#metal industrial coffee table

[stlinzk]

Contemporary Basement - Basement

An illustration of a medium-sized contemporary basement design with beige walls and no fireplace, carpeted floors, and a lookout area.

[rinaedin]

New York Family Room Enclosed Photo of a medium-sized transitional enclosed family room with gray walls, no fireplace, and no television.

[forsongqian]

Contemporary Living Room - Loft-Style

[houseofanticipation]

It's impossible to count the number of times you've imagined this moment. Late at night, under the covers; in the bathtub, and the shower; on slow days at the bookstore, the summer before senior year; during Mr. Madrigal's long, droning lectures. You fantasized so vividly you could see each scene on the back of your eyelids, hear each sound between breaths. Many a time your hand migrated southward, almost of its own volition. If you were in public, you'd hold it against your crotch, pressing it into yourself with the force of your clenched thighs. In private, you'd be far less subtle.

In all those fantasies, you never imagined it would look quite like this.

The hallway smells like cigarettes and industrial cleaner. The haphazardly patterned carpet is coming up at the edges. The yellow tube light overhead might be attempting morse code, the way it flickers. Paint peels from the door in front of you, and one of the metal digits in the room number has been replaced with one that doesn't quite match: room 233. You raise your hand, your knuckles inches from the door, and then you pause. You're not sure if you can go through with this.

Before you can decide, the door opens anyway.

You started posting pictures in your first year of college. It was just your tits at first. You'd been quietly following those subreddits and tumblr blogs for a while, and you thought it would be a bit of fun, a little thrill. You didn't expect the response you got: dozens of people telling you how much they'd enjoyed it, asking for more. So you posted more, and the people asked for different things. Post your ass. Post your cunt. Post your fingers in your cunt. Post audio of you moaning as you came. The more you revealed of yourself, the more attention you got, and the more attention you got, the more you wanted to show. People wanted to send you tips, so you set up a Cash App address. You never got much, a few dollars here and there, but it was nice to get a free coffee now and then.

And somewhere along the way, apparently, you let slip that you were a virgin.

The message came late last semester, from a Cash App user whose name was just a string of numbers. It read, "I will buy your virginity for $100,000. So you know I'm serious, here is $7000 for you to keep, deal or no deal. Let me know if interested."

It was like one of those hypotheticals you talk about with your friends at the dinner table. Would you work nonstop for a year if it meant you never had to work again? Would you cut off your hand if it meant you never had to die? Would you let a stranger from the internet take your virginity for a hundred thousand dollars? You thought about it for weeks. The 7 thousand in itself was a windfall you never could have imagined. It was the new laptop you needed, four times over. It was a large iced coffee ever day for three and a half years. After graduation, if you were smart, it could be your living expenses for the better part of a year. But a hundred thousand might be a house, or a car, or a few years of freedom to pursue your goals. And when you asked how you could trust him to pay when he'd gotten what he wanted, he told you he'd be happy to pay up front.

So here you are, in a dingy hotel, face to face with the broad-shouldered, potbellied older man in front of you. "I saw you through the peephole," he says. There's something impish about him. Maybe it's the toothy grin, or the way his ears stick out from his head, or the obvious glee in his voice as he looks you up and down. "My, you're much better in person. Come in! You got the money then?"

You nod. You didn't leave the Lyft until it was there in your account.

"Good," he says, throwing the dead bolt. "Let's get to it then, shall we?"

"What should...I mean, how do you want to..." you feel yourself talking strangely. Breathing in the wrong places, words tumbling over each other. "Maybe we should...talk first? Get to know each other?"

"No need for that," says the man matter-of-factly, unbuttoning his shirt. His chest is smooth, his skin a mottled pink. He waves a hand at your body. "Go ahead and get those off."

Back in high school, one of your recurring fantasies involved Jason Meier having his way with you in the back of that beat up convertible he used to drive. That old thing used to get you so wet. It was a piece of junk, but something about the exposure of it...In the fantasy, he's driven you out to some secluded spot outside of town. Cicadas drone all around. The night sky shines bright with stars. He cups your face with one hand, strokes your cheek with his thumb, asks you if this is your first time. He kisses the side of your mouth, then your jaw, then below your ear, then down your neck. As his hands undo the top button of your blouse, he tells you he'll be gentle.

The man is watching you expectantly. With his shirt on, he looked like a portly old man. Without it you can see that every inch of that stocky build is hard muscle. That pink skin strains against his mass, muscle rippling beneath it as he moves. "What are you waiting for?"

Your legs tremble. Your knees feel like they're about to buckle. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears. Your body has never done this before. You didn't know you could feel this kind of fear, and yet there's nothing to fight, nowhere to flee. You agreed to this. You decided this was what you wanted. Slowly, you pull your shirt over head.

He groans in the back of his throat, a long, growly sound. His face is a mask of focus, the impish joviality gone, his eyes fixated on your breasts. "And the rest."

You kick off your shoes, pull off your socks. An inch at a time, you slide your shorts and panties over your ass, down your legs, past your trembling knees. You step out of them, and now you're completely exposed. You cross your arms over your chest, then lower them when he grunts disapproval. Almost urgently, he unbuttons his pants, pulls out a long, rigid cock, and begins to stroke himself.

You didn't discover internet porn until your senior year, and before then the only penises you'd seen were a few drawings in your health textbook. In the fantasy, you unbutton Jason Meier's pants and fig. 7.5, "The penis becomes engorged when in state of arousal," pops out of his underwear. You take it in your hands, feeling the weight of it, the girth, and look up into those beautiful brown eyes of his.

This cock is much...realer. It has bounce, texture, even a sound as his hand slides up and down its length. It's longer than the one in that old fantasy, too, and it leans slightly to the left. For years you've wondered what it would be like to see a cock in person, and now that you're here it terrifies you.

"Come here," says the man, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Get on your knees."

You falter. "You didn't...I mean, we didn't agree to that."

"I bought your virginity," says the man. "You ever suck cock before?"

You shake your head.

"Then your mouth is just as much a virgin as your cunt. Get down here."

It's almost a relief to get off your legs, the way they've been threatening to give out. Close up, you can see the purples and blues of the veins under his skin. The head of his cock pulses with anticipation as your lips part, your tongue extends...

You don't think you can do this.

Then his hand is on the back of your head.

You always imagined Jason Meier whimpering as you took him into your mouth. You were never quite able to picture what he would feel like between your lips, on your tongue; the movie camera of your imagination always panned up at that point, to focus on his face. He would let his head fall back in pleasure, eyebrows knit with sensation, lips slightly parted. Now, though, there's no camera to pan. You are here. This is real. And his powerful hand is pushing your mouth onto his cock.

A sound you can't control comes out of you. Your back arches, your hands flail, and then by pure instinct they're on his belly, pushing against him, away from him. Spit runs down your chin, and you wipe it away with the back of your hand. "I'm sorry," you say, looking anywhere but at his face. "I'm sorry, I can't, I thought I could do this but I can't."

There's a horrible darkness in his voice. "I already gave you the money."

"I know, I'll give it back, I'm sorry." The words trip over each other on the way out of your mouth. "I'm really sorry, I shouldn't have, I just, I thought I could..."

His hand is on the back of your head again, and this time his fingers are curled tight into your hair. He jerks your head back, forcing you to look at him, and his eyes are cold and predatory. "I'm not interested in returning what's already bought and paid for." He jams himself back into your mouth.

You always imagined yourself savoring it, taking your time to explore every inch of Jason's length with your tongue, but there's no time for that now. The veiny, throbbing thing in your mouth bypasses your tongue entirely, forcing past your uvula. You gag, then gag again. Your stomach churns and you convulse as your body tries to remove the foreign object, but the man just pushes harder. Your eyes water as he slides deeper, deeper, making your throat bulge, your limbs spasm. As his balls touch your chin, you close your eyes and try to relax your throat.

He holds you like that. You gag for a third time, and thick saliva explodes through the gaps around his cock, dripping down your chin and collecting in a long, dangling rope. Tears roll down your cheeks as you try to acclimatize to the feeling, try to convince your body that nothing is wrong. You think you've got it, and then he moves slightly, and you're gagging again. He groans, grips your head tighter, and in the back of your throat you feel his cock swell slightly. He likes it when you gag for him, says a voice in the back of your mind. The motion is pleasurable for him.

You've got another problem rearing its head. You can't breathe. It was fine at first, but the man shows no interest in freeing up your airways, and in all the gagging and crying, you haven't exactly been conserving your oxygen. You pat his leg, trying to signal to him, but all he does is clap you on the side of the head. Your ear rings, you gag again, and his cock throbs. Black walls are closing in on your vision. The effort of struggling against him becomes too much, and your arms fall to your sides. Your eyelids flutter. You're going to pass out. You're going to pass out, and then what will he do to you?

But just before the world fades to black, he pulls your head back again. You feel every inch of his cock as it slides out of your throat. He lifts your face, and your eyes struggle to focus on his as you take lungful after lungful of glorious air. Drool spills across your lips, but you don't care. You're alive.

The man slaps you hard, leaving a stinging impression of his palm on your cheek. You whimper. Two of his fingers are in your mouth, pushing on the back of your tongue. Not knowing exactly why, you close your lips around them and shut your eyes.

"That's better," he says.

The first time you saw a male sex toy in use was in an ad before a porn video you were watching. You were taken aback by the way the performer had pounded it over his cock, barely more than an extension of his hand. You're reminded of that image as he parts your lips again, and the rape of your throat begins in earnest.

You haven't thought about Jason Meier in years, but at this moment he's the only thing keeping you sane. As your face rams up and down, up and down, you retreat to that beat up convertible, and Jason's soft, thoughtful face. As the man tightens his grip, Jason runs his fingers through your hair. As the man grunts and growls with pleasure, Jason coos your name. With each stroke of his cock down your throat, each spasm of your body, you focus on a different part of Jason's body: his large hands, his long fingers, his shoulders, his jawline, his liquid brown eyes. By the time the man finally releases your hair, you can barely feel your body any more. The convertible is far more real than the squeaky motel bed. The hands on your body are Jason's, soft and tender.

He climbs over the center console straddling you. You lock lips, feel your tongues in each other's mouths, kiss so deeply that it feels as though you share the same breath. He pulls the lever to lay your seat back, and then he's over you, on top of you, lifting your skirt, pulling your panties to the side.

This is the part where, in the old days, you would have slipped a finger or two inside yourself. But this time you don't have to. This time you can feel him inside you, really feel him, and he fills you up like your fingers never could. There's some pain—they told you there'd be pain, didn't they, your first time—but it falls away to the thrill, the lust, the pleasure. Jason whimpers as he slides into you, deeper, deeper, and you moan into each other's mouths as his pelvis meets yours. You take a moment to savor it, breathing each other in, and then he begins to thrust.

You feel drunk. It's exactly like you always imagined it, and somehow better than you could ever have expected. Each movement of his hips brings another sensation: a spasm in the arches of your feet, a hitch in your breath, a churning, swirling need in the depths of your abdomen. Deeper you tell him, harder, and he obliges, pulling you into him, and him into you.

You can feel the orgasm building, but it isn't like any you've had before. Every time you've ever cum, you've been in control. This time, Jason is in control. Jason decides when you cum, how you cum. One hand supports his weight as he leans over you, and the other slides up your belly. You used to watch those hands obsessively. The way he held a pencil, the way he bit his knuckles when he was thinking. Now that hand slides up, caresses your breast. Now that thumb brushes your hair out of your face. Now those fingers close around your throat.

You know you're safe with Jason, but the pressure on your throat triggers some animal fear response in you. You try to squirm away, but his arm is strong, and his hand his firm. Your hands go to his wrist. "I don't like that, stop." He just smiles. It isn't his usual sweet smile, either. This one is cruel. Predatory.

Your face feels tight. Your eyes bulge. You're beginning to panic for real now. "Jason, seriously, stop!" You beat at his arm with your fists, but he easily takes both your wrists in one hand and pins them over your head. You try to kick at him, but he's already past your defenses, between your legs, pushing them uselessly apart. His grip tightens, his rhythm increases, his cock swells inside you. He's getting off on this.

All at once you're back in the hotel room. The man's sweaty red face is inches away from your own, and the lust in his eyes is obvious. His cock seems to push deeper with every thrust, and the horrible thing is that the orgasm is still coming. It's close now, you can feel it, and it's like he knows exactly how to bring it out. You feel floaty, tingly, and that awful pleasure is welling up inside you, a pot about to boil over...

"That's right," he says, his eyes locked on yours. "That's what I was waiting for. That perfect mix of...pleasure...and...fear." He punctuates each of these last three words with a long, deep thrust, and it's these that send the orgasm spilling over. A choked moan pushes itself out of you as your back arches, your toes curl, your legs wrap involuntarily around his waist, tears roll down your cheeks. That floaty feeling has combined with the orgasm to create something like how you imagine heroin must feel; a wave of mind numbing, soul deadening ecstasy. Your insides feel hot, and at first you think that must just be what it feels like when you cum from sex, but then you see the look on his face and realize that he's cumming too. His grip relaxes and he pounds away a few more times at your now-limp body. You stare at the ceiling as he moans, buries his face between your tits, pumps round after round of his warm, thick cum into your cunt, your womb. After one final push he collapses onto you, his cock still inside you, his bulk crushing you into the bed. You don't move.

He strokes your cheek. Fondles your nipple. Kisses your neck. Then he kisses your mouth, his tongue pushing your lips open, his breath like damp earth. You barely see him.

It must be almost ten minutes before he finally gets up, his limp cock sliding out of you at last. You can feel his cum dripping from your cunt as he puts on his underwear, then pants, then shirt, then shoes. "The room is paid for the night," he says with his hand on the door handle. "Thank you for struggling. Taking someone's virtue is so much better when you actually get to take it.

You don't respond.

You don't know how long you lie there, motionless, dripping cum. Oddly, the man who just raped you isn't the one burned onto your mind's eye. Try as you might to return to that sweet teenage fantasy, all you can see is Jason Meier as he held his hand to your throat, and that cruel, predatory smile on his face.

[simstorian-blog]

Residential Floorplan Suggestions

New York City: TWO

(CC List + Links)

World Map: San Myshuno

Area: Spice Market – Waterside Warble

Lot Size:  30 x 30

Capacity:

A Dive Bar

An Internet Café

A Pizzeria

A Tattoo Parlor

Bonus: 6 residential rental units floorplans completed – not assigned

Gallery ID: Simstorian-ish

Packs Needed

Expansion Packs

Cats & Dogs

City Living

Discover University

For Rent

Get Together

Get To Work

Growing Together

High School Years

Horse Ranch

Snowy Escape

Game Packs

Dine Out

Dream Home Decorator

Jungle Adventure

Outdoor Retreat

Parenthood

Spa Day

Star Wars: Journey to Batuu

Strangerville

Vampires

Stuff Packs

Crystal Creations

Home chef Hustle

Laundry Day

Moschino

Kits

Castle Estate

Courtyard Oasis

Cozy Bistro

Desert Luxe

Recommended Gameplay Mods

(Please read through what each mod has to offer before deciding if it fits your gameplay style or not.)

Carl’s Dine Out Reloaded

City Vibes Lot Traits

Functional Tattoo Parlor

Functional Venue Lot Traits

Lock/Unlock Doors for Any Lot

Spawn Refresh

Use Residential Rentals shared areas as Community Lots & Create Multi-Purpose Community Lots

Build Mode

CharlyPancakes

Chalk Pt.2 (Tiles)

Felixandre

Chateau Pt. 1 (Stone Foundation)

Chateau Pt. 2 (Doors, Metal Pieces, Tiles, Walls)

Colonial Pt. 3 (Fence 2, Plaster Foundation 2, Railing 2)

Florence Pt. 1 (Fresco Mural)

Grove Pt. 4 (Plaster Column, Plaster Floor)

London Interior (Dining Chair, Stool, Walls)

Paris (Cartouche Large, Corbel, Swag)

Schwerin (Terracotta Female)

SOHO Pt. 2

SOHO Pt. 3

SOHO Pt. 4

Harrie

Brownstone Pt. 2 (Traditional Door Frame – Med, Traditional Door – Med, Traditional Window 2 - Med)

Coastal Pt. 2 (Column)

Klean Pt. 3 (Concrete Floor, Painted Walls)

Kwatei Pt. 1 (3x1 BiFold, Double Arch, Single Interior Door)

Mutske

Stairs Add-on

Lijoue

Louer Collection (Iron Fence, Railing, Stone Stairs)

Peacemaker

Bistro Expanded (Awning 1x1)

Graffiti Mural 01

Pierisim

Winter Garden Pt. 2 (Double Door High, High Window w Bottom x2)

Sooky88

Checkered Marble Floor

English Country Wall Set (Subway Tiles, Subway Tiles w Wallpaper)

Scandinavian Wall Set (Plain w Tiles)

Syboubou

Neighborly 1 (Ceiling Outdoor Light, Mailbox)

Neighborly 2 (Interphone)

Buy Mode

AroundTheSims4

Laundromat (Seating x3 – Metal Base)

Tattoo Parlor (First Aid Kits, Gloves, Ink, Ink Display, Light, Saddle Stool, Tattoo Gun)

Cepzid

Functional Tattoo Chair

Felixandre

Berlin Pt. 1 (Curtain – Tall)

SOHO Pt. 1

Harlix

Baysic (Coffee Table, container, End Table, Kitchen Cabinet, Kitchen Counter, Kitchen Island, Kitchen Sink, Kitchen Trolley, Kitchen Accent Counter 1-3, Sofa)

Jardane (Leather Pouffe)

Kichen (Cabinet, Cups, Glasses, Plant, Shelf)

Kichen 2.0 Pt. 2 (Glasses 2 & 4)

Harrie

Shop The Look 1 (Armchair, Coffee Table)

Shop The Look 2 (Ceramic Side Table)

Shop The Look 3 (Circular Cushion)

Spoons Pt. 2 (2 Tile Glass Pedastal- Short & Tall, Counters, Espresso Bar, Island, Pastry Platter, Pizza Board, Shelving)

Kiwisims4

Blockhouse Dining (Booth Seating)

KKB

The Chilling Home (Module Bar Stool)

LittlleDica

Greasy Foods (Napkins, Salt Shaker, Stalls Door, Stalls Wall, Vents, Wet Floor Sign)

Modern Kitchen Stuff (Soft Breeze)

Rise & Grind (Décor Mural 2, Décor Syrup Bottle, Décor Wall Painting Menu, Dining Tables – All, Wastebun Counter)

Max20

Happily Ever After (Sign of Attention)

NANDO

Fashion Store (Ceiling Lamp)

Pierisim

Coldbrew Coffee Shop Pt. 3 (Menu, Paper Cup, Tea Box, Tips Jar)

MCM Pt. 1 (Simstudio Display)

MCM Pt. 4 (Kitchen Island)

Ravasheen

Shake and Shimmy Dance Floor

Shop Chef (Drink Dispenser)

Severinka

Industrial Light II

Simkoos

Clutter Dump Pt. 2  (Boba Notepad, Boba Stacked Cups V1, Cafeteria Straw Dispenser)

SimspirationBuilds

Toffee Pt. 1 (Art)

Syboubou

Catherine Sushi Restaurant (Wall Shelf 1 & 3)

Contemporary Haven (Armchair, Artworks, End Table, Sofa 3P Left)

Macaron (Counter Display)

TaurusDesign

Lilith Chilling Area Pt. 1 (Bartender Kit, All Drinks, SulSul Sign)

Tuds

Cave (Panel Light 2 x 4)

IND 01

IND 03

Turn Couch

Wondymoon

Fraxinus AIO Computer (DL on Patreon)

DO NOT REUPLOAD MY LOTS.

DO NOT CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN.

DO NOT PLACE BEHIND A PAYWALL.

Tray Files: DOWNLOAD

[sleepyserenssims]

Cantina Collection

Straight from Oga's Cantina comes this cobbled together industrial set.

A bit later than planned but finally here. All items are very low poly as they are all frankenmeshed from the original bar back counters.

The textures are all composites and rearrangements of the originals, as a result they are not seamless - but we'll say it just adds to the look that they've just been made from whatever scrap metal was around!

Also as the cabinet doors all have the same rust pattern, it looks odd/repetitive on very big kitchens but works fine for small spaces.

There is only one swatch for all items except the seating, which comes in the same colours as the originals.

All items are base game compatible, except the resized bar backs which require Journey to Batuu.

See below for further details, pictures and download links.

Comfort (5 items):

Industrial Bar Stools x 2 - Low Back & No Back

Industrial Dining Chairs x 2 - Low Back & No Back (shown with original JtB high back chair)

Metal Dining Chair (shown with original JtB bar stool)

Surfaces (16 items):

Kitchen Counters & Islands

Bar Table

Dining Tables x 2

Coffee & End Tables

Console Tables x 3

Smaller Replicas of the original Cantina Barbacks x 5 - resized to match the height of regular counters NOTE: You'll need to use bb.moveobjects on to align these properly. JOURNEY TO BATUU PACK IS REQUIRED.

Industrial Shelf

Decor (2 items):

Metal Splashbacks x 2

Activities & Skills (3 items):

Oga's Bars x 2

Sabacc Game Table NOTE: BGC but JOURNEY TO BATUU is required in order to change the game type to Sabacc. Without this it will function as any other base game card table.

Download All (Downloads ZIP file from Google Drive)

Pick and Choose (Opens Google Drive folder)

If there's any problems with any of these items or you have any constructive feedback, suggestions or questions, please just get in touch, I'm still learning every day!

My TOU

Credits

All textures and meshes are edited or frankenmeshed from in-game EA assets.

@myshunosun - for their gorgeous sona dining chair which I cloned in order to have an object with the necessary transparency for the chair and bar stool - can be downloaded here.

Lizbot3000 - for their base game bar tables, which I cloned for my bar table and can be found here.

@ravasheencc - for her Crop It Like It's Hot Backdrops which I used to take some preview photos and can be downloaded here.

CC created using Blender, Sims 4 Studio & GIMP. Preview images using Canva Pro.

Everyone on the S4S forums and the Creator Musings discord group for all the tutorials and advice/help.

[kkanabel]

caffeine addiction ❃ affogato ❃ chapter 12

directory/m.list

⇦ previous chapter - next chapter ⇨

words: ~2.5k

The morning air was crisp and dewy, a subtle reminder that fall was just around the corner. You inhaled deeply, savoring the fleeting coolness before the sun’s sweltering afternoon heat would take over. The city still had a quiet hum to it, the kind that made you appreciate the earlier hours.

Bakugou had insisted that working at the café or shop today wasn’t safe given how the reporters and crowds were lurking. And while you weren’t thrilled about the attention, you weren’t complaining about the alternative. Today was going to be all about the two of you working on your fashion line, tucked away in his studio.

You found yourself at the door to Bakugou’s place after a short elevator ride, your hands slightly shaking from anticipation. The knock you gave was quick and confident, but when the door opened, your confidence wavered for a second. Bakugou stood there, freshly showered, his damp hair spiking in all directions– breath a tad heavier than usual. His black tank clung to him a little too well, the moisture accentuating the muscles underneath, and a pair of Kindeki sweatpants hung low on his hips, looking both casual and sinfully deliberate. Your eyes trailed down before you caught yourself, trying to play it off as casual.

He raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering across his eyes, but he didn’t mention your very obvious once-over. Instead, he greeted you in that signature gruff voice, “Mornin’.”

Stepping into his apartment, you were hit with the warm, inviting scent of caramelized sugar, coffee beans, and vanilla—like a comforting hug in the form of a smell. It was his usual scent, one that had grown increasingly familiar with all the time you spent together, but here, in his space, it felt more intimate.

You set down your sewing machine and bag, filled with your sketches and reference photos, next to the desk. The place was well-kept, unsurprisingly so. His studio was functional but had that lived-in feel—designs scattered across a large wooden desk, fabric swatches pinned to the wall, and sketches strewn about in what could only be described as organized chaos. 

The living room was an eclectic mix of industrial sharpness and cozy charm. Exposed brick walls ran along one side of the space, their rough texture highlighted by the shine of the early morning sun. Metal beams crisscrossed the ceiling, left raw and unpolished, giving the room an open, loft-like feel. However, the coolness of the steel and concrete was tempered by the plush, oversized furniture that invited you to sink into it.

A dark leather couch, worn and soft, sat against the wall, layered with knitted blankets and textured cushions in deep hues of charcoal, navy, and rust. The coffee table was made of reclaimed wood, its surface uneven and rich with character, resting on a patterned rug that added warmth to the tiled floor beneath. Potted plants dotted the room, their greenery adding a touch of life to the stark industrial palette, while soft throws draped over the armchairs brought a homely feel.

Steel-framed windows let in natural light, the large panes contrasting with the warmth of the space. Shelving units made of iron and wood lined the far wall, filled with books, framed photos, and magazine spreads of him and his family. It was the kind of space that felt lived-in yet refined, where you could sip coffee in the morning or work late into the night, all while feeling grounded by the balance between industrial edge and a cozy touch.

“Place looks good,” you remarked, trying to distract yourself from the way his presence filled the room.

“Tch, you talk like it’s some kind of miracle,” he scoffed, crossing the room to grab a binder filled with your joint designs. “I’m not a slob.”

You grinned, taking out your sketchpad and setting up your sewing machine and embroidery station. “Yeah, but you’ve got the reputation of a guy who only cleans when company’s coming over– with the way Mina always talks about you.” 

You both knew that Bakugou was a neat guy– his café is set up with precision for optimized efficiency and he cleans like a madman at any free moment.

He shot you a look, the kind that usually ended in a witty comeback, but instead, he just shrugged, lips quirking up slightly. “Maybe you’re just good company.”

You paused, caught off guard by the subtle warmth behind his words, but before you could respond, he handed you a sketch he’d been working on—a sleek, defined blazer with sharp lines and lapels inspired by Gothic architecture. “You’re overthinking the shoulders,” he commented, gesturing to your design of the same blazer. “See how this one balances out better?”

Your eyes flicked from his sketch to yours. His was undeniably cleaner, the proportions perfect. You tried to ignore the slight pang of frustration at how effortlessly he could refine what you’d been obsessing over for hours.

“Of course, it’s perfect,” you muttered, a hint of exasperation slipping into your tone. You weren't really mad, just envious of his natural skill. “You could probably design in your sleep.”

“Who says I don’t?” he teased, his smirk deepening as he nudged your arm with his elbow. “Maybe you’ll catch up one day.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the playful jab. “It’s infuriating how easily you get this stuff, you know?” It’s not like you couldn’t do it– the only issue is that Bakugou would be able to solve something you’d toil over. 

“Just means you’ve gotta work harder.” His voice dropped an octave, almost teasingly low, as he leaned closer. “But I like watching you try. It’s cute.”

There it was again, that casual flirtation that Bakugou slipped in so easily. The comment made your stomach flip, but you brushed it off with a scoff, pretending to focus on the embroidery sample you’d been working on. Your mind was reeling– It’s just his personality. Just his personality. Don’t take it personally. 

“You’re hilarious,” you said dryly, although the way your heart felt at the word cute wasn’t something you could ignore. You swallowed it down. “Now focus. We’ve got a lot to do.” 

“Bossy today, huh?” Bakugou muttered under his breath, but he was already moving to his desk, setting up his tablet to start working. The morning passed in a comfortable rhythm, the both of you occasionally bantering, occasionally lapsing into silence as you got lost in the design process.

You were designing another embroidery pattern inspired by the intricate framing of Gothic windows as you settled into Bakugou’s leather couch, the soft creak of the worn leather beneath you blending into the quiet hum of the room. The plush cushions sank slightly under your weight, molding to the shape of your body as you tucked your legs beneath you. Your brown flared leggings draped loosely around your legs, the fabric soft and easy against your skin. The way the material moved with you felt effortless, almost like a second skin—stretchy and smooth.

The white cardigan you wore was thin and light, slipping off one shoulder as you adjusted your position, revealing a glimpse of the delicate lace halter bralette underneath. The bralette’s intricate pattern contrasted softly against your skin, its gentle pressure keeping you comfortable, yet still adding a feminine touch. The lace peeked out in places as you leaned back, its texture subtle but eye-catching in its simplicity.

The warmth of the leather couch beneath you mingled with the cozy softness of your outfit, creating a sense of comfort and ease. Everything felt just right—your outfit, the couch, the quiet buzz of the day just beginning. It was a rare moment of calm before the work began, and you couldn’t help but sink deeper into the cushions with a relaxed sigh.

While Bakugou worked on refining the cuts of the other designs. You’d toss him a design and he’d give you a snarky critique, sometimes even fixing it right in front of you, much to your annoyance.

After a while of working on your embroidery, you leaned back on the couch with a sigh. Your fingers ached from the delicate, repetitive movements, and the sweet pull of sleep tugged at your heavy eyelids. Each blink felt longer than the last, your body begging for rest as you absentmindedly traced the soft texture of the fabric. Slowly, you began to doze off.

Bakugou stood up from his spot at the table, stretching with a hand on his hip. “Coffee?” he asked gruffly, though the slight quirk of his brow told you he already knew your answer. Without waiting for a reply, he was already making his way toward the kitchen.

You watched through half-lidded eyes as he opened the freezer, retrieving a small container before scooping its contents into a wide-rimmed glass mug. Curious, you sat up a little straighter, the enticing scent of freshly brewed espresso filling the air. Your mouth watered as he placed the mug beneath the coffee machine and the dark, rich liquid began to pour over the creamy white scoop nestled inside.

Bakugou brought the creation over, setting it down in front of you with a spoon. An affogato. Your eyes lit up with excitement at the sight. The velvety scoop of clearly homemade vanilla bean ice cream was already melting slightly around the edges, creating swirling patterns as it merged with the hot espresso. The contrast between the dark, rich coffee and the pale ice cream was mouthwatering.

You dipped your spoon in and took your first bite, the sensation immediately overwhelming your senses. The espresso was bold and slightly bitter, its warmth cutting through the cold sweetness of the ice cream, which had begun to soften into a creamy, marshmallow-like texture. The vanilla bean was fragrant and delicate, adding a floral note that lingered pleasantly on your tongue. The combination was pure bliss—the icy smoothness of the ice cream paired perfectly with the deep, roasted flavor of the coffee. Each bite was a harmony of hot and cold, sweet and bitter, airy and rich.

You let out an involuntary moan as you melted into the couch, savoring every spoonful. “Oh my God,” you breathed, barely managing to speak through your delight. The affogato was divine, like a dessert straight from heaven.

Bakugou leaned against the counter, watching you with a satisfied smirk. “Good?” he asked, though from the way you were nearly collapsing into the cushions, he didn’t need an answer. 

Suddenly, inspiration hit you like a lightning bolt. With the last spoonful of affogato melting on your tongue, a lightbulb practically flickered on in your mind. You slapped your hand over your mouth, eyes wide with disbelief at how obvious it all seemed now. “We’re both idiots!” you exclaimed, your voice muffled behind your hand.

Bakugou looked up from his own work, brow furrowing. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?” He dropped what he was doing and made his way over to you, plopping down next to you on the leather couch as you frantically pulled your laptop out of your bag.

Your fingers flew across the keys as you pulled up images of the Gothic architecture you’d been referencing for weeks—the ornate rib vaults, pointed arches, and intricate stained glass windows. “Gold and silver embroidery,” you said breathlessly, the excitement evident in your voice. You angled the screen toward Bakugou, showing him sketches of gowns and suits adorned with metallic threads. “Think about it—Gothic cathedrals were all about grandeur and detail. The way light hits stained glass, the way everything’s so meticulously crafted. Gold and silver embroidery would reflect that same kind of decadence and precision. It’s so thematic!” 

You zoomed in on an image of a Gothic altar, the golden details catching the light in a way that felt almost divine. “It’s not just about looking elegant—it’s also about mimicking the craftsmanship– goldwork was big back in the day. The way the light catches the metal threads in the same way light pours through the stained glass windows. It’s perfect for our line. Decadent, but refined.” 

Bakugou leaned in closer, red eyes narrowing as he studied the screen. For a second, he didn’t say anything, just absorbed the images and ideas you were presenting. But then, a slow, approving smirk spread across his face. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, leaning back and crossing his arms. “That’s actually genius.”

His approval only fueled your enthusiasm as you continued, gesturing with your hands as you spoke. “We could integrate the gold and silver threads into specific areas—lapels, cuffs, around the shoulders. Think about those sharp, dramatic silhouettes we’ve been working on, accented with embroidery that looks like it's straight from a cathedral. It’ll give that structured look a rich, almost regal feel, without being too over the top.” You instantly start typing up a few suppliers you know to place sample orders.

Bakugou’s eyes flickered with interest as he imagined it. “Yeah, like addin’ the metallics to the seams of those sharp-shouldered blazers or down the length of a pencil skirt. Keep it sleek, but add that intricate detail to pull everything together.”

You nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! We can use silver threads for cooler tones—like the deep plums and midnight blues—and gold for warmer ones—like reds and blacks. It’ll bring out the richness of the fabrics while still being subtle enough to keep it business formal.”

Bakugou’s smirk widened as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he met your eyes. “You really thought this through, huh? Can’t believe we didn’t think of this sooner.”

You grinned, feeling the rush of creativity and caffeine flood your system. “I guess we just needed an affogato-induced epiphany.”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Looks like I’m gonna need to make more of those if this is the kinda shit you come up with after.”

With renewed energy, you both dove back into your work, sketching and reworking your designs to incorporate the metallic threads. The idea of stitching precious metals into the seams of your garments felt like the missing piece. It was bold, dramatic—just like the Gothic architecture that had inspired your entire collection—and yet it still fit within the world of cloth. 

“Gold embroidery on the dress shirt collars,” Bakugou suggested, pointing at one of his sketches. “Keep it simple, but let it catch the light when people move.”

You nodded, already envisioning how the threads would shimmer subtly, adding just the right amount of elegance. “And silver along the hems of the trousers. It’ll look like the light’s dancing along the fabric.”

Bakugou leaned back again, the satisfaction clear in his expression. “This is gonna be big. No one else is doin’ shit like this nowadays.”

You smiled, feeling the excitement bubble in your chest. “We’re about to turn this industry on its damn head.”

a/n: taglist is open~ please consider reposting/liking if you enjoyed my writing! stay hydrated, folks!

directory/m.list

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taglist: @itztaki

[aclowntiny]

Business Booster- Wooyoung x Shy!Female!Barista Reader

Word Count: 2,379 | Coffee Shop, Fluff | Warnings: none~

This is my second café-centered story! It makes a slight reference to the one I did for Yeosang, but they aren't really connected/in order, I just thought it would be fun hehe just like making a small reference to one of my favorite webtoons!

“Hey, Jongho,” Wooyoung addressed his roommate, attempting to convince the maknae of his eight-man group to get out of the house with him, “have you tried Shot in the Dark yet?”

“That’s the new place, right? Not yet. Why?”

Shot in the Dark was a new café only a block off KQ. A convenient enough place to supply someone as enthusiastic about caffeine as Wooyoung, sure, but he could take or leave the coffee over the, shall he say, ambience.

The longer-haired man sat up on his bed, a hint of a smirk rising to his lips out of his casual smile. “Well, they’ve got a business booster,” he replied, using a piece of lingo he’d coined a year or so back.

Jongho knew the game. In his mind, he wasn’t quite as superficial as his next-to-youngest friend- at least not in the sense of wanting to drop everything because supposedly a cute girl worked at the shop.

Wooyoung, however, was not deterred by this, leaning forward & crossing his legs with a faint creak of bed springs. “And the best part? She’s shy.”

~

The young performer was feeling some espresso when he pushed open the heavy-looking dark metal accented door.

The bell rang right as he looked up, his eyes landing on you. One of the cutest girls he’d ever seen just casually standing there behind a coffee counter when Wooyoung thought her face should be all over the place.

But then again, if your face was all over, he’d likely not have a shot with you. Gift horses and all.

“H- hello,” you stuttered, glancing down even as you waved with a wide but sheepish smile.

Cute. “Well hello there! I’m surprised you guys aren’t busier,” Wooyoung commented with a wink.

“What do you mean?” Oh my gosh, you didn’t even get it! Could you be more adorable? More fun?

Either way, he’d put on some charm without flustering you too much more- didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, after all. He almost frowned at the mere thought.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve just been wanting to try this place ever since it opened up, and I’m glad I’m here!”

“Oh, well good!” You brightened, parted lips of confusion turning back into that shy smile. “Was there something in particular you wanted to try?"

"An Americano, please. I heard you guys do really well with strong drinks. Hence the name, right?"

"Right," you agreed quietly, gaze drifting down to the cup you held in your hand, pen at the ready, "and what was your name?"

"Wooyoung." He leaned a bit closer to you on the counter, smiling to himself at the way you looked a bit flustered. "You'll remember that, right?"

"Oh, er, yes. Of course!"

He smiled brightly, glancing quickly at your name tag. "I'll remember yours, too, (y/n)!"

He paid, sat down at one of the industrial-style tables to scroll through bubble for a bit, and before he knew it you were standing before him, glancing at the floor and politely announcing that his coffee was ready.

"This isn't what I ordered."

Your face fell as you bowed in apology. "It's not? I'm so sorry, let me get you another right awa-"

"I'm kidding. It looks perfect."

"I hope you love it."

"I know I will."

Wooyoung learned then and there your giggle was as adorable as your other mannerisms.

And with that, you parted ways, your latest customer vowing to become a regular and wondering how many people had done the same when a beauty like you greeted them. He shook his head, taking a sip of the- wow, truly perfect- espresso drink you'd given him. Either way, management knew what they were doing putting you out there.

~

"She's shy?" Jongho asked, amusement crossing his face. "And you took that personally, huh?"

"It's so cute watching her get flustered. But she's really so kind and polite, too, and-"

Ateez's maknae arched a brow. "You do everything you do on stage and yet you want me for moral support?"

"No," Wooyoung shrugged, "just an excuse."

"If you don't want the guys to be suspicious, they won't be. We know you'll never give up on coffee. I'll go with you, though. This'll be funny to watch. Or if not I can save her."

"Hey!"

~

"We meet again," Wooyoung commented the moment he and Jongho enter Shot in the Dark, eyes falling upon you. He glanced at his dongsaeng, not-so-subtly asking Jongho if he was right about you or if he was right. Jongho just chuckled, Wooyoung and him never having the same type, which was part of why the next-youngest member wanted him to be the one to accompany him. If he brought, say, San, he might have trouble, and quite simply put he wanted you all to himself.

"Hi," you replied shyly, nodding the guys' way as you carried a pair of steaming mugs over to the young couple seated in the corner.

"You remembered my name, right?" Running a hand through his wavy black hair, Wooyoung leaned on the counter again.

He caught the way you froze, eyes briefly, worriedly glazing over. Your eyebrows furrowed a bit, lips parting before you spoke. Finally, very quietly, you inquired "Yu- Yuyeon?"

"You don't remember? How could you, (y/n)? I came back here just to see you!" Placing a hand over his heart, Wooyoung gave you a hard time, though it did actually make his chest drop a little. Maybe he didn't have as much of a shot as he thought. Maybe you liked quiet guys. If Yeosang hadn't found his barista already, maybe you'd have preferred him.

"I'm sorry!" You hid your face in your hands, head dropping a bit in apology. "I think I just got it mixed up with a character from the webtoon I've been enjoying!"

"Oh, do I look like a webtoon character?"

You started to peek out from your hands. "Well, not him, but you two do look like you could be in one," you answered with a smile.

"And, hey, don't feel bad, (y/n)," Wooyoung comforted you, teasing tone fading into a softer one, "you were close. It sort of rhymes. That just means I need to come in more, huh?"

"Yes, of course!" You brightened. "Um...oh! Wooyoung!"

"You got it!"

"Yay!" You clapped your hands, smiling fully now, completely uncovered. The way your hair moved with your little bounce, the way your lips parted widely, all of it made Wooyoung want to grab you, dip you down, and kiss you. But hey, he could start with ordering a coffee.

"Can I try a café latte today?"

"Of course. Can- can I ask you a question?"

"Absolutely," Wooyoung encouraged.

"Do any of the pastries we have look good to you?" You asked, motioning to the simple glass case containing coffee shop classics like croissants, buns, and danishes, but a few unique-looking desserts neither Wooyoung nor Jongho recognized by sight.

"Sure they do! Those things with the pink and yellow frosting are really pretty!" He had flashbacks to Yeosang's café adventures. "Do you make them?"

"No," you shook your head, a proud smile falling across your face, "my coworker Jiwoo makes a lot of the traditional pastries, and some of the other international treats like the pan dulce you mentioned are made by Veronica, our baker who is originally from Mexico."

"I like the yellow ones," Jongho said.

"I like the pink," Wooyoung said.

Jongho ordered, deciding to see what the new trend of protein coffee was, and you took his order, repeating his name as if not to make the same mistake that you had with Wooyoung. They paid, and as you took their cups back you glanced away from them, pulling out a bag and grabbing a pink concha and two napkins to slide into it. You handed it out to the guys, and of course Wooyoung accepted it.

"Here," you told him, unable to meet his eyes, "for- for forgetting your name. It's on the house. Please enjoy it."

They both thanked you, making their way to a center table. Wooyoung swatted Jongho out of the seat that faced you, taking it so he could watch you work, chin resting in his hand as he unabashedly stared. You looked over at one point and he winked, sending you practically flying across the kitchen to the other side out of his view. He chuckled deeply.

"We're never going to see you at the dorms anymore, are we?" Jongho asked, shaking his head with an exasperated smile.

"Definitely not now," Wooyoung joked back, opening the white paper bag you'd given them to reveal the concha, which he pointed down at, grinning and loudly whispering "pink" with a proud smirk.

~

"I'm back!" spreading his arms wide, Wooyoung walked into Shot in the Dark with a grin, not caring at the weird look your coworker- Veronica, it looked like, judging by the tray of conchas she was holding- gave him.

"Wooyoung!" You blurted out the moment you saw him, causing him to giggle. "Oh, I'm sorry, I just remembered this time and-"

"It's alright. I like hearing you say my name," the performer told you, voice lowering a bit and cheshire cat grin widening at the way you very suddenly had to turn around to borrow something from your coworker, who gave you a head pat through her gloves.

"The pastry thingie was really good, by the way," he told Veronica, who smiled and asked if he was back for more.

"I mean, I wouldn't say no, but I'm not exactly here for the food, you know?" A wink.

Giggling, you just asked if he wanted more espresso as Veronica started prepping her icing, shaking her head as she was clearly far more onto it than you were. That or you just wanted him to make all the moves himself. Well, fine by Wooyoung.

"You know me so well, (y/n)."

~

This particular Shot in the Dark visit, he'd elected to run to the restroom in the back quickly while you made his drink. He missed being able to shamelessly stare at you while you brewed his coffee, but, well, nature calls. He finished up, sparing a bit of extra time to pat down his hair and pop another button of his shirt in the mirror, then strode back out.

As soon as he rounded the corner, he collided into something, or rather someone. Eyes widening, he saw you stumble, mug sloshing onto your shirt. Your light grey shirt. Which now bore a large, unfortunate brown stain. But who cared about a random grey shirt?

"Oh my gosh, are you ok? Was that really hot?" Wooyoung saw a towel hanging from your apron, carefully extricating it without messing up your outfit or seeming untoward, and handed it to you, extending a hand to the one that wasn't dabbing yourself off.

"Warm, but luckily we don't make our drinks scalding."

"I am so sorry! I wasn't watching where I was going and now I've ruined your shirt!"

"It's alright, this is just a plain one I bought at a cheap store for work. N-nothing sentimental, you know?"

"But still I feel bad," he said, looking into your eyes, which darted into his and back down to your messy clothing, his gaze never wavering, "all this mess just because I was too excited to see you again."

"Y-you're sweet," you commented as he pulled you up, gaze averted from your joined hands.

"Well, if you think so, I'd better keep it up then, huh?" Wooyoung replied, untucking his shirt and beginning to unbutton it all the way.

You immediately started, eyes widening as you swiveled around, turning your back to him and missing the fond smile that fell across his face. He took his shirt all the way off, buttoning the leather jacket he was wearing all the way up to the chest.

"Here, look, you can turn around again."

He knew you didn't think he saw, but your glance as you turned around was not directed at his eyes, despite the swivel. He grinned, extending the hand that now held his button-up out to you.

"I can't take your shirt," you all but whispered, flushing as he draped it around your shoulders.

"Sure you can. You can't walk around with a big wet stain showing all day, not that you don't still look beautiful."

Your eyes widened again, but you smiled as you slipped off your apron, tucking in and buttoning his shirt over your ruined one. "Thank you," you said simply, softly, sincerely, "I'll get this back to you, when...well, when..."

"When we have dinner tomorrow night?" Wooyoung asked hopefully, shooting you a playful side eye.

Those lovely lips of yours fell into an 'o'. "R-really?"

Wooyoung's eyes slid across your face, flicked down to his shirt on your body, one of the best things his eyes had ever seen, frankly. "You really still think people come here for the coffee, don't you?" He teased.

"It's a café," you shot back with a sheepish smile, daring to meet his eyes fully.

What can he say? He loved it. "A café with the most jaw-droppingly gorgeous barista who makes you forget all about how expensive their coffee is, because wow, she could sell me a cup of hot water for twice that price-"

"Stop!" You playfully swatted him, the sleeve of his shirt falling just a tad bit long on you, its soft fabric lightly caressing his jacket as your soft blow fell.

Wooyoung, of course, pretended to fall like you'd decked him. "I never lie, (y/n)."

"Well," you weren't sure what to say, "I will see you tomorrow."

"Great," he lit up, starting to make his way back out into Shot in the Dark before pausing, "well, actually, I did lie about one thing."

You frowned. "What?"

"I'd actually love it if you kept the shirt," he replied with a devilish wink before spinning on his heels, heading back out into the café with one final glance back to your blushing form fiddling with the hem of your newly-gifted button-up.

Jongho was right- who needed to spend all that time cooped up in the Ateez dorms?

[justmeinadaze]

I'm in Control Part 2 (Steddie X Reader)

A/N: Today may be my birthday but I bare YOU a gift <3

Warnings: Steddie relationship and all that that implies (I regret nothing!) Eddie asserts more dominance here 🤤.

Word Count: 2823

“Y/N, congratulations! Luke called and told me he got those boys a part on that fancy show!” TJ beamed as he walked into your office and threw himself down in a chair. 

“See? Told you I could do it.”, you smile over at him. 

“I didn’t doubt you for a second.” He chuckles when you make a face at him. “Of course, with every big deal, I’m throwing a party at my house tonight.”

“Of course, but believe it or not, I have a date tonight.”

“Well bring him!”

“TJ…”, you wince at the thought.

“Oh come on. What man doesn’t want to go to a party full of beautiful people? Present company included.”

You giggle at him as you concede. “Fine, I’ll ask him!”

“Good. Now, please, on your way home can you give these to the boys and make sure they are coming. I have some people I want them to meet.”

##############

Steve answers the door in nothing but his sweats after hearing you knock. “Hey beautiful.”

“Mr. Harrington.” You hand him an envelope with their paycheck as you push past him and enter their home. You find Eddie sitting at their kitchen table in boxers and a heavy metal shirt munching on breakfast cereal. “Mr. Munson.”

Smiling, he takes the envelope from your hands. “Sweet. Thank you, Princess.”

“My pleasure. Now TJ is throwing a party for you two since you got cast in that new show and he insists that you attend.”

 “Sounds like fun. Are you going?”, Steve leans against his kitchen counter, taking a sip of coffee from his mug. 

“Why are you both acting like it’s the morning drinking coffee and eating cereal? You know it’s 4pm, yes?”

Eddie grins as he glances at Steve. “She’s avoiding the question.”

“Yeah, I noticed that to.” He rises from the counter to take a seat next to his roommate. 

“I’m not avoiding the question! I’m just simply asking another one before I answer.”

“She’s still not answering.”

“That means either she’s not going or she IS but…bringing someone with her?” Eddie’s eyebrows raise as he poses the question before chuckling when you blush. 

“Yes. Jesus, yes. I am going and yes, I am bringing a date. You both can be annoying sometimes.”

“A new date or someone you’ve been seeing for a long time?”, Steve asks.

“Does it matter?” Your eyes squint in his direction as his head ticks to the side. You hate when he does that. Besides it being ridiculously attractive, it means he’s figured out something new to crack that wall you keep putting between them. “It’s a new guy. It’s hard for me to meet men out here.”

“Well, I find that hard to believe.” Eddie gets up from the table and tosses his bowl in the sink. “I mean, you’re gorgeous, smart, kind, and sassy as fuck. What men wouldn’t want that?”

“Man.”, you correct.

He flashes you a sly grin. “Man. My mistake.”

“To answer your question,” you quickly clear your throat as you try to get them (and yourself) on task. “Being a woman in the porn industry is kind of a double edge sword. Either men get intimated or they think I’m easy.”

“We feel that. I mean, of course, I’m sure it’s harder for women but,” Steve gives you a kind smile that warms your insides. “I would think though not being on camera gives you bonus points.”

“Nope.”, you shrug. “But I’m hopeful for this one. He seems really nice. Speaking of, I have to go get ready but I’ll see you two tonight, ok?”

################

TJ leans in to shake your date’s hand. “Hey there! We’re glad you could join us. Y/N’s a fine young lady. You have a good one here! Please feel free to help yourself to any food and beverages and just have fun!”

You take your dates hand as soon as your boss leaves. “I’m sorry, Malcolm! He can be a bit…energetic!”

“Oh, it’s not a problem!”, he shouts over the music. “He seems like a cool dude!”

You lead him into the kitchen, grabbing a couple of beers while you talk. After about an hour, you hear the music suddenly stop and your name being called into a microphone. 

“There she is! Everyone, this is Y/N. When she first moved down here, she was just an assistant running around helping me with things. Now here she is managing her own clients and I couldn’t be prouder.”

You blush as everyone in the room claps for you. “I love you, babe. Now since they were fashionably late, I can also congratulate our new talent, Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington for getting their first big part in Luke’s production which starts filming next week!” 

While everyone clapped, you felt frozen in place as you looked them over. This was the first time you were seeing them in anything that wasn’t their lazy, thrown together wardrobe. Steve was wearing black slacks with a white button up shirt underneath. His black jacket hung on his shoulders casually but perfectly. Eddie was dressed more or less the same except with a red button up with the top few buttons undone to show off his guitar pick necklace. 

God damn, they looked delicious. 

You were startled when a hand touched your back. “Whoa! Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

“No, Malcolm it’s ok. I’m just jumpy.”

“So those are the guys you’re managing?”

“Yup, that’s, uh, that’s them.”

TJ wasted no time intercepting them after his speech, guiding the boys around the house to meet other big-name people that could help get them connections. 

“Let go outside and talk.” Your date smiles at your suggestion as you lead him to the area by the pool.

#################

Your boss had managed to keep Eddie and Steve preoccupied for most of the night while you talked to your date. Malcolm was a good guy and to your surprise very open minded about the setting around him. You didn’t even realize how much time had passed until you looked at your watch. 

“Oh wow. It’s almost midnight.”

“Yes ma’am it is. You’re not going to turn into a pumpkin, are you?”

“Wooooow. That is the cheesiest thing I have ever heard.”, you giggle at him as he grins. 

“Ok, you can’t say that and then laugh!”

“Um, yes I can!”

Your laugh is cut off by his lips as he reaches forward to pull you to him. “I’m sorry”, he whispers. “Was that…?” You shake your head as you bring his mouth back to your own. 

The sound of a throat clearing immediately tugs you two apart. “Sorry, Y/N. I didn’t realize the date was going so well.”, TJ grins at you as you and Malcolm get to your feet. 

“Very well, it seems.”, Steve smiles as well but there’s something about it that you can’t put your finger on. 

“Hi. I’m Malcolm.” He extends his hand to the boys who shake it. “Y/N has told me all about you and your new part. That’s amazing.”

“Yeah, she’s definitely good at what she does.” Eddie’s smile is much more slanted than Steves as if he isn’t even trying to hide the fact that he’s upset. This time your head is the one to tilt. 

“You okay there, Mr. Munson?”

He narrows his eyes at you before glancing at Steve. “I…am just fine, Princess. Honestly, I am ready to relax and party. TJ, where are the other beautiful women at?”

Your boss chuckles as he slaps the man’s back. “I love this kid. Come on, boys. Let’s leave Y/N to her date. She’s earned some fun.”

I’m in control.

“Hey Eddie! Steven! You boys look good tonight by the way. Nice to see you out of your dad vibe clothes.”

They both stop, slowly turning to meet your cocky smile. 

“So do you, Y/N.” Steve sticks his hands in his pockets as he continues to follow TJ. Eddie chuckles, shaking his head before giving you a wink. 

###############

By the early AM hours, you felt the alcohol doing its job as you leaned your head on Malcolm’s shoulder. He gently kisses your forehead making you smile. 

“I’m going to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” He nods as he watches you disappear around the corridor. Just as you’re about to turn into the restroom, the sound of moaning grabs your attention. 

The moaning gets louder the closer you get to a door at the end of the hall that’s slightly ajar. Your breath catches in your throat when you see Steve on the edge of the guest bed with a girl between his legs. His pants were shoved down to his ankles as her manicured nails gripped his thighs as her head bobbed up and down on his cock.

This is wrong. I’m in control. I need to leave.

As you turn to leave, you bump into Eddie’s broad chest. He quickly raises his finger to his mouth in a shushing motion as he grabs your arm and turns you back towards the door. His fingers delicately move through your hair, pushing it to one side. 

“He always looks so good like that, doesn’t he?” He whispers softly into your ear as presses his chest to your back. “That should be you in there taking his cock in your pretty mouth.”

“Why is that Mr. Munson?”

“Because you so desperately want it to be you…it’s kind of pathetic.” Your breathing stutters at his words as you feel your pussy start to drip. “And I prefer Sir.” Both of his hands reach down to unbutton your jeans. “As opposed to Mr. Munson.”

As one of his hands slide into the waistband of your panties, his other grips your chin forcing you to watch the show in front of you. 

“That’s it, baby. God that feels so good.” Steve’s hand drops down to hold the back of her head. 

“He hates it.” Your eyes turn to meet his. “Oh yeah. He’s not one to praise unless someone has earned it. They’ve barely even started.” Eddie glides one of ringed fingers through your folds. 

His hand quickly flies over your mouth as you whimper when he pushes into your entrance. 

“What was that?” The girl on her knees starts to turn her head but Steve swiftly reaches out to grab her chin. 

“Probably noise from the party. Keep going, honey. Please. I’m almost there.”

She grins up at him as her mouth wraps around his cock again. His eyes meet yours through the crack in the door as Eddie pumps his finger deeper into you. 

“Did you really think he was going to let you get away with your sass by the pool?” Your head fell back against his shoulder as he inserted a second finger into your throbbing cunt. “You’re lucky I’m nicer than he is. No, no.” He lifts your head, making you look at Steve. “You have to help him, Princess. He won’t cum unless you do.”

Your eyes lock with the mans in front of you as Eddie curls his finger inside of you. His breath is warm against your ear as he presses his face to your own. 

“Are you still in control?”

His hand pushes tightly to your mouth as your body caves into his. He holds you up as best as he can as you cum hard around his fingers. You look up just in time to see Steve groan as he cums into the girl’s mouth. 

Eddie gently pulls his hand from between your legs and zips up your pants before buttoning them back up. 

“Go pull yourself together. You’re about to go back into a room full of people who have sex for a living.” He kisses your cheek tenderly before playfully pushing you towards the bathroom. 

You quickly fix your hair and adjust your make up as much as possible. You smile at your own reflection as you exhale. Jesus. You give yourself a final once over before heading back towards the living room. The girl that had been with Steve was sitting on the opposite couch talking to another girl you recognized from other sets. 

“Hey you.” Malcolm extends out his arm and you smile as you fall into his embrace. “You were gone awhile. Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I swear I can handle my alcohol.” He chuckles as he kisses your forehead. 

The boys come out from the hallway at the same time. Steve flopping down next to the girl he was with, Eddie down on the floor next to her friend. 

You watched with envious eyes as they touched their faces and kissed their lips. The girl next to Steve flirtatiously touched his chest as the other girl ran her fingers through Eddie’s hair. 

“That should be you in there…”

Suddenly a thought hit you. Eddie knew that Steve wasn’t enjoying his blow job but neither of them knew when you weren’t enjoying something. They had to have been jealous to pull a stunt like the one they just did. 

Fuck them. They think they can make me jealous to. I’M in control. 

You craned your neck to look at Malcolm with big dough eyes. “Hey.”

“Hm?” As soon as he turns your lips were on his and he was more than willing to deepen it. 

You didn’t even need to glance in their direction to know the boys were watching you. You could feel their stares penetrate through your body. 

You and your date were startled when Luke threw his body onto the couch next you both.

“Luke.”, you couldn’t help but smile as he turned to deliver you a drunken grin. “You good, buddy?”

“I am and so are you it seems.”

You roll your eyes. “I date. People act like I’m a prude or something.” 

“You’re definitely not a prude.”, Eddie calls from the other side of the living room. When your eyes find his, he places the two fingers that made you cum into his mouth. He pulls them back out with an obnoxious pop. “Right, Princess?”

You narrow your eyes at him before playfully smiling. “Correct, sir.”

Eddie’s eyes look up to meet Steve’s but his are too busy looking at you. “Oh, Eds. So polite this one.” He turns to Malcolm. “She’s always calling us by our last name. Mr. Munson. Mr. Harrington. We told her she didn’t have to.”

“It’s because they’re my clients.”

“Didn’t you call their first names by the pool?”, Malcolm asks as he gestures that way.

“I have been drinking.”, you nervously giggle hoping to play it off.

I’m in control.

“Yup, that’s probably why she said ‘Steven’. Ugh!”, Steve overdramatically shudders. “I hate that name.”

“What name do you prefer?” You close your eyes and bite your bottom lip trying to contain your smile at Malcolm’s question. 

When you open them again Steve and Eddie have wide grins of their own. 

“What do I prefer, Y/N?”

He’s challenging you to play their game and you know it. You started it by calling him Steven earlier and just now by casually saying “Sir” to Eddie in front of a group of people. But did you have the guts to say what Steve liked? Sir you could explain away but…

I’m in control. Not them.

You cross your legs, leaning forward in his direction. “Hm. What DO you prefer, Daddy?”

Your date stuttered out a sigh behind you. “God damn…”

Everyone else in the room that had heard either giggled or made an “OOOOOO” noise towards Steve. Some of the girl’s eyes swiveled in his direction as they licked their lips but his eyes remained glued to yours with a small smile painted on his lips. 

“Hey, um, do you want to get out of here?”, Malcolm asked as he tried to sneakily adjust the bulge in his pants. 

You tore your eyes from Steve’s to look at your date. “I’d love to.”

He guided you out to his car and opened the door for you to climb in. As your date hops into the driver’s side, you hear a small knock on your window.

“TJ wanted me to give this to you.”  Steve leans in and hands you a piece of paper. 

“Why can’t he just come out and tell me?”

The man softly smiles as his finger grazes your cheek. “Tonight was fun. We’ll see you in a few days?”

His gentle tone was throwing you off. Mostly because it warmed your stomach at the thought that they would be excited to see you. 

Agent. Client.

“Yeah, of course.”

Steve pated the door as he backed away from the car. “Nice to meet you, Malcolm.”

Your date grinned and nodded his head as you unfolded the note that was given to you. 

Don’t sleep with him. We promise you won’t regret it.

X Eddie and Steve X

################

@gracieluvthemoon @e-munson666

[supernaturalscribe67]

Favors

Words: 6,851

Pov: 3rd Person

Pairing: Crowley x Male!Reader

Warning(s): Language, SMUT (18+), Rimming, Teasing, Male on Male penetration, brief orgasm denial, Bottom!Reader, Top!Crowley

Summary: (Y/N) is a well-known researcher and hacker in the hunting industry, dedicating his life to protecting innocent people all around the United States. What happens when the King of Hell comes to him with a problem he needs help solving and a deal that (Y/N) cannot turn down?

Request:

Hope you are having a good day/night

Omg I absolutely love the Crowley x older Winchester brother reader fic you did for me

I was wondering if I could request Crowley x Male reader smut

@xweirdo101x

A/N: I haven't written smut in so long, I hope you like it! Plus, this is my first time writing male/male smut, so feedback is really appreciated! MINORS DNI!!!!! Much Love!

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It was beautiful that morning. Light barely shone over the treeline, the warm colors faintly casting a reflection across the lake that sat outside of the small house. The ground was littered with red, orange, and yellow leaves, decorating it like some cheesy floor pattern on a Welcome Mat. The wind whipped through the branches, conducting the trees in a synchronized dance. Morning Doves sang their harmonious tune. 

It was 8:30 AM. (Y/N) sat peacefully in the rocking chair that was nestled in the corner of the aged porch. A blanket draped over his lap, and a warm cup of steaming coffee in his grasp. It was mornings like that that gave him a sense of serenity, that reminded him of the world outside of his profession. That was why, in the mornings, he had one rule. One simple rule; 

No phone calls before nine. 

Granted, lives were at stake. Hunters all across the United States were taking on various jobs as he sat there, and some needed information quicker than others. He made an exception to the rule in case of an emergency, but nothing more. Most of his life was consumed with research and phone calls while he sat in a stuffy room near the back of the house. He knew that, when his reputation in the hunting community became well-known, he would need to set some rules and boundaries to allow himself some personal time. Some time to relax and reflect. 

Not everyone followed those rules, however. 

A buzz from his phone sounded next to him. It sat on a small, rusted round table next to the rocking chair. (Y/N)’s gaze turned towards the phone as it shifted with each violent vibration across the metal. He could feel the vibrating under his feet against the wood. Across the screen, Sam Winchester was written. A heavy, yet somehow content, sigh escaped past his lips as he reached over and picked up his phone. A part of him said that he should ignore it, but the other was telling him that it could be urgent. The Winchesters rarely got in contact with him before noon. 

“Hello?” He answered, his voice deep and calm. 

“Hey, (Y/N)! Dean and I were wondering if you could look something up for us?” Sam’s voice rang through the receiver, a little too cheery first thing in the morning, in (Y/N)’s opinion. They must have been up for hours by then. 

“Is the information urgent?” 

There was a long pause. “Well…”

“Mr. Winchester, what is my rule?” 

Another long pause. “No phone calls before nine.”

“Exactly, unless there was someone actively dying and we were under a time constraint. Are we on a time constraint, Mr. Winchester?” 

“Please, call me Sam.” 

“Are we on a time constraint, Sam?” 

Pause. “No. We just wanted to get whatever information we could before we headed to the police station to talk to the officers.”

“You and I both know you’re going to gather even more evidence about the case after the fact, so I think it would be wise to just go ahead and make your way to the police station. They might answer some of your questions, they might not. Hell, you might have even more questions for me by the time you’re done.” 

“You’re right, you’re right. Uh…I guess I’ll…give you a call back when we’re done.”

“After nine, of course.” (Y/N) nodded slowly. 

“Right. After nine,” 

“Thank you, Sam. You know, I always love talking to you. You’re easier to communicate with than your brother.” 

Sam chuckled deeply. “Thanks, I get that a lot,”

“Well, it’s true. Anyway, go talk to the police, and then let me know of anything you might need, alright?” 

“Alright, bye,”

“Bye,” (Y/N) ended the phone call and replaced the phone in its original position. 

He brought the cup of coffee up to his face, blowing cool air onto the surface. Steam curled around the mug as he took a sip. There were some people he didn’t mind receiving phone calls from in the morning, during his off hours. Sam Winchester was one of them. Always so polite when he had to remind him, he almost didn’t mind having to repeat himself over and over again. He knew how stressful the physical aspect of the hunting life could be, but Sam was one who never let his anger appear evident when they conversed that early in the morning. His brother, on the other hand, seemed to hold all of the anger for both brothers on his sleeve. (Y/N) had many unpleasant conversations with the older Winchester, but he also had some satisfying ones. In the end, he didn’t mind working with the Winchesters. They were the ones that called him the most. They were the ones who kept him busy and were appreciative when he was able to give them the information that they were in search of. That much he was grateful for. 

“Hello, darling,” a scratchy, baritone voice broke the placid silence. 

(Y/N) showed no physical reaction, yet he felt as if his heart had lept into his throat. It raced rapidly and he felt the familiar sensation of gooseflesh appear on his arms. He couldn’t necessarily blame it on the cool breeze. In front of him, Crowley stood, hands deep in the pockets of his black peacoat. A smirk was placed on his lips, covered by the beard that had grown out since the last time (Y/N) saw him. 

He had met Crowley some years ago through the Winchesters. It was then he had gotten his first taste of the types of connections Sam and Dean had. When they originally told him about one of their contacts being the King of Hell, he was rather skeptical at first. Rumors travel fast in the hunting world, and (Y/N) knew all of them, especially the ones that star Sam and Dean Winchester. Yet, when he had initially met Crowley, he was pleasantly surprised. He never expected an individual with a clean, lavish appearance as he. He never expected the accent either. It had shocked him at first, but not negatively. In a way, he had always assumed that the King of Hell was going to be some grotesque monster that would seem as if they dwelled deep in a humid cave. He could blame that on his ignorance. 

Since then, the handful of times he had interactions with the King of Hell, he would not say they had been horrible. Quite the opposite, they had been fairly pleasant. Crowley was cordial towards him, speaking to him in, what (Y/N) had first assumed was, a respectful tone, but later concluded that it would be more accurate to call it professional. Crowley was charismatic, a businessman. He knew how to get what he wanted out of people, and (Y/N) could see why they fell for it each time. Crowley knew exactly what to say and when to say it. That accent of his could put anyone in a trance. 

(Y/N) sat the cup of coffee down on the side table beside his phone before he placed both of his hands in his lap, his fingers folded over one another. “Good morning, Crowley. How…unexpected of you to pop in this early in the morning.” 

“Quite,” Crowley paused as he looked around, studying his environment. “I must say, I never expected a man such as yourself to own a place with such beauty.” 

(Y/N) slowly nodded. “While I appreciate the backhanded compliment, I am currently off the clock. That is if you needed anything in the first place and didn’t just stop by for some idle chit-chat.” 

“I never ‘chit-chat’. I did come by to ask for your…assistance with something.” 

“As I have said, I am off the clock. If you need my help with anything, you can come back at nine o’clock.” 

A smirk appeared in the corner of Crowley’s mouth. “Check the time, darling,” 

(Y/N)’s eyes shifted over to his phone. Hesitantly, he reached over and clicked the screen, illuminating his background of deep purples and blues. 

9:01 A.M.

As he looked back over at Crowley, he noted that the smirk was still there. Crowley shrugged, the ruffle of fabric filling the silence. 

“It’s time to clock back in.” 

(Y/N let out a sigh as he slapped his hands onto his knees, standing from his seat. He caught the blanket before it was able to fall off and folded it thrice. He then turned and laid it over the back of the rocker. He placed his phone into his pocket, then grabbed his coffee mug, the steam having dissipated since Crowley had arrived. 

“Let’s head to my study, then,” he mumbled. 

He walked past Crowley towards the screen porch door. Before he had the chance to grab it, Crowley opened it for him, startling (Y/N) for a moment. (Y/N) nodded his head. 

“Such a gentleman.” He murmured and walked into the house, Crowley following soon after. 

The foyer was small but tidy, so it seemed bigger than it was. The new floors glimmered in the morning light, and the walls were decorated with various pieces of artwork. (Y/N) took pride in renovating the older house, making it a place he was happy to call his home. 

When he had found the house for sale, he was surprised, initially, by how little it cost. Seeing the state upon purchase made him understand the drop in price almost immediately. It took several months for him to turn the once run-down house into a livable place, one where he wasn’t afraid of catching asbestos poisoning every night. Since he completed the remodeling, he has made sure that the house is well-decorated, comfortable, and clean. 

To the right of the foyer was the entryway into the kitchen. It wasn’t that large, but with one person occupying the house, he found it unnecessary to include more counter space in the renovation. To the left was the living room, well-lit with natural light in the morning and even brighter with the overhead ceiling fan at night, comfortable enough to seat many different people if he ever decided to have guests over to mingle. Ahead of Crowley and (Y/N), down the hallway, sat three doors, all of them ajar. Directly ahead was his bedroom, to the left was the guest bathroom, and to the right was his study, the one place where (Y/N) found he was spending most of his time throughout the twenty-four hours of the day. 

(Y/N) kicked off his slides, placing them next to the front door, before replacing them with a pair of slippers. He then gestured down the hallway with his head. 

“This way,” he said as he began to walk down the hallway. 

The study was a masterpiece in it of itself. The walls directly beside the door and adjacent were lined with built-in bookshelves, courtesy of (Y/N) himself. On the shelves sat various centuries' worth of lore, categorized by decade, topic, and alphabetized by the last name of the author, if the author was known, that is. On the other wall sat large windows lined side-by-side, the curtains pulled back to allow sunlight in. Sitting at an angle in the middle of the floor was a heavy mahogany desk, similar to one that would be found in a lawyer’s or politician’s office. A rolling desk chair sat behind it, something cheap yet comfortable. On top of the desk were different books that were opened to certain pages that (Y/N) had left off on, a notebook with a ballpoint pen, an LED keyboard with a matching Bluetooth mouse, and a large, curved monitor with two smaller monitors on either side. Two chairs sat in front of the desk, a place where hunters had sat multiple times when visiting and discussing business with him. 

(Y/N) rounded the corner of the desk and sat down in the office chair, the cup still grasped between his hands. He took another sip of his coffee as he scanned over the cluttered surface of his desk. As he moved books out of the way, his tongue poked into his cheek. Finally, with a triumphant ‘ah’, he pulled the brown coaster from underneath one of the book spines. He placed his mug on top of it, bent down, and turned on his computer. 

“Alright, if you want to have a seat,” (Y/N) gestured to the chair. 

“I prefer to stand.” 

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged and typed his passcode rapidly into his keyboard. 

The three monitors lit up with work he had been focused on the day before. Carefully, he saved documents and exited out of files. When the files were all tucked away and his screens were cleared, he turned his attention back to Crowley. 

“Now, what is this problem you’re having? And, please be quick about it, I have some hunters that are going to be calling me back to gather information for them as well.” 

“The Winchesters can wait,” Crowley said as he stalked forward. 

(Y/N) fought back the urge to ask how Crowley had known the Winchesters were the ones to call, for he knew the answer already. 

“Now, I seem to be having a bit of a rogue demon problem.” Crowley began to pace around the room, his eyes seeming to study the different texts that lined the walls and the scenery outside. 

“Don’t we all?” 

“Mine’s a little different.” 

“How so?” 

“You see, I control the demons, right? Specifically, I control the deals that come in when humans summon us to the crossroads. I expect demons to persuade these people in some way to get these deals by possessing family members, friends, and the like, while others are sent when they are summoned to take these deals. It’s a rather layered process, too many demons, too many steps, but it works.” 

“I see,” (Y/N) hummed as he folded his hands on top of the desk, back slouched. 

“Recently, however, it has come to my attention that there have been several demons who don’t necessarily, well, like me.” 

“I can’t imagine why,” (Y/N) mumbled, his words dripping with sarcasm. 

Crowley ignored him. “And I’ve found out by a rather reliable source that a handful of demons have been rebelling against me. Some are just not persuading people as they are supposed to and running rampant in the street while others, the ones who are summoned, are taking these individuals' souls without giving anything in return. They mess with the deal.” 

“Do you not see that as a win in your situation? You get their soul no matter what, Crowley.” 

“Ah, you see, I do, but I am a man of my word.” He stopped and placed his hand on his chest. “When deals are made, they are not meant to be broken. They are taking their souls and sending them right back to the pathetic life that they came to fix. I don’t like humans as much as the next demon, but a deal is a deal, and it should not be messed with.”

“How…noble? What does this exactly have to do with me?” 

Crowley reached into his peacoat, pulling out a sheet of folded white paper. He walked over and placed it on (Y/N)’s desk. On it was a list of locations and dates neatly written in calligraphy. Most of the locations were paired with a date from a couple of days ago, some a couple of weeks, and some were marked from that very day.

“This is a list of all known demon locations and times that they were last seen there. The crossroads demons I can deal with on my own, they will be harder for someone like you to find, but these are the demons that were supposed to be possessing family members and the such. They’re lower-ranked demons than others, so they lack the necessary powers to teleport, makes them easier to find.” 

“And what am I supposed to do with this?” He gestured to the paper with his hands. 

“Find the demons on that computer of yours, tell me where they are, and I will take care of the rest.” 

(Y/N) slowly nodded. There had been many instances where he had been able to find the location of a monster for different hunters by hacking into various CCTV cameras across the country. Some places had more cybersecurity than others, but overall, it was a simple task, something he had picked up the first month or so after he started learning the art of hacking and coding. It wouldn’t take that long for him to track some of the demons. 

“Why should I help you?” 

“Think of it this way, darling,” Crowley walked over, stood behind the desk chair, and placed a hand on (Y/N)’s shoulder. 

The violent buzzing interrupted anything Crowley was going to say. (Y/N)’s legs vibrated in time with the buzzes. He reached into his pocket and fished out his phone. Sam Winchester flashed across the screen. He held up a finger to Crowley. 

“Hold on, I have to take this,” he said. 

Just before he was able to accept the call, however, Crowley snatched the phone from his hand. 

“Hey!” 

“Ah ah ah,” Crowley tsked and wagged a finger. “We are in the middle of a deal.” He ended the call and placed the phone in his pocket. 

(Y/N) clenched his jaw. He held out his hand. “Give it back, Crowley.” 

“Not until we finished our deal, darling,” 

“I never said we had a deal.” 

“Then it appears you’re not going to be getting your phone back.” 

“Crowley,” he growled. 

Crowley chuckled deeply, his chest rumbling. “So tense,” he smirked. “It must be hard. Being out here all by yourself. No ring on your finger, which means that you haven’t got a wife or husband. I’m guessing you don’t have a partner either, considering all you do is sit here and help other hunters.” Crowley slowly ran a finger over (Y/N)’s shoulder blades, eliciting a shiver from him. “How about this deal, then,” Crowley leaned down, his face merely inches from (Y/N)’s. “I get rid of some of your tension and you find the demons for me, deal?” 

Crowley’s breath was hot against (Y/N)’s face. The closeness caused his stomach to churn. (Y/N) wouldn’t deny that Crowley was an attractive man - demon, he corrected himself. He had thought so since the first time they met, yet he knew the dangers of getting involved with demons. That was why a small part of him was weary of the Winchesters, seeing how easily they got along with the King of Hell. ‘Got Along’ wasn’t necessarily as accurate as ‘tolerated’. He corrected himself again. When Crowley spoke with that accent, and when his voice was deep and gravelly, it was almost as if (Y/N) was hypnotized. 

That accent of his could put anyone in a trance.

“Crowley,” he breathed, unaware that his heart had begun to beat faster. 

“The demons get killed, I get what I want, and I leave you more satisfied than you have ever been before,” Crowley’s hand slowly moved up and began to trace along (Y/N)’s jawline. His fingers stopped when he got to (Y/N)’s chin. He tilted his head up so that they were looking into each other’s eyes, their noses brushing against one another. “Have we got a deal?” 

Crowley’s eyes were just as hypnotic as his voice. It was as if (Y/N) was staring into an iced glass of whiskey. It was hard to believe that, behind those eyes, stood a dark entity who controlled the deepest, darkest depths of Hell. Every fiber of his being was screaming at him, telling him that it was a bad idea, that he should retreat and reject the offer. 

(Y/N) was completely mesmerized. 

“Yes,” he whispered faintly. 

The corner of Crowley’s lips curled upward. “Then let’s kiss on it.” 

(Y/N) didn’t have a chance to respond before Crowley’s lips were on his. 

It was heated, hungry, and (Y/N) was slightly ashamed to admit that it had taken his breath away. Ashamed to admit just how engrossed in Crowley’s charismatic attitude he had been. Swiftly, (Y/N) stood from his chair and he was pressed against the desk in an instant. Crowley’s hands worked their way underneath (Y/N)’s t-shirt. It wasn’t long before Crowley’s coat and (Y/N)’s shirt were on the floor. As Crowley reached behind him to grab at the backs of his thighs, (Y/N) pressed his hands firmly on his chest. 

“Not here, not here,” he pulled back from his lips, panting from the lack of oxygen. “Let’s go to my room.” 

Crowley smirked and ran his tongue over his bottom lip. “Lead the way, darling,” he pulled back. 

(Y/N) was quick to pull himself away from the desk and turn to walk out of the room. His strides were long and silent, almost as if he was floating out of the room and towards his bedroom. Crowley followed behind him, moving just as fast if not a little bit faster. He tore off his tie and dropped it onto the floor as they entered the room. Their lips slammed into one another once more as they fell back onto the bed unceremoniously, their bodies bouncing. 

(Y/N) was incredibly hard, he felt like a teenager on prom night. He tried to think back and remember the last time he had sex. Had it been two, maybe three weeks? Months. No. Two or three years, it had been. He had lost count. Crowley had been right, he had been so absorbed in his work that he had neglected the wants he never knew he had. The needs. He had found himself to be so uptight as of late that the lack of sex hadn’t been something he considered a factor with such a change of mood. Maybe the sex was just what he needed. It seemed that Crowley knew more about him than he realized. 

(Y/N)’s primary goal was getting Crowley’s clothes off. He wanted to see him, wanted to take in every inch of him. Before he was able to grab at Crowley’s belt, however, Crowley pulled back and lifted a hand to stop him. Again, (Y/N) was breathless. He stopped and looked up at him with a questioning gaze. 

“Let’s skip the stripping, shall we?” His voice had gotten deeper, darker. His voice alone should have sent the sirens blaring and the red flags waving in (Y/N)’s head, telling him to stop, telling him that it was a bad idea, but all it did was deepen the lust and make his cock twitch in his boxers. 

With the snap of his fingers, their clothes had vanished. Immediately, (Y/N) noticed the temperature change, causing his nipples to harden into stiff peaks. He wasn’t worried about his own body, however. His attention was all on Crowley. 

He took his time to examine his lover. His eyes trailed. He noted the hair that was meticulously placed over his pecs, the curve of his stomach. Crowley didn’t have a six-pack, but he was nowhere near fat. A slight pudge was probably the best adjective to use. He spotted the tattoos almost instantly, something that came as a surprise to him but wasn’t unappreciated. Crowley’s happy trail started right below his belly button and trailed down to his pelvis, and the mere sight of Crowley’s cock made (Y/N)’s eyes go wide. 

Crowley was huge. 

Bigger than he had ever seen on a lover before. 

To say he was surprised was a massive understatement. He never expected Crowley to be sporting a cock of that size. (Y/N) felt inept next to him. Yet, despite his unbelievable length, (Y/N) felt his mouth water and cock twitch at the thought of it being inside of him. Crowley chuckled. 

“Like what you see?” He questioned. 

“Yes,” (Y/N) breathed, although he knew the question was rhetorical. 

Crowley’s chest rumbled as he leaned down and began to leave kisses down (Y/N)’s neck, down towards the valley of his pecs. He stopped at his nipples, giving each of them attention with small licks and a suckle. A gasp fell from (Y/N)’s lips as his hands occupied themselves with exploring Crowley’s body. (Y/N)’s mind was fogged over, the feeling of being that close to someone already so intense. He really did feel like a teenager. 

“You’re so beautiful, love,” Crowley purred as his lips traveled further down his body, ghosting over his stomach. “Almost disappoints me that I’m going to leave you a whimpering mess by the time I’m done.” 

“Crowley, please,” 

“Begging already, I see.” 

Crowley’s lips moved down until they reached (Y/N)’s own happy trail. Just before he reached (Y/N)’s cock, he pulled back, earning a disappointed groan from the man below. The smirk on his face told (Y/N) that Crowley loved the effect that he was having on him. That it was boosting his ego, and if he had been in the right state of mind, he would have stopped right there. The King of Hell didn’t need more of a complex than he already had. 

“Spread your legs for me.” 

(Y/N) complied, legs parting as Crowley moved onto his stomach. He left kisses on (Y/N)’s inner thighs. 

“Have you had anything in this pretty little hole recently?” Crowley asked. 

(Y/N) hesitated for a moment before shaking his head. “No,” he admitted. 

“Then I guess I’ll have to open you up, won’t I? I don’t want to hurt you.” 

It was an oddly sweet sentiment, coming from a demon. Something that a part of (Y/N) didn’t really expect. Yet the other part of him told him that it made sense with Crowley’s character. He was a businessman. He made deals and he kept them. He wanted him to feel good, and (Y/N) wouldn’t be satisfied with his part of the deal if he was in pain. 

“I have lube in my nightstand,” (Y/N) spoke up. He could feel Crowley’s hot breath hovering over his exposed hole. 

“I’ll get to it, darling,” 

Crowley’s tongue lapped at his hole, and (Y/N) swore that he would come from that single lick. He couldn’t hold back the moan as Crowley’s tongue worked around the pink muscle, almost teasing it. The tip of his tongue slipped past the ring for a moment before retreating. Crowley’s arms wrapped around both of his thighs and seemed to pull him closer with godly strength. Then, when he was closer, Crowley’s wet tongue finally slipped past the tight muscle and wiggled its way into his hole. 

A deep moan escaped past (Y/N)’s lips as one of his hands shot down and gripped Crowley’s hair. His head was thrown back in ecstasy, thankful for the pillow that was underneath him, thankful that he had decided to move to the bedroom instead of the study. He had concluded that the lack of sex didn’t make him feel like a teenager again, he was a teenager. Rather, it seemed he had a teenager’s lack of control. His cock was twitching, begging to be touched, begging for Crowley to wrap his hand around it and stroke. (Y/N) was too lost in pleasure to do it on his own, and it was just foreplay. Crowley was only preparing him for what was yet to come. If Crowley had him seeing stars already, he knew that Crowley’s prediction of him turning into a ‘whimpering mess’ would be accurate. 

Crowley’s tongue was skilled. He reached places inside of him that (Y/N) didn’t even know existed. All too soon, he felt the familiar jerk of his balls, the tensing muscles begging for release. The knot in his stomach was forming. 

“C-Crowley,” he moaned. “I’m gonna come. I-” 

Crowley hummed against him and pulled back as soon as the warning came to be. Visibly, (Y/N) relaxed, but his face expressed disappointment, much to Crowley’s amusement. 

“Already close to release, and I haven’t even touched your cock yet,” Crowley teased, and the words caused (Y/N)’s cheeks to darken with blush. “Can’t have that. I want this to last. I want you to break.” 

Crowley hovered over (Y/N) again, their noses inches apart. (Y/N) could feel Crowley’s cock brush against his, causing his cock to twitch violently. Again, Crowley chuckled. He turned his head and reached over to the nightstand, opening the small drawer. It wasn’t as cluttered as the top of (Y/N) desk, but he had to admit that it needed to be cleaned out. It didn’t take long to find the bottle of lube, though, barely used. When Crowley moved back, he kissed him. That kiss was softer, sweet, the complete opposite of the others they had shared. 

He pulled away and sat up, leaning back on his heels as he uncapped the lube. He squirted a generous amount onto his right index and middle finger before he set the lube to the side, open and ready if he were to need more. He rubbed his fingers together to spread out the liquid before lowering his hand to (Y/N) wet, needy hole. His index finger began to circle it and he saw how (Y/N)’s cock twitched again. The smirk remained on his face. 

“Are you ready?” He asked softly. 

“Yes,” (Y/N) barely gave him time to finish the question. “Yes, Crowley, please,” 

“I’ll never get over how sweet that word sounds.” 

Crowley pushed one finger into him and the stars promptly returned. (Y/N)’s mouth hung open as if he were to say something, but nothing came to mind. Words didn’t exist anymore, only Crowley and his fingers. It didn’t take long for Crowley to begin to pump his finger into him, his dark eyes focused on (Y/N)’s face, intensely taking in every reaction he gave. Sweat began to glisten on (Y/N)’s brow, dripping down the side of his face and onto the sheet below. His hands were fisted at his sides, straining the bedding. When Crowley felt his hole loosen even the slightest, he added his middle finger. 

After several seconds of having Crowley insert his second finger, the knot was back and forming inside (Y/N)’s stomach. It was tight and just kept getting tighter with each stroke. When Crowley’s fingers curled ever so slightly, (Y/N)’s body violently jerked and he had to hold onto the bed as he fought back the orgasm that was quickly approaching. He went to say something, but all that came out were moans and whimpers of pleasure. He didn’t trust himself to stop Crowley before his impending climax. 

Of course, Crowley was observant himself and knew when to back away. 

Crowley pulled his hand away from him, leaving his hole empty and his mind screaming for release. Crowley brought his fingers to his lips, wrapping them around his digits as he suckled the leftover lube and flavor off of them. He quirked a brow as he took his fingers out of his mouth. 

“Strawberry flavored?” He questioned. 

(Y/N)’s chest rose and fell at a rapid pace. His chest and face gleamed with sweat, ever more apparent because of the morning light that filtered past his blinds. 

“It was all they had left.” He was able to mutter. 

A deep chuckle rumbled within Crowley’s chest as he grabbed the lube from beside him once again. That time, he put some into the palm of his right hand and capped the bottle, setting it back onto the side table. He wrapped his hand around his cock and lathered it up with the lube. He hissed, jaw clenched at the cool temperature. 

“You don’t mind raw, do you, darling?” He asked as he shifted in the bed so that he hovered directly above (Y/N) writhing body. 

“No,” (Y/N) was quick to respond. “No, I don’t mind just, please, please Crowley.” His desperate cries would have normally made him embarrassed, ashamed of the mess he had turned into, but he couldn’t care less. His brain didn’t belong to him anymore. It belonged to Crowley. His body wasn’t his, it was Crowley’s. All of him belonged to Crowley. 

And he was fine with that. 

“I’ll go slow,” Crowley said. “Let me know if it’s too much for you to handle.” 

It was too much to handle when Crowley was eating him out, but (Y/N) knew what he meant. He gave a quick nod of understanding. His hands immediately moved from the sheets to Crowley. One hand was placed on Crowley’s shoulder, while the other reached back, fingers entangled in the mess of brown hair. 

One of Crowley’s hands was placed on the bed, holding himself up, while the other hand reached down and grabbed his cock. He guided it to (Y/N)’s hole and, when he felt comfortable with the positioning, he moved his hand and placed it on the other side of (Y/N)’s body. Slowly, he moved his hips forward, the head of his cock pushing past the ring of muscle with some resistance before he entered him. 

(Y/N) wasn’t seeing stars anymore - he was seeing a whole galaxy. The slight painful strain mixed with bliss as Crowley pushed the head of his cock inside of him was almost too much to bear at first. He felt like his balls were going to explode with pleasure. His nails dug into Crowley’s shoulder and scalp as he continued to inch his way inside. Crowley studied (Y/N)’s face, the way his mouth hung open and eyes closed. When half of his cock was engulfed in his warmth, Crowley pulled back out a couple of inches before he thrust back inside. (Y/N) couldn’t stop the sounds from escaping his lips. Equally, as such, Crowley let out a deep, guttural groan. 

“So tight, darling. So…fucking tight,” he growled out, sounding almost feral. 

“M-More, Crowley, please, more,” (Y/N)’s voice had gone up in pitch and the need was laced throughout his tone. 

Crowley didn’t need any more indication. His hips began to pick up in speed, slowly at first, but after a while of making sure that his lover wasn’t in any pain, he went faster. While (Y/N) wasn’t able to take all of Crowley’s length inside of him, what was able to fit resulted in a cacophony of moans that echoed throughout the room. The bed rocked, the frame squeaking underneath the pressure as Crowley rhythmically snapped his hips. 

When (Y/N) had gotten used to the pleasure - ‘used to’ wasn’t the right phrasing, but rather adapted to it - he was able to open his eyes long enough to reach up, cup Crowley’s cheeks, and bring himself up to kiss him roughly. Crowley returned the kiss. Their tongues danced with each other. (Y/N) could taste a mixture of himself and the strawberry-flavored lube on Crowley’s tongue. 

Each thrust brought a new wave of pleasure, Crowley’s cock brushing against his prostate. (Y/N)’s cock and balls jerked and he knew that he wasn’t going to last much longer. He pulled away, one of his hands falling to Crowley’s chest, which was equally as sweat-covered as his. It was difficult to find the strength to speak, at first, but he mustered up what little control of himself he had to do so.  

“Crowley,” he moaned. “I’m gonna come. Please, can I come?” 

“Not yet,” Crowley sounded breathless. “I want to come with you.” 

“Want you to come inside me.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes!” He moaned loudly as Crowley’s cock stroked his prostate again. 

Crowley growled as his lips dove down towards (Y/N)’s neck, littering it with small kisses, teeth scraping over his skin. 

“I can’t wait to fill you up. Can’t wait to make you mine,” Crowley growled. 

(Y/N) did everything in his power to hold back his orgasm, the one thing he had been trying to reach all this time. It became harder and harder the more they went on. Finally, he felt Crowley’s thrusts start to sputter, and Crowley’s grunts and moans were getting higher in pitch. Crowley reached between their bodies, his hand finding (Y/N)’s cock and he began to stroke it in time with his thrusts. 

“Come.” 

And that was all the permission he needed. (Y/N) came hard, cock spasming violently in Crowley’s hand and balls convulsing as he shot his load onto his and Crowley’s chests and stomachs. Planets, stars, galaxies, universes, it was almost as if (Y/N) was lost in time and space itself. If he didn’t know any better, he swore he would have passed out from the pleasure had it not been for Crowley keeping him grounded. 

Following his orgasm, he felt Crowley still inside of him and, soon, felt the warm sensation of his load deep within his hole. They stayed there, interlocked with one another, their bodies completely frozen in time. What felt like ages later, Crowley slowly pulled out of him, a wet pop echoing throughout the room, before he collapsed beside him on the bed. (Y/N)’s arms fell beside him, his chest moving rapidly as he struggled to regain his composure. 

As he lay there, post-orgasmic clarity set in. 

He had fucked the King of Hell. 

More importantly, he had fucked the King of Hell and liked it. 

God, he was such a terrible hunter. 

His eyes trailed over to Crowley, who was still recovering from his own orgasm. He could see faint, red scratch marks across his face, chest, and right shoulder. (Y/N) didn’t even realize his nails had dug into him until then. Crowley turned his head towards him. 

“Well you weren’t the whimpering mess that I assumed you would be,” Crowley began. “But I’ll take begging any day.” 

(Y/N) couldn’t help but roll his eyes and he had found the strength to speak to be gone by that point. What was he even supposed to say to him? Thanks for the sex, I’ll go find your demons now? With one-night stands, he would always just get up, grab his clothes, and walk out of the motel room, but this was a little different. He was in his own home. Was he just supposed to kick Crowley out? That would seem a bit rude, wouldn’t it? 

“Care for a cuddle?” Crowley’s words broke his train of thought.

“A what?” His voice had returned. 

“A cuddle.” 

(Y/N) snorted. “The King of Hell wants to cuddle.” He said it more like a statement rather than a question.

“I take care of my lovers, (Y/N). Aftercare is just as important as foreplay.” 

(Y/N) opened his mouth to speak, but found, again, that the words were lost to him. He just gave a simple nod and the two of them moved closer together. Crowley wrapped an arm underneath his shoulders and over his waist, pulling their naked bodies close. (Y/N) placed one of his hands on Crowley’s torso, his head lying against his chest. A part of him was expecting to hear a heartbeat echo in his ear, but the lack thereof only reminded him of his sins. They sat in silence for a while, embracing one another. Crowley’s hand slowly rubbed (Y/N)’s hips, and it made him realize just how sore he was going to be for a while. 

He didn’t care. 

“You know,” Crowley finally spoke up. “If you ever become too tense, you can always give me a call. I have no problem giving in to your needs.” 

“I’m not that desperate,” (Y/N) mumbled. 

Crowley chuckled, and (Y/N) could feel the vibration against his fingertips and cheek. “I beg to differ, darling, with the way you were just begging for release.” 

(Y/N)’s cheeks heated up. He knew what he had done was wrong, but whoever said that hunters had to be perfect? Or right, for that matter. No one had gotten hurt - maybe he would hurt for a while after this, but that was beside the point - and demons were going to be hunted down as a result of their deal. Crowley wasn’t a selfish lover, quite the contrary. He was the best that (Y/N) ever had. He was only human. Despite the moral aspect of it all, perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to have someone like Crowley just a call away. 

For his needs. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

[skylarsblue]

»zenless zone zero«

Small details in Wise's room. I'll admit I struggled a little on this one. (No offense to Wise lovers, he's just not super interesting to me. But I did my best!)

[Desc: Next to Wise's bed is a brown shelf beside an industrial style shelf, made of wood & metal. Like Belle's room, the standing shelf holds record sleeves. The first one is white with art of a black record that is broken in thirds, with large box letters that say 'ZERO'. The art is vague which makes it hard to speculate what style of music it might be. I guess...Jazz? That's a guess purely on vibes, really. The second record sleeve is black, white, and grey. On a white background there is a grey (traditional style) dragon wrapping around the studio's logo, EZ or 3Z, I'm not sure which. There's text that says 'ZENLESS', and underneath that, some descriptive text. The descriptive text is more legible than others. It says - "SAN-Z Studios is a general arts and design studio that aims to create fun experiences. We have a broad range of talents, involved in fashion design, accessories, music...and more." The third record sleeve is black with art of three eyes, each with a 'Z' in the iris. It's far too vague for me to guess what style of music it is. On the industrial shelf is a cardboard box with a red polaroid camera on top, and some VHS tapes leaned against it. These VHS tapes have no branding, which once again makes me think these are the tapes one would buy for personal recordings. On the shelf above it are three non-descript cases. They seem too thin for VHS tapes, and too big for a walkman tape. This makes me think they're CD cases.]

[Desc: On the coffee table(that is a trunk style coffee table) is a tray with an open package of 'Royal Baking' chips/crackers. Based on coloring, I'd guess they're cheesy. Beside the open cracker package is a bag of Coff Coffee, made by the Tin Master. There's a cup with Tin Master's logo beside it, with coffee inside. The coffee has foam in a design. On the table is also a newspaper. The only legible writing is in kanji I cannot read, but the picture on it is of Box Galaxy, the gadget store on Sixth Street. Also, I took note that there is a little Bangboo reading a newspaper on it. Lastly, there is a remote. Despite the vintage style TVs, this remote looks akin to a modern Roku remote. Black, with rounded corners, fairly slim and small, with a simple set of buttons. On, record (potentially, the symbol is vague), a central d pad, a menu button, undo, home, a pair of volume buttons & up/down decision buttons, a settings button, a button with a red heart (to favorite things I presume), and a last button with a symbol so vague I couldn't begin to guess what it does.]

[Desc: Like Belle, Wise has movie posters on the wall beside his bed. Unlike Belle, his posters don't overlap, and seem meticulously placed. There are a total of six movie posters. Though before I describe those, I'll point out that he has a green & yellow ukulele hanging on his wall. A notable difference from Belle's electric guitar. 1) Now, the first poster features art of an old computer (think big white box computers from the 80s) in a blue & yellow ocean landscape, with dark blue fish shapes around it. The title says Under The Sea in yellow text. What this could be about, I have no clue. But Wise has been said to enjoy documentaries and artsy films. Completely based on my own headcanon and no evidence? My guess is a documentary about technology developed to explore the ocean. 2) The one underneath has a title in kanji, but the art is pretty clear. It features a shiba inu dog front and center with a "saddle" on it's back, of which has two bags on either side. The only item I can tell that is in the bag is the left one, which has the top of a leek sticking out. Behind the dog is a young woman with a long skirt, as well as some trees. I can't read the title so I'm not sure, but I'd like to think this is a documentary about a very special dog. Like Balto! 3) The third poster features art of a young girl in a space suit, sat on a swing (a wooden board with rope that goes up out of frame), over a shadowy moon that is covered in children's crayon drawings. The title is one again in Kanji, but the tagline says "She's a Starchild". Once again, the art is vague, but my guess would be an artsy kind of film with an underlying message about a young girl with a struggle of some kind. Probably a movie with a lot of metaphors and symbolism. 4) Poster number four is a horizontal kind of poster. On a blue background, there is an old film camera on the left. (A vintage one, 1930s-1950s, which used large film reels.) On the right are three figures. The one furthest to the back is Godzilla, the second is a woman in a red dress, and the third appears to be a non-descript hero character in a blue & yellow uniform. In white block text, it says "DREAM WEAVER". My guess is that this is a documentary about film making. 5) Five has art of a semi-humanoid creature standing in a red lit doorway, but at the bottom are various winding tentacles. The title says "The Obelisk". My guess is that this is a sci-fi horror movie of some sort. 6) The last poster, number six, features an animal skull (a bear skull based on my limited knowledge) on top of a white background. There is black and red kanji in a "messy" style. The English text are the words "Before The Story Begins", so it's probably a prequel of some kind. There's a vague shape in the bottom corner that looks like an award symbol.]

[Desc: Wise's memory board. (If you don't pick him as your MC). The back is the basic wooden style that Belle also has, and it has five pictures. The first one is a selfie taken by Belle, featuring her and Eous standing over Wise, who is sleeping, after having given him a pair of pigtails. The second picture features various cats, with one opening it's mouth for a big yawn as Wise pets it. The third picture is a picture taken by one of the Random Play Bangboo; but not Eous. Eous is in the picture, cleaning one of the screens in the H.D.D, while Belle reclines in a chair and holds up a stack of papers that has red writing - "Complete!" with a circle around it. Wise stands beside Eous with his jacket slung over his shoulder, drinking a soda. (It doesn't match the LENMAN soda in Belle's room, but I've seen vending machines in Lumina square with a drink that is orange; with oranges on it. So...Orange soda? The fourth picture is of the Hollow in the Scott Outpost area. I can tell because there are pillars that match that area. The last picture is a childhood drawing of Wise & Belle. Stood in a field, in front of an orange house. Based on the style difference, it's possible that this was a group effort. Belle's figure and various background elements seem more...uh, artistically inclined. While Wise's figure, some trees, and the flower/grass details seem more simplistic and sloppy. Which would make sense given all the artist details in Belle's room. Wise probably didn't get the artist gene.]

[Desc: On the cabinet beside Wise's TV (once again an old style tube television) are some knickknacks. In front of three stacked small boxes is a stature, the same one in Belle's room that she used to hold her snowboarding goggles. I guessed rabbit based on her room, but it also looks like a fox. Beside that is an orange desk fan that's always on. Further to the right is a game console, which I mention was visually similar to a Super Nintendo. There are no visible cartridges out excluding the singular one in the slot of the console, with a vague logo on the front. An orange smiley face; which could mean it's part of a series, since Belle had a game with a blue smiley face in her console. The sticker for this game is ripped at the top. Maybe it's old, or maybe he and Belle swapped games for a bit. Belle seems like she'd accidentally rip a sticker. He also has a VHS player, there's a small screen on top of it. It's tiny, like a monitor, but I'm not sure it's purpose exactly. Maybe one of those old CCTV monitors? There's some more non-descript VHS tapes leaned against it. There's a shelf as well that holds some more VHS sleeves and a blue & white box. While I've seen the box in the 141 Convenience Store, which tells me the box's branding has the word "CLICK" on it, the rest is in kanji and there's no pictures on it to hint at a product of some sort. Game? Console? ...Wireless mouse? I have no clue.]

[Desc: Wise owns the same CD/Record/Tape player that Belle does. It's situated on a little table by the door. I can see now that the branding on the gadget is the same as the studio on the second record sleeve he owns, SAN-Z studio. The table has a divot to hold records. The only one with a visible front has art of a girl with vibrant green hair, in front of a black background that has bright pink, blue, and orange detailing. The girl has a hearing aid/ear bud in her ear, and an...accessory? On the side of her head. On a separate cabinet beside this is a blue & white box with a pair of black & white sneakers, which I think I've seen on one of the commercials that the game-start loading screen features.]

[Desc: (With a bonus Wise in frame), there is an L shaped cabinet in front of his door. On this cabinet is a plain black cap with a blue brim, and a skateboard with blue & white art on the back. I didn't seen any snowboarding gear in his room, but it doesn't mean he doesn't own it. He's neat, so it could just be put away. On the wall is a yellow bike. The back wheel is black, while the front is white. They don't match, but the front one matches the seat color of the bike, so my guess is he had to replace the back one. Also, based on the shape of the handlebars and the seat positioning, the seat is raised in a way that would make riding while sat upright hard/impossible. This seems like a bike someone must lean forward on, which means it'd be for things like trails and marathons, rather than transportation or leisure rides.]

[Desc: A bit boring, but his roof is the only one with a sun roof. Belle's room doesn't have one. By his bed is also, the only window that is visibly open on the front of Random Play. Somehow, this pale boy gets more sunlight in his room than Belle. But maybe she picked that. Also, though I picked Belle (which means Eous charges in her room), Wise also has an Eous charger, just unused.]

[Desc: A set of lockers with some posted notes. These seem to be reused assets from Belle's room. There is also a book case. None of the books really have any branding that allows for speculation of what they're about, but there are some colors with tiny (non-descript) details that remind me of textbooks and books about specific subject, like for learning.]

[Desc: Wise's desk. It features a standard PC screen, one of those vertical screens, and a laptop on a holder. All of which are on, glowing with blue symbols and unreadable text. There's a wireless mouse too. On the shelves over the desk are post it notes, one that seems like a list, and another that might be about code? There are also more books. Most are in kanji, but I can read one. "Hollow Raiders & Their Proxies." Beside his computers are three journals. Unlike Belle's, there are no stickers, stamps, or tabs poking out of the pages. These are note journals, each with a button latch to close them. One yellow, one red, one blue. To the right is a...radio? It looks vaguely like a call radio to me, and there's a set of headphones on top. But I'll be honest and admit I'm not sure what it is. There's also a yellow license plate on the wall - "NOV 715". There's another Tin Master mug, and while in the photo it's blocked by his aerodynamic chair, there's a metal coffee percolator. Which makes me think this dude has a caffeine addiction.]

[cielie-voss]

hi, can I make a request for an eddie fic? Like enemies to lovers where the reader is in a classic school band which is always in a fight with corroded coffin? Thanks a lot :D

You know I hate you, right?

Eddie Munson x fem!Reader - Enemies to lovers

Warnings: swearing, Eddie and Reader being bitchy.

a/n: thank you so much, I loved this one, it's so sweet! I hope you like how it turned out!

If you want to be tagged in coming fanfics or if you want to request something, feel free to send me a dm or an ask. 🥰 Likes, comments and especially reblogs are always welcome. 🤗

Masterlist

“If I were your wife, I would poison your coffee!” Her screeching voice fills the cafeteria.

"Oh yeah?" Eddie stands up angrily and stomps a step towards her, "If I were your husband, I'd love to drink it!"

“She doesn’t mean it.” Shrugging, Gareth leans back in denial.

“Oh, she means it.” With a shake of his head, Jeff brings his friend out of his delusion. “And I couldn’t blame her.”

“Nonsense!” Gareth denies and continues to stick to his conviction.

“Jesus Christ, I’m counting the days until I don’t have to put up with this smug behavior from her anymore.” Grumbling, Eddie sits down at the table again, seething with anger at his eternal rival, who, also seething with anger, stomps away from the table.

"And her wannabe metal look... How I'd love to rip the studs off her vest."

“I bet he’d love to rip other things off her,” Dustin whispers to Gareth, unfortunately not as quietly as he intended to, and receives a bitterly angry look from the freak.

“Never in my life! And not in a thousand years and if we were the last two people in this universe!” he explains to his young friend with a disgusted grimace.

"And now? Where should we practice now?” After a few moments of deliberation, Jeff says what everyone at the table was silently wondering. After the water damage to Gareth's house, the garage was blocked. Unless the guys at Corroded Coffin would love to practice between Laundry baskets and boxes full of books. And at the gig in three months, according to rumors, people from the music industry will also be there to scout new talents. So nothing is more important than practice right now.

“So I guess we can forget about the music room,” Gareth sighs and leans back. “Thanks to our Prince Charming here.”

Eddie shoots up next to him indignantly. “Prince Charming?” His mouth opens and closes like a fish on land, trying to counter this sarcastic remark.

“What can I do about her being like that? A stupid, bitchy, snippy, unfriendly, unempathetic, arrogant wannabe alternative bitch?”

“You don't happen to have any more negative Attributes come to mind as these …”

“Seven, it was seven,” Dustin adds to Jeff’s remark about the line-up of unnecessary adjectives.

An uncomfortable, oppressive silence falls over them as everyone picks at their food thoughtfully.

“Maybe you’ll try again. Just… nicer?” Gareth suggests after what feels like an eternity, furrowing his eyebrows, ready for another angry tirade on Eddie's part.

“Yeah, maybe you should really try charm. You know, women are into that sort of thing. Flattery, nice words,” Jeff adds.

“Oh, and how do you know what women are into?” With a very exaggerated rolling of his eyes, Eddie turns to his friend. “Besides, I doubt there is even an ounce of femininity in this … bitch. And when it does, it's buried deep under a heap of arrogance. No, before I have to deal with her again, hell will freeze over. We'll find another rehearsal room."

XXX

The Hawkins High School music club has always been a tight-knit community, a sanctuary for those who revel in the soothing melodies of classical music. Y/N, with her cello in hand, was the epitome of this world. She thrives on the sweet symphonies that echo through the club's hallowed halls. As for Eddie Munson, lead guitarist of the local metal band and self-proclaimed "Metalhead," he was about to clash with this world in ways he couldn't have imagined.

One sunny afternoon, Eddie and his bandmates strolled into the music club's headquarters, hoping to secure a practice space for the coming months. Despite Eddies reluctance and constant complaints, they managed to talk to him, convince him that this is the only way to find some place to practice. Open confrontation is what they called it. And to keep everything nice and calm, they asked Dustin to help them negotiate.

Y/N, sitting amidst her fellow cellists, raises an eyebrow at the sight of these intruders. Their leather jackets and wild hair stood in stark contrast to the elegant formality she is used to. It is clear from the beginning that Eddie and his bandmates are unwanted guests.

"We need a place to practice," Eddie declares, his voice dripping with defiance.

Dustin added, "Yeah, and we're willing to pay."

“Pay?”, Gareth asks quietly with furrowed brows and leans to Jeff.

The music club's president, a stern guy named Brandon, stares them down. "This isn't a place for your noise," he sneeres.

Y/N's fingers tighten around her cello's neck, her disdain for the interlopers growing by the second. She has always despised their kind—the rebels, the rule-breakers. To her, music was a sacred refuge, and these delinquents threatened to disrupt it. Although she secretly began to find some peace - unlike the one she knew before - in listening to Metallica or even Iron Butterfly.

Eddie, undeterred by the icy glares and piercing remarks, leans in closer to Brandon. "We won't be here forever, just a few months. We won't interfere with your precious little concerts or rehearsals."

Brandon scoffed, his eyes flicking toward Y/N as if seeking her approval. "The answer is no."

Y/N, unable to contain her annoyance any longer, speaks up. “If you won’t take no for an answer, you have to discuss with the principal. And I’m pretty sure, since you’re definitely not his favorite student, he’s on our side. So I’m afraid you have to find another way to practice your … noise.” With her hands gesturing around their instruments, she puts on a smug grin.

Reluctant Dustin tugs at Eddie's vest. “Dude, come on. We’ll find another way.”

“Yeah, go on Freaks, find another way.”, she quips and shoos them out with waving hands.

Eddie raises an eyebrow, smirking as he shoots back, slowly walking towards her, nearer and nearer with every word until their noses nearly touch, "Oh we’ll find another way, little Beethoven. And it’ll bother you even more than sharing this room with us, just because I’d love to see the regret and defeat on your nasty, little face."

The room falls silent, the tension between them palpable. Their exchange has caught everyone off guard, a brief spark of some kind of chemistry amidst the hostility. But neither is willing to admit it.

XXX

In the following weeks, Eddie and his bandmates scoured Hawkins for any available practice spaces. Everywhere they went, doors slammed in their faces, and they were met with cold rejection. It seemed the music club's word had spread like wildfire, labeling them as outcasts.

“Shit. Fucking. Bullshit.” Gareth declares, as they leave another unsuccessful negotiation. “The gig is in two months. What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know if this is a stupid idea. But… what about the hellfire club room?” Shrugging, Dustin turns to Eddie with this last resort.

“The-” Eddie takes a deep breath and clenches his hand into a fist, bringing it dangerously close to his face waving around. “The Hellfire Room? Why didn’t we think of this before?!”

Now that a new rehearsal space was found, Corroded Coffin spent every free minute practicing. Of course, to the great dismay of the music club, which was only a few rooms away. Their unruly appearance and the thunderous echoes of their music didn't sit well with the club's traditionalists. A constant battle ensued as to who is louder; Corroded Coffin with their covers of Metallica, Van Halen and Co, or the Music Club with their cello and piano version of Mendelssohn's ‘Song without words’.

One evening, Y/N is practicing with her cello alone when she hears the distant sound of an electric guitar. Curiosity piqued, she follows the music, which stops and starts playing again every now and then, paired with a string of curse words until she stumbles upon an abandoned classroom. There, she finds Eddie, his fingers dancing across the guitar strings, lost in the raw passion of his music and the frustration in not hitting the right tones.

In that moment, Y/N is captivated by the power and emotion in Eddie's playing. It is a stark contrast to the elegance of her cello, but it resonated with her in a way she couldn't explain. She leans against the doorway, silently listening, her earlier animosity momentarily forgotten.

Eddie notices her presence but doesn't stop playing. He smirks and quips, "Enjoying the noise?"

Y/N bites her lip, feeling a strange sense of connection. "It's not noise," she admits, surprising even herself. “And you’re playing it wrong.”

Before Eddie even has the chance to say a word, she continues and takes a step towards him. “Your fingers are too slow. If you would move your index finger faster from here - “ She raises her hand and mimics his hand, still wrapped around his guitar, making it easier to understand for him, “ - to here, you would get the right tone. But either way your finger is too slow, or you just simply don’t know how to actually play guitar.”

Still with furrowed brows, Eddie cocks his head. She’s not wrong. She’s absolutely right. And that bugs him.

“But actually, in my opinion, the latter is the case. Well … “

“Woah, woah, woah! Stop, little Beethoven!” He carefully lays down his guitar, then turns to her, raising his hands indignant. “So you are trying to tell me, Edward Munson, lead guitarist of Corroded Coffin, that I can’t play guitar?” Laughing contemptuously he leans forward and grabs one of the little silly pompoms hanging down from her jacket. “You don’t even know what real music is and you have the audacity to tell me how to play my guitar?”

Rolling with her eyes, Y/N brushes off his hand and sighs. “Dickhead.”, she hisses under her breath, reaching out to his guitar. Before Eddies mind has the chance to comprehend what is happening, she wraps her hand around the neck of said instrument.

“See, you play it this way.” Her fingers glide smoothly over the strings, mimicking his previous playing.

With his eyes wide in shock, he follows her actions. She is good. Really good, actually. But of course Eddie is way too proud to admit it, so he rolls with his eyes and laughs.

“And this is how it’s really done.” She continues the song, but plays the right chords. And damn, she was right. That’s why it never sounded good when Eddie was playing.

“You know, you’re really getting on my nerves, little Beethoven.” Ripping his guitar out of her hands, and pushing her outside of the room again, he desperately tries to fight against the butterflies inside his stomach. But this? Damn, without him knowing, his mind decided that this was damn sexy. And he hates himself for feeling this way.

From that day on, Y/N finds herself drawn to the abandoned classroom. She begins to bring her cello along - pretending to feel safer when she isn’t all alone in the school at night practicing-, while Eddie shreds his incredible solos. Every now and then, he even lets her play with his guitar, acting dumb and like he needs some help from her. They still exchange barbs and insults, but there is a newfound camaraderie beneath it all.

One evening, after a particularly intense jam session, Eddie looks at Y/N, who has brought her own guitar this time, his eyes softened. "You know," he begins hesitantly, "you're not half bad on that guitar of yours."

Y/N raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "Coming from a Metalhead and lead guitarist, that's a compliment, I suppose."

Eddie grins and for the first time, it isn’t a taunting grin. It’s genuine, filled with a warmth Y/N had never seen before.

As the weeks pass, Eddie and Y/N's secret jam sessions continue. They are enemies turned to unlikely allies, and the more they play together, the more their mutual attraction grows. The music club's rejection has pushed them together, and in the process, they discovered a love for each other's worlds.

And the more he gets to know her, the more he realizes that she isn’t just some wannabe alternative bitch, but a real alternative bitch, listening to Metallica, Mötley Crüe and Slayer in secret. He hates to admit it, but he really starts to have a crush on her. Which, of course, his bandmates and friends start to notice.

One evening, after they played a haunting melody that blended their two musical styles, Y/N leans in, her lips brushing against Eddie's ear. "You know," she whispers and his hand automatically finds its place on her knee, "if I were your wife, I'd make you coffee every morning." What is happening? She never even dared to think about getting near to the freak, let alone imagining enjoying this intimacy she recently has with him. Her heart is beating so fast, he nearly could hear its pounding.

Eddie's heart skips a beat, and the tips of his ears start to turn into a burning red as he whispers back, "And if I were your husband, I'd drink it every day."

Carefully he lets his hand run through her soft hair only to stop at her cheek, cupping her face with his calloused hand. He feels the heat of her breath against his neck as she leans further into his touch. Their lips meet in a fiery kiss, sealing the unspoken bond that has formed between them. The enemies-turned-lovers have found their harmony, a fusion of metal and classical music that was as unique as their love story.

“You know I hate you, right?”, he whispers out of breath between kisses.

“Hell yeah,”, she answers, smiling against his lips. “As much as I hate you too.”

In Hawkins, where strange things always seem to happen, the most unexpected love has blossomed between a Metalhead and a Cello player, proving that even the fiercest enemies could become the sweetest of lovers.

xxx

Thank you for reading! 🫶 If you want to be tagged in coming fanfics or if you want to request something, feel free to send me a dm or an ask. 🥰 Likes, comments and especially reblogs are always welcome. 🤗

[lnfours]

hiii do u still take reqs? if so can u write one about intern!reader in stark industries and they bump to each other in the lab being like omg what r u doing here arent u in most of my classes in uni stuff like that and hes surprised that she got to fixed spiderman’s web shooters when he couldnt figure it out himself 😭 just sum cute getting closer and closer stuff :((((( tysmmm 🩷🩷

ANON THIS IS SO CUTE MY HEART IS BURSTING

inbox 💌

you wandered into the lab early that morning, wanting nothing more than just to get ahead on some new projects. what you didn’t expect was someone else sitting in the lab when you walked in. he almost spooked you, almost made you drop your cup of coffee.

“oh, sorry,” he chuckled, “didn’t mean to scare you. i didn’t know anyone else was coming in today.”

you shook your head, eyes moving towards what he was working on on the metal table in front of him, “it’s okay, i don’t mind sharing.”

he smiled softly, but your eyes scanned his familiar features. you pulled your eyebrows together, trying to rack your brain on where you’ve seen the boy before.

“you look familiar,” you said, “do i know you?”

he smiled, “i got to empire state, we have a few classes together.”

you pressed your palm against your forehead, feeling like an idiot, “that’s right! you’re peter, right?”

he nodded, “yeah. you’re y/n y/l/n, right?”

you smiled and nodded. the two of you started to work on your projects, low music playing in the background. the small talk continued about class.

however, you couldn’t help but notice what he was working on. it looked like he was struggling a little bit, cursing under his breath as he dropped the screw driver.

“i don’t have enough caffeine in me for this right now.” he joked and you sent him a small smile.

“need some help?” you wondered and he looked over at you with a soft smile.

“i mean, you’re busy-“

“no, it’s okay, i’m almost done,” you smiled, rolling your chair over to his table, “woah, what’s all this?”

“a new design i’ve been working on for web-shooters,” he said, “this design is supposed to have upgraded cartridges that can hold more web fluid, that way they’re not running out all of the time.”

you nodded, “i’ve seen tony work on something like this before. he said it was for spider-man, i think.”

he let out a shaky breath. should he tell you? no, you’re just a stranger to him.

“yeah, i help spider-man, uhm, design things.”

you nodded, impressed, “that’s cool.”

he nodded back, “yeah, very cool.”

you examined the web shooter, pointing out some of the things he should change to make it work. the two of you began working, he handed you some of the parts as you screwed them in.

after an hour of tinkering, you handed him the upgraded device with a smile, “give that a shot.”

he inserted the newly improved web cartridge. you watched as his fingers moved to press the button in the middle of his palm, the web shooting out and sticking to the wall nearby. you bit down on your bottom lip, shaking your head at the thoughts.

“wow,” he smiled, “that worked! it totally worked! you’re a genius.”

you smiled, “just here to help.”

he offered to help with your designs, some new arrows for clint and kate. the two of you made some more small talk.

“so, when did you start interning?” he asked.

“a couple weeks ago,” you said, twisting the arrowhead onto the shaft, “what about you? how’d you land that spider-man gig?”

he shrugged, “friend of a friend.”

you nodded, “that’s still pretty cool.”

he nodded, watching as you worked. he was in awe of you. he had been ever since you answered one of the hardest questions in class.

“how would you,” he started softly, his nerves getting the best of him as he cleared his throat, “would you like to, uhm, get coffee or something sometime?”

you smiled, “yeah, i’d really like that.”

the two of you looked up as the door to the lab closed, tony smiling as he walked inside.

“spider-boy, i see you’ve met the newest brainiac, y/n.”

your eyes widened a little as peter stiffened, you looked over at him.

“wait, you’re spider-man?”

great. thanks tony.

[gosmigenergy]

KINKTOBER 2023 / Day Fourteen

( Benny Miller x F!Reader )

UNIFORM / SUSPENSION BONDAGE / ABDUCTION/KIDNAPPING

Summary: Benny visits you at work and offers to by lunch but a change in circumstance leads to something more enticing.

Day Fourteen of @absurdthirst's Kinktober

Rating: Mature 18+

Warnings: Language, mentions of food, semi public sex, P in V, unprotected sex (use protection irl please), no use of Y/N

Word Count: 2.2k

It was another average day in the shop. Your assistant manager was a welcomed relief, her relaxed attitude meaning you could add ghosts to the window without interruption, though she did insist you needed help. Reluctantly, you agreed.

“Who is that?”

Your one colleague said it in the sort of tone people give when they see someone attractive walk by, you had the tendency to ignore it. You ignore the rap on the window too.

There wasn’t time for people watching.

“Um, I think he wants your attention.”

You sigh, this happens all the time, the comments about ‘how much are you then’ or ‘good job, when are you coming to do mine’. You turn with a face like thunder until you meet the other beaming back at you.

“Benny?”

“You know him?!”

Scrambling out of the glass box, you smooth out your skirt as he came through the door.

“Hey,” he’s still smiling, going in for a hug.

You gladly accept, “Hey, what are you doing here?”

“I realised you left without any lunch.”

There was a reason why you left without lunch this morning and he was standing right in front of you.

After his gym session, he pulled you in the shower with him. He lathered you with kisses and touched every piece of your bare skin, he was so close to fucking you but you both knew you didn’t have time. You managed to make it out of the door, hair dried and fully dressed, just when your ride pulled up. In the car, you decided you’ll just head to a coffee shop and buy something there.

“I was seeing if you were on break soon, if not I could grab you something.”

“She’s on break in a ten minutes,” your assistant manager stepped in. “And I’m making sure she definitely task it been as she forgot two days ago.”

You shrug, “It’s an easy mistake.”

“It’s not,” they both say simultaneously.

Benny knew you worked too hard, all the boys knew, it was nice to see someone in your job keeping an eye on you.

“Been as your boyfriend is here, I’ll let you go early.”

He smirks at you, no one had called him that until now. Sure, he wasn’t technically your boyfriend, in public, he just worked as the decoy for the fact you were actually sleeping with all of them.

“When do you need me back?”

“Five past one.”

“But that’s like an extra twenty minutes, I’ll be gone for almost an hour.”

“Well, bring me a festive coffee and I won’t tell.”

He snatched your wrist and dragged you out of the shop as fast as he could. You didn’t need your bag, he said, he’s buying.

“So, where are you taking me?”

You’d already gone past several food joints, your footsteps flagging behind his, your stomach was beginning to rumble.

“The athlete’s kitchen.”

“That doesn’t sound very appetising.”

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”

That wasn’t the place’s real name, it was just what Benny and all the other fighters called it. Inside had an industrial feel with scaffolding built tables and dark leather chairs, accents decorated in chunky metal piping.

“Benny!”

The man behind the counter rushed over to see him and Benny greeted him as he always does, a firm pat on the back to solidify the gesture.

“Hey Ozzie.”

“I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Sorry, man, been busy.”

“Ditching me for a girl, huh?”

The heat floods your cheeks.

“Something like that,” Benny wraps an arm round your hip and pulls you in. “Right, Bunny?”

Ozzie shrugs, “I get it, man, always nice to see your name on the order list. What can I do for you two? What about Benny’s signature dish?”

You raised your eyebrows to him.

“It’s not mine, it just so happens to be called the Benny Bagel.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll let you try it another time.”

He wasn’t one to tell you what to eat, he wanted you to have something more substantial, knowing full well you wouldn’t have eaten properly. A piece of fruit maybe but that was hardly a meal.

You moan, satisfied your stomach was full. Benny suggested an energy bowl, packed with everything that will keep you going until the end of your shift.

“Better?”

You nod, the feeling of killing everyone in sight lifted.

His hand came to your thigh, rubbing it up and down, it wasn’t the first instance of this behaviour.

Before the food arrived, he settled close to you and coiled an arm around your frame, hand resting on your hip. You felt his thumb draw circles yet he stopped when Ozzie brought over the drinks.

He squeezed your knee.

Your eyes flick around the cafe which was full, the pair of you getting in before the lunchtime rush.

“You’re pretty handsy today,” you remark.

Switching seats, he joins you back on the two seater couch.

“Sorry, I can’t help myself. It’s the uniform.”

“It’s hardly a uniform.”

He hums, pressing his body to yours, his skin boiling to the touch. He brings his mouth to your ear.

“You don’t wear a pencil skirt at home,” his tone is low, husky.

You release a shaky breath.

“I guess I don’t.”

His breath tickles at your cheek, your tongue wiping the moisture into your dry lips.

There were too many eyes in this place. Not many people could see the pair of you tucked in a neat little corner, away from the hustle and bustle. That’s probably why he was so adamant on sitting here.

There were a couple of fleeting glances as he moves his head back.

“I’m gonna head to the bathroom,” you place a hand on his chest, slowly creeping it down his stomach. “And when you’ve finished paying, you can meet me in there.”

His body went rigid. He looks at you, brows furrowing, mouth parting a little.

He prays you aren’t playing him.

You give him a coy smile before getting up.

Is that the indicator, should he be moving, is this really fucking happening?

Glancing over your shoulder, you see him still sitting there dumbfounded. You cock your head, gesturing for him to go. Now he’s smiling from ear to ear, jumping off the couch and striding to the counter.

You pick the toilet at the end.

It’s surprisingly roomy and the walls are thick, you can’t tell what’s the other side of the one wall but at least it isn’t customers enjoying their lunch. You play with your hair and inspect your mouth and teeth for any stray food.

The door knocks and you open it a crack before letting him in.

He wraps around your hips, hands grabbing your ass over its material confinement as he pulls you to him.

“How long we got?”

You slip your phone out of your pocket.

“I’d say about ten minutes.”

Ten minutes before people start getting suspicious, Benny could and would last longer. You know he’s been edging, he managed to tuck away his hard on as you left his place, he wouldn’t have fucked his own hand.

He nodded, the flick switching in his head, his energy changed more to how he was in the field or in the ring.

“Hold onto the sink, darlin’.”

“Haven’t heard you call me that in a while.”

You watch his reflection in the mirror as he tears down his shorts and boxer, just enough to allow his swollen cock to swing out.

“Slip of the tongue,” he blushes.

He preferred Bunny, the other guys were catching on to it too.

His attention returns to your ass, stroking your skirt before he stretches for the hem. He bunches the material over your hips to your waist, where it holds by itself.

“Fuuuck,” he growls. “How does it get better underneath?”

You feel his cold fingertips trail over your thigh high socks.

“Benny, concentrate.”

Christ, the Millers and their infatuation with high rising socks of any kind.

Time was of the essence.

He guides your ass back and forces your back to curve down. Hitching your underwear to the side, happy to see his fondling worked, your pussy succulent and ready. He brushes the tip over your folds, smearing your juices with his precum before he thrusts into your opening in one smooth motion.

Your hands slip on the basin, head dropping.

Allowing you a moment to compose, he meets your eyes in the mirror. Strands of his hair dance across his face, the rise of his eyebrows as he checks you’re ready.

It was the calm before the storm.

He comes back and thrusts into you again, the slap of hips meeting ass bouncing of the walls. 

Closing your eyes, your fingers hold tight, knuckles beginning to turn white before he fucks you frantically.

This was exhilarating.

The desperation in his movements as he chases his release, the harshness of his strokes as he takes everything from you, the air in your longs, the sound of your voice. The space was filling with him, his grunts, his musk, his heat. You were never going to cum like this, this wasn’t for you, this was all for him.

It didn’t mean you weren’t huffing sweetly, leaning you body at the right angle for him to keep plowing into you.

The tightness in his abs comes quickly, the weight of his balls heavy.

He brings his eyes up from where his cock disappears into you to see the two of you reflected back at him. He’s a bit of a mess, hair refusing to stay in place, the column of his throat taut, his movements getting sloppy. Yet you, you appeared to be in a state of euphoria, the pink of your tongue poking through your teeth, chest held high showing the faint curve of your breasts.

He’s almost there, his hips stutter, head falling to your shoulder.

“Shit,” he utters.

Your fingers come to his hair, encouraging him to continue, to look up.

In the mirror, your eyes hide behind heavy lids, the light in the bathroom casting the shadows of your eyelashes across your cheeks. You smile, teasing his cheek and jaw until his own returns.

That’s what you like to see.

He goes hard and fast, eyes still focused on yours.

Your chest was flushing under his intense stare, your inner walls pulsing. He clenches his jaw, baring his teeth as his whole body stiffens. His final thrust buries deep, his cock filling you to the hilt.

A straggled moan comes from his chest.

You both freeze as if you suddenly remembered where you were and you pierce your lips.

“D’you think anyone heard us?”

He sniggers, “Maybe.”

You cover your face with your hands before giggling too.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he pats your ass, slipping out seamlessly.

He takes a handful of toilet roll and wipes your folds, pushing his cum back in with your accompanying moan, slipping your knickers back over. Getting some more, he cleans his cock and throws the waste into the toilet before flushing the evidence away. After tucking himself back into his shorts, he straightens out your skirt and takes you back into his arms.

You turn to face him, brushing his hair into place.

He brings his hands up your neck, cupping your jaw to tilt your head up. His expression has restored to it’s usual softness.

“Promise I’ll make it up to you tonight.”

He runs his thumbs along your cheekbones, waiting for an answer.

“I’m sure you will,” you deliver a quick kiss.

The corners of his mouth curl before he crashes to your lips, his sheer strength snatching your breath. You push against him, tongue begging for entry. He lets you in, his tongue twisting and melding into yours before an electrical chirp interrupts the mood. His teeth in your bottom lip serves as punishment.

“You set an alarm?”

You stuff a hand into your pocket and stop the noise, looking up at him sheepishly.

“We both know we can get a little caught up in the moment.”

He hums, “You’ve never complained.”

His comment makes you blush.

“Come on, Bunny, let’s get you back.”

The two of you make a stop off at one of the more popular coffee places to buy a pumpkin spiced drink for your assistant manager whilst Benny treats you to an extra hot hot chocolate. There’s a bounce in your step, a sway in your hips as you walk a couple of steps in front of him.

When you’re not too far from the shop, he slips his hand casually into yours. You freeze, lifting both your hands to inspected them before looking a him, eyes narrowing.

“Got to keep up appearances,” he quips.

So you walk with him and step through the door hand in hand, the sensation of his hand enveloping yours strange. Your assistant manager happily accepted her drink before telling Benny to stop distracting the workers.

“Want me to pick you up?”

“That’d be great,” you say breathily.

He give you a quick kiss, winking as he dropped your hand.

“See you later.”

He left before you had chance to say goodbye.

“I need to know everything,” your assistant manager had a glint in her eye.

But what was there to tell? You were just keeping up appearances.

[clumsy-jiminie]

ɪɴᴇᴠɪᴛᴀʙʟʏ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ | ᴘᴊᴍ | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰᴏᴜʀ

❝ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀ ʜᴏᴏᴅɪᴇ ❞

↣ summary :: Kiara Smith had dreamed of true love for as long as she could remember. from being obsessed with the Disney princesses who found affection in the strangest situations to dressing up as a bride from kindergarten to fourth grade. it was the only thing she ever truly desired, so much so that a pleasant smile and kind eyes could have her smitten in seconds. right when she thought she found the one, a chance encounter with Park Jimin—the city’s famously perfect fuck boy with a smile so warm and a heart of ice—has her feeling quite the opposite. he knocks her off her axis and derails her life as she knows it, yet the universe seems to have another plan for the two.

↣ rating :: 18+

↣ genre :: fluff, angst, smut, e2l, slow burn

↣ pairing :: business owner!jimin x fem!artist!oc ft. taehyung

↣ word count :: 4.7k

↣ chapter warnings :: mature language, angst without resolve, smut - marking, unprotected sex, creampie

↣ notes :: pretty pretty please don't let anyone treat you like this 🥺 small argument or not, there are healthy ways to communicate this type of insecurity 🫶🏽

↣ next :: previous :: series m.list ↢

if you have any questions, comments, or concerns PLEASE don't hesitate to message me or send me an ask! my inbox is always open. 💖

"I can see that look in your eyes, the one that shoots me every time you grace me with your cold shoulder."

- ᴄᴏʟᴅ ꜱʜᴏᴜʟᴅᴇʀ, ᴀᴅᴇʟᴇ -

Kiara stuffed her hands in her oversized hoodie pocket as her feet led her through the hustle and bustle of the city streets. The weather was getting more tolerable as they approached a new month in the year. But then again, you could have a full snowstorm in New York in the spring. She kept her outfit light today, as light as she could go without freezing: A hoodie, a pair of leggings, and a spring jacket. The sneakers on her feet were old—dirt and stains in the crevices while the laces started wearing out. Kehlani blasted through her headphones as she weaved through people. She missed the city dearly. There was something about the feeling here that was addictive. Everyone had somewhere to be—whether it was to a job that they hated or a job that they loved, to see a family member, to sell a hat, to shop until they created a debt, or to see something incredible. Everyone had a story, no matter how big or small.

Kiara's story led her to a quaint coffee shop. Tiny and modern, it is a perfect puzzle piece in the large-scale picture of Manhattan—the smell of dark beans roasting mixed with the semi-sweet scents of freshly baked pastries. Exposed brick and pipes gave the place an industrial feel, partnered with the greenery hanging from the walls. Furniture with dark wood and black metal legs contrasted with the grey concrete flooring.

Despite it now being a crowded place where teens and adults alike could get their daily fix of the dark liquid, she knew this place from its humble beginnings. Mr. Choi brewed a mean cup of Joe, and she would sip it during the early morning rush before class in college. She and her best friends practically lived in this shop during school. They were always the first to arrive and the last to leave. Mr. Choi almost adopted them, considering how often they were there. Jeongguk even got a job here at some point, figuring if he was going to spend all his time here, he might as well get paid for it.

They still gather here occasionally, especially on days like today. When Kiara arrived at the door, she pushed it open. A crowd greeted her upon entering. Most had drinks in their hands already but were struggling to find a seat in this small coffee shop. Kiara squeezed through the people until she arrived at her usual table. A seat by the window had her name engraved on it, and she slid into it with ease. She finally pulled off her headphones, greeting the midnight-haired girl across from her.

Samira glanced up from her tablet, her lips forming a wide smile as she chewed her gum. "Sup Ki."

"Not much. You doing wedding work?" She asked as she watched Samira write on the device while looking at information on her phone.

She nodded. "I gotta get these bouquet choices to Momo later today. I also gotta show her these swatches of blue." She tapped on her tablet several times before lifting it to show the woman.

Kiara stared at the four squares on the screen. Each blue was the same hue, but the tints, shades, and undertones varied. Her lips pursed as she examined the options. "I, personally, like the first one," she said as she leaned back. "It's soft and kinda reminds me of winter. Like how the sky looks on a clear day."

Samira turned the device back to her, staring at the color while she nodded. "See, this is why it's always great to have an artist as a friend." Kiara rolled her eyes while Samira chuckled. "Speaking of, anything happening with that? Are you close to buying that house like the sugar mama you are?"

Kiara's jaw dropped before she lifted her leg to kick the girl under the table. Samira laughed loudly. "I'm not a sugar mama!"

"Is he helping you pay?"

"…No."

"Then you're a sugar mama." Samira was always so blunt, and that's why Kiara loved her. It wasn't always jokes, but she would always call the girl out when she was being dramatic or wrong.

"Anyway!" Kiara exclaimed. "I had a client dinner last night."

”Ooh, tea time." Samira locked her table and phone, giving the other her full attention. "Was he hot? Was he single? You had a little fun last night?" She asked as she wiggled her eyebrows. She leaned in, resting her elbows on the table while holding her face in her hands.

Kiara's face suddenly grew hot, and she reached up to involuntarily cover her neck with her hand. She had forgotten about the hickey Taehyung had left on her for a split second, hoping the hoodie would've covered it for her. "No!" She said quickly, hoping Samira didn't notice the red staining her cheeks. But she did, causing a smirk on her friend's lips. "He was that same asshat from the gallery."

"Oh." Her smirk quickly faded. She scrunched up her nose with disgust as her shoulders dropped.

"And turns out he wasn't just having a bad day. He was actually just a dick. He called me a coward, then selfish! All because I would rather separate my painter life from my regular life." Kiara pouted at the end of her sentence, leaning back into her chair. It was still a fresh wound, making her rethink every choice she had made thus far.

Samira scoffed. "He obviously doesn't know you. In fact, if you ever see him on the streets, let me know. I'll beat his ass."

Kiara's eyes widened as she quietly chuckled. "What is with you and Kookie being so violent?"

"Don't act like you're not the same. Just because you're in a little relationship that has you acting all prim and proper doesn't mean I don't know the real Kiara and how she used to beat ass because someone looked at me funny."

Kiara rolled her eyes. "I was younger back then and clearly had uncontrolled anger."

"Yeah, sure," Samira smiled while shaking her head. "Speaking of JK, when is he going up?"

Kiara shrugged as she grabbed her phone, looking at the time. "You know he never gives a time for these things." Suddenly, the coffee shop roared with cheers, grabbing the girl's attention. They looked towards a small stage along the shop's farthest wall. "Speak of the devil," she smirked as the tall man approached the stage. He wore a black T-shirt with a pair of dark denim jeans. There was a silver chain that hung from his belt loops. Sitting down at the piano on the stage, he tugged a stray strand of his midnight hair behind his ear. A microphone was attached to the instrument, angled perfectly so the person could speak.

"Hello, ladies and gentlemen," his smooth voice entered the mic and echoed through the establishment. Samira and Kiara locked eyes before covering their mouths to hide the giggles that quietly escaped. "This song is called 17, and I hope you enjoy it."

His fingers began to press on the white and black keys, combining the notes until they formed a beautiful melody.

"I would need a million words if I tried to define all the things you mean to me…." 

His voice was like laying on a cloud — soft and fluffy, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. Everyone in the store was mesmerized; even those who came in solely for a beverage stopped to listen for a few moments. They always left with a broad smile after. Jeongguk's voice has affected people ever since he was little. Kiara couldn't help but smile as she watched her best friend do what he loved. He shut his eyes as he sang, tuning out everything around him until nothing was left but notes. Kiara felt like a mother watching her child's first performance. 

She knew everyone in that room fell in love based on their reaction when Jeongguk sang his last note. It was overwhelmingly positive. The audience overfilled the tip jar near the bottom of the stage with bills and coins. Jeongguk stood up with a smile so wide on his lips that his eyes crinkled, smiling along with him. He bowed as the crowd cheered for him, leaning down to grab the tip jar before walking off the stage. Women who were bold enough stopped and flirted with him as he passed through the crowd. All Jeongguk did was laugh it off and politely turn them down, leaving a trail of broken hearts behind him. He reached his usual table, dropping the jar onto the table with an obnoxious thud. He made the same sound as he dropped down in the seat next to Kiara, letting out a dramatic sigh.

The girls exchanged a look before watching as his eyes closed, breathing heavily. "God, it's so hard being wanted." The two burst into laughter as he grinned, opening his eyes to look at them. "So? What did you guys think?"

"Not my favorite song," Samira said with a smirk.

"It's a good thing I don't value your opinion," Jeongguk quipped before sticking his tongue out, causing her to mirror his reaction. After a moment, he turned his head to Kiara, waiting for her answer.

"You know I loved it Kookie." She smiled at him, making his heart skip a beat as heat rushed to his ears. She chuckled as she poked at his reddening skin with her finger, making his body scrunch up like a snail recoiling into their shell. "How long did it take to write this one?"

"Only a few weeks this time," he answered with a smile. His silver lip rings glimmered as he spoke.

Kiara's smile was still etched on her lips, leaning over to the man. The scent of fresh laundry with the faintest hint of cologne entered her nostrils as she cupped his jaw in her hand. She squeezed Jeongguk's cheeks until his pink lips puffed out, shaking his head from side to side a little. "Look at him, Sammie! Our little bunny boy is growing up so fast!" Jeongguk chuckled, trying to pull her hand away, but her grip was tight.

Samira grinned, reaching her hand out to join in the fun of playing with Jeongguk's face. Her hand replaced Kiara's as she pouted out her lips. "I know! We did such a good job raising our little bunny boy." She teased in a baby voice.

Jeongguk rolled his eyes, pulling Samira's hand away from his face. "You know we're the same age, right?!"

The two girls glanced at each other before looking at the man. "And?" Kiara asked.

"Your point?" Samira added.

Jeongguk stared at them, shaking his head as he smiled. "You guys kill me." He reached into his tip jar, pulling out various bill amounts. "Y'all what something? It's on me."

The girls enthusiastically agreed before Jeongguk handed Kiara some money. She got their orders before standing up and walking towards the counter. She squeezed through the shoulders of random customers. Most waited for their drink orders, while others stayed for the atmosphere. Kiara hated crowded places like this. People had no respect for personal space or sense of how much space they took up. And because it's an establishment, she couldn't necessarily mow through people like she could on the streets. The crowd was less tight when she finally got closer to the counter. She sighed deeply, taking a single step before someone bumped right into her. She quickly felt something warm spreading from her chest to her abdomen, glancing down to see coffee all over her cream hoodie.

”What the fuck?!" She shrieked without taking a second to remember where she was. She reached for the napkins on the counter, frantically patting at her chest and torso.

"Oh my god, I'm so—" His eyes then met with the familiar golden skin Kiara possessed. He couldn't help the playful smirk that formed on his lips. "Well, doesn't karma have a funny way of working?" Jimin said, his words laced with smugness.

Kiara glared up at the blonde, huffing as she accepted defeat. Her hoodie was forever stained. "Eat ass, Park." His eyelids lowered at the girl. Why did his last name sound so unique, leaving her mouth wrapped in that annoyed tone? Maybe it was how she formed the noun—the light reflecting off lovely glossed lips as they parted to allow the syllable to roll off her tongue. It was intoxicating to watch. "You owe me a new shirt!"

His brows drew together as he tilted his head to the side. "Oh? If that's the case, I should send you my dry cleaning bill from last night."

"Fuck you, that was water!" She snapped at him. "And this is coffee! I'm never gonna get this out!"

His face remained unchanged despite receiving daggers from the girl. The most he did was shrug, causing her jaw to drop. "It wasn't that cute of a hoodie."

"What do you know about cute hoodies?!" She sounded a bit like a child, making the man chuckle softly.

"Enough to know yours isn't."

Kiara's eye twitched before she covered her face with her hands. She dragged them down her face, pulling gently at the skin as it relieved some of the building stress. She wanted to punch him in his nose. Or his mouth. Or anywhere on his body, in that case. He was such an asshole. The least he could've said was sorry. Maybe even offer to buy her a new hoodie. But no, even in moments where he was wrong, he still was an asshole through and through. "You are such a—"

"Woah, what the fuck happened?" She recognized Jeongguk's voice almost instantly. He stood beside her, staring at the massive stain on her shirt. Jimin eyed the new man, practically sizing him up despite the man being taller.

She inhaled deeply before sighing. "Nothing, nothing," she said as she shook her head. She wrapped her fingers around the man's tattooed bicep as she looked up at him. Eyes so big and round. Love, the blonde thought as he watched their interaction intently. How come she never looked at Jimin like that? But why did he want her to look at him like that? "Do you have a spare hoodie?"

The man looked down at her with the softest eyes, like she was the only person in the world to him. Jimin's brows furrowed again as he watched the warm smile form on Jeongguk's lips. "Yeah, of course."

She didn't need to say thank you; her eyes said more than enough. She then glanced towards Jimin, and for the second time, he witnessed that fondness instantly dissipating. Kiara's amber eyes were set ablaze once again. "Fuck you," she spat before Jeongguk led her away. They disappeared behind some door with a sign that read employees only. Jimin felt the same heavy feeling from before, sitting uncomfortably in his stomach. He didn't know why he wanted her to look at him with fondness so severely. She was annoying, a coward, a complete headache, and nowhere near his type. He chewed on his lower lip for a moment before rejoining the line.

"He's such a fucking jerk!" Kiara groaned as she followed behind Jeongguk to the break room area. "Who the fuck spills coffee on someone and doesn't even apologize?!"

He stopped in front of his locker and opened it, grabbing one of the two hoodies that were inside. When working at a cafe with clumsy newbies, spare clothing is more of a necessity than a suggestion. "Who the fuck was he?" He asked as he tossed her the hoodie, and she caught it.

"The same dickhead from last night," she grumbled. She pulled her hoodie over her head, leaving her standing in just a red bra with an intricate white lace pattern. Jeongguk's eyes widened briefly before quickly looking up at the ceiling. Heat flooded his ears and over his face, as he tried to forget the image he just saw. "Like, first of all, what are the odds?" Kiara continued to rant casually as if she wasn't half naked. She pulled Jeongguk's black clothing over her head, slipping into the three times too big fabric. "Second of all, he's lucky I didn't fucking deck him."

Jeongguk's eyes finally returned to the girl once she was clothed again. "Wait, what? The guy from last night?"

Kiara nodded as she picked up her dirty hoodie. When she looked towards Jeongguk, he was suddenly gone. Her eyes grew wide as she ran after him. "Kookie!" She yelled as he walked through the door. She returned to the central part of the cafe, seeing Jeongguk glance around with his brows furrowed. She grabbed him, but that didn't stop him from scanning the room. "You're on the clock!" She whispered.

All Jeongguk did was suck his teeth. "Man's lucky I like my job," he continued to look regardless, "and I can't find him."

Kiara rolled her eyes before patting his chest, "You need therapy."

"You need therapy," Jeongguk taunted quietly as Kiara joined the line again.

Kiara said goodbye to Jeongguk, watching him pull off on his motorcycle before walking inside her house. She sighed heavily upon entering, her energy drained from today's activities. After the coffee shop debacle, the three decided to hang out at Samira's house like old times. Little did Jeongguk and Kiara know that agreeing to hang out meant helping her with wedding planning. The woman was so passionate and dedicated to her job that it was something to admire, but only from afar. Her apartment was a wreck, littered with pictures and business cards. Kiara knew Samira's seriousness about her job, but since agreeing to be Momo's wedding planner, she has gone off her rocker. She ate, slept, breathed wedding details, and dragged the other two into it.

As she kicked off her sneakers, she could hear jazz music blasting from the kitchen. "Babe?" She called out as her feet led her amongst the familiar path.

Soon, Taehyung popped his head into the kitchen archway, causing a smile on Kiara's lips. "Darling! When did you get home? I'm just about done with dinner." His boxy grin made her heart skip a beat. She soon joined him in the kitchen while he resumed cooking. Her arms wrapped around his waist as she pressed her face into his back. She took a deep breath, inhaling his scent mixed with fresh laundry. Taehyung chuckled softly, "Long day?" Kiara nodded, moving along with him as he acted like she wasn't currently attached to him. "Wanna talk about it over dinner?" She nodded again, releasing him once he picked up the plates. 

They sat at their small dining room table, peacefully munching their food. Kiara looked up at Taehyung, who focused on his plate. That same warmth swamped her system. She felt so happy with him. She loved this small house they called home. She loved coming home after a long day to see his smiling face. She loved how comfortable she was with him. She glanced down at her left hand, eying her bare ring finger. If only this were enough for him.

"So?" Taehyung started with a mouth full of food. She filled him in on the events of last night and how they bled into today. Taehyung's features remained blank until the end, where he raised his eyebrows and shrugged a little. "I honestly wouldn't put that past him. He's a little snobby."

"There's a difference between being a little snobby and a complete dick. Like, do you think I'm selfish?" She asked as she placed her fork down.

He shrugged again. "You have your moments, but I don't think it's like what he's saying."

"Exactly! Everyone is a little selfish; it's just human. But he's making it seem like I wanna keep everything to myself on purpose." She folded her arms over her chest as she leaned into her chair.

Taehyung glanced at her, raising an eyebrow slightly. "Is that a new hoodie?" He stared at the dark fabric covering her body with a red skull and crossbones decal in the center.

"No, it's JK's. He gave it to me after Jimin practically dumped his coffee on me."

"JK's?" He repeated to himself, almost scoffing as he nodded his head.

Kiara watched his reaction closely—how his body suddenly tense up and the corner of his lips pushed downward. She rolled her eyes before shutting them as she leaned her head back into the chair. "Don't start."

"Don't start what?" He chuckled, absent of any joy. "I just find it funny that you come home in his hoodie. He drop you off too?"

"Yes, he did. And it's just a hoodie, Tae. I didn't want to walk around with a huge coffee stain on me, especially in public."

"Samira didn't have anything?"

"No?" She snapped a little, raising her head and opening her eyes to look at him. Taehyung's eyes narrowed at her. "Why would Samira carry around extra clothing?"

"But he did? Or did he peel his own shirt off to give to you?" He laughed, running his hands through his slightly curled locks. "Shit like this always seems to conveniently happen to you. You come home with a piece of JK on you; whether it's his clothing or his smell, you were wearing his boxer briefs once!"

"Oh my god," Kiara mumbled while pressing her fingers to her temple.

"What was that?" Taehyung suddenly raised his voice. Her eyes met his, and just as she opened her mouth to respond, he lifted his hand. He used the gesture to silence her, and it did just that. The words died on her tongue, abandoned sounds running around in her head. "You know, this is getting ridiculous. If I had a girl best friend doing all of this with me, you would've flipped your shit a long time ago."

"Taehyung," she tried her hardest to remain calm. It would've been over if she raised her voice or said something with a hint of sarcasm. "I have been friends with this man for years now. There is absolutely nothing between us."

He scoffed loudly, "That's a likely story." He stood up from the table and walked over to the living room. Kiara sighed as she got up, following after him. She noticed he grabbed his leather jacket and a white baseball cap. He put the hat on to hide his midnight hair.

"Where are you going?" She asked, but there was no response. She rolled her eyes. "Taehyung," she reached out to grab his hand, but he quickly pulled away. He glared at her over his shoulder, making her step back. 

She hated it when he looked at her like that. Like she was something vile, it made every insecurity she had crawl out of the depths of her brain and take center stage. Taehyung slid on some shoes, grabbed his keys, and walked out the front door, slamming it behind him. Her body jumped at the noise, tears stinging her eyes as she watched him pull out of the driveway from her window.

"Fuck," she sighed softly, turning to the table to grab her phone. She frantically clicked on Taehyung's contact, which was sent to voicemail each time. The tears filled to the brim before rolling down her cheeks silently. She used the sleeve of her hoodie to wipe away the waterworks, the hoodie that caused this whole mess. She never understood why he got like this and flipped a switch with ease. It was always over the tiniest things, too. She sat on the couch, chewing on her nails as she repeatedly called the man.

Taehyung was gone for hours, and by the time he returned home, he found Kiara passed out on the couch. She had replaced Jeongguk's black hoodie with one of Taehyung's grey ones instead. He carefully removed his jacket and shoes before walking to the sleeping girl and sitting in front of her. He gently wiped away her smudged mascara, causing her to scrunch her nose as she started to awake. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead, then her nose, and then her cheek. He gently persuaded her to wake up, her tired eyes finally fluttering open to meet his. There weren't any words exchanged between the two before he leaned in and pressed his lips against hers. The kiss was timid and soft. She followed his lead until she couldn't help but yearn for more of him.

The kiss guided Taehyung onto his knees, then to the couch with Kiara, where he found a place between her legs. Her hands ran up his arms, feeling his muscles subtly flexed underneath her touch. Within time, the kiss between the two grew heavier, his tongue gently appearing by grazing past her lip. She parted them just enough to let him in, their tongues gliding past each other as he pressed his hips into hers. Her hand traveled up to his head, where she swiftly pulled the cap off and tossed it to the ground. She ran her fingers through his soft hair, causing a soft moan to escape from his lips to hers.

He broke the kiss as his hand caressed her thigh. His lips found her neck, placing various kisses against her skin until her chest arched into his. And that's where he stayed, adding another bruise to her golden skin where the first one had barely healed. She moaned out for him, pressing her hips into his as she silently begged for more. He stuck his hand between their bodies, slipping his fingers underneath the fabric of her underwear. His middle finger found her clitoris with ease, gently circling it with the pad of his finger. Kiara tensed from his touch and then released. A chorus of moans parted from her throat as she tried to match the circling of her hips to his finger. 

After being satisfied with the bruise on her neck, he crashed his lips into hers again. Her hips bucked against his finger, making his cock throb in his sweatpants. He couldn't wait much longer, breaking the kiss once again. He pulled his hand out of her panties before swiftly sliding them down her legs. He didn't bother with taking his pants off, only pulling them down enough for his member to spring free. He aligned himself with her entrance, sliding his tip in between her lips to lube himself up before pushing forward. She sucked in through her teeth, her brows furrowing as she tried to get accommodated to his length. It stung a little, but Taehyung continued, slowly pulling his hips back and then forward again. As soon as Kiara's face relaxed, he increased his pace.

Her eyes shut as she moaned out for him, gripping his arm tightly as he stretched out her walls. He worked her into the couch, skin slapping together as he fell into a rhythm. He leaned forward, resting his temple against hers as he panted and groaned into her ear. She whined, her hands traveling to his back where nails dug into his skin through the fabric. The power of his hips increased, his tip pressing into her cervix until he suddenly bottomed out and stopped. She could feel him throbbing before he pulled out of her. There was a cool breeze on her lower region as he got up, pulling his pants back onto his waist. He sat down beside her, panting as he used the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow. She felt uncomfortably wet, scared to move in fear of pushing Taehyung's seed out and onto the fabric of the couch.

"I'm going to bed," he said before getting up. He walked towards the bedroom before disappearing from her line of sight.

Kiara's eyes were wide with shock, and she scoffed quietly as she carefully pushed herself off the couch. She grabbed her underwear off the floor and shuffled to the bathroom, where she cleaned herself up. She couldn't understand how, even after that, he could still be cold to her. What was the point if he was still upset? After her shower, she walked into the room and crawled into the space next to him, feeling more alone than before.

↣ next :: previous :: series m.list ↢

[takami-takami]

Happy Birthday.

includes— hawks. severe angst. hurt/no comfort.

warnings— very grotesque trauma reaction. emeto. blood. ptsd. i cannot stress enough to be careful and avoid this if it's triggering.

There's a bloodstain on the tip of his shoes.

With ankles dragged back by clinking, weighted chains, Hawks pulls himself through the doors of his sanitized apartment. Keigo steps out the other side.

He blinks. Keigo blinks. Hawks blinks in turn, up and a little to the left of his body.

His home looks familiar, unchanged as it always does. Hand-selected specifically for their one and only golden boy, the commission itself furnished the living room shades of steel and icy blue. It's a garnish on a dish served cold, a pop of color adorning an empty plate.

He never did like the color blue. It clashes with his eyes; but at least it isn't red.

Keigo detests the color red.

Keigo has always detested the color red.

The first is simply a hurdle, they say. A celebratory milestone for budding saviors in his line of work. The death was clean, they congratulated, handshakes abound as blurry bodies in suits pat his back, groping the flesh of his shoulders like proud fathers.

What did you make me do?

What did you make me do, what did you make me do, what did I do—

There's a bloodstain on the side of his shoes.

With a thud and a click of metal doors behind him, the boy is left alone to watch the spinning furniture through bleary, fogged eyes. Wrinkled at the corners, they blink closed and open again, nearly reptilian in motion and blooded just as cold.

His heart thumps heavily, but not swiftly.

For now, the flow of his veins keeps still, a far cry from his swimming vision. It's a dam, an artificial protective mechanism constructed by cognition factors of the brain; but numb is better than the alternative. Numb is better than the spilling rapids that threaten to splash over the edges and overflow.

He supposes it's better, that is. God knows he doesn't know anything else.

Seventeen years old— eighteen, now. Someone should invent a number for how old he feels.

There's a bloodstain on the bottom of his shoes.

They'll have to replace the linoleum tile. He'd rather scrub it clean himself; a mental note.

He clicks his headphones on to divert his attention before he remembers his hero training: associated sights and sounds can attach to memories, so he should distract a civilian as best he can to keep them grounded. This is his favorite song, and he would hate to dirty it by connecting it to an unwanted neuron or two. Frantic, he tries desperately to erase the lyrics, the title, the tune from memory. He tries to preserve its original, untouched state. The audio waves lose their clarity, muddied and corrupted and glitchy; so he taps next far too many times.

The corrective action simply smears the grime along the melody, and he yanks his headphones off for peace of mind.

All that is left to hear is thrumming white noise.

As he stands unmoving, the silence rings in his ears like the consistent drip of a leaky faucet. Eerily, liminally, buzzingly still, it rings in its silence. It is silent in its ring.

Everything is still, everything is the same and there is nothing he can do, nothing has changed but everything has changed and—

Something is sitting on the coffee table.

It's new.

A crisp, white slip of paper, signed and dated courtesy of the Hero Public Safety Commission.

A check.

The water of his blood runs cold, draining rapid off the sides as it begins to rush and overflow.

Entirely without his permission, his scraggly form doubles over and retches, fingertips smearing against the glass of the coffee table before his arms fly out like they're searching for something. Crash and clatter, the deafening sounds ring out, preselected decorations from industry-class interior designers knocked off the glass as he grips.

Hands tap once, twice on the surface, before a palm darts up to cover his gagging mouth. His eyes widen, bloodshot, dashing left and right—

Until he sees it, sitting isolated by the television set.

Still on his feet, he nearly tumbles as he crawls over to grip it with both hands, emptying his guts into the pretty, pristine, perfect, prepackaged and plastic bin.

Someone tucked a bag in it, lining around the inside to keep the object fresh and free of bacteria and clutter and dirt. It's almost rather thoughtful. The film crinkles loud as he vomits.

His knees thud against the tile of the bloody linoleum, emptying and emptying himself in garbled chokes and chunks, until the infection of the bile ceases to rise; until all that's left for him to give is the spittle of his sputtered coughs, the patter of clear tears that plop and mix into the mess below.

Hands trembling along the rim, Keigo hiccups.

All clean.

My nose stings, he thinks, sniffling as he pinches it. It feels like acid. It probably is.

Up he rises on shaky legs, wiping his face with the back of his grimy glove. Plucking the paper from its place on the table, he drops it in the bin. It laughs at him, the inked letters morphing into a cheshire sneer.

He tries to forget its sum, generating random strings of numbers in his head to confuse his neurons— three, seven, five, two.

Once the silence drapes over his shoulders like filthy, clipped wings, he almost misses the sound of retching. It's preferable to the silence; at least, he thinks it could be. God knows he doesn't know anything else.

His dispatch monitor buzzes firm against his thigh— an alarm.

Oh, that's right.

He nearly forgot to clock out.

There's a bloodstain on the inside of his shoes.