to trail kisses) from the prompt celly! wahoooooo

You’re just about to doze off beside your parents’ pool, Gretchen stretched out on the chaise lounge beside you while Margot lazes on a raft in the pool, the thick July humidity and the shade of the gigantic oak trees covered in Spanish moss enough to lull you into a cat nap.

But your parents’ dog Wilbur, who’d taken refuge under your chair, scrambles out from under and bolts through the back garden and toward the house, causing the three of you to investigate the intrusion on your otherwise perfect, post-workout pool day.

“Ladies,” Rafe greets, emerging from rows of hydrangea bushes dressed in his business casual. You place a hand over your eyes to block the sun and see him better in his powder blue button-up, navy-patterned tie faltering in the slight breeze. He makes a beeline once he spots you, setting what he’d been carrying down on the unoccupied lounge to your other side: a cardboard tray of three iced coffees from your favorite shop in town, the one you happen to know is so out of the way if he left from his dad’s office.

You hadn’t even expected to see him today, the scheduling gods against you both, but here he is taking a seat right beside you on your own chaise, leaning over you just close enough you catch his cologne, before he pulls his wayfarers off and places them on top of his head.

“Hi,” he says, leaning down for a kiss. He lets it linger, or maybe you do, still a bit stunned to see him here right now. 

“Hi,” you finally answer, taking his face in your hands the red of your nails a contrast to his cheeks. “What are you doing here, Rafe?”

He shrugs, eyes flickering down to your lips, where you’d just reapplied your Laneige, before he steals another kiss. “Wanted to see you. How was pilates?”

“Spin,” you correct, still dazed, even as you feel your chair move when your dog dives back under it. “It was good. Still waiting for you to join us like you promised you would.”

“And I will,” he promises again, with another shrug. “Before the end of the summer.”

“Sorry to ruin your nooner, Cameron!” comes Margot’s voice from the pool. Gretchen and Rafe both laugh but you just groan, hiding your face in your hands as he twists toward her to make his reply, his tongue just as quick.

“All good, Margs. Brought you a coffee, if you wanna act a little more grateful,” he says, tilting his head toward the drink carrier.

Gretchen gasps as she sits up, up until this point laid back and watching you two with a sickly fond look, “Me too?”

“Of course,” Rafe replies. “I know Y/n/n is a fiend, but these aren’t all for her.”

She pats his shoulder, squealing on her way to pick up her drink, taking Margot’s too and walking toward the other side of the pool where the other girl floats, chancing a wink back at you as she leaves earshot. 

“I’m covered in tanning oil,” you say in warning, concerned for his pastel shirt and what Ward will say if he comes back from lunch covered in oily splotches, as you feel him sink further into your side.

“I’m very aware of what you are and aren’t covered in right now,” he murmurs. Rafe seems completely indifferent to all the places your bodies touch, giving you a once-over.

You make hands at the last drink in the carrier, humming in satisfaction when he hands it over and it tastes exactly how you thought it would. “You on lunch?”

He nods. “Didn’t realize I wouldn’t get to see you tonight, so.”

“I know,” you sigh. “I’m sorry I got the days mixed up, but the Boneyard should still be fun.”

You had an overnight babysitting gig a few neighborhoods over that you thought wasn’t until tomorrow, putting a bit of a wrench in the dinner plans you made with your boyfriend before you were supposed to ride with your friends to a bonfire.

You’d let him know as soon as you confirmed with the kid’s parents this morning, to which Rafe had replied a long (and dramatic) chain of sad faces. 

“It’s okay, baby. Might stay in anyway,” he says, kissing your cheek, then hiding his face there for a second. His lips brush the shell of your ear, “especially if there’s any possible way you sneak me into the Truitts’ tonight.”

When he pulls away to smirk at you, you grasp onto his tie, keeping him close to your face. “You’re not down.”

Rafe swallows, and you hate the way your eyes track the movement of his throat. “It would be worth the awkward run-in with Mrs. Truitt at the Island Club.”

“You can barely handle sneaking in here,” you say, your head tilting toward your bedroom window, which Rafe takes a second to look at wistfully, probably reminiscing on the times he’s nearly broken an ankle scaling the trellis for it this summer. “You jump every time you hear a creak in the night, thinking it’s my dad about to drag you out by your ears.”

“There are a lot of creaks at night,” he defends.

“Old house,” you challenge, releasing him and stretching your arms up over your head, settling down further into the chaise. “You should be used to it by now.”

The hand he’d been resting on your knee cap trails just slightly down your inner thigh. “I’ll never be used to this.”

You sigh, pressing our legs together, which budges his hand out from the area it’d been exploring. But Rafe’s touch doesn’t stray far, the metal on his ring finger resting on your outer thigh instead, his thumb stroking.

“You’re teasing me,” you warn.

His thumb hooks into the string of your bathing suit bottoms. “Oh, I’m teasing you?”

“Sure you can’t quit your job?”

“Be our coffee boy forever,” Margot calls.

“We tip!” Gretchen tacks on.

“Well with an offer like that…” he murmurs only for you to hear, suddenly as privy as you to the fact that your friends are probably listening in on as much as they possibly can. 

He still leans in for another kiss though, a few pecks trailing from your lips, over your jaw and down to where the strap of your bathing suit top rests over your neck, his face coming back to hover over yours as his eyes slowly open again. “Dinner tomorrow instead?”

You nod readily. “Dinner tomorrow. I’ll be free by the afternoon. I could come meet you in town? By the office?”

He shakes his head. “Nah, I’ll come get you, sweetheart.”

You beam, pleased you already know when you’ll next see him again, even if it is over 24 hours from now. You couldn’t help it and neither could he; much to the chagrin of your parents and friends, the two of you were inseparable this summer. “Okay. And have fun tonight if you do go, alright?”

He shakes his head, collapsing back into you, his face hidden in your neck again.

“Nooo,” he whines. “On the real, if I did come to the Truitts—”

“Alright,” you laugh, getting your hands under his shoulders to push him away. “I’m pretty sure your lunch is over.” 

“Over when I say it is,” he says, not going without a few more kisses, one somehow ending up on your shoulder, right over a mark you’d had to cover up with clothes and concealer ever since he left it there. But he eventually does let you breathe, leaving a hand on your cheek while he checks the watch on his other wrist. “You’re right though. Shit.”

“Mhm,” you say, nodding into his palm. “Have a good rest of your day. I’m happy you came by.”

He kisses your forehead before finally standing again, readjusting his tie, looking down at it and then back to you. “I’m happy, too. How do I look?”

“Oh my god, fine, Rafe. Get outta here!” Margot shouts.

Over the sound of Gretchen’s laughter, you nod in assurance at him. “You look good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He just barely avoids a splash of water from the girls as he makes his way back inside, causing you to laugh around the straw of your drink, which you’d barely gotten to try. Rafe looks back from the hydrangeas as he puts his sunglasses back on, shaking his head with a grin splitting his face.

You don’t know how you’ll last ’til tomorrow.

[kkuramyeons]

five times – idol!sakura miyawaki x idol!reader

⋆ four times the idol wanted to give you her number + the one time she did.

pairing: sakura miyawaki x gidle!reader

info: idol! x idol! au, reader is a 00’ liner, and has been down bad for sakura for years despite being known as a playgirl amongst the industry, sakura is also down bad but can’t seem to take the hint or make a move, pining, fluff, gay panic.

wordcount: 2.2k

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆⋆ ⋆ ⋆

i.  the people are talking (let them talk)

“y/n-nnie! tell neverland what you’re most excited about attending the golden disk awards!” ushered minnie as she waved you over to where staff where recording a behind the scenes for your channel’s I-talk.

“aside from our $$$ perfomance and award nomination… i’m very excited to see if I can meet iz*one, i’m a big fan!” you excitedly replied as you sat down on the couch next to minnie.

“oh, is that so?” the older girl smirked as she watched you get flustered at her answer.

before you could reply, a booming voice came from the other side of the room, “yah! y/n-nnie is only excited because she has a huge crush on saku-“ yuqi started, but was cut off by soojin, who ushered her to stop teasing you.

“yah! stop teasing, unnie!” came your reply as your face flushed red, almost having your private business aired to the public.

the teasing continued in the background between you and yuqi while minnie, shuhua and soojin tried to distract the camera by answering more questions and making conversation.

⁂

flashes and shouts from the paparazzi filled the air as iz*one made their way towards the red carpet of the 33rd golden disk awards, excitement buzzing through the members as they posed for the cameras, directed by the mc.

after expressing their feelings on the rookie award nomination, and striking some more poses, the group made their way down the carpet and into the venue, as fans and more paparazzi shouted questions at them.

as sakura made her way behind hyewon, someone had asked her what she thought about g-idle’s performance the day before, to which she curtly replied that she loved it, mentioning your short rap as her favorite part of the performance.

finally, inside the venue, sakura sat down in her assigned seat, when chaeyeon asked if she knew you.

“eh?” came the reply from the japanese idol.

“i’m just saying, someone told me y/n unnie is fond of you. if you want to meet her, just let me know,” shrugged the blonde.

“are you guys talking about y/n?” came a hushed whisper from nako. “i heard she’s  already in a dating rumor with a trainee from jyp, you should be careful with a girl like that unnie.”

“i don’t even know her, she’s just interesting, that’s all” sakura replied, playing with the gem of her dress.

“well, she seems sweet. so, if you ever want to meet her, just let me know,” replied chaeyeon as the conversation switched topics.

“maybe I will,” mumbled sakura, switching her attention to the start of the award show, trying to pay no mind to the hushed whispers around her.

ii.  the puppy interview

after months of hard work and preparing for a comeback, calvin klein had contacted you to become a brand ambassador, with the opportunity to work alongside other idols and well-known photographers in the industry.

you had ambassador offers from gucci, fendi, and savage x fenti, to name a few. known for your visuals, rapping and producer skills (often called a mini soyeon because of this), you wanted something else to add to your list of things you brought to the table. when working with a label like cube, you had to be prepared to keep the lights on in the building, alongside your members, of course.

and that’s how you ended up doing some solo promotions in the states, as well as promoting your first english single and collaboration with calvin klein.

you sat in a blank set, sitting on the floor with a pastel pink backdrop in the back, trying to make sure every puppy in front of you was equally petted and cared for.

“ah! this is a good question, and believe it or not, I don’t think we get this one very often,” you said in an amused tone as you read it out loud to the cameras in front of you.

“who’s your celebrity crush?” smirking, you picked up one of the puppies and set it in your lap, while grabbing another to do the same.

“hm, I would have to say sakura from le sserafim. she recently changed her hair and I think it makes her look very beautiful. really brings out her eyes,” you mused, hands already busy with searching for another question from the bowl, excited to see how your members and fans would react to the answer.

⁂

the le sserafim members were all sat around a table, cameras pointed at them as they read some comments on live while eating several snacks.

“oh! kkura unnie!” exclaimed eunchae with a grin as she passed snacks to kazuha who accepted them with open arms.

“hm?” came the short reply from the oldest member.

“someone is asking how you reacted at y/n sunbaenim revealing that you were her celebrity crush!”

suddenly, four pair of eyes were on the oldest member, since everyone knew about sakura’s evident crush on you.

“eh?! oh… i was very flattered,” the oldest replied while seemingly trying to keep herself busy with some chips, as her face flushed from the sudden attention on her.

“you should exchange numb-“ yunjin’s loud reply from the other side of the table came, chaewon quickly cutting her off with reading another comment from the section, not really wanting any of her members in a dating scandal so early into their career as a group.

sakura spared a thankful glance at the leader, thinking that maybe, yunjin was right, and that she should remind herself to ask chaewon to give miyeon her number so she could pass it on to you.

iii.  run in at hybe

“they really had to leave me in the back of this building, damn” you grumbled as you made your way through the back corridors of the hybe building, in search of the studio where new jeans would be at, so you could help them record some songs for their upcoming album.

after walking around the same spot for a few minutes, you impatiently grabbed your phone from your pocket and started searching for the other producer’s number so you could ask for directions, seeing as your incredible sense of direction was getting you nowhere.

what you didn’t account for though, was literally bumping into what you thought was a wall while you made your way inside the building with your nose stuck in your phone.

“i’m so sorry for bumping into you like that!” exclaimed a voice, hand outstretched to help you up from the floor.

“oh! that’s …” you trailed off, staring up at big doe eyes while you got up from the floor.

regaining your composure and with both feet planted on the floor, you gave an amused grin to the woman in front you.

“it’s a pleasure to finally see you in person, sakura,” you greeted, bowing your head at the older idol.

flustered and with the tip of her ears turning red, the black-haired woman let out a weak chuckle before greeting you back, asking if you needed any directions or any help from her.

when you explained your visit’s purpose, sakura wasted no time in directing you to where new jeans would be at, making small talk on the way to the recording room.

the older woman dropped you off a few doors down from your destination, since her practice room was on the way, and she needed to get back to her training schedule.

watching as your figure entered the studio, she slowly started to enter her designated practice room, pausing when you winked at her before closing the door to the studio and making your way fully inside.

arriving back to practice all red and flustered, sakura slid inside the practice room and leaned against the nearest wall, sighing with her right hand on her chest, near her heart, trying to control her erratic heartbeat as she processed what had just happened, and how she didn’t get your number- again.

iv.  jennifer huh strikes again

“okay, hanni , could you sing that line again? I want it to sound more light, airy even.” you instructed the new jeans member from the other side of the recording booth, after volunteering to help produce one of your written songs and another track for the group’s debut album.

you received a thumbs up, which was a signal that the younger idol was ready to give it another go.

“meet me back in five if i matter… to you,” sang the idol, meeting your eyes after that last take.

“perfect! it’s exactly how i pictured it sounding in my head!” came your reply in the recording booth, as you all headed outside the booth for a much-needed break after a day of introductions and recordings. you made it clear to the team behind the album that you wanted the members involved in the process of creating their album, even offering them a chance to write and edit some of your drafts.

“i’ll get some coffee and i’ll be back in 15 to wrap up for today,” you said as you passed the younger idols, with everyone’s coffee orders in hand.

once you opened the door to leave, you were met with jet black hair and a tall female figure at the door.

“hello! y/n sunbaenim! my name is huh yunjin from le sserafim, and after hearing you were here today, I wanted to introduce myself and give you my number to see if you would be interested in helping me produce and record one of my songs,” said the idol with a deep bow.

“oh! hello yunjin. it’s something i might be interested in. since i’m in a rush today, let me give you my number and just text me the demos you have so far and I’ll listen when I can and get back to you, does that sound good?”

the younger girl rapidly nodded her head while shaky hands wrote down your contact information.

with a wave and a small smile, you made your way to the nearest cafe.

yunjin quickly texted the group chat, in disbelief that she actually succeeded her goal.

still a bit nervous from the interaction, yunjin giggled as sakura’s reply lit up her screen.

from: hot girl yunjin

to fearless idols

i’ve done in five minutes what sakura couldn’t do in three years.

from: gaymer kkura

to: fearless idols

i hope the label doesn’t mind having four members.

from: cutest maknae

to: fearless idols

no unnie don’t leave us! T.T

from: gaymer kkura

to: fearless idols

who said i was the one leaving?

v. eunchae’s star diary

after wrapping up the interview with shuhua, eunchae looked around to see if the staff were focused on the two maknaes, but since everyone was busy giving thank yous and

wrapping up, the black-haired girl moved towards her guest with a piece of paper in between her index finger and thumb.

“shuhua unnie! thank you so much for being on the show, I have something to give you before you leave!” the youngest of the two exclaimed as she walked the raven-haired girl outside the filming room.

“ah, eunchae-ssi, thank you for the invitation. that reminds me, I have something for you as well!” the oldest smiled, pulling a piece of crumbled paper out of her hoodie pocket.

eunchae’s eyes widened in anticipation, as she reminded herself of the task at hand, which was to get her oldest unnie a girlfriend (hopefully).

“this is from y/n-nnie, for sakura sunbae,” shuhua whispered as she handed the paper slip to eunchae.

“oh! this is from sakura unnie to y/n sunbaenim as well!” eunchae grinned as both maknaes exchanged paper slips.

“huh, who would’ve thought they had the guts to contact each other,” shuhua giggled as she looked at eunchae with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“mhm, who wouldve thought. good for them though, right?” asked eunchae as she smirked at the oldest of the two.

“mhm. good for them…” shuhua trailed off, being waved over by her manager, signaling that it was time to leave.

“well! thank you again eunchae! you have my number if you need anything! i’m positive we succeeded this time! fighting!” trailed off shuhua as she made her way to the exit along the long corridor.

the youngest giggled at her antics and waved her off, delighted that her plan would surely succeed.

+1 bonus:

from: unknown

hey, it’s sakura. eunchae said shuhua gave me your number?

to: sakura the loml

we meet again, sakura-ssi. funny thing, shuhua said eunchae gave her your number to pass along to me. it’s interesting how things work out, huh?  

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤

18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: ——

summary: natasha romanoff x female!reader. based on the movie “the notebook”; you’re allie, nat’s noah. fluff + angst

warnings: light smut—fingering (r receiving), weapons (is this something i need to mention? idk lol)

word count: 7k

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

Natasha meeting your family was not on your list of priorities.

In fact, imagining her at dinner with your parents or in your grandparents' living room was enough to make you shudder. The mere idea of her chatting with your mother over a cup of coffee?

Horrendous. A nightmare.

You try to keep her a secret. Your secret. Your summer love, your escape from reality, your something so impossibly out of place in the world you grew up in you're not even sure she's real.

But then, she's leaning against the gate of your grandparents' house again. You'd recognize the red hair and black leather jacket from a mile away. The way she sticks out in the uniform, boring normalcy of your neighborhood is almost offensive.

"No, no, no", you mutter under your breath, throwing the door open. You fly down the stairs and run up to her, silently praying nobody will see you. You grab her arm and yank her away from the gate. "You can't be serious right now-"

"Y/N", your father suddenly calls. You stiffen. "Who's that?"

Slowly, you turn around. Natasha follows your gaze until she's met with the sight of your father. It takes all of her strength not to crack a grin — the ironed pastel polo, the khakis, the loafers that look like he's never walked on actual grass. Way too pristine for a casual evening at home.

You elbow her side when you notice how she raises her eyebrows, but her expression doesn't waver.

"A friend", you say awkwardly, tugging at her arm again. She ignores you. "We're just, uhm..."

"Going for a ride", Natasha finishes unhelpfully.

"Around town."

"Maybe get some ice cream."

"No booze", you add. Your father stares at you, his expression both stoic and amused. "Even though I, uhm, technically-"

"Alright", he finally cuts you off. "What's going on? Is this a date?"

Your face flushes at the blunt question. If he figures this out, you're doomed — your parents insist on meeting every person you go out with. Then, they subject them to scrutiny sharper than police officers grilling suspects. Passing that test is nearly impossible.

You know better than to hope for their approval, especially when it comes to Natasha.

"No!", you blurt out. "She's just- we-"

"I'm a friend", she says, pinching your side. The noise you let out is completely undignified, but at least you stop rambling incoherent nonsense. "Nothing to worry about, sir."

"Right", your father says slowly. He lets his eyes run up and down your body, from head to toe, assessing your appearance. You didn't dress casually, and you know it. His eyes narrow. "Well, if you're going to spend time together, you should come in and introduce her. It's almost dinner time anyway. How does pot roast sound?"

She's enjoying your discomfort much more than she should. Smoothly, she replies that pot roast does sound good. Her eyes meet yours, twinkling teasingly. Suddenly, you envision it happening.

Natasha, surrounded by your parents and grandparents. She'll stick out like a sore thumb. No way are they going to endorse her.

You feel like ripping your hair out.

"We're good", you quickly say, grabbing Natasha's arm. "We'll just-"

"I insist", he says. "Come on."

With that, he opens the gate a little wider and looks at you expectantly. Natasha, ever-charming and professional when necessary, nods and intertwines her hand with yours. You mutter a quiet "traitor" as you're led inside.

The house smells like garlic and the lavender potpourri your grandmother keeps everywhere, which is a disgusting combination. You feel Natasha's fingers brush against your shoulders as she takes off your jacket for you. Your dad watches her as she does that. You can't quite figure out what he's thinking.

"Honey, we've got company", he calls out as you enter the dining room. Your mom pokes her head out of the kitchen, eyeing Natasha warily.

"You are?"

"Natasha, ma'am."

"A 'friend' of Y/N's", your father says. "We'll need another plate."

Your mother scrutinizes Natasha shamelessly. You know she can see every detail, from the scar above her eyebrow to the dirt clinging to her boots. She'll bring it up later.

"Friends", she repeats. Her gaze locks with yours. You lift your chin with an air of defiance. "You're staying for dinner, I assume?"

"Oh, she's not-"

"Nonsense. Sit down", your father says, shooing you to the table.

Natasha swiftly slides a chair back and gestures for you to sit. Cheeks burning, you avoid everyone else's eyes as you sit down. Her hand briefly brushes against yours. At least she's next to you.

Your mother offers Natasha some wine. She declines politely, saying she doesn't drink — a blatant lie, as you had vodka when you were staying at her house. But you're actually relieved. This should at least be something your parents will be impressed by.

Your grandparents don't pay much attention to Natasha. It hasn't even crossed their minds that she could be more than just your friend. You came out years ago, but they've been ignoring that piece of information expertly. It doesn't fit their narrative.

But your parents know what's going on. They keep their eyes on Natasha even as they're picking at their salad or sipping wine. Eventually, your mother clears her throat. A sound you remember from your childhood, one that usually meant trouble. You stiffen in your chair.

"So", she says, setting down her fork and knife. "What do you do, Natasha?"

"A bit of everything", she says. Her eyes don't give much away. You shrink into your seat as you realize that you don't exactly know what she does, either. "You have a lovely home, by the way."

"Oh, thank you." Your mother watches her, eyes narrowed with the realization that Natasha managed to evade her question. She purses her lips. "So-"

"Your daughter is lovely as well", she adds.

You want to sink into the floor.

You spend the rest of the evening trying to steer your parents' attention away from Natasha. Somehow, it works — soon enough, they're talking about friends they saw in town and upcoming church events. You catch your grandmother glance at Natasha's jacket, draped over her chair, repeatedly, but she doesn't comment on it.

You know what's going through their heads, and you don't like it. Thankfully, Natasha is as smooth as can be. She's not too engaged in the conversation, but she appears just interested enough for it to be polite. She laughs at the right moments, she compliments the food, she asks the right questions and gives answers that are too vague to be judged easily.

Finally, you've cleaned off your plates of apple pie. Natasha helps stack the dishes and clean off the table, then you excuse yourselves.

Stepping outside feels like a huge weight falling from your shoulders.

"Dear god", you say, leaning against the trunk of the tree you used to climb when you were a child. Natasha smiles, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket. "I'm done. Seriously. This was a nightmare."

"It wasn't that bad", she says. "They like me, I think."

You raise your eyebrows. "I'm not even going to comment on that."

"Rude." She steps closer, brushing her elbow against your side. You smile faintly. "I think I made a good impression, no?"

"It could've been worse", you admit, though you're not too sure about the 'made a good impression'-thing. Impressing your parents? Nearly impossible. "I'm just glad we got this over with. Next time, pick me up somewhere else."

Natasha leans in, her hands still in the pockets of her jackets. She smirks, brushing her nose against yours before kissing you. A quick kiss, but you feel the thrill shoot through your veins. Kitchen window, you think, then peck her lips before pulling away. You rest your head against the rough bark of the trunk.

Your smile makes Natasha fall in love all over again.

. . .

"What do you mean you 'don't know'?"

You glance up from your book. Your eyebrows are furrowed, your foot is tapping a restless pattern against the firm cushions of the couch. This has been going on for twenty minutes and you're very close to hiding in your room.

"I just don't know, okay? I don't know what she does. She didn't tell me."

Your mother rolls her eyes and puts her hands on her hips. Something white and furry — your grandmother's devil cat named Thoreau — slithers past her legs and disappears into the hallway.

"Y/N", she says, stepping closer. "There's no way you've been going out with that...woman and don't know what she does. Who she is, in fact. I mean, have you looked at her?"

Oh, you have. You know what she's talking about. It makes your frustration spike.

"What's so bad about her, huh?", you snap, shutting your book abruptly. Her eyes widen for a split second. "She's nice. She treats me well. She's smart and funny. I really don't get why you dislike her so much!"

"Excuse me? I never said I-“

"You don't have to say anything!"

"Y/N!" Her voice cuts through the air, sharp and unrelenting. You feel yourself flinch. "Don't use that tone with me. I want to know who she is. Who she really is. Because even you seem to have no clue."

You go silent. Your face falls, revealing how accurate your mother's observation is.

You don't know Natasha. You know her, but you don't know her. What you gathered so far are little pieces of information, minuscule bits, knowledge that won't get you far.

You have no idea where she's from, or why she's in this town, what shes does.

But you know that she loves black coffee and braids, and movies and swimming. She loves falling asleep with her head on your chest, though she usually doesn't sleep through the night.

She counts stars when she doesn't know what to talk about. At night, she crosses streets without looking twice.

She can't draw to save her life. Her sketch of a mouse looked more like a gray circle with legs. But when she used a pen to draw on your arm, you wished the ink would seep into your skin so the drawing would never fade away.

Whether you know the things that actually matter is a question you can't answer.

You shift under your mother's gaze, slowly averting your eyes. Your bottom lip hurts from the way you chew on it. Your fingers lightly dig into your thigh.

"What do you want me to do?", you ask. You sound more petulant than you'd like to admit.

She exhales, willing herself to soften a little. Tentatively, she sits down next to you and takes your book. She stares at the cover as if gathering her thoughts. She tries to remind herself that this is nothing more than a summer romance — something that'll pass eventually. Rather sooner than later, she hopes.

"Talk to her", she says. "Make sure you know what you're getting into. Because you're not about to ruin your life because of one summer."

Her words hit harder than expected. You can tell she's serious, because she always is. You've started to think she's incapable of making jokes.

It all settles in your stomach, makes your thoughts churn. You nod, imperceptibly almost, but your mother notices. She reaches over to squeeze your hand before getting up.

Eyes glued to the cover of your book, you sit there. The image blurs, as does the title.

You've built a fragile, beautiful thing together — and you need answers from Natasha before summer slips away.

. . .

It's a warm summer night. You managed to sneak out at a little after midnight, carefully walking down the stairs and shutting the window behind you. The seat of Natasha's SUV had started to feel familiar as you sat down in her car.

Now, you're back at the lake behind her house. Its surface shimmers in the milky moonlight. The towel creates a barrier between your thighs and the wood of the dock you're sitting on, preventing you from getting splinters. Your toes dip into the water, which is definitely much cooler already. Summer is coming to an end.

She swims up to you so she's right in front of the dock. Her fingertips loosely wrap around your ankle and she presses a kiss to it, her lips cold and wet against your skin. You can't tell whether she knows how your thoughts are racing, how you've been trying to voice your fears for an eternity now.

"Join me", she says, rubbing circles against your skin. Her green eyes seem deeper than the lake she's in.

You tilt your head, your eyebrows raised skeptically. It's tempting, really, but the idea of getting all wet and cold isn't a pleasant one.

"I don't know", you hesitate. "I think I'm fine right here."

Natasha hums and squeezes your ankle. She tugs on it, lightly enough to not make you worry too much. "You say that now...", she then says, quickly causing you to change your mind about not worrying.

With one swift pull, you slip from the dock. The world tilts, you gasp, and suddenly, you're underwater. But you're pulled back up before your panic can take root, her arms around your thighs, the cold water a stark contrast to the heat simmering in your chest. Natasha's smile matches yours.

"Got you."

"I'm wet", you mutter, brushing wayward strands of hair out of your face. She presses her lips against your jaw. Your fingers grasp her chin and you give her a real kiss, a slow and all-consuming one, sweet from the lake water.

Your hands run into her hair, combing through it and untangling it. Her fingertips dig into your thighs. You feel the spinning sensation in your head slow down.

Finally, you part. Your lips hover close to hers, letting you swallow her breath. Natasha kisses your bottom lip and then trails her lips down your neck until she reaches your chest. Her tongue traces the seam of your bikini top.

You stop her before she can go further. Your fingers rake through her hair, making her pause.

"I need to talk to you", you admit. She looks up, worry crossing her features. "It's nothing bad. I think."

"Your parents?", she asks, slowly lowering you into the water. Her arms stay wrapped around your waist in a loose hold.

The smile on your face is bitter. You sigh and touch her jaw, fingers lightly drumming against it. "Kind of", you say. "But also...everything else. Us. This. I mean...summer is about to end. What happens then?"

She should've anticipated this conversation. Summer won't last forever — you'll leave, as will she. Responsibilities loom over her like dark clouds. Suddenly, she sees a future in which she never meets you again.

"I don't know", she murmurs. Her hand slides up and down your back repeatedly, fingertips slipping under the tight fabric of your bikini. "I didn't think about it."

Her words feel like a needle in your chest. You've been awake way too many times, tossing and turning, wondering what your future is going to look like. Whether she's in it as well.

There's no way she's this indifferent to what happens next.

"You didn't?"

"I mean..." She sighs and leans in, her lips briefly pressing against your temple. "Of course I did. In a way. But I've mostly been focused on the now. You're leaving, aren't you? You're going back to college. And I..."

Natasha doesn't say anything else. You look at her with your eyebrows raised, silently promoting her to keep going. You both know what you are doing once summer ends. Where you're going, who you're going to be with, all that stuff.

But Natasha? You have no idea. She won't tell you.

"Listen", she begins, letting go of you. The loss of contact is unbearable. "There are things you're better off not knowing."

"Are you kidding?" You swim closer, the water brushing along your body. Disbelief is written all over your face. "Natasha, please tell me you aren't serious. If it's that bad, you have to tell me. I need to know. I mean, my mom-"

"Is that's what this is about?" Her voice hasn't changed in volume, but the tone is so very different. Cold, biting, accusatory. It makes you stop in your tracks. "Your parents?"

"No!" You exhale and squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, willing yourself to not start a fight. "No. Of course not. I don't care what they think. But sometimes, even they are right. Natasha, I need to know. You have to tell me if you want this to keep going."

"Of course I want to keep this going", she snaps. "But what if I tell you and then never hear from you again, huh? You ever thought about that?"

You shake your head and grab her hand. She recoils initially but then relaxes, her eyes locked on your face warily. "We can sort it out. I really don't believe it can be that bad."

Seconds of silence. Her hand twitches in yours and she frowns. When she looks away, it feels like everything has started to slip from your grasp.

"You're naive", she states quietly. Your chest burns with an odd mixture of shame and defensiveness. If only you knew that she isn't trying to insult you — no, this is her attempt at keeping you safe from whatever mess her life is.

She's seen your life. Has met your parents, heard about your upbringing. She knows you're wealthy, a top student at one of the USA's most prestigious universities. Your future is dipped in diamonds and gold, enhanced by glasses of champagne and dinner parties.

Natasha's life is bullets and blood. There's nothing else to be said.

"Stop pushing me away", you plead. She feels her throat constrict. "We can work this out. We can get through this."

"I'm not pushing you away", she argues. "I'm being realistic. There's a difference between the two."

"Maybe it's both", you say, wading closer to her again. "It probably is. But I want to know, Nat."

Stubbornness gives way to exhaustion. She shakes her head and pulls her hand away from yours.

"Not yet", she says weakly. You watch her swim to the latter attached to the dock. Her hands grab the metal bars and she pulls herself up, water dripping off her body. Her skin is smooth in the pale light. Trying to stop her seems futile.

She grabs a towel and wraps herself into it. Her figure retreats towards the house, getting smaller and less defined with each step. You wait for a moment, then you exhale in frustration and follow her inside.

The wooden floors feel slippery underneath your feet. You blindly reach for the light switch only to find out the electricity is gone — again. You don't even bother looking for the flashlight, as you've already memorized the layout of the small house.

"Natasha", you call, not seeing her in the living room. You peek into the bedroom, but it's empty. "For fuck's sake, don't do this!"

Something touches your spine. You whip around with a start. You aren't quite sure what you were expecting, but you should've known it'd be her. She stares at you, making no move to apologize.

"It's late", she says.

You blink, caught off guard for a moment. "What?"

"It's late. You're probably tired."

"Natasha-"

"Let's go to sleep", she says, sounding resolute. You give in.

The mattress is the same, but she changed the bedsheets. They're a navy blue and not as faded as the floral ones, but they're just as soft.

There's a distance between the two of you. Your back is facing her, she's staring at the ceiling. She tries closing her eyes, falling asleep, but it doesn't work. At some point, she rolls over. Her front is flush with your back. Her lips ghost over your shoulder as her arm tentatively wraps around your middle.

You find yourself scooting into the touch.

"Asleep?", she murmurs, her hand under your shirt now.

"No."

Natasha's lips press against the back of your neck. Her breath is warm on your skin and your eyes close automatically. Her hand cups your breast, massaging it gently. You feel goosebumps form all over you.

"Still mad at me?", she whispers, rolling your nipple between her cold fingers. You huff, but the sound morphs into a quiet moan.

"I don't know", you say breathily. Her thumb brushes over the sensitive bud. Suddenly, you're wet again, but this time not because of lake water. "Shit."

Natasha kisses along your neck. Her teeth graze your skin before she sucks on it, leaving love bites behind. "You want to?"

You turn your head, burying your nose in the soft pillow underneath you. It's petulant, in a way, causing Natasha to smile. She kisses your earlobe.

"Yes or no?", she asks. You sigh at the realization that you can either get over yourself and say yes, or disappear into the shower and take care of this yourself.

It's not a hard decision.

"Yes", you mutter. Natasha hums and leaves wet kisses behind your ear, her breath hot.

"You're sure?"

"I said yes, didn't I?"

"I like to double-check", she replies.

Lips against your skin, she slips the strap of your top off your shoulder. Your head lolls back, resting against her forehead. Her hand trails from your arm to your stomach. She undoes the drawstring of your shorts and the gentle pressure around your waist disappears. Her fingers press against your cunt and she breathes into your ear.

You stifle a moan when she slides her fingers through your cunt, gathering wetness. Her fingertips pinch your clit and you let a soft whine slip. Heat spreads on your skin.

"You're so pretty", she mumbles. The kisses on your shoulder turn more feverish, peppered all over you, hot and wet and open-mouthed. You writhe against her, your flushing face hidden in your pillow. Her fingers slip into you, leaving you no time to get used to the sensation. "It'd be a shame if you stayed mad."

You don't respond. Natasha's fingers curl inside of you, hitting that sweet spot and making you even wetter. You're dripping down her wrist, ruining the sheets. Her fingers are slick with your arousal.

A third finger works you open. Waves of pleasure roll down your back and add to the coil in your lower belly. Heat floods your veins and your vision goes blurry. You see stars, but they're oh so different from the ones in the sky.

Natasha's movements slow down right before you're about to come. When you turn your head to look at her and protest, she doubles down and starts moving faster. Surprised moans tumble from your lips, your eyes wide. Her thumb rubs circles on your clit. Her expression remains the same, but you can see her pupils dilate.

Your eyes hold hers as you come, walls clenching around her and cheeks red. Aftershocks buzz through your body.

"Still mad at me?", she mumbles. You feel her lips drag across your jaw.

"A little", you admit, thought your voice, softened and breathy, betrays you. You can feel her smile against your cheek, the gentle curve of her lips, and, weirdly, it hurts not being able to see it. You pull away just enough to look at her.

Sometimes, it feels like her eyes are the only glimpse of her world you're allowed to see. A world she lived in long before she entered yours.

You roll over and rest your forehead against hers. You grasp her hand and bring it up to your lips, kissing her still wet fingers.

"I want to know you", you say quietly. "I don't know if you want me to know you."

"That's..." She hesitates, her voice cracking. "That's not true. It's just not that simple, Y/N."

You watch her with furrowed eyebrows. Slowly, you intertwine your fingers with her. She doesn't waver, doesn't pull away — which is something, at least. But it's not what you were hoping for.

Her green eyes meet yours again. Her world flickers in front of you, blurry and unsteady, too faint to decipher.

"I never asked for simple", you then say. "I'm not simple, either. None of this ever was. I told you from the beginning."

"That's different."

"It's really not."

"It is."

Her voice is louder this time. You let go of her hand and prop yourself up on your elbow, your eyes narrowed. Natasha's eyes are challenging, but she can't hide the vulnerability that shimmers through.

"Don't yell at me", you warn quietly.

"I'm not yelling", she mutters, her gaze shifting away from you. Her jaw tightens with both frustration and guilt. "My point stands. You have a pretentious family. So what? Not the biggest issue I can think of."

You raise your eyebrows and shift to fully sit up. Her words sting — downplaying your struggles is something you didn't expect from her. Apparently, Natasha notices the effect her words had, and she quickly sits up as well.

"You know what I meant. I know it's not easy for you, either, but you've got to understand that things are difficult."

"I can't understand until you explain it to me", you say, growing more frustrated with every second. "What is it, huh? Are you secretly married? Have a kid somewhere? Maybe you killed someone."

The last sentence — one you definitely weren't being serious about — makes her eyes widen.

Guilt. It hits her like a flash flood. Hands stained with blood, so many lives taken, a past she doesn't want to be hers. With you, she thought she could pretend. Push it all away, be someone else for once.

The thought that you may think of her like that — that she's someone who's capable of ending lives — hurts more than it should. Suddenly, she feels like you can sense the darkness she's kept buried for so long.

She sits up abruptly, jaw clenched, hands curling into fists. Seeing her like this does everything but soothe your worries.

"What?", she says quietly. She sounds anguished, hurt, and you're the reason.

Natasha and you stare at each other. You can hear the wind outside, the cicadas, and for the first time ever, the nightly noises don't manage to calm you down. For some reason, they make everything worse.

You don't know how to backtrack, so you don't. You grow more helpless by the second, until she finally speaks again.

"You have no idea what you're talking about", she says. "You don't get to joke about that. It's not funny. Not to me."

"Natasha..."

"I'm serious", she cuts you off. "You don't know who I am. You have no idea. I can promise you that. A few weeks spent with me don't fucking change that."

"Then help me! Explain it to me! But don't just leave me in the dark like this!"

"It doesn't fit into your world, Y/N", she says, suddenly getting up. She starts rubbing her neck — an anxious little mannerism you haven't seen her exhibit yet. "Explaining it won't do anything. It'll only change how you see me, and I don't know if I can deal with that."

"Then what's the solution, hm? You'll keep it from me forever?"

"Forever doesn't exist with us!"

Everything seems to freeze. You were about to get up, but your body seems to have changed its mind. You stay seated on the mattress, staring up at her with disbelief and utter, pure heartbreak.

"Is that what you think?", you ask slowly. Natasha almost winces. "That this will just end?"

"Most likely", she says, taking a step backward. Her hand reaches behind her until she finds the dresser. She grabs its edge, her knuckles turning white. "You don't know what you're asking for, Y/N."

"I'm asking for you", you say, finally managing to get up.

"You're being naive."

"Stop calling me that!"

"It's true!"

"You're yelling again", you warn.

Natasha turns, her back facing you. She rubs the back of her neck as she breathes unevenly.

You hesitate as you stand there. Then, slowly as to not spook her, you reach out. Your fingertips brush against her lower back and she flinches. But she doesn't pull away, so you press your palm against her back. You step closer and press your lips to her shoulder.

"I don't care if it doesn't fit", you mumble, though it's a lie — you do care. You want to be part of her world, whatever it may be like. "I just want to make this work, Nat."

She takes a moment to reply. Her voice is raw, her breathing ragged. She faces you again, her green eyes filled with something bitter.

"You think you can just fix everything?", she asks. "Just waltz in and make everything better? Because it doesn't work like that."

"I don't want to fix anything", you say quietly. Your other hand touches her waist, and to your surprise, she leans into you. You study her, wary and careful. "I just want to understand."

"You can't understand until you know everything", Natasha says. "And I don't think you want to know everything."

You stare at her, eyes flickering with concern. It's not like your life has been perfect, or that you've been shielded from everything that isn't all sunshine and daisies, but you can't imagine what could possibly be this bad.

"I don't want everything", you say. "I want you."

Natasha goes rigid for a moment. Then she relaxes, muscles loosening and shoulders slumping. Like a cat landing on a stretched out blanket, you catch her. She buries her face in your neck, her body held upright by your arms around her waist. You can feel her breathe you in.

You smell like her.

. . .

The rain is heavy. It soaks through your clothes and leaves the ends of your hair dripping. You barely make it into Natasha's car without slipping.

"You're wet again", she says, handing you a blanket. "No umbrella?"

You wipe the water out of your face and snort. "No. Forgot to grab it."

"Could've gone back inside."

The look you throw at her shuts her up. She starts the car and drives out of the neighborhood. Only the pelting of the rain on the roof fills the silence between you.

You've never been like this with each other. Until now, it was easy. But that's the way it is, right? Things are easy until they aren't anymore.

"Where are we going?", you ask, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders. You lift one corner of it to pat your hair dry.

"Just driving", she mumbles. Her knuckles are tight around the steering wheel, her eyes focused on the road, but you can tell there's more.

You don't say anything. You just lean back and enjoy being the one who gets to play passenger princess, even if your clothes are sticking to your skin. You drive through your favorite part of town — the cute little corner with the bookshop and the park full of flowers —, then Natasha suddenly takes a turn.

You recognize the neighborhood, but she hasn't taken you here before.

"Huh", you mumble, staring out the window. You're slumped into the seat lazily. "New location unlocked?"

"Something like that."

In front of a bed and breakfast, she stops. She unbuckles and gets out, nodding at you to follow her. Despite your confusion, you don't hesitate.

Inside the building, it's warm and quiet. It smells like cookies and flowers; freshly picked ones, sitting on the counter next to the staircase. The steps creak under your feet as you go upstairs.

Natasha fishes another key out of her pocket and unlocks a door. The room that appears in front of you is exactly what you expected — corny grandma-bedsheets on top of a wooden bed, with pictures of cats on the walls and a plush rug.

"I don't understand", you murmur, brushing your hand over little notebook on the desk. It's for the guests to write in. "What is this?"

"I'm staying here", she says, digging through a backpack, "until I leave."

You pause, your eyes flickering up. For some reason, you thought Natasha would always be here. Even after you go back to college. Like a safe place you could retreat to whenever the world becomes too much.

A very selfish thought, but a comforting one nevertheless.

"You...you don't live here", you say slowly, as if realizing it for the first time. Which may or may not be very accurate. "You're leaving. You're leaving?"

"I am."

Your eyes widen as she keeps pulling stuff out of the backpack and putting it aside. A gun. A taser. Some kind of earpiece. Your heart starts rabbiting in your chest, but you force yourself to stay calm.

"Uhm-"

"You said you wanted to know me, didn't you?" She turns around. Her eyes are cold and her walls are up. "This is me. This —" She pulls another weapon, which looks like an odd sort of bracelet, out of her backpack, "this is me. This."

You laugh nervously. Part of you won't believe this is real. It has to be some kind of joke. But Natasha is completely serious.

She wraps the bracelet around her wrist and clicks on it. It tightens around her wrist and lights up. You take a step back and bump against the door. Her eyes meet yours, and for a split second, the facade slips. You see it — a deep, unrelenting sadness, the kind that comes with inevitability, the quiet acceptance of something she knew would happen but hoped never would.

"Does it fit?", she prompts you.

You frown and take a stubborn step closer. You're trying hard not to let it show, but your heartbeat is still racing. "Natasha, don't-"

"You wanted to know who I am", she cuts you off. "This is me."

"I don't care", you plead, stepping closer once more. This time, it's Natasha who takes a step back. "I said I wanted to know you. I still do. I want to know you, whatever that means."

"Y/N", she says quietly. "Nobody wants to know me. I can promise you that."

"I do", you say, stubborn and frantic. "You've been keeping this from me for two months, and I still want to know you."

"I've been keeping it from you for a reason."

She has a point. If she'd pulled out a gun on your first date, you would've bolted.

But now? For some reason, you're still here. Still trying to get her to listen, despite the fact that there are multiple weapons scattered across the floor. Suddenly, the scars on her body make more sense. The bruises, the healed cuts. You've learned to love them. The way you trace them with your lips is proof enough.

But with Natasha, you didn't have to learn. It just happened — one day, you looked at her and loved her.

Even now, you do.

"Why would you do that?", you ask, both baffled and understanding her point. "Why would you keep something like this from me?"

"Because this?" She laughs, her voice tinged with bittersweet regret. "This wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to fall in love, Y/N. Things usually end before I do, anyways. But I fell in love with you."

The words wash over you like waves. For a moment, everything stops — the rain outside, your thoughts, your pulse. All you can do is stare at her, her words echoing in your mind.

"So what?", you suddenly shout, even surprising yourself. "You fall in love and leave because it 'wasn't supposed to happen'? Is that it?"

You breathe heavily, the words burning in your chest. You bite back tears, your jaw clenching.

"We'll just walk away when it's too much?", you continue. You're no longer trying to control your voice, so it keeps rising. "Pretend it never happened?"

"You don't get it", she snaps. "This isn't a fairytale. Fuck, all I wanted was someone to help me take my mind off things."

"And you got that, didn't you?" Full of anger and frustration, you grab the backpack and shove it against her chest. She doesn't falter, even when you keep pushing your fists against her. Your tears and sobs are silent. "You got that damn fling. Now you can leave, huh? Leave everything in pieces!"

She recoils slightly, then she shoves the backpack off her with more force than you expected. It hits the ground with a low thud.

"That's now what this was!", she says, her voice cracking. "You're not just a fling, Y/N. Which is exactly why I need to end this."

"You're not making any sense!"

"I'm not?", she yells. She whips around and grabs her wallet. Suddenly, you've got an ID card in your hand. "Here! Am I making sense now?"

You're too stunned to speak. Your eyes are glued to the card in your hand, rereading the words, trying to understand what's going on.

SHIELD. Field operative. Special agent.

The words swim around in your brain uselessly. You're not sure you've heard of any of this before.

"You...?"

"I'm a spy", Natasha says sharply. She grabs the card and puts it away again, hiding it in her purse. "I'm an assassin."

That does the trick. Every word is wiped from your supply of smartass remarks, your knees seem to buckle for a moment, you go completely quiet. You grab the desk next to you for support, leaning on it.

There's a silent challenge to the way she's looking at you. Chin slightly raised, her eyes filled with an unusual coldness. Her fair skin is even paler than usual.

"An assassin", you repeat, voice cracking.

"Yes", she says, watching you with a mixture of regret and defiance. "Former assassin, but...that doesn't change anything. It's what I am. What I've always been. I'm a trained killer, Y/N."

You stare at her as you try to wrap your head around this. Natasha, the woman you love — the one who kissed your forehead when you were sleepy, who read books to you — is a killer.

"You're a killer", you repeat, as if that'd make it easier to grasp. It doesn't. The words feel bitter on your tongue, strange and foreign.

Natasha doesn't move, doesn't say anything. Her mask falters. What you see now is raw pain.

"I'm sorry you had to find out like this."

"You're sorry?" You let out a hollow laugh, but deep down, you want to sob. "How was I supposed to find out, huh? 'Hey, by the way, I killed people'? Fuck, Nat, I...fuck."

She crosses her arms and takes another step back. Her legs bump against the bed. Outside, the rain starts pouring heavily.

"I thought I could keep it separate", she admits, her voice quieter now. You close your eyes at the sound of it and resist pulling her into you like you've done so many times. "That I could pretend I'm someone else when I'm with you."

Your hands ball into fists. You squeeze your eyes shut.

"It didn't work", she continues, softening. "You made me feel more like myself than anyone ever could."

When you open your eyes again, they're glossed over with tears. You exhale slowly, shakily, and force yourself to look at her.

"This isn't fair", you whisper. "It really, really isn't. You don't get to make me fall in love only to do...this."

"I told you", Natasha says quietly, "I didn't plan for this to happen. I just didn't want to be alone."

"Well, there you are." You laugh bitterly and scrub a hand down your face. "All of this just to end up alone again. You happy now?"

"Y/N, I never wanted to hurt you."

"But you did!" You step closer, the anger pulsing through your body. You can feel how warm your face is. "You hurt me. You hurt yourself, too. You screwed up, just admit it!"

"Fine!", she yells. "I screwed up!"

"You did!", you shout. The tears start flowing, hot and damp. Natasha's heart gives a painful twist at the sight. "You screwed up, and you hurt me, and you, and I- I- god, fuck you!"

Her hand reaches out on instinct, but her outstretched fingers never even brush against your arm.

"Don't", you hiss, pushing her hand away. "Don't touch me. Not now."

She pulls back and swallows, her eyes darting away from you.

"I'm sorry", she says.

The words linger in the air. You stand there, trying to slow your breathing. You cover your face with your hands and inhale raggedly. The tears feel warm against your palms.

"This is it?", you ask numbly. "We're done?"

"I'm sorry", she repeats. You shake your head and wipe your face with your hands.

"Fuck you", you repeat. You step away from the door, open it, and slam it shut before Natasha can react.

She stays in the bedroom, frozen in place. Her eyes are glued to the door.

Gone. Gone are two months of whatever it is you two had.

The lake, the diner, the drive-in. Nights spent buried in each other, bodies so close it was unclear where one ended and the other began.

She should feel relief. At least she doesn't have to live a lie anymore — now, you know the truth. You've walked away and she's the one left standing alone. And worst of all?: She deserves it.

The rain continues to pour outside, but inside the room, there is nothing but the quiet of the aftermath.

[freedomfireflies]

Four to Go*

Summary: The fourth part to One for the Money*

Mr. Styles, your boss (and the CEO of the company you work for), offers to help you expand your OnlyFans business.

But can he watch you sleep with someone else?

Word Count: 7.8k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞You are so much more important!*

Mr. Styles is calm as he slips off his jacket, unfazed by the curious look on Max’s face.

“Uh…all right,” Max replies, sneaking a second glance at you for confirmation. “So, you…you’re just gonna…be here? Or…?”

Mr. Styles nods, taking a seat on the lounge chair near the wall, loosening his tie as he sits. “See, Peach always tends to need a little…encouragement. So, that’s why I’m here.”

He smiles at you, and your heart leaps.

“To give it to her.”

You have absolutely no idea what to say. What to think or feel. Part of you is somewhat comforted by his presence and the other part is wildly confused by it.

“Okay…” Max clears his throat and cocks an eyebrow up. “Well…we were just gonna go over some ground rules—”

“Excellent.” Mr. Styles beams as he leans back. A hand is waved as instruction to continue. “By all means.”

Your lips press together into a thin line.

“All right. I was just gonna ask how you feel about kissing,” Max begins, returning his attention to you. “There’s no right or wrong answer. Sometimes it can make things feel less serious, but it’s up to you.”

“Oh, I’m fine with it,” you say, shrugging once. “It’s just a kiss.”

Out of your peripheral, you catch Mr. Styles tilt his head.

“Okay. And condoms?”

“Yeah, I brought some.”

“Perfect, and I’ve got some, too.” Max looks around the room in thought. “Uh—oh. The safe word. I know we agreed on the color system, but if you have a particular word that feels best…?”

“Color system is fine,” you agree. “I trust you.”

Mr. Styles coughs under his breath.

You look over.

He smirks.

Amused, Max moves for his camera. “All right, then. Do you wanna go over the scene one more time?”

“Uh…honestly? Maybe we just…get right into it,” you answer, slowly slipping your coat off. “I have a tendency to overthink.”

You hear a snort from behind you, and you don’t even have to look to know who it came from. 

“Got it,” Max chuckles, surveying the room one last time. “Well, then…I guess I’m ready when you are?”

Your pulse skips a time or two as you nod and allow your covering to fall away, revealing the outfit underneath.

Another one of Mr. Styles' sets. A soft, pastel peach color. It felt fitting, and the room grows oddly quiet as both men take a moment to drink you in.

Max is the only one with a comment to make, smiling gently as he says, “Nice. And it’s comfortable?”

“Very. Yeah, my investor did an excellent job.”

Mr. Styles smirks at your sly comment while Max laughs.

“Ah, so this is the work of the mysterious gentleman in the corner?”

“Indeed.” You nod as you step closer to the bed. “Turns out, he’s incredibly picky.”

Another scoff but you pay it no mind as you shoot Max an innocent grin and take a seat on the edge of the mattress.

Max fiddles with the camera and the lights a moment more before he clears his throat and claps his hands together once. “All right, I think we’re ready.”

There’s a weird flutter in your stomach as you straighten up and prepare to begin, unable to resist sneaking a glance at your boss.

He’s expressionless. Stoically sitting in his chair, relaxed, yet seemingly uninterested.

It’s not unusual for him, but even still, you wonder where the man who dominated you in your bedroom has disappeared to.

And if you’ll ever see him again.

“You ready?” Max calls gently, smiling his encouragement.

“Yes,” you reply, voice oddly timid as you scoot back toward the pillows. “Ready.”

With that, a little red dot begins to blink from the device, signaling the start to the video.

No going back now.

Max makes his way around the tripod, approaching the bed with a confident gleam in his eye. “Hi, Peach,” he murmurs, rather seductively, and your breath catches. “’S’about time we found our way here, yeah?”

You nod again, lip disappearing between your teeth as he kneels onto the mattress and begins to crawl closer. 

“Look so fucking sweet,” he continues, letting his eyes trail from your face to your thighs, appreciating every thread on your lingerie set. “Did you dress up just for me?”

You fight the urge to look toward your boss, swallowing thickly as you whisper, “Yes.”

His hands find your hips, smoothing over the curves and dips with ease before slowly guiding your legs apart. “Gonna let me have a taste?”

You feel breathless. Wonderstruck by the fingers inching closer to you, the anticipation building in your gut.

“Yes,” you repeat, nails curling into the silk bedding beneath you as he moves in.

He hooks onto the material and slowly begins to pull it aside, allowing him access to your cunt. Then, his thumb outstretches, ready to swipe across your clit when the sound of a throat clearing echoes across the room.

You and Max both still, exchanging a curious look before turning to sneak a glimpse of the man responsible for the interruption.

Mr. Styles stares back, eyebrow raised. “I’m sorry, is that it, then?”

Max pushes up onto his knees. “Pardon?”

Your boss leans forward. “You have her all spread out, ready and willing, and this is the best you can do?”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head as Max tosses you a curious expression.

“I mean…this is what we agreed on,” Max replies slowly. “A little foreplay before the rest of it.”

“And this is your idea of foreplay?”

Max blinks. “Uh…yes?”

“Interesting.” His fingers strum against the arm of the chair but he says nothing more.

A little rattled, you shift beneath Max and wait for him to continue.

Tentatively, he does, pushing through your folds with intense focus. He’s slow with it, letting the air hit you just so until you squirm, hand pushing your thigh open.

Vaguely, you feel a pair of eyes studying you from the corner of the room, taking note of each breath and quiver of your limbs.

And you know he’s watching you. Know he’s observing the technique. And while you don’t mind being watched by him, something about this feels odd.

Max straightens up and moves in to kiss you, slotting his knee between your legs as a hand wraps around the back of your neck.

His tongue is in your mouth before your eyes can close, and you whimper a bit at the aggressive force behind his touch. 

He’s quite good. One of the better men you’ve been with, and nothing has even happened yet. You take this as a good sign, allowing yourself to melt into the gesture as his fingers fiddle with the buckle on his belt.

There’s another condescending snort near the wall, and Max sighs against your cheek before turning around. “Yes?”

“Nothing.” There’s a touch of innocence behind his response but the look in his eye reads anything but. “That’s just not how she likes it.”

You feel the blood drain from your face as Max smirks and looks back at you. “Sorry, Peach. Is that not how you like it?”

“It is,” you confirm, shooting a peeved look toward the chair. “Ignore him, I’m sorry.”

Max smiles gently before pressing another kiss to your bottom lip while tugging his pants down.

He manages to get his boxers around his knees before there’s another noise, and you audibly groan.

“Now what?” Max calls, slightly annoyed but attempting to maintain a bit of calm.

Mr. Styles lifts one shoulder in a relaxed shrug. “Just think it wouldn’t hurt to slow down.”

Max lets his head drop, chin meeting his chest as he sighs before replying, “Is that right?”

“Nobody is watching this video for you,” Mr. Styles continues. “They’re watching it for her. They want to see the way she reacts. How she feels. Your cock is nothing more than the sideshow. She…is the main event.”

There’s a weird sort of flutter in your stomach as you let your focus drift to the man near the wall. 

Max exhales beneath his breath before straightening up. “All right. Then how do you suggest we proceed?”

Not needing to be asked twice, Mr. Styles stands to his feet and saunters toward the bed. “For starters…” A hand comes out to grasp onto Max’s jaw, tugging his face to the side. “…that’s not how she likes to be kissed.”

Wincing some, Max shoots him a glare while attempting to yank himself free. “Yeah? And how would you know?”

A rather excellent question, and your breath hitches as you await the response.

Mr. Styles doesn’t even look at you as he says, “I’m her fucking partner.”

Another tense silence flitters around the room before Max is finally released.

“And let me guess…I’m touching her wrong, too?” he counters, leaning away from you as Mr. Styles straightens up.

“Yes.” A simple response but the bite behind his tone makes you shiver. 

Max scoffs to himself, head shaking with disbelief as he pulls his boxers back up. “Well, maybe it would just be easier if you did it, hm?”

“It would. But then it wouldn’t be your video, now, would it?”

“Mr. Styles,” you begin in a gentle murmur, “please…it’s fine—”

“Doesn’t look fine,” is his only retort, nodding at the gentleman still kneeling above you. “Is this what they pay you for, then? Mediocre sex and cheap camera work?”

“This is what Peach and I agreed on,” Max reminds him. “All right? This is the scene that we created—”

“Nothing about this scene was constructed for her benefit,” Mr. Styles replies. “And if you knew anything about her content, you would know that her audience likes to see her squirm.”

“Well we’re not just catering to her audience, okay? This is about my audience, too—”

“Last time I checked, her subscriber count doubled yours. The majority of viewers won’t be for you. They’ll be for her—”

“Right, and that’s why she’s the one in the frame, all right? I know what I’m fucking doing—”

“No.” Another straightforward answer, and it makes your head spin. “No, you don’t. And I don’t think that’s fair to her or her subscribers. They shouldn’t have to pay for your incompetence.”

Max looks to you. “Is he fucking serious?”

“I—” You push up onto your elbows, feeling a little exposed in your see-through garment. “Mr. Styles, I appreciate the thought. But he’s right. This was part of the plan—”

“Your plan was to fake your orgasm just so he could nut on film?” 

Both you and Max still as this reply hangs in the air.

Then, Max crawls off the mattress, and stands to his feet. “Okay, you know what? I can’t do this, I’m sorry.”

“Max…” you attempt to call, feeling rather embarrassed as he begins gathering his things. “Look, he doesn’t mean it—”

“No, I do,” Mr. Styles interjects, ignoring your peeved look of warning.

Max ignores you both.

He strides around the hotel room, throwing things into his duffel before turning the camera off and packing it up.

You attempt to shoot daggers toward your boss, a silent scold, but he simply meets your eye with relaxed indifference.

“Listen, Peach, you seem nice,” Max sighs, moving for the door with his things while shooting you a sympathetic grin. “And I appreciate you for even meeting with me. But…these things never work when the boyfriend gets involved. So, just…enjoy the room. It’s all yours for the night if you’d like it. And…I look forward to maybe working with you in the future.”

Your stomach drops as you nod and watch him exit the room, disappearing into the hallway until you’re left with the perpetrator.

All of fifteen minutes he’d managed to keep his mouth shut, and you huff as you sit up. “Seriously?” you mumble the moment the door is closed.

He leans back against the dresser, regarding you with ease. “That was pathetic, and you know it.”

“How? He hadn’t even done anything yet.”

“Exactly.”

You frown. “Mr. Styles, I really appreciate all of your help. But you were the one that told me this would be good for my account.”

“And it could have been. Just not with him.”

“What was so wrong with him?”

“He wasn’t doing it right.”

“Why? Just because he wasn’t doing it like you?”

“If he’s not doing it the way I would have, he’s doing it wrong.”

Your lips part but you find yourself without a response. After all, what exactly does he expect you to say?

He sighs and crosses his arms over his chest. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. But you can do better than him. Even in porn.”

“Right,” you snort under your breath, settling against the headboard and pulling your knees to your chest. “Well…guess it doesn’t matter now. I’ll just go back to my vibrating cock. Seems to be the only thing people really like.”

You’re attempting to lighten the mood, but Mr. Styles only offers you a rather contemplative look.

“Is that right?” he calls.

You suck in a quiet inhale and nod once. “Yeah. I mean, technically that wasn’t the only thing they liked, but…”

His brow raises.

You clear your throat. “You. They liked you.”

This seems to amuse him, his perfectly pink lips pulling up into a coy grin. “Me.”

“Yeah.” You glance down at your nails. “They, uh…liked your voice? And your…hands? And the way you talked? I guess? It was, um…the main feedback. They wanted to see you in more videos.”

The smug bastard is much too pleased to hear this, practically beaming as he studies you. “They did, did they?”

“Mhm.” You nod, cheeks warming. “So…you’ve got fans.”

“How nice.” He runs a hand along his jaw in thought, smile still much too wide. “And were you happy with the video?”

The million-dollar question. Truth be told, it’s the first video of yours that you’ve ever willingly watched more than once. You can still hear his instructions ring between your ears. Can feel his hands on your thighs. Can taste yourself on his fingers.

“Yes,” you reply quietly, shifting a bit in your spot. “It was…it was really good. I like how it came together.”

“You watched it?”

“…yes.”

“I thought you didn’t like to watch yourself come.”

“Yeah, well…this was different.”

His head tilts. “How so?”

You toss him a frown. He knows exactly why, and you hate his insistence on making you spell it out. “Why do you think?”

“Could be a number of reasons.”

“Except it’s not, and you know it.”

“Perhaps. But I’d like to hear you say it.”

You huff again. “I just like what we did, okay? It was a nice video, a nice scene, and a nice sound bite. Happy?”

Once again, that dark eyebrow dances up, his expression twisting into one of curious intrigue. “Sound bite?”

Shit. Your eyes flicker back down to your hands. “I mean…yeah. You do have a nice voice. Sounds…sounds great on film.”

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “You like listening to me talk?”

Again, you feel your pulse skip over its own rhythm as you attempt to convey nonchalance. “Sure.”

But he’s unconvinced by your casualness, pushing off the dresser to step closer to you. “Is that why you were watching the video, then? To listen to me?”

You want to respond but your whole mouth has gone numb.

“Were you using my voice to get off, Peach?” he murmurs, the scent of his cologne finally reaching you as he approaches the bed.

You don’t have to answer for him to know that he’s right. And perhaps you ought to be ashamed of such an admittance, yet…the strange darkness in his expression suggests otherwise.

“Yes,” you breathe, moving your gaze to the white button up clinging to his chest. It’s a rather sheer material, allowing you to see just a taste of his tan skin beneath, and the faint markings of ink from potential tattoos. “Couldn’t help it.”

“No?” He reaches the side of the mattress where you reside, sitting near your feet as he watches you. “Just had to listen to me while you touched yourself, hm?”

He’s so close. So fucking close to you, and the adrenaline you felt that day in your bedroom triples until you feel a bit faint.

“Yes,” you repeat, but it’s strained and airy. You don’t mean to sound so weak, but he always seems to leave you this way.

“How?” His attention to your face pulls you back. “How did you touch yourself? Did you do it the way you always do? Or did you do it the way I do?”

Your focus falls to your lap but he quickly takes hold of your chin to hoist your eyes back up. 

 “Peach,” he warns, “need you to tell me, yeah? Need to hear you say it.”

And you want to huff. Or scream. Or ball your hands into fists and pound on his chest in retaliation.

Instead, you whisper, “Touched myself the way you told me to.”

A look of pride flashes across his face. “Did you?”

A soft nod. “Yes. Imagined you there with me.”

He drops his attention to your lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You sit up, desperate to bring yourself closer to him. Magnetized by this invisible pull. “Thought about your voice. Your hands. What you would have asked me to do. Wanted to make you proud…be good for you.”

He releases a deep breath, lashes fluttering as if working to keep his grip on his self-control. “Peach…”

“Almost called you,” you admit, fingers outstretching for his knee. “Almost asked for your business advice.”

He tightens his grip on your jaw, leg pushing into your touch.

“Watched it over and over and over.” Your palm glides up his thigh. “Thought about you through every fucking second.”

His expression grows stern as the vile language leaves your mouth, and you can see his dominant demeanor slip through the cracks.

“Just wanted to feel you, Sir,” you whimper, and his breath hitches. “Wanted your cock. Not the toy. Not his. Just you.”

It’s dizzying how quickly he manages to take hold of your hips and force you onto his lap, lacy cunt grinding against his covered bulge.

You both make a noise of approval, your forehead meeting his as you steady yourself by his shoulders.

“Is that right?” he finally speaks, but it’s coarse like gravel.

“Yes.” Your nails dig into his jacket. “It’s not the same when it’s just me.”

“No,” he agrees instantly. “No, how can it be? Such a pretty little thing doesn’t know what she’s doing. Needs someone to do it for her.”

You’re tugging on your lip to cover a whine, nodding quickly in agreement.

“Needs someone to take care of her, yeah?” His nose nudges into yours, taunting you with a kiss that you aren’t sure he’ll actually give you. “Tell her how to make Daddy happy?”

Your thighs are dragged over his for a second time as he grinds you down, forcing another wave of pleasure to roll over you.

“Wanna make me happy, don’t you?” he asks, and it’s so cruel of him to expect your coherence in a moment like this. “Always want my approval. My permission. Wanna do anything I fucking tell you, hm?”

“Yes…yes, please—”

“Please what, hm?” A beat as he inhales you. “What do you want, honey?”

You press your chest into his, gasping when the rings in your nipples are harshly stimulated. “Want you to tell me what I want.”

And he grins like this is the best thing he’s ever heard, hands tightening around your hips rather possessively. “Think you want my cock, don’t you? Want someone to do it right.”

You do. Have never wanted anything more, and it nearly makes your stomach ache from the thought of finally having him in a way you never thought you could.

There’s a brief moment of pause, the implication of your position and request dangling in the already tense air.

His lips are so close, taunting you with a taste, and it takes everything in you not to surge forward and take him for yourself.

He shifts, cock bucking up into your cunt as you sigh again, and just when you think this is the moment the dam breaks, he says, “Did you bring your camera?”

With a racing heart, you nod quickly, glancing toward your bag in the corner of the room.

He doesn’t move, at least not for a moment, instead breathing you in as he thinks. “Where is it?”

“There,” mumble, chin jutting toward the wall.

This time, he nods, squeezing your hips once more before taking a deep inhale and moving you off his lap.

It feels like the end of the goddamn world to have him rip his body from yours, and your chest nearly caves in as you watch him move for your things.

He rummages around in the bag until he finds the camera and tripod, moving to the other side of the bed to begin setting up.

It’s a different angle than Max had picked, and something tells you this is intentional. Whether this is out of spite or because he genuinely disapproved of Max’s camerawork, you aren’t sure. 

You study him as he straightens the device and faces the lens toward the bed. Wonder yet again who this man really is. What his motivation is. What his intentions are. You’ve seen a side of him today you weren’t sure existed and despite yourself, you’re becoming addicted to it.

But is this just a ruse? Or is this who he really is?

“Look at me,” he calls, and it’s a dark, sensual instruction. “Good girl.”

He focuses on your face, making sure everything that needs to be in the frame is, and once he’s satisfied, he straightens up.

“I’m gonna hit record,” he tells you while your heart leaps into your throat. “What you choose to do with it is up to you.”

Your lips roll into your mouth, and you scoot back into the pillows. “Okay.”

The moment the red dot begins to flash, the air in the room shifts.

Your pussy practically comes to life as he side-steps into frame, slowly pulling his suit jacket off.

“Hi, Peach,” he murmurs, and your eyes zero in on his shoulders as they’re revealed to you. “Been a while, hm?”

Exactly one week and two days.

Not that you’ve been counting.

You stay silent as he approaches, desperately enthralled by his body as more and more of it is exposed.

He tosses the covering toward the other side of the bed before flicking the first couple of buttons on his shirt open.

“Know you missed me, haven’t you?” he continues, his back to the camera as he kneels on the bed. “Needed someone to take care of you.”

Your chest rises and falls with labored, anxious breaths. It’s torture the way he slowly crawls from the end of the bed to where you wait, taking his sweet time like if you aren’t about to pass out from anticipation. 

 Glimpses of his tattoos peek from beneath the collar of the white cotton fabric, teasing you with ideas as he finally reaches your legs, forcing your attention back.

“Isn’t that right?” he asks, just loud enough for the mic to pick him up.

“Yes,” you mewl, correcting yourself when you see his stern expression. “Yes, sir.”

“I know.” His fingers curl around your ankles, tugging your thighs apart to make room for his body. “Shame you didn’t ask me sooner.”

You consider this. Consider if this is part of the scene or an actual comment from Mr. Styles himself.

Either way, it makes you pout. “Should have,” you agree. “M’sorry, sir.”

The extra helping of compliance in your tone makes his mouth dance up into a proud grin. 

He settles himself between your legs, reaching now for your wrists to bring them to his chest. “Take off my shirt.”

And it’s an instruction you don’t need to hear twice as you shoot up and begin pawing at his buttons.

Despite your shaky fingers, you manage to pull the tie over his head and free the shirt from his body, anxious to shove it down his arms until you can see his chest in full.

When you do…the world changes.

Colors are brighter, sights are sweeter, life is fuller. The body before you is that of real beauty. Sketched by the steady hand of an artist, each line, and ridge, and curve telling a story you desperately want to read.

It’s as if he were painted on a canvas and brought to life, your own work of art sitting right before you on this bed, asking you to indulge him.

Without thought, your palms sweep down his tan skin, drinking in the dips and edges that make up his torso. 

He’s strong, and warm, and effortlessly sturdy. The ink littering his collarbone is delicate yet expressive. Two sparrows on each side with a butterfly just below his sternum. 

It moves when he breathes, wings fluttering with the rhythm of his heart. You can’t tear your eyes away, and even though you feel him watching, you can’t move past this moment. Can’t fathom anything else but the divinity of the man between your thighs. 

He smiles, pushing his body into your hands before grabbing hold of your hip. “Gonna show them your little surprise?”

Your head moves up and down wordlessly as he takes hold of your lingerie set and pulls the material down.

As it falls, he scoots to the side, allowing the camera to find you as your tits are revealed to the audience.

The rings shimmer in the light flittering through the hotel curtains, the initials—his initials—like a badge of honor to claim you to the world.

“So pretty, Peach,” he tells you, not for the first time, yet it makes your ego swell the same way it had before. “Like being mine, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” you say without pause. “Wanna be yours. Always.”

He hums, and it’s delicious. Soft green eyes like grass on a summer day.

He kneads your breast in his palm, letting his thumb ghost over the piercing until you keen, back arching from the bed.

He makes another noise, soft but urgent, and you can see that his attempt at dragging the scene out is all for not. 

His other hand moves to your cunt, rough fingertip pressing into your clit through the lacy fabric until you’re squirming. He swallows your whispers for more, for mercy, and his brows furrow when he feels how wet you’ve become.

“Lay down,” he nearly grits, practically tugging you onto your back. “Let me see you.”

You settle into the mattress with ease, lashes fluttering when he maneuvers onto his stomach. His hands curl around your legs, forcing them further open to make room for his head as his nose brushes down the fabric on your stomach.

He’s moving for your pussy, lips sweeping across every inch of you he can reach before hovering over where your clit lies. 

His tongue comes out and presses into your cunt, despite the covering in the way, and you whine when you feel him. Warm, and wet, and pointed as the tip slides up just to tease you.

“Sir,” you gasp, but it’s his name you’re desperate to say. His real name, the beautiful H still shimmering from your chest, seeming to taunt you.

He hums, and the vibrations echo into your nerve endings, setting each sense on fire. You attempt to move away from his mouth, but his strong hold keeps you cemented to the bed and his firm expression keeps you submissive.

He creates a pattern of licking and sucking. Rhythmic yet purposeful. And the skill behind each nudge of his nose or flick of his tongue far exceeds what you expected of him. 

His nails sink into your heated skin, practically forcing you against his lips until the flesh tears, crescent-shaped indents now littering your thighs. 

And he’s so close to tasting you but not quite close enough. You’re not sure who this tortures more, but you hate the way he keeps you from what you truly want. What you need.

Your hands find his curls, sweeping through the auburn strands as he makes another noise and nuzzles into your touch.

“Please,” you whimper, and it’s a futile attempt at begging but even still, Mr. Styles seems pleased.

More than that, he seems just as unhinged as you feel, rutting into the bed beneath him as he squeezes his eyes shut.

You imagine he might come just from this little act of foreplay, spurred on by your sounds and pleas. But you need to feel him, and he needs to feel you, and there’s no goddamn way either one of you will be leaving this room until his cock has been inside your cunt.

 “Sir,” you try again, tugging on his hair until he looks up. “Please…need you to fuck me. Need it, please—”

He shoots you a displeased sneer, palm slapping into your thigh as punishment for the choice in language.

But you don’t care. Not when he’s this close to conceding, and you know it’s hurting him just as much as it’s hurting you.

 Despite his disapproval, he sits up and begins tugging on his belt, yanking it through the loops before ripping the zipper down.

Your greedy hands reach for him, trailing across his large arms and broad shoulders. Fumbling with his pants in an effort to push them down his legs. Slipping into his briefs just so you can get the faintest feel of his cock.

He’s outrageously hard, already leaking when you find him, and despite his conviction, he bucks into your palm.

The slight twitch makes your head spin, and you whine as you scoot closer.

“Please, please, please,” you beg breathlessly, legs spreading once more as he pulls himself free. 

The cool air sends a wave of goosebumps from your neck to your toes, but it’s the sight of him in his own hand that really does it.

Pumping himself with delicate precision, he hisses between clenched teeth, “S’this what you want, Peach? Want Daddy’s cock?”

The voice inside your head is screaming but your mouth merely mumbles, “So bad, sir. Need you to make it better.”

He pushes on your leg, cementing it to the mattress while his other fingers hook onto your outfit to pull it away from your dripping pussy.

He seems mesmerized by the way your body reacts to him, and you have to wonder why he’s so surprised. You imagine it should be obvious the effect he has on you, yet the fascination in his eye leads you to believe he never considered this to be a possibility. 

“My perfect peach,” he whispers, letting his finger drag through you. You jolt, moaning deep within the back of your throat as he brings his cock closer. “Gonna feel so fucking good for me, aren’t you? Can already tell. Gonna be my good girl.”

He spreads you, studying your pussy with fascination. Allowing his touch to move up and down your soaked folds while he plays with you. As though you’re a toy, meant only for his amusement. 

And he’s so wonderstruck as he moves your arousal around, letting it web between his fingers before teasing your hole.

One digit is sweet, but two is ecstasy. Reminding you of just how empty you really are. How badly you need him. All of him.

He works himself in and out for at least two minutes, just to see you stretch for him. And the way he watches you makes your ears ring, your cheeks growing hot.

He could keep you here forever, you imagine. Could make you come from this alone, and you have half a mind to let him.

But you enjoy the feeling of his fingers curling inside your soft walls. Enjoy the way he strokes you, pets you, presses into you. You want to kiss his hand for being so wonderful. For being so generous, and maybe you want to kiss him, too.

The faster his fingers move, the harder you sink. Your muscles dissolve into jelly, and you nearly disappear through the bed when he places a knee onto your thigh.

He’s using his weight to trap you, keep you pliable, keep you submissive. And it works because you don’t consider doing anything else as he finally removes his hand and lines himself up.

“Breathe,” he orders, taking hold of your hip to steady you and angle you up. “Easy, honey. Gotta open you up for me, yeah?”

He pushes in slowly, inching forward with great restraint as your walls stretch around him, mold to him, invite him in. You’ve gone quiet, jaw dropped open in an empty, soundless pant. But he knows what this means, and the bastard smirks as he continues.

Halfway in, and your cunt has latched onto him. Squeezing him so tight, you can see the torture of it on his face. He’s trying to take it easy, be gentle. Make this at least somewhat pleasurable for you but he’s only a man. An older gentleman at that, and it seems as though he wasn’t expecting to lose himself so fast.

“More,” you mewl, wiggling down. “More, sir, please….please, just…go.”

You greedily reach for his shoulders, his neck, his hair. Wanting to wrap your arms and legs around his body and hold him inside of you until this ache goes away.

And he seems to want this, too, driving in a bit faster than before as if to satiate you.

“M’almost there, Peach, be patient,” he scolds, but you can tell the threat is empty. “Gotta make this pretty pussy mine, yeah? Gotta show you what a real cock feels like.”

And maybe his cock isn’t purple, and maybe it doesn’t vibrate, but my god does it scratch that itch. Reaches places inside of you that a silicone one never could and it’s his. The only thing that really matters.

He smells like money and expensive aftershave. Addicting in every sense of the word, and you whine again when he stills.

“Easy,” he warns, attempting to shoot you a stern look, but it dissipates when he sees how ruined you are. “Be good, my love, come on.”

And this nickname makes your heart burst as you whimper and melt into the silk sheets.

He’s almost there, maybe an inch or two from being completely sheathed within your cunt. But he throws all decorum to the side when he decides to ram himself forward, filling you to the hilt as his lips suddenly crash into yours.

The kiss is salty yet oddly sweet. His tongue has traces of you, but it also tastes like him, and both of you together is something you couldn’t have anticipated. 

It’s a messy connection, wet and a bit uncoordinated for only a moment before he figures out a rhythm he likes. 

You scratch down his scalp almost as if to discourage him from leaving you, moaning while your body works to accommodate his size. 

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t attempt to pull back before you’re ready, and you’re grateful for this courtesy in a moment so heated. You aren’t sure if you’re in control of your own mind anymore, but you enjoy following his lead.

You always have.

When he nips at your bottom lip, you’re reminded of how bad you need him. Need that release, and you slip your free leg around his bare hip. “Please,” you whisper, nose nudging into his cheek. “Please, Daddy.”

He groans at the nickname, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he eases back, just gentle enough to torture you.

And so begins the languid but deviously hard pace. A cadenced set of thrusts so deliciously slow, it makes your lungs ache. 

Each pull out and push in seems to rip you in half, introducing you to the kind of pleasure you’d only ever heard about.

It feels as though this is what has always been missing from your life. This kind of sex, this kind of understanding, this kind of prowess. 

And maybe it’s just his cock, or maybe it’s him, but it doesn’t matter because you’ll take it. Take anything this man offers you, and you’ll thank him for it.

Perhaps a rather uncouth thought, but you’ll correct yourself tomorrow. 

Today, you’re his. 

“Taking me so well, Peach,” he grunts, hips knocking into yours as he slips an arm beneath your waist. “Look at you, honey. So fucking wet, you hear that? Hear the way you sound for me?”

And you do. How could you not? It echoes around the room, bounces between the walls, and fills your ears like a harmony. 

You imagine this might be your favorite part. Listening to the way your body has welcomed him in. You can feel it dripping down to your ass, can see it on his skin, can practically taste it still on his tongue.

Your back arches, chest knocking into his, and the brush of the rings makes you writhe. A squirmy movement that benefits you both as he growls beneath a strained breath and drives in at a harder pace.

“Bet it feels good, yeah?” He captures your mouth with his. “Bet it’s so fucking good. Bet you’ve never had someone fuck you like this, have you?”

With a fervent shake of your head, you wrap your arms around his neck and move to kiss down his jaw. “No, Daddy.”

The arm beneath you coils a bit tighter. “I can tell. This poor, pretty pussy just doesn’t know what to do, hm? Can’t do anything but take it.”

Sweat trickles between your bodies, and it’s salty on your taste buds as you lick the spot below his ear. 

You almost swear you hear him purr from the feel of your lips, and it makes your heart soar to know he’s so enamored.

“Show them,” he seethes, the blades of his shoulders rippling beneath your hands. “Show them how good it feels to be fucked right.”

Your head drops back, heavy from the weight of your lust before you manage to look toward the camera.

Already you can see the influx of comments about the man between your legs. Praising him, idolizing him, thirsting after him.

And with your eyes on the lens, you lift your mouth to his, sucking on his tongue with great purpose as you remind the audience who he really belongs to.

After all, his initials are emblazoned across your chest. His mark, his claim, his property.

Whether or not that follows you both outside of this room doesn’t matter. Right now, right here, in this moment…he is yours.

His hips snap forward and he’s losing the battle fast, unable to keep himself from fucking into you with a fervent need for release.

But you certainly don’t mind because the angrier he gets, the harder he goes…the more infatuated you become. 

And he’s hitting that spot over and over and over. Like it’s his job, like he always knew where to find it, how to please you. Stars scatter behind your eyelids and you’re drenching his cock and the sheets and his fingers the moment they attach to your clit.

The room fills with sex and whimpers and determined thrusts that have the bed shaking. Nothing else exists but this. Just this. Just him.

“Come on,” he breathes, pinching you between his fingers, tweaking the sensitive nerves until you nearly scream. “Come on, Peach. Let go for Daddy. Let me feel you come on my cock.”

“Please,” you cry because it’s far too overstimulating for you to think straight. It almost hurts, and you writhe beneath his hand. “Please, can’t—”

“But you will,” he tuts, thumb pressing into your clit as though punishing it. “You will because you’re my good girl. Aren’t you? Do exactly what I say, don’t you?”

Your head rolls back into the pillows, spine arching as you whisper, “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He removes his arm from under your waist so he can go back up to your chest, pulling on your tit until tears actually gather in your lashes. “Go on, then. Fucking give it to me.”

You can feel the cool brush of his rings against your skin, but the moment you look down at his hands, it hits you.

Unraveling faster than you ever have, you clench around him, and finally release that scream. It’s the strongest one you believe you’ve ever experienced, and it seems to last an eternity as he continues fucking into you. 

Then, his hand is on your jaw, tugging something fierce until your eyes meet.

“Look at me,” he whispers, knee still digging into your thigh as his weight keeps you caught in the pleasure. “Look at me, honey. Let me see you come.”

Tears fall from your cheeks and into his hands, almost burning your skin as you shudder around his cock.

You can see the repercussions of it on his face. Can see how connected you two have become in this singular moment.

He’s seconds away from following, and just when you begin to revel in the thought of feeling him fill you…he pulls out.

Straightening up, he takes his cock in his hand, and with a quick, firm pump, he comes all over your tits.

Nothing will ever be able to describe the wave of adoration you feel as you watch him release himself. The knitting of his eyebrows together in pure, unadulterated bliss or the flush in his cheeks as he groans.

His lips are so very pink and swollen, and the expression on his face, like something out of a museum. Structured and beautiful and the perfect showcase of exactly how good he feels right now.

And you watch as the nipple rings—his initials—are drenched in the sticky substance. It looks like art, painted across your chest in featherlike strokes. 

The camera catches everything, allowing the audience the best view of his contribution. You imagine it’ll be something you’ll rewatch for years to come. A screenshot engraved in your mind for the rest of time.

You hum contently, eyelids growing heavy as you admire his work, and just when you think the moment is dwindling down, he dips down.

His tongue swipes over your breast, collecting himself on his lips as you groan and push up into his mouth.

He makes a noise himself, both hands gluing to your ribcage as he pulls you closer and keeps you still.

He licks at you like you’re a popsicle on a hot day, smearing his come over your skin, your lingerie set, and his chin. 

“So good, Peach,” he murmurs between sucking your nipple into his mouth. “Could fucking stay here all day.”

Once again, your fingers brush through his curls, lazily this time. Almost as if trying to relax him. Thank him.

“Please do,” you whisper, almost as if to yourself, but the softening of his expression tells you he heard.

With one final kiss to your tit, he moves back up and takes hold of your jaw.

His fingers press into your cheeks, right beside your lips as a silent instruction for you to open. 

You do, immediately sticking out your tongue for his offering as he leans down.

The spit and come dribble down deliciously slow but the moment they make contact, you whimper.

He keeps his hold on your face, watching as it sits in your mouth, seeming to enjoy the sight of your full submission. 

Then, he squeezes. “Swallow.”

You do, quite greedily, and the second it’s down your throat, he’s kissing you again.

And it’s different this time because he’s no longer inside of you. No longer fucking you or showing off for the camera.

He’s kissing you just to kiss you and it makes your head spin as you disappear into his unspoken display of affection.

“My sweet girl,” he says against your lips, and it makes you smile. “Sweet like a peach, hm?”

You giggle into his cheek, nuzzling into him as though his touch is the only thing that can save you. 

And maybe it is.

“Thank you,” you finally say, nipping at his earlobe until he smirks.

“For what?”

“I don’t know. Fucking me?”

He laughs as he smooths his palm down your side, drinking in your feverish body as the camera watches.

“Just trying to be a good business partner,” he retorts, and it makes your stomach flutter.

You lean back to meet his eye, already feeling sheepish. “Mr. Styles?”

“Hm?” His focus drifts to your forehead as he absentmindedly brushes back your hair. 

“I wouldn’t be…opposed to doing that again,” you admit with a sheepish grin.

And for a moment, he’s amused, staring at you with a look you aren’t sure you recognize but absolutely adore. 

Then, his smile falls, and a frown settles over his face. A sad kind of expression that changes the afternoon on a dime.

Suddenly, he’s sitting up and scooting back, tucking himself into his pants before snatching his shirt from the bed.

You watch, confused and a little unsure as he begins packing his things in the same way Max had. 

“I’m…I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?” you venture timidly, arms crossing over your chest in an attempt at covering. 

He doesn’t reply. He simply turns off the camera and redoes his belt, eyes trained everywhere but you.

“I was just…I was kidding. We don’t have to do that again, I just…I thought—”

“It’s fine.” His tone is clipped. Short and straight to the point. He sounds the way he always does yet it makes your heart sink.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” you try again, but his head merely shakes.

“You didn’t.” Another vague and frustrating answer. “I just have somewhere I need to be.”

However, you know his schedule inside and out, personal and professional, and you know that he specifically kept today wide open.

Still, he pulls on his jacket and runs a hand through his hair, attention drifting toward the door. Eyeing his escape.

You bite back a sigh. “Uh…okay, well, thank you. Again. For your help.”

He nods, finally glancing over. But he’s not looking at you the way he was before. Now, it’s hollow. Void of any understanding and care. “I told you I’d help, and I meant it.”

“Right.” And now he’s done. “Sure, yeah. Okay. So I’ll…see you Monday?”

Another nod, this time quiet. You can see that he’d like to add something else, but his lips purse together, keeping his secrets locked away.

“Monday,” he finally repeats, moving for the exit. “I expect you to be on time.”

You stare at his back as he opens the door, silently pleading with him to turn around. To look at you one last time. Not leave like this.

He hesitates, hand gripping the handle, knuckles going white. He’s halfway into the hallway and your breath hitches.

Then, he disappears through the frame.

And the door slams shut. 

ONE MORE PART, I WILL BE SOBBING TBH

Next Part:

~ Five to Go Live*

Previous Part:

~ Three to Make Ready*

~ Full One for the Money Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Credit for the incredible and perfectly peachy dividers to @firefly-graphics!!

And a shout-out to @fkinavocado for helping me plan! 💞

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @kathb59 @iamjustaholeforyousir @buckyssbestgirl @harrystylesfan2686 @cherryluvhobi @indierockgirrl @narry-heart @daphnesutton @uniquesexything @amateurduck @ilovec0lbybr0ck @winterrays @milfrrynation @definegirlfriendsx @allthelovehes @amiets2 @likeapplejuicenpeach @nega-omega @sucker-4-angst @hsgucci94 @gills-lounge @kennedy-brooke @avasversion @stylesfever

(If your name is highlighted it's because Tumblr won't let me tag you, it's very weird and I don't understand it but I tried, I promise 😭💞)

[vandme12]

Wedded Bliss and Hit Lists - Killer Chat Wedding! Head canons! (Special for 100)

This is a small gift, 100 followers, I grew so soon. I'm so excited to do things for this fandom!

I love you all!

Ronin Beaufort!

The Proposal? Unhinged.

Traditional? Never heard of her. Ronin proposes in his way—dramatic, messy, and a little bit criminal. Expect a bloody heart scrawled on a wall with his crowbar, a ring slipped on your finger before you even notice, and a devilish smirk when you realize.

He doesn’t ask, he claims. “You’re mine, darlin’. ‘Til death do us part—if it even can.”

The Rings? Custom and Chaotic.

Of course, Angel helps him design them—gothic, blackened metal with a blood-red gemstone (or one that looks like it), and the inside is engraved with"R.B X (Your First Initial)” because he has no shame.

Yours is fancy, but his? He wears a thick band with a jagged design, and if you don’t put it on him yourself,

💀 Ronin as a Husband + The Day of the Wedding 💍

The Wedding Day: A Bloody Fairytale (His Way, Of Course)

Traditional? Nah. Ronin’s wedding isn’t some soft, white-veil affair—it’s a chaotic, adrenaline-pumping fever dream. Forget pastel flowers and quiet vows; he’s giving you black roses dipped in crimson and a blood-splattered ceremony in Purgatory (the alley where you shared your first kiss).

He insists on having the ceremony at midnight. Why? “C’mon, babe—if we’re doin’ this, we’re doin’ it right. No sun, all sin.” The whole place is lit by red neon lights and candles. Romantic in a rotting kind of way.

His outfit? Over-the-top. Black leather jacket, maroon ripped pants, and his usual chaos of accessories—but with a little touch of wedding flair: a silver chain around his neck engraved with your name, and a skull pin that says “’Til Death” on it.

Angel is the one who "officiates" the wedding—if you count her laughing through the ceremony and calling you both “unhinged lovebirds” as official. She’s wearing all white “to be ironic.” Ronin’s response? “If you ruin my moment, Angel, I'll bring my child."

Instead of a normal walk down the aisle, He carries you “Damn. If I wasn’t marryin’ ya, I’d be kidnappin’ ya.”

The Vows? Pure Chaos and Pure Him.

His vows are a mess—half confessions, half threats to anyone who’d dare touch you. “I promise to love ya, haunt ya, and maybe murder anyone who looks at ya funny. Or Kill ya/j”

He doesn’t get emotional easily, but when he says “No one else gets me, but you do—and I ain’t lettin’ that go, ever,” his voice dips just a little softer. It’s rough around the edges, like him, but so painfully sincere it’s almost too much to handle.

“Blood-red suits ya, babe.”

Reception? Think More Crime Scene Afterparty.

No boring banquet hall—he drags you to the rooftop of an abandoned warehouse, where he’s set up his version of a reception. Black leather couches, flickering red lights, and a playlist that’s just metal, punk, and songs that remind him of you.

The cake? Oh, it’s black, alright. A blood-red filling when you cut it open. He insists on smashing a piece in your face. If you try to get revenge, he just laughs and lets you.

When the first dance comes around, he pulls you close—no slow, sappy waltz. He dips you so low your back almost touches the floor, all while murmuring, “Can’t believe ya married me, sweetheart. You’re a little crazy.”

Ronin as a Husband: The Good, The Bad, and the Chaotic.

Clingy. Oh, he loves being married to you—and he’ll make sure everyone knows it. If you even try to go anywhere without a goodbye kiss, he’s pulling you back by your waist. “Where’s my kiss, Mrs. Devil?”

Pet Names? Relentless. "Darlin’," "Sweetheart," "My Little Heartbreaker," and—when he’s feeling extra possessive—“My Forever.”

Jealous not really! But! Anyone so much as flirts with you? They’re getting a look that could kill. If you tease him about being possessive, he just shrugs, “Course I am. What’s mine’s mine.”

Weirdly Domestic… In His Way.

Will absolutely make you breakfast—but it’s gonna be black coffee and pancakes shaped like skulls. Maybe Not, He's a okay-person in kitchen

He’s in charge of home defense, which means there are too many weapons hidden in your place. (Your couch? Knife. Your bookshelf? Crowbar.)

Anniversaries Are… Intense.

Every anniversary, he takes you back to Purgatory to “renew your vows” by carving a fresh bloody heart into the wall.

He gets you the most unhinged gifts: one year, he gives you a dagger with “Mine Forever” engraved on the blade. Romantic!

When You’re Sick?

Pretends he’s too tough to worry, but the moment you so much as sneeze, he’s fussing over you.

Brings you soup (even though he can’t cook) and sits at your bedside like a demon guard dog. “I ain’t leavin’ ‘til you’re better, babe.”

Fights? Loud. Dramatic. Always Ends in Kisses.

Arguments with Ronin are explosive. He’ll push your buttons on purpose, just to see if you’ll push back.

But if he thinks he’s really hurt you? He folds immediately. “Baby—hey, baby, c’mon. I didn’t mean it. You know I’m an idiot.”

Would He Die For You? Absolutely.

He wouldn’t hesitate. Your enemies are his enemies.

But really? He’s not afraid of dying—he’s afraid of losing you. “If you go first, babe, I’m followin’ right after ya. No question.”

Forever Means Forever.

Ronin doesn’t do temporary. When he said “forever,” he meant it. Whether you want to wreak havoc together or just spend quiet nights tangled up in each other—he’s there. Always.

And if anyone thinks they can take you from him? They’re in for a hell of a rude awakening.

“What’s mine stays yours, darlin’—and you’re stuck with me. Forever.”

When V finds out you and Ronin—the Ronin—are officially, legally (or maybe not-so-legally) married, his reaction is… complicated.

🖤 1. The Initial Reaction: Processing…

At first? Silence. Cold. Heavy. The kind that stretches on long enough to make anyone else squirm.

You tell him during a quiet night on the server—just a casual drop like, “Oh yeah, by the way, Ronin and I got married.”

For a full minute, he doesn’t respond. Not one word. Not even a blink emoji.

Then, finally:

V: "Married."

That’s it. One word. Flat. Clinical. Like he’s trying to figure out if this is some elaborate joke—or if the world’s truly gone off the rails.

🗡️ 2. The Overprotective Judgment™

Look, V isn’t stupid. He’s always known something was brewing between you two. He heard the flirting, the teasing—he’s seen Ronin’s obsession with you. He’d be blind not to.

But marriage? That’s another level of unhinged.

His next DM comes ten minutes later, and it’s direct:

V: “Is this a joke, or have you genuinely lost your mind?”

He doesn’t trust Ronin—not entirely. Not when the man’s idea of a romantic gesture involves blood splatter and sharp objects. And while V respects your choices… he’s concerned.

“You understand what you’re tying yourself to, don’t you?” he asks, voice colder than usual. It’s not disapproval—it’s caution.

👁️ 3. Watching Ronin… Closely.

From the second V learns about the marriage, Ronin becomes his #1 Surveillance Target.

He tracks his movements more. Listens to every conversation. If Ronin so much as breathes suspiciously around you, V knows.

If Ronin’s sweet? V thinks it’s manipulation.

If Ronin’s distant? V’s ready to interrogate.

And Ronin? Oh, he loves it. He knows V’s watching—and he plays it up. Texts you obnoxiously sweet things in the public chat just to piss him off:

Goreboy: “Missin’ my spouse already. Bet you’re sittin’ there lookin’ all cute, huh? 😘”

V? Seething.

Angel's reaction

1. The Initial Reaction: Stunned Silence (And an Immediate Drink)

When Angel first hears the news, she’s mid-photoshoot—some sleek, ethereal setup where everything is soft lighting and cold marble. Her phone buzzes with a notification from Luca (because, of course, he’s the one who spilled it to the whole server).

SURPRISE Y’ALL, DEVIL GOT WIFED UP 💍 @Goreboy @You

Her brain short-circuits. She actually calls a break. Angel, the perfectionist who never leaves a set, calls a break because her ex-turned-best-friend just got married without telling her.

And the first thing she does? Orders champagne.

If anyone’s getting drunk over this, it’s gonna be her.

2. Teases Ronin

She slides into Ronin’s DMs while waiting for her makeup touch-up, keeping it light, breezy—too breezy:

Angel: “Marriage? Really? Is this some new kink or are you serious?” Goreboy: “Relax, Mx goreboy will not be happy to see what you thought. I'm serious Angel."

Angel: “Ugh, That ring wasn't a joke..”

3. The Protective Big Sister Mode™

Angel sends you a DM next:

Angel: “Congratulations (I think). You sure you’re ready for that lunatic 24/7?”

You tell her you love him. That you’re happy.

And Angel feels happy for her friend...

4. The Girl Talk Interrogation

When you and Angel finally talk voice-to-voice, she’s sitting on her balcony, glass of wine in hand, night breeze tugging at her perfect curls. Her voice is too casual—the way it always is when she’s hiding how much she cares.

“So… tell me everything. Did he do some grand psycho thing? Blood hearts? A body? Knowing him, he probably thought a murder scene was romantic, huh?”

She laughs, but it’s not cruel. It’s just… Angel. Sharp edges wrapped in sugar.

But underneath, she’s asking the real question: Does he love you the way you deserve?

And when you answer—when you tell her how he looks at you, how he treats you like you’re the only thing in the world—Angel relaxes. Just a little.

Angel makes a public post in the server—for you—because that’s how she expresses love: loud, visible, undeniable.

"Congrats to the newlyweds. If @Goreboy screws this up, I’m personally throwing him into a woodchipper. 💋 #AngelApproved #WeddingOfTheYear"

Misaki's reactions!

💌 1. The Immediate Reaction: Absolute Chaos™

When Misaki finds out—because let’s be real, they didn’t get a formal announcement, Luca probably dropped it in the chat like a bomb—they lose it.

Luca: “Yo, @Goreboy got hitched. Someone check the apocalypse calendar.”

Misaki: “EXCUSE ME??? MARRIED?? LIKE LEGALLY?? WHO THE HELL ALLOWED THIS??”

Cue Misaki spamming the chat with caps lock, fifty cat memes, and alien abduction theories. Because if anyone was gonna get legally bound to Ronin, they figured it would be an interdimensional being, not a real person they actually know.

They’re not mad. They’re just deeply confused—and too entertained to stop.

💌 2. Instigating Maximum Drama™

Misaki immediately slides into your DMs with zero chill:

Misaki: “HOLD UP, YOU MARRIED THE DEVIL AND DIDN’T INVITE ME???” You: “It was… spontaneous.” Misaki: “Spontaneous is buying a weird energy drink at 3 AM, not legally binding yourself to the human equivalent of a horror movie jumpscare!!”

They are deeply offended they didn’t get to throw confetti or wear some ridiculous outfit to your wedding. In retaliation, they threaten to officiate a fake ceremony in the chatroom.

Misaki: “Second wedding. My rules. V’s the flower girl. Ronin wears a leash.”

And the scariest part? They’re dead serious about it.

💌 3. Confused… But Protective

Once the jokes die down (for about five seconds), Misaki takes a breath—and the worry kicks in. They may be playful, but underneath all that chaos is someone who actually cares.

Because they know Ronin.

And yeah, he’s fun, but he’s also… a lot. And they’ve seen how quickly things with him can go sideways if you aren’t careful.

So, they check in.

Misaki: “But seriously… you okay? He treating you right?”

When you tell them how happy you are, how Ronin’s been soft (well, as soft as he can be) and sincere, Misaki lets out a breath they didn’t realize they were holding.

💌 4. Becoming Your Self-Appointed "Marriage Consultant"

From that point on, Misaki takes it upon themselves to be your official marriage advisor, despite having no business doing so.

Misaki: “If he pisses you off, put glitter in his boots. No killer is scary when they sparkle.”

They send you relationship quizzes, offer weird gift ideas, and will absolutely text you things like:

Misaki: “If he ever forgets your anniversary, I’m legally required to assassinate him. Just saying.”

💌 5. Weird Wedding Gift Incoming

A week later, a mystery package shows up at your door. Inside?

A handmade knife (with both your initials engraved, because of course).

A mixtape labeled “Marriage Survival Guide” (track one is Olivia Rodrigo’s Bad Idea Right?).

A tiny alien plushie with a note: “If he acts up, beam his ass back to space. – Love, Misaki 👽”

💍 After-Wedding Ronin Headcanons 💀

🖤 1. "Husband" Privileges

Oh, you think Ronin is letting this slide quietly? No chance. The second those vows are said, it’s like he’s unlocked a new personality.

“‘Spouse’ sounds so boring—‘lover’ is better. But ‘husband’? Oh, babe, I’m gonna make that your favorite word.”

He abuses the title constantly—throwing around “husband” and “wife” or “spouse” in every context possible.

“Can’t argue with me, babe. Husband’s orders.”

“That’s ‘your devil husband’ to you.”

“You married me, sweetheart—this is legally your problem now.”

And he expects you to flex it, too. If you don’t show off the ring? He’ll make sure everyone sees it.

“Mx Y/n Beaufort.”

“This means you’re mine. No take-backs, sweetheart.”

He’ll tease, of course. Ask if you’re gonna run—if you regret it—but his grip when he holds you? That death-grip on your waist? Yeah, you’re not going anywhere.

💋 3. His Version of Domestic Bliss

Ronin’s not the white-picket-fence type—but he loves the idea of building chaos with you.

Late-night drives to nowhere, hands tangled on the gearshift.

he tells you the stories from his past.

Waking up with scissors on the nightstand and a love note tucked under your pillow.

“Rise and shine, lover—thought about murdering you in your sleep, but I’m sentimental now.”

He loves you, The next time he wakes up. He knows you're someone who won't discard his past. You will listen to it, He trusts you.

Angel

Angel as Your Wife – Wedding Day Perfection

Angel has always been the type to love love. She flirts like it’s second nature, teases with a wink and a smile, but underneath it all, she loves deeply, fiercely, without hesitation. And today—her wedding day—is the moment she’s been dreaming about since the day she realized forever with you was the only thing she ever truly wanted.

💍 The Proposal – The Moment She Knew

Angel is a romantic, but she also loves a bit of fun, so her proposal to you is an event. Whether she’s proposing to you or waiting for you to propose, it has to be memorable.

If she proposes, it’s spontaneous but perfect. Maybe it’s on a quiet rooftop under the city lights, her hands slipping into yours as she murmurs, “I never thought I’d find someone who could keep up with me, who’d see all of me and love me anyway.” Then she pulls out the ring, and for once, her teasing smirk softens into something more tender. “So, what do you say, sweetheart? Want to be mine forever?”

If you propose, she’s stunned—like genuinely breathless for a second, blinking at you before breaking into the brightest, most heart-melting smile. She tackles you in a hug before she even gets the words out. “Yes! Of course, yes! How could I ever say no to you?”

Either way, the moment the ring is on her finger, she’s already planning the wedding with stars in her eyes.

☀️ The Morning of the Wedding – Butterflies & Love Notes

Angel wakes up bouncing with excitement. She’s always been a morning person, but today, she’s practically glowing before the sun is even up.

Her first thought? You. She grabs her phone immediately, sending you a text: “Good morning, future spouse. I hope you’re ready, because in just a few hours, I’ll officially be yours. Nervous? Excited? Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll make sure you never regret saying ‘I do.’”

She sends you a little gift—maybe a handwritten letter filled with all the reasons she loves you, or a small locket with a picture of you both.

Despite being surrounded by bridesmaids and stylists, her mind keeps drifting to you. She keeps catching herself smiling in the mirror, twirling in her dress, wondering what your reaction will be when you see her.

👗 Her Look – A Vision in White

Angel has an eye for elegance, but she also knows how to make an impact.

Her dress is breathtaking—soft, flowing fabric that clings in all the right places, delicate lace details that shimmer under the light. She wants to look like a dream, and oh, she does.

Her makeup is just enough to enhance her natural beauty, with a soft glow and perfectly lined lips. She knows you love her smile, so she makes sure it stands out.

Her veil? Dramatic—because of course, Angel loves a touch of flair. But when she lifts it to kiss you, her eyes are locked onto yours, warm and full of love.

💌 The Ceremony – The Moment Everything Stops

When the doors open and Angel steps down the aisle, the entire world pauses.

Her eyes find yours instantly, and her teasing smile fades into something softer, more vulnerable. For once, she’s not flirting, not playing—she’s just looking at you, and the sheer love in her expression is enough to take your breath away.

She walks slowly, savoring every second, every step closer to you.

When she finally reaches you, she exhales a little laugh, whispering, “You look so good, my love. I almost want to skip the vows and kiss you now.”

And oh, the vows.

Angel speaks from the heart, her voice steady, but full of emotion. “I’ve spent my whole life chasing excitement, chasing passion. But then I met you, and suddenly, all I wanted was something steady—something real. You are my greatest adventure, my softest love, my forever. And I promise to be yours, every single day, for the rest of our lives.”

When the officiant finally says, “You may kiss the bride,” Angel does not wait. She throws her arms around you, pulling you in with a bright, breathless laugh before pressing her lips to yours in a kiss so deep, so full of love, that the entire crowd erupts into cheers.

🎉 The Reception – The Life of the Party

If the ceremony was emotional, the reception is pure fun. Angel is in her element—dancing, laughing, stealing kisses from you every chance she gets.

The First Dance: She pulls you close, resting her forehead against yours as you sway to the music. “Dancing with you feels like a dream,” she murmurs, “but you’re really mine, aren’t you?”

Feeding You Cake: She feeds you a bite with a teasing smile, but if you try to be playful and smear frosting on her nose? She gasps dramatically before grabbing you by the tie (or collar) and whispering, “You’ll pay for that later.”

The Bouquet Toss: Angel throws it over her shoulder without looking—and then winks when she sees who catches it.

🌙 The End of the Night – Just You & Her

As the guests start to leave, Angel finds you again, slipping her hand into yours.

She’s softer now, the excitement of the day settling into something deeper.

“Let’s go home,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “I’ve had you in front of hundreds of people all day. Now, I want you all to myself.”

The second the door closes behind you, she’s wrapping herself around you, sighing in relief. “I still can’t believe it,” she murmurs against your lips. “I get to be yours. Forever.”

And as she pulls you down into another slow, lingering kiss, it’s clear—this isn’t just the end of your wedding day. It’s the beginning of forever with Angel, your sweet, flirty, devoted wife. 💕

How V reacts!

V treats Angel’s wedding with his usual brand of stoic dignity—or at least, he tries to.

During the Ceremony: He watches silently from the back, arms crossed, dressed in an immaculate black suit. When Angel walks down the aisle, there’s the faintest hint of a smile—just a twitch at the corner of his lips. If anyone asks, he’ll claim he’s there to "ensure the institution of marriage isn’t a front for more criminal activity." But really? He respects Angel more than he lets on—and seeing her happy means something.

When Ronin Starts Teasing: V doesn’t engage—at first. But when Ronin drops his “consummate it” line, V glances over and mutters dryly, “It’s impressive how you can make anything sound depraved. A true talent.”

At the Reception: He lingers at the edge of the crowd, sipping sparkling water like it’s a stakeout. But when Angel pulls him onto the dance floor, he surprisingly doesn’t resist. He’s stiff at first—too controlled—but softens just enough to let Angel tease him into a spin. (He draws the line at twirling.)

When Angel Tosses the Bouquet: It practically flies in his direction. He catches it with one hand—then immediately hands it off to the nearest bystander with a curt, “No.”

When Saying Goodbye: His farewell is simple, but sincere. He clasps Angel’s hand briefly and says, “You deserve to be happy. Don’t let anyone take that from you.” And if his gaze lingers on her just a second too long… well, no one calls him out on it. Not even Ronin.

How Misaki Reacts!

Misaki treats Angel’s wedding like it’s the social event of the decade—equal parts chaos and genuine affection.

During the Ceremony: She’s sitting in the front row, legs crossed, wearing a pastel pink suit that’s somehow both adorable and deadly. She whistles low when Angel walks down the aisle and mutters, “Damn, girl—if your spouse backs out, I’m right here.” She’s definitely the one who claps too early when they’re pronounced married.

When Ronin Starts Teasing: Misaki cackles. Loudly. And, of course, she piles on: “Please, you know Angel’s gonna break them in, not the other way around.” She even fake-swoons and adds, “Wish someone would ruin me like that.”

At the Reception: She’s the first on the dance floor and the last to leave it. At one point, she grabs the mic and gives an impromptu, half-drunk toast: “Angel, babe—if your spouse ever breaks your heart, I’m legally obligated to commit murder. Just saying. Congrats, though!” She cries a little at the end but blames it on the champagne.

When Angel Tosses the Bouquet: Misaki dives for it like her life depends on it—elbowing anyone in her path. When she catches it, she holds it above her head like a trophy and yells, “I’M NEXT, BITCHES!”

When Saying Goodbye: She hugs Angel so tight it’s borderline suffocating. Her voice is soft, just for a moment, when she says, “I’m proud of you, y’know? You deserve all this happiness. Don’t mess it up"—but if you do, I’m still your ride-or-die.”"

How Ronin reacts!

Ronin treats Angel’s wedding like it’s both an opportunity and a game. He’s there to cause problems—but only the fun kind.

During the Ceremony: He shows up fashionably late, of course—wearing an all-black suit that’s too sharp to be legal. He slides into a seat next to Misaki, leans over, and whispers, “Think they’d let me object just for the drama?”

When Angel walks down the aisle, he whistles low under his breath and mutters, “Lucky bastard.” But when the vows start, for once, he’s quiet—watching with an unreadable expression. Maybe, just maybe, there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes.

When It’s Official: The moment they’re pronounced married, he claps slowly and drawls, “Congratulations—enjoy the lifetime sentence.” But his smirk isn’t as sharp as usual. If anyone’s watching closely, they might catch the way he tilts his head—like he’s memorizing the sight of Angel happy.

At the Reception: He’s everywhere—stealing drinks, and stirring up chaos. When it’s time for speeches, he takes the mic without being invited.

"Angel, babe—I was gonna prepare a heartfelt speech, but let’s be honest, I’m here for the open bar. You’ve always had terrible taste—clearly, since you tolerate me—but somehow, you found someone crazy enough to love you. Don’t mess it up. Or do. I could use the entertainment.”

Of course, he flashes a wicked grin at Angel’s spouse and adds, “Good luck keeping up, sweetheart. You’re gonna need it.”

When Angel Tosses the Bouquet: He makes a show of dodging it, dramatically stepping out of the way while saying, “Marriage? Nah. I’d be someone’s worst nightmare.” But there’s a flicker of something else in his expression—an itch he won’t admit.

When Saying Goodbye: His voice drops lower, teasing but softer when he pulls Angel in for a private goodbye. “Don’t go getting all domestic and boring on me, yeah? But... if they ever break your heart—well, you know how much I love a good reason to kill.”

And Angel walks away, he lingers just a little too long—watching, smirk slipping into something harder to read. He's happy...That his Friend has someone...

💍 Angel as a Wife – Headcanons 💋

Flirty Forever: Marriage doesn’t tone her down—if anything, it dials her charm up. Angel flirts like it’s her full-time job, whether you’ve been married for a week or a decade. Random texts like “Thinking about you in nothing but that ring. Come home soon~” are her specialty.

Spoiling You Rotten: Angel firmly believes her spouse deserves the best of everything. She buys gifts “just because,” books surprise vacations, and insists on pampering you with everything from homemade breakfasts to spontaneous spa days. If you so much as mention wanting something, it’ll probably show up by the end of the week.

Ultimate Hype-Wife: Whatever you do, Angel is your loudest cheerleader. Big career move? She’s throwing a celebration. Minor achievement? She’s bragging about you to anyone who’ll listen. She’s the type to make “I’m married to the hottest, smartest, most amazing human alive” her whole personality—and she means it.

Touchy-Feely Queen: Angel thrives on physical affection. Expect endless kisses (especially when you’re distracted), back rubs after a rough day, and snuggling close whenever you sit down. If you try to leave bed without a goodbye kiss, she’ll whine until she gets her due.

Fights? Flirt Them Away: Arguments with Angel rarely last long—mostly because she’s too stubborn to stay mad and too charming to let you stay mad. She’ll tease her way back into your good graces with a smirk, a soft apology, and probably a well-timed kiss. “You’re not really mad, are you? C’mon, baby~”

Possessive but Playful: Angel doesn’t get jealous often—she knows she’s a catch—but she’s very clear about one thing: you’re hers. If anyone flirts with you, she’s right there, wrapping an arm around your waist and flashing a smile that dares them to try harder. “Aw, sweetie, you’ve got great taste—but they’re all mine.”

Wife + Best Friend Combo: She’s your partner-in-crime for everything—shopping sprees, Netflix marathons, late-night junk food runs. Life with Angel is never boring, and she’s always game for a new adventure, as long as you’re by her side.

Pet Names Galore: She cycles through affectionate nicknames constantly—baby, sweetheart, honeybun, love of my life. If you blush at a particular one, congratulations—it’s now your permanent title.

Over-the-Top Anniversary Queen: Every milestone is an event with Angel. First kiss anniversary? Fancy dinner. Wedding anniversary? Expect an elaborate romantic getaway. She lives for grand gestures and wants you to feel cherished every single day.

Soft, Secret Vulnerability: Beneath the playful exterior, Angel takes marriage seriously. She’s terrified of losing you or not being enough, though she rarely voices these fears outright. On quiet nights, when the world slows down, she’ll hold you a little tighter and whisper, “You’ll stay with me forever, right?”

🌙 Misaki’s Rooftop Wedding – Headcanons 🌙

Setting: A city rooftop at night—skyline glowing, a chaotic mix of neon signs and moonlight. It’s so them—a little messy, a little reckless, but undeniably full of heart. V handled all the preparations with his signature precision (and judgmental sighs), while Ronin and Angel add a sprinkle of chaos just for fun.

🎵 1. Wedding Vibes: Jazz, Chaos, and Cup Noodles

Misaki refuses a traditional ceremony—too stuffy—so the wedding is an informal, wild mix of their favorite things: jazz music blasting, neon lights glowing, and a makeshift altar made from stolen milk crates (Ronin’s touch, obviously).

Angel makes a playlist with Rina Sawayama and Olivia Rodrigo bops because “Misaki deserves a banger soundtrack.”

There’s a snack table… well, more like an entire section dedicated to cup noodles. V disapproves but lets it slide—this once.

🌟 2. Their Wedding Look: Streetwear Chic Chaos

Misaki does not dress traditionally. They rock a black-and-red themed wedding outfit—sleek but chaotic. Their usual worn striped shirt is swapped for a matching black-and-red blazer with the sleeves rolled up.

The lock on their red choker? Custom-engraved with your initials.

They stick to their star hair clips—because they’re a star, duh—but Angel gifted them a tiny wolf charm to wear on their boot. (“For your werewolf agenda.”)

V, with his perfectionism, tried to get them a “sensible” wedding ring—Misaki immediately swapped it for a cheap, heart-shaped plastic ring from a vending machine.

💌 3. The Vows: Silly, Sweet, and So Very Misaki

Misaki writes their vows on the back of a convenience store receipt (fitting, considering their broke assassin lifestyle). Despite the messy delivery, their words are raw and honest: “I never thought I’d make it to something as soft as this. You’re the one thing that makes all this chaos worth it. I’m yours—mess and all.”

They get flustered halfway through and throw in a joke: “If I die first, you get all my cup noodle stash. That’s real love, babe.”

🔪 4. How Everyone Reacts

V: Stoic but proud. He spent weeks planning everything and it’s…chaotic, but seeing Misaki happy softens his usual icy demeanor. At the end, he quietly pulls you aside and says, “Keep them safe. They deserve it.”

Ronin: Cannot stop teasing. Every time Misaki gets emotional, he’s whispering something like, “Aw, soft little killer’s gone domestic. Adorable.” But he means it—his chaos aside, he tells you in private, “Take care of our disaster, yeah?”

Angel: Is the emotional one, dabbing their eyes with a tissue and cheering the loudest when you kiss. They’re also the first to demand a dance party afterward.

🎁 5. The Gifts: Because It’s Misaki

Misaki’s love language is gift-giving—so, naturally, they hand you a handmade, weirdly adorable scrapbook of your relationship so far. Complete with doodles of them as a werewolf protecting you.

Your gift to them? A custom-made lock to replace the one on their choker—it opens with your fingerprint only. They’re OBSESSED.

💫 6. Post-Wedding Chaos

After the ceremony, Misaki pulls you into a rooftop dance—barefoot, giggling, spinning to a jazz remix of their favorite songs.

You both steal leftover cup noodles from the snack table and eat them sitting on the rooftop edge, feet dangling over the city. Misaki leans against you, sighing softly: “If aliens are real, they’d be jealous of this.”

Ronin insists on a “honeymoon prank spree,” while V pretends not to know any of you. Angel suggests a beach trip instead—Misaki loves the idea (mainly because they want to see you in a swimsuit).

Despite the chaos, the night ends with you tangled together under the city lights—Misaki’s head on your shoulder, murmuring: “I’m still a mess, but I’m your mess now.”

How Each would react!

🖤 V – The Reluctant Wedding Planner

Let’s be real—V did not want to organize this chaos, but Misaki (and you) asked, so he did it perfectly.

He handled the venue, the food (even if it was cup noodles), and made sure everything ran smoothly. Efficiency first.

While everyone’s goofing off, he’s quietly watching from the corner, arms crossed. If anyone dares to mess up the ceremony? They answer to him.

Emotional Reaction:

He won’t admit it, but he cares—a lot. Seeing Misaki genuinely happy softens his usual cold exterior. When you exchange vows, you catch the faintest twitch of a smile.

After the ceremony, he pulls you aside and says in his quiet, serious tone: “They’re fragile, even if they pretend otherwise. Don’t hurt them.”

Wedding Gift:

V gifts you both, What...He could. He makes sure, It's well-taken.

🔥 Ronin

Ronin shows up in the most absurd outfit—a sleek black suit, but the tie is covered in tiny cartoon wolves because "Misaki’s whole werewolf thing is iconic, babe."

He spends the whole night teasing both of you, leaning into Misaki’s ear during the vows to whisper: “Awww, soft assassin finally tied down. You’re practically domesticated now.”

Emotional Reaction:

Beneath the teasing, Ronin’s more sentimental than he lets on. He watches Misaki beam during the first dance and mutters to himself, “They deserve something good. Guess that’s you.”

He’s the first to make a dramatic toast, grinning like a devil: “If you break their heart, sweetheart, I’ll break your kneecaps. Fair trade, yeah?”

Wedding Gift:

A personalized lock-and-key set: the lock is heart-shaped and engraved with “Property of Y/N”—he hands it over with a wink.

Also sneaks an untraceable burner phone into Misaki’s gift bag because “You two will get up to crimes eventually. Might as well be prepared.”

💋 Angel

Angel is the emotional one—they’ve been waiting for this moment forever. When you both say “I do,” they’re openly crying while clutching a bedazzled tissue.

They personally decorate the rooftop with fairy lights and glowing stars (“Because Misaki’s a star, duh.”) and insist on a first dance under the neon lights.

Emotional Reaction:

Angel pulls you both into a tight hug right after the ceremony, voice thick with emotion: “You two are so freaking cute. If you mess this up, I’m divorcing both of you emotionally.”

They’re the first to drag you and Misaki to the dance floor, twirling you around while shouting, “Married life means more jazz, babe!”

Wedding Gift:

A scrapbook of all your chaotic group memories—half of it is glitter-covered, and there are way too many doodles of Misaki as a werewolf.

They also gift you a matching bracelet set, one that says “Killer Couple” because Angel is nothing if not dramatic.

💌 After Marriage Headcanons with Misaki 💌

Your life together is a mix of cozy chaos. Mornings are spent tangled in bed sheets because Misaki is not a morning person—good luck trying to pry them away from you.

Misaki insists on keeping your home aesthetic but comfy. Expect string lights, random trinkets from missions, and a million throw pillows because they like to “nest.”

They absolutely steal your clothes—hoodies, shirts, even socks. If it smells like you? It’s theirs now. Don’t fight it.

Home Setup:

Your place is a weird hybrid of a sleek assassin hideout and a cozy city apartment. Their bunker days are over, and you make sure they have a soft place to land after jobs.

Cup noodles still dominate the pantry, but they try to cook for you sometimes. It's… chaotic, but their enthusiasm is cute.

“I made dinner!” “This is three different flavors of instant ramen, babe.” “You love it.”

💖 Affection Overload

Misaki is clingy—but in a cute, touch-starved way. They’re always finding excuses to touch you, whether it’s holding hands, leaning on you, or cuddling in the middle of the day.

Surprise forehead kisses are their favorite weapon. They’ll catch you off guard, pressing a kiss to your temple while grinning, “Love ya, babe.”

When they’re anxious, they’ll find you and bury their face in your neck. Your touch calms them down faster than anything else.

Pet Names Galore:

You get a rotation of chaotic and sweet nicknames—"babe," "cutie," and their personal favorite, “My favorite human.”

If you call them a pet name? Instant blush. They act cool, but the minute you say something like “baby”—they melt.

🎁 Love Language: Gift-Giving

Misaki constantly brings you random gifts—they’re bad at expressing feelings with words, but their love shows in thoughtful gestures.

You get:

Tiny trinkets from their missions (“Look! I stole this cool keychain just for you!”).

Silly notes left around the house (“Don’t forget to eat, nerd.”).

Handmade playlists labeled things like “For when you miss me” or “Hot Assassin Vibes Only.”

🔫 Balancing Assassin Life & Marriage

They’re still taking contracts, but they work less after marrying you. You become their anchor—a reason to come home in one piece.

Whenever they’re out on a job, they text you constantly:

“Still alive. Miss ur face.”

“Bet you’re wearing my hoodie rn.”

“If I die, clear my search history. Love u 💀.”

You’re their emotional support after missions. When the weight of their work gets heavy, you’re the one they fall apart with—and you never judge them for it.

🎶 Random Marriage Shenanigans

Dance Breaks: Random jazz-fueled dance parties in your living room. Misaki will literally grab your hand mid-task and spin you around while singing off-key.

Aliens Exist, Fight Me: They are obsessed with alien documentaries and will drag you into deep conversations at 2 AM.

“Babe, what if we’re just, like, an alien reality show?”

“Misaki. Go to sleep.”

Pet Parenting: One day, they adopt a stray cat and name it “Murderbean.” Misaki spoils it rotten. Murderbean likes you best, and they’re jealous.

🌟 Soft Vulnerability

Marriage makes them softer—with you, at least. You’re the only person they feel safe enough to let their guard down around.

On bad days, they curl up beside you, murmuring, “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” They mean it.

They still struggle with anxiety, but knowing they have you makes it easier. When they get overwhelmed, you hold them until their breathing steadies.

💍 Forever Vibes

They talk about the future like it’s inevitable—with you, it is. Misaki jokes about retiring and opening a record shop with you one day.

“As long as I’ve got you, babe, I’m good.”

If you’re ever away for too long, they’ll dramatically drape themselves across the bed and text you, “Come home. I’m dying. No one else makes cup noodles like you do.”

V

🖤 V’s Proposal

V’s proposal isn’t grand or flashy—it’s intimate, deliberate, and entirely him. For a man who sees himself as a protector of justice, promising forever to you is a vow he takes more seriously than anything else.

📖 The Moment It Happens:

It starts with small changes—V’s usual hyper-focus on his work begins to shift. You notice how often he lingers at home, how his fingers brush against yours more often, and how his rare humor comes easier when you’re near.

One night, after a long evening, he finds you sitting on the balcony watching the stars. He doesn’t speak immediately—he just stands there, as if memorizing how you look under the moonlight.

Without his usual tactical armor, he seems softer—like the edges of his sharp moral code dull when he’s with you.

He kneels, smooth and controlled, and extends a small, hand-carved wooden box. You can tell he made it himself—polished oak, edges crisp and precise. No waste. Nothing careless.

Inside is a delicate ring—a silver band shaped like intertwining vines, with a small gemstone nestled between two silver birds in flight.

His voice—steady, low—breaks the silence:

"A lifetime isn't enough to repay what you’ve given me. But if you'll have me, I'll spend every day trying."

💍 How He Handles Your Response:

The moment you say "yes," V’s composure wavers—just a little. His breath hitches; his fingers tremble as he slides the ring onto your hand.

He doesn’t waste words—but the look he gives you is fierce, unyielding. The kind of gaze that says you’re not just his partner—you’re his reason.

When he pulls you into his arms, there’s a gentleness in his touch that no one else ever gets to see. And he lingers—always lingers—because holding you feels more like home than any place he’s ever known.

🕊️ Your Wedding Day – A Sanctuary of Wings 🕊️

V isn’t a man who does things halfway—your wedding is no exception. Every detail reflects his principles: kindness, minimal harm, and a world where every life matters.

1. The Venue – A Bird Sanctuary Paradise

The ceremony is held at a sprawling wildlife reserve—a bird sanctuary he’s been quietly funding for years

The setting is breathtaking: a secluded meadow surrounded by towering trees, soft petals scattered underfoot, and the air filled with birdsong.

Aviaries open during the ceremony, allowing rescued birds—doves, swallows, and finches—to fly freely above the altar.

2. V’s Wedding Attire – Sleek, Minimalist Elegance

He’s all sharp angles in a custom black suit—tailored to perfection. No gaudy embellishments—just clean, elegant lines.

Around his lapel, a silver pin shaped like a raven’s wing—your private symbol.

But when you approach? His expression softens, his usual cold restraint cracking beneath the warmth he saves for you.

3. The Ceremony – V’s Vows

V’s vows are short—but every word is deliberate, and his voice holds no hesitation.

"I’ve walked through a world of violence, always alone. Until you."

"Your kindness—the way you see the world—changed something in me. You remind me why I fight. Why life matters."

"I vow to protect you. To stand beside you. And if you’ll let me—I’ll make every moment worth it."

When he slips the ring onto your finger—a matching silver band etched with the wings of a dove—you see the faintest tremor in his hand.

Because for all his composure, this moment matters to him more than any mission he’s ever taken on.

4. Animal-Friendly

No leather, no silk—every material is cruelty-free. =

Instead of traditional confetti, guests toss biodegradable wildflower seeds—so the meadow will bloom with color long after the wedding is over.

Rescue animals from the sanctuary are honored guests—V even arranges a surprise for you: an owl you once admired during a visit flies in during the ceremony with a silk ribbon carrying your rings.

5. How V Reacts Seeing You Walk Down the Aisle

The moment you step into view, V—who’s always so composed—freezes. For once, his calculating mind is quiet.

His lips part slightly, breath catching. And when your eyes meet? The rest of the world ceases to exist.

He doesn’t realize he’s clenched his fists until his knuckles turn white—like holding himself back from rushing to you.

And the closer you come, the softer his expression grows—by the time you reach him, his hands are already outstretched, steadying you as if you’re the most fragile, precious thing he’s ever known.

6. The Reception – A Quiet Celebration

V doesn’t like big crowds, so your reception is an intimate gathering. Close friends, the sanctuary staff, and (of course) the Killer Chat gang.

He ensures all donations from the guests go directly to the bird sanctuary—your wedding doesn’t just celebrate your love; it leaves a lasting legacy of kindness.

When you dance together for the first time, V is surprisingly graceful. But his focus isn’t on perfect steps—it’s on you. Every touch, every glance is full of quiet adoration.

7. After the Ceremony – A Private Moment Just for You

When the guests drift away, V leads you back to the aviary—where a newly rehabilitated falcon spreads its wings, ready to take flight.

You release the bird together, watching as it soars free. His fingers lace with yours, voice low:

"Freedom matters. But so does choosing where you want to be."

And as the bird disappears into the sky, he turns to you—lips brushing against your temple—and murmurs the words he never thought he’d have reason to say:

"I choose you."

Reaction!

Ronin

“Awww, our little edgelord grew a heart.” The moment Ronin hears about the wedding, he’s insufferable. Absolutely unbearable. He shows up just to stir the pot—grinning like the devil, all sharp teeth and bad intentions. From the second he lays eyes on V in his formal wear, he’s got jokes. “Didn’t think you’d live long enough to settle down, bro. What’s next? A white picket fence? Little masked brats?”

Flirting with You—Just to Poke the Bear: Ronin doesn’t miss a single opportunity to tease. The second he catches you alone, he’s all smooth lines and mock flirtation, just loud enough for V to hear. “You sure you wanna lock yourself down, sweetheart? I mean, icy’s fine and all—but I come with fireworks.” He always flashes a wink right before V steps in—because what’s life without a little danger?

Messing with V’s Image: He makes it his mission to chip at V’s ever-serious persona. At the reception, he leans in to whisper (way too loud), “Can you believe it? V—Mr. Justice himself—married. I thought the only thing he’d ever commit to was brooding in alleys.” He’s fully prepared to dodge a punch if necessary.

To You—Half Serious, Half Joke: When things settle down, Ronin pulls you aside. For once, his voice softens—just a little. “Look, V’s a pain in the ass, but he’s not all bad. And trust me—he’ll go down swinging for you.” Then, with a wicked grin, he adds, “Still… if he gets too boring, you’ve got my number.”

Brotherly Concern—In His Own Way: Beneath the teasing, there’s a glimmer of something real. As you’re about to leave, he catches you both one last time. His usual smirk fades—just a bit—and he says quietly, “Take care of him, yeah? He acts like he doesn’t need it, but…” He trails off, then adds with a grin, “If he ever gets too serious, I’ll come mess him up for free.”

Post-Wedding Shenanigans: Ronin does not let V live it down. Anytime he’s in the chat, he’s dropping lines like:

“Hey, husband-of-the-year, how’s married life?”

“Y’know, I always knew you had a soft spot. But this? This is adorable.”

“If you two have a fight, just send them my way—I give killer marriage advice.”

But Deep Down… He won’t admit it, but seeing V happy? It kinda warms the shriveled thing he calls a heart. Not that he’d ever say it. But if anyone dared threaten your happiness, they’d have two monsters to deal with—because as much as he loves to mess with V, no one else gets to touch his “bro.”

✨ Misaki and Angel Reacting to V and You Getting Married ✨

🗡️ Misaki’s Reaction (The Agent of Chaos)

“Wait—you mean, V? That V? Mr. No-Fun?” When they first hear the news, Misaki is in utter disbelief. They dramatically gasp, clutching their chest like it’s the most shocking thing they’ve ever heard. “I thought V was married to his moral code! You’re telling me he found someone who willingly deals with that?”

Relentless Teasing—With Love: They spend the entire wedding day bouncing between genuine support and pure mischief. During the ceremony, they lean over to you and whisper, “Blink twice if you need rescuing. I know a guy.” Then, to V: “Wow, you actually smile. Who knew you had human emotions?”

The Chaos Gift: Misaki’s wedding gift? Pure trouble. It’s either:

A matching set of “Justice” and “Chaos” mugs.

A framed photo of V looking broody with a glittery heart drawn around it.

A lock-picking set labeled “For when V’s rules get too much.”

Low-Key Soft About It: Beneath all the teasing, they’re actually kind of touched. At the reception, when you’re not looking, they tell V, “You better treat them right, or I’ll break every bone in your body—lovingly, of course.” And to you? “If you need a break from the broody husband life, call me. I’m way more fun.”

💋 Angel’s Reaction (The Sweetheart Femme Fatale)

“Aww, my cold little knight found love? Be still my heart.” Angel is delighted. She always suspected there was a soft center under V’s icy exterior, but seeing him actually marry someone? She’s practically glowing with joy for both of you.

Supportive with a Side of Flirt: During the wedding prep, she offers to help with anything you need—while slipping in teasing comments. To you: “If he ever gets too broody, I’m just a call away. I’m excellent at… distracting.” And to V: “Be nice to them, darling. You may scare everyone else, but I’ve got claws too.”

Her Wedding Gift—Elegance Meets Mischief: Angel’s gift is both thoughtful and playful—something like:

A luxurious couple’s spa day voucher (because she knows V needs to unwind).

A sleek dagger set engraved with “For better or worse.”

An elegant framed photo of you two with a handwritten note: “True love is rare—don’t mess it up, darling.”

Protective Big Sister Vibes: She may flirt and tease, but her protective side comes out in quiet moments. She pulls you aside to say softly, “You make him happy. I see it. But if he forgets how lucky he is? You know where to find me.”

After the Wedding – Life with V as Your Husband

V doesn’t just see marriage as a title—it’s a vow, a binding promise he takes as seriously as his work. Being his spouse means you’ve broken through walls no one else ever has, and now? He’s yours—entirely, irrevocably.

1. The Home You Share – A Haven of Quiet Comfort

V custom-builds a home on the edge of a nature reserve—secluded, quiet, and surrounded by wildlife. Large windows let you watch birds and animals roam freely, while the interiors are sleek but warm.

The house is eco-friendly—everything sourced ethically, with minimal environmental impact. Solar panels, rainwater collection, the whole thing—V doesn’t do anything halfway.

Despite his cold image, your shared bedroom is a place of warmth. Soft lighting, heavy blankets for nesting together, and an ever-present sense that this is where he feels safest—by your side.

2. The Way V Loves – Fierce, Silent, and Unyielding

V isn’t traditionally affectionate, but when it’s just the two of you? He melts.

His touches are feather-light—fingertips brushing your hair back, a hand resting protectively on your lower back, or a thumb tracing over your wedding band when he thinks you aren’t watching.

You become his anchor. After every night patrol, no matter how tired, he always comes home to you—sometimes slipping into bed without a word, but his arms wrap around you tight, like he’s making sure you’re still there.

He notices everything. If you’re cold? He’s draping his coat over your shoulders. Tired? He’s already running you a hot bath. Sad? He doesn’t offer empty words—he offers presence, grounding you with quiet care.

3. V’s Domestic Quirks – Things You Discover After Marriage

Early Mornings Together: V’s a painfully early riser—he likes to meditate or train before dawn. But on rare days off? He stays in bed longer just to hold you.

His Tea Ritual: He has an entire shelf dedicated to obscure herbal teas. No matter what mood you’re in, he has a blend for it—especially if it soothes you.

Silent Acts of Love: Flowers aren’t his thing—but he fixes broken things without being asked. Keeps your favorite snacks stocked. Learns every little habit you have and quietly accommodates them.

4. Protective to a Fault – But He Trusts Your Strength

He never stops being your protector—but he never underestimates you. If you want to be involved in his work or his world, he doesn’t hold you back.

Still, if anyone dares to threaten you? He’s not forgiving. There are no warnings—only consequences.

He checks in, always. If you’re out late, you’ll find a simple message on your phone: “Are you safe?”

5. Intimacy – The Soft Side No One Else Sees

V isn’t loud about his affection, but behind closed doors? He’s endlessly gentle.

He craves your touch more than he admits. A hand tangled in his hair while he works? Instantly soothes him.

If you kiss him before he leaves on patrol, he lingers longer than he should—like he doesn’t want to pull away.

After difficult nights, he doesn’t ask for comfort outright—but the way he clings to you in his sleep says everything.

6. Jealous? Not Exactly—But…

V isn’t the type to get jealous easily—he knows your heart belongs to him.

That said, if someone flirts with you? He won’t say anything—but his presence shifts. Colder. Sharper. And the offender usually backs off without him needing to lift a finger.

Ronin loves teasing him about this—“Careful, Angel. If you break his heart, who’ll keep the streets clean?”—and V’s usual stoicism cracks just a little when you smile at him in response.

7. Building a Future – With You, There’s Always Hope

Despite his heavy worldview, being with you brings light into his life. He wants a future with you—and he allows himself to dream of one.

He secretly wonders if you’d want to foster rescue animals—or maybe even kids someday. He’d never push, but if you bring it up? He’s already imagining filling your home with life.

Whatever path you choose, V’s vow remains the same: “I’m yours. For as long as you’ll have me.”

[lunarriviera]

yet another shen yi meta [uts2 spoilers]

hi hey hello everyone i continue to be tormented with obsessive thinkings about s2 Shen Yi so i must holler about them/him some more, feel free to stop reading if you have not watched through approximately episode 11 which is where i still am. it's taking me longer to watch because i keep pausing to rewind/screenshot and/or weep in anguish about Him and What He Is Going Through. and how NO ONE IS PAYING ATTENTION. or insufficient attention. cf. Ryan Gosling in the Papyrus sketch screaming WELL IT WASN'T!! ENOUGH!!

[more. much more. behind the cut]

let's start here, with shen yi's artwork. in this scene he competed with AI to paint a chosen image and, surprising exactly no one, he won, partly because he's brilliant but tbh mostly because AI art is garbage and always adds dolphins, rainbows, and hands with six fingers.

but here's the thing: is no one going to question this? does anyone think to themselves "ah yes, shen yi is absolutely the BEST person in the world to make a painting in 30 minutes that depicts, quote, a lonely man on a beach." so here is this miserably hunched, despairing figure, surrounded by murky howling early-picasso blue, LOOKING IN FACT QUITE A LOT LIKE SHEN YI HIMSELF—even dressed like him (in the snowy white and dainty pastels he seems to favor this season)—and not a single person thinks: huh, wonder if this guy's okay?

in fact s2 seems to be repeated evidence of the fact that shen yi is Very Much Not Okay, and yet no one is really paying attention. he supports everyone else emotionally and they all seem to assume he either a) has no emotional blowback to deal with, or b) can deal with it himself unaided somehow. (through painting, maybe? but have you seen what he's painting lately? e.g. monstrous abusive parent figures, in some kind of breathless fugue state during which he can psychically hear lines from someone else's traumatic childhood?) he goes to li han's house to help her, which is so like him, and he says:

oh! you might think. well, maybe he will self-disclose a little? tell li han about some of his own personal difficulties that he's had to overcome, just to bond with her, get her to open up? HAHAHA ARE YOU NEW HERE, of course he doesn't, he just listens to her while she sobs out her tragic backstory, gives her a tissue, relates her struggles to a vaguely terrifying metaphor of his own device about a sealed room filling up ineluctably with floodwater, then smiles and takes her out for pizza. (totally unrelated but wow the product placement is heavy-handed this season. xiaomi! pizza hut!)

since we're talking about the li han case, consider this moment, too, when he interprets someone's house-person-tree drawing. does no one ever think, "for someone who talks constantly about love and connection, how interesting that shen yi has no family, refuses to date in very pointed and deliberate way, and lives alone with a cat."

shen yi knows all about love! never shuts up about love! constantly dispensing bromides about what real love should be like! and wakes every day ALONE from horrific guilty nightmares ft. creepy small girl in blood-red dress, pls will no one help this man pls he's drowning.

couple more bits and then i swear to god i'll shut up i'm starting to feel really stupid. but first consider this little story, in three parts:

"an image of despair" um okay well…technically it's just a dead body, albeit after a fairly grisly stabbing, but sure go off i guess

2. du cheng: wow even for you that was unusually poetic and weird

3. also du cheng: back to investigating the murder i guess [wanders away]

this kind of thing happens again. and again. either no one notices assorted horrified/devastated expressions on shen yi's face (in the way of classic extradiegetic reaction shots, where the camera sees them—we see them—but none of the characters onscreen do) or, when du cheng does notice, he's immediately distracted by his actual job, and/or the fact that he doesn't really know how to help his partner, because lbr he has all the emotional intelligence of a pony.

one more mini-story in three parts, and then i really will put a sock in it:

shen yi: why, what did i do. why are you looking at me like that

2. du cheng: bc you just lied your whole entire face off with alarming unsettling proficiency, since when are you that good at being dishonest

3. shen yi: hehe

in an earlier episode we also saw shen yi shouting at a suspect in the interrogation room, so convincingly that afterwards du cheng admits, you scared me. lol! says shen yi in carefree manner, i learned that from you! haha! agrees everyone, and they go about their business.

but ghastly things keep happening to and near him. at least once per episode, shen yi makes a face like this, because people are jumping off cliffs in front of him or abruptly smashing things with hammers or just lashing out with all kinds of antisocial behaviors in his vicinity:

to be fair, he has other expressions. for instance he also repeatedly employs his patented creepy ruthless smile, of the "i am going to fuck you up" variety, an expression reserved especially for criminals:

as well, i'm also leaving out all the ridiculously adorable/domestic scenes with him and du cheng, in which they share candy, roast each other about assorted nonsense, briefly co-parent a child, and, you know. are just generally disgustingly married. but that's a different meta.

also, admittedly du cheng does SAY things. he says, "are you still having trouble sleeping," he says "do i not care about you?" and "don't push yourself so hard" and "if you run into troubles, don't try to take them on alone." (i am sparing you all these screenshots since this is a meta about shen yi but trust me i have carefully accumulated every single shred of evidence in which du cheng is protective.) but, as frequently as du cheng expresses concern, he also just keeps clapping shen yi on the shoulder in a brotastic way and then strolling out. which i fear is just not going to be adequate. ("i don’t think this is literally papyrus. maybe that was the starting point but they clearly modified it?" "well whatever they did, IT WASN'T!! ENOUGH!!")

i leave you with two final images of shen yi, seen here continuing to be very much Not Okay, and to quote the bernie meme, i am ONCE AGAIN ASKING YOU, drama, is anyone going to care enough about this man to stop him going over the edge of the cliff with Evil Art Critic Eugenicist Moriarty Weasel Man? because he will, he will do it. because he's lonely and he's misunderstood and he's—

[cane comes out and drags me offstage]