#other email i lost ages ago

[ladyteldra]

Had an incredibly rude anon message. Which has already been deleted, but the only thing that truly offended me was the assumption I came from Twitter.

[finelinefae]

bambi [ceo!h x shy!reader]

synopsis: y/n tries a dating app and meets the CEO of Pleasing

word count: 8.6k

contains: ceo!harry x assitant!y/n, deer!reader vibes, dating app, online dating, deer!reader, first date, first kiss, fluff, age gap (9 years)

a/n: this is the first part of a new series. as usual the first part is a lil slow to set things up but I'm excited for what's to come of this one. there's going to be a lot of cuteness and all the things i love writing about in this one so i can't wait to share more !

this is part 1 of Bambi, read part 2 here

. . .

Most of the time Y/N didn’t want to be in control of things. 

From a young age, she had to be in charge of everything. She had three younger brothers and was born to a single mother who worked hard to keep everything afloat in their tiny, townhouse. So inevitably she became an adult before she could even buy a lottery ticket. 

Her life wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t easy. With the constant nagging from her much younger siblings and the dampened sleeve of her t-shirt—evidence of the hours she spent comforting her mother through tears—Y/N had just had enough.

Her life had become an abundance of things she was struggling to keep up with. She had no reprieve throughout her daily life, no way of stopping or just letting go. 

She worked six-hour shifts at the supermarket, studied marketing at university, did the school run in the mornings, and often in the evenings too, if her mother was too tired to get off the couch. She tutored her youngest brother, who was falling behind in math, and kept the house in order while all three of them stayed glued to the television.

Even worse, her social life was practically nonexistent.. She was twenty-one and spent her Friday nights making dino nuggets and catching up on an incessant amount of laundry from the past week. 

Y/N wasn’t sure where her life was heading. The loneliness and stress was so overwhelming she could barely breathe. 

One night, the weight of it all brought her to tears as she thought about her future after graduation. Most of the girls she knew were planning gap years, travelling to places like Brazil or Italy. She tried to picture herself boarding a plane, but the only thing she could imagine was her mother calling mid-flight, asking her to pick up one of the boys from school.

She pulled open her phone eyes blotchy and nose stuffy from crying. Her loneliness was hitting her hard and she was desperate to feel some kind of connection, even if it was five minutes of conversation. So, she opened the only dating app she had on her phone, one that she’d installed many moons ago when she wanted to open herself up to meeting new people. 

She barely used it after realising she wasn’t the best at small talk and whenever a guy would ask for a date, her introverted self would refuse to step foot out of the house. But on occasion she’d find herself wondering, searching for someone to take her mind off of everything. 

Y/N swiped past copious images of men, seemingly unphased by all of them. She swiped through so many, that they almost began to look the same - 5’9, tanned, shirtless or lifting weights trying to show some kind of strength that proved to women they were most definitely ‘manly���. 

When she started to believe all hope was lost, she paused when her eyes settled on a man who didn’t look much like the others. He was tall, with brunette curls and green eyes that crinkled when he smiled. He wore rings on his hands in every single picture and in one of them he wore a shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal a sleeve of tattoos. In most of his pictures he wore comfy sweaters and knitted cardigans with grey or black trousers. In one of them he wore a pair of blue jeans and had a small, battered copy of The Catcher in the Rye in his back pocket. 

She read his bio beneath. 

‘Harry, 30

Likes: scrabble, food, cats, books, cardigans

Dislikes: loud chewing, music played too low, emails, wearing sunglasses indoors at dinner is absolutely criminal’

She clicked the heart on his profile, eyes widening when the words ‘MATCH’ appeared on the screen in big bubble writing. He hadn’t sent her a message but clearly he had liked her own profile which was surprising considering she had barely anything on it. 

As she was mulling over what to say to start the conversation, three bubbles quickly appeared then disappeared, replaced by a message. She held her breath, reading the words. 

Harry: Hey, pretty dress

She frowned, wondering what he meant by that but then remembered she had a picture of her on her profile, showcasing one of her favourite dresses. It was a baby pink slip dress she had made out of silk fabric. 

Y/N: Thank you, I made it! :) 

Harry: You did? Wow! Looks better than most of the ones I’ve seen in my own store.

Y/N: Do you own a clothing store?

Harry: Something along those lines

Harry: Although they don’t sell pretty dresses like yours 

Y/N: They’re probably a lot better, I use cheap materials 

She cringed at her message, hoping she didn’t sound broke or not put together by saying she used something cheap.

Harry: I’m even more impressed

She smiled, watching him type a new message. 

Harry: What brings you here?

She tried to sum up how she was feeling without making herself seem like a weirdo. She didn’t want to sound like a recluse looking for human interaction no matter how much she felt like it. 

Y/N: I’m tired of everything, just want someone to keep me company 

Harry: I get that. Should I be worried? Are you okay? 

Her heart warmed, she couldn’t remember the last time someone asked her if she was okay. 

Y/N: I’m okay now, thank you for asking !! it’s just everyday life stuff.

Harry: Of course. Just let me know if there’s anything you want to talk about. I’m right here to listen… or read 

Y/N: thank you, that truly means a lot!! xx

Harry: No problem, love x

Y/N’s heart flickered at the name he had placed on the end. 

They texted for hours, well into the middle of the night. Y/N was giddy, rolling around on her bed, smiling so hard her cheeks ached. They had so much in common—both preferred quiet nights in, were family-oriented, loved literature and art and even fashion. He was funny and sweet, always checking in to make sure she was comfortable and that he wasn’t overstepping with his questions. Despite how much they had in common, they had a lot of differences too.

Y/N: Is it raining where you are? Xx

Harry: Hm, just checked outside and I think the clouds are coming over. I don’t mind though autumn happens to be my favourite season.

Y/N: omg really? 

Harry: What? You don’t agree?

Y/N: No omg are you kidding? I’m much more into spring. I like that it’s sunny with a slight breeze so it’s warm but not too warm so you can still wear a sweater

Harry: Ahhh I see, you do give spring I must say

Y/N: You think so?

Harry: Even from looking at your pictures, you look like a tulip or something. 

Harry: Or the little deer from that movie

Harry: What was it?

Harry: Bambi!

Harry: Maybe that should be your name - Bambi 

Y/N: That’s one of my favourite movies !! 

Y/N: I happened to think Bambi is a very pretty name 

Harry: Then I’ll call you Bambi 

Y/N: Well what should I call you?

Harry: Anything you like, Bambi 

. . . 

Y/N was working her shift at the supermarket. She was already entering her final hour, her stomach rumbling as she packed frozen pizzas onto the shelves. Although she had been working hard to get things done so she could go home on time, her mind was constantly wandering. 

It had been a full week of talking to Harry. They had converted to messaging on WhatsApp after exchanging numbers and every day Y/N would wake up to a morning text message from him telling her to have a good day and that he would be right there in her pocket if she ever needed anything. In the evenings, he would make sure she wasn’t going to sleep with anything heavy on her mind. He’d ask her questions about what she ate and if she had any time to herself in the day. For the first time in a long time, Y/N felt a little less lonely. She went about her day with a little pep in her step feeling the excitement of texting the man she had only just met. She didn’t know what it was about him but a part of her felt safe with him. Maybe it was the fact he was nine years older than her and knew what it was like to be under stress with so many things but he understood her in a way no one else did. 

And Bambi.

Every day, it was Bambi this and Bambi that, and every time, she’d swoon or smile at the nickname he had given her. It was silly, maybe even a little ridiculous, how much it affected her. But she couldn’t help it—every time he said it, a bubble of excitement grew inside her. She liked someone for the first time in a long time, and it brought something new, something light, into her overwhelming life.

After days of just simply texting, Y/N had asked him if he wanted to video call tonight. It would be her first time hearing what he sounded like and part of her was nervous. What if he came across differently from how he was over text? What if he didn’t look the way he did in the numerous pictures he had sent her? What if after calling tonight, he didn’t like her anymore?

Hours later, Y/N was tucked up in bed readying herself to call him. She had showered and blow-dried her hair, wearing her comfiest pink pyjamas with her body wrapped up in her duvet. Her thumb hovered over the call button, gnawing on her bottom lip as thoughts raced through her mind.

She gasped when Harry’s face appeared on her screen just seconds after she pressed call. It was their first time ever talking like this, and her heart raced as she took in the sight of him. He was sitting in a desk chair, a large framed artwork hanging on the wall behind him. His shirt was slightly rumpled, his tie loosened around the collar, and his curls fell lazily across his forehead. He looked so effortlessly handsome, it almost didn’t seem real.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice breaking the stillness of her bedroom. It carried a warmth, soft and steady, like the glow of a campfire, and she felt herself melt under its gentle heat.

“H-Hi,” she squeaked, her cheeks immediately flushing with warmth. Her nerves bubbled up as she realized she was staring at him, trying to comprehend that this was actually happening. Surely she was dreaming, she pinched herself to make sure. 

Harry’s eyes softened when he heard her shaky greeting. “You alright?” he asked, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small, amused smile. His tone was gentle, almost teasing, but there was something deeper there—like he was studying her reaction and enjoying every second of it.

She nodded quickly, fumbling with the hem of her pyjama shirt. “I’m good! Just… surprised you answered so fast.” She giggled nervously, her voice high-pitched and sweet, like she couldn’t quite believe this was happening. “I thought it’d take a few rings at least.” Her blush deepened as she tucked her knees up to her chest.

He chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm, making her heart flutter. “I was waiting for you to call,” he admitted, a soft smirk tugging at his lips. 

Her heart skipped a beat, and she shyly glanced up at him through her lashes. “Really?” she asked, her voice soft and a little disbelieving. 

He smiled, a slow, adoring smile that made her stomach flip. “Yeah, really. I’ve been thinking about it all day.” His voice had that low, confident tone, but his gaze was gentle, like he wanted to make sure she knew he meant it. “The only thing getting me through work.”

“You’re still at work? It’s nine-thirty!” she exclaimed, glancing at the clock in disbelief.

Harry’s lips curled into a playful smirk. “Is it past your bedtime, Bambi?” he teased, leaning back in his chair as he glanced at her through the screen.

Her heart stuttered hearing that nickname come from his own mouth. She felt like if the camera wasn’t on, she’d be floating around her room like a bright pink orb of light, “N-No,” she stammered, her cheeks flushing a soft pink. “But shouldn’t you be going home by now? You’ve been working all day.”

He let out a small chuckle, shrugging as he glanced down at the papers scattered across his desk. “Got a lot to catch up on. Too many late nights spent talking to you.” His voice was warm, laced with affection despite his teasing.

Her heart sank for a moment, guilt creeping in. They’d been texting non-stop for weeks, and she hadn’t once thought about how it might be affecting his workload. He’d told her before that he worked for a clothing company, and it suddenly hit her how busy he must be.

Noticing the shift in her expression, Harry’s voice softened. “Y’thinking too much in that little head of yours?” he asked, cutting through her thoughts.

“Maybe a little,” she admitted quietly, biting her lip.

He shook his head, eyes never leaving hers. “You know I didn’t mean it as a bad thing, right? I love talking to you, Y/N. I think... I might even be a little obsessed with you,” he confessed, his smirk turning into a softer smile.

Her breath caught in her throat, and for a second, all she could do was stare at him, her heart thudding in her chest. “I-I think I’m obsessed with you too,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. 

“Yeah?” His voice was full of warmth, a hint of disbelief in it, like he hadn’t expected her to say it back. She nodded shyly, clutching her pillow tighter against her chest, her heart racing.

Harry huffed out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face to hide the wide grin that had taken over. “God, you’re even cuter than I imagined,” he murmured, his words full of adoration.

They talked for hours, diving into everything and anything that crossed their minds. It was the longest conversation they’d had since they started talking, and Y/N found herself more captivated by Harry than she thought was possible. The way he laughed, the way he listened—it all just pulled her in deeper.

In the middle of her sentence, she noticed Harry looking at her with an unusually soft expression, his eyes filled with something she couldn’t quite place. He suddenly spoke, cutting her off mid-thought. “Can I take you on a date?” His voice was gentle but firm, catching her completely off guard.

“O-Oh,” she stammered, blinking in surprise. She hadn’t expected him to want to meet her so soon, but her heart leapt at the thought. “I’d like that,” she replied, a soft smile spreading across her face. “Very much.”

His own smile widened, a mix of relief and excitement in his eyes. “How about Saturday evening? I could pick you up.”

“But wouldn’t that be too long of a drive?” she asked, biting her lip. She knew he lived in the city, about forty minutes away without traffic, and she didn’t want to inconvenience him.

Harry’s expression didn’t falter. “It’s not too far at all. Trust me, I don’t mind,” he said confidently. “I’ll pick you up at 8, sound good?”

Y/N’s heart fluttered, the idea of seeing him in person making her pulse race. She nodded shyly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Mhm, that sounds perfect.”

Harry’s grin grew, his eyes twinkling, “Can you wear the pretty dress you made?”

Y/N blushed, “You don’t want me to wear something a little more sophisticated?” 

“Y’ can wear whatever makes you comfortable, I don’t mind but I think I’d like to see that little dress y’ made.” 

She nodded, stifling a yawn as it slipped out. It was getting late, and Harry was still at his office, working. “Y’tired, lovie?” His voice softened.

“A little,” she lied, knowing full well she was more than exhausted. But the thought of ending the call made her chest tighten—she wanted to keep him on the line, even just for a few more minutes.

Harry chuckled softly as if he could see right through her. “Why don’t you rest those pretty eyes for me, yeah?” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, the gentle authority in his words making her entire body relax. She practically melted at the sound, her heart skipping a beat.

“M’kay,” she whispered, her eyelids already heavy as she let herself sink deeper into the comfort of his voice.

“I’ll be right here, alright?” he reassured her, his tone gentle and full of warmth.

She managed a soft smile, her words barely audible as her exhaustion overtook her. “Promise?”

“Promise Bambi,” he whispered, his voice the last thing she heard before sleep pulled her under.

. . .

“Mr. Styles?”

Harry looked up from his computer, peering over the rims of his glasses. His receptionist, Lindsey, stood in the doorway. “The samples for the newest collection have arrived. Would you like me to bring them in?” she asked, her voice polite but efficient, as always.

“Yes, please, Lindsey,” he replied with a sigh, signing off another email before hitting send. The endless stream of tasks had him feeling drained.

Though Harry wasn’t usually the type to show much warmth towards his employees, Lindsey was different. She’d been with him for years—long enough to earn not just his respect, but his trust. She was one of the very few people he relied on within his company. 

Harry was the CEO of Pleasing, a major fashion company he had built from the ground up. His first line had been designed in a small studio, crafted with his own hands and the help of a few close friends who still worked by his side. Now, it was a global brand. He was on Forbes 30 under 30 and had features in magazines like GQ. He was even in Time magazine for most influential people. 

Despite all the success, his day-to-day life had become an endless loop of emails, business meetings, and deadlines. Time for anything outside of work was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Lately, though, something, or rather someone, had started to make him reconsider how he spent his time.

He checked his phone once more having only picked it up a minute ago for the same reason. He hoped to see a message from Y/N, in fact he was eager to. Ever since he had messaged her on the only dating app he used, he hadn’t thought of anyone else but her. 

It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, one born out of the loneliness that weighed heavier than ever that night. Harry sat in his dimly lit office, the silence around him almost suffocating. He hadn’t dated in over a year, not since his last relationship, which had ended on a bitter note. That girl had taken advantage of him, using his desire of the relationship he wanted to manipulate him. She had drained his bank accounts, maxed out his credit cards on shopping sprees and lavish holidays with her friends, leaving him both financially and emotionally exhausted. After that, he’d grown wary of trusting anyone.

When he joined the website, he wasn’t exactly hopeful. The chance of finding someone who truly understood his career and mirrored his desires in a relationship seemed slim.

But then he met his Bambi. 

He hadn’t been searching for anything specific that day, just scrolling aimlessly, but something about Y/N’s profile made him pause. There was a warmth to her, a genuine spark that went beyond her pictures. She didn’t seem to realise just how captivating she was, and that drew him in even more. It wasn’t just her beauty—though she was stunning—it was the way she spoke about the things she loved. Her messages were full of passion, filled with rambles about her favourite books, little moments in her day, or random thoughts that popped into her head. 

Y/N had ignited something within him. He was excited for this newfound thing they had going on, a spark he hadn’t felt in years. Every message from her left him smiling at his phone, wondering what she’d say next. It was the kind of excitement that made the day feel a little brighter, knowing she was just a text away. He found himself looking forward to the simplest things—her daily updates, the way she’d ramble about something she’d seen or read, and even the photo updates she’d send him of things she was doing.

For the first time in a long time, he found himself imagining what it would be like to share his life with someone, instead of the quiet solitude he’d grown so used to. He couldn’t shake the thought of Y/N being that person—the one to bring warmth into the corners of his once-lonely home. He pictured what it would be like to have someone in his space, their presence adding a new kind of lightness. Someone to be there in the small, everyday moments and to keep him company after a long day at the office. 

He couldn’t wait to meet her in real life, hold her in his hands and kiss the lips he spent nights dreaming about. 

Harry snapped out of his daze when Lindsey opened the door and the manufacturers entered the room behind her, holding the fabric samples in their hands. They greeted him timidly, laying the samples on the table by the large floor-to-ceiling windows. 

He walked over, black polished shoes clicking against the mahogany wood floor. He sighed when he took in the samples, he didn’t need to feel them to know they weren’t good enough. Uncapping the red pen, he drew a cross beside each sample, the men behind him releasing a shaky breath. 

“Come back when you have what I want,” He murmured, dismissing them with a wave of his hand. 

He checked the time on his watch and cursed. Today was his niece’s birthday and he promised his sister he’d visit in time for her birthday party this afternoon. “Lindsey,” He called, hearing her shoes against the floor before she opened the door to his office. 

He pulled on his blazer, “I’ve got to leave, did you wrap that gift I gave you the other day?” 

Lindsey frowned, “It’s under my desk but what about your meetings this afternoon?” 

“Cancel them.” He shrugged.

His Porsche was parked out front by the time he stepped out of the building. He put the gift into the passenger seat and made a mental note to stop somewhere to buy a birthday card. 

He glanced at his phone when a text came through.

Bambi: Half way through my shift. It’s been pretty rough, sorry for the late reply xx

His heart leapt when Y/N’s name appeared. He took his phone when he reached a red light and typed in a reply.

Harry: it’s okay lovie, call me when you finish yeah? x

He was desperate to speak to her even if it were just for a mere few seconds. 

Making a left turn, he pulled into the parking lot of a small supermarket on the highway. It looked run down and old but there wasn’t anywhere else he could go to before he reached his sister's house.

People sat outside, smoking cigarettes and drinking out of beer cans. He ignored the glances they made towards him and his car. 

He stepped inside and walked along the aisles, pausing when he noticed someone stacking things onto a shelf. His heart skipped a beat when he saw her. She was wearing blue jeans and a fuzzy white sweater, her hair was braided and fastened with pink, silk bows. She wore wired earbuds, her pink ballerina flats tapping against the laminate flooring. 

She must have felt his gaze because her head lifted, eyes widening as they met his. Her soft, pink lips parted slightly, and in that instant, it was as if the world shifted—everything falling perfectly into place between them, as though they were always meant to find each other naturally. 

Harry hadn’t noticed the sugar spilling from the bag she was holding until the store manager stormed over. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The sharp tone made Y/N jump, her body snapping upright as she stood frozen in front of her manager, fear flashing across her face.

“I-I’m s-sorry, I—” Y/N stammered, her voice trembling.

“How many times do I have to hear the same excuse from you?” her manager snapped. “Stupid, useless girl, costing me the whole damn shop.”

Y/N’s bottom lip quivered, her eyes welling up with unshed tears. “I-I know... I promised it wouldn’t happen again. It was an accident, really,” she whispered, her voice barely holding steady.

Harry’s frown deepened. Again? This had happened before?

From the way Y/N stood there, trying so hard not to cry, it was painfully clear—this wasn’t the first time her boss had spoken to her like this.

Harry’s jaw tightened as he watched the exchange, a surge of protectiveness rising in him. He had only known Y/N recently, but seeing her like this—small, vulnerable, and clearly hurt—stirred something deep within him. He couldn’t just stand there and let it happen.

“Excuse me,” Harry spoke up, his voice calm but firm, stepping closer. The store manager turned to him, annoyance flashing across his face.

“This doesn’t concern you,” the manager spat, his glare shifting to Harry.

“Actually, I think it does,” Harry replied, his eyes steady on the man. “You don’t need to speak to her like that.”

The manager scoffed. “And who the hell are you?”

Harry didn’t blink, his voice lowering. “Someone who knows when respect is lacking.”

Y/N looked up at Harry, wide-eyed, as if she couldn’t believe he was stepping in. Her heart raced, a mix of relief and anxiety bubbling inside her. She wasn’t used to anyone standing up for her like this.

“Y/N, why don’t you take a minute?” Harry said softly, glancing over at her, his voice now gentle and reassuring. The tears in her eyes made his chest physically hurt. He’d be quick with this useless piece of shit so he could give her all his attention.

She hesitated but then nodded, her gaze flicking between Harry and her boss. She quickly turned, slipping away from the confrontation, her hands shaking as she tried to compose herself.

Harry turned back to the manager, his calm exterior masking the frustration brewing underneath. “Speak to her like that again, and I won’t hesitate to have this place torn down, brick by brick, and replaced with a building I own. Then you’ll know firsthand what it’s like to deal with a real fucking manager.” 

With that, he turned on his heel, already making a mental note to have his team look into this place. It was clearly lacking in more ways than one—enough to warrant being shut down for good he hoped. 

Y/N stood behind the building, her back to him, shoulders trembling as she cried into her sleeve. Harry’s heart clenched at the sight. “Hey, hey, hey,” he murmured softly, stepping forward and gently pulling her into his chest. “Tha’s enough now, Bambi. Don’t waste your tears on him,” he whispered, his large hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. Holding her close felt unexpectedly right, as if this was exactly where she belonged, even if the circumstances weren’t ideal.

“I’m so embarrassed,” she sniffled, her voice small. “This isn’t how I wanted you to see me for the first time.”

His eyes softened with affection as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief. Carefully, he wiped her tear-stained, blotchy cheeks, his touch tender. “You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about, sweetheart,” he whispered, “S’alright now, y’ don’t have to go back in there.” He cupped the back of her head, feeling how soft and silky her hair was. He couldn’t seem to fathom that he was actually holding her after days of imagining what she would feel like.

She pulled away and for the first time Harry could get a proper look at her. He didn’t think it possible for her to be even more beautiful than the pictures he had of her on her phone but she was. Her features were soft, cheeks permanently pink like the colour of tulips on a spring day, her lips were the perfect shape, so delicate like two petals pressed together. She was a walking angel. 

“Hey stranger,” He grinned, those perfect cheeks turning pink. If Harry had one goal in his life it was to make her all flustery and blushy. 

“Hi,” She peeped, hands fiddling in front of her.

Her eyes widened when she saw the tear stains on his shirt, the damp spots revealing the tiniest hint of the tattoos on his torso. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin your shirt,” She cringed.

“Hey no need to apologise, ‘s not even ruined and I’d rather you were okay than some easily replaceable shirt.” He assured her. “Are y’ sure you’re okay? Don’t need to go in there and beat him up or anything,”

She smiled at that and the sight made his heart sing, “No it’s okay. I-I’m okay, thank you for looking out for me. I don’t normally have people doing that very often.”

He frowned. He didn’t like how often she spoke about how little help she got from other people. If anything, it made him want to take care of her even more than he already did. 

“I should probably head back in. I still have three more hours of my shift,” she huffed, clearly reluctant. It was the last thing she wanted to do.

Harry’s expression softened, but his tone remained firm. “You don’t have to,” he said, his gaze holding hers, protective and unwavering.

Y/N frowned, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. “But I need the job, Harry,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “I can’t just leave.”

His jaw tightened at her words. He hated seeing her stuck in a place that didn’t value her, where she wasn’t respected. “I know you need the job,” he replied, gentler now, trying to ease her worry. “But no job is worth being treated like that. Not by him.”

She bit her lip, glancing back at the store, anxiety clearly weighing on her. “What am I supposed to do, then? I can’t afford to lose it.”

Harry stepped closer, his hand finding its way to her cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear. “You’re not going to lose anything,” he said softly. “Let me take care of it. Of you.”

Y/N blinked up at him, her heart pounding. “Take care of me?”

“Come work with me,” He offered. 

There weren’t many positions available at Pleasing, but Harry didn’t care. He’d make something work—anything to keep her from going back into that place and dealing with the jerk inside.

“In the city? I... I can’t do that, Harry. I still have school, and my brothers...”

“You can work around it,” he said quickly, eager to find a solution. “I’ll pay for your gas to and from the city, or I’ll have someone drive you. Hell, I’ll drive you myself if it makes you feel better. Whatever you need. Just don’t stay here.”

He sighed softly, taking her small hand in his larger one, her warmth a comfort even as doubt flickered between them. “Just... think about it, yeah?” His thumb traced gentle circles on the back of her hand, trying to ease the tension.

Y/N hesitated but nodded slowly. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur.

A grin spread across Harry’s face, his relief palpable. “Thank you Bambi.” He swore he saw her pupils carve into love hearts at his words. 

. . . 

Y/N hadn’t returned to her job at the store just as she promised Harry. It wasn’t only because Harry was insistent she didn’t go back but her manager had been pretty verbally abusive for quite some time now and she thought better than to go back and work for someone who was just plain mean. 

A few days had passed and Saturday rolled around quickly. Y/N was giddy with excitement, preparing everything in time for Harry to pick her up to take her on their very first date this evening. She had arranged a babysitter to look after her brothers since her mother wouldn’t be home until late. It wasn’t often they splurged cash on hiring a babysitter but Y/N wasn’t going to rearrange her date with Harry for anything.

She’d made a list of everything she needed to do: wash and blow dry her hair, shave every inch of her body, and paint her nails with the glazed pink polish she’d ordered online. Her hair was in curlers as she carefully laid out her outfit for the evening—a pink satin slip dress she’d made herself, paired with white kitten heels that matched perfectly. With the season shifting into autumn, she added a thin white cardigan to keep her warm in case the night turned chilly on the way home.

She wanted to look perfect. Especially after the fiasco the other day when he had rescued her from her mean manager. 

Everything seemed to move in slow motion the moment she laid eyes on the man from her phone. He was even more perfect than she had imagined—taller too. It still hadn’t sunk in that she was about to go on a date with this man—the one who wore a black suit to work and had saved her from cruel, terrifying managers.

And the way he spoke to her afterwards, comforting her with his big, heavy hands around her. She wanted him to pick her up and take her wherever he went. 

Y/N sighed blissfully in front of her vanity. As Y/N finished her makeup, her phone buzzed with a message from Harry. 

Harry: Just outside x

She peeked through the window, catching sight of him standing by a sleek black car, leaning casually against the door. He looked breathtaking in a fitted black suit, hands in his pockets as he scanned the street. Her nerves fluttered, a mixture of excitement and anticipation bubbling up. She took a deep breath, smoothed down her dress, and grabbed her cardigan before heading out the door. 

The moment she stepped outside, Harry’s gaze snapped to her, dark and intense. He straightened up, eyes travelling over her form, taking in every detail of her appearance. The way he looked at her sent a shiver down her spine.

“Y’ look stunning, Bambi,” he murmured, his deep voice sending shivers down her spine. He took a step closer, his large hand cupping her cheek, thumb grazing her soft skin. “All this f’ me?”

Y/N blushed, biting her bottom lip nervously. “I-I wore the dress you wanted,” she mumbled shyly, looking up at him through her lashes, “Do you like it?” 

“‘S perfect,” He murmured lowly. 

“Ready to go, sweetheart?” He opened the car door for her, watching as she slid into the passenger seat, her delicate form contrasting with the dark interior of his Porshe. Harry’s eyes lingered on her legs for a moment before he shut the door and walked around to his side.

Once inside, he reached over, resting his hand on her thigh, the warmth of his touch comforting her immediately. “You nervous?” he asked, glancing at her with a small smile, though the look in his eyes held a trace of dominance.

“A little,” Y/N admitted, her voice soft and shy.

Harry gave her thigh a gentle squeeze. “Y’ don’t have to be nervous around me, love, promise ‘m not scary. Least of all t’ you.” 

Y/N smiled, loving how he made it clear she was different, that he treated her in a way no one else could. It warmed her to feel special, especially when that feeling was rare for her.

As they drove, their conversation flowed easily. Y/N found herself opening up more and more, rambling about anything that came to mind. Harry listened intently, his smile soft as he asked questions, showing genuine interest in everything she said. Her eyes sparkled in the dim light of the car, and each time she answered bashfully, his lips curved. 

Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed as they drove deeper into the city. The lights grew brighter, illuminating a part of town she rarely found herself in—where the wealthy lived, with towering apartment complexes and upscale restaurants lining the streets. Harry pulled over in front of a sleek Italian restaurant, where a man stood waiting by the curb.

“Are we allowed to park here?” Y/N asked, her face bathed in the glow of the restaurant’s lights.

Harry suppressed a grin at her confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Well… I just assumed we weren’t eating here, which is totally fine! You don’t need to impress me with a fancy restaurant.” Her cheeks flushed pink as she tried to clarify.

Harry’s lips curled into a teasing smirk. “What if I told you we are eating here?”

Y/N’s eyes widened in disbelief. “A-are we?”

Without answering, Harry reached for her hand, brushing his lips over the back of it. “Y’ too cute,” he murmured. “Come on, they’re waiting for us.” He stepped out of the car, passing his keys to the valet standing nearby, before adjusting his blazer and moving to open the door for her, his hand stretched out toward her for her to grab onto. 

Y/N hesitated, her mind reeling. There was no way they were eating at this restaurant—the kind with a year-long reservation list and three Michelin stars. She’d heard rumours that a single course here could cost more than her entire paycheck for the week. But as she took his hand and stepped out, it felt impossible to believe this was really happening.

Harry intertwined their fingers, offering a brief nod to the waiter who opened the door for them. “Harry… are you sure? They probably don’t have any tables for people just walking in,” she whispered.

He chuckled softly. “Don’t worry, love. I made some arrangements.”

Her brows furrowed in surprise. “Arrangements? How?”

Stopping at the ‘Please Wait to Be Seated’ sign, Harry finally turned to her with a playful twinkle in his eye. “I own the restaurant.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open as a waiter approached, menus tucked neatly under his arm. “Good evening, Mr. Styles. Your table is ready.”

Feeling like she was in a dream, Y/N walked hand-in-hand with Harry to a private table near the large glass windows at the back. The breathtaking view of the city’s skyline stretched out before them, and the table, set for two, was tucked away to offer them some privacy. 

As they were seated, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the quiet stares and murmurs from other guests. She knew Harry owned a clothing business, but… just how successful was he?

The waiter laid the menus out in front of them and left them to decide what they wanted to order. Y/N hadn’t even noticed as her wide eyes gazed around the room at the glowing chandeliers. 

Harry reached for her hand beneath the table, “Are y’ okay love?” He asked. Y/N’s gaze snapped towards him, “I hope ‘s not too much.”

“H-Harry, I really appreciate you bringing me here, I mean even stepping inside is a dream come true, but… I c-can’t afford this.” She felt awful saying it but it was true and it was better to tell him now than when she’d finished her meal, she wouldn’t want him thinking she was out for his money.

Harry frowned, “Bambi, this is a date. Y’ don’t have to pay for anything.”

“B-but I can’t use your money.” She told him. 

She couldn’t hear it but Harry’s heart was singing in his chest. She was exactly what he was looking for someone totally opposite to all the women he had dated in his past. 

He cupped her cheek in his hand, “Look at me Y/N,” Big, doe eyes gazed into his, “Please stop worrying and let me take care of you. I know y’ haven’t been given that in the past but ‘m here now and I want this. I wanted to bring y’ here and I want y’ to be spoiled and I want to treat you in the way you deserve. So can you pick something from the menu and let me look after you Bambi baby, please? Think you can do that?”

Her lips parted, slowly nodding her head but she quickly said one last thing, “You don’t have to take me to fancy places to make me feel spoiled Harry. I already feel spoiled enough just getting to be with you.”

He smiled, eyes glistening under the low light of the chandelier. He placed a hand on her thigh and squeezed as a small thank you. “Have you decided what you’re going to eat?”

"Hmmm," Harry grinned, watching Y/N's pouted lips as she studied the menu with intense concentration. "I can't decide between the truffle pasta or the smoked salmon!" she huffed, clearly torn.

"How about this," he offered with a shrug, "I’ll get the smoked salmon, you get the truffle pasta, and we can share? That way you can try both."

She glanced up at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “You don’t want something else?”

He had been planning on ordering the steak and potatoes, but seeing how much this small decision seemed to weigh on her, he didn’t mind changing his mind. The smoked salmon was one of his favourite dishes anyway.

When the waiter came over, Harry confidently placed the order for both of them, which made Y/N visibly relax. She hated the pressure of ordering her own food, so the simple act of him taking charge made her feel instantly at ease.

“We’ll make sure to have your order as a priority, Mr. Styles,” the waiter nodded respectfully before walking away.

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wow. They must really like you here.”

Harry chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair. “Didn’t I mention I owned a clothing business?”

“Mhm,” she nodded, “But I thought it was just a boutique or something.” She shrugged, clearly unaware of the scale.

Harry laughed a warm, deep sound that made her stomach flip. “Bambi,” he said, pulling her gently into his side until their cheeks were almost touching, “See that guy’s sweater? That woman’s hat? And that lady’s dress over there?” She nodded everytime he pointed towards them, her heart skipping a beat at their closeness. “We made all of those.”

Her eyes widened in shock. “W-wait, you own Pleasing?”

Harry nodded, a small, proud smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Y/N couldn’t even count how many times she had opened the Pleasing website, scrolling through pages of clothes she desperately wanted but couldn’t afford. And now, she was sitting across from its owner—no, she was on a date with him.

“Mhm,” he hummed, pulling away slightly to gauge her reaction. "Which reminds me, have you given any more thought to the job?"

She had, actually. The idea had been rolling around in her mind ever since he’d mentioned it. "What's the role again?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

"My assistant," Harry replied smoothly. "You’d help with emails, scheduling meetings, running errands—nothing too complicated. Just being my right hand.”

“Wouldn’t that be awkward, though? Since we’re, y’know... dating?”

Harry smirked, catching the implication. "So, there’s going to be a second date?" His teasing tone made her blush. “And if anything, it makes it better. I’d get to see you every day instead of just texting."

“But what about school?” Y/N asked, trying to think practically.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said easily. “Whatever you need. We can make it work.”

“Shouldn’t there be an interview or something?” she quipped, trying to lighten the moment, though her heart was racing.

Harry sighed dramatically, playing along. “Alright. Hello, Miss Y/L/N. Welcome to your official interview for the position of Mr. Styles’ personal assistant.”

Y/N giggled, her nerves easing as she followed his lead. “Well, hello Mr. Styles. Thank you for having me.”

Harry’s lips curled into a smile, his eyes twinkling as he played along. “First question,” he said, leaning closer, their faces now just inches apart. “How do you feel about spending every day with me? Answer carefully—it’s a tough one.”

Y/N couldn’t help but giggle, her cheeks flushing a soft pink. “Well, Mr. Styles, I think I could manage that.”

“Good answer,” he praised, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. “Next question: Can you handle a man who’s very particular about his coffee?”

She tilted her head, raising an eyebrow in playful suspicion. “Are we talking normal particular, or... like, twelve-steps-to-make-a-single-cup particular?”

Harry chuckled, his dimples deepening. “Maybe somewhere in between. But don’t worry, I can teach you.”

Y/N laughed softly, her nerves easing even more. Being around him was easy, natural—like slipping into something familiar and warm. “I think I could handle that.”

"One last question," Harry murmured, leaning in even closer. His gaze flickered to her lips for a brief second before locking back onto her eyes. "How do you feel about sneaking around with your boss?"

Her laughter died down, a trace of seriousness replacing it. She knew the risks—things had to stay professional, no hint of their relationship could slip through especially since Harry would not only be her boss but was the Senior Director and had to have the respect of everyone.  But still, she couldn’t resist.

“I think it could be fun,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Good,” He murmured, “I think you’ve passed the test, Bambi,” Y/N noticed how close his lips were to hers, if she moved her face forward they’d be touching, “Any questions?”

. . . 

Harry pulled the car up to the curb just outside Y/N’s house, the gentle hum of the engine fading as he switched it off. The street was quiet, the only light coming from the street lamps casting long shadows on the pavement. Inside her house, the windows were dark, and she silently hoped her brothers were already asleep, sparing her the awkwardness of explaining why she wasn’t rushing inside.

The silence between them felt comfortable yet charged, neither making a move to leave. It was as if both of them knew the night shouldn’t end yet, even though it had to at some point. Y/N looked down at her hands, nervously tracing the edge of her coat, stealing glances at Harry every few moments. He seemed deep in thought, his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel, but the same hesitation hung in the air between them.

“Thanks for dinner,” she said softly, her voice breaking the silence.

He turned to her, his expression soft but intent, as if weighing every word. “Don’t need t’ thank me Bambi,” he replied, his eyes lingering on her face a moment longer than necessary. 

“I wish I didn’t have to go home,��� She huffed, looking down at her fingers on her lap.

Harry’s lips curved into a small smile, but there was a seriousness in his eyes. He leaned back in his seat, turning his body slightly toward her. “Y’ want to go back to mine?”

She wanted nothing more, the pain of saying no physically paining her, “M-my brothers... they have school,” she murmured.

“S okay,” He smiled. 

The air between them felt thick with unspoken feelings, and she could feel her heart race as the weight of his gaze settled on her. He reached over, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his touch soft.

“Bambi,” he said quietly, his voice suddenly more intimate, like he was laying something important on the table.

She turned to face him fully, her breath catching as his fingers brushed against her cheek, lingering just long enough to make her pulse race. The space between them seemed to vanish, and suddenly, all she could think about was the way his lips would feel against hers.

Neither of them spoke. The tension that had been simmering all evening finally boiled over. Harry’s hand cupped her cheek, and in that quiet moment under the dim streetlights, he leaned in.

The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, like they were both testing the waters. But as soon as their lips touched, a wave of emotion flooded over her, and she couldn’t help but respond. Her hand found its way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened, slow and lingering. It wasn’t rushed or hurried—just soft, warm, and full of everything Y/N had been dreaming about for longer than she cared to admit. 

When they finally pulled apart, Harry rested his forehead against hers, both of them catching their breath, their lips still tingling from the kiss. His hand lingered on her cheek, as though neither of them was ready to let the moment slip away just yet.

Y/N opened her mouth to say something, maybe to break the silence or make a joke about how long they’d waited for this. But before she could speak, a loud thud startled her. She turned her head, eyes widening as the lights in her house flickered on. And there they were—her brothers, pressed against the living room window, grinning like fools and making exaggerated kissy faces at them.

“Oh my God,” Y/N groaned, mortified. Her face flushed a deep shade of red as she fumbled with her seatbelt. "This is so embarrassing."

She pushed the door open and scrambled out of her seat, grabbing her purse in a flurry of panic. “I am so sorry, Harry. I-I have to go,” she stammered, her words tumbling out in a rush as she awkwardly tried to regain her composure. “Thank you for dinner, a-and the kiss! Oh, and the job too!”

In her haste, her heel caught on a paving stone, and she stumbled slightly, her purse nearly slipping from her hand as she made her way toward the front door.

Harry watched her, his mouth half open, caught between amusement and disbelief. She was flustered, rambling, and absolutely adorable. He couldn't stop the soft chuckle that escaped him as he leaned back in his seat, shaking his head.

"Bambi!" he called out the car window, grinning. “I'll take that as a yes on the job?”

Y/N turned back briefly, her face flushed but her smile shy and genuine. “Yes! Definitely yes!” she called over her shoulder, before hurrying inside, her brothers still laughing from the window.

As she disappeared through the door, Harry chuckled to himself, the warmth from their kiss still lingering. He turned the ignition on, shaking his head in disbelief at how the night had unfolded. It was far from the graceful goodbye he had imagined, but somehow, it felt perfect. He couldn’t stop smiling as he pulled away from the curb. 

Yeah, he thought to himself, that definitely meant she was taking the job.

[nicksolemnlyswears]

JUST TEASIN’

summary: you call joel an old man…amongst other names

pairing: joel miller x reader

word count: 4.4k [i need to learn how to keep things concise]

warnings: 18+, cursing, spanking, p in v, fingering, oral (male receiving), age gap? totally legal though, joel's in his early 40s and reader is in her early 30s, joel is an ass guy which is strange cause i always make my men boob guys, idk i guess this is pretty tame

a/n: as a joke i tend to call pedro and joel peepaw cause he’s older and a total dilf but i love these men so fucking much. i'll be the first to get on my knees

thought i’d make a sweet oneshot about how they’d react to you calling them old. it’s a mix of fluff and smut. a little something for everyone!

also don’t judge me, this is my first time writing for joel 🥺

there’s a little nudge to another favorite fictional men of mine

i want to thank @yxtkiwiyxt for providing me with all the pedro pascal pictures and gifs and movie trailers and for ranting with me all day every day about how amazing this human is… if anyone is to blame about this oneshot it’s her ❤���

It’s one of those lazy Sunday mornings where everyone sleeps in, leaving the Miller household at complete ease. There are no responsibilities to tend to and nowhere to go.

You’re the only one awake, singing quietly under your breath and flipping pancakes until they’re nice and golden. Joel will come seeking you out soon, missing the warmth of your body and Sarah will follow when Joel cracks her door open to let the sweet smell of batter waft into her room.

No matter how hard you try you’re always the first one up. Sometimes you stay in bed with your husband, tracing figures on his bare skin until he pulls you into him and kisses your head good morning, raspy voice begging you for five more minutes.

But most of the time you decide on getting up and having an early start to your day, which includes making breakfast and sorting through your work emails.

The puppy Sarah adopted a couple weeks ago, sits on your feet, licking your legs as if begging for the fluffy sweetness of the pancakes. He had a taste of it when batter dripped on the floor, he licked it up before you had the chance of cleaning it.

Lost in your little world, singing to the tune of Lana del Rey you fail to notice your husband coming down the stairs. Joel leans against the kitchen island admiring you in your distracted state. The loose brown curls in a disarray at the top of his head.

His eyes scan you from head to toe, noting your messy hair pulled up to a half ponytail half bun thing he can’t begin to explain. Down they go to the cropped tshirt with his company’s logo on the back. The frayed edges are the byproduct of your use of kitchen scissors to crop it yourself.

Joel bites his lip as he ogles at your ass and thick thighs framed by the tiniest cotton shorts he’s ever seen. They fail to cover the bottom of your butt cheeks, exposing a sliver of the indigo panties and the crease where thighs meet butt.

Unable to stay away, Joel wraps his warm arms around your waist as he presses a kiss to your temple. He squeezes you to him, bodies pressed flushed to reveal the stiffness in his pajama pants.

The puppy wags his tail in the presence of his favorite human, standing on two legs to call his attention. The man didn’t want him in the first place but was out voted by the females in the household.

“Morning,” Joel murmurs, placing kisses all over your cheeks and down your neck until he finally presses a warm kiss on your shoulder where he rests his chin to look over at the stovetop.

“Morning old man,” you say with a giggle as his scruffy beard tickles your skin. Your lips press against his in a quick kiss, muffling his sigh of disappointment.

“Don’t start, sweetheart,” he warns. His lips brushing against your ear. Joel’s hands find themselves under your tshirt, his thumbs ghosting over your underboob. At the same time the fingertips of his other hand teasingly dip on the waistband of your shorts.

“Or what?” You say with a bite to your lip, flipping over the last batch of pancakes. Couple more seconds and they would’ve burned—that’s how much he distracts you.

“It’s too early for this!” Sarah’s high pitched voice yells. “Not in the kitchen and not in front of the baby, please!”

The puppy scrambles over to Sarah, jumping into her arms. He recognizes she’s the one who will cave and give him scraps of food.

Joel, startled, takes his hands off of you, facing Sarah with an apologetic smile, not that she sees it as she covers her eyes with a hand. “Are you decent? Can I look now? I’m really hungry if you don’t mind.”

You laugh loudly, shaking your head at Sarah’s dramatics. She takes after Joel and is well on her way to beat him at his own game.

“We’re not doin’ anythin’,” Joel mumbles, sitting on one of the kitchen island stools and petting the pups fluffy head, and the ear that flipped over cutely.

“Not yet,” you whisper to him as you place his stack of pancakes in front of him.

“I heard that!” Sarah yells, covering her ears this time. Joel laughs, nudging her shoulder and telling her to pass the syrup.

You lean across from them, grabbing a sliced strawberry to plop into your mouth. Sarah takes over the conversation as you and Joel share a glance. This is far from over.

Later on the day you head outside with a tray of lemonade and pie in your hands. You’ve gotta take care of your dear husband before the Texas heat gets the best of him.

You nudge Joel’s leg with your foot. He’s under the beat up truck, fixing some odd part. He has the means to replace the old thing but he likes to remind you that ‘Betsy,’ as he’s named his truck, is a part of the family and will never be replaced.

“Thanks, darlin,‘“ he drawls, wiping his dirty hands on a random rag he found on the bed of the truck.

Joel takes a second too long to get up from the floor. You see the hesitance in his eyes as he tries to think the best way to stand without hurting or pulling a muscle.

This is your chance. “Need help there, grandpa?” You pipe up, resting the tray on the portable table scattered with tools.

Joel openly glares at you while you smile broadly at him. It’s not often you make fun of his age, or rather, the age gap between the two of you. It’s only when you’re feeling a particular sort of way.

The age gap between the two of you isn’t the craziest but it’s large enough for people to notice. Joel is easily through the first half of his fourth decade, while you are barely entering your third.

“Watch your mouth,” Joel warns you, standing up quickly despite the cracking of his knees and the ache on his lower back.

Your eyes spark when he grabs the glass of cool lemonade and begins chugging it. The drops of sweat sliding down his neck and into the damp collar of his shirt stealing your attention and any innocent thought you’ve might’ve had about him. They weren’t many to begin with.

You clench your thighs together as you imagine licking that same trail, tasting his salty skin. Say what you want but you love a man that works with his hands and gets all dirty and grimy.

Joel catches onto the glazed look covering your eyes and grasps your chin between his thumb and pointer finger. His body gravitating towards yours as if nature demanded it.

You’re overly conscious of the motor oil covering his hands if not you would’ve sucked his thumb into your mouth, reminding him just exactly you can do with your tongue.

“What’s in that pretty lil head of yours, darlin’?”

Him. It’s all about him. He’s always interrupting whatever sane thought you have. Scenarios of you being bent over the hood of the truck as he sinks his aching length from behind. You riding him in the front seat as you’ve done on more than one occasion, fogging up the windows. The time he was knuckles deep inside of you, teasing fingers drenched during his lunch break.

“How good gray looks on you,” you reply, diverting the conversation somewhere else entirely. A delicate fingers wraps around the charming curl that constantly falls over his forehead, twirling it around.

Joel doesn’t take kindly to your comment, rolling his eyes and clicking his jaw as he lets go of you to return to the truck. Your hand which had been playing with his curl drops to your side as you cock your hip to assess him.

He’s much too aware of the age gap, it makes him insecure. Like you’ll one day realize you’re with an old man and leave him for someone younger.

Except in your eyes he’s the most perfect man alive. The grey streaks of hair that mix with the typical brown of his curls give him an air of authority, making him look dashing in all ways. A silver fox. Strong muscles from working manual labor most of his life are now covered with a healthy layer of fat but remain strong nonetheless. Warm brown eyes that sweep you off your feet every morning as soon as they open.

That man is aging like fine wine and he doesn’t begin to realize it. You feel extremely lucky to be the only one to enjoy it…squeaky joints and all.

Joel is experienced and mature and loyal. He simply wants to have a nice life with his family. A family you’re now a part of. It’s all a woman could ask for.

“You know I love you,” you tell him, wrapping your arms around him as he leans over the hood.

“Love to torture me,” he scoffs, taking hold of one of your hands affectionately. He can never stay mad at you.

“I don’t know what you mean? I brought you lemonade and even that apple pie you love so much,” you feign innocence, pressing a kiss to the middle of his back.

Facing you with a sigh, he lets his heavy hands fall on your hips, “What’re you playing at?”

“Me? Nothing,” you say with a wicked smile, “I’m gonna go with Sarah to the mall to get her homecoming dress. Will you be alright here with Ghost?”

He’s quickly distracted by the words Sarah and Homecoming. His babygirl is growing too fast, starting High School and going on dances with boys. She hasn’t told him yet if she’s been invited by someone and he hopes it stays that way.

There’s no way he’s letting her go with a date and you can’t convince him other wise. If she wants a date she can take the puppy she adopted, Ghost. Joel is determined to teach the ball of fur how to defend his daughter.

“Here,” he says, pulling out his wallet to hand you his credit card.

“No, it’s my treat!” You say, pushing his hand away.

“Take it,” Joel insists, trying to slip it into the tight pair of jeans you’re wearing. Fuck. How didn’t he notice until now.

It should be illegal to wear jeans that make you look THAT good. The blue material hugs your thighs tightly and lifts your perky ass to heaven—not that you other wise need it.

He doesn’t hold back and slides his palms on your back pockets, giving you a firm squeeze. You stumble, falling onto him with a weak protest.

“‘M so fucking lucky you’re my woman,” he groans, taking another feel. Temporarily forgetting the conversation at hand, yet another comment directed at his age snaps Joel back to reality.

“Honey, I know I married an older man but it wasn’t for your money,” you tease again, patting his cheek and removing his hands from your pockets—credit card and all.

A sharp slap to your ass, startles you, eliciting a cheeky giggle. All this teasing and you’re leaving him home alone with the mutt.

You don’t apologize, you’ll never apologize for teasing him. Unless it’s in the right circumstances…in his bed.

Towards the end of the night you finish pushing him to the edge of no return. Remember, opportunities are always around when you’re determined.

“Dad, can you sign this for school?” Sarah comes into the living room where you and Joel are watching a movie. Ghost’s head is plopped on his lap, where Joel had been ‘forced’ to pet him.

“What’s this for?” Joel tries to read the paper but has to keep it at arms reach to be able to read it. Failing, he searches for his glasses until Sarah points at his head where they’ve been resting for half the night, nestled between his curls.

You stifle a laugh as you think of what to say. “Sorry Sarah, good old peepaw needs his glasses to read.”

It’s clear you’re pushing it far as Joel freezes only to glare at you. If looks could kill you’d be six feet underground. Sarah laughs until her belly hurts, repeating the word peepaw between breaths.

“You two are bullies,” Joel shakes his head in disbelief, signing the permit and handing it to Sarah who is wiping her tears away.

“I’m heading to bed, goodnight old man,” Sarah tells a pouting Joel, kissing his cheek and running up the stairs. “Come on, Ghost. Bedtime!”

“Peepaw? Really?” Joel raises his eyebrows at you when both Sarah and Ghost are gone.

You shrug feigning innocence, hiding your smile with the edge of the blanket. ”Yeah, peepaw. It’s cute.”

“It ain’t cute,” Joel kisses his teeth before turning off the TV and standing from the couch, leaving you behind.

“Where are you going?” You call after him.

“To bed,” he dryly responds, shutting off the lights and climbing the stairs. He only leaves the lamp by the couch on. How considerate of him.

“What? Joel it’s barely 10!” Hiding your satisfaction is difficult. Joel’s ticked off, a day of calling him old will do that. It’s exactly what you hoped for.

“Guess that’s what old men do, darlin,’” Joel says sarcastically half way up the stairs.

With a hand over your mouth, you follow him, “Honey, come on. Don’t be angry, it’s harmless teasing. Are you really heading to bed?”

Joel turns at the top of the stairs, glaring down at you, “You really think I’m an old man?”

“Technically speaking you are an older man,” you quip, scrunching your nose cutely.

“You know that’s not what I mean.” Joel crosses his arms, reprimanding you for your cheekiness.

“I dunno why you get like this, you should know I love my older men,” you say sultrily, although it falls on deaf ears as Joel retreats to the bedroom.

When you step into the bedroom you’re instantly pressed against the door, slamming it shut. Joel’s sneaky hands lock it. “You’re playing a dangerous game, darlin.’ Don’t make me bend you over my knee and give you a spanking.”

The thought alone makes you shudder in delight. Wetness instantly seeping into your underwear. You’ve finally succeeded. You have him right where you want him.

With your hands braced on his chest you deliver the final blow. “You sure your knees can take it?”

Disbelief flashes in Joel’s eyes, “That’s it!”

Grabbing your arms Joel leads you to the bed where he sits on the edge. He roughly pull down on your jeans, panties and all, leaving them pooled on your knees, limiting your mobility.

With another tug he lays you face down on his lap, holding your wrists behind you in a tight grip. Joel shakes his head at your upturned ass that’s waiting a little too eagerly for his touch.

Delight bubbles out of you and Joel is determined to take you down a notch or two. Let’s see how you handle this after fucking with him all damn day.

The first swat comes without warning, eliciting a gasp from you. It’s sharp and borderline painful. A red handprint magically appearing on your left butt cheek.

Joel massages and paws at the skin, getting ready to deliver another one. “Cat got your tongue?” He questions at your sudden silence.

You try to look over your shoulder and say, “Is that all you got?”

A sarcastic chuckle leaves Joel’s mouth. Then, three fast slaps are delivered, successfully earning him a whine from your pretty lips. He rubs on the sweltering flesh, easing some of the sting.

Finding their way to your thighs his fingers dig between them to cup your pussy. It’s no surprise that it’s warm, messy and slick. Clear strands extending from it to the inside of your thighs and covering his digits.

You’re a fucking vixen who loves to torture him for your own fucking pleasure and he’s the damn fool who falls for it each and every time.

“Touch me,” you huff, wiggling on his lap to grind on his hand, hoping to gain more contact with his coated digits.

“Touch you? Oh, darlin’ you’re not getting off the hook so easily,” Joel mentions darkly, retrieving his hand and landing yet another smack to your ass, making it ripple from the impact.

“Ow!” You flinch yet remain in the same position, expecting more. You fucking love when Joel gets rough with you. It’s a shame you have to gauge it out of him like this.

“Wasn’t this what you wanted? Hm?” Joel’s asks and when he doesn’t get a response his hand flies down once more. “What was it you called me?”

There’s a beat of silence before his hand strikes, this time aiming towards the middle. “Gra-grandpa,” you stutter at the small burst of pleasure.

“Mhm, what else darlin’?” He prompts again. His middle finger tracing the slit of your pussy, feeling you grow impossibly wetter. His pretty little wife is always so reactive to his touch.

“Old man.”

The stinging in your skin grows warmer, no doubt turning a considerable shade of cherry red. Yet the ache in your cunt obscures it all. The scraps of attention only makes your arousal worse.

“I think there was one more,” Joel hums, urging you on. His slick finger teasing your weeping entrance.

“P-peepaw,” you gasp when Joel pushes it in until his knuckle meets your delicate skin.

“That’s right, peepaw,” Joel repeats absentmindedly, pushing his middle finger in and out. Listening intently to the squishing sound your pussy makes.

He’ll have you calling him something else by the end of the night.

Tight walls grip his finger like a vice, refusing to let go. Soft puffs of air tumble out of your mouth and he knows your eyes are closed as you concentrate on the minimal pleasure he’s providing you with. It’ll never be enough to make you cum but it’ll keep you bothered.

“Get up,” Joel orders with a softer smack to your bottom, wiping his slick covered finger on your skin. He helps you up from the restrained position he kept you in and makes work of taking off your clothes.

Joel pulls and tugs on your shirt roughly, throwing it mindlessly across the room. He palms your tits briefly, pinching one of your nipples to make you whine his name. With cracking knees he kneels on the floor to help you out your jeans and underwear, kneading your thighs with his big strong hands.

He catches a glance of your reddening skin and feels a prickle of pride at the mark he left. Most of it will fade by morning but you’ll feel it nonetheless.

Sitting back on the edge of the bed he wordlessly motions you to get on your knees. A wicked smile spreads on your cheeks as you do as you’re told, kneeling between his spread legs.

Eager hands grasp his belt, undoing the worn leather to get to the button of his jeans. He provides no help, leaning back on his hands and simply watching you with hooded and expecting eyes.

You pull down on his jeans and underwear, revealing the happy trail that comes down his navel to the patch of brown at his pelvis.

His hard cock springs free once you’ve worked his pants down enough. A throaty groan coming from above you at the release of tension.

“Mmm,” you hum, grasping his length in your fist. His eyes meet yours when you look up to press a kiss to the tip, your hand pulling the thin skin back to reveal it.

“Stop with the teasin,’” Joel growls audibly, chastising you.

You rolls your eyes obnoxiosuly, “You’re no fun, g-“

A hand flies to your hair, gripping the roots tightly. Your eyes fly open, starting up at Joel. “You sure you want to finish that sentence, babygirl?”

“Maybe not,” you shrug with a pout, your hand mindlessly pumping his length.

“That’s what I thought.” Joel keeps his grip on your hair, pulling it back to see every detail of you taking his cock into your pretty mouth.

Your tongue goes flat against the underside of his shaft, tracing the vein that runs along his length and letting saliva drip all down and into your fisted hand. Joel watches intently as your lips wrap around the angry red tip of his cock.

You start off slow taking more of his length with each bob of your head. Your eyes never leaves his face, observing every small reaction he makes. The sharp intake of breath when your tongue grazes his tip, the furrowing of his eyebrows, the bobbing of his adam’s apple as he fails to keep his moans in.

The sudden jerk of Joel’s hips causes your eyes to water and screw shut. The initial intrusion of his cockhead unexpected yet welcome. Joel throws his head back, “That’s a fucking good girl.”

Those magic words make everything worth it as you messily continue to suck and lick every inch of his cock. Neither the tears in the corner of your eyes nor the saliva dripping down his length stop you from tasting him.

You swear you’re dripping on the floor as your pussy flutters at his pleased words. You could touch yourself but all your energy and attention goes to pleasing the man above you.

The pain of kneeling hard wood floor for an extended period of time doesn’t bother you and the ache on your jaw is barely noticeable because all your concentration is on Joel and making him feel good.

Joel continues to set the pace, his grip tight on your scalp. “Fuck, just like that,” he moans when you tease the crown of his cock expertly.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Joel’s voice lilts in a reprimanding voice.

A string of saliva connects you to the tip of him as your hand continuing to work on the rest of his length.

Joel takes note of your red rimmed eyes and flushed nose as well as in your swollen lips and moussed hair. The picture of you completely filthy and sexy.

Joel cups the back of your neck, bringing you up to his height. He brings you into a sloppy kiss consisting of teeth and tongue and saliva. Joel loves that can taste himself in your mouth. A job well done.

You straddle his lap so his cock grazes your dripping pussy, tugging needily at his tshirt. “Take it off,” you beg. Your lips separate for a brief second as the shirt comes off before they smash back together.

He complies but quickly reminds himself that this all started because you were calling him old. He can’t be quick to reward you.

You foolishly believe that’s it and you get to have him. Eagerly you try to sink into his cock but he holds you still, not letting you take him to the hilt.

“Who’s the tease now?” You pant against his lips, stealing another long kiss before whispering in his ear begging him to take you, to use you.

“I like to see you begging for it.” That’s Joel’s response as he pushes you off of him.

You protest but fall silent when he removes his remaining clothes. God you’re like a teenager desperate to fuck with clothes and all.

It drives Joel nuts the way you look at him with lust filled eyes. You bite your lip as you take him in all his glory, hands reaching to touch his chest.

He pulls you back to him, his cock wedged between the two of you. The saliva covering it, sticking to your skin. He cups your face, “You have something to say?”

“Nope.”

Joel to cos his head in disappointment, pushing you into bed and maneuvering you till your head is buried in the pillows and your ass is high in the air. It’s tinged a dozen shades of pink and red from his hands.

You wiggle your hips offering yourself to him. Air hits your pussy, giving you an idea of how aroused you are. That’s what happens whenever you have the pleasure of going down in Joel.

Joel grips himself, spreading his pre before pumping his hand. Smack. His hand flies down to strike your ass once more. Your back arches when Joel teases your entrance with the tip. He runs it up and down your slit, wetting it with your slick. He lightly pushes into you so only the tip is inside before he pulls out again.

“Please fuck me,” you plead breathlessly, attempting to rock back to get more of him inside you.

Joel laughs. “Now you’re nice and polite. Is there something else you want to tell me?” He asks expecting an apology.

“No,” you repeat stubbornly.

He’ll get you soon enough. There’s no way you’ll resist.

Joel’s cock brushes against your clit, making you jump and moan. He does it again and again. Your pussy clenches desperately wanting him inside of you.

“You sure? You don’t want to apologize?” He gives you another chance. Sinking his cock deeper into you to give you a taste before he pulls out.

You huff and pout but you can’t take it anymore. You need him. “I’m sorry!”

“Now, was that so hard,” Joel grunts, pushing his length all the way in, rewarding you.

You bury your head into the pillow, stifling the guttural moan that rips from your throat. You could die like this suffocated and blissfully impaled on Joel’s cock and be happy.

With a tight grip on your waist Joel fucks into you at his own pace, watching how easily you accept him, covering him with your essence. It feels fucking fantastic.

His skin slaps against yours rhythmically. You swear you can cum at that moment but Joel knows all your tells and he slows his pace, pushing into you only when the tip remains. Long, slow strokes keeping you from cumming.

“I wanna cum,” you cry out frustrated but he ignores you, edging you.

“If you want to cum tonight you have to stop calling me old,” Joel grits. This is torture for him as much as it is for you.

“I said I’m sorry,” you sob into the pillow, your back arching as you try and take matters into your own hands. Smack, another spank, warning you to stop.

“Will you stop calling me grandpa?”

You have the audacity to fucking hesitate. He’s serious about not letting you cum but he’s confident he’ll get you to cave in.

Joel pulls out his cock when you refuse to answer. He instantly misses the warmth and tightness of your walls. His cock is soaked with your slick, a creamy white substance covering him from root to tip.

Licking his middle and ring fingers he replaces his cock, feeling your walls clench around them. He pumps them angling them downward to reach that spot inside of you, his other hand pressing on your lower back so you arch more.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp when this thumb presses on your bud. An orgasm quickly building. “Please Joel.” You wanted to cum around his cock not his fingers but at this point you’ll take anything you can get. Your mind is completely clouded and years for release.

“Did you reconsider what you wanted to call me?” Joel curves his fingers, quickening the pace.

“Yes,” you whine as your hips grind against his hand.

“And what’s that?” His fingers are sticky, your essence dripping down his hand.

“Please, daddy,” you cry abashedly, hiding your reddening face in the pillows.

“I didn’t hear ya’ darlin’. How about you look at me when you speak?” Joel dares to say while his fingers continue to drive into you.

Fuck, your legs are shaking and the knot continues to tighten in your belly. You have to say it or Joel will stop. You turn your head to meet his eyes, “Please, daddy.”

“That’s more like it,” Joel’s raspy voice says, removing his fingers when you’re at the cusp once more.

You audibly groan in frustration but it’s interrupted when Joel eases his cock back into you Fucking you just as you want it, hard and fast.

The bed sheets are fisted in your hands as you hold on. Your nipples brushing against the bed with each thrust. It doesn’t take long at all for you both to titer over the edge. Your pussy squeezing tightly around him, milking him for all he’s worth.

When Joel pulls out you fall to lie on your stomach, catching your breath. He lies beside you doing the same. Sharing a glance you both start laughing.

“Next time you want it rough just tell me,” Joel shakes his head at you. He knew all along and yet it still pissed him off.

“It’s not the same, honey,” you sigh, kissing his shoulder. The nearest part of him you can reach without moving too much.

The following morning you wake up with a kink in your back and Joel being the ever loving husband brings you painkillers to bed where you’re lying still, “Take these grandma. They’ll make you feel better.”

He won’t ever call you ‘grandma’ again. The daggers you sent him were fucking terrifying.

listen...typically i'm not the biggest fan of the daddy kink...but when it works, it works

[koiir]

꒰͡ ⠀ ׂ YOU CLING TO YOUR PAPERS AND PENS, WAIT UNTIL YOU LIKE ME AGAIN ׂ ⠀ ͡꒱

Synopsis; After the end of another winning game, sae itoshi takes notice of who is interviewing his opposing team. The person who he broke the heart of when in Spain, so why is he growing jealous when he sees you with another man in spite of his rejection?

sae itoshi x fem!reader

Notes. Reader is a sports journalist . angst to fluff/comfort . Asshole Sae? . Reader wears a dress . Aged up characters . Jealous sae . Classic bad itoshi communication . 3.6wc

Itoshi sae doesn’t halt when it comes to his career, unlike many he isn’t easily tempted nor willing to take time for himself. Football being the core of his life, so when he’s in Spain with a three month break, his mind is lost.

“Seriously, stop working sae. You’re good enough as is.”

Lukewarm, his mind repeats. His determination grows more as he sees another football league near, his mind curious as he jogs over to the area keeping a mindful distance.

Some continue playing, some rest, and some…are being interviewed?

His eyes run through the person who writes down in a notepad, eyes focused as you gaze into the player as he speaks. Sae takes in your appearance, it’s casual for the most part. Though still professional enough to make you seem accountable.

It’s over before he knows it, and he feels like a stalker since you’re now walking back to your car before you spot him. Your eyes meet his, and you immediately know who he is.

“Sae itoshi?”

The tone of your tongue has him in a chokehold, it’s idiotic. He clicks his tongue, not saying anything before nodding.

“…I’m assuming you must be on a break after that successful season right?”

“Yeah, though I’m still continuing my training.”

You nod, you didn’t expect anything less from the workaholic the itoshi has been known for. The atmosphere in warms due to the geography, though there lingers another feel that you can’t exactly capture. He feels it too.

“Well, work hard and don’t over do it! I just might interview you one day!”

Sae nods, he takes into notice the bag of yours that sags down. Most likely to all of the work material held in it. He sees you shuffle, starting to turn around before he calls out to you.

“What’s your name?”

Your head looks back, chirping out an answer.

“Y/N L/N.”

He’s heard your name before, from others in the industry. As you wave goodbye, sae ends his workout for the day and heads back to his apartment.

He ends up reading through most of your works to fill in his gap of time.

The last thing Sae expects is seeing you again, will all of his teammates present this time.

When he was told of the email sent by his manager, Sae for the most part did not care. Not until the mention of a journalist was brought up.

He tells himself he is not getting nervous, it’s just the adrenaline in him for seeing his teammates again. Thus, he is not nervous.

When greetings are done and explanations are given, Sae feels a shift in his mind. But he doesn’t know what to think of it. He can’t be nervous, can he?

When his turn is up, his fist bawl together as you approach him.

“Seems like it’s fate.”

“Fate?”

“Yeah! Remember? When I said I would interview you some day.”

He very much remembers, Sae doesn’t know why he keeps thinking about the interaction you two had. It was three weeks ago, almost four now. Silently, and still not knowing it, but the itoshi is glad you could interview him.

To your surprise, you pull out a generous amount of information from Sae. The player usually is known for his little if at all, acknowledgment to journalists. But seems you hit the jackpot with this one.

His teammates and even assistant are astounded by his willingness to talk and answer your questions with full truth. They tease the man for his change of heart.

It’s short spent time, the interview being wrapped up and his teammates are all huddled together. But sae keeps his distance, his figure itching to move. To you. You’re about to leave with your manager before once again, you’re halted by Sae Itoshi.

“Can you give me your number?”

The blunt truth is given, and your face reveals your shock by the said action. Saw blinks, but this overwhelming feeling overcomes him again as he stares at you.

When he reaches his apartment, he now has a new number in his contacts.

The weather in Spain is unbearable, that’s what Sae hears your mouth ramble about almost nonstop when he’s with you.

How many months has it been? It feels short, though 6 months have passed since the friendship between you and the player arose. It was slow for the itoshi to warm up to you, but no matter what he kept close.

The highlights for him that have changed him are many, in your friendship he means. He’s not one to keep close ties with many, solace one he wishes to keep.

Three months into this newfound bond, Sae thinks as though his mind has been altered when he saw you tending to a stray. The cat hungry and meowing nonstop, until it was graced by the food you had.

Usually he himself wouldn’t pay mind to a stray, most likely not even noticing, but he doesn’t tell you how that small action has changed him. Now when he sees a stray, he lets a scrap of food fall towards the animal.

It’s as if he subconsciously chooses to, having a slice of hope that it might pull your closer to him.

When a week of straight work was jammed into your schedule, you couldn’t talk much with the itoshi. His eyes darting to his home screen seeing no reply from you, an irk appears on his forehead.

You invite him to a cafe. Telling him that he doesn’t have to come, since you most likely won’t chat with him as you work away.

“Then why bother asking?”

“I don’t know, I just feel bad that you’re waiting for me to reply or be done.”

For once, Sae hears from another about how impatient he is, but you don’t say those exact words. Just sparking at the implication.

Contrast to his words, the day of he walks into the cafe eyeing the table you sit at. You’re working as diligently as ever, it’s almost a direct copy of himself when he’s immersed in a match or practice.

His cup is being destroyed, his hands gripping the poor cup as his foot taps the ground. He really is inpatient. He’s never noticed up until now, or has but just doesn’t dare to admit it. Especially since you’re the one getting the rise out of him.

You haven’t said much, as he expected. But he wishes to hear your voice maybe, but that wish will only lead him to disappointment. He’s at least somewhat satisfied, your presence being a bonus he thinks.

Sae grows curious, more so about and how his mind works whenever he’s basked in your presence. It’s unsettling, new for him.

So his mind wonders the possibility of his whirlwind of emotions, he thinks. Very deeply. But nothing pops up.

Maybe soon he’ll understand.

“So, what’s up with you?”

The irritation in Sae only grows more as he hears the voice of shidou, his palms clenching around his products that are daring to spill out if he continues.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He’s been off, more so than usual. Just two weeks ago it’s been no contact, and he hasn’t been the best since. His plays are still good, that much hasn’t been affected. Though everything else screams different about Sae.

Those three words tick in his brain.

“I like you.”

He made you repeat them, the logic in his mind being gone in a flash as he deals with a situation that he can’t control.

He’s too quick witted for his own good, he did the worst thing he possibly could.

“Why would I feel the same?”

“You’re only going to get in my way.”

“Why would I waste my time on you?”

Yeah, Sae itoshi is only a mouthful of daunting words. But he’s not all that bad, he knows the worth in his words. And he they have broken your heart. He knows that this is on him, because why say such words if his heart opposes?

It’s a sea of void and uncertainty, waves crash and a storm can be made by a simple act. Somehow Sae feels as though he was the storm that caused the crash. It collapsed so fast and quick, can he even repair such a thing?

An emotion of love is wicked, it’s a whirlwind that surges through the person and Sae doesn’t like it. He doesn’t accept it. Involving yourself into a relationship only weakens the rest of you, so why risk it when he’s gotten to the golden age of his career?

He can be selfish, but this need is different. As if he desires it more than he thinks.

“God dammit.”

“Woahhhh someone’s mad.”

“I fucked up.”

The night of, Sae lets the newfound realization pull him deep. Though he can’t find it in himself to act on it, Sae itoshi can’t pursue this.

It takes months until he actually grows the courage to admit himself to the truth and be honest.

“You’re too sweet you know?”

“Oh, stop it.”

The uproar of the crowd is still raging strong, his thoughts and heart race only intensify as he glares at the opponent he faced.

It’s not like he lost against the other male, by game terms no. He was victorious this match, but that mindset shattered the minute he saw him getting interviewed by you.

He noticed you at the beginning of the match, and the deep voice in him told him to not look at you, to keep his eyes off of you and focus.

The adrenaline and rush in him must be due to the game, the thought of crushing the opposing team. Although his heart tells him otherwise. The thought of you watching him overwhelms him in a way that makes him score three goals.

Why must you impose such a huge impact on him?

It’s sickening, it’s pure torture to not walk up to you as if everything is normal. Or how the past once was.

You must be avoiding him, because multiple others are dying to report him but his answers are little to none. They aren’t the ones who can spew answers out of him, you are.

“Why’d you tell me such so much when you usually make comments so vague?”

“Because you’re not like the rest.”

“Huh?”

“Whatever.”

He watches your every move, and sae knows the player is getting every chance to butter you up. A flirt alright, and you play back with charm. It’s natural for at most, in order to show a genuine connection. Though to Sae, it has his mind in a fury as he’s a bystander watching the interaction.

“Stop glaring at your ex like that.”

He’s slapped on the shoulder by Aiku, the irk on his forehead grows as he mumbles out an insult to the male and shifts away from him.

It’s almost a relief, the mention of you being his “ex.” Because no, you aren’t. All that it was is you liked you, and he rejected that.

Now he knows how much of a fool he was, he rejected the idea. Not you. To many, that ideal is a stupid one. But in the moment, it was a valid point that made his decision come about.

He’s really an idiot, because he should have at least asked to stay in contact. But maybe his ego got to him, making him believe he was in the right. All those months without you just proved him wrong.

He watches you, and sees a man come closer to you. His attire is casual but formal, similar to yours in all black as he calls out to you. You beam a smile at him and sae feels his nerve break.

It’s in the way he laughs with you that makes Sae’s body turn cold.

He can tell the two of you are close, body language clearly showing a sense of ease and clarity for trust in the other. He feels the need to pull you away, Sae feels the grow of something in his throat, a grimace overtakes him.

The fixation on you keeps him unclear from the way you notice his stare, your eyes meet his and the gleam in them disappear in an instant.

He looks away, keeping his distance from anything and everything as a way to collect himself, he still has to deal with the after party for the game.

He wonders if you will be there.

It’s a ruckus, something Sae doesn’t wish to deal with today. The day has seemed long enough as is, though a ting of curiosity was infiltrated in his brain. It eats him alive, it’s only a couple hours of his night gone to drinks and a nuisance of people.

Besides, shidou does a perfectly well job enough keeping him entertained.

“Ooo, you might wanna see who came.”

Sae takes in the way shidou’s tone is one of tease and playfulness, it gets under his skin but he has an idea of what he could mean. Or who he meant.

The lighting doesn’t seem to work on you, cause Sae can still see the glow you carry as you enter in. He’s in a trance, because for the first time he’s seeing you all done up rather than in casual attire which still looked good on you. Clothes only being an accessory that showcased your true beauty.

He sees you wore a black velvet strapless gown that held a slit, it’s clear that it will draw some eyes. And his are one of them.

His desire for you grows strong, and now he allows himself to comprehend that need. No longer trying to sugarcoat the problem that has set him in a trance.

It shatters though when he sees who walks in with you, the same guy from the game who whisked you away. Most likely a coworker, but why does he stare at you with so much adoration?

“Woah chill, you look like you’re about to explode.”

The remark has him lift his fist, showing shidou the growing angry in him if he doesn’t keep quiet. Sae knows that now, he’s doomed for an unrelenting amount of jealousy.

It’s tempting, to say something unforgettable to the male at your side. Though he doesn’t wish to sour his reputation even more with you, he already broke your heart.

What place does he have to interfere?

It’s not as though you’re paying him any mind.

Despite the thought, it doesn’t last long the minute he sees the contact of his hand on your back. Keeping you at bay from all the commotion inside. The filter on his will breaks, his body uncontrollably stands to his feet as he turns a heel.

But a force of fault keeps him still, it’s as though his heart is keeping him from moving. From you. It’s seconds of contemplating as he watches, the itch in his body beings to grow as he sees you leave.

His fear of this potentially being the last time he sees you sets in. Who knows when you two will even be in the same proximity again.

“What are you doing sae!!! Go get her!!”

“Keep your mouth shut.”

Still, by contrast Sae has his figure swing by others in order to meet yours, it’s a distance worth the call outs that he ignores. Their voices cancel out to the point he has to reach.

His presence hits hard, the male at your side turning his attention to sae that waste no time in grabbing your hand. Your yelp one of surprise before your mouth trembles.

“Sae?”

☆⌒.*･

The task to drag you outside was one he expected with bickering, though you kept quiet as his hand was holding yours. The contact enough to make his ears red.

“Are you going to explain this?”

He hears your voice come out In a tone that reminds him too much of himself. And he immediately thinks there’s a big chance you’ll leave without him saying anything.

He’s quick to open open his mouth, preparing to speak, until he notices how close your face is to his. It’s cliche, the concept of “took my breath away” when referring to someone. Maybe he can understand it now.

Your lips are placed into a thin line, making him wonder if that smile of yours earlier was just in his head. But still, the patter of his heart, the warmth spreading through him, it tells him the truth about your smile.

“Who is he?”

“That’s your first question?”

Yes, because that’s all that has been occupied in Sae’s brain. Consuming his every nerve and eating away at his heart. This is the first thing he has to know.

A line caresses your forehead as your hands ball into a fist. You’re getting worked up. He knows it, because why you must wonder “why is he doing this?”

“He’s a coworker along side me. Joshua.”

“Well he seems like he has an eye for you.”

The words are blunt and enough to set you off, it makes you wonder just why does he wish to know so much? You two aren’t friends.

Does he not recall that day? The day his words were a statement of, “I don’t want you.” The words spilling out until you told him, “I get it.”

Because he truly had no reason to tell you every reason on his list why he would ever think about dating you. A simple rejection would have done the trick, not nights of tears and insecurities growing.

“And why is this your concern? We’re not friends.”

It stings, a sharp ache growing in him makes his eye widen. He doesn’t know why that caught him off guard so much. The cold tone? The words reminding him of his from then? The reality sinking in? It’s a shame on your end, that you haven’t left yet. He doesn’t know why you even stay, but he knows he still has time.

“I’m an idiot yeah?”

The self proclaimed question raises your brow, a smile comes to your face before it falls.

“Yes? Why do you need me to state it for you?”

“Because I’m just now realizing how stupid I was for being in denial.”

His sentence is vague, he doesn’t have it in him to say the rest. You take a moment to think, but the only situation he can be referring to is the rejection of yours. Were the words said in spite of his denial?

“Seems I don’t understand, you tell me since you started this.”

He wants to fight back, but he knows it would only be a matter of time before you can handle his attitude towards this. Admitting his wrongs, being truthful to what he wants.

“I don’t mean the words I said.”

If anything, I wanted you more than anything.

“Then why did you have so much to say? You told me to my face that I would only drag you down.”

He halts, because the words were nasty and harsh. He basically lashed out on you, his rebuttal to this has to prove it. That he reciprocates and is wanting to fix what he has damaged.

“I don’t know how to deal with my feelings, and I’m career driven. The idea of a relationship screams disaster to me and I was just in the mindset of, why change something already good?”

The aspect of your friendship with him was a change, though it doesn’t compare to that of a relationship. The idea of having you hanging, having days or weeks without seeing you, he didn’t see the need to hurt you because he thought that would be the outcome.

He never considered that it could be a beautiful change for the better, even with the challenges facing it. He copes with the fact that you’re going to be disappointed, but he might as well try.

“So you thought that pushing me away was for the best? Not even telling me about your feelings truthfully and just lashing out?”

He nods, his mind blank for a way to justify himself. But he can’t. He starts to feel desperate, and for once his mind is coming to terms with the idea of his loss.

“I’ve never bothered to speak of my feelings, in regards with things such as this. Because I don’t know how to or what I can do.

“Well, if you can’t figure out a way to prove yourself, I’m just going to leave.”

Your words are a challenge, because Sae knows you will make your leave if he doesn’t let his heart speak for itself. The act of words will be repeated, and he’s going to mess up what he truly means if he keeps this up.

His hand moves voluntarily to your wrist, pulling your closer with an arm wrapping around your waist. The hitch in your breath comes out, before your lips are sealed away by his.

It’s soft, the idea that Sae can be soft is one that seems fake. Far from reach, but it’s being presented to you right now as he deepens the kiss with a tinge of fear that you might leave.

You can’t, and you won’t leave. Your heart wins the battle of sorrow as you think that you understand what he means. His act of choice telling you enough, that he wants this.

“Please, l can wait for your love, all I need is a chance.”

His face remains almost stoic, but with how close he is, you see the soften in his eyes as his cheeks tint pink.

“Don’t be an idiot and try. Change.”

He knows what you mean by change, not change himself completely, but change his behavior to this new feeling. He can do that, with time. It’ll be worth it, if he can experience the sensation of this love his heart has.

“Promise.”

A kiss sealed, and the event forgotten. For once he sees the good in coming to this one.

a/n; we can’t be friends, but I’d like to just pre tend, you cling to your paperss and penss wait until you likeee mee again

[artificial-transmutations]

Beating Recession

Recession sucked, that much was clear to Logan even before he checked his email inbox. When he saw a few replies to his job applications from the last days, he sighed. He didn't need to open the mails to know that the news was bad, but he did so anyway.

"We regret to inform you..." - Logan didn't even read on. He had lost his job as an apprentice electrician about half a year ago. The company was going under, and Logan, the youngest and least experienced worker, was the first to go. That's how it was in this business. Since then, he had applied to every single position that came up - but apparently, the current economic situation was so bad that nobody needed another worker.

Logan had hoped that his apprenticeship would get him a job, but the fact that he was only 20 and had not much practical experience hurt him. Slowly, money was becoming a pretty big problem. Whatever savings he had (for some real estate of his own! As if that was going to happen!) had melted away over the last months. His rent was due, and he had no income.

In fact, he was one month late with his rent already, and although his landlord had been cool about it, Logan did not see how he would be able to keep his apartment. He really, really wanted to avoid moving back in with his parents who had their own problems, too.

So, what was he going to do? There wasn't much more to do than keep looking for a job, even though his chances were slim.

He opened LinkedOut and looked for openings, just as he had done multiple times before this week. The sparse list of jobs had not changed, so Logan scrolled on.

He was about to give up again when a listing caught his eye.

"Escape unemployment today! Change™ job agency will find the perfect job, for the perfect you. Apply here!"

He had heard of such agencies before, and the results were not pretty. Usually, they just took the applicants' data and sold it on. They would claim to have found a job for you, but it usually wouldn't work out, and the applicant would have paid money for this useless service. Still, Logan was curious enough to click the link. If they wanted money, he would back out immediately - it was not like he had any to spare.

To Logan's big surprise, when he clicked the link, a new page opened, with a web-based chat interface. Before he could close the tab again, there was already a message in the window. It read:

"Kevin: Hey, and welcome to the Change™ job agency. My name is Kevin. How may I help you today?"

It was a nice surprise that they didn't try to sell him anything or even ask for his data before he had entered the website. Well, no harm done. He might as well give them a try. Hesitating slightly, Logan's fingers hovered over the keyboard before he typed:

"Hi. I'm Logan and I'm looking for a new job."

The answer came quickly, but not so quickly that Logan would suspect the other person to be a chatbot. After some moments, Kevin's reply appeared on the screen:

"Great. What kind of job are you looking for? And what kind of salary are we talking?"

Logan considered the questions. This was probably the point where they would ask him for his data. He silently cursed his excessive caution. Of course, they had to ask these questions. How else should they offer him anything?

"Uhm. My last job was as an apprentice electrician, but at this point I would be pretty happy about just any job. The salary should be high enough to pay my rent."

Logan hesitated before hitting enter. He didn't want to come over as quite so desperate, but the truth was, he was.

"Okay, no problem. Do you have a preferred working sector?"

What a weird question. Why did it matter what industry he preferred?

"Uhm, not really. I guess anything is fine."

"Very well. Before I look up what's there in our database, I would need some basic information about you. Namely gender, age, ethnicity and sexual orientation."

"Wait. What does my sexual orientation have to do with a job? Besides, why do you need to know my ethnicity? Is this even legal?"

Logan had typed furiously and pressed enter before thinking about his reply.

"I understand your confusion. We here at the Change™ job agency strive to find not only a job, but the best job for the best you, so we need to know what we're working with. It wouldn't be very appropriate to apply a person as an actress who is really good at sports, now would it? Of course, you have to understand that your answers are confidential and will not be disclosed to any third parties, especially not your future employer."

That was fishy deluxe. Logan really didn't want to feed some unknown job agency all that highly personal information. On the other hand,... what did he have to lose?

"Well, I guess it can't hurt. Uhm. I'm a male, 20 years old, I would call myself white and I'm heterosexual."

"Wonderful. One last question: Are you comfortable with nudity and public sexual activities?"

"Wait, WHAT? I mean, uhm, sure, I guess? I mean, why should I need that?"

"This question is purely to determine if we should also have a look in the adult entertainment section of our job offerings. Alright Logan, please stand by while I enter your data into our search engine."

Logan leaned back. He felt a bit uneasy about all that. But it was not like his answers could lead them directly to his apartment, so he felt relatively safe.

A minute or so passed, and Logan started to think that he had been tricked after all, but just as he was about to close the tab, a new message appeared.

"Sorry for the delay, I had a few calls. We found two jobs that could be a fit. The first one is an office job in a big insurance company. To be honest, it's not that good of a fit and it doesn't pay very well either."

"That's fine." Logan wrote. He was incredibly on edge now. Could it really be so easy to find a new job? And he even had a choice?

"What's the other one?" he added to his previous message.

"Okay, the other job is a bit more unconventional, but we have the feeling it could be a great match. It's an actor position in the porn industry, at the famous XXX Incorporated."

"Porn? What? Are you serious? I mean, I don't have anything against porn or nudity or whatever, but I'm not sure if this is the kind of job I want."

Logan felt mixed feelings. The prospect of being some office drone sounded pretty uninteresting and a low pay wasn't all that good either. But a porn actor? Logan had to admit, the thought felt somewhat interesting, but he doubted he had what it took for that? Weren't porn stars famously hung and well-built? That was certainly not Logan. Just as he pondered those thoughts, Kevin's answer appeared:

"I understand Sir. So, should we continue with the first job opening then?"

Logan bit his lip, but the curiosity got the better of him.

"Wait. What does the second job entail? I mean, I'm not exactly... equipped for the porn business."

"Well, as I have said: It's an actor position, so you would star in some new adult entertainment productions. While I understand your modesty, our records show that you are more than adequately gifted for this kind of job."

Logan felt confused. He absentmindedly scratched his crotch before he replied:

"Uhm, sorry, I don't think you understand. I don't really think my..." Logan paused. Was he really going to write that? It was embarrassing, but at least he could be reasonably sure he would never meet this Kevin in real life. So, he continued:

"... penis is big enough for such a position."

The answer came promptly.

"Really? Better have a look to be sure ;-)"

A winking smiley? That wasn't very professional. Actually, the whole sentence wasn't. Still, Logan couldn't stop himself from glancing at his crotch. What he saw made him take a double take. His soft cock was forming a visible and ample bulge in his jeans. Logan knew that he was slightly smaller than average, so that was ridiculous. It was almost a... a porn star-sized bulge!

He stared at his package, but it wasn't growing any smaller. With trembling hands, he opened his jeans. Immediately, a well-filled pair of boxers escaped the confinement of his jeans. The dick print of his soft member was clearly visible in his underwear, and it wasn't just much bigger than Logan remembered. It was among the biggest bulges he had ever seen in his life!

His hands explored the impressive manhood through his underwear and felt every centimeter of the hardening dick. He had no idea what had caused this growth, but he wasn't complaining. Before he could interact more with it, however, he noticed another message on the screen.

"Are you still there, Sir?"

"Sorry, yes." Logan hurried to reply. What was he going to write? "I was below average just a few moments ago but now I have one of the biggest cocks in human history"?

Instead, Kevin answered.

"Good! I trust you had a chance to inspect your assets?"

"Uhm, yes."

"So, have you made up your mind, or should I look into the office position?"

Logan was torn. He wasn't sure what he had seen just a moment ago. Still, his enormous cock that was half-hard in his boxers was there, undeniably.

"Let's go with the porn star position." Logan finally typed, and his heart was racing.

"Very good! Now, as I mentioned, the position is in the adult entertainment sector. Do you know the company XXX Incorporated?"

Logan thought quickly about it before replying: "No, sorry, never heard of them."

"That is not at all surprising, since they specialize in the adult sector for homosexual men. According to your data, you identify as heterosexual. I hope that won't be a problem?"

Of course, there was a catch. Logan had heard about these gay for pay people and he hesitated yet again. They paid well, supposedly, but...

"Uhm. Would that mean I would need to be on the receiving end?" He wasn't too close-minded and could imagine kissing another man if he had to, perhaps even receiving a blow job from one. But having another person fuck him in the ass? No, that was way beyond his comfort zone.

"I believe the technical term you are looking for is 'to bottom'." Kevin replied, and added another message shortly after:

"But the company is, in fact, looking for a 'top' actor. They put it like this: 'We are looking for a well-built top for our new productions.'"

Logan was relieved. While he was a gold star gay man (why did he put 'heterosexual'? That was utter bullshit!), he was a strict top. This position sounded better and better. Still, one thing raised some new doubts.

"Hold on. I'm hung like a horse, but I wouldn't say I'm very muscular or even fit. I'm not much of a gym goer."

"Are you sure ;-)?"

Again, with the winking smiley! Kevin sounded so very professional most of the time, but then there were these messages. Logan scratched the back of his shoulder with some effort. Whenever he raised his arms so high the mountains of muscle on his upper arms danced and made it difficult to reach his back. Logan suddenly realized that something had changed - again! His shirt strained against his muscular chest, and as he lifted his shirt, he could see some cobblestone abs on an otherwise flat stomach. His calves had become thicker and strong. His jeans, which had felt slightly loose earlier, now seemed to be getting tighter.

Logan had never been very athletic. His body was lean, but not fit or muscular. That had certainly changed. When he looked at himself, he hardly recognized himself anymore. A huge dick, and a studly body.

Logan shook his head and let the shirt fall again. Whatever was going on, it was not a bad thing, was it?

"Alright, so I'm a buff top with a big cock. Is there anything else?" he smiled as he wrote that.

"Actually, there is one further requirement, but given your cooperation so far I don't believe it will be much of a problem either." Kevin replied, in his professional tone again.

"And what would that be?" Logan was intrigued.

"The company is especially looking for a, and I cite, 'huge, dominant Black top with large dick. Intellectual capabilities are not required'. Are you feeling up to that task? ;-)"

This time, Logan immediately raised his shirt to watch his body change. As soon as he read the words, his skin began darkening, first a golden bronze and then a rich black. It was a gradual change but happened very quickly. His muscles became even more defined, and his body hair thickened and grew even darker.

He didn't know what 'intellectual capabilities' meant, but as his body grew larger and thicker, he felt a strange fog entering his mind. It was a little unsettling at first, but it wasn't entirely unpleasant. His usual thoughts quickly became overshadowed by his raising libido. As he grabbed his huge, Black throbbing cock, a dominant smirk crept on his mouth.

He turned his attention back to the computer and typed:

"Yeah, baby. I think I can make that happen. Just tell me who to fuck and I'll be there!"

He saw Kevin reply with a street address and a date and time, but Logan decided he would read that later. Now, his cock demanded his entire attention. He absentmindedly noticed his webcam turning on but paid it little attention. If Kevin wanted to watch him jerk his fat cock, he was very welcome to. After all, he just helped him find the job of his life!

That's certainly a way to beat recession! Also check out this blog!

[tmwcs]

the older sister SECRETLY !!! So sunghoon has 2 sisters and heeseung is dating the younger sister , but the more he hangs out with sunghoon and sees the older sister , the more they fall in love with each other . And that’s where the cheating starts ! IF THIS DOESN’T MAKE SENSE I CAN TEXT U PRIVATELY . If u do this for me I consider u as my sister 🥹😚💗

“I like her, but I love you…”

Warnings: College boy Heeseung cheating in secret, older fem. lead, smut....rough smut....kind of animalistic, craving, like 'oh-my, oh-my God! this c*ck's pumping crazy' smut. unprotected smut. 9k word count, so get your popcorn out.

Bday gift for @hoyeonheeseung

PS: H/N stands for “her name”. Left her name blank.

Thank you for taking the time and reading my stories and drabbles. To show your support, please consider donating into my ko-fi account ♥️

“Hey man, how are things going with you and h/n?”

“Good, she’s my little troublemaker.” Referring to his girlfriend and the younger sister of his best friend, Sunghoon, Heeseung chuckles as he dwells into the little tidbits concerning his established relationship.

“Yeah she can be a handful. But don't forget, she’s only eighteen, it’s not like she’s our age.” Sunghoon responds in jest, chuckling as he winks over to his friend.

“Yeah, I know. I keep that in mind all the time, which is probably why I let her get away with a lot, and am more patient with her than I should be.”

Nodding his head, Sunghoon pats Heeseung’s shoulder as the two walk over to their parked cars.

“So I was going to ask you, are you planning on coming by tomorrow?” Sunghoon asks. Raising a brow over from across his vehicle, Heeseung answers loosely. “Yeah, h/n says she wanted me to meet some of her friends from school, and they were all going to be over at your place. You guys having a party or something?” Tossing his books into the front passenger seat, Heeseung turns back towards Sunghoon.

“Yeah I figured she had already asked you to come by, her friends are all going to be at the house because, well, our eldest sister moved back to the area after accepting a new job. Guess she wanted to be closer to the family, so my parents are throwing a homecoming party for her.”

“That right?” Twirling his tongue, Heeseung had known Sunghoon since they started college, nearly four years ago. Being on their last year together, Heeseung furrowed his brow, slightly surprised. “I didn’t even know you guys had an older sister.”

“Oh yeah man, I probably forgot to mention her because she’s been living abroad. She left the year I started attending college, right before I met you. She normally calls in and emails us, but hasn’t visited because her job is so demanding. But she says this new job is going to give her a lot more free hour.”

“Huh, I was wondering why H/N mentioned that all of her friends would be over. Makes sense now. But yeah man, I’ll be there. I’ll probably take H/N to the movies or something after the festivities are done with.”

“Cool man. See you tomorrow then.”

“Yup, see ya.”

………………………

You woke up early the next morning to the soft light of the spring sun peeking through the bedroom window. Laid out on the side table was a list of residential neighborhoods and apartments nearby, some circled in black ink. You had moved in with your parents and siblings, only just for a period until you could establish your own place. For now, you took the opportunity to enjoy lost time with them. Getting dressed, you chose a simple yet elegant floral dress, that fitted your form nicely. The hem of the skirt tastefully flows inches above your kneecaps, while the tie straps gently rest on top your shoulders. Walking down the stairs, you meet with your mother inside the kitchen.

“Oh, hi mom.”

“Good morning y/n! Did you want some coffee?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Pouring you a cup, your mother sits down and enjoys the one-on-one moment with you, while you both sipped on your favorite latte’s. Turning your gaze over to the window, you spot your mother’s garden in full bloom. While you were away, she had planted your favorite flowers to remind herself of you during your absence.

“Oh mom, I really like what you did with your garden.”

“Thank you, baby.”

Chuckling, you giggle out your words as you playfully bite your lip, a small habit you’ve had for as long as you could remember. “You planted my favorite flowers?”

“Of course! I had to have something to remind me of you while you were gone for so long.” The tone of her words reflected her happiness in having you back home. Reaching across the table, you take her hand and reassured her that you wouldn’t be away from here on out.

“I promise, I'm here to stay mama.”

“I know. But you don’t have to rush, you can stay here with me, your dad, your brother and sister.”

Looking down at your cup, you gently sip while you speak. “I’ll stay for a bit, but you don't have to worry Mama. When I move out. I’ll limit myself to a 10-mile radius so I can be close to home. I promise.” Winking, you watch as your mother smiles sincerely at your resolve. You felt guilty for being away for so long, not to mention your career limited you from gaining the opportunity to travel and visit home. Now, things would be different. Sure, you had to take on a position that was slightly less pay than what you were making before, and you had a wonderful team that you left behind, but that all didn’t matter anymore. You had set your priorities firmly to put family first, and everything else following second. With your brother finishing up college, and your sister beginning her first year at the same university in the following months, you knew that your parents would have been too lonely, so you made your decision and submitted your two weeks’ notice to your boss three months ago, and had been enjoying the time missed ever since.  

“Oh, how did you sleep last night? I tried to get H/N to give you back your old room for just a few nights, but you know your sister…”

Chuckling, you bit your lip again as you playfully shook your mother’s hand. “It’s okay. The guest room was nice and quiet. Plus, I’ve always liked it up there.” After you had moved out, your sister took over your old room, which happened to be the second largest bedroom in the house, with your parent’s master suite being the biggest. The bedrooms all shared the same hall, but the guest bedroom was nestled away up on the third floor, originally as the attic.  However, your parents designed it to be formatted as a guest room for family visits and had kept it as such ever since.

**** photo of bedroom

When finding out that you were moving back home, your mother went through great lengths to fix up the guest space after H/N had initially begged, then later refused, to give back your old room. Yet you didn’t mind, the guest room was laid out with gaudy floral wallpaper but was actually, quite cozy, and nicely tucked away from the remaining bedrooms, which all were located on the first level. The second floor had a nice family room, along with a guest bath, additional office spaces that your father used as his private study, and a small sitting room. The way things were set, you felt like the little princess you always used to dream yourself as, locked away in your tower with all of your favorite books and a great view of your mother’s garden.

“Sis!”

 You turn your head over to the sliding door near the dining room and watch as H/N runs over and sits next to you. “Can I borrow that one dress you have? The red sexy one! Pleeeeease!” Bouncing in her seat, your sister eagerly begs as she taps her artistically extreme manicured nails on the table. Adorned in clusters of jewels and painted in neon colors, you took a moment to notice how lengthy the exaggerated pointed acrylics were.

“Yeah, sure.”

“EEEEEEEEEK! YAAAY! Thank you Y/n!” Hugging your neck and placing a quick peck on your cheek, h/n runs up the stairs, causing quite the clamor on her way up. You chuckled and smirked as you heard her run up, scurrying through your closet and dressers for that simple red dress you wore for work. It was a formal piece, one that you wore under a blazer whenever you went into the office, and it was a bit too sophisticated for a homecoming party, but you already knew that once your sister had her mind set on something, there was no changing it.

The visitors started to show up, collecting out in the backyard where all the decorations and food was nicely laid out. Your mother and her friends had displayed a massive spread of assorted dishes on a long picnic table. Sunghoon assisted with placing the decorations up, while H/N mingled with her friends. You were taking one last glance over the residential properties on the rental ad before placing it back down on your side table. You head down towards the kitchen, however, upon arriving on the second floor, you run into H/N and her group of friends as they walk up to catch you in the guest room. “Oh! Sis! Perfect timing!” H/N runs over to your side and links her arm with yours. “Guys, this is my sister y/n.”

“Wow….you’re so pretty.”

“Your hair is so long and shiny!”

“Gosh why is it that older girls are always the prettiest?”

“Its probably because they learn from each other’s makeup and hair styles in college.”

One by one, h/n’s friends all admire you while talking aloud, taking a moment to feel your hair, stare at your dress, and ask about your makeup tips. They displayed a look of shock when you exposed that you were wearing minimal products, keeping it simple with blush, lipstick, and some eyeshadow. You were always one to avoid heavy makeup, opting to keep things real and simplistic.

“Thats it?! That’s all you’re wearing? How are you so pretty with so little makeup?”

“I can’t wait to be older so I can be just as cool and sexy as you. I like that womanly confidence, my own older sister has that same vibe.”

Chuckling, you playfully side eye H/N as she proudly presents you to her posse. “See? I told you! My older sister is the prettiest!”

Skipping as she drags you along, H/N finally lets you go when you all reach the kitchen. “Sis, you coming out?” H/N screeches out. She was always so flamboyant and quite loud, more than likely due to the excitement she had in showing you off. “Come out so we can show you some of our cheers that we’ve been practicing!”

“Oh alright, gimme a second. I’m just going to grab some water and I’ll be right out.”

“Okay! Hurry up!” She shouts out and leaves. You had nearly forgotten that H/N was continuing her cheerleading curriculum, even in college, and planned on entering the cheer competitions. Pouring yourself a glass of water, you quietly gaze through the window and watch as the number of guests grew larger. Minutes past, and more people enter through the gate in the yard. A sudden scream of excitement is heard from afar outside, and you knew it was H/N and her friends. Shaking your head while you smirked, you sipped on your drink as you checked your phone on some work-related matters, before placing it down on the kitchen island and prepared yourself to walk out and greet the guests.

…….

“Oh my God Heeseung!!! You’re here!”

Running towards him, H/N jumps up as Heeseung catches her in his arms. Gripping onto his hair and overbearing him with kisses, Heeseung winces his eyes shut and gives it a moment before finally speaking out. “Okay, okay. I get it, I missed you too.” He chuckles as he lets her down.

“Come meet my friends! They’ve all been dying to meet you and oh my Gosh! Can we go to the mall later? I want to show you off to all my friends that are working at the stores today!” Jumping up and down, completely hyperactive as she holds onto his hand, H/N eagerly waits for Heeseung to answer. He couldn’t lie to himself, as much as he cared for her, her hyperactive personality could overwhelm him sometimes, much like her friends. It was nothing out of the ordinary, however, for him it wasn’t something he was quite used to, given that all of his other girlfriends were his age and in college. This was the first time he decided to dip into someone as young as H/N. At times, he felt he needed to break away whenever she had her moments where that teen spunk was over the top.

“We’ll see.” He answers.

“But whyyyyyyyyyyyyyy? Please please please!” pulling on his arm, H/n expresses her pleas in a shrill and loud voice as she displays a puppy-eyed countenance, pouting her lip to exaggerate her desperation.

“Let’s just see how the day goes, h/n. Besides, after the day is done, I was planning on taking you to the movies.”

“Oh! The movies!!!” She jumps up with excitement while her mother gently shushes from the side. “H/n, shhh, quiet.” your mother whispers over secretly to H/N. “You’re making a scene.”

Huffing out, H/N shrugs off her mother’s warning before resuming her gaze back to Heeseung. “Can my friends come?” She asks excitingly.

“You don’t want to go together? Just the two of us?” He calmly winks over. “Oh my God!! Heeseung!!” She shouts out and giggles, stirring a commotion among the guests, which had caused Heeseung to immediately grow wide eyed and shoot a hand over her mouth, all out of sudden instinctive reaction.

Heeseung eventually met up with Sunghoon, and the two standoff at a distance enjoying a beer while H/N and her friends all swoon over the newest kpop group stepping into the scene of popularity. “Oh my God he’s hot as fuck!” H/n can be heard admiring aloud, once again earning a quick tap on her arm from your mom, gesturing her to be more polite and quiet. Never minding that Heeseung could hear, in h/n’s mind, it was okay for her to openly swoon so long as it wasn’t with someone that was realistically achievable, plus, she was a young girl with a lot of emotions and hormones that caused her to be overly expressive, as well as experiencing a change of heart nearly every day. One moment she was into one particular thing, the next she was into something entirely different. Zoning off as he watches the girls indulge into their typical gossip, Heeseung takes another sip out of his beverage before engaging in conversation with Sunghoon.

“So, how is your other sister holding up being back home?”

“She’s loving it. Which….where is she? She should be out here since this is her party.” Sunghoon looks around, yet the lack of your sighting caused him to reach out to your guy's mom for confirmation. “Mom, where is y/n?”

“Oh well she should be– oh! There she is.” Catching the sight of you walking out through the back sliding door, your mother’s sentence is cut short with the pleasant note of your appearance. “Y/N, over here!” she calmly shouts out your way, waving for you to come to her direction.

Walking calmly, you nod and say hello to everyone you walk past, flaring a sweet and soft smile as you greet them before reaching your mother.

“Oh hey, Y/N! Let me introduce you real quick before mom steals you away, this is my good friend, Heeseung. He and I had been friends since our first year together. He’s also h/n’s boyfriend.”

Surprised, you pleasantly smiled towards the young man and extended your hand to shake and greet him. You heard all about H/N’s boyfriend, especially since the latter couldn’t contain her excitement and talked of nothing else since the moment they started dating, sending you at least a handful of emails a day talking about him. It was just surprising since she never revealed him to be an older college male, nor did she mention that he was good friends with Sunghoon.

“Nice to meet you, I’ve heard alot about you from h/n. She’s really taken with you.” flashing a charming smile, you delicately shift the pieces of your hair framing your face and tuck it behind your ear as the gentle breeze blows through it. Unlike H/N, you opted to leave your hair un-styled, letting it fall freely in its natural state, which enhanced your features and placed you above all the girls Heeseung has ever laid eyes on, to include the girls at his college, and H/N.

“Yeah…nice to meet you.” Stunned by your natural and yet sophisticated sense of manners, your appeal had struck Heeseung out of his right-minded state and he found himself at a loss for words. Leaving his response short and simple, you nod and make your way over to your mother. Sunghoon went on about one thing or another, yet Heeseung paid no mind, he tried to keep it from being obvious, but it was hard. Fortunately no one really noticed. Keeping his face towards his best friend, his eyes kept shifting over your way, glancing periodically as he did his best to get an eye full of your image before reengaging with Sunghoon.

………………..

“So yeah, we were doing this in class the other day when….”

“Mmhmm…..”

“And then the dude literally started to get into this argument with my professor….”

“Oh yeah? …..”

“Right in front of the entire class.”

“Crazy man.”

Noting Heeseung’s spurt responses, Sunghoon pauses in his storytelling. “Heeseung, you good man?”

“Hm?...Oh yeah, no I'm good. You were saying? The guy argued with your professor and what now?”

“Oh. For a second I didn’t think you were listening.” Chuckling as he sips on his beer, Sunghoon continues, not catching on to Heeseung’s habitual habit of roaming his gaze over where you stood. Admiring the calm, mature, and graceful woman that you are, he was becoming smitten with you.

 It was strange, he thought that he’d seen every type of woman there was to see. The college girls at his university, or H/n and her friends, all of whom shared similarities, but carried minor differences in their character. Yet despite all that, they were nothing compared to the level of true feminine beauty that you held. All in all, when it came to the girls his age, they were all somewhat stuck up and believed that they had their lives completely figured out, but lacked the will to prioritize their days appropriately and spent more nights partying and sleeping around campus. Then there were girls like h/n, younger, filled with life but had no clue as to how to deal with it. Often living rather childishly and carrying no balance when it came to expressing themselves or developing their feminine nature. They didn’t have life figured out and it showed, and most times, they flared off exactly what they were, a bunch of teenage girls, nothing more.

Then there was you, a young woman in her prime that had already surpassed the stages of her teen years, and survived her college days, albeit you handled it gracefully since Sunghoon had already mentioned that you spent your entire time in college taking online courses, so you could stay home and help out your family. You ignored the typical college life of rotting away in a classroom, dealing with the pressures of your peers, and the late-night partying. Instead, you worked your way through during the day, diligently on your home computer, and then carried on your free time to assist with family matters. If that wasn’t already virtuous enough, you graduated with an excellent standing in your class and obtained a respectable career. You were nothing like the women and girls he’s been exposed to. The way you carried yourself confidently, gracefully, so smooth, elegant, and your pretty appeal had a sense of smoldering essence, which he found devastatingly sexy. What type of woman were you and where had you been all this time?

Throughout the entire event, Heeseung remained out of character and rather on the quiet side, which he claimed was all due to tiredness from late night studying, or so he lied when telling Sunghoon and h/n. By the end of the event, he lies once more and tells H/N that he had too much to drink to drive out to the movies or the mall, and opted to stay back with Sunghoon until the alcohol wears off before safely driving back home. H/N didn’t seem to be too upset about the ordeal, considering one of her friends had a license and a car of her own. Bidding Heeseung goodbye with a quick peck on the lips, h/n departs with her posse while Heeseung and Sunghoon assist with the cleanup.

“I’ll take this inside for you.” Taking the load of stacked plates, Heeseung effortlessly carries them away and heads towards the kitchen. “Oh thank you Heeseung.” Your mom gently responds back with.

Sunghoon helps out your dad with taking down the festive decorations and lighting, white your mother picks up the remaining trash. Placing the dishes in the sink, Heeseung turns on the faucet to lukewarm and begins filling it with warm soapy water. You walk in, inadvertently sneaking up behind, which was the most pleasant surprise for him, unbeknownst to you.

“Oh hey, you don’t have to do that, I can take care of those.” You gently speak out as you walk up to the sink. He turns his head and sees you enter the kitchen, gasping out of bewilderment. God, you were a sight for sore eyes. Where did you come from? Surely not the same way h/n and Sunghoon came into this world, you were far too ethereal in his eyes.

“Oh, it’s fine. I don't mind helping out, I do it often actually.” Knowing his way around the kitchen, he takes a sponge and starts to wash each dish. You stood next to him and grabbed a spare sponge and helped out. He was awfully tall, and despite being quiet, he seemed very nice, you could see why your family liked him. H/n had often talked about Heeseung spending a great deal of time over at your parents house, spending days after classes hanging out with her and Sunghoon,. With as much time he spent over, he was practically part of the family, it's no wonder he knew where everything in the kitchen was.

“Are you excited to be in your last year of college?” You asked calmly, making conversation as you scrubbed, and he rinsed. Displaying a wide and overly happy grin, he chuckles bashfully as he bites his lower lip. “Yeah, I am. I bet you were pretty happy when you finished.”

“Yeah, I was.” you nodded with a smile and a small giggle. “But I can’t lie, I do miss the days where all I had to focus on was being a diligent daughter and student. Being on your own and facing the world head on can be scary sometimes.” you softly state as you glanced over to him with a tender smile.

“Oh God don’t do that….don’t look at me with those beautiful shiny eyes…and that gorgeous smile of yours…..you’re making me melt…..and you don’t even know it.” 

Mentally noting the greatness of your appeal, Heeseung gently shrugged off the image of your face in order to avoid staring.

Spending the next thirty minutes washing the plates had to be the greatest highlight of his life. His heart felt as if it was going to explode, you were a bewilderment to him and he couldn’t get enough of the way you smiled, sound, and laughed. Your large dark eyes, that shiny black hair, and that damn olive complexion. God had spent extra time on you, perfecting his craft as he created the greatest gift to earth, you.

Over the timespan of weeks, Heeseung spent a great deal over at your parents’ home, which didn’t seem at all odd considering he was already coming over well before you had moved back home. Using Sunghoon and even H/n as an excuse for his visit, he relished the moments you came down to grace everyone with your presence. It was actually quite impressive how no one sensed or caught on in seeing how enamored he was with you. All those moments when he and h/n were watching Nextflix in the living room, snuggling in the corner end of the sectional couch with Sunghoon on the opposite end. You’d walk past through the hallway and enter the wide, open floor concept and head towards the kitchen when Sunghoon would gently invite you to join them.

…….

“Sis, what’re you doing? Have you watched this show? Come sit and watch it with us, it’s getting good.”

…….

Whenever you accepted the invite, and took a seat on the large couch, Heeseung took advantage of the lack of lighting, with only the TV being the source, and used it to hide the fact that he would stare and admire you during the entire show. With you facing the TV and paying attention to the plot, as did everyone else, no one ever could suspect that Heeseung was falling for you, hard. That obsessive and uncontrollable stare was something that only he knew about, and it made him yearn for you more as each day passed.

……………………

“Hey Heeseung, the company y/n works for is hosting a weeklong internship program. I know we don't have any plans to work for that corporation, but figured, why not take a week-long break away from campus and classes. You in?”

“Her company is hosting an internship for a week?”

“Yeah man. I asked her about it and even asked if she can pull some ropes and become our aid, show us around, pretty much just hang out. We can take that time to chill out.”

“Yeah, I’d like that. I’m in.”

He was in, alright, but for entirely different reasons. He could care less about taking a rest period away from campus and classes, he would spend his days in a grueling classroom for hours, wasting away, if it meant that he’d be with you.

It didn’t take much to get Heeseung and Sunghoon accepted, you pretty much had established a decent reputation within your company, so taking on the tasks of showing the two internees around, out and about, was something that was accepted without any hesitation. The first day, the two men showed up wearing proper attire of business-casual suits; you walked past the security after exiting the elevator, flaring your VIP pass. Greeting the two, Heeseung caught himself widening his eyes for the thousandth time when he saw you. You carried out your typical habit of wearing bare, minimum makeup, but this time your hair was nicely styled, and you wore an elegant haltered, collared button up midi-dress, paired with black stilettos. You not only looked professional, but sleek and powerful, much different from your carefree style you flaunted when lounging at home.

“My God…this woman is a queen…she’s classy, sexy, pretty, and smart….she’s just….she’s everything.” he thought.

“Hey, were you guys waiting for long?”

“Nah, we just got here. Pretty nice place you work at, sis.” Sunghoon comments as he winks in your direction, remarking the incredible building and strict security.

Giggling at your brother’s sense of humor, you playfully narrow your eyes at him. “Thanks.” chuckling, you tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear, something that you constantly did since you always opted to keep your hair down, even when styled. The way you would delicately finger the strands behind the helix of your ear, revealing your pretty earrings, had Heeseung swore up and down that his heart was going to stop beating.

“Should I take you guys up and show you around?” you ask, to which both men nod in agreement. They had looked so suave and handsome, and you couldn’t help but admire, whenever he wasn’t looking, that Heeseung had a very dashing smile and looked very nice in a suit. You had to admit, there was something about the way he would chuckle or smile at you; you figured he had that same effect on everyone else, yet little did you know, his countenance was far more special whenever he was looking your way. You, the woman who was stirring a rumble of chaos in his heart, all out of love and infatuation. How was he ever going to get over you? How was he going to move on if he stayed with H/N? Knowing that you’re her sister. Or…worse….how was he going to live? If things didn't work out between him and H/N…knowing that he may never see you again. As shameful it was for him to admit, but never hating the fact, he was merely keeping his relationship with H/N alive for the sole purpose to keep in constant contact with you, and even…his friendship with Sunghoon. His relation to his best friend was still dear to him, but he found it hard to find any other reason to come by your parents home, other than to see you.

During the internship, you spent a great deal of time with Sunghoon and Heeseung, even after the event had ended, your bond with both Sunghoon and Heeseung continued to grow. Since H/N was in her own little world and spent much of her time with friends and hanging out after cheerleading practice, Heeseung found himself available to build a steadfast relationship with you.

Another week later, your bond started to become much closer…with Heeseung. With Sunghoon attending his classes, some of which he did share with Heeseung, others were separate, your younger brother had aspirations for a career that differed from his best friend, not to mention the presence of a young lady he had been frequenting with. Heeseung knew about her, and encouraged his friend to take the chance after the young woman had expressed interest in his dear friend. Sunghoon agrees and ever since, you had been seeing less of him around the house. But Heeseung remained, always dropping off H/N and spending some time with her at the house, normally watching movies or tv shows. However, when H/N became more engrossed with her friends and attending house parties thrown by people she knew, her presence became lacking. Heeseung never had any interest to attend events that were filled with younger teens, so of course, he would spend more time hanging out with you. In no time,  Heeseung and you had started to become close, and even had each other’s phone numbers.

You had sold your car before the move, and had the means to get a new one, yet when Heeseung frequently offered to give you rides and encouraged you to contact him whenever you needed transportation, it became a railroad that connected you two together. You had long forgotten about buying your own vehicle, it became routine for Heeseung to meet up with you, that he did it without you even texting him. He knew your schedule and would show up promptly to take you to work, pick you up, or stop at the store along the way home. During the weekends, whenever you felt like getting away, you would call him and invite him to a day of leisure, which he happily and always accepted. He was enjoying the amount of time he got to spend with you, it became the highlight of his time. Since meeting and forming a bond with you, there hadn't been a single bad day, even when classes were overbearingly long and going past schedule, his heart and mind was only filled with the image of your face and the sound of your voice. He couldn't wait to see you every day after his classes ended.

On a gloomy Saturday morning, you had the entire house to yourself. With your parents gone on a trip until Monday, H/N out on cheerleading camp, and Sunghoon taking his new lady friend out for the entire day on a date, you felt a bit lonely and bored. Taking your phone, you text Heeseung to see if he was up to go out to your favorite cafe. He was delighted and expressed he would be right over.

Pulling up to the driveway, Heeseung steps out and heads for the front door. Having been treated as an extending member of the family, he unlocks the door with the house key that once belonged to H/N, but her terrible habit in losing the previous spare copies had allotted your parents to encourage for her to give it to Heeseung to hold on to. Since he had always picked her  and her friends up after cheer practice, and dropped them off at home, it had made sense for him to keep hold of it, especially now with H/N away at camp. Entering the house, he calls out gently to make you aware that he arrived.

“Y/N, I’m here.” 

Hearing his voice from downstairs, you make your way over to greet him. “Hey, sorry for the wait, just going to grab my phone and wallet and we can go.”

He didn’t hear a single word you said. Only the sound of your voice and the image of your perfect visual was all he could process. You chose a flirty and tasteful summer dress, which had fit you so beautifully. It was without patterns, just a solid teal color that complimented your features greatly. Your hair swayed with every move you made, and he lost his complete train of thought as you shut of the lights. With the entire first floor darkened, the dim glare from upstairs peered in through the staircase. “Oh shoot, I must have left the light on in the guest room. I’ll be right back.”

“Kay…”

Walking back up the stairs, you enter the guest bedroom that featured all of your belongings nicely staged amidst the furnishings your parents had prepared. Walking over to the lamp, you glanced over to the window next to you and noticed how magnificent the moon had looked. It was bright and full, glowing in a range of orange and golden hues. Staring off into its glorified image, you thought of the last time you had seen the moon this beautiful. It was back when you were H/N’s age, and you were about to graduate high school, immediately preparing for college entry. Lost in a sense of nostalgia, you drifted so deep in your thoughts that you didn’t even hear his footsteps going up the stairs, entering the attic, and walking up from behind. You didn’t hear his shallow breath as he breached closer, and like you, he continued to take in a sight of something dazzling, one that wasn’t pearly perched in the middle of the night sky, but was equally, if not, more beautiful.

Coming up from behind you, he calls to you. “You okay?”

“Hm? Oh…sorry. Yeah, I’m fine, I was just looking at the moon and it got me thinking for a second.”

“Yeah?...” Softly dashing a side smile, he looks out the window and peers at the moon for a moment, then looks back over to you. “What are you thinking about?”

“I just…I don’t know, I was just thinking about when I last saw the moon like this. I was h/n’s age.”

Biting down on his lip, his eyes shift down to your hips before as he takes one step closer. Looking back up at you, his gaze was more stern, hungry even, and intense. “Yeah?....Were you just as amazing back then as you are now?”

Shifting backward, your breathing becomes deep and shaky as you take in his rather fierce stare. He looked so ruthless, yet his tone was soft and gentle. “He-Heeseung….?” You spoke out nervously.

“Answer me…” he softly tells you, as he takes another step forward, and watches as you take one back. His aura and stance was intimidating, much different than his usual persona. He faintly tilts his head to the side and widens his eyes as he stares directly into you. “Tell me….y/n…..were you always as bright as the moon? And as warm as the sun? Were you always as gentle as the fluttered wings of a butterfly, and as swift as the summer breeze?”

He continues to take his steps forward, speaking in a near whisper. You kept the distance in between your bodies while taking your steps back, until you felt your shoulders meet with the wall. Lowering your hands and reaching behind, your palms contact the cool surface, and your fingers tap along the small threaded grooves of the wallpaper, desperately trying to find something…anything to get a grip or to get away from the tension…which was starting to make you cave in. “Heeseung….He-Heeseung….don’t….we….we can’t…”

“What?....”

“Just….please….” sensing the intense desire he yearned for you, his eyes become glazed with the lust of passion and hunger. “Can’t what, y/n?” he softly speaks out, now closing the distance and meeting you chest to chest. “Heeseung…please…” you whimpered out softly. His gaze was doing something to you, it was almost as if he was calling for you, and your body was responding against your wishes. There was something about the way he was whispering your name, thirsting for you with his hungry eyes, and pressing up on your body, trapping you against the wall. There was something about the way his whispered words were antagonizing you to bid a suitable answer, one that you could not think of, yet he kept asking you…

“Can’t what?....” Raising his hands, he places both palms on the wall to each side of your head. Leaning into your ear, he whispers your name. “Y/n….”

You turned your face away, winced your eyes shut and avoid any sort of both, physical and eye contact. His hard chest presses against your breasts, and his groin meets with your pelvis. “Heeseung…..sssstop…..this is wrong….”

“If it’s wrong then push me away….come on baby….push….me….like how you’ve been pushing me.”

Turning your face straight forward, you looked at him confused. He nearly glares at you as he speaks in a firm tone. “Yes….that’s right, I said ‘push me’. You’ve had no problems doing it all this time. Pushing me over the edge…pushing me out of reality….pushing me into a state of madness and hunger……pushing me to love you harder….”

Widening your eyes at what seemed to be his confession of love to you, you shift around and placed your hands on his chest, gently pushing him outward, yet you weren’t pushing hard enough. You were shocked. Was Heeseung really in love with you? But more importantly…were you just now realizing that you might be feeling the same about him? You shook your head, trying to come back to a rational sense and reminded yourself of h/n and her relationship with Heeseung. Keeping your hands on him, you push just slightly harder, yet he leans forward, causing your arms and hands to retract back.

“Push harder….” He whispers against your cheek.

“Heesung we can’t…..we can’t do this…”

“Then push harder…” grabbing onto your hand as it lays plastered on his chest, he strokes the back of your palm as he continues to whisper onto your skin. “Come on baby….push harder.”

The way his pursed lips grazed against your skin, and the way his voice sounded when he called you ‘baby’, it may have been weakness or desperation, maybe it was a little bit of both, either way, you stopped caring. You came to realize the truth behind the close bond you built with this man, and how you came to be so fond of him. How his smile always caused your heartbeat to escalate, and how his voice sounded whenever he said your name, causing your stomach to flip upside down. Once more, he whispers deeply, this time, it was against your lips, all the while he stared into your hazy eyes.

“Push it…..keep pushing it y/n……”

Whimpering, you falter. “I…..I…….”

“Yeah?...” his voices begin to peak.

“I……Heeseung…..”

Smothering his lips against yours, you melt in his sudden embrace. You reach up and wrap your arms around his neck, further going numb when you felt his arms grip around your waist and lifts you to deepen that hold he had on you. Softly moaning into your mouth, he deepens the kiss and feeds his tongue as deep as he possibly could. Running out of air, you both wait til the very last second upon reaching the pinnacle of lightheadedness, before faintly breaking the kiss. With his nose pressed against yours, he tightens his wrap and lifts you higher, causing you to close any remaining distance as you wrap your legs around his waist. Walking over to the bed, he gently lays you down on the plush bedding. Your arms fling up and over your head, with your hair gracefully spread all around. Reaching up, his hands smooth their way above your head and grab onto your hands, slowly intertwining your fingers together. From there, his kisses trail down to your chin, and to your throat. He smothers you with one kiss after another, before coming back up, just below the lobe of your ear. With your face peeled to the side, and your chest heaving upwards from the denseness of his weight on top, you arch your back and dip your hips low, craving for more of his touch. Whispering into your ear, he unleashes the depth of his braved confession.

“You have no idea….just how much I’ve been wanting you. How many days and nights went by where I thought about you…just you. There’s nothing in my life that I ever wanted more than what I have right before me….pretty girl you should be mine….only mine….and I should be yours.”

Fluttering your eyelids up, growing weak from your shaky breathing and the throbbing tingle that taps your core, there was no way you wanted him to stop, but the thought of h/n came to mind and you gave it your last shot to be mentally strong….despite your heart wanting him all for yourself.

“Hee—Heeseung…..but….what about….m-my sister…?”

Keeping his lips latched onto your neck, he whispers in response. “I like her….” propping himself up, he hooks on the hem of his t-shirt, slowly lifting it up and over his head, revealing his hardened muscles. Flinging it off to the side, he stares down at you with almost a cynical stare, one that was psychotic, but filled with love. “But I love you….”

Gasping at the sight before you, you moan and whimper as you reach up and reaffirm the hold around his neck, bringing him closer to you. Never have you felt such intense love from someone. You have dabbled into the dating life and had a couple of boyfriends since college, but nothing too serious. This….this was something far more crazy….intense….insane even…..but it was a love that you knew that was too good to deny.

Draping your hands down onto his biceps, you arch your back sharply, pressing your breasts against his chest upon feeling his hands traveling low. Swooping under your thighs, he lifts and guides them to wrap around his waist as he rolls the hem of your dress up and coils it around your waist. Hooking his fingers on your panties, he starts ripping them apart. So eager to have you, he couldn’t quite understand anything other than satisfying the hunger he had been feeling since meeting you. He became a beast, a ravishing monster that needed to be tamed, and the only one that could do it, was you. You gasped upon feeling the tugging of him ripping the fabric of your underwear apart, yet were quieted down when he faintly breaks the kiss and places a single finger atop of your lips. “Its okay…..baby, I’m not going to hurt you….I’m just going to feed on you….” Resuming the kiss, he twirls his tongue inside, ever so lovingly. You feel his hands tug on the straps of your dress and pulls them loosely over your shoulders and exposes your breasts to the warmth of his chest as he cradles you in a sweet embrace. Your thighs begin to shake as you rub your fingers up and down his biceps, and moan into his mouth.

Locking your lips in, he delivers a single, sharp buck from his hip, hitting you semi-hard in between your legs. Yelping out of intense pleasure, you release a trailing moan into his mouth as he prevents you from breaking the kiss entirely. Sensing your nerves calming, he delivers another hit from his hip, this time grinding the clothed bulge into your core. You gasp for air upon feeling the mixture of pleasure and friction, causing you to become delirious and lost in the heat of passion. Smirking into your mouth, knowing full well that he was getting you weaker by the second, he delivers a series of repeated dry thrusts that gets you yelling out a trail of gasping moans.

“Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!”

“Yeah?…yeah? Come on baby….” Clenching his jaw, his thrusts become harder. “Show me how pretty you look, as MY girl...my pretty woman..”

You nearly lose your voice as you continue to moan slurred words and incomplete sentences, all starting off with his name. Propelling his weight off, he unbuckles his belt, and removes his jeans. His nude body now fully connects as you remain mostly bare, with only your flirty dress rolled around your waist, leaving you exposed beneath the tatters and loose ends of the fabric. Kneeling between your legs, he remains propped up high and mighty, leaving you merciless beneath his glaring smirk. Taking you by the waist, he drags you closer, and grinds into you as he takes his shaft and strokes it in between your plush folds. Watching as the skin surrounding your slit caresses his shaft, he triggers your body to secrete the hint of slick moisture, gently glazing his member. Chuckling while admitting a dashing smirk, he looks into your eyes directly, giving a harsh and relentless stare. He didn’t look as soft and gentle as he had all this time since you’ve known him. His eyes were much sharper, defined, and narrowed, and he had a dashing yet devious smirk that was much different than the traditionally handsome one he flares off. It was as if he was taken over by something, a hunger that manifested out of the great desire and love he had developed for you, almost immediately after seeing you for the first time. Was it love at first sight? Or were you just everything he had always dreamed of, yet thought too good to be true to exist? Either way, the moment was here, where he finally had you in his arms. Even he, himself, doesn’t know what exactly was coming over him, but that remained irrelevant as he gazed on the magnificent view beneath him. The suppleness of your skin on your breasts, the smoothness of your legs, and the loveliness of your delicate slit, which he could not wait to plunge in.

Licking his lip, his lids grow heavy and for a moment, you somewhat came back to your senses, but it was too late. With his hand firmly gripping your waist, he takes the base of his shaft and slowly begins to enter. You grab onto his hand immediately upon feeling the bulge pushing past your enclosed cavity. Your body hitches up and forward, reacting to the sting of his rather large and lengthy muscle, only for him to drag you back towards him.

“Ah! Wait…..I….” your breaths transition into raging pants from the immense pressure. It had been too long, and you had forgotten that unique and painful sensation of your walls breaching, but with Heeseung, it was ten times more blistering given his thick girth and exaggerated length.

“Shh….its okay baby….I’m right here. I’m going to make you feel good…”

Feeling each inch sliding in, your thighs start to shake, and your pelvis grows numb. The beat of pain starts to disappear and after a few seconds, all you feel is the pressure of your walls separating. Deep inside lays your soft and tender spot, and after looking at seeing how largely endowed he was, he reaches it, as you expected. Your chest deeply heaves and your back arches even more, expanding the volume of your moans to beat off the walls. Your body rolls and curls, causing your hips to surf up and down, gently tapping against his groin and letting him know that you were wanting more. So more much. Your hands move up but could only reach his naval region as he remained on his kneeling position, while you laid restlessly taking in the plunge. Your fingers delicately drag down and tap against his skin, shakily. He lets out another deep chuckle.

“Heh heh…you ready for me?” Trailing his hand across your chest, he firmly takes hold on the side of your neck. Answering him, you nod eagerly, but nervously. Smiling while breathing out unsteady exhales, amidst feeling the pressures of your tight walls hugging his cock, he releases a shaky chuckle. “My woman…”

Thrusting in the remaining bit of his shaft, he pelts himself all the way in. Your eyes jolt wide with a look of pain and slight fear as you gasp out a yelping moan.

“Oh fuck….keep looking at me like that….you’re so……fuck….” He gasps out as he picks up the pace and thrusts harder and deeper. Faster and faster, he expands the horizon of his sight as he views your facial expression, the movement of your breasts bouncing at high velocity, and how his cock was violating your womanhood. Just as much he was enjoying it, so were you. Seeing how monstrous he was in fucking you, had only thrilled you. The level of intimidation of his manhood and abrasiveness, all accompanying his will to please you, and himself, became the best feeling in the world that you could ever experience. Shifting your grip, you grab onto the blankets to each side of your face and moaned out every inch of ecstasy that he gave. Beating it into you, his cock throbs and pulsates, causing him to fuck you even faster and deeper. This man, your younger sister’s boyfriend, was giving it to you so good, you didn’t want it to end. At that moment, you didn’t care about the outcome of all this, it felt too good to give it up, the more he plunged in, the more you screamed out his name. He went on, and on, and on.

“Ugh! He-Heeseung!”

“Fuck…..” With his hand still maintaining a side grip on your neck, his thumb swipes up and down the center of your throat as he continues his merciless thrusts. “Oh fuck…fuck fuck fuck…..” he gasped out in whispering groans. “You’re so fucking perfect….I could fuck you forever……”

Going in even faster and harder, your body becomes a blur of your tone and complexion as it succumbs to his aggressive thrusting, causing you to bounce relentlessly up and down against the bedspread. Your head pins down on the pillow as he keeps you steady with his hold, using it as leverage to bring you in each time he thrusts back inside.

“Oh my God…!!” You gasp out in a smoldering tone, causing him to twitch inside as he heard the pleasures within your voice. The moment you felt the knot snap, you had the entire penetrating area soaked as you continuously gush out the pleasures of your orgasm. Watching as his cock glistens in between his thrusts, he growls out your name. His hand twitches its grip, and you feel his fingers faintly digging into your skin. Shifting his hold, his hand moves upwards, caressing your cheek, while his thumb swipes over your lips as you catch your breath. Releasing his essence, he remains buried inside and pumps every ounce of his hard labor inside of you. Sliding out, he exits out of your cavity, leading out a trail of his cum to not only seep and pool inside your walls, but to also decorate the exterior of your sex as he spills his seeds on your clit.

Leaning into a crawling stance above your tired and weakened form, he trails the tip of his nose along your throat and up to your chin. Embracing you in a passionate kiss, he rests his body next to you and pulls you in to a tight hug, leaving small kisses along your helix while he simultaneously tucks your hair behind it. Caressing your face with his fingers, he continues to show every ounce of his love, even after displaying his vigored performance in filling you with it. After catching your breaths, you broke the ice, even though you were enjoying the soft silence.

“….What happens now?....”

Heeseung remained aloof. He knew what he wanted, and nothing, even your eighteen-year-old sister, wasn’t going to keep him from keeping you. Hugging you tightly, whispers as he buries his face into your hair.

“What’s going to happen….is you continue to be mine, and leave everything else to me. I’ll deal with H/N. Just stay here and be mine…and only mine.”

You turn your face half way to flare your side profile at him. “Promise you’re going to be nice and go easy on her?”

“Why wouldn’t I be nice? I’ll be as nice as I can about it, and to her. But I’m always going to be nicer to you.” Leaning into your ear once more, he whispers. “Because I may like your sister….but I love you.”

Enjoyed this piece? Show love and treat your girl to a cup of coffee. ♥️ 

☕ Ko-fi: ko-fi.com/reinbow

[coochiequeens]

There's something satisfying about when an abusive man is called out by other men. Or at least one man.

Rest In Infamy, You Haunted Castle

Why I believe the Neil Gaiman accusations

By GRAHAM LINEHAN JUL 19, 2024

I only met Neil Gaiman once, at an upscale dinner party where Derren Brown had been hired to do magic tricks like in the old-timey days. Between astonishments, Gaiman and I withdrew to a quiet corner where I pretended to be pleased that he was giving me a signed copy of ‘Sandman’. One of the unexpected advantages of being cancelled is telling people who took part in my harassment what I really think about their work, but this was a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, so I said the right things and we went back to being bamboozled by Brown’s invisible craft.

To give credit where it’s due, I later read Gaiman’s ‘Coraline’ to my kids which had them simultaneously terrified and hooked, and thanked him for it. Whatever my feelings about his earlier work, he was a real writer, practising his own invisible craft. From the evidence of that book, I thought he was probably a decent person too, an impression that continued until 2022, when we started to get into it over The Issue.

I may have asked why he wasn’t speaking out on behalf of JK Rowling, who was undergoing one of her regular cancellations for refusing to pander to the spoilt brats who loved her books but missed their meaning. A big name like his might have shifted the conversation and given her some much-needed support. He might perhaps have persuaded some of his fans to give the matter another look. This was when I assumed people like him acknowledged biological reality but worried about ‘coming out of the closet’, as it were. It took me years to realise that almost every celebrity mate of mine believed, or was pretending to believe, in the fashionable, American mind-cancer of ’gender’.

But back then, I was still astonished to find that he was a carrier of the virus, the mass delusion that by sheer coincidence, turned up after the arrival of the Internet. Whether it was Bill Bailey or Neil Hannon, Robin Ince or Matt Lucas, Arthur Mathews or Jimmy Mulville, it was always the same story. A sudden cloud of amnesia would form around my celebrity mates, a real peasouper, from which they suddenly could not see why we need female-only spaces, or why unhappy teenage girls will not find a miraculous cure for their woes in a double mastectomy. Far from sharing any of my urgency in the need to stop children from being irreversibly harmed in gender clinics, they instead downplayed, deflected and dismissed. “I never ask you to join in with my animal activism” grumbled Neil Hannon on one of the occasions I begged for his support.

“Couldn’t you pretend women and children are animals?” I thought.

My usual trajectory during these conversations saw me shifting from gobsmacked disbelief to fury and despair. The disloyalty made me angry, but knowing my friends did not care about their own daughters, wives, sisters and mothers was, and continues to be, destabilising in the extreme.

Gaiman went one step further. I can’t find the tweet, so I may be paraphrasing, but he said

"I hope you're kinder if your daughter ever hopes to transition."

I can think of no uglier thing to say to a parent. For girls, ‘transition’ means double mastectomies in their teens, hysterectomies in their mid-twenties, early menopause and a four times greater chance of having a heart attack than males of the same age. To have this decaying goth wish that horror on my daughter was more than I could bear. I wanted to rip his throat out.

Like a pair of grappling cowboys falling off a rooftop, our fight spilled into email. I sent Gaiman this article about the Tavistock. It was clear when he wrote back that he hadn’t absorbed it Like most celebrities in this fight, he appeared to have lost the ability to read.

“As I said before Graham, I hope that you'd be kinder if it was one of your kids who wanted to transition. “

He actually said it again. The piece was right there, detailing exactly what was happening to the children unlucky enough to wander through the Tavistock’s doors, and he chose to repeat that disgusting thing. Why?

That same year, just months before Gaiman was advising me on the value of kindness, a 22-year-old woman (‘Scarlett’ in the podcast) arrived at his Waiheke Island home in New Zealand for a babysitting job. Upon her arrival, she discovered that Gaiman’s wife of the time, Amanda Palmer, had suddenly remembered a sleepover, an appointment the child was apparently eager to attend.

So she and junior drove out of view, leaving the 23 -year-old Scarlett alone with Gaiman for the night. Within a few hours the 61-year-old man, without warning or invitation, appeared fully naked and slipped into the other end of her bath. Scarlett alleges that over the next three weeks, they embarked on a semi-consensual relationship, where Gaiman routinely ignored the boundaries she set. She alleges that he became angry when she would refuse these demands, used a belt to beat her, insisted she call him ‘Master’ and once sexually assaulted her so violently that she lost consciousness.

“… (the sex) was so painful and so violent that I fainted. I passed out, lost consciousness, ringing in the ears, black vision, the pain was celestial, you know, which is a strange word to use, but I couldn't even describe it in language. And when I regained consciousness and I was on the ground, I looked up and he was watching the rehearsals from Scotland of whatever they were filming, I don't fucking know. And he didn't even notice that I was passed out. And you know…there was blood. It was so so, so traumatic, and I asked him to stop. I said it was too much.”

Scarlett is a compelling witness despite, or because of, her contradictions. Certain things paint a picture of consent—she sexted Gaiman, to which he would send careful replies—and she laughs nervously when she talks about the alleged abuse. But when Gaiman’s side of the story is put to her, she turns cold as a knife and shows flashes of fury that she—in her telling—young, inexperienced and dazzled by Palmer and Gaiman’s fame and lifestyle, was used so casually and so brutally.

A few years back, I wrote about becoming a sort of Jessica Fletcher figure on Twitter. ‘Murder, She Wrote” but with paedophiles and predators. “Just as murderers seemed drawn to any location Jessica presented herself, “ I said. “My opining about women's rights and safety on Twitter appeared to attract the kind of men who can't sit still during a spelling bee.”

Among my adversaries was Peter Bright, the Ars Technica writer now doing twelve years for trying to buy two children to abuse. Luckily the children didn’t exist and the parents were actually FBI agents. Our exchange was brief and concerned safeguarding. I’m sure you’re all astonished to discover that he was against it.

Then there was ex-Labour MP Eric Joyce, who argued with me about the safety of mixed-sex loos in schools and was done for possessing the worst kind of child abuse images. More recently, I tangled with ‘Lexi’, who is now serving time for rape.

They all had one thing in common. They couldn’t leave alone those of us who were actively opposing the trans movement's assault on safeguarding, an assault that chimed nicely with their plans for the future. Each was returning to the scene of a crime not yet committed, each picking at a scab on their own character.

In 2018, at the height of #MeToo, Gaiman tweeted “On a day like today it’s worth saying, I believe survivors. Men must not close their eyes and minds to what happens to women in this world. We must fight, alongside them, for them to be believed, at the ballot box, and with art, and by listening, and change this world for the better.”

Well said. I certainly believe the women in ‘Master’. During my Jessica Fletcher period (a period which continues) no-one except Gaiman ever mentioned my kids. I think he knew it would cause me distress, and the second time he said it was just a twisting of the knife. Many of my colleagues in the media joined in with the trashing of my reputation, but Gaiman went that extra mile. I believe this is because he is a sadist. I think he is a man who finds pleasure in the suffering of others, and a man who does not see women and girls as fully human.

This was my final letter to him.

Dear Neil

I notice you’re still pretending you can’t read the Tavistock story. If you ever try and lay that curse on my kids again I will certainly share our exchange. Your privileged beliefs are harming children so to paraphrase Will Smith, keep their names out of your fucking mouth.

Thank you for giving me one last chance to say that JK Rowling will be remembered as a hero and you as a traitor to the kids who loved your books.

Rest in infamy, you haunted castle.

All the best,

Graham.

[damazcuz]

I don't think people responding to the scrambled "uh oh, we got caught" Tumblr AI announcement with "just nightshade and glaze all the art you post guys! it's your own fault if you don't do that small step! It's ok we'll get through this!" are Getting It:

Everything has already been scraped, including the account you haven't been able to access since 2015. Yes even the private, locked sideblogs of all your old art. Did you glaze it? did you nightshade it? in 2015? can you log in and check? no? Opted in.

This also includes any writing, creative or otherwise, posted to Tumblr. Did you nightshade the poetry and fanfiction you posted to Tumblr on your old account in 2018? why not? not a plan-aheader huh? Opted in!

It's opt in by default and by design. People who left Tumblr ages ago will likely not hear about this and won't know to regain account access and opt out. People who have died won't be able to log in and opt out. People who deleted past accounts or sideblogs won't be able to log in and opt out. People whose content is reposted here from Pixiv or other external sources by unrelated third parties won't have any way to say "hey half of that blog is MY stuff. Opt ME out."

Sorry. They just have everything ever put on the site. And you didn't opt out in 2015 when you lost access to your login email, so it's included. This is on purpose because they don't WANT people to be able to opt out, they want people to stay opted in saying "well my art sucks so I'm poisoning the data model 👍" while posting jokes and creative writing, they WANT you to say "well I'm unaffected" and keep posting photos and text and stuff. Midjourney wants that and Tumblr wants to do anything it can to satisfy Midjourney and scrape some cash out of that deal.

I'm sorry because I love this place too, but genuinely the decisions being made here are business decisions being put into place by a company trying to squeeze the last drops of blood out of a stone. Tumblr is not your friend. Staff is not your friend. Automattic is not your friend. The CEO has hopefully PROVEN he is not anyone's friend. This is a business first and a product that they are selling, not to you and me, but to advertisers and partners. Tumblr will ensure that Tumblr users see their ads and supply them data.

Frankly I do not trust this company or this website and I cannot in good faith just believe that they're going to look at my opt out checkbox and say "okay! ^_^ we will remove everything Dama has ever said or done from our AI scrape. we promise to do it!" and then actually do it. They already have the data. They can just claim that whatever is produced through machine learning based in part off of my data is unrelated, came from other sources, etc. I do not have trust in this website. I don't see how anyone could at this point.

I feel like I'm watching a trainwreck from the inside and no one wants to get out of their seats and try hopping off into the safe grassy field. Wait, they say. Let's see if the train just climbs back onto the tracks, they say. The fire and explosions are all part of the process, they say. Eventually people will stop panicking or dying and it'll be a smooth ride, they say. Just look at how bright the horizon is.

[spiderhanzzz]

"WORST REGARDS, YOUR KARMIC RETRIBUTION" — yang jeongin.

they say success is the best revenge, but sabotage feels better.

word count: 5.8k

pairings: jock!jeongin x nerd!reader

genre: fluff, humour, high school au, one sided enemies to lovers, slow burn, loosely inspired by i hope this doesn't find you by ann liang

warnings: swearing, partying, kissing, biblically accurate (religious) jeongin, everyone is the same age except chan, no use of y/n + gn reader, reader is literally evil incarnate plz dont do this irl ;;

playlist: ivy frank ocean, sexy to someone clairo, everybody talks neon trees, i can't radiohead

a/n: dedicated to @allforhee & all the other i.n stans out there :3 enjoy!!!

You know a lot of things. You know that the idea of zero was invented by an Indian mathematician and astronomer named Brahmagupta. You know how to recite your future Valedictorian speech in Latin. However besides these things, you also know that most things in life are pretty much uncertain.

Except your hatred for Yang Jeongin. That is your probability of 1.

Although your best friend Kim Seungmin says that your probability of 1 should probably be the fact that you’re a damn sore loser.

So when classes started to end and your school’s sports day rolled around, everyone knew not to cross your path. Either they would be on your team, or they wouldn’t even get near you. You’re not even that athletic; in fact, you can barely work out to save your life. But you’re the brains, the mastermind, of your team’s strategies. It’s like that saying, if you can’t beat ‘em, outsmart ‘em, or something like that.

You knew you were winning, or at least you thought you knew. Because just when you were about to cross your final lap of the track and field match, the corner of your eye caught a glimpse of Yang Jeongin’s infamously cordial grin. Disturbed by the audacity, you stop in your tracks to look at his friends sitting on the bleachers and feel a rush of satisfaction rush back in when you see them petrified for their friend’s questionable actions.

He won, of course. And though you took home five more gold medals than him that day, something about the utter disrespect of stealing the spotlight from somebody so clearly feared for a reason unsettles you.

Which is why you’re currently writing a letter to him threatening to take away his position in the basketball team if he doesn’t earn back your respect that he lost from a sports day event three years ago.

It’s less of a letter and more of a drafted email, since you’re not writing it by hand; he doesn’t get to have that sort of power over you. You’re not sending it either. God, no. You’re not that insane.

It’s simply a form of coping, nothing more. You’d reckon if you were to ask a therapist about this method, they would think it’s stellar. It’s like journaling… except instead of self-reflection, the end goal is to live in the delusional cloud where your nemesis knows and fears how much you hate them.

Do whatever your wretched soul can manage to revert back to the regular human state— that is, being absolutely petrified of my existence. Otherwise, say goodbye to that pretty “varsity basketball” title you adore so much.

A smirk twists upon the edges of your lips as your gaze fixes on the words you’ve just typed out. What’s the word for when you gain pleasure from the idea of torturing somebody else? You’re sure ‘sadist’ doesn’t apply when you only crave the suffering of one specific person.

You consider rewriting the entire letter on paper, for the sole purpose of leaving a crimson lipstick stain on the envelope for him to unseal. You don’t even use red lipstick, but perhaps the Irene Adler-ness of it all might subconsciously trigger a flight or fight response from him, as most stupid teenage boys do when faced with distinct power.

When other people fall asleep to daydreams about their crushes, you often drift away to slumber through the relaxation brought upon you from fantasizing about Yang Jeongin on his knees, begging for your forgiveness.

You would have fallen asleep to that dream for yet another night, but your best friend Kim Seungmin rang your phone. Now, if it was any other night, you would have sent him death threats and went back to your fantasies. However you had just asked Seungmin for a very special favor, so you decide to pick up.

“This better be about what I think it is,” you start. “I won’t put up with your post-exam depression bullshit tonight.”

“Don’t worry about that, I managed to get extra credits for everything.” Thuds and crackles fill the audio from the other side of the phone, and you can practically smell Seungmin’s bag of chips and old dusty laptop opening on his desk. “I got what you asked for.”

“Good, just forward it to my email.”

“I don’t understand why you would need it, though,” Seungmin’s voice is muffled by the chips in his mouth. “I mean, the team’s orders at Lucy’s Diner? Seriously? If you had a crush on one of them, you know I could just set you up, right?”

“Ew, I would never!” You fake gag, earning a chuckle from the boy on the other line. “C’mon, you know I have too much self respect for that.” “I think you mispronounced blatant narcissism and self obsession.”

The two of you go back and forth teasing one another for another moment until you urge Seungmin to send the list to your email. He inquires once again but you only brush him off, coming up with something about helping out at Lucy’s for the summer. Which wouldn’t be a complete lie, technically, if all went well.

You know you can’t tell Seungmin about your plan. Not right now. He’s reached that stage of being a teenage boy where he started developing attachment and empathy towards others, and now he’s practically attached at the hip with the rest of the basketball team. All he knows is that you hate Jeongin, and that’s enough for now.

And sure, this whole situation has made you question if you were actually a sociopath, but it needs to be done. You consider it a fair service to the community for taking down another straight male with no brains and a huge ego. They don’t know it yet, but he’s the common enemy.

Soon enough after the sports day incident you had come to the conclusion that if nobody could hate Yang Jeongin, you would make him hate you so much until a primal, animalistic desire to destroy you would take over his spirit. You assume he’d do something so utterly terrible, as men do, then afterwards everyone would finally see with their own two eyes that he is just like every other man in this cruel world. If anything, you’re volunteering as a sacrifice!

So as you zone out on Seungmin’s newfound amusement in the way Mr Marks’ glasses make him look like Chicken Little, you switch your tabs to open the sacred document.

In big, bold letters it reads OPERATION 143: 1 ENEMY, 4 PHASES, 3 YEARS.

The document itself already has over 25 pages, written in detail about your genius ideas to slowly infiltrate your enemy base from the inside out— most worked, but some of them just ended in your loss of dignity. You had even taken ideas from books and films like Parasite to further enhance its artistic integrity. These last three years were a performance, and Jeongin’s life is your stage. You have now entered phase four, and this is your closing act; nobody can steal your spotlight.

Contrary to the precise executions of your past eras, phase four is abstract. Its main goals are to disrupt Yang Jeongin’s peace as directly as possible, whilst leaving as little trail as possible. This, paired with the built up tension from the previous phases, is going to set in motion a domino effect, leading to the collapse of your greatest enemy’s social stature.

Accidentally letting a particularly mischievous giggle slip under your breath, you look back at the email you were drafting to him. You know exactly how to end it.

Careful where you run, Yang Jeongin.

Worst regards,

your karmic retribution.

This is your least favorite time of the year: the period just before summer break. Exams are over, so most teachers let students roam free during their lessons. But not going to school at all can take away from your total attendance, which then goes on your report card, so most students spend their school days sitting around in boredom and watching the sports teams play.

seungmo: Do u wanna come to practice

seungmo: Jisung bought cheesecake for everyone and I don’t want mine

seungmo: I don’t want him to take mine tho lol

That was fifteen minutes ago, and now you’re sitting on the bleachers on a date with a delicious slice of blueberry cheesecake and iced coffee, absentmindedly watching your best friend practice. Despite your close ties with Seungmin, you’ve never really been interested in the other team members— except for the occasional trading of homework answers with Jisung. Ever since middle school, you’ve sort of established that you want nothing to do with people like them: rowdy, sporty, and popular. Seungmin once noted that you say “popular” like it’s a slur. You couldn’t disagree.

“So… Karmic retribution, huh?”

You freeze.

“Pardon?” You turn around, only to be faced with the one and only Yang Jeongin.

“Karmic retribution?” He inquires further, expecting you to get the hint. “Y’know, what you called yourself in your… email? Death threat? Not sure what to call it, actually.”

Oh shit. Oh fuck.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude,” you laugh off the question. “I don’t even know your name, let alone your email.”

“Well, that’s clearly a lie, since your name is on your email address. And my name was in your… Seriously, what should I call this thing?”

Fuck fuck fuck. You must have accidentally hit ‘send’ when you fell asleep on the phone with Seungmin. That prick; he always manages to embarrass you somehow.

“Listen, I didn’t even know you go here. I had to ask Chris if he knows which one you are, and you just happened to be here right now.” Jeongin rakes his fingers through his stupid gross sweaty damp hair, then dragging his palm across his face in exasperation. “Whatever I did to you, I’m really sorry.”

“What do you mean you didn’t know I go here?” You’re baffled, truly baffled, and you basically lost control of your body when you heard those words. Suddenly your voice can be heard by anyone within a ten foot radius, and if it weren’t for that they would have thought you were about to smother him with kisses by the lack of distance between your bodies. “I’ve been here since fucking middle school! I sit behind you in Spanish— I ask you for a pen every two and a half weeks only to lose it every single time. You’re saying you don't remember me?”

“Oh, that’s you? My bad. You sit behind me, so I didn’t really get to see your face up close.” Jeongin doesn’t even flinch at the proximity of your faces. He simply gives you a brief look up and down and goes, “Now that I am seeing you up close, you’re the one that always hangs out with Seungmin, right?”

Then it hits you: this is the universe sending you a signal to initiate phase four. Sure, him not remembering who you are might have set you back by a few milestones, but who’s counting? (You are. You always are.) 

If anything, you’re grateful for the redirection, because now you know that before you can ruin him, you must first build him up.

“Alright, look,” you begin, taking a step back to put some inches between the two of you. He reeks of rubber and soda, the stench makes you ill. “Let’s start over, shall we?”

“‘Kay, cool,” he says with a nonchalant shrug. “See you around, I guess…?”

“Wait, that’s it? You’re not even gonna ask why I hated you in the first place?”

“Doesn’t matter now, does it? We’re already starting over.” The genuine lack of irritation in his face makes you curl your fists and fight the urge to give him a black eye. “Plus, you’re one of those nice smart kids. I don’t have beef with your kind.”

And for the first time in your life you wanted desperately to become popular, because maybe then Jeongin would take you seriously.

But it’s fine. You’re going to destroy him regardless.

“Yo, not to interrupt this whole bonding thing we have going on, but I kinda need to head back to practice.” His voice snaps you back to reality. “Is that chill with you?”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s chill.” You muster up your most convincing smile for him. One time in fifth grade your drama teacher told you you’re a natural actor, and you pray to God those innate talents are still there. Now that you think about it, she may have just been calling you a liar.

For good measure, you give him an awkward thumbs up before walking away. When you make eye contact with Seungmin, he raises his eyebrow as if to ask what the fuck was that? You can only shrug in response. You have no idea either.

You sit back down on the bleachers, occasionally eyeing your target, feasting your eyes on the way his muscles flex under his baggy Radiohead t-shirt when he dribbles the ball around the court and the sweat that drips from his hair. You’re used to your own deranged behavior, but this feels almost perverse. Maybe it’s because you’re basically acquaintances with him now (the word makes you want to spit your cheesecake back up), or maybe it’s because you can’t help but let your stare linger on the cross dangling from his chain.

Gross, you think to yourself, as you keep your eyes on him for the rest of the day.

On the last day of school before summer break, the unexpected happens: the basketball team invites you to their party. Well, technically, they invited everyone. It’s supposed to be Bang Chan’s last party before he graduates, and he just so happens to be friends with every single student. Thus, you and Seungmin are now situated in front of his front door, waiting for him to welcome you in.

You don’t usually go to parties, and to be very honest nobody really expects you to. The reasoning is a bit pretentious, you suppose, but you truly just don’t believe in the necessity of rebellion in leading to better adulthood. However you do believe in yourself and your incredibly sexy intellectual prowess, and you have an operation to carry out, so tonight you let yourself let loose just a bit.

“Ah, there you guys are!” Chan greets you and Seungmin, ushering you inside his… house is an understatement, honestly, it’s a mansion. “Mingle around!”

You’re still out of place, you notice. Since you didn’t plan on actually drinking or dancing, you decided to come in your usual get-up of your dream university’s merch sweater and a pair of baggy jeans. You mentally cursed yourself for not realizing that all of Chan’s friends would be the cool, charismatic type.

Suddenly wishing you had stayed home instead, you excuse yourself to the bathroom, which was (fortunately for you) on the second floor, away from most of the crowds. When you get there, however, you’re met with Jeongin’s sharp gaze in front of the door.

“Been a while,” he states, leaning on the wall and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Could I get you anything? A drink, maybe?”

“I don’t drink. At least not tonight,” you respond. Then you notice that his hands are also empty. “What about you?”

“Nah, I don’t do that stuff.” He shakes his head to enunciate his disapproval. “I don’t mind that the other guys do it, but I’m pretty religious, so…”

The devil perched upon your shoulder whispers hot but the angel on the other side exclaims what the fuck?

“Cool.” You stare at your shoes, thinking about how to turn this exchange into yet another round of revenge. When you get an idea, you beam up at him. “Wanna walk and talk with me?”

The moment he verbalizes his agreement, you grab him by the arm and rush downstairs. There, you do as you had suggested: walk and talk. Turns out Chan’s first floor is big enough for about thirty minutes of conversation.

When you get to the outdoor pool, you take off your shoes and dip your toes in the water with Jeongin following suit, sitting right beside you. Your conversation drifts to so many different topics— music, childhood TV shows, dating— you almost forget the reason why you brought him here. He’s observant, you notice, and he has thoughts on a lot of different things, something you didn’t think was possible. You always thought he was just dumb.

“Y’know, I was kinda flattered by your email, I’m not gonna lie,” he admits sheepishly.

“Pardon?” You look at him, puzzled. “Did you say flattered?”

“Well, yeah, I mean, no one really notices me like that.”

You stare at him, eyes blank and mouth agape. Surely this guy has gone insane, right? He’s one of the school’s most beloved students, by other students and faculty members alike.

“Like, I know they like me, but I don’t really stand out amongst the others. Chris is the friendly one, Minho is the mysterious one, Changbin is the strong one, Hyunjin is the artistic one, Jisung is the funny one, Felix is the kind one, Seungmin is the smart one, and what am I? I have all those qualities too, but they pale in comparison. People don’t have enough reason to hate me, but I know they think I’m boring. So being hated so passionately was kind of a big thing for me… I’m sorry, is that weird?”

If you didn’t want to slap him before, you sure as hell do now. How blindly privileged is this guy that his problem in life is not being the coolest guy on the varsity basketball team? You puff out your cheeks to hold back an exasperated sigh, and pull out a gentle smile instead.

“Jeongin, I don’t think people see you that way at all.” You place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Have you ever considered that maybe they might just be a bit intimidated by you?”

This is exactly how your mother talks to you when you start crying about how nobody ever has a crush on you on a random Thursday night. God bless that woman for gaslighting you into a positive attitude.

“You really think so?” He looks at you with these wide puppy-like eyes and you finally understand what the girls on Instagram mean when they talk about ‘getting the ick.’

“Really,” you affirm with a bright smile.

“Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

Just as he pulls you into a warm embrace, you push him just subtly enough that he wouldn’t notice it until he’s falling into the pool. With a large splash, all eyes turn to the two of you. He comes up from the water, clothes and hair drenched, and you feel a sense of satisfaction wash over you when you finally see a distressed expression etch itself onto his features.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry!” You lie, faking your concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’m… I’m fine.” He climbs out of the pool, and you curse yourself for staring a little too long at his defined muscles under his wet shirt. Then, he turns to you and says, “Needed to cool off anyways.”

And he laughs. Laughs at himself and laughs at your befuddled face and laughs when Chan asks if he’s alright, shooting him a quick thumbs up before grabbing the nearest beach towel. When his other friends crowd around him, he laughs and laughs and laughs and it drives you fucking insane. The resonating sound of his laughter surrounds the backyard in an instant, and for a moment you wish you had drowned yourself in that pool instead.

“I will shove my middle fingers in your dimples,” you mutter under your breath, and you consider it a promise.

“Be right back,” he tells you before rushing to the nearest bathroom to change his clothes, playfully flicking droplets of water onto your face and ruffling your hair, dampening it.

You watch as he walks away, feeling a strange pang of guilt in your chest when you notice his smile faltering as people start to focus amongst themselves again. Now it’s your turn to laugh, half out of disbelief and half out of pure glee.

Everything is going according to plan.

“I didn’t push him.”

Lie.

“We were just talking.” Lie.

“I still hate him.”

Lie?

Wow, three lies in a row. And to your best friend, of all people. This Operation 143 has really tested your moral compass, and it’s not looking great for you. No wonder why Seungmin is calling you at 3 AM, interrogating you about what the hell happened tonight.

“See, now, some of those statements kind of contradict each other,” he states. “I have no doubt that you still hate him, but I also don’t doubt the pure evil in your heart. You would have pushed him, and you wouldn't even be sorry about it.”

“Uh, well, you’re wrong,” you tell him. “Clearly you don’t know me that well then.”

“Whatever you say, but if one day you decide to come clean of your crimes, you owe me something. Something very very dear to me.”

At first you were nervous, because it’s obvious your best friend is on to you (note to self: be less evil on a day to day basis). But then you remember it’s your best friend, there’s only one thing he would want from you in this situation.

“Yes, yes, I’ll take you out for a fancy dinner,” you sigh. “That’s only if I confess my sins to you, Father Seungmin, and it’s not happening because I’m completely innocent.”

“Please never call me that again.”

“Noted.”

At that, your phone buzzes with a new notification. It’s from an unknown number, but you can see a display name. Jeongin.

~Jeongin: u up?

God, could this guy act more like a fuckboy? Somehow noticing the tension in the air despite your physical distance, Seungmin questions your mood.

“Jeongin just texted me.”

“Oh, so that’s what he wanted your number for.”

“Are you dumb?” You ask, but it feels more like an accusation. “Why the fuck else would he ask for my number, idiot?”

Seungmin makes a noise equivalent to a shrug, and you let it pass. You were just about to question him further about Jeongin asking for your number, but the man himself texts once again.

~Jeongin: wanna hang tmr?

“Ew,” you mutter quietly. “I think he thinks we’re friends or something.”

“Oh, right, I remember you don’t do those.” You can almost hear his eyes rolling at your annoyance at Jeongin. He’s expressed his disapproval for your one-sided rivalry many times, but you always bite back with words too vulgar to write down here.

“Yeah, you know you’re only my close acquaintance, right?” You turn your attention back to your phone, biting your thumb in deep thought. “I’ll be mean to him. Should send the right message.”

You need to change your technique anyway. Befriending him only to be annoying is only going to make him like you more, and betraying him out of the blue takes too much commitment. This is phase four, after all— you have such little time to get the job done. If you manage to succeed during senior year, people aren’t gonna care anymore because everybody is leaving anyway.

You won’t shy away from it anymore; it’s time to be direct. It’s time to be evil.

You: no.

Seungmin sputters out a laugh once you send the screenshot of your texts to him. “You couldn’t have even given him a reason why? God, you’re crueler than I thought.”

“Why can’t he just hate me back?” You whine, slumping your shoulders defeatedly. “Why is he so… So nice? What’s wrong with him?”

“Maybe he likes you,” Seungmin teases. “I kinda see the vision, actually. The nerd and the jock… Classic perfection.”

“You mean cliché,” you groan. “His type is probably other athletes or something. Popular people date popular people, Seungmo.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Seungmin continues in a sing-song tone, so you close your ears and make weird noises, a signal that it’s time for him to shut the fuck up.

jeongin (DONT RESPOND): oh

jeongin (DONT RESPOND): ok :[

A week later you’re sitting in front of the bus station, waiting for Seungmin to arrive. He had promised to take you to the new coffee shop that just opened up to get some work done as a means to get ahead of other students. Nerdy as it may be, this is your summer ritual with your best friend, and if you didn’t fulfill it by the beginning of the summer, the guilt is going to eat you alive until you won’t be able to properly enjoy your holiday.

The summer breeze (or lack thereof) feels like it’s burning you alive, so you pull off your usual sweater to reveal a tank top underneath. Huffing out in irritation, you send a quick text to Seungmin.

You: wru

You: why take so long

You: ur so not a gentleman this is why ur single

Instead of an answer, you receive a phone call in return. You pick it up. “Yo, where are you? I’ve been waiting here for fifteen fucking minutes, dude, I’m parched.”

“I brought a friend,” said Seungmin, completely disregarding your complaints. “Look in front of you.”

And there he is, walking towards you with none other than Yang Jeongin beside him, waving at you like a stray puppy. You close your eyes, trying to pretend for as long as possible that none of it is real. This is probably what I get for trying to sabotage someone out of the basketball team, you think to yourself, deciding to surrender to your fate and greet them with as much kindness as you can muster for the time being.

After approximately thirty minutes of sitting down and discussing the next academic year’s syllabus, you decide that that was the last bit of kindness in your heart. So when Jeongin leaves to go to the restroom, you waste no time catching Seungmin up on what you’ve actually been doing. The letter, the operation— everything.

“25 pages?” Seungmin asks you in disbelief. “My god, that’s a thesis.”

“It might as well be, at this point.” You nod solemnly at his comment. There’s no use denying anything; at your core, you’re just pure cruel and sadistic. At the very least you know your best friend will love you regardless, even if nobody else will.

“Listen, I love you, truly I do. But you’ve got to stop,” Seungmin grabs your shoulders and looks you dead in the eye. He has never looked this serious before and meant it. “He’s, like, falling in love with you.”

“Pardon me?”

“I know, I know, it’s your worst nightmare, and I know you don’t like him like that, which is why I’m telling you this. Stop now or you will break his heart even more.”

Just as you were about to respond, Jeongin comes back to the table. If he hadn’t, you’re not sure what you would have had to say. Would you disagree with even the thought of it, telling Seungmin he’s a liar? Would you have argued that if your plan were to work, Jeongin would hate you in the end anyway? Or would you have asked him how to make those feelings grow?

But no, no. He doesn’t like you, not like that. He’s just kind, that’s all. He can’t.

And the next hour passes by like torture, with both boys having to snap you back to the present moment about five times each. You couldn’t care less about the syllabus or the coffee or the new inside jokes you all made that day. All you could think about was how Jeongin’s hand would brush against yours when he borrowed a pencil, or the way his eyes would lock with yours when he laughed at Seungmin’s sarcastic remarks.

The entire time, your mind was calculating the probability of Jeongin actually being in love with you. Each answer was always too close to 1 for your liking.

You couldn’t get him out of your head.

To be fair, you never could. But it used to be about hatred. You used to find joy in boring two-hour classes because you knew you could just spend those two hours daydreaming about what Jeongin would look like with real tears in his eyes, with a scowl on his lips, with anything other than that damned smile.

You told your boss you’d be taking the night shift at Lucy’s for a while, because your days would be spent hanging out with friends on the holidays. This isn’t true at all, of course, you just found it more difficult to escape those Jeongin-plagued thoughts when you were about to drift to slumber. Unfortunately, this didn’t work the way you had hoped, because it turns out the diner basically doesn’t have any customers after 8 PM.

It’s almost 10 PM now, the hour when you’ll have to close up the diner. Nobody has come inside in the last forty-five minutes, so you figure it’s best to close up early. That way, you’ll get more time to scroll on your phone or read a book.

You should have seen it coming, really. You know you could never escape him. There, standing in front of the doors of Lucy’s diner, is your haunting, your shadow, your karmic retribution.

“I keep thinking about you,” he says, almost breathless, as he steps into the diner.

“How long have you been standing there?” “Like, five seconds,” he answers. Then, as if to emphasize his previous statement, he says, “You owe me sleep.”

“You don’t think that goes both ways?” You turn away from him, placing all the cleaning supplies on the bar counter. When you look back, he’s already eagerly striding towards you.

“What are you saying? That you want me?”

“I… I don’t know,” you mutter. You can’t look at him, not right now, not like this. You would break not just his heart, but yours as well. “I don’t know how I feel. I need a… an experiment or an investigation or something that I know is going to tell me if this is actually real, because I have no fucking clue what’s real anymore.”

Without another word, he places both palms on the counter behind you, trapping your body between his, and kisses you.

It knocks the breath right out of your soul. Every vessel in your brain is screaming at you, reminding you that it’s wrong and he’s not supposed to like you and you’re not supposed to like him back and that you sure as hell shouldn’t be kissing him at all, let alone your workplace.

Nevertheless, you can’t help it. Everything you knew has been proven wrong. Everything you have questioned has proven themselves to be true. You know nothing at all. You kiss him back.

Acknowledging your reciprocation, he lifts a hand to cradle your face, gently brushing his thumb over your cheekbone down to your jaw. He takes a step closer, pressing your body flush against his. You haven’t closed the diner; somebody could walk in at any moment.

Running your fingers through his soft locks, he takes the opportunity to trail his lips to your neck. It’s at this moment that you begin to feel everything, and it’s all too real too quick. You push him away, taking one brief glance at his disheveled hair and swollen, rose-tinted lips.

You know you shouldn’t. You know you’re being a coward. You know the answer.

Be that as it may, you still run.

seungmo: Bball game @ school tonight

seungmo: Idk what happened w u and jeongin but pls come to the game

seungmo: U know how much ive been looking forward to this

seungmo: I'll keep him away, i promise

You shouldn’t have gone. You should have stayed home, rotting in your room for yet another night, catching up on all the studying you missed out on when you went to that coffee shop with Seungmin, finding yourself tracing the shape of your lips when you’re deep in thought, recalling the way Jeongin’s felt on yours.

The truth is, you do know how much Seungmin has been looking forward to this match. He had realized long ago that you couldn’t care less about sports, but still he found your face amongst the crowd every single time. Even though you had such a deep scowl it made him chuckle every time he saw you, he felt his chest warm with affection at the act of being present.

This is one of those unconditional, unspoken rules you’ve established in your friendship. You would support him, and he would support you. You couldn’t have ditched this.

But as you approach closer and closer to the basketball court, you notice something amiss. By now, you should have been able to hear the rowdy chanting of other students. You should have already been blinded by the lights surrounding the court, considering it’s already 6 PM. You should have seen Seungmin waiting for you, but he’s not there.

Nothing’s there. Nothing but Yang Jeongin, standing in the middle of the court.

“I’m starting to think Seungmin is playing matchmaker,” you say as you walk towards him.

His face cracks into a fit of laughter, and it lights up the whole area. “You think?”

You’re close enough to him to see how puffy his eyes are— is he just exhausted or has he been crying? He’s silent for a second, catching his bottom lip between his teeth, before opening his mouth to finally speak.

“Listen, I—”

“No, no,” you interrupt him. “Let me speak first.”

“I used to despise you, as you already know. For a reason that is so stupid that if I said it out loud right now I’d pee myself laughing, probably. And I guess that hatred helped me cover up my insecurities, and that I couldn’t believe someone like me and someone like you could be with anything more than enemies.” At some point, you started looking into his eyes, and now you can’t seem to pull away. “You’re not boring, Yang Jeongin, not at all. You’re certain. You’re my probability of 1.”

“So… Moral of the story, I’m different from all the other boys, yes?” He teases, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer inch by inch.

“You think that’s the moral of the story?” “Hell, no,” he chuckles. “The moral of the story is that sometimes you need to ditch that whole superiority complex and realize that you’re exactly like everybody else. You’re smart, yes, but you’re also stupid and naive and clumsy. And that’s completely alright. That doesn’t make you any less deserving of anything, it just makes you human.”

And as he tugs you into a kiss, you realize he’s right. It doesn’t matter what you know. Life is still uncertain, anyway, and the probabilities of most things are far less than 1. All you know is that whatever happens, you’ll be loved in the process.

[suzdin]

Washed Up Has-Been: a Dieter Bravo one shot

Dieter Bravo x F!Plus Size!Reader

Warnings: soft!Dieter, sweet!Dieter, smut, angst, bodily insecurities, reader is plus sized but no other physical attributes are described, Dieter is a little chubby as well, mentions of drugs and alcohol, oral (m receiving), mention of sex toys, fluff? (gasp!), did I forget anything? I know next to nothing about the film industry, don’t judge me :(

Word Count: 2,800

Enjoy and feel free to reblog and comment if you wish! 💜🙂

——

Dieter Bravo had not been the same since Cliff Beasts 6.

What did they call it? Losing your spark? Your mojo? Your moxy? Whatever it was called, he’d lost it, along with his marbles… if he ever had any to begin with, and he was sure many would agree he hadn’t.

The reviews were bad, abhorrent, really. ‘Dieter Bravo as Gio Ricci baffling’, ‘Bravo couldn’t act his way out of a paper bag’, ‘I can’t believe this man has an Oscar’, ‘Did he get his Italian accent at an Olive Garden?’, on and on the critics wailed and lambasted.

He’d had a mental break shortly after the premier, firing everyone he could in his vicinity — his publicist, his hair stylist and manicurist, hell, even his agent of twenty five years. He’d hired a new one, of course, a potential script FedExed to his door that morning, fist curled and white knuckled in anger around the thick stack of papers as he perched himself like a sentient gargoyle on his couch, in the tattered clothes he’d been wearing for nearly a week.

A dad. They wanted him to play a fucking dad, some sort of buddy comedy family film opposite Dwayne Johnson, it might be a good move for your career, buddy, his agent had explained. But seriously, him? Hollywood heart throb Dieter Bravo, reduced to playing someone’s bumbling father, opposite THE FUCKING ROCK?

He couldn’t believe it.

He had put on some weight since his last film, sure, but that was no reason or excuse to allow himself to be typecasted as a dad.

Or was it the ever persistent graying in his hair and beard? The laugh lines? The crow’s feet?

‘Dieter Bravo is a washed up has-been’ the internet screamed at him daily, leading him to drown himself in an endless stream of drugs and alcohol…more so than he was already doing, anyway.

He was barely a functioning person. A husk of his former self, he could no longer get it up, unsure whether to blame the drugs or his steadily fleeting mental health, and even putting brush to canvas felt more like a chore than an escape nowadays. He’d become a hermit in his own home, the ghastly, aging 1970s mid-century horror he resided in the Hollywood Hills, that he thought was amazing when he originally bought it a decade ago.

Well, much like him, older things fall apart, and the house was a piece of shit, which was apt.

He had hired you as his assistant and he was so vague as to what that entailed that you were sort of a jack of all trades as far as helping was concerned, acting as his maid, his cook, the middle man to screen his calls, his emails, so on and so forth. Hell, you even took care of the large python he’d bought ‘because it looked cool’, that he was now too scared to touch, himself.

You did it all, and although he never properly expressed as much, he was more grateful for you than he let on.

He always found you pretty, too. Beautiful, even, and not in the fake way he’d grown used to, living in Hollywood. You were kind, sweet, and uncorrupted by a crueler world, always happy and eager to assist him with whatever he needed.

And if he was being honest with himself, the thought of you sheathed around his cock was the only thing that could even get him half hard anymore.

When you arrive for the day, you find him on his couch, glowering at what you can only assume is another bad script, graying hair disheveled and curling away from his skull, teeth gritted in disdain. A look you had come to recognize and were more than familiar with.

“Let me take that to the garbage for you,” you offer, as you normally do in these situations, stepping forward to reach for the offending script.

His eyes clock the way your breasts sway when you walk, the roundness of your belly, the plushness of your arms. He can’t help but stare; he wants to bury himself in you and stay there forever.

He swallows, moving the script away from your extended hand and tucking it behind a cushion, distracted by your body.

“No — no, it’s okay,” he replies and his voice feels like gravel in his throat, realizing he hasn’t spoken all day until now.

Although the script sucks and he doesn’t want to do it, he needs the money. “Thanks.”

You notice his eyes on you and you sit, leaving about a foot of space between you to maintain a modicum of professionalism, observing the sadness behind his dark brown eyes and knowing this has been the norm for several months now but still hating it for what it is.

“What’s on the docket for today?” you ask him and he shrugs, unhelpfully, his lips pulled into a frown, shadows staining the lines of his face. You haven’t seen him this bad in a while.

“I can… make you some hot tea?” you ask, looking down at the schedule in your lap, of which nothing is jotted down for the day.

He shakes his head, carding a hand through his hair. “No. I’m out of tea.”

You chew your lip. “Okay… well, then I guess I’m running to the store today. I have a list already, but can you think of anything else?”

Once again, he shakes his head. “No. I’ll just order it or something.”

You frown and tuck the schedule away, crossing your legs and turning to face him, contemplative.

“Then what do you want me to do today? You’re paying me to be here,” you note. “Unless you’d rather I go home.”

“No!” he damn near shouts, making you jump, and he immediately regrets his lack of impulse control. His gaze traverses your subtle cleavage and you clear your throat, heat warming your skin. “Sorry, it’s just… I don’t want to be alone right now. Can we just hang out?” he queries.

“Dieter, are you okay?” you question and he shakes his head in response.

“No.” A single word that says so much more than that. It pulls at your heart strings, seeing him like this. “I — I’m a nobody.”

“You aren’t a nobody, you’re Oscar winner Dieter fucking Bravo,” you counter, and he snorts, picking at some dry skin on his ankle.

“Yeah, Dieter fucking Bravo, the aging has-been who can’t act his way out of a paper bag,” he snorts.

“If you keep talking like that, I’m going to take away your internet access so you can’t read all the mean tweets about yourself,” you threaten.

“You wouldn’t.”

“One call to your financial advisor and I would and could,” you retort and Dieter scoffs, trying to remember if he’d fired him yet or not.

You cross your arms and flop back against the worn and flattened couch cushions, eyeing him smugly.

The movement pushes your chest up and out, his gaze on you once again and he isn’t subtle about it this time. You clear your throat and stir, staring back at his soft, plush lips.

“Dieter—“

“Come here,” he murmurs quietly and the spontaneity of it catches you off guard, your jaw hanging agape in disbelief and confusion.

“…What?”

It had been months since anyone had touched him, had wanted to touch him, and now, as he stares at your body and smells your light vanilla perfume, after the shitty week he’s had, he needs to be touched, even if only briefly.

“Come… here,” he repeats, more dogged than before, and in spite of yourself, despite how unprofessional it is, you find yourself scooting forward.

He grabs your hips when you’re within reach and drags you the rest of the way, pulling the cushion partially off the couch in the process, a small yelp of surprise escaping your lungs as he softly grips your face to bring his lips to yours.

They’re plush, dry, lightly chapped and he tastes a little like whiskey and weed, but you don’t really mind, his coarse, wiry mustache scratching and tickling against your nose.

Suddenly, with a soft groan in the back of his throat, his hand is under your shirt, cupping your breast, and you break the kiss, looking down to where his arm disappears beneath the fabric, shock settling over your features.

“Dee… are you… are you sure?” you ask. You don’t exactly look like the people Dieter had been confirmed dating in the past, and you feel a wave of trepidation, your self conscious nature bubbling to the surface. You’ve always felt Dieter Bravo was more than a little out of your league.

Not that you’re dating him, but, you know.

“I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t sure,” he tuts and kisses you again, rougher this time, palming your breast, making your cunt throb.

He groans. You’re so good to him, always taking such good care of him, and you feel exactly the way he thought you would, warm and luscious and supple, his dick already fighting with the seam of his pajama pants, the first time in weeks.

And you’ve wanted this, too, as long as you’ve worked for him, never confessing your feelings for fear of losing your job. You never imagined Dieter fucking Bravo would feel the same way about you.

You know Dee needs this, you need this, and you want to make him feel good.

You brush a hand over his hardening cock and he damn near bucks himself straight off the couch with a grunt and a sharply uttered, “Fuck” against your lips. You grin into his mouth at how much composure he’s already lost from so few touches.

You pull away after a moment and scoot off the couch, sinking onto your knees in front of him, nestling yourself between his broad thighs.

He watches you, rigid cock tremoring in his pants at the sight, the outline of it clearly visible and straining against the fabric. “You… you don’t have to…” His voice is thick, haggard.

“Let me take care of you, Dee,” you mewl as you nuzzle your face against the squishy paunch of his stomach, lifting his shirt to plant small, reverent kisses in a circle around his belly button. He giggles and flinches at the contact.

“Sorry, sorry — ticklish,” he explains and you smile, placing a few more kisses there, more delicate than the ones that preceded them, trailing a line from his navel to the thick swathe of hair leading to his crotch.

Despite the pounds he’s put on recently, he doesn’t feel at all uncomfortable in front of you, eyes darkening as he drinks you in visually, lips tight and parted, breaths growing deeper in the barrel of his chest.

You look up and from your current perspective, he’s all wild haired and broad shouldered, panting, your cunt clenching with desire as you eye him with a wry grin.

You smooth his shirt down over his belly and move your face to the hard bulge below, nosing the bulk of it through the fabric and inhaling his natural scent, thick and musky and masculine in your nostrils. You both groan in unison.

“Dear god,” he grunts, “I feel like I’m about to— aaaaugh— fucking bust already.”

“Save it for my mouth, at least,” you snip and his head rolls back against the cushion at your words, the one with the sag in the middle where his neck always rests, eyes sliding shut.

“You’re so good for me,” he pants softly, already so close to falling apart, “I take you for granted and I’m sorry.”

“Dieter, shh.” You find the stretchy waistband of his striped trousers and drag them down his hips, not all surprised to see he’s gone commando, cock springing free from the cage of fabric, uncut and dribbling against the drag of soft cotton. He’s girthy, and you’ve never seen one intact in the flesh before — literally — a small puff of air escaping your lips, taking in the sight of him for a few seconds before coming to your senses.

“Is everything alr—“ he starts to ask, cutting himself off when you unexpectedly cup his heavy balls in your palm and lick a slow stripe up his length with the flat of your tongue, his hips quivering and bucking involuntarily. “Shit—“

You grin, humming satisfactorily to yourself and continue to tease him, his hands finding your hair, fingers twisting at the roots as the rings he insists on wearing get caught in the strands, pulling ever so slightly. You moan.

You feel incredible, your tongue working his most sensitive areas, and he’s having a hard time holding it together, torso heaving above you, tiny whimpers departing his lips, and he hasn’t even entered your mouth yet.

You sense how much trouble he’s having at keeping himself in check, so you back off a touch to give him a momentary reprieve, shifting to kiss along the meat of his inner thighs, nipping at the tiny elephant tattoos etched into his skin as you do so.

He cups one hand on the back of your neck, watching you through half-lidded eyes, your lips like pure velvet and heaven.

He’s already forgotten about the shitty script tucked into the couch, about the bad reviews and the critics with their cruel, baseless quips. Faded away to nothingness, akin to what he experiences when he’s completely blitzed, negative thoughts dissolving to the back of his mind to be discarded, and for now, for the moment, the only thing that matters is you, your beauty, and how well you take care of him.

After what seems like an eternity of small, worshipping, teasing touches to the insides of his thighs and the rim of his belly, your lips return to his cock, lapping at the precum that’s beaded up at the slit before taking him into your mouth, hand fisted at the base as you work him into your throat.

He’s impervious at this point to keep his hips flush against the couch, shuddering into your mouth as you take him and pushing further down your throat, not entirely on purpose, moaning as the wet heat of your mouth engulfs him.

“Wanna— fuck your pussy next time— with a vibrating plug in your ass,” he grunts, hardly able to string a single cohesive thought together, making your cunt throb and slick leak into the cradle of your panties.

Dieter wasn’t one to shy away from toys, and in fact had an entire drawer full of them, which you had accidentally stumbled upon one day when putting away some of his clothes; everything from butt plugs to cock rings to flesh lights with multiple attachments and bondage gear.

You steady his hips with your hands and hold him in place as best you can, difficult with how much stronger he is than you, jaw stretching to fit him, the musky tang of him flooding your tastebuds.

You steadily rock your head up and down his length, taking him all the way to the back of your throat, and you can feel the veins running the length of his shaft pulsating against your tongue, feel the way his balls tighten as he edges ever closer to the precipice.

He’s wanted you, needed you, for so long, that he can’t contain himself much longer. His hips begin to stutter and you feel his body growing taut, hear his breaths growing shallow and haggard, fingers curling against your scalp.

“I’m… I’m gonna… fucking cum,” he grunts deep in his chest. That’s all the warning he allows before his hips stall and he lets out a visceral growl of pleasure, spilling a hot and heavy load across your tongue, some of it seeping out at the edges and dribbling down his thighs until you’re able to steady yourself.

You hold him in your mouth until you feel the very last drop hit the back of your throat, slowly pulling off only when you feel him starting to go soft.

“You should really clean up this awful mess you’ve made,” Dieter taunts when you sit back to catch your breath, watching the cocktail of spend and saliva slide down his tan skin.

You grin and tip your head forward to obediently lap at the escaped fluids. He groans as he savors the delicious sight of you, affectionately brushing his fingers through your hair as you do so.

After a moment, you rise from the ground, your knees cracking from the exertion, joining him on the couch as he tugs his pajama bottoms back up his hips.

He snakes an arm around the small of your back and kisses you, deep and full, moaning when he tastes remnants of himself on your tongue.

He grins against your lips and then rises, yanking you off the couch and giggling along with you when you pass him a perplexed look.

“Where are we going now?” you ask, pleased to see him happy and relaxed again after all this time, to actually see him smiling.

“You took care of me, so I’m going to take care of you. You’re familiar with my special drawer, aren’t you?”

—

FIN. xx

[defectivevillain]

this broken design, ch16

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

summary: That familiar analytical gleam in your eyes lives in Hannibal’s mind as he sinks his teeth into his prey. Despite your departure hours ago, Hannibal sees you sitting across from him at the table. Dining alone has never bothered him; yet, right now, he can’t help but desire your company—your scintillating conversation, your sharp wit, your clever smirk. Indeed, his table feels uncharacteristically empty. Hannibal stares at the chair across from him—the same chair he’s grown accustomed to seeing you sit at—and takes another bite. Flavor explodes on his tongue, yet you are what dominates his thoughts.

Your experience in criminal profiling means that you've met a wide variety of people from all different walks of life. You've stared down hardened criminals and fought for your life against people hellbent on killing you. Even so, something about the FBI's new target, the Chesapeake Ripper, seems to elude you.

Then you meet Hannibal Lecter: an enigmatic jigsaw of a man with jagged corners and misshapen pieces.

Fortunately, you've always been rather good at puzzles.

read from the beginning here.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

some of this chapter is born out of me realizing, as i read The Red Dragon, that i essentially limited Alana’s presence in this fic to that one rather tumultuous interaction, instead of expanding on her potential as both a strong, intelligent side character and a friend to the reader. Hopefully this makes up for that a little bit. Alana’s pretty cool. I sort of lost sight of that.

warnings: negative self talk, suicidal ideation/thoughts, panic attack, hyperventilation, derealization, canon-typical blood, violence, & gore

The darkness swirling around you is relentless in its writhing, distorting and jerking you around in its shadowed grasp. For a while, you’re content to let the shadows take control. You float in an endless abyss. Memories flit before your eyes, just long enough for you to reach out to try to grab them. They never stay long enough, flickering and disintegrating before you get the chance to grasp them and dissect every miniscule detail. 

Stay awake, says a whisper itching at your skin. 

You take a deep breath. The next time you blink, you find yourself standing in a far too familiar place. Hannibal’s kitchen is quiet—eerily so, you think as your footsteps echo against the floors. There is hardly a sign of life on these countertops, hardly a stain or sprinkling of powder to assure you this place has ever been used. There is a single light boring down on the back of your head: a spotlight. You swallow hard and step to the side in an attempt to escape the light, only to find Hannibal’s rolodex sitting in the middle of the brightness. Your business card sits on top, displaying your name, phone number, email address, office location at headquarters, birthplace, height, weight, eye color, age, and any other demographic information you could possibly imagine. The font is tiny, yet you can read it with ease. Feeling a sudden urge to touch, you grab the business card and let it lie flat in your palm. There’s a tear in the corner, you realize. Frowning, you move to touch it, only for the tear to extend further down the flimsy material. Crimson dots appear on the white background, swirling and twisting until there’s blood collecting on your fingertips. You look down, only to realize that the dark red stains have permeated the fabric of your shirt. Puddles are gathering at your feet, marking your footsteps with every movement you make. The card melts into the blood gathered in your hands, and you’re left holding the tattered remains of your identity. 

Stay awake.  

You blink again. Abel Gideon is peering at you from behind the bars of his interrogation cell. “You have Lecter on a leash, don’t you?” Gideon remarks with a laugh. You huff a laugh under your breath. The thought amuses you, for reasons you cannot quite discern at the moment. “A very long leash, but a leash nonetheless.”  Your hands tremble at your sides and you restlessly shift your balance from one foot to the other. Gideon’s gaze is knowing and it pins you to the ground. 

Stay alive.  

A blink. You’re standing in the doorway of your office at headquarters. Everything is as you left it, save for your chair, which has an inhabitant. Franklyn Froideveaux stares at you with empty eye sockets and a gaping maw.  Blood slips down his gaunt frame, leaving murky red-brown streaks down his cheeks and around the cavity of his chest. You blink and his skin turns a murky yellowish green from decay. 

“See?” Garret Jacob Hobbs croons from over your shoulder. You can feel the smile on his face, feel his breath hitting your neck and provoking a deep nausea in your gut. 

Another blink. Blood slips hotly down your fingers as you stand in a dimly lit hallway. Your skin feels lit with flames and the knife in your hand gleams a sickening crimson. You want to release the weapon from your grip, but your fingers are locked around the blade with unshakeable force. The smell of death and decay wafting through the enclosed space makes your stomach turn. None of these sensations are powerful enough to rip your attention away from the corpse at your feet. 

“Killing must feel good to God, too,” Hannibal remarks with a hum, hands behind his back as he regards Abel Gideon’s form. There is a mildly intrigued expression on his face as he studies the body, before looking back to you with eerily crimson eyes. As he pivots, bloodstained antlers stretch from his perfectly coiffed hair. They disappear in a moment—a trick of the light. His voice is dark and airy all at once. “And are we not created in his image?” You swallow past the nausea building in your chest. Time stretches on with terrible slowness. His gaze is flaying you apart. “Don’t you want God To want you?” He asks softly.1 

“See?” Stay awake. Stay alive.  

Darkness, then light. “To the Ripper, understanding is love,” Hannibal says, a flicker of a smile settling on his lips. His hands are folded and he leans forward. Your chairs are close enough to force you to knock knees with him, but Hannibal doesn’t seem bothered by the prospect. “You are the first person to see through his façade, through the layers of his mask.” His skin looks strangely patterned, as if it's made of ceramic. You reach out to grasp his face, to yank off his mask, only for Hannibal to catch your wrist and hold it in a tight grip. Suddenly, your chair is tipping backwards precariously, lurching further into the abyss. You try to reach out and grab onto something, but Hannibal’s hold is the only thing that keeps you tethered. The void crawls up your skin mockingly, waiting to drag you into its umbra. Your momentum is slipping backwards and you’re filled with an unsettling anticipation. Contrary to your expectations, Hannibal’s grip remains strong. You look at him. The Ripper looks back, a bloodstained smile on his lips. You feel his fingers trace the edges of your skin with a mocking gentleness, before you’re falling backward into the darkness again.

You slip out of the darkness and bolt up, only to find yourself in a painfully bright room. You can’t quite stop the gasp that comes from your lips, nor can you suppress the urge to look around frantically, searching for the signs that this is a dream. The incessant pain in your abdomen is a harsh reality check. You look down at the area, only to find meticulously wrapped bandages covering your lower torso. Your upper forearm stings from the IV burrowing under your skin. 

“Hey,” a voice says. You squint in the bright light, waiting for the blurred figure in front of you to sharpen. It’s a nurse—the same one who helped you the last time you were wounded. She holds her hands out in a placating gesture. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You were just dreaming.” Her eyebrows are furrowed in concern, a sentiment you feel you don’t deserve. 

You bite back your questions—knowing the answers are clinging to the blinding white walls around you. The nurse asks you several questions about your symptoms and your pain level, before departing with the promise that she will return soon. 

The events that transpired in Hannibal’s office cling to your skin with fervency. Your abdomen burns, especially when you remember that Hannibal inflicted the wound. You shouldn’t feel betrayed. You shouldn’t be afforded the privilege of being betrayed, not when you knew Hannibal Lecter’s nature since that night you sleepwalked out into the middle of the street. 

Even so… you enjoyed being in Hannibal’s presence. You enjoyed the song and dance you had gotten so accustomed to playing. You spent so long spectating the game that you forgot your role in it. You were a pawn, and nothing more. The thought displeases you. With each passing second, the ugly feeling in your chest grows and swells within the confines of your rib cage. It’s getting to be too much. 

There is no one to sit at your bedside this time. When she returns, the nurse pointedly does not mention your husband. You don’t have the heart to tell her that your “husband” was the same person who stabbed you, or that your husband was never really your husband in the first place. She seems to understand anyway. Pity is hidden beneath the kind smile on her face. You stop making eye contact with her. 

Lying in this hospital bed is a lonely existence, dominated by a constant state of pain (at worst) or mild discomfort (at best). The only interaction you get is from the nurse herself. You get the feeling she’d be a good listener, but your tongue feels ironed to the roof of mouth and your conversations quickly morph into anecdotes about her life. You’re grateful for the small kindness—for the prospect of being treated like a human being, despite it all.  These small moments of humanity push you to keep going, even amidst the several voices crooning in your ears about your cruelty.

You don’t expect any visitors. Indeed, your first visitor is entirely unexpected. When you’re first told that someone wishes to speak to you, you think of Beverly, Jack Crawford… hell, even Freddie Lounds. You certainly don’t foresee Alana Bloom walking through the door, a gentle, reserved expression on her face. Seeing her brightens your day, and her presence reminds you that you’re not entirely alone. You welcome the thought. 

“Alana,” you greet her, your voice rather raspy. You cough to clear your throat. “How are you?” You ask. 

“I should be asking you that,” she responds with a wry smile. She stands at the end of your bed, before walking to the side. Alana regards the lonely chair at your bedside, before placing her hands on the back. She looks well—albeit a little tired. “I’m good. And you?”

“I’ve been better,” you decide to respond honestly. There’s no point in lying to Alana—she used to be your psychiatrist, your girlfriend. She would be able to see through your dishonesty anyway. Sure enough, Alana seems to appreciate your honesty, because her eyes momentarily widen before she moves to sit down. Seeing her sit in that chair makes your stomach turn. When you blink, you see Hannibal sitting there—lithe frame effortlessly arranged, tupperware in hand. You rub your eyes roughly, dispelling the image to the recesses of your memory. Alana was courteous enough to visit you—the least you can do is acknowledge her presence, instead of imagining her as someone else. 

For a moment, you stare at Alana. A mundane sense of envy strikes you, but it’s fleeting. You don’t deserve to be envious of her good health and safe wellbeing. Your own hubris is the reason why you’re currently confined to this cot. You look at her for a moment longer, before letting your eyes rest on the plain walls around you. You can feel Alana staring at you with concern. Instead of acknowledging that sentiment, you let the first question on your mind pass through your lips. “Where’s Jack?”

Alana is silent for a few seconds. Is it a difficult question? You don’t think so, yet Alana almost seems to falter. Eventually, she must manage to find the words. “Busy, as I’m sure you can imagine,” she evidently settles for saying. Upon closer examination, her hands are clasped in her lap—whitened knuckles betraying her otherwise tranquil image. Alana’s next words are quiet yet firm. “He’s tracking Hannibal—the Chesapeake Ripper.”

You inhale slowly. Somehow, hearing her say that cements the reality of it all. Everyone knows Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper. It’s not just you anymore. You bring up an arm slowly, before tilting your head down and pinching the bridge of your nose. Somehow, it is this statement that reminds you of the pounding sensation behind your eyes and the aching clustered around your temple.

“Are you alright?” Alana asks, lips twitching into a slight frown. 

“Yes,” you respond flatly. Your answer sounds devoid of emotion and purpose. 

“Are you sure?” Alana persists. You don’t have the heart to lie to her twice in a row. 

“...No.” You acquiesce. You rub a hand over your face, feeling rather small in this hospital bed. The sheets are slightly scratchy and the weight of them feels constricting, rather than comforting. You’ve never felt so small. 

“I’m sorry,” Alana sighs. She seems entirely sincere and it almost makes you want to scream. You don’t deserve her sympathy. “I know you two were close. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.” That statement is incredibly reassuring, despite the frenzy you had worked yourself into surrounding Alana. When you reflect on the events of the past months, you realize that you have few allies and even fewer true friends. One of those true friends is sitting right next to you. 

“Thank you,” you nod. Guilt stirs in your chest as you stare at your old psychiatrist and ex-girlfriend. Every time you’ve seen her since she kissed you, you’ve purposefully cut conversation short. Somehow, the thought feels silly to you now. Perhaps almost dying a second time does that to a person. You stare at Alana for a moment. She looks well put together, as always. “Alana?”

“Yes?” She questions patiently. That’s another thing you envy about her—her unwavering compassion, her unflinching patience. You could stand to learn a few things from her, you think. 

“I’m sorry,” you remark. The sentiment has been dancing on the tip of your tongue for the past several weeks, yet you never got the chance to verbalize it. Life has been a whirlwind lately. You’ve been so caught up in everything swirling around in your mind that you never paused to think about those around you, or how they were affected by the recent turn of events. “For…” You break off, unable to articulate it. You settle for a vague hand gesture. Alana seems to understand anyways, as her eyes momentarily widen before comprehension passes over her face. 

“Don’t apologize,” Alana is quick to say, nothing but sincerity written in the lines of her shoulders. Her eyes look slightly glassy for the briefest of moments, before she shakes her head and looks at you once more. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’m sorry for kissing you without warning.”

You nod in acknowledgement. Silence descends upon the brisk air, leaving the two of you to your thoughts. You’re not content to let this overbearing tension rule over your conversation. You clench your fists slightly, filled with renewed resolve. You stare at Alana for a few seconds, until she notices your gaze and returns it. “Friends?” You ask, extending a hand towards her.

“Friends,” Alana responds with a smile, rising from her chair to meet your outstretched hand. Your handshake is short but reassuring. It’s enough to convince you that there are no hard feelings between the two of you. Alana fills you in on some of what’s happened since your admittance to the hospital; mostly, though, the two of you talk about the small things. You know Alana is trying to give you some semblance of normalcy. You appreciate the effort, you really do… but you’re not sure you’re capable of pretending everything’s okay. Furthermore, the small things seem inconsequential—now that you’re entrenched in the middle of everything. Even so, you make sure to thank her before she leaves. You don’t know how you would have coped without seeing a familiar face. Alana smiles and promises to be back soon. 

As you expect, Alana doesn’t turn up the next day. You certainly don’t expect her to stop by, since you know she’s always rather busy.  Ultimately, you come to the conclusion that you want nothing more than to be out of this hospital. Even worse… apparently, the stunt you pulled with Beverly during your past hospital visit did not go over well. You’re firmly reminded to avoid any attempts at an early release. You’re too tired and embarrassed to argue. You don’t have anything better to do than rot in this hospital room, anyway. Besides, you’re certain you’ll be met with some unpleasant reminders of Hannibal as you get home. You think you have a few cardigans in your closet that you meant to give back to him. The thought sends a bolt of nervous excitement through you, and you have to actively talk yourself down that precarious ledge. 

Alana does visit the day after. Beverly turns up the day after that and gives you several hugs. After that, at least one of your friends—Alana or Beverly— visits every day, which you’re extremely grateful for. You’re certain you’d go absolutely stir crazy in this hospital bed if you didn’t have anyone for company. Your conversations are typically fun and refreshing, like light breezes of summer air. Sometimes, though, you’re bogged down by your memories. Sometimes, you’re forced to remember the corpses you left in your wake. 

Even with Alana and Beverly visiting, you’re given more than enough alone time to contemplate everything. You have ample time to pick apart Hannibal’s actions and discern his true motivations. So, when Jack Crawford finally visits, his shoulders drawn tight with stress, you’re prepared to recount that night to him. Jack is insistent on the fact that you don’t have to speak about anything you don’t want to, but you know the offer is more for pretense than anything else. He needs this information, needs to understand the Ripper’s past actions and how they govern his future.  With that in mind, you wave off his concern and tell him about your late night meeting with Hannibal.

Jack is silent throughout, never once interrupting you or reacting in a manner other than an affirmative nod. It’s very characteristic of your boss; you think that you would have been unsettled if he responded with heightened or dramatic emotions. Jack’s cool composure is an anchor that you quickly latch on to. 

“He wanted you alive,” Jack states, once you’re finished explaining everything. He says this with frightening assuredness. His utter conviction surprises you, prompting you to ask how he knows that. 

Of course, you certainly considered that same possibility yourself, but it feels more real when you hear it from Jack. “The stab wound wasn’t fatal,” he points out. His gaze falls to the edge of your abdomen. The bandages feel extremely constricting. You wonder if they need to be changed soon. “It easily could’ve been. The Ripper is a skilled killer—he wouldn’t have missed unless he wanted to.” You take a shuddering breath in. 

“He’s toying with us,” you manage to agree. Your hands fidget restlessly along the rough blanket thrown over your form. You feel restless once more. 

“He’s toying with you,” Jack supplies. There is no room for argument in his voice. He doesn’t look restless, afraid, or frustrated. Not for the first time, you wish you had Jack’s control and constitution. However, you know Jack well enough to see the signs of tension in his clenched fist and drawn lips. “Taunting you, and the rest of us, by proxy.” That statement in particular sets everything in stone. Your theories are no longer just theories—they are unobjectionable facts. 

“Jack.” you remark, trying to push the words past the dread settling on your tongue. 

“Yes?” Jack asks, patient and restless all at once. You’re choking on the words. It’s such a simple sentence, yet so dangerous of an admission. If you told the truth—confided in Jack about how you suspected Hannibal the moment you met him, and grew to realize that he is the Ripper—you would certainly lose your job, not to mention all of Jack’s trust. 

Selfish, your victims croon. Your psyche nods in agreement. It’s truly selfish of you not to provide Jack with your utmost honesty. You’re doing a disservice to every person Hannibal has ever killed, every waking moment the team spent hunting for the Chesapeake Ripper. You wasted so much time, so much space. 

“I-” You try to continue. I knew. I knew and I did nothing. I am complicit in his crimes. Tears are slipping down your cheeks. You’re a rotten excuse for a human being. You don’t deserve to be alive. Why hadn’t Hannibal just finished the job? It’s cruel, almost. He allowed his other victims the mercy of death, yet he left you alive. You will forever be scarred—both by Hannibal’s knife and by the bone-deep knowledge that your silence made you an accomplice to his crimes. 

Breathing is suddenly a far more arduous task. Your lungs burn and your throat feels as if it’s closing in on you. Your vision is extremely sharp and your shaking hands are drawn with harsh lines and even harsher edges. The world around you is suddenly rendered immensely inconsequential. The beeping of the machines at your bedside, Jack’s steady breaths, the traces of conversation slipping in from the hallway… It all fails in comparison to the chimes of the grandfather clock in your mind. You dig your fingernails into your skin, desperate for unspoken confirmation that you aren’t dreaming.

At this point, you’re panting. Drool falls from the sides of your mouth and hits the scratchy blanket. Every nerve in your body feels as if it’s on fire. You’re a puppet cut loose from the puppeteer’s careful hand, yet you’re still strung together with wooden bones and durable string. You bring your hand to your chest and try to breathe, but the more you try, the harsher and more rushed your attempts become.  

“Agent.” There’s a hand on your shoulder. It’s enough pressure to make you feel as if you’re melding with the thin mattress below you, sinking into the floor and the shadows. For a moment, you can see Hannibal looking down at you in your mind’s eye, a contentious expression on his face as he lets you fall to the darkness below.  “Breathe.” Jack grabs your hand and brings it to the inside of his wrist. His pulse beats steadily beneath your fingertips and you latch onto the rhythm.  Jack begins counting, prompting you to breathe in time with him. You’re not sure how long it takes you to clear your airways—you just know that, at some point, Jack migrated from where he stood at the end of your bed to the side of the bed. 

“Jack,” you try again. Your lips part but nothing slips out. It’s such a simple confession—a mere few words, yet you can’t utter them. 

“Agent,” Jack interjects, before you can choke on the words you don’t want to say. His expression has returned to a combination of rigidity and anticipation. You know what Jack will say before he says it. “Can I trust you to handle this case? Do I need to remove you from this case? ” He doesn’t say that last part, but you hear it anyway. You take a deep breath and rub a hand over your face. Your eyes burn from all the tears you shed. 

“I can handle it,” you assure him. 

“You’re close to all this,” Jack remarks. He gets up from where he had been sitting and walks back to stand behind the edge of the bed. His gaze meets yours, but you know he isn’t really looking at you. That expression on his face means Jack is looking through his options, puzzling out the future in his head. You wait for him to refocus. “You know I don’t typically assign agents with personal investments in cases… But, you’ve been on this case for a long time. You know the Ripper better than anyone else does, whether you want to admit it or not.”

You stare at Jack silently, daring him to take you off the case. You know that your words will fail you here, so you hope your conviction shows through in your eyes. Jack stares back and, for a long moment, you’re both trapped in silence. Eventually, Jack seems to ascertain that you think yourself capable. He takes a deep breath. 

“In terms of the Ripper, we currently have a unit determining his whereabouts,” Jack begins. “The Ripper—Lecter—covered his tracks very well. The last time he was seen was…”

“When he stabbed me,” you say for him. 

“Yes,” Jack confirms. “As you know, Lecter is proficient at leaving behind very little—if any—evidence.” You nod, thinking back to all the crime scenes he created. There was hardly any evidence left behind. Hannibal was always meticulous and careful in his crimes. 

“He only leaves clues when he wants to,” you continue. “He is not so kind hearted as to leave us clues for the hell of it, or because he slipped up. He doesn’t make mistakes.”

“We found very little in his office,” Jack concedes with a sharp nod. He pinches the bridge of his nose. Stress seems to tighten the line of his shoulders. “We did manage to find several concealed weapons, upon closer examination.”

“He stabbed me with a knife that was disguised as an antler on a deer sculpture,” you recall flatly. The thought makes your side flare up with pain again. “I shouldn’t have gone to his office. I should’ve come to you first. I knew, and yet…”

“Frankly, Agent, that is not my concern,” Jack states matter of factly. “The past is the past. If I were to dissect every minute mistake we’ve made along the course of this investigation, we’d never be able to proceed.”

“True,” you answer. You still don’t think Jack has truly comprehended the implications of what you just said. You knew Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper long before that night. After all, you didn’t explicitly state when you first discovered the identity of the Ripper. Of course, you suppose it is also likely that Jack was able to intuit that from your response. If that were the case, you can’t help but wonder why he hasn’t kicked you off this case or fired you. 

You know it’s best for you to drop this particular line of questioning, so you do. For the duration of Jack’s visit, he debriefs you on what the team has deduced so far—both in terms of his current location and where he’ll go next. After an hour passes, however, your luck runs out. Your nurse enters the room and promptly shoos Jack out, claiming that you need time to rest. She is entirely impervious to his objections, even when he tries to pull rank on her. You’re rather impressed. Jack manages to get a last remark in, before the nurse can guide him out of the room. 

“Lecter will turn up soon enough,” your boss states. With that, Jack departs. His cryptic remark leaves you with a lot to think about. You spend the rest of your hospital stay grappling with the implications of that statement, with the implications of Hannibal deciding not to kill you. You’re released from the hospital a week later with a troubled conscience and another scar to add to your collection. 

Somehow, news of your battle with Hannibal has reached the press, Jack tells you as he drives you home in the dead of night. Ultimately, Jack decided it would be best to get you home during a time when most people are sleeping. You’re grateful for his foresight, because when you return home, there are no flashing cameras or microphones shoved in your face. You thank Jack for the ride and he nods, sending you one final unreadable look before driving away. 

When you unlock your front door and swing the door open, you’re surprised to find that your house appears the same as when you left it. You close the door behind you and take in everything before you. Dust is beginning to collect on the shelves and surfaces—the space desperately needs a dedicated cleaning, but you know you don’t have the energy just yet. Right now, you’re content to cautiously walk to your closet and grab clothes. Despite the fact that Jack brought you a pair of old trainee clothes to change into when he arrived, you know you need a good shower to feel clean. The lukewarm water sliding down your skin is rejuvenating, but it doesn’t wipe away the dirt of your sins. You step out of the shower with clean skin and a muddy conscience. Drying off and putting on your clothes is an annoying affair, but you manage. 

After your shower, it’s safe to say that you’re entirely lost. You don’t know what to do next. You need to eat, you remember. Unfortunately, your fridge is pretty much empty. You sigh and survey the space that you call home. It doesn’t feel familiar, despite the knowledge that it’s been yours for several years. These are all your belongings, yet it feels as if you’re standing in a stranger’s shoes. You look around the room, pausing when your eye catches on a scrap of newspaper. The TattleCrime article from before rests innocuously on the kitchen counter. You walk towards it immediately, as if possessed. 

Criminally Insane. You stare at the photos featured in the article. The second photo—the one of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane—led you to realize that Frederick Chilton had been kidnapped. The first picture… It unsettles you. There are hints of the dark circles under your eyes that you now possess, but there’s also an unspoken confidence in your posture in the photo. You choke on a laugh, running your fingers along the rough newspaper. 

It’s a miracle you’re still alive. Well, it certainly feels that way… but you know your survival can’t be put down to mere fate. Inexplicably, Hannibal did not aim to kill you. You contemplate what would’ve happened if he had aimed that way. You would have died in that office, certainly. Would you be free of this terrifying helplessness, this aching despair?

You manage to tear your eyes away from the article. After a moment of thought, you stuff it in a drawer—hoping you will never need to look at it again. Unsurprisingly, you still feel incredibly restless. You begin pacing slowly around the room, desperate for something to do. Perhaps this urge to do something is indicative of a deeper sentiment. 

The cicadas buzz from the trees outside. You’re suddenly struck with a perplexing urge to step outside. You follow that urge and walk mechanically to your front door. Maybe someone is on your porch. You peek through the peephole, unsurprised to find no one there. After a second’s contemplation, you step out onto your porch, letting your arms rest against the railing.  

The brisk night air doesn’t help your worsening mental state. You still feel numb, empty. Nothing feels real anymore. As you look out at your driveway, at the other houses lining your street, you’re hit with an immense sonder.2 How did you end up in this situation? How did you end up here, staring out at the suburbia around you and wishing you could take on the life of another person—someone who isn’t desensitized to blood, gore, violence, and murder?

You don’t know where to go from here. Your feelings are a dizzying combination of remorse, regret, and contempt—combined with an unhealthy amount of wishful thinking. You raise your arms and put your head in your hands for a moment. Succumbing to darkness has never felt so comforting and terrifying at the same time.

“Lecter will return soon enough.” Jack had said. There was a certainty in his voice in that moment—a sincerity that was surely unfounded. He was making a prediction and nothing more. Yet… the conviction in his tone made it seem as if he knew the Ripper’s next move. Surely, Hannibal hasn’t grown so predictable. Surely, he will continue to elude capture for as long as he wishes. 

A car’s headlights reach your vision, and you watch as it slowly cruises down your street. There is a certain nonchalance to the way it slowly rises on the horizon. You frown, wondering what this person is doing driving down your street at such a late hour. Perhaps it’s a neighbor. You continue to watch warily. For a moment, you swear it seems as if the car’s slowing as it approaches. Surely that can’t be the case. It’s too dark to make out the details of the car—let alone the driver. You settle for staring in silence as it moves along. Within the blink of an eye, the vehicle moves past your driveway and into the dark expanse enveloping the space past your street. You exhale in relief, just realizing that your breath had hitched during the car’s brief stint in front of your house. 

Why were you nervous? What were you expecting? You don’t want to acknowledge the answers to those questions—those solutions will only bring more problems. You shake your head. Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, and everyone knows. There should be nothing to be afraid of, except for a single thought that never seems to leave you. He will return for you, a voice whispers against the wind. He wants to finish the job.  

You’ve never gotten so close to a case before. You almost wish you could travel back in time, to the first time you locked eyes with Dr. Hannibal Lecter. In that moment, you hadn’t been able to rationalize the intense foreboding and trepidation that seemed to crawl up your skin as he stared back at you. You had no true grasp of the danger you would soon experience, the lives you would soon take. When did you stop trusting your instincts? Your intuition is part of the reason why you’re such a successful criminal profiler, yet you were more than willing to entirely ignore it. 

A chill hits your skin, but it’s not from the brisk breeze of night air that gently rustles your clothes. The unsettling feeling comes from the car in your driveway, the bright headlights illuminating the woody forest behind your house. Were you so lost in thought that you neglected to notice someone approaching your driveway? You squint and take a step closer to the driveway, wavering on the edge of your porch. The car looks familiar, and that realization nearly pitches you off the porch and careening to the ground below. The driver turns the car off and swings the door open with taunting slowness. A roaring sound fills your ears. 

“Hannibal,” you remark. The driver closes the door and takes a step forward, close enough to the porch that the light hits their face and reveals familiar angled features. His lip is bleeding and there are droplets of blood scattered about his face. His clothing is ever so slightly rumpled. Other than that, Hannibal appears at ease. The Ripper looks at you, and utters your name in response. 

You don’t know what to do, what to say. Your hands clutch the railing in front of you with enough force to send bolts of pain through your fingers. It feels as if your heart is racing faster than humanly possible. You’re reminded of the pain in your abdomen, the scar slicing dangerously close to your eye. You clench a fist at your side and walk down the steps of your porch, before turning and moving to stand at a strategic distance from Hannibal: close enough to see his face, far enough to have an illusion of control and safety. 

The night is still. If it weren’t for your unexpected visitor, you might take solace in the tranquility of the midnight sky. Now, the stars seem to wink at you in warning. When Hannibal speaks, you nearly convince yourself that you imagine it. “I have evaded capture for long enough.” An ugly, foolish sort of hope settles in your chest. You try to push it away.

“You’re… surrendering,” you remark cautiously, waiting for him to dispel that notion. The Ripper does nothing of the sort. Instead, Hannibal stares at you, making strangely heated eye contact with you as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a knife. The moonlight briefly hits the metal, causing it to glimmer mockingly. Your stomach turns. The moon’s warm glow reveals more than just a shimmer—there are murky brown stains on the blade. You recognize the splatters as dried blood and your skin crawls. Hannibal is holding the very same knife he stabbed you with. He maneuvers it expertly, holding the blade and extending the handle towards you. Everything about this moment feels like a trap, but you willingly reach out and take the proffered knife, fastening it at your belt.

After a stretch of time in which neither of you elect to say anything, you decide that Hannibal must be telling the truth. Eyes locked on the man, you fumble around in your pocket for your phone and pull it out, dialing the only number you have memorized. Your intended recipient answers before two seconds pass. “Jack,” you say, your gaze still firmly fixed on the Ripper. 

“Agent,” Jack responds. Hannibal is staring at you with intense scrutiny, evidently attempting to decipher what Jack is saying to you. That recognition causes you to pause for a moment. At your hesitation, Jack’s voice takes on a concerned yet impatient tone. “What is it?”

“I have him,” you say, vaguely satisfied that your voice sounds clear and composed despite the emotional rollercoaster you’ve been subjected to. “The Ripper. He’s in my driveway.”

Jack’s end of the line is quiet. You know it must be nearly impossible to believe. You look at Hannibal and then look back at the phone, realizing what you need to do. Taking a deep breath, you bring a shaky hand up and press the speaker button. Despite every instinct in your body screaming at you, you take a small step forward—and another—until Hannibal is close enough to the phone. For a moment, he stares down at the device pensively. Then, in the blink of an eye, he grabs your wrist and tugs you closer—evidently to get to the phone. You glare at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Hello, Jack,” Hannibal remarks, voice laced with amusement as he grasps your hand— the phone, you tell yourself—with unshakeable strength.  Despite the severity of the situation, you can’t do anything but roll your eyes at his chosen greeting. It seems Hannibal’s dramatics know no bounds. Even when his very freedom is threatened, he will continue to wear his carved mask of politeness and elegance. You try to listen for Jack’s response. There’s still silence on the other end—Jack is probably dispatching a unit as you speak. You’re sure Jack himself will be on his way before long. 

Indeed, Jack confirms that a team is on the way. He hangs up and your phone screen fades to black. Despite the call’s termination, Hannibal is still holding your wrist. “Can I have my hand back?” You ask wryly. You try to shake his grip off and pull away, but he doesn’t budge. Your heart is racing as you try to find an escape. Hannibal doesn’t seem keen to let go, instead looking at you with mild amusement written all over his face. It doesn’t take you long to come up with an idea. You attempt to shake off his grip once more, knowing it will not work. The moment you try to pull your wrist back, you take advantage of the momentum and aim a harsh kick just above his knee. Per your expectations, he doesn’t anticipate the attack and is forced to fall down to a kneeling position to avoid falling over. You lock eyes with him and tear his grip off.

Hannibal looks up at you on bended knee, entirely silent. You begin to realize just what you’ve done—you just disrespected him. You were the epitome of the rudeness Hannibal abhors. You swallow. If you weren’t dead before, you’re certainly dead now. The Ripper is still silent, before tilting his head down to hide his face. Fuck, you’ve really done it this time. You feel yourself taking an instinctual half step backwards, and you’re moments away from turning on your heel and running when you hear an odd sound. 

Hannibal is laughing, you realize. It’s a far cry from the typical gesture of joy you’d associate with laughter, but his amusement is still evident. He brings his head up once more and regards you with interest. “You never fail to surprise me,” he remarks amiably, getting to his feet and pushing the dust from his pant leg with a quick swiping motion. Hannibal doesn’t give your threat any consideration, instead simply regarding you with that same eerie look you’ve grown to associate with his full attention. 

Your hand twitches to grab the bloodstained knife at your side. You imagine yourself plunging the blade into Hannibal’s side, watching his smirk falter and his victorious expression crumple. The vindictive thought thrills you for a second, before you come back to yourself and feel immense revulsion and disgust. Hannibal almost seems to sense the mental gymnastics you're going through, as an intrigued expression flickers across his face before it’s gone in a flash. 

Truthfully, you don’t know how long you stand there—across from Hannibal, staring him down as he stares you down, prey regarding predator—until Jack arrives. It feels like an eternity. Time seems to entirely stop during those moments. Somehow, the quiet is more informative than a conversation ever could be. You don’t need words—not when you can see the tight line drawn across Hannibal’s shoulders, the persistence in his gaze. 

Even eternity must come to an end, though. Police sirens blink in the distance, drawing you away from your thoughts. You watch as several police cars find their way to your driveway. Jack sits in the passenger seat of the car at the front, and he’s quick to step out of the car. S.W.A.T. officers swarm out of the cars, weapons pointed at Hannibal. There is a horrible tension settling in the air, thick enough to make your breaths occur just a little faster.

Despite the exorbitant amount of fully-armed S.W.A.T officers, you’re still afraid. Hannibal is closest to you. If he wanted to, he could kill you—even with so many people present. You don’t doubt his strength or agility. These recognitions leave your heart drumming in your chest at an incessantly quick rhythm. You glance over at Jack and he nods, holding a hand up to the officers and walking towards you. 

“Doctor Lecter,” Jack remarks. Even now, he is incredibly composed. You latch onto his composure and try to emulate it,  though you know it won’t look convincing enough. The headlights from the cars are blinding and you turn your head, giving your burning eyes a brief reprieve. 

“Jack,” Hannibal responds, his hands raised in the air in surrender. The Ripper is indeed powerless, yet the gesture looks mocking. A few officers step closer and surround Hannibal, who kneels down with his arms still raised high. “You finally caught the Chesapeake Ripper.” His hands move to rest behind his head. 

Jack stares at the killer with an indecipherable expression. “You surrendered.”

“I want you to know exactly where I am,” Hannibal responds to Jack. After that remark, his head turns and dread rises in your chest as you realize he’s looking towards you. His eyes are glittering in the moonlight. “And where you can always find me.” You’re frozen, limbs locked as his crimson eyes pierce through you. 

Vaguely, you hear Jack order for Hannibal to be placed in his car. The officers pull Hannibal up from his knees and escort him to the police car. The Ripper’s gaze is locked on you until he enters the vehicle. Jack remains where he stands, sending you a look. You incline your head slightly, to wordlessly encourage him to leave you. Jack seems hesitant to do so, but his sense of responsibility must win out, because he walks back towards the car. You still feel as if you’re being watched, and you get the feeling Hannibal is staring at you from behind the dark tinted glass. The police car slowly reverses out of your driveway, before heading down your street and eventually out of sight. 

You purse your lips, before walking back up the steps to your porch. Everything seemed to have happened far too fast. In the blink of an eye, you’re left to stand alone, with nothing but your conflicting feelings of grief, anger, and remorse for company.  Memories burrow their way under your skin. Each breath is a testament to your own cruelty. 

Inexplicably, you reach up to touch the jagged scar cutting down your face. Your fingertips brush against the marred skin and you jolt. Your abdomen burns in remembrance. Hannibal Lecter has given you the quiet evenings, the comfortable silence settling in the air, and the thrill of an attentive, burning gaze that sends warm embers dancing up your skin.

But he has taken so much more from you in return.

Gone is the gentle caress of a hand on your cheek and the comfort of having unquestionable support. Gone is the hard-won feeling of being truly seen for who you are. Gone is the excitement, the anticipation of knowing that your companion can never truly be predicted. All of it is gone. 

You look up at the moon glimmering in the dark night sky. You idly wonder if Hannibal sees it too. It’s a foolish thought. His cell likely won’t have windows. He has probably been confined to four walls of cement, a metal toilet, and a thin, dingy mattress on a cold metal frame. There is no hope for someone like Hannibal—he will earn several life sentences and spend his entire life in that cage. You have to wonder: why? Why would he surrender?

It was a tactical surrender—that much you know for certain. Hannibal could easily have spent the rest of his life moving from place to place, taking on new identity after new identity. He could have spent however long he wanted, camouflaged but free. 

Freedom. Maybe that’s the answer. After all, that kind of aggressive mimicry is not necessarily freedom. Hannibal Lecter values being an enigma. The mystery that surrounds him, in part, relies on his reputation. Life spent in hiding isn’t really life at all. Even someone like Hannibal—someone with arguably everything to lose—would understand that sentiment. 

You exhale slowly, watching as your puff of breath fades into the air. You suppose Hannibal’s statement may have carried some truth. You will always know where to find him; you won’t be able to bury the memory of him next to the other skeletons in your closet and leave him to rot. Whenever your psyche falters, Hannibal will be there—imprisoned within your mind palace, gathering strength and lying in wait. 

Your phone rings in your pocket. You pull it out, momentarily surprised by the time displayed. It’s getting late. You hadn’t realized how long you spent lost in thought. When you answer, your voice sounds unfamiliar to your ears. 

“Crawford,” Jack clarifies, cutting right to the chase, “We got him.” There is no further explanation needed. 

“We got him, Jack,” you echo. The recognition sounds hollow, empty. Your gaze is pulled towards your driveway once more. Jack’s voice reaches your ears, but you can’t discern what he’s saying over the ringing in your ears. 

Hannibal Lecter is behind bars now, yet you’re the one who feels trapped. You’re a prisoner—trapped in a cage of your own broken design.

1. Dracula by Bram Stoker

2. Sonder refers to the feeling of realization that everyone, including strangers and passersby, have lives just as complex and vivid as your own.

Sorry if the intro parts were confusing. I wanted to *try* to write it in a way that showed how weird and unusual dreams can really be, especially after traumatic events.The mind is infinitely powerful, able to conjure up a new reality at a moment’s notice. I liked the idea of the reader drowning in a whirlpool of their own mind’s creation—as they fight to get back to reality. (also, I found the word “umbra,” which is apparently used to describe the shadow created by an eclipse. I think that’s cool as hell, so I included it.) Dream logic never quite makes sense and can be extremely convoluted, which is why the intro is a messy assortment of memories with no clear beginning or end.

Y’all seemed to like my rationalization for the previous chapter, so I’ll include some similar notes for this chapter if you’re interested:

Hannibal’s surrender in this chapter is very much calculated. He realizes that he’s no longer free—since the FBI are onto him. There is a sort of cruelty in the life he would have to lead, as his “freedom” would include lots of mental effort, relocating, and subterfuge. Hannibal likely weighs his options, and decides between a life of constant stealth and relocation, and a life behind bars. It’s reasonable to assume that he also would have realized that his status as the Chesapeake Ripper would grant him special privileges as a prisoner—he’s aware of how much the Ripper has dominated the cultural zeitgeist and knows he will be able to use that notoriety to his advantage in captivity.

Of course, Hannibal also knows how to best dominate your thoughts: by remaining in one place. As he mentions, you will always know where he is and where to find him. You will not have to track him down by following the calculated clues he leaves behind—rather, you will constantly have to live with the underlying knowledge that Hannibal is accessible at any and every moment. In this case, Hannibal’s surrender is quite a tactical and manipulative move. He truly chooses to go to prison. It would be unsettling to know that the Ripper was on the loose, yes. But, the Ripper has been on the loose and free for several years already. On the other hand, it would be downright disturbing to know that Hannibal’s presence in prison is a willful choice—one that can be taken back at any moment. That can easily manifest a constant lingering fear in the back of the reader’s mind, in addition to an eternal desire to pin down exactly why Hannibal is remaining captive, chained. The chessmaster is willingly surrendering, but the game is far from over.

And now… Act 1 of this story is complete! 

Never fear, Hannibal will return in Act 2! As for the other characters… Well, you’ll have to wait and see. ;) I will say that Act Two embraces some elements of The Red Dragon and Silence of the Lambs. Don’t worry, though—you don’t need to have read either of them. :3

Here’s a scrap for your efforts! (*throws you this unused dialogue like a scruffy middle-aged man with grey hair and a scratchy quarter-zip throws a piece of raw beef to the wolves outside his cabin*) This was one of the MANY options I had considered (but never used) for the big reveal:

“How long have you known?” Hannibal asks. “From the moment you invited me into your home,” you answer. There’s silence for a dreadful moment. “And you stayed.” “I did.” “Why?” “I like talking to you, I enjoy your company.… Does one really need a reason to keep the company of another?” You finish. A beat of quiet. “... I suppose not,” Hannibal acquiesces.

Act 2 will be posted as the second part of this series. Here's the link to the AO3 series: these jagged scars. I'll also post it over here on Tumblr. :)

Thank you so so so much for all the support! Your likes, comments, and reblogs keep me going! <33333

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[campingwiththecharmings]

hi baby<3 can i please have a uhhhh “next time we get into an argument, i’m reminding you that i took your virginity” WITH A LARGE SIDE OF SANTI PLEASE OH MY GOFFJKNKJFN

Long Time Coming

AN: Thanks for sending this in, Hads. And thanks also for being so patient with me lol. I struggled a little with this prompt for some reason, but I hope you still enjoy what I ended up with. ❤️

(Un-beta’d)

Rated: M+ (this is smut so, i mean, you’ve been warned?) Words: 1,950 Pairing: Santiago Garcia x F!Reader Warnings: p in v, praise kink (if you squint), a little angst, a dash of inner turmoil, overuse of italics, probably too much softness but i'm a sap so 🤷‍♀️ AO3

——————

Your breath stalls in your chest when you see him, body stiffening, eyes widening in surprise.  

“Santi?”  

He shifts awkwardly on his boot-clad feet, averting his eyes and rubbing the back of his neck. He’s older than you remember, but it’s definitely him—those deep, brown eyes, tight curls, full lips, chiseled jaw. 

“Hey,” he says quietly, the look in his eyes hesitant but hopeful. 

You twist your lips, crossing your arms over your chest as anger flares in your belly. You’d been best friends growing up, pretty much inseparable. So when he’d joined the military a week after high school graduation, you’d been understandably gutted. You’d tried to be supportive, knew this was his best chance of getting out of this shithole of a town, but you couldn’t help but feel like he was abandoning you. Maybe it was silly, but you’d always assumed you’d eventually end up together, maybe married, maybe not, but together nonetheless. The idea of losing him, of losing that future was difficult to deal with.  

Him confessing his love to you the night before he was set to leave didn’t help matters. Especially when you’d told him you felt the same. 

He’d kissed you, his hands cupping your cheeks almost reverently, like you were the most precious thing he’d ever touched, and you’d melted into each other, an awkward tangle of lips and hands and teeth. He’d admitted afterward that you were his first, something you’d found hard to believe given how flirtatious he always was. You can still recall the faint flush of his cheeks when he’d said, “Yeah well, the only one I wanted was…you.” 

Needless to say, neither of you had gotten much sleep. 

The memory of that night had gotten you through the many long stretches of time apart that followed. You’d kept in touch as much as possible, writing letters and emails and talking over the phone. He’d come home to you a few times, warming your bed for a week or two before shipping out again and starting the cycle over. You’d dreamed of a day when he’d stay, when he’d come back and never leave, when he’d finally be yours. 

Sadly, that day had never come.  

It had happened slowly, responses to your emails and letters taking longer and longer, scheduled calls being rescheduled or missed completely, until they just…stopped all together. You’d panicked, thought that something had happened to him, thought he’d been killed in action, but no one would tell you anything because you “weren’t family.” You’d held out hope for months, hope that’d he’d call, that he’d write, that he’d come home to you. But he hadn’t. 

Until now. 

You’re not sure how he’d found you; you’d left your childhood home years ago, and had moved around quite a bit since, just searching for a place to belong. You’d finally settled on this place a few months ago, the quaint little town making you feel at peace for the first time in ages. 

Seeing him takes you back, back to the place you were before, to the place where you’d lost him, to the place where he’d left you without a second thought. 

Ignoring the part of you that is elated at his sudden, unannounced reappearance, you say, “I thought you were dead.” 

He winces at your bluntness but maintains eye contact. “I can explain…if you’ll let me.” 

You glare at him, the pain you’d felt all those years ago, the pain you thought you’d overcome, rearing its ugly head and stabbing you in the chest like a knife. When you don’t say anything, he sighs, stepping closer.  

“I’m so sorry, cariño.” 

You swallow hard, willing the tears welling in your eyes not to fall. After a moment you blink, looking away and inhaling shakily. 

“Come in,” you say flatly, stepping to the side so he can slip in past you. 

After grabbing you both a drink, you settle on the couch where he tells you about how right before he lost contact with you, he was recruited for this special ops team and they told him that he couldn’t tell anyone about it, that he couldn’t have any communication with the outside world. He’d made the mistake of thinking this was only during missions and was devastated when he’d discovered it wasn’t. He tells you he’s thought of you every single day, sick with guilt over the fact that he hadn’t been able to tell you where he was, what he was doing, that he was even alive. When he’d finally gotten out (and he was out, for good, he says), he’d gone home, hoping that you’d still be there, hoping you’d let him explain. He’d been gutted when they’d told him you left. 

You ask him how he found you and he looks away, rubbing the back of his neck and mumbling something about calling in a few favors. You nod, unsure what to say, unsure what to do. You want him, God do you want him. For years, you’ve been trying to forget about him, to move on, but no one has ever made you feel the way he did….the way he does. When you meet his eyes again, you know he feels the same. 

“Do you remember that night? The one right before I left?” he asks, leaning closer as he sets his empty glass beside yours on the coffee table. 

Emotions swirl inside you as the memories come flooding back—the awkward tangle of limbs as you’d torn at each other’s clothing, the desperation you’d felt, the need. You nod, swallowing thickly. 

“I think about that night all the time,” he rasps, a soft, nostalgic smile forming on his lips. 

His eyes are unfocused, as if he’s reliving that memory now, just as you had only moments ago. He looks so soft, like the man you remember, the one that you’d fallen for all those years ago. You still love him, you never stopped, and now that he’s here with you again…all you want is to start over. 

Unable to help yourself, you lean in, tentatively pressing your lips to his. His body stills, limbs going rigid, and you almost pull away, but then he sighs in relief, his breath shaky as he kisses you back, hard. His hands cup your cheeks, holding your face to his as he devours your mouth, his tongue hot as it slides against yours. You moan, your fingers fumbling with the hem of his shirt. He lets you pull it over his head, immediately reclaiming your mouth as you toss it somewhere behind you. Your shirt is next, thumping lightly as it hits the floor beside his. His hands rove over every inch of exposed skin and you arch into it, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. It’s clumsy, much like that night, and you can’t help the smile you press against his lips at the thought. 

You both rush to divest each other of your remaining clothing, giggling when Santi trips as he steps out of his pants. He lays you on the couch, covering your naked body with his, arms braced on either side of your head. He pauses as he settles over you, his warm eyes greedily roving your face. 

“I love you,” he whispers, leaning in and nuzzling his nose against yours. 

Something settles in your chest, something warm, something light, and you smile, reaching up to comb your fingers through his salt and pepper curls. He leans into the touch, his eyelids fluttering in pleasure. 

“I love you too, Santi,” you breathe, right before you pull his mouth back to yours. 

He smiles against your lips, his mouth sliding languidly over yours. You sigh at the feel of his skin against yours, at the comforting weight of him on top of you. This, right here, right now, this moment with him, it feels more like home than any other place you’ve ever been. Maybe those sayings were right, maybe home isn’t a place, but a person. Tears well in your eyes at the thought and you will them not to fall. Santi’s groan is broken as he pushes inside you, his cock stretching you, filling you better than anyone else ever could—like he was made for you, and you were made for him. 

You moan, arching into him as he buries his face in your neck, his muscles tight as he stills, trying desperately to pull himself together. It was like this that first night too, you remember. He’d been so keyed up, so lost in you, he’d almost come the moment he slipped inside your warmth. You smile, rubbing his back soothingly, wordlessly telling him it’s okay (because you know he’s stressing right now).  

He relaxes not long after, the tension in his body lessening as he grinds into you, pulling your leg higher around his waist. You moan as he somehow slips in even further, shivering as his cock bumps against your cervix. He groans when you flutter around him, his mouth finding yours against as he pushes and pulls, taking you both higher and higher. It’s soft and it’s slow, all the emotions you’d thought you’d buried long ago swirling like a hurricane in your head, in your heart. They’re so strong, you can’t help the tears that begin to fall, slipping out and winding down your cheeks as you and Santi cling to one another. 

You fall over the edge together, so wrapped up and lost in each other you no longer know where he begins and you end. Finally, after all these years, you feel whole, feel complete.

Later, after a much-needed nap (followed by more sex), you order take out and settle back onto the couch. You’re curled into his side, clad only in his shirt (him in his boxers) as you share a carton of lo mein, chuckling as he stuffs a ridiculous amount of noodles into his mouth. He smiles at you with puffy cheeks and you laugh again, cleaning the corners of his mouth off with your thumb. You still can’t believe he’s here with you, that he’s staying.  

Santi catches the look in your eyes and he softens, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips. You kiss him back, humming at the taste of him. When you pull away, he presses his forehead to yours, your breaths mingling. 

The carton of lo mein is in your lap and you frown when you notice it looks lower than you’d realized. 

“Santi, you ate all the noodles,” you pout, pulling back enough to shoot him a half-hearted glare. 

He bites his lip, eyes guiltily flicking down to the mostly empty container before meeting yours again. 

“We had Chinese that first night too, didn’t we?” he rasps, a teasing glint in his eyes. 

You snort, shaking your head. “That’s not gonna work every time, you know.” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says airily, clearly fighting back a smile. 

You raise an eyebrow, smirking at him. “Fine. The next time we get into an argument, I’m reminding you that I took your virginity.” 

His eyes darken a little, running his tongue slowly over his bottom lip. He’s silent for a moment, then reaches for another carton on the coffee table. He holds it up between you, as if it’s an offering and you take it with a smile. 

“Good boy, Garcia,” you say with a smirk, eyeing him teasingly as you crack open another carton of noodles, “Guess you can teach an old dog new tricks.”

Later, he makes you pay for that comment (“How’s this for a trick, cariño.”)

If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖

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[magicalrocketships]

hi! are you planning to write more of de-aged max bc he is just so cute it’s giving me a heart attack. saw a tiktok the other day w photos of baby max and all i could think about was this verse!!!!! ahhh lysm

Thank you!!! Here is a little bit more, in honour of grown up Max's adventures with colouring in.

(Hopefully this link shows the stuff I’ve already posted in chronological order. But anyway, this bit follows directly on from this part.)

It has been five full days since a seven year old Max showed up at Daniel's door in too-big clothes and holding out a little card with Daniel's name carefully printed on it in grown up Max's blocky handwriting. Baby Max shows no signs of going big again. He follows Daniel around his apartment, looks at his flag book, and plays with the Jimmy or Sassy cats — no further narrowing down of cat identity has occurred, due to Daniel having little to no interest in identifying cat penises, and grown up Max's complete fucking inability to put his fucking cat names on a fucking collar, or, indeed, to have informed Daniel of his Go Small plans at any point in the past three fucking years, but that's fine, Daniel is fine with this responsibility. Max has wet the bed every night and Daniel is just having to cross his fingers that he's not making everything worse by each and every decision he makes.

Anyway: if grown up Max doesn't show up again extremely soon, Daniel's going to have to bite the bullet and call Christian and tell him Max isn't going to be able to race. Max will hate that when he's back, if Daniel brakes too soon and makes the call, and more than that, it's going to turn baby Max into a Thing, and if there's one thing Daniel has learned in the last five days, it's that Max one hundred percent does not want to be a thing of any kind.

So, it's time for Emergency Measures. Maybe what will kickstart baby Max back into adulthood in time for his next race will be a race track, and go-karting. Daniel takes advantage of Max being distracted by his coloured pencils in the living room to google nearby karting tracks, and sends the nearest one a message to see if he could book out the whole track for a private session. The answer comes back with an immediate yes, which is probably in some part due to the figure Daniel had dropped in his message about how much he's willing to pay for the privilege.

He leans against the doorframe into the living room. Max is concentrating very closely on his colouring book, his coloured pencils all out on the coffee table. A little something in Daniel's chest shifts a bit.

"Maxy-Max," Daniel says, half way through his email response to the karting track. "Would you like to go karting tomorrow?"

There is a pause. "No, thank you, Daniel." Max does not look up from his colouring book, nor does he stop colouring.

Daniel also pauses. Max's little fingers hold onto his pencil tighter. He's pressing down hard on the picture.

"Okay," Daniel says. "Would you like to go another day, if we don't go tomorrow?"

"No, thank you, Daniel," Max says again. He still doesn't look up. His pencil might tear through the paper soon.

Daniel's been reading up on Going Small. Well, googling randomly when he can't sleep. Most people tend to think about Going Small as a way of connecting with your kid self, like… remembering who you once were in case maybe you wanted to stop being such a cunt or that you always wanted to sew clothes or build bridges and maybe your hedge fund job isn't as fulfilling as you maybe thought it was. Some people say it's as much for the people around you as it is about you, but whatever. Daniel had had a great fucking time in the pit lane six years ago, he remembers that much, although the detail has always been fuzzy. Like it happened a very long time ago. But there's another school of thought, one about the kids that don't age back up after a day or a couple of days, the kids who maybe lost a part of their childhood the first time around. Daniel's never met anyone who stayed small longer than a couple of days though, and it's so rare that the theory could be complete bollocks, and no one would ever know anyway. You can't battle data against the universe, it's not like race strategy. There's no science to it.

Max continues not to look at him. He's colouring the same line over and over again.

Daniel closes his email app, and slips his phone into his pocket. "Can I come and colour with you?"

Max nods, but doesn't look up. His fingertips are white around his pencil. He's used it down to the nub so that it's almost too blunt to colour with.

Daniel tries to sit down on Max's right side, but Max shakes his head and makes him come and sit on his left. Daniel positions himself cross-legged by the coffee table and it becomes clear just why Max wanted him this side when, a moment later, Max's little hand slips into Daniel's bigger one. Daniel does not now have a hand to colour with, but maybe it doesn't matter, because Max is colouring with enough concentration for the two of them, a big picture of a train with a cat sitting in the window next to the driver. He's being very careful. He still doesn't look up.

One of the Jimmy or Sassys wanders over to curl up by Max's little Pikachu-socked foot. The other one, the one who doesn't like being petted as much and prefers to watch you in a creepy and furry way while you're doing perfectly normal things sitting on the toilet or in the shower, perches on top of Daniel's shelves and stares at them.

Max's grip on his pencil loosens a little. Daniel leans over and kisses the top of his head. "You're very good at colouring," he tells Max. "We can cut out ones you've finished and put them up on the wall, if you'd like."

Max looks at him then, his eyes big and wide. "My pictures?"

"Your pictures," Daniel agrees. He reaches for the Pikachu pencil sharpener in the middle of the table. "Can I sharpen your pencil for you?"

Max dutifully hands him his blue pencil. His eyes are still shining, even though Daniel's had to stop holding his hand so that he can sharpen it for him. When he hands it back, all sharp, Max tucks his hand into Daniel's again.

"You've done some good colouring in of this train," Daniel says. "Have you been on a train, Maxy-Max?"

Max shakes his head.

"Would you like to go on one?"

Max's eyes widen. "A train?"

"Yeah," Daniel nods. "If you'd like, we can go and find a train to go on tomorrow. If you want to. We can take Pikachu."

"But not the Jimmy or Sassys," Max says, frowning. "They would not like the train and they might get lost."

"No," Daniel agrees. "The Jimmy or Sassy cats can stay here."

"There is a cat in my train picture but it is not our cats."

"No," Daniel says. "So, should we go on a train tomorrow?"

"Yes, please, Daniel," Max says, in satisfaction.

Daniel watches him colour even as he's avoiding texting Christian to let him know Max has gone small and isn't getting big again. He follows up on his avoidance by ordering a night light for Max's bedroom and one for the bathroom, in case his little boy is frightened of the dark and is too scared to say. He pays extra for same-day delivery.

He'll call Christian later, when Max is in bed. Instead, he googles train stations, and train timetables, and puts together a plan for the morning.

Max keeps his hand tucked into Daniel's, carries on colouring, and doesn't let go.

Thank you so much to Zoe @flawlessassholes for giving this a pre-post read through, and for consistently being interested in all baby Max lore!

[astoldbyaja]

Fire on Fire -Ch.3 -AU JJK- (Final Chapter)

Kento took me to a beautiful Italian restaurant where we sat on the balcony drinking wine and talking about nothing and everything. After he paid, we continued to talk some more just enjoying each other’s company. It was strange seeing the brightness in his eyes. I couldn’t stop looking at his deep brown eyes, the way the light reflected in them when he spoke.

I remember his eyes from all those years ago, they seemed tired and sad. I wouldn’t be surprised, having to be a sorcerer at such a young age, taking on curses and curse users, being used as a tool must have been tiring on the young soul. Nanami was talking about his duties to the school when his words began to fade off and he was looking a bit perplexed, his face painting a red hue.

“Um… are you alright, you’ve been staring at me for some time now- not that I don’t mind, but um, you look a bit lost in thought.” he said with a nervous chuckle. I smiled noticing how flushed he looked.

“Yes, I’m just fine. I just notice your eyes look different from when I first met you. Your eyes seemed so… detached and your whole stance gave off an isolated aura. To see your eyes now filled with life, even after all of these years, is pleasant. I can only imagine you are very happy now as a teacher at the school.” I replied. Nanami seemed taken aback by my words, but slowly smiled and looked away.

“Actually… if I’m being honest, my eyes have only ever looked truly happy… because they’re looking at you.” he said. I felt my heartbeat faster at his words.

“Me? I find that a bit hard to believe.” I said and as I spoke, he held his hands up and moved them from left to right.

“What I mean is… when we first met in the hallway at the school, I felt butterflies in my stomach. Not only were you attractive but your eyes captivated my young brooding heart.” he said. I tilted my head some, eyes glimmering with interest.

“How so?” I asked with a soft purr.

He leaned forward, his voice softening as he spoke about my eyes.

“There’s something enchanting about them,” he said, his gaze distant as if recalling a memory. “When I stood outside and looked at your eyes, I felt as if my body was lifting into the air, gravity was non-existent, but looking at your eyes kept me grounded. Such a wondrous shade of purple, like twilight settling over a quiet landscape. And when she looked at me, it feels as if you were looking right through to my soul, as if you were inviting me into your world.”

I felt my heart tighten in my chest at his words. Soft wet spots were painting my face, but it was not tears. It was a soft drizzle of rain painting our faces.

Kento paused, a smile creeping onto his face.

“I felt tremendous regret for not writing or emailing you, finding some way to keep a connection- anything to stay in touch.”

I felt a graceful smile spread over my lips.

“Oh, Kento that was beautiful. I never would have thought from that interaction alone you felt such deep feelings.” I said. He smiled sweetly.

“Thank you… I’m sorry if I’m being so open-”

“No not at all. I often thought about you after I left, wondering what it was you wanted to tell me after all of this time.” I said smiling gently. “I’m glad we both got to see each other and be in this moment together.”

“As am I.” he said, eyes gazing at me deeply. The cold rain began to be heavier, and we both looked up unaware that we had just continued talking in the rain. Strands of his blonde tresses stuck to his face. He was moving fast all of a sudden, sliding off his suit jacket and holding it out as he came over me. Our bodies moved as one as I stood up from the chair and we both hurried toward the large tarp that was over the entrance to the balcony. We were both drenched as the heavy, fast rain hit us. We laughed as I placed my back against the wall looking up at him as he had us both covered beneath his suit.

I could feel the warmth of his body, the wall of muscle against me made my breath hitch.

“Thank you.” I said courteously as we both chuckled some more as drops of water fell off his hair and over his face.

“Of course. We can’t let a little rain ruin this once in a lifetime opportunity called fate, can we?” he teased. Flashes of white came above our head as lightning blessed the sky. I nodded in agreement letting my soft fingers come up and gently wipe some of the droplets of water off his forehead. His eyes stared into me for a moment, and I couldn’t help but let my fingers gently trace over his jawline and over his lips. It was bold, and maybe even reckless of a thing to do. But a part of me was curious of what fate had in store for us next tonight.

My thumb very lightly trails over his bottom lip, and I watch as his mouth parts gently and he slowly lets his teeth bite down gently on the tip of my thumb, his eyes glazing into a deeper hue as he lets the coat suit fall from his hands and onto the ground.

As I leaned in closer to Kento, the world around us faded into a soft blur. The warmth of his breath brushed against my lips, sending a shiver down my spine. I could see the intensity in his eyes, a mix of anticipation and longing that made my heart race.

When our lips finally met, it was like electricity surged through me. The kiss was deep and lingering, filled with a passion I hadn't expected. He held me gently, his hands cradling my face as if I were something precious. I melted into him, losing myself in the taste of him-sweet, intoxicating.

Time seemed to stand still as the kiss deepened, our breaths mingling, each moment stretching into eternity. It felt as if we were the only two people in the universe, wrapped in an intimate embrace that spoke volumes. The connection was undeniable, a spark igniting something deep within me that I knew would linger long after our lips parted.

I feel his hands caressing my cheeks as his tongue licks over my bottom lip. As I open my mouth, his hands leave my face to find my hands and gently curl into mine and guide them over my head. Our tongues found each other immediately, moving sensually and slowly together.

The smell of his woodsy cologne filled my nostrils. I let out the slightest of moans before suddenly a throat is being cleared as both freeze fluttering open in unison as we slowly look over toward the entrance of the restaurant to see one of the waiters there looking very bashful.

“I’m sorry… I don’t want to be that guy, but that public display of affection is um… not really allowed here.”

We both chuckled softly at the memory as Kento was resting some of his weight on my lap, his hands yet again curling into my hands and over my head as he had me pinned in the bed of my hotel room. His nice dress shirt was open, bite marks painted his body beautifully. He had already unzipped my dress, and my hair was wild beneath my head as I gazed up at him.

His lips found mine again and I moaned out into him as our mouths danced together again, mouths open and tongues sucking softly on each other. His hands were so strong as they held me down lightly. It made me shiver at the thought of a future of him holding me down with a bit more force.

“Mm forgive me for saying this… but I’ve thought about this for so long.” he said uncurling one of his hands from me and looking down in my eyes. I looked at him stunned.

“Even after only two brief meetings: one being silent eye contact and the second just a few minutes of conversation?” I asked feeling his hand just glide over my cheek, my shoulder, over my stomach, and resting over my pelvis. Kento nodded, his warm breath tickling my lips making me shiver.

“Those two meetings were two of the best moments of my life.” he said, making my body come to life beneath him. Did he truly mean that? Yes, I couldn’t feel the deception on him. I couldn’t feel anything that involved ill intent radiating off his body. His fingers began to trace beneath my white lace panties. He gave me a gentle questioning look. “May I, Delilah?”

I nodded immediately and he smiled letting his fingers slip beneath the fabric and I feel his thumb travel over my lightly trimmed patch of curls and slowly toward my sensitive clit. I feel my stomach tighten up hard as his middle finger begins to move in circular motions around my sensitive clit. I let out a breathy sigh as I feel each circular motion create a circular cycle of pleasure deep inside me.

I let out a gentle whimper as I feel his face burry into the crook of my neck, kissing and sucking on my flesh making me whimper gently at the sensations stirring in me. His fingers pass over my clit finally making their way to my now damp lips and I stiffen a bit as I feel his finger prodding at my entrance. All the while his tongue is moving over my skin and sucking over different spots on my neck. They were bound to leave hickeys. My body felt so warm and fuzzy and tingly, and I loved it all.

“Already wet for me? Have you wanted me as much as I have wanted you?” he asked lowly into my skin, his finger finally pushing into me, and I felt my walls gently stretch and he lets out a low growl into my skin as he pushed his finger all the way into me. “So warm…tight.”

He moves his finger in and out of me slowly, testing me almost, feeling my plushy walls. It was a nice feeling, as he was taking his time. But already he was using a second finger, and my muscles answered him. He was still holding one of my hands above my head and with free hand, I let my fingers massage his cheek, his neck, and all the way down to his chest until my fingers gently found his nipple. His body tenses as he releases a low moan.

His left nipple was sensitive from my biting and sucking. His two fingers began to scissor into me as he picks up the pace moving deeper into me. I started to pant lowly, feeling his fingers curl and brushing against different spots in my now leaking pussy. My head falls back, and I let out another moan.

“Mm- just like that.” I whimper breathlessly. He lets out a low groan as his lips finally move down my chest peppering soft kisses. But each spot left spots of pure fire in my skin. He moves over to my bra which is pinned in the front. He doesn’t seem deterred, however. I watch as his mouth gently bites down on the pin, and I watch as his teeth move forward then back applying pressure to the pin before slowly, I feel a gentle bit of air hit my skin and finally he smirks and watches my bra open.

Although I was impressed, I could hardly focus on it because his thick fingers were moving faster and harder against me, pushing against a spot that made my walls quiver. I cried out from the sensations.

“Ahh… K-Kento…!” I moaned out.

“Yes darling. Keep talking! Does it feel good?” he asked before biting down on my now exposed nipple rolling his tongue over my now rock-hard nubs. I cried out even louder my walls gripping him harder as he moved his hands faster, adding a third finger. Oh God!

“Yes- mm so good! Keep going just like that!” I cried out and he did just that, continuing bring attention to my breasts biting down into my nipple and pulling some at it. I could feel jolts of electricity hitting me all over my body. I could feel the familiar popping sensations that was exploding in my tight heat. I cried out hard as I felt myself cumming on his fingers.

“Fuck!” he growled lowly into my breast as he pulls his fingers out of me. Him cussing only aroused me further. He pulls his fingers up so we could view the white creamy liquid on his fingers. We both shuddered at the view and slowly Kento faced me and smirked opening his mouth and bringing his fingers to his lips. My eyes widened as he placed all three fingers into his mouth and began to suck my juices off his fingers.

“Oh, my fucking God.” I replied, my body trembling at the sight. Without another word, he sat up off the bed and began to unbuckle his pants, unbutton and unzip then slide them down along with his briefs. It was like I was in a trance, my body sitting up to eye his heavy and thick cock as I removed my bran and slid out of my panties.

His tip was already dripping precum, and I looked up at him with curious yet dark eyes.

“May I Kento?” I asked softly and he just curled his finger for me to come to him and I do so and crawl to the end of the bed while he moves his legs to stop in front of it. The closer I got to his groin, the more I could see how angry and throbbing he looked. I feel his fingers gently curl under my chin and make me look at him.

“Go at your own speed.” he cooed. I nodded at his words and looked at his cock before slowly letting my tongue slip out and gently move over his leaky slit, tasting the sweat precum and I immediately hear him grunt in response. His hands move over to scoop up my hair and hold it in one hand and I gently lick around his tip listening to the low groans he emits from his mouth. It only makes me even more excited to take him into my mouth and I do just that.

I open my mouth wide and began sheath his cock deep into my throat and I hear the guttural grown he emits.

“Nn- fuck! Wait- slow… slow.” he chokes out. “Your mouth is fucking tight you almost made me cum right then darling.” I let out a gentle moan in compliance and slowly moved with the intent of letting my nose meet his groin and I feel my tight throat taking him deep inside before pausing once my nose finally gets to his throat. I look up to see Kento’s head fall back.

“Oh, my fucking God your throat feels amazing.” he says with a whine before I move my head back letting saliva drip down my chin. Damn I knew my throat was going to be sore tomorrow for sure. I could feel my pussy throbbing from the way his cock hits the back of my throat. My hand moved between my legs, and I gently began to rub my sensitive clit. Fuck it was really sensitive!

My head moved back in forth in slow motions as his hips moved in slow strides against me. I could see his thighs trembling as if he was trying to fight the urge to just fuck my throat.

“So good darling. Does my cock taste good?” he asked looking down at me with another hazy and dark look in his eyes. I moaned out in response deep throating him a bit more, causing more strained moans to escape him. I moved back letting his cock slide out of my throat and I moved beneath to run my tongue over his balls.

Suddenly, he backed away entirely.

“Stop!” he growled holding the base of his shaft. I sat up further with panic.

“I’m sorry did I hurt you?” I asked, my mind filling with different worries of how I could have hurt him. He immediately shook his head panting heavily at the ground.

“No darling…n-nothing like that. I-I need to be inside you, right now!” he exclaimed and moved toward the bed leaning over and gripping my chin and crashing his lips into mine and now we were both tasting our juices on the other’s tongue. I moaned out into his mouth as he grips my shoulder and guides me back onto my back and gets on his knees between my legs. He’s still holding the base of his cock, edging his body closer to me and I watched as the tip of his cock begins to prod at my clit.

I quiver at the sensations, his precum rubbing over my soppy entrance.

“Such a pretty pink pussy.” Kento swoons and I blush feeling him bring his shaft to my entrance and rub up into me, rocking his hips against me teasing my sensitive folds. I let out a cry of desperation as I knew he was teasing me. His hips rocked into mine and I mewled out, a deviant smirk playing on his lips as he watches me writhe beneath him.

“Fu-u-ck!” I snapped feeling my hips starting to grind out. “Kento please!”

“Please what?” he asked quickly.

“Please fuck me!” I begged and he looks almost completely content at my words.

“Okay baby.” he swooned positioning himself at my entrance before plunging deep into me. My muscle expands swiftly, and I yell out, my head falling back from being severely stuffed.

“GOD!” I cried out.

“There you go baby, nice and full!” he pants as he now leans over me and begins ramming his hips down into me, wrapping his arms over my head and fucking me deep into his bed. We both pant and moan out feeling his cock demolish my pretty pink pussy.

“I’ve thought about… this too!” he grunts in my ear as the sound of skin slapping skin fills the room. My arms come up and wrap around his arms. “As I got older- ahh I thought taking you over and over. I’ve thought about-mm fuck doing whatever you wanted that would make you feel good!”

My brain was mush already as I feel him violently hitting my cervix creating tremors upon tremors of pleasure deep inside me.

It was like a light switch was flipped inside of both. Neither of us knew that the other was capable of such passion, such sexual viciousness.

“Oh my God Kento you’re so deep!” I cry out feeling his hips hitting against me at an angle.

“Does it feel good Lilah? Does my cock drilling your womb feel good?” he asked in deep pants in my ear. I was yelling out words that were incomprehensible at this point. All I knew was I wanted him to keep going, I wanted to live in this feeling forever.

“Mm fuck so good!” I whined holding him tighter, my fingers raking down his back from the pure, raw bliss that was being shoved into my drenched pussy.

“Walls were so tight earlier. Now you’ll fit around me perfectly.” he pants deeply. I was trembling from his words, feeling my stomach cramping and my muscles tightening up.

“So close! It’s so much!” I cried out feeling my legs lock up around his hips. He smirked down at me, eyes glazed with fog.

“If you lock up around me like that, I’ll end up nngh cumming inside!” he pants heavily, grinding his hips even faster and harder into my tight heat. I nodded wildly.

“Yes, please cum inside, I want it!” I yelled. The bed was creaking loudly beneath us, our hips slamming swiftly into each other. Kento’s face was tightening up and I could feel his movements getting sloppier.

“A-are you sure?” he asked. I smirked between ragged pants.

“If you don’t think I’m sure, then unlock my legs.” I challenged. His eyes never left mine and I could tell he was trying to think of what to do, but it only made him press his body weight into me and continue to ram his hips into mine at a brutal pace. My body was spasming, my yells growing higher as I knew I was getting closer and closer.

“Fuck right there!” I cried out.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Yes, oh God yes, Kento I’m cumming!” I scream as my body trembles violently from the harsh orgasm that takes me. I feel my juices pouring out as he lets out a guttural groan, gripping my hair and shoving up into me, holding himself there as he spills heavy ropes of cum into me. Our bodies tremble together from the intense orgasms, going so far as our arms and legs just locking up, muscles too tense and tight to move.

Kento’s head comes up so he could look at me with a now exhausted face. I knew my face matched his and he slowly raises a hand to cares my cheek all the while my hand gently ran over his chest. He leaned in and kissed me only this time it was gentle and passionate. Although we were still panting against one another.

I don’t even remember passing out, but I did. I could feel the warmth of the sun seeping into the window, and I feel some weight across my chest and I slowly let my eyes flutter open and I look down to see Kento’s arm was wrapped around my head lightly with him gently snoring, on his stomach as I was still on my back. His face was inches from mine. I wasn’t surprised he was still here. I let out a soft groan as I felt my body stir gently and after a few seconds, Kento’s eyes slowly open, his blonde lashes looking so cute.

Odd, he was so close I noticed his eye lashes.

“Morning.” he said.

“Morning.” I replied gently and he was smiling gently at me, curling up to me some.

“I hope I was not too rough on you last night.” he said. I shook my head with a light smile.

“You weren’t. I enjoyed every moment of it.” I replied and I noticed his smile became more and more sincere.

“Good as did I... Delilah if I can be honest, I don’t want last night to be a one-night stand kind of thing. Last night, at dinner, I felt like I had been eating dinner with you for all these years, which is strange seeing as our very first meetings were brief. But I am drawn to you, drawn to your mind, your eyes. I want to continue seeing you if that is something you want.” he said. I felt that same fuzzy feeling in my stomach that I felt before upon hearing his words and I nodded leaning up to gently caress his cheek, rubbing my thumb lightly over his bottom lip. He smiled and kissed my thumb pad.

“Yes Kento. I want to keep seeing you as well.” I replied. He let out a sigh of relief before letting his forehead fall into my shoulder.

“You will not regret it.” he said. I smiled lightly at his words leaning down to gently let my forehead fall onto the side of his head…

A few hours later, Kento and I were walking toward the gates of the school, gentle yet happy smiles on our faces. A flash of white appeared in front of us and I looked at Gojo as he just planted his feet before me. I noticed the look of annoyance appearing on Kento’s face.

“Alright you had some time to sleep! Are you ready to apologize for not remembering me now?” he blurted. Kento and I just looked at each other and he gave a small smirk, and I just looked at Gojo feigning innocence.

“Sorry I just don’t remember you.” I replied as Kento, and I walked around him leaving hum fuming. We met around him again and continued to walk toward the school.

“He’s not going to stop bothering you now, I hope you know that.” he said. I grinned.

“It’s okay, I think I can survive him as long as you’re with me.” I said and he smiled warmly.

“I’ll always be with you.” he promised warmly and I returned the smile before we both walked into the school together.

[peachymilkandcream]

Fraud | Part 12 | Yandere All Might x Hero!Reader

(A/N: Rewatching the show and writing this at the same time has just solidified in me that my version of All Might is fucked beyond comprehension. But anyways- Hope you enjoy and comment to be added to the taglist!)

WARNINGS: noncon, dubcon, manipulation, domestic abuse, yandere themes, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, stockholm syndrome, graphic depictions of violence, mind breaking, misogyny, power imbalance, age difference, cheating, forced orgasm, suicide, etc.

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All Might tried his best not to grimace at the bright fluorescent lights. He was used to hiding in the shadows and fighting crime during the day, sitting in a police station for questioning was not something he was particularly enjoying. There were so many more important things that he could be doing at this moment.

"Is there a problem sir?"

"Thank you for coming, please, take a seat."

There wasn't an answer to All Might's question, and he much more preferred to stand in situations like this, his height intimidated those in his way to cower in fear.

"No thank you, I'll just stand."

The man across from him sits anyway. "Now I'm sure you know it's no big secret that you decided to take on another sidekick, you made it rather public."

"That I did." He chose his words carefully, never once acknowledging his feelings towards Shade.

"Are you aware that your newest sidekick is currently missing?"

"I was aware, but I believed that perhaps she may have gotten intoxicated and lost, or her quirk allows her to do more than we thought and chose to disappear."

"We have-" He paused, thinking of how to phrase this. "Speculation, that she could have been taken."

"I see. Any leads as to who?"

"No, none. Which is why I asked you here, do you know if she had any enemies?"

All Might took a pause to think, trying to fabricate this whole story and clear him of suspicion entirely. Officers were tough, that could see through lies and use methods to get the suspect to reveal the truth.

"Now that you mention it, there was one."

The man perks up at once, straightening up and pulling out a notepad. "Please, continue."

"Shortly after Shade came to work for me she mentioned wanting to see a man, another pro, that she had met on our patrols."

"Who was he?"

"I'm not sure, but I could try and find out if you'd like."

"Yes that would be most helpful. But continue."

"Well, she had planned a day or so ago to meet up with him, and had confided in me she was doing so. However I advised against it, there was something about that man that seemed- sinister-"

"Sinister how?"

"As the Symbol of Peace, one gets acquainted with evil-doers. Ones of all sorts, and there was something about this man that made him feel just like one of those criminals in your jail cells."

"Is that so? And did she meet up with him?"

"I'm not sure, but I don't think she had any other plans that night."

He seemed very pleased, a lead presented to him, all tied up in a bow. "And when approximately was the last time you saw Ms. Shade?"

"Well that would have been- five o'clock? I believe five, we were through with working for the day and I promised to see her the next day for her next day of work training."

"And that was the last time you saw or heard from her? No texts, phone calls, emails?"

"Nothing at all."

"I see, well thank you All Might for all of your helpful information. I'll get this off and we'll look at the next steps." He extended a hand to shake.

"Of course." All Might accepted it. "It was the least I could do. I hope you find her, it's hard to get good sidekicks these days." He laughs slightly, making the chief of police join in with him.

"You always know how to bring some positivity into a dark situation All Might."

"It's what I do best. Now feel free to let my other sidekick Sir Nighteye know if you need anything else, but my hero work doesn't stop if one person is missing. I have to get back out there!"

He rushes off, breathing a sigh of relief that hopefully he had past the test and was now above suspicion.

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Precious time had been spent working her way out of those restraints. Shade had made a shadow clone of herself to look around the penthouse for a key before determining All Might had taken the key with him. So she turned to picking the lock with bobby pins.

How much time had passed she didn't know, worry about him returning filling her. But who knew when the next chance would be for her to have time away from him to work at this? She had to take a risk now.

When each of them had finally clicked open she made sure to be as careful as possible when leaving that bed, fearing he had put some kind of alert device in the penthouse to go off should she move.

Shade tried to ignore the dripping in between her legs, she didn't have time to clean up now, but made a personal reminder to thoroughly cleanse herself of this man she used to call a hero. This fraud. The last thing she wanted was to end up pregnant by the man who had kidnapped her and done things to her without her consent.

The main door was locked, as were most of the windows. The front door was an absolute no, who knows who had been told of the situation, who would stop her and bring her back. No, it had to be one of the windows.

Shade marched over to one and tried to open it, but the lock held fast. Her arm was still broken, and she had to be careful how many shadow clones she made before she was at her limit and therefore trapped at the top of a skyscraper. She had to be smart about this.

Her lack of experience and training were showing now, most pros would know how to get out of a situation like this easily and here she was aimlessly hacking at a window lock with a butcher's knife. There was nothing else she could think of to do or use so she went with that she thought best. Eventually the lock had to give out, right?

She was hopeful, believing soon she'd be free of this mess. Get the police to DNA test the semen found in her body and put All Might in Tartarus prison for the rest of his life. Never to be free to fool and then harm another living soul ever again.

Or so she thought until the door opened.

Slowly Shade turned, knife still in hand, terror running through her as she looked up at her captor.

"Now I thought I told you to stay put."

[hyunteru]

space between thoughts - m.osamu

“mom, am i still young? can i dream for a few months more?”

warnings: themes of child negligence, talks of death, this chapter is more flashbacks (sorry!)

chapter 01

There are two kinds of people when it comes to dealing with grief. Some face it head on— hoping that by confronting the pain, they can heal faster. Move on faster. While others completely shut down, slipping into autopilot. Drowning themselves in distractions to avoid feeling anything at all, following mundane routines everyday to keep themselves busy. That’s what her mother did. When her dad passed, her mother never bothered to remarry— not that she cared. She loved her dad and she would rather the quiet house than see random men wandering through their lives. What really built her resentment for her mother was the fact that she had to deal with the concept of loss at such a young age, alone. Typically, a ten year old's first experience with death comes from a family pet or a fish that was bought for cheap at some pet store. But this was different. Grief isn’t something you teach. Grief is part of life, and there’s truly not a right way to grieve somebody, she wishes someone told her that.

There is a famous metaphor when it comes to dealing with grief, going along the idea that— if you share the grief with someone else, it’s less a burden to bear. The limits of one’s emotional capacity can be represented by a cup and the buildup of grief can be visualized through water. Overtime, the cup will fill up with so much water that it threatens to spill. At that point, there are two options. You could overfill the glass and watch it spill everywhere, or, you can pour it in someone else’s cup and share grievance. But what her mother did was put a lid on her cup and turned away, shutting her out completely. Even though her mother was still physically there, she couldn’t help but feel like she lost her too. She can’t remember at what point in time her daily routine changed, it wasn’t drastic or sudden but slow and gradual where she didn’t even notice at first. She woke up and walked to school every morning, made no effort to make any friends or join any afterschool activities— it was all meaningless to her anyways. Then she would come home to takeout on the table or a packet of ramen with a simple note of “help yourself.” She wanted to hate her mother for turning her back on her. She wanted to scream and tell her that she was still here— that her daughter needed her mom. But she didn’t. Eventually, she put a lid on her cup too and turned away as well.

She moved away from home when she got accepted at a university in Tokyo. Truth be told— she only applied on a whim, saying “fuck it” as she submitted her application. She didn’t expect to get in, and even when she got the offer she didn’t accept it right away. Letting it sit in her emails for a week before actually making her decision. She had stopped telling her mom about her accomplishments long ago, but thought that she should give it one last try. Because if she were to leave, she wouldn’t come back.

Sitting at the dinner table with her laptop open, looking at her mother from across the room. She doesn’t know why she’s anxious. Her mother was just in the kitchen making tea like she did every time she came home from work, nothing new. She already knew what her mother was gonna say anyways— she’d probably look at her and say something like, “really?” or “that’s nice.” Something short of acknowledgement. But maybe she was anxious because a part of her was hoping that her mother would get excited and sit down with her as they talked about her future, maybe she was hoping that her mother would start asking questions and be curious about what she wanted to do. She tried not getting her hopes up.

“I’ve been looking at different universities for a while now…”

Despite hearing her, her mother kept her same routine. Placing a pot of water on the stove as she stayed quiet and waited for the pot to boil. She didn’t know if her mother was even registering her words but she decided to keep going anyways. “i found one i really liked, i applied to it already and…” Her mother turned around and looked at her, she paused in her sentence as she met the unweaving gaze. Suddenly feeling more anxious now. She can’t remember what her mother’s eyes used to look like, but surely it wasn’t like this. Her mother’s eyes were blank and seemed void of everything, like she was looking into an empty body with no soul. Those eyes were the same ones that used to comfort her when she’d cry as a kid, the same eyes that would smile at her during family movie nights, but now it’s unrecognizable. Her mothers expression unchanging as she looked at her, waiting for her to continue as the pot of water started to boil slowly.

“i— i uhh… i got in” Biting the inside of her cheek right after, an anxious habit of hers. She maintained eye contact with her mother, silently begging for her to give her some sort of validation, some sort of reaction. She noticed her mother’s bottom lip twitch slightly before she turned around again to face the stove, and then silence. The only sound filing the room was the pop of bubbles coming from the boiling water. Suddenly the air got more dense and the tension in the room heightened, and that’s when she realized it was no use. She’s tried so hard for years to mend whatever was left of their relationship. Starting conversations, making dinner on some Fridays, offering to help clean the house. But nothing.

Her leg bounced up and down under the table as she took a deep breath, glancing at her mother in the kitchen and back at her laptop screen. It was no use. She picked up her laptop as she stood up and walked quiet steps towards her room. Something she realized pretty early on was that, you can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped. She's held her hand out for years only for it to be ignored, and this time would be the last. She can't keep holding herself back and staying in the same place because her mother wasn't ready to move on. Leaving the small town for the big city wasn’t something she felt entirely ready for, but staying wasn’t an option anymore. The place that had once meant everything to her had become nothing more than an empty shell filled with bittersweet memories.

A month went by filled with non stop planning and packing, she felt like she had tunnel vision with how quickly she was trying to leave. The feel of urgency going through her as she kept scrolling and clicking on her laptop. She didn’t know why she was in such a rush— maybe it was because she thought that the longer she stayed, the harder it would be leave. Finding a roommate was one thing but finding a job was a lot harder than she anticipated. She also knew nothing about Tokyo. She knew it was loud, busy, and huge. Nothing like where she was raised, but she needed this. She needed the change. At first, she was a little skeptical about her roommate. She seemed really nice and there weren’t any out of the ordinary rules. Just the expected— pay rent on time, clean after yourself, groceries were split, respect each other’s privacies. Probably a lot more they would have to discuss about once she actually meets her, but her priority right now was to just make it there in one piece without losing any of her belongings.

She just had her backpack and a suitcase when she got out of the taxi and looked up at the apartment complex, being way too exhausted to be anxious about anything right now. The train ride had been gruelling, and having to weave her way around the huge city and catch a cab was enough energy drained out of her. When she had finally made it up to the apartment doors, she doubled checked the room number before sending a quick text to her new roommate. When the door opened she looked at the girl that stood in front of her. Her hair was tied back into a pony tail and her overall aura was comforting, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she looked at her.

“Yachi Hitoka, right?”

“Mhm! that’s me, come on in” Yachi opened the door wider for her as she walked into the room. She heard Yachi say her name back at her as she nodded in confirmation— they had already knew what each other looked like beforehand but it was nice to properly “introduce” one another. The apartment was nice, it looked like the photos that she saw beforehand so she was relieved about that, but she also didn’t care much. She just wanted to get settled in already and lay down. Something she noticed immediately was the fact that she could breathe clearly, she didn’t feel like she had to walk around eggshells or having that on edge feeling everywhere she went. She wasn’t afraid of making too much noise or doing the wrong thing. She’s had only been here for less than a minute but it felt more home than “home” ever was back with her mother.

“I’ll show you your room and you can get settled in” Yachi says as she leads the way through the apartment. The apartment felt airy and light, the windows lightening up the area and it felt open. It was calm in contrast to how busy and hectic Tokyo was in general. When Yachi opened the door to her room, she managed a small nod in thanks, stepping inside. She didn’t mean to be so quiet, but exhaustion weighed her down, her thoughts focused on one thing—sleep. Dropping her bag with a thud, she made her way to the bed, barely turning around before letting herself fall onto the mattress. Eyes closed, she rubbed the fatigue from her face. Blinking a few times to refocus before staring up at the ceiling. Taking in the silence, breathing in deeply before exhaling.

For now, this was enough.

m.list

notes!

the flashback took place 2 years before the prologue

this took so long to write because i was struggling really hard with describing how grief felt

everyone grieves and heals differently so remember that you're still valid no matter how you grieve!

it literally took so long to write the first part AHH forgive me

like i reread this whole chapter so many times, the word grief/grieve sounds weird now

this chapter is mainly flashback but now we can get into the main story!! yippeeee!!

IM SORRY OSAMU IS COMING SOON i know i said that already but trust me <//3

i needed to write this out so it makes more sense(plus i would’ve had to anyways)

me getting nervous though because the characters are gonna be ooc BUT ILL TRY MY BEST!

taglist is open :) if you wanna be added you can comment or send an ask <3

taglist! @nectardaddy