#she did tab over a few times too

[seumyo]

yearning drunk!husband ushijima wakatoshi.

NOTE. contains a bit of alcohol content—though nothing too explicit or anything concerning <33

It always started the same way—kind of like an inside joke that grew wings, feathers, a tab, and Ushijima’s name on the reservation list.

Ushijima never initiated going out drinking with his Schweiden Adlers teammates. In fact, he rarely said anything about it at all. It was always someone else who mentioned it after a game. Always someone else who slung an arm over his shoulder and declared, “C’mon, Ushiwaka, we have to celebrate,” even though Ushijima had never once expressed interest in alcohol, bar food, or drunken conversations.

Still, he always went.

Because it’d be rude if he didn’t at least stay for a few minutes, he thinks.

Sometimes he showed up in his team windbreaker, sometimes in a long, dark gray coat that made him look like a trench-wearing monument of silence. And he never said no, even when the clamor of celebration was already grating at the edges of his patience.

Tonight was one of those nights.

They’d won by the skin of their teeth—an overtime set against a grueling opponent, the kind of match that made even the benchwarmers feel like champions by the end. So of course Heiwajima had started the round-up in the locker room. Hoshiumi had shouted over everyone about their lucky bar down the street, and within twenty minutes, the entire team had found themselves in their regular private suite.

Ushijima sat at the end of the table, his back straight, a glass in front of him filled with alcohol he didn’t particularly like. His teammates were loud and loose and chaotic—laughing at Sokolov trying to arm-wrestle the bar’s bouncer, clapping every time someone dropped a fork, and yelling across the table in at least three different languages.

“A thousand yen says he’ll ask about his wife in twenty minutes,” Hoshiumi said quietly, leaning toward their captain, Hirugami Fukurou.

“You’re giving him way too much credit,” Romero replied, fondly grinning. “He gets wistful around minute twelve.”

“He gets wistful the moment he sits down.”

Ushijima was unmoved. He stared at his drink, took a single sip, and let it rest in his hand. He didn’t participate in the yelling, the toasts, or the story someone was animatedly telling about a missed serve from three seasons ago. He just existed—quietly, stoically—as a satellite to the chaos.

Except, of course, they all knew he was waiting.

He always was.

There was a pattern to the transformation. First, he’d sit there like stone. Then he’d blink a little more slowly. His brows would draw together—not in anger, but in vague confusion, like he was lost in a thought he couldn’t solve. His fingers would move against his glass, not to drink but to fidget, just a little.

And then…

“Has anyone seen my phone?” Ushijima asked, barely louder than the buzz of conversation.

Hoshiumi slid it across the table immediately. “Right here, Ushiwaka. Sorry! We took a few pictures here and there.”

“Thank you.”

He looked down at the screen. It was still lit with the last message from you from earlier that day: Good luck, baby. Don’t forget to stretch your left shoulder. He’d never replied—he never did, not when he was already in headspace—but now, he stared at it like it was the only thing tethering him to reality.

“You want to text her?” Hoshiumi asks, lightly teasing, which Ushijima didn’t catch onto.

Ushijima didn’t answer. He opened the thread and typed a few letters. Deleted them. Typed something else. Backspaced. Then just stared.

And then finally: “She hasn’t replied.”

His teammates laughed.

“There it is!”

“It’s only been seventeen minutes! I win!”

“No, you cheated. I said ten, and he didn’t even check his phone until minute twelve!”

“Shh, shh, look at him—he’s pouting.”

“Wait, is this the pout phase? I thought that came after the silent brooding phase.”

“Technically we’re entering pout-brood overlap. It’s a dangerous time.”

Ushijima didn’t argue. He simply set the phone down again and folded his hands in front of him. Kageyama leaned over.

“You want me to call her for you, Ushijima-san?”

Ah, yes. Kageyama was too nice for his own good. Trying to enhance his socialization and trying to lessen his awkwardness with his teammates when the conversation didn’t revolve around volleyball.

Ushijima nodded. Just once. Immediately. “Yes.”

...

“Amazing! He’s not even trying to hide it.”

“Can you imagine being that in love?”

“He just wants his wife. Look at him. He’s a whole sad poem in one sitting.”

“She’s gonna get here, and he’s gonna light up like a lantern.”

“May this love run me over.”

Kageyama stood and walked a few paces away from the table, already dialing your number. Meanwhile, the others watched Ushijima sip his drink again—not because he wanted it, but because it gave his hands something to do. His eyes were glued to the screen even though no new notifications had appeared.

Romero leaned in conspiratorially to Hirugami. “Do you think she talks to him in, like, soft tones? Calls him ‘baby’ and stuff?”

“I think so,” he shrugs. “I think they’re sweet like that.”

“Aw, young love.”

The teasing continued, but it softened. Because underneath the jokes and the laughs was a sort of awe.

Their teammate—so serious, so focused, so unreadable on court—was completely and utterly soft when it came to his wife. Not in a loud way. Not in any way that could be easily teased, really. It was quiet. Heavy. Real.

When Kageyama returned, he had a pleased expression. “She’s on her way. Said she just got off work and is driving over.”

Ushijima gave another slow blink.

“Thank you.”

Kageyama nods. Somehow they manage to have conversations even if they just continue nodding to each other.

As soon as Kageyama said it, his phone buzzed with a new message. He didn’t even need to open it. He could tell by the way his entire body relaxed by a single, barely noticeable degree.

Sorry, hun. Just got off work. Are you okay?

He replied.

I’m okay. I miss you.

And then he set the phone down and folded his hands again, this time with more calm. More certainty. You were coming. That was all he needed to know.

The others noticed the shift immediately.

“He smiled.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“He did! Don’t argue with me; I saw it. It was micro. But it counted.”

“He’s already halfway out the door with his heart.”

“Watch, the second she walks through that door, he’ll go full puppy mode.”

Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, the door opened. A gust of cold air followed you inside, along with the soft jingle of the bar’s entrance bell. You spotted them easily—your eyes landing on Ushijima before anything else. And his entire body seemed to change shape.

He stood up—not quickly, but instantly, with a kind of gravity no one else in the room had.

You smiled as you approached, slipping out of your coat and brushing off the cold that nipped your nose softly. “Hi, love,” you greeted softly. “You ready to go?”

“Yes,” Ushijima said, already reaching for his jacket.

As he shrugged it on, you turned to the table. “Hope he wasn’t too much trouble?”

Hoshiumi leaned on the table with a grin. “[Name], your husband is the definition of ‘not trouble.’ We’re just grateful you came to collect him before he sighed himself into the carpet.”

“Tell them what he said!” someone shouted.

“He asked if anyone had seen his phone like it was a national emergency.”

“And he didn’t pout—he brooded. Like a man out of a romantic novel.”

“I think I did,” Ushijima just nodded at their comments about him.

He then stood by quietly, waiting for you to finish your goodbyes. When you looped your arm through his, he leaned ever so slightly toward you.

As they left, Romero raised his glass.

“To [Name]’s husband,” he declared. The table cheered.

Outside, as you two walked toward the car, you glanced up at him, fingers tightening around his arm.

“You really okay?” you asked.

He hummed. Then, in that low, steady voice only you ever got to hear, it softened—

“I missed you,” he said again. “They were loud. I wanted to see you very much.”

You smiled and gave his arm a firm, loving squeeze. “Well. I’m here now.”

And... yeah.

That’s what he’s been wanting to hear all night.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[misshuntereevee]

The Winner Takes it All, part 1.

( part 2 is out now. )

Synopsis: You look like the MC, and you actually remember bits and pieces of the myth (not all.) But MC finally shows up, with no memory, and Sylus can’t help but be drawn in. What will happen?

Note: I haven’t written anything in like a month so go easy on me 😅 I also am not beta-read, I just need Sylus simping and begging for forgiveness…

—

Two years ago. The little reminder flits across the screen.

But nonetheless, you sit in your shared apartment -- alone with a glass of wine. No missed calls, no texts.

You weren’t sure when it started. Probably the first time he saw her. She looked just like you. You — just like her. You didn’t think anything would shake how Sylus saw you. His princess. But she obviously did. He found himself torn -- were you his sorceress? Or was this woman?

When you do finally get a message from Sylus, it’s enough to make your heart drop. “I’ll be home late. Don’t wait up.”

No mention of the anniversary. Being sneaky, you decide to tap and see where he is. Linkon? Another few tabs and you see the feed of a sidewalk -- with him and Miss Hunter chatting. Your eyes close, your fingers rubbing the bridge of your nose. You feel your hands tighten around the stem of your wine glass until it shatters. You didn’t even feel the glass dig into your skin -- just the blood trickling down your wrist.

She’s wearing your smile. The smile that you give him. And he’s looking at her like she’s you. And as your doppelganger, she’s probably close.

As you treat your wound, you can’t help it. Tears overflow as blood washes out into the porcelain sink.

You’d promised yourself after how your father treated your mother that you’d never let yourself feel this way. Unloved. Don’t get you wrong -- if it had been this once, you probably wouldn’t have cared. But the fact of the matter -- this is the third time. You’d been keeping count.

So you call.

Once. No answer.

Twice. No answer.

By the third unanswered call, your hands tremble. The broken wine glass sits untouched beside you, the clock ticking in mockery. You stare at the phone screen, willing his name to appear, but nothing. Just silence. The kind that suffocates. The kind that makes decisions for you.

“If I’m not your little bird, then fine,” you say, grinding your teeth. You make one more call, this time to your best friend. She answers on the second ring and it’s not long before you’ve made your decision -- you’re leaving.

* * *

He’d call you as soon as he dropped her off.

He promised himself that. And while Sylus had a great memory, he suddenly had a nagging feeling that he was forgetting something. But he ignores the phone in his pocket as he listens to the woman next to him. Miss Hunter.

He can’t lie and say he doesn’t feel the attraction. But what happened? Why was she here if you were too? And which one was his princess? Which one was the one he was bonded to? He’d never had this linkage bond with you -- no, that only happened with this hunter. That…looked exactly like you.

The phone is ringing again, and Miss Hunter tilts her head. “Aren’t you going to answer that? Might be one of your henchmen.” She teases.

So he glances -- seeing your name, his fingers hover over the screen before pushing decline. “It’s not important right now.” And he shoots the simple text: Don’t wait up.

Walking her upstairs, Miss Hunter turns to face him. “Well, thanks for the ride… maybe you aren’t the monster everyone says you are.”

His lips stretch up in a smile. The words make him feel warm -- the way that for the longest time only you could do. “Careful, kitten. I might think you're softening up on me.”

“Never,” is all Miss Hunter says, before disappearing into her apartment.

He’s almost on his motorcycle when he gets another call. He answers it without looking, convinced it’s you again. “Hello, my little bird,” his voice says softly. The familiarity is settling in now that he knows he can talk to you -- something absent with Miss Hunter. In a way, he can recognize that Miss Hunter will never be able to give him that. But he has to know why she’s here. Why does she exist when you’re right there?

But it’s not your voice that replies. “Oh -- no, it’s Luke, boss. I thought you and the Missus were out on your anniversary date. I was calling --”

Sylus’ grip on his handlebars tightens. “What?” he nearly growls. The blood in his veins turns ice-cold. His knuckles go white, the rich and expensive leather groaning under the pressure. His breath catches in his throat, heart slamming against his ribs. He forgot. Fuck, he forgot. The realization crashes into him like a freight train, knocking the air from his lungs.

“Oh, I just saw the date on your calendar --”

“I’ll call you back,” he snarls.

Sylus knows as soon as he gets past the second ring that you aren’t going to pick up the phone. You never let it ring longer than that. But just in case, he waits until you let it go to voicemail. And then he calls again. And again. If he was a normal man, he’d be a little embarrassed to call so much -- but he wasn’t normal and he didn’t care.

By the tenth call, he’s gripping the device tightly. “'Pick up. Please, my little bird. Pick up.” The call goes to voicemail. Again. His chest tightens. He feels it now—the absence of you. And for the first time, he's truly afraid.

And for a moment, he wondered if he’d panic this much if it was Miss Hunter who was upset. Would he be upset if she was mad at him? Finally, he leaves a message: “Little bird, call me please. You know we need to talk about this.”

You’ll call him back with that. He was almost certain. But as he got closer and closer to your shared apartment, it became clear that you weren’t going to call. And all it did was give him time to think. And he came to the conclusion that you had every right to be pissed.

But he had no idea how pissed you were until he unlocked your shared front door -- and it’s all gone.

Not the furniture, no. But your favorite cardigan by the door? Gone. Your mail slot? Your name was ripped off, and only Sylus’ remained. The further he got into the apartment, the more he noticed was gone. Your brush, your blankets. Each missing item was a knife in his heart.

“Little bird?” He called out, holding onto a shred of hope before noticing a note on the bed. His red eyes narrow, stepping softly toward it.

And the words are enough to make him ball the note into a crumbled mess, and throw it against the wall with a snarling yell:

Sylus,

I don’t know how to write this. But as the weeks have passed since you met my doppelganger, I’ve realized there’s really nothing I can do to compete with myself. I thought our history was enough -- but I guess I can’t win against fate. My only wish is you would have let me know before I dug my claws in.

Like you’d know, my dragon, it hurts to pull them back out. And it hurts even more to see the open wound I left -- I am not sure if it will stop bleeding out.

Take care of yourself,

Your Little Bird

Y/N

The words you wrote echo in your voice in his head. He could see the teardrop stains marking the paper. Little scratch marks -- like you hesitated. And he’s hit with the feeling -- maybe if he’d just answered sooner, he could have stopped this.

And -- how stupid could he have been to pay so little attention that he missed your anniversary? And how stupid was he for still feeling conflicted about Miss Hunter?

But the strongest feeling was this: he needed to see you again. The possibility of not seeing you again… that was enough to make him never visit Linkon again.

* * *

It’s been two weeks since you left. You weren’t from the N109 Zone and you weren’t from Linkon -- so he’d crossed that off his list. But you weren’t in your hometown either. Sylus rode his motorcycle through your old stomping grounds -- and it brought him some comfort to be here. In your home -- since you’d fled the one you’d shared together.

His phone rings -- Miss Hunter.

And surprisingly -- he doesn’t answer.

Because a better notification comes up from Luke and Kieran.

“Hey, Boss! We’ve got sightings of Madam over in Brighton,” they say, happy to give him some sort of good news. Because the last few weeks -- Sylus has been downright vicious in his hunt to find you. To tell you sorry.

“Brighton? Interesting. Send me the coordinates,” he says. The location is a cafe. It’s filled with books, magazines-- all your favorites. That part made sense. There’s slight relief in his thoughts. Knowing where you were was better than not knowing. If you were in Brighton, then you were probably safe. Alive. And not under Ever’s thumb somewhere.

You’re safe. That’s what matters. That’s what he keeps telling himself as he watches you laugh at a cashier’s statement —like nothing is wrong, like the past two years meant nothing. You’re alive. You’re fine.

But the longer he looks -- it’s enough to make him murderous.

It’s the cashier you’re speaking with. You’re laughing…you’re happy. ayou hadn’t smiled like that at him since Miss Hunter arrived… Realistically, anyone could say it was innocent, but now --

He should be the one making you laugh. He should be the one paying too. Jealousy doesn’t come easy to Sylus -- but right now -- he’s understanding how you felt the last few weeks with Miss Hunter. But unlike you -- he thinks to himself as he puts the kickstand on his bike down -- he’s not afraid to step in.

If you thought two years would disappear like that -- you’re wrong. And he’ll prove it. (He has to.)

Please like/reblog for part 2! I am not sure how much I love this or not yet, so let me know if you do. Comments are appreciated but not required. 🫶🏻

[mochroialainn]

Think I need someone older

Think I need someone older, just a little bit colder. take the weight off your shoulders, think I need someone older ft. ex boyfriends dad John Price tw. age gap [reader is 22 and John is in his mid-late 40s], oral sex [male and female receiving] mentions of cheating [not by price or reader], insinuation of multiple rounds, PIV sex, creampie, mentions of a bitchy ex-wife, fem!reader, female anatomy, illusion to toxic and psychologically abusive relationship a/n. this turned out a lot longer than i anticipated it to be or i intended but when i started i just couldn't stop. price also works in security in this. this is also the first ime in ages that i have written something this long, so i apologise if it non-sensical or it makes no sense. word count.  3769 banner by @kaitsawamura

ex boyfriends dad John Price who had grown to hate the man his son at become, he was spoiled and entitled and thought he was gods gift to mankind always looking down on others and it was all because of his ex-wife. The woman worshiped her son, saw him as her prized possession, she did everything for him. Washing, cooking, cleaning and never punished him for anything he did and turned him into the monster he was today. John had tried to change her ways, tried to punish him and instill some discipline and human empathy into him but his wife wouldn’t have any of it. If John took his electronics away for misbehaving, his wife would give them back in 5 minutes. If he grounded him for any period of time, he knew all he had to do was ask his mom if he could go out and she would immediately tell him yes and to be safe and have fun. Any time he showed disrespetful behaviour, to them and to the other people she would always say ‘boys will be boys’. It was one of the many things that led to their eventual divorce when their son was 15. They shared custody and anytime his son was over Price tried to correct his behaviour, believing it was never too late but all of his work would be undone anytime he would go back to his mothers and by the time his son was 18 and stopped coming over as mandated by the courts, it was too late. Now his son only came round when he wanted something or was in the type of trouble he didn’t want his mother to know about. 

ex boyfriends dad John Price who met you for the first time at his son's 21st birthday, he didn’t plan on staying long and was only going to show face, put some money on the tab for his son and give him his present. And there are you, a pretty little thing wrapped in the arms of his asshole son and he decides to stay just a little longer than he planned to talk to you. You are oh so sweet when he talks to you, telling him you had heard good things about him from his ex-wife and son (which he instantly doubted, his wife was still bitter he went through with the divorce and his son saw him as this hard-handed father always dishing out punishments he believed he didn’t deserve), you voice is positively dripping with syrup and John feels his heart pick up in a way he hadn’t felt in years. But as he walks with you, he watches. Closely. Watches the way you're never too far away from his son, how you talk to nobody but him, how your eyes are always searching for his son in the room, how you rub your hand up and down your arms to comfort yourself as you watch his son talk, no, flirt with every other woman in the room. It makes something in his gut twist itself into knots because his son as this absolutely beautiful and sweet girl right there and he was just throwing it away

ex boyfriends dad John Price who meets you a few times in the next year, in cafes or supermarkets or even just when you’re out for a walk in the local park, you always look so pretty especially in the warmer months when you’re out and about in little summer dresses and short skirts, the warm summer sun shining on your skin and giving you a gorgeous glow,  and you are always so so nice to him, making conversation with soft smiles and wide eyes but he notices you're a littlemore skittish, always checking your phone and looking around you anxiously as if someone was watching you, how your clothes start to get a bit more conservative the little hints of your gorgeous skin now being hidden behind long sleeves and trousers. When he asks if you’re okay you give him a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes and tell him everythings fine, the feeling he had in his gut when he first met you gets worse. He knew something was wrong and though he couldn’t pinpoint what it was he knew it had to do with his son. 

ex boyfriends dad John Price who hasn't seen you for a few months since he last saw you in December, the last time he saw you all the warmth had drained from your face and your eyes and though you were smiling there was an undeniable sadness and pain just rolling off you in waves. It broke his heart to see someone who was once so full of life become lifeless, like all the light and warmth that had radiated from you when you first meet was sucked out and replaced with a deep darkness that penetrated the very fibers of your soul. When he see’s you again, its Spring and the world has started to gain a bit more of its colour back, and so have you. You’re in a local bar, your friends surrounding you as you laugh and drinkand dance, John watches from the bar. Watches the way your eyes light up and your smile finally reached your eyes, the way your cheeks are dusted in a small pink hue as the alcohol flushes your skin. He smiles as he brings his whiskey to his lips and turns away from your group, who unbeknownst to him were trying to convince you to go up and talk to him despite the fact that he was your ex-boyfriends dad. They rolled their eyes and shoved at your shoulder every time you tried to brush them off, saying what better way to get revenge against your cheating, toxic ex-boyfriend than to sleep with his dad? And with the encouragement of another shot you decide to go ‘fuck it’ and walk up to the bar, sliding in comfortably beside John your hand falling right beside his your pinky finger brushing against as you turn your head to look at him only to find him already looking at you, his eyes raking up and down your body. He wasn’t going to admit it out loud, at least not to you at this very moment, but gods was he glad you were showing a little bit of skin again, the tight crop top you had on giving him the perfect view of your cleavage and leaving the delcious skin of your sides exposed while the short skirt you wore hugged the curve of your hips in such a teasing manner that he just wanted to reach out and palm the fat with his big hands just to feel it squish between his fingers, and your thighs gods he just wanted to bury his face inbetween them and feel the fat press against his head. 

ex boyfriends dad John Price who smiles at you, warm and welcoming, eyes twinkling with mischief and mirth as he greets you with a friendly ‘hi’, you give him a flirtatious smile and a ‘hi’ back. You quickly fall into an easy conversation, catching up with one another and skirting over the glaring question of what happened. You talk about your classes and how glad you are to be graduating soon and, saying how you’ve already secured a graduate position in one of the top companies within your industry and he tells you some stories of his time in the military and when he tells you about a scottish man called ‘Soap’ you can’t help but giggle and ask how he got that name and when John tells you its classified you pout at him and he damn near pulls you in for a kiss right there. Time flies by so quickly when you’re talking to him that you don’t even notice your friends leave, your best friend sending a text letting you know everyone got home safely and to use protection and not to do anything she wouldn’t do (which causes you to roll your eyes and John can’t help the dirty thoughts and images that flashes through his mind when he sees it), or how the numbers in the bar keep dwindling down until its just the two of you left and the bartender gives you a cheeky smile as you close out your tab (John insisting on paying for yours as well). 

ex boyfriends dad John Price who insists on walking you home when you’re ushered out of the bar, his hand casually slipping around shoulder as he pulls you against him, using the fact that the spring night is chilly and you didn’t bring a jacket out with you and he just radiates warmth, which instantly spreads through you at his touch. Starting in your cheeks, causing an adorable flush that quickly spreads through your entire body settle deep in your stomach and your core. You continue to chat as you walk, more stories flowing between the you and you flush even brighter at the big belly laugh he lets out as you share your drunken stories from freshers week when you first started university. Before you know it, you’re outside your apartment and you dwindle for a bit conversation dying down but neither of you wanting to say goodbye yet. It takes a nothing more than a few nanoseconds for you to decide to invite him up for a drink, telling him you had a bottle of 15 year old single malt your father gifted you for being accepted into your dream job after college and he accepts even quicker.

ex boyfriends dad John Price who follows behind you, his hand in yours and his heart beating rapidly in his chest feeling like a goody teenager as he crosses the threshold of apartment, he doesn’t even let the door fully close before he’s turning you around and pinning you to it. One hand gripping your hips and the other cradling your jaw like you are the most precious thing in the world, completely contradicting the way he kisses you. Its deep, harsh, bruising and full of passion, lips slotting against yours like they were always meant to be there. The kiss is absolutely intoxicating, one hand reaches out to fist at his shirt while the other tangles in his hair at the back of his head, your grab is a little tighter than you expected and tension at the back of his skull causes a moan to ripple from deep in Johns chest and spill into your mouth and you arch into him, pressing yourself impossibly closer to him, your hand moving from his chest to grip at his shoulders. You dig your nails into his skin beneath the soft fabric of his shirt as his hand moves from your hip to grab at your ass and pull you against him, his hard cock pressing into the plush of your stomach through his jeans. John pulls away from the kiss far to quickly for your liking and you go to chase his lips but he quickly buries his head in your neck, lips pressing against your pulse point as you pant and move your neck to give him better access to the skin, his teeth graze your skin as the kisses turns to bites and the moan you let our is absolute music to John’s ears.

ex boyfriends dad John Price who feels a little guilty about what he’s doing, the rational part of his brain at war with the emotional part, telling him it’s wrong and he shouldn’t be doing this, apart from the fact that you were more than 20 years younger than him you were also his son ex-girlfriend for gods sake and maybe part of him was doing this to spite his son and maybe you were doing the same thing, he didn’t know the details of what happened you didn’t elaborate when you told him you had broken up just after new year, maybe you were just doing this for revenge to screw with his son, to show him what he missed but the emotional part is screaming at him that this is right, that right there is where he’s meant to be. He found you attractive, had since he first saw you, but it was more than that he thought you were amazing and kind and so so smart, he enjoyed every second of the small amount of time he got to spend with you idly chatting when you meet, you made his heart beat so erratically in his chest that he was sure it was going to rip out of this chest but he wouldn’t even mind if it meant he go to give it to you for safe keeping  because he knew there was no better place it than in your hands. Eventually the rational side wins and John’s panting as he pulls back from your neck, pupils wide as he looks in your eyes. You see a hint of hesitation in his eyes, and something inside you shrinks back a little and the heat that had been pooling inside of you was slowly turning stone cold but the way John rubs his tumb against your cheek stops it from flaming our completely. His voice is quiet as he ask if you want this, he’s still breathless as the words pass it lips and you barely hear it but when it registers in your brain you are instantly saying ‘yes’ and nodding your head.  That’s all he needs for his emotional side to win and he is pressing his lips to yours once again and his hands are gripping onto your thighs as he easily hoists you up into his arms as you wrap your legs around his waist.

ex boyfriends dad John Price who doesn’t even take you to the bedroom, instead he gently places you on the sofa as his hands reach out to remove your shirt, throwing it over his shoulder hapazardly (you notice in the morning it’s hanging of the edge of your lamp shade), his lips trailing down your throat and across your collarbone intermittently changing from kisses to bites to sucks something akin to pride blooming in his chests as the purple marks bloom across your skin. Heat blooms where his lips touch and you grind up into him, the fabric of your skirt having rid up when he lifted you and being bunched around your hips leaving your panties and pussy exposed and allowing you to seek a delicious friction as your clit nudges against the fabric of his jeans through your panties, it helps that the fabric is tented from Johns hard cock. The moan you let out is almost pornographic from just the simple movement and John groans at the sound, moving his hips to meet yours as you grind just to hear it again. 

ex boyfriends dad John Price  who had planned to take his time with you, to learn exactly what made you come undone underneath him and to draw out orgasm after orgasm from you until you were a trembling mess who couldn’t even remember his own name, he wanted to make you moan and scream until your throat was raw and watch those pretty little eyes roll to the back of your head as pleasure overwhelmed your body, but he could feel the wetness of your underwear through his jeans and the way you nails dug into his skin through the fabric of his shirt so hard he was sure they would leave little crescent indents on the skin and bruises that would last days, ones he would proudly show off and he decided fuck taking his time. He quickly removed his lips from your skin and you mourned their loss but the feeling was quickly replaced with pleasure as he moved down and presses a kiss to your clit through your underwear as John hooks his fingers into the waistband and pulls them down your thighs once again throwing it over his shoulder haphazardly not caring where they landed as his hand wrapped around your thigh and he dove into your pussy. He licks at your clit, tongue swirling around the bundle of nerves and pleasure shoots through your entire body, sparks lighting up your nervous system and it feel like every nerve comes alive more the fire inside of you heating up to a new degree with every swipe of his tongue and as John presses a finger to your entrance gently to your entrance, at first testing the resistance before slowly pushing into you and curving in such away it presses against your g-spot and its almost like he can directly inside of you with the precision he hits it at. The pleasure causes a moan and an ‘oh god’ to tumble from your lips and your eyes roll black, which John watches from between your legs and as your head falls back against the arm of the chair he nips gently at your clit the tiny bit of pain causes a whine to tumble from your lips and a smirk forms on Johns lips

ex boyfriends dad John Price   who says “eyes on me sweetheart�� and the ways the words tumble from his lips, deep and rumbly and dripping with heat that almost makes you melt. And oh god the vibration against your clit has you almost seeing stars and pushes you closer to the edge but you quickly snap your head back so you can look down at John who presses another kiss to your clit as a reward but then he pulls his finger from inside you and for the briefest second you think you’re being punished but he replaces his mouth on your clit with his thumb and starts circling your clit while he raises the rest of his body to give you a bruising kiss, your tongues mixing together as you taste yourself on him and with one last flick of his thumb John feels you tense underneath him as your orgasm rocks your body. You feel like your whole body is on fire, little fireworks lighting up every single nerve ending you have and causing you to moan into John’s mouth, your fingers scramble to to hold onto something, anything to ground you, eventually tangling in the fabric of John’s shirt as you ride out the wave of your orgasm. Your chest heaves as you come down from your high and you separate your lips from John to mumble the words “you have too many clothes one”, he chuckles at you and ducks down to place a kiss against your pulse point again before sitting up and pulling off his shirt first and then reaching down to unbuckle his belt, his jeans and boxers joining the mess of clothes all over the floor. Your eyes scan his body, his years in the military and security doing wonders for his body, corded muscles bulging in his arms as he brings his arms down on side of yours head forcing you to look him in the face once again where you’re meet with inquisitive and teasing eyes as he asks “like what you see sweetheart?” 

ex boyfriends dad John Price  who doesnt expect or wait for an answer as he presses his lips to yours in another searing kiss, lips and tongues melding together its almost like you were trying to drain each other life essence out just through the kiss. When John pulls away from you, a string of saliva connects you and only breaks when he dips his tongue out to swipe across his lips as he checks in with you again to make sure that this is what you want and when you nod, he takes one of his hands by your head and gently guides himself inside you. The stretch is absolutely delicious and a moan rips through you, starting deep in your chest and falling from your lips before you can even stop it but John doesn’t want you to stop it instead he grips your chin and tells you to be louder that he wants to hear every little sound that tumbles from your lips and so you do. With every thrust inside of you and every circle of Johns finger against your clit your moans get louder and more uncontrolled every fibre of your being filled with nothing but pleasure and your mind numb to any other thought than Johns name and the pleasure he is giving you. You cum again with John inside you, your nerve endings lighting up like the sun itself as you clench around him, the tightness of your pussy clamping down on Johns dick causing a jagged moan to fall from John’s lips. He knew he wasn’t going to last, he was already so worked up from kissing you and eating you out that he knew he was going to cum soon. And as you clench around him again, a mini ograsm richocting from your last one, he groans into you neck and takes your hip into a bruising grip, fingers and nail digging in to the plush flesh, he can’t himself as she sheathes himself inside of you right up to the hilt as his own orgasm rocks through him and he fills you with his cum. Your both panting, your chests heaving as you both come down from your high with ecstasy and adrenaline filling your systems and you notice, John is still hard inside of you so you say with a smile, “another round?” which may have turned into 2, including a round in the shower as he tried to clean you up from the previous rounds. 

ex boyfriends dad John Price who decided that night that he wanted this to be more, more than just sex. He wanted you in your entiretly, he wanted not just your heart but your soul. He wanted to know every secret you kept hidden buried deepen inside you, he wanted to know the simplest most basic parts of you, your favour colour and favourite food, what made you laugh and smile and what pisses you off. He wanted to hold your hopes and dreams in his hands and support you to reach to them, wanted to hold your hand as you rose and comfort you when you fell. He wanted your happiness and your pain. He just wanted you. Every part of you, no matter how knarled and ugly you thought it was because to him you would always be the most wonderful creature the gods had ever created.

[littlelovelunette]

G!p Sevika cream pieing you, or cumming on your face, tits, back, stomach, mouth. Just alot of cum play hihi

Creamy

Contains Sevika G!P, drug use during sex (?), smut, blowjob, no protection, hair pulling, praising, doggy style, cream pie, cum play, aftercare

Sorry, I got carried away... This is so long...

"Baby, I have an interesting something for you," you said. You and Sevika were both at Last Drop, and you had a little idea for an innocent prank that wasn't all too innocent. You had been down to the market and found chocolates that enhance libido.

You were aware Sevika had a naturally high libido as it was. But what was the fun in just letting it be as it was? You've experimented a lot in the bedroom with her and couples weeks back when she fucked you hard and rough under the influence of Shimmer, even if you did pass out it was amazing.

Today, you had different plans. TABS chocolate. Sevika obviously had no idea was that chocolate even was because let's be real, she doesn't care about chocolates.

"Are you gonna keep staring?" Sevika asked as she looked at you, cards in her mechanical hand as she took a sip of her drink.

"Here," you smiled and gave her a broken piece of the chocolate. Sevika raised a brow at the sight of the chocolate held out by you. "Chocolate? For me?"

You nodded with a smile, Sevika sighed and shook her head. "Whats the catch?"

"There is no catch, I just wanna give it to you because I've had too much already," you lied smoothly.

"Doll, what did I say about you having too many sweets?" Sevika said with a warning tone but despite that put the glass of alcohol down to take the chocolate.

"I'm sorry, I was just having a little craving," you said with a little grin.

You watched with sparkling eyes as she ate the chocolate. Now it was time to wait and watch the magic unravel.

The game continued, but you kept an eye on her. At first, nothing seemed different—Sevika played her cards, drank her whiskey, and exuded that effortless dominance.

But then, after a few minutes, you noticed a shift. The way she adjusted her seat, her tongue running over her teeth in thought. The brief pause before she took a sip of her drink, her fingers flexing against the rim of her glass.

Then, the glance. Subtle at first. A flicker of those sharp, dark eyes toward you. Another sip, slower this time. The way her throat moved as she swallowed.

You hid your grin behind your drink.

Sevika placed her cards down, winning the round with a smirk, then turned toward you, leaning in slightly. Her voice dipped lower, silkier. “That wasn’t just chocolate, was it, bunny?”

A slow smirk tugged at her lips. She finished her drink in one smooth motion and stood, rolling her shoulders. “Cash me out,” she told the dealer before turning to you. “You coming, or are you just going to sit there grinning like an idiot?”

"Mhm, coming," you got up, putting an arm in hers, pressing your tits against her through the thin fabric of your dress.

Sevika felt that, but didn't react. She didn't give you the satisfaction of seeing her flustered. Instead, she grabbed the cash and walked with you. Her steps were sharp and long making you have to run beside her to keep up with her pace.

"Don't go so fast!" You complained breathlessly making Sevika chuckle under her breath. "I hope you won't say the same in bed." You huffed a sigh at Sevika's words.

"Strip." Sevika said as you both reached her apartment bedroom. You blushed but complied, taking the straps down of your dress followed closely by your underwear.

You wondered what Sevika would be like under the influence of TABS chocolate although you were sure she was animalistic as it was even without the chocolate. Maybe this would get rougher that you'd anticipate. But to be frank, who'd turn down rough sex if it's with Sevika?

Sevika pushed you to your hands and knees by your hair making you wince, tears already appearing in your eyes from the sudden tug of your hair. You could smell the intoxicating smell for Sevika's cock.

It made your mind go all hazy and mushy, you slowly grabbed onto the shaft at the base. It was already leaking precum and throbbing in your hand. You could tell it was probably so sensitive by now.

"Fuck." Sevika cursed as she made a makeshift ponytail using your hair, holding it using her mechanical hand. "Ready to suck daddy off?" She asked with a smirk and you nodded, staring up at her with puppy eyes.

Sevika didn't miss a beat shoving her huge length down your throat with a new sort of force that made you gag when it hit the back of your throat. Sevika didn't relent, as if you gagging only made her hornier she started pumping her cock in your mouth successfully throat fucking you. You had to grab onto her thighs to steady your balance as you inches closer to her cock.

You couldn't breathe and you didn't want to. Right now all you needed was Sevika's huge veiny dick and you had that settled deep in your throat. You gasped a little as she shot her semen right in your mouth with no warning.

Sevika reached her flesh hand down to your mouth, smearing the cum on your face. "Yeah? Like that? Looking so pretty."

"Mmmph..." You could only let out a small muffled whine with your mouth still so full of cock. Sevika pulled it out slowly letting her shaft slap against your cheek getting your face even more soaked in her semen.

"Swallow." Sevika ordered and you did, swallowing down the thick liquid, "Now open." She held your bottom lip by her thumb of her flesh hand, opening your mouth up to check whether you've swallowed all of her cum. "Good girl."

Sevika picked you up with ease and laid you down on your back flat. She looked down at your clean shaven pussy, "Looks like someone prepared good." She taunted and you blushed looking away. Sevika didn't mind if you kept your pubic hair trimmed, shaven or waxed. It didn't matter to her.

Sevika pulled your legs open and thrusted her huge length inside breaking you out of your thoughts. "Oh my gosh!" You screamed and let out a loud moan.

Sevika laughed at the sight of you so surprised at the sheer length of her hard dick and started thrusting deep making the tip kiss your cervix with each powerful thrust.

It wasn't long until you were crying and babbling for her to stop but Sevika was nowhere done with you. Her cock continued to thrust in your raw, sore pussy as her thumb rubbed and pinched your clit making you buckle your hips at whatever contact your poor swollen clitoris got. Sevika's thrusts started getting sloppy. "I'm gonna fill this tight cunt up. Knock you up." She said through her heavy breaths and pants before she shot her loud in your tight cunt making you close your eyes in bliss.

"Daddy's cum..." You babbled mindlessly and Sevika grabbed a hold of your perky nipples, pulling them with a laugh. "D-daddy n-no not so rough please..."

"You like daddy's cum, don't you?" Sevika pulled her cock out and made you get on your hands and knees on the bed so she could pound you from behind. Sevika shoved her cock inside making your breath hitch, the new position making you feel tighter and her cock bigger.

"Fucking tight pussy." Sevika cursed out under her breath before she bit her bottom lip and started thrusting hard into your pussy making you clench onto her desperately trying to keep her warm, huge length tucked deep inside.

Hours passed and you both have been fucking like rabbits. You can't get enough of Sevika's semen. Your body was drenched in it by now and so were the sheets. You didn't care whether you got to cum or not but you needed Sevika's semen all over yourself for some reason. You just needed it. Needed it so badly.

"Daddy, can't, anymore," you managed to let out broken words as Sevika let go of your body, cumming the last time on your stomach and tits, a little on your face too. "Yeah? You're all spent?" You nodded weakly at her question. "C'mon then."

Sevika helped you up with ease and took her mechanical arm off, letting it rest on the bedside table so she could join you in a hot shower. It wasn't a problem, usually, her having her mech arm on during the shower but Sevika preferred to shower without it.

She helped you inside the shower room, settling you on the bathroom counter as she took out the shampoo and shower jel out of the cabinet. She took the tanktop she had on through the whole time with one hand, with practised ease.

You got off the counter, a little imprint of your ass left on the counter... Due to the semen.

Sevika saw it, smirking a little, she grabbed your ass tightly with her flesh hand and kissed you against the shower wall. You kissed her back, slowly turning the shower tap on using one hand, letting the water cascade down on the both of you while you both continued kissing.

"I guess we can tick off kissing under the rain." Sevika joked making you laugh a little. It was rare when she joked about something which actually seemed funny to you. Other than stupid, silly dad jokes. But you liked it in here now.

In Sevika's... Well, arm, right now.

[maskedbyghost]

With possessive reader what is it gonna be like when she’s decided it time Simon proposes? Like is she a this is the ring you buy me girl or is she a it’s a shame I don’t have a ring to show off to the bitches who dare to flirt with you girl?

I love your series so much! ❤️❤️❤️

I think possessive!reader is absolutely the “it’s a shame I don’t have a ring to flash at the girls eye-fucking you from across the room” kind of girl.

You’re not shy about it. You’re not coy. You don’t drop sweet little hints about marriage—you make it a goddamn territorial threat.

You don’t care about the wedding, you don’t care about the diamond, you just care about making it publicly known that Simon Riley belongs to you and no one else.

Something permanent. Something no one can argue with. You don’t want a pretty proposal under the stars; you just want a visible warning label on your man.

You’re out one night with him and a few of the guys, tucked into his side with your drink in hand, and you’ve already noticed the two girls sitting at the next table who won’t stop glancing over. They’re not even trying to be subtle about it—giggling, whispering, giving him looks that make your blood boil. Simon hasn’t noticed. He’s relaxed, laughing with Johnny, focused on his beer, and not paying attention. But you are. Of course you are.

You don’t even bother whispering when you say, “Y��know, if I had a ring on my finger, bitches might stop thinking they’ve got a shot.”

Simon turns and just stares at you. His mouth opens, then closes again, like he’s trying to figure out whether to be offended or terrified. You just keep sipping your drink, resting your hand on his thigh like nothing happened.

“Not asking,” you add. “Just saying. Might be smart to lock it down before someone gets hurt.”

Johnny chokes into his drink, but Simon doesn’t laugh. He just squints at you like you’ve grown horns, making you smile sweetly.

Later, back home, you’re in bed scrolling through your phone, and he leans over your shoulder to see three tabs open—engagement rings, all wildly different styles. When he raises an eyebrow, you don’t even try to hide it.

“What?” you say. “Just wanted to see what those other girls won’t be getting.”

He groans, mutters something about you being a menace, and rolls over with his arm flung over his eyes. You toss your phone aside, climb over him, and sit on his chest until he looks at you.

“I’m not saying you need to propose tomorrow,” you say, tone way too casual. “But I am saying if another girl makes a joke about how available you seem, I will propose to myself with your credit card and then beat her with the receipt.”

He looks up at you with that stunned face, like he’s not sure if he should argue or marry you right there.

You lean in, press your forehead to his, and whisper, “Just think about it, yeah?”

And yeah. He will. Right after he survives being so deeply and dangerously wanted by someone who’s already one bad look away from proposing for him.

And the bitch actually proposes after a fight one day.

You were on the couch, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the TV that wasn’t even on, trying to look unbothered even though your heart was still thudding from everything you’d screamed at each other half an hour ago.

Then, out of nowhere, he stopped in front of you.

“You think I’m leaving?”

You blinked up at him, annoyed already. “Did I say that?”

“No. But you look like you’re waiting for it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

His hand went into his pocket. You almost laughed—because really, what now? Another excuse? A lighter for a stress smoke? A grenade?

But then he dropped something into your lap.

A ring.

You stared at it, your mind blank.

He didn’t kneel, didn’t soften. He looked exhausted and angry and—himself.

“You wanna throw shit at me for the rest of our lives? Fine. Say yes.”

You blinked again.

“I wanna fight with you and make up with you and argue about fucking curtains and then fuck you until the neighbors call the cops. Got it?” His voice cracked a little. “So say yes. Because I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you.”

You picked up the ring and slipped it on like it was always meant to be there.

And then, without even looking at him, you muttered, “I was gonna carve my initials into your chest tonight but I guess this works.”

He sat down next to you with a groan and covered his face. “Fuckin’ psycho.”

You leaned into him, proud. “Yours.”

----------------------------------------

fuck me i love them so much you guysss.... also, thank you for the request love <3333

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs

[sakuravalenp]

Don't eat anything else - Part 3 - DP X DC

Previous part

Masterpost

Sam had somehow fallen asleep after hours of rolling in her bed, so of course, when her phone started ringing, she was just about ready to send the thing flying across the room. She covered her ears with her pillow, hoping the thing would shut up soon enough, and cursed her past self for leaving the phone in her desk instead of plugging it to the socket that was just behind her bed. She could have already shut the thing off then, but no, she’ll have to get out of bed to do it. She was going to maul whoever decided it was a good idea to call in the middle of the night.

With a resigned huff, she got out of bed and went to the desk, stumbling over the chair because of course she hadn’t pushed it back into the space the desk left for it, and snatched the phone roughly, pulling the charger and making her pencil case fall off the desk. The clattering sounds let her know she had also left that open. She groans, and squints at her phone screen, her eyes complaining at the sudden light, she takes a look at the insistent caller: Tucker. She answers while letting herself fall into the chair.

“Tucker, it’s like two am. You better be dying, or I swear to the ancients I’m throwing your beloved PDA into a natural portal to never be seen again!”

“Check the Phantom chat.” Sam blinked. She was expecting some sort of dramatic response. Then her mind caught up to what her friend had just asked.

“Did Danny text anything!?” The call was already being placed on speaker as she took her phone off her ear and started looking for their chat server.

“You’ll have to check yourself, it’s a full text wall, I’ve just read like- the first paragraph. Just- check it out and call me back when you’ve read it all.”

Sam frowned at the beep of the call being ended. She had never hated so much that their server took so long to load. She understood why; a hidden server that went through the infinite realms? Tucker was a genius for creating it. Still, in times like this the waiting was excruciating.

Danny didn’t tell them anything about his life with Vlad. She would say it screamed red flags, but it was Vlad. The moment the man had gotten custody of Danny all the fire alarms were going off in Sam’s head, and they hadn’t stopped since.

They tried not to push much at the start. The Fentons and Jazz’s death was too fresh, so they just checked in, asking how things were going, trying not to prod. But weeks turned to months, and they hadn’t been able to see Danny, and he was not telling them anything.

They had been keeping tabs of what they could get. Danny checked in at least once a day, until he didn’t. There would be days without response, and then Danny would check in again with some vague excuse. When that became common enough, Danny stopped making up excuses and just directly checking in without explaining the absence.

His texts were useless to understand his situation, other than he was well enough to text them, so their next focus was his public appearance. There weren’t a lot of those, but they would be happy with any scraps they could get. 

Vlad had taken Danny to more than a couple of galas and some political events, proudly flaunting his heir, and yet, there were barely any photos of Danny at said events. It was up in the air whether it was due to Vlad avoiding the pictures getting out or due to how difficult it was to get a clear photo of Danny.

Nevertheless, the few pictures they did get weren’t great. He looked emaciated, lost so much weight, lost any brightness in his eyes. Still, Sam had almost cried from relief the first time they got a picture. The mind can be cruel when there's nothing to hold it back, and Sam had about a thousand terrible thoughts of what Vlad could be doing to Danny. At least he was in one piece. 

Her phone vibrated, letting her know the server had finally loaded. There was a bubble beside the Phantom group chat letting her know there were new texts. She pressed on the group chat and was indeed greeted by a wall of text. She scrolled back to find the beginning.

Hey guys, you’ll probably won’t see this until tomorrow but I needed to write this right away before I started doubting. Not that that’s really a choice at this point, not when the Waynes already left with those notes.

The Waynes? Oh, yeah, Danny had mentioned Vlad had invited them to dinner once. First visitors they would be getting. Sam had idly wondered if she would have gotten a chance to see Danny if her parents were more influential. She had never wished for her parents to be richer before. 

So anyway, the Waynes visiting kind of changed things here a bit. I may not have been really honest about how things were going here with Vlad. Though, you probably already knew that, and I’m sorry, but I don’t know if I can tell you guys. I just don’t think I can get myself to tell you, and I’m so sorry, because you’re always there and deserve the truth, but I can’t. So, let’s just leave as things hadn’t been great, and Vlad was more of a monster than we ever thought he could be. 

Sam didn’t like that, it was terribly vague. What had Vlad done to Danny that he didn’t feel he could tell them? Sure they had been dealing with Danny’s silence, but now he was straight up telling them he couldn’t get himself to talk about it. The fact that he couldn’t even explain what Vlad had done meant it was probably worse than what she imagined.

They’d faced their fair share of horrors over the years while combating the rogues, and there had never been a problem verbalizing it. Something horrible had happened. Sam was going to kill Vlad. She didn’t care what the full story was, if it was bad enough that Danny actively refused to tell them, it was bad enough to revoke Vlad’s right to existence. 

The thing is, I can’t keep this up. The Wayne’s came in, and Vlad's plans for dinner made me realize I couldn’t let this keep going. I managed to sneak a note to Timothy Drake-Wayne. Everyone knows the Waynes have connections to the Justice league.

Sam frowned. The Justice League had been shining for their absence from everything involving Amity. That absence still burned like acid. They’d begged for help. Pleaded. Amity had become a warzone more than once, and no one had come. Would they really show up just because the Waynes got involved?

I know they hadn’t been answering our calls, but now it affected the Waynes. Again, I can’t explain how it affected them, but I’m pretty sure the Waynes will make sure the Justice League gets involved. I had to tell them that Vlad isn’t human. It would only end in an apocalypse if they came looking for Vlad without being prepared. They’ll look for you guys. I told them you had the means to combat him. 

Oh shit. Was she really meeting with the Justice League? In friendly terms? After all the ignored calls, Sam had swore it would be on sight if she ever met the assholes. And if they really showed up just because the Waynes were the ones to call, Sam wasn’t sure if she could keep it civil.

I didn’t reveal myself to the Waynes, I don’t know what the Justice League stand on ghosts is, all this is already a big risk, the GIW are bad enough on their own, there’s no way we would survive the Justice League hunting us, but Vlad needs to be stopped. I need you guys to give them what they need to not be possessed, and the ectoguns that I modified, maybe an ectoshield. Nothing more, they have a good history with non-humans, but I don’t know if we can trust them to not start a hunting campaign after Vlad. Try making it clear that this is a Vlad problem, not a ghost problem. I’m sorry I’m leaving everything to you guys, I can’t do anything from this side.

Her breath trembled. If the Waynes were really able to convince the Justice league to finally intervene, they might have days. She and Tucker needed to prep everything.

Ghost attacks had become rare since the portal was destroyed, but sometimes ghosts still came through naturally forming ones. There couldn’t be a ghost attack while the Justice League was there. Not when they needed to convince them that Vlad was the exception, not the rule.

They needed to get the gear and figure out how to lie to the Justice League convincingly enough that they wouldn’t turn every ghost into collateral damage.

Because Vlad might be the monster. But the League could still be the executioners.

Still, despite all the anxiety running through her veins, Sam felt hopeful. Danny had reached for help, after months of silence he had finally reached for help, and for once there seemed to be a chance they'd see Danny again. 

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

They couldn’t continue reading the paper right away. There was no way to do it. Cass was more sensitive to people's deaths than anyone else in her family, and Bruce had focused on supporting her so he wouldn’t have to think about what he had just eaten. He had helped Cass to the bathroom like he hadn’t vomited as well. Tim had mumbled something about needing a shower, a really long shower, and left. Jason had forgotten the pretender had been bathed in that cursed soup.

He did think about taking the paper and finishing reading it himself, but green edged his vision, rage bursting under the skin, and he needed an outlet, which he didn’t have here. The punch he had thrown onto the wall had already left a mark, and this was a house they rented as Waynes, he couldn’t just trash it all.

He had worked through some breathing exercises Dick had introduced to him. He’ll never tell Dick, but they did work somewhat. It wasn’t really a surprise, Jason knew Dick had anger issues. The bastard seemed like the perfect young adult holding it together these days, but Jason was there for his teenage rebellion, and that was supposedly an improvement from how he had been as Robin. So of course the breathing exercises helped, but it wasn’t enough.

He felt like giving the wall another punch from the frustration, but he had been trying to “redirect his anger” in less violent ways lately, and this was the kind of situation where it would be better to clear his head instead of exploding. He could save the explosion for when they had that reprobate on their hands. 

His phone was pinging and Jason knew it was probably the rest of the family asking for an update. The sudden silence probably got them worried the supposed poison had been something serious, and as the only one in commission at the moment, he should be the one reporting, but he was pretty sure he would crack his phone if he used it right then. His helmet took his attention where it resided on the desk, and he made a decision.

You’re not supposed to ride while you're angry, that’s how accidents happen, but that didn’t apply to people like him. Red Hood spent most of the night in his motorcycle while absolutely furious; they knew how to ride without becoming a public safety issue. 

He grabbed his helmet and screamed before putting it on. “You better don’t read the damn note before I’m back!” And then he was on the road once again. 

He rode around the small city, making the same circle over and over again at maximum speed. Harsh changes in direction that made the adrenaline pump in his veins. It was a good outlet. At some point the green receded enough for him to think clearer. He lowered the speed a bit, and connected his helmet to the comms. The questioning screams from everyone on comms came instantly.

“Shut the fuck up. I can’t understand a single thing you are saying.” As expected, that didn’t have any effect, but a minute later the line went dead silent. Babs must have muted everyone's lines. 

“Hood, what’s the situation? Did the antidote work without problem?” Babs asked.

Jason almost laughed. Antidote. They wished it had just been some stupid poison. “It wasn’t poison, or drugs, Batman and Orphan are… physically fine.”

There was a moment of silence, then Jason could hear the crackle of a line joining the comms again. “What does that mean Todd?” Damian finally asked.

Jason could feel the rage try to creep back at the thought of what really was in the food, he pushed it back. He didn’t want to really talk about what really was in the food. Another crackle. “Little wing? What was in the food?” 

Jason sighed. Why should he be the only one in commission to report back? No, he was glad to not have been anywhere close to that hideous concoction that didn’t have a right to be called food. He turned the speed back up.

“Apparently, Vlad Masters is a cannibal. One in the habit of sharing his taste with others.” The silence in the other line was about what he expected, so was the new explosion of voices that came afterward. 

Yeah, no. Report given. They could deal with the news themselves. Jason disconnected from comms and started riding back to the house. Checking the time on the edge of his helmet screen, he saw he had been riding for quite some time. How has two hours already passed? 

He left the motorcycle in the garage. There was no one there, so Jason wandered inside. He found Tim was sitting on the sofa with his laptop in the living room, the note folded beside him. Bruce sat on a chair beside him still looking pained. Jason talked from the door.

“Did you actually wait for me?”

Tim shrugged and without taking his eye off. “Figured it would be better to read once we were all here.”

“Where’s Cass?” He asked, walking to the opposite side of the couch.

“She asked to be filled in later.” Bruce answered. “It’s better we read the rest of the note already. I can’t imagine what else Danny would like us to know.”

Tim sighed, like someone had asked him to be the one to read the letter instead of him being the one to take it upon himself. He took the note, unfolding it again, and Jason could see he was making an effort to ignore the first line.

“I don’t know who the victims are, or where Vlad gets them, but they’re recently deceased. So somewhere there must be people disappearing constantly. It may not be the same place all the time, or it may not even be the same city. Vlad isn’t human.”

“Fucking great. Just what we were missing. What is it this time? A vampire? He definitely has the aesthetic going for him.” The pretender glared at him for the interruption, but Jason thinks the situation fully justifies his reaction.

Bruce sighed. “Language. Please, go on, Tim.”

“He’s a kind of ghost.” Tim raised an eyebrow but continued reading. “I know it may be hard to believe for outsiders, but ghosts are pretty much a common occurrence in Amity Park.”

“I thought that was just a tourist trap.” Jason commented, which gained him another glare from Tim. Jason didn’t bother to acknowledge it, though, inside, he was quite enjoying getting the little shit annoyed.

Tim huffed, and lowered the note a bit before commenting. “There are quite a few claims of ghost sightings, but we couldn’t find any proof of them when we took a look at Amity while searching for a house to rent.” He turned to the computer and started typing something.

“Even then, those reports were not of great importance, mentions of seeing a figure for a couple a seconds in the corner of a room, of a shadow following them around the city, or a pale little kid running around in the cemetery.” Bruce added. “The whole city works around the theme.The biggest school is called Casper High, and most attractions are named after ghost-related puns. We concluded it was, in fact, a tourist trap.”

“So what, the kid is imagining his guardian isn’t human? Making things up to cope with the fact that he is a cannibal? That-”

“Um. Bruce, you might want to see this.” Tim interrupted him.

His eyes were wide, scanning quickly through a webpage. Jason moved close to see the screen, and so did Bruce, standing up from his chair to lean over the back of the sofa. Tim started reading titles while he passed the mouse over them. 

“Octo-Ghost Assists Kindergarten Party and Almost Becomes The Birthday Girl's Pet. First Ghost Attack of the Week in Casper High, Red huntress Captures It Before It Can Disrupt Class. Ghost Known as Lunch Lady Visits Local Restaurant and Asks for a Cooking Battle With the Owner: See the Unexpected Results. Don’t You Miss When Ghosts Would Interrupt Class at Least Once a Day? A ranting blog by Phan_number1. None of this existed when we were checking Amity!”

“How is that even possible? The Batcomputer should have pinged something if there was anything blocking the information,” Bruce says in what sounded like a monotone voice, but any of his kids could tell he’s alarmed by the fact that so much information was successfully hidden from the Batcomputer. “Try sending a link to Babs.”

Tim goes ahead to do that with the ranting blog, but honestly, Jason couldn’t care less if the oh-so-great Batcomputer missed this.

“So the kid isn’t making things up, great. Can you both have your freak-out about the information blockage after we finish reading the note?” If Tim were a super, Jason would have a hole on his front, he’s sure of it.

Babs: Why are you sending me a recipe for making ghost-themed pie?

Tim looks at the message in disbelief, and clicks on the link he had sent. The ranting blog opens, no pie recipe to be seen. Tim takes a screenshot and tries sending it, but a warning message appears, saying the file is corrupted. He tries to send an image of his gallery, it goes without any problems.

“This is weird. It’s not like any kind of blockage we had seen before. It even redirects links to a page that matches the city's theme.”

“Try sending the image through the Bat server.” Bruce says with a voice that it was more serious than Jason expected, which makes him glance back at the man. 

Bruce is glaring at the computer with a dark expression. Realization hits Tim, and he quickly tries to send the image through the Bat server. It goes through, and even Jason feels relieved at the received checkmark. 

“Okay… okay. So they’re monitoring private conversations, but the Bat server is still safe.” Tim murmurs. Then goes ahead and tries sending the link once more, with a message saying it should open the website shown in the image. 

Oracle: All that link opens is the pie recipe Red Robin. If this is some kind of joke, you know the Bat server is not for that.

Tim rolls his eyes at the response and starts writing down a response, explaining the situation to Babs.

“The link must be blocked by IP Address. Tell her to try using a residential proxy.”

“Already on it.”

Jason hates when the old man understands more about technology than he does. Damn his time in the grave. He had been working on getting up to date, and he can do some basic hacking and whatnot. Enough that he doesn’t need external help for every little thing. But he’s still so far behind. 

Oracle: I’m in. You’re also seeing all these things about ghosts?

Red Robin: Yes. 

Red Robin: Somehow they have the city under a blockage that the Batcomputer wasn’t able to detect.

“Okay. Babs can take care of investigating that. We have a note to finish reading, remember?” Jason says, reaching for the paper Tim had left beside the computer, which Tim promptly snatches back. “Hey!”

“You won’t read it outloud for everyone.”

“According to whom!?”

“Kids…” Bruce sighed, “Continue reading, please, Tim.”

The little shit looked smug for a second before going back to the note.

“Please understand that in general ghosts aren’t bad, it’s just Vlad. But ghosts are powerful, and Vlad is really powerful. This can’t be resolved through normal means. I know the Waynes have contact with the Justice League, so I ask you to please get in contact with them, and don’t get anymore involved. I doubt the Justice league is equipped for the type of ghosts we have in Amity park. My friends Samantha Mason and Tucker Foley know where to find specialized weaponry and protective devices. Please, convince the Justice League to go for them first, it would be a disaster if one of the Justice League was overshadowed by Vlad.” That’s where the letter ended.

“Overshadow?” Bruce echoed.

Tim wasted no time putting the word into Google, which, now that Jason noticed, was decorated with little ghosts. Did Amity have its own Google doodle? The definition of the word popped like any other word would, and Jason wondered if that was something else that was blocked outside the city.

“It seems to be how Amity Parkers refer to possession.” Tim said after skimming the definition.

“What do we know about Samantha Mason and Tucker Foley?” Bruce asked, already in work mode.

“Not much, outside of being known friends of Danny. The Masons are a well positioned family in Amity; they’re new money. Izzy Manson, Samantha's great grandfather, invented a machine that twirled cellophane around deli toothpicks, the patent and inheritance placed the family where it is today. Pamela Manson owns a jewelry brand that’s grown in popularity in the Midwestern elite, while Jeremy Manson is a real estate developer. They often attend galas in Wisconsin, and sometimes in other big cities. Samantha Mason is a known teen activist, and has had her fair share of incidents at galas.” Tim said, as he opened the report he had made before coming to Amity.

“Incidents?” Jason asked.

“She has a sharp tongue and doesn’t seem interested in keeping appearances. It’s well known she isn’t fond of the styles her mother gives her for the galas. In any photo she posted on her personal accounts in the last two years, she has a gothic aesthetic.”

“Ah.”

“There’s less about Tucker Foley. His mother, Angela Foley, works as a chef at a local restaurant called “A Ghost's Secret Recipe.” His father, Maurice Foley, is an IT technician for the city government. Tucker seems to take after his father in his interest in technology, and has a history of winning local programming contests.”

“There’s nothing that really screams “I know how to fight ghosts and have ghost weaponry” is there?” Jason comments.

“Well, this is the information we have while searching with the city's information being blocked. Search for Daniel Fenton on the web,” Bruce says, and when Tim enters the name, a lot of news articles come to light. “We should have suspected something when there weren’t a lot of news articles talking about an explosion taking the life of a whole family.” Tim nods to that.

Jason frowns at the screen. “Are you seeing these titles? Local ghost hunters die from mysterious explosions? Something tells me that the access to weaponry has more to do with Danny’s parents than anything about Samantha and Tucker.” 

“What did we have about the Fentons from the investigation in Gotham?”

“They were supposedly part of the tourist industry, “entertaining tourists with street shows about ghost hunting.” We were literally blocked from one of the most important details of Danny’s life.” Tim groaned. 

Bruce sighed. “Let’s try getting some sleep. We’ll try meeting Samantha and Tucker tomorrow in the late afternoon.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Late afternoon?”

“They’re teenagers. I would prefer to interrupt their class time or disturb them too late. They might not even know we plan to meet with them.”

Tim nodded, already starting with the new background check. “I doubt Masters lets Danny have his own phone.”

Jason unceremoniously closed Tims laptop, putting it aside and carrying the kid in a firefighter carry.

“Trying to rest applies to you too.”

Tim protested as he trashed, trying to get him to let go, and if the pretender had actually been serious about it, Jason may have not been able to keep a hold of him.

“I’ll tell Babs to leave the investigation for tomorrow as well. You’ll have time before we go meet Danny’s friends, so let’s rest for some time first, okay?” Bruce said with that voice he always used when he was treating them like little kids. And if Jason found it soothing, that was between his mind and himself.

Tim groans, but relaxes, accepting defeat, and the kid is asleep before Jason even makes it out the living room. Jason wonders, not for the first time, if Tims ability to basically sleep anywhere, anyway, anytime, would go away if the kid actually followed the sleeping schedule Bruce and Alfred tried imposing, instead of taking random naps around the clock. 

He’s sure the little shit will be back in front of the computer in 30 minutes. Whatever. He already did his mandatory older sibling duty by getting him to stop for a nap. 

[chlmtsdoll]

Guys I loved writing the first short n sweet inspo fic so here’s more bc that ovulation album is too good <3

WHERE ART THOU ? WHY NOT UPONETH ME ?

౨ৎ Summary: your hosting a slumber party at Art’s mansion. But you can’t quite stay away from your pull to get the man in a room where there are no others. Inspo from Bed Chem by Sabrina Carpenter 🤍

+ 18 | very much smut !, unprotected sex, age gap, (reader early 20’s) dilf!Art, size kink, first daddy kink fic (omg) semi-public sex, oral (f) reviving, pet names, this made me feel a bit slutty just writing it, needy!reader, fatherly Art ;)

A/N: the fucking edits on tiktok of Mike to Bed Chem are making me go insane ! just when I thought there was no possible way for me to be crazier over this man omfg. So I had to give the girls a fic to go w it ofc <3

It was like fate. The day you met him.

Nothing could of been more perfect when the stars aligned to bring you to accompany your solid group of trust fund friends to one of his tournaments that evening. You were like most girls your age, makeup, pop music, nice ornaments for your wardrobe — you weren’t the kind of girl that could say she knew much about sports, and certainly little to nothing to be caught landing a seat at the us open... but eventually that grew to be a substantial part of what found him to be so drawn to you.

It was that day when you’d been in the bleachers watching the blonde play like it was his life’s greatest prophecy. For the first time in your still too little years of living, you’d never felt that aroused by a man you’d only saw from the mere view of him hitting a ball with a racket.

But he was unearthly.

Built like how men used to be. Face like it came straight from heaven. Serve like he knew a thing or two in bed.

You were drunk on want, need for him. You were damn lucky your friends were loaded enough to go to all the after parties with most of the star athletes. It was insane to you that you would follow the vip and your most sports driven friends (enthusiast if you will.) to where the elites spend their time. You wanted a nice hang out. Good food. Expensive drinks. But it was between you and the universe that you’d leave with so much more.

You were in a sheer dress and kitten heels when he spotted you. Just his star studded sly smile from across the event hall, when he saw you and your friends conversing in mostly a pretentious manner like most kids your age did when they could afford the lifestyle most people only dreamed of. But not you, you were entranced, pulled away. By his wide, blue eyes that you assumed filled with the same yearn you’d been struck with. And to your quick manifest, Art was gazing right back at you.

Only sharing a couple brief exchanges with the tall and stature, modest but kindly — beautiful and magnetic man around mutual friends, before you’d both been rushed to leave. Him with his team, and you with your entourage.

Like that you were tied to the tennis star in the blink of a moment. And Soon enough — being photographed with him around the heat of the city.

Games, athlete dinner parties, press events. Even photos of you two sharing more than a couple of words, maybe even kisses, behind menus at glamorous rooftop restaurants. Magazine outlets went crazy through the roof in just a few weeks time. Milking whatever they could out of Art Donaldson and his controversially younger girlfriend.

They didn’t have enough tabs on what you two had officially been to one another and that was perfect for the two of you. Because now that time has pushed you and the blonde closer and more into each other — you’d spend days and nights locked away with Art in his new found mansion post his former divorce. Home so beautifully articulated and big enough for you to be extra generous with your time with the dream boat of a man.

It would go down in history what the two of you had done in every room.

Now, a gorgeous weekend ahead of you after your week that was always filled with Art treating you to the finest cooked dinners, at home date nights filled with breezy smiles and full closeness to balance your dates out on the town. Going wherever you felt just to hold hands under umbrellas and traffic lights. With all the new adorned love in your life, and man with too much mystic taking up your time, it had been a good minute since you saw your girlfriends, caught up or shared a drink. You were just so wound up in Art and the way he treated you like a princess to, and in your own world.

So you’d asked Art if you could host a sweet little sleepover for you and your girls at the mansion — and of course he complied. It was anything for his perfect girl since the beginning.

“I could ask the chef to whip up some,” Art spoke into you as he held your hips in his vast hands running carefully over the hem of your satin bottoms as you stood in the middle of the spacious kitchen with him.

“That’s okay, I wanna do it.” You laughed softly, as you stared up at the man. “Nothing says fun girls night like making our own home made friandises”

Art had tilted his head in slight confusion with eyes in question to your tone when you’d practice what you’d been learning in your French courses on him. It was all the most adorable to you really. Your laugh echoed.

“Treats, baby.”

“I- - I knew that,” He scoffed and your giggles were infectious with delight to him.

“It’s gonna be fun. We’ll watch movies, paint our nails, share snacking tips. It’s been so long since I’ve seen the girls.”

Art grinned at the way you lit up with excitement, and his icy eyes looked down at your figure below him. He tried not to bite down on his lip at the way you were in the pajamas usually he only saw you in. Pink lace two piece jammies. Completely recognized because he got them for you. The transparency to them was way too easy on the eyes.

Arts tongue darted out to wet his lips before he questioned, “Is that what you’re wearing ? There aren’t gonna be any boys.. right ?”

“No, silly. That of course counts out you — if.. you wanna join us.” You looked up at him through your lightly mascara coated lashes, it felt as if the flirtatiousness through your gaze just hooked Art by the belt.

“No, no. I’ll give you and your friends your space, doll.” The blonde gave you a chary little smile, “I really doubt they’d want an old man around while you’re trying to have fun.”

“Quit it ! You’re not old. And they adore you.” You stood on the tips of your toes, Art met you so you could leave a sweet kiss on his cheek, with a blush to your own.

“Thank’s for letting me have this little party, baby.”

“Course, what else would be better use for all this space ? Other than for the amusement of twenty something girls.”

Art chuckled and you surely were in agreement, because when your girlfriends did arrive it was immediately shrieks of girlish camaraderie and chatter of awe as you brought them around the place of posh and eloquent nature. Your laugh could of been heard from the other side of the place where Art had eventually been stored away for the night while your hands were knee deep in cookie dough and rainbow sprinkles. Pj sets all from the brands you and your friends never stopped talking about. Having your night filled with reruns of classic movies to sipping champagne.. and the wine, red, (your pick) was certainly slipping through you as the moments went on.

You’d been with your best friend when you two had a moment alone to catch up in one of the halls of the buoyant abode. Whispers and giggles coming from between the two of you as a glass of wine hung from your palm.

“God, he was a such a cutie.” She coo’d as you two had found a very special wall of framed photos of Art from back in his prime tennis days. The blonde around your age who seemed filled with joyfully energetic faces and awards from across the globe. A smile woke upon your face as you folded your arm to admire the man you’d now call your own.

“Sometimes I wish I’d known him then,” you simpered. “But I’m beyond lucky now. Because he’s still cute, and sexier.”

You tittered fondly and your friend laughed with you as she playfully tugged on your shoulder. “You gotta lock that down, y’know… you’ll be like- - hella famous just from being a world class tennis superstars hot young wife.”

She announced as she sipped on something burgundy and you thought with a heightened grin. She couldn’t have been farther from right. And as the months go by you would fall farther and farther head over heels for Art every day. You’d be his wife in an instant. That was the dream after all, and you could certainly say you’d been living one.

“I guess I’ll just have to wait for him to put a ring on it..” You smiled with a dazed shrug as you embarked your wine glass to your lips again.

“He better.” Your friend chirped with a proud glint and you couldn’t help but stay stuck in your thought of your boyfriend who’s been just a few rooms away for the past couple of hours while you’d been enjoying all the perks of your girls making the most of their time with you. But you couldn’t help but want Art to be nearby now, and the red wine in your system maybe hit more than just your head — you couldn’t even try to fight it.

You missed your man.

So after you’d take in a few more drinks and a bit sensually themed games with your friends, you’d made your attempt escape off to find Art. Slipping away from the girls was easy when you’d have every necessity needed to execute a very graceful grown up girl sleepover provided for them.

You’d been walking down the hall heading to where his office and master bedroom would be at the end of the home, and as you passed by the lush kitchen area, to your surprise, there he was. Muscles looked enchantingly delicious in this light as they flexed to pull on the fridge handle and when he turned, his eye line met your glance staring back his way (of course you’d both arrive at the same time.) Arts lips began to curl in an amours grin when he saw your petite figure making it’s way over to him with the same like of smile across your face.

“Hi, baby. You having fun?” He glanced down at you through his blonde lashes to meet your nod, only following up with a soft titter as you stepped closer to the man. He almost immediately picked up on the lust laced within your eye and the way you slightly leaned onto the fridge door with your aura basically gooing with sex at him now. The blonde had an eyebrow furrowed as he chuckled just a bit and he sized you up.

“Are you drunk, princess?”

“No. No… no,” you shook your head.

It had been true. You weren’t drunk. But a little wine tipsy and horny ? Definitely.

Art hummed and put the back of his hand to your forehead gently as he observed your state. “Did you eat?”

“Mhm, did you ?”

“No. That’s why I came down, not to stalk you. I promise.” The man laughed, to which you did as well and you only raised your arms so they could embrace your boyfriend’s shoulders with a soft hum.

“Y’know, if you’re hungry, you can eat me.” Your finger tips grace Arts neck unashamed as you smile into the crook, and he took in a breath, proceeding to hold you close.

“Oh- -” his chuckle matched your giggle as he noticed you’d changed again. His hands were gliding up the ruffle of the even more transparent sheer cover on you’d been dressed in. Lime tinted. The shorts were near pantie like.

“Mmm, I miss you, I want you.” You peppered kisses as close as you could to his earlobe from your height and Arts breath hitched as he was weak to your slow but enticing touch to him. Fogging up his knowledge that you’d been right in the middle of the open kitchen that was just a few ways down from the living area your friends had been in.

“Here, sweetness ? Your friends- -” Art murmurs down to your ear, but you just locked your arms just above his shoulders without a care.

“And- - ? What about them ? I need you,” you whined. “I want your touch.”

“Yeah? You want me to touch you?”

You nodded again with a naughty giggle and the blonde was smirking now, his hands roamed your body. Large and groping your curves. As much as he knew what was rightful, Art just couldn’t deny your cling to him in that damn near lingerie that had him going almost unbearably hard beneath his jeans since you walked in. Feral even. It was beginning to get miserable as you pressed your dainty chest against his, he felt your nipples grow hard and sensitive against the cloth. So into his aroma, presence, like you were a moth to a torch.

He’d fallen into your pecks merging with his now. Kissing you against where the cupboards stand like your lips were candy. Your small legs stumbling as the man towered over you “Fuck, you look amazing in that set.” Art pulled away from your plump lips to view your gorgeously perfect body. You batted your lashes once. And his attain just couldn’t be stopped. Art slid his hands across your soft ass cheeks, massaging and kneading it in his palms before leading up to laying a solid smack which made you hiss out an excited squeal-like giggle. Your fingertips slid down his ample biceps brushed with virile bristles of hair.

“If I had known you’d like this set so much, I would of worn it much sooner for you.”

Art leaned into you and he held a sly smirk, “this was your plan all along, yeah? Wearing that to get my attention so I would come out here and fuck you in the middle of your slumber party.. you’re such a naughty girl.”

You only giggled more into his skin with a slow exhale, your freshly painted french tips exploring him as he explored you. Art took his sweet time just feeling the way your ass jiggled in his palms and you felt like you’d been going weak in the knees before his tender contact turned rough when he turned you around without warning, making you gasp.

Art made sure you could feel how hard you’d gotten him as he pressed himself to your core. Facing the counter, you lost yourself in complete bliss just to the feeling of not knowing where he’d pleasure you next — Arts restrained bulge against your clothed cunt was just something else. The blonde pushed up your sheer top just a bit and pressed a kiss to your shoulder, you made a soft noise with it.

“Feel what you do to me, pretty girl.” Art nibbled on your earlobe and you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip to subtle your smile. His hands bracing your hips as he stared down at your lacy panties and your minx-like eyes followed Arts famished expression while he licked his bottom lip.

“All yours, daddy.” Your sweet voice immediately made Art go nearly lightheaded and that was it. He melted.

The man tucked both his thumbs into the fabric and pulled your panties down clean with raucousness, followed up with him getting down on his knees before spreading you with his palms and your hands reached for the marble with a soft whimper.

“That’a girl, stay open for me.. Let me taste you.” Art huffed out before he pushed one of your legs up on the counter and you breathed out at the feeling of him making your body his toy for amusement. Art took his fingers and ran them up your folds, getting them wet with the slick of your pussy. Your cheeks started to heat up just at the wonderful pad of his index running against your core like that , making you let out a soft, “oh..” by the way he moved to rub around your clit. Arts lips kissed on your exposed inner thighs, and your jaw became unlocked extraordinarily far when his tongue finally rolled on the soft tissue.

He was splitting you clean open on the counter as tiny whimpers escaped your throat. You were lost in the draw you had to the man making you feel surpassing of even the way you played it all out in your head. “Mmm, yeah- - yes” you panted and the man flicked his digit over your bud at the same time he’d been making out with your cunt. Letting deep groans flow throughout your opening. You’d been on the tip of your toes for him. Letting him suck where you pulsed till you’d been overstimulated if he wanted.

Your head had been spinning from the friction of his perfectly sculpted nose rubbing against your sensitive area. Art was known to be gifted with his mouth so much so, you almost wondered if your friends would have heard if you just couldn’t keep your moans level — but with the way Art held your hips, fucked his tongue into your cunt like you’d been his last meal, your anxiousness washed away. All you could do was let the shake of your thighs and Arts dripping oral member lead you to a crisp pleasurable cry.

“Shit,” Art took a brief exhale as he pulled away from your entrance, dampened lips of your juices going wide with a grin and he ran his palms over your slick thighs again,

“you’re so fucking wet for me, princess. You gonna take my dick? Let me make you feel good?”

“Mmm, please. Fill me up, Art. I wanna feel you.”

“You gotta be quite for me, baby.” Art stood to his feet.

You didn’t care. All you could think about was dick. Arts phenomenal dick. You wanted him to toss you over and split you open till you were sobbing on his thick member, your wine drunk friends would understand. A girl has her needs.

The risk made your blood pressure rise as the moment went on, when Art reached over you to tug your panties dangling from your thighs all the way down — he kicked them off to the side. Taking note of his own belt buckle and undoing it quickly, which you only grew more greedy by the sound of him unzipping his fly. The blondes aquamarine orbs swam with the need to pump you fuller than you’d ever taken him.

“Bend over for me, sweet girl..” Art breathed out softly as his slightly calloused hands ran from your hip up your spine while you did so, bending over fully and displaying your sweet dripping cunt for the mans lidded eyes. He sucked in his breath and his now aroused dick twitched when it unveiled from his boxers — going barmy with just how tiny and soft you looked beyond him.

“So fucking tight and small- - your amazing with the way you take me when I barely fit in, sweets.”

You bit down on your finger as you watched Art run his hands over your ass. Take your hips and line his cock up with your hole. He hissed at the way your soaking cunt wet his tip, you almost croaked out a deep moan at his gestures to tease your pussy. Just nodding along as you’d gone cock drunk before he’d even been in you. Your nails run at the marble counter as Art slowly burrowed into your drooling core. Working you open as his cock disappeared into your body inch by inch — he pushed your thigh higher onto the ledge as you whined at the stretch.

“Ah.. mmm- - fuck, fuck, fuck,” you groaned as you adjusted to the size of his warmth finally filling you full. Art was big. And he’d never want to put you, his sweet doll in discomfort for long, never. So when he started to plunge into you, he watched as your face scrunched up from ache to pleasure in time. His name sputtering from your mouth as you clawed at the counter top and he watched your pussy lips that were just throbbing around his erection like it was begging to be so sporadically fucked by him.

“That’s it baby doll,” his own groans heightened as his hips knock into your cervix, chasing that spot of yours till you were moaning and whimpering like a slut around him. Hole so full with yours and his pre-cum and you sucked in your bottom lip, tussled hair going wild on your back. You just had to look over your shoulder to watch him — see Arts gorgeous face as he snapped against you all shimmering with light sweat as he focused on the way a ring of your wetness pooled around his base.

“You love this, hu? Getting me to fuck you while your friends carry on without you- - At your party. But you just had to come.. looking for daddy’s cock, yeah? You love being a dirty, dirty girl for me.” Art rasped as he clenched his jaw with the overwhelming feeling of your tight cunt clenching him. It made your skin feel like it had been sparked with fire, so exhilarated. He put his hands in your hair to fuck into you as your jaw dangled open.

“Oh! F-fuck! I needed that big fucking dick, daddy… w-want you to cum all over me, mmm- -” you were choking out whimpers and your pretty little hole dripped with Arts pre-seed slipping from you, making it drag out when he pulled out of your pussy to turn you around and pick you up in one swift motion. Your high pitched gasp echoed as you wrapped your legs around the mans abdomen and Art set you on the counter. His lips curl up into a smirk and his eyes met your wide doe set ones. Slipping back into you he watched you cry out his name. Rutting into your heavenly body at this angle, hands go squeezing your thighs, and Art kept them apart as he took you at a wild pace. Hitting that gooey spot till you didn’t remember your own name. “Good fucking girl. That’s it- - such a sweet thing for me, taking all of my cock. It was made for you, doll.”

You couldn’t even catch your self as you’d leaned back on the counter and let Art pound into you. Your tits bounced with each thrust and you were shuttering as your orgasm ripped through you without warning. “Yes ! Ooh- - shit, yes yes yes…” you were whining out as you came on Arts dick. He held your legs spread as he grunted and watched you soak him uncontrollably. You loved it. Feeling like his perfect little gift. Art licked over his lips at the sight of your beauty, throwing your head back in bliss, he pulled out of you and pushed up your dainty little baby doll top — making space as he pumped his throbbing dick over your stomach till he himself came hard. Ropes shooting out on your candescent skin and making sure some got on your pussy just for the fun of it, he grinned and trailed his thumb up your gentle inner calf that had been dangling by his side.

You were whimpering like you’d gotten your brains fucked out to the sweetest soundtrack you’d ever heard. Art was so cinematic in moments like these, he leaned up to kiss at the nape of your neck, cheek, and lips.

“Pretty, perfect girl.. I love you.” Your gentleman muttered against your mouth. You smiled and sunk your teeth into your bottom lip as Art brought your panties up to help you slip them back over your thighs and to your feet as steady as you could. Dressing himself as well, he glanced down at you through his hooded eyes to see your impressively only slightly disheveled state. You were just always glowing, it was hard to make that go away anyways.

“You sleeping down here tonight?” Art buckled his pants again as he questioned you with a soft raised brow. You started to smirk at the way he was heading. You shrug.

“Maybe, maybe not… I’ll sneak into your room when they’re sleep, if you want.” You offered the man, the glint in your eye saying you’d suck his cock and let him have you in as many different positions as he’d like in a couple hours till you were all tapped out. The blonde only scuffed and towered over your presence that was still taken by your hoyden attitude, just to turn you back towards the doorway.

“Go host your party.” he taunted almost fatherly, to then leave a light slap on your ass that made you giggle on the way out.

[vexedcoast]

I can be a better boyfriend than him

ft. fdom vi. and afab sub reader

a/n: pillow princess femme reader taking hexstrap like a champ . not much plot bc I'm lazy as fuck. if a man tried to flirt like this I'd call the c0ps but,, if vi did this 🤭 hehe .

cw : heavy cheating ( readers boyfriend is an asshole , and cheats on reader . . so ,,, justified ). pet names ( princess, bunny, pretty girl — for reader , daddy, sir — for vi ). hexstrap is referred to as cock a few times .

this party was going to be the death of you — it was supposed to be an escape from the hell you were in . your boyfriend of two years cheated — took someone else into your bed . not just once, but three times ( that he admitted ). you hadn't officially broken it off yet — seeking out piltover's shadiest party that you could find on such short notice .

the music, the bodies — everything was too much . what you needed was a god damn distraction . anything, anyone, to take away the pain . a drink in your hand — the bitter taste of alcohol burned your throat before the barkeep could even ask for your name to build you a tab for the night . you slid over a few crumbled bills, mumbling a soft thank you.

the night bustled on — but you kept feeling eyes on you . but no matter where you looked, you couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from . that was until your gaze finally found her, scarlet haired — bruised knuckles and muscles where you had no ideas muscles could be so defined . your expression must have been pitiful, she approached within half a second . your mouth agape , scarlet staining your cheeks .

"what's a sweet thing like you doing all alone in such a scary place ?"

her voice rasped — rough palm cupping your cheek . your expression and lips moved like a fish out of water . stunned, floored at not just her prescene but her confidence . the way she ever so slowly backed you against a wall near the bar — hand resting on the chipped paint , not exactly caging you in but encroaching you . her other hand shifted to your waist with a bit more hesitation, giving you enough time to push her away .

" looking for a distraction. "

you answered breathlessly — lower lip quivering ever so slightly . leaning into her touch as though it recharged your own body .

"I can give you a good distraction, just not here."

her lips skimmed your ear, whispering into it with a wolf like grin — teeth barring. before you could think twice, you mewled out a soft please . oh, she was going to devour you.

✿　.　˚　. 　 ˚

"c'mon puppy, suck."

battered hand dug into your hair — pushing you forward , you opened your mouth without having to be told twice. lips wrapped around the strap, eyes rolling back as vi slid it down your throat . slow at first, giving you a few seconds to adjust yourself . her hand brushed soothingly against your scalp, trimmed nails scratching ever so slightly .

you began to move - bobbing your head up and down, taking her deeper and deeper. your eyes set back to vi's gaze, keeping hold of it as you started to gag on the cock . your hands were invisibly tied behind you — not having to any room to argue when vi told you exactly what to do and how to do it .

" such a good puppy — i can't believe someone would let you go. you're so loyal and obedient."

vi graveled, palm shifting to your chin — tipping it up to maintain eye contact . her thumb brushed your cute little tears away, rocking her hips forward and cooing as you gagged even more . so pretty, she whispered.

as fast as her cock parted your lips, it was gone . she pulled away , unable to hide laughter as you looked pathetically up at her like you were just deprived of air . poor puppy . her fingers remained on your chin, cooing at you .

"on the bed, hands and knees."

she stated as a fact rather than a question. you obeyed instantly, nearly jumping onto the shoddy mattress. squirming, whimpering like a bitch in heat.

vi moved like a lioness going for the kill . gruff hand gripping your hip while another slapped the strap against your clit.

"beg."

once again, an easy command to follow — lips parting almost like you'd been given an electric shock from the demand.

"please, please fuck me. please daddy — i need you so badly. I'm throbbing for you. "

the pet name slipped without even thinking about it . you could feel her entire body stiffen at the two syllables .

"oh, fuck I'm sorry it just slipped out – I didn't mean to—."

the apology spat out quickly, your eyes widening .

violet flipped you over like you were a little feather. trapping you between her and the mattress. it took several beats before you realized exactly what happened. a thumb slid past your lips and held your tongue down .

"you need daddy to fuck you? need daddy's cock, puppy? you beg so sweetly — i bet that pussy is dripping, and i haven't even touched you yet."

she kneed open your legs — which you complied , spreading your thighs open like the red sea . her thumb remained on your tongue, now allowing a response.

"its big, but you can take it, right? be good for daddy. fuck, how could someone see you like this and not keep you as their own personal fuck toy? so good. take daddy's cock."

her words stung, just a bit . but she was right, how could he cheat on you when you lowered such a gorgeous, drooling mess? all you could do was nod, bucking your hips up . vi shifted her hands to hold down your waist, teasing your entrance with just the tip.

" don't even think about trying to set the pace. don't fucking move those hips without permission, understood?"

you yelped as the head of her strap pushed inside, whimpering out yes sir's over and over again. you needed more.

"good girl. oh you're already taking my cock so well."

she didn't go any further, which you were rather thankful for. the strap was nearly nine inches and thick — breaking you apart bit by bit. your jaw slacked whimpering out nothing more than begs. her hand and thumb released you, only to wrap around behind your knee - hiking it over her shoulder.

"don't stop, please daddy."

your whines got louder, trying once more to buck your hips up. which was met with a slam into you — strap kissing deep inside you without warning.

"i told you not to do any work, princess."

she warned — pulling herself back out all the way , unable to hide laughter as you squirmed under her. your legs shook with anticipation, trying your best not to move. her nails dug into the plushness of your tights, imprinting crescent shapes into your skin.

"take my strap c'mon puppy."

you did as you were told, arching your back up as she slid herself back into you till the hilt kissed your clit once more, the leather harness straps digging in just a bit. your core dripped, ached as she stretched you out with no mercy. with every thrust, her muscles tensed and fuck— she had so many. your eyes had a hard time focusing on just one part of her.

your hands dug into her biceps, gripping tight while she slid in and out at a merciless pace — giving you no time to even think, let alone try to move your hips. but now, — her thumb pushed down on your clit, finding it with her eyes closed – like a well trained marksman. it rubbed slow, deep, methodical circles — pulling you closer and closer to the edge.

"can I cum sir, please please please. I've been so good."

you cried, trying to hold on — wanting to be a good, sweet girl for her.

"cum for daddy, cum on my cock."

she urged you, but really — you hadn't really needed a blessing. already tipping over the edge before she called herself daddy. tears pricked in the outer corners of your eyes, cat like nails scratching against her battered and bruised skin - whining.

✿　.　˚　. 　 ˚　✿.

"stay."

her voice was firm, pulling you back to her chest — tucking your head into her neck.

"but I —, he. ."

you tried, but failed — mumbling against her skin .

"is nothing to you anymore. I can be a better boyfriend than he ever could be."

[cinnaleaf]

「 In Your DMs | One Shot 」

summary: you read jude’s DM on insta but never responded, thinking that was the end of it—until he spots you at the club & decides he’s not letting it slide

warnings: club setting, alcohol use, sexual tension, light themes of public attention/fame, language wc: ~4.9k 💌: i forgot who requested this but it’s here song inspo: BADGIRLERA x iBXRHM ft JAHKOY

The music in the club hit you first, followed by the strobe lights slicing through the dark, smell of spilled liquor, and bodies pressed together, pulsing against the beat. Your friend, Bri, pulled you through the mixed haze of vape clouds and smoke from a fog machine with a manic grin, way too eager for the night ahead.

“Our table is this way. Hurry up!”

You followed her lead, clacking your heels against the floor while your other friend, Tasha, trailed behind complaining about how she wasn’t standing all night in heels. The bouncers barely glanced at your crew when all of you strutted into the VIP section.

“Ooo okay, this is nice” Tasha slid into the booth, looking around to scope out the scene. Little did you know, Jude was also there, eyeing you from the minute you stepped in.

Bottles of tequila and vodka were already lined up on the table, untouched. You barely had time to sit down before a guy dripping in loud designer saw your table from across the section and started his approach. You clocked him too: probably mid 30s, big shiny watch, sleazy, and probably more interested in showing off his Amex Black Card than any real conversation.

“Your new sponsor is on his way” you whispered to Bri, smirking when she immediately started flipping her hair out of muscle memory. “Let’s hope he’s worth the pitch.”

“Ladies” he eyed the bottles on your table, smelling too strongly of oud cologne. “Looks like you could use a little more” You leaned back, tuning out while scrolling through your phone as he started the same routine you heard from so many other men: ‘I know the owner’, ‘Let me take care of that for you,’ yada yada. You let Bri and Tasha handle him – it wasn’t your vibe, and frankly, it wasn’t your problem. This wasn’t your first rodeo and guys like him always thought a heavy tab would buy them permanent attention. Not that you minded it; if burning through his card meant you didn’t have to touch your own, then so be it.

You tapped on the Instagram icon, scrolling through your profile, which was a mixture of travel pics, reels, highlights, and photo dumps until your thumb paused over a post from three weeks ago at a yacht party in Miami. Your skin glistened under the sun in a figure hugging bikini while you posed on the deck. Jude’s like stood out like a sore thumb. He liked plenty of your pictures before, but this one seemed to spur him on enough to like it within the first 5 minutes of you posting – with a DM following shortly after:

Been waiting for you to post again so I could slide in 👀 You’re beautiful. Let me know if you’re ever free?

Boo. Lame. Corny. Predictable. You rolled your eyes so hard when you saw the message, not even bothering to respond. You knew how this story went. A follow here with a few likes, a DM there, and before you knew it, you’d be getting ‘owwkayed’ on a gossip page that had way too much time on their hands. The thought of it made you want to gag, so you left the message unread but not unseen.

Tasha nudged your arm, pulling you out of your Insta scroll. “Oh my god, is that Jude Bellingham?” Her voice pitched higher in a tone that meant she was about to embarrass you.

“Huh?” you muttered, not bothering to look up just yet.

“That’s Jude Bellingham” she hissed, jabbing her acrylic nails into your ribs. “Near the DJ booth!” You were surprised you didn’t notice him before. He was tall and hard to miss, one hand holding a drink while the other tapped to the beat against his thigh. “He just winked at someone,” Bri added, craning her neck. “Or at least, I think that was that a wink??”

Tasha shook her head in disbelief. “How is it possible for him to look even better in person?” You crossed your arms, rolling your eyes while staring at the untouched alcohol and assorted mixers in front of you. Jude wasn’t a stranger to you outside of your likes. You clocked his comments on your mutuals’ posts, and even been to a party or two where you were pretty sure he was lurking around. Then there was the DM you left in your inbox like the corny attempt it was.

“You’re embarrassing yourselves” you muttered, ignoring the way Bri kept looking at him from across the room.

“Embarrassed?? Girl, that’s a man worth embarrassing myself over.” Bri leaned forward, slowly sipping her drink while gawking at Jude, who was now eyeing your table. “I wouldn’t even be mad if I ended up on a gossip site for that one. What are they going to do?? Cry about it???” You froze for a minute to give her the side eye. That’s the exact reason you were trying to avoid types like him, no matter how good he looked in person. It was too much attention, too many assumptions, and definitely too much drama. You sipped your drink instead, the alcohol burning your throat enough to distract you from Bri’s yapping. 

Across the way, Jude was leaned back against the DJ booth with his eyes locked on your table. You were perched on the edge of your seat, phone in hand, while your friends kept stealing glances at him, giggling behind their drinks. Jude smirked, taking another sip. You hadn’t looked up a single time or even flinched in his direction. It didn’t surprise him – you hadn’t looked twice at his DM either. Even though he was one of the biggest names in football, you paid him no mind – unlike the girls always trying to latch onto him.

“Jude, babe, do you want another drink?” A voice rang out from a girl hovering way too close. He didn’t even know her name, nor did he care to learn it. She latched onto him earlier, trying to touch his arm every chance she got so she could throw herself into his space. He stepped aside, nodding politely while trying to keep his focus on you. 

“No. I’m good, thanks.” he spoke in a tone that discouraged any follow ups, which led to the girl pouting and standing next to him dumbfounded before finally taking the hint and walking off. When Jude’s attention went back to the VIP section, he caught sight of the guy hovering over your table. Jude thought he looked like a try hard who didn’t know how to cover a tab properly. His jaw tightened when he watched you tilt your phone a little while the guy gestured at your friends. He flagged down a passing bottle girl, making her stop in her tracks when she realized who he was.

“Hi!” she said, smiling flirtatiously. “What can I get for you?”

He leaned down slightly to meet her height, nodding toward your table. “See that table over there?”

“The table with the guy doing the most?”

“Yeah that one,” Jude smirked. “Can you send over some bottles to them? Dom, 1942, and whatever else is good. Add their tab to mine.”

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “And what do you want the bottle service sign to say?”

Jude shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “One of the girls over there never responded to my DM so make it clear I’m still interested. She knows who she is.”

The bottle girl laughed, eyeing the table again. “Got it. I can do that!”

You weren’t paying much attention to the guy loitering at the table now that Bri and Tasha had him preoccupied. The drinks were finally kicking in, so you stood up to stretch, swaying to the bass of the music playing over the sound system, but then the bottle girls rolled up with sparklers crackling in the dim lighting – illuminating a path while carrying over a bucket filled with bottles.

“Oh shiiiit” Tasha shouted while standing up. Bri took out her phone to record the whole thing, doing an over the top “Wait..who sent this?!” act in the camera like she hadn’t seen this done a dozen times before on your nights out. You weren’t questioning it either. Someone paid, so who were you to interrupt the flow of endless drinks? You grabbed a sparkler from one of the bottle girls, waving it in the air while your other hand cradled a bottle of 1942.

“Real fine bitch, she ain’t gotta edit out the Getty!” Bri screamed the lyrics of the song currently playing, turning her phone around to record you dancing with the bottle in your hand. You tipped your head back, drinking straight from the bottle while the music bumped around you. Just as you were handing the bottle to Tasha, her jaw dropped and she grabbed your arm. “Wait, look!” she yelled, pointing over at the bottle girls holding up the sign. You turned with the sparkler still fizzing in your hand, squinting at the light up board they were waving in the air. At first it didn’t make sense, but then the words clicked clear as day:

HE’S HIM! RESPOND TO HIS DM!

You froze while your friends jumped around excitedly, trying to piece together what was going on.

“So who is it?” Bri smacked your shoulder. “That’s for you, Y/N. I know that’s for you!”

Tasha grabbed your wrist. “Wait. Is it him? Is it– oh my god it’s him, isn’t it??”

You couldn’t even process what was happening, let alone have time to come up with a lie. The bottle girl pointed toward the DJ booth and your stomach dropped. Jude’s legs were stretched out lazily in the VIP dance section with his head tilted enough to let you know he was watching the whole thing. He gave you a confident, cocky smirk and raised his glass toward you like he already won you over, but you weren’t about to play along that easily.

“Y/N!” Bri shrieked, grabbing your other arm. “What the fuck, why didn’t you tell us he’s in your DMs?!”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your body felt hot and the tequila wasn’t helping. Instead, you grabbed the bottle of 1942 and took another long swig to drown out whatever was about to unfold tonight. “He’s nobody special. He’s just some footballer. I’m not impressed.”

“Liar.” Bri crossed her arms, grinning. “You’re lying, and it’s all over your face.”

You ignored her, but they were both going into full meltdown mode, squealing and swatting each other while pointing at Jude, who hadn’t stopped watching you. Eventually he got up, taking his time as he walked toward the VIP tables. “Stop looking” you hissed, grabbing Tasha’s phone before she could take a video. Neither one of them were listening as Jude walked closer.

“Not to freak you out” Tasha whispered, “but he’s coming over.”

You kept your head down, pretending to scroll through your phone to try and play it cool.  Jude stopped near your table, just long enough to make sure you noticed him out of the corner of your eye, even if you were pretending to pay him no mind. 

“Y/N” Bri whispered urgently. “He’s looking at you.”

You refused to look up and instead sipped your drink while he hung around in your peripheral vision. He laughed in a mocking way and eventually sat at a table nearby, perfectly angled so he could keep you in his line of sight the entire night no matter where you were in the club. You tapped your nails against your glass, irritated he was slowly getting under your skin. You weren’t about to sit there being ogled like a trophy when you could be on the dancefloor, having a good time while ignoring him.

“Can we dance?” you stood up abruptly, pulling your dress down with one quick motion.

Tasha groaned instantly and threw her head back against the booth ready to complain. “Ugh..Y/N my feet are already killing me. Can’t we just sit here and do a cute little club bounce to the beat instead?”

“No. I came here to dance, so let’s go!” you urged, swaying to the beat to tempt her onto the dancefloor. Meanwhile, Bri was still stuck on the DM you failed to mention. “Y/N! He’s been after you and you just ignored him??” She shot up from her seat, scandalized, pointing her finger between Jude’s table and you. “I saw his likes but he slid in your DMs and you said NOTHING?”

You gave her an annoyed look, rolling your eyes. “Can we stop talking about Jude? Would you want to deal with being associated with him? I don’t want to be a part of that circus.”

Bri checked Jude out over her shoulder, watching him laugh and talk with friends at his table. “Girl, yes! I would happily look like a clown for that. He could take me to his circus and I’d be front and center juggling his balls if it meant I could–”

“Okay, we’re done!” you cut her off, waving your hands around. “Are we dancing or not?”

“I already said no,” Tasha whined, sliding further in the booth. “I’m too cute to move and my ankles hurt. Go dance for both of us.” You rolled your eyes and grabbed Bri’s arm to walk over to the VIP section of the dancefloor behind the DJ booth. Bri was already swaying to the beat before you made it to the dancefloor, then she glanced back and turned toward you. “Y/N.. you know he’s still watching you, right?”

“Bri, please shut the fuck up.”

“I’m just saying! He’s been looking since we sat down. If you don’t want him..I’ll–”

“No, you absolutely will not” you cut her off, not allowing her to finish the sentence. When you reached the edge of the VIP dance area, you felt the heavy bass moving through your bones while lights strobed enough to make it hard to see beyond a few feet. You thought it would drown out Jude’s stares, but Bri made it her mission to give you play by play updates. Just as you were getting into the music and melting your hips into the beat, Bri spoke up for another update. She really couldn’t help it. “He’s still watching,” she sang in your ear.

“I don’t care” you continued dancing, not bothering to turn around to see what she was talking about. You didn’t need to confirm that Jude was extremely attracted to you. It was blatantly obvious the moment he positioned himself in a spot that gave him a front row seat to whatever you were doing. You could feel his eyes tracking the moves you made, but the longer you danced, the easier it was to forget about him – until the crowd shifted and suddenly he was there right next to you. Jude didn’t touch you, nor did he speak. He just stood there, drinking his drink like he wasn’t wreaking havoc on your girl’s night out.

“Are you lost?” you finally spoke up, tilting your head toward him without stopping your movements.

Jude grinned, nodding his head to the beat as he started inching closer to you. “Nah. Just enjoying the view.”

You glanced at him from above, brushing your hips lightly against him. “There are plenty of views here. Pick another one.”

“Why would I do that when I have the perfect one in front of me?”

“Corny” you quipped, still doing your best to not give him much at all. Jude stepped closer and dropped his voice enough that you had to lean in to hear him over the music. “You didn’t reply to my DM. Why?” You turned your face to him fully, laughing about him being so bothered by an unanswered instagram message of all things in the world. “You’re still on that, huh?”

“Hard not to be when you ignore me on purpose.”

You smiled and took a step back, but he answered your step back with a step forward of his own. “You’re really persistent Jude. I’ll give you that.”

“When I see something I want, yeah.” His gaze dropped and raked over your body. “And I want you.” You hated how much you reacted to that. You felt dizzy from the warmth of the alcohol swirling around in your stomach, combining with your butterflies. But you held your ground.

“Hmm..well..good luck with that” you turned around, pressing back into the crowd but Jude moved around to block your path.

“You’re not going to make this easy are you?”

“Jude, I’m not a jersey chaser. I’m sure you’re used to ‘easy’, but easy isn’t really my thing” you bantered back, which made him laugh in an irritatingly attractive way.

“I never said you were a jersey chaser. I do like a challenge though.”

The two of you were drawing more attention now. Clubgoers were looking and nudging each other while chatting, probably trying to figure out why Jude Bellingham was chasing some random girl around the VIP section. You should’ve cared but the drinks were doing their job. All you could focus on was the way his eyes stayed on yours and how he moved closer every time you stepped back, locked in a game that neither of you wanted to end.

“I hope you know you’re not as smooth as you think you are” you tilted your head, crossing your arms.

Jude smirked while stepping into your space, not caring who was watching. “And you’re not as carefree as you’re pretending to be.” 

He really did look even better up close and in motion. The way his lips curved into a smile made you want to run away to collect your resolve immediately, but you persevered and turned your back to him instead, swaying your body in tune with the music. The shift gave him an unintentional view of your dress creeping up as you moved, so he took the opportunity to step closer, brushing his hand against your waist as he leaned into your ear. To anyone else catching glimpses under the strobe lights, it looked more like he was kissing your neck – Tasha clearly thought so. She was slack jawed back at the table, frozen in drunken shock. Meanwhile, Bri was too busy sweet talking the DJ into switching the music into an amapiano mix to notice what was happening in front of her.

“You smell good” Jude voiced low against your ear with his lips so close, the words tickled your skin. “What is that? Coconut?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know” you answered, still not missing a beat but you were a lot less steady on your feet the more he spoke in your ear.

“Yeah” he replied simply, weighing his words with enough insinuation to let you know he was going to be a problem for you all night. You turned to face him with your back against the railing and Jude’s hands fell from your waist and onto the rails to cage you in without touching you. All you could see was his sly, smug grin in front of you while bodies moved to the beat in the outskirts of your vision.

“Why are you wasting your time?” you asked him, dropping your gaze to his lips. They weren’t something you would’ve been focused on any other time, but the liquor was coursing through you by this point and clouding your decision making skills. Jude’s eyes dropped to drag over the neckline of your dress, giving him a full top view of your cleavage before he snapped his eyes back up to look you in the eye. He leaned in closer, crowding your space just enough to make you part your lips in a silent gasp.

“Wasting my time?” he repeated the question rhetorically. “I have your attention, so is it really any time wasted?”

You tilted your head up to meet his cocky tone with some cockiness of your own. “I’m only here because you’re standing in my way.”

“If I moved, you’ll just keep ignoring me, yeah?”

“Yeah” you drawled, mocking his insinuated answer from earlier. Jude’s gaze was almost too much but you refused to back down. “You’re not irresistible in the way you think you are. I’m not going to hook up with you just because you’re Jude Bellingham. I really don’t give a fuck.” 

He gave you a wolfish grin, moving in even closer. You could feel his breath against your cheek when he spoke again. “Then why are you still here talking to me? Ask me to move around.” 

You scoffed, crossing your arms while looking past his tall stature to look at literally anything else other than him. “Maybe I’m just bored.”

“Yeah? Is that right?” Jude’s voice dipped into a teasing, amused tone. He tightened his hands on the railing, brushing his knuckles against your sides while tilting his head closer toward your neck so he could hear you better. “If I left you alone right now..what would you do? Go back to scrolling on your phone so you can pretend you don’t notice me?”

He was getting under your skin now, mostly because he was right, but he didn’t need to know that. “I’m just trying to have a good time with the girls. Don’t make it weird Jude.”

“I’m weird for wanting to talk to you in person? You never responded, remember?”

“I did you a favor” you retorted. “I saved you the embarrassment of me rejecting you. I know that can hurt an ego like yours.”

Jude laughed against your neck, making you shift your body posture in the small space. “I don’t think you would’ve rejected me.”

“No, I definitely would’ve. I have standards.” you countered. That was true for the most part, but Jude going back and forth with you for this long had you intrigued. He really wanted you and he was pulling out all the stops to make it happen, which was kind of hot.

Jude tilted his head back toward your ear. “Why are you dancing with me then?” That was a good question. Why were you still there, dancing to the beat with him, letting him stand close, talk this much, get so far? You didn’t know – so you stayed quiet and rolled your hips to the bassline that had just dropped, moving closer to him with every beat. He could tell you were starting to crack, so he wrapped his arms around you, just enough to pull you close, but loose enough to let you decide how much closer you wanted to be. “Nothing to say now, huh? That’s what I thought. What’s your move after the club?”

“Good question..” You pretended to look around for your friends to give yourself time to come up with an excuse about how you had plenty of after club plans, but when you looked down to see the way his big hands flexed against your hips, you answered honestly instead. “I don’t have any.”

Jude’s grin grew wide, making him flash his teeth under the strobe lights. He had you right where he wanted you and he knew it. “You could…” he started, leaving the rest hanging in the air just to see how far you’d let things go. You rolled your tongue against your teeth, taking in the way his smile climbed higher into his cheeks when his eyes locked on yours. The smile threw you for a loop and you caught yourself staring at his lips longer than you needed to once it turned into more of a smirk, which he noticed immediately. 

“...I could what?” you asked, feeling your resolve slowly start to slip.

“You could come with me” Jude tightened his hands across your hips and you stumbled a little, instinctively reaching your arm over his shoulder to catch yourself.

“And why would I do that?” you asked.

“...Why wouldn’t you?” Jude already knew your answer. You wouldn’t be still standing there if you weren’t interested in the slightest. He was so close to you that you could see his lips quirk upward into another smirk, growing even wider when he caught you stealing another glance at his lips. Instead of calling you out, he let his eyes drop to your lips in return.

“I don’t trust you” you finally answered, yelling over the music. It didn’t hit him nearly as hard as you wanted it to. You could feel Jude’s curls brush up against your temple when he leaned in to make sure he heard you correctly. “Trust me with what?”

You giggled drunkenly, trying to shake off the effect he had on you. “Trust you to not be like every other guy in my DMs.”

Jude pulled back enough to look you in the eye, shaking his head at your refusal to just give in. “I’m not like every guy in your DMs,” he answered confidently like he was so sure there wasn’t anybody better than him trying to entertain you. “You’d know that by now if you answered..” Jude trailed his hand down to caress your lower back. He was right. There wasn’t anyone keeping you as interested as you were right now. But who would you be if you gave in that easily?

You tilted your head to the side, letting the silence stretch into knowing glances. His eyes darted to your lips again and you leaned into it, contemplating letting him kiss you, but just as his lips hovered dangerously close to yours, you cocked your head back with a sly smirk on your lips. Jude had a surprised look on his face and loosened his grip, laughing to conceal the fact that you beat him at his own game. You pulled out your phone, entering your code and tapping at your screen until you opened the Instagram app. Jude’s jaw flexed in the dimly illuminated light while he watched. Once he realized what you were doing, a smirk of his own appeared on his face. You opened your DMs and scrolled until you reached the one he sent weeks ago, typed your reply and hit send. You gripped his bicep to make him lean down within ear shot, letting your lips brush against the edge of his jaw purposely while you spoke. “Check your messages” you teased before stepping back and removing yourself from the loose hold he had on you. He stood there frozen, but then turned his head to watch you saunter off back to your section, swaying your hips more than necessary to give him a show. When you met up with Bri and Tasha back in your section, they dragged you down to the table to badger you with questions.

“So what happened? What did you do?” Bri asked.

You smiled and reached for your drink. “Nothing serious,” you answered flatly, which made them want to question you even more. Tasha squinted at Jude from across the club then turned her head back to you. Just as you were about to take another sip of your drink, she grabbed it from you. “No sipping, more spilling please. Why is he smiling at his phone like that?”

You snatched your drink back, shrugging. “I just told him to check his DMs.” They had no idea you had Jude wrapped around your finger at the moment, so you tried to play it cool. Bri’s mouth dropped open and Tasha gasped dramatically, smacking the table for extra dramatics.

“Check his DMs?” Bri repeated loudly. “You responded?!”

“Maybe.” You swirled your drink and slowly sipped while meeting his eyes across the club. You could see Jude smirk when he put his phone in his pocket and slowly made his way back to his own table. He sat there, talking to his friends while laughing it up until he caught you looking at him from your seat. He could see you twirling the straw around your drink with your tongue, caught in the act. He angled his head, smirking at you and mouthed something to you while pointing his thumb toward the exit. You couldn’t make out what he was saying through the darkness, so he stood up and started dapping his boys up before slowly making his way over to your table. You tried to ignore him at first, pretending you were doing something on your phone even though there was no reason for you to still be playing hard to get, seeing as you just virtually agreed to spend the rest of your night with him.

“Sorry to interrupt...” Jude flashed a cheeky grin at Tasha and Bri that had them crumbling on the spot. “I’m taking Y/N off your hands for the night. I hope that’s alright?”

Tasha and Bri squealed in unison. “Please! Take her. She’s all yours.” They both shoved you out of your seat in a hurry. “Go. GO!” You cut your eyes at them but Jude gave you no time to argue and stretched his hand out.

“You ready?” he asked, eyeing your frame from head to toe. 

You nodded, slipping your hand into his without any other words. Jude led you through the club towards the exit, and you took one last glance over your shoulder to wave at Bri and Tasha who were losing their minds. You giggled, turning back just as Jude leaned into your ear when you reached the exit.

“Let’s see if I can live up to your standards.”

[fleurspun]

Questbound

Summary: A kiss locks the victory of your quest, it's only unfortunate that your quest companion is Luke Castellan—the bane of your existence and ex-lover. Note: I'm back hello hi this time with PJO! I do have Grishaverse drafts to release (someday) but that's for another time!! This is also cross-posted on Ao3 Word Count: 6.9k

In your many years at camp, the best advice you could probably give somebody is not to date another camper.

Not if they’re a fellow counselor.

Especially not if it’s Luke Castellan.

You learned that lesson the hard way years ago, when you were both a lot younger, with spunkier attitudes and clouded minds. It was a relationship wrenched raw with gritted teeth and hushed arguments, emotions clawing at throats and frustration gnawing at the mind. It was nothing short of tiring, and the only remark worth saying was that it wasn't worth it.

(Sort of. You’re a little too proud to admit that you had your fun during the relationship, and that you really did love Luke, or at least loved him to the extent that adolescent teens could. It was carefree and stupid and full of shared, sappy love-sick grins—and that wasn't so bad.

But you were both childish and angry, nonetheless. And that tipped the balance more often than you would have liked.)

Your breakup was a nasty, bitter fallout that screamed and thrashed all the way back down into the depths of forgotten pasts. After that, you and Luke fell into an explosive and rough dynamic of being at each other’s neck at every passing second, which seemed to have attracted attention from the gods above—and because the gods have such a unique sense of humour, one in particular has decided to grant you and Luke a quest.

And quests meant a trip to the attic of the Big House, and a meeting with the hippie-tie-dye Oracle of Delphi.

“Piss off the aunt lately?” Luke sucks at his teeth, ducking under the beams of the ceiling. You can feel his shadow melt into yours when the attic forcibly squeezes the two of you into the walkway cluttered wall-to-wall with quest paraphernalia.

“I didn't. You might have.” you scoff, suddenly a lot more conscious that your back was pressing into his chest, “You did break that poor girl’s heart from Aphrodite’s cabin a week ago. It’s sad, she was sobbing over her barbecue at dinner.”

“Keeping tabs on me, now?” he snickers, “That’s a new low, even for you.”

“I’m going to smack the shit out of you if you don't shut up, Castellan.”

You see Luke at the corner of your eye step ahead of you, giving a theatrical display of zipping his lips shut before snapping into a sleazy grin when you roll your eyes at him.

The Oracle of Delphi finally comes into sight at the edge of the attic, and Luke has to settle a hand across the base of your spine to keep you moving along when you freeze upon seeing the figure. Visiting the Oracle always left an uneasy feeling that settled like sediment at the bottom of your stomach, and Luke knows exactly, despite the low lights of the attic, that you would be picking at the skin beneath your nail.

He taps his finger on your spine to grab your attention, teasing spelled on his face, “Scared, smart girl?”

You swallow thickly before breaking away from his hand, “In your dreams, crook.”

Luke offers you a small chuckle as he anchors his palms on the beams near your head to keep you from bumping into them when you stalk along the attic, wary of the menacing figure right in front of you.

The skeleton is perched near the stained glass window, and silence simmers in the air so thick it almost shrouds your heartbeat in a muffled vacuum. After a few heavy seconds, the Oracle of Delphi slowly creaks into animation. There’s this odd pull of energy surrounding the flimsy skeleton, perfuming a spine-chilling and nerve-wracking pulse into the air, and into whatever summer clothing she had draped over her bones.

“Oracle of Delphi, we’ve come to seek your guidance.” Luke utters, and you cross your arms behind him, observing the decrepit and stop-motion-like movement of the figure. The skeleton encapsulates the feel of the Oracle in a snap of a finger, her arms creaking into animation and her skull snapping to your direction.

There are no eyes in the vessel as of the Oracle, but you can't mistake the sharp stare she gives you as she utters out the prophecy guided by the goddess of love, Aphrodite. And when she does, you feel a burdening weight forming on your shoulders and a thousand prickling needles at your spine. 

Oh, you’ve got to be kidding. 

Because to find a “second wind” and bring life and victory to your affairs, the quest from Aphrodite meant that you would have to share a kiss with the Hermes head counselor, your spiteful ex-lover, and the absolute bane of your existence, Luke Castellan.

What a funny joke this was.

—

“Well?” you’re cross-legged atop the ping-pong table, staring accusingly at Luke.

Luke rolls his eyes at you, sharpening his dagger against the wall of the dimly-lit Rec Room, “Well, what?”

The two of you ended up in the counselors’ meeting room just below the attic of the Big House after the prophecy sinked in enough for you and Luke to move down somewhere to confer.

“We’re contesting this with Chiron, aren't we?”

You observe Luke from the table, watching intently as he sighs in frustration, returning the dagger to its leather holster, giving you his full attention now.

“We aren't and we won’t.” he asserts, “And get off the ping-pong table, you’ll break it.”

There’s considerable pressure to his words, but you were never one to back down from his intimidation, so you stand your ground, “I’m going to contest this, Castellan. Whether you like it or not.”

“Under what possible circumstance?” He reasons with slight exasperation, “You know they won't let you contest a prophecy—from Aphrodite—off all gods.”

“It’s a clear case of conflict of interest.” the table creaks, and you heed Luke’s advice to hop off.

“That conflict of interest is a deliberate choice from the goddess. Besides, it’s a kiss. One kiss.” he sighs—you’ve been conferring about the prophecy for a while now, and every second is one wasted on argument instead of preparation, “Do I affect you so much that having me kissing you is such a huge deal? What, afraid you’ll come crawling back for more?”

You squint your eyes at the insinuation.

“The kiss isn’t a big deal for me. I don't care about that, you, and whatever relationship we had in the past.” your voice loses its venomous edge when you see Luke watching you intently through lidded eyes. His gaze is a pressuring expression, as if prompting you to speak more, and your mouth slips beyond grasp when you scoff, “You could kiss me right now and I wouldn't bat an eye.”

Oh shit.

The realization of your statement sinks in the second it leaves your lips. A gasp is stuck in your mouth, and you keenly watch Luke for a reaction.

Luke doesn't shoot his usual retort, taking his sweet time before getting off the wall with a grunt. He walks toward you with a heavy gait, one that echoes in the room as if in mockery of your position.

He finds himself almost between your legs, standing a breath’s width away. Luke chases your gaze when you snap your head the other way.

“Huh,” he smiles, and you feel the sinister intent behind it in your stomach, “Do you wanna repeat that for me?”

There’s a stern look on your face, refusing to budge out of self-preservation and dignity, and he tuts in response, “Look at you. You never change, do you? Pouring out emotion but never committing to it. You’re still all bark and no bite—” he whispers with a rough edge, “Like you’ve always been.”

Luke’s words are an obvious, honest-to-gods ploy. It’s nothing more than plain bait, and he’s waving it in your face to see if he can get you off your high horse and into the ground where he wanted you, and he knows if he pushes this narrative a little further, he can get you to bite down.

You blink, and feel the irritation bubbling, choked into the back of your throat. He didn't have the right to tell you about emotions when he was the one that left after the slightest bit of actual reciprocation.

A second passes and you try to give him a chance to take it back, but he only gives you a cocked eyebrow and a look as if impatiently waiting for your verdict.

He persists, and you huff before staring at him straight in the eye with a burning defiance. 

Luke thinks, oh, 

He’s fucking got you.

A sharp finger jabs itself into his chest, and Luke finds it exhilarating to have you on your toes, “I said,” the tone of your voice is as tense as a rope pulled taut, “You could kiss me right now, and I wouldn't do so much as bat an eye.”

Your pride is deadly as it is precarious—this is affirmed when Luke plants his palm on either side of your figure on the table, stepping an inch closer to where he has to crane his neck down to keep you in his sight in response to your dispute.

Luke leans his head forward, the mocking grin etched right in his mouth, “You’re sure?”

You aren't, but you’ve gone so far now that retracting your sentiments is equivalent to admitting complete defeat.

And defeat to Luke Castellan was a defeat you could never stomach. 

So you persist.

“Try me.” you lift your chin as if to push him further to do what he’s been threatening to. You decide there was a large chance of Luke bluffing, so you prompt, “You don't have the balls to do it, Castellan.”

The heartbeat in your ribs thrums and pounds at your bones, a clear display of your body knowing that you should run before anything untoward happens, but your burning pride keeps your feet planted on the ground.

Luke is the closest he’s ever been since you broke up, head slanted into place with his mouth just above yours. The position is familiar, and you hate that you feel it in the pit of your stomach; Luke was so terribly close. He studies your most miniscule of movements, eyes wandering and lingering on your jaw, your neck, and your lips.

The action is an arrogant, self-assured display of power, fueled by the slight, unwanted flush on your face ignited by the suffocating proximity and the sandalwood perfume on his neck—and when he tips closer, it hits you that maybe Luke wasn't bluffing at all.

So, you do the next best thing after realizing you backed yourself into a corner: you close your eyes and wait for Luke’s mouth on yours.

…

Except, it never comes.

You peek your eyes open with a slow wind, Luke has a smug satisfaction written all over his face. He slips his mouth just above your ear, breath hot and searing when he whispers, “Liar.”

You swallow your dignity into your stomach at the realization that he just humiliated you to your face, and you whisper back at him with a hardened gaze, “I’m gonna make you wish you were dead, you damn crook.”

“Do your best, sweets.” the endearment is an offensive spit in your face. Luke takes a step back before stretching his limbs with a faux yawn as he walks to the door, “Good luck with the contention. Let me know how it goes.”

—

Luke knows you like the back of his hand.

He knows you inside out, from your oddly niche allergies, to the callouses you have on your fingers because you used to compete in unauthorized, handwritten poetry competitions with the campers from Apollo, Demeter, and Aphrodite before Chiron shut it down.

(The poetry competitions somehow turned into betting games, which were also unsanctioned.)

He knows you’re just about the most brilliant strategist at camp, as proven by the quest paraphernalia displayed in the attic that you’ve managed to snag along the way, but you let the younger campers like Annabeth hone their skills and take center stage during camp games.

He knows you have marks on your neck that map out the shape of the Lyra constellation, traced from your neck down to the bottom of your collarbone, and he knows, by heart, how long it takes to kiss the stars, one by one, before you give out on your knees.

Most of all, Luke knows that when you despise somebody, you despise them with a burning hatred that singes and ignites everything around you with charring smoke and flame. 

And that’s what he exactly gets for being the ex from a relationship felled by a spiteful fallout: your loud hatred, concentrated resentment, and your sweet, sweet unbridled attention in the quest.

Frankly, Luke supposes having your attention is worth it, despite being rooted in bad faith and distrust in his actions.

���My feet are killing me.” you suck at your teeth, eyes glued to the thickets, “This route’s going to wear us down faster than Aphrodite could ever do.”

You’ve done nothing but go and complain about Luke’s decisions for the past couple of days, and it’s a deliberate call on your end—being annoying and insubordinate just enough to piss him off, but never too much as to jeopardize the quest and its goal.

To be fair, you were the daughter of a war goddess. Your words held weight, and not to mention considerable influence and accuracy on your calls on strategy and quest location planning.

It was just that you were using your mother’s gifts to piss the hell off Hermes’ kid.

It’s a lure dangled just above his face, just out of reach to push Luke to his very limit. You’re convinced it’s an art form in itself, the act of patience and persistence in getting somebody to break.

But you haven't had much luck, because as the world would have it, Luke knew what you were doing, and decided he wasn't going to give you the slightest bit of satisfaction by displaying irritation.

He’ll do just about anything to keep your eye on him.

“Are they, now?” Luke answers, a few steps away from you. He keeps walking, and when he doesn't hear your feet shuffling behind him, he turns around, “Sore?”

“Deadly.” you groan, rolling your ankles off the ground. In your defense, the trail ahead was rigorous, bumpy, and slippery from the recent rainfall. Not to mention the elevation gain throughout. You had more than enough of a right to complain, “We should’ve just cut through the highway instead of playing hiker.”

There was some truth to your assertion—it really would wear you down, but not so exaggeratedly.

Luke crosses his arms, a usual telltale hint of irritation, but none of it is present in his voice, “And be picked off the asphalt by a rogue Fury?”

“At least a Fury would take the pressure off my feet.” you grumble, and continue walking forward when you realize Luke just wasn't biting down. You look to the sky in an attempt to clear your head.

In your reflections, you fail to notice that Luke’s gone quiet with mischief, and you see your clear fault of letting your guard down when you get picked off the ground and hauled over his shoulder like cattle.

“Castellan—” you gasp, your vision in a whiplash, “What the hell! Put me down!”

Luke secures an arm over the back of your knees, the other one supporting your hip on his shoulder. He speaks to you with no hint of a struggle, “You wanted to put the pressure off your feet, right?”

“And the first solution that came to mind was to carry me on your shoulder?” you say in disbelief, propping yourself up with your arms on his back, “That's not how things work, you freak!”

“You’d rather I carry you in my arms?”

“I’d rather you put me down on the ground!”

“And let you hurt your small princess feet?” Luke coos in a voice so sickeningly sweet, it makes you feel as if nauseous from a sugar rush, “You know I’d never let you do that.”

“Gods, I hate you.” you grumble with a voice hinting resignation. You go limp on top of his shoulder when you realize there’s no point in arguing with him, “You’re the worst.”

“Get used to it.” Luke says, starting to walk the trail into the forest, “The worst hasn't even happened yet.”

“And that’s supposed to be what?”

He taps you thrice on the back of your knee, “I’ll let you figure that out on your own.”

—

It’s hard to forget that you and Luke are exes by the way you two fall quickly into a routine when left alone. Despite the rough start to your quest that resulted in petty arguments, derailments, and relentless teasing, your disgruntlement with Luke has sort of fizzled out into something a little more tameable, something malleable under shared snickers and a few will-they-won’t-they situations.

It starts off in treks where he takes your pack without a second thought when your breathing lags a little more than usual because you weren't as physically inclined as you'd like, in moments where you catch him forking away at the raisins in your bread so you wouldn't recoil at the sight, and during slow days when the journey is oddly peaceful, and the two of you wordlessly take detours to see pretty trails that Luke gets a little too excited over.

It ends with Luke falling from a spiraling tree root sprawled on the soil, and with flowering wounds on his hands and face.

“You’re a mess.” 

You frown over the soft orange spires of the campfire, watching Luke with a pitiful red bruise birthed from his own actions. He’s fussing over his own wounds, and he tries, really, to the best of his abilities, but Luke hasn't attended a first aid class from Apollo’s cabin in years—and it’s showing in the way he tries to treat the bloody marks on his face.

“You’re pitiful.” You comment, looking down at his hunched figure over the sprawled kit. It doesn't help that it’s nighttime and he struggles more and more with adequate light without burning himself on the bonfire, “A disgrace. Pathetic.” 

“I’m hurt.” He says, going back to applying an ointment that comes out way too watery because he doesn't know you have to shake it, “I’m hurt and you’re being mean to me.”

You can hear the obvious dramatisation in his voice, evident in the way he draws out his vowels. He’s pitiful and pathetic—just like you said—but for some reason, you find yourself slumped on a log next to him, stealing the balm from his hands.

“Give it to me.” You grit through your teeth, like you’ve been forced to help him by some unknown force, “Best swordsman in 300 years, and he cannot apply healing ointment on himself.”

It’s a comment made under your breath, and when you shake the tube and apply the cream on his arm, you miss the small smile Luke gives you.

The air is so cold with the night air and ripe with tenderness, and the two of you don't miss its hint when you touch Luke’s chin to move his head to the side, applying ointment on the gash lining his cheekbone.

“I’m shocked you’re not even recoiling at this.” You mutter, lathering out a pea-sized amount on his face, “You must hate it so much.”

It’s rare that you strike up a conversation first, but it seems like the intimacy of the moment has gotten to you, so Luke entertains you, “At what?”

“This.” You sign to the two of you, “I’ve done this to you a lot before, but it embarrasses you every time, doesn't it?”

It always started with you having to fuss over him, and with Luke being pissed off—and ended with an fiery argument without fail. 

It was a stupid thing to argue about; but when you’ve just passed the honeymoon threshold of a young relationship, everything felt far too intense far too early.

Luke cannot find it in himself to answer immediately, a little embarrassed by the idea of his past actions, so you pacify the situation by talking, “I get it, you know.” You hum, “I was overbearing, and young, and overexcited.”

“And I was stupid, and angry, and cowardly.” Luke answers, an airy chuckle coming out of his lips, “I think we’re just fair. Actually, I might've been worse.” 

You shrug, keeping your concentration on the gash. Luke’s eyes are peeking at the side, taking a look at you through feathered eyelashes.

“Hey, smart girl?”

A hum of acknowledgment lets him know you’re listening despite the utter focus on his cheek.

“I really was stupid back then for a lot of things, wasn't I?”

You stop momentarily. It’s wordless knowledge, knowing what he’s referring to, but you aren't sure you want to mull it over right now. The moment is too dangerously intimate to dabble in something so sensitive, so you decide to respond by whispering out an “Mhm.” before continuing on.

Luke watches you and your concentrated look, your lips jutted out and your nose in a slight scrunch. He feels like he’ll physically melt at the feeling of your hands cradling his face.

You’re finished with fussing over his wounds, and in a state of effortless muscle memory from all the times you had to do this to him before, your grip on his chin unconsciously angles him to face you, and you move to give him a peck on the side of his lip. 

You’re so precariously near when you catch yourself and jolt into freezing. There’s only a breath’s width between you and him. It leaves you with Luke’s eyes gazing right into yours, eyes as wide as deer in headlights.

You can hear nothing but the crickets of the forest, the crackling of the firepit, and the ring of your slowly accelerating heartbeat. The time stills into a simmering tick.

Luke’s eyes flicker somewhere down in a split-second, and he squints at you, “Were you going to give me a kiss?”

You’re taken out of the trance, and in a flash of panic, quickly push Luke’s face away from yours, “You look horrible up close, Castellan.”

It’s an offhand comment, but Luke doesn't seem to mind when he scoffs out a comment of his own, “Oh please, we’ve made out a lot closer before.”

A red flush comes out of your face, shocked that he would bring up something so old, “And I hated every second of it every single time.”

You didn't—but his ego doesn't deserve to know that.

“If you hated it so much, you’re about to seethe at the next act of our quest,” Luke shrugs, stretching his arms into the ground behind him.

“And that's what, now?”

“Prophecy says you owe me a kiss, remember?”

—

Oh, shit. You forgot about the kiss.

Completely blinded by your deliberate attempts to usurp Luke’s decisions as primary of the quest, you seem to have forgotten the damning condition of your victory—to share a kiss with your past lover.

Simply put, Aphrodite was bored and decided it was time to pair together people who hated each other to death and make them kiss like dolls.

Was it to rekindle buried feelings? Maybe. Was it to drive the offsprings of gods into insanity? Oh, absolutely.

But whatever Aphrodite wanted to achieve by having you and Luke venture out into the world, it still doesn't do so much as change the thoughts plaguing your head for the last few days.

When was this kiss going to happen?

Since leaving the camp, and after that shred of intimacy that night, every passing moment became ripe with untouched tension, thick enough to cut through with a knife and a saw. You felt your heartbeat pound into your ear at the times when Luke would pull you close when he knew a creature was watching a little too intently, or when he would sit between your legs and let you fuss over his shoulder to have his minor wounds treated.

Normal occurrences at a quest, but with the prophecy looming over your head like an unrelenting shadow of misfortune, you were always distracted at the thought of: is this it?

Your agitation with the prophecy and your fear at the thought that Luke would smoothen you into kindness put you on edge, and soon enough your composure unraveled like loose threads and your formerly safe antics almost cost you and Luke your lives.

But it wasn't always you making the trip a hassle.

Your heavy, dragging breaths fill the tight brick alleyway just on the outskirts of the city you cut through to make a “harmless” shortcut Luke hounded you into taking, where you caught the attention of a rogue minotaur hungry for demigod dessert. Now, you have burnt soles and a creature hot on your tail.

It was a shortcut no different from the one you had insisted on taking, but Luke reason that the alternative trail was the same amount of time, with less elevation, and with more places to get food and water—but before you could leave, you realized why the town felt a lot more deserted than usual.

Luke pulled you inside the slim space by the arm, clutching you close into his body and angling you away from the mouth of the alleyway. He has one hand clamped over your mouth and the other on the base of your spine, pulling you so intensely near that you can smell his perfume and feel the ridges on his chest.

You hear the minotaur’s guttural growls and heavy gait echoing with a sharp thud, slowly and slowly until it disappears out of earshot. It’s only then that you feel the heartbeat pounding into your bones once the adrenaline runs out of your bloodstream.

You seem to realize the minotaur’s disappearance a lot faster than Luke does, with his hand remaining over your mouth and his body still pressed close to yours.

Oh, he was so incredibly close.

The flush on your face deepens at every single passing moment, your fingers picking at the skin beneath your nails, with your body becoming hypersensitive to every point that touches his, fueled by the force of the two brick walls squeezing the two of you together. His body feels warm from the constant running that led you to this moment, excreting bodily heat that seeps into yours the longer he holds you close. 

When Luke gazes down after ensuring that the minotaur was out of the immediate area, he finds you studying him with a wide set of eyes. He doesn't say anything, mostly because his ego is enjoying the show, watching you stare at his chest, and his arms, his neck, before ending up on his eyes.

You retain eye contact, and Luke cranes his head to your side to check on you. Luke liked getting in close for things he only wanted you to hear, so when he tipped his head down to ask if you were alright, you stalled—like deer in headlights—and panicked at the feeling of his face so close to yours. You break out of Luke’s hold when the panic seeps into your bones, and you stumble onto the open streets.

You crane your gaze to the left—and meet eyes with the minotaur.

—

The hotel off the highway is dingy and obviously seen better (and more graceful) days, with peeling wall paint, dusty carpets, and a receptionist with a mean streak who barely cares for the customers arriving. The ringer on the desk barely makes a sound over her nail file.

She files her nail with a vigorous back-and-forth, the scratching of the material screeching into your ear like nails on a chalkboard. The bright purple of her hair is mirrored by the bubblegum in her mouth, deflating in a scandalous pop when she decides to entertain you.

Well, not you exactly, but the view of the tall, handsome man standing just behind you. Who was, believe it or not, clutching his injured shoulder. 

(Minotaur’s fault; not yours, directly)

You can see the instant attraction in her eyes when it lands on Luke’s figure, and you feel a dull sensation in your ribs.

“Well,” she smacks her lip, looking as if she wanted to undress Luke with her eyes, “Two separate rooms, I hope.”

“Excuse me?” you say, stopping halfway from digging into your bag for the money. 

“Two rooms, right?” the receptionist rolls her eyes at you, dragging her words along the floor. She fetches two keys on the counter but keeps them beneath her palm, batting her eyelashes at Luke, “Hey, you—pretty boy. I’m a pretty good masseuse, you know.”

You press your lips together, holding back the incredulous expression your face is dying to spit out. 

Two customers annoyed and frustrated at each other, looking for a room; one with a bad shoulder, and the other a sleeve catching on a doorknob away from crashing out into misery.

And the damn receptionist decides it's time to snag a quick hookup?

She continues her little show of seduction, leaning over the counter in her slightly-undone button down. There’s venom and honey dripping on her voice, and a bony finger catches itself on her lip, “I can heal that shoulder of yours real good if you let me come up to your floor.”

It’s unbelievable at this point, you decide. You could tolerate this a lot better if you were having a better day, but today was not that, at all.

Your anger, burning hot and bright, slowly becomes slightly clouded by a churning feeling at the bottom of your stomach when you realize you haven't heard Luke answer—nor did you know how he was reacting to the woman at all.

Was he enjoying the attention? Was he considering blowing off steam with her? Did he like it?

Why do you care?

You don't. That’s what you put your resolve on—and there are more serious things to think about, like how you’re on the verge of failure in your quest. He could fool around with anyone, and that wouldn't be your business. It shouldn't be your business.

Whatever turns him productive enough to lead you to completion of Aphrodite’s favor.

Your thoughts are on the verge of collapse, but as if by some wicked timing, the receptionist shakes you out of your trance and pushes you into irritability tenfold when she slips over to you one key.

“Here’s ‘ya room. Leave your boy to me, hm?”

You feel like a kettle, slowly boiling until it’s time to explode and spill over scalding hot insults and lectures about the lack of decency being given. You’re about to start when you feel a chin nuzzled into your shoulder and a hand at your waist.

Luke whispers in your ear, “She’s not worth it.”, staring at the receptionist dead in the eye before exchanging the one key for money.

“Just one room. We’ll be fine, alone.”

The elevator ride is dragging, and you’re standing on opposite sides as if Luke wasn't just clinging on you from the last minute as a response to the flirty receptionist. He looks at the floor with a restrained expression, and you have a flat frown on your mouth. It takes what feels like decades before the carriage reaches your floor.

The doors open into a narrow hall, dimly lit with matching dull carpets from the lobby. Your room isn't in any better shape than the rest of the building. It might be worse when the door shuts and another misunderstanding erupts.

“What happened back there?” Luke asks, his voice pulled taut by tension, but held back by the need to not escalate the situation, “Why did you freak out on me?”

Luke knows you’re keeping something secret, you’ve had a shift in behaviour that he doesn't exactly recognize, but feels familiar all the same.

You keep his gaze leveled to yours, “I’m not the one at fault here, Castellan. We wouldn't have been there if we took the original route.”

“Fine,” he groans, “It was my fault we ended up in that stupid alley in the city outskirts. I didn't factor in why the map wouldn't mark it as a route in the first place. But that’s not what I’m asking, isn't it?”

“What are you asking then?”

“Why’d you freak out on me in that alley?”

“And that’s such a big deal?”

“It’s a big deal because that meltdown of yours cost us an injury, supplies, and now transport money that we have to use on this hotel.” he stalks closer, tone suspiciously clear of malice, “You’re smart. You know we don't have enough time or resources for the quest, no?”

“I know that.” you snarl. You don't even know when you stood up, “Shit happens, Castellan. I can't control when and where I panic.”

“But you can.” he shrugs. You have no idea when he got so close, “I may not know what happened, but I do know you—you’re calm, collected; you hate being driven by emotion and you are Athena’s favourite child for a reason.”

You look away to the side, refusing to make eye contact, “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying,” Luke drawls, as if the answer is staring at you, “Either your skills have downgraded for absolutely no reason at all, and you’ve become a shame of a daughter of a war goddess—or, something else has shook you to your core entirely. Something, or someone. That’s my guess.”

It was true—you were shaken by the prophecy and let the panic from it settle far too deep into your bones, but you were a lot more pissed by the way Luke was speaking to you. As if he knew you from the inside out, and to hell with him thinking that way.

He didn't have the right.

“You wanna know the reason, crook?” Your finger jabs into his shoulder, and you have to look up to his towering height to meet his gaze and get your point across. You were at such a close proximity now, it's as if you could taste the smugness in his voice.

He rolls his eyes, and shrugs mockingly, “Well, don't keep me waiting.”

You let out a good exhale before you postulate.

“The prophecy got under my skin.” Luke senses the tinge of nervousness in your voice, the end of your sentence faltering into a low mutter, “As much as I want to be the perfect quest companion you need so bad, the prophecy that we would have to eventually kiss crawled into my head and won't leave my consciousness since.” your voice tries to remain steadfast, “Every time you’re near, I think about the kiss, and I panic because I wouldn't know what to do with myself and I wouldn't know what to do with you. Happy now?”

You pull out a sharp exhale, “You make me nervous, Castellan. You still make me nervous.”

Luke stares at you like gears are turning in his head, his eyes flickering between your gaze and your lips. The realization of what you just said hits you in the ribs, and you feel as if the oxygen in the room is too little to keep you alive and breathing. You swallow your pride and your embarrassment, wide-eyed and on your toes.

You almost move to ask Luke to say something, anything really, but he cuts you off wordlessly when his hand weaves its way into your hair and his mouth finds its slot against yours.

Time grinds into a halt, and you realize that in all the times you imagined the prophesized kiss in shameful fever dreams and trances, you never expected for it to be this: Luke kisses you like he’s been starving for months. He’s deprived and angry and desperate and moves as if there wasn't anything else he’d rather be doing than to dishevel you in the middle of the room and leave your knees weak and trembling like he used to.

Oh, gods. The kiss is like water,  like a delirious thirst in your bones finally quenched and an itch you’ve been dying to scratch. You’re stunned at first, but find yourself kissing him back just as quick and just as desperate.

“I waited far too long for this.” he rasps into your mouth, tongue swiping on your bottom lip to open your mouth, “Couldn't get my mind off you even when we broke up.”

“Shut up, Castellan, for once.” you breathe out, and Luke can’t help to restrain himself when he smiles against your lips. 

“I tried everything to get close again.” He says in between kisses, “Who knew we only needed a damn quest?”

The two of you are sprawled on the creaking twin-bed mattress, and Luke, despite his bad shoulder, hauls you into his lap with a burning intention to keep you there. His lips trace from pecking at your lips, to nibbling at the skin behind your ear, to tracing down searing hot, open-mouthed kisses on the bottom of your jaw.

“Castellan, I—” you gasp, melting between his mouth and the hand that’s running lines over your hips.

“That’s not my name.” he mutters between kisses, turning you over with your back to the mattress, “Say my name, smart girl.”

If you were in any sort of proper thought, you’d be flushed red and annoyed at Luke for speaking to you this way—but all rationality is thrown through the window when his lips are on your neck.

You swallow your pride, your dignity, and everything in between, “Luke.” it’s a whimper when it comes out, and he pulls you in impossibly closer.

He hums in satisfaction, dropping his head over one of the moles on your neck. Luke gives it a small lick before smoothing it over with a kiss, “Vega.”

To your collarbone, “Sheliak.”

Down to the mole just above your chest, “Sulafat.”

He’s naming the stars in the Lyra constellation, and your mouth lets out a choked moan, “Luke, shit—”

Luke pulls away after one more quick peck, and he doesn't waste time admiring your figure from head to toe. You’re resting against the white pillows, breathing heavily with a disheveled look when he asks, “You good?”

The moment finally sinks into your mind in a panicked, cascading waterfall of information—that you’ve just shamelessly made out with your ex after a frustrating run, and that you were basically pinned against him on a bed.

It’s a wash of fresh, hot shame. Before you can help it, words spill out your mouth in an attempt to save face.

“That,” you blink, still a little hazy from having Luke’s mouth on yours.

“Go on,” He says, patiently, “Take your time.”

“Well, that’s—uhm” you inhale, “—don’t take that personally, Castellan.” you rasp out, trying to hide the weakness in your voice, “That was just for the quest.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” you nod cautiously, “We’ve got the prophecy out the way now, haven't we?”

You doubt you were convincing him any more than you were convincing yourself when Luke gives you a sickeningly sweet grin. He’s still pinned over you, like he refuses to be anywhere else.

“Mhm,” he coos, “Sure it was.”

“That didn't mean anything to me.” you repeat, to yourself more than anyone, “And that didn't mean anything to you.”

“Speak for yourself,” Luke shrugs, now falling into the pillows next to you. He closes his eyes, sinking into the bed, “That meant the world to me.

There’s a mixture of confidence and lack of hesitation in his voice, and when you prop yourself on your elbows to look at him, he was disheveled with smeared lip gloss all over his mouth, and he looked the happiest he’s been in days.

“Hear that?” he goads with a lilt that sounds suspiciously like bait, like he’s prompting you to retaliate, “I said the kiss meant the world to me.”

You find it unimaginable to believe him, but when Luke gathers your hands in his and places them against his lips with a soft exhale, you feel your stern resolve melting at every passing second.

“You don't mean that.” Your voice sounds even weaker now, like you’re hanging on by a thread.

“I do. I mean every single word.” Luke kisses your knuckles, softly whispering, “I can prove it to you, if you’ll let me.”

It’s scary.

It’s a scary realization to know what Luke’s asking for, and an even scarier realization was the fact that you were willing to give him another shot.

A second wind. Like what the prophecy asked for.

“You’re lucky I tolerate you, you crook.”

In your many years at camp, still, the best advice you could probably give somebody is not to date another camper.

But when you’re tasked to go on a journey with them promising a kiss at the end, maybe it wouldn't hurt to give it a chance.

Especially if it’s somebody like Luke Castellan.

“The luckiest alive, smart girl.”

—

“That’s my victory, then, forehead-spawn.”

A sultry voice echoes in Olympus. Aphrodite leisurely fans her face with a smug look, satisfied by the outcome of the prophecy.

Athena gives her nothing but a disgruntled expression.

[strawbeerossi]

Sweet Treat

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: Penelope gives you aphrodisiac chocolates as a gag gift. Whenever you and Spencer have a movie night, you both don’t realize what sweets you are delving into.

Content/Warnings: Awkward little banter between friends, mutual pining is mentioned, food/eating, aphrodisiacs, unprotected sex

Word Count: 2.4K

Kinktober Day Twenty Three: Aphrodisiacs

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

“Penelope, what the hell is this?” You asked, a laugh leaving your lips as you looked over the container of what looked to be normal chocolate. “Well! I found it online and apparently it’s some of that chocolate that you eat and you just wanna go crazy on the first person you see.” She giggled.

A girls night meant all sorts of things but whenever Penelope pulled out presents, you knew exactly where this was going. You and the girls had met up at her place about an hour ago. After ordering Chinese takeout and having way too much wine, the night had taken a bit of a turn when it came to discussions. Women talk. Sex was a main topic between you and your small friend group.

“So you are giving them to me?! P, I don’t even have a boyfriend.” You laughed. “Who needs a boyfriend whenever you can have fun with anyone in the world. Just keep them.”

And so you did. It was days after the fact whenever you were inviting Spencer over for a marathon of your favorite show. It was going to be fun, you and your best friend from the office watching your favorite show together. He’d offered to pick up food on the way, which he’d stuck with a good Thai place that you both had eaten at numerous times before whenever you got back from a particularly late case.

Spencer was your best friend on the team, the both of you being closer in age compared to the rest of the crew you worked with. Plus you had similar interests when it came to books, movies, among other things. You’d greeted him with a wide smile the minute the door opened. “Hey!” You grinned while moving to hug him. Despite his disdain for hugs or being touched, he’d slowly began to let you in more. He was happy to hug you or have you hold his hand whenever you needed to pull him somewhere else in a crowded room without losing him.

He enjoyed being by your side. Honestly, he was sure he was in love with you because of how caring you were. You listened to his rambles and even asked him further questions. You even laughed at the jokes that were complicated to understand. You were truly a light shining bright on the team. “I hope you have snacks because I didn’t even stop.” Spencer groaned after returning the hug with one arm as his foot kicked the front door shut. “I do. I have a lot in the kitchen.” You assured.

You'd started the new season of your show together and gotten through dinner within a few episodes before Spencer disappeared into the kitchen as you paused the program on tv. “Don’t take too long! I gotta see how this plays out!” You called while leaning back against the couch, pulling the blanket over your body while letting out a soft hum. Spencer had ended up grabbing some chocolate. Which he didn’t read over the label as he grabbed a tab from the container and looked it over. “That’s cute. It’s got little shapes.” He chuckled to himself, breaking one in half as he was moving to take a bite from the rich milk chocolate. It was to die for, so he had to take the other half to you so you could try before you both tore into the bag together.

“Try this. It’s so rich. I actually love it.” He’d commented. You weren’t paying attention to what the chocolate looked like, bringing it up to your nose and smelling it before you were pulling the piece in your mouth. Which it was delicious, your eyebrows raising. “Wow, that really is good.” You laughed, watching as Spencer was sitting down and passing over snacks to you. “We can eat the chocolate later. You know sweet stuff can either send me flying on the walls or I end up feeling bad to do anything.” Fair enough.

It was an hour later when you were on another episode, your body was feeling hot as you shifted uncomfortably on the couch. You wouldn’t like to think that you were attracted to the program, it was a horror series and you were in the middle of a chase scene. So why else were you squirming?

Just as you were going to excuse yourself to take care of the heat in your belly, you noticed Spencer shifting uncomfortably, a pillow resting over his lap. Then you thought about the chocolate, your eyes widening as you were shooting up from the couch and rushing to the kitchen. Spencer watched you, turning slightly on the couch to watch you curiously through the doorway. That’s when you see the box, a soft groan leaving your lips as you lifted up the sex candy while bringing a hand up to rest against your face. ‘

Just great. You knew you should’ve just put it in your room.

“Spencer.” The sound of your voice had him nearly jumping out of his skin as he quickly faced the tv again. “Yeah?” He asked as his hand clutched the pillow harder. Maybe you’d caught him. Even someone who wasn’t a profiler could tell there was something going on, not to mention the growing tension between the both of you.

Mutual pining was normal and you both weren’t exempt from that. Spencer was an awkward rambler but you found it endearing. Just as he found you as equally as endearing even if you were quiet a good majority of the time and relished in his ramblings about whatever was brought up. You both enjoyed each other's presence, the two of you spending time together more often than not.

Those unsaid mutual feelings made this whole situation worse.

You approached the couch again as you slowly sat down beside Spencer again, body leaning back against the couch as you could feel yourself hot, face flushed as you couldn’t sit still to save your life. Spencer had now taken notice, clearing his throat. “I-I uh.. I may need to leave soon. M-mom’s facility called.” A lie but it would be a smooth getaway.

“Oh, yeah. Uh, it might be for the best! I forgot that I have to..” Your eyes glanced around the room. “Reorganize my bookshelf!” Less subtle. “R-right. Uh, This seems weird but can you close your eyes for a minute? I just..” His eyes were glued on the pillow, making you bring your eyes down as well. “O-oh.”

“It’s not because of the show!” He squeaked, face bright red as he was looking back at the screen. “I don’t- I don’t know why but I was looking at you and it just.. I don’t know!” He whined. His awkwardness made it hard for him to admit why there was a pillow on his lap outright, however you had clocked the reasons why.

“You know the chocolate..? Uh, Penelope gave me them the other day as a joke and they are.. They are essentially just sex chocolate.” Your face was hot, chest rising and falling as you were feeling the gush of slick in your panties from the heightened arousal. “Wait. Aphrodisiacs?!” Spencer was looking at you with wide eyes, mouth agape in shock. Well, at least he didn’t feel as bad from getting hard after giving you a few glances. There was a reason behind it.

The both of you stared at one another, faces hot and eyes blown out with lust. “So uh.. How long does this last?” Spencer finally asked, his brain being too clouded over with lust as he stared in your direction. “I-I wouldn’t know.. I never used them.” Your nose crinkled as the both of you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes away from one another. “I, uh, I lied about my reason to leave.” He stated the obvious while you couldn’t help but let a little laugh escape your lips. “I know..” You admitted, slowly pushing yourself to stand. “I um.. I don’t actually have to reorganize my bookshelf either..” You laughed awkwardly while heading over to stand in front of your best friend, hand moving to gently rest over the pillow. “I don’t want you to go.. Not yet. Can you, um, help me out a little bit? I trust you and you are here.” You rambled on as you put your hands together slowly. Spencer was looking at you with wide eyes as he nodded slowly.

“I’ll help.” You were both a bit awkward at first, the male letting you move the pillow before you were straddling his waist, the show in the background continuing to run as your best friend was blushing nervously. “I gotta admit that I’ve only done this one time before..” He spoke while you offered a smile. “It’s alright.” You whispered as you let your head dip down to connect your lips with his. Your bodies were buzzing with electricity as you were deepening the kiss, your hands tangling in his hair while his hands were gripping your hips.

You never thought you’d be in this position, tongue in your closest friend’s mouth while your hips were grinding down against his. You felt a fire inside of you, your body desperate to be bare and touched. As you pulled out of the kiss much to Spencer’s dismay, you were tugging your shirt over your head before tossing it somewhere else in the room. The sight of your breasts in a white bra had Spencer’s Adams apple bobbing as his eyes were trained on the lace that accentuated your skin. “It’s pretty right? One of my favorites.” You comment while watching his eyes stare at your tits with a new sense of hunger in his eyes.

You took it as a great sign as your hand was reaching behind you, unclasping the top before letting it fall somewhere with your shirt. His hands were quickly coming up to cup your breasts before he was just diving right in, wet kisses being pressed against your skin before his lips were wrapping around your nipple, tongue flicking over the nub as your fingers tangled in his hair. “Fuck.” You cursed while his attention was focused on your chest.

Your body was perfect.

As he had gotten enough though, he was pulling back to examine your chest that was covered in a few hickies and your hardened nipples. “You look so pretty.” It wasn’t akin to being called a whore or a slut but you honestly liked it. The way he complimented your body had your cheeks heating up as you were lifting your hips when he had gained enough confidence to work on your pants. He’d tugged down your pants and panties before working on his own pants.

“Eager?” You commented, a little giggle leaving your lips as Spencer looked at you as if you’d grown another head. “Have you seen yourself?! Of course I’m eager!” He defended himself, causing the both of you to share a laugh. “I hate to rush this but-” He was cut off by a groan as your hand reached between you both to give his leaking cock a few tugs. “I know, me too. You can make up for the lack of foreplay later.” You wiggled your eyebrows as you pressed your lips against his once more, your leaking hole sinking down onto his cock.

The both of you had let out moans muffled in one another’s mouths as your hips rocked slowly, getting adjusted to the man’s thick cock. It was always the awkward nerds who had the best surprises.

Your head was falling on his shoulder as he held your hips with a bruising grip. He wasn’t one to have sex often, not being lucky like Derek in the department of women effortlessly throwing themselves at him. He knew that this scenario was one he never imagined happening, your velvety walls clenching tightly around this bare cock while you essentially used him as a human dildo to get yourself off.

He wasn’t complaining in the slightest, watching your face contort in ecstasy as his hips were thrusting upwards to slam into your leaking cunt, a groan falling from his lips as his head tilted back against the sofa. You were whining and moaning with each thrust that he matched with your movements, eventually pushing the one place you needed most. The impact had your hands clutching tightly to his shoulders as you let your mouth fall open with a soft cry.

“Oh my god, fuck, I’m gonna cum.” Your words were slurred, the effects of the aphrodisiacs heightening all of your arousal so you felt like you were going to burst at the seams. Your body was hot, hips surely bruised by Spencer’s rough grip as he slammed into you as well as your legs shaking from their position.

When you did hit your peak, you were tightly grabbing Spencer’s shoulders as your hips slammed down into his lap, ass hitting his thighs at an unsteady rhythm. Spencer however, was quickly flipping you both over, your body sprawled out against your living room couch as he was rolling on top of you.

Taking the opportunity, he wasn’t skipping a beat as his hips slammed into yours, your sensitive cunt contracting around his cock as he was bringing himself to climax. As your moans and whines from overstimulation echoed in the apartment, his own whines of desperation were falling from his lips.

His cock twitched inside of your used pussy, quickly making the effort to pull out of you as he jerked at his leaking cock, a low huff leaving his lips as ropes of cum were now pooling in your stomach, glazing your bare skin as he let out a weak whine. As you lay there covered in his spent, your chest was rising and falling at a rapid pace as you made the effort to catch your breath.

“I think that chocolate needs to be thrown away to avoid incidents like this again,” his voice pulled you out of your post sex haze as you laughed a little. “Are you kidding? I think we need to do this every time we watch our show together.” You teased, making Spencer shake his head with a smile.

“At least hide it for when you have anyone else over. I don’t think I’ll survive if this mix up happens with someone else.”

[mononijikayu]

almost like being in love — nanami kento.

“You know, baby. People are intrigued about you.” you said, voice light, teasing. “I think you’re starting to develop a fan club in my silly circles.” He looked over, one eyebrow rising the tiniest bit. “Oh really? Do share.” “After the show, a girl in the bathroom asked if you were single. I told her you were married. To your job. And possibly to me, if I ever get you drunk enough near a temple.” He made a sound that might’ve been a laugh or a polite cough. Hard to tell with Kento. “Was she disappointed?” he asked after a beat. “Crushed. Said you had the quiet mystery of a yakuza lieutenant and the haircut of a disappointed private school teacher.” “I’ll take that as a compliment, darling.”

Genre: Alternate Universe — Actor’s AU (AU of the AU);

Warning/s: General Rating, AFAB! Reader, Use of She/Her, Use of Female Centered Identification, Pet Names (Pretty Woman, Pretty Boy, Etc), Romance, Fluff, Humour, Love, Hurt/Comfort, Age Gap Relationship (Reader is 30s, Nanami is late 40s), Strangers to Friends, Friends to Lovers, Post–Separation/Divorce, Dating, Feeling, Light–Hearted, Slice of Life, Idiots In Love, Domestic, Teasing, Healthy Relationship, Friendships, Profanity, Soft Smut, Actor! Nanami, Comedian! Reader;

Words: 17k words.

Note: this was a fic that was once again commissioned by @nanamin-chan, so please thank them!!! this was so fun to write because this is just another continuation of the nanami au in the actor's au. this is just romance, everyone. this is just fluff. so, enjoy it!!! i love you all!!!

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the good life ― masterlist.

THIS IS NOT YOUR BOYFRIEND’S SORT OF PLACE. But he likes seeing you perform, more so now that you finally were a full–time comic. He told you before, together means together.

Nanami Kento meant that quite literally, and rather seriously. After all, he meant it when he said he’d be happy to be the concept of every other joke you write and make. 

The jazz bar in Shibuya was its usual dim-lit self, smelling of shochu, yakitori grease, and dreams deferred by too many company meetings. A place where lost all the poets and tired office workers gathered to forget the trains they'd already missed, to drink themselves to a pounding headache in the morning.

You were on stage for the nth time this week, by a great popular demand no less. Beautifully poised in heels you hated but wore religiously, gripping the mic felt like a second pair of chopsticks. 

It looked almost like you belonged there. You stood there like you belonged there, stood there like you were a shining star leading the way into this world. Ever so natural. Familiar. Slightly dangerous when misused.

There he was, as present as ever. Your boyfriend, Nanami Kento. Front row. Always in that tan suit, always punctual. Like time owed him something.

Your boyfriend looked expensive, as always. You didn’t know if he was wearing Gucci or Dior, though. And in some ways, it made him look out of place in such a rowdy space.

He sat with that straight–backed posture, like he’d come straight from a boardroom and not from filming some drama where he played yet another emotionally constipated genius detective.

He was sipping another shot of highball. Untouched plate of edamame. Watching you like you was a particularly intricate Noh performance.

You exhaled into the mic, smiling brightly. "Good evening, everyone. Hope you’re all enjoying your drinks and your snacks. And for the salarymen here tonight—don’t worry, I’m not about to talk about your boss with the beer bill on the company tab. That’s what group dinners are for.”

Light laughter. A few heads bowed knowingly. Kento didn’t laugh. But his caramel eyes merely shifted as much as the edge of his lips did. That was his version of clapping, you’ve learned. In public, your boyfriend has a lot of need to maintain appearances, after all.

“There’s this guy I know." you tilted your head slightly toward the front row. “Someone who comes to every single one of my sets. Every single one. Quite the dedication, no? It doesn’t matter if he’s been working for twenty hours straight or covered in fake blood from a shoot. Tan suit. Scotch in hand. Expression like a banker attending a funeral.”

The audience chuckled, and someone in the back shouted “kakkoii na!” which made you grin.

“I asked him once, ‘Why do you keep coming?’ You know what he said? ‘Because it's the only time I see you exactly as you are.’ Which is either the most romantic thing ever said in this country... or a veiled insult. Still undecided about that, folks.”

Kento raised his glass slightly, just once. A toast? A warning? Hard to say. But you do know it attracts you more to him than before. 

“But honestly….” you went on to say. “Being with someone who’s so calm, so steady, so… emotionally economical… It's terrifying. Like dating the concept of wa itself. Harmony, order, beige interiors.  It’s a whole thing.”

That got them. A big laugh, especially from the women. “You start thinking you’re the chaotic one. You drop your train card, misplace your umbrella, say something vaguely inappropriate in front of his co–stars. And he just blinks like you’re an unexpected side dish. Not unwelcome. Just… surprising.”

Now even your boyfriend Kento smiled. At least barely. The audience didn’t see it. But you did. And it was better than a standing ovation. That made you realize your set is pretty good. You tailored it to intrigue him after all.

“And yet, you should know, he’s dedicated.” you said, the laughter softening. “He never misses a show. Not one. I told him once he was my emotional support audience member. He just nodded, like I’d finally said something worth filing away.”

The crowd was quiet in that rare, good way. Not awkward. Reverent. Like they'd just been handed a small truth wrapped in a joke. You tilted the mic slightly. “If he ever does miss a show, you’ll know. Either I’ve finally pushed him too far... or he’s dead. Which, knowing him, is the more acceptable excuse.”

Roaring laughter. Applause. Even Kento laughed. Though he did so ever soundlessly, shoulders shifted once. You filed that moment away like a pressed flower between the pages of your memory.

You wrapped up the set with a joke you made up on the train and stepped off the stage. The bar noise rushed back in. The clatter of ice, the low thrum of jazz, someone arguing with the bartender about plum wine.

And there he was. Waiting, as he always did. Glass in hand. Tie slightly loosened but still too perfect. He didn’t go and immediately praised you. He never did, that just isn’t his personality. Instead, he handed you a bottle of water, gently tapped the top of your head.

He murmured to you lovingly. “You paused too long before the wa joke, you know that?”

You smiled. “It was still funny, wasn't it? You smiled!”

“Now, now, a lip ticking up isn’t always a smile, darling.”

“I’m still counting it to be one. That’s my rule!”

He shakes his head at you, finally smiling. “Little dominatrix, you.”

“As I should.” You winked at him, drinking the water.

The evening streets of Shibuya were still humming by the time you stepped outside. Neon signs flickered like cigarette lighters in the dark, and couples passed by hand in hand. You were sure some were freshly in love, others just trying not to argue before the last train. 

The night air had that specific Tokyo chill to it: clean, quiet, and filled with possibility if you let it in deep enough through your lungs. Nanami Kento walked beside you, not behind, not ahead. Beside. Just like always.

He didn’t say anything at first, and you didn’t need him to. His presence was its own conversation. You could hear the rustle of his coat as he adjusted the collar, the soft clink of the ice in his highball glass still echoing in your memory.

He was warm and quiet, and the silence between you wasn’t empty. It was full of all the things he would never say unless prompted like a reluctant contestant on a quiz show.

You reached the corner near the bookstore that stayed open too late, the one you both liked, him for the solitude, you for the gossip magazines. He glanced at the window but didn’t stop. You didn’t either.

“You know, baby. People are intrigued about you.” you said, voice light, teasing. “I think you’re starting to develop a fan club in my silly circles.”

He looked over, one eyebrow rising the tiniest bit. “Oh really? Do share.”

“After the show, a girl in the bathroom asked if you were single. I told her you were married. To your job. And possibly to me, if I ever get you drunk enough near a temple.”

He made a sound that might’ve been a laugh or a polite cough. Hard to tell with Kento. “Was she disappointed?” he asked after a beat.

“Crushed. Said you had the quiet mystery of a yakuza lieutenant and the haircut of a disappointed private school teacher.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, darling.”

You both turned the corner. The convenience store buzzed behind you like a cicada that didn’t know it was out of season. The conversation faded again, but not awkwardly. Kento had a way of folding you into the quiet. 

With him, you didn’t need to fill every space with words. Sometimes just walking next to him made you feel whole. With your arms almost brushing, your strides naturally in sync. It was enough to make the whole day feel worth it.

Then, after a while, he said, “You write your set differently when you know I’ll be there.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He looked straight ahead, not even a hint of a smirk. “There are lines you hesitate on. Jokes you aim directly at me. You don’t do that when I’m out of town.”

“So… you do watch the recordings.” Your brows furrowed, intrigued. “Did you subscribe to receive my content? If so, thank you for the money, baby.”

“I like to study my blind spots.”

You stared at him. He didn’t flinch. “I can’t tell if that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.” you murmured. “Or the most Kento thing.”

“Both.”

You stopped walking almost instantaneously. He took a few more steps before realizing you’d not been walking with him and instead, paused a few steps away.  When he turned back, you were smiling, crooked and full of disbelief.

“I write differently because you’re the only person I’m scared to lie to, baby.” you said. “Even on stage.”

He tilted his head slightly, then stepped back toward you. Not dramatically. Just... close enough.

“I like the truth, my darling.” he said with suave. “You know this.”

“Even when it’s messy?”

He nodded. “Of course, I do.”

“Even when it’s about you?”

“I prefer it.”

You let out a breath, unsure if you were annoyed or completely undone by him. “You are quite a man.”

“I’m glad you like that.”

“Hm…You are truly….” you said, stopping yourself as you smiled, shaking your head. “You are the most frustratingly stable man I’ve ever met.”

“And yet.”

“And yet, my baby…..You’re amazing.” you echoed, stepping forward to walk again. “You never miss a show.”

He didn’t answer. Just walked beside you, as always. But this time, his pinky brushed yours. Deliberately. Barely. Like a secret. You couldn’t help but feel your cheeks turn red at how tightly his touch brushed on you.

And you thought, Maybe love in Tokyo doesn’t need grand gestures. Maybe it just needs presence. Precision. And a man who never misses a show. Even when the train’s delayed, the shoot runs long, or the punchline might cut a little too close to home.

You laced your pinky with his.

He didn’t look at you.

But he didn’t let go.

IT’S INTERESTING HOW YOUR HOME HAS BECOME MORE HOMELY SINCE YOU STARTED DATING KENTO. Your apartment smelled faintly of citrus-scented floor cleaner. It was sharp and clean in that way that almost tricked you into thinking everything was under control. That tricks you into thinking that chaos was not born in your life. That there was something softer beneath it.

The ghost of the candles you’d lit two nights ago remained unsettled in the abstract goo against the current flames that burned. They’d burned down unevenly on the kitchen counter, flickering over your half–hearted bowl of instant ramen, a quiet, silly attempt to romanticize solitude. 

The scent still lingered ever so flagrantly, so still like a flower undoubtedly strident against the wind. Something so acutely warm and vaguely floral, like amber and smoke, clinging to the air like memory.

The lights were low, dim enough to soften the edges of the space, to make the piles of mail on the counter and the dishes in the sink blur into obscurity. Shadows pooled gently at the corners of the room. 

Jazz murmured lazily from the Bluetooth speaker, the saxophone winding through the quiet like a thought you couldn’t quite hold on to. Mingus, maybe. Or Coltrane. Something you’d put on because it made the silence feel less lonely.

Your shoes were kicked off in the genkan, one lying half-turned on its side, the other nudged against the wall like it had simply given up halfway to the rack. It was the kind of careless placement that said: I live here.

Not performatively. Not as a curated space for guests or social media. But really live here, feel it with all the life it could offer, all the life you could give it. With all the uneven rhythms and soft chaos that came with it, of course.  

The couch was slightly dented where you’d spent the last few nights curled up in the same corner, laptop balanced precariously on your knees, sometimes writing, sometimes watching old films you'd seen too many times before. 

A rather comfortable blanket was thrown across the cushions in that deliberate yet accidental way. It was the kind of arrangement that only looks artful when you’re too tired to care.

Kento’s coat was folded over the back of your far flung armchair, ever so meticulously, of course. You could see his suit tie was draped over the edge of your couch, hanging like it had fallen asleep halfway through trying to relax. 

He sat beside you, one arm stretched along the back of the massive sofa, a glass of Nikka whisky in his hand, fingers curled around it the way he did everything. It was quietly ever so controlled, and restrained, perhaps measured even. Just like your boyfriend’s entire person was.

You were curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked comfortably under you, your own glass resting lazily on your knee. The precious ice had long melted, leaving behind a diluted pool of amber at the bottom. The music from the party had faded into a distant hum through the walls, but neither of you spoke. Neither of you needed to.

There was a kind of peace in it that only the two of you would understand. In the way you simply were together, no demands, no expectations. Just two people sharing the same breath, the same silence. 

You could feel his presence more than see him, the quiet gravity of Nanami Kento seated beside you, close enough that the air between you seemed to pulse with unspoken words.

It started slow. Barely anything, at first. A brush of his long fingers against your shoulder. It was casual, almost accidental. Your hand slid down, fingertips grazing the inside of his wrist where his pulse beat steady and sure. 

The small, almost imperceptible movements spoke volumes, sentences of longing written skin to skin, against yours. It was too strong, too magnetic. It was something that even all the words in the world can’t explain to you or him.

Everything about your chemistry was as boundless as the deep expanse of the sea, thunderous in the world of troubles. Nothing else could matter in that, even if you were caught in the most dangerous beaconings of a troublesome storm. 

Your desire, your pleasure, your need for each other was far more loud than all of it, far more powerful than what they think they could put between you or him. Nothing could separate you, you knew that. If anything, you could only want to stay stronger, beside each other. On each other.

A glance a little while later and then it became more than that. You found him looking at you like you were the only person in the world worth seeing.  Like you were the only person that could ever be the apple of his eye. You felt your lips part for a moment, looking back at him.

In an instant, your lips melted against his in an outstanding kiss. At first, it was soft. It always starts out that way. It was like a whisper, a question neither of you had the courage to ask aloud. His lips met yours with the kind of careful tenderness that made your heart stumble. 

But the second your hand threaded lightly into the fabric of his shirt, feeling the slow flex of muscle beneath, the kiss deepened. Firmer. Hungrier. It always ends up being something that drives you both to drown in the pleasure of the other.

Like every kiss you'd shared before, it built the way an argument does when neither side wants to win. If anything, pleasure dictates that both of you must lose. In this quiet battle of rhythm and stubborn, aching affection, there must always be surrender to the wiles of desire. 

And desire between the two of you, it was subtle, magnetic, and once it started, there was simply no stopping it. That’s just how it was when two people are willing to love each other into the depths of pleasurable madness. 

Your mouth tasted faintly of whisky and laughter, the easy, sun-warm kind that only ever happened when you were around him. His tasted like patience, like something deeper and more endless than you could ever hope to name. It was smoky and sweet all at once, carrying the faint, intoxicating notes of the highballs he'd sipped earlier at the bar.

When he tilted his head, deepening the kiss further, you caught that ghost of flavor again. All too smooth, warm, and utterly Kento. You made a soft, involuntary sound against him, and he responded in kind, a low hum deep in his chest that you could feel rumbling against your palms as you clutched at him.

One kiss turned into another. And another. It was an endless loop that you both couldn’t stop. Nothing was going to stop you both from taking and taking. Each one of those kisses saying more than words ever could: Stay. Want you. Need you. I love you.

Your glass slid forgotten to the side, a soft clink against the table as your hands found their way up his chest, memorizing the shape of him again, grounding yourself in the solid, steady reality of Kento.

When he finally pulled back, it was only by a fraction of an inch, his forehead resting lightly against yours, both of you breathing each other in. His hand cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing along your cheekbone in a silent promise.

"You’re dangerous, aren’t you, pretty woman?" he murmured, voice low and rough, sending shivers dancing down your spine.

You smiled, breathless and a little dizzy. "Only for you."

He kissed you again, slower this time, like he had all the time in the world to show you exactly what you meant to him and you realized, in a quiet, resounding way, that he really did.

But you knew that it was not going to last long. But even in the dullness, you know that your boyfriend liked having something intriguing, to keep the flames of passion burning.

Soon enough, it was messy in the way only sober-enough kissing is, all too intentional, all too knowing. His hand slipped under your shirt, not greedy, just certain. Yours tangled in his hair, already a little mussed from the night. You tugged lightly. He hummed, pleased with it all. You’d forgotten the song still playing.

You could barely come up for air. But when you finally did, your faces were beautifully flushed towards each other, your breath falling into his collarbone like a confession. Your lover leaned his head back, caramel eyes closed, chest rising slowly. He was a happy, fulfilled man indeed. And you liked seeing that.

And then, just like that, he asked, “Would you like to move in together?”

You blinked. Pulled back just enough to see his face. No smirk. No nerves. Just that classic Nanami Kento stillness with a dash of nonchalant. Like he’d asked if you wanted to order another drink to be poured on his drink.

“Did you hit your head on something when I wasn’t looking?” you asked, eyes narrowed. “Because that was a tone shift.”

“I’ve been thinking about it, darling.” he said simply. “For a while. It just….makes sense.”

You sat up, heart thudding now. Certainly not from the kissing, not from the whisky but from the quiet way he said for a while. Like it had been living in him. Like it wasn’t a sudden idea, but a decision that had already been made. He was just offering it to you now, carefully wrapped in calm.

“You don’t joke about things like this, Nanami Kento.” you said, half–teasing, half–terrified. “You’re going to be talking about what my shoe closet looks like.”

“I don’t joke about something this serious, darling. You know. Especially about the shoe closet.”

You stared at him. He stared back. You looked away from him, pursing your lips as you began to daydream about what he was saying. You don’t daydream too much, for your own sake, of course. But when you do now, it consumes you.

You begin to think of what your days could look like. Your shirt was crooked, and his button–up was half undone, and the air was thick with possibility and the slight scent of his cologne. You thought about your small closet. 

His endless collection of ties. Your bright violet toothpaste. His expensive golden razor. The quiet mornings. The very occasional arguments that always ended in silence and leaning in. The space between you and him, shrinking.

You bit your lip. “If I say yes, will you be freakishly neat and reorganize my spice rack alphabetically once again?”

“Only if you want me to.”

You paused. “...And you’re sure you’re not asking because the whisky made me seem extra charming tonight?”

“You are always charming, my precious darling.” he said, with no irony. “And I’m asking because I want to come home to you. I mean, it’s nice to see you when I get home.”

You tilted your head at him, studying his face in the low light. You always did that when you didn’t quite trust the size of the moment. You held it up to the light like jewelry, trying to see if it caught the right kind of sparkle.

And then, as naturally as anything, you looked at him and sighed. “Well….you’re already always in my apartment anyway. Unless you’re sleeping in your trailer.”

That got him. He laughed. You could hear it reverberating in your ear. It was a soft, deep thing that cracked through the room like thunder far away, the kind that rolls more than it rumbles. Kento didn’t laugh easily. So when he did, it always felt like it belonged to you.

“Yeah, exactly.” he said, tilting his glass, warm caramel eyes still on yours. “It’s more homely than mine, comfortable beyond words.”

You smirked. “Homely? That’s a diplomatic way to describe the leaning bookshelf, the chipped kettle, and the constant state of sock–on–floor.”

“I like it here, darling.” he said. Simple. No room for embellishment. “It’s…..way more sunlight than my godawful apartment.”

You laughed at him. You leaned forward and plucked his glass gently from his hand, setting it down with yours on the coffee table. Then you tucked your legs under his, leaned against his shoulder.

“That's an interesting form of thought.” you said, playing with the hem of his shirt. “You’re saying all this time you’ve been camping out here like some beautifully stoic squatter, and now you’re just formalizing the situation?”

“I prefer to think of it as a mutually beneficial merger.”

You laughed into his shoulder. “That’s the most you thing you could possibly say, baby.”

“It’s true, isn’t it?” he murmured. “You have all the good coffee. And a much better pillow.”

“Obviously, I splurge on myself.” you said, chin tilted up to meet his gaze. “I have taste, after all.”

He nodded, slow and serious. “I did notice. You chose me.”

You paused. Damn him. You weren’t the romantic one. Not really. Perhaps that’s why none of your relationships have panned out the way you wanted it to. You were the wisecrack. The getaway car. The girl with the enraging punchline. 

But the way he said things, there was just enough softness behind the deadpan, like the words had passed a board meeting of his thoughts before being released and you couldn’t dodge it. It’s also safe to say that you didn’t want to. You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his.

“Okay, okay. Fine.” you whispered. “Let’s do it. Let’s live together.”

He didn’t smile wide at those words. Kento didn’t go wide all the time, you knew that. But there was a shift in his bright eyes, a stillness behind them that deepened the more he looked at you. It was like a weight over his shoulder had dropped at anchor.

He squeezed your hand once and started caressing your fingers. Kento then leaned in, his mouth brushing yours. It was slower than the first time you’ve made out tonight. It was passionate but it was more reverent. It was like he was kissing the idea of a home rather than a person. 

You deepened the kiss this time. Not messy. Not urgent. Just right. And somewhere between the quiet of the room and the cool press of his palm against your lower back, it dawned on you now.

Kento hadn’t missed a show, he never had any intention of doing something like that. And now, he wasn’t going to miss the mornings after, either. All at once, you found yourself falling in love all over again with him. 

Later, the jazz music had slowly faded into silence, and the only sound was the rustle of his shirt as he took it off, careful, like he was folding it at the dry cleaners. He never left clothes in a heap. Even here, even now. You found that annoying once. Now it made your chest ache a little.

The two of you now laid there together on the couch soon after your joyous kissing, your legs tangled, your head tucked under his chin, the quiet holding you both like an extra blanket. This sort of silence comes ever so many times after blissful desires being fulfilled between the two of you.

“Where would we live?” you murmured, voice soft from the edge of sleep. “Here? Yours? Or are we doing the whole… new place, new life thing?”

He was quiet for a moment, long enough you thought maybe he’d dozed off.“Here, if you’re comfortable. Your place feels lived in.”

You chuckled. “That’s a poetic way of saying cluttered, don’t you think?”

He didn’t deny it. “But it’s better here despite that.” he added, looking at you tenderly. “You laugh here. And I adore that.”

You blinked, suddenly too awake. You tilted your face up to look at him. “What do you mean?”

“You laugh the most in this space, darling.” he said. “You’re yourself. You come home and sigh, and drop your keys like you’re shedding a persona. It’s honest.”

Your throat tightened, because it was true. And because you hadn’t even realized he noticed. You were always laughing, but this doesn’t mean it’s always as genuine as people think. But when you’re here in this space, comfortable and without prying eyes — only Kento’s eyes watching you, you become the truest form of yourself. 

“I can bring my coffee maker too.” he offered to you. “And we can trade the bookshelf for one that doesn’t threaten to collapse every time you breathe near it.”

You snorted, pushing lightly at his chest. “Don’t touch my bookshelf.”

“But it leans like it’s in debt.”

“It’s got character!” You defended. “Besides, I got it for free.”

“$500 dollars is not free.” He raised an eyebrow, the edge of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And so do unstable men, darling. Doesn’t mean you bring them home.”

You laughed at these words, louder this time. It echoed even towards the  other side of the kitchen walls. He smiled for real then, the kind he didn’t give to paparazzi or co-stars or anyone on set. The one he saved for you.

You shifted up to straddle his lap, your hands settling on his chest, warm and solid beneath you. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” you whispered, more a realization than a question.

He nodded. “I’ve never been more certain.”

“And what if I’m a terrible roommate?”

“You already are.”

You gasped, dramatic. “Rude.”

“But, it’s not the worst thing in the world.” he said, brushing his thumb against your jaw. “ I like that you’re my terrible roommate. And I’d rather trip over your shoes for the rest of my life than spend another night in a trailer with lukewarm green tea and no you.”

You stared at him. “You know you just tricked me into a lifelong lease, right?”

He kissed your temple. “No trick. Just a very long–term investment.”

You sighed. Surrendered. Sank into him. “You’re too much for your own good, you know that?”

“So are you.” He says, amused, eyes full of love. “But I love you anyway.”

Outside, Tokyo city central buzzed on with its neon lights, distant traffic, another weekend folding itself into the city’s rhythm. But inside, your little apartment held a different kind of electricity. The kind that came not from what was said, but from what had already been decided.

And if love wasn’t about staying through the chaos, the mismatched cups, the jokes that landed late and the ones that cut too deep, then what was it, really? 

YOU WERE SATISFIED WITH THIS CURRENT SITUATION. Finally you and Kento got a day off where your schedules aligned. So, on this random day, you both embarked onto every facet of Tokyo Metropolitan in order to go house hunting together. 

The real estate agent you got was all perfect. Too perfect, actually. Dressed in that crisp, tailored suit that looked like it came straight out of a movie. His hair was combed back like he was auditioning for a role in a historical drama about upper–class finance bros. 

You had half a mind to ask if the place came with a butler who could direct you to your inevitable panic attack. But you didn’t. Instead, you found yourself trying to lock in and focus on making sure you had good water heating for your showers.

“You two are looking for something cozy?” the agent asked, smiling so professionally it made you suspicious.

“Cozy and comfortable.” Kento said, cool as ever. “But with enough space to store all her shoes.”

“I don’t have that many, baby.” you shot back, nudging his arm.

He gave you that tiny, unspoken smile, one that the agent can’t see. Only you saw it. It was the kind that you couldn’t figure out if it was because he was genuinely amused or because he had found a way to subtly insult you without actually saying anything. Either way, it was frustratingly attractive.

The agent beamed. “Ah, yes, of course. We’ll aim for something with great closet space then, yes? A walk–in? Maybe two?”

You looked at Kento. “Are we living in L.A. now? Do I need to start measuring the walk–in closet for a vanity?”

Kento was silent for a beat. Then, with the kind of dry humor only he could pull off.“You could definitely use a vanity. I’ve seen your makeup bag.”

“I heard that.” you muttered.

Meanwhile, the agent was nodding enthusiastically. “Yes, yes. A vanity. We can definitely make that happen. What about an open-concept kitchen? Something with a large island? Perfect for cooking together.”

You and Kento exchanged a look. A silent agreement passed between you. “Yes, that would be good.” Kento said smoothly, “I’ll do the cooking, she’ll do the eating. Well, when we have the time.”

“Hey!” you protested.

“I’m just saying, darling.” he continued, mirth in the corner of his eyes. “You’re more of a ‘delivery’ person.”

You threw a playful punch at his shoulder, but the agent didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy mentally planning the layout of your future life in a house that, as of right now, was just a pile of well-choreographed words.

“So, here’s the first place for you both to view.” the agent said, gesturing grandly as if he was presenting you with the last plot of land on Earth. “A beautiful two–bedroom townhouse, open space, natural light pouring in through those big windows. I know you both like that.”

You stepped inside. The place was nice, in that “too perfect, too clean, not a single imperfection anywhere” kind of way. The walls were white, the floors were polished wood, and there was one of those fancy glass showers with no curtain, because apparently, that’s a thing now. There was a room that could be a study, but you both knew it would be more of a “catch–all for all your stuff you don’t want anyone to see” room.

“It’s……interesting.” you started, trying to be diplomatic. “Very... minimalist.”

“Minimalist?” Kento raised an eyebrow, stepping into the living room. “It’s like they took everything from a showroom and put it into a place with no soul.”

The agent smiled, clearly too trained to let the comment rattle him. “Ah, yes. We can certainly add some personal touches. But the layout is ideal.”

You looked at Kento, who was already over by the window, staring out at the view like he was plotting a great escape. “It’s fine, really.” you said, but there was a hesitation in your voice. “It’s just... not us, you know?”

“Yeah, I agree.” Kento said, voice low but sharp. “It feels like someone else’s idea of a home. Not ours.”

You didn’t even have to say anything. You just knew. He knew. This was a ‘try again’ kind of place. The agent was already leading you to the next property, which was thirty minutes away from this place.

Neighborhood was quiet so far, which Kento liked. You just don’t know how they’ll like you afterwards when you make ridiculous jokes out loud to practice your sets. You were very loud after all. And that also happens more so, when Kento becomes too enamoured with you.

“We’ll have to move fast here.” he said, eager, “I’ve had quite a bit of interest in this one. A lot of competition.”

Kento turned to you, eyes twinkling with barely-contained sarcasm. “Oh good, maybe we can start fighting for it. Really amp up the drama.”

“Great, great.” you said, just as mischievously sarcastic. “I can finally get that dramatic screaming match in before we settle in. A few raised voices, maybe throw in a wine glass for good measure.”

Kento chuckled. “Perfect. Maybe the house will actually start to feel like home then.”

The agent led you to the next house, which was a bit further from Tokyo Metropolitan. But it’s not too bad. It was a slightly less–polished version of the first, but with more charm.

A real fireplace instead of the fake one that gave you heartburn just by looking at it. It felt... real in a way the last one didn’t. It was imperfect. But it had character. The kind of character you could shape, add to, make your own.

“Now this one, it's intriguing.” Kento said, the corners of his mouth turning up. “This feels like it could work.”

You walked through the rooms together, each step you took feeling a little more like it was yours. The light was warm. The space felt like it could hold both of you for as long as you both lived. It could fit your shoes, his ties, your inevitable pile of random things that just seemed to find their way into your life.

And when you looked at him, when you caught his bright caramel eyes across the room as he traced his finger along the edge of the counter, you realized something important.

You weren’t looking for perfection, that was for sure. You weren’t looking for minimalist or an open–concept kitchen with a huge island. You were looking for something that felt like it would fit you both. Something you could grow into, something that would hold your laughter, your fights, your quiet mornings.

“So, baby…..what’s on your mind?” you said, slipping your hand into his. “What do you think? Are you willing to share a closet with me?”

Kento looked at you for a long beat, then cracked the smallest smile. “I already do.”

“Well, that settles it.” you said, “I’m sold then.”

The agent looked confused, probably waiting for some big, final decision or maybe an overexcited explosion from both of you. But you and Kento were more calm about this than he probably thought. Yet you know that sometimes it’s not about the house or the grandeur of it all. It’s about what you bring into it.

You turned to the agent, smiling. “We’ll take it!”

“Do you not want to hear about the amenities—”

“Your pamphlet had the information and I read it on the way here.” Kento says, cutting the agent off with a suave look. “We’ll take it.”

“A–ah, I see….well, alright.” The agent rubbed the back of his head, flustered and confused.

You turned to the agent, who was still awkwardly waiting for some sort of real answer, and grinned. “Wrap it up for us, okay?” you said, voice as sweet as it could be. “We’ll take it. Seriously.”

The agent blinked, clearly not expecting you to make the decision so quickly. “You’re... sure?”

You nodded, a little too casually. “Yeah, I mean, it’s not perfect—but it’s good. It feels right. Right, Kento?”

Kento, who had been silently nodding in agreement for the past minute, raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, sure. It’s got potential. And I like that I won’t have to climb over a pile of shoes every time I come through the door.”

You shot him a look. “You’re one to talk. Your shoes multiply like they have a life of their own.”

He shrugged with that calm, nonchalant smile of his. “What can I say? I’m a high-maintenance guy.”

The agent was looking between the two of you, still a little confused but clearly relieved that you were on the same page. “Well, in that case, I’ll start drawing up the paperwork.”

You smiled, standing a little straighter now that the weight of the decision had settled into your chest. “Great. Let’s get this over with so we can go drink to our terrible, amazing decision-making skills.”

Kento leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as reality settled in. “We own a house together now.”

You beamed at him, almost jumping in his arms, giggling. “We own a house together! Oh, I’m so happy, Kento!”

“I think I’d rather make this place a home with you than spend one more minute pretending that’s what that other place was.” He says, placing a kiss on the temple of your head. “This is our home now.”

You sighed dreamingly, smiling. “Our home….”

“The packing is going to be crazy, though.” You whistled, looking around. “Oh, that’s where the bookshelves could be!”

Kento chuckled beside you. “You’re going to need a lot of whiskey for that.”

“I’ll bring the whiskey if you bring the moving boxes, baby.” you quipped, playfully nudging his side.

He grinned. “Deal. But you know, you’ll be the one organizing everything, right?”

You gave him a look of mock horror. “Are you trying to start a war, Kento? Because that’s how wars start.”

He raised both hands in surrender. “Fine. But I’ll do the heavy lifting.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you say now…”

Kento’s eyes twinkled with a touch of mischief. “I’m a man of my word.”

The agent watched you both banter, clearly fascinated by the easy chemistry between you two. He cleared his throat, snapping you back to the task at hand. “I’ll get everything started for you. You’ll have the paperwork to sign by tomorrow. Congratulations, you two. It’s a beautiful place.”

“Thanks so much.” you said with a smile, “We’re excited. It’s gonna be great.”

As the agent left, you both stood in the empty living room for a few moments, letting the reality of it all sink in. “You know, baby. Half of this was a nightmare.” you said, finally breaking the silence. “When I woke up this morning, I was kind of dreading this whole process. But now that it’s over, it feels…” You trailed off, glancing around the room.

“Easy?” Kento offered, his voice almost a whisper.

“Yeah.” You nodded, leaning against him. “Easy.”

He pulled you closer, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “So, what’s next?”

“Next?” You raised an eyebrow. “Well, we’ll need to unpack. And then maybe—”

“Then maybe we can do something.” he interrupted with a soft laugh. “You know, we can  celebrate with a ridiculously expensive bottle of wine and a night on the couch, just the two of us. No packing. No organizing. Just... us.”

You looked up at him, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest. “That sounds perfect.”

And for once, you didn’t think about anything else. No performances, no deadlines, no next steps in the grand plan. It was just him, and the apartment, and the future you two had already started building, one whiskey-fueled kiss at a time.

“Alright, alright.” you said, looping your arm through his. “Let’s go home.”

“Home….together.” Kento repeated softly. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

And for the first time in a long while, it didn’t feel like the two of you were just visiting your lives. You were living them. Together. Forever and forever. 

YOU ALWAYS ENJOY VISITING THEM. Regular people will think that it’s weird that you enjoy the company of Kento’s family, especially his ex–wife’s presence. But you do, you do enjoy it. And you aren’t ashamed of it. They loved you just as much as you loved them, after all.

The moment you stepped into his ex–wife’s house, you knew it was going to be a night. Not a “pass the soy sauce and let’s be civil” night—no, this was shaping up to be a “smile through the tension, eat too much, and pray no one brings up that thing from 2018” kind of evening.

The air smelled like grilled miso eggplant and inevitable chaos. Gojo Satoru answered the door in socks that said “Sexiest Dad Alive” and a kimono robe that was 100% not his. He still looked like a beautiful man, a ridiculous man just the same. And not your type. 

But you know you can’t judge that much. You’re dating a man with a reputation like Kento as well. You smiled at him, greeting him. He grinned like a man who just knew he was going to stir the pot and was already preheating the spoon.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the power couple of the year.” Gojo declared, smiling brightly. “Come in! We’ve been emotionally preparing.”

Kento rolled his eyes so hard you heard it. “Can we go one night without theatrics?”

“You married a woman who schedules her sarcasm, Kento–kun.” Gojo shot back. “Clearly, you like theatrics.”

You patted Kento’s arm. “He has a point.”

“He spent years yearning for her too, you know.” Kento whispers.

“But you married her first, so….” You snicker at your boyfriend.

“Okay, what is this topic?”

Kenshin and Keiko were already on the couch, each with a plate of food and an expression that screamed, “We are only here for the drama.” Nanami Keiko was mid–bite with her lasagna bowl when she spotted you both.

“Oh god, you’re here for dinner!” Keiko said through a mouthful of snacks, eyes widening as you and Kento stepped into the living room. “Is this the dinner where you announce you’re getting a dog? Because I’m prepared to cry.”

“Is that how you greet your father?” Kento asked, raising an eyebrow at her, all dry patience and faint exasperation.

“Hey, it’s not too bad, Dad.” Keiko said, grinning as she brushed crumbs off her sweatshirt and stood up from the couch, “I thought it was just going to be a regular dinner, Dad. You didn’t say there’d be announcements. You’ve trained me to expect stoic silence and miso soup.”

You bit back a laugh, shrugging out of your coat as Kento exchanged a long-suffering look with the ceiling. “She’s gotten more dramatic since the last time.” he muttered. “My daughter, a doctor at the hospital but a menace at home.”

“It’s in the blood, isn’t it?” you said, grinning at him. “Just like her father.”

“Don’t encourage her, darling.” he replied, but the twitch of a smile betrayed him.

Keiko walked over and gave him a quick hug, the kind that started sarcastic but ended sincere. “How was your trip here?”

“Rather long, really.” he said, placing a hand on her back briefly. 

Kenshin raised a brow. “But isn’t the trip only one hour max? I mean, even shorter if there was a bullet train.”

“Someone on the train was watching a drama at full volume.”

“Ah.” Keiko nodded. “Yeah, Dad hates that.”

“Dad’s better than me, I would have been crashing out.” Kenshin retorted, shaking his head.

“Did you ask them to turn it down?” she asked.

“I put in earplugs, [name] gave it to me on the way.” he said flatly. “And mentally rewrote the last act.”

Kenshin raised a brow. “What was the show?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You just saw the show an hour ago!”

“Well, it was that forgettable.”

“You’re such a dad.” Keiko said with a sigh.

“I am your dad.”

“I know. That’s why I said that.”

In the corner, Gojo Satoru popped his head into the room, already holding a beer and smiling like he knew exactly what chaos was about to happen. “Is this the dinner where you tell us you’re engaged? Or moving to Okinawa to open a soba shop? I need to mentally prepare.”

“It’s not that dramatic, you know.” you said quickly, laughing.

Gojo tilted his head. “You sure? Because Kento–kun here looks like he practiced something in the mirror.”

“He always looks like that, Gojo.” Keiko said. “Even when we were kids he was like that!”

Kento sighed. “Can we just sit down for dinner like normal people?”

“Sure, sure.” Gojo said, winking as he took a sip of his beer. “Right after you make your Very Important Announcement.”

Kenshin, who had been pretending not to eavesdrop from behind his phone screen, immediately perked up. “Wait, no, no. This feels bigger. This feels like living together level big.”

Keiko gasped, dramatically clutching her chest like a kabuki actress mid-tragedy. “You’re moving in together?! That is a dog-level announcement!”

Gojo pointed at her with his beer. “Told you. I can smell news. I’ve been around press conferences.”

Kento sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can everyone please stop shouting?”

“Seriously, Dad?” Kenshin’s eyes widened. “You’re moving in together? Wait, [name], are you pregnant?”

You and Kento froze in sync like a badly rehearsed improv duo at Kenshin’s statement. You were about to say something after recovering from shock but Kento’s ex–wife, bless her well–moisturized soul, appeared in the doorway with a bowl of tsukemono and the timing of a sitcom character.

“What’s this about living together?” she asked with a smirk that said I already know but I want to see him squirm.

You cleared your throat and elbowed Kento gently. “Well, funny you should mention it…”

Kento, ever the man of zero dramatic flair, stood up, adjusted his sleeves, and said flatly, “We’re moving in together.”

You turned to all of them, with wide eyes. "But not pregnant! Just clearing this out now. Not pregnant!"

Keiko blinked. “Wait, is this serious this time? Like genuinely, seriously happening?”

Kenshin choked on his drink. “Does that mean I can have Dad’s place?”

“Absolutely not, Kenshin.” Kento deadpanned. “You have your own place.”

“Wait, wait.” Gojo said, grinning like a man who just got handed a new toy. “You’re officially cohabiting? As in, toothbrushes next to each other? As in, shared Netflix password?”

“I’ve had his Netflix password for months, don’t worry about that.” you said sweetly. “But thank you for your concern.”

Kento gave you a look. “That explains the K-dramas in my watch history.”

His ex–wife laughed, which might’ve been the most surprising part of the night. “Honestly, I’m thrilled for you. He’s less grumpy since you started dating. Which is a miracle, because I thought his base setting was ‘dissatisfied salaryman.’”

“Still is, if we’re being honest.” Gojo Satoru whispered behind his hand, then dodged a kick from Kento under the table. “That sorcerer salaryman role never left your head!”

“Did you guys buy a new place or is one of you moving in together?” His ex–wife asked.

“Well, we decided that it was going to be my place originally but…..we’ve discovered we’re two maximalists with a dream and my apartment is not gonna fit all the shoes and his ties.” You say, with a grin on your face as she laughed. “We got a new place.”

Keiko grinned. “I’m just glad you got a new place. Dad’s current place sucks, you know? It’s basically a makeover show waiting to happen.”

“You’re right, it definitely sucks!” 

“Seriously, though.” Kenshin added. “If you live in Dad’s apartment, you’ll come home one day and your books will be alphabetized by emotional trauma.”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough.” Kento muttered, setting down his chopsticks. “Can we eat without treating this like a roast?”

“No, never.” everyone, including you, replied in unison. Kento rolls his eyes as everyone giggles.

You leaned into Kento, whispering, “You know, for a guy with two kids, an ex-wife, and a Gojo in his life, you’re taking this really well.”

He sighed. “This was a mistake.”

You smiled, kissed his cheek, and said loud enough for everyone to hear, “Too late. I’ve got the closet rights now.”

Gojo raised his glass. “Well, we should celebrate. Go on, raise your glasses! To shared closets and questionable life choices!”

And just like that, the tension broke. Laughter filled the room. Food was passed. Kenshin asked if he could borrow your air fryer. Keiko tried to sell you on a shared Spotify family plan. Gojo tried to emotionally adopt you again.

And Kento, stoic, stable, secretly soft Kento. He just smiled that small, rare smile he saved for moments like this. Surrounded by family, chaos, and a woman who laughed too loud and wouldn’t let him alphabetize her spice rack.

Home wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t calm.

But it was his.

And now, officially, it was yours too.

Later that night, full of soy sauce and feelings, you found yourself wedged between Keiko and Gojo on the couch like some unwilling member of a variety show panel. Gojo was enthusiastically showing you a video montage of Kenshin’s high school stage play performance. Kenshin, from across the room, was groaning into a decorative pillow.

“Stop acting like you weren’t brilliant.” Gojo said proudly, pointing at the screen where Kenshin delivered Hamlet’s soliloquy with all the intensity of someone discovering existential dread and acne at the same time. “I mean, for an information science major, this is not half bad!”

“I think I stuttered somewhere around here….”

“But that really doesn’t matter in the long run, anyway! You held off your own despite that. Good job!”

“Though, the wig looks off.” Keiko whispered under her breath. “Where did you buy it?”

You nodded at her. “Yeah, this looks like you pulled it together from the shower drain!”

Kenshin blushed. “Look, I tried to style it myself but failed!”

Meanwhile, Kento stood in the corner of the kitchen, nursing a cup of tea and looking like a man watching his dignity dissolve into miso soup. His ex–wife leaned against the counter beside him, sipping her wine and trying not to laugh too obviously.

“You look like you’re regretting life choices.” she said, sipping with a knowing smile.

“I’m not, I promise.” Kento replied quietly. “I just didn’t realize how... loud everything was.”

“You always forget.” she said, nudging his arm. “Then you end up in a room with all of us and remember why noise–canceling headphones were the best thing you ever bought.”

“I guess.” 

“I’m glad for you taking this next step, you know?” She says to him with earnest eyes. “It’s good that you finally got your shit together.”

“Hm, I’m glad for that too.” He crossed his arms, whispering under his breath. 

Across the room, you were now trying to explain to Keiko and Gojo how you and Kento managed to choose an apartment without passive-aggressively breaking up at IKEA. For a moment, Kento and his ex–wife stopped what they were doing and looked at you.

“This was for the best.” Kento whispered, almost breathlessly. “I’m happy we’re friends, our kids are alright with this. And we’re happy.”

His ex–wife smiled. “I’m glad we feel all the same things.”

Keiko looked genuinely impressed. “You mean you agreed on furniture? Like, voluntarily?”

“Well, not really.” you said, “I said mid-century modern, and he said, ‘functional’ and then we bickered like children. But, we finally met somewhere between emotionally repressed and tragically tasteful.”

Gojo snorted. “So, beige.”

“Very beige, unfortunately.” you said to him.. “But with the possibility of color. Eventually. If Kento has a glass of wine and I cry about the lighting.”

Kenshin piped up from the other couch. “So basically, you guys are domestic now. Gross.”

You shrugged. “Deeply domestic. I saw him fold laundry last night with reverence.”

Kento, hearing that, called out: “Because you washed a red sock with my white dress shirts.”

“Oh please,” you said. “They’re barely pink. They're a millennial blush.”

Keiko whispered, “God, you guys are already like an old married couple.”

“We’re working on it even more than before.” you said proudly, raising your tea like a trophy. “Just watch!”

Eventually, the night started to wind down. The kids cleaned up dishes without being asked (a rare planetary alignment), Gojo offered to pack you both some leftover tamagoyaki “for energy” and Kento's ex–wife hugged you warmly by the door.

“I’m happy for you, both of you.” she said again, softer now, so only you could hear. “He’s better with you. Not different—just...better.”

You blinked, a little surprised by the lump in your throat. “Thanks. That means a lot. I really love him.”

“I know, I know.” she said. “So do I. Just... in a way that makes me happy he’s yours now.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you just squeezed her hand and tried not to get weepy over pickled vegetables.

Kento reappeared with both your coats and your leftovers packed like they’d been engineered by a Tetris champion. He kissed the top of your head. “Ready?”

You nodded. “Always.”

Gojo shouted from the living room, “Text me when you get home so I know he didn’t alphabetize your bookshelf while you weren’t looking!”

“He already did!” you yelled back.

Kento groaned. “You said it looked better.”

"It's not like I'm denying that, baby."

"Well, you might as well have."

You waved goodnight, stepped out into the chilly Tokyo evening, and slipped your hand into his. And for all the teasing, the noise, the unsolicited parenting advice from Gojo Satoru. This was what it came down to. Two people, moving in together. No fanfare. Just leftovers, pink shirts, and shared keys.

Home was no longer a place. It was walking down the street with him beside you, bickering about sock colors and furniture shapes, and knowing—without a doubt—you’d do it all again tomorrow.

YOUR SET WAS PRETTY GOOD TODAY. No, no. Scratch that. It was great. One of those rare, glittering Tokyo nights when everything just clicked. The mic felt like an extension of your arm, the spotlight hit you like a confession from someone you’ve secretly hoped would crack, and the crowd? 

The crowd was yours. Eating out of your hand like you were handing out free matcha Kit Kats and emotionally healthy communication. You were flying. Every punchline landed smoother than a shinkansen on a clear track. 

Your timing was tighter than your vintage Levi’s after a full wash and a late-night conbini run. Even the new material hit, especially the one about Kento’s deep, unsettlingly sexy relationship with organization.

You leaned into the mic, grinning. “So I live with this man now—yes, thank you, I know, I deserve a medal. And I’ve learned something: he doesn’t just organize the fridge. He curates it."

People start to laugh, but you shush them. "Oh, this is no joke, people. The soy sauce is labeled ‘fermented umami solution’ and it’s filled next to a vision board and a bottle of yuzu that has better lighting than I’ve ever had on a Zoom call.”

That earned a full-blown ripple of laughter. Someone in the front row clapped spontaneously, which was a bit much, but you’d allow it. You were willing to get what you were gonna get with that joke, you knew.

You pushed on. “And I opened the vegetable drawer, once—and found a mood calendar. With stickers. Stickers! Tuesday’s daikon was feeling introspective, Thursday’s was gassy but resilient. The carrots were listed as ‘optimistic but emotionally reserved.’ I haven’t touched a vegetable since. I’m afraid I’ll mess up the vibe.”

There was a sputtering sound from somewhere in the back, someone choking on their highball. You paused dramatically, then dropped the kicker. “And he doesn’t just store things, okay? He gives them purpose. I caught him whispering to a bottle of sesame oil. I said, ‘What are you doing?’ He goes—dead serious—‘Encouraging it to fulfill its potential.’”

The room exploded with that one. Even someone at the bar had to steady themselves on a stool. That has pleased you quite a lot. You giggled, moving about to reset in order to get into  another joke.

You glanced sideways, second stool from the left. There he was once again. Nanami Kento. One elbow on the bar, tie slightly loosened, whisky in hand, that signature calm stretched across his face. 

He wasn’t laughing out loud, as always, because of course not. But there was the twitch. The barest hint of amusement tugging at his mouth like a secret only the two of you shared. You’d hit the mark. The audience knew it. You knew it. And Kento? Kento knew it before you even picked up the mic.

The set closed with a bang. Applause burst like confetti. You bowed to everyone, continuing to thank them. You were glowing, buzzing, alive as you waved back away to them.  And then you saw him.

Near the exit. Holding a bouquet of slightly wilted pink roses like a man hoping flowers could make up for... well, everything. You feel like you are gonna puke. Why would he even be here? Your stupid ex. “There she is!” came a voice behind you. 

You turned to where you heard the sound, and there he stood now. Your ex, this close to you. Everything felt like this was the human version of a paper cut that never quite heals. Holding flowers, because of course he was.

You remember why he was the Ex, with a capital E. The guy who once ghosted you after introducing you to his cat like that was a serious milestone. The one who once told you your ambition was “charming but exhausting” which is exactly what people say right before they buy a motorcycle and move to Kyoto to "find himself."

He was standing there. Holding flowers. Actual flowers. Like it was a school recital or a K-drama. Roses, of course, classic, dramatic, and completely impractical. You hated how you had no way around him on this stage design.

“Hey.” he said, with that familiar crooked smile that used to make your knees weak but now just made you want to check your emotional firewall.

You blinked. “You lost? Because I know a good therapist who can help you find closure.”

He laughed. “I came to see your set. You were great. Really. Like... better than I remembered.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Thanks…..Are you still ghosting your therapist or have you finally learned how to communicate in full sentences?”

Behind him, like a silent film villain with perfect posture, Nanami Kento was watching. Calm. Cool. And terrifyingly still. The kind of stillness that said I am not jealous, I am just evaluating the best time to throw this man into the river without disrupting public peace.

The Ex offered the flowers. “Thought I’d bring these. To say I’m proud of you. And sorry. For… y’know. Stuff.”

You crossed your arms. “Stuff? Wow. Really digging deep into that emotional vocabulary, huh?”

Kento finally walked over, not fast, just… decisively. Like a slow-motion threat in a beige trench coat. “Evening to you.” he said to the Ex, voice polite but with the undertone of someone who can fold a person like laundry. “Can I help you?”

The Ex straightened up, suddenly remembering that Kento existed and that he was, in fact, built like the kind of man who can deadlift emotional baggage and you, if necessary. Unfortunately, he is still a man who wants a woman.

“Just dropping off some flowers.” the Ex said quickly. “Friendly gesture, if you will.”

Kento nodded slowly. “They’re nice. But she’s allergic to cheap apologies and filler greens.”

You nearly choked on your laugh. But you knew you couldn’t stop it for so long. So you try to make it about coughing. The Ex looked between you two, clearly realizing he was very much not the main character anymore. 

“Who are you anyway?”

“Isn’t it obvious who I am?” Kento retorted back at him. “I’m the guy she’s using as her material. That means I’m her boyfriend.”

“O–oh….wait, you’re dating this guy? And you moved in together?”

You nodded at him, snickering. “Hm. Why, you want him? I’m sorry, he’s one of a kind. I cannot share.”

“That’s—”

“Is there a problem with that?” Kento asked, raising a brow.

“No, no…not at all……Right. Well… good luck with the whole moving-in thing. Hope it works out.”

“It already is.” you said, plucking one of the roses and handing the rest back to him. “Here. Take these home. Maybe give one to that rice cooker you never committed to.”

He walked off, bouquet tucked awkwardly under his arm like regret wrapped in cellophane. You turned to Kento, who hadn’t said much after your former lover left, but you knew he didn’t have to. His hand brushed yours, tenderly touching you.

“You okay?” he asked.

You smiled. “Better than okay. That was almost fun.”

Kento raised an eyebrow. “You call that fun?”

You slipped your arm through his. “I call you fun. That counts, right?”

He looked at the rose in your hand. “You know that doesn’t match the rest of the flowers I got you last week.”

“I know, I know.” you said, smirking. “Yours will always be the prettiest, baby.”

Later that night, after your ex had limped out of the club like a man who’d just realized he’d missed the last train of a relationship he never really understood, you and Kento were back at your apartment, settling into the warm, familiar space that had become yours.

Kento poured the sake into the cup. He poured it ever so slowly, deliberately, as if he was pretending to focus on the glass in his hand, but you knew better. You could see the slight furrow in his brow, the way his fingers were wrapped around the glass, not in their usual composed manner, but a little... tighter. A little more tense.

You raised an eyebrow. "You okay?"

He didn’t look at you, still focused on the sake, as if contemplating its entire existence. "I'm fine."

You leaned in, amused. "Sure? Because I’ve known you long enough to know that ‘fine’ is a word you only use when you're pretending everything's fine, and we both know that's never true."

He sighed, finally meeting your eyes. "It’s just… you’re not really the only one with an ex who’s got unfinished business."

You blinked, surprised. "What does that mean?"

He gave a half-laugh, half-grumble. "I just think it’s… interesting, that’s all. How he—" He gestured vaguely with his glass, "—just shows up like that. After everything. And, I mean, flowers? Really?"

You couldn't help but smile, trying to mask the laugh bubbling up. "Are you jealous, Kento?"

He shot you a side-eye. "No."

"Uh-huh."

He looked away again, his tone cool but laced with something slightly irked. "I just think it's... unnecessary. All that 'sorry' talk. Like he’s trying to rewrite history, thinking he can come back in with flowers and make up for all of it. It's... a bit much."

You raised an eyebrow. "It’s flowers, Kento. Bad ones too, if I’m being honest. You know the kind you give when you’ve ruined someone's day. He was just trying to do something... nice."

He paused, then, slowly, as if to measure his words, he added, "Yeah, I just… didn’t like the way he was looking at you. Like you were his."

You blinked. “You’re seriously telling me you’re jealous of my ex right now? He’s an ex for a reason.”

He leaned back, running a hand through his hair. "I’m not jealous, okay? I’m just saying it felt… off. Like he thought he had some claim over you. And you’re mine. You’re with me."

The way he said it, in the quiet, intense conviction in his voice had all but sent a little shiver through you. Nanami Kento, the man who was always the picture of control and composure, suddenly looked... vulnerable.

You set your glass down and leaned toward him, giving him a teasing smile. “You know, for a man who’s so secure, you’re acting like a guy who’s a little nervous.”

Kento didn’t look at you this time, his eyes focused firmly on the bottle of sake as if it were suddenly the most interesting thing in the room. "I’m not nervous. Just… protective, I guess."

“Protective?” You laughed softly, though there was a warmth in your voice. “You? The guy who’s basically a walking Zen garden?”

“Even Zen gardens need boundaries, you know.” he shot back, finally meeting your gaze.

That made you pause, the playfulness fading into something a little deeper, a little more real. Kento was never the type to show this side of himself. Not to you. Not about him. But here it was, this quiet, unspoken vulnerability, wrapping around the edges of his usual stoic demeanor.

You smiled, reaching out to touch his hand gently. "Kento… you don’t have to worry about my ex. He’s history. The past. You're my future. You’ve been that since the first time we walked into a room together and you didn’t even flinch when I accidentally spilled coffee all over your suit."

He half-smiled at that, the edge of tension softening. "That was a lot of coffee, and you did look very sorry about it."

"I did. But the thing is…" you trailed off, leaning closer to him, your voice soft but clear. “You’re the one I’m with now. You’re the one who’s here. The only one I need to see at the bar. The only one I need to come home to. So, please don’t start getting territorial over cheap stupid bouquets. They’re not worth the drama.”

Kento’s eyes softened, and he took your hand, squeezing it lightly. “I know. It’s just… I’ve never been good at sharing what’s mine.”

You smiled, feeling the warmth spread through you. "Well, good thing I’m not his to share anymore, right?"

“Right, alright….” he muttered, still a little grumpy but now, with that tiny smile tugging at his lips. “Just don’t expect me to be the one handing out flowers when you’re on stage next time. I’d rather just sit there and admire you from the back of the room.”

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek, a little teasing, a little sweet. "I like it when you're watching me. But just so we’re clear, you’re the only one who gets to see me like this. No bouquets necessary."

Kento’s expression softened, that flicker of possessiveness melting into something more tender. “I’ll hold you to that.”

And as you both settled back into the quiet of your apartment, the soft sound of jazz filling the air, you realized that maybe Kento's little moment of jealousy wasn’t insecurity at all. It was just another layer of how deeply he cared.

Maybe next time you’d share a toast to that.

SO FAR IT WAS A SUCCESS. The housewarming party was everything you’d dreamed of and more. Or, more accurately, everything you didn’t know you needed. Nanami Kento and you had put so much thought into the place. Well, mostly Kento had, with his meticulous nature and borderline obsessive attention to detail. 

There were minimalist touches everywhere, but it still felt warm. Your bookshelves lined the walls, filled with everything from manga to self–help books you’d never read.

There were candles, of course, because Kento liked them in a very “this is an art form” way. Even your kitchen, where you both spent more time than you probably should have lately, was a model of perfect order with an impressively organized spice rack.

Still, there was a sense of life in the place. It wasn’t just a showroom. You live here now. Together. For as long as you both are together, this was now home.The thought sent a little rush through you every time you passed by the key bowl by the door, or caught sight of Kento, elbow-deep in the fridge, reorganizing a jar of miso.

And now, you were standing in your brand new living room, a smile on your face wider than you could ever remember. The champagne flute in hand, bare feet on the cool marble, loud bright music echoing through the marble. You were surrounded by a familiar chaos of castmates, ex-co-stars, and industry friends who had somehow become real friends. Maybe even family.

Gojo Satoru, in a linen shirt so white it probably had its own lighting crew, was dramatically trying to convince Kenshin and Keiko, fresh from their busy days at their workplace, that you'd installed a karaoke machine just for tonight.

“I’m telling you, it’s voice–activated. You just say ‘Whitney’ and it boots right into I Will Always Love You.”

“That’s a lie, Gojo–san.” Keiko said flatly, sipping from her spritzer. “You know that Dad isn’t a big fan of karaoke.”

“Bold accusation for someone who couldn’t hit the bridge in ‘Chandelier’ last Christmas party, kid.” Gojo shot back with a wink. “At least I hit the high note in ‘Rolling In The Deep’ beautifully.”

 Kenshin snorted. “She did better than you trying to moonwalk in socks.”

“Hey! That moonwalk was really damn good, you know that!”

The blonde young woman snickers into her drink. “Yeah, good enough to burn your eyes out.”

A few feet away, Nanami Kento’s ex-wife, now a working chemist, was diplomatically trying to keep her boyfriend Gojo Satoru from hyping up Yaga Masamichi’s children into performing a full musical number before bedtime.

“Satoru. They just finished preschool. Let’s not start casting Matilda tonight.”

Kento himself leaned casually against your kitchen island, deep in conversation with Ayaka, your friend from college who’d gone on to become a theater critic with a cult podcast following. The two of them looked like they were comparing notes on a Shakespeare revival no one had asked for.

Meanwhile, your next-door neighbor, whom you met literally five minutes ago when he showed up uninvited and somehow on the VIP list, was explaining, unsolicited, the real top five sushi places within the Tokyo Metropolitan. Loudly. To no one.

“I’m telling you, Sushi Marufuku is good. You wanna eat fish that changes your life? You go to this little spot in Hakkoku. That’s even better! But of course, Harukata is better! The chef doesn’t even speak, he just stares at you until you cry.”

You offered a vague smile and politely drifted away. You caught sight of Kento again, now at the bar, his tall frame still and watchful, a glass of something amber in hand. That familiar, quiet smile tugged at his mouth as he scanned the room, equal parts fond and faintly exhausted.

You made your way to him, pausing just long enough to catch Gojo Satoru once again. You found him amid a debate with your older brother, who had somehow become his favorite person to antagonize at this moment. But you were sure it was because of the alcohol. Most definitely.

“What do you mean ‘No one’s seen her perform in weeks’? She’s a comedian, not a shaman!”

Your brother arched an eyebrow. “Same thing, isn’t it? Both deal in spirits.”

Gojo cackled, practically doubled over. “Okay, that’s good. Write that down. I’m using it for my new comedy.”

Finally, you reached Kento. He turned as you approached, giving you a small, secret smile. “Are you surviving this, baby?” you asked, tipping your glass toward him.

He clinked it on his own. “Just barely. Your friends are… vibrant.”

“You are about to definitely more certainly marry into it, I fear.” you teased him. “Though, I’m the same with your family, don’t you think?”

“True enough, I suppose.”

You laughed, leaning into his side as Gojo’s voice rose again, daring your brother to duet with him on Total Eclipse of the Heart, Kento’s ex–wife trying to calm him down. Keiko is trying to stay away from the drama, while Kenshin was having fun playing with the little kids of your other neighbors. 

“This is our life now, huh?”

Kento glanced around at the glittering mayhem, then down at you. “Yeah, it is.” he said, brushing his thumb lightly along the rim of your glass. “And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Well. Maybe minus the other neighbors, especially the one talking about the sushi.

You nudged Kento with your elbow, leaning in close enough for only him to hear. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? I mean, this?” You gestured around the party with a grin, voice teasing. “All the people who’ve seen us at our worst?”

He raised an eyebrow, his usual composure settling into something lighter. “I’m fine. They’re your friends. And I’m pretty sure they like me.”

“Just pretty sure?” You shot him a look.

Kento gave a mock shrug, then smirked, his eyes softening. “Okay, I’m sure. But I’ll never tell Gojo that. He’ll start calling me ‘Best Man’ at every event and then we’ll never hear the end of it.”

You laughed, leaning against the counter. “Yeah, well, you’re the one who’s already gotten my family’s approval. Can’t take it back now.”

That’s when your cue hit. You had promised a little something extra for the evening, and you’d already prepared. You grabbed the mic that you’d had set up in the corner earlier and called out to the crowd. 

"Alright, everyone! Time for a little entertainment. Get ready to experience what you didn’t sign up for!"

The room went quiet like someone hit a mute button on a particularly rowdy dinner party. Everyone turned their attention to you. The wine glasses half–raised, chopsticks mid–air, Your brother and Gojo stopped bickering, your future step–children turned to pay attention. Kento’s ex–wife was already smiling from ear to ear about this.

You glanced over at Kento, who raised his glass to you with that signature Kento nod: respectful, restrained, and just the tiniest bit indulgent. You winked at him and stepped into the spotlight, or well, the stretch of living room rug between the couch and the bookshelf that you had declared your “stage” for the night. Your mic was a pair of chopsticks. Commitment.

You cleared your throat dramatically. “Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here until Keiko decides we’re too embarrassing to be seen in public with.”

She booed from the couch. “Too late!”

“Alright, alright.” you said, tightening your grip on the chopsticks like they held the key to comedic transcendence. “Let’s ease into this. Like Japanese politics.”

Kenshin snorted. “This is gonna be so funny.”

“So I walked past a konbini the other day because obviously, I needed a snack, some affirmation, and maybe a reason to keep going and I saw an entire aisle dedicated to face masks. Not the regular kind. Skincare masks.” You say, motioning to it as if trying to get them to imagine it all. 

“I mean imagine it. A whole aisle. One promised to make me look like a dewy beautiful drama lead who cries aesthetically in the rain. Another one said it was infused with horse oil. Horse. Oil. I held it up and said—out loud, to no one in particular. ‘I am not emotionally stable enough to glow like a racehorse.’”

Snickers could be heard from the corner of the room, giggles being heard in small echoes. “And this obaachan is next to me. She has this full perm, orthopedic sneakers, not a hint of irony—she nods solemnly, like I had just spoken her truth. She goes, ‘Hai ne… too powerful.’”

“That feels like a fever dream!” Kenshin suddenly said, way too loudly.

“Yes, it did feel like that. I was slapping myself, trying to think about how this is just some imagination.” You immediately sprung to reply to his sudden words. “But she handed me a juice box, so it was real. So now I guess we’re friends. We didn’t exchange numbers, but I feel like if I ever get arrested, she’ll be there. Just slowly walking into the police station with a hot pack and a sense of purpose.”

A few laughs. Gojo Satoru clapped once, dramatically. Kento was sipping his wine, not laughing, but you could see the smile lurking at the edge of his mouth. Like your jokes were a private show only he had the key to.

“Recently, though, I’m gonna tell you something that isn’t a fever dream. And it’s my ex showing up to a show, you guys.” you continued. “Which I usually try to avoid mentioning, but listen, when your ex shows up to your show with flowers like he’s the emotionally repressed lead in a Taiga drama, you have to mention it.”

Keiko whispered something to Gojo and they both cackled to each other. “He stood there like, ‘Hey, remember me? I was once almost good at loving you but got distracted by kombucha brewing and fear of commitment.’ — ladies, don’t lower your standards! You deserve better than this!”

More laughter. Your brother raised his beer in salute, as if he was happy about the fact that you were trashing your ex. He does in fact hate your exes more than you did. He doesn’t think anyone is worthy of you, after all.

“And now, let’s talk about my current, well beloved boyfriend. You know who he is.” you said, pausing for effect, nodding at Kento’s direction which earns some whistles and laughter. “I live with a man who arranges the fridge like a Zen garden. Like, there is intention behind the yogurt placement. Once, I moved a bottle of mirin and he looked at me like I had kicked a bonsai tree.”

Kento’s lips twitched. The corner of his eye creased. “I’m serious!” you said. “Last week I asked him why the carrots were stacked like architectural models and he said, and I quote, ‘They deserve a sense of structure.’ I live with a man who gives motivational speeches to root vegetables.”

The laughter rolled now, warm, loving, the kind of laugh that knew you and loved you anyway. You turned to Kento, your voice softening just enough for him to hear over the ripple of joy in the room. You smiled at him.

“But here’s the thing, everyone.” you said. “I’ve never been more grateful to live with someone who takes the time to make sure everything has a place. Even when I’m a mess, even when life’s messy. Because when everything’s upside down, he’s still there, calmly rearranging chaos into something beautiful.”

Kento didn’t smile. He didn’t have to. He just raised his glass again. Ever so silent, certain, his gaze steady and full of that quiet, impossible affection that said, I know you. And I’m not going anywhere. And for once, you didn’t need a punchline.

Laughter trickled out as you glanced over at Kento. “But he’s a silly man, I should let you know. I caught him one time whispering to a bottle of soy milk. I asked him what he was doing. He looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘I’m encouraging it to taste better.’”

Laughs were echoing in the living room harder than the first time. “I know, I know, that’s going to hit hard for many of you. But he adores cow milk better. That’s my boyfriend, ladies and gentlemen. Every time I buy groceries, it’s like I’m attending a TED talk on cow milk and soy milk, which is better. And you know what,  I’m not even mad about it."

The room was laughing now, everyone relaxed, including Kento, who had an amused glint in his eyes. You leaned into the mic and continued as you looked him in the eye. You smiled into the mic and moved to the center.

"But you know what? It’s cute. I mean, yes, I could get used to it, but at least it’s not like my ex, who once called my fridge a ‘cold cave of disappointment.’ I mean, yes, maybe my ramen wasn’t art, but come on, cold cave of disappointment? I’m not keeping a shrine to my failed relationships, but if I did, that’s where he’d live. But of course, no offerings. He doesn’t deserve it—no, no, the ramen. He deserves the ramen!”

The laughter of the guests continued to spread through the room, with even Gojo cracking up in the back. You glanced over, and there he was, leaning casually against the wall, wearing that too-cool-for-school grin of his.

“But seriously, it’s great." you said, softening a bit. "This house? This life? I couldn’t imagine it with anyone else. My heart’s here. In every perfectly organized drawer, in every misused soy sauce label, in every meal we eat, misaligned veggies and all."

Kento’s smile softened, and you could see the pride in his eyes, like he was somehow more in love with you than he was five minutes ago. That look? The one that said this is everything? Yeah, it was one of your favorites.

You finished your set with a wink, your voice light. "So, that’s my set tonight, folks. I hope you like it. And if you ever need a tour of my fridge or a lesson on how to turn miso soup into a vision board….Hit me up!"

Applause rang out. The room cheered, and Kento raised his glass in your direction, a little glint of admiration in his eyes. You’d killed it and even better, you were doing it together. Your home. Your life. His subtle, hilarious quirks. Your set. It was yours.

As the cheers faded, Gojo grabbed a mic from the corner of the room, grinning wide. "Alright, alright, but can we all agree that Kento’s spice rack deserves its own reality show?"

People started to laugh and clap about that. Soon after, your brother and Gojo had taken over the high platform with their ridiculous conversation and soon enough, they were going bar for bar with their little jokes. You were certain you had to step in, but people were entertained by it. You were sure you didn’t need to go and butt in.  

The party carried on long into the night, the music louder, the laughter thicker, the drinks more free–flowing. People drifted in and out, some chatting, others getting a little too competitive over the karaoke machine Gojo Satoru had definitely bribed someone to set up.

But, in the end, it was the kind of evening that didn’t require anything more than what was already there: good friends, good vibes, and, for once, a sense of complete contentment.

You and Kento found a quiet spot near the window, where you could see the city lights flicker in the distance and settled in with a couple of fresh drinks, just the two of you. You propped your feet up on the coffee table, your glass in hand, and looked over at him. He was still wearing that little smirk, the one that said, I’m happy, but I won’t admit it out loud unless you make me.

“Not bad for our first official housewarming, huh?” you said, nudging him with your foot.

Kento looked over at you, his expression softening. “It’s perfect.” he agreed quietly, his voice just loud enough to reach you over the hum of the party. “I never thought I’d end up with a karaoke machine in my living room, but I can’t say I’m upset about it.”

You laughed, your gaze flicking over to where Gojo and your brother were holding court near the mic stand, belting out some questionable rendition of an '80s ballad. “Yeah, well, you know Gojo. He probably brought it as a gift so he could claim he gave it to us. I’m just surprised my brother’s ended up galavanting with this too.”

Kento snorted. “I can’t believe you let him talk you into letting him sing.”

“Let him?” You raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t let him. I was overruled. My brother, the kids, that weird sushi neighbor. Besides, people don’t seem to mind.”

He leaned back, and you watched as his eyes softened, his focus shifting slightly, like he was remembering something in that quiet way he did. “It feels… good, though. You know? Having everyone here. Having a place of our own.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. “It really does. It’s like this little world we’ve built. I know it’s only been a few months, but it already feels like home.”

“It is home.” Kento said, taking a sip of his drink. His bright caramel eyes met yours, steady and sincere. “No matter how many parties we throw or who shows up, this? You and me? This is it.”

You smiled, leaning in to kiss him gently. The kind of kiss that lingered, not out of need, but out of sheer love and comfort. It was quiet, soft, and full of the promise that came with being exactly where you were meant to be.

The sound of Gojo’s off–key singing drifted over to you, and you pulled away with a playful groan. “I don’t think he’s ever going to stop, is he?”

Kento chuckled softly. “No, I don’t think so. Not with your brother matching his energy.”

You grinned, settling back into your seat and stretching your legs out again. “Well, as long as he doesn’t try to sing the theme song from Titanic again, I think we’ll be okay.”

“Famous last words, darling.” Kento teased, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

But the night was still young. The kind of young that shimmered on the edge of something golden and half-remembered, perhaps even half–scripted, half–spontaneous. Outside, the city blinked against the horizon like a marquee of dreams. 

Inside, your living room was pulsing with off–key harmony and champagne bubbles. Gojo Satoru and your brother had officially hijacked the room fully and were deep into a dramatic duet of “Don’t Stop Believin’” by Journey.

Gojo Satoru crooning with Broadway flair, your brother several beats behind but making up for it in raw enthusiasm. Their voices rose and fell, mercifully more passionate than precise, echoing through the high ceilings and off the framed posters from shows you’d done, characters you’d once been, versions of yourself you’d already shed. 

You looked around for a moment. You saw the laughter, the glasses raised in mid-toast, the glittering sprawl of people who had seen you fail, fly, weep in dressing rooms, triumph at wrap parties and realized it didn’t matter how loud the music got. Or how chaotic the night became. Or how many costume changes life had in store.

What mattered was this: you were here. With Kento. With your people. In a home that wasn’t just beautiful, but real.  A home that felt like the beginning of something lasting. A home where you were truly, eagerly, happily, loved.

You turned, catching Kento's profile in the warm light. You could see his brow relaxed, his lips curved just slightly in that soft, almost secret smile he reserved for private moments. His glass was nearly empty, but he hadn’t moved to refill it. He was simply… still. Watching you.

“Kento…” you breathed, your voice so low it was almost lost in the noise.

He looked at you immediately, like your voice was a cue only he could hear. Your eyes locked with his, and something inside you lit up. Something you always felt when he looked at you like this. Like he saw you, not just the version that ended up on screen or the one polished for press tours. Just you.

“Let’s escape this little madness.” you said, eyes wide and shining. “For a little while.”

The corners of his mouth twitched upward, slow and sure. There was laughter in his mischievous caramel eyes now, but something else too, something quieter, warmer. He knew that look in your face.

“And what do you want to do instead?” he asked, voice low and intimate, meant only for you.

You looked away, your cheeks blooming pink under the chandelier light. “You know that already, baby.” you murmured, bashful. “You know I don’t have to say anything.”

There was a beat, a pause in the air, in your breath, in everything. And then he stepped closer. He closed the space between you like it was the easiest thing in the world. His arm wrapped around your waist, grounding you. His other hand rose gently, fingertips brushing under your chin, guiding your gaze back to his.

His voice was velvet. Firm, but tender. “Then use your words, my darling.”

Time stopped. It always did, when he looked at you like that. And maybe the music was still playing, maybe Gojo was now standing on your coffee table yelling about encores while across your brother, who was banging his head, maybe someone had just broken a glass in the kitchen. But all of it faded.

Because Nanami Kento was looking at you like he already knew the words you hadn’t said yet but was going to make sure you said them anyway. He knew you too well, your lover. He knew too well that your desires for him will never change.

EVERYTHING FELT SO DESPERATE. Nanami Kento kicks the bedroom door shut behind you, his hands already tugging at your clothes. He pushes you against the wall, his lips crashing against yours in a heated kiss. You respond eagerly, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer.

His mouth moves to your neck, sucking and biting, leaving marks on your skin. You gasp, your head falling back against the wall, giving him better access. His hands roam your body, squeezing and caressing, leaving trails of fire in their wake. 

Your loving boyfriend lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, and carries you to the bed. He lays you down gently, his body covering yours as he settles between your thighs. You groaned at him in pleasure.

"I've been wanting to do this all night, my darling." he murmurs, his lips trailing down your chest. "To strip you bare and worship every inch of you."He looks up at you, his caramel eyes dark with desire. "Tell me you want this, pretty, pretty darling.”

"I want this, I want……" you breathe, your voice heavy with desire. "I want you, Kento. All of you."

Kento's eyes flash with hunger at your words. He sits back on his heels, his hands going to the hem of your shirt. He pulls it off slowly, his eagerly hot gaze roaming over your exposed skin like a fire burning ever so vibrantly in the moonlight. 

"You're so beautiful." he murmurs, his fingers tracing the swell of your breasts. He leans down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your collarbone, your sternum, the valley between your breasts.

His hands slide up your sides, pushing your lace bra straps down your arms. He unhooks the clasp with a flick of his fingers, freeing your breasts to his greedy gaze. He takes a moment to admire them, before looking into the other diverse essence of your precious skin. 

"Perfect, utterly perfect." he whispers, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, making them pebble. He takes one into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around the hardened peak. You arch into him, a moan escaping your lips.

Kento's mouth moves to your other breast, giving it the same attention. His hand slides down your stomach, popping the button on your jeans and tugging the zipper down. He slips his hand inside, his fingers brushing against your core through your underwear. You gasp, your hips lifting off the bed, seeking more contact.

"So wet already, my……" He murmurs against your skin, his breath hot and teasing. 

He pushes your jeans and underwear down your legs, tossing them aside. His fingers trace your folds, parting you, exploring you. He circles your clit with his thumb, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you squirm.

"Kento, my baby…..please…." you beg, your voice strained with need. He smirks, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Please what, pretty darling? Tell me what you need."

Kento lays back on the bed, his eyes dark with desire as he watches you. "Come here, my pretty woman." he murmurs, his voice low and commanding. 

You crawl onto the bed, straddling his hips. His hands grip your waist, guiding you onto his erection. You sink down slowly, a moan escaping your lips as he fills you completely. His fingers dig into your hips as he helps you find a rhythm, lifting and lowering yourself onto his length. 

From this angle, you can feel every inch of him, hitting places that make your toes curl. You lean forward, bracing your hands on his chest, your hair falling around you like a curtain. Kento's hands roam your back, your sides, squeezing and caressing. 

He leans up, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking and biting gently. The dual sensations send shockwaves of pleasure through your body, building the tension in your core. You could only feel yourself losing it, mewls leaving your lips little by little.

Kento's hands slide down to your bottom, squeezing and kneading the flesh. He helps you move faster, his hips thrusting up to meet yours. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts of pleasure.

"Fuck, you look so hot like this, pretty." he pants, his eyes glued to where you're joined. "Riding me like you own me."

His words send a thrill through you, emboldening you. You could only try to sit up straight, arching your back, your hands sliding up to cup your breasts. Moans drifted from your lips, over and over as you grinded against him. Kento's eyes widened, his pupils dilating with lust.

"Yes, just like that, pretty darling." he encourages, his voice hoarse. "Show me how much you want it."

You circle your hips, grinding down onto him, chasing your own pleasure. Kento's fingers dig into your hips, his grip bruising as he meets your movements thrust for thrust. You can feel the tension coiling in your belly, the pleasure building to a crescendo. 

Kento's movements become more urgent, more desperate, as if he's chasing his own release. His thumb finds your clit, circling the sensitive nub in firm, deliberate strokes. The added stimulation sends you hurtling towards the edge.

"Kento!" you cry out, your voice breaking as your orgasm crashes over you. Your inner walls clamp down on him, pulsing and squeezing as waves of ecstasy wash through you. Kento follows soon after, his hips stuttering as he buries himself deep inside you. 

He groaned your name, the sound rugged and raw, his body shuddering beneath you as he found his release, every muscle in his body drawn tight before he finally surrendered to the moment. The world blurred at the edges. 

All that remained of the two of you was just heat and the desire to keep each other close to touch. It was the breathless way he clung to you as if he never wanted to let you go that felt almost like a drug to you.

You collapsed against his chest, utterly spent, your limbs tangled with his. Your skin was slick with sweat, every inch of you humming with the fading embers of pleasure. Your heart hammered wildly against his, the two of you breathing in tandem, the rise and fall of your bodies syncing like the closing lines of a well-rehearsed scene. It was all too perfect, all too inevitable.

Kento’s arms immediately wrapped around you, strong and steady, pulling you even closer, as if to shield you from the world beyond this bed, this night, this feeling. His palm found the small of your back, his touch tender now, his fingers tracing slow, grounding circles against your skin. You could hear the soft rush of his breath in your ear, feel the thrum of his heart still racing beneath your cheek.

For a long, quiet moment, neither of you moved. There were no words needed, at least not yet. Just the silent conversation of two bodies finally still, two souls finally at peace. In a little while Kento pressed a kiss to the top of your head, slow and reverent, like you were something sacred.

“You’re incredible, aren’t you?” he murmured, his voice rough from exertion but so full of affection it made your chest ache. He tightened his arms just slightly, as if to reassure himself you were still real, still his.

You smiled against his skin, your lashes fluttering shut. “So are you.” you whispered back, your voice thick with sleepy warmth. 

Your face is buried in the crook of his neck. Kento's hand traces lazy patterns on your back, his touch gentle and soothing. The room is quiet, save for the soft sounds of your breathing and the distant hum of the city outside.

You can feel Kento's heartbeat slowing beneath your ear, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He shifts slightly, pulling the blankets up over you both, tucking you in securely. His arms wrap themselves around you even tighter. Exhausted, you let him.

“I really love you so much, you know that right?”

You could feel Kento’s heartbeat slowing beneath your ear, the frantic rhythm easing into something steady, calm — like a lullaby meant just for you. His chest rose and fell in a soothing cadence, and when he shifted slightly, it was only to tug the blankets up around you both, cocooning you against the cool night air. His arms tightened around you, firm and protective, like he was anchoring you to him.

Exhaustion tugged at your limbs, but you let him do it, let yourself be held, let yourself rest in the certainty of him.

For a moment, the only sounds were the distant, muffled laughter still echoing from the party downstairs, and the soft, rhythmic hush of Kento’s breathing. The world beyond this room — the chaos, the music, the endless expectations — felt a million miles away.

Then his voice broke the quiet, low and rough with honesty:

“I really love you so much, you know that, right?”

The words were simple, almost casual  but they landed with the weight of something life-altering. You blinked slowly against his skin, your chest tightening, not in fear, but in the overwhelming vastness of what you felt for him in return.

You nodded against him first, too full to speak for a second. Then you tilted your head up, catching his gaze in the dim light and god, the way he was looking at you, like you hung every constellation he’d ever wished on.

“I know.” you whispered back, your fingers tracing soft, aimless patterns along his forearm where it wrapped around you. “And I love you, too. So much.”

A slow, genuine smile broke across his face, the kind that made his eyes crinkle at the corners, made him look younger than his years, almost boyish in his relief. He leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, lingering there like he was breathing the moment in, letting it fill every empty space inside him.

“Good…..That’s good to hear.” he murmured against your skin. “Because I don’t plan on letting you go.”

You chuckled softly, feeling yourself melt even further into him. “Good.” you echoed, your voice small and sure. “Because I don’t want you to.”

He pulled you closer still, if that was even possible, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head like something precious. Like you were the beginning and end of his whole world. Like you were everything to him.

“Go and sleep now, my darling. Let them all party their hearts out.” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

And you did. Because he did. As the moonlit night continued to drift into the brightness of a city that does not sleep, you both found yourselves the ones asleep. You both happily drifted off to dreamland, wrapped up in each other and the quiet, unshakable promise of everything you were building together.

[allthesethingswillendsoon]

SUMMER LOVIN'

CHAPTER TWO: SUPER RICH KIDS

SUMMARY: The end of their first summer together marks a few new milestones in Azzi's life, her first high school party, her first time drinking, and a few other things.

WORD COUNT: 3.6k PAIRING: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd WARNINGS: Underage drinking, mentions of drugs/drug use

NOTE: Okay sorry for disappearing again, this one was meant to be longer but then it wasn't so what was meant to be in this chapter will just be in the next one i suppose. This chapter is a much more different tone then the last one, a lot more like bad i think so let me know what you think. Also I've never really written like this so idk if people will like it, also I didn't really proofread so keep that in mind. I think what makes this one weird is the stark jump from strangers to close friends that happens. It's like they sprint 100 metres in this chapter, then they're probably gonna go about a mile back and the slowburn will resume as scheduled. Thanks for sticking with me and stuff, I really appreciate it. I hope everyone enjoys the chapter.

AUGUST, 2019

CAPE COD, MASSACHUSETTS

“You ready Az?” Paige called from her spot sprawled out on Azzi’s flowery pink bedspread.

“Almost! One sec!” She yelled back from her ensuite.

Over the course of the summer they had grown impossibly close, attached to the hip, staples in each other’s homes. 

It was just so nice to have a friend like Paige. At nearly every one of their sleepovers Azzi had been the last one awake, taken aback by her utter luckiness at meeting Paige. She felt like the universe had just dumped the most perfect person she had ever met at her doorstep - or, technically speaking, the doorstep next to hers.

Paige had been waiting patiently for about thirty minutes, she didn’t mind though, happy to just lie down and wait, as long as she got to control the music that played.

Halfway through the third Drake song she had queued, Azzi emerged, dressed in a light-wash pair of denim cutoffs and a strappy purple tank top.

“Can you get the back please?” She turned around, revealing the tangle of straps, “Couldn’t get it myself.”

“‘Course, no worries.” Paige responded as she started to align the strings of fabric.

Even though the aircon was blasting, every brush of Paige’s fingers against the bare skin of her back felt like pure hot heat.

“How do I look?” Azzi asked earnestly as she spun around to face her. 

Her nerves were palpable, she had never gone to a party, too nervous and awkward to despite her friends relentless attempts back home. When she revealed this fact to Paige she insisted that she had to come to the last one of summer. The younger girl only agreed after Paige had said she would stick by her side the whole night - a fact the blonde thought was a given.

Paige smiled at her and grabbed her hand, raising it above her head and  spinning her around, “Perfect.”

Azzi looked at her, the smile plastered on her face unabashed, the look in her eyes disarmingly affectionate.

The older girl’s heart swelled, “C’mon, let’s get a move on”

They walked downstairs, Azzi giving her parents hugs, and Tim giving the girls a quick, stern talk about the dangers of driving under the influence, and a firm reminder about Azzi’s midnight curfew.

It was a mile long walk to the house, and with every step Azzi felt her anxiety increasing at the prospect of her first high school party. 

To make things even worse, it wasn’t even going to be a normal party, it was like, a rich person party. 

Over the course of her first summer she had heard from Paige about all the crazy stuff that kids in Cape Cod did, all the rehab stints and the sex parties (she was sceptical about that one). But whether it was fully true or not wasn’t important - those kinds of rumors didn’t appear out of thin air, they had to be based upon some semblance of truth.

How pushy were these kids going to be? Would she arrive at the party and be force fed tabs of acid? Would they grab her arms and stick her with dirty needles of heroin and miscellaneous disease?

It was only when they came to a stop in front of the house that she realised her anxiety had sent them into silence. 

She looked over at Paige, expecting her to be staring at her like the silence had personally offended her. Instead, she gave her a gentle smile and reached out to squeeze her hand.

“You ready?” She asked gently.

Azzi took a big breath, “Yeah.”

Paige held onto her hand as they walked up to the house. Azzi’s anxiety dissipated, her whole brain zeroing in on the way that Paige’s touch made her feel the way she imagined that drugs would.

The whole summer had kind of been like that. Azzi’s brain running through every single impossibly horrible thing that could happen, and Paige just being there, content and willing to bring her back down to Earth whenever she needed.

A part of her was worried about what would happen when she had to go back to Virginia without her, but the part of her that was high on Paige’s touch said that maybe she should just enjoy the blonde’s presence while she had it.

The house was massive, two stories and a rooftop deck. 

They wandered in through the open, double front doors. The marble floors were slightly sticky with the remnants of spilt drinks.

Slowly, they pushed through the crowd, still hand in hand. Eventually they made it to the back of the house, where the living room was. There were floor-to-ceiling windows that took Azzi aback. The view alone was worth at least five million dollars, it was nearing nine o’clock and the sun was halfway down, stars slowly slipping into the sky.

Nearly thirty people were packed into the kitchen. Sure, it was much larger than a normal kitchen, but even then everyone was still shoulder-to-shoulder.

Azzi stood with her front pressed up against Paige’s side, who was concocting some alcoholic mixture for them. She watched intently as the girl mixed together sprite, vodka, and some random orange syrup.

Paige passed her the drink. She brought the red cup up to her nose and sniffed, even the generous helping of sugar couldn’t fully kill the hand-sanitiser scent of the vodka.

Azzi sloshed it around a little, giving Paige a sceptical look, “How much alcohol is in this?”

“Like a shot and a half at most,” Paige responded honestly, “Don’t worry, you probably won’t even feel it, and if you do I’ll look after you.”

“Didn’t you do the same for you?” Azzi questioned, brow raised in concern.

The older girl nudged her, “Yeah, but I’m not a lightweight. I’ll be right, I’m a vodka pro.”

“I’m not sure that’s something to be proud of.” Azzi joked, trying her hardest to not look as inexperienced as she felt next to Paige.

Paige simply grinned, and for the second time that night, she slipped her hand into Azzi’s, connecting them as they pushed through the crowd and out of the kitchen.

Under a minute after they had left the kitchen a voice was calling Paige over to them.

Paige led them to a stop in a cramped corner, in front of them were two almost creepily identical girls. They were dressed in matching sundresses, one with blue flowers and the other in pink.

Their high-pitched voices mixed together, words slightly slurred, as they hugged Paige, both of them leaning up on their tiptoes.

“Paige! I missed you!”

“Oh my gosh! I haven’t seen you in, like, forever!”

Even as she hugged them she held onto her hand, and Azzi suddenly understood how people could become addicted to a feeling.

Paige let out a chuckle at the girl’s antics. Azzi got the feeling this is how they were all the time, “I missed you guys too.”

She slipped her hand out of Azzi’s and for a second her whole being ached with the loss of contact, that was until Paige draped her arm around her shoulder, pulling her in, half-against her chest.

“This is Azzi. Azzi, Kitty. Abigail, Kitty.” Paige explained gesturing at each of the girls.

“It’s so nice to meet you!” One of the girls greeted - Abigail, she was ninety-nine percent sure.

“You have such a beautiful aura! Has anyone ever told you that?” Kitty fawned, her voice light and almost airy-fairy as she waved her arms around Azzi’s head.

She stuck a smile over her confused expression, “Uh, no they haven’t.”

“Has anyone ever told you guys that you’ve been drinking too much?” Paige teased lightheartedly - though she definitely wasn’t wrong, they were absolutely plastered.

“Nooooooo, you guys are just behind!”

“Yeah! You both need to catch up”

Seemingly from thin air, Kitty whipped out a half-full bottle of vanilla vodka and motioned for their cups excitedly.

They both spoke at the same time, equally as sure of themself as the other.

“Nah, I think we’re right”

“I want some.”

Paige did a double take at Azzi, confusion etched hard into her features.

“You sure?” She said with a reassuring squeeze to the shoulder, Azzi’s skin warm to the touch.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, me too then.”

With that the twin’s smiles grew impossibly bigger, and the liquid in their cups doubled nearly instantaneously.

They had nearly finished the half-bottle of vodka when Azzi realised that she was actually really tipsy, and that she actually felt really good.

It was amazing, it was like all of her anxiety had just dissipated, like her worries had gone away and she could just be happy without feeling anything else. Well, the only other thing she could feel was Paige’s body, warm and solid against hers, but at that point in the summer ‘Paige’ and ‘happiness’ were basically synonymous.

The conversation hadn’t stopped since they started drinking, unreserved laughter echoing around the vaulted ceilings as they spoke about anything and everything.

And, to be fair, she had really overestimated how crazy rich kids were. Apart from Kitty’s disturbingly detailed anecdotes about her sexcapades with her boyfriend -who was a horrifying fifteen years older than her, they were actually quite tame.

Azzi couldn’t even remember what they had been talking about, then all of a sudden Kitty was arranging strands of Azzi’s hair, making a ‘halo’ as she called it, and Abigail was tapping her dimple in amazement.

“You’re so cute Azzi!” Kitty praised, stepping back to appreciate her handiwork with Azzi’s hair. The ‘halo’ in question was actually just pieces of hair from the back of her head that had been dangled over her head, not that Azzi minded, she was too happy to care.

“And you’re like, so nice!” Abigail agreed, index finger still placed flush against her dimple.

“Why have you hid her from us all summer Paige!” Kitty half-whined, Abigail trying to push Paige’s shoulder good-naturedly, but missing by quite a large margin.

Suddenly, Paige pulled her impossibly closer, arms wrapped tight around her waist, nuzzling her head into the crook of Azzi’s neck. “‘Cause she’s all mine. Mine, mine, mine.” she mumbled back in answer, her hot breath fanning across the soft, perfumed skin just below her ear.

Maybe if Azzi were a little less drunk she would’ve had the sense not to lean into the touch. To at least try and hold back the little noise that escaped her throat when she could’ve sworn that Paige pressed a feather-light kiss behind her ear. 

Azzi broke out of her trance when she registered laughter coming from the twins, but to her pleasant surprise they seemed to have completely ignored the charged moment between the two girls in front.

Paige had moved her head, resting her forehead against the back of Azzi’s head, arms still holding her tightly as she swayed offbeat to the song blasting.

Azzi smiled, thinking back to how Paige had swore that she was one-hundred percent not a lightweight. Later, when everything felt a little less fuzzy Azzi was going to absolutely grill the blonde for her boasting.

The music was reverberating through the entire house, practically shaking its very bones, when someone’s panicked voice cut through the fanfare, “POLICE!!!”

Immediately everyone scattered. 

Kitty and Abigail immediately took off, long tanned legs carrying them through the crowds with a confidence that suggested they were quite familiar with police-related evacuations.

Time moved in slow-motion. Azzi spun around taking it all in. 

It was pure pandemonium. Bodies tangled separated within seconds. Glass shattered in the room next door. Someone dumped their coke into an urn. She did a double take at that one, that was just plain weird. 

She snapped back into reality when the weight of Paige’s body against hers disappeared. The older girl’s hand grabbed onto hers, rough calluses pressed gently but tightly against her palm. 

Paige motioned with her head to the back veranda doors, sure of herself in a way that made Azzi think that she could’ve been sober, and then dragged them out of the room, pushing through the wall of bodies.

They ran down the beach, hand in hand, till the sound of the party and the sirens were nothing but a memory.

From the corner of her eye Azzi spotted their houses and slowed, stumbling over herself slightly. They flopped down onto the grassy, dry sand, hands still clasped tightly between them, arms overlapping.

“We should go to parties, like, everyday next summer.”, Azzi spoke between heavy breaths, words warbling a little bit.

Paige laughed, breathy and staggered. She wondered for a second why she was so out of breath from a four-hundred metre run when she practically did that every day during the school year; then she glanced down at their interlocked hands and stopped wondering why her heart felt like exploding.

“Whatever you want Az.” She said softly. She turned around, entranced by the way the moonlight danced against her side profile as she stared out at the night sky.

They laid in silence for a minute, or maybe an hour, or maybe forever - the timing wasn’t important. Paige was just glad that Azzi let her stare at her in peace for much longer than she should have.

Slowly, Azzi rolled over to face Paige. She raked her eyes over her face and Paige flushed the prettiest, most endearing shade of pink Azzi had ever seen in her entire life.

She reached her hand up and tenderly traced the dips and valleys of her face, felt the tiny bumps and the gingerly-sculpted line of her cheekbones. 

Her heart swelled with affection, “I’m gonna miss you so much Paigey.”

She trailed her hand down to cup Paige’s jaw, rubbing her thumb gently against the delicate skin. She watched intently as Paige’s brain appeared to short-circuit, her mouth parted just a little as she struggled to push whatever she wanted to say back.

“I-uh, yeah… yeah, I’m gonna miss you too Az.”  Paige replied, stumbling over her words like she had never spoken a full sentence before.

Azzi hummed in agreement, a slow smile spread across her face as she shifted closer, leaving them chest to chest.

Paige reached out as slow as humanly possible and placed her hand on top of Azzi’s elbow.

“You’re freezing.” Paige lied, moving her hand up to squeeze the muscle of Azzi’s bare biceps.

“Yeah?” The younger girl replied, voice light as she took Paige’s free hand and brought it up to the side of her face, her skin flushed warm and pink from both the alcohol and the promise of something new.

“Yeah.” Paige answered, her lungs seemingly devoid of any semblance of oxygen. 

Azzi swore for a second that her eyes flicked down to her lips, and suddenly under the starlit sky with alcohol coursing through her veins she gained courage she never thought she would have.

In as quick of a motion as she could manage in her tipsy state she rolled them over, landing on top of Paige, her thighs bracketing hers.

She leaned in close, her mouth right by the blonde’s ear, and whispered, “Think you can help with that?”

Paige let out the tiniest gasp. Azzi moved her head, pulling back so she could look hard into her eyes -so blue even the ocean envied them- as they searched her face for any slight remnant of a joke.

“Y-yeah.” Paige breathed, somehow even more breathless than she was before.

Paige’s hands found purchase on the curve of her waist, her index fingers lightly playing with the purple fabric of her shirt. Azzi smiled as she threaded her hands through the thick golden locks that had plagued her in the best way possible since she met the older girl.

Azzi inched forward, almost imperceptibly. She raked her eyes over Paige, trying to etch everything about the moment into the deepest parts of her brain; the way Paige’s chest was rising and falling rapidly, the way her hands felt holding tight onto her waist, to the mingling of their hot, heady breath as their mouths got closer together.

She let her eyes flutter shut, a little sad to not be able to see her anymore, but when she felt their noses bump she could’ve sworn that the angels sang, it felt so right.

They must’ve been nanometres apart, for a second their eyelashes brushed. Azzi was really glad that she had drunk so much liquid courage, but she was ready, so ready to feel Paige’s lips mesh against hers.

Then her mother’s voice hollered so loud that she probably broke the sound barrier, “AZZI. JAZLYN. FUDD. I KNOW YOU’RE OUT THERE! COME HERE RIGHT NOW YOUNG LADY”

They came crashing down back to earth. 

They broke apart breathing heavier than either of them ever had before, Azzi rolling completely off of her.

The silence was all consuming, the reality of what had been milliseconds away from happening hanging heavy in the air.

Both girls were staring up at the night sky, eyes boring so hard into the starry expanse of the sky that they could’ve burnt new stars into the fabric of the galaxy.

Somehow they both turned at the exact same time and made eye contact. They broke out into the most hysterical laughter of all time, chests heaving again but for a much different reason.

“Holy shit.” Azzi laughed once her breathing had evened out a bit.

“You’re in so much trouble.” Paige chuckled.

“Sooo much.” The brunette agreed, turning her head to face the blonde as she asked, “What time even is it?”

Paige pulled her phone from her pocket, grimacing as she answered, “Two.”

“AM?” Azzi near-yelled incredulously, voice echoing out on the empty beach, a little too giggly to be serious, “Oh my god, they’re going to lock me in a tower.”

“Rapunzel style?” Paige clarified with mock-seriousness.

“Rapunzel style.” Azzi agreed with matching faux-solemnity.

Paige paused for a split second, and Azzi watched as she mulled over her response before she asked with a dopey grin, “Does that mean I get to be your Flynn Rider?”

The flirting wasn’t new, what was new was the fact that Azzi had been ready to lose her virginity to a girl she met three months prior only moments before, and now that same girl was joking about disney characters.

Instead of saying any of that, she settled for a scoffed, “You wish.”

Before Paige could even make a silly comment back, her mother reminded her of the impending end of her existence, “AZZI. COME. INSIDE. RIGHT. NOW.”

Paige gave her a look of sympathy, wincing at the palpable outrage dripping from her friend’s mom,  “Well, I guess there’s no saving you now.”

Azzi took a deep breath and accepted her fate, “Y’know what scratch the tower, I’m getting guillotined.”

“I think you might be right.” They both laughed at that.

Despite the overwhelming urge to stay in this moment forever -even if it didn’t go the way she wanted it to- was overwhelming. But begrudgingly, she got up and attempted to brush off as much of the sand that seemed to be caked into her very being as she could.

“See you tomorrow, Paige.” She smiled as she stood.

“I don’t know if tomorrow is in the cards for you anymore.” Paige joked back, wishing desperately that Azzi would turn around and do something (preferably kiss her, but that didn’t feel like it was on the cards at that moment).

Azzi let out a little laugh and started the walk back to her house. Paige froze in place until she realised that Azzi had reached her back gate, then her brain sparked back to life.

“Wait! Az, wait!” Paige called out frantically, chasing after her as she tried to wrangle off her hoodie with as much grace as she could, breathlessly she explained, “Don’t want you to catch a cold.”

“Yeah, thanks, yeah, I wouldn't want to catch one of those. That would be, um, bad.” Azzi agreed, nodding her head over and over since apparently that was the only thing her body could remember to do.

When Paige pressed the soft, grey fabric of the jumper into Azzi’s hand, their fingers brushed, and the electric heat that erupted from the point of contact would have been enough to burn the world alive. But yeah, wouldn’t want to catch a cold.

Azzi pulled it over her head, and smiled up at Paige, clearly quite happy with her acquisition, “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She was about to turn away when she felt Paige’s warmth against her body. The older girl was hugging her tight, in a way that felt soft but just as important as all the other touches of the night. She whispered into the crook of her neck, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

When they finally pulled apart, Paige watched, stuck in place, as Azzi turned and walked back up to her house.

Much to both of their displeasures, they didn’t see each other the next day. They didn’t get their perfect ‘See you next summer!’ moment that was supposed to happen before they returned to their respective homes for the dreaded start of the school year. 

Instead, Azzi’s parents felt the appropriate punishment for her missing curfew was to get the whole family up at five am and start the eight-hour drive home, followed by a seven-mile family run.

To say that Azzi was tired at the end of the day would have been the greatest understatement in the endless, ever-expanding history of the universe.

But when she finally got to lie in her bed and drift off to sleep she couldn’t help but smile at the fact she got to be cuddled up in the coziest hoodie she’d ever worn that smelt like the person that was starting to feel like home more than anything else.

NOTE: I hope you guys enjoyed. Once again sorry for the wait. Thanks so much for reading. As always feel free to leave reactions and feedback and questions in my inbox!

Divider from @sweetmelodygraphics

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Could I request Joaquin having a crush on this girl at his work, and he seems to think she likes him back, but she tells him that she only likes him as a friend. And so Joaquin becomes sad and a little depressed, but then on a random day, he meets one girl who will turn his world upside down

In the Diner

about this; wc: 754, joaquin torres x f!teader, contents: insecure!joaquin, meet cute, fluff, food mention, an: i tweaked the parameters a little bit so that the story would flow better and hope you like it!!

danny ramirez characters masterlist

It wasn’t often that Joaquin couldn’t find the light or positivity in a situation, but this was one of those times. He’d been feeling pretty lonely lately, and he’d had his eye on one of his neighbors. She was always kind, a little bubbly, and gorgeous.

There was always the chance that someone would either be too invested in his job or resentful of it when he tried to get involved with someone. But when he’d expressed his interest in her, she’d turned him down completely—without much of an explanation.

Since then, every time they ran into each other, she immediately looked the other way. It left Joaquin wondering if he’d done something wrong. Had he gone too far with a joke? Come on too strong? Smiled too much?

Was he too much?

The interaction lived in his mind often, only pushed aside when he had the privilege of being high in the sky.

Tonight was not one of those nights. He sat in the local diner he frequented much later than he should have. But between wondering if he should change and the high-stakes intel he and Sam needed to gather this weekend, his nerves were all over the place.

There were only a few other patrons in the diner when the bell rang, signaling another late-night visitor.

Out of habit, Joaquin glanced up to assess his surroundings—and met your gaze.

You froze for a moment, eyes widening slightly before you offered him a kind smile and made your way to a booth a couple of tables down from his.

He could tell by the easy way you and Janet—his favorite waitress—chatted that you were a regular here. Curiosity piqued, he wondered why he’d never seen you before.

Janet made her way over after putting in your order, asking if he needed anything else.

He grinned sheepishly. “More fries wouldn’t hurt. Don’t tell anyone I’ve got cheat days.”

“More fries it is. Joaquin, honey, do you think you could do me a favor?”

“Lo que sea,” he answered easily.

Janet smiled eagerly. “That sweet girl down there takes care of her brother all on her own. And, well, that boy loves you. Would you maybe sign something for him or record a message?”

Joaquin’s insecurities from before melted away at the thought of a little boy—a beautiful woman’s little brother—looking up to him. Maybe he was too much for some, but not for all.

“Sure. Did she ask you to do this for her?”

“She actually asked me to do the opposite. Insisted she didn’t want to bother you, given all you do.”

Joaquin’s eyes trailed across the diner to you before he looked back at Janet. “Bring my fries to her table, por favor? And put whatever she’s got on my tab.”

Janet told Joaquin your name before stepping away, leaving him to make his way over to you.

“Mind if I join you?”

You glanced up, then quickly did a double take before your eyes searched behind him—no doubt looking for Janet.

“It’s alright, querida, I don’t mind. Don’t grill Janet.”

You sighed, a little exasperated. “No quiero molestarte.”

“You aren’t. If anything, I’m bothering you, hmm?” he teased, sliding into the seat across from you.

That pulled a laugh from you, and Joaquin made note of how it made your eyes shine. The two of you slipped into an easy back-and-forth over fries, pie, and root beer floats. He asked about you and your brother, and despite being a little nervous about talking to the Falcon, nothing had ever felt more effortless.

Joaquin decided to go out on a limb, despite his last attempt not going so well.

“Look, I don’t mean to be too forward, but—”

“Yes.”

His grin widened. “You didn’t let me finish, querida.”

“I know, but—”

As if on cue, your alarm went off.

“That’s my reminder to get everything ready for the day for my brother before I can sneak in a couple hours of sleep,” you explained.

Joaquin watched you with gentle eyes, reminded of the life he used to live with his abuela.

Grabbing a pen from your bag, you scribbled your number on a napkin and slid it across the table to him.

“My next day off is Tuesday. Meet me here for breakfast at nine?”

“I’ll be there.”

You stood quickly, pressed a kiss to his cheek. “See you soon?”

Joaquin’s grateful that you aren’t looking at him head on, disguising some of the flush in his cheeks. “See you soon.”

let me know if you’d lime to be on the sfw or nsfw (18+ only) joaquin taglist!!

sfw joaquin taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuffsometimes, @lisiliely, @spider-steve, @nolita-fairytale, @hrlzy, @faretheeoscar, @giuliahowlett, @abriefnirvana, @fanboyswhore9 , @sidkneeeee, @sophreakingfunny, @heartbreakgirlism, @peachyxlynch, @lomlbuckybarnes, @a-randomscrub, @ajcs150, @glimodejun, @isuckatmath, @arsonhotchner, @sidkneeeee, @galaxywannabe, @retrosabers, @marchingicenotes7, @marroonwitch, @jaebugzz, @that-girl-named-alex, @bxtchboy69, @moonymeloncholymoney

[pricesgirl]

Mary Janes - headcanons

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

pre relationship

Jinx loved winding Y/N up, especially when it came to her precious, meticulously organized notes. She’d scribble crude doodles over the margins, sometimes even between Y/N’s perfect lines of text. Y/N’s skin would burn, and of course that only made Jinx do it more.

Y/N kept a literal clipboard—like, a real, physical clipboard—where she documented every single time Jinx pissed her off. We’re talking dates, times, categorized offenses, and passive-aggressive annotations in red pen. “Disrupted lecture with unsolicited kazoo solo,” “Graffiti in locker again (phallus-shaped??),” “Stole highlighter, replaced with crayon.”

Jinx had a habit of stealing Y/N’s favorite pens—not out of necessity, but pure, unfiltered spite. She knew Y/N would spiral, tearing through her bag like a woman possessed over her precious 0.38 Pilot G-2s.

It started with silent theft. Then escalated. Soon, Y/N started finding ransom notes tucked neatly into her notebooks: “If you ever want to see your gel pen again, meet me behind the vending machines. Come alone.” One time, Jinx even taped a note to her desk that read: “He misses you.” —with a single black G-2 dangling from a noose made of floss.

Jinx once slightly rearranged all of Y/N’s meticulously color-coded folders—blue tabs where the yellow ones should be, highlighters swapped just enough to sow chaos. It was surgical. Precise. Cruel.

Y/N noticed immediately. Of course she did. She didn’t sleep until every single tab was back in place. She even double-checked the ink flow in her pens. Twice. The next morning, there was a sticky note on her desk. “ur cute when you meltdown <3” In glitter gel pen. Y/N almost set her whole binder on fire.

All those graffiti hearts and messy scrawls splattered across Y/N’s locker? Lowkey love notes in disguise. Jinx would never admit it—not out loud—but half the time, they weren’t even insults. Just inside jokes, twisted quotes from books she knew Y/N liked, little phrases she’d overheard her say and pretended not to care about.

Y/N once rewrote an entire group lab report after Jinx, of course, decided to draw a massive dick in the margins. It wasn’t even subtle. Full-on masterpiece. Y/N, seething but in her quiet, meticulous way, submitted both versions to the professor with a passive-aggressive note: "Please disregard the vandalism. Some of us take this seriously."

Jinx once accidentally spilled acid on Y/N’s lab project. Y/N retaliated by submitting a formal complaint to the science department. Jinx then broke into the chem room at night and rearranged everything. The teacher blamed Y/N for it.

They’d glare across the room, roll their eyes whenever the other spoke, purposefully bump shoulders in the hallway. Everyone thought they were one more insult away from an all-out brawl. The sexual tension was vile.

Y/N accidentally tripped Jinx in the hallway once—after finding “Y/N is a giant nerd <3” scratched into the bathroom stall. Jinx retaliated by putting googly eyes on everything in Y/N’s locker. Even the apples. (apples ofc she is a teachers pet after all)

Y/N hated how aware she was of Jinx’s presence. How loud her laugh was. How her socks never matched. How her eyeliner smudged just right. She definitely didn’t sneak glances in class. That’d be ridiculous.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

early relationship

Y/N secretly keeps track of all the weird things Jinx does—like the times she stares at her reflection in the cafeteria window like she’s plotting world domination or when she argues with a teacher just to watch their face turn red. Y/N doesn’t mean to. She just... likes knowing what she’s up to.

Jinx starts sharing her earbuds casually, but Y/N flinches the first few times, not because she doesn’t want to—because she wants to too much. Sitting close, knees touching, music low, pretending it’s no big deal while both their hearts are screaming.

Now Jinx's doodles are hearts stabbed with arrows, tiny cartoons of Y/N blushing, or stick figures holding hands. Y/N acts annoyed, but she quietly starts collecting them in the back of her binder.

Jinx starts leaving her stuff behind. A hoodie here, a beanie there. At first, Y/N folds them up and gives them back. Then she keeps them. Then she starts wearing them. Jinx nearly passes out the first time she sees Y/N in her oversized jacket.

Y/N starts cleaning Jinx’s room every time she’s over. Jinx makes fun of her for it… while watching her with the most pathetically fond smile. She lets her do it. Pretends she hates it. Loves it.

Y/N threatens to go full academic weapon on anyone who calls Jinx crazy. Jinx brushes it off with a laugh but clutches that memory like it’s gold.

Jinx starts carrying gum 'cause Y/N doesn’t like the taste of smoke (She acts like it’s for herself, spoiler alert it's not)

Jinx one time hands over a USB drive labeled “music for nerds who pretend not to like me.” Y/N burns her a CD in return, painfully curated with care, and includes a handwritten tracklist. Jinx listens to it every night before bed.

Jinx teaches Y/N how to play one of her favorite video games Y/N is terrible at it (to start with). Jinx is so smug about it—until Y/N stays up all night practicing in secret and finally beats her. Jinx demands a rematch. Y/N kisses her senseless.

Jinx brings her weird little offerings. A bottlecap shaped like a heart. A sticker that says “Certified geek.” A leaf that looks like it has freckles. Y/N saves every single one in a shoebox under her bed and labels it: Jinx’s chaos treasure pile.

Y/N learns how to do Jinx’s eyeliner. Very carefully. Very gently. Jinx fidgets at first, but the intimacy of it makes her go quiet, soft. Y/N’s hands tremble just a little, but the lines come out sharp. Perfect. Jinx won’t let anyone else touch her face after that.

Y/N starts carrying hand sanitizer Jinx likes the smell of. It’s this ridiculous artificial cherry scent that Y/N would never pick for herself—but Jinx once said it “smells like stolen candy and bad decisions.” And now Y/N keeps it clipped to her bag. Jinx notices. She always notices.

Jinx starts humming Y/N’s favorite study songs when she’s anxious. Not full singing—just little hums, off-tune and rough around the edges. But Y/N hears it from across the room and it grounds her. Every time.

The first time they share an umbrella, Jinx lets Y/N take all the coverage. Her shoulder gets soaked, her hair plastered to her forehead, but she keeps her hand steady. Y/N notices halfway through and tries to shift it, but Jinx just shrugs. “I like storms.”

Jinx marks the ceiling above Y/N’s bed with a tiny dot of glowing paint (like those glow in the dark starts but kinds personalised) so even in the dark, even when they’re apart, there’s one little point of light for Y/N to look at and feel like someone’s with her.

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college years

After all of Y/N’s early classes—no matter how early—Jinx is always waiting outside the lecture hall. She’s propped against the wall, hoodie half-zipped, headphones in (shitty wired ones on their last leg), holding a cup of coffee.

Jinx draws on Y/N’s wrists when she’s anxious. Little stars, eyes, crooked hearts. She uses one of Y/N’s fine-tip pens, whispering dumb commentary as she sketches. “This one’s a battle scar. From surviving Intro to Macroeconomics.”

Jinx paints a constellation mural on the ceiling of their shared dorm room. She claims it’s random. (It’s not). It’s the night sky from the night at the party, the night Y/N took the joint from Jinx for the first time.

“It’s not that bad.” She doesn’t say anything. She’s just staring at the joint like it might bite her. But I see it. I see the hesitation, the way her fingers twitch like she wants to take it, just to see what it feels like. I blow out a puff of smoke, letting it hang between us. “You’re curious, aren’t you?” I almost dare her to say no. (Remember this :3)

They keep a shared folder on Google Drive labeled “Defcon Love” It has playlists, memes, research notes, and one single doc that just says “we’re gonna be okay.” Y/N added that during finals. Jinx never deleted it.

Jinx steals Y/N’s scarves. Constantly. Even when it’s not cold. Wears them like sashes or belts or headbands. Y/N starts pretending she doesn’t notice, just so she can lean in and gently tug them back.

Jinx collects old band tees, and Y/N secretly loves wearing them. Sometimes Y/N borrows one of Jinx’s oversized, faded band shirts, and Jinx will make a show of being “offended” that Y/N’s wearing it. In reality, she adores seeing Y/N in her clothes, the fact that Y/N doesn’t even care about the band but still wears it with pride.

“What do you think?” Y/N asks, trying to suppress the smile tugging at her lips. “What the hell are you doing wearing that?” Jinx says, pushing herself up on her elbows. “That’s my shirt. Not a fashion statement.” Y/N raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. “I like it. It’s comfy. Don’t you have like, five more of these anyway?” Jinx snorts, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, well, I’ve got a deep personal connection to every single one of them, okay? They’re not just... shirts.”

They have late-night karaoke sessions in their dorm room. Sometimes it’s just them and a cheap microphone, singing off-key to cheesy songs. Y/N laughs too hard at how badly they’re singing, but Jinx just stares at her like she’s the most beautiful thing in the room. “Sing louder,” Jinx demands, and Y/N always does.

They have a favorite spot on campus—a quiet corner in the library or a bench under a cherry blossom tree—and it’s theirs.

Jinx buys a ridiculously massive plush shark for their bed, and it’s there just to annoy Y/N (who secretly loves it and ends up snuggling with it when Jinx isn’t around).

They make sandwiches together in their dorm kitchen at night. It’s never anything fancy, just whatever’s left in the fridge, but Jinx has this way of making it feel special. She’ll always add a little extra something—an extra slice of cheese or a dash of hot sauce—and then look at Y/N, grinning like she just won the Nobel Prize in Sandwich Making.

Jinx demands chaotic movie nights, and Y/N is just along for the ride (begrudgingly, lovingly) Movie night is sacred.

Jinx will kick open their dorm door like she’s storming a castle, armed with snacks that should honestly be illegal together. “Tonight’s feature,” she announces, eyes wild, “is a documentary about competitive cheese rolling and a zombie shark rom-com. Double feature. Let’s rot our brains, baby.” Y/N doesn’t get a say. She never does. She sighs, mutters something about “cinematic integrity,” and curls up beside Jinx anyway. She’ll complain the entire time and still stay for the credits.

Late at night, they'll sit on the edge of the bed, with nothing but the glow of Y/N’s desk lamp illuminating the room. Jinx talks about her wild ideas for the future, while Y/N listens quietly, fingers tracing the edge of her coffee mug. Y/N’s heart aches in the best way. No matter where they’re going, she knows she’ll go with Jinx. (they're soulmates fr)

Y/N is all about her carefully planned self-care routines—bath bombs, herbal salts, a candle lit just so, maybe a book propped up on a towel nearby. It's her quiet, sacred time to unwind after a day of overstimulation and deadlines.

One night, Y/N's mid-soak, totally zoned out, and Jinx flings the door open (with absolutely no shame), tosses in a rubber duck she picked up at a gas station, and chirps, "You rang, milady?"—already stripping like she absolutely belongs in this scenario. (She does) At first, Y/N groans, rolls her eyes, muttering something about “boundaries,” but then Jinx sits on the edge of the tub, fingers combing through Y/N’s wet hair with surprising gentleness, her voice soft and teasing: “You smell like a lavender-scented nerd.”

Y/N scoffs under her breath, but her face is already flushed—not from the heat. “You’re insufferable,” she says, voice quieter than before. Jinx doesn’t reply. She just tilts her head, leans in that extra inch like she’s testing gravity. Like she’s not quite sure who’s gonna move first. And then—Y/N does. It’s slow, warm, barely more than a brush at first. But Jinx chases it with another, then another, her lips curved like she’s been waiting for this exact moment. (She has)

Y/N helps Jinx dye her hair—and it becomes their little ritual Jinx insists she can do it herself, like she always has. But Y/N is already pulling on gloves, laying out old towels and sectioning Jinx’s hair with careful fingers. There's blue dye smeared across her knuckles, streaking her wrists, and Jinx won't stop grinning at how serious Y/N looks about it. "You’re acting like it’s brain surgery," Jinx teases, legs swinging off the edge of the sink.

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domestic/married life

Y/N leaves notes on the fridge that say things like “Don’t forget your keys today <3” or “Remember to breathe.” Jinx leaves ones that say “stole your juice lol xoxo” or just a doodle of a raccoon in a trench coat.

Jinx talks in her sleep. Y/N answers. It started as a weird joke. Jinx would mumble nonsense in her sleep, and Y/N would respond like they were having a full-on conversation. It became a tradition. Now, even half-asleep, Y/N will murmur a dry "That’s not how gravity works, love" when Jinx mumbles about rocket boots and cat gods.

Jinx never sits on the couch like a normal person. It’s either upside down, sideways, hanging off the edge, or sprawled across Y/N like a cat. If Y/N’s reading, Jinx is curled around her like she’s part of the furniture.

Y/N cooks. Jinx taste-tests (and steals bites). Jinx is always hovering behind her, arms around her waist, chin on her shoulder, whispering “Is it ready yet?” even when it’s not even in the oven.

Their fights are short-lived and soft (like yk chap 12 where they barely could be apart for a day). They’re both stubborn in their own ways, but neither can stay mad for long. Y/N needs space when she’s upset—Jinx needs closeness. They meet halfway: Jinx gives Y/N a few minutes, then shows up with a quiet apology and a silly drawing or a coffee. Y/N always forgives her with a kiss to the forehead.

Rainy days are their favorite. Y/N lights candles and reads by the window. Jinx pulls her into a big blanket cocoon on the couch, playing old movies or doodling in a sketchbook. They stay like that for hours, legs tangled, the world feeling so small and safe.

Their periods sync up, and it’s a disaster. They don't realize at first—just find themselves bickering over everything, craving junk food at the same time, and getting irrationally emotional. Y/N tries to push through the cramps; Jinx dramatically sprawls across her. "You’re impossible." "Yeah, you love it. Now scoot closer."

Jinx impulsively adopts Beans first—a scrappy, chaotic little orange tabby she finds at an adoption event. She names him Beans immediately because "he’s shaped like a bean, look at him, toots. He’s literally a bean." Y/N tries to argue for a more "normal" name but secretly finds it endearing.

A few weeks later, Y/N adopts Nova—a sleek black cat with huge eyes and a quiet, observant demeanor. Nova is calm, elegant, and a little spooky, which Y/N adores.

Beans is absolute chaos, climbing on every surface, knocking over Jinx’s paint supplies, getting his paws in Y/N’s textbooks. Nova is stoic and patient, often seen silently judging Beans’ antics from a safe distance. (reminiscent of a certain pair :3)

There’s an entire shared photo album on their phones labeled “The Beans & Nova Saga.” It’s filled with chaotic pictures—Beans with socks on his head, Nova staring judgmentally at an unfinished art project, and both cats curled up together when they think no one’s watching. (the babies omg)

They have lazy Sunday mornings filled with pancakes and kissing. Jinx of course burns the first few pancakes. Y/N pretends to be mad, but kisses her flour-dusted nose anyway.

They fall asleep holding hands every night. Even when they’re exhausted. Even if Jinx is passed out halfway across the bed, her hand somehow still finds Y/N’s under the blankets.

Jinx starts a tiny garden for Y/N. She has no idea what she’s doing and most of the plants are crooked as hell, but she plants a whole section of wildflowers "because they reminded me of you. Kinda messy. Kinda perfect."

Y/N keeps a scrapbook of all their milestones. Shit like ticket stubs. Old keys. Restaurant napkins with doodles. She hides it under their bed, but Jinx finds it one night and cries quietly into Y/N’s shoulder.

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authors note: hiii, so i've never actually written headcanons before so i have no idea if these are shit or not but they were so fun to do (and yes there will be a part two for the nfsw ones) :3

and tysm to the lovely @dreamyraincloud for helping me conjure some ideas <3

[kpop---scenarios]

The One (1)

Pairing: Mafia! Lee Know x Reader

Warning: Kidnapping, Mentions of Blood, Weapons, Launguage, and Smut [18+ ONLY. MINORS DO NOY INTERACT]

Word Count: 15.6k

Everything Taglist: @wife2straykids @piscesrising01 @baby-stay92 @kisses-too-the-moon @dwaekkiiracha @rylea08 @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @satosugu4l l @iovecb97 @lordmaahes-nsc @sailorkoss @minh0scat @pixie0627 @50-husbands @jinnies-muse @yaorzu-blog @joyofbebbanburg @number1jeonginstan @skzooluvr @jisunglyricist @ambersnowxxx @stay-tiny-things @thegingerthatwaited

@silly250 @tsunderelino @1810cl @anskiiz @ayyonoona

@31maze13

Fuck, you were tired.

You knew that going out the night before you had to work was a bad idea, but you have always loved a good bad idea, and you only live once so what the hell. You and a friend had gone to check out a club you'd heard a lot about but had yet to experience, and when you tell people you had the best time, you fucking meant it. The vibes in that place were immaculate, the drinks were strong and flowing steadily, not to mention the music they played were all the most perfect songs for dancing and grinding. You'd never had so much fun out, which is why by the time you looked at a clock, you realized it was 6am, and you had to work a double shift in 6 hours. But by the time you had gotten home, showered, ate and crawled into bed, you had to be up in 4.5 hours, and you just knew you were going to die of exhaustion today. And you were right. The day went by so slowly and the bar fluctuated in busy times, leaving you energized but also so exhausted.

Finally, you hit the last five hours of work but you knew that it would go by the slowest. It was only 10pm, and all you could focus on was the dull hum of the shitty music that played through the almost broken overhead speakers. The smell of beer and bleach surrounded you, although the smell gave you a headache it also was a sense of comfort, you were too used to it now.

You stood up, trying to shake the tiredness off, if you stood around any longer you were definitely going to fall asleep on the bar. You had been fine earlier, when it was actually busy but after the mid evening rush, you had only gotten one table, and they weren't pleasant. You walked over to the couple that had sat in the very back of the bar to ask if they needed anything else.

“No.” the woman spat, glaring at you before turning back to the man she was with. You say nothing more, instead walk back towards the bar to find something, anything to do. Instead of doing anything, you stood behind the bar staring at the clock. Maybe if you stared at it, then time would speed up.

It didn't.

You’d never seen time move so slowly until tonight. It was a Sunday, the one night of the week that you technically weren’t scheduled to work. However, you decided to be a nice person and take the shift from your co-worker, who was the girl who also shared the same name as you. She tried to explain to you why she couldn't work but honestly you didn't care enough to listen to Y/N 2.0's reasoning for needing it covered. You figured it was for some shady reason that she would try to cover up with something not so shady. You knew that because she was shady. She constantly had questionable people hanging out in the bar, they were always whispering while their eyes darted around the place, they were so paranoid and it weirded you out but she was kinda nice and did the bare minimum of her job, so you didn't care too much. You're brought out of your thoughts a few minutes later when the man comes up to pay his tab, while also whispering a slight apology for the woman he was with.

“No worries, you two have a great night.” you smile. The woman scoffs at you as she grabs the sleeve of the man, yanking him out of the bar. You just shook your head, you didn’t want her man, you just wanted your bed. You wanted to cry, you could hear your bed calling your name. Why the fuck was a bar even open until 3am on a Sunday? You cleaned off the table, looking around the empty establishment and heavily debated on closing early. It was now 10:45pm, and you still had just over four hours until you were done but you weren't waiting that long. There's no way.

12:00am. You’d give it a little over an hour and if no one showed up in that amount of time, you were going to close. You’d happily take the anger from your boss if it meant you could get out of this hellhole at a decent time. You went to the back office and told Gary that you were going to close early if no one showed up. He just grunted at you, he didn’t care. He was just there to do the cashout and go home, he wanted nothing else to do with anyone or anything.

You did all your closing things, sweeping and mopping the floors, washing the dishes, cleaning everything for the next person to open in the morning.

11:58 pm, you anxiously watched the clock. There was still no one there.

11:59pm you walked to the door. You were just about to lock it when it was pushed open, and 3 men casually walked in, grins on their faces.

You immediately felt uneasy.

"You're still open right?" One of the men asks, tilting his head to the side.

"I was about to close." You admit.

"The sign says you’re open until 3am though." One says, raising his eyebrow and glancing at the clock. “It’s only 12:01am.”

"It’s been extremely slow, so I was going to close.” you say. “But you’re here, so we're open." You say through gritted teeth, forcing a smile.

You had been so looking forward to crawling into your bed.

"What can I get you?" You ask, hoping it would be a beer each and then they would leave. Maybe they would sense your exhaustion and take pity on you.

"3 shots of tequila, and 3 whiskey and cokes." One man says.

“OKay.” you smile, heading back to the bar to make the drinks. As you're pouring their drinks you glance up, glancing at them and notice they are watching you. You couldn't help it, you had a horrible feeling in your stomach, and the vibes they had, they weren't good.

You brought their drinks over to the table, trying to hide your nervousness. You set each drink down with a shaky hand. You took a few deep breaths, trying to calm yourself.

"So, what’s your name, beautiful?" One man asks before taking his shot.

"Really Felix?" Another chuckle.

"Don’t act like you don’t want to know either, Hyunjin." The other laughs.

"I know I do." The last man smirks.

"So there, all three of us want to know." One smiles.

You stand there, debating. Do you give them your real name or do you make a name up? They stared at you, waiting for you to say something.

"Um, it’s Y/N." You say.

"Well!” one of them exclaims. “That’s a beautiful name for a beautiful girl." He smirks. You give him an awkward half smile before walking away, but not before you hear the one named Felix whisper "It's her."

After you had served their drinks and checked on them again, you went to the back off, just to warn Gary. the feeling in your stomach wasn’t going away and you wanted him to be aware.

“Hey Gary, there's some shady men in here, I don't like their vibes so if I scream, please come help me.” you whisper, looking behind you to make sure one of them wasn't standing there.

“Sure, maybe.” Gary says, not looking at you.

If anything happened, you were totally on your own.

Around 2:30 am, you asked if they needed anything else, especially considering none of them ordered anything else, and sat there staring at you for the last 2.5 hours.

"Just the bill please, Y/N." Hyunjin smiles, pulling out his wallet.

You print off the bill, and gently place it on the table before walking away. You finished cleaning the glasses from their table as Hyunjin tosses some money on the table. You went to the back to put the glasses away and by the time you were back up front, they were gone, and there was a $100 bill left for the $30 bill.

At least you got a little something tonight.

You squeezed your eyes shut as a large yawn took over. You were finishing up the last of the organizing before you were finally done. Your feet felt heavy, they dragged as you walked around switching off the lights. Your body became more tired as you gathered your belongings before walking out the back door.

The crisp cool air hits your face as you leave the building, closing the door to lock it. The city is quiet, all you can hear is the gentle breeze of the wind along with faint sounds of the booming nightlife from the downtown area. there was always something going on down there, where you worked though, not many people wanted to go there late at night.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, you began your walk home. You always preferred walking as opposed to wasting money on a cab, especially since you didn't live very far from the bar. You never had an issue on your way home in the past, so you never thought that tonight would be any different. If anything, you’d encounter someone who cat-called you but never did anything else. It wasn’t the safest neighborhood but nothing bad had ever happened to you.

However, tonight, you couldn’t shake that bad feeling. You had thought when the men left and you were headed home that you would feel even the slightest bit better, but if anything, you felt worse. It was like your body was screaming at you that something was going to happen. You continued on your way, keeping your head down, only glancing up to see where you were going, but you could hear the footsteps behind you. You tried to keep your pace and whoever it was was staying steadily behind you. When you slowed down, you could hear them slowing down. As you picked up your pace again, you could hear them speeding up. You held onto yourself a little tighter, taking deep breaths, trying to ease the hard knot in your stomach. You muttered to yourself, telling yourself that everything would be okay and you were almost home.

Your pace increases and you breathe a little easier as your apartment building comes into view, until the sound of footsteps behind you quicken, becoming louder and faster. Your breathing becomes heavier as you run to the stairs of the front door, your hand almost latches to the railing, just before you could pull yourself up the stairs, you feel something grab onto the back of your jacket, pulling you backwards. Your stomach dropped as your eyes shut, bracing for the impact of the concrete, but instead you met with a hard chest and arms wrapping around your body.

"Oh sweet, Y/N. Our boss will be so happy we found you. He’s been trying to get a hold of you, you know. He wants his money." the voice says, it sounds familiar.

You open your eyes wide. "What? What boss? What money?" You ask, panicking. You open your eyes and immediately recognize the men, the same ones who were in the bar earlier. You try to get up so you can run away but his grip is too tight.

"Don't play fucking stupid. We know it’s you, it won’t work. Let's go." The one whose name you hadn't heard snaps, grabbing your arm tightly, yanking you with him.

"I honestly have no idea what you're talking about" you scream, trying to fight off his grip.

"Don't play stupid Y/N. We got your place of employment and your hours. Stop trying to act like you don't know you owe Lee Know $700k." Hyunjin says.

What? Who the fuck was Lee Know? The most you owed was $67 to your cable company. You didn’t know what to do, he was dragging you towards a van.

Scream Y/N, scream!

“Help! Someone please help me!” you scream as loud as you can. “Changbin, shut her up!” Felix spits.

Changbin slaps his other hand over your mouth, trying to quiet you down. You bite his hand, he yelps, shoving you down to the ground. You smack your head on the hard concrete, almost knocking you out. You quickly try to scramble to your feet, you need to run away, go anywhere away from here. You're caught by your ponytail by Hyunjin, he yanks you down to the ground, pinning you down with his body.

“Stop fucking fighting, you can’t get out of this.” he snaps, pulling you up and shoving you into the van.

“It’s not me,” you cry as you lay on the floor of the van, your head throbbing.

The whole time you were in the van, you tried to tell them they had the wrong person, and you couldn’t understand why they didn’t believe you. You had no idea who Lee Know was, what money they were talking about and why they thought that it was you who had it.

As you try to plead with them again, as the van abruptly stops, the door slides open and a bag is placed over your head. You tried to fight them off, to run away, to get your arms free. You tried digging your feet into the ground but nothing you did worked. The only thing it got you was a tighter grip, fingers digging into your skin, you knew there were going to be bruises left on you.

The three men drag you inside a building but you never stop trying to fight them off. "You've got the wrong person, I'm telling you." You plead.

"Shut the fuck up." Changbin snaps. Forcing you down onto your knees. "Felix, go tell him that we have her."

You hear the footsteps moving away from you, you assumed it was Felix going to do what Changbin told him to do. You hope they get hell when they find out you’re not who they’re looking for. Your stomach twists and turns, the anxiety is beginning to eat you alive, the unknown is terrifying.

What was going to happen to you?

Seconds later you're pulled up to your feet and forced to walk forward. "Get in there." Changbin snaps, shoving you through a door, you lose your balance, falling to the floor. Someone yanks your arm, helping you up to your knees only.

"Here you go boss. Here’s Y/N." Felix says, pulling the bag from your head.

The chair behind the desk turns around, all you can see is the silhouette of a body sitting in the chair. The light behind him shone on his face, covering it. You jumped when he spoke, his voice was deep, yet smooth like velvet.

"You're kidding me, right?" He asks. You can tell he was pissed by his voice.

"No, you asked for her. Here she is" Changbin says.

"I did ask for Y/N, but that's not her." He says.

"What?" The three men say, looking at each other.

"I said, that's not fucking her." He says again, his voice getting increasingly angrier.

"Y/N from Spuds, this is her Minho!" Felix panics. ”She served us there, she said her name was Y/N!”

"There's another Y/N that works there." You whisper, keeping your head down.

"So now we have two problems." Minho snaps. "First, the girl you're supposed to get is out there, who fucking knows where, with my fucking money." He yells. "Second problem, we have a beautiful girl here who now knows a little too fucking much.” he pauses.

“So boys, what do you expect me to do about it? Do I kill her because you're all fucking morons, or let her go?” Minho asks, crossing his arms.

You were feeling brave, and honestly you had nothing to lose. Minimal friends, no good family, so if speaking up got you killed then so be it.

"I mean.” You start, looking around the room. “I personally, I think you should let me go. I work in a shitty bar at a shitty wage. So really, I'm in no position to be telling anyone about anything." You tell him, hoping that he'll see you're anything but a threat to him.

"You're fucking delusional if you think the boss will just let you.." Felix begins before being interrupted by Minho.

"She can go.” He says, standing up. “But I have conditions.” He grins. He comes out of the light and you feel like you can't breathe. He's drop dead gorgeous. He's the type of man that you would do anything he asked, just because he asked. He squats down, his face inches from yours. “First thing, if you say anything to anyone, I will find out and I will kill you.” He smiles.

Fuck. Even more gorgeous.

“And the second thing?” you ask, trying to avoid eye contact. You didn't want to set him off by looking into his eyes.

“That's really my only condition.” He whispers, grabbing your chin to look at him. “But remember, I'll be watching you." He smirks.

He helps you up, nodding his head towards the door. ”Go. Before I decide to keep you here for myself.”

"Thank you." You whisper before quickly walking towards the double doors, as you hear some punches and yelling.

You run outside, you're in the middle of fucking nowhere. Do you go left? Right? Straight? How the fuck were you supposed to get home? you turn around, seeing another man standing there, one you haven't met yet.

“I'm Seungmin. I'll drive you home.” he says, motioning to a car parked on the driveway. You reluctantly get into the passenger seat of the car. Neither of you spoke the entire drive, you didn't even have to tell him your address because he already knew where to go. That was fucking creepy but you were just thankful that you were being let go from such a terrifying situation. Seungmin dropped you off, without a word and drove off as soon as you were out of the car. You went to your apartment, took off your shoes and collapsed in your bed. You were even more fucking exhausted.

**

Over the next few days, you heard nothing from Minho or any of his guys. You had called in sick the Monday night after the incident, but Tuesday you dragged yourself to work as usual. Your usual routine of getting home late, sleeping late and puttering around until your next shift.

You kinda wished you had seen Minho again, but also not. He was so fucking handsome but you also knew he was a very dangerous man, and that was terrified you.

As the days went on, you'd notice someone on the other side of the street walking sort of behind you until you reached your apartment, different things that were making you feel like you were being watched.

Thursday night rolled around and It was unusually busy for a Thursday. It didn't help that the other girl you were supposed to work with didn't show up and no one you called would come in to help, so you were alone.

And you were slammed.

You were doing your very best to be quick with taking orders, making the drinks, serving drinks, cleaning and clearing tables. It was a lot and you were only one person.

Almost everyone was understanding, except the one table of piss drunk men who were getting more annoyed by the minute. You had been ignoring them as they catcalled you and then yelled at you for not refilling their beers. So you were gonna make them wait.

"Hey! Where the fuck are our beers!?" One of the men hollers at you, laughing with his friends. ”We're fucking thirsty over here.”

You ignore him. You'd told him you would get to him when it was his turn before you started ignoring him, and currently, it wasn't his turn.

"I said we want our fucking beers." He yelled again, abruptly standing from his chair causing it to fall back.

You were going to rage. You put your empty tray on the bar, glaring at the man.

"And I told you, you'll fucking get them when it's your turn. I'm by myself here. I'm trying my best! Have some fucking patience." You snap before putting in the next order of drinks.

"Fuck it." The man spits. "I'll do it myself." He says, moving from his table to walking towards the back of the bar. His friends try to stop him but he's at the point of not listening to reason.

"No you won't." You say, moving to block the entrance behind the bar. "You can't go back there." You tell him.

"I can do whatever the fuck a want." He whispers, his face moving closer to yours. You try to stand your ground, but he's so much bigger than you are, he easily pushes you back until you're trapped against the wall. "And you can't do shit about it." He chuckles, leaning in closer to you. “You're a pretty little thing, aren't you?" He whispers. You can smell the alcohol and cigarettes on your breath.

You wished someone would come help, but his friends seem useless. They won't even try to control their friend. You need to get yourself out of this situation.

"Get off me." You say, trying to push him away but it was like his feet were cemented to the ground.

"Like I said, I can do whatever I want." He laughs.

“Please just get off me.” You say, you can feel the tears starting as he caresses your face.

"I think she told you to get off her." You hear from behind the man, you faintly recognize the voice.

He turns around, and you try to get away from him, but he holds you in place. You manage to sneak a peek, and you see Minho with Changbin and another man you didn't recognize.

"And who the fuck are you." The man laughs. He looks for his friends, they sit at the table watching.

Minho chuckles. "I’m a.. friend, if you will.” He says, his face stone cold. “She's mine, and I don't like when people touch what's mine." He says, cocking his head to the side.

"And what are you going to do about it?" The man asks, turning around to grab your arm.

Minho sighs, as he makes his way towards you and the man, pulling him off of you and throwing him to the ground. He places his foot on the man's neck, chuckling as he watches the man begin to panic.

“Chan, get his wallet.” Minho says. Chan digs in the man's jacket, grabbing the wallet and handing it to Minho.

"This is what I'm going to do about it..Brian." He says, looking at his license. "Have you ever heard of SKZ, Brian?"

The man gargles a small yes.

"That's mine too. Now, I don't like you, Brian. You don't listen. And I usually just kill what I don't like. Do you understand me Brian?" He asks.

The man barely nods.

"Good. Now you apologize to her, pay your tab with a hefty tip and fucking pray I never see you again, because if I do, I will fucking kill you." Minho finishes, picking the man up by his collar.

Minho and his two men sit down at a table and watch the men scramble to give you everything they had in their wallets and pockets, leaving you with a large tip and a smile on your face.

"Thank you." You say, standing at the table Minho and his men sat at. ”Really. I didn't know what I was going to do.”

"It's lucky I just happened to be in the area.” He says. "Although, I have to ask. How often does that happen?"

"I work like 6 days a week.. and people get drunk everyday.. and men get rowdy often.. so like 4 or 5 days a week." You say, shrugging your shoulders.

He laughs.

You wished you were joking.

"That's not going to do. I'll have Jeongin start doing security here." He says.

"We really can't pay for security, our boss is cheap." You murmur, waving him off.

"Don't worry about it." He half smiles.

"Look, I gotta get back to work, finish cleaning up for the night but.. is there a way I can repay you for tonight and I guess not murdering me last week?" You ask.

You've always been one to repay favors no matter who it was. It's just what you do. Although you weren't sure if you should repay him, you felt like you should.

"Actually.” He grins. “There is. I need you to be my date this weekend to a club opening, your co-worker, the other Y/N will be there." He says.

“Okay.. and what can I do for you there?” You ask.

"What you can do is bring her to me."

"I.. uhh.." you didn't want to be responsible for her getting killed.

"I need to talk to her. That's all." He assures you. You bite your lip as a swarm of thoughts flash through your head. You wanted to repay him, and this seemed easy enough.

"Okay.” You sigh. “I'll do it. What day? What club? And time? I'll meet you there." You say.

Minho smirks. "No, darling." He pauses, adjusting his jacket. "I'll send a car to pick you up and get you ready. See you Friday at 2pm." He says, giving you a small wink before walking out of the bar, leaving his two men behind.

"Are you guys not going?" You ask.

"Boss told us to stay and help out." Changbin says.

"You guys really don't have too.." You begin to say.

"Boss said we have too. We're at your disposal." Chan smiles.

How could you say no to that? If it hadn't been for Changbin and Chan, it would have taken you forever to clean up, kick everyone out and restock for your next shift. You were very grateful to Minho, which also had you thinking a bit.. Maybe he wasn't as bad as you thought. Yes, he was in the Mafia, a leader at that, but he was sweet, to you at least. And you couldn't lie that he was the exact type of fucked up you usually went for.

You weren't completely opposed to the idea of being with him, even if it was for one night. However, you didn't think the life he led was meant for you.

The next day you met Jeongin. He was thin and attractive, but had this aura about him that was terrifying. His first night there, no one thought much of him. So when someone grabbed your ass and wouldn't leave you alone, Jeongin was right there with a sinister smile while he absolutely mangled the man.

No one fucked around after that. Word had gotten around about the new security and almost no one wanted to test him. There were a few drunk frat guys who thought one of them should test it out, wondering if it was a fluke but ultimately they all pussied out, no wanting to risk any harm to their faces.

You thought it was nice having Jeongin there, although you got weird vibes from him on occasion. You'd catch him staring at you, with a blank but thoughtful look on his face. Sometimes he stood a little too close before apologizing and going back to the door. You shrugged it off, but kept a note of it in the back of your head.

When Friday rolled around, you waited outside your shitty apartment for Minho, although you should have known better that he wouldn't be coming himself, and instead sending someone to get you.

"He had a meeting." Chan tells you as you get into the expensive car before peeling away to the mansion that awaited you.

Four long and excruciating hours later, you were ready to be his date. Your hair had been left down, while your face was full of makeup. A smokey eye with winged liner, along with red lips painted on your face. You couldn't deny that you looked hot, even more so when you squeezed yourself into the tight black strapless dress, paired with a pair of black Louis Vuitton shoes with red bottoms.

You were nervous to walk down the flight of stairs, not only because of Minho, but also because you, stairs and heels weren't really the greatest thrupple. One of you was always embarrassed, and it was always you.

"Hold tightly." The stylist tells you, placing your hand on the railing before you go downstairs.

You took your time, trying to hold your head high while watching your step. You weren't of use to anyone if you fell and broke your ankle, or neck.

"You look stunning." Minho tells you, with a slight smile, offering you his arm. Without hesitation you take it, allowing him to lead you to the garage where he even opened your car door.

**

"Are you nervous?" He asks, as the two of you pull up to the club.

"A little." You admit.

"Find her, tell her you know someone in VIP and bring her up to me. Changbin and Hyunjin are working the VIP door so they already know you." Minho says.

It didn't sound bad. You could do that. "And when you're done, go to the bar and drink to your little heart's desires. Tell Jisung to put it under my tab and he will. I'll come down and meet you when I'm finished."

"Okay. I can do that. Easy enough." You nervously chuckle. "Easy peasy." You breathe.

"You go in. Tell the bouncer that Minho said to let you in." He tells you.

You nod your head and get out of the car. You're a little down the block from the club, couldn't risk having the other Y/N see you and Minho together, it might ruin the plan.

You walk for a few minutes, cutting the long line of at least 100 people and heading up straight to the bouncer.

"Minho said to let me in." You whisper in his ear. The man steps back, his eyes wide.

"Yes ma'am, please go in." He tells you, pulling back the rope immediately while everyone else gets mad, asking why you were so special. You really had to admit, that was an amazing feeling. The feeling of people doing what you ask just because of a name was such an adrenaline rush. You loved it.

Once inside, you headed straight to the bar before trying to find the other Y/N. As you walked in you noticed the music was loud, and the bass went hard but it wasn't overpowering. The air wasn't hot and sweaty like most clubs, so far you were impressed, but that's not why you were here. You needed to remember that you had a specific reason you were here for and you needed to stick to it, but first, You felt like you needed a little bit of liquid courage.

Walking up to the bar, you find a small open space. Giving it your best shot, you yell for 'Jisung' hoping someone would turn around, and they did. Another extremely handsome man. What the fuck was in the water here?

"How can I help you?" Jisung asks, ignoring the others trying to get his attention.

"I'd like a double vodka lemonade." You smile. "And I'm supposed to tell you to put it on Minho’s tab." You say.

He smiles as he nods his head and leaves to make your drink. You sit on a stool facing the dance floor, keeping your eyes open for Y/N. You wanted to get this done as soon as possible but you hadn't seen her yet.

An hour and 4 vodka lemonades later, you finally see her, dancing her little heart out on the dance floor, acting like she didn't just about get you killed a week ago. You grin as you slide off your chair, partially dancing while you walk towards her.

"Hey girl." You laugh, putting on a friendly face as you approach her.

"Hey! Oh my god, What are you doing here!?" She squeals, pulling you in for a hug.

"I'm here with some friends up in VIP! Come, let's get a drink." You offer, hoping she takes the bait.

"Oh my god! Yes please! Let's go!" She laughs, grabbing onto your hand.

Hook, line and sinker.

You hold her hand tightly as you walk up the stairs. You see Hyunjin standing there, looking surprised that you actually found her.

"VIP?" He asks.

You nod your head. He walks to the nearest door, pointing to it for you two. You drunkenly pull Y/N inside with you, where to her surprise there are no other people or drinks.

There's a desk, a large window and a few couches. The chair behind the desk turns, revealing a pleased looking Minho. "Ah, that's my girl. Great work. Thank you baby." He smiles.

You feel the blush on your cheeks spreading. "You can go now." He smiles, shooing you from the room.

"Now, Y/N.." you hear as the door closes.

"Please.." you hear her say.

Your stomach is in knots as you think about what could possibly be happening in there with her and Minho. Changbin seems to notice your hesitancy to leave. He slips an arm around your shoulders. "He doesn't hurt women. Don't worry." He smiles, easing your concerns. You headed back down to the main area, making your way back over to Jisung to get another drink. You sipped as you sat at the bar, watching the stairs for her.

You felt as though you could breathe when you saw her walking down the stairs, body fully intact and leaving the club. Now you can enjoy yourself, finally.

"Two more shots please, Jisung." You laugh at the cute bartender.

Without hesitation Jisung hands over your shots, which you take with ease before heading to the dance floor now, with nothing weighing on your mind. You felt a pair of hands slide along your hips with a body pressed up against yours. When you look back you're met with a face you do not recognize, but in that moment, you don't care.

As you continue dancing with the man, your eyes wander around the club, and that's when you notice him.

Minho.

His eyes followed you like a puppy as you danced with the man. You watched as Minho watched the man's hands travel down your backside, squeezing your ass. He watches the man nuzzle his face into your neck, inhaling your scent.

Your stomach twisted and turned as you tried to read Minho's eyes but his face gave away nothing. He remained just as stone cold as before.

When the song ended, you tore your eyes away from Minho to thank the man for the dance, telling him you needed to go now but before you could finish Minho stood beside you, smirking at the man.

"Hi." He says to you and the man.

"Can I help you dude?" The man asks Minho, grabbing onto your hand.

"No, you can't help me, but I think I can help you." Minho chuckles. "I don't like when people think they can touch what's mine." He snaps, looking at the man's hand holding yours. "So I can help you let go, and help you get the fuck out of my club." He finishes.

Minho snaps his fingers and out comes two other men you hadn't seen before. They asked no questions before grabbing the man you had been dancing with and dragging him away without a care. The man had been pleading to be let go but they did not care.

"Dance with me?" Minho asks.

You nod your head.

He turns you around, your back flush against him as he wraps his arms around your waist, swaying you both to the beat of the music.

"What do I have to do to get you into my bed tonight?" He whispers in your ear.

A small smirk spreads across your face. "Keep going. You're on the right track."

After a few dances with Minho, Felix approaches him, whispering something in his ear that made his brows furrow, and his face instantly twisted in annoyance.

"I have something to deal with. I'll be back." He whispers in your ear, murmuring an apology before walking away with Felix, leaving you on the dance floor, alone.

Instead of standing there, you made your way back to the bar, ordering a couple more shots from Jisung, taking them instantly. It didn't take long for those to kick in and kick out your ability to make good choices. You were already drunk prior to the shots, but these just took it to a whole nother level.

You made a poor decision to leave the bar, stumbling outside, dragging your feet down the street, unsure of where you were, or even where you were planning on going.

"Hey there pretty lady." A man yells from behind you. You turn around, seeing him walking away from his group of friends and coming towards you. "Need some help?" He asks, turning around to wink to his friends.

"I'm fine." You slur, trying to move past him and continue walking on your route.

His hands grip your arms, keeping you in front of him as your head dangles down, your hair in front of your face.

"I think I'll take you home. Take care of you." He says, thrusting his hips towards you as his friends all laugh. "Give you something good for that hangover.” He laughs.

"I think you won't." You hear from behind you, a voice you recognize which makes you perk up immediately.

"And who are you?" The man asks.

"He's a man who wants to be my man… I think." You mumble, snickering to yourself.

Minho chuckles. "Baby, why did you leave?"

You try to spin around, but the man's hands are still latched to your arms, holding you in place.

"Let me go." You say, trying to rip your arm out of his grasp, but he doesn't budge. "I said let me go."

"I don't know. I don't trust this man." The stranger murmurs. "You're coming with me."

"Probably shouldn't trust him. He's terrifying but he will kill you if you don't let go of me. He doesn't like when people touch what's his." You mumble, looking up at the man with a semi serious face.

"She's not wrong." Minho snaps.

"I thought you weren't her man." He scoffs.

"I will be, but regardless if I am or not, I'll still protect her from pieces of shit, such as yourself. So let her go before I make you regret touching her and making inappropriate comments in the first place." Minho snaps.

His patience was wearing thin, and even drunk you could tell.

"I don't think I'll regret shit." The man laughs, with his friends. You weren't sure who this man thought he was, you had no idea who he was or why he was fighting Minho for you, but you currently wished Minho would just take you away from the creep. The situation was not sobering you up.

"Now I'm fucking tired of you." Minho snaps. He grabs your upper arm, yanking you away from the man who stands there confused on what happened. He pulls you behind him before his fist connects with the man's face, dropping him in an instant. "Have any of you heard of SKZ?" He asks the man's friends.

They all immediately begin nodding their heads yes, stuttering they didn't know.

"She's with them, don't fuck with her." Minho warns the group, looking down at their unconscious friend. He gives him one swift kick in the stomach to the man before picking you up, throwing you over his shoulder, and heading back towards the club.

"You can take me home now." You giggle. You can't see it but a small smirk spreads across Minho's face.

"And what would you like to do there?" He asks, his voice low as he carries you down the street.

"You." You giggle.

Just as Minho walks up to the front door, he sets you down, grabbing your hand before you hear the first gunshot.

Instinctively, Minho pulls you to the ground, covering you with his body as bullets fly through the air for what seems like forever. You were too panicked to notice the feeling of warm liquid trickle onto your body as the weight of Minho's body squishes you.

After what felt like forever,, the bullets stop, Minho stands up, pulling you up after. "Oh my god. You were shot." You gasp, looking at his shoulder.

"Shit. I'm fine." He hisses. "We need to get you somewhere safe. Now." He says.

"Minho!" You are here from behind you. Turning around you see Jeongin standing in front of an open car door, ushering Minho inside. He grabs your hand, pulling you to the car, pushing you inside before sliding in beside you.

Jeongin gets in the driver's seat, making a call as he puts the car in drive, taking off.

"Yeah I've got him. Bullet to the shoulder." Jeongin says.

"Tell everyone to meet in my office asap." Minho grunts, sliding his injured arm from his suit jacket.

"Pressure.. you need to put pressure." You stutter, looking for anything to use. You pick up his suit jacket, murmuring a small apology before pressing it to his wound, causing him to hiss. "Can we go to a hospital please." You ask Jeongin whose eyes really haven't left you, you notice he has been watching you off and on through the mirror.

"Chan has medical training. It's fine." Minho tells you. You're not so convinced that's a good idea but you know you can't do anything to change his mind.

You pull up to the house, Jeongin out first to help Minho out before you follow behind them both. "Chan, get your med bag." Jeongin yells, bringing Minho to his office.

"Upstairs. First door on the right is my room. Take a shower, get cleaned up, help yourself to whatever. I'll be up soon." Minho tells you, walking into his office that's littered with his men.

"Find who did this." He spits as the door closes, leaving you alone.

You wander around Minho's room, looking at the paintings, and awkwardly grabbing a shirt from his drawer, before entering his grand bathroom.

You turn on the shower, shimming out of the tight dress you were wearing that was soaked in blood. You step inside, the hot water feels great on your cold skin. You watched as the blood water went down the drain, making it seem as though it never really happened. But the moment replayed through your head like a movie as you scrubbed yourself clean.

You washed your hair using Minho's shampoo, enjoying smelling like him. After soaking for a bit you got out, drying yourself off before slipping into his shirt and leaving the bathroom.

You were surprised to see Minho sitting on his bed, his shoulder banaged, his toned, muscular stomach in full view.

"Are you okay?" You ask, walking over to his bed, sitting on the edge.

"Are you okay?" He asks you instead of answering your question.

"I'm fine." You smile.

"Mhm. You look good in my shirt." He smiles, licking his lips. "I think I remember you saying something about you wanting to do me?"

"That was before you got shot." You pout.

"I'm all good, baby girl. You can ride me no problem." He whispers.

You look down at his crotch, his cock growing harder by the second. You bite your lip, contemplating if you should really do this, considering he had just been shot.

You stand up, facing him with a smile on your face.

"Shirt on or off?" You ask him, cocking your head to the side, playing with the hem of his shirt.

"On. I want to see you ride me while wearing it. " he whispers.

You crawl back on the bed, pulling down his sweatpants, while he helps you the best he can, bucking his hips. Minho's cock springs free, pre cum leaking from his red tip, down his large, thick shaft.

On your hands and knees, you begin to kitten lick his tip, before taking what you can in your mouth. Minho moans loudly as you hollow out your cheeks, forcing his cock down your throat, making you gag.

"Shit." He moans, throwing his head back, as he bucks his hips.

You pull him from your mouth, taking a breath before you softing continue sucking his cock. He bucks his hips again, forcefully shoving himself down your throat, causing tears to well in your eyes.

"Sit on my cock." He demands. You let go of his cock with a pop, crawling up to straddle him. You slightly lift up the shirt you were wearing, holding onto his cock as you line your pussy up. Sitting down, you slowly sink down onto him, as he stretches you out while filling you up completely.

"Fuck. So tight." He groans.

With one hand on your hip he begins helping you rock back and forth, grinding yourself on him. A few minutes later, you discard his shirt, throwing it somewhere behind you as you begin to bounce on him, slowly lifting yourself up before pounding down onto him. Minho bucks his hips again and again as you go back down.

You grind your pussy on him, your clit perfectly rubbing against him. Minho reaches up, rolling one of your nipples between his fingers as you cup your other breast, the sound of fucking and moans fill the room.

"I'm.. i'm going to.. fucking cum." You cry out, your orgasm finally reaching its peak as it explodes through your body, sending shivers down your spine.

You tried to slow down your movement as you rode through your high but Minho doesn't let you. He snaps his hips, fucking you from below as he chases his own high, seconds later spilling himself into you, coating your walls with his cum.

The two of you stay still for a minute, catching your breath until you notice Minho's wound bleeding through the bandages.

"Let me get something." You say, climbing off of him, putting his shirt back on before running to the bathroom for a cloth.

Just as you enter the bathroom, Minho's bedroom door swings open.

"Sorry to bother you…but we found out who ordered the attack." Hyunjin says.

"Who." Minho asks.

"It was Mingi and his men, from Ateez." Hyunjin explains.

Mingi? As in Song Mingi? Why was your ex boyfriend ordering attacks?

"Mingi?" You laugh. "Song Mingi? No, there's no way. Why would he? No, you've got the wrong guy." You say, waving Hyunjin off.

"Do you know him?" Minho asks.

"We dated for 2 years." You admit. "I know him pretty well and I think I would know if he was into this kinda stuff." You say, twirling your finger around, pointing at them.

"She's a fucking spy." Hyunjin yells, charging for you. His forearm presses against your neck as he shoves you into the wall, pinning you there. You panic, looking at Minho who now just looks confused.

"Let her go." Minho says calmly.

Hyunjin doesn't move.

"I fucking said let her go." He yells, prompting Hyunjin to back away from you. "Get the fuck out. I'll handle this." He finishes.

You watch as Hyunjin leaves his room leaving you alone with Minho.

Your eyes are wide as you stand against the wall, struggling to catch your breath. Minho slowly strolls towards you, his wound seeping blood through the bandages.

He puts one hand out, pressing it against the wall as he leans in closely, whispering in your ear. "You better tell me right now if you're fucking working for them, and if you are, you better beg for your fucking life."

"I-I'm not." You stutter. "I didn't know anything about it." You cry.

Minho pushes himself back, turning to the door and walking away. "If I find out differently, you're dead." He finishes, leaving the room. You slide down the wall, breathing heavily as you try to wrap your head around what the fuck just happened.

Later that day, Minho stands in his office, his head hanging down with his hand in his pocket as his men wait for him to say something. His shoulder throbbed and this entire situation was pissing him the fuck off.

"Hyunjin." He begins. "If you put your hands on her again, I'll kill you myself. Clear?" He asks.

"She's a fucking spy!" Hyunjin retorts, frustrated that no one believes him.

"How dare you accuse her of that." Jeongin pipes up. "She said she didn't know about him, so that means she didn't fucking know. Drop it." He grits, his pissed off facial expression barely moving.

"Seungmin, Felix, find out as much as you can about the relationship between the two of them." Minho orders.

The two head out as Minho dismisses the rest, except one. "Hyunjin." He starts. "If it comes back clean, you drop it. If it comes back that you were right, you know what to do." He says before watching him leave his office.

Minho walks away, searching for one man in particular. He walks into the kitchen, seeing Jeongin on his phone, facing away from the door. "Get it done." He spits, hanging up his phone and turning around.

"Minho." Jeongin gasps.

"Get her to call into work for a while." Minho says. He can't help but notice a small glimmer in Jeongin's eyes whenever he mentions you.

It makes him wonder.

"You're keeping her?" Jeongin asks, walking past Minho.

"For now." Minho says as Jeongin leaves the kitchen.

Jeongin opens the door to Minho's room, seeing you sitting on the bed with your legs crossed and your chin resting in the palm of your hand.

"Get up." He yells, startling you. You jump up, still only wearing Minho's shirt. Jeongin could feel the anger boiling up in him, he tried to let it go but it was hard. "Let's go." He says, turning to walk down a hallway. You follow behind him, trying to keep up as he takes another turn down another hallway and then up a flight of stairs. He leads you inside a dark, dusty room.

"Here." He says, tossing you your phone. "Call in sick to work."

"For how long?" You ask, your voice a whisper.

"Few weeks." He answers, his eyes practically burning holes into you.

You turn away from him, dialing the number to the bar you work at, as you put the phone to your ear you hear the ringing. You're staring at the wall that has a pair of curtains hanging down to give the appearance of a window without actually having a window. Your stomach drops as you continue to look around and see faint splatters of blood all around.

"Hello?" A voice on the other end answers.

"Hi." You whisper. "It's Y/N…I um, I won't be into work for a few weeks."

"Why?"

"I um, had a death in the family.. my… mom." You say.

"Ah okay, sorry about that. See you." He says, ending the call.

You turn around and see leaning against the wall. "All done." You say walking towards the door. You walk through the doorway, Jeongin closely behind you. Right before you hit the staircase you feel a hand on your shoulder, pulling you back before slamming you against the wall. He presses his body against yours, his hand trailing up and down your side before moving up and around your neck. He leans his head in closer to you, his hot breath hitting your ear.

"I can't wait for him to toss you to the side, maybe then you'll give me a turn to play." He whispers. "Believe me when I say, he listens to me more than anyone. Don't fucking lie to us, don't try and play us because we will find out." He pauses, twirling your hair in his finger. "And I will fucking kill you, and I promise, I'll do it with a fucking smile on my face." He finishes, backing away from you before heading down the stairs, leaving you wondering how even after Mingi leaving you 8 months ago, he was still fucking up your life.

**

Later that evening you were sitting in a chair in Minho's office, as he finished up a call. "Yeah, keep digging. Thanks Felix." He says, letting out a sigh as he hangs up the phone. He raises his head, looking at you sitting there quietly.

"How was your relationship with Mingi if you had no idea about his life?" He asks.

"It was quiet. He told me he worked for some big shot lawyer, so I never questioned the late nights or when he didn't answer his phone. He said he was in court a lot, so it made sense." You shrugged.

"He never showed up covered in blood? Suspicious phone calls? You're telling me he didn't show any signs of not doing what he said."

"He got a lot of calls. Sometimes he would go into a different room, I just assumed he was cheating on me." You admit.

Minho laughs. Before he can ask anymore questions, his phone rings. He answers it, putting it on speaker.

"What?" He asks.

"Minho.. you're not going to like this." Seungmin says from the other side.

"What'd you find?" He asks, glaring at you.

"Her apartment.. It's riddled with cameras and microphones. Someone's been hard-core watching her." Felix pipes up.

You sit up further in your chair, your face confused.

"What?" You whisper, feeling so violated.

"Thanks." Minho says, hanging up the phone.

Seconds later your phone rings on Minho's desk. He looks down and none other than Mingi's name pops up on the caller ID.

"You talk." Minho says to you, as he presses the answer button.

"Hello?" You ask.

"Hi baby, I miss you." Mingi breathes into the phone.

"You ended things with me, Mingi." You spit. "What do you want?" You ask.

"I want to know why the fuck you're sitting in Lee Minho's house right now."

"How.." you pause.

"How do I know? Bitch I know everything." Mingi snaps.

"The fuck you want, Song?" Minho snaps.

"Ah, Minho, the man of the hour." Mingi chuckles. "How's that arm of yours?" He asks. "I assumed you'd leave Y/N alone after that warning, maybe you're not that smart then.. " he laughs. "Let her go."

"Let her go? Nah, knowing how much you want her, makes me want her even more. You know, maybe i'll just fuck her right here on my desk. Do you want to listen to how hard I rail her?" Minho asks.

That shouldn't turn you on, but fuck it really does.

"I'm warning you.." Mingi snaps.

"Or maybe I'll let my men have their way with her. They're all pretty sexually deprived." Minho says before hanging up on Mingi. Minho lets out a frustrated groan, running his hand through his hair. He was trying to not let Mingi anger him, but he did. He glances over at you, and you're already staring at him.

"You didn't mean that, right?" You whisper. "About your men.."

"You can fuck whoever you want to fuck, I don't give a fuck." Minho snaps.

“What?” You ask. That wasn't quite what you were expecting. “Seriously?”

“Fuck all of then at once. I don't fucking care.” He spits.

"Fine." You scoff, standing up and walking out of his office.

You storm down the hallway, looking for anyone to use for the night.

"You." You call out. "Come with me.." You pause, forgetting his name at the moment.

"Um.. Chan." He answers as you drag him up the stairs.

"Where are we going?" Chan asks, looking behind him then back at you dragging him up the stairs. He begins to panic when you don't answer him and continues to drag him upstairs, down the hall before stopping outside Minho’s room.

“I… I can't.” he whispers, his eyes wide as he stands outside his leader's bedroom door.

“Im not going to actually fuck you, Chan.” you chuckle. “No no no, I'm only going to let Minho think I'm fucking you. He claims he doesn't care but he does, or he will.”

“I don't think that's how that's going to play out.” Chan chuckles. You roll your eyes, opening the door to Minho’s room before pulling Chan inside by the neck of his shirt and slamming the door behind you.

You stay in there for an ample amount of time, so that when the two of you come out, it's more believable that he had just fucked you.

"Alright." You say, glancing over at Chan. "Time to go, but first some adjustments."

You walk over to the terrified looking man, and run your hands through his hair, messing it up. After you're done with his hair, you ruffle up his shirt, making him look like he just fucked you good and hard. On your way to the door, you messed yourself up, making yourself look good and fucked before the two of you leave the room; heading downstairs.

"Boss wants to see you." Changbin says to you, passing you on the stairs. You smile to yourself, hoping that it got to him. You were determined to show he cared about you.

You walk just close enough to Minho's office before you give Chan a loud, fake kiss and push him away, making sure to thank him loudly for an excellent time.

"Let's do it again." You yell, walking into Minho's office. "You wanted to see me?" You say, sliding into one of the chairs that sat in front of his desk.

"Did you have a good time?" He asks, his voice low.

"It was great. Why? Jealous?" You ask, a smirk on your face.

Minho chuckles. "My men.." he pauses, walking towards you. He stands over you, leaning down allowing his hands to rest on the arm rests as his face moves in closer to you. "My men value their lives more than that. They wouldn't risk themselves and my trust for them for some pussy." He spits, his voice low. "You're not worth it to them. They won't fuck you. You're mine."

You gulp as he leans in even closer to you, his lips brushing against your ear. "And if you fuck Jeongin, I'll kill you both." He grunts. "Also, if you were going to try to make me jealous, Chan was not the way to go."

"So what? Does that mean you're the only one who gets to fuck me?" You ask, scoffing.

"That's exactly what that means." He says, clenching his teeth together. Minho grabs the collar of your shirt, yanking you from the chair and slamming you down on the desk, your face pushed into the stack of papers he had laying around.

Minho pulls your pants down, licking his fingers before slowly working them inside you. "Already fucking wet." He grunts, pulling his fingers out, undoing his pants. He whips out his cock, pumping it a few times before thrusting himself inside of you. He grunts loudly as his hands grip your hips, violently thrusting into you.

"You're not the one in control." He spits. "I am." He finishes, fucking you fast and hard. He thrusts a few times before pulling you out to turn you around. Minho sets you on his desk, ignoring his shoulder pain as he has been all day, pulling your pants off you, tossing them behind him.

You lay back, sticking your legs in the air. He grabs your legs, dragging you to the edge of his desk before sticking his cock back inside you. He can feel you tighten yourself around his cock, making him moan loudly.

“So fucking tight.” He grunts, leaning forward to bury his face in your neck as you wrap your legs around his waist. His hand snakes in between the two of you, and between your lips, rubbing your clit as he continues to grunt while he fucks you. He rubs quickly, making you twitch as you can feel your orgasm building.

"Cum for me." He grunts. You had been waiting for this, your orgasm had been building rapidly as he rubbed himself against you.

"Just like that." You cry out, arching your back as your orgasm pulses through your body, making you shake. "Fuck." You cry out, clenching yourself around him again.

"Dirty slut." He spits as he cums, spilling himself inside of you.

Minho pulls himself out of you, helping you sit up on his desk. Your eyes look to the door and meet the eyes of Jeongin, startling you to jump off the desk and hide behind a confused Minho.

"What?" He asks, looking at you instead of the door. You point towards the door, trying to cover your naked bottom half.

"What the fuck. How long have you been there?" Minho asks.

"Since you started arguing." Jeongin says, his voice unamused.

"What the fuck." You whisper.

"Y/N, get dressed and go." Minho says, ushering you out. You hide under his desk, getting your pants back on before trying to leave the room, moving past a pissed off looking Jeongin.

"You know." Jeongin says, grabbing your arm as you try to move past him. "I could fuck you better, and treat you better." He whispers before letting you go and looking back at Minho.

You leave the room, making your way to the living room where you sit completely uncomfortable as to what just happened.

"I thought we fucking talked about this?" Minho spits, motioning to Jeongin to come closer. "You're to leave her alone."

"I can't help it brother. She's just so.. tempting." Jeongin smirks, licking his lips.

Minho balls his fists up, taking a swing and connecting with Jeongin's face, causing him to stumble back. Jeongin lightly chuckles as he touches his lip, feeling a small drop of blood on his finger.

"Wow brother. Resorting to violence again?" Jeongin laughs.

"I swore to mom and dad that I would watch out for you after they passed. But I will not do this again, I can't have another Lisa situation." Minho yells.

"Y/N is much more important than Lisa ever was."

"Stay away from her. She is mine." Minho threatens.

"I can treat her better." Jeongin spits.

Minho throws another punch, knocking Jeongin back again. He walks forward, hitting him again and knocking him to the ground. Minho climbs on top of him, throwing punches wherever he could get them to land. Jeongin brings his hands up, trying to block the punches as Minho wails on him, Jeongin laughing as he's being hit.

Out of breath, Minho stands up, giving Jeongin a swift kick in the ribs before stepping over him and walking out of his office, headed to find you.

"Let's go." Minho says, motioning to you to stand up.

"Where are we going?" You ask as Minho grabs your arm to pull you away.

"Jeongin isn't stable right now. You need to stay somewhere else." He says before a giant boom shakes the entire house.

Seconds later, Hyunjin runs into the house coughing. "The SUV was blown up." He announces. "It's Ateez. Mingi's here, and he wants her." Hyunjin finishes pointing at you.

"Fuck. Felix, take Y/N and hide her. Now." Minho demands. "Jisung, give me your gun."

Jisung hands over his weapon to Minho, who tucks it in the waist of his pants before hiding it with his shirt. "Chan, Changbin and Hyunjin, come with me." He finishes.

Felix grabs you by the shoulders, guiding you to a room down the hall before closing the door. You stand there, leaning your head against the door to try and hear what's going on.

**

Minho and his men begin to walk towards the front door, when Mingi appears from around the corner standing with San and Hongjoong.

"Where is she?" Mingi asks, his eyes darting around the room to find you. "I thought I made it pretty clear that you should have let her go. You know better than anyone she's not safe here." Mingi spits, motioning to a beat up Jeongin.

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?" Jeongin snaps, moving towards Mingi before being stopped by Hyunjin

"It means, I know what happened to Lisa remember, and I'm sure as fuck not going to let that happen to Y/N." Mingi yells.

**

Listening through the door you can hear Mingi yelling, saying your name a few times. "If they're talking about me, I should be there." You snap at Felix. He shrugs his shoulders, paying attention to whatever he was looking at on his phone.

Deciding to take it into your own hands, you pull open the door and run down the hallway and into the living room where all the men stand.

"Hey you." Mingi smiles. "Look.." he begins before you cut him off.

"Who's Lisa?" You ask around the room.

No one answers you. "Who the fuck is Lisa?" You ask again.

Mingi looks at Minho and Jeongin. "Are either of you going to tell her? Or should I?" Mingi asks.

Neither of them answer. Jeongin stands there with his arms crossed, his face straight as he stares at you. "Alright then. Lisa is Minho's ex. They dated for a while before she disappeared." Mingi begins.

"Okay.. I don't understand." You say, you're confused on why this is even an issue.

"Jeongin here took a liking to her while they were together. He stalked her, watched her and them together. One day she disappeared, and I can almost guarantee Jeongin had something to do about it. Either he killed her or he has her locked up."

You can hear Jeongin snicker from behind you. You turn to look at him and he gives you a slight smile before winking at you, making your stomach drop.

"You stay here, and you'll end up gone too, which is why you should come with me. Minho knows his brother is unstable but yet doesn't do a fucking thing about it. I can keep you safe." Mingi finishes.

"You say you can keep me safe? I don't trust you. You lied to me for the entire 2 years of our relationship about what you did. I can't.. this is too much." You sigh. "I need to go." You walk away from the group of men, heading out the front door. You walk around the property, heading out into the distance a bit to clear your head. What the fuck were you supposed to do. It took you a few minutes but you decided on your plan.

You went back inside to announce to everyone what you were going to do.

"I'm going home." You say. "I'm going back to work and I'm not dealing with this shit anymore. I just want to go back to my life."

Minho nods his head. "I'll have people keeping an eye on you."

You were surprised, you honestly didn't think he would just let you go.

"I'll take you home." He says. He places his hand on your lower back to guide you out before looking back at Mingi. "Get the fuck out of my house." He spits, walking to his car with you.

**

A few days later you were getting back into your routine with work and being home. You always had one or two men at the bar with you, and outside your apartment building at all hours of the day and night. Minho was watching you closely, along with his men.

He had told you not to worry about Jeongin but you couldn't help it. He seemed to be uncontrollable and capable of anything.

"See you tomorrow, Chan." You laugh, heading out of the bar.

"Are you sure you don't want me to walk you home?" He asks, unsure about leaving you by yourself.

"I'm fine." You smile. "I'm like 5 blocks away and I have pepper spray too." You finish. Chan nods his head, getting into his car to drive away as you begin your short walk home.

About halfway there you hear some footsteps behind you. You try not to let yourself panic and just pick up your pace but the person behind you also picks up their pace. Your chest is heaving as you break into a small run, the person behind you picking up their pace again to keep up with you. The person begins to run faster, but now passes you, making you stop to try and ease your breathing. You probably should have let Chan take you home, your anxiety was too high for this.

You continue walking when a man runs out in front of you, putting one hand on your shoulder before shoving a knife into your stomach. "This is a warning for Minho. SKZ better stay out the fuck out of our trafficking district." He spits, pulling the knife out and taking off.

Your hands cover your wound, the blood pouring through your fingers. You fall to your knees, laying on the concrete bleeding out.

You're in and out of consciousness, passing out on the concrete before waking up in someone's arms, being carried somewhere.

"Hospital." You whisper.

"I got you." The man says before you pass out again.

**

You groan as you wake up, your stomach throbbing but stitched up and bandaged up to heal. You open your eyes but you can't focus, you try to stretch but you have little to no room. Looking around as your eyes try to adjust, you see metal bars surrounding you. You look around more and see a cage you're stuck in suspended from the ceiling. Looking beside you, there's nothing but on the other side there hangs another cage with a dirty looking girl sitting in there.

“What the fuck! Where am I!?” You scream, trying to shake the bars of the cage but you're in so much pain.

“It's no use.” the woman coughs. “No one can hear you.”

“Where are we?” You ask.

“I have no idea.” She sighs.

"What's your name?" You whisper.

"Lisa." She whispers back. Your eyes widen at the name.

"Are you… Minho's ex girlfriend?" You ask.

She cries as she nods her head. "I'm so sorry he got you." She whispers when the metal door swings open from across the room.

You watch as Jeongin walks in with a giant smile on his face.

"My set is complete. My two beautiful girls." He smiles. "Boy, do I have plans for the two of you...” he pauses, his phone now ringing in his pocket.

Jeongin looks at you and Lisa, your hands wrapped around your cage as his phone continues to ring, Minho’s caller ID popping up on the screen. He watches you desperately plead for him to let you go. The wound in your stomach bleeding through the dirty bandages as Lisa coughs so hard she begins spitting up blood.

"Don't say another word. Or I will kill you." He spits, pointing at each of you. "What, Minho? I'm in the middle of something." He says, his eyes darting from you to Lisa, a subtle smile spreading across his face, you don't even want to imagine the thoughts going through his head. "Oh you got a lead on Y/N?" He snickers. "Yeah of course I'll come and scope it out. Sounds fun." He says, hanging up the phone.

"I gotta go, ladies." He says, putting his phone in his pocket and placing a ballcap on his head. "Don't go anywhere." He chuckles, walking away from your pleas and begging.

**

"How long have you been here?" You ask Lisa whose heaving, her breathing sounding ragged.

"I don't even know." She sighs, trying to find a comfortable position in such a small cage. "Over a year I think."

"How.. How the hell did this happen? Where was Minho? Why didn't he protect you?" You ask in disbelief that he wouldn't have noticed any kind of signs regarding Jeongin.

"It's the same way he didn't protect you from it. He doesn't know all of Jeongin's moves, hell, even Jeongin doesn't know his next move until he does it. He's so unpredictable that Minho never sees it coming. He wants to believe in the best of his brother and can't see all the evil. He doesn't want to believe that Jeongin would do something like this." Lisa says.

"I think he's starting too. He hit Jeongin a few times, and tried to take me away but I said no and I wanted to go home and resume my life. Then I got stabbed and brought here. I'm sure Jeongin was the one who stabbed me too. I think Minho will know that it's Jeongin. He has too." You breathe.

He'll know, right?

**

"You're sure?" Minho asks Seungmin. Minutes earlier Seungmin stormed into Minho's office saying that someone thought they recognized you, and had seen you a week ago, saw what happened to you but was too afraid to speak up.

"Tell him we'll protect him, nothing will happen to him if he tells us what he knows." Minho tells Seungmin.

Seungmin leaves the room quickly, running to give the information, time was of the essence. Minho didn't want you missing any longer.

"What's going on?" Jeongin asks, walking into his brother's office.

"Someone saw what happened to Y/N." Minho says. "Finally some answers."

He doesn't notice Jeongin immediately tense up, but he tries to not let it show. "Oh?" He questions. "Who?"

"Someone Seungmin found, who saw her walking after the bar closed. I can't wait to get my hands on the motherfucker who did this. I can't do this again." He sighs, grabbing his gun and securing it in the waist of his pants before he walks towards the door. Jeongin stands there, lost in his thoughts before Minho brings him out of it.

"Are you coming?" He asks.

Jeongin shakes his head. "I gotta do something." He mumbles, pushing past Minho and storming out the door.

Seungmin comes around the corner with his arms crossed. "I told you. He knows something." Seungmin states. Minho had a feeling that his brother was somehow involved but he didn't want to believe it. He swore to his parents he would protect Jeongin, but if it turns out to be him, Minho will do what he has to do.

**

"We need to get out of here." You scream, yanking on the metal bars that barely budge.

"It won't work." Lisa calls over. "I've been trying to get out by myself for a long time. He would let me out.. under circumstances but I refuse his offers. I can't." She says.

"What are his offers?" You ask. Maybe somehow they can be played to your advantages.

"He'll let me out if I agree to be his. But I can't do that to Minho.." She trails off.

"You need to." You exclaim. "Tell him both of us want him. We can take him down.." you begin to whisper as you hear a door creak open. You looked over at Lisa who had a small smile on her lips. You hoped it was Minho whose footsteps you heard but as they got closer, it revealed a frazzled looking Jeongin.

"We gotta move." He mumbles. "He's close to finding you, Y/N." He says, pointing at you. "Maybe I should just get rid of Lisa now." He wonders, a smile creeping across his face, glancing over at her. "I want to hear how her voice breaks as she begs for her life, pleading for me to spare her, saying anything to try to make me second guess my decision, feel something. Even if it won't work.” He grunts. "She'll choose Minho.. fuck, you'll still chooses Minho!" He yells, pointing at you.

"N-no.. I choose you. Jeongin, I want you." You say, scrambling to your knees in the cage, despite your pain, your hands on the bars. "I want you to be mine, Jeongin.”

‘I-I do too..You've done so much for me over the year I've been here. I see how truly sweet and caring you are. Please accept me. You know it's me who you really want." Lisa says, forcing a smile.

Your eyes are wide as you're watching this, you don't want her to trade her life for yours, but what could you do?

"Is that so?" Jeongin asks, walking to her cage. He pulls out a key, unlocking the locks and helping her out before wrapping his arms around her. She struggles to stand, but wraps her arms around him anyway, leaning on him, he holds her closely. It doesn't feel right to him. She's not who he really wants.

"I love you.." She mumbles. "So just let Y/N go.. okay? It's you and me now. You don't need her."

"It's not. She's the one.” Jeongin says, smiling at you. “Your time is up.” He laughs, dragging Lisa from the building. You needed to do something. He was going to kill her.

“Ow… shit. Jeongin.” You cry out. “Please… my wound…” you trail off, falling to the floor of your cage. Jeongin lets go of Lisa’s arm, running to you. He made it to your cage too, jingling his keys to find the right one to unlock it.

“Run!” You scream, watching her bolt out of the open door. Jeongin glares at you, the door of your cage wide open.

“Why did you do that?” He snaps, reaching in for you. You back away as far as you can.

"No no no, please." You cry, trying to squish yourself in the back of the cage so he can't reach you. You try to kick him, and fight him off but you're still weak. Your wound continues to bleed.

"Get out here." He grunts, latching onto your leg and dragging you out and into the floor. He grabs a clump of your hair, pulling you through the door, letting go of your hair, and grabbing your wrist to drag you outside while Lisa continues to run through the field. Jeongin drops you in tall grass, the sun shining down on you, the fresh air surrounding you. He grins as he pulls his gun out, his finger on the trigger.

"Shit." Jeongin spits, pointing the gun at you. Even if he was mad at you, he couldn't kill you.

It's you. He loved you and he was going to have to do whatever he could to make you love him back. He picks you up, dragging you to his car and throwing you in the backseat, before climbing into the driver's seat and spinning out of there. He needs to find somewhere else to take you. He drives the opposite way Lisa ran, trying to figure out the best place to keep you hidden and away from his brother.

**

"What do you want?" Minho spits as someone knocks on his office door. He was stressed, he didn't know what to do about you. Where were you?

"Hi." A familiar voice whispers. "Remember me?" Lisa asks as she walks into his office.

Minho's jaw drops as he stares at her, she's dirty, wounded and her clothes are torn but it's her. She's here.

"I can't believe it.." Minho says. He briskly walks towards her, pulling her in for a hug. "What happened to you?" He asks.

"Jeongin took me." She cries.

"I knew it." He spits. "What about Y/N? Does he have her too?" He asks.

"I've never met any Y/N's before." Lisa whispers, nuzzling her head back into Minho's warm embrace.

"Jeongin didn't take Y/N?" Minho asks, feeling defeated, but also a little relieved that his brother wasn't involved in your kidnapping.

"But baby, he took me." Lisa pouts, snuggling in closer to him. Minho didn't know how to react to this. She had been gone for so long, and he had moved on, he was falling in love with Y/N, but how did he break it to her when she had just been through something so traumatic.

"Lisa, go upstairs to the guest room, get cleaned up, take a shower and rest. I'll send Hyunjin up with some clothes and a towel for you. I've got some work to do." He says, clearing his throat and awkwardly moving out of her embrace. Lisa looks offended, but he didn't care at the moment. He needed to find you.

"Hyunjin." He calls out

Hyunjin walks into his office, giving Lisa a small nod before focusing his attention on Minho. "Get Lisa some fresh clothes and necessities, but before that, set up a meeting with the informant. I want that information now." He spits.

“Yes sir." Hyunjin says, quickly walking out of the office. Lisa stays behind, watching Minho work, and it made her angry that he didn't care about her right now. The love of his life was standing in front of him after being kidnapped for over a year, and he didn't care.

"Baby." Lisa whines. Minho looks up from his work. "Will you come shower with me?" She asks sweetly.

"Lisa, I'm busy. Go." He spits.

She scoffs. "Can I atleast use your phone?"

He sighs, opening his drawer and digging in it to find an extra phone, there's no way he was going to give her his phone. "Here." He says, sliding a phone and a charger towards her. With a huff she grabs them and storms out of his office, heading up the stairs to Minho's room. She knew he said the guest room, but his room was far more comfortable.

Lisa plugs in the phone to charge and hops in the shower, rinsing off the dirt, grime and smell from her. When she's done, she grabs a pair of shorts and a shirt from Minho's closet, before grabbing the phone and dialing a number.

"Hello?" A voice answers.

"It's done." Lisa says. "I told him I didn't know any Y/N, and that you had only held me captive." She says.

"You fucking idiot, you weren't supposed to say I did it to you. Fuck." Jeongin spits. "You go tell him that I fucking saved you, and you didn't know who took you. That you had gotten shit twisted. Got it?"

"And if I don't?" She asks.

"If you don't, Y/N comes back into Minho's life and you're thrown to the side like the garbage you are."

Lisa hangs up the phone, putting it back on the table to charge more. She stands up, heading downstairs and back into Minho's office to talk to him. She stands outside his office door, her hand hovering just above the door as she listens in before knocking.

"We need to find somewhere safe for Lisa to go. She can't stay here, but more importantly, I need to find Y/N." She hears Minho say.

Shit. She needs to do something, she needs him to forget about Y/N and focus on her. She's here with him right now, she's the one that should matter to him.

Knock

Knock

She opens the door slightly, forcing her tears out. "Min?" She sniffles.

"Come in." He says, though he sounds annoyed.

Lisa begins crying heavier now, she looks at him with her tearful eyes, hoping he would be the one to say something first. "You okay?" He asks.

Perfect.

"It wasn't Jeongin who took me.. I lied." She sniffles. "To be honest, I don't know who took me." She whispers. Her entire body shakes, her voice whimpers as she tells him what she knows. "But I'm so scared of him finding me again, this is the only place I feel safe."

Minho notices Hyunjin rolling his eyes, he doesn't believe her story, and frankly Minho isn't entirely sure if he believes her either.

"So Jeongin had no part in your kidnapping, or Y/N's?" Minho asks.

Lisa shakes her head no. "Like I said earlier, I don't know Y/N, but it wasn't Jeongin who took me. I'm sorry for lying about that, baby, he just always made me feel so uncomfortable, so I said his name. But thinking back on it, it wasn't him." She says.

"Are you sure?" Minho asks, wanting to really make sure he was thinking correctly.

"Yeah, it wasn't Jeongin, I swear. He would never do something like that." Lisa says, trying to snuggle her way into Minho's grasp.

Minho's eyes dart to Hyunjin, who's already looking at him. He knows that Hyunjin is on the same page as him. Minho gives Hyunjin a nod, and he swiftly leaves the room.

"Lisa." Minho sighs, moving so he can look right at her.

"Yeah?" She smiles.

He sighs, placing his hands on her cheeks, smiling. "If I find out you're lying about Jeongin or especially Y/N, I'll fucking kill you." He says, dropping her face and storming out of his office, leaving Lisa standing there alone and terrified.

Lisa now knew she fucked up, but Jeongin had her convinced that if she came back into his life, everything would go back to the way it had previously been. She should never have believed him when he came to her with his plan but she desperately wanted to be out of the cage, she wanted to be back into his life and she hated Y/N, she hated that Minho had moved on and she couldn't have let that happen.

“She called a random number.” Hyunjin tells Minho later.

“Did you call it?” Minho asks. Hyunjin nods his head.

“There was no answer. It's a burner phone.” Hyunjin sighs.

“They're working together. I fucking know it.” Minho groans, rubbing his hands on his face.

Before Hyunjin can say anything, Lisa walks into the office. “Hi baby.” She smiles, walking towards Minho.

“I'm busy right now.” Minho says, looking down at the papers on his desk.

“Lisa?” They all hear. Minho looks up, seeing Jeongin standing there. “Wow. It's been so long? What happened? Are you okay?” He asks, walking towards her. Jeongin wraps his arms around Lisa, holding her closely. “Keep your fucking mouth shut.” He whispers to her, pulling away, patting her shoulder.

“You must be so happy.” Jeongin says to Minho, motioning towards Lisa.

“Ha, yeah.” Minho says. “I'm busy, can we talk later?” He says to Lisa and Jeongin. They both nod, walking out of the office. Hyunjin emerges from the corner, sitting in the chair across from Minho.

“I know who can get it out of her.” Hyunjin says. Minho knew who could do it too, but he really didn't want to have that conversation.

“Yeah, Mingi.” He says, pulling out his phone, dialing the number.

“What?” Mingi asks.

“I need your help.” Minho grumbles. “Lisa's back.”

“Oh shit.” Mingi says. “He took Y/N, didn't he?”

“I think so. Lisa said no, but I don't believe her. I need you to find out.”

“You know, if you just lose your morals and start hurting whoever fucks you over, you could do it yourself.” Mingi tells him. “But I'll do it. Bring her here.”

Minho hangs up the phone, looking at Hyunjin. “Go get Lisa.”

Minutes later, Lisa comes into the office, smiling at Minho. “Let's go.” Minho says, grabbing his keys.

“Where are we going?” She asks, climbing into the car.

“Somewhere else where you'll be safe.” Minho says. He can't even look at her, knowing what she's done.

The car ride is silent, until Minho pulls up to the house. “Who lives here?” Lisa asks, getting out of the car along with Minho.

Mingi walks out of the house, a smile on his face. Lisa turns to look at Minho with a horrified look on her face. “Why am I here Minho?” She asks, her voice shaking.

“I know you're fucking lying.” Minho snaps. “and Mingi will get it out of you.” He says, climbing back into the car. He peels off, leaving a crying Lisa, being dragged back into the house.

**

“Jeongin.” You cough, holding your stomach. “I need a doctor.” You say, you hadn't healed at all and it had been weeks.

“I can't take you to the hospital.” Jeongin says, sitting in the corner of the small building. “You'll leave me.”

“I won't leave you… I promise, Jeongin. But I need help.” You cough.

“I'll be back.” He says, standing up, heading towards the door. You groan, laying your head back down on the floor. You were gonna die here. You knew it.

What felt like days later, Jeongin walks back in through the door, a bag in hand. He walks over to you, kneeling down. He lifted your shirt, removing your bandages, replacing them with new ones.

“Take these.” He says, handing you some pills and some water. You didn't even question what he was giving you, you just hoped that it was going to help you.

A week later, a week of Jeongin giving you pills, and tending to your wound a little more carefully you were finally starting to feel better, on the outside but on the inside you were slowly dying. It had almost been a month, you think, since Jeongin had taken you and it made you wonder if Minho was still even looking for you. You thought he would have found you by now, especially if he was actively looking for you. Didn't Lisa tell him Jeongin had you? Every day you waited for Minho to come and bust through the door to pick you up and whisk you away from this shit hole but you were starting to lose faith. You just wanted to go home.

Weeks later, you were finally healed up, and Jeongin had been fucking with your head the entire time. He almost had you convinced that Minho didn't care for you at all and that he was never going to save you. Tell you that he was the one who loved you, and he would always protect you and take care of you but you knew that it was a lie. You knew he was trying to get into your head and you needed to remain strong but you could make him think that you loved him.

That night, you and Jeongin were laying in the bed, fully in the dark. Tears slipped down your cheeks as your lips trembled. “I love you, Jeongin.” You whisper, hoping he believed you. Maybe he would ease up on you and start giving you a little more leeway.

“You do?” He asks, rolling over towards you.

“I do.” You murmur, trying to not let him hear your voice quiver.

“I knew you’d come around.” He happily sighs, holding onto you tightly.

You fall asleep that night, softly crying, wondering if this was your life now, and if you were ever going to be saved.