#or I don’t know how to make this cocktail but I know what it’s SUPPOSED to taste like so I can just throw things together until it’s nice

[rachiller]

Today was long and kind of stupid but we harvested a giant pumpkin from the polytunnel and B was normal with me today & I was starving hungry all day despite eating like 2.5 meals and overall I felt like I was actually inside my body so idk I think yesterday my brain chemistry was just in a funk. Today was not amazing but I at least felt like I was there for it

[revasserium]

Hey, can I request zoro x reader (established relationship) where the Strawhats end up going to reader’s home island (unknown to anyone in the group aside from reader), and the reader is super nervous and refuses to leave the boat, so the crew goes out and walk around and they find a missing/wanted poster of the reader and find out she’s a run away princess that needed to be. Later they coke to find out that reader ran away cause her parents and the servants mistreated and was about to marry her off to a violent prince

opla requests are: open

lips on every cross

opla!zoro; 5,989 words; fem!reader, semi-established?? relationship, posessive!zoro, strawhat!reader, no "y/n", reader gets kidnapped, fluff and angst, very brief! mentions of past familial abuse and trauma, nicknames ("Princess"), slow-ish burn???, more plot than not

summary: zoro has never thought himself a holy man. but he'd kiss every cross if it meant finding his way back to you.

a/n: idk why every opla fic i write is like... more plot than i bargained for but here we are. literally, this fic was just supposed to be "zoro calls the reader 'princess'".

01. when love arrives

(“Hey Princess —“)

The nickname starts, as almost all things do on the Going Merry, as a joke. And, as with most jokes made amongst the rag-tag crew, it sticks. He’d said it because he’s sure you’d mentioned your name once or twice already, but he’d been napping or eating and he didn’t feel like looking like an asshole right that moment.

The ribbon in your hair had caught the light in just the right way, pale pink satin — such a strange, soft color amidst the careening, careless ocean, and the word just… slipped.

“Why’dyou call her that?” Luffy asks, lounging back against the main mast as Zoro works through the umpteenth rep of single-armed pushups.

Zoro puffs out a breath and switches arms.

“Dunno. Seemed like it fit.”

Luffy slates you a long glance, blinking owlishly.

“Really? Eh — I guess… well, she is really pretty.”

Zoro only grunts, jumping up and stretching both arms over his head with a long, steady breath. His eyes flicker towards you as well, laughing with Nami on the foredeck, sipping on cocktails, Sanji probably simping somewhere nearby.

He thinks back to where they’d found you, hood pulled low over your eyes, the tell-tale signs of distress carved into every line of your body, from the curve of your spine to the bend of your shoulders.

Luffy hadn’t asked questions, so Zoro hadn’t either.

Curiosity, the fatal flaw that runs so sharp and obvious through the entirety of Luffy’s being, hasn’t always been rewarded well in Zoro’s experience. And he’s learned by now that “truth will out”, or so they say.

(“C’mon, Princess, I thought you said you could drink.”)

Caution, on the other hand, is Zoro’s oldest friend. You are cautious, if nothing else, and the first time he sees you relax in his presence, he wonders to himself if there’s a drug in this world strong enough to induce this feeling.

Later, he would learn that this is simply called falling in love.

He isn’t the only one who notices how you casually dip a silver fork or knife into every single drink before you take a sip, or that sometimes, you blurt out the word “no’ like a promise to yourself, and “sorry” like a plea for help.

And he’s spent long enough being a hunter to know what being hunted looks like. So he doesn’t ask, and you don’t answer, and somehow, you still manage to make yourself a home in the dark caverns of his chest, curling up there till he can’t count his heartbeats without it sounding like the shadow of your name on the midnight wind.

02. a study of light and dark

The drinking game starts off innocently enough (and don’t they always), but it takes half a round for the questions and subsequent answers to devolve into loud laughter and debauchery, delirium and debasement.

“Alright, alright —“ Sanji holds up a hand, tossing back his shot to raucous cheers, “worst thing you’ve done in a closet. Go —“

Zoro rolls his eyes and takes the shot, foregoing his answer. Nami simply grins, catlike, swirling her own drink around her glass.

“In your wildest dreams, cook,” she says before taking her shot as well. Sanji lets out a contemplative whistle, followed by a good-natured wink.

“Define worst, cause… I mean, I’ve puked in like… most of them back in Syrup Village,” Usopp says. Sanji only chuckles, shrugging.

“We’ll take it, we’ll take it.”

Luffy hums, frowning for a second before smacking a fist into his open palm, grinning, “I took a nap!”

Everyone laughs, helpless and buoyed up by the casual effervescence of a night like this — when the moon is dark and the stars are bright and thin wisps of silver clouds mar the sky like tendrils of lost daydreams, caught on the wrong side of sunset.

When the laughter settles down, everyone turns to you.

You purse your lips, feeling the weight of your answer pressing down on the tip of your tongue — I hid. And I waited. And I tried not to listen.

As the silence stretches on, Zoro leans forward and uncrosses his arms, reaching out to nudge a full shot glass towards you.

“Times up, Princess — drink,” and though there’s nothing soft or even forgiving in his voice, but you feel yourself relax as everyone boos and you take your shot.

The heat of Zoro’s gaze only lingers on your skin for a moment longer before he leans back again, that familiar almost-grin tugging lazily at his lips as he turns half-lidded eyes towards the rest of his crew.

(“Talk to me, Princess.”)

When you find him later, fumbling in the dark of the hallway just outside his room, you kiss him without saying “thank you” and he doesn’t question it when, pressed beneath him on the rough linen of his sheets, you ask to keep the lights on.

03. etymology

Princess — it’s a nice word, Zoro muses to himself. The light pop of the ‘p’ rolling into the warm, round ‘r’, thinning out into the sensual layering of the double ‘s’s, till you’re left with nothing but a hiss, a shadow, a memory.

It’s a regal word; a pretty word. Though its origins might be anything but.

From the Latin primus “first” and cept “catcher”, or so Robin had told him over the pages of an ancient book he hadn’t bothered to ask the name of, because Princes and Kings have always obtained their powers through taking, and never asking. Reaping, and never sowing.

Zoro thinks then that this, too, is a form conquest — you over him. The totality of your power stunning to behold, if only because he has to let you take it in the first place. And he does so willingly.

He wonders if you, too, are as multifaceted as his nickname for you — delicacy and desire wrapped around a darker something, lace laid over a knife’s unforgiving edge.

The first time he dares to kiss you, he feels you kissing him back, the sharp canines of your teeth catching on his lower lip, drawing out a soft grunt from him. You’d paused, and then you’d bitten down harder just to hear him gasp into your mouth.

He knew then, without ever having to ask, that you are.

04. tip of the iceberg

It is winter when they arrive — but then again, it is always winter here. Here, the cold runs so deep it drives frost crystals into the marrow of your bones. Here, the wind howls like a wounded animal and the night falls with a savage, carnal vengeance, all black velvet and a blood-tinted moon.

Here, the snow storms turn living, breathing heroes into song lyrics and poetry rhymes.

You inhale a single breath before turning and heading back below deck.

Zoro frowns, and at a single look from Luffy, he follows you beneath, only to find you rummaging around the kitchen, tugging a bottle of moonshine out from under the sink.

“Whoa,” Zoro says, reaching out to stop you from uncorking the bottle, an eyebrow raised. He doesn’t miss the way you shiver, “bit early, isn’t it?”

“Bit rich, coming from you,” you snap, eyes sharp, voice stinging.

Zoro only cocks his other eyebrow in tandem and pulls the bottle from your hands before turning and grabbing two glasses from the cupboard. He takes his time filling them both with ice, and then pouring a finger into each glass.

You don’t meet his eyes as you reach out for your glass, but he catches your wrist.

“A drink for an answer,” he says.

You pause, your lips pressed into a thin, white line. And he knows it’s unfair, to turn this game around on you, because he can tell from the hard set of your shoulders that this is so much more than a drinking game but if this is what it takes to get the truth — then so be it.

“Fine,” you say, glancing away, voice clipped.

You move to take a sip, but Zoro pushes down your hand again.

“No lying.”

You scoff, narrowing your eyes, “Obviously.”

He eases off, picking up his own glass and clinking it against yours before taking a light swig, “You know this place.”

This time, you’re the one who turns around with a cocked brow.

“Got a question in there somewhere?”

Zoro’s lips twitch, “Yes, or no.”

You sigh, tapping a finger against the edge of your cup, “Yes.”

Zoro hums, “Your turn.”

You chew on your lips before taking a sip, “Why do you care so much?”

Zoro ticks his tongue against his teeth, “Stupid question. Next.”

You huff, “That’s not how this game goes.”

Zoro swirls his glass before setting it down on the counter with a loud clack, “Because I care about you.”

You pause with your own drink halfway to your mouth and look up. Zoro doesn’t shy away from meeting your gaze and for a moment, time statics to a halt around you.

Then, Zoro sighs, unclenching his jaw as he attempts a lopsided smile.

“Hey, talk to me,” he reaches out to trail a finger along the high of your cheekbones, up to the shell of your ear.

The ‘please’ hangs silent in the air between you; the ‘Princess’ is implied.

And for the first time, he thinks he sees you flinch. He makes to pull back but you tug his hand forward, pressing your cheek against his palm.

“This island,” you say, finally, the tremor in your voice like a hairline fracture snaking through a porcelain vase, “it’s… well, it used to be… my home.”

05. the secret history

It is the most beautiful place any of them have ever been.

The castle is made entirely of ice, the cold winter sun refracting the light into a million and one unseen colors. Giant ice-carved sculptures dot the crystal-flower gardens, and it takes them all a few minutes to realize that the gorgeous, delicate blooms are made of glass, blown and shaped to mirror real-life snowflakes — each unique, glittering, and eternal.

“Dude… how long do you think all this took to make?” Usopp asks, his head turning as if on a swivel, his jaw hinging off his face in awe.

Robin sighs, “Too long, perhaps.”

Zoro stays quiet, and beside him, so does Nami.

You’d insisted on staying back, to guard the ship, you’d said. But the space you usually fill in the group hangs solid in the air, a gaping hole of lack when there should be none.

Luffy hums and he marches out in front of them, ever the dubious, fearless leader. Though most of the crew has now come to terms with the fact that “courage” and “sheer bull-headedness” are often two sides of the same coin for him.

It’s Sanji who pauses first, causing Chopper to ram into the back of his knees.

“Ouch! What’dyou do that f —”

“Look,” Sanji says, pointing at a poster pasted to the slick outer wall of the castle gates.

And they do, leaning in, crowding too close. Zoro grunts as Chopper jumps and scrambles up his back to peer over his shoulder at the face plastered on the dew-soaked poster, the words LOST PRINCESS: 120,000,000 FOR ANY INFORMATION THAT LEADS TO HER WHEREABOUTS printed in giant, familiar block letters along the bottom.

Beside him, Zoro can feel Nami swallowing. Hard.

“A hundred and twenty million berry…” she murmurs, her breath going shallow as they all stare, dumbfounded at the poster of what is unmistakably you.

You, with your exquisite features schooled into something like solemnity, your usually wind-swept hair twisted up into a tight braid across the crown of your head, a diadem of ice-white silver and light-cut jewels jutting up from your severe updo like so many broken teeth, sharp and unforgiving as stalagmites.

If none of them had known, it’d be impossible to reconcile you with this cold, distant portrait, your eyes rendered lifeless and dull by the depthless black ink.

Luffy, however, only blinks and turns to stare at Zoro.

“Did you know?”

“What?”

Luffy continues to stare, “When I asked why you always call her ‘Princess’.”

Zoro sighs, turning his eyes back to the WANTED poster before shaking his head.

“No. Like I said… I thought it just… fit.”

06. eternal day

Zoro is itching to get back to the ship. There’s a fish-line sliver of worry tugging at the place behind his chest where his heart should be, and he knows implicitly that something is wrong.

“Don’t worry, she can take care of herself!” Luffy says, smiling bright, his confidence unwavering.

“No Luffy, Zoro’s right — someone should be with her. What if —” and here, Nami glances at Zoro before turning her attention back to Luffy, “— she might need the backup,” is what she finally settles with. And to Zoro’s great relief, Luffy agrees.

And then, to everyone’s horror, off in the distance, your voice rises over the wind in a blood-curdling scream.

07. endless night

By the time Zoro makes it back to the ship, you are already gone.

08. torn asunder

Gone, gone, gone. The word echoes like an ill-fated alarm bell, ringing through Zoro’s entire body as he catapults himself through the ship, slamming open every door, checking every nook, corner, and crevice. Signs of a struggle, that much is clear, scuffs on the freshly waxed planks of the aft deck, nail marks along the railings, and —

Zoro’s breath freezes in his chest.

A smear of blood that drips over the side of the ship, trailing down the ladder.

A flash of pale pink catches his eye.

Your satin hair ribbon lies abandoned on the wharfs’ boardwalk, the faintest splatter of red soaking its ends.

He picks it up between gentle fingers and tucks it deep into his pocket.

His vision blurs red as he thinks about the things your captors might’ve done to you before dragging you off. He’s seen you fight and it wouldn’t have been easy to bring you down.

And by the time the rest of the crew reach him, he’s already sprinting back towards the castle, his jaw set, his teeth gritted.

It takes the combined effort of Sanji, Luffy, and Robin to stop him from charging through the castle gates and tearing the whole place down.

“Runnin’ round like a headless chicken’s not gonna do her any good, mate,” Sanji says, a smoke already caught between his teeth. A pre-fight ritual of his.

Zoro jerks his arm out of Sanji’s grasp, stalking down the street with a huff.

Robin strolls after him, somehow keeping pace, looking unhurried as Zoro tamps down the blind urge to slash the entire island in half.

“We’ll find her,” Robin says, her voice level, even as her sharp eyes scan the white-specked horizon, the usually amused half-twist of her lips laid flat by worry, “and she’s stronger than you think.”

At this, Zoro whips around, “I know —” but he bites down the venom threatening to surge up the back of his throat with a sigh. Robin doesn’t flinch, and Zoro attempts a steadying breath before repeating himself in a slightly softer tone, “I know… I’m just…”

Robin nods, and Zoro is thankful that he doesn’t have to finish his sentence.

09. the tower and the throne

The cold greets you like a scorned lover— a spiteful, savage mistress. Tendrils of frost creep along the walls of your old bedroom to caress your cheeks. You shiver and wrap your arms around yourself, sitting on familiar satin sheets.

“Dinner is soon, darling,” your mother’s cool voice calls from outside your bedroom door, “and make yourself presentable — we’ve got guests.”

The sadistic lilt of her voice as she says the word ‘guests’ makes you jerk your head up, staring at the door as if you might be able to bore through the thick wood with nothing but your eyes. And, almost as if she can feel you staring, you hear your mother’s cold, tinkling laughter.

“Hurry now… I had your favorite dress put out for you. It should still fit — and we don’t want to keep them… waiting.”

The slow, sanguine pause before her last word makes you want to rip out your hair and scream into the wind till your voice gives out.

Instead, you push yourself up and reach for the dress laid out at the foot of your bed with shaking fingers.

The dress fits you like a second skin, the delicate lace trim barely sweeping the floor as you adjust the bodice, grimacing at your reflection in the large, floor-length mirror. It is as if the last ten months had never happened, as if you’d never escaped this terrifying hellscape of a winter wonderland. As if you’d simply dreamed every single sun-filled afternoon, every star-strewn night spent laughing and singing amongst your new-found crew.

Here, in the fragile glass reflection, you are once again a girl trapped behind her own ribcage, with a destiny carved into stone and ice, with no hope of summer in sight. You take a long breath and tighten the ribbons of your dress.

You are still and silent as the maid slips in through the door after a single knock and begins to twist up your hair. Tighter and tighter, till it sets your teeth on edge. When she pins the crown in place, it takes everything inside you not to fall apart, to shatter at the weight, the sight of it sitting on your head. You swallow as the maid dips her head and backs out of the room with a murmured dinner is served, Princess.

For the first time, you wince openly at her words.

10. waiting for the rain

The hall is just how you remembered it, huge and cavernous, gaping like the empty maw of some petrified monster, the ceiling hanging with so many cold, sparkling chandeliers, ice-carved statues jutting up from the floors like teeth.

You’re marched in like a show animal, the great marble doors swinging open before you as you step forward and feel your breath freeze in your chest.

There, strung up on a massive statue of some long-forgotten saint, is Zoro, cuts and bruises marring his already scarred and puckered torso. But he smirks as he sees you come in, his eyes bright as he spits a mouthful of blood onto the seemingly endless white floors. Around him, the rest of your crew sits, tied and slumped over in chairs like so many sleeping mannequins.

“Hey there, Princess. Just in time for dinner.”

You nearly wince at the raspiness in his voice, the faint trickle of blood that leaks out the corner of his mouth.

“Silence,” your father’s voice echoes out from the high-backed chair at the head of the ludicrously long table. You don’t have to see to know his face is as smooth as just-applied plaster. But Zoro only has eyes for you — and he continues to talk as if he hadn’t been interrupted.

“If you’d told us we’d be welcomed like this, we might’ve packed differently.”

You bite down on your bottom lip so hard you almost taste the metallic tang of blood.

“Our daughter has always been a skillful liar — though it’s a habit we tried to… rid her of in her youth. The lesson never seemed to have stuck.” Your mother this time. And now, you can see the muscle ticking in Zoro’s jaw as he scoffs.

“Really? And here I always thought she was shit at lying.”

You swallow down a whimper as the maid wordlessly leads you to the far end of the table, where Zoro is still tied. You drop into the seat between a snoring Luffy and an eerily still Nami, and it’s all you can do not to turn around and retch onto the silk embroidered rug.

“Be that as it may…” your mother’s voice drops a few degrees — an admirable feat, as her voice is usually just on the other side of frigid, “it’s bad luck to kill on the eve of a royal wedding.”

At this, Zoro’s head snaps around and you shrink back in your chair, your eyes fixed on your fists, clenched in your lap.

“Mother,” you grind out, finally forcing your head up so as to meet her piercing, blizzard-bright gaze, “I’ve told you, I’ve no intention of getting married. At least not to the mongrel you’ve decided to set me up with.”

You spit out the last sentence, trying to remember all the snark, all the confidence that’d built up inside you over the past weeks and months. Away from this dreaded castle and on the sun-soaked bow of the Going Merry, it was the first time you’d begun to discover who you are — the things you liked, the ways of life that you yearned for.

Your father slams a hand on the table at the same moment that Zoro lets out a bark of laughter.

“Insolence!”

“Damn, Princess — you never told me you could bite.”

And, to your horror and perhaps deep-seated pleasure, a blush works its way into your cheeks at Zoro’s words. Your eyes snap towards him, catching his gaze as he smirks at you. And even though his shirt is slashed, his sword hilts hanging woefully empty at this hip, his hands twisted painfully behind him on the statue, he still manages an easy, condescending air.

You seize at this tiny tendril of normalcy as you force a wane smile.

“I might be persuaded to do more than that… if you ask nicely.”

Zoro’s snicker is drowned out by your mother’s sharp gasp. But you don’t look away, holding Zoro’s gaze for as long as you dare — in it, you find an entire abyss of barely concealed rage (and is that… amusement?), his entire body straining against the shackles that hold him. Then, his eyes slip from you to a point just over your shoulder.

It’s then that you realize: Luffy’s not snoring anymore.

11. to reap and to sow

You’re never quite certain of how the Merry’s crew seems to always just wriggle out of frankly gruesome and untimely deaths, but here you are, racing for the docks like your lives depended on it. Because, well, it kind of does.

“Remind me —” you shout between pants, one hand clutched firmly in Zoro’s, the other doing its best to lift the ridiculous dinner dress they’d put you in — a confection of lace and tulle, the bodice laced with pale pink satin ribbon, “how the hell did you guys manage to trick my parents into thinking you’d eaten the spiked food?”

Sanji flashes you a toothy grin, “Ah love… you know how it is — ask us no questions, and we’ll tell you no lies!”

Luffy, however, whoops as he launches himself from a pair of solid brick buildings, catapulting himself over your sprinting crew.

“We just — pretended to eat! I mean — I did kinda actually eat a bit — but — it wasn’t that bad!”

You resist the urge to pinch your nose bridge at the nonchalance with which Luffy is talking about consuming poisoned food, but you’ve only got two hands and both are equally occupied at the moment. You settle for an exasperated sigh.

“That was — really stupid! — What if — they’d — poisoned the food — with something — other than — sleeping medicine?!” you ask, forcing air into your lungs as finally, you all round the bend onto the bustling pier, the Going Merry’s unmistakable shape silhouetted against the misty horizon.

“We can talk when — we’re all back — on the ship!” Nami calls as she sprints passed you, reaching out a hand for Luffy, who’s elongated arm grabs her and slings her onto the deck of the ship. You barely have a second to breathe before Zoro’s arm loops around your waist and you’re being pulled tight into his side.

His breath is hot against your collarbone as he smirks, “Hold on tight, Princess.”

It’s all you can do to listen as you’re suddenly whipped through the air like a doll on a drunken marionette’s string. A bright peal of Luffy-tinted laughter later, you thud onto the deck of the Going Merry, the breath knocked clean from your lungs as the world spins and spins. You’d expected to hit solid wood, or maybe even the railing or the mast but —

Zoro groans beneath you, and it takes you a long second to realize that he’d cushioned your fall, your bodies pressed chest to chest, hip to hip, your arms still wrapped around his shoulders, his still steady around your waist.

“O-oh! Sorry —” you try to pull away but Zoro’s grip on you only tightens.

You freeze as he blinks up at you, eyes slightly narrowed.

“Crown’s crooked,” Zoro finally says, that tell-tale smirk twisting the edge of his lips as his gaze flickers upwards. Your hand jumps to the crown, somehow still clipped into your now disheveled hair, lopping to one side as the braids start to come loose. You purse your lips.

“I never liked it anyway…” You make to tug it out but Zoro reaches up to right it, though he lets his hand linger as he falls along the side of your face.

“Nah, looks good on you.” His voice is so low, and suddenly, air is such a language that you’re certain you’d forgotten how to speak. Slowly, he pushes up till you’re both sitting, you still pressed against him and him still pressed against you. Distantly, you can hear shouting, Usopp’s voice raised high over the wind as the Merry careens out of port and towards the open sea.

But strangely, no one makes to pull you away from him, or him from you.

“I should’ve told you guys…” you say, eyes casting down as you rest your palms against his chest. Beneath it, you can feel his heart — pounding, pounding, pounding. There’s a light sheen of sweat glimmering on his honeyed skin as you swallow, looking back up even as he chuckles.

“Sure, but we should’ve asked.”

You bite your lips, “I think you did.”

Zoro grins, shrugging as he helps you up, somehow managing to keep his arm slipped around your waist.

“Well. Should’ve asked better, then.”

12. lost stars

It takes you a while to tell them the story — the real story, the whole story. And there’s drinking involved, but it’s mostly just you clutching at your half-filled glass, Zoro’s knee pressed comfortingly against yours, even though his eyes are closed, his head leaned back, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

You tell them about the dark underbelly of royalty that everyone knows but no one wants to talk about — the blood and teeth beneath the silk and silver. You tell them about being raised a bargaining chip, of being sold and promised like a prized heifer on auction day.

You tell them about the moonless nights when the only thing you had to keep you company was the cold, about the “lessons” your mother would teach you, about how the maids would be instructed to hide the bruises just so, about the Prince who you were set to marry and the rumors that plagued his castle —

“They say that he’d take the prettiest girls from the surrounding town as his maids and that none of them ever walked out of his castle again,” you say. The moonshine burns on its way down your throat as you finish your drink.

Wordlessly, Zoro reaches over to pluck the glass from your hand and set it on the table. It’s only then that you realize your fingers are white and trembling.

“Did he hurt you?”

Zoro’s voice is not loud, but everyone turns to look at him. You shake your head, clasping your hands in your lap.

“No. I only ever… met him once, at a dinner party. It was after that that I… ran away.”

Zoro hums, leaning back again, “Good.”

Across the room, Sanji blows out a series of smoke rings and frowns.

“Were you about to offer to hunt him down?” Robin asks, sounding amused.

Zoro shrugs, “Wouldn’t have offered — would’ve just done it.”

“He sounds like the kinda guy we should hunt down anyway, no?” Luffy asks, cocking his head as he looks back at you, “I mean, I’m glad he never hurt you but… he’s still hurting people!”

“Luffy’s got a point,” Sanji says, stubbing out his cigarette.

“For once, I agree with Sanji,” Nami says.

There’s a light squabble during which Sanji makes an aggrieved noise and Nami rolls her eyes, and then everyone is laughing and chatting and more drinks are being poured. Next to you, Zoro reaches out to wrap his arm around your waist again. It’s something he’s been doing more lately, and you can’t honestly say that you mind it much at all.

“We don’t have to,” he says, leaning forward, almost as if to brush his lips by your ear, “if… if you don’t want to.”

You shiver at the base rumble of his voice, at the way his eyes are so warm and full of some uncertain promise.

“No, I… I do want to. It’s just…”

Zoro’s fingers trace small, absent-minded circles into the skin of your waist and you fight down another shiver.

“I don’t plan on letting you get kidnapped again, Princess.”

Your gaze snaps up to meet Zoro’s, and there’s a faint smile kissing the line of his lips. And suddenly, the lightness of his touch doesn’t feel so thoughtless as heat curls out from the place where his palm meets your skin, radiating out till you’re breathless with it.

“Oh?”

“Never liked people trying to take what’s mine.”

And the dark possessiveness with which he says mine leaves little room for interpretation, even as you lick your lips and try to think of something witty to say.

“I don’t remember agreeing to be yours.”

It’s the best you can come up with; Zoro’s only response is a soft, contemplative grunt.

“What’s that saying? ‘Actions speak louder than words’?” he flashes you a satisfied grin as you narrow your eyes at him, swatting at his chest as he laughs.

“I meant it though,” he says, a moment later, as the rest of the crew all chatter around you, “about calling it off if you don’t want to. But…” he reaches up a free hand to tug a strand of your hair free from the ponytail it’s tied up in.

“Figured you might sleep better at night knowing he’s gone.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t been aware you were holding, your whole body softening as you lean into him, pressing your palms to his chest as he looks at you.

“Yeah… I think I might. And… like you said… it’s not like I’m gonna get kidnapped again.”

You smile, letting your eyes flicker down to Zoro’s lips. His smile is pleased and just a little jagged as he tugs you up by the hand and the pair of you slip from the room.

Above deck, the sun is setting, and the warm, slanted light casts the entire ship in a glaze of gold that looks almost gilded. You lean against the railings, closing your eyes and letting the warmth of the sun seep into your skin, chasing away the chill that’d been lingering at your fingertips since you’d all made your spectacular escape from your home island.

You feel rather than hear Zoro join you. You take your time breathing in the salty tang of the humid sea air before opening your eyes and slating him a side-long look.

“Thank you,” you say.

“For what?”

“For coming after me.”

Zoro scoffs, turning away from the roiling waves to lean back against the railings, his head cocked as he looks you over.

“Like I said… I don’t like it when people try to take what’s mine.”

But this time, you laugh, nodding, “So you’ve said. But still… thanks.”

“Hn.”

Zoro closes his eyes, seemingly enjoying the last vestiges of the setting sun as it sinks ever-lower along the horizon. Then, he opens one eye to peer at you.

“Though I’ve been meaning to ask —”

“Hm?”

“What’s this about doing more than biting… if asked about it nicely enough?”

You try to duck your head but Zoro catches your chin in his fingers.

“I — I just… knew it would piss off my mother if she —”

“Mm, sounded like more than that to me.”

Your breath hitches as Zoro’s thumb traces a rough line along your bottom lip.

“How about… I show you?” and the offer is barely out of your mouth before Zoro is kissing you, his mouth seeking out yours with a soft groan that betrays all the lightness in his touch as he trails his free hand down your arm to pull hard at your waist.

And it’s not the first time you’ve kissed. It’s not even the first time a kiss with Zoro has become more than just a kiss, though you’d always been careful before to make sure that he knew (though thinking back, it might’ve just been an ill-fated attempt at lying to yourself) that the pleasure shared between bodies was just that — pleasure and bodies.

But this — this kiss becomes, and becomes.

It becomes breath and heartbeats, pleasure and heat. It becomes truth and promises and the tantalizing taste of fairy-tale endings.

“Z-Zoro…”

“Yes Princess?”

You hiss as his teeth grazes along your pulse point and your fingers fist in his hair.

“Y’know…” your voice comes out as nothing more than a soft pant as Zoro tugs you over to one of the reclining chairs beneath the orange trees and pulls you over his hips, “I’ve never liked being called that but…”

“But?” his thumbs inch beneath the material of your shirt, circling your hipbones as he smirks up at you.

“I don’t mind it when it’s you.”

Zoro’s grin goes wide and wolfish. Above him, the first stars spark into being as the sun finally sinks beyond the far horizon. For a second, his smile softens as he reaches up to toy with the end of the pale pink ribbon in your hair. Then, he gives it a single, solid tug, and your hair falls open around your shoulders, tumbling down in waves.

Zoro leans up to press a light kiss to the blood-stained satin before letting it flutter off in the wind, twisting into the rapidly darkening night.

“Good… cause I ain’t about to let anyone else call you that either.”

[deadghosy]

How would (Separate) Hazbin hotel (Demons &Angel) react to a green thumb gardener whose elegant, classy and attractive and she went to hell by mistake but it was a happy one (She's not completely weak as she has her plant to protect her and everything)

HAZBIN HOTEL X GARDENER! READER

prompt: a common mistake made demons and angels swoon over a gardener who just wants to take care of her/his plants

cw! Sir Pentious is alive for this so he can witness your beauty in flowers💗

note! I listened to Lana Del Rey while making this lol.

HELL

You didn’t know you were supposed to be in heaven as you started your own flower shop. It was the biggest know hell flower store with actual flowers.

You were practically poison ivy, but more kind and definitely calmer. Hell, even some of your regulars call you poison ivy. Mostly because if people touch you metaphorically the wrong way, then you technically show them a harsher side of you. Literally, a plant impaled a sinner trying to rob your store. 

What you didn’t except to get friends or even people interested into you as you just have a normal as shop you dreamed of before dying.

“Welcome to my flower shop, what can I help you with?” You said with a soft smile as a flower vine is watering other flowers in the background. Some imps, sinners, and hell borns go all the way to just see you and your flowers.

I can see you wearing a flower crown or just flowers in your hair. Like dead ass giving rapunzel. Possibly so, your alive flowers and vines had made that for you as you worked.

You most definitely wear those cute gardening outfits like overalls or those dresses if you prefer one of them or both.

See this is what I can imagine, I can imagine the whole damn hotel having a flower competition and you show up with a big ass plant with a neat pink bow on it 😭. You definitely had a smile as you drank tea with a secret smirk.

I can see you visiting the hotel Charlie has as she invited you to do some flower decor for a reopening of the hotel.

Imagine how pissed you were when a couple of sinners came in to make your shop look like shit. But you wasn’t gonna stand for it as you raised your hand grabbing the sinners by their necks with vines. “If you want flowers, I wouldn’t mind making you a funeral for you to have some.” You said with venom as the sinner practically shitted themselves as they were thrown out the windows of your shop.

A sinner had thrown a Molotov cocktail once in your shop all because he thought it was weird to have a “girly” flower shop in hell. As the fire spreads in your shop, you sighed having plant vines cover you in a big ball as one of the vine slither to find the culprit. After finding the culprit, you forced them to clean your shop since killing someone for such a petty crime like that in your opinion isn’t worth killing. You can always make a new shop and fix it.

Vaggie most definitely knows you as you hooked her up with flowers that Charlie might like. You told her Charlie seems like a simple girl would just like roses since they represent romance. And basically it was Vaggie and Charlie’s date night. And it was a success.

Angel dust loves how you don’t judge him for who he is by his work. But he definitely loves how you two gossip over some tea, well he drinks while you drink tea or water. You are like an older sister/brother figure to him. He loves resting in your bean bag you have in the back, he could just come in and and lay down straight.

I headcannon your whole palette to be like green, pink, yellow and white. Literally just spring ass colors to seem classy with your flower shop.

I can imagine you having the personality of applejack but more of a flower and gardening person as gardener! Reader were most definitely born in the south. Like I can imagine reader to be a mix of applejack, rarity, fluttershy but 100% of applejack’s honesty and a lot of Rarity’s elegance.

Niffty adores you! Literally she goes in your store to rant about she wants the hotel to smell fresh and ready. And you hook a sista up with how you give her scented plug in. She immediately starts worshipping you like Alastor which makes Alastor raise a brow seeing a shine of you in her room and drawings of you.

Charlie immediately loves how vaggie and angel ador you and find you as a loyal friend. She would love to have you at the hotel as a resident. She could even beg Alastor or her dad to make a flower shop for you to even stay longer by briding. She would also try to become your friend for her to succeed.

Sir Pentious went to your store to apologize again to Alastor as he felt that Alastor didn’t forgave him. He was scared you weren’t a kind “sinner” that only had a flower shop to scam people for their money. But when you spoke with kindness and care towards the snake demon. He felt calm in your presence, to the point when he got his flowers. He gave you one which made you smile at him and put it in your hair. He blushed and ran off.

The egg boiz love too appear in your store as their boss, penthouse is very nervous to talk to such an attractive person like you. You welcome the eggz to your humble store as you give them flowers to give back to the hotel staffs.

Angel and Cherri most definitely asked you to give them flowers to match their personality. You gave them both a Carnation flower which you thought was good for their personality. Or even a Lilly.

Husk kept seeing the crew leave the hotel to see them come back with flowers. He grumble confused at why they kept getting flowers. That is until he asked Charlie, and Charlie ranted about what a beauty and how kind you are. Husk raised a brow thinking you were putting up an act, so he went to see you. Let’s just say he got a rose coming back with a soft smile and a purr.

The Vee’s heard about you, Vox heard about you first and looked you up to see you are a popular florist and gardener with the power of Chlorokinesis. The power to mentally and physically control flowers. Vox smirked hearing about your 5 star rating shop. If it was that high ranked with people commenting it on yelp saying you were the best business to be at. You definitely got his attention at most.

Lucifer went to your store for some flowers to give to his daughter, and when he heard how amazing your store was. He went to se it himself. He definitely felt your pure spirit making him stumble into confusion on why you weren’t in heaven already. But he got his flowers and felt with a cup of tea you gave him. He shortly came back at the end of the day to give you his own flowers as he smiled with a snake smile and left leaving a note that says, “you’re welcome to come stay at the hotel! :)”

Alastor finally decided to meet you after hearing all the good things you did for the hotel and for the staff. He must say he was jealous how you won their hearts so damn quickly. He went to your store to see what’s all the fuss about and got hit with a lavender scent in his nose. He covered it as he wasn’t use to such sweet smell in hell as it’s filled with fire and blood. And there you were sitting there with a smile as warm plate of teas sat by you. You welcomed him as he made chat with you to find your heart pure with gold. He also left with a rose and a genuine smile.

I imagine how sweet you get your own flowers by regulars and your friends at the hotel as they love your passion about plants.

Headcannon on Gardner! Reader to be a Lana Del Rey fan as the song to match her/him is “born to die” 💗🦆

Vox was obviously the first Vee to meet you face to face as he had researched you so many times on the internet to get any scoop of you to only end up with an empty hand. So he decided to see you in person and smile with a charming one to see you greet him with a smile and show him the recommended flowers for loved one and family. He was not into the flowers as he watched the plant vines in the back work like hands. He smirks trying to use his hypnosis, but failed greatly as a flower in a vase covered his sighting of you. Thanks to your plant vines.

Velvette was the second one to come to your store as she was not impressed at how “boring and plain” it was in your shop. She was snarky about the decor and gave you tips on how to make it “pop” in here. You just smiled, and with a snap of your fingers, the decor changed to a more fashionable flower place. It made the female Vee almost drop her jaw and composure. But she can’t let some flower store shock her. So she left with one last snarky comment under her breath.

Valentino definitely came in last to see what was up with your whole popularity of your “business” of flowers as he was so busy working his porn industry. So when he walked in yo see you reaching for some flower seeds to get for a customer. He grabbed your waist, wanting to seem flirty only for it to backfire as a vine punches him away from you. You already knew who this bastard was, and you weren’t gonna let him get you like how he got angel. So during his entire visit at your shop, you made it a living hell. Literally.

I can see the Vee’s coming back every weekday to try and get you to be their little flower pet, but you ain’t buying it. 😘

You most definitely have a vine hammock in the corner of your store as you just sit there and nap during your breaks.

Imagine how cool and sweet you are to the imp and hell born children that come to visit your store for father day and mother day. Hell, even valentines days

I can headcannon that gardener! Reader has once in their hell life down there had to drag out a rude Karen ass bitch by their hair. You fuck with their plants, you fuck with them.

Imagine how chill you are just sipping tea as your plants and vines attack some dude trying to steal your sunflower seeds. Yeah, no one gets out without being traumatized by plants 😍

You came into the hotel once and immediately got love bombed by everyone. But not in a manipulate way, they just appreciate how amazing you are to people even the staff at most. They go as far to throw you a “welcoming” party 💗

Lucifer had most definitely sent ducks with mini flower crowns and a Gardner duck to you as he finds you very elegant and beautiful in your own way. He even accidentally tries to court you with his wings when he leans against at the front desk of your store staring into your eyes.

HEAVEN

Adam had eventually was sent to take you back into heaven as sera realized her mistake. You willingly went with Adam who smirked at your sweet smile and took you up by your hand. Like, let’s say whatever happened in the hell section didn’t happen as you just had a bad time in hell itself.

St. Peter immediately greets you, making feel welcome to your new home. He even baked you cookies with a smiley face. He tries to make chit chat with you when he isn’t on duty getting people into the gates. He literally visits your workplace in the flower store you own, bringing cookies, making sure you are okay. Hell-, I meannn heaven gods..he must be a househusband cause GYATT DAMN this man is making sure you are well and healthy in heaven’s care. 💗💗

Sera most definitely have showed you around heaven with a please smile to see a Gardner. You would’ve been great for the Garden of Eden, is what she says in her head as you smile at the trees and potted plants around. You even showed the seraphim your powers, and she must say that she was pleased and made you a gardener around heaven and even your own garden shop and house.

Emily most definitely tries to go visit you everyday to try and find flowers that match you so you can be surprise when she buys you flowers herself. You and Emily definitely have a sibling relationship at most because of how she looks up to you in a gardening way as she also wants to impress you by making her own garden and green house. She also makes sure you take breaks as she wants to help with the customers as you take a break in the back. Your friendship with her is so wholesome and lovely.

Adam likes how classy you are, you don’t even cuss him out when you are angry at him. You just put your hand in his face and walk away. Sassy, but classy enough to not curse someone the fuck out. Yeah sure that might’ve turned him on a bit at how hot and “bitchy” that was of you. Cause no one has ever rejected the “Dickmaster”. So it was his duty to make you his friend…sorta😨. But it’s all fun and games at how you guys are like frenemies at most since Adam actually can’t stand you, but still flirts at how attractive and kind you are. Hell even strong minded.

The angels absolutely love coming in your store! They find every single plant and flower you made incredible. You practically almost run out of business when it’s Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day, and Father’s Day. But you can’t complain when they leave so much heaven bucks for you to get more plant seeds and such. The angels also love how pure of gold your heart is as you even give some off free for the heaven borns and winners.

Big headcannon on how your Gardner outfit in heaven, the palette is a soft green and pink pastel. But Adam and Sera had thought about you wearing a gold, white, and blue type of Gardner outfit. They want you to stay pure and mighty.

OOOH IMAGINE HAVING CUTE ASS WHITE GLOVES 😭😭 LIKE THEY HAVE THOSE STITCHED IN GOLD THREADS AND LIKE THEY ARE SO CUTE AND COMFY INSIDEEE💗💗

Since i headcannon that Gardner! Reader to be a damn Lana Del Rey fan, their song that matches them in heaven is “young and beautiful.” As you are young and beautiful and mostly, you’re in heaven.

Literally imagine Adam just shows up to just degrade you, but it doesn’t work as you just sit there reading your daily newspaper or on your phone to just see plant and gardening instagram from earth and heaven. Adam pouts or even scoffs before taking your phone and acting like a fussy cat wanting attention.

You really don’t give a fuck about Adam but he definitely gives a fuck about you.

The angels sometimes ships you with Adam, but they also ship you with st.peter at how he is basically the house husband and you are the girl boss who works their ass off😭

Lute and Adam are definitely the type to be those teens who visit their local market..dead ass when they are free they just come to your store and just start “window shopping”…but really they just either want to mess with you or actually know about your day.

I can see you literally just chilling, and Adam busts open the store door that has that jingle bell on it so harsh and all he says is. “Wassup bitch!” With his usual grin and a soda cup as you just groan annoyed.

St.peter literally tried to work beside you ok his days off to just see how “calming” your job is. Until rush hour comes😭 that’s when hell itself unleashes with people wanting to grab any scented flower candles and flowers for theirselves. Have mercy on Peter’s soul that he doesn’t get grabbed and clawed all because he said that the last product was in the back. 😭😭

Imagine how cute your damn angel wings must be. Cause I imagine them to be some god damn fairy wings to match a beautiful aesthetic with your flower and gardening store.

I headcannon you actually had thrown Adam like how vaggie thrown the staff like in the episode of “scramble eggs.”

lol I can see you just slapping Adam with your plant vine because of one misogynist joke he made. He had the most whip lashed mark on his face. He stopped making those fücking jokes like that as he just flinches as a vine comes near him. “WALK HIM LIKE A DOGGG!!” 😘😍

Sera loves gaining flowers from you as the angelic guards bring them in as she is doing her work.

Emily also feels the same way as she smiles and makes the guard send you flowers as well for a thank you. 💗🥺 please give this sweet baby a note back saying you appreciate her damn note so much..

Imagine having a whole tea and cookie station by your front desk where people pay. Like they get a nice drink and a snack in case they were hungry and thirsty from their trip to here. 😘☀️ you care about your customers and regulars deeply.

St. Peter had one time mistook the glass doors to be opened and fell back so dramatically onto his ass, he might as well confirm himself as dead 💀

Emily most definitely actually tried to grow a plant or flower to show you how much she learnt from you, only for the damn thing to fail. She wanted to cry and shrivel up in disappointment, but you taught her and help fixed her mistake on what she did at most.

Lute most definitely acts better without Adam, of course she could act better with Adam. It’s just that Adam is her home dog, and she is Adam’s homegirl. So of course they are besties. So with Adam not interfering with you and lute talking one on one for the first time. You two get quite long to the point she grabs your hands and smile. Leaving with a flower you gave her.

Your plants just causally changing into the liked flower of the customer or regular due to your plant magic on sensing what flowers they like supposedly💗

Headcannon on how short you are. Literally you are shorter than lute to Adam and Emily. It’s really funny but to you, it’s annoying asf since Adam picks you up like a stray cat found at the front porch ready to be taken in.

Emily and sera would have tea time with you definitely. Or coffee if they prefer. You don’t gossip of course but just lift each other up and talk about hanging out later in the days or weeks later. Heck even the day later maybe if Emily is very eager.

Lute most definitely had thrown flowers in your face as she isn’t use to showing affection towards a person she actually admires. Yeah she admires Adam, as a boss and best friend. But there is something about you that makes her stumble on her words.

You had to actually stay home once, forced by sera who got told by Adam you were overworking yourself. Adam and sera hated it as sera showed go to your job looking serious. Forcing you to stay in bed until you had a good sleep for the week.

Imagine just gardener! Reader literally accidentally making Adam spit out a four leaf clover as they were saying a spell in Latin to have four leaf clovers for St. Patrick’s day.

I headcannon Adam sometimes tries to court you with his wings, and you are confused as hell as you aren’t use to being courted by some fucking feathers.

I can see you having a potted plant pet beside you. It was practically a sapling as it smiled with heaven magic and told positive affirmations to waking customers. It’s so fuckin adorable

I imagine you just sleeping as your overworked at your store and Adam comes in pissed off you didn’t come home. So he literally picks you up over his shoulder and walks Home. He has the damn key to your house but he decides to just go to his house and lay you on his bed as he sleeps on the couch grumbling.

St.Peter, after that little incident with him walking into a glass door. This mofo literally puts his hands out towards any glass door 😭 like a little kid being traumatized after a glass maze. It’s so funny but so sad.

A young heaven born had brought you back a freaking flower crown in your most favorite flowers and you were so amazed. You gave the small little angel a flower crown of their own.

The visits are always welcomed to your store as Adam brings you his own set of flowers to try to impress you. 💗 you snickered seeing the note that says, “i hope you like it..bitch. *middle finger drawing* I heard this plant was your favorite.” Sweet, but sour ass motherfuker. 😭😭

[syoddeye]

woke up possessed by the need to write soapgaz x reader smut. i have no excuses. ~1.6k, lightly edited.

cw: dubcon/noncon elements (reader is drunk), alcohol, public/semi-public sex, oral, surprise you're in a throuple

dating kyle, whose best friend soap keeps showing up on your dates. 

you try to make a fuss about it, tired of ruined movie nights and dinners. the insufferable bastard’s jokes are lewd, his eye contact too sharp, and he’s so damn touchy. always grabbing your and kyle’s knees, looping his arms around your necks, or sandwiching you in hugs that flatten either your chest to his or slot your ass to his pelvis.

the last straw is when soap spoils what was supposed to be a couple’s trip. he cards into your hotel room just as you’re about to give kyle a show. barges in with a big dumb grin on his face.

“what did i miss?”

you drag kyle into the bathroom and barely keep yourself from yelling. you demand he sends his friend packing. this is supposed to be a romantic getaway. kyle tries to soothe you, explaining that soap’s just going through a hard time.

“he needs us.”

“he needs a reality check.”

you storm through the room past a smiling soap, gather your clothes, and hastily dress. if kyle needs you, you’ll be at the hotel bar.

a couple of mai tais later, you’re still in a foul mood, but the edge is off. you’re worn down to a weary resignation that you’ll have to share this stupid holiday, thoughts clawing through the syrupy haze of rum and orgeat. kyle’s texted and asked you to return to the room twice, but you’ve ignored both. knowing he’ll probably come looking, you slip out to the beach with one last drink.

past sundown, it’s quiet. a few fires dot the shore, and you glimpse other couples. despite the sweetness in your mouth, your stomach twists into knots. if only you were so lucky. if only your boyfriend put his foot down. you’ll have to suffer through listening to soap snore on the room’s sofa instead of falling asleep thoroughly fucked.

you plop down away from the hotel and drain your cocktail until it’s half-full, stabbing aggressively at its garnish with the little straw.

the ocean hides their footsteps until they’re upon you, and you nearly drop your drink when two bodies bracket yours.

“so this is where you’ve been hiding and pouting.”

you instinctively tuck into kyle. despite being pissed at him, the vulnerable, tipsy part of you seeks his comfort. “i’m not hiding or pouting.”

he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “no? then why’d you run off earlier?”

“i was mad, i’m still mad.”

kyle runs his hand from your knee to your thigh and toys with the hem of your shirt. “why’re you mad?”

“soap, he’s—“you hiccup and turn your face against kyle’s chest just enough to see the other man. soap’s smirking, eyes half-lidded. “he’s going to take you from me.”

they say alcohol loosens your tongue and encourages the truth. and there it is, your awful secret. your real fear, dangling out in the air for both of them to see.

a beat passes, and you hide your face again. you feel kyle’s laughter before you hear it.

“oh, babe. you’ve got it all wrong,” he squeezes you and kisses your temple. “soap, why don’t you show her how wrong she is?”

“aye, with pleasure.”

the scot shifts, and you realize it’s not kyle’s hand toying with your shirt. soap glides a palm up your side, pushing the fabric with it, and cups a tit before finding your lips in a hungry kiss. his tongue slips into your mouth, greedily sipping the whines he cajoles out of you.

you’re dimly aware of kyle plucking your glass from your hands, too distracted by the fact your not-boyfriend is leaning you backward. the back of your head is cushioned by sand, nipple hardening as soap brushes his thumb over the cup of your bra.

they make short order of pushing your shirt up and pulling your tits out. your shorts are dealt with, your panties left in place for the moment.

“stay still, babe,” kyle whispers as you surface from the onslaught of soap’s kisses. soap lifts your head carefully so you can watch your boyfriend kneel beside you. he holds your cocktail up and then carefully tilts the glass until a few drops splatter across your stomach. you squeak from the cold and squirm, but soap holds you in place.

the look in kyle’s eyes is pure sin as he dips down to chase after the streams of liquor, tongue blazing over your skin. it dips into your navel, fishing a reluctant giggle out of you, then continues south.

he pauses to ruck off his shirt, then lifts your hips to carefully guide it beneath your lower half. he pinches the swell of your ass.

“you’ve been so good, babe. so patient. you’re learning, aren’t you?” he asks, licking his lips as soap moves to kneel at your head. “soap isn’t here for just me, is he?”

your eyes roll blearily in their sockets to find the man in question staring down at you. the heat in his eyes setting off more sparks in your belly.

“n-no.”

kyle beams and curls his fingers in the elastic.

“no. he wants both of us. isn’t that nice?”

you nod stiffly, eyes fixed on your underwear as he pulls them to your ankles. you should be embarrassed. humiliated, to have a man who isn’t your boyfriend see you like this. but alcohol and desire blur together, and you raise your hips with a tiny noise. a word. “please.”

“needy girl. i’m gonna make you feel good, babe. but if i’m gonna do that, i need you to make him feel good, yeah?”

soap’s fingers leave your tit to stroke the side of your head, gently nudging your face toward him. you’re met with the sight of his cock straining against his shorts, his free hand palming it slowly.

you glance up and realize this is the quietest he’s ever been. he’s always loud and boisterous. annoying when he invades your space. now he’s dead silent, save for the deep breaths from his nostrils. blue eyes narrowed in a predatory stare.

in an instant, you know. all this time, he’s been trying to run you down. wear away your resistance. get you accustomed to his near-constant presence. and apparently, he’s tired of waiting, wielding your boyfriend against you to sweeten you to some sort of package deal.

you should scream. tell both of them to piss off. instead, you slowly reach for the waistband of soap’s shorts, and help tug them down.

the alcohol coursing through your system makes you sluggish and clumsy, but soap does most of the work anyway. his cock languidly glides over your tongue and into your throat, erasing sugar with salt—the lines of your relationship along with it.

kyle’s tongue and fingers coax you into a state of euphoria, vision wet and glassine at the edges. you don’t think you could run away even if you wanted to. your legs are jelly, body pliant as hands grope at their leisure. kyle shushes you when you wiggle at the sound of distant voices, silencing you with a third finger and the seal of his mouth on your clit.

the muscles of your legs start to shake and tighten, pussy clenching around kyle’s fingers as he curves them inside. his mouth is sloppy over your cunt, partly due to how you writhe on his shirt. 

“christ, i’m close.” soap grits out overhead, his thrusts into your mouth becoming more erratic.

kyle unlatches his lips, “she is too.”

soap chuckles and pats your cheek, meeting your eye with a coo. “this’ll be special, pet. you an’ me at the same time, aye?”

a garbled moan around soap’s cock makes him jerk and curse, prompting his big hands to cradle your jaw. angling you with surprising gentleness to continue. you gag as he slips in too deep, too eager, but your attention’s split between needing oxygen and needing to come. kyle hasn’t let up, fucking you on his hand and groaning at the wet, sticky squelch cutting through the sound of the waves.

you come first with a gurgled shout, eyes rolling back in your head as you spasm and kick fruitlessly in the sand. soap’s a quick second, giving you a half-second warning before shooting thick ropes into your throat. kyle’s tongue laps at your folds as you swallow, both sensations overwhelming you to the point of tears. soap tucks himself away, and you hear him tut.

“gie it a rest. she’s still got to ride you back in the room.”

kye laughs breathlessly and crawls over you. “still with us?” he smirks at the delirious nod you manage. “good girl. need help standing?”

you let them dress you and haul you to your feet. the world’s gone wobbly, and you list heavily against kyle. your arms are also negotiated around soap, slotting you firmly between them. kyle’s shirt hangs into a pocket, soaked, and with every step back toward the hotel, clarity and embarrassment steamroll you.

“i can’t—this was a mistake.” you hiss, though the three of you know your words don’t carry the weight you want them to.

kyle plants a kiss on your cheek. you smell yourself on his face. “we’ll see if you feel different in the morning.” 

“aye. probably just have sand where the sun don’t shine. i’ll personally see to—”

with your waning lucidity, your elbow finds his ribs in a harsh blow. he sputters and stumbles, almost releasing you from his hold, but not quite.

“jesus, our girl’s got some fire, garrick.”

“tried to warn you.”

you mutter something mean, setting the men off into titters of laughter, and try to ignore the flicker of warmth at our girl.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Two Three Four

Steve sits with his head pressed against the steering wheel.

In the passenger seat, Robin’s doing her make up.

“What are we doing here, Rob?”

“You mean like, in the cosmic soul searching sense, or here specifically?”

“Here. Specifically.”

“Well, your beautiful brunette boyfriend-”

“You don’t score points for alliteration. And he’s not my boyfriend.”

“All right then, the man who is under the distinct impression that he’s your boyfriend, suggested we all hang out together. So we are here. At the place I suggested.”

“Because you know I hate it here.”

Robin makes a non committal noise, Steve looks, she’s pulling the horrendous mascara face. He goes back to resting his forehead on the steering wheel.

Steve does hate it here. Reminds him of...fucking work brunches with his father and Sunday lunches with his mother and he just. Hates it.

Steve sighs like a Victorian maid who’s betrothed has not yet returned from sea. He’s certain he’ll die from consumption at any minute.

“Shut up you big baby,” Robin tells him as she fluffs her hair, “all I want is to finger bang this chick in the bathroom and then rub my cunt on her face, is that too much to ask?”

And Robin has been wholly supportive of Steve so far, so, “no, I suppose-what the fuck Robin? Did you choose this place because-”

“I like the bathrooms-”

“-the bathrooms are nice-”

“What?-”

“Oh you fucking-”

“They’re romantic kinda’.”

“They’re bathrooms, Robin!”

“The lighting is good. I like the vibe.”

“Oh my god.”

Steve’s stares mournfully after his best friend. She’s at the bar with Chrissy, because Chrissy wanted to watch the guy make their cocktails, look he does tricks with the thing, like in that old movie with Tom Cruise.

Steve could physically feel himself ageing as she spoke.

“It’s so cool they’re dating.” Steve does not point out that whatever Robin's about to do to Chrissy, it will be a four letter word, but that four letter word is not ‘date’.

“You think?”

Eddie smiles big. The dimples come out. Huge happy brown fucking cow eyes. He’s not attractive Steve reminds himself viciously. He’s playing with his cutlery because he can’t sit still and...his chins too pointy. Or something. “Well yeah. It’d be so cool if they get married.”

Steve nearly chokes on his drink.

“Hey man, you okay?”

“Fine, fine,” Steve’s nose is burning from the bubbles going up there, “what makes you think they’ll get married?”

“Well...why would you date someone if you can’t see it going somewhere?” Steve hopes this is going somewhere; like to a bed, specifically, “so there’s a chance, right? I can tell Chris really likes her. I hope it’s like, a long term thing.”

Steve feels himself slow blink. He doesn’t explain to Eddie that you date someone because you want to stick your penis in them. Eddie turns to watch the girls again, they laugh, and Eddie grins at them, all happy and fond.

Steve sighs.

“You okay?”

“Sorry?”

“You just...you don’t seem so happy to be here man. Kind of tense.”

Steve has no idea how Eddie even noticed, usually people don’t notice. Or usually people don’t care, but it amounts to the same thing because coming to somewhere like this is just the step you take before you step into a bedroom.

“I...I actually don’t really like it here much.”

Eddie looks at him, leans close. He’s ready to really listen. He...cares. About Steve. Steve wonders if he’s going to come up in a rash; it feels like the sort of thing he should be allergic too. He wonders vaguely if there’s antihistamines in the glove box.

“Why?”

“Well...I.” Steve pulls a face. He doesn’t talk about...meaningful things, but he figures it can’t hurt this once, he can be vague. Especially if it increases the chance of doing the no pants dance with Eddie, “I don’t have the best relationship with my parents. I mean, they’re good parents, I had really good nannies growing up, had a great education, the best boarding school, they funded my degree, gave me a solid start at work, so they are great...we just don’t exactly get on all the time. We used to come here for pretty much every family meal.”

Eddie’s frown deepens the more Steve talks, “how often were the...family meals?”

“I don’t know,” Steve hums, “holidays I guess, when I was away, and then...maybe fortnightly? We don’t do it now, obviously.”

“Oh. Me and uncle Wayne had one meal a day together, at least, when I lived there. It was like, a house rule.”

“Oh that’s...you’re close?” To Steve that already sounds like something out of the fucking Brady Bunch.

“Yeah. Speaking of which, he’s invited you to dinner.”

“Dinner?” Steve asks weakly.

“Yeah, since you’re courting that boy, he said.” Eddie puts his hands up to do the air quotes. And then he grins. That big stupid grin. He looks so happy. So genuinely happy to see Steve. So happy about the prospect of just...seeing him again.

Steve does not point out that a blow job at a garden party, humping each other in a public bathroom, and one co ed BBQ does not courting make.

“Right.”

“Awesome, I’ll let you know when,” Eddie drums two forks on the edge of the table. Steve stares at his bony wrists. His mind suggests phrases like, ‘slender’ and ‘delicate’ and Steve ignores those and thinks about how he could very easily hold both of those wrists in one hand. “listen, do you want to get out of here?”

“Sorry?”

“Well, the girls won’t care,” and he’s probably right there, “and you don’t like it here, and I don’t care where I am as long as it’s with you.”

Steve riffles through his internal Rolodex and comes up blank; no one has ever said anything that sincere to him in his life. And Eddie means it too; he means everything he says in a completely unguarded way Steve has literally never encountered before. It’s like meeting an alien. Steve wants to put him under a microscope.

“I just want you to have a nice time, you know. I want you to be happy.”

Eddie reaches out and takes Steve’s hand.

Steve lets him.

Part Six

[runa-falls]

cocktails

gif from @pirateherokillian

pairing: jake lockley x shy!reader

summary: you finally gain enough courage to make a move on your best friend

cw: explicit (18+), dub-con (reader is tipsy), afab!reader, dry humping to piv pipeline, fingering, multiple orgasms, longing/pining losers, love (?), push-over!jake, needy!reader, 'just the tip' is never just the tip, alcohol consumption, pet names, daddy kink, creampie, fluff :3 -- not beta-read

wc: 5.1k

a/n: pls, it was never supposed to be this long. i'm sorry for taking FOREVER to write this. anyways, this is based off my blabbering in discord -- i dedicate this to my whores (affectionate) <3

mk masterlist | main masterlist

----

You don’t drink. 

At least not in front of Jake. 

Alcohol makes you…indulgent, to say the least, and that’s a side you’ve been holding back from your best friend. 

Yes, you’ve had a drink or two at some group hangouts in the past, but this, you, Jake, and a few bottles of gifted wine, surprisingly has never happened in the past. You’ve made sure of it.

What almost makes it worse is that Jake’s always been a sweetheart about your choices to avoid drinking around him. After your first few bouts of excuses and timid declines, he doesn’t pressure you to keep up with him when he’s knocking back shots or drinking pitchers of beer. 

Whenever your other friends press another drink into your hand, he subtly takes it for you, drinking it in large gulps before returning the glass from your hand. And when he pulls away, his fingers always find a way to graze against yours. Thankfully the bars are usually dimly lit so he can’t see the blush heating at your cheeks. 

He doesn’t realize it’s because of him. He’s the reason bartenders give you weird looks when you ask for watered-down vodka cranberries or why you’re always the last one standing in your friend group whenever you go out. This restraint around alcohol has gone on for years all because you harbor an intense attraction for your best friend. 

It didn’t start that way. He crashed into your quiet life and obliterated the dynamics of your friend group. When you first met him, you thought his cocky and blasé attitude was overcompensating for something.

He’s always been a natural sweet talker, not afraid to approach people and get what he wants, but it seemed too good to be true. He’s too charismatic, too interested in the dull life you live, how did he dig out a hole and place himself so easily in your life?

Easily, too easily, you fell for his sweet words, words that would inevitably draw you into his orbit and leave you hanging off of every syllable. 

You learned that no matter what he says, or does, he’s just being friendly. He’s just like that with everyone. It means nothing when he gives you a cheeky grin from across the bar or when he consistently insists on walking you home at night. Sure, he might stick closer to your side than anyone else's, but it’s just because you’re best friends. Right?

Of course, girls have tried and failed to lock down your best friend, misinterpreting his outgoing personality as him propositioning them. And they always come to you – whining over his lack of interest, the sudden and unexpected rejection of their advances, and grappling for any advice from his girl best friend. 

“He’s single, isn’t he?” The words are said over the thin rim of a martini glass. She glances over at you with hopeful eyes framed by beautifully dark lashes. 

You barely knew the girl’s name, but she offered to buy you a drink (a shirley temple) so you stayed for the conversation, however, you weren’t expecting the topic to circle back to Jake. But after watching her down a couple of martinis, gushing more and more about the man you’ve been pining after for an eon, you felt too bad to leave her. 

“Um…as far as I know.” It’s a little uncomfortable, talking about Jake like you’re his keeper.

“Then – then why won’t he go out – or even hook up with me?” Her voice has gotten louder with the exasperation of her inquiries. You look around at the bar, hoping she can keep it together before you’re kicked out for causing a ruckus. 

“Look, I don’t know if I’m the best –”

“But you’re his best friend, right?”

“Yes, but –”

“What’s his type?”

His type?

God, you wish you knew. It would make things a lot easier for yourself (and the world). But you genuinely don’t know. You’ve never seen him with a girl. Sure, he could be hooking up on the side, but why would he tell you?

You look down at your glass. All that’s left is ice, melting into an amalgam of pink-tinted liquid around the one maraschino cherry you refuse to eat. 

“I don’t know.” You mumble.

—

You’re already through a bottle and a half, lounging comfortably on the overstuffed couch in your living room. Something is playing on the TV but it’s all a blur behind the feeling of his thigh pressing against yours. 

Jake has never been afraid of showing his affection through physical means, whether it’s greeting ladies with a friendly peck on the cheek or ruffling one of the guy’s hair when he goes by. It’s natural to him. Casual.

But with you, he’s mostly hands-off. 

It’s not that you deign to feel his touch, to feel the scratchiness of his whiskers rub against the edge of your hairline, or lower against the sensitive skin of your throat, you just can’t control your reactions when he does it. Even the light touch of his hand against your lower back when he guides you has you standing straighter. 

He noticed your strong reactions to him and backed off, assuming you were uncomfortable or unused to friendly touches. And it was fine until you would do anything to feel him against you again, just one more time. It’s desperate, really, but you don’t really care when he looks at you with those cocoa-butter eyes. 

And now, he’s closer than ever but still hands-off. He politely sits next to you, one arm slung over the back of the couch and the other in his lap. But not touching you. 

He’s been making commentary about the dumb hallmark movie you impulsively rented, pointing out all the unrealistic plot conveniences and bright red flags that the main character blatantly ignores. He seems relaxed. 

You aren’t.

Two stained wine glasses sit on the coffee table, dangerously close to the edge, still holding a sip of liquid. You can barely make out the intricate print of his lips on the edge of the cup, highlighted by the brightness of the hallmark snow scene. 

You want so badly to steal the glass away and lick up the residual bitter-sweetness of the wine that’s touched his lips. To taste him, even indirectly. Or directly. Lick the sweetness straight from the source, tongue intermingling with him as he takes just as much from you. You feel yourself pulse from that image alone.

“Bunny?” Heat prickles against the back of your neck as you realize how far away your brain is, thinking such filthy and depraved thoughts of the man who is sitting right next to you. 

He dotes on you like a person would their favorite pet cat. He calls you pet names, ones that make you bite your tongue and hide your face in your hands. Bunny was the first one and the one he uses the most. 

It came out of nowhere, really. You were both at a small house party and Jake convinced you to join his team in a game of beer pong. You were still a bit nervous around him, still surprised when he’d seek you out for a conversation or to get your opinion on something entirely irrelevant. 

You told him upfront that your hand-eye coordination leaves much to be desired, but he was determined to teach you. The first few throws were pitiful, so pitiful, in fact, that the other team gave you a freebie to make up for it. 

“Here, lemme give you a hand.” You couldn’t even react before he was sidled behind you, his chest nearly flush against your shoulder as his hand wrapped around your wrist. Your body is frozen, soaking in the overwhelming closeness.

You can barely decipher the individual cups of beer with his voice low behind your ear as he directs you, “Keep it right….there” He lets go of your arm and you already miss his touch, “and put a little more power into your throw.” 

He steps back, giving you space to take a breath and refocus. 

You throw it, more mechanical than you would’ve liked, but it – miraculously – goes in. 

Immediately you turn around to get his reaction, the praise that you secretly crave from a man you barely know. 

He grins down at you, “You’re a natural, bunny.” 

And the nickname stuck.

You look over at him, lazily blinking up to meet his fond gaze, “Hm?” You feel all fuzzy inside, overexcited yet pinned down by the unexplainable need to stay close to him. 

He smirks down at you, arm subtly lowering to barely touch the back of your head, “What’cha thinkin’ about, sweetheart?” You try to lean into the feeling of his arm, hoping that if you ease into it, he won’t notice. “You had this… faraway look in your eyes for a moment.”

Oh, he noticed. But there’s no way he knows what you were thinking, right? A flash of embarrassment stings hot in your cheeks. You don’t think when you shyly nuzzle your face into his bicep to avoid his curious eyes, “I think I just zoned out or something.”

He hums, “You tired?” You turn your face to look at him, cheek resting against him. God, he smells so good. You never want to move from this spot. “Want me to tuck you in?” His voice coos teasingly, but you soak in the sweetness of it. He can be so soft sometimes.

Scrambled words echo in your mind: But if you go to bed, you’ll leave. You’ll take your arm out from under me and leave me here to think about you, all alone. Why can’t you just – Your thoughts quickly dissipate when he pulls you closer to him, hand at your waist to press your body against his.

Your hand presses delicately against his chest in surprise and you can barely feel the soft thrum of his heartbeat underneath the firmness of his muscles.

You softly shake your head, “Not tired.”

“Sure, baby.” 

Baby. 

That’s new. 

Your thighs involuntarily press together with how good it sounds coming from his lips. Directed at you. Somehow, even with all the pet names he’s given you throughout the span of your friendship, this one hits home.

He says it with the casualness of a boyfriend and tenderness of a lover. You can almost feel him panting it against the crook of your neck as he pushes inside of you, hand clutching yours as his hips roll perfectly against yours. 

You don’t even realize your legs are rubbing together like a cricket at dusk until a warm hand wraps around the top of your thigh. He pulls them apart, spreading your legs like you’ve always dreamed he would. Despite the suggestive position, you still whine at the loss of friction, thoughtlessly fighting against the insisting tug of his hand.

He hushes you gently, a soft tone barely easing your frustration. You latch your fingers onto his wrist, attempting to guide him to the spot that you really need him to touch, but he barely budges. His grip on your thigh tightens when his name drips brokenly from your lips. 

“J-Jake…” 

“Sweetheart, stop.”

“But –”

“Please.” Jake looks down at you with a pained expression, all past chivalry betrayed by the darkness pooled in his eyes.

You look up at him with misty eyes and flushed skin, innocence in the palm of his hand. “I need you.” You bite your lip at your admission, stained red from the wine, and he can’t take his eyes off of you. You pull at him again and this time he lets you. Both of you look down as his hand cups you over your shorts.

“You’re too drunk right now.” The whispered attempt of resistance falls on deaf ears as you arch your hips into his touch. Neither of you notice that the movie ended, leaving you in a silence where only the exchange of breathless pants can be heard. 

“Touch me.” You whine, desperate for anything. Desperate just to be accepted by him.

His gaze briefly flicks up from where he’s touching to regard your eagerness with half-lidded eyes. He shakes his head and looks away like he’s looking for answers on the blank wall next to him. “I…shouldn’t.” 

You start to panic when you feel his hand pull away. It can’t end like this. You hold onto his wrist when a particularly needy idea pops into your mind. If he doesn’t want to ‘defile’ you, then fine. You’ll do it yourself.

“I…c-could i just rub myself against you?” You berate yourself for sounding so meek, so unsure, but you’ve never done anything like this before, never had to take control of the situation. “Like, if you don’t want to…um, touch me.” He looks at you wordlessly, gorgeous lips parted at your suggestion.

His tongue brushes over his bottom lip, “I– Okay, sure…” 

With his permission, you push up against the couch to get up and straddle over him. Clearly, he wasn’t expecting it with how his hands barely hover over your body like he’s unsure whether he wants to pull you closer or shove you off his lap. “Is this okay?” 

“Yeah.” He sounds strained, “But just for a little bit, alright?” 

“Ok.” You promise though you’re sure that once you get a taste, you’ll never want to stop. You have to make this good for him so he’ll want you back.

You settle against him, body thrumming with anticipation when your clothed cunt meets the prominent hardness under his jeans. So he does want it. His hands clasp onto your waist when you start to move over him, hips experimentally rolling against his.

Jake watches you move over him with a look of deep hunger and awe. It’s endearing how shy you are, even now grinding on his lap. Your movements are clumsy – unpracticed as you desperately try to chase that spark that’ll satisfy the heat buried deep down inside of you. 

“That good, baby?” 

You nod, mewling quietly as the seam of his jeans drags perfectly against your clit. Pleasure pools in your stomach, nudging you closer and closer to the edge. You hold onto his shoulders as you work yourself over him, panting from your effort. He starts to cant his hips upwards to meet your thrusts, pressing his erection roughly against your core to show you just how much he wants you. 

All you can think of is how good it would feel to have him bare against you, skin to skin. When you meet your peak, body hot and trembling as you rub against him, the end never comes. It’s not enough. You’re just left teetering at the top with no drop in sight.

You huff, “Jake, can I – just…please.” You let your hands drop from his shoulders to start working on his belt.

“What is it bunny, what do you need?” He looks so good under you with his wrinkled shirt unbuttoned just so to give you a peak of his collarbone and the newly open belt hanging from the loops in his tight jeans. You undo the button, fingers briefly fumbling as your knuckle brushes against his bulge.

“Just need to feel you.” You paw at the waist of his pants, trying to subtly indicate that you need his help to take them off. But he sits there and smiles sweetly at your frustrated huffs. 

“And what about me?” He says in a teasing drawl. He drags you closer to him and cups your face until your lips nearly meet yours. He’s so close that you can make out the light dusting of freckles that grace his nose and cheeks. Amber eyes bore into yours as he whispers, “You’re using my body and haven’t even given me a kiss yet.”

“Oh.” Your gaze drops to his lips, “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, baby.” He leans in, “just kiss me.” Your eyes flutter close when you meet the softness of his lips. You immediately melt into the gentle caress of his hand on your jaw with a sigh as he desperately keeps you close. 

Jake groans, drinking in the sweetness of your lips, a taste of pure heaven melting on the tip of his tongue, before hungrily deepening the kiss. He licks against the seam of your mouth, begging you to open yourself up to him. You surrender yourself to him, letting him slide in and taste you from the inside out. 

Your hands move up from his shoulders to his soft curls, tugging eagerly in an attempt to hear the soft groan that rumbles in his chest. He nips at your bottom lip, suckling it until it’s pink and tender, wanting to leave a mark so you’ll always think of him. He can’t help but press against you when you whimper for him, grinding eagerly against your center, wishing he was inside of you instead.  

“Just the tip.” You mumble it against his lips. He’s too far gone to clearly hear what you said, lost in a thick fog of awe, lust, and…love. At his silence, you pull away to look at him, scared you’re asking for too much. “Jake.” He nods thoughtlessly, chasing your lips, already missing your taste. He almost whines when you pull away from his touch, but quickly comes back to reality when he sees the way you’re nervously looking at him. 

He squeezes your waist comfortingly, “Anything you want, bunny.” You smile at the pet name and gratefully peck his lips. He tries to deepen the kiss, hand already pressing against the back of your head, but you cheekily pull away before he gets too far. You stand up, ignoring his objections and clingy touches as you get off of his lap. 

You fluidly slip your shirt over your head before carelessly dropping it to the floor behind you. There’s fire in his eyes as he sits back on the couch and watches you reveal the cute bra that cups you so perfectly. You tease the edge of your waistband as you look down at him, “Off, please.” You gesture at his jeans. He follows your directions, quickly shimmying his pants off, eyes on you the whole time.

You follow him, tugging your shorts off to show him the matching panties. You squeak when warm hands abruptly pull you to the couch, eagerly wandering over your waist and hips as he buries his face against your neck. 

“Can’t help it, baby,” His touch drifts up to cup the underside of your tits, trailing carefully over the curve to memorize the shape of you. “You’re just so fucking pretty.” He groans hot and heavy against your neck as he squeezes your softness. 

You’re back on top of him, naked thighs draped over his, skin against skin, and now, you can feel all of him. He’s pressed so deliciously against your core, pulsing with pure desire and heat. The only thing separating the two of you is fading self-control and a pair of thin panties.

His mustache tickles against your throat as his lips drift over your pulse point. He presses heady kisses against the edge of your jaw, gauging where your most tender spots are. 

“Oh–!” Your thighs clench around him when he touches a particularly delicate area near your ear. He gently nips at the spot, holding you tighter when you moan at the feeling.

Jake lets out a broken groan when you reach between your bodies and take him into your hand. He tries to continue giving your body loving attention with his lips, but his kisses get messy, dragging lazily over your shoulder and collarbone, with how distracted he is by your touch. He has to pull away for a breather and hold himself back from thrusting into your fist when you squeeze him teasingly at the base. 

“Bunny…” You both look down and watch as your smaller hand slowly strokes him. His cock is flush with need, leaking so prettily as you try your hardest to make it good for him. You slip your other hand under his shirt, running your fingers against his coarse happy trail to his rippling muscles. The couch groans next to you as he harshly grips the arm, barely holding himself back with white knuckles. “Oh, f-fuck.” His body stiffens under you as you brush your thumb against the sensitive underside of the tip. 

You tenderly massage the spot, watching in awe as he continues to spill over your fingers, making a mess that drips onto your inner thighs and the edge of his shirt. He groans at the sight, his cock throbbing desperately in your hold.

As beads of white paint your fingers, your mouth waters just thinking about how he tastes. You feel ravenous to see him cum, to watch how easily you can ruin him. “H-hold on, cariño. Give me a second.” Jake chokes out. His hips stutter under you before he pulls your hand away.

"Whyy." You whine, pouting up at him with starry eyes. You reach for him again with the hand he isn’t holding onto, brushing your fingers against his sensitive cock. He shudders for you with a broken groan. 

“I'm close-- just – stop for a moment –” Both hands are pinned to your side as Jake’s chest heaves under his shirt. He rests his head back against the couch, eyes closed as he struggles to hold himself back. 

“But…I want you to.”

“I know, baby,” He lifts his head, dark eyes boring into yours, and pulls your hands behind you. You squirm in his lap, back arching at the position, suddenly remembering your own desperation. It feels good to be bound by his hands, to let him do whatever he wants to your body. “But I don’t wanna finish if it isn’t in you.” 

Your face heats in embarrassment. “Oh.” 

Jake picks up on your sudden shyness immediately. 

“You like that, don’t you, bunny?” He smirks, “The thought of me filling you up, then dripping out of you?”

You bite your lip, “A little bit.”

“A little, hm?” He ponders, “Well why don’t we try it out and see.” Your thighs clench around him at the idea.

“Ok.”

“Sit up, let me see how wet you are.” He helps you raise yourself on your knees so you’re hovering over his lap. Letting go of your wrists, he drags his thumb against your clothed cunt; The fabric has a darkened splotch along your opening, teasing him with evidence of your lust. “Aw, sweetheart, you’re soaked…” He nudges your panties to the side, slipping his fingers against your wet opening. “Gonna ruin these pretty little panties, hm?” You nod wordlessly, hips desperately pushing against his touch.

He gently slides against your dripping entrance, making a mess of your cunt with teasing circling motions. Wet, decadent sounds fill the limited space between you as his fingers prod ever so slightly against the spot where you need him most.  A helpless sound is pushed out of you when he finally eases two fingers inside of you.

“Is that good, bunny?” He coos as he slowly fucks his fingers into you. It’s only his fingers, but he’s already filling you up so deliciously. His dark eyes are hungrily locked on how he fills you up over and over again, slick dripping down his knuckles and over his palm. “Hm?” 

You nod again, brain foggy with pleasure. “Yes, J–” You can barely get a word out when he curls his fingers up, pressing so sweetly and deep against the sensitive walls of your cunt. You have to stop yourself from wrapping your legs around his wrist, it feels so good. “Uh–!” You almost fall over and have to hold onto his shoulders for support as he begins to speed up. 

“That’s it, baby…” Your grip on his shoulders tightens as he rapidly presses against your g-spot. You’re already hurdling towards the edge and he can feel it with how you start to clench around his fingers. “Make a mess of my hand..” Within a handful of thrusts, you’re gasping out with pleasure, your thighs shaking over him. He takes his hand away and holds you against him to keep you sitting upright as your body is overtaken with euphoria. You pant against his shoulder, trying to gather your senses. 

You can feel him under you, hard and wanting, throbbing as you whimper and arch against him, letting the pleasure work through your body. Even when you’re barely coming down from an orgasm, you’re still longing to be filled with something more. But he ignores his own needs, instead focusing on you, softly pecking the top of your head and rubbing comforting circles against your arms. 

You lift your head from his chest to look at him, taking in his flushed cheeks and dark eyes. Jake stares right back, unabashedly, in awe. “You’re so good to me, bunny.” You shiver at the praise. At the comfort. You shyly divert your eyes to stare at the marks you’ve left on his shoulders. 

“Only for you, Jake.” You don’t see it, but his lips lift into a small smile at your words. 

His hands drift down from your arms to hold you by the waist. “Only for me.” He echos, solidifying the statement. 

You gasp when he suddenly presses you down against his cock. Looking back up at him, he meets your wide eyes with a mischievous grin, hips rolling teasingly against yours. “And I’m all yours.” You position yourself over him all while keeping eye contact, wanting to drink in every microexpression on his face. 

“Yes.” You both sigh as he barely brushes against your wet opening. He takes a deep breath, clutching your hips as you begin your descent.

Your body slowly manages to swallow the first inch of him. And – oh – it’s so much better than you expected. He stretches you so fully, even barely inside of you, filling you exactly how you need him to. 

You let out a strained whimper from the back of your throat as you slowly lower yourself onto his lap. You whine as your body desperately clenches and stretches to accommodate him inside of you. His hold on your hips tightens as your thighs meet his, now fully impaled by his hard cock.  

“I thought it was ‘just the tip’.” Jake tries to tease, his deep voice gravelly with lust, but it comes out as more of a groan than a taunt.

You slowly shake your head, body trembling as you get used to the feeling of him inside of you. 

“You said you’re all mine, daddy.” The words practically melt from your lips, lethargic with heat. It catches him off guard. You moan, hips slowly moving over him to feel him deeper inside. “M-mine,” You repeat with a pant, so lost in desperation that you don’t even notice the way he’s looking at you, frozen in place. 

“I-I did say that, didn’t I?” He doesn’t know what else to say, brain overheating from your ministrations. You’ve never called him a pet name before, let alone used the word ‘daddy’ anywhere near him. You’ve always been a shy little bunny around him, always preciously out of reach, a tease to fantasize about, but now you’re wrapped around him, moaning beautifully destructive words. 

What really surprises him is the way he’s eagerly throbbing inside of you from that word. Desperate thoughts float in his mind: She wants me to take care of her, she needs me.

“Fuck me.” He groans to himself, willing his body to hold back from cumming inside of you right then and there. 

“P-please.” You beg with a broken voice, thinking he’s talking to you. Jake just nods understandingly and holds you closer with an arm wrapped around your torso, wanting to feel your whole body against his. He starts off slow, pressing up into your kneeling body with measured thrusts as he dots kisses along your neck and shoulders. You sigh something wistful before meeting his movements, eagerly lifting your hips against him. 

“God, bunny, you feel so good.” He can't help it, you’re all-encompassing like this, with your pretty little sighs and panted breaths, it’s everything he’s ever wanted, so he starts to speed up, projecting his desperation into his actions. Your back arches at the change of pace as he pumps into you, and it only makes him feel deeper. “So tight around me.” He pushes against your front wall on every thrust and you swear it makes you see stars. 

Your clit inevitably rubs against him as your bodies move with each other and it takes your pleasure to another level. You’re sure the sounds you’re making verge on embarrassing, but he seems to eat them up anyway. “Ah, right there--! Jake –”

“No, bunny,” He grits out, “It’s daddy.”

You whimper, “Daddy – ” He feels you flutter deliciously around him as your head begins to lull backward. He groans as your cunt sucks him deep inside, desperately milking his cock as you’re seized by ecstasy.

“Fucking take it, sweetheart.” 

“I-I think m’gonna…” Your eyes roll back before you can finish your sentence and white fills your vision. You let out a keening sound as you gush over him, thighs clenched around his as your second high moves through you. 

His eyes squeeze shut as he gives in and starts fucking you at a punishing pace. Your mouth drops open around an empty moan. You can only hold onto him as he takes what he wants from your body, intensifying your orgasm with sloppy thrusts. With a few more upward pushes, he lets out a breathy grunt and finishes inside of you, painting your walls with his warmth. 

You both stay in this position for a little longer. 

You can feel Jake’s heart beat rapidly against your chest as you cuddle against him. He’s still recovering from the onslaught of sensations and emotions. Both of you are sticky with sweat and slick, but neither of you care. His cock is still inside of you, keeping his cum locked inside as you dutifully warm him with your cunt. 

“Such a pretty girl…” He croons, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. He looks down at you with such sincerity in his eyes, that it’s almost overwhelming. You bite your lip nervously at the compliment and attempt to look away, but before you can, he’s tilting your face up with the light touch of a finger, “Really? You’re gonna act all shy with my cock still in you?”

His words only make you squirm on top of him. He nearly chokes at the accidental stimulation. 

“You can’t just say stuff like that.” Your voice is small and cute.

“Then how am I supposed to fluster my girl?” 

Your eyes widen. His girl? 

“Your girl?”

“My girl.” He hums with a small smile before placing a soft kiss on your lips.

[misted-dream]

PORNSTAR MARTINI ﹒⌗﹒🍸﹒౨ৎ˚₊‧ 도영 + fem!reader

in which . . . a suspiciously handsome stranger you meet at a bar seems to pique your interest in all the wrong ways.

warnings | MDNI alcohol consumption, recklessness (pls don't do this irl), big dick doyoung agenda, oral m receiving, dom-leaning/switchy dy, degradation + praise, unprotected sex, doyoung is filthy and calls you his pornstar

word count | 5k

a/n | this literally started out as a timestamp. i really intended this to be just pure smut and something quick to write but what do you know.

10:33PM

it's your—what—second? third? cocktail of the night and you’re convinced that you’re still as sober the second you walked into this bar.

you trace over the rim of your empty glass with the tip of your middle finger mindlessly, your other arm hanging off the rest of the stool. with every loop that you make, the annoyance within you grows.

you can count the amount of customers in here on two hands, and on one if you’re only taking into account who’s actually sat at the bar. yet, the bartender’s attention is solely focused on the group of men sat on the opposite end of the counter.

3 of them are sat down while the last one stands, leaning forward on the glass counter. you can’t make out what they’re saying, but by the looks of it, you can probably assume that they’re regulars here.

this pisses you off even more.

you stare into the back of the bartender’s head, thinking that maybe if you tried hard enough, you could will him over here.

instead of willing him to turn his head, one of the men sat down in the group looks over at you. you glance back at him, and seeing as he doesn’t look away, you don’t either.

the man only holds out for a moment longer before he snaps his head away. with how far he is and the moody lighting, you can only barely make out what he looks like, but you swear he was smirking as he looked away.

great.

well, you suppose that this could be another way to get yourself another drink—the drink that you wanted to order about 15 minutes ago now.

in your head, you start counting down the 60 seconds that you’re predicting it will take before smirky stranger gets up and comes over to you.

you drop your eyes down onto the empty basin of your glass, wrapping your fingers around the stem and rocking it back and forth in your hand. as you reach 1, you catch the movement in your peripheral of someone pushing their bar stool out and getting up from over there.

as the man walks all the way down the bar over to you, you choose to pretend you don’t notice any of this.

“hey.”

you tilt your head. your eyes drag up the torso of the man slowly before scanning his face until you meet his eyes. he’s not bad looking.

“yes?” you raise your eyebrows, a somewhat critical look in your eyes.

now that he’s closer to you, you can see clearly the smirk that he’s wearing on his face as he leans on the counter with his forearm. “you here alone?” he swipes a stray strand of hair away from his forehead as he asks.

“does it matter?” you tuck your chin inwards slightly, eyes directly looking up at him.

the man hangs his head forward as he chuckles lightly. you notice him fidgeting with the ring on his hand.

“i like you,” he says, meeting your eyes again.

you sit back as far as you can on the bar stool. the leg you have over the other bounces rhythmically as you return to drawing circles over your glass.

you study the man’s face. the cockiness that he wears is one you know all too well. his unearned confidence seen in the way he’s standing lazily.

you glance at the ring on his finger, then back up at him, “what does your wife think about that?”

the expression on his face doesn’t slip. usually, that particular rhetorical question catches them off-guard, but without even missing a beat, he answers, “does it matter?”

the movement of your leg ceases. unable to tell whether he’s being sarcastic or not, you squeeze out a weak smile before getting off your stool. quickly grabbing your phone and your purse in one hand, you head past the man to the door of the bathrooms on the opposite wall—leaving him standing by the bar alone.

you hear the man calling out after you. as you make your way past his entourage on the other end of the bar, chuckles and murmurs can be heard from behind you. actively ignoring his yells, you head straight into the bathrooms without glancing back once, calling out, “i don’t fuck married losers,” before you disappear inside.

if you thought the bar was too dark before, the bathrooms do you one better. the wall tiles are black; the floors are glossy, and black; everything that you can see is painted black—with the exception of the golden sconces next to the mirrors over the sinks. but the light emanating from them is so dim they may as well not exist.

you balance your phone on top of the soap dispenser. rummaging through your purse, your fingers dig for the rectangular tube of lipstick in there; it being black as well really doesn’t help you out. and the fact that your head is starting to feel like the beginning stages of an implosion doesn’t benefit you much, either.

you finally pick out the small tube from your purse, uncapping it instinctively. you hold the lipstick in one hand as the other grips onto the edge of the sink, allowing you to lean forward into the mirror without toppling yourself over.

you go over your lips with the pigment as carefully as you can, perhaps too carefully. when you’re done, you drop the tube back inside your purse as you pull away from the mirror.

running a hand through your hair, you analyse your reflection. in your judgement, you think you can still pass for sober.

grabbing your phone, you hesitate before going back out again. what if the man’s still in your place?

whatever.

if he is, then you’ll take it as a sign to leave and go to another bar, pub, club—whatever—at least the bartenders there might actually do their job.

there’s a sense of dread forming in the pit of your stomach as you pull the door open. a feeling that’s quickly replaced by relief when you see the lack of boisterous men at the bar table.

you make your way over to where they previously were. sliding back up onto the stool, you wave over the now free bartender.

“a pornstar martini, please,” you say, trying to hold back your still-pending irritation from the events earlier.

looking straight ahead, you see that someone else has also occupied your previous space. you watch as he downs the entirety of what was in his whiskey glass and slams it down onto the counter. he doesn’t look up.

his black hair is gelled back but the day has allowed strands to fall out of place. his shoulders rise and fall visibly just once before he pushes his glass a few inches forward in front of him.

your cocktail is placed on a coaster alongside a small shot as the bartender pushes it towards you, murmuring a quiet, “enjoy.”

the first sip of anything alcoholic is always vile, no matter how much you’ve been drinking beforehand. you down the shot, feeling the acidity burn as it travels down your throat.

then, you alternate to sipping on the martini.

it’s now that you recall your new year’s resolution from the start of the year: drink less.

probably not the best time to stick to a resolution like that in the middle of the bar. but the increasing intensity of your headache is pleading with you to do so.

you’re already halfway through your drink before your moral consciousness kicks in. but the important thing is that it did, you tell yourself, as you push the glass with a third of what was in it left away.

you fish for the £20 notes that you know you shoved inside your purse somewhere. when you finally find them crumpled and hidden under your keys, you lay a couple of them out onto the bar table, sliding it under your drink.

before you can up and leave, the bartender hurriedly makes his way over to your end of the counter.

“miss, your bill is already covered.”

you look at him, somewhat puzzled. there was no way in your head that the guy you insulted like a middle schooler would’ve paid your bill for you.

and as if catching onto your facial cues, the bartender continues, “the gentleman over there covered it.”

you glance over in the direction he gestures towards, over at the only person on the other side of the bar.

“thanks,” you reply quietly and curtly. you take back one of the notes off the counter, and consider taking the other as well, but decide against it last second.

when you gaze over at the man who bought your drinks for you again, he doesn’t even look up.

you make your way over. the least you could do is thank the man who saved you 20 quid tonight, you thought.

the closer you get, the more visible his features become to you. the last guy wasn’t bad looking, but the man sitting there is clearly not on the same level.

his face is of full of sharp, angular planes. the way his cheekbones catch the light from above, you can swear he looks something out of a painting.

“hi,” the coyness in your voice being something that made you want to punch yourself over.

the man doesn’t even so much so as spare you a glance as he takes another sip of his now-replenished drink, one that you're presuming to be whiskey.

“can i help you?”

his tone is somewhat surprising to you, to an extent. you’re used to being the standoffish one in the conversation, not the other way around.

you reposition your stance, standing up taller than before. "figured i'd thank you for the drinks." didn't expect you to be a prick, though.

that earns you a small smirk from him. he rests the drink on top of his pinky, his thumb grazing over the ridges in the glass. he purses his lips for a quick second as he swallows his sip, "well, you've thanked me."

he looks at you for the first time. his eyes hooded and slender, the glassiness of them shrouded in the dark atmosphere.

you nod, "i have."

he rips his focus from you back onto the dark liquor he's swirling around in his glass. giving no sign of further conversation, your body begins to turn towards the exit on its own accord. you take one step forward, the heel of your shoe clicking against the marble flooring.

then, you stop.

something about the man sat there piques a morbid curiosity within you. there's some sort of... magnetic allure that you can't simply walk away from.

you double back over to him. "you know, mr..."

"kim," he follows seamlessly. once again, he doesn't even look up at you, as if he expected you to turn back. "kim doyoung."

"right," you regard him fixedly. "and what exactly do you want from me?"

doyoung clasps his hands together and sighs dramatically. he peers at you out of the corner of his eyes, "what makes you think i want anything from you?"

the line between rudeness and banter has never been stretched thinner in your entire life, and you really can't tell what side he's on.

you put your purse on the counter, leaning in closer as you do so. "does this act usually work for you?"

a strange semblance of pride resonates in your chest as he turns his head to face you.

"what do you mean by that?"

"i'm asking: do you usually get laid by acting like you have a stick up your ass?"

he looks amused, "i have a stick up my ass?"

your eyes dart across his face in a confused, and slightly defensive manner.

"oh, i'm sorry. at least my ego isn't so big that i go around thinking everyone wants to sleep with me."

you push yourself up onto the stool next to him, "yeah, i really don't believe that."

doyoung watches as you position yourself comfortably on the seat. then, he leans in, closer than you'd expected and whispers.

"then, don't."

he leans back into his seat. one hand rested on top of the counter as the other throws the rest of the drink back in a huge swig. his face doesn't even so much as flinch when he swallows it; even just watching him makes your throat burn. he sets down his glass and gets up. snaking a hand around to the back pocket of his trousers, he pulls out his wallet, and from that, a 50 pound note.

he slides the money forward and shoves the wallet back inside his pocket. your gaze follows him as he begins to walk off, though, not in the direction of the exit.

stopping a few feet away, he turns his head back around to you, "you coming?"

on a regular night, you'd probably say 'no' to going somewhere with a stranger. an even higher likelihood if you don't know the where it is that you're even going. but you don't meet curiously handsome strangers on regular nights. and although you follow him, you're still well aware that this could possibly be the dumbest idea you've ever had.

he leads you down a hallway, as dimly lit as the rest of the place. at the end of it is a locked door that he conveniently has the keys for. who this man is and why he has keys to doors in this place, you truly do not know.

behind the lock is a lounge. a vip lounge in fact, as it suggests on the door. you step through the doorway and doyoung pushes the door shut behind you. you drop your things onto the couch right next to you and he tosses his keys on top of some side table.

you look up at him, suddenly being all too aware of every limb hanging from your body.

fuck.

you try to steel your undeniable nerves.

is this where you die?

no.

stop jumping to conclusions.

to the best of your ability, you try to ignore your speeding heart rate. "i thought you said you didn't want anything from me."

doyoung stands facing you, head slightly tilted back. slowly, he unbuttons the cuffs of his sleeves. "question is..." his voice drags out as he rolls his sleeves up to the elbows, "what do you want from me?"

his velvety tone puts your prior conjectures to rest. and now with the added knowledge that he probably doesn't want to kill you, you expected your nervousness to cease. yet, it doesn't.

perhaps it makes you even more nervous knowing he wants to fuck you rather than kill you.

if you were a virgin, that would make sense. but how fast the man standing before you makes your heart beat, how tense he makes your chest feels is the furthest thing from making sense.

you can only take the pumping in your chest for so long and you're blaming the alcohol, but the only thing running through your mind now is the image of you pushed up against him.

not wanting to restrain yourself any longer, you crash into his torso. arms reaching up and wrapping around his neck as your lips meet.

his hands pull you in closer by the waist. your lips envelope his perfectly, as if they were sculpted from each other. his lips are warm, the taste of whiskey now confirming your earlier assumptions. a faint hint of a minty aroma emanates from his skin.

using your arms to leverage yourself, you press your chest tighter against him, earning you a muffled hum as he kisses you deeper.

his palms drop from your waist to your thighs, kneading the muscle underneath slowly with his fingers.

you pull yourself away, breathless.

he looks at you in a way he hasn’t done previously the last few times. it’s like he’s looking at you expectantly; for an answer, a sign, anything.

“don’t tell me you’re not getting anything from this,” you breathe.

“did i say that?” you catch the end of his brow flicking upwards before kissing him again.

you run a hand down his chest, feeling the contours of his body underneath the button-up shirt.

your lips are pushed against his so hard that you’re beginning to feel the pressure from them. you force yourself to break away, catching your breath. through an exchange of lustful glances, you trail your fingertips all the way down his torso to his belt. you can tell he’s trying to hold back a smirk at your teasing.

you bring your other hand down to help with the unbuckling of his belt. suddenly, you feel the firm hold of his hand on one of your wrists, stopping your movements.

“you’re gonna let me have it that easy?” his grip on you loosening a little.

you look up at him with a sly smile playing on your lips, “you said i have a big ego,” you hook your fingers inside of his belt, “i’m trying to prove i don’t.”

using some strength, you pull him off of the wall that you pushed him up against and swing him around so now he's in your spot, back towards the couch. with a single finger, you push his shoulder back and compliantly, he plumps down onto the seat.

you kneel in between his legs. without wasting a second, your hands land on his knees and forcefully push them wider apart to make room for yourself.

just simply watching you seems to make him revel in pleasure. as you undo his belt, doyoung leans back and helps in whatever way he can by lifting his hips. your fingers slip inside the waistband of his trousers and pull them all the way down in one swift motion.

the cloth of his boxer briefs is stretched tight by the bulge underneath.

you sit back on your heels, hands running up his thighs slowly before stopping just shy of the hemline.

"are you going to ask?" you bat your eyelashes up at him.

his bottom lip recoils from being bitten back by his teeth. "you're fucking bossy, aren't you?"

"fine," you begin to pull down his shorts. "i'll make it easier for you." slowly, and that's agonisingly slow, you tug at the band, inching it lower and lower until it springs up in front of you. the tip of it passing your eye level.

you drag the briefs down to his ankles at a much quicker pace.

you wrap one hand, then the other around the shaft of his dick, and still there's the head of it left, burning pink and red. you watch him watch you. his breathing deepens as you give him a lazy stroke.

"do you want me to suck your cock?" a raspiness in your voice that tells him you want this as bad as he does.

"yes," doyoung breathes out, eyes focused on your hands. then, he looks at you, "please."

satisfied with his response, you begin to wrap your lips around the head of his cock. your tongue swirls over the tip of it, eliciting a quiet moan from him. your hands working together pump up and down his shaft in unison—you feel every vein between your fingers.

you can already feel it filling up your mouth with both of your hands still on it. you breathe in as deeply as you can before sinking your head down a little further. the strained moans that he lets slip does more for your ego than the both of you probably realise.

as you go deeper on his cock, you take away one of your hands to let yourself more space. you're only halfway down when you feel the tip hit the back of your throat. at that, you start to push back up. dragging your wet lips on his cock and letting his dick slowly slide out of your mouth as you pull yourself back.

you stroke the entire length of his dick with your hand while you readjust how you're kneeling in front of him. your attention entirely focused on his cock, you don't even notice his arm reaching out to you until his thumb lands on your face and his fingers under your chin, tilting your head up at him.

he hovers his thumb over your lips, gently grazing over them as he wipes something from the corner of your mouth.

you shoot a look at him with your eyebrows raised and he lets go—as if apologising for interrupting you—and his arm falls back beside him on the couch.

refocusing your attention, you spit onto the tip of his dick and smear it together with the precum dripping out from him, covering his entire shaft with it.

you work in a few rubs with your hand before taking him in your mouth again. as the tip of his dick hits your throat, you begin bobbing your head up and down while your hand works the remainder of his shaft.

it’s clear that he’s trying to hold back his sounds, but every time your teeth grazes a vein, he can’t help but groan. you watch him carefully as he throws his head back in ecstasy, hands balling up beside him.

“fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he drawls breathily.

the muscles in his thighs twitch. he brings a hand up over his forehead and bites down hard on his lip. doyoung knows that if he were to look at you right now, he would lose it.

your hand reaches the base of his cock, and instead of sliding it back up, you give it a tight squeeze. this has him bucking his hips up into you, thrusting his dick deeper down your throat. “shit,” he pants, with his voice finally above a half-whisper.

he can’t help it; he has to watch. his eyes meet yours—pure euphoria in them. he keeps his steady gaze on you as you take his cock deeper and deeper every time.

a piece of your hair falls in front of your face and doyoung reaches out to push it behind your ear. he runs his fingers through your hair, gathering it all behind you and holding it back in a ponytail.

slowly, slowly, slowly, you drag your lips up. you make sure your tongue swirls over the tip over and over before you finally pull away.

“look at you,” he curses under his breath. “sucking my cock like a fucking pornstar.”

you have to hold back a smirk from showing on your lips. and suddenly, you become too aware of the lipstick that is most definitely smeared all over you.

“get up,” his voice takes on a demanding tone. one that makes you obey his words without even giving it a second thought.

using the back of your hand, you wipe away the drool on your chin as well as your smudged lipstick.

doyoung holds his palms out, waiting for you to take them. as you place your hands in his, he pulls them closer towards him.

you plant one knee next to his hip on the couch, followed by the other so that you’re straddling him. doyoung intertwines his fingers with yours. he brings your left hand towards him, softly kissing your fingers and your knuckles.

“you want to show me how good you can be, don’t you?” he mutters in between brushing your fingers over his lips.

you only nod in response, entranced by his fluttering touches.

"lift this up," he nods his head down at your skirt. without hesitation, you pull the hem of your skirt up over your hips.

the tip of his cock is directly under your clothed cunt. you roll your hips back, grazing against the head. doyoung bites back a chuckle, "i can't believe you're this fucking wet."

you suck on the inside of your cheek, "i can't believe you're this fucking hard."

he smiles lazily, "well, i wouldn't want to offend you."

you land a soft blow to his chest, one void of any real strength. this does nothing but amuse him further.

he cocks his head to the side. "pull them over," he eyes your lace panties.

you slide a finger underneath the sheer fabric, bunching it together and pushing it to the side. your bare cunt practically dripping on doyoung's dick. subconsciously, your hips start grinding back and forth, brushing your folds against his tip.

you're this close to sinking down on his dick when doyoung stops you with a single tap of his finger and a look.

"uh-uh. where are your manners?"

the smugness on his expression leaves you no choice but to roll your eyes at him. "fuck you," you spit out.

"yeah, i don't think that's the magic word," he leans back onto the couch.

"seriously?"

"if you want this dick inside you, you better ask for it, princess."

seeing how stubborn he is, you decide to play along. you lean your body closer towards him, arms once again wrapping around his neck. you plant a quick peck on his lips, then another on his cheek. your kisses trail all the way to the top of his ear before whispering deliberately slowly.

"i want you to fuck me senseless."

his expression says he's unaffected but the twitching from below you suggests otherwise. doyoung looks at you contentedly but still not giving in, yet.

you pull the top of his ear in between your teeth, softly biting down, causing him to grunt quietly.

"please."

immediately, it's like something switches on inside of him. he lines his dick up with your pussy, and without warning, thrusts his hips up into you.

you choke out a moan, the sudden stretch being almost too much for you to take.

he grunts, pushing himself deeper inside you inch by inch. "fuck, you okay?"

despite wanting to speak, the only thing that comes out of you are whines and whimpers, so you resort to nodding your head eagerly instead.

"you can take it, can't you?" doyoung groans, a noise so deep and guttural as he pushes the last of his length inside you.

he throws his head back once he's all the way inside. just the sight of your pussy swallowing the whole of him drives him insane.

he stays still inside of you, letting you adjust to his size. his fingers grip tightly onto your hips, his thumbs digging into your pelvis.

your eyes are clamped shut. you don't want to say it but his dick inside you makes you feel like you're getting split into two. your knees can barely hold you up, having to claw your nails into his shoulders to support yourself.

doyoung reads your expression carefully as he slides himself out, and then in. slow at first. so slow that it feels torturous for him when the only thing on his mind is fucking you dumb.

the more he thrusts, the more you begin to take pleasure in this. building up a steady pace, his hands hold you in place as the sound of your skin slapping onto each other echo in the room.

the friction occasionally rubbing against your aching clit works you into a frenzy.

doyoung begins to pound into you faster and harder, illiciting a long string of curses from you. crying out, you let yourself slump over his shoulder as he bounces you up and down his cock.

you can hear his heavy breathing right next to your ear. "this pussy was made to be fucked like this, wasn't it?" he spits in between his groans. "perfect little slut, made to take big dick so well, huh?"

in all honesty, your mind is clouded by the sole desire to cum. not hearing a word he says, but you agree anyway with tears threatening to spill out the corner of your eyes.

you reach a hand down, rubbing tight circles on your clit. the need to cum has made you desperate. willing to do anything to just to push yourself that little further.

nothing can turn doyoung on more than seeing the desperation scrawled across your face. every time he pounds into you, the tip of his cock twitches inside, swiping against your g-spot.

“my pretty slut’s gonna cum? huh?”

you whine in response, the ability to form coherent words absolutely out the window by now.

“fucking do it then.”

you bury your face in the crook of his neck as you’re nearing the verge of your orgasm. the muscles in your leg begin to spasm.

“cum all over this dick, baby, i know you can do it.”

his sudden use of the pet name for you completely unravels you with his dick all the way inside. legs shaking uncontrollably. you clench around his cock, your pussy walls tightening the harder you come.

as you gush all over the entirety of his dick, doyoung can’t hold out any longer. your screams of pure ecstasy drives him to his orgasm, shooting thick ropes of cum inside of you. his hips buck sharply, pushing his cum into the deepest crevice of your womb.

his jaw hangs slack, eyes closed as waves of pleasure ripple through him. his chest rises and falls dramatically, hands shaky although he tries to steady them on your hips.

“fuck,” you both repeat as you begin to come down from your high.

no longer blinded by your orgasm, you can still feel his cock throbbing inside of you, twitching as your cunt drains the last of his cum out of him.

breathing heavily, you meet his lust-filled gaze.

your thumb runs up his jaw lightly, drawing yourself closer to his face. visible beads of sweat form by his hairline.

you press a soft kiss onto his lips. smirking, you watch him keep his eyes closed for a few more seconds, revelling in the euphoria he’s experiencing.

you reduce your voice to nothing but a whisper, “that definitely doesn’t help my ego.”

[multi-kpop-fanfics]

Vodka Slime

pairing: alien!Seungcheol x fem!reader

genre: smut, mild comedy. minors dni.

warnings: monsterfucking, use of tentacles, dom!seungcheol, bratty reader, pussy slapping, bondage, implied size kink (reader is smaller than seungcheol), tummy bulge, squirting, masturbating, unprotected sex but reader is on the pill (pls stay safe), dirty talk, recording during sex (consensual but DON'T DO IT IRL), reader runs a nsfw twitter acc, alcohol consumption

word count: 2.7k

summary: picking up a hot guy from a bar to spend the night with was in your bucket list. him being an alien wasn't. not that you really complain.

Author's note: Spooky season is here and what better way to participate than a spooky smutty theme :) this was a request from Y anon!

p.s.: main inspiration for this fic was drawn by @meltwonu's Starlighter fic, it is a MUST read (like the rest of monster mash lmaooo)

taglist: @duhnova @smileysuh @gyuwoncheol (kindly suffer <3)

©multi-kpop-fanfics, 2023. No reposting allowed. No translations allowed without permission.

You kinda wish you had stayed at home.

You thought it would be a good idea to dress up and go to a bar on your own to enjoy a cocktail, hoping for a stroke of luck - Alas, things don’t always go your way.

If you had stayed home, you would be in comfy clothes or maybe no clothes at all, thinking of which toy you want to fuck yourself with. 

You let out a huff and you take your cocktail in your hand, opting for a ‘random walk’ around the bar (you just want to spot a single guy who wouldn’t mind to get laid tonight), but as soon as you turn around, you collide with a very firm body and your cocktail ends up splashing all over your top.

“Fuck!” You gasp when the ice cold beverage hits your skin, desperately looking for napkins to clean up the newly made mess.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do that!” He apologizes profusely as he asks for napkins from the bartender. “Here, these should help somehow.” He passes you the napkins and you accept them with a grumble, trying your best to clean up yourself.

“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you, miss?”

“You can only-” you almost snap at him but your words die down in your throat when you raise your head and take a good look at the unknown man.

And all you see is the stroke of luck you were wishing for all night long.

Semi-pulled back white hair, slightly messed up from the wind outside, a tight fitted shirt accentuating his toned pecs and a jawline sharp enough to cut through your clothes.

“Well…” You put down the used napkins, “I wouldn’t mind a refill of that cocktail I was drinking.”

The unknown man flashes a rather adorable gummy smile and effortlessly takes a couple of bills out of his wallet.

“That, I can definitely do.”

"So, a college student. That's pretty cool."

You almost snort in your drink. "Oh yeah, it's so cool to stress over random classes because the professor happens to be a dickhead." 

"Hey, don't downplay your achievements. It's not like everyone has the brains to attend college, you know." The man plays with the rim of his glass.

"It's actually funny how hard you're trying to get my attention, while you don't even know my name." You down your cocktail.

"And here I was wondering whether you'd bring it up or not." He chuckles. 

"Well? Are you satisfied now, mister I don't know-what-your-name-is?"

"Seungcheol. Choi Seungcheol."

"What?"

"That's my name, doll."

"Oh." You gulp down. "That's a very nice name you have there."

“So I’ve been told before.”

“By other girls, I suppose?”

“I’m not obligated to share this information, doll.”

“Suit yourself then.” You shrug and open your purse, taking out a small folded mirror to check your makeup.

“I’m impressed.” Seungcheol licks the corner of his mouth, “It’s the first time someone isn’t giving their attention to me.”

“You either have a bloated ego or you’re a desperate attention whore. Or both, I guess.” You sigh.

“And you have a pretty foul mouth for such a pretty face.”

“Cliché.”

“Did it work?”

“I’m not obligated to share this information, mister Choi.” You mimic his attitude.

“Are you even willing to share something with me, other than a drink?” He huffs.

“To be completely honest, I was hoping to come here and snatch a cutie back home to have fun with, but things are looking kinda grim.”

Seungcheol flashes a wide smirk. “What a wonderful coincidence, for our goals to be aligned tonight.”

“You’re here to hit it off with someone too?”

“Yeah. And to be fair, you’re looking way too hot and way too lonely to not get laid tonight.”

“Are you suggesting I should fuck you, Seungcheol?”

“I was planning on using more subtle words but I suppose this is also a way to approach things.”

You take a few seconds to yourself, pondering about Seungcheol’s proposal.

Cons - he’s a complete stranger and could be a murderer.

Pros - he’s fucking hot and you could get new content for your account.

“I have one question.”

“Fire away, doll.”

“You’re not some kind of crazy ass murderer, right?”

Seungcheol snorts. “Murderer? Nope."

He brings himself closer to you. "But the crazy ass depends on the context."

"I think we both know the context." You lick your lips.

"Then I hope you're into crazy stuff, doll."

Boy, he's in for a treat.

"That's a nice setup you have here."

"Thanks." You smile and take off your shoes.

"Are you a streamer?" 

"Hmm, not really."

"There's no shame in saying you're a camgirl." Seungcheol chuckles.

"I never said that and I definitely didn't try to hide it." You retort.

"Judging from the box of dildos being out in the open on your desk, I would agree to the latter."

"Do they make you feel uncomfortable, Seungcheol?"

"Not at all." He walks towards the desk and picks up a neon colored, tentacle shaped dildo. "Is this what you play with?"

You sit down on the bed and cross your legs sensually. "Got a problem with that?"

"Not really." Seungcheol drops the toy in the box. "It's a shame to play with fake stuff when you can have access to the real stuff."

You snort. "What, you're into that fake tentacles porn?" 

He flashes a smirk and removes his jacket and t-shirt, you let out a whistle at the sight of his naked torso. 

The excitement you had stored in your body evaporates within milliseconds when you see extra large sized tentacles coming out of Seungcheol's back, looming over him.

"Okay whoa, that is NOT what I was expecting!" 

"I know it's shocking, but I have zero intention to hurt you-"

You crawl away from him. "Your little friends don't seem to share the sentiment!" 

"I am the one who controls them, I can pull them back if you want me to."

"I- I just-"

"Look, I can just put my clothes back on and disappear from your apartment, like I never even existed in the first place."

"W-Wait! I, um-"

"Take your time, Y/N."

"Can you try not to put these things near my mouth please?"

"Since you asked so nicely, I have no choice but to comply."

Seungcheol crawls on the bed and cages you between his body and the mattress, peppering kisses across your jawline to make you feel more comfortable.

"Do you mind if I kiss you? I promise my lips are nothing like my tentacles."

"Oh my God, just shut up and kiss me!" You grab his face with your hands and smash your lips on his, slipping your tongue in his mouth, but it doesn't last for long, as he pulls away and pins your hands above your head.

"What got into you all of a sudden, doll?"

"Maybe I thought things over again and decided that fucking a hot guy with tentacles isn't a terrible idea." 

"I thought you weren't into that thing?"

"Half of my porn content is with tentacle dildos, please get real."

Seungcheol scoffs. "You little brat."

He lifts himself off you and with a tilt of his head, his tentacles wrap around your torso and legs, restricting you midair.

"You fucker! This is foul play!" You yelp.

He leans back on the headrest of the bed, looking at you with hungry eyes. "Everything is fair in war, love and sex, doll. I’m just spicing up things a little." 

Two more of his tentacles come up to your body, one ripping your top in half and the other flipping your skirt to reveal your bare pussy.

“Fuck you, I liked that top!”

“It was already ruined, sweetheart, don’t think too much of it. No underwear though? That's hot."

"It's called easy access, himbo."

Seungcheol clicks his tongue in annoyance and whips one of his tentacles over your pussy, making you whine.

"You're being a lil' smartass and it could get you in trouble, Y/N."

"Do your worst, Kraken."

The tentacle glides between your lips with the tip repeatedly nudging your clit when it suddenly whips your pussy again and you close your legs involuntarily.

"Ah ah ah, we're not having any of that." 

The tentacles tighten around your legs and keep them wide open, while the third one keeps rubbing your pussy slowly enough for the suckers to tease your sensitive parts.

"Ah! Fuck!" You moan when the slimy object slaps your cunt over and over again, your juices starting to drip on your asscheeks and all over the sheets.

"Drenched already? I haven't even fucked you yet, doll." Seungcheol chuckles as he strokes his cock, his pants discarded a long time ago.

"It's all f-fun and games when you're the o-one sitting on the bed!" You whine in defeat.

Your lips fall open when after a particular harsh slap, the tentacle effortlessly pushes into your entrance, turning around and rubbing your walls in an excruciatingly slow manner.

"Oh…my God…Fuck, that feels so fucking good."

Seungcheol raises his eyebrow. "You feel a tad bit loose, sweetheart." 

"And w-what about it?"

You nearly scream when another, thicker tentacle enters your pussy and thrusts harder than the other one. You feel your walls being stretched out, the foreign bodies in your hole proving to be bigger than the toys you use.

“Now it feels just right.” Seungcheol moans, as if it was his dick fucking you stupid. “Can’t wait to have you all wrapped around my cock, doll.”

“F-Fu- Cheol, I’m gonna cum!” You gasp when the tentacles pick up the pace and ram your cunt without mercy.

“Come on, doll, show me what this pussy is capable of.” Seungcheol grunts as he fists his cock harder to bring himself closer to his climax.

A sharp shriek erupts from your throat - you squirt all over your thighs and the slimy appendices, juices dripping down on the sheets and Seungcheol’s legs. His cock explodes all over his torso, streaks of thick white cum splashing on his skin.

The tentacles around your body relax just enough to let you plop down on the mattress, leaving your skin sticky and covered with a thin, slimy substance. He slowly retracts them altogether and they disappear from your field of view, as if they never existed in the first place.

“I can’t feel my legs.”

Seungcheol crawls on the mattress until he’s hovering above you. “That’s cute. But I’m afraid I’m not done with you yet, doll.”

Your eyes go wide when you notice the sheer size of his cock resting on top of your stomach and you’re pretty sure it’s way bigger than anything else you’ve taken before.

“There’s no fucking way that thing will fit in me!”

“That’s what you said about my tentacles, but you took them like a pro.”

“That’s different!” You protest.

“Different how?”

You purse your lips.

“Different how, Y/N?” Seungcheol slaps his cock between your legs and you whimper.

“It’s….so fucking big, Cheol….”

“Are you scared?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

“We can always take it slow, pretty girl. Are you on the pill?”

You nod your head slowly and hook your fingers around the elastic band of the skirt to take it off, but he stops you.

“The skirt stays on.”

“It could get in the way, though.”

“Pull it just enough to let your pussy show.”

“Wait, I’ve got an idea.” You say and point towards the video camera on the desk. “Can you grab it for me?”

“What do you have in mind, doll?”

“Since it might take some effort to make it fit…” You turn on the camera and hand it over to him, “Might as well show my followers how it’s done, right?”

Seungcheol flashes a dirty smirk before he points the camera to your pussy, his tip nudging your entrance. You wince a little when the bulbous head pushes into your hole, a strangled moan escaping from your mouth when you try to fit in more of his shaft.

“Easy now, I’m not going anywhere, doll.”

He swipes his free hand over his abs to pick up the cum that hasn’t dried yet and smears it all over his length, using it as lube.

“S-Stop teasing me…”

“‘M sorry doll, but I don't wanna rip your pretty pussy apart.”

“Fuck, I can take it, promise!” You arch your back and buck your hips in the air.

Seungcheol flattens his free hand over your stomach and pins you down. “You will take only what I wanna give you, sweetheart. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Your walls clench around his tip and he has the audacity to bring the camera closer to the spot you’re connected to each other, only to push his fat cock all the way to the base.

“Fuuuuuck, it’s huge…” Your eyes roll back and your pussy spasms like crazy, trying your best to accommodate his size.

“Good girl, I knew you’d take it all in.” Seungcheol rasps as he rubs his palm over the newly formed bulge in your tummy, “Such a tiny pussy yet you managed to fit all of it. I think you deserve a treat for this.”

His hand moves to your left hip and he starts thrusting inside you, setting a slow pace at first.

You moan loudly with each thrust he delivers and you slide one of your hands directly over the spot that bulges from his cock.

“Not so snarky now, are you?”

“M-More…”

“More what, doll? Use your big girl words.”

“M-More power, harder, please!” You beg between sobs.

“I was planning on dragging it out a bit more, but fuck, you’re gripping me like a vice and I can’t wait to blow my load in your pussy, doll.”

He pulls the camera a bit further away to get a full view of your and his lower half, ensuring none of your faces are visible in the video. He answers your pleas by fucking you harder and faster than his tentacles did and he can swear his sanity is starting to slip away.

“S-Shit, you’re- Fuck! It’s so good!” You scream and grip the sheets around you, your tits bouncing up and down.

“Mmmh, I’m about to cum, baby- Gonna take it all deep, will you?” Seungcheol moans above you, trying to keep the camera steady.

“Yes, yes yes, fuck me full with your load, daddy!” You cry out and your thighs shake as you cum around his cock, your wet walls rapidly clenching around his huge shaft.

“Fuuuck….” He delivers a few shallow thrusts before he buries himself to the hilt, blowing his thick load inside your pussy until a white ring of cum forms around his base. He doesn’t hesitate to take out his cock with an obscene pop and spurt the remnants of his orgasm over your pussy and your skirt.

“That…was fucking amazing.” Seungcheol taps his cock on your clit, chuckling when you bite your lips to suppress your moans.

“Close…the camera…” You mutter and he presses the button to stop the recording.

He puts the camera down and lays right next to you, ghosting his fingers over your abused cunt. 

“So? Do you think it was a waste of time to bring me back home?”

You grip his wrist and bring his hand in front of your face, licking his digits clean.

“Only an idiot would consider you a waste of time, Cheol.”

“Does that mean you’re down to exchange numbers?”

“Are you not-so-subtly asking for another time?” You rake your pointer finger across his chest.

“Perhaps I am,” he confirms, “Not to mention that one time isn’t anywhere near enough to show you what I can truly do with my tentacles.”

“One question - Do your tentacles spit stuff like in hentai?”

Seungcheol snorts and erupts into a laughing fit, to the point of tears.

You slap his arm. “What’s so funny?! I’m serious!”

“I know! It was still funny,” he wipes his tears away, “But I can’t answer your question yet.”

“And why is that?”

He smirks again.

“That would just spoil the fun for next time, doll.”

[drunkenlionwrites]

Heyy may i request boothill x fem!reader who likes feminine and cute stuff like bows, dresses and pastel colors while boothill is more the tough guy in the relationship

(maybe a short drabble of this)

ugh anon, I’m dying. It’s too cute, what did you do to my brain 😭😭 CW: fem!reader, fluff

All the pretty things. You’ve always had an eye for all the things pretty: soft flowy skirts that tickle the skin when you walk fast, elaborate looking huge parfaits, latte art that takes a maestro of a barista to make, pastel colored dresses that make you feel like a princess, especially when adorned with little bows – your latest obsession.

That’s why you stand in the huge line at Dreamjolt Hostelry now, with your boyfriend in tow – you just can’t miss the new limited cocktail they announced. It’s supposed to be sweet and fruity, but above all else you’re excited to see the presentation. When you asked Boothill to come there together, he looked at you with the “again your search for cute stuff” look, but agreed like he always does. How can he let his precious cupcake go into the bar all alone? His looks alone intimidate the crowd around you, and although people heard him to be Pom Pom, the mysterious Astral Express conductor, they don’t really bother any of you. Not that anyone would otherwise, but Boothill says you should always be cautious of your surroundings. And you listen to him, of course, albeit you know that he’ll never let anything happen to you.

‘Cautious’ he is now, already making friends among the people who stay in line in front of you, cracking some jokes that they half understand yet laugh, cause this weird outsider is honestly kinda endearing.

And when he finally gets two drinks for both of you - all big vinage glasses, white creamy top and horryfyingly pink liquid base, he turns to you with the smug toothy grin and shining eyes so alive, that you can’t look away for you’ve always had an eye for all the things pretty - and Boothill is the prettiest.

[poge-life]

𝔹𝕦𝕫𝕫𝔽𝕖𝕖𝕕 ℝ𝕖𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕡 𝕋𝕖𝕤𝕥 ~ 𝔻𝕣𝕖𝕨 𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕜𝕖𝕪

“I’m (y/n) (l/n) and this fine looking gentleman is my boyfriend, Joseph and today…we’re doing the BuzzFeed relationship quiz to see how well we know each other.”

Drew let out a groan at the use of his first name, looking over at you, “I don’t like when you call me that. You only call me that when you’re mad at me.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek before placing one on his shoulder and looking down at the laptop. The questions listed were more like a checklist rather than actual questions but there was a variety to choose from.

‘Their birthday’

“(Y/B/D) (Y/B/Y)” He answered, tapping his hands on the desk

“November 4, 1993.” You said, “I didn’t believe him when he told me he was 26 when we first met because he doesn’t look like he’s 30.”

Drew let out sigh, shaking his head, “I don’t like to talk about it.”

“You’re getting up there, grandpa.” You teased, letting out a laugh as he shrugged your head off of his shoulder.

‘Their Astrological Sign’

“Your astrological sign is (y/s/s). Most compatible with mine, by the way.” Drew said, looking over at you as you agreed, “Obviously. You are a scorpio. Totally makes sense.”

‘Their Phone Number’

“Okay, my number has been leaked so many times that I’m not even gonna let him say it,” You declared as Drew agreed, “I know you know mine because you use it at Dunkin’ all the time.”

You just smiled at the camera as he rolled his eyes at you.

‘Their Biggest celebrity crush’

“Nick Cirillo is his.” You answered, “Nick gets more attention than I do when we’re on set. Especially this season.”

“Nick is a beautiful man, what can I say?” Drew chuckled, raising his hands in surrender, “Yours is always changing. But, if it were to come down to it, I would have to say…(y/c/c). You talk about them a lot.”

You rolled your eyes at your boyfriend, turning to give him an ‘are you serious’ look. Drew winked at you before turning back to the computer.

‘What their nickname is’

“Drewsph is a big one between our friend group,” you said, “I call you ‘baby’ a lot. I’ve also called you Drafe before on set.”

“When have you ever called me that?” He asked, confusion on his face, “I’ve literally never heard that one.”

“I do it when we’re on set and you’re in costume but not acting,” you explained, “you’re not exactly Drew and you’re not exactly Rafe. So… you’re ‘drafe.’”

Drew just looked at you with a blank expression before looking back at the camera, “I call her ‘babe’, ‘hun’, ‘sweet girl’ has been in there a few times. Maddy calls you Pookie.”

You let out a groan , banging your head against the desk, “They didn’t need to know that.”

“You called me Joseph, it’s fair game, babe.” Drew leaned down and placed a kiss to the top of your head.

‘Their coffee order’

“Oh good lord. Yours is always changing,” Drew answered, looking over at you, “Your current one is (y/c/o). You also do that vanilla cold brew from Starbucks a lot.”

“Do you know exactly how I get it though?” You asked

“5 pumps of vanilla and an extra pump of sweet cream.”

“You always just either drink an iced coffee with a little bit of creamer and like a spoonful of sugar or you get an Iced Almondmilk flat white.” You answered, “because you’re weird and can’t have a normal fucking coffee order.”

Drew narrowed his eyes at you, pursing his lips in the process, “Says the one who just weeds out their coffee with creamer.”

“Because straight black coffee is disgusting.” You argued, “If I wasn’t supposed to drown out the taste of coffee with creamer, it shouldn’t have been created.”

“So dramatic.” Drew mumbled and you mocked him “ ‘so dramatic’ Yeah. Okay.”

‘Their favorite alcoholic drink’

“Yours is different every time we go out,” You looked over at Drew, who agreed, “You drink beer in the summer, corona or Coors. When we go out to dinner, you do either whiskey. On the rocks. Or some kind of cocktail.”

“Yours depends on who you’re with,” Drew said, “You and Maddy have wine parties and go crazy for Mimosas at breakfast. But when we go out, you have (y/d/c).”

You threw your head back with a laugh at how crazy you both sound, “we sound like we’re alcoholics.”

“You and Maddy are just about there.” Drew shrugged, ignoring the look you sent him.

‘Their favorite co-worker’

You rolled your eyes at your answer, “Once again, Nick. But you also spend a lot of time with Austin and JD. But out of those three, I’m going with JD. You two hang out a lot together and he’s always at our apartment.”

Drew seemed pleased enough with your answer, “I’d say…Maddy or Rudy. You and Maddy instantly clicked when you two met and hung out more than the rest of us. But with Rudy, you two always find ways to entertain yourselves when you’re left alone.”

You had a grin on your face as you looked at the camera, “It’s always a good time with Rudy. He is the definition of letting the impulsive thoughts win. There is never a dull moment with him.”

‘Their pet peeve.’

You had to think about this one. Drew was a pretty calm person when he was around everyone and didn’t let anything really bother him. You couldn’t remember if he mentioned anything that bothered him.

“People chewing with their mouths open is your top one,” Drew said, “when people don’t take their shoes off before they sit on the couch-“

You cut him off before he could continue, “First off, we have a white couch and two, is it so wrong I don’t want whatever is on their shoes to be on our furniture? That seems like a pretty reasonable one to me.”

“Okay. I’ll give you that one. You also hate it when people don’t stack their dishes whenever we leave a restaurant.”

“I was a server in high school and college and I can say, it always made my job easier when we were busy.” You argued

You looked at Drew with your head tilted in thought, struggling to think of anything, “It’s not a pet peeve but it’s something that bothers you. When people come up to you at parties and think you’re like Rafe and give zero shits about your feelings.”

Drew let out a groan as he looked at the camera, “Please don’t come up to me and ask if I wanna do coke. I don’t do coke.”

“It’s amazing how many people in LA can get their hands on it,” You added. “You hate when people go through your camera without asking. That’s a major one I can think of. You also hate when people come over-“

“I do hate it when people come over.” Drew nodded and you rolled your eyes at him. “As I was saying, mr homebody, when people come over and use the shower and don’t hang up the towels or put out new ones.”

Drew looked at you in bewilderment, “You say that you it’s not something that wouldn’t bother everyone else. I don’t want to walk into a bathroom and step on a wet towel or be showering and not have a towel in the bathroom?”

You didn’t say anything as you just stared at him. You shook your head as you turned back to the camera and Drew just mimicked you, crossing his arms over his chest.

“And there you have it! I think this proves that we know each other better than we thought we did.” You smiled, looking over at Drew, who agreed, “It’s not like we’ve been dating for three years or anything.”

“Anyways, season 3 is now streaming and if you wanna see more of us and our beautiful friends, go ahead and watch it! And we hope you enjoyed this as much as we did!”

[luveline]

Hi jade, I have a hurt/comfort request for Steve, maybe reader was there with the party for all the vecna stuff and maybe gets hurt, afterwards Steve taking care of her and staying w her in the hospital and stuff? Love your writing!

thank you for requesting <3 fem!reader

“Did you know there’s like, a concessions stand?” 

You moan at the pain between your shoulders, turning onto your arm. Steve lounges in the chair beside you with a paper plate of donuts on his chest. His legs are kicked up on your bed. He’s taken his shoes off, at least. 

“Free donuts, coffee, they even had flapjacks.” 

“Steve, I think you have to pay for those.” 

He puts the plate on your bed. “Well, they can’t send you to jail.” 

“‘Cos my back’s broken?” 

“‘Cos you’re too pretty for prison.” Steve sits up properly. “You need help?” 

He moves the donuts again onto your nightstand and hooks you under the arms to ease you into a sitting position. You’re back isn’t broken, for the record, but you fell funny coming out of the gate a few days ago and you haven’t bounced back yet. Worse, you've got an infected burn on your hand, wrist and arm from your Molotov cocktail. It’s out of commission, as are you while they pump antibiotics into the crook of your elbow. Steve’s careful not to tug your IV. 

You gasp, the twinge in your back turning to flame. “I know,” Steve murmurs, shockingly sincere, “I’m sorry. You’re not supposed to lie down all the time, or it won’t get better.” 

“I know.” 

“Yeah, of course you do. You know everything.” 

Insult or compliment, you’re unsure. What you do know is that Steve’s come to see you every day since you were checked in, he’s the one who checked you in, and he’s taken good care of you so far. He’s not even your boyfriend, you thought he liked Nancy— but he’s rubbing his hands down your shoulders and looking you in your face despite the horror he’s sure to be witnessing. Bruised eye, greasy nose, hair thankfully clean but completely untouched otherwise. 

“Better?” he asks, cupping your cheek. 

Is he gonna kiss me? you think. You glance down at his lips, then back up. Steve doesn’t notice or doesn’t mention it, his fingers drawing a gentle path behind your ear as his thumb aligns with your jaw. 

“Hey, don’t cry.” 

You shake your head. “No, I’m not.”

“Sorry, you just looked so sad for a second.” He laughs wryly. Though you don’t feel like he’s making fun of you, he teases, “Cheer up. What have you got to be so sad about?” 

“You keep harassing me.” 

“Oh, that’s how it is!” He tips his head back. “Nurse! I’d like to report a thief!” 

You gasp, laugh, and attempt to cover his mouth as strikes of pain nibble up your spine. “Steve, don’t–” He catches your hands to stop you from silencing him, but he doesn’t shout again, holding your hands together in his lap, smiling smugly and affectionately at once. He has nice eyes that are almost almond in shape and a lovely light brown. They glow in the slither of light that sneaks its way through the blinds, raw amber, stomach-achingly pretty. 

You can’t look at him for too long. You defer to your hands scrunched up in the sheets instead. 

“I did pay for the donuts, by the way. I’m just messing with you.” 

You try to laugh. “Why doesn't that surprise me?” 

“You act like I’m such a jerk,” he says fondly, pulling you in for a cautious hug. He’s tender when he needs to be, you’d never have thought it of him, how sweetly and softly he rubs your back, how he murmurs near your ear. “Do you need more meds? I’m sure they can get you another dose of the good stuff if you pretend your gummy arm is aching.” 

“Thanks, Steve, but I’m fine.” 

He hums. “Think I can get them to let me stay the night?” 

“Steve, I’m really okay.” 

“It’s not about you, I just don’t wanna go home,” he lies poorly, “they don’t have donuts at home–”

His hand leaves your back. “Are you eating over my shoulder?” you ask. 

He hugs you tighter with the remaining arm. “What? No.” 

You feel sprinkles falling down your back and ignore it for now. He’ll have to help you out of bed in a few minutes anyways. He can sort it out then. For now, you lean into his chest and close your eyes tight. 

“I’ll sleep better in the chair by your bed,” he promises. 

[p0orbaby]

Fun Sponge

summary: the beach isn’t for everyone, Ella!

warnings: none I don’t think

a/n: some more grumpy!reader for you all. i’m just writing myself at this point

word count: 882

-

“You’re so weird”

“Thank you”

“That wasn’t meant as a compliment,” Ella clarifies, then sighs as Alessia turns and narrows her eyes at her.

“What?” Ella asks. “She’s the only person I know who doesn’t like going on holiday”

“I do like holidays, I’m just confused about why you have to crash ours,” you said, a barely there smile playing on your lips. You tightened your arms around Alessia’s frame as she sits sideways in your lap. “Why did we bring her again?” you whisper to her, your lips grazing her ear. You feel her shiver.

Alessia chuckled softly, her fingers tracing circles on the back of your neck. “Baby, we’re with the whole team, remember?” she whispers back with a smirk.

“Yeah, but they’re all way less annoying,” you muttered, your attention focused again on the brunette sitting beside you.

“I can hear you, you know?”

“Good, you were meant to”

“Babe, calm down”

Alessia is good like that. Always there to make sure you don’t get too ahead of yourself. Though sometimes you wish she’d let you have at it. Tooney can be a collosol pain in your ass.

“Less, tell your girlfriend to stop being boring”

“I’m not going scuba diving Ella. I’m very partial to solid ground and I will not entertain sharing my personal space with rogue sea life” You deadpan.

Ella rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. “You’re impossible. What’s the point of a beach holiday if you don’t even put one toe in the sea?”

“Oh I don’t know. To enjoy the sun, rinse the all-inclusive cocktails, hope and pray for peace and quiet, ogle Alessia in her bikini. Lots of points” you state matter of factly.

She shot back, “But it’s a beach! You’re supposed to enjoy the whole package, not just mope in the shade”

You wrap your arms around Alessia even tighter and bury your face into her neck. Your opinion on the matter set firmly in stone.

As you nestle into your girlfriend's warmth, Ella’s exasperation lingers in the air. She huffs, “Fine, enjoy your smoked pineapple margs, alone. We’ll be over there making sandcastles or something before our diving slot if you change your mind. Coming Less?”

Alessia hesitates, glancing at you sceptically before untangling herself from your embrace.

Your head snaps up, the look on your face one of utter betrayal. “Seriously? You’re ditching me for some sea turtles?”

Alessia chuckles, leaning forward to grab the palms you had reached out for her. “I know, I know, but it sounds fun. I’ll make it up to you later. I promise”

Ella grinns, seizing the opportunity. “And balance has been restored. Look after our stuff yeah?”

You rolled your eyes. “Sure, I’ll be here, guarding the sunscreen like it’s the only thing I’m useful for”

Alessia pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, then several to your lips, “I’ll be back before you know it. I miss you already” she shouts as she walks away.

“Glorified bodyguard” you mutter to yourself as the two girls stride into the distance.

At least you get to read some of your book in relative peace.

-

You have no idea how much time has passed, but suddenly a shock of cold water splashes over you, jolting you awake with an uncharacteristic yelp.

You lift a tired hand in front of your face to block the sun from your eyes, only to find Ella standing over you, grinning mischievously.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead! You missed out big time, but don't worry, I'm here to fill you in”. She announces, then proceeds to recount the whole thing with an overwhelming level of detail.

Alessia, expertly anticipating your annoyance plops down beside you and whispers an apology, offering a comforting kiss to the underside of your jaw. Her warmth soothes your initial irritation as Ella continues her painfully enthusiastic monologue.

"And then, this giant sea turtle swam right past me. I swear, it felt like a scene from a documentary, but we were actually living it!"

You manage a half-smile, your mind wandering as you try to savor the last moments of your nap.

"Oh, and the coral reefs! They were like a living, breathing masterpiece. I could've stayed down there forever”

Alessia nudges you, a hand coming up to stroke some hair out of your face to get your attention. Your eyes meet hers and she rolls them playfully.

"I even saw a clownfish! You know, like Nemo? It was adorable!"

You nod absentmindedly, your thoughts more focused on your girlfriend as she leans over you to finish the rest of your abandoned margarita than Ella’s rambling. She smells like sunscreen and seawater and you can’t help but relax a little.

Eventually Ella stops and you let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding in. Finally she’s run out of steam.

“You know what? That actually sounds super fun” you say, and Ella looks at you like a cat who’s got the cream.

“You think?”

“Absolutely fucking not”

She shoots back, offended “You’re impossible. Did you even hear anything I said?”

You wave a dismissive hand in her direction, “Something about sea turtles and coral reefs, right?”

“Oh my god, I hate you. I actually hate you so much”

“Can I get that in writing?”

[6esiree]

Ulterior Motives:

Alastor x Reader x Lucifer

Notes: Even if I don’t end up going through with the story, at least y’all got this preview to read 😼 Reader is referred to as she once, and there’s a lil bit of smut in the end, but it’s not detailed.

—————

Among the stench of low-quality cigarettes and cheap booze that contributed to the sleazy environment of the casino, the heavenly scent of your Bourbon Strawberry & Vanilla perfume wafted into Lucifer’s nostrils, his chest rising and falling in silent recognition. Even after six of the twelve grueling hours of your shift and only one break in between, the supposed discounted aroma clung onto your clothes, obscuring anything unsavory wherever you traversed.

“Something the matter, sweetheart?” The sound of your voice suddenly penetrated Lucifer’s ears, much to his pleasure.

“You know, you can just call me by my name, right?” Lucifer said, immediately straightening his back.

“Is that what you want me to do?” You asked with a smile, planting your elbows on the counter in front of him, invading his personal space.

You were met with silence in lieu of a response, and while Lucifer’s mouth hung slightly open, it was as if his tongue prohibited him from formulating any words. You had no idea that he was utterly entranced by the way the dim pending light cascaded down your face, accentuating his favorite features. He would have never snapped out of it if a rather hefty patron hadn’t rattled the counter as they asked for a drink.

“What’cha want?” You slid away with a huff, unhappy over the disruption, but your smile didn’t falter once.

Lucifer’s eyes followed your receding figure, disappointment settling in the depths of his stomach, but at least you tended to work much quicker than you usually did when he asked for a drink. Cocktail, straight shot, or a beer—it didn’t matter, you somehow managed to stretch the seconds into minutes, and nobody but your employer had the right to complain when the King of Hell was requesting your services. That’s the only thing Lucifer loved about himself.

“Sometimes I hate this place, but then this happens,” You said when you reappeared in front of Lucifer, showcasing the tip in between your forefinger and middle finger, “Gotta pay the rent—the prices are unforgiving.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” Lucifer chuckled, watching you stash it away under the counter. “Money, it’s important even in the afterlife.”

Tonight marked the third month that Lucifer had started showing up to the casino, but he invested all of his money into your bar, never sparing the 25¢ slot machines or the popular $5 Blackjack tables a second glance. Your knowledge about Lucifer’s personal affairs was severely limited, but the moment you caught him mindlessly twisting the golden wedding band on his ring finger, that was when you figured out what motivated him to come back.

“So, Lucifer,” You said, putting one hand on your hip, the other rubbing away at your chin in mock contemplation. “Are you sure that’s what you want me to call you?”

“Well, only if you want to,” Lucifer shrugged, the next part slipping past his lips before he could think about how strange it sounded. “I’d rather hear my name than what I assume you must call most people here.”

Your eyes flitted down to the man, the embarrassment evident in his face as you stared at him with an arched brow. It was too late to take back what he’d said, Lucifer realized; but if he added anything else, he’d risk making himself look like an even bigger fool. Oh, where had his eloquence gone to?

“Sometimes I refer to other patrons with terms of endearment, yeah,” You admitted, leaning onto the counter once more. “Okay, um, how about Luci? Does anybody else call you that?”

Unfortunately, the very woman who had driven Lucifer to seek comfort in the hands of liquor used to call him that. But as your warm breath caressed his face, your plump lips mere centimeters away from his, he couldn’t help but slowly shake his head. ‘Okay, Luci it is,’ You practically sung, the nickname rolling off of your tongue in such a beautiful way that it infiltrated his mind and replaced the memory of her dreaded voice with yours.

“Oh, and do you want another drink?” You asked. “Couldn’t help but notice how little you’ve had from yours.”

Throughout your entire conversation, Lucifer had been absentmindedly tracing the rim of his half-full glass, the grains of salt collecting underneath his claw. The last thing he wanted to do was admit that he had no desire to drink tonight, because then he’d have to explain his presence, or that you’d whipped up something shitty, because you hadn’t. So, he downed it, and all you could do was watch in awe how Lucifer swallowed the liquid without even flinching once.

“Hey, I wouldn’t have taken any offense if you’d told me you didn’t like it,” You said, taking the glass to clean. “That’s one issue down, at least.”

“Shit, yeah, the salt,” Lucifer mumbled.

“Here, lemme help you.”

You chuckled, slowly reaching towards Lucifer, granting him enough time to decline your advances. When he didn’t, you gingerly wrapped your fingers around his wrist, his stomach digging uncomfortably into the counter as you brought him towards you. The way you whispered ‘I gotcha,’ and grabbed a clean, damp rag to rid his claw from the salt compensated for the feeling, however, his heart touched by the domesticity of the act.

“I, uh—thank you,” Lucifer stammered.

And he would have gladly allowed you to hold his wrist for a moment longer if a certain someone hadn’t made himself known, the distant crackling of static making Lucifer retract his arm, earning a confused look from you. He couldn’t explain to you why he’d done such a thing, though, not when a ridiculously tall man clad in a red old-timey getup, pinstriped coat, monocle, and all sat down next to him in lieu of all the empty barstools.

“Pardon me, but is this seat taken?” He asked Lucifer, his voice reminiscent of an old radio.

“No, not at all!” Lucifer stiffly responded, a large, toothy grin taking over his face. “Go ahead, pal.”

“Excellent—oh! Where are my manners?” He said, turning to you, offering you his hand and an endearing smile. “My name is Alastor! Pleasure to meet you, quite a pleasure, darling.”

You couldn’t tell what Alastor was exactly, but he appeared to have deer-like characteristics. His antlers were substantially small, and his ears looked a lot like hair, so perhaps you were wrong. Nevertheless, your interest was piqued, the energy he radiated from his way of being rather enticing to you.

“Oh, um, likewise?” You said, trying to match his language, accepting his greeting.

A gasp escaped your throat as Alastor maneuvered your hand with a graceful precision, bringing your knuckles in for a gentleman-like kiss. Warmth spread across your features at the feeling of his lips pressed against your skin, and oh, Lucifer was silently seething at that. Even when Alastor finally parted from you, relinquishing your hand with a semblance of disappointment etched onto his brow, he made his displeasure known to him.

“My, no wonder you failed to show up to your dear daughter’s party,” Alastor said, interrupting himself with a bleat as he felt Lucifer kick into the back of his knee.

“Are you okay?” You asked, your eyes darting to Lucifer, but he simply shrugged. “Oh, a party, you say? What’cha doing here then, Luci? Your daughter invited you.”

“Just a slight cramp, don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” Alastor coughed, swiftly returning the gesture, but Lucifer swallowed his pain rather well. “Anywho, good question. Lucifer here was invited, but he must have somehow forgotten about it, ha! Now that I’ve come here myself, however, I see what has him so…occupied.”

Before you could let the compliment sink in, including the fact that Alastor had made the man next to him out to be a neglectful father, Lucifer quickly added that he’d informed Charlie he’d be late to the party ahead of time, purposely withholding that you were the reason why. Still, that wouldn’t stifle Alastor’s efforts to make Lucifer look bad, irritated that he had to spend his own precious time and effort to fetch him like some wretched servant.

“Hey! I told Char I had some…things to tend to beforehand,” Lucifer said, playfully but not so playfully elbowing his side.

“Why, yes! You did tell her that, but do you realize how much time has passed since then?” Alastor practically spat, his sharp teeth glinting underneath the dim light as he smiled warningly at Lucifer. “I’m only here because I was asked to fetch you.”

“How the Hell did you find me?”

“Oh, I have my ways, dear friend.”

There was an unmistakeable tension simmering between the two of them, and you had no idea that Alastor would grant you the opportunity to find out by inviting you to Charlie’s party, his claws beckoning you. ‘Wait, my shift isn’t over and I can get fired,’ You weakly protested, but he took your hand anyway, materializing alongside you and Lucifer at the infamous Hazbin Hotel, the clanking of glasses, the flitting of cards, and the chattering of people flooding your ears.

“You guys made it, I’m so—who is this?” A tall woman gasped as she wobbly approached you, but all you could focus on was that she bore a striking resemblance to the King of Hell. “I’m Charlie, it’s so, so nice to meet you!”

“Uhh, yeah, it’s nice to meet you too,” You said, interrupting yourself with an ‘oof’ as Alastor seized your waist, swiftly bringing you into his side.

“This pretty little darling is the very reason your father was fashionably late!” Alastor unashamedly announced, his radio-like voice bouncing off the hotel’s walls.

“Ah, yes! I was just telling her about your project here, Charlie, and I guess I got carried away,” Lucifer quickly interjected with a lie, wrapping an arm around your waist from the other side, but Alastor just wouldn’t let you go.

“Wait, what?” You tried to ask, confused and overwhelmed over your current predicament, your eyes darting between the two men.

“That is so…amazing!” Charlie squealed in delight. “Oh my gosh, I gotta go tell Vaggie that we have a new resident!”

That was the Princess of Hell? You wondered as she held one hand over her heart, the other occupied by a beer bottle, easily overlooking the contempt on their faces in her drunken stupor. Meanwhile, you were trapped between Alastor’s and Lucifer’s bodies, your face flushed in utter embarrassment as their claws unforgivingly dug into your hipbones, the bruises forming on there foreshadowing your future at the Hazbin Hotel:

A long whine escaped your throat at Lucifer’s slow intrusion between your legs, but Alastor quickly swallowed it. He had one hand wrapped possessively around your neck as he captured your lips, the other massaging you below to soothe the burn of being stretched. They loved you—that’s what they had confessed to you after many painful months, but neither of them could handle the idea of only one of them having you all to themselves. So what was their solution? This, and oh, were you in Heaven.

[daechwitatamic]

All That Holly, Jolly Sh*t || MYG

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Title: All That Holly, Jolly Sh*t

WC: 11k

Genre: exes to lovers, the babiest angst straight to fluffy smut (they’ve got shit to work out, but they get there!!)

Summary: You haven’t seen or heard from Yoongi since he broke your heart five years ago, laying out a logical list of reasons why you were better off breaking up. When a Christmas Eve blizzard traps you together for the night, you have no choice but to examine how few of those reasons are still true. And if they’re not… where does that leave you?

Rating: NSFW - minors DNI

Warnings: manbun!yoongi YES THAT IS A WARNING, drinking, language, kissing, breast play/nip stim, fingering, unprotected sex with bc (be safer than this!!!), multiple orgasms (f), penetrative sex, soft idiots in love 

A/N: Merry Christmas, Kelly!!!! @here4btsfics I was soooooo excited to pull your name for @bangtansecretsanta because it gave me such a good opportunity to get to know you better and start talking to you! I really, really hope you love this little Christmas fic! 

I know you said no angst so just a lil disclaimer, a synopsis I messaged my beta was "it hurts for a hot minute but then they kiss about it and everyone is fine" so I think you'll be okay!!!

Huge thank you to @kookstempo @moonleeai and @cherrysoulth for beta-ing and to @itaeewon for the gorgeous banner!

“Anything new with you? How’s work?”

You plaster on what you hope is a friendly smile and not a sarcastic one. Seokjin’s girlfriend is super nice, you remember her from a party over the summer, but you do not want to talk about work right now. You want to drown yourself in another cinnamon toast crunch cocktail and double-fist those iced, reindeer-shaped brown-sugar cookies. 

You admit to being a little bit on edge. 

You’ve attended Taehyung’s annual Christmas party every year since you left for college. It’s tradition, and it’s one of the only times each year that the whole group is back together again after you all went your separate ways in the world. 

Except, for the last five years, Yoongi hadn’t attended. You never thought too much about why - too busy, other plans, just the fact that he’s an absolute Grinch… or maybe it’s your presence that keeps him away. You didn’t waste too much time thinking about it. You’re just always happy he isn’t there.

Until this year.

No one even had the decency to shoot you a warning text. Hey, heads up, your ex is here, very unexpectedly.

You knock back the rest of your drink and head to make yourself a new one.

You normally attach yourself to Jimin at these, but he’s betrayed you this year by bringing an absolutely gorgeous date. They’re currently hogging the doorway with mistletoe above it. You make a mental note to remind him tomorrow that the PDA thing stops being cute after a while.

“Work’s good,” you say, finally answering the question. “Nothing new. How about you and Jin? All good?”

“Nothing new to report!” she grins. Then, the smile slips off her face a little as she glances at her phone. She notices you watching and grimaces. “Sorry,” she says, “I’m not trying to be rude, I’m just keeping an eye on the radar. The storm tonight is supposed to get nasty.”

“Hey! What’s the rule tonight?” a voice bellows from the living room. It’s Taehyung, perched against the back of one of his couches, and he points an accusatory finger at the girl you’re talking to.

She must know something you don’t, because while you’re baffled, she looks chagrined. “Don’t talk about the blizzard,” she recites by rote. 

“Don’t talk about the blizzard,” he repeats. “Have another drink. It’s Christmas Eve, we welcome the snow.”

“You’re the only person I know who’s optimistic enough to try to throw a party on a night they’re calling for the storm of the century,” Seokjin tells him, making his way into the kitchen - probably to protect his girlfriend from Taehyung’s scoldings. 

“They say that every time,” Taehyung scoffs, waving a hand. Then he’s up and moving, heading towards the dining room, where a spread of food is laid out. 

There must be more people in there, you think, because the kitchen and the living room are definitely looking a little less crowded than they were an hour ago. Yoongi and Hoseok are on the couch, glasses in hand, talking quietly. The tv, mounted high on the wall, plays a classic Christmas film in black and white. You stop before the balcony doors, peering out into the night. The lamps that line the parking lot glow orange, and you can see in the lamplight that snow is falling steadily, and it’s starting to accumulate a little on the pavement below. 

Jimin comes up beside you. His date’s lipstick is still smudged in the corner of his mouth.

“You’re a hot mess,” you tell him affectionately. 

“I think we’re gonna head out,” he tells you, ignoring the jab.

You shake your head, your earrings glittering in your reflection in the glass. “It’s not even nine,” you point out.

“The roads are going to get slick,” he tells you, suddenly serious. “You should think about getting an Uber before too long, too.”

“You’re going to break Taehyung’s heart,” you inform him. “I think he’s starting to catch on that people are leaving.”

“He should have rescheduled the party!” Jimin says hotly; he and Taehyung had argued about this passionately all week, ever since the forecast picked up on the storm coming through. “We could have done this yesterday, no blizzard, everyone would have stayed all night!”

Jimin’s date slinks over and presses her hand to his upper back. “Ready?” she asks, voice like silk. 

“Bye,” you tell him sulkily. In the reflection, you watch him pause to tell Yoongi and Hoseok goodbye. They each stand, reaching in one at a time to give him a quick one-armed hug goodbye. 

You keep watching the reflection in the glass as Hoseok takes advantage of already being up and heads for the dining room.

You knew it would happen at some point tonight - you’re alone in the living room with Yoongi. You’d just hoped it would happen after you were a lot drunker. 

He meanders over. You glance at the drink in his hand - whiskey, neat. You could have guessed that on a gameshow and earned some money. 

He’s dressed in all black - down to the chelsea boots. His hair is half-up in a bun that sits just behind the crown of his head. The rest brushes the tops of his shoulders, curling slightly at the ends. 

He’d never had long hair like this before. It’s a crime how fucking good it looks. 

Your gameplan tonight has been simple: avoid, avoid, avoid. But Yoongi stands close enough to reach out and touch you, sips at his whiskey, and murmurs, “It’s been a while.”

Five years. But who’s counting? 

“It has,” you allow. You hate confrontation, you don’t want this to be a thing. You’re determined to be polite, play nice, and hopefully get out of here unscathed. “How have you been? Are you enjoying yourself?” 

He wiggles his head. “Eh. You know I’m not into all that holly, jolly shit.”

“It’s a Christmas party,” you point out flatly. “Holly, jolly is kind of the point.”

He shrugs. “The point for me is just to see the guys, catch up with everyone. It’s been a long time since we were all together.”

He means we the guys, not we you and him. But your heart still speeds up at the word, the traitor.

You nod, turning away from him to look outside again. But your eyes stay on his reflection, both of you standing with your backs to the party. He looks down at his drink, swirls the amber liquid around the bottom of the glass.

“You always did hate the holidays,” you observe absently. 

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” he says, so gently that it shocks you into turning to look at him.

“Do what?”

“Rehash everything,” he says with a shrug. “Talk about everything we remember. Talk at all.”

“If you don’t want to talk to me, then don’t,” you snap, suddenly defensive and heated. “You came over here, not the other way around.” So much for polite and non-confrontational. But damn, he has some audacity.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says, a little quickly, holding up his one empty hand like he’s surrendering. “I just meant… don’t feel like you have to, if you don’t want to. Don’t do it for my sake.”

Your temper settles, but you still feel a little… disgruntled, unsettled. “If I didn’t want to talk to you, I wouldn’t be,” you grumble. 

He smiles at this. “That’s right. You never do anything you don’t want to do.”

Maybe that used to be the case. 

The liquor takes over your mouth. “I didn’t want to break up,” you say pointedly, “so I guess that’s not true.”

He huffs out a single laugh, shaking his head at your audacity. “You always just say shit,” he murmurs. “To hell with the consequences.”

“What consequences?” you demand, turning to face him fully. “Are you going to dump me more? I fail to see how I could make things worse for us after five years of not speaking.”

He licks his lips, eyes on his glass again. That was the thing about you and Yoongi - he’s right, you did just say shit. And he always just handled it. He always heard you, processed it, and dealt with it productively. He never took the bait and got mad back, never yelled - even when you’d wished he’d yell. 

“It’s because,” he’d told you, sometime around seven years ago, when you were together, “when you say absolutely wild shit like that, you always mean something else. And I just happen to be very good at translating you.”

Now, he meets your eyes again, having processed. Having translated. “What I’m hearing you say,” he says slowly, “is that you’re still mad at me.”

That’s all it takes to take the wind out of your sails - that’s always how it worked with you and Yoongi. You blustered and got worked up, and he defused you easily - just by meeting your gaze, just by assuring you that you were heard. 

“I think I’m mad at our circumstances,” you correct quietly. “And I think I’ve had too many of these.” You eye the cocktail in your hand with narrowed, accusatory eyes.

He gives you the barest sliver of a smile. “Don’t blame the drinks,” he says, shaking his head. “You never could lie to me - it has nothing to do with alcohol.”

He’s right. For all your faults, for all the negatives you can take credit for, you always told him the truth.

Namjoon appears in the living room, a beer in hand, still in the bottle. 

“I’m trying to decide which one of you needs to be rescued from the other,” he admits, looking between you, “and I honestly can’t tell.”

“Rescue him from me,” you say. “He’s been nice and I’ve been prickly.” 

“You?” Namjoon says in mock surprise. “Prickly? No way.”

You flip him off, smiling. 

Seokjin comes up behind Namjoon, clapping him on the shoulder. “I think we’re going,” he says, looking past you to the snow outside. “I don’t want to drive once the roads are slick.”

Namjoon sighs, following his gaze. “I was having fun,” he says sadly. “But I’m probably not too far behind you.”

“Nooo,” Taehyung whines from the dining room. “Everyone stop leaving! It’s just a little snow!”

Seokjin’s girlfriend finds him, joining your little circle, her phone still in her hand. “We’re supposed to have almost three inches by midnight,” she says in a whisper, clearly not wanting Taehyung to come after her. “We need to get moving.”

When Seokjin and his girlfriend leave, you float back towards the dining room. Namjoon and Yoongi stay behind, talking quietly. Probably, Namjoon is checking to make sure you weren’t too mean to him. Which… that’s fair. 

The truth is, you aren’t mad at Yoongi. How could you be? When he ended things, he hadn’t been cruel, or unfair. His decision had been made logically. You understood exactly why he felt he needed to do it.

That’s where the hurt came from, you figured. You were always led by your emotions - quick to anger, but quick to laugh. Yoongi was always more even-tempered, logical. While you were packing up your life to move away from home for university, he’d laid out the reasons you shouldn’t stay together like they were a grocery list. 

Like it didn’t hurt him at all. 

None of his reasons were wrong. But would it have killed him to act like he cared? You’d been together three years - and you felt like they should count more, since they were such formative ones. Like dog years - each one should have counted for seven. It had broken your heart to let him walk away - shouldn’t he have felt something, too?

You’d dated plenty in college, a few of those relationships getting serious enough to last a few months. But at the end of the day, nobody compared to your first love. How could they? How could anyone? 

No one understood you like Yoongi. No one could translate you like Yoongi. No one knew - or learned - how to settle you down like Yoongi. No one had that mental encyclopedia of useless knowledge like Yoongi. No one else had that perfect blend of dry and earnest like Yoongi. No one else fit to your body like a puzzle piece like Yoongi. 

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter then, and it doesn’t matter now. Yoongi had left, Yoongi had taken the decision right out of your hands and walked away with it. You weren’t mad at him, but you definitely resented that.

You’d had years to get over it, to forgive him, to come to terms with the fact that he was right about every single thing. But forgiveness and understanding are one thing. Letting go - of him, of loving him - is something else entirely, and you’re starting to think that even a lifetime of years won’t be enough for that.

That’s enough of that, you think, giving yourself a rough mental shake. You set down your drink glass and head for the bathroom, but it’s occupied. You lean against the wall outside, counting your breaths, trying to get yourself back into that holly, jolly headspace. 

The door opens and Jungkook emerges, singing under his breath, “Pah-rum-pum-pum-pum!”

“Hi, JayKay,” you say, moving to slide past him into the bathroom.

“Oh, hey!” he says brightly. “I was just about to leave. You have a way to get home, right? It’s getting worse out there.”

“I was just going to Uber,” you tell him.

“Better do it soon,” he warns. “Soon the drivers aren’t going to want to be on the roads.”

“Good point,” you say, and wave a quick goodbye before shutting the bathroom door. You give yourself a stern look in the mirror.

Get it together, please, you think firmly. Seeing your ex - this ex, too, not just a casual one - for the first time in five years earns you a little wallowing, you think, and you fully intend to. At home. Later. Not here, in front of everyone. 

Not here, in front of him. 

Back in the kitchen, the party has really dwindled down to the last few people. Outside, snow falls as steadily as Taehyung’s guest list. 

The peer pressure gets to you, and you pull out your phone and open a ride-share app. It takes a while before a driver connects, but you’re persistent. Once you have a driver, you watch the little image of their car start to head in your direction on the map.

From the dining room, you hear Yoongi make a tch of frustration. “No one is picking up for me,” he grumbles, seemingly to himself. 

“Good,” Taehyung says seriously. “Don’t leave me.”

You go find your coat, slipping your arms into the sleeves and doing up each button. When you return to the dining room, Yoongi and Taehyung are the only ones left. Taehyung is fully, blatantly, sulking, his arms crossed on the table and his chin resting dejectedly atop them.

“Better luck next time, bud,” you tell him kindly. 

Yoongi is still squinting at his phone screen, frowning.

You feel a twinge of concern, of the need to make it better for him the way you used to on a regular basis. “Still nothing?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t even see anyone on the map.”

You check your phone again - your car is just up the road. “I have one,” you tell him. “Join mine - we’ll just request the extra stop.”

Yoongi meets your eyes, holds your gaze for a minute. Then, he says, so seriously, “Are you sure?”

You know he means it. You know if you give any indication that you don’t want him in a car with you, he won’t push it. 

“Yeah,” you say. “Of course. I’m not going to leave you stranded here.”

“Why not?” Taehyung whines, kicking his feet a little in protest. 

“My car’s just here though,” you warn, eyes on your screen, both of you absolutely ignoring the host of the party. 

“I’ll grab my coat,” Yoongi says, and heads for the hallway.

“Sorry, Taehyung,” you say sympathetically. “I know you’re sad.”

He refuses to look at you. 

After giving over-the-top goodbye hugs to try and un-sulk the whiny baby, you and Yoongi head down the stairs and outside. You don’t look behind you to check that Yoongi is following. The car idles by the curb, and you double-check the license plate against the app. 

In the backseat of the car, you slide over to make room for Yoongi. As soon as he closes his door and the car lurches into motion, the vibe changes. You sit stiffly, ramrod straight, eyes on the windshield. Yoongi’s not sitting quite as straight as you, but there’s a tightness to his shoulders, like he’s holding himself carefully so he doesn’t touch you by accident with the car’s inertia. 

You had put in your parent’s address when you requested the ride, since that’s where you’re staying until New Years’ Day. You and Yoongi sit in blasting, blaring silence as the car crosses the middle of the town you’d both grown up in, that you’d run around in together as teenagers in love. But, past town, towards the quiet neighborhood where your parents’ house is, the car slows to a stop.

“I can’t go through this way, Miss,” your driver says, peering at you through the rearview mirror. “There’s a powerline down up there.”

“Oh shit,” you say, which is probably not very polite of you. You lean forward to look at the same time Yoongi does, your shoulders bumping. You both recoil quickly. 

“I think you can get to the development from the other side,” you muse, “but we’d have to backtrack and go around the lake on the other side…”

“Let’s just go to my place,” Yoongi interjects. “The roads are getting worse, and it’s close.”

You frown. Yoongi’s parents’ house - which you’d been to plenty of times as a younger person - is on the other side of town. Not close by your standards, but you aren’t here to argue.

Or maybe you are.

“I don’t know, Yoongi,” you say, uncertainty creeping into your voice. “How will I get home from there?”

“You might have to stay,” he admits, leaning down to better look at the road through the front windshield. The driver sits, watching you debate, waiting for a directive. 

You give Yoongi a silent look like, okay, and so you see my problem?

He scoffs at you. “It’s fine. We can handle one night.”

You want to ask, how sure are you about that? Instead, you start to tell the driver Yoongi’s parents’ address. 

“Wait,” Yoongi says, putting a hand gently on your arm to stop you. You both freeze, looking at the point of contact. Yoongi shakes himself out of it first, and tells the driver a different address. 

The car shifts back into drive and you look at Yoongi quizzically.

“Did your family move?” you ask finally.

Here’s the thing. You know Yoongi, you get Yoongi; five years apart hasn’t changed that at all. So when he licks his lips, shifts his gaze to his feet, and starts rubbing the back of his neck, you know it’s guilt.

“Yoongi?” you prod, suspicious.

He mumbles something, still not looking at you.

“What?” you snap. “You what?”

“I sort of moved back last month…” he repeats to the floor. 

“You live here?” you repeat, dumbfounded. “You live in town again?”

“Currently, yeah,” he says, and there’s something in that currently that you’d really like to examine, but you’re still fucking floored. 

Yoongi had gone to university in the city - hours away. The distance thing was reasons one through four of his Why We Need to Break Up list. It had made sense, logistically. It made sense when you went abroad for university, and he stayed here. It made sense when you returned and got an internship and then a full-time job in a different city, hours in the opposite direction. It made sense when you managed to go five entire years without being in the same place.

But now he was here. Reasons one through four, moot. 

Reasons five to whatever largely revolved around being young and needing to experience the world and figure out what you want in life, that kind of shit. Now it’s five years later and you’ve both experienced plenty of bullshit.

Reasons five through whatever, moot. 

You wonder, wordlessly, heart pounding again, if Yoongi knows or cares that every reason he gave you to validate walking away no longer applies. 

“You live here,” you repeat. You’re stuck on it, you can’t move on. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah,” he says guiltily. “I know you didn’t. I… was honestly fighting with myself about if I should reach out or not. I guess I ultimately decided not… since you’re in the city, and you have your whole life and everything…”

What life? You wonder. 

The car pulls into a small, understated neighborhood. You’ve been here before; your chemistry partner from tenth grade lived in this development, you’d come to do homework more than once.

It’s always so weird to come back to this town, where everywhere you go has memories, secondary definitions. It’s not just a library, it’s the library where Yoongi had kissed you for the first time. It’s not just a park, it’s the park where you’d had your first fight, where you’d screamed at him in front of God and the ducks and all the moms pushing strollers. It’s not just a diner, it’s the diner where Yoongi had told you that it made no sense to try and stay together from different time zones. 

Everything came back to him. It always had. It always does. In a lot of ways, you felt like you were fated to be tied to him this way - and you usually didn’t believe in shit like that. 

You always break your own rules for him.

The place is small, and not very Yoongi-ish, but you keep your thoughts to yourself as Yoongi slides out of the car and waits for you. 

“Get home safe,” you tell the driver before closing the door. Yoongi’s got his house keys in his hand, and he leads you up the walkway. It’s slick, and you try to step only in the footprints he leaves in the inch of snow coating the ground.

Inside, the light over the sink illuminates a small, mostly empty kitchen. That’s not very Yoongi-ish either, you think. You remember him cooking all the time - appliances everywhere, cutting boards hanging, pots and pans stored on hooks. 

He passes the kitchen and enters what looks like the living room, reaching to click on a few dim lamps. They cast a yellow glow to the room.

You set down your purse and fold your coat up on top of it. Yoongi waits for you in the living room, his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the window, watching the snow. His jawline from the side nearly takes your breath away. He’s so damn beautiful it makes you sick.

And he’s back, Yoongi is back. 

“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, finally looking at you.

“Whatever you’re having would be great,” you tell him. You settle gingerly on one end of the couch as he busies himself in the kitchen. You shoot your parents a quick text that the roads were too bad and you weren’t going to make it back to their place so they wouldn’t worry. 

Yoongi returns with two glasses of red wine. He hands you one wordlessly and sits opposite you on the couch.

“So,” you say. The awkward, hyper-polite vibe from the car is back. Like you’re strangers. Like you didn’t know each other inside and out, once. “You’ve been here a month?”

“Just shy of it,” Yoongi corrects politely. “I signed a two month lease, so… I’ve got a few weeks to figure out my next move.”

“You don’t think you’ll stay?” you ask, then sip at the wine. It’s good - of course it’s good, he’s got great taste. You love and hate that about him.

He shrugs, drinks from his own glass. “Doubt it.”

He doesn’t give you any more information than that - why he’s back, what’s next for him, why he’s here for such a short time. 

You don’t press it. He’ll tell you if he wants to. 

Instead, you both drink in silence. Outside, the snow seems to redouble its efforts, the wind picking up until it seems to be snowing sideways for minutes at a time before calming into a normal downward fall again. 

“I think we made the right choice,” Yoongi murmurs, and it takes you a second to realize he’s talking about the weather and Taehyung’s party, not about your past. 

“Mhm,” you nod, as you come back into the present. That’s a problem you have - you’re always looking back. “Imagine if we were just leaving now? What a mess. Thanks for taking me in, I guess.”

“You guess,” he repeats, rolling his eyes, but there’s no ire in it. 

You drink in silence a little longer, and then Yoongi rises with a sigh. “I’ll go put clean sheets on the bed,” he says, sort of absently, like he’s both talking to you and also just thinking out loud. “And then I’ll show you how to work the tv in there if you –”

“I’m not sleeping in your bed, Yoongi,” you tell him flatly. 

He balks. “I didn’t mean with me, I meant by yourself!”

“No, I know that,” you reassure him. “But I’m not letting you sleep on your own couch because of me. I’ll sleep out here. It’s fine.”

“Absolutely not,” he says, shaking his head vehemently. That long hair swishes. “You’re a guest. I’m not putting you on the couch.”

“Yoongi,” you say sternly. “If I know you’re out here on the couch and I’m in there with your whole friggin bed, I will simply not sleep because I will feel too guilty about it! And I would like to sleep. So, please, put your chivalry and hospitality aside, and let me sleep. Out here.”

He considers this, because he knows you, and he knows you’re telling the truth. “Fine,” he concedes, and disappears into what must be his bedroom. 

When he returns, he’s carrying a stack of what looks like linens. He sets down the pile and you spy blankets and pillows. He pushes the pillows aside gently and picks up something else, turning to hold it out to you, an offering. 

It’s gym shorts and a large tshirt, and you reach to take them without thinking. Once they’re in your hand, they feel suddenly heavy with meaning. You used to wear his clothes all the time - you might have one or two of his hoodies in the back of your closet at home because you love them and don’t want to get rid of them, even though you feel too weird to actually wear them. You’re not sure how you feel about wearing his clothes again, now that it means nothing. The alternatives are pretty undesirable, though, so you’ll have to grin and bear it.

“There’s a half-bath on the other side, through the kitchen,” he says, nodding towards the bathroom in question. “So you don’t have to feel weird walking through my room to the full bath if you don’t want to. Though... do you need to shower? I can get you towels and stuff –”

“Maybe in the morning?” you say, eyeing the clock on the wall. “Just… could I borrow face-soap? And toothpaste?”

You’ll have to make do without your make-up remover and an actual toothbrush. Finger-brushing it is. 

When you emerge from the bathroom, teeth freshly finger-brushed, wearing Yoongi’s clothes, he’s standing at the kitchen sink, rinsing out the wine glasses you’d used.

You brush past him silently, and start setting up the couch how you want it. You hear the sink turn off, the click of the lightswitch as he shuts off the lights behind him. He comes back through the room and pauses in his doorway.

“Do you need anything?” he asks. 

“No,” you say, feeling small in his baggy shirt, feeling small in the face of all the feelings you’re swimming in right now. “I’m all good.”

He looks at you for a long minute, searching. “Okay,” he says, finally. “Sleep well.”

He turns into his room, and you watch his skinny wrist turn as he reaches to shut the door.

“Yoongi,” you say, the word out of your mouth before you really know what will follow it. He pauses, peeks his head back into view, raises an eyebrow at you. “Thanks,” you say, meekly.

He nods, silent, then reaches to close his door, gently and effectively shutting you out.

You get comfortable on the couch, bunching the blanket up around your head how you like it. It takes almost no time at all to fall asleep, and when you do, you don’t dream.

You’re awakened sometime later by a noise, and you sit up, your brain scrambling to catch up to the present and figure out where you are.

A couch, it processes. It comes back to you a little at a time. Yoongi’s couch. Yoongi’s house. Yoongi’s house in town.

The noise that woke you must have been his bedroom door opening, because as you slowly get your bearings, you become aware of him staring at you from his doorway. 

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says apologetically, then moves across the room towards the kitchen. “I just needed water.” Then, from the kitchen, as an afterthought, he asks, “Do you want one?”

“Please,” you say immediately, mentally cataloging all the effects of dehydration you can feel. Cottony mouth, ringing ears, the tingling beginnings of a headache…

He returns to the living room and stops near the couch. You stretch to turn on one of the dim lamps, casting a quiet yellow on the room. He stands there in too-big pajamas and holds out a water bottle silently. 

It’s definitely still the middle of the night. You can’t have slept more than a few hours. Everything feels different, somehow. It was so awkward before; you’d felt the need to be cautious and hyper-polite. Now everything feels blurred, fuzzy with sleep, softer. You’re sitting up, the blanket you’d been sleeping under still over your lap. You reach over and lift the other side, holding it up like a question.

Yoongi pads over and sits on the far side of the couch, but he curls his legs up and slips his bare feet under the blanket. You let it fall, covering him from the shin down.

He taps on his phone and grimaces at the time. “Hey,” he says, a little wry, “Merry Christmas.”

You smile. “Merry Christmas, Yoongi.”

He taps at his screen again and a speaker near his tv comes to life, playing what has to be a Coffee Shop Christmas playlist, pre-curated. You lean your head against the back of the couch, listening to the strum of acoustic guitar and the gentle snare of a drum meander through a mellow, lethargic version of It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.

“Christmas music, huh?” you tease, eyes closed. “That’s very holly, jolly of you.”

“I don’t hate Christmas,” he protests. “I’m not, like, a Grinch. It’s just… another day. So is tomorrow. Why all the fuss?”

You bump his foot with your knee beneath the blanket. “Scrooge.”

Ignoring your teasing, he looks sideways at you, something baleful on his face. “Y/N? I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”

You’re surprised into silence, looking back at him across the couch. “What? What for?”

He grimaces, like the answer is too big, like he’s got an annotated list of every fault he’s mentally cataloged. “For all of it, I guess.”

You’re not letting him off the hook; this is too important to skirt around. “What are you sorry for, Yoongi?” you ask seriously.

He laughs once, quietly, incredulously, like he can’t believe you. “You really want to go there?”

“You know I do.”

He thinks before he speaks - one of your favorite things about him. “Because for the last five years, I hated myself for leaving you behind. And I wondered every day if you hated me for it, too.”

You sit in silence, feeling frozen. Yoongi lets you - Yoongi waits. Is he admitting regret? Does that mean he’d do it differently, given the chance?

Because here you are - being given the chance, in a way.

“I was never mad at you for going,” you tell him, because you know he needs to know. Yoongi doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean, which means he really did wonder if you hated him. You don’t owe him much, but you figure you owe him this truth. Then you admit, “But I was mad at myself for… letting you. Did you… I mean, should I have argued? When you left?”

You’d always wondered. What would have happened if you’d fought just a little harder for him to stay?

He scoots a little closer, tugging the blanket closer to his knees, thinking about your question. “I think part of me had hoped you would… but it wouldn’t have changed my mind,” he tells you honestly.  “Just would’ve made it hurt more. The way things happened, I could lie and tell myself you were fine with letting me go.”

You exhale on a note of indignation. “Fine? That was you. You were so… okay with walking away.”

He shakes his head. He must have taken the bun out when he went to bed, and his hair swishes around his shoulders, loose and beautiful. “I wasn’t okay. I didn’t go a single day and not wonder… how you were. I didn’t go a single day sure that I made the right choice.”

You feel, weirdly, kind of pissed. “What am I supposed to do with that, Yoongi? Seriously?”

He opens his mouth to answer this rhetorical question, but you don’t let him. The words pour out of you, unleashed after five years of being held back.

“This is just… unfair. Because normally, in the movies, when you get this moment - the post-mortem - with someone from your past… they always ask why, right? Why’d you leave? But I don’t need to ask why - I know the why, I understood why. I want to know… I want to know if you regret it. If you’d take it back.”

“That’s two different questions,” he says solemnly, “with two different answers.”

You cut your eyes at him. It’s the middle of the night and your brain is mostly mush. You need him to just be forthcoming, just say things plainly.

He knows.

“Of course I regret it,” he whispers finally, as if the words hold too much weight to utter any louder. “I regretted it while I was still saying it. I hated being away from you, I hated not talking to you, I hated not knowing how you were or what you were doing or if you… still cared about me at all.” He pauses, inhales slowly, rubs a hand down his tired face, then exhales with a whoosh. “But would I take it back? I don’t know.”

You exhale, eyeing the ceiling. Who’s the one just saying shit now? God. “You can’t just say things like that, Yoongi,” you tell him, eyes trained on the shitty, popcorn ceiling above you.

He says your name, still so soft, so quiet. 

“What?”

“Don’t cry.”

It’s so stupid. You hadn’t cried then, not in front of him. You wipe hastily under your eyes. “Sorry,” you say hastily, trying to save face. “It’s the lack of sleep.”

“I’m not sure I would take it back,” he repeats carefully, and you realize he hadn’t been done before - you’d interrupted his thought, “because when I left… I knew the whole time that it didn’t make anything better. But if I hadn’t… I think I’d still be wondering if I should, if we’d be better apart. I wouldn’t know, so the question would still be hanging over me.”

You think he’s saying something without saying it, but it’s like four in the morning and you just aren’t sure. 

“But now?” you prod. 

He shrugs, like it’s so simple. “Now I know the answer.”

You want to shake him. You’ve never had a conversation go in circles like this in your life, and you need to get to the center of it. “Yoongi,” you say, your voice tight like a warning. 

He knows.

He always knows. He cuts to the chase. “I have a job lined up in the city.” 

You almost drop your water bottle. “My city?”

“Your city.”

“Yoongi,” you say again, pleading. “Just say what you mean.” Please.

He smiles your favorite of his smiles - only one half of his mouth lifts at first, cocky, until it spreads the rest of the way and shows his gums in all their glory. “Just thinking about that whole list of reasons we shouldn’t be together… null and void now, don’t you think?” 

You feel like you can’t breathe. You’ve both been circling it like predators, and now you’re closing in. 

“So what does that mean? For you?” Do you dare to ask it? You do. “For us?”

Someone else, you think, would probably have asked you, what do you want it to mean?

But it’s Yoongi - and Yoongi knows the answer already. 

He’s pushing the blanket off of his legs - and yours - and coming to hover over you. Your body responds, laying back against the pillow you’d been sleeping on, making room for him like it remembers exactly how you fit. Your fingers find his jaw like they’re magnetically drawn, your thumb sliding against his cheek. 

His hair falls around your faces like a curtain, blocking out the dim lamplight, as his mouth finds yours. 

Kissing him again is everything. It’s absolutely everything. He’s home, he’s wilderness, he’s calm, he’s the whole damn storm, he’s undoing every seam you have, he’s stitching you back together, he’s beautiful beautiful beautiful.

His lips are soft but sure against yours, his jaw moving under the press of your fingers. You feel like you’re flying, falling, maybe both, as your eyelids flutter. He’s bracing himself with his hands on either side of you, holding himself over you. You were resting your free hand against his side, his ribs like piano keys beneath your palm, and you find yourself bunching his shirt into your fist, trying to pull yourself up, closer, closer.

You have to will yourself not to babble against his mouth, I missed you, I missed you, I missed you. You could say it six hundred times and it still wouldn’t get it all out of you. You pour it into the kiss instead, straining up to meet him, beating words away from your mouth as you toy with his bottom lip. 

He drops his lower body carefully, pinning your hips beneath his own, shifting to hold himself up on elbows instead of hands. The weight of him is welcome; something needs to keep you tethered to this planet. 

He licks into your mouth, tongue sliding against yours, and you inhale sharply against his mouth. 

“Yoongi,” you murmur against his lips, and he turns his head to kiss your palm where it’s been resting against his face. There’s something so tender about it that tears spring to your eyes, and you blink them away quickly. 

Then he’s leaning down to capture your mouth again, humming a low, happy note against you. You go for the hem of his shirt, pulling until it gets tangled against his armpits. He sits back on his haunches, helping you pull it over his head and tossing it somewhere behind you. Your eyes trace him, over and over, trying to remember every shade and every line, trying to find every difference from five years ago. He’s beautiful, flushing dark across the chest, eyes positively predatory in their focus on you.

“You, too,” he says, sounding a little breathless, and you scoot back and sit up. He goes for your hem before you can, tugging it up and over your head. The cold air assaults you and you shiver. Yoongi makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl in appreciation, lowering himself over you again. His kiss is insistent this time, one hand coming up to cup a breast, fingers deftly rolling your nipple, sending electricity skittering down your spine. You whine, deep in your throat, and you feel his lips quirk into a smile. 

“Would you kick my ass if I said ‘I’ve missed your tits’ right now?” he asks, chest quaking as he tries to rein in laughter. 

“Yes,” you grumble, reaching to weave your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. You tug him back so you can kiss him again, and he lets out a quiet, breathy moan as you do. 

“Okay,” he says, in between kisses, “but I did.” Then he puts his money where his mouth is - or maybe vice-versa - to prove it, lowering his head and taking the other nipple in his mouth, flicking it lightly with his tongue. Your whole body reacts, feet stretching, back arching to push against his body, fingers tightening in his hair as you moan out loud. Each little motion of his mouth ignites sparks that reach every part of you - the pit of your stomach, the base of your spine, clear down to your toes. 

It’s honestly embarrassing how turned on you get as he continues, working one side until you’re writhing beneath him, thighs rubbing together desperately, then switching to continue his onslaught on the other side. 

“Yoongi,” you gasp, and some absent part of your brain is aware that his name is the only coherent word you’ve said in a while. “Please, you’re torturing me.”

He releases you with a wet pop, grinning up at you deviously. “So pretty when you beg like that,” he remarks, like he’s observing the weather - which is still a fucking blizzard, by the way. Then he’s coming up to kiss you again, deep and slow this time. His hand slides along your bare stomach, around and under your back, and you arch your back partly to make room for his arm underneath you, and partly because you can’t not, as his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake. 

“Please, what?” he murmurs, lips close to your neck, his fingers tracing the edge of the shorts you’re wearing - his shorts. “What do you want?”

“Anything - whatever you’ll give me,” you manage. All you can focus on is his fingers, their circular path along your lower stomach, toying with your waistband. 

It must be the right answer, because he slips his hand into your shorts, fingers pressing along your slit, your underwear clinging to you already. He slides his fingers along the slickened fabric, eyes on your face, listening to the tiny moans that escape when you exhale. 

He shifts to his side, between you and the back of the couch, and you loop an arm around his neck - half to hold yourself up on the couch, and half because you need to be holding him. You can feel how hard he is now, as his body presses against your legs. He distracts you with a kiss, and slips your panties aside, wasting no time in sheathing his middle finger up to the last knuckle.

You hiss his name, your head lolling back against the couch in pleasure, your neck bared to him. He gives it a quick nip and then a kiss as he adds a second finger, pumping in and out of you slowly. You groan, the sound rumbling from your chest. You could let him do this all night if you had the patience - just this simple act feels so good you think you might come undone.

And if you remember anything about sex with Yoongi, he’s just getting started.

He slips his fingers out of you and brings them up to your clit, circling once, then twice, before going back to where he started, the pad of his middle finger circling your entrance, careful to stay just outside. 

Your whole body turns to jelly, everything quivering from head to toe at the sensation. You grip the couch with both hands, digging your fingers in. “Ohhh my god,” you manage, something accusatory in your tone, like you’re asking him how the fuck are you doing that? 

He smiles against you, middle finger still running in lazy circles through the wetness collecting there. “That’s right, I know what you like,” he murmurs, smug, his lips tickling your neck, before plunging both fingers back into your heat without warning. He repeats the cycle - in, out, up, down, around, around, in again - until you’re dizzy from it, your fingers clutching the fabric of the couch so hard that you’re sure you’ll rip it.

You have one single moment of clarity that sends you reaching down to where you can feel him hot and hard against your leg, but he shifts away, tutting.

“You first,” he says. “I want to see you make that face you make. It’s been literal years.”

“Oh my god,” you say, feeling yourself flush. “Yoongi! Seriously?”

He laughs, shoulders shaking. “What? I love to watch you lose your shit. What a fucking ego boost.” He punctuates these words with a quick change of wrist direction, suddenly pistoning against your front wall in a way that has your comeback melting right out of your brain.

He’d had you close before, and the sudden switch-up does the trick - you feel everything tighten from your shoulders to your toes, your eyes screwing shut. Yoongi shifts his weight to hold your leg in place so you can’t try to close them on him and redoubles his efforts, humming in pleasure as you squeeze around his fingers like a vice.

You let out a series of wordless cries as the pleasure builds to the point you want to shy away from it, and then Yoongi presses his thumb to your clit just so and you’re spiraling over the edge, your ears filled with a buzzing white noise, your toes curling, your desperate hands leaving the couch and clutching Yoongi instead, trusting him to guide you to the other side.

When you come down, heart hammering in your chest, you bat his hand away, breaths heaving.

“Take those off,” you pant, tugging on the bit of his pants you can reach, and shimmying your own bottoms the rest of the way off and dumping them onto the floor. 

“Bossy,” Yoongi remarks, smirking sideways at you as he obeys. 

You resituate yourself against the arm of the couch as he comes to kneel near your feet, stroking himself languidly. You both freeze with the same thought at the same time.

“Do I…” he says hesitantly, “do you want me to wear -?”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, mind racing for an answer. You’re tempted to just tell him it’s fine, because surely having a how many people have you been with in the five years since we broke up conversation will absolutely kill the mood right now. But that’s not really safe.

“Maybe you’d better?” you venture. “Have you -? I mean, we don’t need to talk about this right now. But I haven’t been with anyone without… you know.”

“Same here, and I got tested after… the last one. Just in case,” he admits, eyes on yours, and the moment feels heavy. Do you trust Yoongi to tell you the truth?

Of course you do. 

“I’m okay if you’re okay,” you tell him. “No pressure.”

“You’re still on -?” he checks, and you nod.

“In that case,” he says, and leans over you to kiss you again. You can feel him, rubbing along the messy slickness, and it occurs to you that you haven’t even touched him yet. 

You whine, twisting your shoulders to try and reach him with a hand, but he’s too impatient, lining himself up and starting to sink into you. You groan at the stretch - it’s been a while since your last fling - but the sound that tears through Yoongi’s throat is more like a growl, guttural and animalistic.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growls through gritted teeth, as he slowly rocks into you until he bottoms out, his hips tight against yours.

He’s everywhere - caging you in, hovering above you, holding you down, filling you up. He’s everywhere, and he feels both so familiar it makes you want to cry again, and also - somehow - brand-fucking-new, like you’ve never felt him before. 

You can feel every ridge of him, every twitch, as he sets a slow but even pace, letting you adjust. 

“God,” you gasp when he hits a spot just right. His head had been hanging above you, his eyes watching the place where he disappeared inside you, all that long hair loose, but he smirks up at you at this.

“Good,” he coos, and picks up the pace, hips smacking yours, filling the room with the lewd sounds of skin on skin, his grunts and your whines. 

You’re gasping a little at each stroke, that tight feeling bubbling at the pit of your stomach growing stronger with each thrust. “God,” you growl, fingertips pressing into his shoulder blade as you hang on for dear life. “Yoongi, fuck!”

He slows on purpose, straightening up, forcing you to release your hold on his back. He grins at you, that shit-eating, one-sided grin, and then grabs your ankles, maneuvering them both to rest against his right shoulder. He leans forward against your legs and hammers into you, breathing hard, and you swear to god you see stars for a second.

“Ohmygod, yes, there,” you gasp, hands going to the backs of your own thighs to help alleviate the stretch. You need to start doing yoga or something.

The build-up is slower this time, the feeling pulsing through you in waves that strengthen and ebb again. Yoongi can tell when it’s real by the change in your voice - wordless whines rising in pitch, by the arch of your back, by the way you clamp around him so hard that he almost loses it right there.

“Yeah?” he asks, the word more like a gasp for air. “Close?”

“Please,” you beg, the sensation of pure light racing up your legs to your toes, the pulsing starting slow and determined in your core. 

“I’ve got you,” he promises, brows furrowed with concentration as he works to keep a steady pace. He grips one of your ankles and switches it to his other shoulder, creating space to reach down and rub gentle figure-eights around your clit. 

The wave takes you over, and there’s a long moment where you’re completely devoid of your senses - no sight, no sound, nothing but how tight tight tight everything has gone, too tight to even breathe - and then it breaks and you can hear yourself wailing, eyes shut against the onslaught of sensations. You clench around Yoongi hard, the aftershocks rolling through you, so hard that he hisses and drops his forehead to yours, his pace slowing significantly as he fucks you through it.

You go boneless as it leaves you, and Yoongi pushes all the way inside you and stills, pressing his lips to your temple.

“You good?” he murmurs, so sweet for someone who just had you experiencing the multiverse. 

“Mhm,” you manage to respond, so spent and tired that you can barely form the word.

“C’mere,” he grunts, slipping out of you, and he grips the back of your neck, hauling you upright and falling backwards in the same motion, pulling you over top of him. You loop your arms around his neck, feeling floaty, and he wraps his around your middle. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, his breath loud next to your ear.

“Can you keep going?” he checks. “I know you’re tired. I’m almost there, I promise.”

“M’good,” you assure him against his collarbone, and he gives you one quick squeeze before reaching down to adjust himself. He pushes in and you cry out, the sound muffled as you press your face into him. You’re so sensitive now, the sensation is entirely different. 

“You can take it,” he whispers, sliding a hand down your spine. Then, with a grunt of “shit,” he grabs you and jackhammers up into you, his fingers furrowing into the meat of your ass, so tight you think you’ll have five little bruises on each side when this is over.

You feel so close to him - your cheek presses up against his, your arms wrapped tight around him, his hands securing you in place, his heart beating wildly against yours where your chests press together. 

You gasp for breath into the crook of his neck, holding on for dear life, just trying to take what he gives you. You can hear his breathing change as he gets close, his pace quickening but his thrusts starting to come less evenly, his grip on your ass tightening just a bit further as he pulls your hips down to meet his every few thrusts. 

“Is inside okay?” he asks, the words sounding like they’re torn from him. 

“Yes,” you tell him, but it comes out more like a moan.

“God,” he grunts in response to this, and the word tears, ending on a strangled moan as he empties himself deep inside you. 

You lay there, gasping for breath, for a long minute. Then Yoongi gives you an affectionate pat on the ass, indicating that it’s safe to move.

“Go get in the shower,” he suggests. “I’ll grab you a towel and meet you in there.”

“I don’t know if I can get there,” you say, joking, but your legs feel like jelly. You grab your phone and make your way, wobbly, through the living room and into his bedroom.

You hadn’t come in here before. It’s clean, but sparse. It’s devoid of anything that makes it feel homey. It’s devoid of anything that makes it feel like Yoongi.

You keep going, padding through his room and towards the attached bathroom, fumbling for the lightswitch. You place your phone next to the sink and fiddle with the shower’s knobs until you get a steady stream of hot water going. 

It feels heavenly to step under the hot water, your aching muscles relaxing in the steam. But it feels even better when Yoongi wraps his arms around you from behind, pressing his lips to the side of your neck.

“Hi,” he murmurs. 

“Hi,” you giggle. You might still be riding a little bit of a post-orgasm high.

You both rinse off in silence, and then Yoongi places his hand on the knob, looking at you to make sure you’re ready to get out. You nod, but he hesitates.

“Will you sleep with me?” he asks, a little unsure, leagues different from the cocky man you’d been tangled up with mere minutes before. “Don’t go back to the couch.”

You give him a soft smile, and he turns off the water, reaching for the towels hanging just outside.

“Of course I will,” you tell him before wrapping yourself up in the soft, gray terry-cloth. 

You crawl into his bed once you’re dry, and he joins you after making a quick pass through the living room to turn the lights back off and gather up the clothes you’d both tossed around. When he clicks off his bedside lamp and rolls to face you, you feel a fluttering of nerves in your stomach. 

You’re not sure where you go from here. 

You lay facing each other in the darkness; it’s just too dark to really see much, but you can tell he’s looking at you. 

You’re laying there, letting your thoughts spool around you, the what-if’s and what-now’s laying themselves out in your mind, when you realize you’ve reached out without meaning to, your fingers tangling in his long hair, rolling strands between them. You keep playing with it, cautiously, practically holding your breath, waiting to see if he objects.

Instead, you feel him relax under your hand, letting out a long breath. “That feels nice,” he admits, voice breathy with almost-sleep and barely audible.

You fall asleep without any answers, with your fingers curled up in Yoongi’s hair. 

You wake up to a warm body behind you, not quite touching. You shift your cold toes a little closer to the warmth you find, smiling when you hear him whine about it. The light outside is white, that abnormal shade of light that comes from sunlight bouncing off of snow and ice. You’re about to close your eyes again when you realize that the warm body behind you isn’t sleeping, because you can hear the incriminating clicking and clacking of a keyboard.

“Are you seriously working right now?” you ask him, rolling a little to look at him over your shoulder. He peers back at you guiltily, his glasses low on his nose, fingers frozen in the air above the keys. 

“I just wanted to answer a few -”

“It’s Christmas morning!” you scold. 

“I’m aware of that,” he answers dryly.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Turn it off, Yoongi. It’s Christmas and you are in bed with someone. My God.”

He shoots you a defensive look, but finishes whatever he was doing and clicks the laptop closed, leaning over to place it on his nightstand.

“You haven’t changed at all,” you say, a little fondly, sitting up a little next to him.

“Neither have you,” he says pointedly. It’s less fond when he says it. 

You consider this. “You want to know something stupid?” you ask. Yoongi doesn’t answer out loud, just meets your eyes and waits. “You’re right. I haven’t changed. I think… I think I’ve been afraid to.”

He turns to face you, sensing how serious you are about this. “What do you mean?” he presses. 

You stop to think, the way you learned to after spending years watching him, knowing he did this better than you. “I guess… some little part of me always wondered what would happen if we crossed paths again. If I changed too much… what if I stopped being someone you’d want? What if I became someone so different that your heart didn’t know mine anymore?” 

It sounds so corny coming out of your mouth, but the truth behind it is so heavy you can’t hold it up anymore. It was a fear you’d secretly harbored for half a decade - what if fate put Yoongi in your life again, and he still didn’t want you? 

And Yoongi does what he’s always done - hears you, understands you, answers you in your own language.

“Impossible,” he says softly, leaning closer to you, eyes combing your face. His voice is like a layer of snow, smooth and clear, full of something unnamable. Or maybe you don’t want to name it. You turn your head, as if that will get you further away. “That’s impossible. My heart will always know yours.”

You look at your hands, feeling a little choked up. Your heart stutters and jumps in your chest. The question you’re holding back churns in a little ball behind your ribs. 

“Hey,” he says, softly but intently. You manage to look up at him. “Let’s make breakfast?” He says it like a question.

“Yeah,” you say, able to speak again. “That sounds good.”

Yoongi lends you sweatpants, since it’s too chilly to roam around the house in basketball shorts, and busies himself in the kitchen while you get changed. When you finally join him, he’s plated something for each of you, and he pushes a glass of iced coffee towards you.

You can’t help but smile. “You remember,” you accuse, and he avoids your eyes, cheeks flushing. 

“You get a girl ninety-thousand iced coffees, it stays with you,” he defends.

“Ninety-thousand,” you scoff, but you’re pleased. As you eat, you look out the kitchen window. It’s bright outside, but it’s still snowing - tiny, wispy flakes floating leisurely down to join you. The road clearly hasn’t been plowed yet; the snow outside is untouched, unbothered, a perfect sheet of white. You can’t even tell where the road is, except for the mailbox poking up out of the feet of snow on the ground already.

Yoongi follows your gaze. “Looks like you’re trapped here for a while,” he observes. 

“A shame,” you deadpan, and he kicks at you playfully beneath the table.

“Well,” he says, thinking out loud, “since you won’t let me get any work done… do you want to put on a movie?”

“A Christmas movie?” you ask, perking up. 

He rolls his eyes, but he’s fighting a little smile. “I guess that’d make sense,” he agrees. 

He leads you back to the couch, which you eye sideways, remembering clearly what this couch witnessed about three hours ago. Yoongi seems unphased, slouching sideways against some pillows and looking at you expectantly. You join him gingerly, leaning against him, and he drapes a blanket over your legs.

“Pick something,” he asks, passing you the remote - another old Yoongi trick that you remember well.

You take the offered remote, clicking through the holiday options for something that you don’t think will make Yoongi gag. As you scroll, brows furrowed in concentration, he clears his throat beside you.

“So, uh,” he says, and you stop scrolling, because he sounds nervous. “Next weekend I’m supposed to go look at some apartments. Do you… would you want to keep me company?”

You look at him, eyes wide, the remote forgotten in your hand, still aloft and pointed at the tv. 

“Why?” you whisper once you find your voice. 

He shrugs, wets his lips. “You know the city well,” he says. “You can offer your brilliant opinions - tell me if the neighborhood’s okay… if there’s good take-away… where the transit stops are, that kind of shit.”

“Hm,” you say, a little tightly.

He shoots you a sheepish grin. “I’ll take you to dinner after?”

You give him a look. “Say what you mean, Yoongi.”

He purses his lips a little, disgruntled at being called out. Then, busted, he sighs and tries again. “Can I take you to dinner next weekend? Preferably in the city, and preferably after you help me make some choices about my living situation?”

You grin, unable to hold it back. “Yeah,” you say, trying hard to fight back the smile, to play it even a little bit cool. “Yeah, I’d really like that.” Trying to save your dignity, you turn back to the tv and go back to scrolling until you find a movie that seems like it’s not too over-the-top. 

Yoongi reaches an arm around your shoulders, and this time you settle against him comfortably. You can feel him breathing beneath you, can smell that Yoongi smell - clean and alluring, can hear the shouts of some neighborhood kids running around outside. From the tv, tinkling bells and happy strings play a medley of Christmas songs as the opening credits run. 

Part of you is already thinking about when the roads are plowed and you have to go home, shower off the scent of him, update your best friend about all of this, miss Yoongi in a much more real way than you’ve had to in about three years. But at least you have the promise that you’ll see him again next weekend. You close your eyes, content, happy to just be right now. 

Yoongi feels it too, obviously. He gives your shoulders a squeeze, looks down at you fondly, and murmurs, “You know what? All this holly, jolly shit isn’t so bad.”

“God bless us, every one,” you deadpan. “It’s a Christmas miracle.”

He grins at you, gums showing, and you smile back before leaning your head against his chest as on the TV a little girl watches out her window for signs of Santa.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed!!! My full masterlist can be found here :)

[nappingmoon]

I think the way to higuruma’s heart is through acts of service.

wc: 1.3k

the first time you wake up in higuruma's bed is the day after you meet him. he's still sound asleep, and he looks like he needs it, so you let him rest while you get up. when confronted with the choice of slipping out the door or staying, you don't think twice. you make your way into his kitchen, and it's clean-- simple in a way that is just so him. you grab two mugs and get started on a pot of coffee.

you’re not too familiar with him yet; unsure of how he takes it, so you make a simple batch of black coffee and decide to wait to ask him, finding you like the idea of learning along the way.

when higuruma walks into the kitchen, still groggy and hair tussled, it takes him a moment to digest what he’s seeing. he blinks slowly, eyes adjusting to the light pouring in from the window. you’ve got a cup in your hands, full and still steaming, while another sits empty to the side.

“I didnt know if liked sugar and milk in your coffee, or I would’ve brought you some in bed, handsome.” you say, lips just hovering over the lip of your cup. you place it down softly on the coaster and stretch for a moment before grabbing his and turning around, filling it with the rest of the brew. you call out over your shoulder, asking for the instructions to his preferred tastes, but are met with silence. you turn.

“h-” he starts, but seems unsure of how to finish. “how did you figure out the coffee machine?” he asks, and you both know it’s not the question that was supposed to come out. why are you doing this? why are you still here? most of his other endeavors have always fled in the morning, the bed cold and the house empty by the time he awakes. he felt the connection between the two of you last night, but normally the people he pursue leave without a trace, and he’s gotten used to it. it’s what he knows. so why are you in his t shirt, sipping from his mug, and acting like this is normal? why does he find himself wishing it was?

“there’s only four buttons on here, and one is for the clock. you don’t think me so simple, do you?” you tease with a smile.

no, he doesn’t. quite the opposite, in fact. he thinks you’re brilliant. you had met at a bar downtown and talked and talked, the tension eased by a few fruity cocktails. taken by your wit and humor immediately, he found himself inviting you over to extend the night a little, maybe have a glass of wine or two. not entirely surprisingly, you ended up in his sheets, all giggles and sloppy kisses and passionate touches. he fell asleep, sated and content with his limbs intertwined in yours.

instead of answering your question, he replies, “just a splash of milk, please.” 

your quirked brow betrays your skepticism. "not even a little sugar?" he seemed to have had the largest sweet tooth last night, if you correctly remember the sweet drinks that were downed absentmindedly between quips, stories, and touches that lingered just long enough to be more than friendly.

he's sheepish when he replies "i shouldn't, right? i have to limit my sugar somewhere or later down the line I am going to have to see my doctor more often and I am trying to avoid that. she's a scary lady."

he's not finished with his sentence before you tip in a small dash of sugar. "you're still in your early thirties. give it another decade or two before you start worrying about your blood sugar." you bring the mug over, bare feet padding softly on his hardwood floor as you approach. "i don't think a little sweetness in your life will kill you."

as he takes the mug from your hands, his fingers brush over yours. he doesn't look away from you eyes as he lifts the mug to his lips, but just before he takes a sip, he murmurs, "it might."

you hum and walk back over to where your mug sits on the counter. leaning against it, you ask, "how'd you sleep?"

"better than I have in ages," he replies, and his tone is oddly sincere. "I wasn't expecting you to still be here."

"should I not have been?" though you try to sound confident and carefree, a light waver in your voice reveals the fear at the idea that you've gravely misunderstood him and embarrassed yourself to no end in the process.

your thoughts don't get to stray far, however, because he's quick to respond. "no, no. it was a pleasant surprise. you have been a truly pleasant surprise."

your cheeks warm and you suddenly find his cabinets fascinating. "you're not supposed to be smooth first thing in the morning, you know." you grumble.

he's closer now, directly in front of you, and he places his mug down, just to you right. as he retracts his hand, it comes up to tilt your chin back towards him.

he's so handsome it's unfair.

"i'm sorry, sweetness, can I make it up to you with some breakfast?" he asks, his voice entrancing and still thick with sleep. the gesture and the question leave you breathless, so you just nod affirmatively. he places a kiss to your temple before turning and digging around his fridge and grabbing the ingredients he needs to get started.

-

soon after that, you become a constant in his life. he hadn't planned on you as a part of his routine, but you just, fit. in the mornings he finds himself spending less time in the bathroom mirror fixing his suit. now he wakes up eager to get dressed and sit on the edge of his bed with his choice of tie, waiting for you to take your spot between his legs and tie it for him. seeing the furrow in your brow as you adjust it just right, fixing the collar and tugging on the lapels to make sure he's perfect, it all makes him swoon.

before you, his lunch couldn't even be considered a break. he would just pop open whatever prepackaged meal he had bought that day and eat it in between readings of contracts and reviews of cases. now, he leaves his office without fail, never missing the time to eat and listen to you talk about your day.

when his bouts of insomnia get worse, you're there to help him. the house starts to smell like lavender. you've got all kinds of melatonin gummies and you don't let him say no to a massage, first focusing on his temples and scalp, then laying him down to work the knots out of his back. he's snoring by the time you're halfway down.

when he gets really stressed and the pressure starts to get too much, he comes home to a quiet house. he finds you in the bathroom preparing a bath with salts and soaps. you usher him in, insisting on taking care of him- carding water and shampoo through his locks and providing him with a safer space than he's ever had in his life.

higuruma is a lawyer. he deals with people who spin words all day. lies, loopholes, and secrets are all imbedded in his quotidian conversations with clients and colleagues. you, however, don't ripen him up with flattery or kind words. you don't make promises you don't intend to keep and you don't mince and twist your words to use against him. you simply do what you think is right. your actions have captured him far more than any words alone could do. in return, to show you how much he has truly come to love and need you, he looks to what he knows best. contracts.

though, when he's down on one knee, the legalities of it mean nothing to him. all that is important in that moment, and for the rest of his life, his you.

[bravo4iscool]

hey hun!! i had a request idea i thought you might like <3

i loveeeee the idea of simon flirting with chubby!reader at a bar and eventually bringing them home. they start to fool around, and he brings them to his bedroom. reader suddenly flicks the lights off and simon is like ‘pardon? you don’t want me to see how gorgeous you are?’ :(( Simon turns the lights back on and makes sure reader knows they never need to turn the lights off with someone who *really* wants to be with them <3

i fainted when i first read this. THIS IS AMZING AND SO HIM, OH MY GOD AHHHHWIAZVZAUJSZAWWD.

before y‘all read this i just wanna say that i‘ve never written smut or anything (only suggestive stuff), so i‘m sorry if this maybe doesn‘t hit as hard as it should😭 i‘m still tryna pass that threshold when writing anything dirty lol.

i changed the os a bit from what the requests said but the message is still the same (i hope), so i hope you’re not too mad at me😅

fem!reader or afab!reader, strangers to lovers, one night stands, chubby!reader, insecure!reader, flirting, confident as fuck!simon, light smut (?), definitely suggestive

i’m not really happy with this but i hope you like it anyways😭 also, english isn’t my first language and i’m a virgin so, please don’t expect too much lol :)

(masterlist)

taglist - @comeonatmebruh, @yazminetrahan

REQUESTS/ASKS OPEN!!!

It was supposed to be a normal night out. You would accompany your friend and watch her get wasted, only being there to drive her home if needed. Most of the time however she found someone to go home to. You didn‘t. You just sat in the booth or at the bar, watching all the pretty girls shoot their shot.

But apparently today wasn‘t like usual. There was this man, fucking huge and build like a fridge, watching you. At first you thought he was watching your friend, like most man but even when she left he kept looking at you.

It made you uncomfortable. Really uncomfortable. He probably was just making fun of you with his friend. You were the only plus size person in the whole bar, so of course there would be at least one person making fun of you. Looks like he was the one today.

You glance at him for a couple more seconds before you decide to shake your head and concentrate on watching your friend. She was throwing down shot after shot and you were starting to get worried. Yes, she occasionally drank but never to that extent.

„Ey,“ the bartender almost yells at you over the music, pushing a cocktail towards you. You frown, shaking your head.

„I didn’t order anything.“

„I know, but he did,“ he points his head in the direction of a table and when you turn to look which table you’re met with the eyes of the mysterious man. You slightly tilt your head when he smirks at you, raising his eyebrows. You blink at him before you turn around again and take the drink.

„Tell him thank you,“ you smile at the bartender but he just shakes his head.

„I think you can do that yourself.“ He looks behind you and you turn around once again, seeing the man walk towards you. And now that he was standing at his full height you could see how massive he really was. Holy fuck, you thought. What in the world do you need to do to become that broad.

“Evenin’” he greets you as he sits down beside you, his voice gruff and deep. You smile at him with a nod, a bit confused. “You alone ‘ere?” He looks at you and you feel like you’re drowning in those eyes.

“No,” you hesitatingly say, glancing at your friend who totally randomly made her way over to you now. “I’m with her,” you force a smile as she starts to cling to you, obviously trying to flirt with him but he keeps his eyes on you.

“Ya like the drink?” His eyes wander towards your hands, playing with the rim of the glass.

“I…haven’t tried it yet.”

“Well, then maybe ya should,” he smirks. You feel blood rushing into your cheeks and your hand lifts to taste the drink when you’re interrupted by a voice.

“Hey,” your friend slurs, latching herself onto the man’s arm and batting her eyelashes at him. “You free tonight?” she i’m wants to know and you feel a knot forming in your stomach.

This was supposed to be your moment, not hers. He bought you a drink, not her.

You start fiddling with your fingers, your gaze darting around anywhere but him. Of course she would destroy this moment. She wouldn’t let you have anything would she?

“Not free t’night,” he answers, carefully pushing her off. “Hopefully,” he adds and you raise your gaze. He stares at you.

Your friend chuckles and you grimace. “You shouldn’t let her wait any longer,” you force another smile. “You can take her home.”

He tilts his head. “I bought ya a drink. Not ‘er.” That surprised you. This would be the first time someone really was interested in you and not…her. Normally you were the plan b when they couldn’t reach her. They were going through you. You expected the same of him.

And that was exactly how you and that man, his name was Simon, ended up in his hallway, making out like an inexperienced teenager couple.

Your breath is heavy as he pushes you against your door; the one you two barely made it through.

“Been watchin’ ya all night long,” he mumbles against your lips, his hands wandering over your body and squeezing your hips and waist. “Ya too good lookin’ t’ just be left alone.”

A small moan escapes your lips and you let your head fall back against the door. This was almost too much for you. When was the last time someone took you home? Lord knows when…

“Gon’ make ya feel pretty good, yea?” You can feel him smirk against your skin as he places kiss after kiss on your neck.

“Simon,” you gasp when he finds your weak spot, your knees starting to wobble. Your hands reach out for him, trying to steady yourself. That makes him smirk even more.

Oh, the power he already had over you…

Your head is dizzy and your vision almost blurry when he drags you along into his bedroom, an unknown heat pooling in your lower stomach.

You fall onto his bed like you were always meant to and your eyes widen as he crawls over you, his lips finding your as if you’d known him for years.

Your hands make their way over his shoulder to his neck, pulling him closer to you and arching your back. You need something- him.

A breathy moan rolls over your lips when he starts to unbutton your blouse and you’re afraid your heart might jump out of your chest.

His eyes are glued to your body, taking in every single curve, every single stretch mark; anything he can manage to engrave into his brain.

“Lookin’ so pretty, all f’r me,” he whispers, starting to plant kisses all over your body, which only fuels the heat in your lower body. You arch your back again, shuddering against his hands.

“Simon,” you whimper, closing your eyes for a brief second.

“Yea Sweetheart?” he chuckles, glancing up at you. His hands start to travel over your body up to your shoulders to push off your blouse. And that was the moment you felt your insecurity washing over you.

Your breath gets caught in your throat and your start to squirm. Why were you doing this right now? He couldn’t possibly really be attracted to you, could he? Did he even really look at you?

“Simon,” you say his name again, looking at him, your eyes slightly blown.

“Yes, Love?” He stops what he’s doing immediately, carefully straightening up again. “Wha‘ is it? Ya want t’ stop?” He carefully cups your cheek, trying to read your face. Did he do something wrong?

You hesitate a second before you look at him. “Can we…turn the light off?” you carefully ask, feeling exposed under his harsh but at the same time soft gaze.

“Why’s that?” He tilts his head, clearly confused. He wants to look at and admire you. So, why turn the light off? “Ya not insecure, are ya?”

You feel yourself blush at that question, trying to hide your belly with your arms but he’s faster. He gently wraps his calloused hands around your wrists and pulls your arms away. “Non’ of that, Love. Wanna see ya,” he mumbles, leaning down to kiss you again.

“How long ‘as it been since ya been with someone?” he wants to know, once again making his way down your neck.

“I…don’t know,” you stutter, swallowing. “Maybe three or, or four years.” You feel ashamed of this confession, being afraid he might laugh at you and maybe think you were pathetic but he does nothing of that.

He only pulls back from you, his eyes never leaving yours. “These men around ya must be blind f’r sure,” he shakes his head. “They g’t a whole ass mean in front of ‘em but they be just lookin’ past it.”

He now fully pulls back until he’s resting on his knees and pulls his shirt off. “Y’know why I bought ya that drink?” he asks, a smirk back on his face, and you hesitantly shake your head.

He leans down, kissing down your collar bones towards your breasts. “Bought ya that damn thing because I couldn’t get me eyes off of ya.” His mouth is vibrating against you skin as he chuckles.

A moan gets stuck in your throat and you feel your body start to tremble when he starts to pull your upper body up to strip off your blouse and bra.

“These hips were almost hypnotising t’me.” His mouth starts to get dangerously close to your breasts when he gently lays you down again. “And ya curves are what I dream of at night.”

His tongue starts to circle one of your nipples and your hands grip the sheets. How were you supposed to think straight when he was playing with your body and mind like that?

“Wouldn’t ‘ave brought ya home if I didn’t want t’ see ya.” Simon’s hand wander down your body, ready to unbutton your jeans while he glances up at you, feasting on your lustful expression.

“Ya fucking gorgeous, Love. Ya don’t need t’ hide that.” His hand slips into your panties, a smirk playing on his lips when he feels how wet you are.

When your feel Simon’s fingers slip through your folds you can’t bite back that moan. You arch your back; your insecurities long forgotten. “Simon,” you stutter, your hands once again gripping the sheets. “Please,” you whine, not even knowing what you’re asking for.

He chuckles against your skin, carefully pushing one finger in. “Look a’ ya already fallin’ apart f’r me. Beggin’ f’r me.”

You feel like you’re officially in heaven, not even noticing how he pulls the rest of your clothes off, pushing your legs apart. “Gon’ show ya how a real man should treat ya,” he promises before he goes down on you.

And god, that man was eating you out like a man almost starved to death. He holds you down by your hips, chuckling when you try to squirm away from him, too overwhelmed by the waves of pleasure that were crashing over you.

“Simon- Simon…” you feel tears glistening in your eyes. “Fu-fuck,” you cry out, your hand unconsciously reaching for his head, pulling on the dirty blond strands.

He moans against you clit, his grip around your thighs tightening. “Do that again Love. Do it again.” And you do. You pull his hair again fully unaware of the fact that his cock was throbbing in his pants, almost hurting.

But he wouldn’t focus on his pleasure, no. He would only focus on you; showing you how a real man should treat someone like you.